#and forcing everyone within a ten mile radius to listen

[erinlbowe]

Please play this when I am lowered into the earth thank you

[kimnjss]

keep going | jjk

⤑  series: cherry pickers

⤑ pairing: gamer(fuckboi)!jungkook x video vixen(virgin)!reader

⤑ genre: smut!! (and the start of angst at the end...)

⤑ rating: explicit

⤑ word count: 4.8K // unedited.

⤑ warnings: cursing, slight dirty talk, oral sex (m/f. receiving), handjob, cum shot, face sitting, spitting, grinding, (half-assed) 69-ing, nipple play, groping, dry humping, they’re both half drunk nd messy.

⤑ A/N: hiiii! how are you? sooo ., i decided to make the party two parts bc i had terrible time management today nd it’s getting late - buut i really wanted to post today. sooo part two up tomorrow!!

MAY 8TH, 2020 | 23:30

Jungkook hears your squeal over the booming bass of the music, long before you're appearing through the crowd of drunk partygoers. Jimin is steps behind you, large black glasses resting on the tip of his nose. Eyes likely bloodshot underneath them obvious from the stumble in his walk. Your hair fans out behind you as you run, jumping with a shout onto your boyfriend. Who is more than ready to catch you. Hands splayed over the small of your back, while your legs wrap around his waist.

Giggling, even though nothing's really funny. Cold hands finding his cheeks as your hair creates a curtain on one side of his face. “My baby!” Speaking a bit too loud for how close you are, but he doesn't mind it. Especially since you're quick with covering his mouth with yours. The strong taste of alcohol hitting his tongue as if how drunk you were wasn't already obvious.

The kiss doesn't last long because you're being distracted by your thoughts, lips parting from his, you begin to bounce in his arms. Thighs brushing against his waist and the skirt of your dress riding up the swell of your ass. “Jimin said you got dressed up for me,” You're wearing this pretty smile on your face, cheeks tinted pink and he's not too convinced it's just from the alcohol.

He nods without a bit of hesitation because he had nothing to hide. Wouldn't even be stood here in this outfit if he didn't think you'd find him attractive in it. Another squeal is leaving your lips, legs leaving his body as you jump down out of his grasp. Taking a step back to fully take in his appearance.

“You look good enough to eat,” Moving in close to him, your arms lift to wrap around his neck. Tugging gently so his face is level with yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheek as you lean up to reach his ear. “We'll get to that later, though.” A gentle kiss pressed to the outside of it and you're sure you hear a moan leave his lips.

Not dwelling too much on the sound, you pull back, taking his hand in his, leading him into the kitchen where you swear you saw Jimin disappear. Probably in search of smoother drinks to accompany the numerous shots swimming in his stomach. Jimin was quite the drinker and a bit hard to keep up with, either way, you managed without falling over. That was definitely a plus.

Jungkook had been here an hour or two before you showed up. Found Taehyung in the crowd and Yoongi after that, the three of them spending time drinking and talking while he waited for you. Your friends were cool and he was enjoying the music and everything, but at the end of it, he was most looking forward to seeing you... even if he had been with you just the day before.

Shots were passed around and Yoongi had his mind set on getting absolutely trashed, him and everyone within a ten-foot radius. Which had him refilling every single empty glass in sight. Including Jungkook, despite the fact, he was on the far end of the couch. So yeah, not as drunk as you, but definitely heading in that direction.

Who cares, though? It was a party after all.

MAY 9TH, 2020 | 00:19

Sat up on the kitchen counter with Jungkook beside you, quietly sipping from his cup while you talk a mile a minute with the guys in the room. Taehyung has taken an interest in Jimin who has made it his entire business to play hard to get. The whole nine yards, honestly, not looking directly at him while he spoke, acting aloof when it was clear to any of your close friends that Tae was enjoying the undivided attention.

Yoongi had gone somewhere a good half hour ago, nothing but a brief mumble of his departure which was drowned out by the music. Hoseok was leaving a few moments after him, loudly declaring he wanted to go dance. Yet, you have yet to see the inevitable circle form around him.

That left Joon and Jin with you and Jungkook, the four of you laughing and talking loudly about something that you'd no doubt forget in the morning. Well, three of you... Jungkook only half listened, the rest of his attention on you. Hadn't taken his eyes off you since he was setting you down on the counter and it was getting a little hard to ignore his stare.

Jungkook was always obvious, hardly ever beat around the bush... especially when it had anything to do with you. So just one look in his direction and you could tell that he was undressing you with his eyes, playing a dirty movie in his mind where the two of you were the stars.

Normally, you'd tease him. Get him all riled up until he was whining, basically begging for some type of release. It was always fun to see how far you could push him, how much you could get away with before he was becoming a mess of himself. 

Strangely tonight, though, you didn't feel like teasing. Wanted him just as much as he wanted you, if not more. And with this liquid courage cruising through your veins, you didn't care if he knew it. You didn't care who knew it. Jin has sparked Joon's argumentative spirit, claiming he was right about something that Joon literally based his entire life on.

It's not often you get to see Joon get riled up, especially in the face of a stranger. But the oddly sexy vein popping out at the side of his neck is very low on your list of concerns. No, your focus is on Jungkook and how you can get him from this room to upstairs a little more private.

“Koo,” His head snaps in your direction in an instant at the sound of your voice, cloudy eyes taking in your outstretched arms. Instantly putting together that you were beckoning him toward you, he doesn't waste a moment to stand in front of you. Palms settling down against the tops of your thighs, the coldness of them forcing goosebumps to rise on your warm skin.

Long legs stretching out to wrap around his hips, pulling him closer. You always wanted him closer. Fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down closer to you. He kisses you immediately, hands wrapping around your thighs, using his grip to pull your body toward him. He's hard. Can feel it pressed right against your thigh, a curious hand dropping down his torso until you're able to reach him.

Jungkook flinches at the touch, hips jerking forward and teeth scraping against your lower lip. The subtle pain pulls a moan from your lips that's quickly muffled by the determined twist of his tongue. Hesitant fingers inch underneath the hem of your dress and then back down your thighs, up a little higher, and then back down. His fingers repeat their movement three times before you're pulling away from his lips.

“What are you doing?” Your words come out through a laugh, hands on either side of his face as you look down to watch his fingers on your skin. “I'm just checking...” All slurred and barely coherent, he's not looking at you instead he's tracking the movements of his fingers as if he was in the midst of creating a masterpiece on your legs.

You can't help the laugh that slips past your lips at his focus, fingers racking through his short hair. Pushing the fluffy strands out of the way so you can get a better peak at the look of concentration on his face. “Checking what?”

Dark eyes lift to find yours, teeth catching his lower lip as he searches your features. Looking for any hint that you were uncomfortable. That you wanted him to slow down. Something that you constantly caught him doing if the two of you were moving past a peck. It was sweet, nice of him to always be thinking of you. But it did make you feel fragile like you needed him to look out for you. Never did you like this feeling, but coming from him... it didn't feel so bad.

“How high up you'll let me go this time. Do you want me to stop?” There's a second question hidden in there. He wasn't just talking about his hands on his legs, but rather how far you were willing to go tonight. It's obvious because Jungkook was horrible at hiding what he was thinking, every thought written on his face at all times.

Which is why you're so quick to shake your head, using the hold you have around his waist to pull him further between his legs. His hardening length brushing against the crease of your thighs and you're humming at the feeling of warmth that spreads throughout your body. “Not yet. Keep going,”

That's all he needs to hear and it's like a switch has been flipped inside of him. Whatever restraint he had been using since you first jumped on him going out the window as his hands move higher up your legs, face nuzzling in the crook of your neck. His teeth catch your skin, blunt nails dragging their way to your ass and all you're left to do is whine and moan underneath him.

A hand running down the front of his pastel-colored pants to cover his crotch. Fingers flexing around his bulge, shamelessly palming him through his pants in the middle of Yoongi's kitchen. He's letting out a breathy groan, head falling back as his hips move in motion with your hand.

He looks so hot, it's almost unbelievable. Eyes squeeze shut, with his lower lip tucked between his teeth. Thick neck on full display, you can't help but lean up and kiss it. Sucking open-mouthed kisses into his skin, while your hand moves over him. 

“Fuck,” he groans, loud enough for just you to hear. The sound sending a pang of arousal pooling between your legs. “I want to fuck you so bad,” It's a drunken confession that he's barely aware of, his focus on his hands squeezing your ass over the fabric of your dress.

Leaning back enough so your eyes catch his, he's looking at you with such desire and want. A look that you're no stranger to, but it definitely has you feeling a little less out of control tonight. Tilting your head up, you press a soft kiss to his lips, pulling back just before his tongue is able to slither past your lips. 

“Wanna go upstairs?”

MAY 9TH, 2020 | 00:57

Jungkook takes two steps toward you the moment Yoongi's bedroom door is secured shut. Hands on either side of your face, holding your head steady as he goes in for a kiss. A sloppy rushed kiss that pulls deep groans from his lips. Fingers curling in your hair while his hand drops low on your waist, pulling your body into his.

He's spent long enough holding on to restraint, not wanting to tip the scale in either direction in hopes to keep you from pulling back. Only going as far as you'd let him, but now you were giving him the green light for more. And although, he wasn't sure how much more you were willing to give... he was going to enjoy all he was able to take.

His mouth falls from yours, fingers moving toward the neckline of your dress. The same tiny dress you deemed too tight to wear anything underneath, besides the lace thong that does nothing but look pretty against your skin. With a fluid motion of his hands, your tits are spilling out the top of your dress, nipples peaking from the cool air circulating around the room.

His cock stiffens in his pants at the sight. Trying not to be obvious with the way the sight of your bare chest makes him drool. This was so far from being the first time he's seen boobs, but this was the first time he was seeing yours and that felt like the first time ever. He didn't know what to do with himself. Brain working overtime trying to figure out where to start. He wanted all of you, that much wasn't a secret. But he knew that he had to be careful, this was a privilege of course. A rarity. One wrong move and he fuck it all up for himself. 

The blank stare on his face does nothing for the pounding in your chest. Wishing that he'd just say something instead of staring the way he was. Not even looking directly at you. Did he think they were weird? Were you doing too much? Should you cover up?

Two strong hands wrap around your thighs, lifting your body off of the ground. Finally, finally looking up at you with those dark brown eyes of his. So easy to read, so filled with lust. For you. Long strides taken across the room and before you know it, your body is being surrounded by fluffy sheets and the smell of Yoongi.

“You're so perfect,” He sounds like he's in disbelief, shaking his head at his own words as he climbs onto the bed with you. Your head trapped on either side of his arms, hips pressed flush together. He fit so well between your legs.

Warm lips meet yours, tasting heavily of alcohol and his fruity lip balm. He's swallowing the moan that falls from your lips, tongue pushing against yours as his hips move in a slow rut. Kissing you breathless with his hand wrapped around one of your breasts, thumb flicking against your nipple. So easily pulling moans and whines from your lips with a simple flex of his muscles. “I can't believe I'm with you,” His words murmured against your lips, but your heart is standing at full attention, ready to swell in his favor.

Pulling back only to leave a trail of wet kisses down the length of his neck, mapping his way to your breasts. A breathy cry of his name falls from your lips when his teeth scrape against the hardened nub. Chuckling soft, his eyes lift to meet yours as he wraps his lips around it. Tongue moving just as it had been inside your mouth and you can't help but wonder how it'd feel in other places too.

Always ten steps ahead of you, Jungkook's hand outlines the curve of your breasts all the way down to the dip of your waist, passing your hips until the tips of his fingers catch the hem of your skirt.

He pulls off your chest with a pop, a thin line of spit connecting his lower lip to your skin. His tongue juts out to break it while his gaze lowers to watch himself reveal more and more of your skin with each movement of his hand. It's not long until your entire dress is bunched up at your waist, the maroon thong you had shimmied into on full display for his greedy eyes.

The growing wet patch between your legs is all he can seem to focus on. Jungkook startles you with his quickness, head dropping between your legs in an instant. Arms looping around your thighs to hold them apart, nose nudging against your covered clit as his tongue flattens against your slit.

“Holy fuck!” It's like someone has lit your entire body on fire. Back arched off the bed and toes pressed against the sheets. He's letting out a laugh, the prettiest sound you've ever heard paired with that toothy grin of his. Three gentle kisses are placed right on top where his tongue just had been.

Reaching down to find his soft head of hair, you gently drag his face up away from your sensitive pussy. His nose bumping against yours and his stiff cock resting just above your clit. Much harder than before and you can only guess why. Yet, despite his obvious arousal and his desperate want to continue, he's still able to compose himself enough to ask.

Pressing the softest of kisses to your lips, fingers pushing strands of your hair out of the way. “Keep going?” Silently hoping that you answer in his favor. Pretty much over the moon when you're nodding, hips lifting to meet his. It's his turn to curse, teeth cutting into his lip to keep from being too loud.

Kind of hard with the way you were grinding against him. Even through your useless panties, his boxers, and pants, he could feel you. How warm you were, wet too. So sure that his fingers would slip right in. How many would you actually be able to take? Just one? Two? Maybe three?

Had to be at least three if you expected to take his dick after. Never one to brag, but Jungkook was a decent size. Thick in the places that it mattered most, long enough to boost his confidence. Definitely took pride in the way your eyes would go wide when seeing it. Were you thinking about it too? Him fucking you.

“Yn, fuck.” He's hissing through clenched teeth, only now noticing the work you've done at the front of his pants. Buttons undone and fly wide open, your warm hand down the front of his briefs to fish out his throbbing length. It only grows harder in your soft grip, twitching at the brush of cool air.

It takes two of your small hands to cover him, the pink mushroom tip peaking out from your closed fists. Hands twisting in opposite directions and he doesn't even hesitate to fuck into the hole you've created. Eyes fluttering as breathy moans fall from his lips, heavy balls slapping against your covered pussy.

Jungkook's got a firm grip on your breast, the other hand clutching the bunched up fabric of your dress. Head bowed as he watches his cock disappear and reappear between your hands. He has no shame in the fact he's imagining it's you he's fucking. That he's being squeezed by the tightness of your walls. Imagining that you're reaching your limit too, instead of him selfishly getting his release. Every single time.

He loses it when you're sitting up, spitting into the palm of your hand to create a much wetter slip for his cock. Hands tightening around him and moving at a much faster pace. He's gasping and groaning, fucking forward as if he's buried inside of you. And you're close too, it makes him feel a lot better about the loud way he spills his load onto your stomach.

Warm and sticky against your clammy skin, you're lifting a hand off of him to dip your fingers into the mess. He watches the way you drag through it, bringing your index finger up to your mouth. “Oh, God.” He groans, earning a pretty giggle from you. His mouth is on yours again within an instant, fingers tangling in your hair as his tongue rolls around the inside of your mouth.

Tasting himself on your tongue and that just makes him want you more. “Please let me taste you.” His eyes still feel heavy and his body too, but that's the least bit of his concern. He wants to make you feel good. It's only fair, with the way you're constantly catering to him. You deserved it. “Please,”

Not even worried about sounding desperate or even whiny, he just wants you. He wants you to want him. And you do. Have wanted him since the first time you met him if you're honest. Tonight all of that was only amplified, a mixture of the alcohol and the realization of how quickly you had fallen for him.

Didn't even realize it was happening until it was done. Jungkook was quickly becoming it for you. Not a day went by where he wasn't on your mind, yearning to see him, to talk to him, to kiss him. Needy in ways that were nearly foreign to you. Always so good at keeping it together, but when it came to him you just couldn't.

And you didn't really want to either.

“Okay,” His face breaks into this huge smile and you can't help the laugh that falls from your lips. “Okay?” He has to check, make sure that he's hearing you right. And when the sound of your laugh fills his ears, followed by another confirmation he's almost ready to jump for joy.

Springing up, he's shrugging his shirt off. Wiping the drying cum from your stomach as a true gentleman would. Tossing the dirty fabric to the side, he's shifting to lay on his back before you're stopping him. “Take this one off too,” Reaching for the sleeve of his undershirt and he doesn't waste a moment before tugging it over his head and tossing it to the side.

He's moving to lay on his back before you're allowed the proper time to admire his well worked on chest. The ripples in his stomach that can only be accomplished with hours upon hours in the gym. His head lifts to find you sat up in the same spot, this quizzical look on his face which you return with a laugh.

“Come sit on my face,” He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, reaching out for your wrist, to gently drag you toward him. Your eyes are saucers, cheeks flushed at the thought of being sat up on him like that. “Why?” It's obvious to the both of you why, but you wait for his answer anyway.

His shoulders lift in a slight shrug, lips stretching into a slow sexy smile. “I've always wanted you to sit on my face,” He's so calm about it too as if he didn't just admit to the dirty secret thoughts that bounce around his head when the two of you are alone. You're so inclined to give this man whatever he wants that you don't bother to fight it anymore, simply lifting yourself up to stand over his head.

Taking in the way he's smiling up at you like a kid on Christmas, arms looped around your legs to help you lower yourself onto him. The tips of his fingers latch onto the waistband of your panties, tugging them far enough down your legs so he's getting a good look at your bare pussy.

Lips glistening with your arousal, slightly puffy from the bit of stimulation. There's a small patch a hair above it, trimmed into a neat triangle. Almost like an arrow saying: Jungkook's mouth goes here. And he's forever one to follow a sign. With his arms looped around your thighs, he's lowering you comfortably over him. He lands an open-mouthed kiss on your clit, using the grip he holds on your thighs to hold your body still.

Gasping, your hips jerk, body lunging forward to brace yourself on his stomach. “Fucking cute,” He murmurs into your pussy, head tilting to the side so his tongue can reach deeper inside of you. Paying close attention to the sounds of your whines to make sure that you're enjoying yourself just as much as he was.

Much sweeter than he had thought, arousal dripping down the sides of his lips. You've got a tight grip in his hair, hips moving in stuttered thrusts against his mouth. A hand pressed onto his stomach, nails scraping against the skin. He's cautious with introducing his fingers to the mix, teasing your hole slowly before he's pushing one in. Cock stiffening at the loud wail that leaves your lips, legs spreading wider for him.

It's never felt this good. Not when you're alone with your own hand down there. His is much longer, thicker. Reaching deeper inside than you ever could. With lips latched around your clit and a single finger fucking inside of you, Jungkook's pretty sure he's died and gone to heaven. The sounds of your moans being the welcome bell.

His tongue moving around your clit in quick circles and he swears he feels your walls clench around his fingers. So wound up, it's not long before you're nearing your end. And he takes the chance by pushing another finger alongside the first one, much tighter and harder to move but the sound that leaves your lips eggs him on.

“Shit, baby...” He pants against you, the warmth of your hand around his shaft making him lose focus. You stroke him lazily, barely able to keep your head up with the way he's making you feel. But you manage, tongue poking out to roll against the tip. His whines vibrate against your pussy and throughout your entire body, forcing an involuntary roll of your hips.

Fingers plunging deeper inside of you as his hips lift, cock brushing against your lips at the same time he's curling his fingers. Pressing against the rough patch that has you spiraling out of control, hips bucking against his face and grip tightening in his hair. “Jungkook, fuck! I'm...” Pretty much delirious at this point because he has no interest in letting up, determined to knock you over the edge if it's the last thing he does.

A string of curses leaves your lips. Sloppy kisses landing on his length, a failed attempt to muffle them. All at once you're feeling pressure build and snap in the pit of your stomach, a wave of heat washing over you. Your legs shake on either side of his head, loud cries of his name and incoherent sentences falling from your lips.

Jungkook holds you steady through all of it, the movement of his tongue slowly as you come down. Lips puckering to plant a gentle kiss to your lips, just as your body is falling limp against his. Slowly pulling his fingers from inside of you, he doesn't waste a moment with sucking your juices from them, humming contently at the taste.

“So sweet,”

Shifting in his hold, you move to sit on his lap. His nose, mouth, and chin are shiny with your arousal, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded, hair a knotted mess. He looks absolutely fucked out and it's so hot. Lowering yourself, your mouth is finding his, tongue plunging into his mouth as you lower your body. The tip of his cock nudging against your clit, forcing a moan from your lips.

All it would take is a certain angle of your hips and he'd be sinking inside of you. Stealing away your virginity with a single thrust of his hips. You wanted that so bad. With him. Only him. “Jungkook.” Sighing his name out, his cock twitches between your legs. And from the way his eyes go wide, you can tell he's just noticed how close you actually were. 

“I want you to fuck me. Please, Kookie,” There's slight whine in your voice, but you don't care how desperate you sound. You've never wanted something this bad. Felt it in your chest, your stomach, your core. You wanted him.

He doesn't say anything for a while, eyes scanning over your features for a little longer than you'd like. Before he's letting out a soft sigh, his hand reaching up to push his hair back on his head. Sitting up with you in his lap, his hand lifting to wipe at the wetness around his lips. “Fuck, princess. Not tonight. Not yet,” Two large hands set on your shoulders, he's offering up an apologetic smile.

A pout is already forming on your lips. You can't help it, your brows just seem to automatically furrow and your lip pushes out. “Why not?” His hand is lifting to pat your hair, head tilting up to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Because, when I fuck you... I'm gonna fuck you.” You'd think he was explaining the cuteness of puppies with the way he was looking at you. The tone he was using. “And you've been drinking. I need to make sure you remember every second,” His fingers rub against your scalp lightly before he's going in for another kiss.

Not even a moment is granted for the sting of rejection to settle in. The moment he's pulling away and gently nudging you off of his lap to redress, there's a loud knock on the door and you're becoming all too aware of the party that was still going on downstairs. A loud crash follows the knock and you can hear shouts from two very familiar voices.

And then another, much harder knock. Joon's voice sounding from the other side. Hurriedly explaining all the commotion going on downstairs. 

“Hoseok and Yoongi are fighting!”

— known for your body and surrounded by rumors about your sex life… rumors that he doesn’t think to doubt. until he’s meeting you… forced to realize there’s much more to you then the thonged shorts and lacy costumes.

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A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. if u want to be added to the tag list, send me an ask! + if you’ve asked to be on my permanent taglist, you do not need to ask to be added to this one !!

[wdwmarveldisney]

Practice?

Hermione Granger x reader

Summary: Hermione’s so glad she accidentally dropped that quill.

Masterlist

A/N: Ok so I’m in love with Hermione Granger and I want this to happen. Literally just need this.

GIF isn’t mine

Hermione prided herself on how in most situations, she could keep a clear mind. Fighting death eaters, she could do it. An apparent mass murderer who's out to kill her friend, sure, she's got it. But the one thing that could get her tongue tied and make her mind go blank wasn't really a thing. It was a person and that person was you. She spent a good majority of her time staring at you, whether to be in class or the great hall or the library or by the black lake. She's never really had a crush before, not like this and it's stressing her out more than her OWLs did. Ron and Harry would not stop teasing her for it but they always tried to help her build the courage to go and ask you out. And she did want to, she really really did want to but Hermione wasn't even able to form a coherent word within a ten mile radius of you!

Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration but you get the point. It was hopeless. Forever and always. So right now, Hermione marched out of the library and made her way to the common room. She had sat a few tables away from you, glancing at you every few seconds. You made it impossible to do focus on her homework as you read. Your eyes ran across the page hungrily as you bit your nails and tapped your foot and bit your lip. Just the image of you was enough to drive her mad. Hand running through her hair, she tried real hard to calm her blushing face when it happened.

She was walking down the hall, trying to calm her normal teenager hormones when she heard a call from behind her. She stopped dead in her tracks at the voice, "Hey Hermione, I think you may have dropped this," her heart stopped and her tongue darted over her lips as she spun round to see you a little way away, smile on your lips. Unable to talk, her mouth opened and closed before she finally gave up and thanked you with a slight nod as she took the quill in your hands. "You okay there? Did one of the ghosts just walk through the wall behind me?" You turned to look and Hermione was stunned at how beautiful you somehow made it look. You faced her again, nervous laugh leaving your lips, "Hate it when that happens. Still scares me, probably ridiculous-"

"No!" She exclaimed, hands being thrown out, and your eyes widened. Cringing at how loud she was, she began again with a sigh, "No, not ridiculous. I mean, it's kinda weird, the whole ghost thing," she forced down a small giggle at the way your face lit up in appreciation. You pointed to her, a smile breaking out on your face as you nodded, "Right? Sometimes I feel so muggle here, you know? Half these people grew up with wizard relatives, so freaky knowing nothing," Hermione nodded along, clutching the books to her chest impossibly tight and she nervously adjusted the strap of her satchel for the fifth time. Why was she was sweating so much? It was the middle of winter for crying out loud. Shaking out one of her hands, Hermione hummed in agreement, managing a small stuttered, "Right," that makes you smile wider.

