#and yes. is it very stupid? of course. was i wheezing like a moron? yes <3 did it bother my brother even more? heheheh y e s

[keeps-ache]

'i can't wish anybody good luck these days. it's like an attack on their character. maybe it is, i don't know.'

[theminecraftbee]

can i request three somehow forced into a fake dating situation

Three stares directly into Martyn’s eyes. They are blue and of an average size. It feels as though maybe this should be against the rules, but according to the book it had read, this was… normal. A normal thing to do on a date. Look deeply into someone’s eyes. It would not be suspicious at all, even though Three isn’t really sure how to look more or less deeply into anyone’s eyes at all. Eyes are not flat, but even when Three Looks, it isn’t as though there is anything interesting in there.

Martyn is sweating somewhat. He looks away first.

Three’s pretty sure this counts as a victory, especially given Martyn can’t see Three’s face behind the mask anyway. It is good Three has now won the game of ‘staring lovingly into its date’s eyes’, because that had been a strange, threatening mortal ritual. It would rather not do that again.

“Haha, thanks again for agreeing to this date,” Martyn says, very suspiciously looking around the small cafe in a bustling semi-private Origins server. “It’s been so long since we’ve gotten to hang out like this. Gods, do I sound stupid.”

“You do,” Three says.

“You don’t have to answer those,” Martyn says.

“Will comply,” Three says.

“Oh, for the love of—we’re on a date. A date!” Here, Martyn winks obnoxiously. “It’s not a mission.” He winks obnoxiously again. “Besides, you should lighten up!”

“Will comply,” Three says.

“You know, I had forgotten how obnoxious that was,” Martyn says cheerfully. “Anyway, I should order us some drinks! Have some conversation! Keep an eye out around us, yeah, for our waiter?”

“You are not very subtle,” Three says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Martyn says. “Besides, honestly? I am really glad to just hang out with you. Because we’re dating! On this server for fancy couples. Yep.”

The problem is, of course, that a fancy origins server is a great place for the strangest of people to hide.

When Martyn had asked a favor, Three had been… uncertain. This was not because Three doesn’t care for Martyn—it does, greatly—or because Three didn’t want to see Martyn—they’d met up a few times before now, tentative and quiet and frustrated and all the things that were hard to explain, and then in all the ways they were okay again—but because Martyn, for all Three cares for him, is still an idiot.

Three is its own handler, now. It does not have to follow handlers that are morons. It had told Martyn this. When Martyn had stopped wheezing, he’d explained that it’d be fun. Not Listener business, he promised; he still hadn’t quite gotten out, but he wouldn’t drag Three in, Scout’s honor.

(Three believes him. It’s never been that Three doesn’t trust him.)

It was a friend of Martyn’s that had gone missing. Apparently, on some fancy modded server? And now, Martyn wanted Three to come help him do some recon because, quote, “Jimmy laughed at me until he cried and that hurt me a little bit, not going to lie, and I’ve used up the favors Ren owes me, and Oli was busy. Have you met Oli? You’d like Oli.”

(Three did not like Oli.)

Three agreed, despite its better judgement. The reason it thought this may be a poor plan was because—

“Ah, the lovely Valentines,” the waiter says. He gives them a plate of lovely heart-shaped calamari. Three wonders if they had belonged to heart-shaped squid. “It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s wonderful here with my beloved!” Martyn says.

The waiter and Martyn both look at Three. Three doesn’t say anything and sits perfectly still.

“Um,” the waiter says.

“It’s for a health condition,” Martyn says, which technically isn’t a lie.

“Very well, sirs, although it may get in the way of the kissing competition!”

Martyn, who had just started sipping some wine, chokes on it.

“I will win the kissing competition,” Three says.

Martyn chokes harder.

“I will see you to it!” the waiter says. “And of course, our patented species comparability exam is the highlight of the evening.”

“Oh. I am not sure I can produce viable offspring,” Three says.

The waiter stares at Three. Three stares back, although not into the waiter’s eyes, as to not cause any confusion. The mask somewhat prevents that from working, though.

“Very well then,” the waiter says. “I suppose just—do you need help?”

“It knows what it’s doing,” Martyn hisses.

“I did do research before coming here,” Three says.

“I’ll just head on,” the waiter says, in a tone that suggests to Three that maybe it did not do enough research before agreeing to help Martyn.

Oh well.

At least the mask means it doesn’t have to keep a straight face as it picks Martyn off the ground and, completely flat in tone, says: “Do not die. I would be sad if you died of something as stupid as choking on wine.”

“I asked for this,” Martyn says.

“Yes,” Three says. “You did. That is why I am here.”

(Beneath the table, it grabs Martyn’s hand. Martyn squeezes Three’s hand back. It had missed him, though. For all they do not see each other often—)

(Well. It had missed him, though.)

[rainydayhogwartsimagines]

here to request fluffy fred as asked!! i was thinking about plant shopping, like it would be really fun taking fred magical plant shopping and he has no idea what anything is because he never paid attention in herbology and reader just laughs at him as he gets nipped n squealed at by everything

"I still don't know why we need a plant." Fred sighed. "Would you prefer to be selling kids dead Pygmy puffs? Is that what you want? Traumatizing events?" You asked. "No. But I still think that we should just go out and buy the feed ourselves." He whined as you drove. "It is cheaper to grow it and plus, I'm good with plants." You reminded. "Then you're taking care of this because I don't know a damn thing when it comes to plants." He admitted. You rose a brow as you pulled in and parked. "You took a class on this." You reminded. "I'm aware. And if I remember correctly I had a very very sexy partner who was distracting." He said. You snorted. "Babe... You're getting potions mixed up with herbology." you reminded. "then who was my herbology partner?" He asked. "....Neville." You said making him get out the car as you wheezed. "Still... Why must I come along for this?" Fred asked. "Because if I'm not available one day to do this, you need to know what to grab." You said. He huffed as you walked in. You seemed to already know your way around, moving through the aisles quickly. Fred cocked his head to the side, looking at a bouncing bulb. "What's this?" He asked. "Bouncing bulb. Careful... it will attack you if you get to close." you warned. "plants shouldn't attack anything." Fred shuddered, following you. "But they do. Wait till you see what we're actually going to be buying... I wonder if they have steel cases or something." You pondered. "What the fuck does it do for it to need a steel case?" Fred asked. "That's actually the tamest of the plants. Just makes you dizzy. Actually more of an equivalent of being drunk, I think it's used in truth serum" You said. "That's tame to you!?" "Fred we literally took care of screaming plants that would make you pass out without protection over the ears." You reminded. "I really should've gone to class." He said making you smack your head against a wall and let out a long groan. "....You've got to be kidding me." You sighed. "Remember that you love me." Fred said. You groaned. "I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass." You grumbled as you pushed the cart forward. 

You got a ton of questions from Fred. "Love, what the fuck is that?" or  "Princess, why does that look like it's ready to kill me?". You answered them, best to your ability but he still had a nasty habit of trying to touch the plants. You swore up and down he was mentally five. You finally found the plant and sure enough it was in a case. Which Fred opened. And oh boy.

He was stumbling around like a moron. "Baby... I feel so weird right now." He said looking at his hands as you paid for the plant. "...He opened the case didn't he?" The cashier asked. "Yep." You nodded. "Babe... I have hands..." He said making you snort. "Yes, we all do Fred." You said. "Woaaahhh" he gaped as you dragged him to the car. You put the case in the trunk and you sighed, looking up at how long the effects were for this. "Fifteen more minutes. Oh boy." You muttered. "I love you Y/nnnn." Fred said. You looked at him and laughed. "I love you too Freddie." You said. "You're so good to me-- and patient-- God I want you in my life forever." He said holding your hands. You chuckled. "Careful Fred, those effects are going to wear off soon and you're going to regret saying something." You warned. "No I'm not! I have a plaaannnn." He said making you raise a brow. "What?" You asked. "A pllaaaaannnnnnn" he repeated waving his hands around before playing with his seatbelt. You rose a brow and he chuckled. "I have a ring and eveerrryyytthhhinnng" he waved making you gape. "Fred stop talking." You said. "Do you not want to get marrrrieed--" "No I'm trying to stop you from ruining your 'plan'" you said putting a hand over his mouth. "RIIGGGHHTTT the plaaaannn" Fred nodded before conking out in the passenger seat.

Fred had no recollection of the conversation you had or why you were suddenly acting very strange around him. "Y/n, darling is everything alright?" Fred asked. "Ahahaha! Yesss. I am perfectly A okay!" You said, eye twitching slightly. This was mainly going to your head. When on earth was this happening!? How did you not see this coming!? I mean, of course you were going to say yes but honestly the idea of a proposal in a crowded restaurant terrified you. I mean what if you tripped mid proposal or some shit? What if you did something stupid-- WHAT IF YOU SNEEZED IN THE MIDDLE OF IT AND PEOPLE WERE WATCHING!? "Did you inhale some plant fumes or something--" "NOPE. I'M GOOD. EVERYTHING IS GOOD." you said making Fred confused. "Did I... Do something?" He asked. "No! No you're perfect! I'm just nervous about... My mandrakes! I should get a sign so that when I'm working you don't walk in and... Pass out or... Y'know. Die." You lied. "Is that that weird screaming plant you mentioned?" He asked. "Look at you paying attention!" You said with finger guns. What the fuck are you doing?

"Right... I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Burrow tonight?" Fred asked. "Yeah! Yeah sure I am coolio with that!" You said. Could you chill? Please? "... Alright then... I'll leave you to the screaming plant children." Fred said before kissing your head and walking out.

The door closed and Fred was confused even more. What the fuck was that? "Does she know?" George asked. "I don't think so? She's acting very strange though... She used finger guns at one point." Fred said. "Are you sure she doesn't know?" George asked quietly. "No I don't think--" then it hit him... "Oh no." Fred winced. "What?" George asked. "I fucked up." He groaned. "What did you do?" George asked. "Fucking plant fumes made me high and I think I let it slip that I had a plan." Fred groaned. "Fred calm down. We're used to improvising. So how do we go about this?" George said. "Uhmm... Hmm...."

You walked out a couple of hours later and Fred was looking at papers. "Look at you looking all professional over there." You chuckled. He smiled and blinked a few times. "What the hell happened to you?" He asked. "Mandrake bit me... Fell back on the devil's snare and almost got high from plant fumes-- the usual." You sighed, sliding off the apron you were wearing. You used a simple spell to clean yourself and stretched. "You said we were going to the burrow?" You asked. Did you not suspect anything? "Yeah, Charlie, Percy and Bill are visiting." Fred said. "...So... Your brother are going to... Be there..." You realized. Fred noticed the suspicion. "Percy is down because he has finally lodged the stick out of his ass, Charlie is down on business, something about a welsh dragon nearly attacking a muggle and Bill just likes to see mum every now and again." Fred said. You nodded but clearly still suspected something was happening. "I uhm... What will we be doing exactly?" You asked. "Mum wants you to teach her how to make pizza apparently." Fred said. Oh... Oh that's like the least engagement-y thing to do. Okay, stress gone. "Let's roll then. Is George riding with us?" You asked. "Yep." George said walking out of a backroom.

You all rode in the car in silence and George was looking at Fred like "Dude. Say something." Fred swallowed and fiddled with the ring in his pocket and you drove. "Soooo... Charlie found a common Welsh dragon?" You asked. "Oh don't tell me you freak out over dragons too!" George whined. "They're cool, but I most likely don't freak out like Charlie does." You shrugged. "you got that right. That man could go on for HOURS about fucking dragons." Fred nodded. "Meh. It's better than Draco's ass rambling on about 'pureblood customs'." You shrugged. "that's always true." George nodded. You pulled into the burrow and walked in. "Goodness darling you smell like pesticide." Molly said after hugging you. "I am so sorry--" "Would you like to shower upstairs? I'll wash your clothes while you do." She suggested. "Honestly... A bath sounds great." You nodded. "She can just borrow some of my clothes." Ginny shrugged.

And so the plan was afoot. Fred and George had to act quickly while you were taking a shower, telling the family to ACT. NORMAL. You soon came back down in a comfortable dress that wasn't too fancy and Charlie was rambling about dragons. "Change of plans, mom is making pot roast apparently." Fred said. "And the there's the hungarian Ridgeback--" "Charlie I love you. You know I do. But shut up." Bill winced. You snorted and Charlie looked over. "You must be Y/n!" He said hugging you. "Charlie right? Dragon obsessed?" You asked. "That's me!" He nodded. "We've met once right? You were Fred's plus one to my wedding?" Bill asked. "Yes, Fleur correct?" You asked, looking at her. "Yes that is me." She nodded. "She's getting better with her English." Bill said. "pas besoin de s'inquiéter. Je connais le français." You nodded making Fred and George raise a brow. "You know French?" George asked. "I usually have to order certain plants internationally so..." You shrugged. "oohh" George nodded. Ron came downstairs with Harry. "Hey you two!" You waved. "Y/n!" Both boys said before hugging you. "Boy this is a nice get together... Where is Percy?" You asked. "With Dad looking at something to make sure it is 'of the ministry standard'." Charlie gagged making you laugh. "Any special occasion I'm not aware of here orrr?" You asked. "....I caught my fiftieth dragon!" Charlie said. "congratulations. Was it the common Welsh that Fred mentioned earlier?" You asked. "Oh no." Bill winced. "You know dragons!?" Charlie asked. "Read about them... And had to help that idiot over there during the competition." You said pointing to Harry. "So what's you--" "PLEASE. DO NOT. START. WITH THE DRAGONS. AGAIN." Bill groaned. See this? This was normal. Hermione came down with a smile. "Thought I heard you!" She said. You hugged her and let out a relieved breath. "God it feels good to be around other females." You said. "Hey!" Fred and George said. "I can only take so much testosterone." You said. "testoster-- what?" George asked. "Science George. It's science." Ginny snorted.

You and the girls talked for a while and soon dinner came along. "So, how's business?" Molly asked George. "It's good. Y/n has figured out ways to save us money so we're doing REALLY right now." George nodded. "She's bloody brilliant." Fred said smiling at you. You smiled and shook your head. "Though her plants are freaky." Fred said. "They are not freaky." You laughed. "They are! What kind of plant screams!?" Fred asked. " A mandrake." Everyone at the table answered making him groan. You laughed and he shook his head. Arthur smiled watching you. "Ginny did you leave the pygmy puff unattended?" Ron asked. "Uhm... Yeah, it's in my--" there was a thud upstairs and she grumbled. "Room." She finished before going upstairs. "I better help her... Puffers tends to be aggressive after waking up." Hermione said before walking up. "Puffers?" You asked. "He was the first successful Pygmy puff we made. We just gave him to Ginny. Glad to see he's handling mating season well." George explained after hearing another thud. "RON. GET THIS THING PLEASE." Ginny called. Ron sighed and walked upstairs. "Wanna take a walk?" Fred asked after another loud thud. "Absolutely!" You nodded before walking outside. You two walked for a bit in silent, shivering as the air got colder. Fred took the ring out of his jacket pocket and switched it to his pants pocket before giving you the jacket. "It's pretty tonight." You breathed as you huddled into the jacket. He smiled. "Yeah, yeah it is." He said. You smiled and he kissed you, holding your face close. "I've got to know this before I ask you something." Fred said making you raise a brow. "Any reason why you've been nutty lately?" He asked. "Uh... No?" You lied. He gave you a "really?" Look and you sighed. "When the plant got you... Intoxicated? You kind of... Said something pertaining to marriage." You admitted. "Is that so bad?" Fred asked. "What? No-- no I'm just... Look, I am a fuck up. I am a clutz and I trip over air. I am terrified that if you proposed to me in a crowded area I'd literally fall on my ass." You admitted. "... That's it?" He asked. "Yeah." You nodded. "Y/n I know you hate crowds. Why do you think Ginny made an excuse for us to leave the house?" He said. "...Wait.." "Why do you think my family knows that we're out here and trying to make you feel comfortable?" Oh my God. "Why do you think I made sure you knew we were going to be away from other people?" Fred asked. "... You're a serial killer?" You joked, tears already forming. He chuckled and got down on one knee. "Oh my God." You breathed. "Y/n I love you so much. And I want you to always feel safe and always feel comfortable telling me things." Fred said. "And I want to spend the rest of my life making you feel safe." He added. "Will you marry me?" He asked. You nodded and cried as you wrapped your arms around him. He slid on the ring and he kissed your head, holding you close. "Oh don't cry princess! We're going to have cake! Or alcohol... Or both." Fred said making you laugh. "I'm so happy holy shit." You laughed. He smiled and then had an idea. "wanna screw with my family a little?"

