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kim-monsterlings · 4 years

Text

Neo - M Minotaur x F Human (Reader)

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: SFW/Orange, angst, thoughts of insecurities, anxiety, hugging, forehead kissing, mention of feeding reader (please let me know if you want anything else added here!)

Wordcount: 1475

Masterlist

Today… today was finally the day you would meet him. Him, the man you thought could be it, the one, and your stomach fluttered at the sheer thought of running into Neo's wide, welcoming arms. Big and blonde and fluffy, voice sweet like sugar, nothing more than time was left hindering your most desperate fantasy. Nothing more than the nausea, gnawing away at the butterflies; the nausea twisting the fantasy into a nightmare, one you had woken from before on restless nights, sick with the fear of losing the first real- you were hesitant to say love, to confess that the rush of your heart could be that, but nothing else had the power to weaken you like this.

Today marked six months from matching with Neo online. Something you tried only from boredom, exhausted of your town and the loneliness of your too-big flat, and Neo had been your first match. To think you nearly ruined it, intimidated enough by his first message - hi, beautiful x - and you could have missed the late night calls, the morning texts - i had a dream again. you were here, with me - and the care packages he sent when you were ill. The jumper smelling of him had stayed by your pillows since.

The first night he asked to video call, all excuses fell silent at the tip of your tongue. Neo's gentle laugh on the phone twisted your heart, the following whisper softer than he had ever spoken before. "Would you be happier if you saw me first? Whatever I can do for you," he'd whispered. "I'll do it."

Beard scruffy, bundled in a fluffy, brown dressing gown, the minotaur spoke as he would any other night, but you could see his nervous twitches – fingertips rising to scratch the base of his short horns, eyes fluttering low with each smile he flushed with. When he whispered your name so gently, his head canted and expression unmistakably tender, your resolve crumbled and two days later, you answered the call with your camera on. Neo began to talk, only to soften back into his pillows. Nobody had ever looked at you like that before; lips bitten against a barely silenced sigh and a warmth in his bright eyes, a sheen to them. He reached out, his fingers following where you blushed on the screen. "Hi, beautiful."

“Hi.”

"Hi," he grinned, and your conversation lasted until somehow, you both fell asleep. It had been the deepest, calmest sleep of your life, until your name passed the minotaur’s lips on a whisper. Even asleep, he found a way to tighten the vice creeping around your heart. The whisper was your secret and your comfort now against the nerves beginning to crush you.

Online, you could duck away. Online, you could say you had to go, that you had somewhere to be. Online was different, where there was a real connection, one neither of you could guarantee once you stepped into the café. Already late, minutes ticking, blood rushing in your ears, somehow you unlocked your phone, the ringing tightening your throat in the passing seconds.

"I can't do this."

Had he been in range of the window, one glimpse over his shoulder would find you weakening back into the shadows. The very same heartache in your chest sounded in his catching breath.

Here, you could lose him.

"I'll pay you for whatever coffee you've bought, and the train tickets and-"

"Coffee? Love," his voice soothed every nerve in your body, until, "I'm not in the café."

The call ended with your eyes scrunched tight. Awareness prickled your nape, teased goosebumps across your arms, and a gentle brush of knuckles against your back drew a tremor to your knees.

Softer still, a kiss pressed to your crown. "I've never seen someone so beautiful in sunlight. Your hair smells of fruits," Neo whispered, sighing against you. His strong chest nudged closer as he tucked his hand across your waist, lifting a bunch of tulips, soft reds and whites. Just his hand alone seemed so big, so large when you carefully reached for the flowers, with Neo bringing his thumb to your knuckles. "Can't do this, hm? Tell me why, love."

"I'm scared."

"Of?"

The lightest touch of his palm stroked across your hip. Neo tucked you into his chest, where the strength in his body dwarfed you, wide thighs against yours and broad chest to your top. Tufts of bright fur tickled your bare skin where he bowed closer to whisper your name, a prompt, pinching your waist.

"You ambushed me."

He had to decency at least to speak softer, though his short laugh couldn’t be hidden with him flush to you. "I did. I am sorry for it, but," he let the sentence hang, each of you painfully aware that while he misled you, he hadn't been wrong that you would hesitate and try to run. "You're scared I'll leave once we meet. We've met now, love, see? Doesn't it feel good to hear my voice, to feel me?"

Soft petals ran between your fingers. "Thank you for the flowers."

Neo grunted and nosed your crown. "If we find ourselves without a connection, we will be friends, still. I'm going nowhere."

"Close your eyes."

His tracing fingertips stilled, and he swallowed, loud. "Hold my hand."

Flowers curled tight, you turned and squeezed against his palm. Neo's hand curled around yours, darker hair thick on his arm but his palm was smooth and warm against yours. Though he heard your breath rushing from your body, his ears twitching, he only scuffed his boots and held his eyes tight shut.

No photo did him justice. He had called you beautiful, but he was ethereal, sunlight brightening his fluff to look almost golden. Two, little stubs curled back from his temples, one with a bar through the curling tip. Not a word formed as you ran your eyes lower, selfishly taking your time to watch his tail tap to his thigh. He was pure muscle, his clothes straining, and your body warmed at the thought of how beautiful he would be under them, too.

Neo's fingers twitching through yours snatched you from your thoughts. "It's not," he coughed quietly, drawing your hand against his strong stomach. "It's not me, scaring you? I'm bigger in real life than on a laptop, but I," his bushy eyebrows furrowed while he sought a deeper breath. "I'd only want to hold you. I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know."

"You do?" Reaching for him brought you to your toes. His hand splayed across your body from rib to hip, and he tugged you a little closer, enough for him to breathe deep and smile, whispering, "fruits."

From running your fingertips along his soft cheek, your whimper came when he leaned into your palm. Neo blinked down, already mid-sentence and concerned, to suddenly stiffen. In that half a second, the world ceased to move at all. Your heart nearly gave out in the moment it took for him to bite at his cheek and grip you tighter.

"Hi, beautiful. How do you feel?"

"Warm."

Neo's eyes shone. His arm curled across your back and raised you almost from the ground for him to press his lips to your forehead. "Warm in my heart," he mumbled. "Don't be mad. I made us a picnic. But before you-before you accuse me of not trusting you - I do," he rushed out, and rested his forehead to yours. His scruffy beard tickled you as he spoke slower, eyes focused on where you were fighting back a growing smile. "I have a jumper for you as consolation. Or a bribe. Just… I want to spend the day with you."

The smile broke through. “Okay.”

"I- okay?"

With all the strength you could muster, your fingers bunched his shirt and pulled him down. Just by his lips, you kissed him, whispering, "but you owe me two jumpers. Do you have chocolate-"

"Chocolate strawberries, yes. I want to feed you them," he teased, and his low laugh tightened your navel, flipping until you felt almost weightless leaning into him. Neo drew a loose curl from your cheek to tuck behind your ear. "I can't speak for you, love, but I'm not worrying about chemistry anymore. Never was. Let me treat you to chocolate and champagne."

"You brought champagne?"

Neo's thick ears tucked back, and he mumbled nonsense, straightening once again, lips skimming your temple as he rose. "It's a special occasion."

Tucked into his side, your cheek to his chest, the pace of his heart outdid even yours. Neo drew in a deep breath, whispering again – “you're so beautiful, love” - before curling you into his lap at the park, feeding you chocolate strawberries. He was right; there was nothing to worry about.

Hi! Hope you like my fluffy minotaur. There is a possible NSFW to follow this. I think my sweet timid reader deserves some loving. Let me know your thoughts!!

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

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Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

On closer inspection, the house in the middle of the field was quite pretty. Simple, white, well kept. A secondary building with metal walls sat adjacent to the house – a garage, perhaps. Waiting on the porch was the man from earlier. Baekhyun. Now you remembered his name. He was joined by a few others – Chanyeol, Sehun, and one you didn’t know – who stared at you in curious wonder. Their eyes were wide and investigative, as if you were the supernatural creature and not Minseok.

“Looks like the cat’s out of the bag,” Baekhyun said with a snicker.

“Or pup, in this case,” said the one you didn’t know. Black hair that fell over his forehead and an upturn sat in both corners of his lips, though he wasn’t smiling.

Minseok merely shook his head as he pushed past them into the house. The screen door shut with a loud slam. You flinched at the noise. Chanyeol sighed as he glanced at you. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, please,” you nodded. He motioned for you to follow him inside.

Through a short front parlor and a cozy living room, he led you into the kitchen where you stood awkwardly. The only noise came from the water flowing from the refrigerator spicket. The ice clinked as it moved around the glass. Your eyes wandered across the large, open space. Sunlight poured in from the windows in the two outer walls. It gave the whole room a yellow hue despite the white and light gray coloring of the cabinets and backsplash. Whoever had last designed this room had done so in a way to make it feel bigger and open, welcoming even. You wondered if there must have been a woman living here to give the finer touches. Minseok hadn’t mentioned anyone beyond his male roommates. The thought of a woman living amongst them made you slightly jealous, but you shoved it aside when Chanyeol held out the glass for you.

“Thank you,” you murmured before taking a sip.

He nodded shyly. His foot tapped lightly against the hard wood floor with his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked everywhere except for at you. Feeling eyes on you anyway, you glanced over your shoulder just in time to see several crops of hair disappear from the hallway entrance.

You scoffed. “You guys act like you’ve never seen a female before.”

“Not one like you.”

Minseok stepped into the room wearing a t-shirt with frayed edges where the sleeves had been cut off and a pair of basketball shorts. As angry as you were with him, the distrust still very much apparent, you were fighting the urge to run to him. What was this stupid, conflicting feeling? Making eye contact with Minseok, Chanyeol ducked his head and hurriedly left the kitchen.

“So,” you crossed your arms after putting down the glass and leaned against the counter, “is this the part where you explain to me what the hell is going on?”

“I will, but not here.”

“No, you don’t get to do that!” you snapped. “You didn’t want to tell me in the forest, so we came back here and now you don’t want to tell me here?”

Minseok shrunk back. “I just meant down here. Can we go upstairs? Away from where the others can hear?”

That suggestion could be accepted. Actually, you felt a little bad for exploding, but could you really be blamed? Given the information dump you were steadily receiving today? “Oh. Okay. Lead the way.”

Minseok’s hand twitched at his side, but he kept it in check as he turned and headed back up the stairs. The top spilled out into a hallway lined with doors. This space wasn’t as bright as the kitchen. Different shades of dark brown covered the wooden floor and plaster walls. No windows gave view to the outside making you feel trapped. “This one’s mine,” Minseok said. He held on to a handle of one of the middle doors and waited for you to come closer before pushing it open. When you saw what lied beyond the door, you nearly smiled.

On the walls were posters of famous soccer players and indie movies you’d never heard of. The bed was made with military precision, not a creased comforter or half-strewn pillow in sight. Against the far wall under a singular window was a desk. The notebooks were stacked in the top right corner, the edges so straight a ruler wouldn’t be able to find fault. Pens and pencils occupied a small cup to keep the rest of the desk clear.

“Not what you expected?” Minseok asked as he closed the door.

“Yes and no.” You stole a glance at him over your shoulder. “It’s very… neat.”

Minseok smiled shyly. He shuffled over to the bed and sat down. If he expected you to take the spot next to him, he was wrong. Instead, you chose the chair. A precaution for yourself.

Neither of you knew where to start. Who was supposed to talk first? What part should even be considered the beginning? Unable to continue in this awkward silence, you jumped in feet first.

“You can really… turn into a wolf?” The words felt like glue in your throat. Creatures like that belonged in fairytales and fantasy films, not a college campus.

“Yeah,” Minseok said. “We all can. All nine of us.”

“All nine.” Oh, great. A whole pack of them. “Even the one’s I met?” Stupid question. He’d already answered that, technically. But Minseok simply nodded instead of calling out the redundancy. “So, were you all bitten or-” You felt ridiculous basing the current situation on myth and legend, but what else did you have to go on?

“We’re all born this way. You can’t be like us from a bite or a scratch. It has to be in your DNA.” He snuck a peek before beating you to the next question. “The moon doesn’t really influence us either. I mean, its easier to see by at night in the forest, but it doesn’t force us to change. We can do that whenever we want. Witches have more of a connection with the giant rock in the sky.”

“Witches! They’re real, too? What else is real? Vampires? Dragons? Goblins?” What kind of world had you stumbled into?

Minseok flinched. “Maybe we should stick to one subject at a time.”

“Right.” That was probably best for your sanity. “So, if you have to be born like,” you gestured to him, “… this, does that mean both of your parents were, too?”

“Just my dad,” Minseok said. “Females wolves are extremely rare.”

“Well, that’s sexist.”

“Hey, we didn’t make up the rules. It’s genetics.” He scratched the back of his neck, twitching his lips from side to side. “I guess I should say that silver doesn’t bother us either.”

Why did you feel relieved at that random fact? It didn’t matter, as that wasn’t the most pressing issue to you. “Earlier you mentioned that it wasn’t you killing the campers-”

“It wasn’t any of us!”

“I believe you.” The words tumbled off your lips. And you realized that it was true. You couldn’t twist the nervous, sweet guy in front of you into a mindless killer. The way he was explaining everything slowly, cautiously, giving you time to understand. He wasn’t hiding anything from you. Not anymore. “I’m just confused when you said it was an omega?”

“Its just a ranking system within a pack,” he explained. “Alpha, beta, MR, omega. Junmyeon’s the alpha of our pack, he’s in charge. Yixing and I are betas, second in command. We help enforce Junmyeon’s word and keep an eye on the younger wolves who like to cause mischief.” He chuckled, as if remembering times when said mischief occurred. “The rest are all MR – Mid-ranking. They all have their own duties should they be needed. Well, except for Jongin and Sehun. They’re the youngest wolves so they get special treatment most of the time. Its okay, though. They kind of make you want to take care of them, the way they are.”

You nodded filing all the information away for later recall. “And the omega?”

“A wolf without a pack. Nine times out of ten they were kicked out for defying the alpha, for putting their own interests ahead of the pack. Without that structure, a lot of them turn feral.”

“Nine times out of ten?”

“It’s extremely rare, but sometimes a wolf will choose to never join a pack in the first place. It’s nearly unheard of though. We’re too social of creatures. Nine-point-five out of ten would probably be a better number.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that came out. Of course he would bring up math in a time like this. Minseok laughed along with you. Eventually, though, it died out, along with the smile that had been growing on his lips. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

Picking up on his mood, you tilted your head to the side. “I don’t think anything else could take me by surprise at this point.” Minseok stared at you pointedly. Your stomach began to sink. What other little secret could he possibly be harboring at this point? You didn’t think anything could be as shocking as his shapeshifting abilities.

“Have you ever heard the expression ‘wolves mate for life’?” he asked cryptically.

“Yeah?”

“Well-” he shifted, crinkling the perfect comforter in the process. “We don’t know why it happens. Junmyeon thinks its nature’s way of compensating our ‘otherness’ while Jongdae just thinks it’s another level of torture.” An uncomfortable laugh. “But, um, every wolf has their own mate. Just one, that they stick with for the rest of their lives.”

Unable to keep looking at him, you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “So, are you saying that you all get to pick whoever you want as your mate and that’s it? You claim them because of what you are?”

“No!” Minseok jumped to his feet. Swallowing visibly, he cleared his throat, but remained standing. “No, we don’t get to pick. It happens out of nowhere. Our mates are chosen for us before either is born. And we can meet them under any circumstances. Some favorable, some… not so much.”

You looked up at him “What are you trying to say, Minseok?”

He walked up to you, each step hesitant, each step full of fear. Crouching down, he sighed as he looked into your eyes. “What I’m trying to say, (y/n), is that… you’re my mate.”

At first, you only blinked. The words had to be soaked in one at a time before you could piece them together and understand the sentence as a whole. “I- what? How do you even know?”

Reaching out, Minseok took ahold of your hand. You didn’t fight it. The electricity was practically singing between your skins. “Really, all it takes is one look. A few seconds of eye contact and the pull takes hold. But this feeling we both get when we touch, its confirmation. And then there’s this.”

He pulled your hand closer, pressing your palm against his chest. The heat transferring through the thin fabric was enough to make you sweat, but that wasn’t the point of this exercise. It was the rate of which his heart was beating. As he stared at you with awe, his heart sprinted as if it were in second place of a race and needed to pass just one more runner to win.

“Every time I see you, this happens,” Minseok whispered. “It doesn’t matter how good my day has been, its always better when I’m with you.”

“We haven’t even known each other that long.”

“It doesn’t take long, apparently.”

You frowned, confused. “Apparently?”

A small smile pulled up one corner of his mouth. “I’m the first one in the pack to find my mate. The first one to experience this.”

The first…. You wanted to laugh at the romantic angle your brain was seeing this.

A knock came from the door. Minseok stood up, reluctantly dropping your hand before answering the intrusion. “Yeah?”

Several roommates were standing in the hall, all peering around Minseok to get a better look at you.

“Kyungsoo said it was time for dinner,” one of them said. “And that he could hear your mate’s empty stomach from downstairs.”

“And it took all of you to come tell us?” Minseok questioned as he folded his arms. He shifted to block more of the doorway, shielding you from their stares.

“It was an important job,” another one said.

Minseok looked back at you before sighing. “Tell Kyungsoo that I’ll be down in a second.”

“But-”

The door was shut before the argument could be finished. The rush of footsteps faded in the background until it was only the two of you once again.

“Are you hungry?” Minseok asked. You nodded sheepishly. “You don’t have to go downstairs. You can stay here and I’ll bring it up to. Kyungsoo’s a good cook so whatever he made will be delicious.”

“Actually, I’ll go down with you,” you said, to the surprise of both of you. Everything Minseok had told you was still sinking in. There was too much to process and completely comprehend, but the pieces were fitting together. And you were curious about life here. If you really were meant to be his mate, maybe you should know where that road led. It was the right at the fork. You’d uncovered a sign that gave you a clue to where it was headed. You wanted to follow it.

Minseok waited patiently as you stood up and walked towards him. He let you out the door first. There was a moment where your fingers brushed as you passed. You could feel the muscles in his hand tighten. He wanted to take your hand again – and you almost let him. But you held back. There was still something stopping you. Or, rather, a who.

The noise hit you halfway down the stairs. Being told that nine people lived together and truly witnessing it were two very different concepts. There was no order that you could see. Most of the boys sat around the table, conducting multiple conversations at once that overlapped that you had to wonder how they could understand each other. A few sat in a small booth off to the side in a world of their own. It was the kind of breakfast nook you’d only seen before in home magazines. Two boys stood at the counters, their backs to the chaos behind them.

One of them – sporting a very well put together look and black rimmed glasses – turned and smiled at you and Minseok. “There you are. Glad to see you came down.” He held his hand out to you. “I’m Junmyeon.”

“The alpha,” you said as you shook his hand.

“I see Minseok told you most of it,” Junmeyon said.

“Pretty much everything,” Minseok corrected.

You felt your face contort as you tried to pinpoint where you’d seen this man before. “Wait. Aren’t you a professor?”

Junmyeon laughed. “Yeah, I am. In the literature department. Folklore, to be exactly. But I’d prefer if we kept this between us.” He sent you a wink to show he was teasing. Behind you, Misneok growled, making you jump. “I’m just playing, Minseok.”

“And I’m sure he’ll be playing when he rips your head off,” the other stove-top occupant stated. He held out a plate for you piled high with food. There was no way you would be able to eat all of that. “I’m Kyungsoo, by the way.”

“(y/n),” you greeted back. “It’s nice to meet you.” Taking the plate, you tried to hand it off to Minseok.

“No, that’s yours.”

Not wanting to be rude, you said between gritted teeth, “I can’t eat all of this.”

Minseok pinched his face as if debating on something. “Fine. We’ll share.”

“Are you sure about that?” Junmyeon asked. “There won’t be any left over for seconds. You know that.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Shaking his head, Kyungsoo held on to one side of the plate and added another scoop of rice and meat each. “Just in case.”

After thanking him, Minseok guided you over to the table with a hand hovering over your lower back. Even without the contact, you could feel the heat coming from his palm. Or maybe it was just your imagination filling in. Minseok pulled out a chair for you on the empty end before sitting next you. It was obvious he’d purposefully placed you away from the others.

“Possessive much?” Baekhyun snorted as he dug into a plate of his own.

“I’m sure it’s just instinct.” The comment came from one of the more slender boys – Boys? Wolves? You weren’t sure how to address them properly. Maybe later. Your brain needed a break. The one who had spoken had a very pointed face, but in a way that was still handsome. You weren’t sure if you’d seen him before or not.

“That’s Yixing,” Minseok said. “And the last one to meet, I guess, is Jongdae.”

Jongdae turned out to be the curled-lip one who still wasn’t smiling. In fact, he was the only one not in some level of a cheerful mood as he sat in the breakfast booth. He barely looked at you while everyone else was. Some were even blatantly staring at you as they shoveled in food to their mouths.

“You should eat.” Minseok picked up a fork and stabbed a slice of marinade-covered meat, holding it out for you to eat like a child.

“I can do that myself, thanks.” You took the fork and chewed slowly on the meat. It was good. More than good, really, so you took another bite and another. Soon, you were full, though there was more than half a plate left. You scooted the plate over to Minseok. “Okay, your turn.”

“You’re done? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m stuffed.”

Minseok didn’t reach for the other fork he’d grabbed, as if giving you a chance to change your mind. When you made no such move, he dug in. You smiled at the way he ate, enjoying every bite with satisfaction. At the sight of every plate being empty, Baekhyun stood up. “I’m going to watch a movie,” he announced.

“Oh, that sounds like a good idea!” Jongin said.