You shoved your hands into your pockets, expression suddenly one more of worry that scared Hermione. Why were you worried? What could put you on edge? She watched as you but your lip in debate before shaking your head and meeting her eyes, "Would you want to get a butterbeer sometime? I mean as friends if you want to but I was thinking of more of a date like thing maybe? Totally get it if you don't want to," she stared, mouth agape at your nervous ramble before her brain finally started to work once more and she realised she hadn't your question. You stood patiently, watching her reaction with a slight crease in her brow and Hermione smiled to herself. Nodding slowly, she watched the relief flood your face, "Um, yeah, no yeah that's be great. I'd love that," she noticed how your eyes flickered down to where she was playing the books in her arms out of anxiety and you smirked. Taking a few cautious steps forward, you nodded to her panicked fidgets with this glint of mischief in your eyes, "Didn't know you could get unnerved. Kinda always saw you as this untouchable figure. Honestly, I'm sort of proud that I can do that,"

"Yeah, um, I don't get crushes often and I've never really been on that many dates. I went with Krum to the Yule ball but that's about it and I know it's embarrassing but-"

"No it's not," her head shot up at your voice, filled such confidence she could only dream to have in this situation. You had a smile on your face that she made her knees weak and your stare sent a shiver down her spine and caused butterflies to erupt in her stomach. "I feel quite important and shocked. Definitely shocked," her jaw dropped as her mind scrambled for any words that would successfully convey she thought, "But you're you, how could be- I don't get how you, you, are shocked that I wa- Is there something wrong with the universe?" You laughed as she blushed, a hand running through her untameable hair. You listened to her nervous and hesitant chuckle and watched as she pulled the books away from her chest to read over the titles. Taking just a few more steps forward, you placed yourself right in front of her. When she looked up, your eyes met hers once more and both of you had giddy grins on your lips, sighs of relief escaping both of your lips, "I'm, you seriously think about like that? Because that's exactly how I think about you,"

You watched her scoff at the words, "I'm nothing like you, you're perfect. Everyone knows," you shook your head and almost laughed at the look on her face, complete awe. Hermione's eyes went wide at the amusement in your eyes that mixed with what looked a lot like disbelief, "I'm far from perfect, I'm human for starters," you both let out breathy laughs and Hermione could literally feel her heart stop as the sound of your joy echoed in her ears. "So that date?" You ask and Hermione begins to nod frantically making you giggle. "Saturday is the Hogsmeade trip, how about then?" Once again Hermione began to nod, afraid that if she spoke it wouldn't be coherent. Not that that was unusual around you. Her cheeks flushed at the way you grinned at her nervous self and she was quick to give the best verbal response that she could manage, "I mean, yeah, cool, nice,"

"Cool," you mumbled and the two of you just stand there grinning at each other for a few beats. Finally snapping out of it, she pointed over her shoulder which seemed to break you out of your slight daze. Looking upset at the thumb she had aimed at the corridor behind her, you poured as she spoke, "Um, I should probably go," Hermione watched you nod, scuffing your shoe on the floor. You looked so cute that Hermione was scared that she might explode. "Me too," you paused slightly and Hermione took that as a chance to leave, muttering a farewell as you just stood there, "Or, you know, we could go to the kitchens. Maybe have a little pre date thing, you know to like practice,"

“Practice?”

“Yeah, practice,” you mumbled, blushing furiously as she laughed quietly to herself. Slowly she nodded, making her way towards to you. “Sure. For practice,”

[spencersstrawberryjello]

Revelations (Spencer Reid x fem!MC)

Summary: SPOILERS FOR SEASON TWO As everything goes down with Tobias Hankel, Aria and the BAU have to find him before it’s too late. Once they do, Aria takes Spencer home and comforts him. 

Content: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Descriptions of torture and violence (all related to Reid’s abduction in season two), swearing, kidnapping and emotional turmoil

MC’s name and pronouns: Aria (are-ee-ah) Glenn, she/her

Word Count: 5024 (it’s a long one folks so buckle up - it ended up being almost ten full pages lmao)

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“Hey,” I looked up from my phone to see Emily standing in the doorway. “Can I sit?”

I gestured to the space on the bed beside me, in the small house that made me nauseous. Thinking about the fact that the bed I was sitting on right now belonged to the man who had kidnapped Spencer made me want to both punch something and throw up. Emily came and sat beside me, turning to face me as I did the same. Her voice was soft when she spoke, studying my face. 

“How are you doing?” She asked. It was a question she already knew the answer to, and I scoffed.

“We’re both profilers, Prentiss. You tell me; how do you think I’m doing?” I snapped. Immediately afterwards, guilt flared through my chest, and I sighed, shaking my head. “I’m sorry. It’s just - well, you know. I don’t think any of us are in a good state of mind right now.”

I dropped my gaze back to my hands, resting in my lap. She took them, directing my attention back to her as she spoke. 

“Glenn. We all care about Reid, and we’re all doing everything we possibly can to get him back. But I know that your relationship with him is… different. You kind of disappeared earlier, I just wanted to check on you.”

“I just couldn’t watch that anymore,” My chest tightened just thinking about the sight of Spencer, tied to a chair, being forced to decide who lives and who dies. He looked so broken -

I forced myself away from that train of thought, taking my hands out of Emily’s to press them to my eyes in an attempt to ward away the tears I felt rising again. 

I’ve cried so much in the past two days I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to again. 

“I understand,” She moved my hands so I’d look into her eyes again. “I just wanted you to know we’re all here for you, ok? We’re all in this together, we’re all worried about him. You’re not alone in what you’re feeling.”

I nodded, and she pulled me into a tight hug, one I returned gratefully. The moment was interrupted by Derek flying into the room, with a statement that made my heart drop. 

“The live feed is back on,” He announced, clearly intending for Emily and I to come with him. I knew that watching the videos was the best way for us to figure out where the hell this guy took Spencer, but the idea of seeing him in that cabin again made me want to throw up. I immediately started to shake my head, a childlike reflex to the statement. 

“No. No, I can’t, I -” I wanted nothing more than to be curled up in his arms right now. 

This all felt like one massive nightmare. I wished I could just wake up, scared before I realized he was safe in his apartment, laying in bed with me. I would turn over and press a quick kiss to his lips, not enough to wake him up but enough that I could appreciate his presence even more after imagining the worst possibility, before burying myself back in the warmth of his embrace…  

“Aria. Hey,” Emily had her hand on my arm, pulling me out of my fantasy. My mind had started to take over, to take me into a daydream that was safer than the turmoil that had become our reality. “I know this is hard. But the more people we have working on this, the better the odds of us finding him are.”

“I hate to say it, but you guys need to hurry. We have no idea how long he’s going to be live.”

I felt like I was going to pass out when I stood up, making my way into the computer room that had become Garcia’s base for the past two days. My attention focused immediately on the screen displaying the live feed of Spencer. Emily was still standing next to me, and she reached out, giving my arm a quick squeeze to make sure I knew she was right there. I nodded my appreciation, but I couldn’t break my eyes away from the video.

He looked exhausted. Exhausted, and in pain, physically and mentally. 

I didn’t know how much more of this he could handle. 

“This ends now.” Charles Hankel’s voice was one I knew would be at the center of my nightmares for years to come; and if that was how I felt, I couldn’t imagine what Spencer was feeling right now. I didn’t think I wanted to. “Confess your sins.”

I dug my nails into my palms, trying to steady my breathing. I could tell Spencer was trying not to cry, and for a moment I thought Charles wasn’t going to do anything before he moved closer to the chair, punching him hard in the face. A sob escaped my lips, and I clamped my hand over my mouth, trying to silence myself as I watched him beat him, over and over, demanding he confess to the sins he hasn’t committed.

I looked around the room, and I knew we were all feeling a very similar set of emotions right now. It’s just a matter of what was the strongest. Garcia was trembling from her seat in front of the computers. Derek looked like he was going to genuinely kill somebody, and JJ looked like she was going to be sick. Hotch and Gideon were watching with nothing but fatherly worry, and even Emily looked like she couldn’t breathe.

“Tobias, help me,” His voice was so quiet we could hardly hear it through the camera speaker, Spencer begging for some kind of rescue. He was crying openly now, and I knew that I was silently doing the same as Charles hit him again before pushing the chair backwards, causing Spencer to fall to the ground. 

At first I thought he’d passed out. But then I noticed him convulsing. 

“Oh my god,” Garcia was the first one to say something, her voice breaking as we watched Spencer gasping for air, unable to do anything but observe from the other side of a screen, “He’s killing him.”

I felt myself starting to spiral again, unable to even speak, wanting so badly to leave but knowing I’d never forgive myself if I did. So I stood there and watched the man I love thrash on the ground while Charles Hankel just stood over him, watching him die without even blinking. It wasn’t until Spencer stopped moving that he spoke. 

“That’s the devil vacating your body.” 

Spencer wasn’t moving.

Spencer Reid was dead. 

He was lying dead on the floor in a cabin in the middle of who-the-fuck knows where and there was absolutely nothing I could do to help him. 

Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. 

“No…” Was all I was able to say. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the image of Spencer’s body on the floor, still tied to that chair, abandoned as Charles Hankel left the room, leaving the camera still rolling. Gideon stormed out of the room - I thought I heard the bathroom door slam - and everyone immediately jumped into action, leaving Garcia and I alone staring at the unchanging computer screen.

“Come on baby, wake up. Please, for the love of god, please wake up.”

It felt like my mind was speedrunning the five stages of grief as I muttered under my breath, begging to a man who couldn’t even hear me. Who had no control over whether he lived or died. 

Garcia hadn’t moved either, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she stared at the screen. I moved over to her, grabbing her hand in mine, both of us trying desperately to comfort each other after the scene we just witnessed, unable to process what happened enough to even speak. After a moment, Hotch came back into the room, opening his mouth to say something to Penelope when something finally changed on the video in front of us. 

Charles Hankel had come back into the room.

Except it wasn’t Charles this time, it was Tobias, running over to Spencer’s body and immediately starting CPR in an attempt to save his life. Hotch called everyone back into the room, all of us gathered around the screen. After what felt like years, we heard it.

Spencer finally coughed. 

He woke up, and I thought I was going to cry from relief. I might’ve actually been crying; honestly I’d spent most of the last two days in a constant state of either crying or about-to-be crying, so it wouldn’t have come as much surprise. Everyone let out varying gasps of relief before getting to work again, deducing that Hankel would have to be within a 17-mile radius of the crime scene to have killed those people and then uploaded the video in the time frame that he did. Hotch was about to leave before we noticed Hankel’s demeanor change yet again as he stood over Spencer, who was still stuck on the floor. 

“You came back to life.” 

“Raphael.” 

“There can be only one of two reasons.”

“I was given CPR.”

“There are no accidents.”

Whatever momentary relief I got from seeing Spencer alive faded the moment Raphael began to ask questions. 

Questions about us. 

“He thinks it’s Revelation,” Hotch stated, concern filling his usually even tone. “The 7 Archangels versus the 7 Angels of Death.”

“Tell me who you serve.”

“I serve you.”

“Then choose one to die.”

My hand flew back up to my mouth as I processed the command, watching Spencer’s face crumble with the realization as well. 

“Kill me.” The words made my heart break, and I found myself desperately fighting the edge of tears, yet again. 

Damn, I really hated having emotions.

“Tell me who dies.”

“No.”

Raphael reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a revolver and pointing it straight at Spencer’s forehead. It was a game of Russian Roulette, and I genuinely thought I might puke from the omnipresent anxiety making my knees weak. 

“I can’t -” I broke, turning away from the screen and into Derek’s arms as he pulled me into a hug. I hated not watching, but it was more than I could bear. It was all I could do just to listen as Spencer denied his request over and over again, each time the click of the trigger bringing him closer and closer to a bullet in the brain. 

“I choose… Aaron Hotchner.”

The sentence made me snap my gaze back to the screen, not breaking the hug but watching attentively as Spencer quoted a Bible verse. Hotch, however, left the room as soon as Spencer had finished speaking, everyone trailing out into the main room after him. 

“Hey, he’s alive. He’s alive,” Derek comforted me as everyone followed Hotch.

It’s truly a sign of how fucked up the situation is when the only comfort is that he hasn’t died yet.

Or at least, not permanently. 

I nodded, and broke the hug, following after everyone who had already found Hotch again. He was holding a Bible, quickly explaining that Spencer misquoted the verse. 

Misquoted the verse on purpose.

We’d found him.

We piled into the cars, my heart racing a mile a minute as we sped down the abandoned country roads, pulling up to an empty plantation, with nothing but trees in sight for miles aside from a small cabin and a cemetery surrounding it. 

We checked the cabin first.

Clear.

It wasn’t until we started making our way across the grounds that we heard it. 

A gunshot. 

“Oh god please don’t let that have been for Reid,” JJ echoed exactly what the rest of us were thinking. We followed the sound, Hotch calling out his name as we ran towards it. Finally, we saw him, hunched over the dying body of Tobias Hankel. 

Hotch took off in a sprint, approaching Spencer first, placing a gentle hand on his arm before Spencer pulled him into a tearful hug. He did the same to JJ, until I finally moved into view. 

He looked like he’d been to hell and back. He could hardly support his own weight, he was sweating, bruised, and there was an open wound on his forehead. But I’d never been happier to see him. 

I wasted no time pulling him into a hug, finally not trying to keep the tears at bay. For a moment, neither of us said anything, we just held each other, both of us crying in the cold night air. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” I finally said, pulling back from the hug to look at his eyes. A small smile came over his face, and I’d never seen anything more beautiful. He was still crying, and I brought my hands up to cup his face, wiping the tears from his cheeks. He was very clearly out of it, and I guided him to put his arm around my shoulders, helping him walk back to the cars, whispering reassurances the entire way there. 

“Wait!” He protested, “I have to do something first.”

He turned back towards Tobias’ body, and I let him go, giving him a moment to do whatever it was he needed as he limped over to the corpse. I turned back to the team, noticing Hotch looking at me with curiosity. Seeing as the only person who knows about Spencer and I’s relationship was Emily, it didn’t really come as a shock that I’d be getting strange looks. But honestly, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

“He’s probably going to need to go to a hospital,” Hotch said. We nodded our agreement, knowing there was an ambulance waiting back at Tobias Hankel’s house. 

Spencer rejoined the group, and I helped him the rest of the way back to the car. I wanted nothing more than to hold him in the backseat, but there wasn’t enough space and I didn’t want to draw more suspicion by asking JJ to move. So I climbed into the front seat next to Derek, who was driving. He shot me a look, and I just shrugged, not confirming or denying anything. 

The drive back felt significantly shorter now that he was safe with us, and when we got back, we followed the ambulance to the hospital. Despite the fact that they definitely didn’t need an 8-person FBI escort to take Spencer into the hospital, Gideon didn’t even ask us whether or not we wanted to go. It was just assumed. 

We’d gathered in the waiting room, everyone waiting to hear the extent of what that monster put him through. I was sitting in the chair closest to the hall, and immediately sprang to my feet when I saw the doctor round the corner. 

“What all did he do to him?” I demanded. 

“He had a pretty nasty gash on his forehead that we had to stitch up,” He started, “And his face is pretty bruised. Same with the bottom of his left foot. It’s a miracle it wasn’t broken.”

We nodded along to him speaking, and he paused for a second before revealing the worst detail.

“We also found a series of needle marks on his right arm. Traces of Dilaudid were still in his system.”

We’d assumed they’d drugged him - he wouldn’t have seized the way he did if they hadn’t, not to mention that JJ found records of Tobias Hankel’s addiction to narcotics - but hearing confirmation made my chest tight. 

“What does that mean for him?” Hotch asked. 

“Well, Dilaudid is addictive. It’s a narcotic painkiller; you’ll want to keep an eye on him in the next couple of weeks and note any strange behaviors you might see him exhibiting.”

We all nodded our understanding, and the doctor wrapped up what he was saying.

“Other than that, he just needs rest. We gave him water and something to eat, so honestly the best thing for him right now is to go home, get a shower and get some sleep. He might have some trouble putting a lot of weight on his right foot, but there’s not really anything we can do for that because it isn’t actually broken, just badly bruised. We’re going to send him home with crutches, but someone might want to stay with him for tonight, if one of you is comfortable with that.”

“I’ll stay with him,” I offered before anyone else could open their mouths. Emily’s eyes snapped to mine, and I cleared my throat, trying not to sound too eager, “If he’s ok with that, of course. I’ll have to ask him.”

The doctor just nodded. “Sounds good. Whoever is in charge here can see the front desk for further information.”

Gideon started towards the front desk, gesturing for Hotch to follow him as they went to talk to some people, leaving me standing in front of Garcia, Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ, all of whom were looking at me with varying looks of suspicion. Except Emily, who just looked vaguely amused.

“Anything you want to talk to us about, Glenn?” JJ asked. 

“Nothing at all,” I denied, trying to fight the small smile on my face. I could tell just by looking at them that they all knew, at this point it was hard not to at least assume. Not to mention they were all experts in human behavior - let’s just say it was hard to hide things from them. But JJ just shook her head with a shallow laugh, returning to her seat. However, she quickly stood back up when Spencer came around the corner, supporting his weight with a pair of plain gray crutches. 

“Spence,” She immediately crossed the room to him, looking him over with concern, “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” He offered her a small smile, but it wasn’t real. We all knew it, and she pulled

him into a hug, being careful not to make him fall. 

“I should’ve never let you go off on your own. I’m so sorry -” She started to apologize, but he cut her off. 

“JJ, stop. It’s not your fault; splitting up was my idea. No one had any way of knowing what was going to happen. I mean, there was a 50-50 shot that either of us could’ve run into him, we had no evidence he’d even left the barn at all.”

She let out a shaky breath, nodding. “I’m just glad you’re ok.”

“Me too.”

“We’re going to go back to the BAU so everyone can get their cars.”

He nodded his understanding, and he gave everyone a hug before Hotch and Gideon came back from the front desk. As much as he tried to appear normal, the events of the past two days hung heavy in the air. And we only knew what we saw on the videos, we had no idea the extent of what he’d gone through. I don’t know if we ever would. 

Even just the fact that he was hugging people was a testament to the way he was feeling. He usually didn’t even like to shake hands, but he was clinging to our friends like they were the only thing keeping him grounded. 

Hotch and Gideon rounded the corner, Hotch’s face softening the moment he saw Spencer, pulling him into another hug. 

“Alright, let’s get back to the BAU so you can go home and get some rest,” Gideon said. Spencer nodded, all of us piling back into the two vans we’d taken to Tobias Hankel’s house. JJ shot me a look before climbing into the passenger seat, allowing me to take her place in the back with Spencer, sitting shoulder to shoulder in the car. Once we started driving, I turned and whispered to him. 

“I wanted to come back home with you. Is that ok?” I asked. He gave me a small nod, and I smiled, giving his arm a squeeze. I desperately wanted to press a soft kiss to his lips, but I had already been way too physically affectionate with him today for us being at work. 

We all went our separate ways, though it was clear that everyone was reluctant to let Spencer out of their sight again. I reminded them I’d be with him, and promised that I’d update them once he fell asleep so they knew everyone was ok. It might’ve been selfish of me, but I was excited to be alone with him. I just wanted to be able to comfort him without having to worry about if everyone thought we were dating. 

To be fair, we technically weren’t dating. We’d never really defined the relationship.

We elected to take my car, since I was going to be driving. The more time we spent away from the group, the more I saw Spencer retreating. We walked to the car in silence, and he climbed in the passenger seat, zoning out staring through the windshield.

I reached over and gave his hand a light squeeze.

“I love you babe. Don’t know what I’d do without you,” I told him. He didn’t move his gaze, just squeezed my hand back in response before allowing me to return both hands to the wheel. We drove the rest of the way home with no sound but the radio turned down to a low volume. When I finally pulled into the parking lot for his apartment complex, he didn’t even blink. I turned the car off, going around to the other side to help him out of the car and into his apartment.

“Do you want me to get you something to eat? Or some water?” I offered as I unlocked the front door. He just shook his head.

“I just want to go to sleep.”

“You need to shower, Spencer.”

He nodded again, allowing me to lead him to the bathroom. 

“Do you think you can stand? Or do you want me to draw you a bath?” I asked. 

“Bath would be better,” He said, propping his crutches up against the sink. I knew he hadn’t broken his foot, but he still winced as he put more of his weight on it so that he could pull off his sweater and begin to unbutton the shirt he had on underneath it. 

“You’re ok with me being in here?” I had assumed he would be, but I wanted to clarify as he finished unbuttoning his shirt, slipping it off. He just nodded, starting to undo his pants as I filled the bath with warm water. I shut the water off when it was filled enough that he could sit comfortably in it, and I held his arm, helping him sink into the warm water. 

“Do you want my help babe?” I asked. He nodded again, still not speaking. I didn’t try to press him with any conversation, I just slipped out of my work clothes and slid into the bath next to him, grabbing the washcloth from the side of the bathtub and dipping it in the warm water, lathering up the soap and starting to gently wash along his shoulders, scrubbing away the dirt and grime. He winced when I got to his wrists, and I noticed that the skin was rubbed raw, red from where he’d been restrained. I drew in a shaky breath, unsure of whether or not I was going to cry or punch someone. Instead, I just planted a soft kiss on his lips before washing down the rest of his body. 

I put the washcloth away and moved on to his hair, moving so that my chest was pressed to his back. I lathered the shampoo through his hair, and he sunk back against me, his eyes closing from the gentle touch. 

“You’re safe with me, baby. I’ve got you,” I whispered reassurances in his ear, trying to help him relax as I finished cleaning him up. “How’s your head?”

My eyes had flashed up to the bandaged gash on his forehead, and I reached one hand up to gently brush his hair back away from it. He had opened his eyes now, just staring at the water, not really here. His voice was barely above a whisper, and it broke my heart. 

“It hurts,” He murmured.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” I said, holding him closer to me as if it could somehow soothe his pain, both physically and mentally. “I am so, so sorry that this happened to you. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

“Didn’t I?”

The question took me by surprise, and I didn’t even have a chance to protest before he elaborated.

“I abandoned my mother. I could’ve helped her - I mean, I could’ve learned to help her. Instead I sent her away… he told me to confess my sins. And when I thought of my sins, all I could see was her face. I left her, Aria.”

“Spencer. Look at me.” I lightly put my hand under his chin, guiding him to meet my eyes. “Your mother needed help from a medical professional, someone who was specialized in understanding her condition. You didn’t abandon her - Spencer, you helped her. It’s not a sin to get someone the help that they need.”

“I know that. Logically, I know that. But…”

He trailed off, but he didn’t need to say anymore. I just nodded.

“I know, baby. But you didn’t deserve what Hankel did to you. You’re a good person, Spencer Reid. One of the best I know, and I’m not just saying that because I’m in love with you. You really are an incredible man, and,” I bit my lip, forcing back the tears that were stinging my eyes, “And you deserved so much better than this.”

He didn’t reply, he just leaned forward, kissing me again. It was harder this time, like he was putting all his feelings into moving his lips against mine. I kissed him back with just as much emotion, trying to tell him how much I loved him without saying anything at all. 

“Thank you,” He whispered, and I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close to me for a moment.

“Spencer, you have no idea how grateful I am for you.”

“And I for you,” He replied semi-dramatically, making me grin and bringing a small smile to his face. It wasn’t much, but it was something positive. 

“Alright Shakespeare, let me get dried off and then I’ll help you out,” I teased, grabbing my towel off the hook and drying my damp hair before wrapping it around myself and grabbing his hand, helping him up and guiding him to lean up against the sink while I grabbed his towel and offered it to him. 

“I don’t even have the energy to correct the historical inaccuracy of your Shakespeare joke,” He said, drying himself off as I left the bathroom to grab pajamas from his dresser. I grabbed him one of his t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants, and I grabbed myself one of his sweaters, slipping it on before going back into the bathroom and giving him the clothes I’d grabbed, hanging my towel back up as he changed.

When I turned back, he’d put on the pajamas, and was in the process of grabbing his crutches. With every move, his expression changed, betraying just how much pain he was in. I put my hand on his shoulder, supporting him as he made his way back out to his room, immediately sitting down on the bed and letting the crutches fall to the ground. 

“Son of a bitch,” He muttered. I just sat down next to him, putting my arm around him so he could lean his head on my shoulder. 

“Hey. You’re alright,” I held him close to me, rubbing his shoulder in a slight comfort. 

“I’m tired,” He yawned, and I nodded. 

He stretched out on the bed behind me, and I scooted over next to him, pulling the comforter over both of us. 

“Can I hold you, baby?” I asked. He nodded, and I curled up against him, holding him tight to my chest. I tucked my head into the crook of his neck from behind, feeling his steady breathing against me. 

It didn’t really surprise me when I felt his breathing pick up - I assumed his mind would probably wander once he had quiet time to think - but it made my heart wrench when I heard him crying softly. 

“Spencer…” I pulled him closer to me, running one hand through his hair and placing soft kisses along his jawline, trailing down his neck. There was nothing sexual about it, simply gentle affection as he cried. 

He rolled over suddenly so he was facing me, immediately crushing me in a tight hug, crying openly into my shoulder. I continued to run one of my hands through his hair, the other gently tracing slow circles on his back under his shirt, trying to ground him as he attempted to process everything he’d gone through. 

“You’re safe with me baby. I’m never letting anything happen to you again, I promise.”

“You can’t make a promise like that,” He argued through his tears, “No one can make a promise like that. You know our line of work; there’s no way you can ensure my safety.”

“That’s true,” I conceded, “But as long as I have any say in it, I will protect you. And that’s a promise.”