You two walked back to the house and everyone was standing around as if they were waiting. "...Nice walk." Fred nodded. "Yeah, kind of cold though." You nodded acting nonchalant. Ron and Hermione exchanged a confused look. "here's your jacket." You said, making a point to show your hand with the ring on it as you handed back the jacket making them all scream. "MY GOD WERE YOU JUST GOING TO KEEP GOING WITH THE ACT!?" Molly said. "maybe?" You said before being engulfed into a hug with her and Fred. "Okay-- air mum-- air!" Fred said. You looked at the family around you with small smile tugging at your lips "Champagne? Anyone?" Bill said holding up a bottle. "Aayyee my brother knows me so well." Fred said laughing. You rolled your eyes as Fred linked his arm around you and pulled you close. You looked in his eyes and smiled. This was safe. This was your home. This was your family.

[aces-to-apples]

Written for Day 1: Hurt/Comfort of Codywan Week 2020 @codywanweek

Here on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Category: M/M Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Alpha-17 & Obi-Wan Kenobi Notable Tags: Blood and Injury, Concussions, Mandalorian Culture, Blunting Teeth

“daze of our lives”

“You’re an idiot,” Cody said bluntly, manhandling Obi-Wan onto the ‘fresher sink like he weighed nothing more than a bunch of Alderaani emerald grapes. A feat made even more impressive by the fact that Obi-Wan was fully kitted out in a standard set of trooper armor and the commander wasn’t even wearing his own blacks.

“Yes, Cody, thank you for reminding me.”

The look he shot Obi-Wan was normally reserved for misbehaving children—or shinies, as the case may be.

Obi-Wan attempted a reassuring smile only for it to turn into a grimace as the movement pulled at his split lip, renewing its sluggish flow of blood once more. For reasons known only to himself, Alpha-17 had focused rather heavily on causing his face as much damage as possible, rather than seeking to neutralize him efficiently. Of course, Alpha-17 was a bit of a bastard with a vicious streak a parsec wide, so perhaps he’d simply nursed a grudge against Obi-Wan all this time.

Two years and change was a long time to hang onto said grudge, and seemed more than a little extreme, but he supposed anything could happen. Whatever the reason, it made pacifying his commander nearly impossible.

Scoffing, Cody wetted a rag and began furiously cleaning Obi-Wan’s face of… well, gore was perhaps an accurate description. His movements weren’t rough, by any means, but they were perfunctory and Obi-Wan didn’t need to be an empath to feel the low-grade burn of his anger in the tight quarters of the refresher. “Complete fripping moron,” he growled, as more and more damage was revealed beneath the blood.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan began, bracing himself as best he could. He knew that tone of voice well. “There’s no need—”

“How does a Jedi,” Cody cut him off, voice dangerously mild, “cock up so badly that he ends up in a punishment spar with the only Alpha who can nominally stand him?”

“Now that’s hardly fair to Alpha’s age-mates,” he protested weakly as Cody shoved his head and began examining his possibly-broken nose. “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting any others from the Alpha class.”

“Seventeen warned them all away. Calls you a menace.”

Cody’s voice was serious—dark, even—but Obi-Wan snorted. “Of course he did,” he said, fond without worry and accepting the notion without doubt. “I do regret the number of grey hairs myself and Anakin have no doubt given him over the course of our acquaintance.”

“The stress doesn’t even have the decency to slow the bastard down,” Cody muttered darkly in reply. “Let alone kill him.”

There was a worrying shift in his ribs as Obi-Wan wheezed but he ignored it because, damn it, the idea of something so mundane as stress being the thing to kill Alpha-17 was unbearably funny at that precise moment. Cody shifted back on his feet and watched him impassively. It took a moment for him to realize that perhaps what he was feeling was what the troopers referred to as punch-drunk.

The corner of Cody’s mouth tugged up. “Yep,” he drawled, “that’s what happens when you let one of the Alpha class get their hands on you like that.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, frowning. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Dear me. I believe I may have a concussion, Cody.”

The commander did not look impressed by his powers of deduction. “I told you that ten minutes ago, General.” He scowled and rinsed off the cloth in his hands before turning to Obi-Wan’s split and battered knuckles. “I peeled you off the mats and you said you were ‘happy to see my pretty, grumpy face’ and I said ‘you definitely have a concussion if you’re admitting I’m pretty in mixed company.’ And then you tripped over your own boots and tried to blame Anakin for it.”

“Mmm.”

“Still with me, sir?”

Obi-Wan hummed again, feeling more and more like he was floating as the adrenaline filtered out of his system and pain filtered in. “Always, my dearest commander. Always.”

He sighed but said nothing again for a while, tisking over the damage Obi-Wan had managed to do to himself without the aid of Alpha-17. “What even happened to your gloves and gauntlets?” he wondered aloud, and scoffed when Obi-Wan cheerfully admitted that he hadn’t a clue. “Still haven’t told me what you did to deserve a punishment spar from an Alpha. Don’t think I’m going to just let that one go.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Obi-Wan enunciated with care. “I simply don’t wish to tell you because then you’ll be disappointed with me.”

“And that’s a valid reason to piss off your marshal commander instead?”

“Oh, not at all! I’m just far better equipped to deal with you being angry with me than disappointed.” A punch-sober Obi-Wan would likely not have admitted that, but the Obi-Wan of the moment was perhaps not as wise as he. All he wanted was Cody’s continuing single-minded care and to all the Corellian hells with his dignity. “You have a remarkable talent for making me feel utterly worthless when I’ve disappointed you.”

The silence that followed that statement went on long enough that Obi-Wan had nearly forgotten it by the time Cody responded. “I don’t mean to make you feel like that,” he said with a gusty sigh. “That’s not what that look is supposed to mean.”

Of that Obi-Wan had always been certain, but disappointment had always been inextricably linked with feelings of personal failure and worthlessness, ever since he was a child. Coruscanti Jedi initiates were a cutthroat bunch to start with and his age-mates in particular had been even moreso than the average.

“It’s all right,” he said absently, when he realized Cody was waiting for a reply. “It pushes me to do more, do better, always has.”

“That’s not very reassuring, jetii,” Cody grumbled, swatting away the hand that attempted to clap him on the shoulder. “Quite the opposite.”

“Oh, I’m a jetii again?” Obi-Wan attempted to rouse himself from his post-beating lethargy. The return to the uncomplimentary epithet that Alpha-17 had passed on to his commander before their meeting boded ill. It’d taken months for Cody to finally wheedle out of him why he always chuckled at its use and several more for him to cautiously switch to the less aggressive Traat’ad. “You only use that when I’ve done something to deserve, well…”

“A punishment spar from Seventeen?” Cody supplied, deceptively innocent. “I can only assume you have, if you’re letting him turn your face into paste like this.”

“I—”

“When I’m disappointed in you, it’s because I know that you’ve made your decisions based on faulty logic and you’re not dumb enough to buy into faulty logic about anyone but yourself,” he continued, unconcerned with Obi-Wan’s attempt to defend himself. “When Alpha-Seventeen is disappointed in you, it’s because he knows you’re not stupid and thinks you’re acting like it anyway. So, what’d you do this time?”

Obi-Wan sighed and let his head fall back against the mirror. “Have you ever been through a ‘punishment spar,’ as you call them?” he asked, feeling very tired.

“Fortunately, I’ve managed to avoid pissing any of the Alpha class off quite that badly.”

He smiled, winced, and soldiered on, as it were. “It’s based on an old Mandalorian ritual: pelir edee. Went through it when I was on Mandalore as a padawan.” Cody hummed, well-aware of its history as well as his own. “Usually it’s because a clan member has lashed out at another, disproportionately so, or deliberately brought harm to the clan.”

“You take a swing at Seventeen?” the commander said, joking, but also curious. “Because if you did then I take back calling you an idiot and will be much nicer at your funeral.”

“It’s also—” Obi-Wan swallowed “—unofficially, you understand, used when a leader ignores the advice of their clan members and so brings harm to them through incompetence.”

Cody doesn’t respond for another long while.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was.”

“Our intel was faulty—”

“—and if I had listened to your concerns then we wouldn’t be on this planet you all despise so much, collecting shinies to fill the empty spaces where loved ones once stood.” He had nothing to say to that, knowing full well that Obi-Wan had the right of it. “Alpha got his hands on the mission report that brought us here and asked me to explain what happened. I obliged. And he suggested a spar.”

“With Blitz, Colt, and Havoc.”

Obi-Wan inclined his head. “Naturally. He suggested, as well, that we all armor up for it. Apparently he doesn’t approve of my choice to return to wearing Jedi tunics.”

“None of us approve of that,” Cody muttered. He’d finished cleaning and bandaging Obi-Wan’s hands long ago, now just holding them in a gentle grip. “You don’t listen to us about that, either.”

Well and that was fair.

"Ni ceta, Kote," Obi-Wan said, not meeting his eyes. "I should have listened to your council and now your brothers are marching far away because of my…"

Pride, arrogance, conceit.

"… mistake," Cody finished, quiet, gentle. "It was a mistake. One that cost us, but you're not omniscient, and you did the best you could. That's all any of us can do."

"You knew better."

"Then learn from this time and listen to me the next."

Obi-Wan nodded and allowed himself to be tugged out of the 'fresher and stripped of the death-white armor. Each piece of plastoid was tugged out of magnetic alignment by sure hands and piled out of the way, until nothing remained but his blacks. Those hands then pushed and maneuvered until Obi-Wan was lying on his side in the commander's bed, Cody's chest pressed right up against his back.

The two of them rested like that for a long time, settling together until their hearts beat nearly in sync. Then Cody, his arms wrapped firmly around Obi-Wan's body, clasped their hands together.

"What did Seventeen want you to see, Obi-Wan?"

He linked their fingers together more securely before answering.

"As a Jedi, I have a responsibility to all life in the galaxy. As a general, I have a responsibility to the lives under my command." He took a deep breath. "As a partner, I have a responsibility to treat you with honor and respect. When I ignored your council, I failed in all of those responsibilities, and your brothers paid the price. Alpha-Seventeen wanted me to see those failures and understand that I need to trust you, and the rest of our comrades, in order to keep such a tragedy from occurring again."

"… Sounds quite kind for one of Seventeen's punishment spars."

Obi-Wan smiled as best he could. "Well, I'm sure he'd phrase it differently were someone to ask him. Regardless, I should have done better and will endeavor to do so next time."

"Good," Cody murmured into the back of his neck. "I love you, Obi-Wan."

"And I you, Cody."

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Grand Tour

I decided to write about Thomas Drake and his crew for this one.  As usual, I do not own any other characters except Drake and his crew.  Enjoy the story.  

“I am not a good person, but I am an honest one.”

-Thomas Drake

“You said you wanted to take a tour of my ship, so, here we are.”  Drake gave an elaborate, formal bow.  “Welcome aboard the Apocalypse.  You all have your engineers with you?”  He looked around the group of, who did, indeed have all their engineers with them.  “Good.  Everyone is invited, and if you are able to replicate anything you see here from memory, then I think it’s yours, fairly won.”  Which cut right into the heart of why everyone had their engineers here.  

Drake turned into the hangar bay, beginning the tour.  “The Apocalypse is an Apricus Industries 745-class light cruiser, heavily modified by us, of course.  Originally named the Summer’s Light, it was renamed something more appropriate for a warship after me and my merry band of maniacs stole it during the Jerrick War.  It was, uh, well, upgraded, as I said before, and now includes reinforced shielding on the hull, better engines, best in class, as a matter of fact, heavy railgun batteries, more point defense batteries, and nuclear launch tubes, of which I am particularly proud of.  Unique amongst most capital sized ships from my home galaxy, it can enter atmosphere, a fact that I have come to appreciate in my line of work.  Now, this,” he waved vaguely at their surroundings, “is the hangar bay.  We only need a couple of shuttles, so for the most part, it’s open and used by the armsmen for training.  Speaking of which,” he nodded in the direction of a group wearing a collection of military-looking uniforms watching two of their number spar, “those are the armsmen.”  Drake gave a sharp whistle, and the armsmen stopped what they were doing.  Three of their number walked over to the Scoundrels, while the rest milled around, apparently taking a break from what they were doing.  

Drake gave the classic back-and-forth gesture that has accompanied introductions since the dawn of time as he called out the three individuals.  “Derrick Saul, commander of 1st Squad.”  The armsman furthest to the left, a deeply sunburn man with hair cut so short he may as well have been bald, gave them a polite nod.  “Jean Garang, commander of 2nd Squad.”  The armsman in the middle, a tall woman with exceptionally dark-hued skin and short cut black hair also gave a nodd.  “And Rilgaldis, commander of 3rd Squad.”  A massive reptilian alien, well over seven feet tall, gave them a salute.  “Scoundrels, Saul, Garang, and Rilgaldis.  Rilgaldis, Garang, and Saul, the Scoundrels.”  Drake gave a moment’s pause.  “Well then, now introductions have been made.  Why don’t you three tell my glorious compatriots exactly where you come from and why you’re galavanting across the galaxy with an unstable mercenary?”  Drake’s joking manner broke the formal and somewhat strained atmosphere.  The Scoundrels relaxed, and Saul grinned.  

“Fine.  I’ll go first.  Born on Europa, joined the 317th Federal Expeditionary Division.  I’m here because, well, you pay more than the Federal Army, Captain.”

“Same thing with me.  Born in Sudan, joined the Army, got put in the 5th Guards.  Drake pays more than the Federation,” said Garang.  

“And you, Rilgaldis?”

“Born into the Dracus Army, left, joined the Imperial Foreign Legion, left, joined you because you pay better,” said Rilgaldis.  

“Yes.  The three leaders of my armsmen.  Matter of fact, it’s a wonder you two,” he indicated Saul and Garang, “get along as well as you do.”  

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” asked Kirk.  Saul and Garang grinned at each other.  

“You see, we are on opposite sides of one of humanity's oldest questions.  Matter of fact, Garang, let’s settle this once and for all.  You all seem like you know what you’re talking about.”  The Scoundrels looked at each other, hesitant about what the question would bring.  “So, here we go, and I know that you’ll all agree with me: 9 milimetre Parabellum or .45 ACP?”  

“What?” replied Vir.  The other Scoundrels seemed to be equally bemused by the question.  

“Are you not a soldier or a weapons enthusiast?  Don’t pick up guns like the rest of us?”

“I was a pilot, now an Admiral.”

“Oh dear me, the flyboys have their heads so high in the clouds they don’t know the answer to life’s greatest mystery.  Any of the rest of you?  No?  Bullets don’t exist where you come from or something?”  Kirk, Shepard, and Cain shook their heads to the negative.

“.50 cal.”  Master Chief added his input.  Saul whistled.  

“Jesus Christ.  Although,” Saul walked up and compared his height to the Chief’s, “if anyone can handle a .50 calibre handgun on the regular, it would be the two meter guy made entirely of muscle.”  

“Wonderful.  Now that we have that out of the way, onwards!” exclaimed Drake.  The rest of the Scoundrels followed, threading their way out of the hangar and through the winding grey passages of the starship.  Most were neat, clean, and paneled with easily cleanable grey metal, although one particular passageway they crossed was under repair, the panelling ripped away to expose a myriad of interconnecting pipes and wires.  A mixed group of aliens and humans, all wearing grey jumpsuits, were hard at work, fiddling with various tangles of sparking wires.  A short woman jumped from atop a ladder where she had been perched, examining the ceiling, and offered Drake a vague salute.  

“We’re almost done, Captain.  Wiring in this sector should be back up in no time.”  She seemed to notice the group following him for the first time, and gave them a cheery wave.  “Tor Herald.  In charge of...well...nothing in particular.  We,” this was accompanied by a wave encompassing the various workers, “are unofficially known throughout the ship as the ne’re-doers.  Unspecialized specialists, jacks of all trades, masters of none, we’re the crew that keeps the Apocalypse running.  This ain’t a military vessel, so we’re just on as regular crew members.  Nothing to do with most of the money and explosions that seem to follow the Captain around.”  One of the wires in the background started to spark alarmingly.  “Ah, shit.  Love to talk, got to fix this.”  She ran to the problem, an odd-shaped tool in hand.  

“Best keep going, then,” said Drake.  He gave the group a ‘follow me’ motion, and led them deeper through the halls.  “I get crew members from all over the place.  Most of the armsmen and specialists are ex-military, but the crew...I have from all over the place.  Which I said before.  Don’t really know how else to put it.  Got crew members from Earth, Vorketh, Aequalitas, Narcan, Delstrovic, and everywhere in between.  Now,” he turned and gestured to a section of more pleasant looking and open hallways, “as your esteemed colleague Jack Cooper can attest, these are the crew quarters.  They are located throughout the ship, so vital personnel can sleep next to their stations, but the bulk of them are in this area.”  He led them past the crew quarters to a pair of large sliding glass doors.  “And this is what we call the weapons room.  All our personal weapons are created, reparied, and tested here.”  It was a brightly lit room covered in stark white plastic, but what drew everyone’s attention were it’s two occupants, who, although fiddling with various bits and pieces, seemed to be in the middle of a fierce argument.  