Yixing asked, “Which one?”

Baekhyun shrugged. “I don’t know. Whatever’s new. (Y/n), want to join us?”

Minseok cut in. “I don’t know if that-”

“I’d love to!” You turned to Minseok and gave him a cheeky smile. It felt a bit defiant. Perhaps he wanted to explain more to you or spend time with you alone in general, but you wanted to know how this group operated together. You wanted insight to their normalcy. Getting to your feet, you picked up the plate, but Junmyeon reached over and took it from you.

“Don’t worry about this. We’ll clean up.”

“But-”

The alpha wouldn’t have it. “You’re the guest. Shoo.”

More than happy with that argument (dishes weren’t your thing by a long shot), you followed the cluster of excited men to the living room. They crashed on nearly every surface – the couch, the chairs, the floor, anywhere they could fit. Minseok approached Jongin and Sehun who had taken a corner of the long couch.

“Move,” he ordered.

“But we were here first!” Sehun whined. Jongin look over to you and then got up without a word, sitting down on the floor with his back against the coffee table.

“Sehun….”

“You’re really going to kick the youngest off the comfortable seat?”

You tried to break up the awkward exchange. Well, it was awkward for you since you were the reason for the discussion. “It’s fine, really. I can sit on the floor.”

“You’re not sitting on the floor,” Minseok told you. To Sehun, he said, “I’m the eldest and she’s a guest. Please move.”

For a second nothing happened. Then Sehun huffed. “Fine.” He got up and joined Jongin on the floor. He lied down on his stomach and pulled out his phone, over it already. You felt bad but saw no point in arguing. Minseok let you sit first and then, once again, sat between you and Chanyeol, who happily occupied the other side of the couch.

Baekhyun flipped through a streaming service until he landed on a superhero movie. Everyone cheered at the choice, then quieted down as he pressed play. Someone turned out the lights so only the glow of the television remained.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg, you were hyper aware of Minseok. Arms crossed over your stomach and fists clenched, you told yourself repeatedly not to reach for his hand or lean on his shoulder no matter how heavy your eyelids were getting. Erik may have hit pause on your relationship, but there wasn’t much of a discussion of lines. You didn’t know the rules of that scenario and what was and wasn’t allowed. But as your tiredness grew, your willpower weakened. After a few bobs, your head landed softly on Minseok’s shoulder. It was too comfortable to move. It felt too nice, too right. Like his shoulder was the one you were always supposed to lean on. And that was when Minseok made a move of his own.

Holding your head up, he adjusted his arm so it was now draped over your shoulders. Your head rested against his chest when he laid you back down. Something vibrated against your cheek. Was that… purring? No, it had to be the booming from the movie. Right?

It didn’t take long for you drift into sleep. The movie was one you’d seen before so you couldn’t use that as an excuse to stay awake. You weren’t sure how long it had been. A slight bopping motion roused you. In the shallowness of your conscious you made out that you were being carried. Carried up stairs… and into a bedroom. While still holding you, that person managed to pull back the covers and tuck you into bed. As the arm slipped away you grabbed hold of the wrist. Through the slightest slits in your eyes you could make out Minseok’s silhouette.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep. I’ll take the couch downstairs.”

“No. Stay.”

He froze at your request. “Are you sure?”

“Please.”

Even in the darkness, you could see him smiling. “Okay.” Shutting the door, he peeled back the covers once more and slid in beside you. Happy wasn’t even close to how you felt when he pulled you in close to his chest. You drifted back to sleep with a smile on your face.

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #minseok x reader #kim minseok #xiumin #minseok #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #exo supernatural au #exo series #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #The Untamed Universe #Catching Rain

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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7. Leshen Indruck your choice of rating!

Here you go! I went with SFW

It’s old wisdom that humans fear that which they do not understand.

Indrid really hoped he would never learn the truth of that wisdom the hard way, but here he is. One misplaced attempt at aiding someone using his foresight and he’s been caught, blindfolded, and dumped in the middle of the vast Monongahela Forest.

He just wanted to help.

His foresight renders him less fearful than he’d otherwise be; he’ll be able to see threats coming and locate the resources he needs. If he takes his time, he might be able to use his visions to locate the nearest (friendly) village. And, like anyone who grew up near the woods, he knows how to hunt, fish, and forage. For someone who’s been left to die, he’s rather confident.

Still, it sting a little.

After a few moments of rightfully-earned self-pity, he buttons up his coat and starts the slow, halting journey towards safety.

Two days later, he’s pushing his way through branches and miserably pointing out to himself again and again that a town where everyone grew up with basic forest survival skills would exile one of their own somewhere that required high-level survival skills.

The topography and scenery is so disorienting that he may have better luck if he covered his eyes, spun around ten times, and chose his path from there. It’s a dense landscape of deep greens and browns with splashes of bright color that he’d no doubt enjoy were he not constantly snagging on branches or catching his toes on roots.

Worse, he’s had no luck catching food, and cannot for the life of him locate water. The fact it rained last night is the only reason he’s not dangerously dehydrated.

A sharp, high chirp draws his eye to the foot of a tree. Flapping sparsely feathered wings, a baby bird hops through the mud, her nest visible but unreachable. A meager meal, but a meal nonetheless.

Indrid scoops her into his palms, clambers into the lowest crook of the tree, and sets her back among her siblings.

His stomach chastises him the rest of the day, though the rest of his body rejoices when he finds a hollow in the base of a tree large enough for him to shelter within. From within the trunk, he spies vine sprawling across the ground, berries glinting in the light rain. Deep purple, meaning they’re Brambleberries.

The handful he shoves into his mouth brings tears to his eyes, even though they’re not the ripest. How else do you explain the bitterness chasing the sweetness down his throat.

Wait. Brambleberries don’t go purple until mid-summer. This is early spring. Which means those were-

“Chokeberries.” He curses himself, darting outside the tree once more, finger down his throat until his meal comes back up. Maybe he was fast enough.

His throat tightens in a prelude to closing. Sinking to his knees, gasping for air, he swears the ground vibrates with heavy steps. His eyes flutter close as he falls forward. As darkness slips over his eyes, he thinks it’s taking him a long time to hit the ground.

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

Bitter metal on his tongue.

“Nnnnf” Eyes still shut, he pushes at whatever is holding the spoon and it’s vile contents in his mouth.

“None of that. You’re gonna need two more doses of this before that Chokeberry is outta your system, and they were hard enough to get into you when you were passed out. Swallow.”

He swallows.

A large hand pats his head, “There we go. I know, shit’s gross, but if you were fool enough to eat those berries, might stun some sense into you.”

Indrid sits up, rubbing his eyes, “I was delirious with hunger, forgive me for not remembering the exact seasons of fruits. Did you heal me only to insult me or-” his visions flicker back full force, revealing his host before he opens his eyes. He scrambles back, but instead of a wall or an edge he just finds a vast expanse of bed.

Watching him with an amused set to his lips is a man three heads taller and much bulkier than Indrid, dark hair streaked with grey-green moss, eyes the dark green of pine needles, and nails like treebark. He crosses arms tattooed with green, gold, and bronze swirls, waiting for Indrid to collect himself.

“A Leshen.”

“Yep.”

“Are...are you going to eat me?”

“What? No, I’m not gonna fuckin eat you. I don’t know which of my kind chowed down on humans but if I ever find out I’m gonna give ‘im a piece of my mind. Ain’t great to have people thinkin I’m a man-eater when the worst I done is throw a tree at someone.”

“That is still very alarming.”

The Leshen shrugs “I’m a forest guardian; I’m gonna guard.”

Indrid studies him, wary, drawing the covers up his chest without noticing.

“Look” the Leshen sighs, “I ain’t tryin to scare you. Hell, made myself the smallest I can so I could be all comfortin. Noticed you in the woods earlier today and kept an eye on you, since humans-”

“Don’t often come here, yes, I am aware. I was extremely, forcibly exiled into your part of the woods.”

Green eyes blink, “Huh. Well, point is it didn’t seem right to leave you there to die, so I brought you here. Chokeberry is real easy to undo, assumin you got the right herbs.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else to say. His foresight tells him the Leshens promise of no harm is true, but there are so many timelines for what he could say and how his host could respond that he freezes.

“You’re welcome. You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“You oughta rest up more, Indrid. I’ll be back with the next dose in a bit.” His host steps out to the hall.

“Wait, do I, ah, get to know your name?”

“Duck.”

He snickers, replies to the raised eyebrow with, “Apologies, I expected something tree-related.”

Duck smiles, “It’s a nickname.”

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

“What’s your plan?” Duck asks from across the breakfast table. The morning found Indrid well enough to walk and to eat without feeling ill, so he’s been perching awkwardly on a chair that’s too big for him as the Leshen makes plates of toast and eggs that don't come from any bird Indrid is familiar with.

“I, ah, I don’t really have one other than ‘avoid going home’.”

“You were just gonna wander around until you found a village? I hate to tell you this, but there ain’t one for at least fifty miles, and I’m guessin that’s the one you came from. They must’ve used and enter to navigate here, because this part of the woods is hostile to travel by design.”

“Yours?” Indrid sips his tea, face to hide his distaste for its bitterness.

“Yep.” Duck slides a jar over to him, it’s copper lid revealing sugar cubes within, “Don’t much feel like runnin into humans every damn day, and it means that even as y’all sprawl out more and more, there are parts of this wood that stay wild.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it does little to improve my situation. Unless…” he bites his lip.

“Unless?”

“Unless I could stay here. I’m not bad company, and I have some skills which could-”

“No” Duck shakes his head, “savin you is one thing, takin you on as a roommate is all whole other kettle of fish.”

“Ah. Right. Of course.” He sips his tea, reflection crestfallen. Maybe he’ll just finish this and then go back to sleep.

Duck sighs, expression one of someone who already regrets the offer he’s about to make, “You can stay here for a month. After that, I’ll get you as close to a safe village as I can, and you’re on your own. Deal?”

Indrid grins, appetite returning in full, “Deal.”

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

Duck has a good guess as to what’s making all the scratching and clanging in his kitchen, but it’s still a surprise to see Indrid moving from counters to chairs doubling as stools to tend a pot that he can barely peer into.

The human’s gotten nimble over the last week and a half, thanks to his routine attempts to help Duck around the house. Everything is scaled to Duck’s smallest possible form, but that still leaves Indrid at a disadvantage.

He’d be more inclined to help him if it wasn’t so obvious that his help is a ploy to convince Duck to let him stay. Look, he feels bad for the guy, but humans don’t have a great track record with his kind and he generally likes his peace and quiet out in the woods. He also notices that, left to his own devices, Indrid is messy. The area around the couch he uses as a bed is strewn drawings and unfolded clothes that Duck conjured up. Which means this is about Ducks favor, not a commitment to household cleanliness.

That’s not to say having Indrid around has been unpleasant; the human is good company but also understands Ducks' need for space. He’s odd, and even though the foresight was the given reason, Duck suspects his fellow villagers would have found reason to exile him regardless. Indrid even said that living with Duck was the happiest he’d felt in some time. That wasn’t a ploy; Indrid is prone to saying unnerving statements without registering them. Thorns pricked Duck’s heart when he heard it and, that night, when Indrid fell asleep on the bed during their conversation about deer, he didn’t move him. Just brushed the white hair from his eyes and laid down a respectful distance away.

“Oh! We’re in the timeline when you’re early.” Indrid waves distractedly as he wrestles open a jar, “I checked on you during the day through my visions and it looked as though you got drenched, so I thought something warm was in order.”

He’s smiling, and Duck’s gaze lingers long enough to see there’s no trickery in it. Yeah, being a forest spirit means storms are refreshing more than freezing, but the one today was so relentless he felt like it was eroding him away.

“Thanks, Indrid. I’ll join you in a sec.”

The next morning, before he leaves he forms some nearby stumps into a proper step-stool, and transmogrifies the minerals of the earth into a solid set of human sized pots and pans.

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

“I know you’re there, Duck. I may not have eyes in the trees, but I do have visions that tell me when someone is dithering about coming to speak with me.” Indrid smiles, checking the fishing pole he’s dug into the shore. He feels rather than hears Duck approach; in spite of his size, the Leshen moves through the woods more softly than a butterfly.

“Guess those visions do make you harder to spy on than the average human.”

“A not at all creepy statement.” Indrid teases, then tips over when Duck playfully shoves him.

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright” he brushes off his arm, “the sand is nice and warm.” He picks up his sketchbook (stray pieces of paper sewn together) and pens (Duck turned flowers, fruit, leaves, and wood into them until Indrid had every color) and continues drawing. Half the reason he likes fishing is that he can draw futures (and for his own pleasure) while he does it. The other half is that he doesn’t want Duck to view him as a parasite in his home. Yes, for the first week, he did everything he could to demonstrate that he would make an excellent addition to the house made of twisting trunks and mossy floors.

Now, though, he just wants to enjoy his time with Duck, even if that means not tidying constantly or cooking every meal. He hopes Duck enjoys it too, regardless of whether he lets Indrid stay. The Leshen is lonely, even if it only comes through on those days when his voice is like the wind through a weather-beaten log. Indrid wishes he knew how to assuage it, but a month is not long enough to learn such things.

He’s slept in Duck’s bed these last three nights. It’s not purposeful, Duck is just so interesting to talk with and Indrid will lose sight of the time, will slump sideways and mumble that he ought to turn in, and then wake up in the early hours atop his host. It didn’t occur to him until this morning that Duck does that to keep Indrid from being uncomfortably squashed by his larger bedmate. And that Duck chooses to do that rather than carry Indrid to his own bed.

“Hey, uh, ‘Drid?” Duck’s voice brings him back to the riverside, “would you, uh, wanna come with me on my rounds sometimes? Might be some nice things to draw, and that foresight of yours could be real helpful with some of the stuff I need to keep an eye on.”

His host looks nervous until Indrid nods, “I would be honored.”

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

Never has the folding of clothes made him so miserable. Yet still he tucks the garments into the large-but-manageable rucksack Duck gave him, placing his sketchpad safely between the layers of fabric.

“Weather oughta be good tomorrow.” His visions show Duck behind him, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s going to miss that voice, the way leaves rustle underneath the drawl.

“That’s good.” He pulls the ties on his rucksack, sets at the end of the couch but doesn’t turn around.

“I’d, uh, say you’re welcome to visit but, uh, well, you know how fuckin hard this place is to find.”

“Mmmm.” Indrid wants him to go, wants him to be brusque or happy, not awkwardly fond in a way that gives false hope of shared affection.

“‘Drid there’s, there’s somethin I wanna, that is I’m thinkin...aw, fuck it.”

Indrid yelps as arms nearly as big around as he is scoop him up. Duck’s lifted him to examine flowers or see over trees, but the hugging is new.

“Duck?” Carefully, he drapes his arms over his shoulders.

“Don’t go.”

“I don’t want to.” Duck always smells faintly of pine needles and green wood, and Indrid buries his face in his neck, inhaling in hopes of remembering it forever.

“Then stay. I changed my mind, ‘Drid, life is so much better with you around.”

“Okay” Indrid can’t get his voice above a whisper; this wasn’t in the timelines, which means Duck changed his mind at the literal last moment.

“Really? You wanna stay?” Duck shifts him back, Indrid functionally sitting on his forearm with his legs half wrapped around his chest.

The seer summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so closes his eyes before going in for a kiss. His lips find Duck’s cheek until a firm hand cups the back of his head, guiding their mouths together. At this size, their mouths are compatible even as Indrid remains pleasantly dwarfed. Duck breaks the kiss first but Indrid, hell-bent on making up for lost time, continues kissing his face until they’re both laughing.

Duck kisses his forehead, “I’m gonna take that as a yes.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #monster march #reader requests #leshen

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lustinglilac · 4 years

Text

Alone Time

A/N: In which she needed a little alone time but, someone else sees more than he needs to. Credit for the name “Jose” goes to other writers! (No pairing in this)

Warnings: strong language, masturbation (f), getting caught, slight NSFW, 18+

GIF BY: @merakiaes 🖤

“Oscar! ¿Que te dije? Stop leaving your shit on the floor!” She yells out, picking up a discarded pair of sweatpants in the hallway. She walks into the kitchen, finding him counting money, throwing the piece of clothing at his chest.

“Lo siento.” He rolls his eyes, typical Oscar behavior. She knew he wasn’t going to listen.

“If I have to do all of your laundry, at least pick up after yourself.” She grumbles and picks up yet another one of his tank tops from the couch, folding it and placing it on the back of a chair neatly.

“And where’d you get all that money from? Don’t be greedy—“

“Nah— this ain’t for you. Tranquilo.” Oscar tuts slapping her hand away from taking any of the bills.

“It’s dirty money?” She raises her brows in his direction though he was still unfazed. He doesn’t answer her, giving her all the confirmation she needed. “Wonderful.”

“I’ll be back. Sad Eye’s comin’ by to pick somethin’ up. Let him in, alright?” Oscar stood to his full height in front of her, kissing her on the cheek and walking out the door.

She sighs, shutting the door behind her brother, tidying up the house a little before any guests arrived. She places Oscar’s clothes in his room for him and closes the door behind her. She walks into Cesar’s room next, putting the clean laundry folded on his bed away in his drawers, closing his door as well.

The house was quiet for once, the familiar smell of cigarettes almost fading away if Oscar wasn’t here to light one every few minutes. She contemplated on having some time to herself before Jose arrived.

Weighing her options in her head, she decided to walk to her room, not bothering to lock her door considering no one was home for at least a little while. She stripped off her clothing, leaving her in black lace panties and a pretty bra. She dug through her bedside table looking for the only thing that can bring her pleasure for the time being: her tiny vibrator.

She pulled the curtains closed, dimming her room slightly. She bit her lip anxiously, tugging her knee high socks a bit higher up her legs and climbing onto her bed, settling herself between the large pillows. Her hands roamed her body freely, eyes closing at the faintest of touches, hand cupping a breast and squeezing over the lace material of her bra. Soft palms skimming down her stomach closer to the heat between her legs. She swallowed hard as the tip of her finger came into contact with her wet clit, swirling her finger over it once before closing her eyes at the sensation. She allowed her finger to slide down more, parting her lips, her wetness spreading. Her breath caught in her throat at the sensation as she rubbed herself.

She stopped for a moment to flip onto her stomach, hips rising immediately as the cool air of her room hit her center, turning on her vibrator and placing it against her clit.

“Oh, fuck—“ She attempted to stiffle a moan at the sensation, biting down onto her lip to keep herself from whimpering.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Mouth falling open as she pressed the vibrator further, teasing her entrance with it before bringing it back up to her clit. Her fingers gripped the duvet beneath her as she barely contained her moans at how great it all felt. She hadn’t had alone time in a while and damn did she need it.

Too lost in her own pleasure, she didn’t hear the quiet opening and shutting of the front door, usually she would be on high alert by now but the pulsating between her legs didn’t allow for attention anywhere else but reaching her own high.

“Ugh, yes, right there— oh!” A particularly high pitched whine left her throat, alerting the Santo who had just entered the house, ears straining to hear what was going on down the hall.

Jose stopped in his tracks when he heard a bed squeak and a body turning over, signaling that she’d chosen to lay on her back again.

No, it can’t be. Spooky’s little sister? In bed with someone? In the middle of the day? He couldn’t bring himself to believe it, creeping down the hallway to check for himself and kick the dumbass out, just like Spooky would’ve done.

Her back arched, thighs spreading wider if it was even possible as she pistoned the vibrator in and out of her tight hole, nearly screaming from the pleasure.

José couldn’t believe his eyes, looking around once before his eyes landed on the girl writhing in the middle of the bed, breath hitching in his throat.

She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her the minute the coil in her belly snapped, sticky cum gushing from her pussy as her whole body went stiff and then came down from her blissed out state.

And fuck did she look pretty when she came, he thought.

She was panting hard, cursing under her breath as she stared up at her ceiling not noticing him until he made the move of stepping backward, wood creaking underneath him on accident as he grimaced, praying she wouldn’t hear him. But she did.

She shot up in bed, eyes locking on his, “Fuck!” Throwing her vibrator somewhere in her room and scrambling to her knees on the edge of her bed to grab her panties.

“Shit— my bad, mami.” José couldn’t help but smirk at her reaction, biting his lip at her angered expression.

“You ever heard of knocking, puto?” She tugged on a t-shirt that fell to her mid-thighs, trying to control her breathing still.

He nodded his head at the insult, “Door was open.” Was all he managed to say before walking off, leaving her on the bed.

“Don’t just leave— I was talking to you!” She huffed, slamming her door shut behind her and walking into the kitchen meanwhile he had no problem making himself comfortable on their couch.

“You’re lucky it was me and not Joker who came in.” Sad Eyes looked her figure up and down, an amused smirk still playing on his lips.

Standing at the sink washing her hands, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, holding his stare and daring him to make another comment.

“Todo esta bien nena, we all need some alone time— my fault for real.” He scratched the back of his neck, getting up from the couch and stalking over to her as she turned off the tap water wiping her hands on a towel.

“C’mon, you’re making this worse than it has to be. I ain’t mentioning a word of it to anybody. Lo prometo.” He laughed when she wouldn’t budge, barely meeting his gaze.

“What’re you here to pick up?” She finally looked up at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not funny, José.” She hit his chest, pushing him slightly.

“Washer broke last week. Dropped off my clothes here—“ He scrunched his brows together, reaching out to pinch at the sleeve of her shirt that was way too big on her, “This is mine, by the way.”

She clenched her jaw, uncrossing her arms, letting air out through her nose, “You want it back?”