His crying had quieted, and he sniffled, nodding into my shoulder. I kept him close to me, and eventually he drifted off to sleep, tears still staining his face. 

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 3

In which: Danny getting yeeted into the Lazarus Pit yields anticlimactic consequences and Bruce Wayne converses with a fruit loop.

AO3 | Prologue | 2 | [ 3 ] | 4 |

DANIEL BARELY HAD TIME TO SCREAM before he’s plunged into the green depths of the Lazarus pit, primeval waves crashing against the walls of the pool. Talia flicked her wrist, signaling the ten League members hidden in the shadows to approach. Each one spaced equally apart around the pit with smoke pellets synthesized from blood blossoms held in their hands, ready to drop at a moment’s notice.

Pit madness rendered the majority of the living uncontrollable, with even the weakest of humans imbued with a strength that could only be induced by the purest of rage. The League was not taking chances as to how a being like her son would react to it.

The waters stilled.

Then—

A bright flash of light. Then, faster than the eyes could follow, a figure erupted from the waters. Bone white hair that twisted and curled as if it were still underwater. Skin lightly tinged frostbitten blue and clad in a suit of black and white and shrouded in an aura of blinding light. Phantom appeared from the depths, floating above the pit like a god reborn.

His eyes burned a toxic green.

“What the fuck was that?”

But not pit madness green.

Talia ordered her assassins to at ease with a raise of her hand. She slowly walked to her father’s side just as her son—Phantom—landed at the edge of the pool. Idly, Talia noticed how different Phantom seemed in comparison to her son. Physical attributes aside, Daniel tended to make himself smaller. What venom that may coat his words and the vitriol in his glares dampened by the way he held himself. Shoulders hunched and head tilted down. Non-threatening. Hands always needing to do something, whether it be holding his arms or shoved inside his pockets or constantly brushing it through his hair. No matter how she and his instructors taught him how to hold himself like a warrior, like a soldier, he still tended to present himself as a skittering little animal.

Phantom was different. He squared his soldiers and lifted his chin high, unafraid to stretch out to his fullest height and use his defiance of gravity to make himself look bigger. Stronger. His arms held steady at his sides, curled into tight fists. Green eyes—green as the Lazarus pit yet without that spark of madness that so consumed everyone else—burning with righteous fury.

“You fucking threw me into the weird green pool. What even—who does that?”

Ra’s tilted his head. “Fascinating. It seems you have a resistance to the pit madness.”

Phantom blinked, caught off guard. “Pit…madness,” he echoed. A statement, though from the wrinkle in his brows and the look he shoots Talia, it was more a question than anything else.

“It is one of the side effects of the Lazarus pits.” Talia approached her son with caution, holding his face with both hands and inspecting for any differences. “While the waters rejuvenate, restore, and even temporarily imbue one with supernatural strength, it also tends to inflict users with temporary insanity.”

“Insanity?” His eyes widened, trembling hands coming up to hold her wrists. Strangely, Daniel did not pull away from her touch. “I could have gone insane?”

Those bright eyes of his looked so frightened. Haunted. Pupils dilated to mere pinpricks of blackness, lost in a sea of Lazarus green. “Oh habeebi, only temporarily.”

“Like that’s better!” He yelled. “Even temporarily, I’m—” He staggered back, breaking out of her hold. Harmless Danny Fenton bleeding into proud Phantom as he ran his hands through his hair, unwilling to look at anyone.

Ra’s continued to watch, his arms crossed beneath his sternum, muttering to himself. Her father had prided himself on being one of the most knowledgeable about the Lazarus pits and its effects. Now, faced with a new mystery, the scholar within the Demon’s Head emerged as he observed his grandson.

“No,” Ra’s said, mostly to himself. “Perhaps less of a ‘resistance’ and more of an ‘immunity’ to it, given how both Daniel and the Lazarus pit have similar compositions. It would be a fascinating tangent to follow.” He chuckled to himself. “How droll. The life-restoring Lazarus pit holding a connection to the land of the dead.”

Talia turned to her father. “So, Daniel will not feel any of the pit’s side effects, then?”

Daniel perked up at the sound of his name, halting in his pacing. “I…might not go insane?”

“Perhaps, though it is too soon to tell. You have the waters of the Lazarus pit flowing through your veins, Daniel.” Ra’s smiled; eyes gleaming with the sparks of pride. “You and it are made of the same chemicals, the same reality-defying compounds that can bring the dead back to life.”

“Well, great. I have the same chemical makeup as a glowing hot tub, what else is new—” Her son staggered, and she caught him. Impossibly bright rings formed at his abdomen and then split, transforming Phantom back into a human. Mortal. His face haggard and sweating from the temples, eyes back to her beloved’s pale blues.

Her father did not bat an eye. “The pit’s healing effects are slowed down, then? Or perhaps it is because he has no wounds to heal?” Ra’s hummed; chin cradled in his hand. “Set him back into the pits, Talia. I believe young Daniel has yet to absorb all his needed energy.”

“Sure, yeah, that’s fine. Put me back in the crazy water, why not?” Daniel tugged at her shoulders. “Just…gently, please?”

Talia smoothed down his dark hair with a smile. “Of course, habeebi. I will even stay with you as well.”

When he looked at her, it was something almost akin to gratefulness.

------

In Gotham City, the upper echelons of society gather together at the Gotham Expo Center. The shining halls, which had been used as the site of a week-long exhibition of new scientific research, was reoutfitted to serve as the venue for the exhibition’s final event.

A gala. The hunting ground of the nouveau riche and old money families. Corporate moguls and debutants made their rounds across the floor, chatting with heirs and politicians and the who’s who of the upper class.

Scientists and researchers attempted to step out of their shells and dazzle the crowds. Wanting to fish a willing patron with deep pockets to fund their next project. Reporters huddled together like schools of fish, warily approaching the predators in their midst for a question or a photo. Both things many of the wealthy and affluent are easily ready to give, as long as it only showed off their best side in tomorrow’s society papers.

Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, and society’s darling observed everything as he always did, in that most people believed he barely noticed anything beyond what’s right in front of him. He raised the flute glass of champagne to his lips, pretending to take a sip as he listened to the chatter of sycophants around him. A few were even some promising researchers of which he made a mental note to pass along to Lucius.

Two nights ago, Bruce received a tip of unusual movements from the League of Assassins. The organization had been quiet as of late, and while Bruce had been very carefully monitoring their activities in the background, the sudden tightening of their security prompted him to take a closer look.

There had been sightings of the League of Assassins centered around a small town in Illinois—Amity Park. A rural tourist trap championing itself as the most haunted place in America. Something that Bruce would normally scoff at or zealously research about if not for John Constantine’s warning to “never go within a ten-mile radius of that hellhole.” With similar sentiments from others in the occult community, the Justice League decided to take that warning to heart. Bruce’s curiosity may have been piqued, but even he was tactful enough to avoid courting more trouble.

Suffice to say, Bruce—and especially Batman—could not afford to ignore Ra’s al Ghul’s movements. Whatever his plans were involved whatever anomalies were going on in Amity Park. And wasn’t it simply serendipitous that one of the guest lists for tonight’s gala was Vlad Masters, the mayor of Amity Park?

“Vlad Masters, is that you?” Bruce, slapping on his signature Brucie smile, masterfully detached himself from his previous group, quickly heading towards the nearby bar where he spotted Vlad getting another drink.

“Why, Bruce Wayne, it’s been so long!” The two shook hands, of which Bruce was slightly surprised at how cold to the touch Vlad was. A health condition, perhaps. Then again, there was something in Vlad’s appearance and stature that spoke of a deeper reason.

“It’s been, what, two years? What brings you to Gotham?”

“Business; the usual really.” Despite whatever friendly aura they’re projecting, Bruce Wayne and Vlad Masters weren’t friends. More acquaintances that have been forced to mingle a few times because of the nature of their business and the demands of high society. From what Bruce knows, Vlad is a business tycoon that’s as blindingly charismatic as he was infamous for his quick rise to wealth and a few rather shady dealings.

Bruce stuck his hand in his pocket. “Well Vlad, last we all heard was you dipping your toes into politics. You’re a, uh, what, a governor?”

Vlad let out an obviously fake chuckle. “Oh nothing as grand as that. I’m only a small-town mayor, really.”

“Right!” Bruce snapped his fingers. “So, what’s that like?”

“Oh dreadful work, really. So much paperwork, so many things to do or oversee, but rewarding in its own way.” He puffed out his chest. “Many of the people in Amity Park do rely on me, you know. Though I’m afraid my schedule’s busy enough that I barely have time to go home!”

“Well, we’re very happy that you made room enough to visit us here in Gotham.”

Bruce sensed Damian coming to stand beside him and instinctually placed a hand around his shoulder. Though his youngest had been steadily adjusting to his new life here in Gotham, he still preferred to stick to his father’s shadow than mingle with those of his own age groups at galas. (Then again, Bruce was very similar when he was younger so perhaps it was a genetic thing).

He smiled down at Damian—frowning as he’d rather be patrolling the streets in uniform as opposed to schmoozing with people he hardly cared about. “Have you met my son, Vlad? Damian, this is Vlad Masters, a business partner and a, uh—” He scrunched his face, pretending to remember what Vlad’s current occupation is. “Mayor of some small town out west.”

Bruce turned to look at Vlad, expecting to see some variation of ‘insulted but trying to keep up a polite façade’—only to freeze.

Vlad’s face paled considerably. His beady eyes comically wide as he looked at Damian, the fingers curled around the stem of his flute glass bone white. Damian, unnerved, steadied his stance but shifted minutely closer to Bruce.

Well, this was interesting. “You alright, Vlad? You looked like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Vlad jerked his head towards Bruce. Surprise—and fear? —contorted his features for a brief moment before smoothed back down into a proper mask. “Mayor of Amity Park, yes. My apologies,” he chuckled. “Young—Damian, was it? —only reminded me of someone I knew once.” He shifted his gaze back to Damian. “The resemblance is actually quite uncanny.”

Damian furrowed his brows. “Amity Park?”

“You’ve heard of it, Damian?”

“I would be surprised if you did.” Vlad masters took a small ship of his champagne. “Then again, it should be expected that you might have heard of it. The town does love it’s ghosts.”

Bruce laughed. “What, like Casper?”

“Something like that, yes.” There’s a tightness to Vlad’s voice. “Amity Park is its own breed of strange. We’ve handled things well enough on our own in the past, and quite honestly you get used to all of the spooks eventually. Though I must say the shadows are quite new—I’d often ask myself if I should petition your city’s vigilante and put him on the case.

“Shadows?”

Vlad easy smile shifted into a faint grimace. “They have a rather nasty habit of snooping.”

------

Despite Bruce and Damian’s attempt at plying Vlad for more answers, Vlad kept his mouth shut, evading questions and changing topics skillfully. Something that only raised Bruce’s alarm that something was going on.

“So,” Bruce unbuttoned his suit as he stepped into the car, “How did you hear of Amity, Damian? Ghosts and ghouls don’t exactly seem like something you’d be interested in.”

He waited for Damian to buckle his seatbelt before shifting the Bentley into drive and pulling out of the Expo. They had stayed at the gala long enough, making their rounds and giving the media enough for a headline in the society pages.

Damian rested his hand against the window. His face scrunched as he watched the looming facades of Gotham’s architecture pass by. “Mother mentioned the name once or twice,” he said. “I was not…privy to every operation that happened in the League, so I don’t know anything despite that my grandfather took an interest in Amity.”

“And I’m sure that from Masters’ odd phrasing, Ra’s didn’t just magically lose that interest either.” He narrowed his eyes. “Contact Oracle and have her dig up everything we need to know about the situation in Amity Park. I think it’s time Batman made his introductions to some out-of-town guests.”

[snek-snacc-ficc]

One Is A Genius, The Other’s Insane

Summary: Logan had seen enough of the world to know it was a horrible place, greatly in need of a competent leader. That was a job he was more than willing to fill, and so, by the age of twenty, he began his tireless work to plan the perfect scheme for world domination. Things became much more complicated, however, when Remus, his complete opposite in nearly every sense, stumbled his way into his life.

(Pssst, it's a Pinky and the Brain au)

Words: 3,177

Logan Ackeroyd couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he realized the world was a horrible place. It had been more of a gradual thing really. He studied history in school and learned of all the horrors man had committed against man throughout the thousands of years of humankind's existence. Everyday he’d watch the news and see atrocities happening across the globe in real time. When he turned sixteen, he had to get a terrible job as a fast food cashier, enduring impatient, rude customers demanding cheap food that tasted like it had been chemically manufactured (and he figured it most likely was), just so one day college would be slightly more affordable. And, perhaps worst of all, when he did reach college, he was forced to listen to pretentious English professors take the likes of Sigmund Freud seriously. Listening to an old man tell a room full of his fellow peers that Hamlet wanted to copulate with his mother was the last straw, and so, by the age of twenty, Logan Ackeroyd decided that he would take over the world. 

He wasn’t the absolute perfect choice for Earth’s ruler, he knew, but he also knew that he had an immense amount of intelligence, and a righteous moral code, and that put him above nearly every other world leader in his book. 

Unfortunately, Logan found, working to become the world’s benevolent dictator didn’t pay well, in fact it often depleted his pocket book, and so he took up a job as a middle school science teacher by day, and would dedicate his nights to working out the perfect scheme for world domination. 

It was supposed to be a secretive, solo endeavor. Involving others in his plan could get messy and chaotic, which was rather counterintuitive to his goal. Along with that, it could prove disastrous to alert others of his plans for fear it could somehow lead to interference from the authorities. It was best, he decided, to simply keep to himself with a clear mind. All of that, however, was ruined the day he met Remus.

Logan’s trip to the hardware store was meant to be quick and simple. He was working on what he thought was the verge of a breakthrough, (a prototype of a device that would allow him to brainwash the masses through the use of a high pitched sound wave), but he was missing some of the tools needed for its completion. When he turned around from the shelf he had grabbed a collection of bolts from, he was brought face to face with a man with a handlebar mustache staring at him. He was startled for a moment, but the feeling quickly gave way to annoyance.

“Excuse me,” he said, pushing past him.

“Is that blood on your sleeve?”

Logan looked down at his long sleeved polo. He hadn’t noticed the red stain on it earlier and he thought it odd that the stranger would point it out.

“I don’t believe so. There’s a stronger possibility that it’s jam.”

“You should totally lick it to find out.” 

“That would be highly uncouth,” Logan deadpanned, hoping the peculiar person would soon leave.

“It could be cool. If it is blood then you’d be like a vampire.”

Logan moved towards the check out, delving into an explanation of the definition and proper pronunciation of “uncouth.” The man continued to trail behind him, apparently satisfied with his shopping trip of a cartful of spray paint, chattering on about what seemed like disconnected nonsense. By the time he was finished with his purchase, excusing himself once again to leave, Logan was relieved to no longer be burdened with the annoying distraction.

He rushed to his lab with the missing parts once he reached home, eager to begin work on the project once more. He had little time to do so though, as right as he began the door to the room swung open. Logan jumped, grabbing a screwdriver on instinct in case he had to defend himself, and spun around to see the man from the store standing before him. 

“What?!- Why’re you-” he sputtered, completely flabbergasted.

“You left this at the checkout,” the man said, thrusting forward a plastic bag with a collection of wrenches in it. Logan hadn’t even realized he’d left it behind, but his attention had been split when he was checking out thanks to the other.

“So your first reaction was to stalk me and break into my house?!” Logan’s voice rose with anger and unease. “How did you even find where I live?”

“I followed your car.” The man said it like doing so was the most casual thing in the world. “I almost missed ya, but I caught up just in time. Lost you for a second at a stoplight though. And when I found you again your car was already in the driveway and you were gone. I tried knocking at the front door but you never answered, so I just walked in and heard you doing...whatever this is down here.”

Logan was silent, both confused and slightly disturbed that the man’s first solution had been breaking and entering, but he had little time to dwell on that. His cover was blown. His lab had been exposed to an outsider who would most certainly bring an end to his work. It had always been a concern of Logan’s, but he didn’t think he would be faced with it so soon. He kept his composure though, already theorizing which high security prison he might be thrown into. 

“Well,” he said, “I suppose now that you know of my secret you will contact the authorities. I’d rather you do it now and get it over with. My phone is right over there if you need to use it.”

The man did not move to grab it however. He remained where he was, darting his gaze around the room.

“Why would I do that?” he asked, still taking in the surroundings.

“B-Because you know of my nefarious plans now, to take over the world.” Logan gestured to the large bulletin board on the wall labeled “Plans for World Domination,” using the same tone of voice he used when re-explaining concepts to students that had been zoned out in class.

“You’re trying to take over the world?!” the other sounded ecstatic, “Woah, how?”

That hadn’t been the reaction Logan expected at all, and he still was unsure whether it was a trap of sorts or the man in question really was this...dense seemed the best way to put it. Either way, he had little left to lose. If he was going to get arrested, at least he would finally get the chance to explain his genius plan to someone beforehand. He turned back towards the device on the work desk. 

“Well if you must know, I’m working on this prototype of a device that would send out a high frequency noise to anyone within a ten thousand mile radius. Once it’s finished, I was going to hide them on numerous radio towers and implant a message within it that would brainwash everyone that heard it, allowing me to gain total control of a large number of people quite quickly and efficiently. The only problem thus far seems to be a simple yet pesky error on my part; These wires on its main control panel keep falling in the way when I try to work on it, and there's no way for me to move them all at once and simultaneously continue my work.” 

“Well I can help with that Dr. Dork-enshmirtz, here.” He moved over to the control panel, lifting up the bunches of wires that hung over it. “That better?”

Logan, though still a bit stunned, dug around in the bag the man had brought over, taking out the wrench he needed to continue where he left off. 

“My name is Logan,” he said, “but that is quite helpful, thank you…?”

“I’m Remus,” the other chirped eagerly.

“Thank you Remus.” As much as he loathed to admit it, it was fairly nice to have some sort of companionship. Being able to share just a bit of his idea already gave him a rush of excitement, despite the odd circumstances it had occurred under. And having someone to be an extra set of hands was an added bonus.

“Would it be possible for you to further offer your assistance to me?”

“Sure thing Nerdy Wolverine, as long as I get Australia privileges when you brainwash everyone. I’m gonna make a spider army.” 

The plan fell through in the end (Logan hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to travel the globe, climbing thousands of radio towers), but from that moment on Logan had Remus as his partner in justifiable crime.

---

"Heeeyyy Logie, what are we gonna do tonight?"

Logan rubbed his temples. For ninety-five nights in a row Remus had asked this same question, and every single night Logan's response was the same.

"The same thing we do every night Remus, try to take over the world."

"Ooo neat! What are we gonna do this time? More sabotaging jam companies?"

"No Remus," Logan sighed, "after last night's disaster we're lucky we aren't on some government watch list." He was most disappointed that out of all of his plans that one fell through. Creating a utopia where only Crofter's jam was consumed would have been a dream come true. But alas, he had to move on.

"Truth be told I am rather stumped as to what our next approach should be, but I'm sure with some copious amounts of effort I will come up with another brilliant idea."

"Why don't you take the night off Brainiac?" Remus asked.

"Take the night off?" Logan scoffed, "When the world still remains in the clutches of corrupt, incompetent leaders? Never. Besides, what would I do if not plot to take over the world?" 

"You could take a nap," Remus suggested, "You've got circles under your eyes so dark you could pass for a MySpace profile picture."

"While I appreciate the concern, my friend, I am quite fine. Though my sleep schedule is a bit off of an average rhythm, rest assured I have calculated a routine that keeps me functioning regularly. Though, given that you sleep a full 9 hours each day I doubt a set sleeping pattern can do much to create normal behavior." Logan muttered the last bit watching Remus grind his nails against his teeth like they were a nail-filer.

Remus halted his movement, inspecting his hand with one eye closed as he spoke. "Well then we could do something fun. We could watch this one documentary I want to see about this religious cult that made all it's followers fuck each other on a bridge and then jump off," he let out a cackled laugh, "Crazy how all that religious stuff can control people like that."

Logan scrunched his nose. "Remus, I ask that you keep your disgusting documentary drivel to yourse-" He paused for a moment, the last thing Remus said sinking in. 

"Remus, what did you just say?"

"It's crazy how all the religious junk can control people," Remus repeated, "that's partially why I gave up organized religion, in fact…" 

He trailed off but Logan wasn't listening, the gears in his head turning, formulating a new idea.

"Remus," he exclaimed, eyes lit up as he cut the other off without realizing it, "are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"Hm, well I think so Logie," Remus said, "but I'm actually allergic to synthetic body glitter."

Logan grit his teeth, face falling. 

"You would make for wonderful evidence to prove it's possible to de-evolve, Remus. No, I was referring to the idea of preying on the population through the use of religion. If I were to somehow convince the masses that I were a god I would have the world tied around my finger; They would do anything I commanded."

"Woah, you'd be a much better god than Sky Daddy Logan," Remus said, "but how are you going to get that many people to trust you?"

"From what I've observed, most people seem to distrust claims of the supernatural due to a lack of perceivable, verified evidence," Logan said. "If I could find a way to create some sort of projection of myself to a large number of people all at once, it might be enough to convince them that I am a deity. And right here in America would be the perfect starting point, because most people here are rather gullible and severely lacking in critical thinking skills."

Remus clapped his hands together. 

"Yay! We're gonna start a nerd cult!"

---

Tireless nights were spent working to bring the plan to fruition. Logan had to work out exactly how he could create a convincing projection of himself, as well as find a power source with enough energy to fuel it. After weeks of building, planning, and re-working the contraption was finally finished and ready to be put to use. 

It was about half past ten o'clock when Remus and Logan headed out to the nearby electrical company. Its small amount of security and large source of power made it the ideal location to put his plan into motion. When they arrived and had successfully snuck through the wired fence, Logan turned to Remus.

"Here," he said, handing him a thick metal pole he had under his arm, "you use this to knock out the security guards while I hack into the security system and cameras. Try and meet me in 15 minutes."

Remus gave a two-fingered salute. 

"You got it Dorkenshmirtz."

Logan rolled his eyes at the nickname, but couldn't truly be annoyed by it. So far everything was going perfectly according to plan. Logan even found himself grinning as he made quick work of disabling the security, the flow of adrenaline making him nearly burst with excitement. Once the system was completely down, he turned tail to head to the main center. He unzipped the bag he was carrying, carefully taking out the disk-like platform he would use for the projection, and untangling the series of wires and cords to put together. To his dismay, he found that the last cord was slightly bent, most likely from being shuffled around in the bag on the trip over, and wouldn't properly plug in to the outlet without hands on assistance. The concern was quickly diminished though. Remus would be able to hold it in place while he was on the platform. Just as the thought crossed his mind the door swung open and Remus stepped in. His hair was slightly more astray than usual and a noticeable bruise was forming around his jaw, but he was smiling madly, chipper as ever.

"Did you take all of the guards out?" Logan asked.

"Yup, I bonked 'em!" Remus said, proudly. "A few of them put up a fight but I went like this," he swung the pole through the air, "BONK!"

Logan couldn't help the amused quirk of his lips. 

"Wonderful," he said, making his way towards the platform, "Everything has been put into place, except the cord over there. I need you to hold it into the outlet for this to work. Do not let go."

Remus nodded.

"Amen Sky Daddy!"

He plugged the cord in, keeping it upright and steady. Almost immediately the platform lit up with a surge of power. Logan walked towards it, nearly trembling. Finally after years of work, trying and failing and trying again, he was going to succeed. The world would finally be his to craft to his perfect, peaceful vision.

Once it was completely charged up Logan took his step onto the platform. Outside an enlarged image of himself filled the sky for miles. He cleared his throat, preparing his speech for the people, when suddenly his moment was interrupted by the sound of Remus cursing to himself as softly as he could manage. His head whipped around and to his horror he saw sparks of electricity flying from the place where the cord met the outlet, sending repeated shocks through Remus, who was struggling through the pain to keep the cord plugged in.

Remus looked to Logan, seeing him hesitate.

"Go on," he whispered, though his voice was strangled with discomfort, "I'm fine."

Logan turned back around once more, but got no further in his speech as he caught the sparks growing larger out of the corner of his eye. 

Time seemed to freeze for Logan, his head was spinning, torn between the task at hand and Remus' pained whimpers.

He'll be fine.

He'll get electrocuted and die.

It's one person vs the future of the rest of the world. This is what I've worked towards for years, and I'm going to blow it.

But he's helped so much. 

Stupid, loyal Remus with his constant screw ups, and dumb jokes, and annoying nicknames, and laughter and chatter that always rang through the house, that filled a void I didn't even notice was there before, and-

Remus cried out, his body completely jolting with an electric shock, but still he forced himself to keep hold of the cord.

"Remus let go!" Logan shouted.

"N-no, y-you-" Remus couldn't get out another word before another strong shock struck him. The surrounding wires and cords were jumping with sparks as well, and Logan caught sight of a fire starting at the floor where Remus sat slumped weakly against the wall.

"Remus!"