“You see, the problem with your theory is, at the very heart of the matter, you’ve got it wrong.  The purpose of a government is to help its people by any means it finds necessary,” said a short, lean, black-haired man in the midst of inserting a new power core into a plasma gun.  

“No, the purpose of a government is to protect its people’s rights and protect them from foriegn invasion.  Otherwise, it should leave them alone,” replied a muscular, brown-haired man of medium height as he tightened the bolts on a massive machine gun.  

“Ah, but the thing is, the government can help people.  And at the basic level, why would you not help people?  You’re a Christian, and it is at the core of your philosophy to help others,” countered the black-haired man.    

“Individually.  It is our duty to individually help other people.  You’re a student of history, and you know what happens.  If the government helps people in the way you’re suggesting, then it gains control over them, and thus should it turn bad, the common people are helpless.”  The Scoundrels filed into the room behind Drake as the two argued, apparently oblivious to their presence.  

“The core problem with you is that you’re just an ignorant, uneducated farm boy who’s clinging to a dying philosophy,” sneered the black-haired man.  

“And you are a stuck up city student who has absolutely no idea how the real world works,” shot back the brown-haired man with a vengeance.  

“You’re a stupid moron who follows people who will plunge the world into despotism.”  At this, the brown-haired man threw down his wrench and cracked his knuckles.  

“I’d be very, very, careful if I were you,” he warned.  The tension in the air was almost like a physical being.  Several of the Scoundrels standing behind Drake tugged on their collars as if to escape from an oppressive heat.  Kirk stepped forward as if to mediate, but Drake held out a hand to forestall him.  

“Or what?  What are you going to do?” replied the black haired man snidely.

“This.”  And before anyone could react, the brown haired man stepped forward, wrapped his arms around the shorter man, and pulled him close into a passionate kiss.  They broke apart, and upon seeing the shocked faces of their various watchers, both started howling with laughter.  

“Oh, you should have seen your faces,” said the taller of the pair in between wheezes.  The other man was clutching his midsection and had tears streaming down his face.  He made some sort of strangled gasping noise and grabbed the edge of a counter for support.  

“We got ‘em!”  He broke down into hysterics again.  “We got you!”  Drake merely rolled his eyes.  

“Everyone, meet Mark,” he nodded towards the brown haired man, “and Oliver,” this was accompanied by a wave to the black haired man, “Danis-Holden, two of my three weapons specialists.”  The two, still trying not to laugh, stood up straighter and nodded as they were introduced.  Noting the still bemused faces of the Scoundrels, Drake sighed.  “So, you guys want to tell them who you are, where you’re from, why you’re with me and what was going on here?”  

“Sure!” replied Mark cheerfully.  “So, I was born on Enlalda, a colony world on the edge of Federal Space.  It’s an agrarian planet, and most people there moved from the center of Federal space because of religious persecution.  Like ninety-ish percent of the population are old school Evangelical Christian conservatives.  I was born and raised on a farm; grew up as a...well, old school Evangelical Christian conservative.  Always liked to tinker with things, got really good at repairing vehicles and the various guns you’ll find all farmers have on colony worlds.  But, I always thought there was more to life than just farming.  I wanted adventure.  I wanted to do something with my life.  So, one day a mercenary starship shows up,” he paused his narrative for a moment and looked queringly at Drake, “wasn’t that the Helidon job?”  Drake rubbed his forehead.

“Oh.  Yeah, it was.  Now that was a weird operation.  But I digress.  Please continue.”

“Yep.  So, as I was saying, the Captain here showed up near where I was.  I heard he was looking for a weapons specialist, and I had some experience in that area, so I decided to offer my services, and you accepted, and I joined the crew.  And that’s where I met this idiot.”  He gestured at Oliver.

“Damn straight.  But before we get into that, I have to tell you my story,” replied Oliver.  “I was born on Tyvander.  Metropolitan planet near the center of Federal space.  I grew up in a middle class family near one of the bigger cities, Menvander.  Like a lot of people, I went to college there: majored in political science, minored in specialized engineering.  Unlike some planets, Tyvander isn't super rich or famous, and there is no specialized educational infrastructure there, so if you want to go to college, you pay for it.  As it turns out, being a political science major does not pay the bills, so when the Apocalypse showed up looking for a weapon’s specialist, which I was qualified for because of my technical skills and engineering expertise.  So I joined up, and my debts and old, boring life didn’t follow.  The University of Menvander is not going to hunt you down if you declare bankruptcy and go galavanting across the galaxy with a group of mercenaries,” he finished.

“I’ll pick it up from here,” said Mark.  “How shall I put this…” he stopped to consider for a moment.  “Oliver was already aboard as a weapons specialist when I got here.  We worked together, got to know each other, and, as it turns out, the phrase ‘opposites attract’ is a very true one.  I always had the feeling that I was, well...gay, but, considering where I grew up, I never told anyone.  Didn’t really bother me.  I was perfectly fine doing what I was doing, and never saw anyone who peaked my interest.  ‘Till I met him, of course.”

“I’ve always been a hardcore liberal, been gay, and known I was gay.  Got here, met him, got married,” said Oliver.

“Wait, how did that work?” interrupted Shepard.  “You guys are all mercenaries who don’t really have legal residence anywhere, so…”

“Ah, yes.  We had a ceremony on the ship.  Was one hell of a party, actually,” replied Drake.  “Legally though…” he pursed his lips in thought.  “We’re all registered as Guild citizens for legal and infiltration purposes, so that might count...but for the most part, no legal or religious ceremony.  Doesn’t really matter though, all things considered,” he said with a shrug.

“Yep.  So now we spend all day repairing and creating weapons while bickering about politics,” interjected Oliver.  “It’s fun, actually.  Still don’t know why you support that outdated philosophy and religion when it doesn’t allow for homosexuality.  Which, you are.”

“Just because one part of a philosophy is wrong, doesn’t mean all parts of it are wrong.  Plus, you’re a hardcore liberal who supports the right to bear arms.  Like, all forms of weapons,” replied Mark.

“Eh, good point.  Goes with the job, I guess.”  They grinned at each other.

“Deviant freaks?

“Deviant freaks!”

“Goddamn right?”

“Goddamn right!”  They gave each other high fives then went back to their work.  Drake sighed.  

“Okay.  Let’s continue.”  They passed through the weapons room and into more of the winding grey hallways.  Drake spoke up as he walked.  “I should have probably told you, but everyone on this ship, myself included, is kind of nuts.  You see, being a mercenary means you kill people for money.  It does not attract the most...uh...stable of individuals.  Stable people stay near where they were born and go to college, or to some other form of school, or join the military.  Stable people do not go running around the galaxy and get into all sorts of weird things with me.”  He turned back to the Scoundrels and suddenly grinned.  “And by that logic, none of you are stable!  Welcome to the club!”  He turned another corner and walked into an enclosed room covered with constricting panels of all sorts of strange dials, knobs, and buttons.  The area was lit by yellow bulbs enclosed in metal cages, and the floor itself was made of metal grating, allowing one to see a series of tunnels underneath it.  The entire room was pervaded by a low, incessant humming noise.  “Now, this is the engine room.  It’s a lot bigger than it looks, but we need all the panels to keep the reactor functional, so it seems rather enclosed.  The engineers should be somewhere around here.”  He sighed again and gave a whistle.  “Oi!  Where are all of you guys?”  Without warning, a grey-jumpsuited woman slid from a small rectangular access hatch beneath one of the larger panels.  

“Right here, sir!  Fixing the 5130’s.”  She had a round, cheerful face framed with wispy brown hair.  She grinned up at the Scoundrels.  “Well, well, well.  Looks like we have visitors, everyone!”

“Pleasure to meet you,” said a muffled, echoey voice that seemed to emanate from the ceiling.  “I would come down to introduce myself, but I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“Visiters?”  A blond haired man poked his head from behind another panel.  “Pleasure to meet you.  Engineer First Class Boweman, at your service.”

“Engineer Baily,” said the woman, who had at this point gone back into the hatch.

“Engineer Khatri,” came the muffled voice.  

“K’rik Vhle’krik,” said someone else.  A large, brown insectoid alien turned the corner.  It looked like a cross between a centipede and a lobster, and stood on six hind legs, with eight more waving in the air in front of it.  Its back was protected by a large brown exoskeleton, and its eyes were mounted on two stalks on its head.  Cain tensed, his hand going to his sword.  Drake noticed the movement, but said nothing of it and instead made introductions.  

“Scoundrels, my engineering crew.  Engineering crew, the Scoundrels.”  He turned and addressed the ceiling.  “Are you busy at the moment?”

“A bit,” the alien replied in an odd, unnaturally exaggerated American accent.  “We’re trying to reroute the cooling systems of the 5130’s.”  

“Well then, I shall leave you to it,” said Drake in response.  “Moving on.”  The group walked through the engine room and through another hallway beyond.  “I would introduce everyone, but the cooling systems are very important in making sure everything goes un-exploded.”  

They passed into a large room covered with science equipment and what looked like the shell of a large bomb sitting in the middle of the room.  A woman with frazzled brown hair, wearing a welder’s face mask and a leather apron and gloves was standing over a strange device, pouring a red liquid into a stainless steel beaker.  She finished what she was doing, flipped up the mask and smiled at the newcomers.  

“Jennifer Muelka.  Ordnance and explosives expert.”  

“The remaining third of my weapons specialists,” interjected Drake.  “Brilliant at all forms of making things go boom.  A little too brilliant sometimes.”  She smiled sheepishly.  

“I do try my best to be careful.”

“So, I’m interested.  Why are you here?” asked Shepard.

“Oh that’s easy,” she replied with a laugh.  “No one else will let me do what I do here.  I create all sorts of nasty things.  Plasma, napalm...nukes, on occasion.”

“You...you, a mercenary, have nukes on this ship?” asked Vir.

“Yes.  No one’s complained, because if I do use them, I use them correctly.  I am very proud to say that the number of innocent civilians we have killed with nuclear weapons remains zero.”  

“That’s...kinda reassuring?” 

“Hey, if you’re hiring me, you get the best of the best,” said Drake.  Leaving Muelka to her work, they moved on.  THey walked through one long, spacious, and brightly-lit hallway before they reached a gleaming set of double doors.  “Now this is the bridge.  It’s located at the center of the ship to prevent anyone from targeting and destroying it.”  The doors slid open, revealing a large, spacious room lined with all sorts of computers.  The area seemed to be further divided into subsections, each with a semi-circular area accompanied with a chair.  Large windows adorned the entire length of the bridge, and upon noticing this, Kirk frowned.  

“You said we were at the center of the ship.  So what are those ‘windows’?”

“Computer screens, showing the space surrounding the ship.  Wouldn’t be a proper bridge if you couldn’t see outside, would it?”

“Fair enough, I guess.”

“Now then.”  Drake rubbed his hands together.  “I would like to introduce you to the two most important people on the ship.  Sarah Ordelphine and Eric Richter.”  He gestured to a lithe woman of medium height with short cut black hair and a man wearing a grey jumpsuit.  He too was of medium height, and his hair was brown, straight and cut short to the scalp.  A large scar ran across his forehead, the relic of some forgotten fight.  They both nodded curtly at the Scoundrels.  “Ordelphine is my chief navigator and pilots the ship, and Richter is my second in command.  So, why did you guys join with me?”

“I was and am the best capital ship pilot in the galaxy.  The Federal Navy and all of the corporations I was with before didn’t recognize that.  You did and still do, Captain,” replied Ordelphine.

“Damn right.  You’d think we were in a fighter, with some of the maneuvers you can do.  And you, Richter?”

“I didn’t have anything to do at the time.  Joined you.  Never had a reason to look back.”

“Fair enough.”  Drake spun around the room with a theatrical gesture.  “And so, the grand tour of the Apocalypse.  Met some new and interesting people.  I hope you enjoyed it.”

Hope you liked it.  The scene with Mark and Oliver might have been a little awkward or weird, but I am firmly of the opinion that most people are trying their best, and you can still like, love, or get along with them if you disagree politically.  If you have any comments, criticisms, questions, or requests, feel free to contact me.  And remember to sit back and enjoy your day!

[slashingdisneypasta]

MultiVillain x Reader || Drabbles

Plot: Okay, so this is how it goes. Reader’s in love with (Villain), and (Villain) is in love with them… but no one ever said it out loud, and now Reader is marrying someone else.

Includes: Napoleon Boneparte (Misc), Human!Oogie Boogie (Disney Villain), Oswald Cobblepot (Gotham), Slenderman (Creepypasta), The Clown (Horror Villains)

Warnings: Alcohol intake, talk and hints towards murder of course, and swearing. 

Notes:

Inspired by ‘Marry Me’ (Either by Thomas Rhett [The guy’s POV which is what this will be in] or Elle Mears [Your POV, if you wanna see how Reader’s thinking]) and I recommend you listen while you read! ^^

I’m so happy!! I finally wrote something more then headcanons for Oogie! And this is also my first time writing for the Clown, so be easy on me XD