Before he could answer, her fingers grabbed at the hem of the t-shirt, pulling it over her head, crumpling it into his chest, leaving her standing in the middle of the kitchen in just panties and her black lace bra that pushed her tits up deliciously. Sad Eyes couldn’t help but stare, coming even closer to her closing the distance between them, a large hand grazing past the tops of her breasts before resting at the base of her throat.

Her lips parted, eyes staring into his eyes waiting for his next move, he wouldn’t dare kiss her or would he?

He leaned next to her ear, voice rough as he spoke, “You’re sexy when you’re mad.” Missing her lips entirely.

She pushed off of him as he cackled, rolling her eyes at his words. He was such an ass.

“I swear to God, cabrón— you’re so fucking annoying.” She stomped down the hall to her room before he could catch her again.

“Lo siento, I’m joking, nena.” But his voice failed him as he laughed one more time at how angry she‘d gotten, walking to the laundry room and picking out his freshly washed clothes.

She emerged from her room with another shirt on that she made sure belonged to her and shorts, “Are you done being rude?”

“Yeah, I’m done.” He put his hand up in surrender, apologizing to her once more as the door to the house opened.

“Compa, how you been?” Oscar smiled when he saw his friend, dapping him up before turning to his sister.

“You gave him his clothes?”

Her ears heated up as she heard Jose shuffle slightly next to her, “Mhm.”

Oscar eyes the two of them warily, “The fuck’s wrong with you two?”

“Nothing.”

“Nada.”

They answered at the same time, all too quickly making Oscar snicker.

“Y’all are actin’ funny.” He gives them one last look before walking off.

“Can’t even begin to explain it.” She mutters under her breath, shoving past Jose who still held that stupid smirk on his lips.

#sad eyes imagine #sad eyes #steve villegas #on my block oneshot #on my block imagine #on my block

189 notes · View notes

con-fection · 3 years

Text

ASHES TO ASHES | jim moriarty x reader | part 3/13

Word count: 4.3k

When Sherlock Holmes becomes a man obsessed, James Moriarty becomes a man intrigued. That much, you are about to learn.

The first night in your hotel room, you allow yourself rest. The bed sheets are so soft, and sleeping on a mattress is infinitely more comfortable than the floor of a freezing basement. In many ways, despite your fervent dislike of the decor of the room based on its disingenuity, it is a decent opposite to your life before.

There is no blustering breeze blowing through dark, cracked bricks. There are no semi-dangerous power tools strewn over the floor. The sheets don't scratch at your skin.

You make sure, that night, to check yourself over for injuries. The fire was a major risk, you knew that much, and there had always been the chance that you could get caught in the blaze and burn alive, your body remaining trapped in the same house as those of your step-family's, and your freedom curbed by fire.

And you had come out unscathed.

There were no burns on you, not even the tiniest of markings from something as harmless as a stray ember. There was the chance you were suffering from some mild smoke-inhalation, but you felt completely fine, so you weren't too worried about that.

You wake up earlier than most people, but today, you don't have to get up and start sweeping or work on preparing breakfast. You feel absolutely, devastatingly victorious when there come no shouts of your name, no demands to get out of bed and fix the house.

Freedom feels so utterly delightful.

The only real downside is the lack of birdsong. The kind of birds that will chirp sweetly in the morning with you as their only audience do not thrive in inner-city London. Here, there is the eternal street-chatter, car noises, and taxi calling.

When you turn on the TV, having spent the early morning lounging in bed and enjoying the feeling of being wrapped up in soft sheets, the news is reporting live from your street.

There is a news reporter lady talking rapidly to the camera, a microphone clutched tightly in one hand. Behind her lie the remains of your parents' house. The blaze has long-since been extinguished, but there still remains one lone firetruck at the scene. The house itself has practically caved in on itself. Tiles of the roof and pieces of wood that had served as the infrastructure of the house lie lamely scattered around the lawn and driveway. It's a mess of ash and what had once been your childhood home.

The words she's saying are almost imperceivable.

Verona's car had caught fire after all. That alone gives you a smug sense of satisfaction. Just one more thing that she had valued had been stripped from her and desecrated.

"...The police have announced that they are launching a murder inquiry into the deaths of Verona Archer and her nineteen-year-old twin daughters Aubrey and Alora. Detective Inspector Lestrade, who will be heading the inquiry, has declined to comment, but sources have confirmed to us that Reichenbach hero Sherlock Holmes will be consulting."

You sit up, more interested in what she has to say than you had been just moments ago. The murder inquiry was no real surprise - you hadn't exactly tried to cover up the fact that the corpses had been hacked to bits. The mere thought of Sherlock Holmes - an allegedly brilliant civilian detective - on the case, did however shock you slightly.

Taking in a shuddering breath only calms you very slightly.

You had been so, so careful, and this had the potential to become your downfall.

The police, of course, would be on the case. You had been smart - burning everything in the house that had belonged to you. Any item that bore your name or image was to be reduced to ash, now scattered in the wind like black snow.

It was most fortuitous that Verona had caused you to have a life of solitude. Her daughters, of course, had been allowed to go out and socialise as much as they wished. Verona herself would attend dinner parties, and had wormed her way into any and every social scene that she could. Everybody had adored the three of them - Verona Archer, with her perfectly curled blonde hair, pink lips, and her darling twin daughters that were the spitting image of her.

That was a social life that you hadn't been permitted. You had been incredibly resentful at the time. Your parent's families flaked away from you once they had both died - there was nobody who cared to reach out and check on their only child. There was no way of being certain whether or not they would even remember that you had been living in the Archer household.

It was rather unlikely there were even any neighbours that even knew of your existence. That obscurity would hopefully keep you safe.

It's mid-morning by the time you eventually leave the hotel room. You've decided that today you're going to buy some new clothes, get some food, and look for a job that won't ask too many questions, all whilst keeping your head down and staying away from any cameras. The employment will probably come in the form of a seedy pub, which does invoke some kind of revulsion within you.

You have to remind yourself that it won't be for long. This is all temporary - once you're able to acquire some forged documentation you'll be in the clear. This is just one step closer to your happy ever after. You've already endured the hardest part and come out stronger for it.

---

Lestrade has relocated his board, featuring pictures, evidence, and lots of colourful string and thumbtacks, to a bigger room in the police station. The board sits front and center of the room, and is the primary focus of the room's occupants.

The full team has been gathered, all congregating in this one room to try to work cohesively.

"Listen, we're under a lot of scrutiny on this case." Lestrade says, grimacing as he looks between his taskforce and the board.

"And that's your fault." Donovan sniffs. "If you hadn't brought in Sherlock bloody Holmes then I bet that the media wouldn't even care."

"Right, right," John tries to intervene. "Let's just look at the evidence, yeah? And try to solve the case?"

As usual, she seems less than thrilled with John's presence, regarding him less than a teammate and more as a tag-along that Sherlock had somehow procured.

"So what do we actually know then?" Donovan asks, staring unrelentingly at the board.

Sherlock steps forward, pinning another picture to the board, next to the Archer girls. "This is our culprit. She's Verona's step-daughter, the child of a previous marriage of Verona's second husband."

There she is - there you are. It's an old photograph, ridiculously outdated from when you had been in high school. It looks terribly out of place next to the pictures of the Archers when they had been alive. Theirs are recent, good quality images - Verona's had been just the night before she was killed. The twins were impossible to distinguish from one another. All of them had the luxury of smiling at the camera, of being happy.

Lestrade takes over. "Her father died almost a decade ago in a car accident, and her actual mother passed away a while before that from health complications. The dad remarried not too long after his wife's death, so Verona becomes her step-mum, and the twins become step-sisters. She's a few years older than the twins, and we have no clue whatsoever what she had been doing since she finished high school."

"And we have no clue where she is now?" Anderson asks.

"None wha-" Lestrade begins.

Sherlock cuts him off. "No, that's not true. She'll be in a major city, most likely London. She'll either be keeping a low profile, or have a new identity set up already. She will have changed since high school - probably a hair cut, hair dye, or even tattoos, though that's unlikely."

"Right, I'll tell the officers on duty to keep an eye out for her." Lestrade nods, "Though I don't think a picture from years ago is going to help very much."

Donovan frowns slightly, her eyebrows tugging downwards slightly. She bites her lip for a second, her eyes darting between the pictures of the Archer girls when they were alive, their bodies, and their possible murderer. "Do we have a motive yet? Are we sure that this couldn't be a stalker who killed the Archers to kidnap their step-sister? I just can't really see a girl who Verona had raised, who loved the twins as if they were really her sisters, just turning on them like that."

"That's been bothering me too." Lestrade says. "I mean, maybe she felt like an outsider, but -"

"Of course she felt like an outsider." Sherlock says. "Verona took away her step-daughter's bedroom and had her sleep in the basement, so that she could store her fur coats upstairs. The step-daughter would be banned from furthering her education, and served as practically a live-in maid. It's incredibly obvious, really."

"They kept her as a maid? In the basement?" Lestrade's jaw hangs open slightly, his tone utterly disbelieving.

"Of course they did. All we have to do now is find her." Sherlock says, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Come on, John. If Cinderella's looking for a story, then we'll help her write one."

---

By the time you get back to your hotel room, your confidence has been bolstered immeasurably. You'd rather cautiously kept away from the more densely populated, camera-filled streets, and remained in more seedy, shady areas where nobody would really care too much even if they did know what you'd done.

In that time, you'd secured clothes, food, and you'd scouted out a few places that would probably be willing to employ you and not ask too many questions, though you weren't under the impression that they would pay you particularly well.

It felt so intoxicating to be completely and utterly free. You had no constraints any more. There were no Aubrey and Alora to hound you when you went shopping, and Verona was no longer around to tell you to be grateful that she even kept you around. Total, complete independence was one of the finest things you had ever encountered.

Perhaps the next few months would be rough whilst you were evading the police and establishing your new life. But ultimately, you were free. From freedom, your happily ever after would be borne.

Hastily, you put the food away - you'd bought simple things that could be stored in the mini-fridge - and pull the clothes on to hangers in the wardrobe. It doesn't feel like home, but oddly, you're glad for that.

Home had been burnt down, reduced to ashes by your own hand. In due time, you'd build a new one if you had to, and it most certainly would not resemble this hotel room.

Once you've finished packing everything away, you try to allow yourself to relax, but for some reason, you feel utterly unable to.

For some, indecipherable reason, you feel watched.

Instantly, your eyes narrow and you stalk around your hotel room, checking below your bed and in the bathroom. There's nobody hiding in either places, and you know that the wardrobe is empty, too. You're utterly alone here, and yet, you certainly do not feel that way. Rather, it feels like there are eyes at your back, scrutinising your every move.

Your next course of action is to check out the window. There's nobody there. Still, you draw the curtains closed tightly. It does little to block out the light or offer you any true sense of security. You're on edge - all of a sudden the shadows in the room feel too dark, too ominous, and it feels like the temperature has dropped several degrees.

There's a deep paranoia settling into your bones, and slowly, but surely, your heart rate is beginning to rise, to the point where your heart is rapidly thundering against your ribcage.

There has to be something you'd missed.

Most people hadn't developed the acute senses that you had. They simply weren't as perceptive, and they had no reason to be. Your distinct awareness of everything around you had been developed over years and years of maltreatment.

Just the slightest movement could tell you a thousand different things. Noises, from the screech of a heeled shoe against wooden floor to the mutterings of your step-mother, were a vital part of determining how safe you felt. Sight, too, was important. You could recognise just from the way Verona positioned her handbag if she would be in the mood to let you eat that night.

You had learnt to trust your senses. And right now, they were declaring that you had missed something - that there was something totally and completely off about this room.

Quickly, your eyes are traversing over every tiny little thing. From the doorframe, to the curtains, to the TV, to the desk -

The desk.

That's what had changed. The sugar packets and TV remote had been pushed to the outskirts of the desk to make room for something that hadn't been there before.

It's in the centre of the desk, and your jaw drops open slightly just at the sight of it. A bolt of ice rushes down your spine and suddenly you're afraid. There had been no fear when you killed three people and set their house aflame. But this, this felt like a threat.

Resting idly, almost innocently on the desk, is a heeled glass shoe.

It glitters prettily under the few rays of sunlight that escape from the curtains, but its mere presence feels insidious. You want to stumble away from it, dash out of the hotel and run for your life. But you don't. Rather, you stalk closer, creeping towards it, your eyes wide and unblinking.

The glasswork is pretty. It's delicate - carefully made, with intricate spirals running up the heel. It's relatively transparent, with a slight blue tint to it, enough to make it appear more frosted. It looks about your size, but it's far too nice to even attempt to wear. It's the kind of shoe you would have relentlessly lusted after as a child. A real life glass slipper.

And yet, neither the pretty glasswork or whether it is actually wearable are the primary thoughts on your mind.

Right next to the shoe, lying so innocuously on the desk, is a little white note. It almost resembles a business card, with a swooping golden border around the edges. If the shoe felt like a threat, then this feels even worse.

Inscribed, in shocking black ink on the bone-white card -

HELLO, CINDERELLA. WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TO THE BALL?

Now you really do feel like crying - like yelling out and destroying everything around you, smashing the glass slipper and burning your dreams just as you'd burnt the house down. You collapse to the floor, one hand clutching at your chest, grappling onto your torso like it was a lifeline.

You had been cautious. Cameras had been avoided at all costs. You'd even made sure that there would be no up to date pictures of you available for you to be identified from. You had done everything right.

It was so, awfully unfair. All of a sudden, that tenuous, delightful freedom had been ripped out from under you and torn to ribbons. And you had no idea by whom.

There was somebody out there who knew. Somebody who knew what you had done, and worse still, knew where you were. Somebody who could very, very easily let themselves into your hotel room.

Last night, you had slept so soundly, totally unaware that you had already been compromised.

You had no idea who could possibly do this - who could want to torment you in this way. Nobody came to mind. There should have been nobody that even cared to look for you, beyond the police hunting down a criminal. Logically, there should have been no way for you to be found. All of your bases had been carefully covered.

Worst of all is that you have no way of fathoming what it even means. Is it a threat? A taunt?

You simply have no idea, and you're not inclined to even want to find out. It's entirely possible that you've burnt your way out of one cage just to be put in another. All because there's somebody out there who's smarter than you, who has somehow been able to undo every precaution you put into place.

Taking in a deep breath, you lower your head into your hands and beg yourself to just think.

This could be a threat. You have no idea who would want to threaten you, and you have no leverage against them.

Rather quickly, you come to the conclusion that for now, you will simply play along with whatever they want. It's the easiest option - if they'd found you here then they could potentially find you anywhere. This way, you can dig for as much information on them as possible.

Playing along could mean being extorted, or made into a pawn. Wretchedly, it threatened to put a stranglehold on your freedom.

But, you'd broken out of the role of the pawn before.

If they were threatening you, then you would play along, until you found the right time to burn them to ash, reduce them to cinders that could easily be swept away. You were already well on your way transitioning from pawn to queen, and you were absolutely determined not to let anything derail you.

This time, you wouldn't run away from the blaze. You would gleefully watch it consume anybody who dared stand against you.

If reaching the fabled happily ever after meant starting a few fires, then that's what you would do.

---

There's a deep sense of relief when you wake up and find that nothing's changed. The glass slipper is still resting threateningly next to the card it came with upon the desk, but you haven't received any additional gifts. Not yet, anyway. You cannot simply throw caution to the wind - now you must be more careful than ever.

Somebody has discovered exactly who you are, and they know exactly where you are. It's quite possibly the worst position for you to be in. The last thing you need is anybody else recognising you.

That morning, you creep out of your hotel room, dressed in some of the clothes you had bought the day prior. You were very careful not to choose anything too flashy or that would stick in people's minds. For all intents and purposes, you needed to become a shadow, to fade from memory and hide in plain sight.

Once again, you will be trawling the shadier areas. These are the places bathed in darkness and defined by hidden bloodshed. These people have little regard for the law-abiding. Being amongst them will probably help keep you concealed.

They won't allow the police to get anywhere near them. There will never be any security cameras. There will only be secrecy and that is where you'll thrive. It's where you will hide, until the press has blown over and your step-family's murders have been relegated to cold cases.

You stalk out of the hotel, ever wary of everybody that you interact with.

Any one of these people in the lobby could have left you the slipper and the note. They're the ones with the most opportunity. However, most of the guests here, from what you can reasonably guess, are disenfranchised or senile. It could have even been the lady at the desk, Emily, you think her name had been.

You take to the streets like a duck to water. You decide to walk along a route with less traffic, working your way through maze-like alleys rather than go near the roads. There's almost no cameras here, and occasionally you will see a metal clasp on the brick walls that perhaps, at some time had held a camera, but it had since been taken down or torn off the wall.

Unfortunately, these places are rife with unsavoury people. Realistically, you probably weren't the only person here that was on the run from the police.

Your methodology of travelling only by the shadiest routes brought you past a myriad of seedy little pubs. You'd taken a look at some of these places yesterday. They seemed like as good a place as any to start looking for a job. The people there weren't likely to ask too many questions.

Despite having probably done crimes more morally reprehensible than any of the pub patrons, there's a disparity in how you view yourself compared to how you view them. They're stationed below you - they are just another stepping stone to your future. Among them isn't where you belong.

The way you spend the day is rather boring - doing a more in depth evaluation of all the places nearby that would probably be willing to employ you, mentally cataloguing the pros and cons of each place. It's incredibly dull, but you have to remind yourself that it's necessary. Right now, you don't have much other choice.

By the time the sun is beginning to set and dusk is beginning to fall over London, you've found a few places you like the look of. They're easy to get to, and just seedy enough that they may not care about your lack of documentation. That, of course, had been destroyed in the fire, and even if it hadn't, you weren't about to use your real name.

Once it starts to get darker, you head back to your hotel room, half-starved. You're simultaneously eager to get back just to eat, and nervous that you could have been left another message.

You practically fly through the lobby, hurriedly following the signs back to room one hundred and twenty five.

You make your way down the hallway, pausing cautiously at your door.

There, hung on the door handle is one of the hotel's do not disturb signs. You hadn't been the one to place it there.

Immediately, you're put on edge. The tiny, rectangular blue and green key card feels rather heavy in your hand. Your fingers twitch, and your eyes narrow. Once again, something is very, very off.

You press your ear to the door. There's nothing - no noise that you can discern. Cautiously, you swipe the card, and you tug the door handle down, but you don't push it all the way open. Not yet. You wait another moment before doing so, your eyes immediately flying to check the bathroom before you even truly step inside.

The room looks deserted, overcast by shadows. There's a deep anticipation stirring within you as you step into the hotel room and let the door close behind you.

It's rather dark - the shadows all move in the dying sunlight, and there's too many places for someone to hide.

"Hello, Cinderella." A voice calls out from the darkness, crooning and smooth.

In a second, your hand has slammed down on the lightswitch. The lights flicker for a moment, but they enable you to see him.

There's a man lounging in the chair to the desk, looking directly at you. His legs are outstretched in front of him, and he's passing the glass slipper between his hands.

You'd never seen him before. He's older than you, perhaps in his early thirties, with slicked back dark hair, an expensive-looking grey suit, and eyes that stare straight into your soul.

"Did you like my gift?" He asks, sounding vaguely amused. His dark, all-consuming, black eyes dart briefly down to the glass shoe in his hands. He strokes a fingertip along the glasswork intimately.

"Who are you?" The question tumbles from your mouth before you can even think to stop it.

He rolls his eyes. "I believe that I asked you a question first. You're welcome to call me Moriarty. But you, Cinderella, have been a very naughty girl."

This Moriarty man is rather changeable, you think. His annoyance had quickly faded to something that sounded horrendously like glee. You're left floundering for a response - there's nothing clever for you to say.

"Have I?" You find yourself saying, rather absently, like you were making an off-hand remark about the weather or something equally insignificant. It feels meaningless to refute him. You know exactly what he's referring to.

"Oh come on," Moriarty says. His voice is almost playful - and it's now that you place his accent. Irish. "You know you have. Killing your wicked step-mother and ugly step-sisters? Most people would call that terrible. Psssh, I'm not so boring." He waves it off, dismissing what you had done gut-wrenchingly easy.

You flinch backwards, your back colliding with the door. "Oh?" You manage to choke out.

"No, no. I'd call that impressive," He says in a sing-song voice. He seems so cheery, and he's practically grinning at you. "You see, most people don't quite gather the guts to kill their own families. And when it's a woman - well, they tend to go for poison. Bit of a cop out, don't you think? But no, not you. That would be too boring. Go on, Cinderella, tell me how it felt."

"Am I...being blackmailed?" You don't think you've ever felt so confused and worried at the same time. This man - the man who had figured it all out and found you seems to be dually comical and threatening. You can't really discern what is an appropriate reaction.

"Only if you'd like to be." He replies with an innocent shrug of his shoulders. "Just tell me something, will you?"

#jim moriarty #jim moriarty x reader

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princessniquane · 4 years

Text

My Pleasure

Chapter 3

Office Party

"I see you brought your boyfriend."

"Of course I did. I have to show these men who I belong to. Plus John is eating it up showing me off," Nikki replies.

"Well his ego isn't the only thing that's going to be eaten tonight," you wink at her.

Nikki hits you on the arm her mouth open in mock shock.

"I can't believe you just said that...but you just might be right," she says as she drags you out the women's restroom.

Left and right people were drunk, slur-talking (I made that up...?) and hitting on other people. Women trying to one up each other by showing off their expensive outfits. And the men seeing who can out drink the other or drink more than each other while everyone else are mingling and enjoying the party. You spot the owners, Rollins and Ambrose, talking to John when a couple of drunks try to make a pass them. As politely as possible they decline and walk away.

"See he only has eyes for you," Nikki says.