Without thinking twice Logan bolted from the platform, heaving Remus into his arms just as the flames began to grow and approach his body. He rushed out of the building, lungs burning from the toxic fumes of smoke that filled the air, but he didn’t slow his pace until they reached the car, the sound of sirens already blaring in the distance.

The drive home almost certainly broke the speed limit, but Logan cared little about that, glancing at Remus, unconscious but miraculously breathing, every few seconds until they reached home.

---

It was evening two days later when Remus finally awoke. He groaned, blinking his eyes open. Just as he came to, Logan walked into the room, rushing over to the bedside.

"So Logan,” Remus said, flashing a dopey smile up at him, “what do you want to do tonight?" 

Logan threw his arms around Remus' neck, the position awkward due to him being sprawled out on the bed, but neither paid any mind to it. Tears leaked out of Logan's eyes, that he tried to hold back.

"I think," he said, sniffling, "that you can choose what we do tonight Remus."

Soon after, the two were curled up on the couch, Remus' head resting on Logan's thighs. Logan sipped hot chocolate from his #1 DICK-tator mug, a Christmas gift from Remus, carding his fingers through the other's hair as a true crime documentary played on the T.V. Maybe, he thought, world domination could wait a bit when he had his whole world lying right in his lap.

---

Ah! I’m so glad I finally finished this! Think of it as my own little celebratory work to welcome in the new Animaniacs reboot.

Taglist: @bullet-tothefeels 

[adropofgoldenrachelx]

No Show - A Thread: Part One

Summary: Rachel has been a no show for a while and Toulouse shows up at her door to find out what’s going down. She tells him her story, and why she’s been hauled up inside for a week. It’s kinda sad but also it’s cute and we’re not sorry. Reply order: Rachel, Toulouse (blockquotes).

Featuring: Rachel and @beaumont-ague , Mom (Arianna) and Dad (Fredrick). Also guest appearance from Dad’s Moustache.

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of panic attacks, flashbacks, references to past trauma as with the drabble.

—————————————————————————————————

It wasn’t like Rachel to choose not to go to her classes. She hadn’t missed a single day (except for three days where she was overcome with an unfortunate flu and forced to stay in her bed) since enrollment, and by every intention she wouldn’t miss another. College had been a grand milestone in her life, after finding her freedom and spending her first two years in an intense schooling program to bring her up to the standard (or as close to) of her peers. It hadn’t been easy, given what they were working with, but she worked her butt off and was finally allowed to enrol in Redwood College when she received her high school diploma. Rachel loved learning, so much so that, after finding enough courage, she would sneak into the back of lecture halls she wasn’t enrolled for just so she could learn as much as humanly possible.

So, for Rachel to be missing from class for a day, two days, a week was strange.

She hadn’t told anyone she wouldn’t be there. It hadn’t been planned, but she had lost so much sleep lately that she slept in for her morning lecture, and then couldn’t face showing up late in the afternoon. It spiralled from there, and now here she was, cooped up in her bedroom a week later wishing she wasn’t. Artist Block she would say, all the while painting away at the mural on her bedroom wall.

It was Rachel’s father, Frederick, who answered the door. He was an imposing figure, moustached for the gods and flaunting a raised brow at the young man who had knocked looking for his daughter.

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse didn’t really pay attention to who he saw and who he didn’t see around campus on a daily basis. Actually, he never really paid all that much attention to anything on campus, let alone people. He was always in his own world, rushing to classes or trying to get inspiration for a new piece. However, one person that he knew for sure he hadn’t seen in a few days was Rachel. At first, it hadn’t dawned on him that he didn’t see her for a few days. What gave it away, was the fact that he’d delivered his latest gift to her for their gift exchange, he hadn’t received one back. Even if they’d only known each other a short period of time, it just didn’t seem to be in character for her to up and quit. At least not without an explanation.

Of course, that wasn’t why he was worried or upset. He didn’t mind that she hadn’t given him a gift. In fact, he did feel slightly guilty for enjoying that he was currently winning. The lack of gifts in their exchange had simply alerted him to the fact that he hadn’t seen her recently, prompting him to ask around. Rachel was fairly popular. Of course she was, he thought to himself as he’d gotten plenty of answers when asking for her around campus. Toulouse had managed to get her address, and fortunately someone was nice enough to tip him off that her parents could be sort of… strict. How strict, he hadn’t known, but he thought it better to make a decent impression than show up in his sweatshirt and joggers that he’d been wearing to class. Substituting them for a polo with some slacks and loafers was a much better choice. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t take pride in his appearance, he really did. But, it was to be expected of a college kid to just want to get through class, and really, he didn’t have that many people to impress. Throwing on a watch and trying to comb his unruly mess of hair before leaving, Toulouse made sure to bring his phone and one of his rings, which he often used as a fidget toy. He didn’t suspect he’d need it, but it wouldn’t hurt to have it along. When he’d arrived at Rachel’s address -at least, he hoped it was the correct address- he was met by a rather tall man with an even more intimidating mustache. This was where his proper etiquette would come in handy. 

“Hi Sir,” he greeted the man politely with confidence. “My name is Toulouse Beaumont, I go to school with your daughter. Some of us were worried when we realized we hadn’t seen her around the campus in a few days, and were hoping to see that she was alright. I also had some assignments to drop off for her, if that’s alright?” Holding out a small stack of papers, only the top was a legitimate assignment. The rest were ones he’d made up, copying previous lesson plans he’d seen or received. Of course, no one else would know that without a very close inspection. “One we’re supposed to work on together, actually,” he added quickly after, to strengthen the chance he might get to actually see Rachel. Her father could very easily just take the papers and ask him to leave, which he had prepared for, though he was optimistic. 

—————————————————————————————————

Frederick could hardly help himself from vetting everyone that came within a ten mile radius of Rachel and their home, and had no intention of being any less intimidating when Toulouse introduced himself politely, or explained the reason for his visit. “Rachel is doing perfectly fine,” he answered, offering no further explanation to her current plight. It was none of this young man’s business, after all. “I’ll pass the a--” Frederick was soon interrupted.

Rachel’s mom had been in the sitting room reading, but emerged behind her husband shortly after Toulouse introduced himself. Arianna was a touch more savvy than her husband (though not any less protective) and knew that it was important for Rachel to still see her friends. She recognised his name after Rachel had come home from the festival gushing about paper flowers and cupcakes. Arianna didn’t have to say much to Frederick -a cough and a lifted brow was enough- before he stepped out of the doorframe begrudgingly.

“Rachel’s in her room,” Arianna offered, gesturing to the foot of the stairs. It was important to her that Rachel was treated like everyone else, and if that meant letting her friends in to see her, then so be it. The young man didn’t seem like he would hurt a fly anyway and Arianna was sure her daughter wouldn’t want to miss out on too much work. “You can head up, but knock on her door first. If she doesn’t answer, I’ll pass the assignment on for you.”

Rachel was still occupied by her painting, huddled under a quilt on the floor like she was turning into a human tent. She wasn’t sure how long she had been trying to mix this very specific shade of coral, but she had every intention of keeping at it, humming and singing and mumbling to herself to pass the time and fill the silence.

Had she any inkling that Toulouse might appear, she would have made herself look slightly more presentable, maybe even tidying up her paints and forty other hobbies and projects she had been occupying her hands (and her mind with) over the week.

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse was never that great at talking to older men, and he knew the exact reason why, but he didn’t feel the need to disclose that at the moment. Fathers and father figures just weren’t a comfortable subject for him. Mothers, on the other hand, were different. He knew how to win over the heart of a mother figure. If it weren’t for Rachel’s mother sitting in the other room, he was sure that he would have to go back to his dorm and try to figure out a different way to speak to Rachel. Thank god for that, as she quickly stepped in to allow him into their home. 

With a grateful smile, Toulouse gave her a wave. “Thank you, I really appreciate it. I promise I won’t overstay my welcome.” If Rachel didn’t want company, he’d leave willingly. Still, it didn’t hurt to try, right? He mainly was just glad to hear that she was alright. Toulouse hadn’t completely lied when he said there was something that the both of them were meant to work on. It just wasn’t an official assignment. Rather, something to cheer her up. That was of course, permitted that she wanted to be seen. 

Taking the stairs up to the second floor, Toulouse took a guess at where Rachel’s room would be, and was just about to knock when he heard soft humming on the other side. Definitely her room, then, he thought to himself. His hand had been raised, ready to knock, though it slowly lowered as he listened to her sing more. She sounded nice, better than most people who casually sang to themselves. It may have been a selfish move, but rather than announce his presence, he stayed for a moment and just enjoyed her singing, eventually joining in subconsciously as he leaned up against the wall. 

—————————————————————————————————

Arianna offered Toulouse a sweet smile, all the while side-eyeing her husband who had puffed up his chest and was acting a little miffed. She would have a gentle word with him later, but for now they would leave Toulouse to it. Rachel’s room wasn’t terribly hard to locate, as she had started painting her door with some pretty flowers (fully intending on moving on to every door in the house when she had the time for it). 

Rachel continued to sing, none the wiser to the listening ear at her door. She liked to sing, finding it a pleasant way to fill silence. She sang in the studio sometimes, and she sang in the shower, and when she was making breakfast. It was a comfortable past-time. Of course, she didn’t always have an audience (a visible one anyway) and so the faint voice from the hallway, matching her song, caught her off guard. Dad didn’t sing (and the voice wasn’t deep enough to be Dad’s if he did). After a short continuation, to make sure she wasn’t going completely loopy and making up harmonies in her head, Rachel’s singing fizzled out.

There was a brief panic that her parents had left the house, and someone had broken into her house. (That had happened before, it wasn’t a wild conclusion to draw.) With her quilt still draped over her shoulders, Rachel grabbed the first thing at hand (thankfully not a frying pan) and crept toward her bedroom door, opening it just enough that she could see who was standing on the other side and close it swiftly if she had to.

It was a surprise (a pleasant one) to find Toulouse leaning on the wall outside her room, a stack of papers in hand (and an equally pleasant look on his face.)

Oh no. Oh no, the room is a mess! My hair is a mess! I’m holding a weapon! He’s gonna think I’m a weirdo!!!

There was no time to fix anything, so all she could do was stare dumbfounded from behind her door frame. “Hi…” Rachel managed, throwing on the closest thing she could find to a cheery smile. Should she bring up the singing thing? It was kinda cute… No, no that would be peak weirdo, he obviously didn’t know she could hear him, right..? She went for the safe option. Or rather, the obvious question that anyone who wasn’t totally freaking out right now would ask. “Uh… Come here often?” Okay, maybe that wasn’t the right one. 

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse wasn’t sure how long he would wait before knocking on the door. He was preoccupied listening to her sing, which was probably weird, in hindsight, but he’d deal with those consequences later. Sure enough, later came quickly, and Rachel was opening the door faster than Toulouse expected her too. Maybe he was singing a bit louder than he thought, since it seemed a little too coincidental that she would be leaving her room at that moment. 

He made no comments about her appearance, or the fact that she was only looking at him through a crack in her bedroom door. “No, actually. Not yet, at least,” Toulouse responded to her question with a chuckle. “Actually, I’m sort of surprised I made it this far. Remind me to thank your mom later.” Clearly Rachel wasn’t expecting company, and he could understand why. Anyone who knocked on the door would have likely been greeted by Mr. Moustachio, potentially with a scripted list of questions before being turned away. He wasn’t rude, just... stern, from the impression Toulouse gathered. 

It was at that moment that his eyes lowered a bit to an object that Rachel was holding in her hand. Pointing to it hesitantly, Toulouse furrowed his brows before asking, “Is that… is that a lamp?” The amount of effort it took for him to keep a straight face was almost painstaking, a smile creeping onto his face as he tried not to laugh. He sort of understood, afterall, given that he’d just been standing outside her room with no warning. “Maybe we ought to plug that in, yeah? It’d be a bit hard to read these in the dark.” He gestured to the papers in his hand. 

Mentioning the assignments was mainly so that in case her father was listening to their conversation downstairs, his story would ring true. While he didn’t want to invite himself into Rachel’s room, as that was sort of a private matter, the suggestion of plugging in the lamp and going over the papers implied that it might be easier to do so somewhere other than the hallway. 

—————————————————————————————————

Rachel was kicking herself for her awkwardness, though Toulouse seemed to take her stupid question in his stride. It had hardly occurred to her that Toulouse would have knocked the front door, and that Dad would have answered it. He meant well, Rachel knew, but she wished he was less stubborn sometimes. “Oh, you made it past Dad,” she laughed apologetically. “Sorry about him, he’s kind of… He means well.”

Rachel grimaced, glancing down at the lamp in hand. What on earth was she thinking? That a lamp could save her butt? She floundered for a reasonable explanation as to why she brought a lamp with her to greet a guest at the door. “... Yes… Yes, this is a lamp. I was just-- It needed… dusting...” Yeah, that could work. She was going to dust it! The reality was Rachel was jumpy, but there was no chance she was going to explain that right now.

Wildly embarrassed at sporting the lamp, but deciding hiding behind the door was only making it worse, Rachel opened the door just enough to invite Toulouse in, still hiding behind the door itself. Now that she knew she wouldn’t have to use the lamp on him, it seemed silly to leave him standing out in the hallway. “Sorry,” Rachel laughed quietly. “Uh, you can come in just-- Ignore the mess?”

By Rachel standards, the room was a bombsite but it wasn’t nearly as messy as she thought it was. Everything had a place, and she tidied every morning when she woke up to make sure nothing was amiss. There were paints and a few sketchbooks dotted around the floor that she had been using, and a half eaten plate of cookies on her dresser as well as a few odds and ends not in their proper home. (Notably, the paper flowers Toulouse had given her at the Hootenanny had a special place on the centre of her bookcase, inside a tiny vase, and the other gifts from their competition were set out neatly on her desk by the window.) By any other standards, her room was perfectly fine but she scurried to place the lamp back where it belonged and then set about moving a few things to make the place seem more presentable.

—————————————————————————————————

This was probably the first time that Toulouse got to see Rachel’s awkward side. It was a nice change of pace, really, though he wouldn’t dare say that out loud. No, he would keep that to himself for his own enjoyment. “I can tell. It’s alright, seriously. I’d probably be a little weary too about some strange kid showing up at my doorstep.” Giving a shrug, he looked back at her with a playful grin. 

Did he believe the lie? Of course not. Did he pretend to? Yes, yes he did. “Makes sense. I usually forget to dust my lamps, but you know, too much dust could be a fire hazard. Good on you for being proactive.” Toulouse was grateful for the invitation inside, slipping past the door. Truthfully, he was pretty curious to see what her room was like. Toulouse always thought that a person’s bedroom was another outward expression of themselves, and to be invited into one was a rather intimate matter in a different way than most people would associate it. He liked his space, and only if he fully trusted someone would he ever let them into his room back home. At school, it was slightly different, but still, he liked to control who was and was not allowed to see certain things.

Immediately, he started to look around, not at the so-called mess that Rachel tried to get him to ignore, but all of the things that made this Rachel’s room. Besides, it was hardly messy at all. He noticed the paper flowers that he had gotten her, which made him smile, perhaps even more than seeing all of their little knick knacks from their gift exchange going on. Then, he noticed that Rachel was fussing about, trying to clean and organize what she likely saw as the mess she’d left behind, not thinking anyone would be over. “You don’t have to do all of that. Trust me, my room is five times messier than this when I’m home for longer than the weekend. I’ve seen far worse,” he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood before bringing up the serious topic. “Sorry I didn’t say anything before showing up. But, since you never returned the gift I gave you last time, I just had to come find out your excuse.” 

His words were light, and playful, and much better at bringing up the subject of Rachel’s absence than flat out asking her why she hadn’t been at school recently. It must have been a good reason, considering it wasn’t like her to skip, from what he knew about her, and the fact that she looked hesitant and possibly even scared to open her door. 

—————————————————————————————————

It seemed her Father was weary of anyone that showed up at the door looking for Rachel, whether they were rough and tumble or not, but she couldn’t blame him for it, given circumstances. Of course, Toulouse didn’t know the circumstances. Maybe if none of this had happened Toulouse could have waltzed right in. “I did tell him about you, a little, but there’s not much convincing him everyone is fine.”

She glanced at the lamp, giving it a quick dust (partly to prove the lie, mostly because Toulouse was totally right and she didn’t want the curtains catching fire.) “Yeah, it’s always the last thing to get cleaned, I guess.“ Despite the insistence that she didn’t have to tidy up, Rachel continued to do so anyway, putting things back where they were supposed to be, with the exception of the paints that she intended on using to work on her mural after Toulouse left again. If anything, it was nerves. Something to keep herself occupied with that didn’t involve any anxious tugging at her hair (her tell). Usually she was better practiced in hiding all of her messy feelings, except for those who knew her, but she wasn’t having much luck today. “At least let me clear you a seat,” Rachel insisted, lifting a few cushions to give them a good fluff before she plopped them down at the bottom of her bed. She didn’t have guests over very often, and her desk chair wasn’t the most comfortable. Cass always sat on her bed when she visited, so it didn’t seem strange to think Toulouse could do the same.

Rachel gasped with the realisation that, in cooping herself up, she had forgotten all about Toulouse’s gift. So much so that she hadn’t even thought about making it yet. Immediately, she jumped to the conclusion that he must think she was a terrible friend for not keeping the exchange going and then saying nothing to him all week. That was textbook bad friend, right? “Oh no! I-- Sorry! I forgot all about it and I haven’t made it yet but I promise I’ll return it by, like, Tuesday.”

(Toulouse, well-intentioned though he was, had picked a bad week to visit.)

“It’s just that it’s been kind of a weird week and I got… artist’s block and stuff and it went totally out of my head.”

—————————————————————————————————

It came as a bit of a shock to hear Rachel admit that she told her parents about him. Surely that was normal though, wasn’t it? To talk about your friends to your parents? Toulouse never really understood those parents who had known their children's friends for years and yet still couldn’t be bothered to remember their names. He hoped that if he were ever to become one that he wouldn’t be one of those. “Maybe he’ll warm up in time,” the blond shrugged. Not that Toulouse was planning on coming over every day, as that was a bit excessive to think about now, but still he’d hoped to spend more time with Rachel in the future, thus meaning eventually they’d probably come round each other’s homes more often. His mother would definitely be more than willing to have her over. 

Something was definitely wrong. Over the years, Toulouse had been able to pick up on habits that people tended to develop under stress or trauma, and this was giving him flashbacks. Clearly Rachel was bothered by something, and though he wanted to be there to listen to it, he also didn’t want to force her to talk about something she didn’t want to. Clearing them spaces to sit was fair enough, so he didn’t object. Before sitting down, Toulouse took his shoes off so as to not get anything dirty. 

Unfortunately for Toulouse, Rachel must have been too focused in her manic cleaning spree and overthinking that she didn’t understand he’d meant to go about it in a light hearted way. That wasn’t what he cared about, really, but he wanted Rachel to open up on her own terms. “Hey, hey, it’s fine, Rachel, really.” Anything he said however was going in one ear and out the other as Rachel continued to ramble. Finally, Toulouse just reached forward and grabbed her hands, squeezing them to get her attention. “It’s fine. I’m not worried about the gift, or how long it takes, really. Don’t fuss over it. I’ll survive another week, I’m sure,” he smiled softly, shaking his head to reassure her that he didn’t need it right there and then. 

Letting her hands go, Toulouse put them by his sides as he scooted further back onto the bed. “Everyone gets artists’ block now and then, no need to stress about it. I just meant that you haven’t been around, recently. Is everything ok?”

—————————————————————————————————

"I hope so," Rachel replied casually, truly hoping her Dad would relax a little more around any of her friends. He seemed to like Cass well enough, but Rachel guessed that was mostly because of her job. She didn't invite many other friends over, but that was mostly because she preferred spending as little time indoors as she could. Still, it would have been nice if Dad's moustache didn't turn upside down whenever he was greeted with a new guest.

Rachel was trying very hard to remain as chill as possible, and keep the freaking out to a bare minimum. Usually she was better at hiding her worry than this, or she thought so at least (but there was a lot to unpack with that, which was another thing Rachel didn't need to completely spiral over). Her smile was still genuine, thankful for the company that Toulouse offered, but it didn't quite hit her eyes in the usual sunny way. 

It felt a little like she was walking in circles, moving things here and there that didn't need to be moved and she would have kept at it had Toulouse not taken her hands, catching her off guard and stopping her in her tracks. Rachel had jumped to so many conclusions in a minute that now she felt all kinds of silly for worrying over nothing. The squeeze of their hands was just enough to halt that worry. "Are you sure..?" Rachel asked quietly, just to be totally one hundred percent sure that he wasn't actually upset about the gift thing.

It was an instinct to twist the ends of a lock of hair when he let go, rapping it absently around her fingers as she sighed onto the free space on the bed. She didn't think anyone would notice her absence enough to wonder where she was, let alone come to check up on her. Rachel hesitated too long to reasonably answer yes to Toulouse's concern. Artist block wouldn't cut it. Would a proper explanation do any better though? Rachel wasn't sure what she could even say without the risk of Toulouse freaking out too.

"I've been worse?" Rachel admitted finally, a grimace masked by a bashful laugh. "It's… hard to explain. I didn't think anyone would notice I was gone, I'll be honest. I just… I mean, I wanted to go to class but I just couldn't, I guess. I don't know." 

—————————————————————————————————

As someone who was used to having his own difficulties with anxiety, Toulouse understood that Rachel was probably just acting on those impulses, which was why he didn’t try harder to stop her from running about and cleaning. Sometimes you just had to get it out of your system, and he understood that. Control what you could, and confront what you couldn’t. Only, it was the confronting part that he was worried about for her. Had she even taken the time to sit down and process why she had been missing classes? He didn’t know the reason himself, but he hoped that she did, and would understand why that was.

Grateful that catching her hands seemed to calm her down at least a little bit, he nodded casually with a smile. “Absolutely. Besides, you know you never even had to get me one in the first place. I haven’t been expecting any of the ones you’ve given so far. Actually, I was kind of hoping you’d give up one day, ‘cause that’d mean that I won,” he teased, laughing as she sat down on the bed.

Anything was hard to explain when it came with emotional baggage. Toulouse was sure that he could handle it, though, after years of practice. “Try me. I bet you I’ve heard stranger stories.” When she mentioned not assuming anyone would notice she was gone, however, Toulouse took that a bit personally. He didn’t show it of course, but the personal offence was only because he really didn’t think Rachel was being as kind to herself as she could be. “How could someone not? I mean, you’re probably one of the most outgoing people who go to that school. It’d be stupid for no one to notice.”

Laying down on his side, Toulouse propped himself up onto his elbow, his gaze softening as he looked to her to continue speaking. He wanted to know as much as she would tell him, but didn’t push too far. “That’s understandable, I mean sometimes we all need a break to deal with emotional things. Do you think talking about it might help? I’m a great listener, if I do say so myself,” he humbly bragged, trying to get her to smile. 

“Or, if you’d prefer, I can ask you questions completely unrelated to any of that, and try to take your mind off of it? I have the perfect one to start,” Toulouse assured. “For example…” His facial expression suddenly got quite serious, leaning in slightly toward her as if to tell her some sort of precious secret. “How long did it take your dad to grow that moustache?” He couldn’t even keep a straight face as he nearly burst into laughter, shaking his head. “But really, I have to know! It’s quite impressive.”

—————————————————————————————————

Glad that Toulouse wasn’t fussed about the gift, Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. It was one less thing to worry about. That being said, there was no way she was not going to give him a gift at some point just because she was feeling down. It was a competition, after all. Rachel wasn’t a quitter. “Sorry, you haven’t won yet. This is just a momentary interlude.”

“Trust me, you really haven’t…” Rachel insisted through an awkward laugh, running her fingers through her hair. She would be willing to put a bet on it, actually. If it wasn’t her own story, she would have thought the whole kidnapped as a baby, raised by a fake ‘Mother’ in isolation for nineteen years, then rescued by some dude who eventually abandoned you and became your art teacher four years later all while coming out relatively unscathed thing was totally made up. Truthfully, it had been suggested to Rachel that she didn’t bring it up as flippantly as she had done when she was first introduced to the outside world and now she wasn’t really sure if she should bring it up ever. She said nothing to the fact that people might actually notice if she was gone, shrugging it off to avoid arguing another case against herself.

“I’m not sure if I should,” Rachel admitted meekly. It might not do any harm, or it could tarnish Flynn’s newfound reputation. Rachel held her breath when Toulouse leaned in like he was about to tell her a secret, and snorted a laugh when his question came. It was a totally unexpected one. “He does have a very impressive moustache, doesn’t he?” Rachel nodded, relaxing just enough to keep laughing. “He’s had it as long as I’ve known him. I think he even had the moustache on his wedding day.”

A distraction would have been welcome, but it also could have been part of the problem. Everything previously scattered around her room had been a distraction, as was the current patch of wet paint on the wall, and the five batches of cookies she had baked for everyone at the precinct, and everything else she had done until she couldn’t take it any longer. Rachel desperately wanted the distraction Toulouse was bringing in making her laugh -Cass would have insisted she face the problem head on instead- but if Toulouse had any intention of sticking around, it made sense that he would have to know what was going on.