I hope you like this- I for one, am actually pretty proud of it! 

~~~

Napoleon Boneparte (You’re having a nighttime wedding- you made this decision of course so your friend and secret soulmate could attend):

She wants to get married, she wants it perfect She wants her grandaddy preaching the service Yeah, she wants magnolias out in the country Not too many people, save her daddy some money

Before walking into the church, I halt a moment at the side so others may get inside by me. This will be hard. I need a moment, just a moment… to pull myself together. It would be very bad, if I were to panic as Y/N makes their way down the aisle.

Hand on the church, more to hold myself together rather then to hold myself up. Am I doing the right thing? Should I be here? Should I leave? That stupid Capone said I might not be able to control myself and will object when the preacher asks… he’s not right, is he? It’s true, I don’t feel entirely under my own control right now…. But I need to be here. To support Y/N on their big day.

… I do love them, far more than any man every should a nearly married person, and even if I can’t have them for myself, I would, happy, do very near anything to make them happy.

So, if… If they want me here, as they said they do… Then I have to go in. I can’t chicken out now. I am the great Napoleon Boneparte. I can attend a wedding. Bon dieu.

Viva La France.

I can do this.

Forward!

As soon as I walk in, it is as if I am strolling into Y/N’s mind. This is just as they always wanted, with a few obvious added things by the other one that’s getting married today, like the chiselled cat head mahogany chairs… not that I think Y/N would disapprove if they weren’t, in fact, kind enough to just agree right away, seeing as it isn’t only their day.

The white makes a beautiful backdrop for their chosen accent colour, and the people in the room are exactly who I would imagine to accompany Y/N in her daily life, when I cannot be there. There’s not a sour, or in any way unexcited and unencouraging expression in the place.

Honestly, with my whole heart, wish I could feel the same as them.

Then Y/N comes into the room, and steals the breath right out of my chest. Like always.

Human!Oogie Boogie:

Ooh, she got it all planned out Yeah, I can see it all right now

I'll wear my black suit, black tie, hide out in the back I'll do a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask

Christ, what kinda shindig is this?? I’ve asked everyone and their cat, including somebodies’ mother who looks like a cat, to play a tiny game of Blackjack with me while we wait for the main event, but nothing! Nada! What’s wrong with these people? Are they dying to just sit around and contemplate their loneliness until the two hosts get hitched??

I, for one, am not playing that game today.

Of course, I’m also avoiding Y/N at all costs so maybe I’m not the best example of a man controlling his emotions.

“Oogie!”

My shoulders seize up visibly, at Y/N’s voice behind me and I stop shuffling my cards. I only decide to turn around and face them like a man, when they give up waiting and round me so I can see their beaming face.

Oh, they look so happy.

That’s nice… in a terrible, heartbreaking, awful kind of way.

“Heya, Y/N. You look great!” I start shuffling the cards again in my hand, distracting my hands from and refraining myself from, taking their hand and kissing it, or pulling them into a hug. If I did that, I think theirs an acute possibility I would end up saying something we would both regret, in a moment of determination… and devastation, of course. Can’t forget that.

Really, I can’t. It’s a very prominent feeling right now in my chest, just being here. Just knowing this is happening.

“Thank you!” They beam wider, and oh Jesus. They’re so beautiful when they look happy- I wish I could make them this happy.

… But that’s all the other guy. The one they’re hitching.

They run their bottom lip through their teeth, looking down at the cards in my hands and then smirking in that mischievous way that always somehow makes this blackheart’s insides clench up. In a good way, but still. Tilting their head, they look back up at my face. “Had no luck getting anyone to bet with you yet?”

I let out a deep, theatrical sigh full of frustration. “No! Your guests all suck, Y/N.”

“Even you?”

“No, not me. I’m the King.”

“Right,” They laugh, then goes and sits down at a nearby table. “Well we have 10 minutes until I have to go get ready to walk- I’ll play you if you want!”

My heart pops like a balloon, and goes flying, wheezing around in my rib cage as I just smile at them for a good moment- unmarried, and free, and mine. For ten to fifteen more minutes. Hell yeah, I’m going to sit down and play with them.

Why aren’t I telling them not to? I wonder, as I deal us both cards and they pick theirs up and make cheeky ‘Hmmm’ sounds to throw me off. Why don’t I tell them, right now, how I feel? Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I here, is also a valid question but I already beat myself up over that last night when I was picking out my tie. I’m her friend, and they deserve to be… yuck. Happy, with the person they chose.

And I guess, that’s the answer to all my other questions too.

Let me just enjoy this last game, this last 600 seconds with them.

Oswald Cobblepot:

I remember the night when I almost kissed her Yeah, I kinda freaked out, we'd been friends for forever And I always wondered if she felt the same way When I got the invite, I knew it was too late

And I know her daddy's been dreading this day Oh, but he don't know he ain't the only one giving her away

As soon as Y/N leaves my side to go and freshen up for the aisle walk, I find myself a seat in the very back of the church / auditorium and rest in for the event. I will not be moving from this hidden away spot, in convenient shadow, with my secret flask of terrible smelling stuff that Victor gave me before arriving, until this shitshow is over and I can leave.

I’m only here in the first place, because Y/N asked me. And, evidently, my idiocy runs deep because I accepted such an invitation. I will do anything, for them. I learnt my lesson in dealing in peoples love lives, with Edward and Isobel- I will not let my relationship with Y/N go as badly as that one did, with Ed.

So if I must sit here and watch them marry that moron, (Fiancé’s Name), then that is what I’ll do. But I won’t sit in the front and watch it, and I will be as drunk as whatever this drink can make me.

Maybe I should text Victor, the deadly assassin, and ask what the contaminants are…

An unevolved, ap-like woman walks past my seat and I must be too close to the aisle because I can hear her yap like a strangled cat about what a cute couple Y/N and (Fiancé’s Name) are together and how they must be soulmates, and I don’t think twice before gulping down a huge mouthful of the alcohol. If this is how I die, then so be it, I think bitterly as I slide further down the aisle.

“Fuck!” The word comes out of me before I can stop it, my face probably the picture of horror and disgust. This… drink, if I can even call it that -more of an undiluted acid, if you ask me, - tastes like regret and earwax.

The same ape-like woman from before flashes a stern, disapproving look at me like she thinks she’s my mother, and I show her my middle finger. Uncouth, yes, but affective. This is a bad day, and I am in no mood to deal with bitches like her. She quickly looks away, and I take another, smaller, sip of the drink.

Another moment passes and the wedding doesn’t seem to be even a second closer to ending, so I sit up straight and close my eyes, holding the flask in my lap. Take me back to a better time…

In the silent, middle-of-the-conversation lapse moment, I allow myself to look down at Y/N’s mouth. They have a soft smile, left over from whatever we were just talking about, on their face as they sit comfortably in our silence and I suddenly feel total confidence. They’re here, with me, instead of off with that boy toy / girl toy / gender neutral or fluid toy. They’re with me. That must mean that I mean something to them, right? And Ed said they looked at me like… like, they love me. Or ‘care deeply’, as he put it. But we all know that was just his stiff version of the word ‘love’. Ever since Isobel… had her unfortunate accident… he’s been focused on one emotion only and it is not, love.

Anyway, the confidence spreads through me and I smile. It mixes with my perpetual desire to kiss them, and goddamnit, I should do it. I should just lean over and press a gentle kiss on their mouth- if they aren’t interested or pull away, I can blame it on the wine between us. If not…

Butterflies erupt in my stomach and my chest, and I’ve just lean an inch forward… when their phone rings on the table and I see (Boyfriends Name) flash on the screen.

I rush to lean completely back in my chair, as they answer. I don’t like to believe fate has anything to do with Gotham, but… that was entirely too close.

My eyes snap open and I roll my shoulders back, inhaling another, bigger slug of the contents of the flask and feel even angrier.

That was, most certainly not a better time, you nitwit.

Slenderman:

Bet she got on her dress now, welcoming the guests now

I could try to find her, get it off of my chest now But I ain't gonna mess it up, so I'll wish her the best now

I’ve been sitting in the back of this church, a place I likely shouldn’t ever enter in the first place -Well, at least I’m not Offender. I would probably burn to death, in that scenario, - for over 2 hours and I only got to see Y/N for 45 and a half minutes of that time.

Not that that really matters. Its more important that they see me. I certainly don’t want to see them. I don’t wish to see them, or their wedding clothes, or their wedding guests, or the stupid moony smiles on their faces, or the cake, or their partner. Definitely not their partner. If they show their face before they absolutely have to, or worse, talk to me, I will promptly go home and kill 30 people. I don’t want to be here.

I shouldn’t be here, in fact. If I were a good man, I wouldn’t be here. A good man would never turn up to a wedding that he know’s he’s just going to sit back in and think unholy, too-fond and too-angry thoughts about one of the marriage participants. Marriage is supposedly a sacred thing, and if I were this good man that I’m thinking about, I wouldn’t urinate on it like this.

But I am not a good man.

So, really, what would I know about what a good man, would do in the first place?

Enough thinking about good men, it’s making me queasy and very uncomfortable.

I don’t look around, but I can infer with general certainty, that Y/N will be welcoming all her other guests now that I ‘allowed’ -Not that I could have stopped them. They just didn’t want to leave me in my own company,- them to let me be alone here. And they’re in their wedding clothes, which look lovely on them, and their smiling and their giddy.

Giddy. Ugh, I hate that word, especially in this sense. Defined by the Cambridge English Dictionary as ‘feeling silly, happy, and excited and showing this in your behaviour’. And by the Oxford, to ‘Make (Someone) feel excited to the point of disorientation.’. Yes, I looked up these definitions and memorised them before I came, and loathe every single word, in that order.

Because apparently, as if it wasn’t already obvious by the very fact that I’m HERE, I hate myself.

This other person has made Y/N giddy, while I have to sit here and pretend, I’m happy for them both and that I don’t feel like vomiting for the first time in 5 centuries.

But I can’t do anything about it, because I love them, Y/N, and I will… I will not, allow myself to be the reason their wedding wasn’t perfect. So, I wish them the best.

Or I try my damn hardest to.

The Clown / Jeffry Hawk / Kenneth Chase:

So I'm in my black suit, black tie, hiding out in the back Doing a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask I'll try to make it through without crying so nobody sees Yeah, she wanna get married Yeah, she gonna get married But she ain't gonna marry me

I don’t know if I’d call this a real wedding. For one, its in the entities realm so how ‘magical’ could it really be? And for another reason, the only white thing here is my grease paint. Its pretty laughable. I would laugh, in fact, if I didn’t know it would cause a coughing fit and bring attention to me as Y/N walks down the aisle- O don’t need them looking at me. I might accidentally blurt out an ‘oopsie’ or something not-at-all funny like that, with all the whiskey I’ve injected today. Not that that would be the biggest issue with these kids seeing that I’m here, in the first place. Only Y/N knows, I’m hiding by a tree.  

But, I digress I guess. They’re calling it a wedding. The big one with the beard is officiating -I guess he has an online certificate from before he was brought here,- , Y/N’s wearing a pit of plastic bag on their head like a make shift veil / bit of plastic bag fashioned sort of like a tie, and all the lovely little fingers, or survivors as they like to call themselves, watch. With silly gleaming smiles and hope in their eyes- Pft, suckers.

Honestly the idea of weddings in the first place make me a bit uncomfortable. All those wide eyes watching and perving on your happiness?? Seems pretty creepy to me, and I’ve been told I’m pretty creepy myself! So, I would know!

The fact that possibly the sweetest, perfect person I’ve ever had the pleasure of setting my gaze upon is the one getting married, has absolutely no stake on my take on weddings in this moment.

Absolutely not…

Aha… hahahaha…

I kill myself.

I kill them, too, but let’s put that on the backburner like their fingers, for now.

Let me wallow in self-pity for a while longer before we start making jokes.

Yeah, let me… I take a swig of my flask -a bee-oootiful concoction of all the most toxic hootch I have in my collection, and maybe also some actual poison maybe since I wasn’t paying much attention when I created it this morning and I keep it all in relatively the same place, - and savour the horrible flavour on my tongue. Let me wallow, for a little bit.

This is going to be a bad day, for these little fuckers when I get into the game.

[the-last-cuddlebender]

🌹🌹🌹

Okay, I know the rules of the 🌹 request is to give just a snipet of a WIP, but I’ve come to realize I don’t like cutting up parts of a fic. So you get a whole scene, congrats!

This is from one of the chapters of “But You Called Me Here”. It’s an ATLA/TLOK crossover that should have it’s first chapter posted pretty soon if everything goes according to plan.

This scene is verrrry rough and unpolished because it’s still in progress, but here ya go!

“Let...me...go!”

The other airbender tugged harder on Aang’s wrists, but Aang refused to let up his grip on the jaws of the metal dragon. It was cold under his hands and as smooth as a general’s plate-armor, decorated just as lavishly. It growled like a beast hiding in tall grass, its snarl shaking him to the bone. Puffs of smoke billowed out of its wrong end and polluted his lungs with ash and something else unnatural. 

“Tenzin, you’ll get nowhere like that. Don’t you remember when mom—I mean, don’t you remember the vaccination fiasco?”

Tenzin growled his frustrations and turned to the nonbender. Aang, not one to pass up an opportunity, readjusted his grip and pushed against the older monk who was now digging his heels into the ground and pressing them back to back. Aang almost growled, himself. He didn’t have enough room to blast his way out with a gust of airbending, and when he inhaled to blow the stranger off, Tenzin elbowed him in the side —again—and rendered his attempt mute. 

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to have the Avatar State right then. 

“If you have any bright ideas, Bumi, please, feel free.”

Bumi scoffed. “‘Do I have any bright ideas’ he says—Of course, I do! You gotta put your back into it!”

Blinking another bead of sweat out of his eye, Aang peeked over his shoulder. The nonbender charged like a boulder on a mission; Tenzin scooted to the side, giving Bumi just enough room to ram his shoulder into Aang’s back. 

Aang wheezed and bowed further into the metal dragon. His arms shook, but he couldn’t tell if it was from fear or strain at this point. The leather-lined tongue of the beast looked too much like a welcoming seat, but Aang had been to the Spirit World enough times to never trust what wasn’t natural. 

“Oh for the love of—” the older waterbender’s voice was as hard as ice and just as cold, “—Just get in the damn car!”

Her weight added to the human battering ram, and Aang cursed his arms slowly giving in. 

“I am not—I’m not...going!”

There was a brooding sigh and smacked forehead, not for the first time that day, somewhere to Aang’s right—the firebender. “This is ridiculous. We’re wasting time. Chief, can’t you talk some sense into him? 

“Yeah. He always sounded like a reasonable Avatar to me.”

The chief snorted. “‘Reasonable Avatar’ is an oxymoron. And, in my experience, young, stubborn Avatars would sooner argue that the sky is green just because I said it was blue.”

“Hey!”

“Full offense, by the way.”

Aang took as much offense as the younger airbender who was dressed like a waterbender. “I am reasonable! You haven’t explained any—Stop that!”

They pressed harder, and Aang clung to the sides of the metal dragon not too unlike Momo clung to the edges of the tub when he refused to bathe. If only Aang had his other elements. Airbending was great at evading and escaping, but a downed airbender was a dead airbender.

And, apparently, very easy to hold down and shove into a metal dragon that smelled like Fire Nation war machines.

The three stupids pulled back, just a bit, to deliver the finishing blow. 

That inch of free space was all Aang needed. He squirmed free, strained the limits of his acrobatics to escape their grabbing hands, and flipped onto the roof of the evil spirit. His heart pounded, and his laugh felt well-deserved as the three crazies flushed crimson and spat words unbefitting a temple.

Aang didn’t get far. He had been the last airbender for so long that he never expected the gust that circled his ankles and flung them backwards, sending him tumbling down the metal dragon’s front. 

The girl airbender with a bun grinned and waved her fingers at his mass of robes and tangled limbs. Betrayal like Aang hadn’t felt since Sokka stole Momo for a week froze him in place. He wanted to laugh and tell her off all at once. She executed the air-bolo flawlessly.

Even Gyatso would have been proud.

“Alright, that’s it!”

A hand like iron yanked him to his feet and carried him like a ragdoll to the metal dragon’s maw. 

The woman with green eyes sat in the front of the beast. She rolled her eyes and did something that made the metal dragon snarl. 

Aang yelped, trembling, and latched his arms and legs around the angry airbender dressed as a waterbender. “Oh, nononononono. No. Not-uh. Nope. No way— ”

His new opponent tugged and yanked him, digging in her nails, but Aang clung all the tighter even as she danced around and growled as loud as the metal dragon. 

“Get off me, you moron! We have to go!”

“Karen, there is no way in heaven, hell, or the Spirit World I am getting in that thing! You can’t make me!”

“It’s Korra!”

“I don’t care!”

The earthbender approached with his arms up in mock surrender. Aang spared him half a glance before Korra grabbed and spun them again. 

“Hey, um, Mister Avatar Aang, sir? Could you pretty please get in the Satomobile? It won’t hurt you, I promise!” 

Aang escaped Korra’s headlock and ducked around to cling to her back. Korra thrashed and turned as red as heated metal, and she gladly rammed him against the beast’s iron hide. She savored his wheeze with a teasing laugh, and Aang hugged around her neck and seriously considered pulling her hair.

The earthbender took a step back. His voice squeaked like a frightened lemur. “Um...Maybe don’t hug Korra like a purple pentapus?...Please?” 

“Purple pentapus?” The older waterbender grinned something evil. “Bolin, you are a genius.”

“I am?”

Bumi eyed her as she strode to the tussling duo. Aang looked up and, for some reason that he couldn’t explain, shrunk back a bit when he met her sharp smirk and scheming eyes. 

Some unseen force compelled him to sit straight and speak clearly when he talked. 

“Um…I...I, um…You’re Kya, right?” 

“Yes. And you are getting in that Satomobile.”

Tenzin sighed and bent his head in prayer. “Kya, please, whatever you do, just don’t hurt him.”

“Hurt him? Perish the thought Tenzin, brother, dear. I would never put a bratty teenage airbender in his place.” 

Tenzin sighed again but with more feeling. 

Kya tickled Aang’s side before he could stop her. He let go, immobilized by peels of uncontrollable laughter, like he really was a purple pentapus. He weakly smacked her hands, trying to catch his breath and control of himself, growing ever more frantic as Korra and Bumi closed in on him. 

They each grabbed one of his arms and threw him—gently—into the metal dragon.

Outside, Jinora felt a pang of pity for her grandfather when the dull click of the safety lock made him scramble like it was a weapon that had been loaded.

“Do you think he’ll try to break the glass?” 

“Hardly. He would have fought with his bending if he knew he was in any real danger.” Lin crossed her arms. “Besides, knowing Asami, she probably reinforces everything on her personal vehicles.”

Bolin nodded. “True, true, true, she is the paranoid one. Besides, he just has his airbending, right? He can’t do much of anything— ”

Mako cleared his throat and gave his brother a meaningful look. 

“What? You know it—Oh…”

Korra held herself a little tighter. She tried to hide how much she shrunk into herself, but Jinora was at her side in an instant, hugging her anyways.

Silence overtook them. They all itched to hug her, too. Jinora held tight enough for all of them.  

Aang fumbled against the glass and searched for a door handle that he didn’t know was there. The wind kicked up inside the van, swirling to life with his panic. Asami glared out the windshield. Her jaw set into a stony scowl that they only saw in glimpses since her hair was blowing like she was standing in the midst of a hurricane.

Korra twirled her wrist. Hot embers caught in her throat when not even a small gust answered her. The wind danced over her palm before jerking away, like it was repulsed, and fleeing away from her. 

Her hand fell into a loose fist. She held Jinora with one arm just as tightly as she did her waist. 

Korra tried to stop herself from seeking the warmth of an inner fire that was no longer there. 

She mumbled to herself, her voice soft and laced with something vulnerable.

“...Yeah. Can’t do much of anything.”

[haro-whumps]

Box Boy Televised

(CW: brainwashing, dehumanization, creepy + intimate whumper, implied dubcon, fade-to-black dubcon, slavery, possessive behaviors)

Tag list: @thatsthewhump @whump-it @ashintheairlikesnow @fairybean101 @finder-of-rings @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @that-one-thespian @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @raigash @im-not-rare-im-rarr @spiffythespook @whumps-the-word @frnkieroismydaddy @whumpity--whump--whump @michelleswhumpyreblogs @jo-castle @newandfiguringitout @lumpofwhump