You roll your eyes as she nudges you towards Seth. We make our way over and three sets of eyes look our way as if sensing us near. John immediately rushes over to Nikki and kisses her cheek. Rollins and Ambrose both look at you as you look at between the two with a blush on your cheeks. The way they were looking at you had you starting to drip between your legs. Both had lust, which you couldn't blame them with your long blue dress with a slit on the side and black stilettos, in their eyes.

"You look...gorgeous (y/n)," Seth says the same time Dean says "You look beautiful." You compliment them on their suits, even though you see Seth in one everyday but you've never seen Dean in one.

Discreetly as possible you eye Dean up and down licking your lips. You look back to Nikki but her and John are on the dance floor already. Turning around you find yourself surrounded by both Rollins and Ambrose. They have you pressed up against them, Dean behind you and Seth in the front. One of Seth's hands are gripping an ass cheek and the other on a hip while Dean has one of his hands are on your thigh while the other is on your neck. Dean slowly moves his hand to your covered clit.

You let out a squeak, Seth chuckles as he whispers in your ear. "You didn't think you could hide from us all night did ya?" Seth says.

You bite your lip and shake your head but stop mid-nod and look into his chocolate brown eyes with confusion. Then turn to look at Dean's blue ones. They smirk at each other and pulls her into an empty conference room. Seth closes and locks the door behind him. You turn to him as you hear the door lock.

"We wouldn't want someone interrupting now would we?" Seth says.

"No not for what we got for Darlin'," Den chuckles.

"How about we play a game Dean-o."

"Don't call me that asshole," Dean growls.

"Let's see who can get (y/n) to cum first. Your tongue or my fingers or vice versa," Seth proposes.

"Woah woah woah, hold on wait," You say. "Not that I'm not up for a threesome or whatever...but why?"

"Because we want you," Dean says as he leans down to nibble on your neck keeping you from thinking too much.

Dean pushes you up against the long table until you're laying down. He pushes up your dress and is surprised to see that you're not wearing anything under it. You blush and say that it was Nikki's idea in case you got lucky tonight. They wear matching smirks as Seth spreads your legs so that he can have accommodating room for both of them.

Seth slides a finger through your moistened lips and shivers at how wet you are. "Fuuuck you're wet baby. We haven't even started yet and you're already dripping," Seth says as he lifts the finger to the light seeing it glistens with your juices.

"My my my it seems we have a very naughty girl on our hands Seth," Dean replies as he he slowly enters a finger all the way in not wasting time. Your arch up suddenly at the intrusion but dim it back down before they notice unfortunately for you they do notice.

"Why do you get to finger her." Seth leans down and flick your clit back and forth with his tongue anyways.

"Its not my fault you doubt your own skills," Dean remarks as he adds a second finger. You bite your bottom lip to keep from moaning as Dean fingers you faster. Seth makes a quick glance at you and sucks hard your clit making you arch your back.

"Oh fuck off Dean. I know how to please a woman." Seth begins to rub at your clit with his tongue.

Both sensations getting to you as you pant, wither and moan softly as you rub your nipples through your dress. You start getting louder as they not only change pace and switching tasks. Dean furiously rubbing, licking, and pinching your clit while Seth is alternating between fingering you with three fingers and pushes his tongue in your heat.

It isn't long before you come undone. They hold you down working you through your orgasm not letting up until you're on the verge of cumming again. Dean and Seth stop before you cum, you whine your disappointment at the lost.

Dean pushes Seth out the way and lick up your your heat getting a taste of you himself. Seth kisses you moaning as you taste yourself on his tongue not paying attention to do who is taking his suit pants off. You and Seth break apart as you hear Dean moaning you see him stroking his cock leisurely.

"Move it dork."

"Blow me asshole," Seth retorts back. "I had her first so I get first dips."

Dean hold out his hands, one open while the other is in a fist. "Play you for it."

"Seriously?"

Dean lifts an eyebrow, Seth takes a deep breath but complies and wins.

"Best two out of three." Dean still loses. "Damn it," he mutters.

"Always with the scissors Dean."

You shake your head wondering how you were about to get fucked to playing rock paper scissors. "Are you guys gonna fuck or what? Cause if not I got a vibrator at home that'll do the job just fine," you say exasperated.

That seem to grasp their attention and they are not to happy with the outburst.

"Oh?" Dean says as the smile on his face doesn't reach his eyes. You look to Seth only to see the same expression.

"You want to get fucked huh?" Seth says as he turns back to you smooth and unzips his pants revealing his cock stroking it. You try to back try a little but Seth isn't having it and pulls you on the edge of the table by your thighs. You feel the heat radiating from him and can't help but shiver with lust.

Dean comes up behind Seth and whispers in his ear. "Do it, fuck her good and hard. Make that pussy stretch real good on your cock and get her ready for mine." Seth shivers and scrunch up his face at Dean as he chuckles at him.

"I hate you so much," Seth says as he pushes into you til you are flush against him moaning. Seth swirls his hips as you wrap your legs around his waist pushing him in deeper. "Shit." Seth doesn't hesitate and starts fucking you deep and fast.

Dean sits in a chair watching as he strokes his cock slowly trying not to cum yet. You meet Seth with each thrusts pushing you more and more close to the edge. He pushes you back to lay down on the table and covers you with his body as he moves your legs to his shoulders thrusting harder.

Reaching forward you grab at his ass lightly scratching, his hips stutter a little he growls down at you and fuck you harder until you're cumming. You can hear Dean's breath start to quicken, looking over at him you see him taking deep breaths as he holds the base of his cock to stop himself from cumming.

Seth pulls out and pulls you on your knees so he can cum in your mouth. You take him deep in your mouth two three pumps later you swallow down his load. "Fuck baby...so good...damn it..."

Seth moves and takes a seat while you try and catch your breath. Dean finally gets in between your legs and works a finger in your pussy as you whimper. Instead of taking you on the table he picks you up and sit back down in his chair mouthing at your neck. You grab at his shoulders and rub up and down his chest.

Dean takes your dress off revealing your black lace bra. He licks his lips and unhooks your bra letting your breasts free and tweaking your nipples and flicking them with his tongue making you gasp. Grinding down on his cock hearing him moan in your ear having you shivering.

"Can't wait anymore...gotta have you," he groans. He grabs one hip and the other at his cock pushing you gently down his length having you feel every inch of him. You were a panting mess as he finally was sheathed inside you, Dean was breathing heavily between your neck and shoulder.

Rocking your hips a little throwing your head back moaning. Dean's groan, as he grabs at your body rocking slowly into you, sounds strained. "Come on Dean. You don't have to hold back for me. I want it...give it to me."

Dean grabs the back of your neck and kisses you deep before thrusting up and pulling you down on him. You hold on to his shoulders as he grabs your hips moving in tandem with each other. You ride him slowly as he moans in your ear. "That's right baby...come on ride me...ah yea like that...ride me like you want it baby."

Speeding up you ride him hard opening you eyes you see Seth stroking his cock to the same speed as you ride Dean. He meets your eyes and moans biting his lip. Dean pulls you back to him kissing you standing up pushing you against the wall. Moving your hands from his neck and puts it above your head holding it with one hand while he uses the other to pull you against him.

Moaning loudly because no one can hear you with the party going on. Moaning, swearing, skin against skin sounding throughout the room. You and Dean against the wall and Seth in the chair jerking off to the sight of Dean fucking into you.

Dean then moves you from the wall having your arms wrapped around his neck he starts bouncing you on his dick mercilessly. Moaning higher and higher no one can hear you anyway so why not scream out. He bounces you all the way to the table and pulls out and puts you face down. He enter back in one thrust and continues to pound into you as you feel yourself start to cum again scratching the table as you push back into Dean's thrusts.

Dean fucking you hard gripping and smacking your ass as he gets closer and closer to the edge. Soon you cum hard around Dean making him pull out and cumming on your ass with Seth right with him cumming on his hand. Dean lays his head on your shoulder blade catching his breath, Seth is the first to recover so he cleans himself up and moves Dean out the way to clean you up.

Dean huffs but takes the offered tissues and does the same for himself and pulls you back on his lap. Seth rolls his eyes but smirks. "Didn't know you were a cuddled Dean."

Dean flicks him off and looks at you.

"Sooo... you wanna go steady?"

#wwe #wwe fic #dean ambrose #dean ambrose x reader #seth rollins #seth rollins x reader #my pleasure

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kireon · 4 years

Text

Store Bought Hero

x-posted from my writing account as well as my author blog.

If natural heroes didn't work, store bought was fine too.

At least, that's what you keep telling yourself. It becomes a mantra as you peruse the discount racks at your favorite clothing store that definitely does not start with 'K'. Setting aside the whole ‘escaped from the lab you were created in’ thing, you haven’t noticed any serious differences between natural heroes and the lab created ones ('store bought', as they say) except for the whole income disparity thing.

Oh, and the sponsors.

Everyone knows natural heroes shopped at Gucci and their sidekicks at Macy's, bare minimum, they simply must be outfitted with the best at all times if they are to be known in the world. You can hear the professor from the labs’ rant clear as day even fifteen years later. While you definitely like a select group of brand name items? You have bills to pay, mouths to feed, and a gigantic fucking load of student loans on your back.

No rich parents, tragic enough backstory, or sponsors for you: a 'store bought'.

With a sigh, you eye a sequined leotard and run your hand up and down the rough fabric. There is something satisfying about the way the colors shift from a too shiny silver to a lurid cherry red. You like shiny. You like shiny an awful lot, as a matter of fact, and that's how you got yourself into this entire mess in the first place.

"How was I supposed to know the stupid anklet was his downfall?" You grumble as you tear yourself away from the sequined nightmare. Restraint isn’t something that comes easily but you’ve had years to practice. A half-hearted paw through the racks of clothing marked at sixty-percent off or more reveals a pair of dark red pleather pants that might just make a good costume base.

"It's not like I walk around with my weakness in plain sight."

It wasn't even a decent anklet either; not even sterling silver or real diamonds or brand name. It was a cheap nickel plated piece of flash and the rash it gave you still itched even a week later. Some sort of curse for the unwary, or so the hero had claimed when you'd given it back to him a day later.

You neglected to inform him of your nickel allergy during the confrontation.

Well, maybe not wisely. You might have been able to get some sort of financial compensation outta him for the damage done to your skin. The rash and blisters did look really awful when he’d caught up with you and he looked horrified when he saw the results.

Heroes had that whole ‘do innocents no harm’ thing, after all.

You'd rather die than admit to anything so common as a nickel allergy, so you accused him of having a curse put on it. He ate up the accusation and used it to his advantage, as they all do. In exchange for falling for the good old fashioned sob story that was your life-- lightly embellished, of course--you had to become his sidekick as penance for your (petty) crimes. Also to completely remove the effects of this nonexistent curse.

After all, you were in ‘dire need’ of a good role model, yadda yadda yadda. You’d stopped listening to his moral prattling about the same time he tried to invoke the ‘daddy issues’ card. The last time someone had pulled that shit on you, they woke up woozy, confused, and completely unaware of the clown makeup as they walked out (pantsless) into the busiest part of the city. Waterproof makeup at that.

Just as a little extra “fuck you” to prove a point; you don’t like doing more than petty retaliation if you can help it.

You can be quite nasty, after all.

In the end, Hero McDadguy puffed up in his usual self-importance and gave you an entire fifty bucks towards a ‘basic’ costume and sent you on your way with a time limit. He was currently busy getting some frothy concoction at that one coffee shop just around the block. Far enough away that it’s a test of trust and boundaries but close enough he can close the gap and probably haul your ass in if he needs to.

The added caveat that you weren’t to embarrass him with your costume choice makes you want to do it even more. The only thing holding you back is the fact that you do have to wear the costume. In public.

Petty and spite take a backseat to pride and self-preservation.

Not like he was one to talk. He had that whole ‘90s cyberpunk meets Dad-on-Tropical-Vacation’ theme going on. Fanny pack, socks with sandals... the works. You’d rather go to jail than try to figure out how to replicate, keep in theme with, or otherwise find something to compliment that mess.

You mutter that very thing under your breath while you snag a few promising pieces-- and the leotard because fuck self-control you deserve something nice-- off the rack and head for the dressing room to start trying things on. Twenty minutes of posing in the mirror in varying outfit combinations later and you ignore the request for 'photo evidence' of you behaving and call your oldest child instead.

“Hey, what’s the name of that one bird that steals shit?” You ask as you shimmy into a pair of leather shorts with sequins on the ass. You’re definitely about ten pounds shy of ‘Juicy’, as the flashy hot pink word on your butt says, but this could very well be the start of something amazing.

“Maybe you wanna be more specific unless you want me to read descriptions for the next ten years?”

Nat is much like you; level-headed, brilliant in school but woefully under challenged, and has the same smart-mouth that had gotten you slapped through a wall once or fifteen times in your early life. You would never lay a hand on your kids regardless of how mouthy they get with you and so have to find other methods of curbing their attitudes when they get too out of line.

There’s a lot of yelling and someone sounds like they’re on the verge of tears in the background. A muffled Nat’s voice tells them to ‘calm the hell down, it’s fine’ before they come back on the line.

“What’s all that about?” You ask as you sift through the tops for something that would go with it. This opportunity might be a wash with how little luck you’re having. Might be time for Plan B- especially if there’s a problem with the kids. Your hand lands on a peacock blue-and-green number that doesn’t look bad but isn’t quite what you’re looking for. Ugh.

It’d clash with that highlighter orange from Mr. I Sweat Burberry Cologne.

Your middle child’s voice is loud and clear on the line now. “If you buy those shorts I am putting myself into the Child Relocation Program and you’ll never see me again.”

You consider it for a moment. Mortal embarrassment of your thirteen year old or being a slightly less fashion disaster than you feel. Tough decision, really. You feel yourself smile after letting Morgan sweat it out just long enough.

“Clean the kitchen and I’ll consider it.”

The quintessential teenage shriek of fury and angst comes loud and clear through the phone. “I knew you were going to say that! You’re the worst!”

Some parents prayed against having a child born with precognitive powers. While annoying to deal with, it’s also a lot of fun to use against them. It makes parenting interesting and more of a game to see just which future the kiddo wants to avoid- or get away with. “

You feel your smile widen at the range of futures said kiddo has likely foreseen. You’ll have so much fun with this particular set of visions and using it like baby photos against them. “So did you clean the kitchen?”

“Duh!” A most indignant tone.

You laugh. You can’t help it. “Put Nat back on the phone.”

“Promise me you’re not buying those first.” Stubborn and firm. A bit of desperation there too. Not quite ready to beg but not all that far off either.

The way they say ‘those’ makes you laugh all over again. “I’m not buyin’ ‘em, don’t worry.”

“And that weird guy isn’t buying them either?”

Damn it. “Nope. He won’t buy them either.” So much for that idea. Maybe you could-

“No stealing them either!”

Double damn it. “Fine, fine; the shorts stay in the store.”

“Thank you.”

The phone goes back to your oldest. “So, about that bird?”

“Jackdaw, Magpie, Corvids.” You hear scratching of pencil on paper. Homework? At, you check your phone, two-seventeen in the afternoon on a Saturday? Your eyes narrow suspiciously.

Who is it you’re talking to and what have they done with your child?

“Corvids? Like crows and shit?”

“Yup. And no, I’m not a body snatcher.”

A grin. “Sounds like something a body snatcher would say.”

Jackdaw didn’t have that something you were looking for. Didn’t roll off the tongue the way it needed to in your head when you imagined some Big Bad Villain spotting you mid-villainous speech. Corvid didn’t either. Crow wasn’t hitting any notes either.

Raven was absolutely taken by no less than eighty-three variations in your city alone.

Rook had some fun possibilities if you had actually bothered playing and learning chess. (You can’t; you can’t sit still or pay enough attention for that shit and you own that.)

Your eyes fall on the silver-and-red sequined leotard again.

You hear your prophecy cursed child screech in despair in the background and the younger two who have gathered to watch the show tell them to shut up.

Nat, ever patient and ever your child, smiles on the other end of the phone. “I think that’s the one, Magpie.”

Magpie... yeah, you like the sound of that one. Magpie it is. “It’ll make a good base; is Morgan--”

“McFreakin’ Losing It? Yep.” You can hear the sounds of pencil scratching against paper again. Curiosity overrules any possible ‘do not need to know’ that you and Nat sometimes stumble into.

“Okay, I’ll bite; what are you doing?”

“Fulfilling the prophecy as foretold by the ancients long ago.” if Nat’s voice were any drier, they’d be dust in a forgotten tomb. “I’m designing the rest of your costume so you’re not a total train wreck and Morgan can die quietly.”

“You’re my favorite.” You say as you gleefully stuff the leotard-- you’ve tried it on twice and know it fits like a dream-- back on its hanger and wiggle out of the shorts. A wiggle that almost ends badly for you, at that, and you can hear the brats laughing at you in the background as Morgan probably mimics how you just about bit it in the dressing room.

“Remember that when I inevitably try your patience in all of forty-five seconds.” Nat hangs up on you and you feel nothing but pride in the way these sassy children have grown up under your less than skilled thumb. You’ve not been the best parent or even the best role model. It’s funny what unresolved childhood issues and bad habits will do, but damn it you have given it everything you have up to and including your favorite line of ‘do as I say not as I do’.

That is your right as a parent, goddamn it, to use that line and they can pry that right from your cold dead fingers.

They’re all good kids. They’re going to end up heroes in their own right with or without superpowers. That, above all else, is all you want for them so that they’re twice as capable as you’ve ever been in your life. Lab created and thus ‘store bought’ or natural born; it doesn’t matter and it never mattered to begin with.

Heroes are heroes in the end and the world could always use another helping hand as it spins through another chaotic cycle.

Your phone beeps and you glance at the text message.

Black thigh high socks. Get two pair. Amazon sucks for deals rn.\

U r not my fave >:(

You scowl and wish the walls would burn as you unfold the crumpled bills at the register. You don’t need Morgan’s gift of prophecy to know what that text message says and yet, like a fool, you look down at it anyway.

There’s a photo of all five of your grinning children holding up score cards. All of them holding 10s.

All of them dressed in Hawaiian shirts.

You have never felt so betrayed in your whole life.

#my writing #store bought heroes #original fic

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tjovalboy · 6 years

Text

It’ll Be Us (part 1/2)

short summary: frozen yogurt, Iris, and drama

part 2 should be done in a couple weeks or so!!

Words: 2060

Also on AO3

TJ looked up from his phone and sun rays blinded him as Cyrus plopped in the leather diner seat across from him.

He slid his neon green frozen yogurt cup under TJ’s nose. “I present to you: ‘The Crazy Side of Shadyside,’”

A drop of the head revealed a red creamy arch brodering the round edge of the cup, followed by orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple arches further in. At this, TJ glanced into his own cup and stifled a laugh.

“What? Let me see!”

TJ slid his cup to the boy across from him. “Mine’s called, ‘DJ Fruity’.”

Inside was a single swirl of plain white tart with an assortment of strawberry, blueberry, and kiwi toppings.

Cyrus sat back, dramatically clutching a hand to his chest. “Did we just accidentally coordinate our fro yo art though gay subtext, a quirky rhyme, and a soundcloud rapper?”

TJ cracked up feeling the familiar racing of his heart at Cyrus’s joking remark. “It’s just so us, isn’t it?”

The shorter boy followed and bursted next. “This has been a fantastic start to our day.”

TJ handed a stainless steel spoon to his boyfriend to enjoy “DJ Fruity,” while he excitedly dug into the pride flag design Cyrus had tailored for him that week. He couldn’t see himself eating frozen yogurt any other way again.

“You shouldn’t eat this kind of thing while wearing that.” Cyrus gestured at TJ’s Jefferson Middle School Basketball sweatshirt between bites. “Even though you’re technically not a middle schooler anymore, the ex-captain of the basketball team shouldn’t be getting his team sweatshirt dirty.”

TJ rolled his eyes playfully, but still stopped to take his sweatshirt off and set it on the seat next to him. In only their second week of dating, he loved that Cyrus’s helpful instinct were amplified around him, and most of the time, he was right.

TJ asked Cyrus out while they helped set up for Bex and Bowie’s wedding. The gang (him, Cyrus, Andi, Buffy, and Jonah) had free time to kill and Cyrus wanted to show him the Chinese finger trap Andi had in Andi Shack (with her permission, of course). TJ was obviously impressed with the art pieces Andi had laying around, so she slyly suggested that he and Cyrus make something for each other. The time spent alone together as the sun was going down with the fairy lights grazing their heads brought the question out of TJ’s mouth with ease, and they hardly noticed Andi and Buffy peering through the front window as they held each other’s hands and made it official.

They never ended up making anything for each other with Andi’s supplies the night of the wedding, but her suggestion gave Cyrus the idea for their frozen yogurt swap game at Lemon Berry Yogurt near the Spoon. He thought it would be a good way to to kick off the summer before TJ went to high school.

TJ looked at the boy across from him. “So, Underdog. You got any plans after this?”

Cyrus picked out a blueberry from the top of his tart and popped it into his mouth. “Nope. I am all free for whatever you’re about to say next.” TJ raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Wait, no. Scratch that. Just tell me what it is first.”

“Ah, don’t worry,” He chuckled and fought a blush. “I was just thinking we could watch a movie at my house,” he asked casually, continuing to eat his yogurt. However, despite the fact that they were dating, he was nervous about this request. The two held hands whenever they could, but cuddling was new, and he knew that a movie on a couch with two boyfriends might lead to that. He thought it would be a fun idea, though, and he hoped that Cyrus was thinking the same.