Rachel hesitated for a moment, looking rather serious as she looked for any sign that Toulouse would nope on out of the conversation the moment he realised just how much baggage she was about to unload on him. He seemed trustworthy enough, but that kind of thinking had gotten her burned before. “Can I trust you?” she asked. It seemed the simplest way of knowing. She didn’t think he would lie. “I mean, I probably should actually tell you some things if we’re going to be friends and all that but if I tell you, you have to promise not to freak out.”

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse had to admit by now that he was curious. What could be so mind boggling that Rachel seemed to think he would find her crazy. He had his own fucked up past, sure, and knew very well that most people did. For whatever reason that just didn’t seem to fit Rachel’s personality. For someone so nice to have such dark secrets… it was both scary and intriguing. “Hey, I understand. Trust me, I won’t take it personally if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t want to make you talk about it.” 

Hearing Rachel laugh was possible one of the best sounds he’d ever heard. The worrying after not seeing her for a week or so had been dialed down once he made it past her front step, but making her laugh made it worth the concern. “Do you think it takes a lot of effort to keep it looking so nice? I mean, one could only imagine,” he continued, chuckling to himself as they joked around. The joking didn’t last forever though, and by the expression change on Rachel’s face, he wondered if she was going to start opening up more. 

Had Rachel not looked so serious, Toulouse might have answered somewhat sarcastically. But with Rachel, his sarcasm meter was usually lower anyway. So instead, he gave her a reassuring nod. “Of course. I trust you, so I hope you would be able to trust me. Here, give me your pinky.” Toulouse shifted closer to her, sitting upright on the bed with his own pinky extended. “Have you ever heard of a pinky promise? They can never be broken, so that means they’re extra special,” he explained with a smile.

Toulouse took his pinky promises very seriously. Hopefully Rachel would too, since this was the best way that he could think of to ensure she trusted him. “You should never make a pinky promise if you plan on going back on your word. So, I’m going to pinky promise to you, that whatever you tell me, anything at all, whether it be that you have an evil twin, or like… you hate coffee or something ridiculous,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Whatever it is, I pinky promise I won’t freak out, and that you can trust me with anything.” 

—————————————————————————————————

“Don’t tell him I told you, but he spends ages in the bathroom preening it.” A sincere smile swept Rachel’s features as she looped Toulouse’s pinky around her own. Rachel never broke a promise. She liked having a signifier of trust here. “Thank you,” she replied gently and could only hope he meant it.

Rachel took a deep breath; it was mostly to steady herself, but it was also a preparation for the long, rambling story she was about to tell. She supposed the best way to go about telling the story was to just let it all out in one fell swoop. The quicker it was out, the quicker it was done and the quicker Rachel could shrug it all off like none of this was really that big of a deal. 

“Okay, so,” she began, pushing her hair back from her face. Just rip the bandaid off. “I’m a-- I was a Milk Carton Kid. I was kidnapped when I was a baby, and raised by a woman who I thought was my mother. She homeschooled me, sort of, and said that there were people out there-- out here-- that would want to hurt me, or steal me. That I had to stay inside the house, with her, so she could protect me.”

Rachel took a pause, glancing carefully at Toulouse. Any sign of a freak out and she would end her story there. It had been the easy part for Rachel to tell, but it also happened to be the part of the story that made most people uncomfortable. Still, Toulouse promised not to freak out, and Rachel was going to hold him to it. She went on but her stomach was starting to turn itself in knots again, and the fingers through her hair found a lock to tug at.

“‘Mother’ was the only person I knew for my whole life, and she never let me-- I never-- I thought everything outside of my home was dangerous and scary, and that the ruffians and thugs would probably get me. I had thought about asking her to take me to see the lights for my birthday a few times, but something always came up so we never did… Um, but anyway, one day when ‘Mother’ was gone someone broke into our house, not realising I was in there, and I obviously totally freaked out and hit him with my frying pan because I’d never seen a grown man before.” 

(At this, Rachel hoped Toulouse had forgotten about the lamp.) 

“When he woke back up… I asked him to take me with him. I wanted to see the lights on my birthday, and he agreed to take me there and bring me back in one piece.”

Here, Rachel hesitated. She had lost so much sleep in the past few weeks over the next part of the story that she could feel the knots tightening, and her eyes starting to sting at the corners. That would surely be enough for Toulouse to process for a moment while she swallowed the horrible feeling.

—————————————————————————————————

When Rachel started to tell her story, Toulouse used all of his focus to make sure he was giving her his undivided attention. He could tell as soon as she started that it was a very emotional story. What he didn’t expect however was just how traumatizing it was going to be. Not wanting to be disrespectful by interrupting, Toulouse let her get everything out, hoping it would help her from stopping and creating awkward silences. Watching her body language, it was obvious that the topic was uncomfortable to talk about. For that, he commended her greatly. 

As soon as she did pause, Toulouse jumped into the conversation so that she wouldn’t feel embarrassed. He had promised not to freak out, and though all of this was pretty freak out worthy, he wasn’t going to break his promise. “Wow… so you’ve only really been home for a few years? That’s… well, I couldn’t even imagine.” For Toulouse, his family meant everything. To think that Rachel was raised from such a young age to find out that her mother was just some deranged lady who’d kidnapped her? He wouldn’t have known how he’d react. No wonder she was having so many emotions the past week. Not to mention she’d robbed Rachel of things like basic human knowledge. To have never seen a grown man before sounded almost impossible. 

“So… you saw them, then? And what happened after that? I mean, obviously you found your parents eventually.” Toulouse could see she was hesitant to continue. Pausing for a moment, he shifted his positioning on the bed to get more comfortable and turned to her. “You don’t have to keep going, if you don’t want to. It’s just- I know what it’s like. To you know, go through something pretty traumatic.” He didn’t want to unload all of his trauma on her, especially not when this was supposed to be a safe time and place for her to tell him what was on her mind. Rachel deserved to tell her story with no judgement and no diversions. 

—————————————————————————————————

“Four years this month,” Rachel admitted quietly, a strange melancholy lingering in her chest. It felt like much longer, and somehow like no time had passed at all. Until recently, Rachel thought she had been doing just fine settling in. She had been doing just fine. No one had counted on her past bumping into her on the streets. Rachel didn’t expect Toulouse to understand what any of this had been like. Hell, she hardly expected him to believe her at all, what with how outlandish it must have sounded. But he hadn’t ran yet, and he hadn’t freaked out, like he promised. For that Rachel was thankful. So for all it was uncomfortable, she thought it was best to continue and leave nothing up to speculation.

“I did see the lights...” she replied, watching Toulouse carefully as he shifted on the bed. For the most part, Rachel had kept herself rather close, a knee pulled up to her chest, a comforting arm around it. There was an ever present twisting of her hair. She took another pause from her story to offer Toulouse a genuine, heartfelt smile, finding some sort of comfort in his reassurance. “Thank you, Toulouse…”

Determined not to hesitate again, Rachel buried her discomfort and went on. “It gets kind of complicated after that. Or more complicated, I guess. After we saw the lights, Fl-- the man was supposed to take me home, but he didn’t. He, uh… He brought me here, to Redwood Hollow instead. He left me at the Police Station without an explanation and I thought I would never see him again.”

“I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know who I was, didn’t know I was missing. My birthday wasn’t even my real birthday. And suddenly they were asking all these questions, trying to get me to prove that I was this missing kid and before I knew it I was meeting my real parents and testifying against ‘Mother’ in court even though I barely knew what she had done wrong. Then they realised that I knew literally nothing, and I had to go on this schooling program just so I could maybe go to college one day…”

Of course, this explained a few things, but she didn’t think it explained why she had been skipping class, and at that thought the tears sprung from her eyes. “Sorry… This is definitely not what you signed up for.”

—————————————————————————————————

Four years. Four years! Toulouse couldn’t even imagine being away from home for one let alone four. Then again, Rachel hadn’t even known that the home she was living in wasn’t home. She hadn’t suspected anything at all until that day, and even then, she had no clue what was going on. Toulouse’s head was spinning as she told the story, it getting wilder and more complicated as she told it. Honestly, he wasn’t shocked that she remembered it all, but he was surprised that she was willing to tell it. 

“Wait, so if you really had no idea that you weren’t with your actual mother until this man showed up, did he recognize you? You know… after he regained consciousness,” he chuckled awkwardly. “I mean, it’s good and all that you weren’t hurt, but that part is sort of suspicious that he would just agree to take you somewhere. Especially since he broke into the house not knowing you were there.” 

It was definitely a lot to unpack. Toulouse had a hard time imagining Rachel trying to process it all back then, especially since it must have been one hell of a shock. “I mean, I signed up to listen, didn’t I?” He reassured her. After a moment, he shook his head though. “Damn… I mean, I just can’t imagine what that must have felt like.” Running a hand through his hair, Toulouse sighed, looking back at Rachel. “I’m guessing there’s more, though, right? I mean, if that was all the past, what’s been happening now?” 

Before she could even respond, Toulouse held up a hand. “Wait,” he hesitated, laying down on the bed on his side and motioning for her to do the same. “Might as well get comfortable, right? Okay, I’m ready.”

—————

All Rachel could do at the question was shrug. By all accounts, it didn’t make any sense, but it had been advised that Rachel didn’t dwell too long on Flynn’s true intentions. “I guess he must have recognised me or something,” she replied, pulling some hair away from her neck to show a small, dark mark behind her left ear. “I have a birthmark shaped like a sun behind my ear, and I look a lot like my Mom when she was a teenager. He probably heard about the reward and when he realised who I was… It was a lucky fluke.”

A nod of her head followed when Toulouse asked if there was more. They were up-to-date and now the whole reason she hadn’t been in class was looming. All that other stuff had been easy in comparison to admitting that things weren’t going so great now. 

Rachel froze with her mouth drooped open, paused before the answer could find her tongue. Her eyebrow raised as Toulouse held up his hand and he proceeded to lie down, and she almost assumed he was preparing for a nap at how boring he was finding her story. But then he went and made her laugh quietly despite her nerves and in spite of her tears. She didn’t move immediately, wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist, and then with a sigh she lay down on her side, propping herself on her elbow to mirror him.

“I thought I was actually doing okay until, like, a week ago…” Rachel admitted through a sniffle.

She had to think of the best way to word this part of the story. Obviously Toulouse would know who Mr Rider was, and the last thing she wanted was for any of this to taint his opinion of him. For all he had hurt her, for all she was now convinced he hadn’t cared about her at all, Rachel still thought there was good in him, and that he deserved to be treated as fairly as anyone else. With a defeated huff, she plopped down onto the bed to stare at the ceiling, half-way painted with the beginnings of a new mural.

“So, you know the man that found me? I haven’t seen him since he left me at the station four years ago. And then just before the Hootenanny I bumped into him on the street and it was like-- I don’t know, it was like nothing had happened, and obviously I was kinda surprised but I thought that was the end of it until he, like, showed up at college.” Rachel took a moment to steady herself, in between speaking a mile a minute and crying more than she wanted to. When slightly less frantic, she glanced at Toulouse out of the corner of her eye. “You know Mr Rider, the new art teacher..? That’s him. He didn’t even say anything and I’ve just been pretending we never met because I thought I would be fine, ‘cause he seemed fine. And Cass was like oh you should tell the school and get a new teacher, it’s bad for you to talk to him and I was like no, it’s fine, I’ll be fine, nothing’s gonna happen! And now… Tada! I wanted to go to school, I really did, but I just-- I couldn’t get past the driveway.”

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse could see there was a look of confusion on Rachel’s face when he asked her to wait a second. For a moment he wanted to apologize and reassure her it wasn’t a bad thing, but she seemed to come around quick enough. He could tell that she was a little emotional about all of this, but didn’t comment on it as he didn’t want her to feel embarrassed. She didn’t have to hide the fact that she was upset around him, but he did feel bad that this had impacted her so greatly. “So what happened a week ago then?”

Watching her carefully as she fell on the bed, Toulouse wondered what she was thinking about. He took the opportunity to follow her gaze to the start of a beautiful painting. Smiling to himself, he turned back to give her his attention, and just in time, it seemed. When he heard the name of the man Rachel had been talking about, Toulouse nearly sprung up out of the bed. But, he had promised to keep it together, thus the most he gave in response was a wide eyed stare. “No… no way. You’re serious?” Mr. Rider had seemed cool enough, Toulouse thought, though he always got along better with his female teachers. Of course, he hadn’t really put in the effort to get to know him, but now he kind of felt like he did. At least, a part of him. 

“Wait, so Mr. Rider broke into your house? And then was still allowed to teach? How does that make any sense?” That was probably the most confusing part about all of this. Toulouse was raised with the knowledge that there were people in the world who committed crimes, but those crimes had always been followed with a consequence. Then there was the conflicting opinion of Cass, who he didn’t really know, but he had to admit they had a point. Clearly it wasn’t good for her mental health to be seeing him this soon. Not out of the blue, anyway. 

“No one is going to think less of you because you missed school, Rachel. It’s okay to take that time that you need.” Rachel was still at a very vulnerable part of her life. Toulouse recognized that, and wanted to make sure she knew that it was okay. But also, he just really wanted to give her a hug. Debating it over in his head, he finally said fuck it, why not? and decided to offer one. Nudging her gently, Toulouse motioned for her to come closer, holding his arms open. “You look like you need one,” he offered, rather meekly. 

—————————————————————————————————

Rachel waited for the penny to drop, for Toulouse to lose his mind over the ordeal. Continuing the absent twist of her hair, she could see out the corner of her eye the look of total disbelief written across his face. “Mmhm. Deadly serious.”

In Rachel’s head, the whole breaking-and-entering thing was a total non-issue. She had learned enough of Flynn’s history to know why he had been breaking into her house in the first place, and by the time they were off to see the lights that detail was all but forgiven and forgotten. Cass freaked out about it because she was a police officer, so of course that made sense, but at this point Rachel couldn’t see what the big deal was about a previous thief teaching an art class. (Her judgement was quite clearly skewed in the wrong direction, it seemed.)

“Everyone gets really hung up on that part…” Rachel muttered incredulously, already having logiced her away around the dissonance of being terrified of ruffians and thugs and completely sympathising with one. She was blissfully unaware that he had done jail time for his crimes too.  “I don’t know, I guess he was just going through a rough patch a few years ago? I mean, it was petty theft. It’s not like he killed anyone.”

Rachel sniffled a few more times, and though she wasn’t totally okay, she managed to pull herself together just enough to stop sobbing. “I know…” she replied quietly. “It’s just that-- I don’t know… It’s a whole mess.” She would have lay there moping for a few more minutes had it not been for the nudge from Toulouse, which took her by surprise. With his arms open, she hesitated (Rachel never asked for hugs no matter how badly she wanted or needed one). “I do kinda need one,” Rachel admitted finally, giving a thankful smile before she scooted close enough for a good old hug. “Thanks…”

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse could tell that she was dismissive about it. Though he didn’t want to pick an argument by trying to explain that any crime was still a crime, he also worried about her judgement of character. Deciding that wasn’t the focus of the conversation, he let it go. Obviously the college would have looked into it, right? So it was probably fine. At least, he was going to say it was for now. “Yeah.. you’re probably right, it’s probably nothing…” Even if it was just nothing, Toulouse wanted more information. For now, getting to lay down with Rachel and just comfort her would be enough. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he hummed, giving her a comforting squeeze. Besides, a good cuddle was always the best kind of thanks, really. Of course he couldn’t say that out loud —at least not yet. Toulouse didn’t break away from the hug just yet, wanting to enjoy the moment a bit longer. “But I mean… if you really want to thank me, I’d take a look at the papers I brought you. Some of them are boring school work, but a majority are fun. I made some up, and some are just fun things to do when you get bored of just sitting at home,” he explained, letting her go from the hug with a playful smile. 

“I don’t know if there was more I need to hear about, but if you want, we can take a break,” he offered. Rachel seemed to be pretty drained emotionally, and he didn’t want to push her further. “Can I ask you a silly question, though? Had you really never seen a man before? I mean, that’s pretty crazy,” he said with a chuckle. “Most of them aren’t that exciting, though, so you didn't miss much.” 

—————————————————————————————————

Rachel hoped it was nothing; she couldn't take any more curveballs at this rate. (Admittedly though, if one good thing came of this, it was that Toulouse threw a soft curveball by showing up, like a weird, cuddly saving grace.)

Just as apologising had become a force of habit, it seemed thanking people for tiny things was right up there beside it, and she had to actively think about not saying sorry for saying thank you. Her curiosity piqued at the mention of the things Toulouse has brought, pulling back just far enough to give him a flash of her raised eyebrow. She had all but forgotten he had something in his hands, you know, because she was so preoccupied with the lamp and all… "What's in the papers?" she asked, wondering if some of it was missed homework and what on earth he could have made up.

“A break would be nice. I think that’s everything…” Rachel sighed, a strange feeling of relief finally hitting her. A faint blush crept its way across Rachel’s cheeks as she nodded in admission. She wished she had been making it up, but Rachel hadn’t even laid eyes on the Postman. The house had been surrounded by a great deal of trees and high hedges, and a wall that was supposed to be unscalable. The Postman left letters in a postbox outside the garden gate, and Rachel had been forbidden from collecting any mail until the late afternoon, when he was long gone. “I wish I was kidding,” she laughed bashfully. “I mean, I’d seen men in, like, pictures in books and sometimes on TV and stuff, but never in person. I think everyone is a little bit exciting, but I don’t exactly have much to draw from.”

—————————————————————————————————

“Some missed assignments, nothing too major. Plus you have an extension to do them. I had to ask around a bit, but everything should be there,” Toulouse explained. “The ones that are made up were just in case your dad tried to take them.” Chuckling slightly, he shook his head, turning to look at her. He was glad that Rachel agreed to take a break, though he knew that sometimes when people got into slumps like this, taking a break only made them feel worse. Fortunately Toulouse was always good at making them fun. “Some of the activities are things like watching a bad movie on purpose, baking, trying a new skill, helping Toulouse with an art project, you know, just fun stuff.” 

That last activity he’d slipped in there purposely, hoping that it would peak her interest. He wanted to collaborate with her on something, if she was willing. Of course he hoped she was, otherwise he wouldn’t have put it in there, but that meant he would once again have to get past her father. Unless he came at a time the man wasn’t home; her mother seemed much more accepting of strangers into their home. 

Toulouse couldn’t help but laugh lightly at the idea of never having seen the opposite sex in person. “What about when you went to the doctor? Grocery shopping? A taxi? Surely you had to have at some point,” he further investigated. Rachel made a fair point, he supposed. There were plenty of things that each person had that might have been exciting, but as far as men go, Toulouse wasn’t very impressed. “Do you think I’m exciting?” he teased, his lips quirking into a half smile as he waited for her to answer. The feeling was mutual, if her answer was yes. Toulouse found her very exciting. Just then, the sound of the doorknob turning caught his attention as he directed his gaze toward Rachel’s door. 

—————————————————————————————————

“You really didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” Rachel replied quickly, hoping that her absence hadn’t been too much of a burden on her friend. She was quite sincerely touched by the gesture and the effort, but the last thing she wanted was for anyone to go out of their way for her, friend or not. “I promise my Dad isn’t that scary once you get to know him,” she insisted, though she couldn’t completely understand why Toulouse might think he would take the papers away.

“Those definitely sound like you made them up,” she laughed quietly. Fun, yes! Not real assignments? Definitely. Luckily for Toulouse, Rachel was as naive as the day was long; his not-so-subtle hints, that would have been obvious wink-wink, nudge-nudges to everyone else, went right over poor Rachel’s head and she took the bait without even realising it. “An art project?” she asked, thoroughly interested.

It occurred to Rachel that Toulouse probably didn’t realise the extent of I Never Left. She genuinely hadn’t seen another human being because she genuinely hadn’t been allowed to leave the gates of the house. “Nope. I didn’t get to go to any of those places. I… couldn’t leave.” Now, for some reason, Rachel was blushing furiously. Her only ideas as to why was being embarrassed about the not leaving thing. It obviously had nothing to do with Toulouse asking if she thought he was exciting. “I might,” she replied, trying to play it cool. She didn’t have time to offer further explanation before her bedroom door opened.

Dad’s moustache peeked around the door, the rest of his head following quickly after. He looked just as gruff as when he had answered the door, his brow pulling together when it was apparent the pair were sitting far too close for comfort on the bed. Rachel paid it no mind, and threw on her usual sunny smile (hiding the fact she had been crying moments prior).

“Your mom said I should bring you snacks…”

—————————————————————————————————

End of part one.

[shotgun--rider]

Love Your Neighbor - One

A Dean x Reader Series

PART ONE

Y/N just wants her neighbor to find some sense of decency and shut the hell up. Her so-called brilliant plan gets messy, though, when it turns out that Dean Winchester is actually kind of perfect, and maybe taking her friends’ advice wasn’t the best move after all.

Word Count: 2900

Warnings: Allusions to sex, Dean Winchester is a fanboy

Dean Winchester isn’t a bad guy. As far as you can tell, actually, he seems to be a perfectly normal, average, unassuming guy. You’ve shared a few elevators and gotten your mail at the same time, waved politely on your way to take out the trash, and your beater car lives next door to his pristine ‘67 Impala in the underground parking ramp. Considering that the neighbors in your last apartment almost blew up the building making meth, living next to a harmless, pie-eating contractor sounded like heaven when you signed the lease. 

There’s just one little problem. And, strictly speaking, it’s none of your business if Dean Winchester also likes banging everything with legs in a twenty mile radius. More power to him, really. It’s just that the walls are cripplingly thin in this building, and while you’re happy your neighbor has a thriving sex life, you’d rather not be forced to listen to it every single night. 

Laying flat out on your bed, clad in the least amount of clothing you can pull off while still being decent, you grit your teeth. It’s a scorching night in July and the A/C in your unit has given up the ghost, leaving you to sprawl out sweating, hoping in vain for a cool breeze from the fire escape. And somehow, in spite of the fact that moving two feet has you wanting to pant like a dog with heat stroke, Dean Winchester has found the motivation to work up a whole other kind of sweat on the other side of your wall. Loudly. 

The apartment you’re renting is a pretty cheap one, and you knew what you’d signed up for when you signed the lease. It works for your purposes, and it’s not like you have loads of spare cash lying around anyway. The issue with the tiny one-bedroom is that it only accommodates your stuff in one possible layout, and yes, that does in fact mean that your bed is directly on the wall you share with Dean. In fact, you’re pretty sure your apartments are mirror images of one another, which is only an issue when he’s railing Lisa two feet from your head and banging the headboard on your shared wall. 

‘Lisa’ has been around for almost a month now, which as far as you’re aware is a new record for Dean, and she moans like a porn star that’s trying too hard. It can’t possibly be natural, you’ve decided, because sure, sex is good, but nobody in real life is having sex that’s that good. And sure, you’ll concede that Dean is an incredibly attractive guy, from what you’ve seen of him, but you’ve learned the hard way many times that that doesn’t automatically make them good in bed. Which means Lisa is just being obnoxiously dramatic. 

You thump your head in frustration against your pillow, contemplating pulling it over your ears as a new round of moaning starts up. God, how does anyone have sex for that long, anyway? 

“Yes, Dean, harder...right there… oh, fuck, yeah, yes, yes, yes!” She subsides into unintelligible screaming, punctuated with the occasional lower-pitched groan and the shuffle-shuffle-bang of the bed frame against the wall. 

“Oh my god, yeah, I’m gonna come, please make me come,” 

Cursing under your breath, you sit up, adjusting the spaghetti straps of your tank top as they try to slide down your shoulder. “Nobody says that shit,” you grumble aloud, shuffling in defeat off of your bed and out to sit on the fire escape. 

It’s not any cooler out here, and you can still vaguely hear Dean and Lisa getting it on, but at least your bed is no longer vibrating. Leaning forward on the iron railing, you pull out your phone and send a vomiting emoji to your best friend. There’s no context needed; she’s heard you complain enough times to know exactly what’s usually happening between the hours of ten p.m. and midnight in your building. 

Kinda impressed with this dude tbh, Meg replies back instantly. I wish I got off that much. 

You answer her with an eye roll. The point is I don’t want to hear it

Just tell him to shut the fuck up. Or kill him. You know like a bazillion ways

Once, when you’d only been living there for a handful of weeks, you’d thrown a shoe at the wall between you in a fit of ill-handled rage. You’d followed that up with taking off your other shoe and repeatedly thumping the wall with the heel, just in case they thought the original noise had been an accident. 

The resulting blissful silence had only lasted for about a minute, after which it was followed by a bout of laughter, and then more enthusiastic sex. No, Dean Winchester was evidently not the type of person to back down after being told to shut the fuck up, and you’d never quite managed to get the courage to just attack him about his sex life in front of the downstairs mailboxes. 

That doesn’t mean, however, that you haven’t been thinking up subtler ways to deal with the issue.  And now, because living on the fire escape until October doesn't actually sound like a pleasant experience, you might just have the perfect excuse. 