Masterlist

Not feeling like doing their regular song and dance, Ren continued, “And not a sir, either, I’m non-binary, I use they/them pronouns.” It was funny, usually, to see people flounder and squirm as they tried to correct themselves, so well mannered and well intentioned, and it was always fun to be able to say “third time’s the charm” with a darling smile that put them on everyone’s good side, but Ren had been drugged, robbed, and had to deal with the police’s bumbling, moronic efforts over the course of a single morning, and they weren’t up to it at the moment. 

“My bad! Roll it back, let’s try this again,” the newscaster said, gesturing to her companion, and then she approached them again, striding confidently, saying, “Excuse me, excuse me! As the owner of the stolen pet in question, can you tell us what happened?”

Ren did not smirk, keeping their face (beautifully) haggard and artfully dishevelled. “I was assaulted and drugged in the middle of the night by these home invaders,” Ren started, gesturing at the flashing lights of the police cars. “When I came to, they had stolen my pet,” they jerked a hand at Soren, who was trembling up against their chest. “Fortunately, I have surveillance cameras throughout my home, and quite naturally handed over all the information I could to the police.”

They had, of course, recognized their old “friends” the moment they’d looked at the footage. Just like they’d known, just as fast, that the idiot brigade had brought Soren back to this old shithole. Tyler never shut up about how cool his uncle’s nutcase bunker was, all throughout school, why would they ever assume he’d changed his tune? Idiots. Though, they did have to admit, they were hurt to see Lydia as part of the group. Just the other day, the two had been texting about a recent movie they’d both seen, laughing and debating the overarching themes. To see that she would now do this… Ren was furious.

“I can only assume my home and pet were the thieves’ targets due to a recent ad campaign, with my box boy on the front cover. Why else would this have happened? I admit, I had been supportive of pet rescue groups before; obviously not everyone treats their pets well and there should be humane laws enacted and enforced, but mine? Really? The actual literal poster boy for a pampered and well taken care of pet?”

Ren scoffed and the newscaster nodded along, prompting them forward, clearly excited to be getting this. Ren knew their old friends weren’t activists, but any other owner would assume as much, and this would be a nice little warning to any actual liberation groups. Hands off their property. “It’s shaken my faith in them entirely. I mean really, what did they even think they were liberating my pet from? I’m certainly no threat to him!” 

“Th-they,” Soren started, startling the newscaster for only the briefest moment before she extended her microphone to him, smiling at him like she might smile at a child. “The um, thieves, they, hurt me,” Soren said, revealing yet another injury, one Ren hadn’t seen thanks to his beautiful hair. He pulled back the golden curtain and they got to see a circle of red, blood sticking some of the hair to Soren’s poor temple, and another surge of anger flared. “M-my owner has, never hurt me, a-and, they, did.”

Ren needed to reward Soren. So brave, so useful.

“Oh, angel,” Ren murmured, petting along the underside of the wound, while the newscaster turned to the camera, microphone to her own chin, and made some sort of quip. “Don’t worry, angel, I’m here, we’re heading home soon.” 

“Thank you, thank you Exalted,” Soren murmured, leaning into them, trembling and needy and in all aspects, just like Ren liked him, except he’d been taken from them and injured by filthy, disgusting hands that were not Ren’s. Nevermind that Ren had once felt fondly towards almost all of those people, nevermind that Ren had considered them to be theirs much the same as they had once considered Soren. Soren was different now. Soren was brainwashed and needy and perfect. And he took priority over those traitors.

Ren dealt with the police. Ren dealt with the flashing lights and stupid, idiotic paperwork that they could have just sent to their lawyer. Ren finally, finally got Soren into their car, tutting at him and helping him buckle when his shaking hands struggled with the unfamiliar clasp. Unfamiliar, because as far as he was concerned, he’d never actually been in a car, before. Because he was fumbling, new, foalish, and reliant on Ren. The reminder of how much he needed them pacified them, a bit. Enough. 

When they left the stupid little woodland area Tyler’s family kept so dogmatically “natural,” they glanced in their rear view mirror and saw a particularly delicious sight.

Soren’s mother hadn’t gotten a different pickup truck since fucking high school. It was a very, very beat up old junker, rattling and wheezing and jerking with every mile, the AC broken and radio stuck on a single station. Fuckoff ugly brown. She’d separated from her husband back in Ren’s youth, though if the two had gotten back together, Ren didn’t know. He was there with her now, though, getting out of her car as she stood, driver’s side open, worried lip between her teeth as she stared into the wooded area, at the procession of police cars leaving, Ren’s own car gone unnoticed in the exeunt.

She would never see her son again, outside of advertisements and news reports. Neither would Soren’s father. He was Ren’s now, and the whole world had better just get used to that. Soren had already accepted it, Ren thought, lifting their hand to stroke his golden hair at a red light. Soren knew his place, now. Soren accepted that he was owned, like he had always deserved to be. 

Once inside, Ren took Soren directly to their bedroom, Soren limping on his scabbed heels but eagerly keeping up. They tore off his ruined nightgown--it would never serve as anything other than a reminder of last night--and pushed him down onto the bed.

“You never wanted to go with them,” Ren said,taking off their own sweater.

“I-I didn’t!” Soren insisted, looking nervous again. Good.

“You wanted to come back here, you wanted me to find you and bring you home.”

“More than anything! Yes, Exalted, more than anything else! I never wanted to be stolen!”

Ren shoved him down into the mattress, hard. “Prove it,” Ren ordered, and kissed him rough. Soren kissed back, desperate, shivering, scared and probably tired and still so, so eager, so needy, just like Ren had ordered, just like Soren was meant to be.

“You’re mine,” Ren hissed as they flipped the two of them, pulling Soren into their lap.

“Yours!”

“You belong to me,” Ren stated, handing Soren the lube.

“I do! I don’t belong to anyone else.”

“You think only of me, you want only for me, you desire nothing and no one but me.”

“Yes, Exalted, yes, you’re right, I do, I only want you, I was so scared, I wanted to be here, please, my Exalted, my god, I love you, I want to worship only you, please!”

“Good boy,” Ren murmured, petting at his soft skin. “Take your comfort in me, pet. Take comfort in my body.”

Soren rode them, just like a sweet, darling whore, noisy and whimpering and trembling with fear and relief and need and want all the while. He really did show how much he needed them, how much he wanted to please Ren at the exclusion of all else.

After, they cradled him in their arms, just like he deserved. He’d earned it. “Oh darling, you’ve had such a hard night, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Soren whispered,  nuzzling in closer to their chest. They pet his head and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“It’s all alright now,” Ren murmured. “It’s all alright; you’re here again, you’re safe now.”

“Exalted?” Soren asked, voice gone high and pleading. Ren arched their eyebrows. “May I sleep here, in your room?”

“For tonight, pet,” Ren allowed. Soren looked distressed. “Darling, angel, sweetheart, you can’t sleep in my bed every night. I don’t sleep well with other people in the room. Staying in here is a treat, or a special comfort: only for rare occasions.” 

Soren nodded, looking miserable, and Ren smiled at their pet. “Darling, I cannot stand to see you so,” they murmured, face appropriately sympathetic when Soren’s gaze jerked up to their face. “How about this? I’ll get online today and order some nice cuffs, and at night I’ll chain you to your bed?” They were brilliant, that was a great idea. And Soren would see it like the gift it was, not as Ren being even more possessive than they already were. Haha!

“Oh, yes, yes Exalted, please!” Soren gasped, pressing up into them.

“I’ll get it fingerprinted so that the locks can’t be picked like your stupid door’s.” Though in truth, they’d spent part of the morning considering changing that door out for one that opened to thumprinting. And the balcony doors. “Oh, but, if you need to use the bathroom in the middle of the night…” they realized aloud, less pleased.

“I’ll hold it, I can hold it, I don’t use the bathroom at night anyway, Exalted, please, please chain me to the bed!”

Ren snorted and caressed his face. “Eager pet. Very well, if it will help soothe your delicate nerves.” Ren kissed him. “We could key it to your thumbprints, too. No one trying to steal you would ever guess I’d let you unlock your own cuffs, and you’d never tell them.” Ren gripped him tightly by the hair. “Right, angel?”

“Never,” Soren rushed, “never, never, never Exalted, I don’t want to be taken again!”

“That’s right,” Ren murmured, stroking their fingers through that hair and kissing him again, all soft and easy. “That’s my precious boy.” Ren hummed, thinking. “We’ll get silk lining for the cuffs, to protect your skin. Lengthy chain so you can still shift in your sleep and your arms won’t be above your head. Nothing bulky enough to bruise you if you accidentally roll on top of it.”

“Th-thank you, Exalted, you always take such good care of me.”

Ren kissed his forehead. “That’s right; I do. Now go ahead and rest, sweetheart, you’ve earned the day off.”

And they had the pleasure of watching Soren sink into the soft mattress of Ren’s bed, cushy duvet pulled up over him, sweet and soft and freshly fucked, and fall asleep. They stroked his hair idly, then pulled out their laptop, ordering the custom chains and a new home-security system. 

And would you look at that. They were on the news.

Next

[fairiesherefairiesthere]

Fraxus Anastasia au 1

I don’t think you need to have seen the movie, but I wanted to write it :)

Part one of the fic under the cut

The clothes are itchy and as a 13 years old Laxus reaches for the collar, his hand is slapped away by his very disgruntled looking chambermaid. The girl huffs and he apologetically removes his hand, allowing her to fuss over him. "Are you nervous?" Evergreen asks, mercifully avoiding his eyes as she forces him on a chair so she can reach his hair. He could attempt to lie, but the younger girl has a knack for seeing right through him, so he foregoes that.

"Yes", he admits reluctantly. His estranged grandfather's castle is immense and the walls hold no familiarity to him. Not once has his grandfather attempted to contact him and then, all of a sudden, he banished Laxus' father. He has no idea what goes through the old man's head and although he would never say  it out loud, the uncertainty unnerves him.

"All these people are gathered here today to see the new heir to the throne and the reason why the old one disappeared is unknown. People will talk."

"They always will." As his grandfather appears in the doorway, Evergreen hurries to bow before the man. He acknowledges her with a polite gesture, but also tells her to leave for he would like to talk to his grandson. Evergreen gives Laxus a thumbs-up before she goes and he nods in return.

"She's a spunky thing I've heard. Bossy, but good company." Ignoring the piss-poor attempt at small talk, Laxus decides to get to the heart of the matter. "Why am I here? Where is my father?" Sighing, his grandfather's face turns somber. "My son is an awful man", he plainly states and immediately, Laxus jumps to defend his father. "He's not!" he yells. His father is strict, true, but that's because he loves Laxus as well as the common folk. He's harsh because it's needed.

"You may not understand it yet." His grandfather looks at him with an expression that can only be pity and Laxus feels the disdain crawling underneath his skin. With a pat on the head that Laxus tries to dodge, his grandfather bids him farewell. "I'll see you in a half hour. Tonight is not about Ivan, it's about you. Try to have fun, won't you?"

Laxus is decidedly not having fun. He has two friends in total and neither of them are present at the ball. Evergreen is not allowed to come to occassions like these and Bickslow's skills as a jester in training apparently aren't needed today. Skirting around people is harder than expected, but Laxus manages to reach the buffet tables.

While he's wondering whether anybody would notice it if he hid underneath the table, someone tugs on his sleeve. "Excuse me", a greenhaired child says and points at a pile of creampuffs on a stand. "Can you give me one? I can't reach them", he explains, sounding terribly bored. Since he has nothing better to do, Laxus fulfills the request.

Munching on his creampuff, the kid stares at Laxus with an unsettling amount of concentration. "Would you like to dance? I like dancing, but if I asked anyone else, I reckon I'd be swung through the room like a broomstick. I'm not tall enough to keep up with any adults and the other parents were sensible enough to leave their children at home."

The dry tone of his voice forces a snort out of Laxus. "I'm not good at this", he warns and the child shrugs. "Practice makes perfect."

It can't even be called practice, because Laxus hasn't received a single lesson in ballroom dancing in his whole life and the other child seems to have grown up doing nothing but. They unanimously agree to settle on a bench, their feet a sensible distance away from each other (Laxus truly does feel sorry for the kid) and a platter of snacks between them. Conversation comes more natural to Laxus, although it's a very stilted one on his side. It's a blessing that the other kid is a goood listener and doesn't seem to mind Laxus' awkwardness.

Just as his nerves are getting settled, his grandfather appears before them and Laxus feels like crawling in a ditch again. His grandfather coughs, hinting for the other kid to leave. He doesn't. Instead he blinks slowly at the tsar before offering him a cup of water, which his grandfather takes after a short pause where the man clearly doesn't know how to react.

A berating outcry of "Frederick!" is heard before a lady yanks the boy from the bench, apologising profusely and attempts to force her kid to do the same thing. "I don't acknowledge that name. If you absolutely must, you may refer to me as 'the infant formerly known as Frederick', though I'd prefer it if you called me 'Freed'. Frederick Justine sounds terrible, while Freed Justine has a nicer ring to it. It's like a tongue in cheek reference to the things our family values: freedom and justice."

"Why don't you go all the way and demand to be called Freedom?" Laxus asks before he can stop himself and Frederick? Freed? rolls his eyes. "Because it sounds fucking stupid", he scoffs, tone strongly implying that he thinks Laxus is a moron.

Before he can retort with some snappy answer (not that he has one ready, but it's the thought that counts), Freed's mom has dragged him away and he can hear every berating word the woman utters as she physically removes him from the ballroom. There goes Laxus' only form of entertainment.

"That was something", his grandfather bemuses and Laxus gives him a questioning gaze. "Aren't you mad? He seriously disrespected you there." His grandfather snorts. "He's ten at most, of course I'm not going to berate a kid for being a kid. In fact, I think it should be more encouraged in the upper circles of society."

That doesn't sound like something the grandfather his father used to talk about would say and it momentarily throws Laxus for a loop. His grandfather seems to take note of his confusion, but he chooses to put it aside for the moment and Laxus is grateful for that.

"Here", his grandfather says and hands him a pocket watch. Their family symbol graces its front lid and when he turns it around he can see the third rule of departing (though our paths may have diverged, you must continue to live out your life with all your might, you must never consider your own life to be something insignificant, and you must never forget about your friends for as long as you live) written on it.

"This was a wedding gift made for your mother", his grandfather explains and plucks a necklace with a tiny, little key out of his pocket. He inserts the tiny object in the watch and the clock piece jumps open to reveal the rotating image of a young, blonde woman in a field of flowers. As the itty bitty figure slowly spins, a melody can be heard and Laxus can't help but gasp as he recognises the lullaby his mother used to sing.

"You can have it." With shaking hands, Laxus takes the objects from his grandfather and puts the watch in his pocket and hangs the key around his neck. "Thanks", he mutters, not looking at his grandfather. He's still not sure how he feels about the whole situation, but he does feel lighter now.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees a flash of green and when he turns to properly look, he recognises that it's Freed reentering the ballroom. The boy makes a beeline for Laxus and his grandfather, mouth set in a thin line.

"You two have to get out of here", the boy states as soon as he's within earshot. "Excuse me?" his grandfather asks and Freed's eyes keep darting back to the door he just came through. "Your son, he's no good, right? Otherwise you wouldn't have pubicly thrown him out. He's coming this way and he isn't alone."

Right as Freed finishes that sentence, someone screams from in the hall and many more voices soon follow. Laxus thinks he can smell fire, but before he can linger on that thought his grandfather grabs both Freed and him by the arm, dragging them away from the erupting chaos.

"This way!" he hears someone somewhat discreetly yell and he's yanked into a different direction. First Laxus struggles against the stranger until said stranger yells at him to calm down. It's Bickslow he realises as the other boy leads the three of them through the servants' passages. With a rather harsh shove, Bickslow guides them through a door that has no business being as small as it is.

"I'll see you all later!" he cheerfully says and waves as he turns around. "Wait! What are you doing? You can't go back there." Distressed, he watches as Bickslow winks at him and reveals the matchbox in his hand. "I'm going to hold them up for a little bit, I'll be fine. Evergreen will take good care of you!" And with that he's gone.

He has no time to ponder about Bickslow's fate, because for the second time this evening Evergreen is fussing over him. Only this time it's a quick change of clothes and a wig gets slapped on his head. His grandfather takes care of his own disguise and Freed stands there and watches. "Sorry", Evergreen apologises to him, "You're not written down in the protocol for emergency situations."

"It's alright, I'm not the one they're after. I'll hold down the ford with you." It's a task that he and Evergreen immediately have to take care of, as shouting soldiers try to kick down the door. His grandfather leads him away and the last thing Laxus hears before exiting the palace, is the sound of something metallic falling unto the ground.

They run for what feels like hours to Laxus. He's always been a sickly kid and right now, he's at his limit. With a wheeze that seems to come from deep within his lungs, he slams unto the concrete streetfloor, dizzy and dazed out of his mind. Logically, he knows that he isn't breathing right but physically, he can't do a single thing about it. All he can do is gasp pathetically like a fish on dry land.

"If it isn't the tsar and the mighty heir to the throne!" His father's tone is vicious and Laxus forces himself back on his feet. He can't look pitiful in front of his father, he knows he can do better than that even though his lungs burn like a furnace. "Ivan", his grandfather growls in response and it's nothing like the gentle tone he used all evening. His grandfather sounds like he would like to throttle his son with his own two hands and Laxus can't begin to fathom what the outcome of a fight between these personalities would be.

His father comes closer and the way he does it reminds Laxus of all the times he's been hit or yelled at. The man looms over him, stalks to him slowly with a grin on his face and a glint in his eyes. It has him whimpering rather pathetically and the sound eases the tension off his grandfather's face. "Come here kiddo", he whispers and extends his arms to Laxus.

He hesitates. Technically, he doesn't know this man. But then he catches sight of the expression on his father's face and it's a no-brainer. He nearly jumps into his grandfather's arms and the man catches him quite easily for an old man. They take off running at a surprisingly high speed and through zigzagging throughout the streets of the city, they eventually lose track of Ivan.

As the sound of the clock resounds through the air, his grandfather curses. "Dammit, five more minutes until the train leaves. Laxus, can you run again? If I have to carry you there, we won't make it." Dutifully, Laxus nods. Although he's unsure of his actual capacity to run that long, he knows that saying 'no' to an adult is not a thing one should do if they value their safety.

So they run and with the help of the strangers already on it, Laxus' grandfather gets lifted on the train. Laxus himself tries to get on too, but he's too slow and the train's already departing. Their fingertips graze each other, but the light touch is not enough to hold on to. He stumbles over a protruding piece of wood and smacks his head unto the iron railway. The last things he registers is his grandfather being restrained by the people who helped him on the train, screaming Laxus' name.

[spideyy-girl]

Bulletproof ~ Steve Harrington

Summary: Y/N, a super individual like Eleven, and Steve are captured and interrogated by the Russian soldiers who are working under Starcourt mall and have to find a way to escape before they get killed by the commies…

Fandom: Stranger Things (3)

Warnings: swearing, torture, getting shot, and reader and steve being high as fuck lmao

Word Count: 3223 (9 pages)

A/N: so this was supposed to be uploaded like a week ago but if you follow me you might know that I’ve been having problems with the tag system, and my works never show up on the search engine, so sorry it’s so late! My school starts next Wednesday so updates might be a little slower (or maybe even a little faster) but I still have a Richie headcanon on the way!