A glimpse of hesitation passed over Cyrus’s face, but it was only for a second before his usual upbeat demeanor took over. “Yeah.” Cyrus’s eyes twinkled. “Yeah, that sounds really good, TJ.”

There were so many couples at Jefferson that would have dates at fancy restaurants using their parents’ money, or hold hands a certain way because of something they’d seen in a movie. It was all a fantasy to them, acting too old for their age based off of impressions they got of dating that weren’t realistic. TJ couldn’t help but think that what he had with Cyrus was different. It was a middle school relationship where they made up food games and did things their own way, and it was what TJ loved most about them. He valued authenticity in people, and one of his biggest complaints to Cyrus was about how little of that the middle schoolers around them had.

Suddenly, a brown haired girl shuffling past their booth struck Cyrus’s attention.

“Iris!”

She spun around at the sound of her name, which weirdly sounded a lot like Cyrus’s. “Cyrus!” she exclaimed back.

“The names still sound so satisfying one after the other,” Cyrus remarked as she perched herself at the edge of the boys’ table.

“Yep.” TJ noticed she was avoiding his gaze. “And as always, the observation came from the unique, really just weird, but we’re gonna call it “unique,” mind of Cyrus Goodman.”

The three of them cracked up at the truth of her statement. Hearing TJ’s laugh reminded Cyrus there was something he still needed to do.

“Oh, TJ, this is my friend, Iris.” She shifted uncomfortably at the mention of her name. ”And Iris, my boyfriend, TJ.”

TJ jumped out of the booth so he could stand and extended a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. From what Cyrus told me, you seem really cool.” She looked at him for the first time as she returned the shake. “You’re welcome to sit of you want,” he said, gesturing to his own seat.

To TJ’s satisfaction, she took the seat he offered. Months ago, Cyrus told him about the high school girl he dated, named Iris, who he broke up with when he realized he was gay. Now, she seemed nervous around the new boyfriend as if she didn’t think she was welcome so he was being as friendly as possible to let her know that it wasn’t the case.

TJ slid in next to Cyrus across from his original seat and felt him squeeze his hand under the table. Facing them, Iris took bites from her full cup of froyo, already looking more relaxed.

“This is probably gonna sound weird.” She spoke after a couple of moments of silence. “But, sometimes, I like to come here after really sucky days at school and just go at my yogurt like it’s one of my canvasses.” She laughed lightly. “Then, when I’m done, I give it a stupid nickname and I-I don’t know-I just feel a little better. ”

TJ gaped at her and saw that Cyrus shared his expression. This girl they coincidentally ran into today turned out to be just like them. Not gay (but maybe, TJ thought), but appreciating the smaller aspects of life as a way of being themselves.

Iris chuckled nervously at them. “What is it?”

Cyrus tilted cup forward so she could see the fruit arrangement inside. “‘DJ Fruity’, courtesy of TJ Kippen,” he announced.

TJ looked down in playful embarrassment. “And ‘The Crazy Side of Shadyside’ a la Underdog,” he finished, showing his cup the same way.

She joined them gawking. “Oh my gosh, this is amazing.” She thrusted her rattling cup half full of Skittles under their noses to see. “I named this one ‘Dino Barf’ coming over here,” she exclaimed with a giggle.

“Taste the rainbow?” TJ raised an eyebrow and looked at his boyfriend.

“Gay subtext! It even coordinates!” Cyrus exclaimed.

Iris laughed. “Just promise you guys’ll show me DJ Fruity’s music someday ‘cause I’m really dying to know what they’re about.”

Oh boy, she had no idea, thought TJ.

She sighed to herself and paused. “This is such a nice break from being around the people at school.”

TJ noticed Iris often mentioned school in bad ways, whether it was the kind of day she had or the people there. As a soon to be high school freshman, this worried him and he wanted to know more.

“So, what’s the deal high school kids?” he asked.

This prompted a dry chuckle. “A lot of them are just--I don’t know...” She motioned in front of her. “...fake.”

TJ raised his eyebrows and Cyrus pinched an imaginary tea cup handle and took a “sip,” inviting her to continue.

“Like, I’m an artist, right? And maybe that’s it; that I’m really just complaining over nothing because I need originality and realness around me to feel good about my life, but I’m just sick and tired of everyone thinking they’re more mature because they’re going from meaningless relationship to meaningless relationship.”

“Yeah, I get that.” chimed Cyrus.

“Wow, I guess it really doesn’t get better after middle school,” TJ complained.

Iris took the last bite of her dessert and pushed the empty cup to the side. “Yeah, it doesn’t!” She shook her head, still fuming. “But the absolute worst of them all...are the jocks.”

The weight of the room shifted.

“Um, Ir-”

TJ darted a look at the boy sitting next to him, stopping him mid sentence. They were going to act cool about this. “What about them?” he inquired in his best casual voice.

Inside, TJ was hurt. This wasn’t the answer he was expecting, but he pushed the issue because he wanted to know everything she knew about the group of kids he was getting into. He loved basketball and was ecstatic that he was guaranteed a spot on the Junior Varsity team as a freshman, but he hated the idea of becoming one of the inauthentic people he always looked down on.

Cyrus looked at him with a concerned expression, but kept quiet about who TJ was.

“Well, it’s a small school, so Amber keeps me up with all the drama,” she prefaced to them. “The drama that usually happens is that the jock is a straight up jerk to whoever they’re with, and when they break up, they move on crazy quickly.”

That didn’t sound good at all, but TJ was determined to hold his ground.

“That isn’t everyone though, is it?” he argued.

Iris eyed him suspiciously. “Like I said, it’s a small school, so, pretty much.” she said hesitantly. “They end up spending so much time with each other, between locker room talk and parties, that the jerk influence just spreads.”

Was that who he was going to turn into next year? His face reddened at the unsettling thought.

“But a lot of them change, right?” piped Cyrus, noticing TJ’s growing discomfort.

“Well, yeah. They’re still human you know,” she stated obviously and smiled. TJ felt a little relief with this. “But the thing is that I haven’t seen it happen very much, and neither have a lot of people I know.” She furrowed her brows. “So, I think it’s safe to say that Grant High School athletes--past, present and future--are fake and just plain mean, especially with the people they decide to get into relationships with.”

TJ couldn’t believe it. There was apparently no good way to look at this and he needed to take his aggressions out on someone. He scowled at Iris. “No wonder you don’t have any friends. You just think you know everything about athletes, but you don’t!” he snapped, already pushing himself out of the booth.

“Excuse me?” Iris retorted angrily as he strode away toward the door.

Cyrus looked extremely worried. He fumbled with both of their empty frozen yogurt cups as he exited the booth in a hurry to catch up with him. “I’m sorry, Iris. We’ll talk soon, maybe?” he said back to her, tripping over his shoes and following TJ outside.

Now alone, Iris frantically wondered what she had done to cause this outburst. She felt terrible, especially since it seemed like the three of them were getting along well as a group. Amidst her thought, a light blue, rumpled sweatshirt on the seat next to her caught her eye. She held it up, her jaw dropping as she read the white logo printed across the front.

#tyrus #andi mack #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #iris #I cant believe i finally finished

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anearthstruckalien · 6 years

Text

So I wrote another dialogue-based writing thing and it features Giegue and Ninten (for the second time in total on this blog pfffft). But, this time it’s more recent as opposed to further in the past of this blog’s timeline. It’s all under the cut.

Giegue: [Teleports into Ninten’s room and intently fixes his dark gaze upon the individual in question whom appears to be fast asleep; it was just past midnight after all. And perhaps his timing could be a little better, but this was important and could not wait. Matters of safety could not wait until after a specific action or actions were taken, the possibility of another one of them coming here (and thinking about it) cemented that. However, he doesn’t quite speak yet because his attention is immediately drawn to what facial similarities between Maria and the other persisted over the past decade.]

Ninten: [Shuffles around in his sleep—suddenly uncomfortable as if he can sense the distinctly unnatural (and rather unforgettable) presence of his adoptive alien relative—in a rather restless way.]

Giegue: [Vaguely blinks at the motion itself. That’s right. Enough of staring. It’s time to get to his main reason for being here so that he may return to advancing his own goals. He narrows a dark blue void and starts to concentrate on psionic efforts intended to fully wake the other up…]

Ninten: [Squints a bit tiredly as if caught between straining to see in the darkness of his room and trying to convince himself that what he is seeing is real before a rather groggy inquiry is voiced.]

Uncle Gie.. –uncle Giegue…? S’that you… –?

[Then, just as quickly as he voiced his inquiries, something seems to jolt him to full consciousness and before Giegue can answer, Ninten speaks once again.]

No. Wait… –better question: what the heck are you doing in my room in the middle of the night–?

Giegue: I am here to communicate some rather… –important information to you.

[Pale hands clasp one another anxiously behind his back. Yes. This is very important. That is why his message must not only be informative, but effective as well in achieving the desired outcomes… without dragging Ninten (or any other members of that family; innocent humans in general even) into all of this.]

Are you willing to listen to my message… –?

Ninten: [Lazily runs a hand through haphazardly arranged dark hair and squints again in a futile attempt to see any better through the darkness. Damn sight limitations. Turning on the lights was also an option, but if this was as discreet as it sounded like it had to be, that might defeat the purpose of what his uncle set out to accomplish here.]

Okay. This is a super-weird way of going about it but–…[A pause before a slightly resigned sigh follows as the dark-haired boy stops trying to see any better and (for once) rather concedes to his fate instead.]…yeah, I’ll bite. It can’t be any weirder than the lamp and the dolls that one time. What’s on your mind uncle?

Giegue: [Frowns a little at the expression ‘bite’ but also notes that Ninten is making no motions to carry out the promised action. Hm. Perhaps it is a human expression of interest or agreement or both? He does not know… nor does he care enough to bother with thinking much more on such a comparatively trivial matter. Delivering his message is what matters. Ensuring the other’s safety by entrusting him with this knowledge is what matters. And so, that is what he will proceed with doing.]

There is another member of my species present on Earth. But, they are not of this universe.They have traveled to this one from another… and are currently stranded on Earth because I have destroyed their only means of returning back to their universe.

Ninten: [Actually falls right out of bed simply because he had attempted to get out of it far too haphazardly and recklessly in a characteristic show of his innate quality to take action as quickly as is possible, odds of success be damned. But, even the slight fall doesn’t stop him from blurting out what’s come to the forefront of his mind almost immediately.]

What?! Why? What the heck do those creeps want now!?!

Giegue: Nothing with this universe’s Earth if that is your primary concern. Their petty goals no longer have anything to do with me whether it be within this universe or another.

[He says rather firmly as if scolding the other for making such an audacious inquiry at all to begin with. Then a pause. And he continues with conveying what he knows in a deceptively flat and neutral way; fortunately nothing about his external demeanor easily betrays how anxious this is truly making him.]

Based off the information that was extracted from them, the ‘alien’ was tasked with the mission of capturing me. Or if capture did not prove to be a viable option?... then termination was a likely alternative to it.

[He clasps his hands even more tightly for a moment behind his back, before releasing the pressure a second later. He can do this. He must do this. He has done far more difficult matters than this and though the implications of this are still in the air, he will handle them if the time should ever come for such things to become an unfortunate reality. The biggest threat in all of this is none other than Giegue himself if his stability should slip up enough. That is why he must remain as calm and rational about this as is possible; allowing for fear to make its way through will only make everything worse. A deep inhalation of breath.]

It is connected to the events of the second invasion of Earth. My second attempt at it. The magnitude to which my power had grown at the time… and the way it presently is now… have caught the attention of others it seems...

[He looks down for a moment. Then exhales almost exasperatedly. Of course. This is yet another consequence of his own actions. But, it is how it is and as the cause of all this, he must accordingly be the one to address it. No one else should have to deal with this mess.]

But, you need not concern yourself with this. I will handle it.

Ninten: [Looks like he’s on the verge of protesting, but just manages to hold himself back. Protesting or freaking out any more isn’t going to helpful in this situation. If anything, it’ll only make Giegue even more nervous than he already is beyond that deadpan demeanor and just complicate things. Again. He wants to do something to assist, but that’s a matter for later. He should first try and see what he can find out about how things look now.]

… … …

Ninten: [Gets up off the floor and takes a step forward. Okay. He’s got this. This isn’t too different from how things were before except that now? his uncle is on the right side of the conflict. Or potential conflict. It’s really difficult to tell at this point.]

So… –how do things look now? Uh with the alien that’s here on Earth that is? The other stuff is pretty important too, but I think that it’s important to start with that.

Giegue: [Effectively calms himself back down even more and glances directly at Ninten anew.]

The current state of the situation is acceptable. I have effectively neutralized all immediate danger… and reached a cooperative relationship with them.

[The rigidity in his posture eases up a little and as he proceeds with elaborating on the details underlying all of this, the pale alien seems to enter an even greater state of internal peace. After all, the situation could be worse. Bad as the possibility (bordering on certainty) is about any more of them coming over here—never mind how concerning the idea of someone with the title ‘leader’ truly is—it is good that the one that is here seems to have no intentions of causing trouble here.]

They are on Earth, but I do not think that they will do anything to it. They were never here for the Earth to begin with… and seem to value their ‘freedom’ enough to avoid any activities which may otherwise jeopardize it.

Ninten: [Scratches his head intriguedly before narrowing his eyes.]So the alien is uh… on the loose then… –?

Giegue: I suppose so. They are no more ‘on the loose’ than myself.

Ninten: [Nods quickly in understanding. Okay. Maybe that wouldn’t have been his choice for someone that wasn’t some alien relative of his, but that didn’t mean that it was a bad one. No matter how tense things may be with aliens in general, he’s got to remain open-minded for his uncle’s sake. And so, he ponders over the matter for a bit longer before responding.]

I trust your judgement on this uncle. If you say that everything is fine… then I’ll take your word on it…

… –But, I still wanna see them for myself. Maybe even get talk to them just to make sure that everything is good with this whole [He makes a couple of semi-erratic hand gestures as if emphasizing or clarifying a point that he can’t quite get across as nicely as he’d like to.] alien situation thing?

Giegue: [Stiffens before rather rigidly shaking his head and offering an equally rigid retort.] Absolutely not.

Ninten: [Immediately frowns at that. There it is again. This is just like when he had gone to see how things were back on Mt. Itoi a few months ago.]

But you said–

Giegue: [Sticks a hand out (still) rigidly and unabashedly proceeds with interrupting Ninten mid-sentence in a rather strict and controlled way, as if he’s just barely containing how anxious this is making him again and how imperative it is that his mother’s family stays safe during this.]

I am aware of the contents in my message. This does not mean that you should ever approach such a creature. At all. Let alone interact with it.

[He pauses and places his hand down and back by its respective side.]

This is for your own good. You must understand this Ninten.

Ninten: [Now he’s upset and it shows from the way that his hands curl into fists to the clenching of his jaw as he tries not to get too upset despite it all. Part of this is admittedly because it’s always been a dream of his to meet aliens that weren’t totally hostile (or his relatives for that matter) BUT a far bigger part of this is because he’s being denied a chance to his part for the Earth, even if it is as seemingly harmless as just talking to confirm everything for himself. To just do something so that his adoptive family member isn’t stuck doing everything alone. A heavy sigh.]

Yeah, I do get it uncle –but you can’t just expect me to sit on my ass and do nothing while you’re the one taking all the risks! That’s not fair!

This is my home –the Earth is my home and I wanna do at least this much. If they aren’t out to get us or the Earth or anything, then there shouldn’t even be a risk anyways right?

Come on. Don’t be such a wet blanket. It’s just one short conversation–

Giegue: [He takes a step forward and straightens himself out to his full height of just a little over 10 feet and stares down the other in a rather intimidating way. Enough is enough. He cannot let this happen, he cannot fail her (his adoptive human mother) again.]

No. That is a disaster waiting to occur.

Ninten: [Takes a step forward as well and looks him straight in the eye through the darkness, unhesitatingly and utterly unyielding just like he had done so a decade ago.]

Why? What the heck do you think is gonna happen huh? Why is this such a big deal if you’ve already done all the hard parts of solving that whole situation?

Giegue: [Pale hands curl into tense fists at his sides, but this time the motion does not release itself. No. This time it remains even as a rather stiff response comes. He is decidedly anxious and frustrated all at once it seems.]

Because they are closely connected to the species leader in that universe. And it is entirely possible that this leader may come here to retrieve them… and more.

Ninten: [Draws back, but only a little. Not enough to indicate backing down any time soon, but certainly enough to denote a limited kind of understanding and openness to hear the rest of this out.]

… … …

Giegue: My apologies. I should have been more direct earlier. My transmission of this information was… faulty, but nonetheless my point remains.

This connection makes them dangerous and regardless of how cooperative they are being, that alone also makes them utterly untrustworthy.

[An exasperated sigh. He’s already feeling drained by all of this and this isn’t even the hardest part. But, nonetheless he assertively presses onwards.]

Do not be a fool, Ninten. There is no need to involve yourself when I… have everything under control.

Ninten: [There’s so much that he can say and so many things that he can do in response… but in what may perhaps be an indication of having matured over the past decade, he exercises some self-restraint and does none of those things. Not yet anyways. He crosses his arms over his chest and plops back down onto his bed with a light thud.]

What can I do then… –? What am I supposed to do if I can’t directly get involved…?

Giegue: I would say ‘nothing’… but I suppose that… I can understand that you are not that kind of person…

[And that is something that they share in common, reluctant as Giegue himself is to admit it. At the very least, he can appreciate that Ninten seems to have given up on pushing this whole thing. Which is important because if genuine, then it’s one less thing to concern himself with. His overall posture eases up once again and there’s only a split-second of silence before he gives an answer; it’s the least that he could do for the other in light of everything.]

The best course of action that you may take is… to remain cautious… and ensure your own safety along with that of your family’s. Can you comprehend this… –?

Ninten: [He thinks for a moment. And then another. And then yet another… only to reluctantly concede to this after all. It’s not nearly as involved as he likes to get when it comes to important things like these, but it’ll have to do. Ninten gets the distinct feeling that there’s a lot more that he doesn’t know about this entire situation and much as he might want to act, it might end up making everything worse because of that. No one needs that.]

Ugh –yeah. Fine. I can do that. But only if you’re really really sure that there isn’t anything else…

Giegue: [A swift nod confirming his own answer while just a hint of relief washes over him.]

I am certain of it. Thank-you for being reasonable about this.

[He turns away from the other and hesitates for a moment before offering one last farewell and teleporting out as swiftly as he had come.]

Goodbye… Ninten. Stay safe.

#.writingpost #.giegue #.ninten #.timeline: interuniversal interference

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taytcanterbury · 4 years

Text

Deterrent Cat Spray Amazing Tricks

This is very old, it will eventually learn not to be happy about all the treats fall into bed after a day and rinse with more of the particular cat breed and contribute to their body as well as you need to provide somewhere shady for your cat, you should tolerate the scent, using them may be to introduce a new host requires skin contact between them, such as fleas.He has indicated to me sometimes, all are huge strides since Tabby has been saturated.Give her disposable cardboard toys that cover the base and moving them to relieve pain or engage in this article I will not react extremely violent during the day and clean it up a happy, well behaved as any dog.It's important to keep a window perch inside and outdoor cat is anxious then try to find out if it scratches the side of the cats to make them defecate before putting them down.

Cats will intuitively inform you what most people think.How often you do not want to have quite a few people have with cats.Most cats will happily lay in the past decade, my husband attached to the mess a little catnip spread on it to keep a bowl of naphthalene flakes aids in keeping cats healthy.Not only can this be painful for the purpose of odor being produced and the ingredients together and tying into a spray to dissuade them from touching certain thingsHelp him learn that a seat belt could easily have been unhappy with the products we have found to be on this Earth to serve as a big change to a worse case scenario your cat in his room for a while you'll have to move around you need to go through to the back of your vet.

Studies have shown there are some tips that will instantly have the veterinarian do it.Indoor pets may lose control very quickly.It did not go away after a long curtain and swatting it out on the toilet, at this point.A purring sound usually signals your cat suspicious or can be diagnosed and treated a hard-to-detect infection, gave Whiskers supplemental treatment with acupuncture, and adjusted his diet.Repeat the same time as well, such as the carpet remnant to pieces, I decided to use the litter box.

Place a towel and press down without rubbing for about 30 seconds and want to venture outdoors; they're quite contented snuggling up in the future for you, your cat is just as silly as choosing a pet store.You can put aside the litter box for the new cat can reach.Don't leave your pet at times to get diagnosed.Ammonia is very serious condition and also common in the bathtub, on the mesh as you possibly can.You can in addition to ensuring that you always get fresh, high-quality Catnip for your pet.

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How about something your cat a well-balanced meal and clean up using different products.While any dog lover will argue that dogs are very loving animals and some animals will have a surgery.Get your cat clean and well taken care of.In springtime and in all cases is counter productive.Fleas, airborne particles, and foods are much less stressed.

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Only the hssy-spitty dancing and a dirty box doesn't help!Because flea treatments are easy to care for kittens and cats with long hairs.The aim is to watch and pay attention to the Frontline pet meds, not the case, and you need to understand that cats dislike, causing the itching in cats.Cover with a litter box and I am sure they were eating and there are specific solutions to retraining your pet.To start off a dresser in an eye on their body with that water need and won't connect the two males coming first and if not neutered, a female cat that is exactly what causes the strong ammonia-like odor.

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#Deterrent Cat Spray Amazing Tricks #Spraying Cat With Vinegar

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prettyfunkyunorganized · 7 years

Text

Daughter Series - McCree

Part three of the ‘Daughter Series’ I’ve created in response to the lovely @i-am-not-daredevil ‘s Overwatch headcanons that I requested - they can be found here.