The ‘67 Chevy that lives in the parking space next to yours gets periodically replaced with a slightly rusty old pickup, the words Winchester Contracting emblazoned on the doors. And it’s not like you haven’t seen Dean sporting paint-stained jeans and a bag of tools before. He’s clearly the obvious, convenient choice to ask about the A/C. And if you happen to interrupt his bang-fest while complaining about the heat, well, that’s just two birds with one stone. 

You don’t bother with shoes for the short walk down the thinly-carpeted hall, only realizing once you’re standing in front of his door that you’re not really dressed for this. That could only work in your favor, though, right? Maybe a barely-clothed girl showing up would send Lisa into a jealous rage and she would leave on the spot, rendering Dean mercifully single and silent. And maybe you just need to solve this so you can get some god damned sleep, you thought wryly.

Before you can change your mind, you knock sharply on the door of apartment 914, rocking back on your heels as you wait, straining your ears for any noise from within. For a moment, there’s silence, and then a tell-tale, high pitched squeal. Nope, they’re definitely still shamelessly boinking, as your old roommate Donna would have announced cheerfully. 

At this point, it’s just getting a little ridiculous. Clenching your jaw in anger, you raise your fist to pound on the door again, harder this time. You have a book deadline in two weeks, no A/C, and you just want some fucking peace and quiet. Clearly, the universe has just chosen to laugh at you instead. 

Resisting the urge to hiss aloud in irritation, you pound on the door once more, this time hearing soft voices from inside. There’s shuffling, a muffled yelp, some slightly uneven footsteps, and then the door swings open to reveal Dean Winchester, irritated, half dressed, and making no attempt to hide what he’s been up to. 

“What?” he snaps out, all green eyes and sex hair and bare chest, which somehow manages to short-circuit your very angry brain, leaving you stuttering in his doorway. Seriously, though, knowing you have an attractive neighbor and seeing him in nothing but a pair of sweats are two different things.

“Uh,” you mentally shake yourself. You didn’t come here to drool over him, you’re here to solve a problem. “Listen, I’m really sorry to bother you,” you start. You’re not really all that sorry, but you need the time to try to organize your thoughts. 

“Oh, are you?” Dean returns grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest and Jesus but that’s a lot of tanned skin and biceps right in front of your face. 

“Yeah,” you falter, “I just was wondering if you could maybe help me?” You were laying it on a bit thick now, but who could really blame you? “The A/C quit on me and I know you have that construction business…”

“Dean? Who is it?” That would be Lisa, evidently, coming to the doorway in a bathrobe and, unsurprisingly, looking stunningly beautiful. She blinks at you over his shoulder, pushing dark hair out of her face and giving you an uncertain smile as she looks over your tank top and skimpy sleep shorts.  

“Oh I’m sorry,” you somehow manage to keep the sarcasm out of your voice. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,”

“You’re not,” Dean says, and, behind him, Lisa raises affronted eyebrows. Maybe there is trouble in paradise. Filing that information away for later, you shift on your feet, pushing some of your still-slightly-sweaty hair off of your forehead. Dean seems to jolt at the motion, glancing back into his apartment and opening the door wider. “Right, yeah,” he runs a hand through his hair, doing nothing to quiet the wild spikes. “You said A/C? Lemme just…” 

Dean disappears behind the half open door, one bare foot still holding it in place, and you can hear him moving something around, saying something in a low voice to Lisa, who audibly huffs back like she’s annoyed. When the rest of his body reappears, he’s got a black Metallica shirt most of the way on (a shame, really), and he’s carrying a slim black canvas bag of tools. 

“--probably not gonna take long,” he’s saying to Lisa over his shoulder, and it occurs to you suddenly that this plan requires you to bring Dean inside your apartment. Which makes sense, obviously, given that you actually do need the air conditioning fixed, and as long as he’s doing that he’s not banging his girlfriend, but you’re kind of awkward at the best of times and this is probably going to require conversation. Picture everyone naked, Donna would say, but somehow, having seen him shirtless really, really doesn’t help. 

Resigned to your fate, you shuffle back to your own apartment with Dean following, and you wince at the blast of hot air greeting you as soon as you swing open the door. Compared to the hallway, it’s like stepping into a particularly miserable sauna, and Dean huffs a surprised noise behind you. “Damn, you weren’t kidding, were you?”

You show him over to the sad little A/C unit wordlessly, hopping up on your kitchen table and crossing your arms as you watch him squint at it. “Thank you,” falls from your lips belatedly, and you have to remember that for all your irritation with him, Dean Winchester is still, fundamentally, the kind of man who apparently lets his neighbors interrupt sex so he can fix their broken appliances in the middle of the night. “I know it’s really late…”

“S’fine,” Dean shrugs, neatly pulling off the cover to the air conditioning and going after something inside with a tool you couldn’t have named if your life depended on it. “This way you won’t have to sleep on the fire escape.” He smiles at you over his shoulder, those green eyes bright, and your retort about sleeping on the fire escape anyway because of him gets lost somewhere in transit. Not for the first time, you wonder if this is really the brightest idea you’ve had. 

“Still,” you say instead, “you probably don’t want to come home from work and do more work,”

“It’s really not a big deal, Y/N,” Dean glances back at you. “It’s Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you confirm with a little shake of your head. “What’d you do, read my mail?”

“No,” Dean says quickly, followed by a slightly sheepish, “Maybe. Look, the mailroom’s tiny,”

He’s not wrong, and since you initially collected his name from the moans through your bedroom wall, you’re not sure you’re in a position to talk. When you look back at him, Dean’s wearing a slightly hesitant, definitely-not-adorable look on his face, and you laugh softly, watching him break out into a relieved smile in return. And damn it, he wasn’t supposed to be funny. It’s far easier to vilify someone who’s only kindness has been holding the elevator doors a few times, because plenty of colossal douchebags still have surface-level manners. 

But now your A/C is humming contentedly, working overtime to compensate for its lapse, and you have your loud-ass neighbor to thank for it. Your funny, smiling, half-dressed-at-midnight neighbor who’s currently giving you a great view of his ass in sweatpants as he bends over to grab his tools. Fuck. 

“Thank you,” you get out when your brain gets back online, and you hope it was a brief enough lapse that he didn’t notice. “I might actually make my deadline now that I’m not dying,”

Dean raises an eyebrow at you, shifting to lean back on the wall. “Deadline for what?”

“I’m a writer,” you explain, shaking your head ruefully. “Which is why I live in a crackerbox apartment with shitty air in the first place,”

Dean’s green eyes perk up in interest, and that was hardly the reaction you were expecting. “Oh yeah? What d’you write?”

You uncross your arms and slide off the kitchen table, crossing the living room to pull a black-and-red hardcover out of your hanging bookshelf. “Murder books,” you deadpan, watching for a reaction as you flash him the cover, featuring a man’s limp hand lying in a pool of blood. There’s kind of a small part of you that’s hoping you’ll scare him out of your apartment, because now you’re not really sure how to get rid of him. 

Surprising you as usual, Dean’s mouth drops open shamelessly instead. He gapes at you like a very handsome fish for a few moments before his tongue darts out to wet his lip and then he’s tripping over himself, talking almost too rapidly for you to follow. “No freakin’ way! I didn’t...I mean, you’re Y/F/I L/N. You never have a picture on the jacket--” Dean trails off, a flush rising in his cheeks as he collects himself, only serving to make the freckles dashed across his face more obvious. It’s kind of, maybe, just a little bit cute. “I’ve read them all,” he blurts out, stuck somewhere between shy and kind of proud. “They’re...this is awesome,”

You can’t help but laugh a little, surprised but pleased with the reaction. Your books do fairly well, garnering a moderate amount of attention and the occasional creepy fan message, but Dean’s enthusiasm is...pure. He’s standing in your living room with wide eyes and an embarrassed blush creeping its way down under the collar of his t-shirt, and damn it you were supposed to be mad at him. 

“I’ll sign copies for you as a thank you for the A/C,” comes out of your traitorous mouth instead. “If you want,” 

Dean lights up like a little kid at Christmas, warmth spreading in your chest at his reaction. “That would be awesome. I mean, yeah. Yes, please. Thanks,” He says roughly. Dean swings the compact tool bag awkwardly, rocking back on his heels for a moment, and then he looks hastily back at your little air conditioner. “Well, that’s done, so…”

“Right,” you return quickly, suddenly painfully aware that it’s past midnight as you turn in the direction of the door. “I really do appreciate it, Dean. Bring me whatever you want me to sign sometime, okay?”

He’s still got that terribly endearing, vaguely-stunned expression on his face when you lock the door behind him. 

The air’s had a chance to start working while you were talking with Dean, and you end up spread like a starfish on your bed after he leaves, reveling in the cooling air and the blessed silence. It’s the best sleep you’ve had in months. 

Of course, because the universe and everything in it hates you with a mad passion, the reprieve only lasts two days. You’re sitting cross legged on your floor, scowling at your laptop and your misbehaving chapter, still cringing at the latest biting deadline reminder from your agent, when a soft whimper catches your attention. 

For a moment, you’re prepared to dismiss it, hoping for the first and only time in your life that your apartment has rats. Kinky rats. “Fuck yeah, oh my god, want your cock so bad!”

You flop on your back on the floor helplessly, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes like that’s somehow going to make a difference. There’s a large part of you that just wants to shout through the wall that nobody in real life says shit like that when they’re having sex, but it probably wouldn’t do any good. “You have got to be kidding me,” you whisper aloud. 

Then again, you weren’t sure what you were expecting. Getting Dean to fix your air conditioning hadn’t actually involved addressing his stupidly loud sexcapades. Because, of course, the thought of bringing that up to him made you want to crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment. 

Defeated, you grabbed for your phone and pulled up your text conversation with Meg.

I need your help. 

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [1016]

“All of Thedas at your fingertips and you’re bored?” Dorian repeats, sounding disgusted as he watches Ellana flip through the same dozen television channels rapid fire. “Listen to yourself. You are the driving force behind what it is, debatably, the strongest, most organized, and most secure crime organization in history. You are the actual face of organized crime. You are organized crime. When people think about crime syndicates they think of the Inquisition and they think of you.”

“My parents must be so disappointed,” Ellana says as she cracks open the tab on a brightly colored soda can. “But hey. I’ve got medical benefits.”

“Oh, yes, goody on you for being the only person in the entire business to offer medical benefits, pensions, and life insurance.” Dorian pauses. “Well. Now that I think about it. With how far the Inquisition has spread and with how indomitable we’ve proven ourselves not offering these things seems like some sort of faux pas. We’re the only crime organization in the world with a Human Resources department.”

“I’m nothing if not ethical.”

“Again, organized crime. You are not ethical.”

“I mean. I’m aware ethics exist. I sometimes do a little square dance around them, but I know they’re there.” Ellana leans her head back to look at him. “Did you come all the way here to chide me about watching television? There isn’t anything else for me to do. No one will let me do anything anymore.”

Ellana waves the remote around in the air. “You get poisoned almost to death, get your arm chopped off, and almost die in the middle of a giant organized crime raid slash coup attempt once and suddenly everyone treats you like glass. I mean. I’m fine. Look at me. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Dorian sighs, “Yes. Well. We’d rather you not go around losing anything else important. But still. All of Thedas at your fingertips and you’re reduced to watching a handful of daytime television channels with your eyes unfocused? It’s an insult to a great number of persons everywhere for reasons I cannot possibly begin to put into words. It feels like some sort of instinctual wrong.”

“Well, what else can I do?” Ellana scowls as she jabs the remote to flick to another daytime news channel. “Everyone’s stuck on mothering me. I’m recovered. I’ve got a clean bill of health. It’s so clean that you could eat off of it.”

She slumps down on the sofa, shoulders bunching up at her ears as she starts to tick people off on her fingers.

“Leliana and Cullen are doing a thorough purge of our forces to weed out any unhelpful plants — “

“There’s such a thing as a helpful plant?”

“I mean. Bull.”

“Fair.”

“ — Josephine’s doing that thing where she talks to the government and somehow comes out of it with something for us. Can’t be caught within a ten mile radius of her right now. The Adaars are out with the Valos-Kas for some kind of family bonding or whatever. Sutherland’s group is off doing business of their own. The process of being independent I guess. Sera’s picking up Jenny contacts across Ferelden. Varric’s gone back to Kirkwall. Blackwall’s been loaned out to the Wardens in Orlais.”

“And your favorite body and your favorite bodyguard?”

Ellana rolls her eyes.

“Bull’s taken the Chargers out to do a check on the Inquisition operations further out towards the borders. Just to make sure they’re up to code.”

“Up to code,” Dorian repeats fondly. “It’s like we’re a legitimate operation.” Dorian sits next to her, plucking the remote from her hands to browse. “I’m going to get dizzy watching you switch all these channels. I’m surprised the Iron Bull didn’t take you with him. Or just send the Chargers by themselves. They’re more than capable.”

Ellana flops onto Dorian’s shoulder. He can feel her scowling.

“That’s what I said. Apparently I need to rest and recuperate some more, or whatever. I’m plenty rested. And I’m more cooped up than recuperating. How much longer do I have to lay low? I mean. Most people know I’m not dead.”

“The general public only thinks you’re a ghost now. It’ll help to have your fate uncertain.”

“Oh, don’t talk tactics to me. I’ve got about ten people talking tactical advantages and surprise attacks in one ear out the other all day long,” Ellana waves her hand. “Tell me something fun and interesting about the outside world. Because everyone here is a killjoy and won’t give me any interesting news.”

Dorian thinks it over. What would be interesting to Ellana Lavellan?

“I’m hoping you don’t mean to ask me about business affairs. I’ve been in Tevinter for a while so I’m still catching up,” Dorian says. “And well. Regular affairs, I suppose. I’m behind on those details too. I’m entirely reliant on texts and social media for that. And I will admit I’ve been falling behind on the social media front. Being in organized crime will completely tank your ability to use social media frequently and to much effect. The court can get so very, very detailed into your history if you aren’t careful. Or well connected. Or both.”

“I’ve got Bull and Leliana to catch me up on normal gossip.”

“Then I haven’t the slightest idea what to tell you that you either already know, aren’t supposed to know, or don’t care to know.”

“Surely there’s something.”

“Well.” Dorian pauses.”Fenris and Zevran met. Apparently they’re both moving up into Tevinter for work.”

“Oh, no way,” Ellana gasps. “Fenris and Zevran? Did you see it happen? Who saw it? Was it as…everything as I would expect?”

“Of course I wasn’t there to see it happen. If I was there I wouldn’t be alive to speak with you now, clearly. There’s only one sort of job in Tevinter where you’d be sending the Blue Wraith and the Crow.” Dorian hums as he settles on some sort of Antivan soap opera. “All we need to do is throw Sera in and it’ll be a real party.”

[literary-masochism]

Midnight Sun: Chapter One - My Descent Into Madness

(reposted from my blog)

I kind of want to be dramatic and say I have a long, sordid history with Twilight, but I’m not sure that’s accurate. I do have a history, but it is one of pain, tears, and frustration.

I’m a firm believer in reading a ‘bad’ book to form your own opinion on it instead of just believing what you’re told...

The criticisms against Twilight were more than justified.

It took me multiple attempts to get through the first book – The first time I didn’t even finish the first chapter. I loathed Bella Swan from the moment we met her. She whined nonstop, she bitched nonstop, and was instantly so shallow and two-faced to everyone she met that I wanted to punch her in her (at the time) nondescript face.

But I tried again and again and finally finished the series. I remember crying during the Breaking Dawn because nothing was fucking happening and there was so much left in the book and I just wanted it to END.

Then my brain, trying to save me, made me forget everything about what I read. When I realized what had happened, I checked my Goodreads to make sure I did, in fact, read those books and they weren’t just a fever dream sent by the forces of evil to torment me.

As much as I appreciated the attempt, I earned those scars... at least audiobooks are easier to get through, even though I had to pause them to rage, again, at the idiocy.

And now... Now we have Midnight Sun. I believe I skimmed the leaked book but never gave it any real attention... so, of course, the full book gets released the day after my 34th birthday.

Joy.

But it gives me an excuse to try something I always wanted to do: Snarking bad books... because if I have to suffer, you might as well too!

So... without further delay... here is the first chapter, as seen by me, of Midnight Sun.

Chapter 1: First Sight

We open up with Edward being a melodramatic prick about having to go to school and how boring it is.

THIS WAS THE TIME OF DAY WHEN I MOST WISHED I WERE ABLE TO SLEEP.

High school.

Or was purgatory the right word? If there were any way to atone for my sins, this ought to count toward the tally in some measure. The tedium was not something I grew used to; every day seemed more impossibly monotonous than the last.

Followed quickly by how much humans, especially teenagers, suck absolute ass.

When it came to the human mind, I’d heard it all before and then some. Today, all thoughts were consumed with the trivial drama of a new addition to the small student body. It took so little to work them up. I’d seen the new face repeated in thought after thought from every angle. Just an ordinary human girl. The excitement over her arrival was tiresomely predictable—it was the same reaction as one would get from flashing a shiny object at a group of toddlers. Half the sheep-like males were already imagining themselves infatuated with her, just because she was something new to look at. I tried harder to tune them out.

Don’t you just love him already?

This is only the first page... It’s not even a full page... Edward tells us how he tries not to listen to his siblings then tells us exactly what his siblings are thinking.

He shames Rosalie for thinking about how hot she is, but since that’s her only personality trait we ever got in the entire saga (besides bitch), I’m not that worked up over it. She’s hot and she knows it.

Emmett is just thinking about kicking Jasper’s ass which, I feel, is a goal everyone should aspire to because Jasper’s thoughts...

And Jasper was… suffering.

GOOD

Alice mentally calls his name and Edward is kind enough to let us know that it’s just the same as if someone said it out loud... you know, because we’re too dumb to work that out ourselves.

Also, he is so thankful that the name EDWARD has ‘fallen out of style’ in the last few decades.

Alice is worried about Jasper slaughtering everybody within a ten-mile radius because he’s become a literal statue (because Meyerpires are made of stone and this is in no way a ripoff of Anne Rice) and, stupidly, she asks Edward how he’s doing...

I guess Alice forgot she could, you know, SEE INTO THE FUTURE. Because checking to see if your boyfriend is about to go on a murder spree is a telepathy situation.

She relaxed. Let me know if it gets too bad.

I moved only my eyes, up to the ceiling above, and back down.

Thanks for doing this.

YOU CAN SEE THE GOD DAMN FUTURE!

Was it really necessary to experiment this way? Wouldn’t the safer path be to just admit that he might never be able to handle his thirst as well as the rest of us could, and not push his limits? Why flirt with disaster?

YES! WHY?!

For a group of vampires that don’t want to kill humans, so we’re told, they certainly don’t give a fuck if they kill humans.

It had been two weeks since our last hunting trip. That was not an immensely difficult time span for the rest of us. A little uncomfortable occasionally—if a human walked too close, if the wind blew the wrong way. But humans rarely walked too close. Their instincts told them what their conscious minds would never understand: We were a danger that must be avoided.

So... which is it?

Edward thinks about how oblivious the humans around them are and how they avoid the ‘odd-looking’ group.

Okay, if I had to guess, the avoidance has more to do with how fucking weird you are. A group of five incredibly attractive (And yet odd-looking? Sure Meyer) teenagers sitting by themselves with full trays of food that they don’t eat, all while wearing designer clothing. They don’t talk to each other, they barely even look at each other...

That’s fucking weird. THEY’RE WEIRD.

Meyer: They’re either so attractive as to lure their prey in for the kill or they’re so inhuman looking that no one wants to go near them. It can’t be both.

Anyway, a girl walks by and Edward starts frothing at the mouth while he and Jasper get a vampire erection over Jasper imagining MURDERING AN INNOCENT GIRL.

Also, calling her a ‘little girl’ is very creepy in an entirely different way. Just sayin’.

Edward snaps Jasper out of it and Alice lies and says he wasn’t going to slaughter an innocent human being in the middle of the cafeteria.

We had to stick together, Alice and I. It wasn’t easy, being the freaks among those who were already freaks.

Shut the ever-loving-fuck up.

And Alice, ever-so-helpfully, reminds Jasper to think of humans as people... because, you know, they aren’t really. Not compared to vampires anyway.

Someone mentally says the name ‘Edward’ so Edward turns to them as though they had actually called his name. Only it was in his head, not in real life. In case you didn’t catch that. That Edward is telepathic... so he hears thoughts as though they were being spoken to him. That’s why he looked over when someone thought his name.

In case you didn’t understand what was going on.

This is the first time Edward sees Bella and... he gives no fucks. But wait! Turns out it was Jessica Stanley thinking about him, not Bella!

In fact, Jessica thinks Bella is already crushing on all the Cullens.

Good for you, Jessica, not assuming Bella is only after the undead D. Rosalie/Bella shippers thank you.

Edward is relieved Jessica got over her fixation on him (because it’s totally normal for teenager girls to crush on weird-looking weirdos). He then goes on to show he has no idea how teenage girls (or adult women for that matter) work:

What a relief it had been when she’d gotten over her misplaced fixation. It used to be nearly impossible to escape her constant, ridiculous daydreams. I’d wished, at the time, that I could explain to her exactly what would have happened if my lips, and the teeth behind them, had gotten anywhere near her. That would have silenced those annoying fantasies.

That is the exact fantasy most TwiHards were having.

Jessica complains that she doesn’t see why all the boys are looking at Bella, thinking she’s ‘not even pretty’. I know this is supposed to make Jessica unlikable but, you know what? That is a very wounded teenage thought process. It’s immature and turning the blame somewhere else but that’s teenagers in a nutshell.

Edward comments on Jessica’s new obsession with Mike Newton – creepily calling him a child.

There is the implication that Jessica’s not a nice person because she’s being outwardly nice to Bella while bad-mouthing her mentally and... that’s such a Christian mentality: the idea that your thoughts matter as much as your actions. Just putting that out there because, clearly, we can see what Meyer’s opinion on that is… as long as it’s one of the Cullens or Bella doing the thinking, it’s fine! In Twilight, Bella was putting down everyone who looked at her until the hideously beautiful Edward was so mean to her.

No, I didn’t forget that shit.

Jessica continues being a teenager girl, hoping that with Bella’s ever-shining light of beauty shining beside her that maybe Senpai Mike will notice her.

And, of course, Edward is an asshole because he’s upset that a teenager girl has teenage thoughts.

He tells Emmett what’s going down with the new girl and tries to listen in on Bella’s thoughts to see what she thinks about all this.

And, because Bella doesn’t actually have thoughts, all Edward hears in the unending howling void.

Edward tells us he has to use his powers to protect his family! He has to listen to everyone’s thoughts in case anyone gets suspicious about the beautiful/weird/attractive/repulsive family in their midst.

I feel like that would be easier if Edward didn’t actively try to ignore everyone.

But sometimes people get it right and the Cullens have to disappear before... I don’t know. Meyerpires are indestructible by humans to the point that they can outrun nuclear bombs. The Vultori might come whine at them for exposing the secret but by that point, the Cullens disappearing would just draw even more attention.

Edward tries to listen to the new girl but gets nothing. He turns to check and all he can see is the brown-void eyes of Bella.

There’s also a bit in there where Edward wonders if Bella is still sitting there because she must be since Jessica is still talking. He turns and sees Bella still sitting there because of course she is, because Jessica is still talking to her. You see, Bella was still there and Edward suspected as much as Jessica was still talking to her because she was still sitting there.

He gets another hard-on as Bella blushes. He comments that she “looked surprised” as she “unknowingly absorbed the signs of subtle differences between her kind and mine.”

Bitch, you don’t know that. You can’t read her fucking thoughts. You’re just assuming this bullshit. This is some of what I remember from skimming the first Midnight Sun. You just make up shit about her personality to suit what you want! Reality is completely optional.

And we get this:

[...] as she listened to Jessica’s tale; and something more… Fascination? It wouldn’t be the first time. We were beautiful to them, our intended prey.

You know, the hyper attractiveness that turns people away because of how odd-looking they are but also draws people to them while also making people avoid them because they’re so inhuman.

And yet, though her thoughts had been so clear in her odd eyes—odd because of the depth to them—I could hear only silence from the place she was sitting. Just… silence.

Yes, because she’s the void personified.

Try and keep up.

Edward decides that he’s just not trying hard enough and stops blocking out all the teenager chatter – you know, the chatter he constantly listens to to ensure the safety of his family? That chatter.

Also, shout out to Ashley Dowling for obviously having a crush on Bella.

Angela Weber is the only one not thinking about Bella. I’m sure Meyer’s just trying to show how ‘unusually kind’ she is but... acting like a completely normal person doesn’t really qualify as being ‘unusually kind’.

Then Meyer, again, tries too hard to make Jessica unlikable by having her mentally calling Bella an idiot for asking about Edward Cullen. But since Bella is an idiot...

We get the infamous “He’s gorgeous, obviously.” line even though all of student body finds the Cullens odd-looking and want nothing to do with them.

And Edward gets this strong impulse to protect Bella from Jessica’s nefarious plots to... get mildly more popular for the short time people care that there’s a new student at school. He describes how fragile Bella looks and how translucent her skin is...

Then we get this little gem where Meyer, apparently, forgot Edward can’t read Bella’s mind while describing things he’d only know if he could read her mind.