~~~

Y/N had no idea how on earth she got herself in this situation.

When her younger friend Dustin told her and Steve Harrington, a close friend of theirs and Y/N’s sort of giant crush, about a secret spy code he had picked up from his homemade radio tower, she was intrigued, to say the least. And you know what they say: curiosity killed the cat. And it sure as hell seemed like she was gonna die, but she didn’t think her life would end tied up to said ice-cream slinger from before while being interrogated by a bunch of evil Communists in a secret Russian lair under the mall where he worked and she visited regularly.

It had been hours, and Y/N continued to scream for help, trying to get anyone’s attention so she and Steve could escape the insane hellhole they got themselves stuck in. Steve grumbled, the loud voice of the girl tied up behind him making his head pound harder and he felt like his ears were about to bleed from all of the noise she was making.

“Hey, could you please stop yelling?” Steve almost whispered, but Y/N still heard it clear as day in the small silent room. She tried to turn around to face him but soon remembered that she was strapped to a chair, so she leaned her head on his shoulder instead.

“Steve? Oh my god, hey. Are-are you okay?” Y/n said, feeling a tsunami of relief hit her. For a while, she truly thought he had gone and died on her. Steve chuckled at her and leaned his head on hers to give her a sense of comfort.

“My ears are ringing and I can’t really breathe, I feel like my eyeballs are about to pop out of my skull, but other than that I’m doing pretty good,” Steve mumbles to her. She couldn’t help but giggle, Steve always knew how to make even the worst situations just a bit more bearable with his humour.

“Well, you don’t look it, my friend,” she pokes back at him. He nudges her with his head, his long hair tickling her cheek in the process.

“Geez, that one hurt, L/N,” he says back, trying to keep the girl’s mind off of the current dilemma they’re in for just a bit. He knew that she gets stressed and scared easily, due to her past trauma at the lab. It made him feel good that he could take that away from her. He tried to rip off the tape that was holding his wrists together, but it wouldn’t seem to budge. “Hey, think your mind tricks could help get us out of these chairs?”

Y/N sighed and raised her head, shaking it. “Can’t move things with my mind like El, remember?” She said, and Steve let out a small “oh” and nodded in understanding. Y/N’s powers we’re slightly different than Eleven’s, where El’s powers consisted more of telekinesis- or moving things with her mind, Y/N’s was more focused on telepathy, or mind manipulation. “So unless I can get into their heads and convince them to let us go, there’s not much I can do…” She trails off, wondering if even that would work considering what the officer said earlier.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Steve reassured, leaning his head back onto her shoulder. “Besides, I think that could work. Do you think you could, like, get in there?” Y/N laughed slightly, but still felt nervous.

“I-I don’t know if I want to,” she tried to joke, letting out another dry laugh that sounded more uncomfortable. “But, I’m not sure. They already saw the number. They, um, t-they know who I am, Steve,” Y/N’s voice quivered, but she tried to keep herself calm, not wanting to show Steve how scared she really was.

Steve felt his body stiffen, not wanting to think about what those Russian soldiers might do to her, what they might use her for if they know about her abilities. He felt the palms of his hands start to dampen, and he tried just a little harder to pull himself from the belts that kept his wrists held to the arms of the chair he sat in. He let out an unsteady breath, not sure if his next words would be true, but he continued anyway. “Nothing will happen to you, okay? I promise; I swear on my life. We’re both gonna get out of here, alive, and we’re gonna be okay. I promise they won’t hurt you, they’d have to kill me first before they even touch you.” He said boldly, picking his words carefully, but also just spewing any positive things that came to mind. Y/N smiled at Steve, thankful that he was showing how much he cared for her, but his last sentence did admittingly make her uneasy.

“Thanks, Stevey,” she whispered back, and before they could continue to try and hatch up an escape plan, there was a loud buzzing sound that rang through the room before the Russian soldiers and the alleged ‘doctor’ strolled through the heavy metal door. The comrade made eye contact with Y/N, since she was the one facing the door, and gave her a disgusting smirk that made her squirm in her seat. As he moved around her to see Steve, he brushed his hand over her shoulder, making her retract from the contact immediately.

“I see your little boyfriend has finally decided to wake from his beauty sleep and join us,” he said as he faced Steve, the teenage boy giving him a dirty look in return. The officer chuckled, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. “Good thing you did, little boy, or I might’ve taken your girl from you and used her myself.” Steve felt every muscle in his body tense up at just those words.

“Fuck off,” he spat at the officer. “If you touch a single fucking hair on her body, I swear to god I will-” Steve cut himself off as he saw the drill powered by some kind of blue serum the doctor held, his eyes widened. He looked between the machine and the comrade, who’s smirk grew.

“Try telling the truth this time, yes?” He suggested, his hand reaching up to play with Steve’s hair, twirling it around a gloved finger. “It will make your visit with Dr. Zharkov less painful, for the both of you.” The doctor comes closer to Steve as the machine starts whirring.

“Hey, hey! What do you think you’re doing? AH!” Steve yells as the drill is injected into his neck. Y/N is kicking around in her chair, screaming at the doctor to stop and leave him alone. The Russian officer came up to her and stared at her, a creepy smile on his face as he caressed her cheek, Y/N leaning away from the unwanted touch.

“Don’t worry, little slut,” he said to her, smiling wickedly. “You’re next.” And with that, he slapped her harshly, the glove making a sharp noise against her cheek which echoed around the room as he left, the door locking behind him. She heard Steve’s screaming stop and soon the injection was put into her own neck.

~~~

Y/N’s head rested against Steve’s, trying her hardest not to let her sleep deprivation get the best of her, as it didn’t seem like the best moment to take a quick nap. She put her head back on Steve’s shoulder and nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck, to which he giggled.

“That-that tickles a little,” Steve giggled. Y/N let out a smile and laughed along, doing it a little more before stopping again and closing her eyes. A little rest wouldn’t hurt, right? Luckily, the drugs hadn’t hit her as hard as they did with Steve since she was used to similar types of torture back when she was trained in the lab. Steve claimed he didn’t feel anything either, but she could tell something was definitely wrong with him, and even she herself felt off.

“I mean, I feel fine!” Steve exclaimed, accidentally bonking his head against the back of Y/N’s. “Oop, sorry. But I think these morons messed up the drug!” Y/N couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips.

“Haha, yeah, stupid morons can’t even drug us!” She said happily, still laughing as her head lolled on top of Steve’s shoulder. Steve laughed along with her, continuing to mock the Commies.

“Hey morons! Morons! Woah-oh!” He yelled as he continued to laugh, Y/N trying to hold back her own giggles but of course, didn’t succeed.

“There is definitely something wrong with us,” she said with another small giggle and Steve nodded.

“Yup, something’s wrong,” he agreed. Then the door buzzed, indicating that the Russian officer was once again entering the room, accompanied by his doctor friend, who was pulling out very sharp and not very doctor-like tools from his lab coat. Y/N stared at him wide-eyed, watching his movements as the officer went back to face Steve, who was biting his lip to try and keep himself from laughing.

“Let’s try this again, yes?” his voice comes out through his thick accent, and Y/N felt Steve nod slightly. The comrade came closer and looked at the boy dead in the eye. “Who do you work for?” he snarled out and Y/N felt herself holding her breath to try and keep herself from losing it, whether that meant a laughing fit or a mental breakdown, she didn’t quite know yet.

“Scoops. Scoops Ahoy,” Steve replied as he chuckled. Y/N found his comment wildly amusing and started wheezing as she threw her head back and hit Steve’s, but he was also too busy laughing to realize. The Russian looks at the teenage girl who was still giggling and red in the face, thinking of what he might have to do to her.

“How did you find us?” He asked, his eyes not averting from the girl who’s back was facing towards him, but the question was still directed at Steve. The boy tried to keep a straight face as he answered, but still to no avail.

“Oh, totally by accident,” Steve said and Y/N started cackling, kicking her feet as her body fell forward and tears started to form in her eyes. The comrade looks back at the doctor and speaks something in Russian that they couldn’t understand. Then the doctor pulled out a pair of plyers and walked towards the pair, the other one nodding his head towards Steve. “What is that shiny little toy you got there?” Steve laughed as the doctor crouched in front of him and went to grab one of Steve’s fingernails with the tool, to which Steve’s smile finally dropped and he started to scream in protest.

“There was a code! We heard a code!” Y/N said when she heard Steve starting to go crazy. The doctor pulled the plyers away and the comrade made his way to stand in front of Y/N now, glaring at her. When he questioned what code she began to giggle again, and honestly that sound alone made Steve forget about his fingernail almost being pulled off. “You know, 'the silver cat feeds, when blue meets yellow in the west, blah blah blah. You broadcast that dumb shit all over town, and we picked it up on our little toy radio, and we cracked it in a day! A fucking day!” She laughed again as she looked up at the officer, who was snarling down at her.

“Who is we? Who else knows we are here?” He demanded, and Steve turned his head a little to talk, much to Y/N trying to tell him to stop.

“Well, uh, Dustin knows we’re here. Dustin Henderson?” Steve said as he started laughing again and Y/N leaned on his shoulder, still giggling as well as he continued. “Yeah, curly hair, small, kind of like a fro. He’s got great hair.” Steve tried looking back at Y/N and she made sounds of agreement with his descriptions.

“Dustin Henderson? Where is he?” He asked Steve, and Steve smirked at him.

“Oh they’re long gone, you big asshole!” He giggled. “And he’s probably calling Hopper, and Hopper is probably calling the US cavalry. They’re gonna come in here commando-style, guns-a-blazing, and kick your sorry asses back to Russia. You'r4e gonna be two pieces of toast.” And Steve lost it after finishing his statement, leaning forward as he wheezed, Y/N leaning back with him as she did the same. And before the comrade could say anything else, an alarm blasts through the air, just on time.

The Russian comrade jolted out of the room to see what the hell had happened while the doctor stayed to keep a watch on the drugged pair of teenagers. Y/N saw this as a perfect opportunity to try and escape. Steve nudged her, trying to silently tell her to use whatever powers she can to get them out of their current situation.

“Um, excuse me, kind sir?” Y/N caught his attention and giggled. The doctor looked at her confused, she could tell he obviously didn’t understand what she was saying but continued. “You wouldn’t mind helping a poor girl like me out, would you?” She flashed him a charming smile and as soon as she locked their gaze her face went straight and she tried to push whatever was in her system aside to concentrate. The doctor fell into a state of oblivion and Y/N giggled a bit, happy that it was working. “It would be awfully nice of you to let us go.” She said, and with that, he walked slowly towards them and unbuckled the belts.

Y/N was so surprised it actually worked so well that she forgot that she was manipulating someone and he fell out. But before he could make a move to get them back, Steve slipped out of his restraints and hit him with the chair, knocking him unconscious. Y/N giggled and clapped as Steve helped her get out of her own chair. “Gotta say, Harrington, that was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen,” she giggled and so did he. He grabbed her face and squished her cheeks.

“No, YOU’RE the hottest thing I’ve ever seen!” he replied quite loudly and they both laughed. Steve grabbed Y/N’s hand and dragged her towards the door. “Let’s get out of here finally!” He said and the girl squealed in excitement as they began to aimlessly run down the hallway. And as you could’ve probably guessed, that was not the best plan.

As they ran down one of the endlessly long hallway, looking for the storage room elevator, they heard a strong voice come down the other side of the hallway in what was presumably Russian, and the sound of a gun cocking. Y/N and Steve looked back and their eyes blew wide as they saw the giant riffle pointed towards them and two more officers joined his side and did the same thing.

“Oh shit! OH, SHIT!” Steve said as he tugged her hand and tried to get Y/N to run along with her. “Y/N, come on! We seriously got to go! Hey, what are you doing?!” They heard the ringing sound of gunshots fly through the air and it was as if everything was going in slow motion. Steve took Y/N’s hand and dragged her into a hallway going a different direction but it was too late, and Y/N had wedged herself between the bullets and Steve.

Steve caught her as she fell, holding her ribs where the bullets had made contact. He felt almost completely sober as he saw the girl squeezing her eyes shut in pain, groaning. Her breathing was heavy and Steve pulled her into a clear room and locked all the doors, rushing over to her and putting her head on his lap, trying to keep himself from crying.

“Oh god, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he pet her hair. She shook her head, trying to get herself to make words but was still in shock. “No no no no, this wasn’t supposed to happen, oh god, oh shit, I’m sorry I’m so so sorry.” At this point he couldn’t help the water escaping his eyes.

“Steve,” she said as she grabbed him hand. He began to sob as he looked at her and squeezed her hand, using his other hand to push hair away from her face. “Steve, hey, it’s okay.”

“No no it’s not okay! What were you thinking?” He screamed at her, his tears making his vision blurry. “You-you just got shot! You were shot! Please, you can’t die on me, not here.” he continued to ramble so much that he was completely distracted to the lack of blood on the floor.

“Steve, listen to me,” she said a bit more sternly. But Steve just shook his head.

“No, Y/N, you have to listen, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I promised myself that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you as long as I was alive, so I’m gonna make sure we get out. Just please don’t die, Y/N stay with me-”

“Steve!” She shouted as she reached up and grabbed his face. He opened his eyes and wiped his tears to meet her gaze. She looked at him with her eyebrows furrowed and laughed at him, pushing his hair from his face. He then slowly pushed his gaze to her abdomen, which seemed to be fine, as if nothing happened. She saw his gaze shift and lifted her shirt to show where the bullets had hit her had only left a couple of bruises.

Steve gasped as he looked between the purple marks to her beautiful Y/E/C eyes, and smiled, still feeling shocked. “Holy fuck. You-you’re, like, you’re fucking bulletproof! Holy shit!” He smiled at her and she smiled back, nodding excitedly. He felt his laugh die down as he continued to stare at her, a small smile still prominent on his face. “I love you, you know that?”

Y/N was taken aback by his words but smiled back sweetly once she processed the situation and kissed his cheek, pressing her forehead against his. “I sorta love you too,” she whispered. The pair pulled back to look at each other again and leaned forward, their lips brushing against one another. But before they could connect, yelling and gunshots were heard from just outside and they shared looks.

“Maybe we should save this for later and get out of here first,” Steve suggested and Y/N nodded, taking a hand he offered to her as they both got up.

“Yup, good plan,” she agreed and they unlocked the door and prepped themselves to start running. But before they went out, Y/N grabbed Steve’s face and quickly pecked him on the lips. “Just for good luck.” Steve swore he never smiled wider as she winked at him and opened the door for them to escape.