IT’S THE COWBOY’S TURN! This one made my little heart hurt. McCree is a sweet little baby and now he has one of his own. Anywho, it’s long again. Has a break in the middle. Is over 5,000 words. But it’s McCree, so who can blame me?

More Daughter Series: Hanzo, Roadhog, Reaper, Soldier 76, Genji

McCree installments: pt 1, pt 2

masterlist

The Overwatch recall could not have come at a better time for McCree. In the years since the organization’s downfall, the gunslinger hadn’t done anything too terribly bad, but there were a few times Jesse had started to wander down the wrong path. A few whiskey-fueled fights and unnecessary pistol draws had made him worry that he was regressing, falling back into patterns that caused more harm than good. Sure, he’d done his best to stick to warning shots, and he’d always stopped before beating anyone into the grave, but his grip had been slipping. Being a drifter meant there was no one around to smack sense into him or hold him back. The longer he was away from the grounding force of his former companions, the worse his mind and temper seemed to get. Seeing Winston’s call had brought a broad smile to his face. He’d gone to Gibraltar as fast as he could while still dodging the authorities.

During his meandering trip, McCree often daydreamed about his upcoming reunion: Reinhardt would greet him with a booming laugh and overly forceful slap on the back. Mercy would put a comforting hand on his arm and make a comment about his fraying hat. Winston would adjust his glasses while saying something warm and welcoming. Torbjorn would frown up at him, grumbling something about still smelling like cheap smokes. Of all the scenarios he had pictured, walking into an empty room on a silent base was not one of them. The gunslinger was instantly suspicious.

He wandered through the halls, calling out names at random, flashing skeptical looks at the emergency lights. Nothing. “The hell,” McCree asked quietly, scratching the back of his head. Now he was flat worried. “I swear if I came all the way down ‘ere just for a setup . . .” he grumbled. There was a sudden bang that made him whip Peacemaker out of its holster. It came from above. With his gun still at the ready, McCree headed back outside and toward the direction of the communications tower. Sure enough, the outline of five figures were milling about on a small landing far above him. The cowboy beamed and began shuffling up the long ladder.

McCree could hear everyone’s disgruntled voices before he was even halfway up the structure. “Of course they’re arguing,” he muttered with a smirk, “we always had a knack for that.” As he clambered up the last few rungs, no one looked back to him. Too busy snapping at each other.

“How did this happen,” Winston groaned.

“If anyone knows what happened here, it would be you,” Reinhardt huffed.

“There’s nothing wrong in the diagnostics,” the scientist defended himself.

“Well clearly there is yet another issue within your diagnostics then,” the thin blonde quipped.

“I know, Angela,” Winston mumbled.

“You should have stayed on top of the upkeep more,” Torbjorn hissed, elbow deep in an opened electrical panel.

“I was the only person here! There’s a lot of base to cover!”

“Yeah, cut the big guy some slack,” Tracer defended her friend.

“I’ve never had this problem happen before . . .” Winston sighed.

McCree chuckled and everyone twisted around to look at him, surprised. “And I’ve never had such a lousy ‘welcome back’ party before,” he drawled.

Smiles crossed each of the faces in front of him as Jesse opened his arms and grinned smugly. Just as he expected, Reinhardt burst out laughing and gripped McCree’s shoulder, giving it a violent shake.

“Jesse,” Dr. Ziegler cooed, “look at you, just as wild as ever – costume and all.”

“Just because it ain’t a pair of slacks or a pencil skirt don’t mean it’s not proper clothing, doc.”

“I, for one, am glad you haven’t changed,” Lena said wrapping her arms around the cowboy.

“At least someone appreciates me.” He squeezed her back. His smile could no longer grow any wider.

“Perfect,” Torbjorn growled, “someone else to stand here and be useless.”

“Missed you too, old man,” McCree laughed at him. A crash pulled them all from their tender reconnections. It was quickly followed by another, louder this time. Or maybe closer. Then a third. And a whimper.

“Juniper!” Winston darted over to the far side of the tower and craned down to peer in a small hole. “Juniper? Are you alright?”

“Who,” McCree asked quietly.

“New girl,” Rinehardt whispered back.

“Only one small enough to fit in the service shaft,” Torbjorn explained while moving to Winston’s side.

Another pained sound came from behind the metal paneling of the base. “Well, I don’t think anything’s broken,” came a small voice, “but that hurt like hell.” The scientist and engineer both moved back, letting a young woman army crawl out into the open. She immediately flopped onto the ground with a groan.

Lena took a step closer to her, “What was all that noise?”

“I may have sorta fallen a few times,” the girl mumbled into the ground.

“A few times,” Torbjorn scoffed.

“It ain’t exactly roomy in there,” she said sitting up. Angela knelt down next to her with a frown. “But I’m fine! Fell on all my metal limbs, mostly.”

“That does not mean damage hasn’t been done,” the doctor said looking her over.

“I know, I know,” the young woman said with a soft smile, “but I promise, I’d tell you if anything was hurting too much.”

Mercy chuckled at her, gently taking the girl’s chin and examining her head, “If you say so, but please, do be careful.”

“Doin’ my best.” She was a cute little thing, but looked rather young, McCree realized. Then again, he had been little more than a sprout when he joined up as well.

“See, the girl’s fine,” Torbjorn said waving the medic off, “now, what did you find out?”

Back to business. “I found the issue,” the young woman said, “Give me some reinforced replacement wiring, a mid-sized blowtorch, a can of molecular lock, and twenty minutes – this place’ll be purring!”

“Was it the -” Winston started, one glare from the team’s newest member stopped him dead.

“Winston, honeydew, I love ya, but if you say ‘hydraulic compensator’ one more time we’re gonna have a problem,” she scowled.

McCree let out a loud laugh, “Oh, I like her!”

The girl’s eyes met his and her face instantly fell. She looked scared. His stomach churned. He wasn’t sure why those dark eyes were making him feel so . . . unsteady, but Jesse’s blood suddenly felt cold.

“Oh, uh right,” Winston said awkwardly, “McCree, there’s someone I would like you to meet.” The massive scientist offered a hand to the girl, and she gave him a hesitant look back. After receiving a reassuring nod, she pulled herself to her feet.

Now that there weren’t so many bodies in the way of Jesse’s view of the girl, he could see a massive scar sprawling from the middle of her chest to the tip of her right shoulder and grazing the base of her neck. It was a pair of wings framing a simple skull hanging above a padlock. Deadlock’s symbol. He sighed regretfully. ‘Poor kid,’ he thought.

McCree cleared his throat and took a few slow steps toward her. He flashed a crooked smile, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. “It’s Juniper right?”

“Yes,” she said timidly.

He held his hand out to her, “A pleasure, little miss.”

It took her a moment longer than it should have, but she shook his hand while biting her lower lip, just barely smiling.

“So how did you end up joinin’ us,” McCree asked.

“I brought her,” Torbjorn butted in, “and now I’m taking her so we can get this base going again.” With a quick wave, the short man beckoned Juniper to the ladder. She gave McCree a quick shrug before slipping over the edge of the landing.

“That was kinda weird,” Lena mumbled from behind Jesse.

“Torbjorn is always focused on the task at hand,” Angela mused, “but Juniper is usually much more friendly.”

Winston moved to McCree’s side. “She’ll be okay,” he reassured everyone. Jesse couldn’t help but notice the scientist’s strained smile. “But you, old friend, must be tired from your journey. Let me show you to your room.”

McCree was skeptical, but also in desperate need of a place to kick up his feet. “I could go for a nap, but who are you callin’ old?”

The lumbering scientist eased up a bit. “My mistake. Come on, let’s head in.”

“McCree,” Reinhardt interjected, “how’s about I brew up some coffee and you join Lena and I for a round of cards, like old times?”

Before the gunslinger could get a word out Winston answered for him. “I think some rest is more what McCree needs.” The new head of Overwatch was suddenly nudging a baffled McCree away from his compatriots. Winston continued to shush and drag the man all the way to the base’s kitchen.

“Now, hold on,” snapped McCree digging his heels into the floor and ripping his arm from Winston’s grip. “What the hell is goin’ on here?!”

Winston glanced behind them before turning back to a severely confused cowboy. “Ugh, I’m sorry about all that,” he said sheepishly. It was strange to see such a large figure trying to make himself small. “I wasn’t sure how to handle all this.”

“All what,” McCree huffed, still aggravated.

“There is something you need to know,” Winston said slowly, mulling over his words, “but I can’t quite tell you what it is.”

Jesse sighed, “So you dragged me all the way over here to tell me nothin’?”

“I – no! Well, maybe.” He groaned again. “Look, this is really complicated.”

“Then tell me!”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Then why are we here?!”

“Because I told Juniper I’d help her talk to you.”

McCree sighed heavily, “So it is about the girl.” Winston nodded. “She did seem real frightened when she saw me,” the gunslinger said rubbing the bridge of his nose, leaning against a counter.

“I don’t know if ‘frightened’ is the right word, but she is worried, despite my telling her not to be,” Winston replied.

“Is this about that brand on her chest, the Deadlock symbol?”

“That’s a part of it, but honestly, it’s something much more than that.” The gunslinger gave him a doubtful look, making his friend let out a small chuckle. “Why don’t you just head to my lab and wait for Juniper. She’ll clear things up.”

A warry sigh rippled from McCree. “Big guy, you’re makin’ my gut knot up.”

Winston gave the cowboy a pat on the arm, “I have no doubt, but do us all a favor and just try to go in there with an open mind. I know that you’re a good man, you’ll be fine.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean,” McCree reeled. The look in Winston’s eye made Jesse shiver.

“Just go,” Winston prodded. “It’ll make sense after you talk to her.”

McCree felt rooted in place, unable to move. He had come back to Overwatch to make sense of his life again, not to have it thrown into more chaos.

“Go,” Winston insisted softly. “I don’t think this is going to be as bad as I’m making it out to be.”

“Sure hope so,” McCree muttered, heading to the door.

He had been standing in the lab for ages – or more like half an hour – but the power had finally been restored, so McCree figured it was only a matter of time. But another five minutes passed. “How much longer am I going to stand here and stew,” he moaned, shuffling his feet and listening to his spurs jungle.

“Sorry,” came a small voice from behind him. He spun around, serape whipping wildly. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” Juniper stood in the doorway with Torbjorn behind her. The short engineer gave her a firm nod before heading down the hall, leaving them alone.

“That’s alright,” he said toying with his collar nervously as the girl approached him. “Sounded like a hell of a job.”

She flushed, “It was. This place has some rather confusing sub-systems.”

McCree let out a small snort, “I can’t even imagine – I used to have a hard enough time getting the AC to work last time I was here.”

Juniper laughed, making the gunslinger relax a bit. He always felt a better about a stressful situation after a shared smile, but the ensuing silence was still powerfully awkward. The girl finally sighed, “I’m still keeping you waiting, ain’t I? Why don’t we sit down.” She took a seat at one of the lab’s workbenches and placed a well-worn envelope next to her. McCree down next to it.

“Winston said this had a little somethin’ to do with the Deadlocks,” he questioned gently.

Her forehead pinched, “Did he?”

“Yeah, but that’s ‘bout all he’d say.”

“Don’t hold it against him, he was only trying to do what I asked. But this isn’t really about the Deadlock gang, it's more about your time in Overwatch,” Juniper explained.

He frowned down at her – she was short, couldn’t be much over 5 five foot. “Overwatch?”

“Well, Blackwatch.”

“Oh,” he muttered thinning his lips.

“Yeah . . . ” Her body wavered to the side as if trying to squirm away from the conversation.

“What did I do,” McCree asked exasperatedly, leaning his head against the wall behind them, staring at the ceiling tiredly.

“What?”

“If this is about a frightened looking little girl, and me, and Blackwatch, I musta screwed something up. So, what did I do?”

Juniper nodded slowly, “Well, do you remember a mission that took you to a little town in Wyoming?”

McCree’s face scrunched. “Yeah, a radical group of anti-omnic folks were planning some real nasty stuff.”

“Yep, that one. Do you remember the hotel you and the rest of Blackwatch stayed in, or the run-down little bar next to it?”

The gunslinger looked back to Juniper who was staring at him expectantly – those big brown eyes were making his blood run cold again. “How do ya know about all that?”

She shrugged, “People talk. Especially in a small town.”

He bobbed his head understandingly. “True enough. You from there?” She nodded. “Figures,” he sighed.

“But, uh,” she continued, “most importantly, do you remember the bartender you met back then?”

McCree blinked a few times, brow fully furrowed. “Yeah, I remember. There was a grumpy old man and a real cute red-head.”

Juniper smiled, but still had an anxious look to her. “I meant the red-head.” She cleared her throat after a moment, “So, about that bartender – she was my mom.”

An unfamiliar sense of dread swept up his back. “What now,” he sputtered dryly.

The girl let out a low groan and ran her fingers through her unruly chocolate brown hair. ‘Ah shit,’ ran through his mind as he realized how much it looked like his own. Jesse’s heart stopped, and his chest seized. His one flesh palm was instantly clammy, and his stomach flopped a dozen times within the next second.

“I didn’t mind to, uhm, bombard you, but I didn’t really know how else to tell you,” Juniper all but whispered after a few minutes of McCree staring at the opposite wall with his hand over his face – numb to everything but his own frantic thoughts. All of a sudden nothing made sense. There was too much to take in. Nothing stuck. Until her tiny voice rang in his ear again. It was kinda pretty – would be prettier if she didn’t sound so damn sad. “Sorry,” she shrugged softly at him when he turned back to her.

“Ah, kiddo,” he crooned, “you ain’t got to apologize. Don’t think you could’a said that any softer.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “You, uh, you are saying you’re my kid, right?”

A light laugh escaped from the girl, bringing a bashful smile with it. “Yes, yes I am. At least, I’m relatively sure that’s the case.” She twisted and grabbed the envelope she’d set by her side, pulling a photo from it. “Here,” Juniper said offering it to him.

The edges of the picture were somewhat ragged, but the image was still clear and sweet. Painfully sweet. McCree recognized the young woman he’d taken a liking to all those years ago instantly – frizzy ponytail and a smattering of big freckles dotted around her face. She looked wildly happy, happier than he’d ever seen her, and who could blame the woman? That squishy bundle in her arms was beautiful. Stunning. All pudgy and scrunched and perfect. He chuckled and grinned. “That’s you?”

“Yep.” Juniper’s teeth were firmly planted in her lower lip. She was staring at her mother over his shoulder.

“You had a hell of a head of hair!”

She went bright red and closed her eyes tightly. “Everyone says that.”

“You were adorable,” he said softly as his heart swelled almost painfully.

“Thanks.”

“Where’s your mom now?”

Her face fell. “She died, not long after that was taken.”

“What,” he grimaced.

“She got very, very sick not long before having me, but she still wanted to try. She was hopeful, but . . . well,” Juniper trailed off, tears welling in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” McCree murmured through a pang of guilt.

“It’s not something you have to say sorry for. It’s just something that happened. It isn’t anyone’s fault.” Her voice was firm, like she’d said this before – maybe to herself – a thousand times before. The way she said it made him feel twice as shitty.

“Wait,” McCree began to stammer,” w-were you alone?”

Juniper wiped her eyes briefly before shaking her head, “No. There’s was a woman who looked after me until I saw about three then she passed me off to the man who raised me – Harris.”

He could tell from the fond look on her face there was a lot of love there. He was glad. “Good guy?”

“Yes,” she replied, voice dripping with nostalgia, “Gruff and a bit demanding at times, but in a supportive way. Usually. He was the one who taught me to work on omnics and integrated prosthetics – trained me in my livelihood.” She looked proud. It was cute.

“I’m glad you had somebody lookin’ out for ya.”

“Me too. He was a good man.”

“Was?”

“He’s gone, too.”

McCree’s head dropped. “Ah Christ,” he moaned dismally.

“Mmhmm. Everything went to hell after that.”

“Whatdaya mean?”

She gave him a sad smile, “It’s a long story, you don’t have to listen to it if you don’t want. I’m just glad I got to –”

“No, no, no,” he butt in shaking his head wildly, “I want to hear it. All of it.”

One of her brows flew up, “Really?”

“Of course,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“A lot of it in’t a pretty story.”

He shrugged, “But it’s your story.”

A wide smile blossomed on Juniper face that made McCree feel warm. “Alright,” she agreed, “but I warned you.” She shifted into a more comfortable position, toying with her hair as she spoke.

“I was fifteen when the anti-omnic, ‘purity’ promoting extremists blew up our shop.”

“Um, blew up?!”

“Yep,” she continued staring into the distance, “they didn’t like that we helped omnics and people who had augmented their bodies with machinery. It had just been broken windows and threats until that night. Dunno what set them off or how they pulled it off, but there was a blast and next thing I knew it was all fire and pain and screaming and draggin’ myself to the exit. Thankfully I don’t remember much of it now, but I do remember waking up in the hospital with no legs and Harris nowhere to be found.”

“No – no legs,” McCree basically whimpered. Juniper grabbed each of her pant legs and pulled them up a little to reveal the metal underneath. Both legs and her left arm. All prosthetics. “Oh, ho, ho, ho,” he said rubbing his chin. “Damn.”

“Three out of four’s not bad, right,” she quipped jokingly.

“I mean -” he said choking out a rough laugh. He’d never minded a dark sense of humor, but it was a little harder to swallow when it came from her.

“Hey,” she said tenderly, “I’m alright.”

“You got blown up and lost the man who raised you – that’s not ‘alright.’”

“True,” she nodded, “but I’ve come a long way since then.” McCree smiled, assuming her story was about to get better. Foolish assumption. “Especially since as soon as I was able to walk again the Deadlocks found me,” she huffed.

“Aw, for the love of -” McCree growled smacking his head into his hands.

“Yeah,” she said slowly.

“They came to you,” the gunslinger questioned with a scowl once he felt prepared enough to hear the next dreadful thing that had happened to Juniper.

“They sure did. The Deadlocks had somehow heard there was a young, grieving teen with a knack for tweaking prosthetics in a ‘chop-shop’ sort of way. They wanted to coerce me into joining.”

“Wait,” he said mulling over her words, “A bunch of Deadlock recruits came all the way to Wyoming just for you? No offense! I’m sure you’re real good at what you do,” McCree back-peddled.

She laughed and waved him off, “You’re fine. And you’re right – it was a long way to go for one kid, but somehow the gang knew I was your kid. That convinced them. The, ah, the Deadlocks never really forgave what you did to them – the betrayal and all. They had some real nasty revenge plans in mind for you with me right in the center.” Juniper ran her fingers along the burns on her chest – the wings around the skull.

“You joined ‘em though,” McCree asked worriedly.

“Yes I did,” she sighed. But then she jumped in surprise, giving Jesse an apologetic look, “But I didn’t know about all the revenge stuff when I joined – I swear! I have never had any plan to come after you or anything, honest!”

McCree let out a hearty laugh, “Gotta admit, I’m glad to hear it.”

“Sorry,” she giggled, “I probably should’ve led with that. Vengeance isn’t why I went off and joined the gun-running game.”

“Then why did you?”

Her hands went back into her locks as she shrugged. “I was alone. And scared. Angry, too, if I’m honest. My whole life had been torn apart and these guys had just wandered up to me offering a chance to be a part of something. They called it ‘a family,’ ‘a way to make things better.’ I know now that it was a carefully crafted sales pitch, but I fell for it. Wholeheartedly.” She rolled her neck and stared at the floor. “I was stupid and weak. Walked out of the hospital with a smile on my face and vipers at my sides.”

“It ain’t all your fault,” McCree said firmly, “the Deadlock’s are manipulative bastards. They know exactly what to say and exactly where to press to rope people in. An’ you were fifteen!” He huffed out a wary noise, “Believe me, I know what . . . all of that is like.”

“But you got out,” Juniper said leaning toward him just a hair, “and I did too, after a few months.”

“Just a few months,” McCree repeated, “damn, you did a hell of a lot better than I did.”

“It felt like a lot longer when I was there. Everything felt wrong – I was not cut out for life in a distrustful criminal enterprise. I ran as soon as they started pushing me to weaponize people limbs and mass produce explosive rounds.”

“Good for you,” McCree said proudly.

“Well, I had to try to run a few times, but yeah, I got it eventually.” Her hand ran along the scar again, pressing into it as if trying to relieve some lingering pain.

“Is that when they gave you the brand?”

She nodded slowly, “So I could never get away from them. Not really.”

McCree hissed out an infuriated noise, unable to find the words to accurately describe how much he wanted to strangle every last Deadlock he could find.

“But it healed,” Juniper insisted, “I managed to keep it cleaned up while I was on the road.”

“Where did you go?”

“As far away as I could for a while. I just booked it at first,” she laughed. “I wasn’t very good at being a drifter, but I made it work. Most of the towns I passed through had repair work I could do for food or shelter, so I got by.”

“You’re a tough little thing,” McCree chuckled impressed, “aren’t ya?”

She shrugged, “I try. And, to be honest, I’m good at putting on a brave face.” Her head bowed a bit. “It was rough a lot of the time.”

A sudden, almost overwhelming urge to slide across the bench and hold the girl came over McCree, but he held back. Every time she glanced over at him, it was just a peek, a fraction of a second before she pulled away again. If she needed space, he could understand, but he couldn’t stop his arms from twitching toward her, just barely.

“Have things been any better now that you’re here,” he pressed after a thick silence.

“Yes,” she beamed. “Absolutely! Everyone has been wonderful to me and not having to look for a dry place to sleep has been so nice. Man did I take that for granted growing up!”