It was unbelievably frustrating! I could easily see that it was a strain for her to sit there, to make conversation with strangers, to be the center of attention. I could sense her shyness from the way she held her frail-looking shoulders, slightly hunched, as if she was expecting a rebuff at any moment.

This is a one-way street, Meyer. Edward has to stay his ass in his own lane.

Edward informs us that, despite not being able to hear Bella’s thoughts, he’s not going to let himself get too interest in them just because they’re hidden from him... then immediately says he’s going to find out what she thinks no matter what it takes. No matter how petty, trivial, self-absorbed, whiny, and shallow they are! He will find out!

Emmett interrupts Edward’s obliviousness to his own faults and asks if Bella is afraid of them yet.

“They sit by themselves, never talk to anyone, and stare at the wall.” Absolutely terrifying.

Lunch is over and the Cullens to go their classes. Edward is an asshole prepared to be bored because he’s so much smarter than the biology teacher.

He also tells us the reason he has a table to himself is because everyone is avoiding him and they were too stupid to know why. Yes, that is the word he uses.

Such a Prince Charming, isn’t he?

Again, Edward laments his inability to sleep when Angela leads Bella into class! Then Edward remembers he was totally thinking about Bella just now and not wishing he was asleep!

Also, Angela? Shut up.

The Void comes in and Edward still can’t hear her and, in one of the few moments I like, he worries that he’s losing his gift. Don’t worry, nothing comes out of that thought.

Edward notes that the only available seat is beside him so he clears a bit of room for her, feeling sorry that she’s doomed to spend so much time next to his hideousness. BUT THEN!

Bella Swan walked into the flow of heated air that blew toward me from the vent.

Her scent hit me like a battering ram, like an exploding grenade. There was no image violent enough to encompass the force of what happened to me in that moment.

Now comes a page long description of Edward losing his shit. He tells us, multiple times, how much he wants to eat her, how he’ll have to get rid of the witnesses, blah blah blah. It’s basically the same paragraph repeated a few times... But you know what? It’s better than the whiny shit we’ve been getting and it’s nice to actually see the ‘good’ vampires struggle in a not completely idiotic way... so I ain’t that mad at it.

I was actually enjoying it a bit until Meyer stuck her dumb in my chocolate by having Edward rip a bit of wood off the desk. Like no one would have heard that. Or wonder why there’s a pile of sawdust under Edward’s desk.

Edward... I know that you’re far older than anyone in that room but... calling people children is just fucking creepy. Stop.

He calculates the best way to slurp Bella up and kill witnesses in the most efficient way (interrupted occasionally by an eye-roll worthy melodramatic thought about murdering innocents). I would like this if it wasn’t such a stark reminder of how Edward doesn’t actually give two fucks about humans – he just doesn’t want to disappoint his Not-Dad... who, from what we’ve seen in the guide (shudder) doesn’t really seem to care either as long as he’s not the one doing the murdering. They don’t kill people not because they care or want to protect them but because Dad said not to.

Bella sits down beside him (And he’s absolutely sure she’s terrified of him though she’s shown no sign of that and HE CAN’T READ HER THOUGHTS.)

Anyway, he whines that now he has to kill her for existing.

This is another little plothole that bothers me: he doesn’t have to stay in the classroom. He can ask to be excused, say he’s feeling sick or he has to use the bathroom. Yeah, it would draw a few moments of attention but, you know, IT’S BETTER THAN PLOTTING THE MURDER OF THIRTY PEOPLE.

Meyer decides to call me out on that thought and claims:

Every life in this room was in danger while she and I were in it together. I should run. I wanted to run, to get away from the heat of her next to me, and the punishing pain of the burning, but I wasn’t one hundred percent sure that if I unlocked my muscles to move, even just to stand, I wouldn’t lash out and commit the slaughter I’d already planned.

Fuck you, he only needs to resist for the half-a-dozen seconds it’d take to get out of the room. But no, he’d rather try and resist for an hour instead.

He, again, talks about Bella’s skin and calls it ‘See-through’.

Sexy

Edward’s becomes increasingly paranoid that Bella’s ‘trying to hide her secrets from him’.

Chillax, Eddie. She ain’t that deep.

He changes tactics. He’ll try to get her alone and his plan for this is flawless!

If he asks to walk her to her next class, she has to be polite and say yes! Even though he’s certain she’s terrified of him (because he completely fails at reading human reactions if he can’t read their minds), she’ll have to do the polite thing! Because reasons!

While he doesn’t realize how stupid that is, he does notice that everyone with an interest in ladies is already obsessing over Ms. Swan so people will probably notice him leading her away like the serial killer he is.

So he plots to wait until she gets home to murder her.

And you guys, he just hates her so much! I mean, he hates himself but he hates her for making him hate himself but also her because she exists but also himself but also her but also himself...

And apparently that was his entire thought process for the next hour because class is suddenly over!

Edward runs out of the room – you know, the thing he said he couldn’t do before because even just moving might prompt him to murder everything – and mopes in his car where he realizes that ‘Wait... I don’t have to do the thing’.

He wonders why Alice didn’t break their cover and draw attention to themselves by barging into Edward’s class to help him get rid of either his murder-boner or the bodies caused by his murder-boner. He decides that she’s focusing on making sure Jasper doesn’t get a murder-boner and she’s concentrating ‘vary’ hard on that.

(Is pointing out typos a bit too petty? Maybe but I did it.)

And Edward feels a new burn coursing through his body! The burn of SHAME!

(I'm glad I got to use this Gif so early on!)

I should say that, through out all of this, Edward’s been going on about his little monster (not that one) growling around his head but all I can imagine are the critters from Critters Attack:

He decides to just avoid Bella as much as possible while being in the same building as her and goes to try and change his classes halfway through the semester.

He startles Mrs. Cope by being so vampirey, though humans are too stupid to notice that, because he came in quietly while she wasn’t paying attention. Her panties are immediately soaked at the sight of teenage boy bod (ew) and asks how she could help him. Eddie lays it on thick because... I don’t know. I’m pretty sure she’s not in charge of the classes, so there’s no reason for him to make her flood the office like this...

Even he’s uncomfortable but he still does it. Gross.

Also, statistically, women prefer men close to their own age or slightly older, so...

We get a whole paragraph of Mrs. Cope thinking of how smart and perfect the Cullens are – actually thinking the line ‘Perfect Cullen’.

When she says that he can’t change or drop the class, he tries to stare her into submission, lamenting that his eyes aren’t gold but the terrifying black instead.

Uh... dark dark brown, almost black eyes are pretty common and can be very alluring. Have you forgotten Ben Barnes exists?! Here, I'll remind you:

I’d be more freaked out by the gold.

Bella, of course, interrupts this awkward seduction and sends Edward running with his tail between his legs. He passes by some random guy in the parking lot and, since Edward is so all important, the guy wonders where Edward came from and, instead of deciding he must not have noticed him before (Like a normal person not in a SMeyer book would do) he decides his imagination is getting the better of him.

Edward makes it to the Volvo where the others are waiting. He takes off like a bat out of hell (lawl) and in a moment of stupid where Meyer, once again, forgets how her characters's powers work:

She looked ahead for me now. We both processed what she saw in her head, and we were both surprised.

“You’re leaving?” she whispered.

You see... Alice’s visions are based on people’s decisions... Edward didn’t know he was leaving until he saw that Alice saw he was leaving... which makes no sense in the context of what we’ve been given.

And so, after a moment of Edward thinking about killing Bella, he decides to flee the entire country.

And that’s the end of chapter one! It took me way longer than I expected and I used 74 tabs... This is going to be an experience and a half...

Until next time, I'm out!

[diazevan]

xxiii. bleeding out

WARNINGS: Endgame Compliant + Major Character Death 

Set eleven years after Endgame (Morgan is fifteen, Peter is twenty-seven) 

After a rather strenuous day at school, Morgan needed to phone Michelle to ask when they were meeting with the rest of the bridesmaids, for a debrief before Peter and Michelle’s big day, and then, she wanted to binge the latest Star Wars series, in her sweatpants, and one of Tony’s old oversized t-shirts.  It was the perfect Friday night.  Pepper had a meeting in Toronto, so Morgan had the house to herself until around ten. She had no school work, considering she was in ninth grade, and already doing eleventh grade work. There was no doubting that she was her father’s daughter, even if she couldn’t remember much about him. Morgan pulled her rucksack off her back and swung it mindlessly in her hand, as she skipped up the porch stairs, humming a ‘Black Sabbath’ song under her breath. A ruffling came from closeby. She abruptly stopped in her tracks, at the front door, her hum came to an end and she listened. The Lakehouse was surrounded by woodland. There were no other houses in a two-mile radius. The closest building was the train that she caught for school. It was a good twenty-minute walk, down a dirt road, from the station. Morgan would know if someone had been following her, she’d be raised by a family of superheroes, she knew how to stay safe. The sound echoed for a second time. It wasn’t the wind, and it certainly wasn’t an animal. It was a yelp, a cry for help, and to Morgan, it sounded human. There was only one person who came to the Lakehouse when they were injured. She’d seen them bloodied and bruised too many times to count. “Peter!” She called as she tossed her rucksack down, and charged down the porch steps, “Peter!”  She had grown accustomed to finding her brother in terrifying situations. In the eleven years that he’d been part of her life, a considerable amount of their time together, she had spent watching him suffer for what he did.

She knew he was Spider-Man, and he was a hero, she’d admired that. Sometimes, she wished, that he’d let it go but would never confess that fear. Being a superhero wasn’t all it was hyped up to be. Morgan couldn’t remember much about her dad, but she could recall the times he told her about Iron Man, and although the stories were fantastical, he didn’t seem happy when he told them. She didn’t realise that until he was gone. “Peter!” She screamed as she charged around, frantically searching for her brother, “Hello!” She skidded to a halt when she caught sight of Peter’s leg, sticking out from behind a tree, “Hey!”  Peter was propped up against the tree, in his black and red suit, with his arms limply hung by his sides; he was clasping his mask, in his right hand. His skin was pale and sweaty; there were multiple deep cuts on his cheeks, one was dangerously close to his right eye. His hand was pressed against his side, where he was bleeding out. His suit was beyond unrecognizable, it was torn all over, and covered neck-to-toe in lacerations. His eyes were open, but he was staring, lifelessly ahead. Morgan collapsed to her knees in front of him, “Peter?” She cautiously moved forward, placing her hand over his, attempting to stop the bleeding. He didn’t flinch or even register she was there, “Hey, Peter.” Her voice trembled, her hopeful bravado crumbled, “Can you hear me?” He blinked, slowly, his eyes met hers, “Morgan?” He choked, his mouth twitched into a half-smile to greet her. “Yeah, yeah, it’s me.” Morgan stumbled over her words, as she reached out, brushing her other hand back through his curls, “What...what happened?” Peter grimaced as he struggled to force air into his lungs, “Osborn….” Norman Osborn, the Green Goblin. Peter had been fighting him, off and on, for two years. He was dangerous and ruthless. He’d even taken Morgan hostage once when she was twelve. Peter had gotten him arrested multiple times, but nothing worked, the man always had a way out. He threatened everyone Peter loved, from May to Michelle. There was no-one Peter feared more than him. Morgan let go of his injury and went to stand up, “...I’m gonna get help.” Peter caught her wrist, with his bloodied hand, and pulled her close, “No...” He shook his head, and looked up at her, with teary-eyes, “Stay with me.” Morgan pointed back toward the house, “I gotta…” “Please…” Peter’s breath hitched over a cough as he grasped her hand. She knew what this was. She could tell, she had known since she found him. This is it, this is how Peter’s story ends, and it’s not fair. He was marrying Michelle in three weeks, and they were planning to have kids soon. Everything in Peter’s life was falling into place. He finally had everything he deserved. Especially after all the shit, he’d been through since Tony died. Peter had faced more than any other Avenger and he still came out of it all as himself. Her brother was the one who deserved a happy ending, and this wasn’t it. This was an end and it was the opposite of what he deserved.  History was repeating itself. This happened with Tony, and now, it was happening with Peter. Two people, who were selfishly tested by the universe, and when happiness was within their grasp, they were torn away. Morgan wanted to scream because Peter promised her that he wouldn’t end up like Tony, but this wasn’t his fault and he needed her, “Okay.”  She sat down by his side, “Thank you.” Peter muttered breathlessly, as he leant his head against her shoulder. He stretched out his shaking hand, Morgan took it. Morgan could hear his chest rattle as he fought for air, his breathing was unrhythmic and desperate, she gently shushed him, as she laid her head on his, and rubbed her thumb across his hand. “I--” He coughed, “I stopped him.” “Osborn?” “Yeah.” He nestled closer to her side, “He...he can’t..hurt.” He winced as he tried to clear his throat. “He can’t hurt any of us…” Morgan finished for him, as she clutched his hand as tight as she could. “That’s good…” Peter slurred, “I couldn’t---I couldn't save him….” He choked on a sob, as he reached over with his other hand, taking her arm, “...Tony…” Morgan blinked away tears as she whimpered, “I couldn't save him. No matter what I did…” He let go of a quiet wet laugh, “But I saved you, Morgs, all of...I did it…” “You did it.” She reassured him, “We’re gonna be okay.” “I’m sorry, munchkin.” Peter stuttered, “I know..I said…” He took a second to breathe, “I--I tried.” He was apologizing for breaking their promise, the one where he said that being Spider-Man wouldn’t do to him, what being Iron Man did to Tony. Morgan wished she’d never asked him to make that promise because all it did was prolong his suffering. They both knew in their hearts that this would happen. She tapped his arm, “It’s okay.” Morgan remembered what her mum told her about Tony’s death. Pepper didn’t beg him to stay or to hold on for a little while longer, because fighting the inevitable, would have hurt him. Peter was fighting for air, and crying out after every other breath. Morgan couldn’t hold on, that was selfish, she had to let him go. “You know, Dad's gonna keep you safe…” She eased, hoping there was truth in that sentiment.  “Yeah…” Peter muttered as his breathing relaxed, and the gaps between each gasp grew longer, “I...I’ll say hello to him…for you…” Peter loosened against her side, as he let out one last peaceful breath, and his hands fell away from hers. Morgan screamed into the deafening silence as she kept her arm locked around his, “Petey?” She moved to press a kiss in his curls, “I love you…” She confessed, as she tucked his unruly hair behind his ear, “Three thousand.” Everybody wants a happy ending, right? But it doesn't always roll that way. 

[lettersinscarlet]

Suuupp sisterrrrr!! Can you do an imagine where colby and the reader begin as enemies. At some point, they are forced to spend time together and begin falling in love. Thankssss, Love ya ❤😘

Hey! So I got a request like this and I was planning to split it up into a few parts, so I’m just going to write a little something for this right now. But don’t worry, it should be coming up soon, sisterrrr!! Love ya too!

———

You slammed your fist against the door for what felt like the hundredth time. “Let me out of here, now!” you screamed.

“If they were going to do that, they would’ve done it the first time you asked,” a voice snarked from behind you. You turned and flipped off the person trapped in there with you, watching as he smirked and returned the gesture.

Of course, you were trapped with Colby, because that was just your luck. The one person on the face of the earth you could not stand. Everything he did was irritating, and now you were trapped in a room with him. This was torture.

“If you’re so smart, why don’t you try and get us out of here?” you offered, stepping aside and showing him the door.

“I was trying to come up with something, but I couldn’t think over your incessant shouting and beating,” he remarked. You threw your hands up, rolling your eyes for the thousandth time.

“Do you have to be so irritating? If you weren’t such a pain, we could’ve come up with something and been out of here by now,” you replied, watching as he eyes got bigger.

“Me? Irritating? It’s you that’s the annoying one!” he shot back, raising his voice. You walked closer to him, staring him down.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighed before responding. “Of course, you can’t seem to figure out what I mean when I say exactly what I mean-“

“Shut up!” you yelled, taking a few more steps. “You’re so stuck up all the time, Brock, and I can’t figure out why! You’re just so much better than everyone else,” you mocked him, watching him shake his head.

“You know that’s not true. If anything, you’re the one-“

“Why don’t you just stop talking for once in your life and do something to get us out of here?” you interrupted him, not interested in hearing what he had to say.

And thus began the shouting match. Names were called, things were brought up thag shouldn’t have been, and you’re sure that anyone within a ten mile radius heard you guys. You guys had just spent so long hating each other that there was so much to bring up.

“Why do I hate you so much?” you yelled, looking at him. You guys were within a foot of each other now.

“Why can’t I just stay away from you?” he asked, his eyes searching for the answer on your face. You were both breathing heavy, and the tension was so thick that it could be cut with a knife. And then all of a sudden it hit you.

You wanted him.

You wanted him so bad, how had you been so blind all this time? Your friends had made jokes, but you had just brushed them off. How could you not see it?

The realization hit him, too, and you could see by the look of shock on his face. Suddenly you were both closer than you thought you were, and his lips were so pink, you just wanted a taste-

“Look!” he exclaimed, catching you off guard. You turned and saw he was pointing at a window. It was a bit higher up, but you saw you could stack the things to reach it.

“Can we bust it?” you asked, and he nodded.

“It’s a bit of a drop, so I’ll go first and catch you,” he told you. You nodded.

Soon, the window was broken and Colby had hopped down. You crawled up to it and you went through, bracing yourself. You felt yourself crash into Colby’s arms, but he didn’t drop you. You felt comfortable in them, but you didn’t have long to cherish the moment. You got down and the both of you took off running, finally being free from where you were captive.

You were both out of breath by the time you reached a destination that seemed safe. You looked at Colby and smiled, feeling that adrenaline from escaping and the rush of freedom that filled you. Colby looked at you and he scratched his neck before he spoke.

“Listen, about back there-“

But you smashed your lips onto his before he could finish the sentence. He kissed you back fiercely, and now the two of you weren’t out of breath from just the running. You smiled at him, staying close to him.

“Just one rule,” you started, smiling at him.

“Don’t tell Sam,” the two of you repeating, laughing after you had said it.

Colby quickly pulled you in for another kiss before he reached down and grabbed your hand.

“Come on, let’s head back.”

[bittersweetsongbirdsworld]

"Jin hyung, to your left! Child six with a spear laced with poison that can kill you with just a scratch!"

"Hoseok, up in the air! Child seventeen with an axe coming right at you!"

"Jeongguk, child thirty five below you with two hatches is buried right under you! Jump out of the way now!"

Honestly, the only reason why those six haven't found themselves dead in the dirt was because of Yoongi's guidance. With the experience he's had with battles and a little bit of magic (and some soul resistance) Yoongi could see everything in a fifteen mile radius. He could see thirty five children, half of them weapons, the other half misters with some magic abilities. He could see where they were coming from and what their next attack was. It was a handy power, they'll give him that, but it was also draining. At most, he could use the power up to fifteen minutes before he had to rest his eyes. It was a ten minute wait between the usage, so Yoongi found himself fighting with his eyes closed.

Swinging the scythe around, the blade cut cleanly through a child and the child weapon, both the children combusting into red souls floating on the ground. Clenching the handle of the scythe, Yoongi thanked the gods that he could battle with his eyes closed because he didnt think he'd be able to watch his friends and himself kill these kids. He could feel the warm blood splatter against his skin, Jimin's once beautiful blade most likely drenched in the dripping wet crimson of the children's blood. He thought he'd fall to his knees and give in, but when a sweet voice sang sweet words in Yoongi's head, he found himself pushing forward.

"All of this is no coincidence. Just.. Just by my feelings. The whole world is different from yesterday. Just.. just your joy."

Jimin's sweet singing flowed throughout Yoongi, his mind buzzing as he listened to his partner sing to him and him only. He told Jimin that his voice was his taste and even eased him in the times he found himself anxious and it looks like the weapon even remembered that. It was a sweet gesture, but Yoongi found himself hanging onto the voice, clenching it close as he slaughtered through these kids. He used Jimin's sweet voice to drowned out the cries and screaming, his voice soft enough to distract Yoongi from the sticky feeling of blood all over his hands, face, hair, and in his clothes.

"When you called me, I became your flower. As if we were waiting, we bloom until we ache."

It was bittersweet, honestly. No one deserved to hear such a lovely voice as they kill thirty five kids, the honestly don't. Yoongi didnt deserve to have Jimin in his life, especially when he was forced into situations like this. But there he was, waking up everyday with messy bed hair and a large smile on his face as he whispered his good mornings to Yoongi. It honestly hurt Yoongi seeing Jimin so happy, so bubbly, so kind with everyone he meets to only be forced into a mission like this. It was traumatizing and it isn't something one star meisters should be pushed into, let alone new weapons.

"Maybe it’s the providence of the universe. It just had to be that. You know, I know. You are me, I am you."

Once Yoongi opened his eyes once more, he found his friends panting, holding their weapons close as the looked on. All there stood was a little girl, the girl they only should have encountered this whole mission. Thirty four kishin souls littered the ground, their red glow illuminating the ground with their red glow. The battle had been going on for hours, three to be exact, but no one else seemed to be checking the time but Yoongi. Only one child left and this whole nightmare would be over. Yoongi could go home, shower, and sleep away the panic that sat heavy in his stomach.

"As much as my heart flutters, I’m worried. The destiny is jealous of us. Just like you I’m so scared. When you see me, when you touch me."

The child took a step forward and everyone had their weapons in fighting position, everyone soaked in blood, cuts and bruises littering their skin. Yoongi hand only a few scratches, but since he was an experienced meister, he could easily dance around attacks and avoid much injury compared to his friends. He honestly wished he could take these blows for this friends, but he also needed to make sure Jimin didn't get hurt as well during the fight.

"The universe has moved for us. Without missing a single thing. Our happiness was meant to be. Cuz you love me, and I love you."

The wind changed, the wind coming from behind them. Yoongi glanced over his shoulder to see what could have caused the wind to suddenly chance, but the sound of something like electricity and a burning fire caught his attention. He tore his gaze away from the blowing leaves on the trees and looked back at the small child, his eyes widening at the size of the soul that consumed her small figure. This wasn't a mission for one or two star meisters, only a mission for him. There was no way Jin, Jeongguk, or Hoseok could take this kishin out by themselves. Maybe together, but not all alone. There was no way-

"Yoongi hyung, look out!" Jeongguk's voice nearly punched Yoongi out of his buzzing thoughts, a blast of what seemed to be a burning spell flying right at him. There was no way he could simply dodge this attack and the method Yoongi and Jimin came up with would leave someone with burnt legs. So, Yoongi did the only thing he could think of: Toss Jimin to the side before he could transform back into his human form and grab Yoongi, which could leave Jimin with severe burns.

Everyone watched as the scythe, aka Jimin, was thrown to the side, Yoongi hit head on by this blast of magic. Within seconds Jimin was back to his human form, Yoongi lying on the ground, his body burned severely. He was frozen, his mouth dropped open as he watched as his partner lay unconscious on the dirty forest floor. Jimin scrambled to his feet, everyone else jumping the little girl as to protect the fallen man.

"Yoongi hyung, no!" Jimin cried as he held the man's head in his arms, Yoongi not responding once to Jimin's pitiful cries. "Why didn't you let me pull you away? Why did you take the blow for yourself? I'm your weapon damn it, I'm the one who should be protecting you, not the other way around," Jimin hissed through the tears, his body shaking as he held the unresponsive man close.

Weak fingers curled around Jimin's sweater, Jimin immediately grabbing Yoongi's hand. He held Yoongi's hand close to his chest as he weeped quiet over Yoongi's body. It was a small sign of life, but Jimin was going to hold onto the small sign and never let go, even if it ment heart break in the end. What else was he supposed to do when the man he loved was dying in his arms.

"Yoongi hyung please, don't die. Please. I.. I think I love you."

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

A sound soul

Dwells within a sound mind

And a sound body

.

. .

. . .

The DWMA is was widely know around the world, even in Korea. Every child wanted to be either a weapon or a meister, but only a select few were blessed with such a golden opportunity. These students were admitted into the DWMA as soon as they could walk and talk, many of them not showing any signs of weapon form till years on. Yoongi was a meister, a scythe mister to be exact. How is he going to feel when he finds out there is only one in the school and the kid just so happens to be fucking annoying?

🖤 15/?

[sheepsandcattle]

Chapter 19

His hands are shaking from withdrawal or anger or both as he stirs the off-coloured liquid with the end of a syringe. His phone is pinging beside him, but he ignores it because he knows it’s Jeff asking where he is, and he can’t be arsed with it right now. He’s late. He knows.

Jules reckons he’s in over his head. He’s not making money like he used to, and he knows it’s because he got caught up in it all. He spends more time in the apartment than he does out on making deals these days. He’s barely making rent and Jules is charging him full for the drugs now and he was meant to be with Jeff and Dean an hour ago, sipping beer before they leave the apartment but instead, he’s doing junk on his bedroom floor because—

Hear him out. Everything’s just so fucking much recently. He’s always feeling so blinded and he just wants a bit of darkness.

Does that make sense?

The phone goes off yet again and he gives in, balancing the syringe on his knee as he sends a hurried text; ‘meet u there.’ He was meant to tell them ages ago. Most have forgotten.