~~~

TAGS:

Permanent: @phonegalhelp​ @caswinchester2000​

Steve Harrington: @irreplaceable-ecstasy @kiara-uwu  @layxbubbly​ @pvachyy

[cdelphiki]

Jason saw it happen before it did.  

It was one of the many, many reasons he hated working with the bats.  They had no idea how to deal with his style of combat.

But that’s what happens when the Bat refuses to let any of his precious little soldiers train with guns.  They have no idea how to fight with them.

Now, perhaps that was a bit unfair.  The demon should know how to work alongside firearms.  Should know better than to jump in front of any gun, especially that of his ally.  Especially when it’s being fired.  Especially without warning. But the demon could be pretty thick sometimes.

Him and his stupid tunnel vision.

That’s what caused this situation.

Jason hadn’t even been aware Damian was there. 

Why was Damian in the warehouse with him, and why the fuck was he getting himself involved in Jason’s case?

This was solidly a Red Hood case.  No need for any of the bats to get involved.  And definitely no reason for Robin to get involved.

Yet here he was.

Dropping down from the rafters just as Jason was pulling the trigger.  Aimed at the guy’s leg, thank you very much.  Even if every last thug in this warehouse deserved death.  

This was a child trafficking ring, after all.  

And Jason saw it all happen before it did.  Damian dropped down too suddenly, his yellow cape barely a flash in Jason’s vision before his body was fully in front of Jason’s outstretched arm.  In front of the barrel of his gun.  His finger was already squeezing, his aim set.  No movement could have saved him.  

There was nothing Jason could do but watch in slow-motion horror as the bullet exploded out of his glock and ripped into Damian’s back.  Right into his side, probably hitting a rib and nicking his lung.  

“Holy fuck, kid,” Jason shouted, leaping over Damian’s crumpling form to shoot the last few men left standing, including the idiot Damian just shielded, “What the shit?”

Had he been shielding this moron?  Jason sure hoped not, because they would need to have a serious discussion about who is worth Damian’s life.  Human traffickers with a penchant for 6-year-olds definitely were not it.

Panting now, Jason spun back to face Damian, taking in the way he was hunched over, barely keeping himself up on his knees with one hand, the other doing absolutely nothing as it clutched at the front exit wound.  “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to jump in front of a gun?” 

Damian cut his eyes up at Jason and let out a bitter, scathing, “Didn’t she teach you not to shoot at allies?”

“This is not my fucking fault!” he shouted, running over and sliding to a stop right in front of the brat, on his knees to assess the wound, “You jumped in front of me.  You didn’t even warn me you were there you stupid fucking brat.”

“Tt.” 

It was bad.  

The usual fire engine red of Robin’s tunic was quickly morphing into a deep crimson as Damian’s breathing became labored.  

“Shit.”  Jason started rifling around his supplies, trying his best to staunch the bleeding.  But there was so much.  It was happening so fast.  “Shit shit shit.”

Robin was going to die.  Right here in front of Jason.  

Bruce was going to be so pissed.

Fuck.

“How stupid are you?” he mumbled, pressing more gauze on Damian’s back.  He was basically cradling the brat in his arms now as he attempted to quell the bleeding on both sides at once.  

“I’m not the one,” Damian wheezed, then paused to take in a breath, his right hand clumsily attempting to help Jason apply pressure to the front wound, “who shot his ally.”

“I was pulling the trigger  before I saw you!”  Jason pulled out the last of his gauze and added it to the back set, which had already bled through.  The front was bleeding through, too.  “Fuck, where do you keep your supplies?”

With his left hand, Damian tapped at a pocket, so Jason raided it for more.  “Did you call for backup?”

Damian grimaced.  

Of course he fucking didn’t.

“You stupid brat if you die I am going to kill you.”

“Well you are…. The one who… shot me.”

“Shut up!” Jason reached up and felt around the comm in Damian’s ear for the button, then started babbling once he thought it was on. 

“Fuck I need backup here.  This stupid little bird went and got himself shot and he needs medical attention.  Probably five minutes ago.  Shit.  Robin is it working are they hearing me?”

“Yes,” Damian bit out, “I’m fine… Red Hood… shot me.”

“He jumped in front of my gun,” Jason shouted, already having flashbacks of Bruce beating the shit out of him.  Or flash-forwards.  Visions.  Something. 

Bruce was going to kill him.

“Affirmative,” Damian wheezed, his head lulling a little forward, “Friendly… fire.”

“Dammit, Dames.  I swear to God.  Stop leaking all your blood out, it’s supposed to stay inside.”  

“Do you ever… shut up…  You malodorous oaf.”

Jason scowled at the brat, resisting the urge to pause in his tight wrapping of Damian’s torso. “Did you just call me a malodorous oaf?  What are you?  Eight?”

Well, actually.  He’s eleven.  So close enough.

“Tt.”  A good ten seconds passed before Damian added, his speech slurring, “That is what you are.”

“Is your comeback really ‘I know you are but what am I?’ Oh my God, who even are you?”

“Todd,” Damian said, his head slumping fully forward, landing on Jason’s chest. 

And Jason heard a lot in that one word.  In his name.  It was almost like a plea for help.  For comfort.  For reassurance, maybe?

Stop panicking, Todd.  You need to keep it together for the little guy.

Jason hefted Damian up into his arms as he stood, ready to run out into the street and find a way to help Damian himself.  “It’s okay, brat.  You’re fine.”

His little body was too still in his arms.  His breathing too shallow.  His face too pale.

The red staining the bandages was too much for Jason to look at, so he wrapped the brat’s cape around.  The black outer-layer would at least conceal the blood.  

“Come on, Damian.  Stay with me, okay?”

It was quiet.  So quiet Jason almost missed it, but Damian let out a soft, “Tt,” that reignited Jason’s drive to save him.  It wasn’t too late.  He just needed attention within the next couple minutes, and he’d be fine.  

Jason was about at the point of ripping the kid’s comm out of his ear and shoving it into his own, but the second he stepped outside the warehouse, he could hear the batmobile racing toward him.  It was three blocks away, at most.  

“I think the comm is still active,” Jason said, clutching Damian a little tighter to his chest, “We’re standing right outside the warehouse now.  Hurry, he’s lost consciousness.”

“Hnnnn,” Damian groaned, making Jason roll his eyes.

“He’s almost lost consciousness,” he amended, just as the batmobile came to a screeching halt in front of him.  

“Get in,” Batman growled, the passenger door sliding open in one smooth motion, “both of you.”

Nodding shakily, Jason hopped in, barely getting the door shut behind him before Batman was racing off again.  

He slid the chair back so he could set Damian in it and kneel in the space between the dash and the seat.  Batman pressed a button that reclined the chair back all the way, turning it into a makeshift cot.  

“There is more gauze in the compartment under the seat, and a pint of Damian’s blood in the refrigerator behind mine,” Bruce grumbled.  

The next fifteen minutes passed by in a blur.  A blur of Jason performing emergency first aid while Bruce tensely sped them back to the cave.  

Damian…

Damian required surgery.  There was some internal bleeding as well as the obvious external.  Leslie had to be called in.  He needed several more transfusions and was in surgery for hours.  

It wasn’t until about 10 in the morning did Jason get to change out of his uniform.  Shower off all the dried sweat and blood from his body.  Let out a long breath.  

He was still in the cave and Bruce hadn’t said more than two words to him outside shouting commands regarding Damian’s treatment.  

Jason had shot Damian.

Again. 

And he’d almost died.

Again. 

If he were Bruce, he’d ship him off to Arkham right now.  Or get in touch with Superman and figure out a way to send him off to the Phantom Zone.  

Or just kill him. 

But knowing Bruce, he was probably just going to get screamed at and punched a few times.  Just like all the other villains in Gotham.  

He really should put his armor back on, he thought idly as he slipped on one of Bruce’s t-shirts and a pair of his sweats Jason had found in one of the lockers.  But he didn’t really deserve the protection it offered.  

Damian almost died. 

Slowly, Jason made his way out of the showers and back into the cave proper.  He didn’t even put shoes on.  Just socks.  He wasn’t really expecting being able to leave anytime soon, anyway.  

“Jay,” Bruce greeted tiredly from where he was keeping vigil at Damian’s bedside.  He’d also showered and changed, but probably upstairs or something.  Since Jason hadn’t seen him in the cave’s facilities.  

“Bruce,” he said back, sticking his hands in his pockets, refusing to step closer.  If Bruce wanted to do this, he’d have to come to Jason.  He prepared himself for the lecture.  For the screaming.  For the accusations of trying to kill Damian.  Again.  

It’s all his own brain was yelling at him.

“His vitals have stabilized,” Bruce said instead, turning his head back to the sleeping form on the cot, “he should be fine.”

“That’s good,” Jason rasped, nodding.  

A good minute passed.  Then two.  Three.  All in tense silence. 

“I’m sorry,” Jason finally said, at the same time Bruce rushed out a pained, “Thank you.”

Which, actually got Jason’s attention.  “Wait, what?”

“Thank you,” Bruce repeated, “for taking care of him.”

“But,” Jason stuttered, “but I shot him.”

“He jumped in front of your bullet,” Bruce said simply, “It’s different.”

“It-” Jason spluttered, blinking at Batman.  At Bruce.  

Who the fuck was this guy and what had he done to the normal broody asshole?

Jason flinched as Bruce walked closer, eliciting a frown from the man as he did.  Regardless, Bruce placed a hand on the base of Jason’s neck, squeezing just slightly.  Just enough to provide that modicum of comfort.  That morsel of reassurance. 

“This was not your fault,” Bruce asserted, shaking Jason ever so slightly, as if to force his words to penetrate Jason’s walls.  To go in deep and stick.  “You did good.  You saved him.”

“But, I-” Jason said, and he hated himself for how whiney his voice sounded.  How broken and despairing. 

“You did good,” Bruce repeated, dragging Jason in close to wrap his arms around, “He’s fine.  You did good.”

“Okay,” Jason whispered, because he had nothing else to say.  Nothing was coming to mind.  

Because Bruce was hugging him and practically saying he was proud.  

There was nothing to say to that.

Because that’s all he ever wanted.  

It wasn’t his fault. 

Damian was going to be fine.

“You did good.”