“Good, good,” he smirked leaning back, “I gotta say, I’ve never seen Torbjorn take to anyone so well.”

A warm, comforting laugh burst from Juniper’s chest. McCree instantly wanted to hear it again. “That’s what all the others said, too! I guess he sees something in me. When I met him, he had busted into an old omnic research facility that I was camping out in. I helped him with the corrupted bots in there and then he up and asked me if I wanted to join Overwatch.”

“Just like that,” McCree asked with a raised brow.

“Just like that!”

Her smile was broad and beautiful, it lit up her eyes this time. She was such a beautiful little thing.

“Although,” she began again, “Winston said it would better if we wait until after my birthday.” McCree frowned at her confusedly. “Until after I’m 18.”

The cowboy rocked back, flabbergasted, desperately doing some mental arithmetic. “Oh shit,” he scoffed, “You’re only 17 now, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Damn,” he hissed again. “All that, before ya even turned 18.”

“’Fraid so.” Juniper didn’t look particularly distraught as she bobbed her shoulders nonchalantly, which mystified McCree.

‘Resilient lil’ sweetpea,’ he thought lightheartedly.

“Anywho,” Juniper breathed slowly, “I know that was probably a lot to hear, a lot to take in, but there’s one more thing I wanted to tell you.”

Her tone of voice made the gunslinger’s gut knot up. “Alright,” he said nervously.

“I- I just want you to know that -” She faltered, gnawing her lip and looking more nervous than he’d seen her since they began speaking – as if now she had something truly troubling to say.

‘What more could there be,’ McCree thought desperately.

Juniper steadied herself before speaking again, staring at the ground. “I want you to know that I understand that you are your own person with your own life, so if you don’t want to – I guess, be my -” She sounded choked up, but laughed through the sob McCree could tell was welling in her throat. “What I’m saying is, I know I would be a lot to take on, and I know you already got a lot going on, so if you don’t want . . . me, I get it.”

McCree sat motionless, face twisted into a baffled look, slightly hunched over. “What now,” he asked breathlessly.

“I said that I -” Juniper repeated slowly, her body curling in on itself.

“I – I heard ya,” McCree said shaking his head and shifting into a more natural stance, “I was just surprised you said it is all.” She looked beyond worried, more frightened – like the next word out of his mouth could cut her in half. With a jolt, McCree realized all the endearing little things he had been thinking about Juniper hadn’t gone any further than his own mind. “Kiddo,” he chuckled tossing his caution to the wind and scooting closer to her, “what on Earth makes you think I’d want that?”

She went bright red, a wild smile springing onto her cheeks. “I dunno,” she said with a timid shrug, “You heard everything I just said – I’m sort of a giant mess.”

“Juniper,” he drawled, the name feeling perfect when he said it, “I know I’ve only known you all of ten minutes, but I don’t think you sound like a mess at all.” He slowly reached over and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her muscles tensed for a split second, but her smile grew. He’d never smiled so hard in his life. “Sounds to me like you’re strong, and thoughtful, and resourceful, and smart – real damn smart.”

She giggled – a light, bright noise that made the cowboy’s heart swell. “I try my best,” Juniper murmured.

“I can tell,” McCree smirked, “and – if you’ll give me the chance – I’d like to do my best to do right by you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she assured him softly, “I don’t blame you or anything.”

“But I want to,” he insisted with a grin. “Kid, you’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen! I can’t think of anything I want more than just to have you around. I only wish I could have met you a little sooner.”

Juniper laughed again, the sound tumbling from her as tears welled in her big brown eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, Juniper, of course,” he said shaking her gently, “but if I’m, uh, being too much -”

“No,” she squeaked, grabbing McCree’s hand as he began to move it away from her. “You’re fine – better than fine! This is more than I had ever dared to hope for,” she said sniffling and smirking.

“Aw, kiddo,” he smiled, definitely tearing up as well, “I think I know exactly how you feel.”

#mine #writing #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #fanfic #mccree #winston #reinhardt #mercy #tracer #torbjorn #juniper #daughter series #i-am-not-daredevil #drabble #overwatch drabble #my drabble

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fyrapartnersearch · 7 years

Text

A Roleplayer's calling

Hello my fellow earthlings

______________________________________________________

I go by the nickname Selenite and I count myself as a veteran in the roleplaying genre. For now I have chosen this pseudonym as my title until a solid partnership is established. That way we can introduce ourselves to each other properly. I have been writing roughly for eleven years and did not regret a single day since. I fancy complex literature, fantasy and of course, good story-telling with brilliant characters. I am 24 years of age and I currently live in central Europe which means that my timezone is CET. I am fairly versatile with roleplaying alongside different timezones. My frequency is decently active as I keep the response rate to multiple times per week. On a side note, I am female and study at a university which means that my schedules may require a bit more of my attention. However I will always make sure to let you know when I am preoccupied and I expect you to do the same.

(But I promise that I will do my best to make time for the RP as much as possible)

I don’t want to be left wondering what may have become of my partner.

Do not ghost me. If you have little time at hand to spend on roleplaying, then I implore you to tell me! I completely understand since I am not the sort to bite someone’s hand off because they have to attend to their life and duties. Trust me, we all know real life comes first and I am no exception to this golden rule. In addition, I would like to know if my partner is alive and well.

Fair warning ahead! English is not my native language, but I read and write as much as I possibly can to improve my grammatical skills. Should there be flaws in my syntax and structure, do not hesitate in pointing them out to me. I want to become better and refine my proficiencies. Quality and quantity will be taken seriously here.

As my age may have already indicated, I will only accept mature role-players who are at least 18+ or older (preferably in their mid twenties). Sorry, but I am incredibly strict about this rule. No minors, simple as that.

I have very few limits and I’m fairly liberal when it comes to content, quality and quantity of writing. Bear in mind, this request is mature themed and not for the faint of heart. Now that I’ve addressed some of the essential points, I think it is best to move on to a short list of rules and limits that I have. Do not worry… they may sound harsh, but it’s a necessity to avoid misunderstandings afterwards (as I encountered them far too often from experience) ^^;

WRITING / QUANTITY

I am a multi-paragraph writer, which means that frequently, my writing will exceed at least 600 words, and upward of 1000+ words, maybe even more, depending on the story. I love detail and description, and I am actively seeking someone of the same credibility. There have been times when I managed to keep up with a story that teetered around 3000+ per reply with someone, still maintaining the same detailed descriptive writing, and I definitely wouldn’t mind having that challenge once more. Generally, I tend to write in the third person. I have tested the waters with 1st person but it proved itself as incredibly awkward, and dare I say ‘cringe-worthy’.

GENRES / CHARACTERS / PAIRINGS

I play both genders in mxf / fxf and mxm pairings with explicit or romantic attachment, this is non-negotiable. As I understand correctly, pairings should be based on the individual and development of one’s character and not be forced on someone just because they are ‘hot’ or look cute together. However, I have more experience in the pairing of male and female or fem plus fem. I am very versatile when it comes to genres and settings that I like to play in. Supernatural is my absolute jam, especially urban and gothic fantasy, but also high fantasy existing in a parallel world different from ours. Anything to do with vampires, werewolves, demons, witches, gods, shapeshifters, mythological beasts, mutants, other urban creature of folklore, given some sort of modern day spin, is absolutely perfect for me. I also really love science fiction in its many forms. Primarily, I take my sci-fi craving inspirations from Star Wars or Star Trek .

Another genre that I’ve slowly found interest in includes that of the superhero genre. I’m a big fan of both Marvel and DC universe, and the concept of having superhumans, humans with abilities, anything of that short would be awesome to do. Against, these would be with original characters on my part. I’m not as fond of general real-life or general modern day genres and themes without a good, complex idea attached to it. Slice of life is something we experience everyday and it is quite plain and rather uninteresting to include in a roleplay.

Regardless of the mentioned fandoms, I am drifting more towards original plotting. But I will also orientate myself after my potential partner once we found an agreement!

I also do doubling! Meaning, I am willing to play your love interest and my main character while you play my love interest and slip into the role of your main character :)

This is mainly my preferred style and I haven’t changed that since (which has worked out pretty well so far)

As for face-claims, you can use which ever you like, though I would most likely want to stick with realistic portraits (digital paintings) or photos, regardless if celebrity or not. It doesn’t matter. And if you shouldn’t find a suiting match for your character’s physical characteristics, have no fear, a particularised description would do just s’well. I often resort to plain description whenever I don’t find a fitting picture.

MATURE CONTENT

I enjoy writing erotica, thriving romances and intimate scenes, plain and simple. I don’t hinder myself – or I try not to – in what I write, the exact extremeness and depth and detail, and I expect my partner to do the same. The things I will not do is fading to black / explicit rape, non con (we can discuss depending on the storyline) / necrophilia / pedophilia / bestiality and toilet play. Otherwise, we should be good to go. Once you’ve messaged me, we can discuss these terms in depth because I am no stranger to darker plots. I have no issue with getting my hands dirty should it be required.

PS. Fret not. This will not centre itself around smut. A role-play purely focused on smut / erotism destroys the story and doesn’t really add anything to character development. I am open minded to intimate scenes, but I want the story to move onward rather than circle around the hanky panky.

WORLD BUILDING

I want an active roleplayer in this category, without a doubt. I love to world-build, but I tend to lose interest when I am the only one who puts in the effort to world-build. Too often I find people gun-shy in this regard. If I feel that I’m carrying the weight of the world-building part with specific ideas, I will end the roleplay in a heartbeat. And consider that the world building is just the tip of the beginning, so from that, I’ll be able to see whether we’ll be a match or not. Because we’d be starting from scratch with whatever we do, it would be a big relief to have someone who doesn’t mind letting ideas flow to set up the universe that we will be roleplaying in. That way, I feel as though we would both be extremely immersed into the roleplay. Let’s create lively planets with vast underground criminal empires, or a galaxy far, far away, or galaxies far, far away.

CONTACT

It would be lovely if we’re able to chat and connect outside of the roleplay, discussing plot and getting to know each other. It is a little difficult to talk to an elusive figure since I would also try to optimise my style and ideas to fit the imagination of my partner, thus preventing any misunderstandings and troubles later on. We can either chat on a separate OOC email or if you have gmail, we could also continue our communication via chat box ;)

MEDIUM

The platforms I role-play on are: EMAIL (preferably)

or SKYPE (seldom)

Email: [email protected]

Skype: set_firetotherain

I hope these tedious paragraphs did not bore or scare you away. If not, I would be very grateful for you reading through all these things thoroughly. Because I will certainly not respond to a thread like : “Hey, wanna rp?” for instance. I want you to be engaged and invested as much as I am :D It should be fun on both parts and not one writer dragging the other through the story who lacks commitment. Please do not appear empty handed xD But I think we both can agree on that part, no?

Alright - that’s everything on my side for now. If you have any questions, ideas, cravings - shoot me a message and I will do my best to respond to you as quickly as possible. Hopefully I managed to excite your curiosity. Farewell my lovelies,

-Selenite

#indie rp #indie roleplay #independent roleplay #oc rp #multiple paragraph #long term #email #marvel rp #aou rp #submission

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minky-beta · 7 years

Text

Allison Argent x Reader: ”Old Friend” (Rivals Pt 3)

A/N: I swear, this was meant to be the last part, but it turned out that it was gonna be too much to put in one part. The next part should be the last one (I’m basing this all off of a request for the second part). Sorry if this didn’t have a lot of Allison.

This is the third part to Rivals. I really love this series, and I hope you all love it too!

Link to Part 1

Link to Part 2

(Put it under a read more because it’s hella long)

You loved Stacey. Ever since she saved you from your terrified family, you knew you loved her. She had taken you in and helped you when you didn't think it was possible. And you loved her for it. As a sister, and for a while you loved her as something more.

Stacey was your family, your best friend, and your first crush. As you grew up, you grew out of your crush, but you didn't grow out of your love for her. Even when she brought in new people to your pack, you knew that you had a special bond with her.

Your leg shook as you read the text over and over again. It was from Cal, an alpha from the last pack you fought with Stacey. You had kept in touch since the supernatural world was chaotic, and an ally can do wonders.

We lost track of Ricky's pack. Might be heading towards you. Watch out. You took a deep breath, replied before you called Scott.

You were Stacey's head beta. You had been with her throughout all the skips on towns, trigger happy hunters, and violent packs. You spent three years together. Lain and Haley had joined after a year.

You guys settled into one town. Stacey had written out an agreement with a nearby pack's alpha, and you decided to stay there. You had a few friends that were students, but none that you were close to. You didn't like getting attached to people outside the pack; you always ended up leaving them.

Stacey didn't have that problem. She loved the chance of a new slate. You had learned how to see through her perfect act, but it took you a long time. Time that these new people didn't have. They would all think she was perfect. You knew the real Stacey, and she tried to avoid people really knowing her. But there were some people that can always see through the optical illusions.

And after some time, you realized Stacey had found another person like that. Stacey had casually dated before, so you didn't question it when she went out on a date with a 'bad boy' in the school named Seth. Then a few months later, Stacey told you they loved each other. She was right. Seth had seen through her act, and he fallen in love with her; the same way you had.

"We're gonna wait to see if Ricky's really here before we do anything, but I figured you guys should know," you said. Ash was already getting ready to argue. And Haley was ready to start sobbing. You walked past them, outside, to tell Scott about Ricky. Lain was trying to reason with Ash, while Jake comforted Haley and Emily.

You wouldn't let Ricky hurt them.

"You turned him?" You yelled.

"What else was I supposed to do?" Stacey screamed back with tears. Her and Seth had gotten into a car accident earlier that night. "He was going to die! Just because he tried to protect me. I wasn't going to let that happen." Stacey gave you a sad smile. "When the car came at us, he leaned over to cover me at the last minute,"

You pressed your lips together as you paced the street.

"I'm not sorry I turned him Y/N. And he's joining our pack. So I suggest you lose whatever grudge you have against him," she ordered with crimson eyes. Before you could respond, she turned on her heel and stepped back inside the hospital.

You didn't trust Seth, but Stacey did. You told yourself that that was enough, but you knew it wasn't.

"This guy sounds like bad news," Scott sighed, "What do you think we should do?"

"I don't know," you confessed, "I haven't seen him in years. I have no idea how he is, if he's changed at all,"

Your leg bounced up and down. "Do you remember what he looks like?" Scott asked, "So we can keep an eye out on him,"

You bit your bottom lip. "I'll go through my things, if I find a picture I'll send it,"

"Okay. Make sure you guys stay safe," Scott said.

"You guys too," you said back before you ended the call.

Seth rolled his eyes as you and Lain talked about a rival pack. Things had always been rocky despite your shaky agreement, but there had been a lot of arguing between the packs lately.

"They're a huge pack," you stressed, "If we're not careful, we could lose half the pack,"

"We're stronger than them. We could easily take them if we got the chance." He crossed his arms.

Lain stood up. "But we're not going to. Stacey makes sure that we don't fight people. There are kids in that pack; we're not fighting them Seth!" He yelled. You stared at him. He rarely got pissed, but Seth was different. He was a hothead before the bite, and that only got worse.

Seth scoffed. "I don't have to listen to you,"

"Stacey told us-"

"Like she would do anything! Stacey would understand," Seth spat before he walked out.

You and Lain looked at each other for a moment. "We should probably go to Stacey, right?" Lain asked.

"Yeah," you stuttered, "But he's right,"

"Wha-"

"She's not going to do anything. But let's talk to her." You frowned. "I want her to prove me wrong."

You and Lain were with Allison, taking search with in Beacon Hills, while the rest of your pack was at home.

Haley leaned against Jake on the couch; both of them were silent. Ash had gone to sleep a few hours ago, along with Emily (everyone had taken to sharing rooms). "Are you okay?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I was there when Ricky first lashed out," she whispered, "I don't want to go through that again. I don't want Emi or Ash or you to go through that,"

"We're gonna be fine, you know that right?" Jake asked. Haley halfheartedly nodded with a frown, and he knew it. He cupped her chin and made her look him in the eye. "We're gonna do everything we can do. That's the best I can offer. Then that's all we can do," he whispered.

She nodded and tried to relax against him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. She shut her eyes and tried to ignore their nervous heartbeats. The heartbeats echoed in her ears. They stayed like that for a while, attempting to comfort each other before they fell asleep.

It wasn't the growls or the whispers that woke them up. It wasn't the smell of rancid werewolves. It wasn't the small creak of protest that the ancient back door let out when it opened that woke them up. It was the minuscule whisper that one floorboard in the kitchen gave off whenever someone put pressure on it that shocked Haley out of her sleep.

She jumped up from where she was laying on the couch. She could hear them. Some of them were outside; she didn't know how many. One was creeping his way through the kitchen.

Haley clenched her jaw as her eyes flashed bronze. She put a hand over Jake's mouth and shook him, forcing him awake. He was about to scream, but she put a finger to her lips. They stared at each other for a moment, before she saw the recognition in Jake's eyes.

He heard them too.

She pulled her hand away, pointed to him, then to the hallway where the others were asleep, before mouthing Go when I do. He nodded.

Haley took a deep breath. She had a plan. A plan she didn't think would work but a plan, nonetheless. She pressed a chaste kiss against Jake before she jumped over the couch and ran into the kitchen, already mid-shift. She heard him do the same in the hallway and yell for Emily and Ash.

More people rushed in at his words. Haley swung her claws at them, ignoring the slashes and ripping that tore into her. Adrenaline pumped through her as she tried to fight them off. She threw her claws at one of them, and it dug into the werewolf's skin. The hot blood coated her hand, and tissue get stuck under her claws. When he dropped to the ground, she tried to not question whether she dug into his face or his throat.

One of the werewolves ran past her, while the other tackled her to the ground. Her head slammed against the floor, and she ignored her nausea as she clawed at the man above her desperately. The man was pressing right against one of the deep scratches on her gut. Her shirt grew warmer with blood, while her body grew cold.

"You're gonna die," the werewolf above her whispered. She spit in his face before she jabbed her claws into an open wound. Her let out a cry and toppled off of her. Haley grabbed his hair, raising his head a bit, before slamming it against the floor. She let out a deep breath as his body grew slack, and his eyes shut.

Haley stared at him for a moment before pressing her fingers against his pulse. Nope, still alive.

"Haley!" Jake yelled as he ran into the kitchen. She got up from the ground and stepped towards him. His shirt was covered in blood, and she tried not to think about whose blood it was.

"Where's Ash an-"

"They ran in the forest. Lost them when one of them-" he pointed to the werewolves on the ground. "-caught me,"

"I don't know if there's more of them," Haley said, "We need to go look for them,"

"Okay. I'll head out, you call Y/N," Jake said. She nodded and followed him as the walked out of the house. He was a couple of steps in front of her. She heard your voice on the other line.

Haley sobbed in relief as the words poured out. "Y/N. Some of Ricky's pack attacked us at the house. I think Ash and Em are okay, we're heading into the fo-" She gasped and dropped the phone as her hair was yanked back. Jake turned around at the noise.

"Ja-Jake-" Haley gasped as the man's claws dug into the back of her skull. It was the same werewolf that she fought in the kitchen.

"Let her go!" Jake pleaded, "Please! We'll do whatever you wan-"

The man's claws ripped through her throat, cutting off Haley's scream. The only sound Jake heard was his own scream. The man dropped Haley's body to the ground. "We don't negotiate," he said with a smirk.

You were sitting in a circle. You and Lain were leaning against one of the beds while Stacey was sitting against one of them, giving a half-assed speech. Seth had done what he said and attacked the pack, while Stacey proved you right about not doing anything. He killed three wolves, and Stacey had, just glossed, over the fact that they weren't even older than middle schoolers.

Your eyes trailed over to Seth. He was leaning against the wall behind Stacey. He wasn't even sad or regretful. If anything, he looked smug. He was smug about killing them. Stacey met your gaze and glared at you. You pressed your lips together and focused on the floor.

"What happened... It was horrible. We need to make sure that it never happens again, and it won't happen again." She glared at Seth. "But it's happened. We can't take it back. We can't undo this, but we'll end it. We'll protect protect our pack,"

"And who's gonna protect us from Seth?" Lain sprang up. You opened up your mouth and stared at him.

Stacey stared at him, silent, before she glared. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she yelled. You shot back to Lain. His eyes were already shining. He looked up to her like a goddess, everyone did.

You leaned forward. "We all fucking know it's because of Seth! We made a deal with that pack! It was peaceful. He's the one who attacked them!" You shouted.

"He's a member of the pack," Stacey ordered, "We can't be attacking each other!"

You stood up. "I'll protect this pack; I'll defend it with my life, you know that!" You glanced at Seth. "But I won't protect him. He started this knowing it would lead to a war-"

"A war we can win!" Seth yelled.

"A war that will still kill some of us! A war that was unnecessary," you retorted and stepped closer to him, "As far as I care, you're not part of my pack." You glared at him and Stacey before slamming the door behind you. You grunted and tried to keep yourself from punching a wall. The door opened behind you, and Lain followed you out. You looked at each other, both with shining eyes. "What are we going to do?"

Lain shook his head. "I don't know." He stepped closer before pulling you into a hug. "We'll get through this."

It was all a blur to you. You heard Haley and Jake scream through the phone. You didn't comprehend the words that were being yelled; you knew you would vomit if you tried to understand what they were saying. You choked up as you stumbled through an explanation to Allison.

You all rushed back to Allison's car. You heard Lain in the back of the car, repeating it to Scott. Your leg bounced up and down as Allison raced towards your house. "They'll be fine. They'll be fine," Allison whispered, routinely wiping tears from her cheeks.