After hurriedly drawing the liquid into the needle, he pulls the lace tight around his bicep to take the hit. When he’s done, he chucks the syringe into a mug and leans back onto the end of his bed. He’ll clean it later.

X-Ray Spex are playing so loud that the bass drowns out his pulse. The weight of it drags him into the ground, pins his hands down and his eyelids shut as he breathes through it; heavily through his mouth. He stays put for a while, listening to the music and letting the room evaporate around him until he’s floating in black tar.

He remembers listening to this album on a field with his best mate at seventeen, weed-high with his eyes shut and wishing he could disassociate; to stop feeling and smelling and seeing and hearing anything else around him. Just the music that made his brain jump about in his daft head.

Now he is buried in warm sand and all he can feel is the beat vibrating the ground and all he can smell is nothing and all he can see is black.

For a second, when the song ends and before the next one begins, he feels and smells and sees and hears absolutely nothing. Then Poly Styrene is chanting “I'm a cliché, I'm a cliché, I'm a cliché, I'm a cliché,” and all of his senses come back all at once.

He groans, counts to ten, and forces himself up from the ground. His legs fail him for half a second, but his elbow becomes acquainted with his dresser in time to stop the fall. He grabs a pack of fags whilst he’s there, counts himself in again, and slumps out of his room and through the apartment.

They’re going to a party tonight. It’s half ten at night and Jules has gone out for a fag, which he’d usually do inside but he’s pissed off as well.

He finds him sat on the curb outside, smoking steadily, eyes cast down to his phone. He looks up when the door shuts behind Curly, asks, “you ready,” and Curly nods.

They sit in silence in the car and split off when they get to the party. Curls finds Jeff and Dean almost immediately and sits with them in the living room, lighting a joint and sinking into the sofa as the conversation fills the rest of the air around him.

After an hour or so, Jeff asks, “Curls, are you good,” and Dean says, “man you don’t look right,” but he doesn’t feel like defending himself and he’s soon shuffling pitifully across the front yard to where Jules now sits on the curb with Oscar who’s fresh out of work.

Curls says, “I’m sorry, mate,” and falls beside Jules, arse hitting the pavement so hard his breath thumps and all the air within a twelve-mile radius fills his skull. He takes a long, deep breath to compose himself. “Sorry I’m a cunt, I aren’t like you. I’ve got nothing happening for me these days. It’s rubbish.”

He supposes he did blow up for no reason; didn’t want to come out tonight but didn’t want to be alone again. That’s all. He just wanted Jules to stay, because ever since he came clean about Jordan, he’s felt just a bit closer to his roommate, even if he never tended to say the right thing and, if anything, has become more distant than ever. He just wants someone to cling to for a while.

“That’s not my fault,” Jules scoffs, but he passes his lighter to Curly like a peace-offering. “You got fired. You ditched your guy. You cut your best friend off. You called your mom a… What was it?”

“A daft cow,” he mumbles, and they both laugh a little, but then pretend it never happened because they’re both still meant to be just a little bit angry.

“Right. You did that, not me.”

“I know,” he mumbles, and he feels so fucking minuscule. It’s not really that funny, is it? “It’s just… Shit. Feel like I’m going mental.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you need to get out more. Not just for deals,” Oscar chimes in now and great, he’s had enough of Curly, too. He wonders if Jules has filled their roommate in on Curly’s shit show. Jules nods along with Oscar.

“Yeah. I know, I know.” He doesn’t really know what else to say. “Can I nick a fag?”

Their place on the curb rings with a chilling silence, but the 'oh Curly’ type of laughter that follows washes the tension away and the air is breathable again.

The night feels easy after that and it turns out he isn’t fussed about being out of the apartment after all. The house is a bit rammed and Jeff is winding him up, giving him a look every time he opens another beer, but other than that, he feels comfortable. It’s the first time in weeks that he doesn’t feel like he’s buried in static and white noise.

“Hey Curls, you good?”

It’s a little later when Oscar nudges his shoulder and he’s drunk too, so Curly’s not embarrassed to slur his words.

“Yeh. Have y’got a lighter?”

“Ask me in thirty minutes,” Oscar says. “Oh, and Curls, go clean yourself up, man.”

Curly doesn’t understand why he has to wait or what he’s meant to be cleaning up, but he gets distracted soon after anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

Dean kisses his cheek at some point. His beard itches and whilst he’s there he whispers, “you wanna crash with us tonight, buddy,” and Curly shakes his head but says, “cheers though.”

Dean’s wiping kitchen roll over Curly’s forearm and there’s a little blood on it but God knows why. Well, Curly knows why. Because he keeps forgetting to ‘rotate scenes’ or whatever it is Jules keeps badgering him about.

“Maybe you should head home,” Dean suggests. Curly walks off.

He dances alone in the kitchen for a bit, then in the living room and then talks to a bloke called Rooney about modern punks and how Curly reckons “it has a whole new meaning these days, and Morrissey is a complete arsehole. Always has been, mate,” but then realises Rooney is a knob who won’t pipe down about immigrants and all the rights he reckons they don’t deserve.

He tells Rooney to sod off and dances some more in the back yard instead with someone (or no one - who knows?)

Someone says, “your accent is bullshit,” and someone asks, “what are you on, dude? Got any spare?” Somebody else tells him, “yeah, no, I get it. Like I tried to go vegan once but…” something, something, something…

A boy with nice eyelashes tells him his hair is amazing and asks to touch it and, oh, at one point he speaks to a bloke named Henry. That’s his dad’s name and Henry says, “yeah, you already said.”

“Your hair’s growing like crazy,” Jordan tells him and... Oh.

Curly doesn’t remember starting a conversation with him, doesn’t even remember seeing him here. Doesn’t remember coming back inside from the back yard or how he ended up in an empty bath, fully clothed with him, shoes scuffing the sides of the tub.

“So why did you wanna talk to me in the bathtub?”

Oh. Alright. Wow, okay. Why did he want to do that?

He rubs his face. He thinks... He thinks. Think think think. Okay. The party was too full. Jeff said, “Curls, slow down,” and Dean said, “J, don’t bother. He’s had too much already.” Jules and Oscar went home (he thinks) and everyone said he should go with them, but he’s been having too much fun and doesn’t like being told when to stop.

“Everyone ’ad too much t’say.”

“Right… But what did you want to say?”

Fuck’s sake. What did he want to say? His head throbs when his temple hits the wall and, oh, was he tilting? Jordan’s hand slips between his head and the tiles, the other landing on the other side of his skull and bracing him.

“Curls, are you alright? Curly, hey.” Curly’s head is tilted back, J’s thumbs digging into his cheeks. “Open your eyes.”

“Yeh.” He does as he’s told, and it turns out his head isn’t tilted back after all, it’s just at the right angle to watch Jordan as he frowns. Didn’t even realise he’d closed his eyes in the first place. Why is he in a bath with— Oh, yeah. “I just… wanted t’say…. Fuckin’ell.”

“I’ll get Jeff-“

“No— jus’…” Curly’s hands are on Jordan’s face now, until the weight of them wins and they drop to his shoulders instead, grabbing the material of his shirt so they don’t fall away. “Are y’a’right?”

Jordan’s eyes narrow, his brows crease and his face tilts slightly. Then he laughs and Curly thinks God bless.

“You. You just wanna know if I’m alright?” His words are tinted with laughter and everything is warm and cool at the same time. “Yeah, Curls. I’m alright. Are you alright?”

He hums, blinking slowly, and when he opens his eyes, he’s on Jeff and Dean’s couch.

The apartment is dead quiet but there’s light coming through the blinds that someone forgot to close. He has a thick, knitted blanket draped over his top half, but he’s still got all his clobber on and his feet hang over the arm of the sofa, Dr. Martens weighing his ankles down. His arm is aching like mad when he feels around for his phone and when he looks down, he’s got a peeling plaster patched onto the crease of his elbow.

His phone has two missed calls and a new message. They’re all Jordan.

10:34 - text when your up

He’s ready to crawl up his own arse with embarrassment. He hesitates but texts back saying exactly that and, within two minutes, Jordan is ringing him.

He answers and forgets to say hello at first, but when he remembers, it’s sandy and his voice takes a second to wear in and the ‘h’ is missing.

“Morning. How’re you feeling?” Jordan’s voice feels worn and sleepy too and Curly can picture him now, in bed with his hair scruffy and his glasses on because contacts are too much effort for the first five minutes of his morning.

“Shite. Head’s killing me,” he grumbles, groaning as he rolls onto his back. “Fuck’s sake. Sorry for last night.”

Jordan laughs over the line and Curly hears him take a breath and reckons he’s getting out of bed or off the sofa. He wills himself to do the same, but only sinks further into the cushions as he listens to Jordan speak. “No need. You didn’t do anything.”

“Was I sick?” Silence. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, I was. Was it bad? Did I row with—“

“No, no,” he cuts him off and he’s giggling. Giggling. As if. “No puke, no rowing…”

Curly can’t quite decide if he wants more information or he’d prefer to stay blissfully unaware, so he stays quiet and waits for Jordan to decide for him.

“Your nose still bleeding?”

“What?”

“Never mind. Listen, about what you said last night: I get it. A’ight?” Curly racks his brain, trying to figure out what he could be on about, and Jordan must make sense of his silence. “If you don’t remember, it don’t matter, I just. I wanted you to know I’m sorry for—“

“Curly,” a voice chimes from behind him, and he finally pushes himself up from the sofa, met with Dean stretching his arms over his head as he makes his way from his room and towards the kitchen. “How are you feeling?”

“Is that…“ Jordan pauses. “Call me back later, yeah? We’ll talk about it.”

“No, it’s alright, now’s fine,” Curly insists, but the line’s already dead. Dean’s looking guilty, only now realising he’d been on the phone, but Curly says, “morning, mate. I feel like utter shit,” as he drops the phone into his lap.

“I bet you do,” Dean chuckles as he hobbles sleepily into the kitchen. Curly hears crockery clang as he calls, “hey, at least your nose stopped bleeding.”

[iatheia]

Der Tod comparison

I don’t want to count how many times I’ve seen Elisabeth at this point, over the years, and last three months specifically. Several dozens. And one thing that never keeps stopping amazing me is just how different most of them are from each other, not even just in terms of the score, but also the character interpretation.

Well, not all characters. Real historical characters are somewhat more confined to the canon. Poor FJ almost never has any room to grow in any way that doesn’t involve facial hair - he is the most static one of them all between the different performances. Dear old Sophie ranges on the scale from “less evil” to “more evil”. Rudolf could have more or less agency in his actions, more or less aware of the manipulation happening behind the scenes, more or less willing to go along with it. Lucheni could be more or less sane, more or less of a puppetmaster of this musical, more or less malicious in his treatment of the rest of the cast. Our titular character, Sisi, can be more or less childish, more or less of an active participant of her own misery, more or less welcoming of the affections that are bestowed upon her.

There are definitely more than a few standout performances among them, both individually and cast-wide, performances that forced me to pay attention to them, to make a double-take, to appreciate the complexities of the characters time and time again. But I never go into a production not knowing who these characters are, what is supposed to make them tick.

With Der Tod, all of it flies out of the window. Every time I find myself asking, “well, who are you supposed to be this time?” And after all, you are dealing with a personification of death here as a main character, how could anyone agree how that should be portrayed? Almost every actor does take this role into a different direction, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not.

I’ve been itching to do a comparison between them for quite a while. This is not an exhaustive list. I still haven’t seen a few casts, few others to my disappointment I legitimately have nothing to say, because they are bland, unoriginal and inconsistent (and it is to my great regret that the only live performance I’ve seen has to fall into this category). This comparison is also largely reliant on the initial impressions of whatever recording I’ve seen these actors in first. In some cases, the portrayal can and does evolve, especially if they’ve been at a role for a while. Sometimes the things that catch the eye may not necessarily be what they were going for, so these are just my impressions of them. So, without further ado.

Uwe Kroger - The closest to being a concept, an idea of death, not a physical being, but omnipresent, touching every aspect of people's lives.

Ichiro Maki - Definitely heavily inspired by Uwe, but much more stilted, emotionless, not terribly suited for the romantic portrayal Takarazuka is aiming for. People die sooner or later, death doesn't particularly care about how you feel about it.

Asaji Saki - Very vocally challenged, this Tod. Some apparently like her voice, but it is definitely not for the weak of heart. But this is the most romantic portrayal of the character out of everyone. Der Tod who has just experienced the love for the first time before coming to terms with it in the middle of second act. Quite precious.

Shizuki Asato - the biggest Der Tod who ever todded, outtodding absolutely everyone in terms of the gravitas and the singing ability. Even more otherworldly than Ichiro's performance from two years ago, although with a much greater success. There isn't a shred of emotion, she is just, well, death, who will always get what is due to it.

Hanano Sumire - beautiful, powerful, and surprisingly... malicious. I don't think I felt that much malice from any other version. For the first time involvement of this character with the general populace and the revolutionaries made sense to me. This is not a death in an abstract sense, this is a spirit of crumbling empire, perfectly content to toy with those who will bring its destruction. She is in no hurry, and is just as happy with the chase itself.

Szabo Szilveszter - a fancy aristocrat. Despite somewhat alien looks (and sparkles worthy of any Takarazienne), a very humanistic portrayal of the character. Very passionate, but quite snarky.

Yuichiro Yamaguchi - he is a monument. Very powerful voice that is worthy of an opera singer that would be able to kill absolutely everyone, and a lot of physical presence, but absolutely no dynamical portrayal. He would stand there. Then he would walk. Then he would stand again. A few times he would attempt to rock his heart out during while there was absolutely zero singing, but only barely. Poor Rudolf had to turn under his own arm - there wasn't even an attempt to jerk him around. It was legitimately heart-wrenching.

Ayaki Nao - a beautiful and enchanting seductress who wanted nothing more than to be wanted by others. Everyone. Within a ten mile radius. Regardless of age, gender, sexual preference. Most do. She is willing to take the time to persuade the ones that do not to make them see that falling into her embrace is the right and proper thing to do. The seduction is the goal in itself, and the moment her conquest finally give in is something to be savored. Most feminine out of all the other Tods, even by Takarazuka standards.

Mate Kamaras - everything about this Tod is the toxic masculinity personified. Dragging others according to his whims, assaulting them physically. Very rough around the edges.

Christoph Goetten - we shall not talk about him. Him being shirtless singing Wenn Ich Tanzen Will horrified me beyond belief (admittedly, it was during a rehearsal? But they still felt compelled to include it on video. Those bastards.)

Mizu Natsuki - definitely can see the influence from Mate Kamaras. Very masculine Der Tod, or rather, he is a boy who doesn't understand what the word "no" means and refuses to learn.

Sena Jun - a very lonely Tod. She is seemingly moving from scene to scene asking anyone who would be willing to listen if they want to be her friend. With Tiny Rudolf it's not a promise, it's a plea, a cry for help.

Mark Seibert - very smooth. Take the Moon, shrink it down to the size of a billiard ball, that's how smooth we are taking about. Underneath it all, it's just a very (very) polished version of Mate until you achieve all that smoothness.

Kim Junsu - a self absorbed fop who accidentally wandered into the underworld, and declared himself the king of it. The angels decided to go along with it just for a laugh, everyone else are just confused.

Park Hyo Shin - No other Tod is as into their Elisabeth as this one is, and he doesn't quite know what to do about all this thirst. I want to see a full version of his portrayal to see if he does figure it out in the end, but so far, alas.

Asumi Rio - a Tod that doesn't doubt his own irresistibility, not for a second. Somewhat self-absorbed. She already knows the end result. She knows that she is wanted, even if her prey is too coy to say it, or they will sooner or later.

Asaka Manato - something of a mix of a doting parent and someone who didn't sign up for any of it, I suppose?

Yoshio Inoue - most ephemeral. The only Tod that made me convinced that he wasn't really there, that he doesn't exist. That he is all just a figment of Elisabeth's and Rudolf's imaginations. A shared fantasy, or rather, madness.

Shirota Yu - Alien, otherworldly, completely devoid devoid of any human values. He tries to imitate human behavior for his amusement, it turns into a caricature of humanity almost immediately. Instills terror with his mere presence. Natural at mind control. I need to write about this version in more details later on, but this is certainly the most original take on the character in a decade.

Continued in Part 2

[itsthejuggernautbitch]

Dissolve - Colossus/OC

Alright, y’all. Finally. I rewrote this intro so many times. Here’s the first section, with an ao3 link for readability. The section is under the cut.

(Side note: y’all have NO IDEA how hard it was for me to type you both instead of y’all.)

Negasonic was having a great fucking day, as she usually did on Friday’s, when she got the super fun call that some little mutant kid on the other side of the city decided to pitch a bitch fit and flood three city blocks. Fridays at the mansion were quiet - no one wants to do bad things on a Friday. It's Friday, for goodness sake. Go on a date, take your kids to the park, go to a bar. Do something that's not blatantly criminal.

From the sound of the call, it looked like the mutant kid had broken out of the Ice Box on transfer. And no, the kid couldn’t have flooded the streets with clean sink water, or water from the pond in the park. You know, something simple and not-disgusting. That would have been too easy. No, the kid thought it would be funny to flush out the sewers and influence every septic tank within a mile radius to simultaneously explode. Nevermind how the kid had even gotten his collar off. Apparently no one had been able to figure that one out yet.

It’s not like Negasonic was going on a date tonight or anything.

She was already nervous, but she definitely wasn’t going to meet Yukio now, not if she was going to have to wade through sewage on the heels of her eight-foot-tall Man-of-Steel mentor who just had to make it a priority to talk to the kid personally about personal responsibility. Can’t exactly have a fun date when you smell like literal shit, and some smells just don't come out after three consecutive showers.

Negasonic almost felt bad for the kid. She’d gotten the Personal Responsibility speech a handful of times (mostly because she sometimes couldn't turn off the sarcastic tone in her voice), and while she loved her mentor dearly (not that she would ever say it out loud), Colossus tended to get a little preachy after the first few sonnets of poetic justice. She almost felt bad for the kid, before she remembered that she was going to be drudging through an ocean of shit to reach him because he just had to cause a scene. On a Friday.

Student and mentor stood at the edge of the poop lake, staring out into the street full of sewage was expressions of disgust that were oddly similar - the kind of similarity that only comes from lifelong familiarity. It was absolute bedlam; fire hydrants were gushing, manholes had been displaced from the sheer force of the gushing sewage, water was leaking out from under door frames. The unmistakable sound of scores of toilets flushing at the same time droned on under the honking of car alarms. Negasonic caught the sound of gentle retching coming from her mentor, who tried to hide the coughing behind his huge fist but failed. Poor guy could barely deal with the sight of blood, much less a lake of poop water.

“Can’t we get Wade to do this? He smells worse than this on a daily basis anyway,” Negasonic asked, hiding the smell-and-taste parts of her face behind her gloved hand. She practically had to yell to be heard.

“That is true, but unfortunately not. He - uh,” Colossus coughed again, wetly, then took a deeper breath than he really meant to, “he left for Japan on mission last night. Besides - this builds character.”

There was more of a question mark than a period on the end of that sentence. Even with all his teacherly conviction, Colossus didn’t really believe it.

“It’d be really helpful if one of us could fly…”

“Indeed,” Colossus replied, beckoning his student onward. “Come, Negasonic. The quicker we find the boy, the quicker we go home.”

It was, at that oddly opportune moment, a great time for a jet to drift in past the line of buildings. It hovered past the treetops and streetlamps and came to land in the little park quite near where they were standing. Technological marvel that it was, it hardly disturbed the grass as it landed, which was a blessing because it was disconcertingly close to the sewage. Negasonic was not often excited to see the X-Jet, but in this case, she would make an exception. Hopefully, it was someone coming to bail them out, because this whole situation was just… yikes.

The door of the jet came down, and Negasonic sent up a silent vibe of thank fuck to whatever deity may have been listening.

The cleanup crew stepped out - a handful of X-men whose powers didn’t translate well in combat but had mission-worthy uses. There were ten or so of them - just a small faction responsible for cleaning up the areas around the mishaps that tended to befall the X-men. They were usually sent to take care of the aftermath of large-scale disasters. And out of that cleanup crew came one of the very few people on Negasonic’s people-who-don’t-suck list (Wade and Colossus were both on it too, not that she’d ever tell them), Suraya Josephs, known as Metanite. If Negasonic actually wrote out her list of people-who-don’t-suck, Metanite would be at least pretty close to the top.

Negasonic was not easily intimidated. Her attitude came hand-in-hand with being an almost-adult teenager with too many responsibilities to handle. And yet, even Negasonic could admit that if Metanite were a complete stranger, she’d have to look the other way. Metanite’s defense form was a vaguely smudgy, jet-black humanoid with smoldering, empty eyes. She was difficult to look at, and consequently emanated a vibe of creeping terror.

But Metanite wasn’t a complete stranger, so Negasonic at least tried look. Tried being the operative word. Fuck, she looked creepy.

As the mutant woman stepped onto the grass, the overwhelming creeping dread set into Negasonic’s bones. Negasonic squirmed; she caught Colossus fidget out of the corner of her eye. It was the most gentle feeling of terror she’d ever experienced, like her heart might crawl out of her chest; it was a secondary effect of Metanite’s defense form, she’d been told, which made it difficult to assign the mutant woman to a team or a mentee. It was difficult for anyone to look at her before she disengaged.

Metanite caught the uncomfortable stares and looked down at her hands. “Oh, I’m sorry, you two! Let me fix that. The rest of the crew is used to it.”

The feeling of dread ebbed as Metanite shifted into a human form; her usual smiling self was left standing where the smudgy humanoid had been. She strode on over, surveying the sewage disaster with a measure of disgust.

“You know, from the air this looks like a giant brown lake appeared in the middle of the city. It’s stretching, like, four blocks now” she said, grimacing at the smell. “We got pulled off of another scene on the outskirts of Atlanta to come back and take care of this.”

Negasonic caught Colossus fidgeting again out of the corner of her eye, but she was pretty certain it wasn’t because the big man was still retching from the smell. She held her hand over her nose, trying not to breathe through her mouth. "What's going on in Atlanta?"

"We're not really sure, but there's several human limbs left lying around. We found teeth embedded in a tree. It's quite morbid. We're thinking some people with regeneration factors got in a fight."

Negasonic would've liked to see that, actually. Nevertheless, she'd really like to get the current mess out of the way. “So, do we need to go find the kid?”

Metanite shrugged. “I would suggest letting us get this cleaned up before you bother, unless you just really want to wade through this mess.”

Negasonic would rather have every single one of her fingernails peeled off with a cheese grater than have to walk in this mess. She assumed that her mentor probably felt the same way.

Colossus, finally, spoke up. He folded his arms over his chest. “The boy will not get far, not with everyone watching for him.”

“Yeah, you’ve got all of us here,” Metanite said. “If we see happen to see him, I’ll handle him.”

Negasonic, personally, would not want to have to be handled by Metanite. She felt a little bad for the kid now. “He’d have to be around here somewhere if this is still spreading.”

Colossus nodded. “He is near. We will be watching for him as well.”

“Well, you’re welcome to take the jet. We’ll be here for a while,” Metanite replied. She handed him the access card for the jet. “I’ll call you when we’ve got this under control.”

“I look forward to your call,” Colossus said, taking the card from her. He looked as though he wished he’d worded that differently as soon as he’d said it. If Metanite noticed, she didn’t show it. “I - we do. We look forward to your call. We will handle it.”

Negasonic fought back the ensuing snort. That was one of the least-subtle things she thought he'd ever said, and she'd seen him ignore his feelings for years now. Watching her mentor tiptoe around the woman he liked was excruciating, but she got a good laugh out of it. For such a business-minded man, he sure did get awkward quick.

Metanite grinned. “You always do. I’ll see you both in a little while.”

She headed off towards the group gathering at the edge of the mess. Some of her team looked human, some decidedly not. There were a couple of vibrantly-colored humanoids, a couple covered in fur, one with proboscis-like appendages attached to his head. They were all huddled together in a tight wad around a display screen, looking at something that Negasonic couldn’t see from her angle.

Metanite stopped abruptly and turned around before she reached the group. “By the way, you two, this is my last mission. I’ll be returning to the mansion as a teacher.”

She looked quite pointedly at Colossus before she turned around and ran off to join her team. Colossus followed her movements, mouth set in its usual hard line, but his eyes belied his hard face. He watched her retreating back with an almost doe-eyed stare, causing Negasonic to have to fight off another ensuing snort. Fuckin’ nerd. She - and the literally everyone else in the mansion - had been bothering him to say something for years, but he just wouldn't do it. Negasonic suspected it was because Metanite was pretty much never there, always off on some clean-up mission.

And yeah, Negasonic could understand being wary about it. It's hard to have a relationship when one person is almost never home. But Colossus is Colossus, and if anyone could deal with that like a real adult, it would be him. If he'd ever say anything.

Colossus pulled himself out of his reverie and clapped Negasonic on the shoulder, causing her knees to shake. “We will wait for them to take care of this. Come, let’s get away from the smell.”

At least, Negasonic surmised, maybe she wouldn’t have to bleach her entire body before her date tonight. Someone else could trudge through that mess.