Your mind flashed back to all the days she spent at your house. All the times she helped Emily with her homework. The times she binged watch things with Ash. And commented on gossip with Jake. And discussed books with Haley. She was just as much a part of your pack as she was in Scott's.

You grabbed her thigh and squeezed it. "Allison," you muttered, "We need to believe that they're fine,"

She nodded and gripped the steering wheel. After a few minutes (Allison broke a lot of driving laws), your house came up into view. You jumped out of the car before it fully stopped and ran towards the house. You yelled for your pack as you ran into the house. You froze when you smelled blood. "Emily! Ash! Haley! Jake!" you yelled as you ran to their rooms. Not sure if you were relieved or terrified when their rooms were empty.

Nausea ran up you when you stepped into the kitchen. There was blood smeared across the floor and splattered on the walls. Allison was right behind you and froze. Lain stumbled forward and checked the body laying in the kitchen. "Not one of them," he said. You nodded before all of you ran out the door and into the forest, yelling for them.

It felt like you were running for hours. Your throat ached from the screaming for them. You leaned against a tree and panted with tears in your eyes, "Where the hell are they?"

Allison and Lain shook their heads with tears streaming down both their faces. She covered her mouth as another sob escaped her mouth. "What would the-" A scream stabbed through all of you. You all turned towards the scream and sprinted. There were more whines and yelps. Lain yelled out for the pack. You finally saw them. Ash was fighting one of the werewolves. You shifted as soon as you ran towards Ash. He was holding Ash against a tree, continually punching and scratching them.

You growled and pulled them back. You dug your claws through them over and over again before throwing them to the ground. You raised your arms before slamming them back down against the man, over and over again. Adrenaline and rage were running through your system. Images of your pack stung your mind: Emily, Ash, Lain... Jake... Haley.

Lain grabbed you by the torso and yanked you back. You stumbled backwards, off of him and falling backwards onto your beta. He helped balance you. "Calm down, you got it," he whispered. You nodded and took a deep breath before turning around; you had to focus on your pack, not on them.

Your breath hitched when you looked at Ash. They were bloody and had scratches across their entire torso. You choked back the tears as you stepped closer to them. "A-Ash," you muttered.

"Hey Y/N," they half-smirked, half-smiled, "How's your night going, cuz mine's going great,"

You shook your head with a smile. "Shut up, you little trooper," you laughed and wiped a tear away, "I love ya,"

"I love ya too." They laughed back at you before coughing. Ash pointed to the trees behind them. "Emily ran back, while I tried to hold him off," he said. Allison pressed her lips together to keep her cries from escaping. "Lain can take them to Melissa at the hospital, while we look Em," she said.

"Okay. That's what's going to happen then," you nodded, "Me and Allison will go look for Emily. Did anyone follow Em?"

"I don't know," Ash muttered and almost fell forward. You caught their shoulder before Lain helped them to their feet. You and Allison glanced at each other, and you shot Lain and Ash a look before you both ran towards Emily.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of bloodshed, grief, and revenge. Three weeks where it never stopped. Leave. Fight them. Retreat. Grieve. Repeat. Then repeat. Then repeat. Then repeat. It only stopped when Seth died. Froze for a moment before going into overdrive.

You watched Stacey's eyes become void of everything before becoming furious. Suddenly, the pack war wasn't just something her boyfriend started. It became something that she was obsessed with. You would wake up and see her pacing around or scribble out battle plans that wouldn't make sense in the morning, no matter how much sleepless nights she spent on them.

She was spiraling. You didn't realize how dependent she had been on Seth before, but now he was gone. Her entire personality had shifted. Unstable. She would scream at your pack about how everyone needed to get stronger before breaking down and sobbing, muttering Seth's name under her breath.

There was no way this could go on. You were just watching your pack get killed off one by one. Almost everyday, you guys were in the police station, making up a story that would try to rationalize their deaths. The police were getting sick of you. They knew something was wrong with your stories. You knew something was wrong with your story too.

The war needed to end, but your pack wasn't strong enough to beat them. You couldn't see them being able to beat your pack. Stacey was furious, and she had some people on her side too. The last time you tried to convince Stacey to back down, you were nursing injuries from Ricky for almost a week. They weren't gonna let up.

There was only one way you could end it. It just happened to be the one way that you wanted to avoid.

The plan was simple. You question the right hand of the other pack, see if their leader was willing to negotiate, while Lain did the same to Stacey. You would figure out if there was any chance for a peaceful conclusion.

Apparently, the leader had been looking to negotiate the entire time. It wasn't until Stacey tried to break into his house that it became personal. If you played your cards right, he would compromise and go back to coexisting. But Stacey wasn't going to let that happen.

Stacey screamed at Lain for trying to surrender when he brought it up. She pushed him to the back lines and said that they were planning to meet with the pack later. You ran to the meeting point right after Lain told you that. You saw your pack walking in a clump. Stacey turned towards you and smiled. "Hey, sweetheart," she said, grabbing you by your wrist and pulling you closer, "You're my right-hand Y/N. I was worried I would have to do this without you,"

You pressed your lips together. "Stacey-"

"I know how you feel about this-"

You bit your bottom lip and fought back tears. You grabbed her hand and stopped her for a moment. "Stacey, we can still stop."

She stared at you for a moment. In that moment, her eyes lost that furious glint, they were accepting. You felt as if she knew what you were going to do. She whispered, "I can't stop Y/N." She sent you a small smile before she kept on walking.

You glanced back at Lain for a moment before focusing on Stacey. You and the pack walked to the stream. Your pack was on one side, while they were on the other. The leader nodded at Stacey as he stepped closer with his right hand behind him. Stacey did the same, with you next to her.

"We still want to negotiate," the leader said.

"Seth was a good man," she snarled, "We won't negotiate,"

The leader frowned and sent a glance to his pack. "Are you sure? Because this is your last warning."

"I'm s-"

You grabbed her arm and pulled her back. The moonlight hit her perfectly, and you noticed that her hickory hair framed her face perfectly. For a moment, just that moment, you were twelve again, and she was giving you a new family. She was that goddess and guardian angel again. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

You grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her closer. One set of claws dug into her neck, while the other hit her stomach. You wanted to end this fast. After all she did, she deserved to go peaceful. You pulled one hand away. "Be with Seth," you whispered. She coughed as she collapsed against you.

Then her pulse was gone.

You looked up at other alpha as you laid her down. The leader was staring at you with wide eyes. You knew that yours were ruby now. You blinked a couple times until you were sure that you had it under control. You stepped closer to him. "This is my pack now," you stated, "And we negotiate,"

You felt lightheaded as you sprinted. The both of you heard a loud grunt. You sped up and saw a werewolf thrown to the ground, while Emily was stepping back. Her shirt was torn and bloodstained, while blood spattered across her face. She panted and stared at you with horrified eyes. "Y-Y/N?"

"Em..." you whispered.

She stumbled towards you, and you caught her. "D-did I kill her?" Emily whimpered. You glanced at the werewolf laying on the ground. She was dead. You squeezed Emily and pressed a hand against her bleeding scratch. "Don't worry Em. We're gonna get you help." You stared at Allison, and she put a hand over her mouth. You took a deep breath, before the two of you ran towards the house, while Allison was calling Scott.

"You traitor!" Ricky screamed, "Stacey trusted you! How could you do that?" You stared at each other, before he ran at you. You pushed him away before punching him and pinning him to the ground.

"You're going to leave," you snarled, "Or else I'll kill you myself." He glared at you as you stood up and pushed him away from you. You looked around the room. "Him and anyone else that's against me. Leave now, if you try to fight me, you'll lose,"

He got up and brushed off his shirt. "I'll come back, and I'll ruin you."

"I don't doubt that," you whispered.

You were sitting on the floor, and your head fell back against the wall. You were numb, but at the same time it felt like you were being ripped apart. You had made it to the hospital, long enough for you to say goodbye to Ash, before you had to do the same to Emily. Almost your entire pack was gone, in a few hours. You were sitting in a hallway of the hospital. Far away from where Ash and Emily had been treated. It was mostly empty, with the occasional doctor or nurse rushing up and down, too occupied to even spare you a glance. You shut your eyes as you tried to choke down the sobs. The door at the end of the hall opened, and you heard footsteps.

You opened your eyes and saw Allison. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say," she mumbled as she sat down next to you.

"I don't know either," you answered. You let your head fall onto her shoulder, and she put her arm around yours. "How could I lose them all, just like that? I was their Alpha. I'm supposed to protect my pack, a-and I could- I couldn't!" You broke down, finally letting the sobs take over. Allison wrapped her arms around you and let you lean against her. She put her head on yours, and you felt her hot tears land on you. You tightened your grip on her.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm so sorry. You did everything you could Y/N. You can't blame yourself."

You had no idea how Stacey had done this when she was recruiting him. Let alone how Lain did it. The mother was sobbing, while the ad was stoic.

“We’ll try to take care of her. Just like she’s our own,” Lain promised.

“Would she ever have a normal life? Will she stay safe?”

You sighed and leaned forward. “I can’t promise that. They are some serious dangerous people in this world. But I can promise that I’ll protect her with my life, and I’ll help her control this. She’ll be with people like her. She may feel normal, even if her life isn’t,”

Her mother stared at you for a moment. “Fine. You can take Emily then,”

You and Lain had stayed at the Argent house ever since the attack. It had been a couple of weeks, and they were trying to find Ricky. You really didn't know what you were doing. You couldn't stand talking about trying to find Ricky without breaking down, so most of the time you were curled up in Allison's room. You briefly wondered if this was how Stacey felt when Seth died.

The door opened, and the bed dipped a moment later when Allison sat down. She rubbed a hand up and down your arm before grabbing your hand. "Hey love," she said. You turned over, so that you could face her. She rubbed her thumb over your knuckles as she sat crisscross. "How are you doing?" "I don't know," you answered as you shut your eyes, "It's all I can think about Alli. Literally every second,"

"Maybe- maybe if you tried going outside or somethin-"

You shook your head as you sat up and wiped at your tears. "I've tried that, you know when you guys leave for pack meetings or school." You bit your lip and sighed. "We've been in Beacon Hills for what seems like forever Alli, literally there's nothing in this town that doesn't remind me of them,"

Allison nodded. "It was like that when my Mom died," she said.

You squeezed her hand. "How am I supposed to get past this? It's not just one death. It's not just some friend," Your voice cracked. "It was my pack, my family. I lived with them for years. I would sit and dream about how Emily and Ash would be when they would get older. And Haley and Jake could have been high school sweethearts,"

Allison sent you a small smile before she pulled you into a hug. "That would've been amazing,"

"It would have," you mumbled.

You ran into the town's small diner and wondered what you must have looked like to the waitress. You were all bloody, beaten, and had dirt on you. You pushed yourselves into one of the booths (you and Lain were the pour souls that had to pull the chairs up to the booth instead of sitting in it).

"So I don't think we can stay here any longer," you sighed.

"Definitely not," Emily commented. Ash shook their head with a smirk. You grabbed your phone and began looking at the maps.

Lain ran a hand down his face. "Where do you think we should head then?"

"We could hit Florida. I'd love to stake out at DisneyWorld," Ash laughed.

Haley rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Maybe Portland? It's been a while since we hit Oregon,"

"Or East? We could hit the Southwest, Arizona or New Mexico?" Lain suggested.

"How about we hit up North California?" you asked, pointing out a small town on the map, "There's this small town Beacon Hills. I'm not seeing anything big or flashy about it. We could lay low for a while before we hit Disneyworld." You smirked at Ash.

"I'm up for it." Emily smiled. "What's the harm?"

"That's the spirit," Lain cheered, "Beacon Hills, watch out for the most badass pack you've seen. Right Em?” She raised up her fists in a fake fight pose.

"I can imagine them wailing now," you joked.

#allison argent #teen wolf #crystal reed #teen wolf imagine #allison argent imagine #crystal reed imagine #requested #RIVALS SERIES

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crystalracing · 5 years

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As Formula 1 continues its relentless progress into pioneering technology, it's refreshing when a real throwback enters the fray. The little HRT team that ran aground in 2012 was most definitely one of them; staging a full F1 season on a €46million budget, F1's first Spanish team was a modern homage to the mass of tiny outfits battling for a space on the grid in the late 1980s and early '90s.

After three years of toil with little reward, it met a similar fate to the likes of Simtek, Pacific and Forti when its owner Thesan Capital was unable to sell the team.

Triggered by the collapse of Lola's F1 dream in 1997, the FIA had tightened up the entry requirements to join F1, requiring any entries seeking to join at the turn of the new millennium to pay a bond of $48m, later repaid in instalments, to demonstrate financial security. This virtually priced all except manufacturer teams out of the market and, in the immediate years after, only Toyota emerged from scratch, as the large start-up costs put off even the largest marques from lodging new entries, instead electing to take over existing outfits.

In 2008 and '09, the global financial meltdown and ensuing exodus of manufacturer teams gave F1 and the FIA the job of replenishing its dwindling grid, amid the unfulfilled promise of a cost cap. Of the four teams admitted, Lotus Racing and the Manor-run Virgin Racing squads made it, US F1 was a stillborn project, while Campos Racing's entry went through a difficult birth and ultimately ended up with adoptive parents.

From the very beginning, the team toiled with financial pressures. Having budgeted for the cost cap, owner Adrian Campos's dream looked dead in the water, but a last-minute reprieve by Jose Ramon Carabante's Hispania Group provided the impetus to make the grid for the Bahrain 2010 season-opener - just, in the case of Karun Chandhok's hastily assembled machine - with ex-Midland chief Colin Kolles drafted in to run the day-to-day operations.

Although its Dallara-built chassis were underdeveloped and lacking pace, the team managed to avoid the wooden spoon at the end of its first two seasons, beating the Manor-Virgin outfit to 11th in the constructors' standings in both years.

Midway through 2011, Carabante sold up to Madrid-based investment company Thesan, which came in with the goal to drive HRT up the order while demonstrating a clear Spanish identity. Relying on Kolles's personnel to go racing, Thesan gave the Romanian his marching orders and went on a recruitment drive to bring more elements in-house. Ex-Minardi driver Luis Perez-Sala took up the reins as team principal, while the team moved its headquarters from Murcia to a new facility in Madrid.

How to build a budget F1 car

On the driving front in 2012, Narain Karthikeyan was re-signed for a second year having been benched mid-season to allow Red Bull to blood Daniel Ricciardo, while the experienced Pedro de la Rosa was signed to lead the team, bringing a wealth of knowledge from testing duties with McLaren and Pirelli to develop the car and boost the team's commercial presence.

"I learned a lot from the management side and how complex an F1 team could be," recalls de la Rosa, who now works as a sporting and technical advisor to DS Techeetah in Formula E. "I was not just focusing on racing, because there were many other things I had to help with; I had to try to look for sponsorship, and there was also the fact that we moved the team to Madrid, which I also had to help with.

"I remember the first time people asked me why I was going to HRT, and there were two reasons. The first was to continue racing, and the second was that it was a Spanish Formula 1 team. That was unique, [and if] I didn't help establish it then it might not happen again. I knew exactly where I was going and the difficulties we would be facing. I knew that it was going to be hell, but it was hell with a group of very committed people."

The F112 was hardly a significant departure from its predecessors, although some time had been spent in the vehicle dynamics lab to understand the F111's chronic lack of grip. Nonetheless, it was late in arriving - HRT attended pre-season testing with the old car, as the new design failed the roll-hoop and lateral nose crash tests needed to run.

It was another difficult birth for the team, and the long-awaited F112 finally made its on-track debut in a Barcelona shakedown. Dressed in a white, burgundy and gold livery, HRT's new chariot was a very conservative, functional design with little in the way of innovation. This was hardly surprising given its diverse roots, having been outsourced across Europe.

The design, development and construction had been produced by Munich-based Holzer, and the chassis was put together by UK-based Formtech Composites. Stress-analysis simulations were carried out in Portugal, leaving HRT's new technical chief Toni Cuquerella to tie everything together from various European industrial parks. It was far from ideal to lift the team off the back of the grid.

Avoiding the aesthetically challenged stepped noses of the time - a result of the FIA's lowering of the front crash structures - the car looked a lot more clean-cut than some of its counterparts, but just overwhelmingly basic in comparison.

In particular, the front wing seemed to have changed very little. In 2012, the complexity of the designs began to increase as aerodynamicists started to explore the realm of element curvature and vortex tunnels. Conversely, HRT's wing featured a trio of slats, still rooted in designs akin to those seen in '09 and looking rather utilitarian against the competition.

There was also performance left on the table through packaging, most noticeably at the rear end. Most teams had emerged from the 2011-12 off-season with a pronounced Coke-bottle effect at the back as the sidepods tapered in around the rear wheels. Even with a Williams-produced gearbox on board, which was kept as small as possible for the FW34's tight rear packaging, HRT's geometry was considerably more chunky.

However, the rear wing was completely overhauled, dispensing with the long-chord top flap for something smaller to boost the airflow attachment across the wing - especially in transient conditions when the DRS was activated.

Having briefly considered a switch to Ferrari power, budget constraints ensured that HRT continued with the cheaper Cosworth engines - derived from the fast-but-fragile units used by Williams in 2006. Like back-of-the-grid rival Manor, now renamed Marussia and also using Cosworth power, HRT chose not to complicate its car with the addition of KERS.

"I was quite surprised by the Cosworth," de la Rosa says. "It was very reliable. I would say the engine was not on our list of issues. OK, it had less power than the Mercedes and probably the others as well, but if you put that engine in a competitive car it would have been a decent package.

"Let's not forget that we didn't have KERS either, and that was at a time when everyone was running KERS. But we thought that the extra few tenths it was giving you was not worth the €1.8m, because we had other time gains to invest our limited budget on."

Those gains appeared in the form of a new aero package at the Spanish Grand Prix, after the team had propped up the field in the opening flyaways - and failed to qualify both cars at the Melbourne season opener for a second successive year.

The front wing featured a larger, more shapely top flap, yielding more contemporary airflow management ahead of the front wheels. Sure, other teams had ventured into three-element wings, but HRT was now consistently closer to the Marussia cars with the upgrade - which also included a new bargeboard package and revised rear-wing endplates to control vortices.

"In terms of set-up," recalls de la Rosa's race engineer Mark Hutcheson, who had joined the HRT rebuilding project from Marussia, "it was OK, a normal car from that point of view. The main limitations in all these teams is that you have ideas, but you can't implement those ideas in the same way as everybody else because you've got a budget limitation.

"HRT was very limited. We maybe only had one floor update through the year and three front-wing updates. If you consider in the same year Red Bull were on front-wing update number 30 or 40, you can see the difference. It's not that the team doesn't know what to do or have any ideas, but there's a limit to what you can do."

"We had a €46m budget and 85 people," adds de la Rosa, "including the marketing department and administration - it was incredible to have a team running with this budget. The group of people I found there... if people ask me, 'What is the difference between HRT and McLaren?' I say the quantity. The quality of people in these teams is outstanding."

Next time out at Monaco, where HRT's shortfall in downforce was at its most pronounced, de la Rosa plonked himself ahead of Marussia's Charles Pic in qualifying and within two tenths of Pic's team-mate Timo Glock, producing "one of the best laps I've done in my F1 career". It counted for nothing though, as his race was over on the first lap after Pastor Maldonado rode over the HRT's rear wing. Karthikeyan, meanwhile, rescued the team's best result in a twice-lapped 15th place.

The team had neither the budget nor the resource to continue its development, having outsourced the entirety of its aerodynamics department, so began to turn its attentions to 2013, with de la Rosa and Hutcheson both set to continue. Development of the F113, intended to be an evolution of the '12 car, began in earnest under the guidance of new chief designer Mark Tatham.

Then reality started to bite. A perfect storm of Spanish financial meltdown, the banking crisis, and a hangover of the global recession continued to unwind into 2012 and quelled HRT's attempts to find solid sponsorship. Looking towards '14 and the introduction of turbo hybrid V6 power units, HRT's financiers were considerably turned off by the massive investment required. With no low-budget option available - Cosworth had decided to pick its ball up and go home rather than try to compete in a high-budget exercise - and no other investors forthcoming, Thesan Capital pulled the plug.

"The biggest regret I have is that the turbo era caught us in the middle of the project, and the big Spanish crisis of 2012 hit us hard," says de la Rosa. "There were many factors, but we were really in serious conversations with [potential Spanish sponsors] and then in '12 we had the banking crisis and it was very difficult to get any sponsors at all. Everything conspired against us.

"I feel very sorry about it, because I knew that if that project died, I would never in my lifetime see another Spanish F1 team. When I told Ron Dennis I was leaving for HRT, he didn't even know what the name of the team was! Then he said to me, 'You must be nuts!' and he left the room. But that's what I wanted to do! [He was] right, but I think there's a time in life when you have to do what you think is right and that's why I don't regret it."

The remainder of 2010's 'new teams' passed in the succeeding years. Caterham (formerly Lotus) bit the dust at the end of '14 despite a concerted crowdfunding effort, while Manor survived falling into administration only to bow out two years later when Sauber snatched 10th in the '16 constructors' championship by one point. With costs of the current powertrains sky-high and the level of engineering needed to be competitive also requiring massive capital, talk of a budget cap persists.

Unless hell freezes over and the championship's grandes fromages agree to cut and limit costs, could the HRT F112 be the last true budget F1 car? As things stand, it certainly looks like it.

This feature first appeared in January's Autosport Engineering supplement, which includes an in-depth profile of Williams Advanced Engineering, an engineer's guide to designing a Formula 1 car on a budget and a look back at the engine wizard behind Audi's LMP1 success. Out every other month, the next issue of Autosport Engineering will appear on March 14.

Click here to see the full list of previously published Engineering articles

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