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown. org/works/17738375

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Kinder Eggs and Blowholes

Author: Thymeth

Year: 2006

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: The Hitcher/Rudi

"Get out of the pool!" "What's the sweat, squire? Has your guitar left ya for a younger pair of fingers?" "Shut up about my guitar! And get your jalapeño-green ass out of the pool!" "I'd rather be jalapeño-green than in a dress." "It is not a dress!" "What the hump is going on?" Fuck, not again. Rudi turned to find Fossil coming towards them looking very angry. "The Hitcher is in the Porpoise Pool again, Mr Fossil." "He's not fucking allowed a hundred feet near the Porpoise Pool, how the fuck did he end up in it?" "I just..." "Look, squire," the Hitcher broke in, "It's just a bit of 'armless fun, nothing the kiddies won't enjoy." "I don't fucking care if the kiddies enjoy it or not!" Fossil yelled, "Get your bony mouldy ass out of there pronto. I'll see you in my office. Now. Both of you!" And he turned and stalked off in a huff. "Come on," Rudi snapped "Oh, you want it," the Hitcher cooed to the porpoises backed into a huddle at the other end of the pool, "Oh, I know you want it, you slags." "Fucking..!" Rudi exclaimed and stopped as a family passed, "Just... testing the water... yes, testing for... for... Hey, little boy, I have a Kinder Egg for you behind my door." "Oi! No Kinder Eggs, Mozart! You're not allowed near the kiddies." The Hitcher followed that order, did he, but not the one about the porpoises? Green-faced bitch. "Fuck you," Rudi snapped at him and turned back to the family. But they had already left, in a bit of a hurry, it seemed. A few minutes later, they stood in Fossil's office, the Hitcher wet from the waist down and Rudi drenched after the Hitcher had pushed him into the Pool. "What part of 'Keep the Hitcher out of the fucking Pool' don't you understand, Rudi?" Fossil was yelling, "Any moron could do it." "That's yer problem, innit?" the Hitcher said, "He ain't even clever enough to be a moron." "Shut your bangers-and-mash-hole, ass-wipe." "And he was twiddling with his guitar again this morning," the Hitcher continued nonchalantly, "Stroking it. Looked like he was 'aving a wank to me." "I was not..." Rudi hissed, "I was changing a string!" "No guitar needs strings changed twice-a-day," the Hitcher answered, "Not even Santana's guitars. You've gone wrong in that door of yours." "Don't you talk to me about Santana's guitar-whores, pea-face, or my guitar and I will be all over you before you can say 'I've got a chimney'!" "Shut up, you dung balls!" Fossil shouted. From the looks of him, he had been shouting quite some time. But neither Rudi nor the Hitcher had noticed. "Now, I want you both to get back to work and stay away from the Porpoise Pool, children and that fucking guitar!" "It is all your fault," Rudi proclaimed as they left Fossil's office. "I ain't the one with the guitar fetish, dress-man." "It is not a dress!" Rudi shouted, for the hundredth time that morning. "You can keep saying that 'til yer face turns green like mine, but it'll still be a dress." "It is not a dress! That is not important," Rudi said, steering the conversation back to where he had begun it, "It is all your fault." "They were begging for it, the salt-water slags, you know they were." Rudi opened the door to the Keepers' Hut and they went in. "None of the animals 'beg for it', I think you will find." "And guitars do?" the Hitcher said, standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his bony hips. "That is completely different!" "You stick your cock in a guitar. You're Lord of Normal, intcha?" "I do not 'stick my cock in a guitar'." "O-ho, but I think you do. I've seen ya, squire, all hard and putrid and greased up ready to ram yer guitar to high heaven." "You... You..." Rudi stuttered before quite realising what the Hitcher had just said, "Have you been watching me?" "Of course I watch ya, d'you think I'm stupid? I wouldn't want that thing to get near me. But if it did," the Hitcher said, his voice darkening, "I'll cut you up." "I wouldn't go near you with a twenty-foot pole if I had to and that's the truth," Rudi answered, "You disgust me with your talk of these base urgings." "What are you, castrated? Just you wait and see, I'll get at those porpoises. 'Cause I'm pure liquid evil." And with that the Hitcher pushed passed him and out of the door. Rudi hurried over to the window to see if he had really gone. All this talk of porpoises and guitars had gone straight to his cock, threatening to explode any minute. Yes, the Hitcher was stalking away towards the Hoofed Mammals. Rudi drew a deep breath, steadying himself. "Miranda," he called softly, creeping over to the sofa and ducked his hand behind it, "Rudi's here to take care of you." He found his guitar and pulled her out, her varnished wooden body gleaming in the sunlight from the window, strings glittering. Oh, she was beautiful. "There, there, Miranda," he whispered as he kissed her neck, "I love you, my dear. Do you love me?" Her strings vibrated, shivered as if in ecstasy, and he pulled her closer, pressing her to him. "Oi!" "Fuck!" Rudi exclaimed and pulled away hurriedly to find the Hitcher standing in the doorway, "Just... just..." "You're not 'changing a string' again?" the Hitcher snapped, "You purple pervert." "No," Rudi answered hurriedly, "Just tuning." He strummed a chord, Miranda's strings against his fingers sending lightning bolts to his groin despite the Hitcher's scrutinising gaze boring into him. "I'm telling ya, you've gone wrong," the Hitcher said finally, "Lucky I'm 'ere, eh? To stop ya being disgusting." And he turned and slammed the door. This did not bode well. Rudi knew; he was wise. His urgings still evident, he strapped Miranda over his shoulder, her body hiding his shame and hurried after the Hitcher. He rushed towards the Porpoise Pool and, sure enough, there he was, squatting at the edge, green fingers in the water, cooing. "Step away from the Pool!" Rudi ordered, surprised at how commanding his voice sounded. Miranda leant heavily on him, encouraging him. "And if I don't?" the Hitcher asked. "If you don't do as I tell you," Rudi said, his courage growing, "Miranda and I will make you!" "I should like to see ya try," the Hitcher laughed. "Very well," Rudi said, straightening up, ready to show off for Miranda, to show her what kind of a man he was. He chose his chord carefully, touching her most favourite spots, and she yelled out in pleasure as he grazed her strings and pressed herself against him, so hard and suddenly that in one flash he came, barely registering the Hitcher flying through the air and hitting the wall with a dull thud. The music died around them and, breathing deeply, Rudi cradled Miranda in his arms and went, still shaking slightly, back to the Keepers' Hut. "Hello, little boy," Rudi said and swooped down towards a terrified-looking face, "Do you want a Kinder Egg?" He had put Miranda away now and was on his way to make sure the Hitcher was behaving himself. "Oi!" came a shout and before he had time to register what was happening, Rudi found himself half-way to the ground, something warm and heavy around him middle. He barely had time to think before he landed, his hair cushioning his head but his door flying open, the extra hand grazing its knuckles rather badly on the gravel as he rolled over and over, the warm something still clinging to him. Rudi gathered all his strength and managed to stop and found himself looking down at the Hitcher lying pinned beneath him, white hair fanned out around his head, coat dusty and askew. "What the fuck?!" Rudi exclaimed, breathless. "Stay away from the kiddies," the Hitcher snapped, breathing heavily, "No Kinder Eggs!" An anger fiercer than anything Rudi had ever experienced flared up inside him, threatening to burst him open like a volcano. How dared the Hitcher lecture him about Kinder Eggs again?! Hadn't Rudi just stopped him from getting into the Porpoise Pool? He should be fucking grateful for being saved from Fossil's rage. And all he did was slam Rudi to the ground and tell him to keep away from the kiddies? He fucking needed to be taught a lesson. And not just a simple I've-Got-Something-Behind-My-Door Test, oh no. A proper lesson. The Hitcher wheezed self-satisfied beneath him, grinning, and Rudi knew, for he was wise, that violence would get him nowhere. Not that he was a violent man anyway; he was, after all, a High Priest. No, a stronger remedy would be needed. And the most potent thing in the world, he had been taught already on his first day as a Monk, was love. And love was something the Hitcher did not understand. So Rudi bent down and kissed him. But instead of pulling away and being outraged as he should, the Hitcher answered Rudi's kiss rather more passionately than was strictly necessary. And Rudi wanted to run away and hide somewhere safe and dark with his guitar. But he had started this, he reflected, so he'd better finish it. The Hitcher needed to learn his lesson. No-one, not even green-faced Cockneys, pushed Rudi to the ground and told him to stay away from kiddies when he'd just rescued them from the Porpoise Pool! Rudi touched the Hitcher's lips with his tongue and sucked on them, noticing an uncharacteristic distant minty taste. But the Hitcher did not seem phased and his tongue pushed into Rudi's mouth, invading, possessively. Rudi gasped, unwillingly opening his mouth further, and the Hitcher wasted no time in owning him completely. "What the hell is going on here?" Rudi pulled away instantly and sat up, squinting against the sun to see a figure looming over them. Bainbridge. "Nothing!" Rudi stuttered, "Just changing a string. Fuck! No. Just... Nothing! ...Sir." " 'E's raping me, that's what's 'appening," the Hitcher said, "Using me own tactics against me. Gotta admire the boy, eh?" "I'm fucking not raping you, you perverted old cucumber," Rudi snapped back, "It was you who pushed me to the ground." "Enough!" Bainbridge boomed, "I don't care who did what, all I care about is you two getting out of my way." "Sorry, sir," Rudi said and got up, the Hitcher scrambling up after him. "Now, I'd watch my step around here if I were you," Bainbridge said darkly, "Who knows when my tongue might get the better of me and accidentally let slip what I just saw." "I'd cut you up if you did," the Hitcher answered equally darkly. "Really?" Bainbridge said and put his hands on his hips, "I'd reconsider if I were you. You see, grasshopper, I happen to know that you're an illegal immigrant." "I'm not," the Hitcher said, "I'm pure Cockney." "Pure Cockney you may be," Bainbridge answered smugly, "But you're still from another planet. Alien in the word's every sense, in fact." "I... You... You won't get away with this, you slag!" the Hitcher raved, "You've got no proof, I'll cut you up, I'm pure evil, me." "You're green, man! You've got a polo for an eye!" The Hitcher fell silent, dumb-founded just like Rudi. The Hitcher was from another planet?! Well, that did explain his green skin. And his fascination with porpoises. And his constant banging on and on about being Cockney. "As for you," Bainbridge continued, pointing a gloved finger at Rudi, "You'd better watch yourself too. You're to stay out of public view as much as possible, your stupid hair is blocking out the sun." "And if I don't?" Rudi asked, instantly cursing himself. No good ever came of standing up to Bainbridge. "I know what happened at that music shop, in the guitar section," Bainbridge said, "The newspapers might have blamed it on a rampant pigeon with diarrhoea but I know better. And that Santana concert last summer." "You fiend!" Rudi hissed. "Thank you," Bainbridge said with a small bow. "Why don't ya just fire us then, squire? We'll be out of yer face in no time." "And where do you propose I find suckers stupid enough to work 14 hours a day for less than minimum wage to replace you?" Bainbridge asked, "I think you'll stay here. Good day." And he left, his smug smile almost visible thought the back of his head. "It is all your fault," Rudi snapped. But the Hitcher did not answer, he just grabbed hold of Rudi's arm and began pulling him in the opposite direction. "What the fuck are you doing?" Rudi exclaimed, trying to free himself. But he couldn't. Who would have guessed the thin, green man was this strong? "Come on," the Hitcher cooed, almost softly, "Come with yer Uncle Hitcher, you slag." "You... Fuck!" Rudi shouted as he realised what was happening, "You are not going to have your wicked way with me, you rapist!" "Who said anything about rape?" the Hitcher whispered, backing Rudi into the Keepers' Hut, fingers digging into his arms, coming closer, "You want it, you slag. You know ya do." "I most certainly do not!" Rudi said. Then he found himself sat hard down on the sofa and the Hitcher climbing onto his lap. "O-ho, I think you do," he hissed in Rudi's ear, "Admit it, squire, I may be all green skin and bones, but I'll give ya more pleasure than that guitar of yours ever will." Rudi pulled away, alarmed. "When did you begin thinking of others more than yourself?" "Don't get yer door all excited," the Hitcher answered, his twig-like fingers roaming Rudi's chest, "I like a tight, cold blowhole around my cock as much as the next guy, but I've never been able to resist a bit of man-flesh. And certainly not one as willing as yours." And with those words, he grabbed Rudi's crotch and squeezed hard, making Rudi cry out, much like a cat that'd just been stepped on. "You're loving it, you whore," the Hitcher cooed, licking Rudi's neck, "I'll fuck ya so 'ard there'll be nothing left of ya but yer dress and yer door." "It is not a dress," Rudi answered automatically, breathlessly. "I don't fucking care," the Hitcher said and pushed Rudi down on his back and straddled him, "It looks like a dress." "It is... not..." Rudi tried, but had to give up, unable to concentrate with the Hitcher sitting heavily on him, rocking backwards and forwards, "I... Fuck." "Don't ya worry about that," the Hitcher whispered hoarsely and leant down, tugging at the neckline of Rudi's robe, kissing his collar bone, "We will, boy, we will." "Get out of the pool!" "Get yer finger out yer anus, I've got needs," the Hitcher shouted up at him, "I'm a right horny old man-witch. Nothing can satisfy me except a cold, wet blowhole. Unless..." He turned around, grinning up at Rudi. "Unless what? Say what you want to say in a plain way, don't play around in riddles." "Unless I can 'ave me burning loins satisfied by some quivering man-flesh in a dress." "It is not a dress!" Rudi exclaimed, "It never has been and it never will be!" "And I still don't care," the Hitcher answered and climbed out of the Pool, leaving a trail of water as he stepped lightly over to Rudi, "Come 'ere, you slag." "And if I don't?" "Then," the Hitcher said and pulled Rudi closer by his necklaces, "I'll tell Fossil about you and yer guitar in the Ape Salon this morning." "I have not been near the Ape Salon," Rudi protested as the Hitcher grabbed his arse. But he could not help moaning ever so slightly when the Hitcher's thigh pressed between his legs. "Fossil don't know that, does 'e?" the Hitcher said, grinning up at him, "But I'd tell him anyway. 'Cause I'm pure evil."

[megwritesfanfiction]

Disclaimer: I do not own Boku No Hero Academia/My Hero Academia. This is a work of fiction that I am not making a profit off of.

A/N: You guys... I have had so much caffeine it’s ridiculous. I did not think I was gonna get this updated this week, but it's done! Thanks for all the hearts, kudos, and comments! They keep me warm and going! <3

Chapter One: Tumblr Chapter Two: Tumblr Chapter Three: Tumblr Chapter Four: Tumblr Chapter Five: Tumblr

Chapter 6: “Fuck you and your word a day calendar!” Chapter Summary:  “That word a day calendar seems to be doing wonders for your vocabulary,” Bakugo snorted, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt.

“I know what the word break means.” Kirishima finished the last of his water with a loud sigh. “Today’s word was perfidious for your information.”

How ironic.

Since he was forced to sit and listen to his mother scream about her ruined kitchen table, Bakugo decided to use that time to think.

His father was right.

He enjoyed being around Uraraka.

She was one of the few people who genuinely didn’t vilify his behavior. It took his classmates awhile to get used to his behavior, but none of them really understood him like she had.

Yaoyorozu, Tokoyami, and Shoji would typically shoot him a look of disapproval before ignoring him.

Iida would shout about how he needed to contain himself or give a lecture about how unbecoming his behavior was.

Mina would shake her head and sometimes fan the flames of his irritation.

Kaminari would tell him to calm down which was probably one of the worst of reactions.

Kirishima tried. As much crap as Bakugo gave the redhead, he could never say he didn’t try to understand him. A lot of the time, it felt like Kirishima wasn’t unsure how to handle his outbursts. There were times he got it right, but there were others he poured gasoline on the already unstable combustion.

Midoriya was the person who surprised him the most.

For all of Midoriya’s insight, he never understood that his anger was a defensive mechanism. It took the two battling it out and an overflow of trauma for Bakugo to breakdown in front of his rival. The things he’d said and done were unforgivable. Bakugo wouldn’t ever try to excuse them but he could never stop himself from wondering why hadn’t Midoriya seen his fear.

Uraraka treated his temper and brash voice as a part of who he was and embraced it. Rather than cringe, she’d smile and continue talking to him.

It reminded him of how his father spoke to his mother when she ranted or her voice raised.

Sometimes she’d throw a smart comment back at him and they would end up trading snarky remarks back and forth. Uraraka wasn’t afraid to go toe to toe with him, and she didn’t treat him like he was unstable.

When he challenged her, she rose to meet him before surpassing him with a challenge of her own.

Who wouldn’t want to hang out with someone who you could have fun with, who understands you, and could trade sarcastic little quips with?

Bakugo decided after dinner that he would send her a text message.

Casual.

Not intimidating.

The method also gave him the ability to control the conversation and carefully craft his words.

He’d survived his mother’s scathing eulogy about her destroyed dining room table while they ate dinner in the living room without saying a word surprisingly. Anytime he felt a remark itching on his tongue, he shoveled another mouthful of curry into his mouth to stop himself. Arguing would draw out the already painful sermon his mother was screaming. He almost laughed at the sight of his father’s eyes bouncing between them in confusion as he remained silent.

When Bakugo finally made it to his room, he dropped to the edge of his bed to realize he didn’t have Uraraka’s phone number.

“Of fucking course,” he growled, cradling his head in his hands. He’d worked up the nerve to message her, not that it was a big deal, and he didn’t even have her number.

To be fair, he didn’t have a lot of his classmates’ cell phone numbers. The only reason he bothered saving Kirishima’s number was that they regularly worked out together, and the rest of the idiots in their group had come with the package.

Yaoyorozu had made a class directory and group chat during their first year, but Bakugo had dismissed that and destroyed the email as soon as he’d seen it.

“Fuck.”

Much to his regret.

He didn’t think that about two and a half years later he’d regret not participating in idle chatter, questionable memes, and whatever stupid antics went on there.

Bakugo huffed, scrolling through his contacts.

Someone had to have her number.

Calling Midoriya was out of the question. The two of them hadn’t called or texted since middle school, and Bakugo planned on keeping up the streak. The only reason he had his information was because he’d have to go to Midoriya’s house after school or sleep over when his parents had to work late.

After Midoriya, Ashido would be the person next likely to have Uraraka’s number. Ashido was also a terrible gossip and probably wouldn’t give up the information unless she knew why Bakugo wanted it.

Kaminari wasn’t smart enough for discretion. It was unlikely he even had her number. The moron would probably go to the group message to ask her for her number and tell everyone he asked for it.

He could probably trust Jirou. The two of them had oddly bonded over their love of skulls, but she wasn’t someone he really knew. It felt weird asking her for a favor, and it would be even weirder if she didn’t have Uraraka’s information or questioned why he wanted it.

Bakugo sighed, stopping on the only person he could call in this situation. Clicking on the name, he held the phone against his ear as impatiently waited for an answer. “Oi, Shitty hair…”

There was always Kirishima.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

URARAKA, 12:12PM

Please tell me we aren’t getting soba noodles tomorrow.

MIDORIYA, 12:15PM

Lol! It’s the one thing we know Todoroki will eat.

URARAKA, 12:15PM

That boy needs some variety!

MIDORIYA, 12:16PM

I’ll leave that conversation to you then.

URARAKA, 12:18PM

I am in no position to tell anyone anything. I have been engaged in an epic battle with the copier all morning, and I am losing.

MIDORIYA, 12:18PM Heroes don’t lose. Defeat is NOT an option, Uravity!

URARAKA, 12:18PM

It is after 4 paper jams and having to replace the toner.

MIDORIYA, 12:21PM

Work study fun, eh?

URARAKA, 12:25PM

Work study hell…

URARAKA, 12:25PM

I mean, It’s nice I got to get back to campus earlier and get settled. Plus I’m getting paid… But, DUDE! I’m pretty sure I’ve gone through an illegal amount of paper.

MIDORIYA, 12:26PM

It can’t be that bad.

URARAKA, 12:27PM

Sent a photo

MIDORIYA, 12:27PM

Holy crap…

URARAKA , 12:28PM

Indeed. You would not believe the liability forms. These things are amazingly thorough.

MIDORIYA, 12:30PM

Oh I believe that! I’m pretty sure some of those are because of me!! Lol

URARAKA, 12:30PM

Probably! Lol

URARAKA, 12:31PM

You problem child you!

MIDORIYA, 12:33PM

I’m not the one sneaking out with the class bad boy…

URARAKA, 12:34PM

….

MIDORIYA, 12:34PM

:D

URARAKA, 12:36PM

I would like to say something very rude and unpleasant to you, but I can’t because you’re my best friend and you covered for me so I’m giving you until next semester until I fight back…

MIDORIYA, 12:37PM

You ask him out yet?

URARAKA, 12:38PM

Let the boys know that I’m good for tomorrow

MIDORIYA, 12:38PM

Is that a no?

URARAKA, 12:39PM

Also tell them no soba noodles!

MIDORIYA, 12:39PM

At least give him back his hoodie

URARAKA, 12:39PM

The hoodie is mine. It still smells very nice and it’s cozy.

MIDORIYA, 12:40PM

Thief

URARAKA, 12:43PM

Yes, but ANYWAY! I g2g, Mic just came in and I think I have more copies to make.

URARAKA, 12:44PM

… Yay…. NOT

MIDORIYA, 12:45PM

Later!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“You know,” Kirishima panted, collapsing against the gym mat. “When you said you wanted to hang out-”

Bakugo rolled his eyes, blinking back droplets of sweat gathering on his lashes. He dropped his back against the concrete wall and lowered himself to a wall sit to rest.

“I figure-” He shrugged taking in a large gulp of air as his muscles burned with exertion. “Oh cool, we can go to the movies, play some games at the arcade, go on a hike, go shopping-”

“I fucking hate the mall...”

“That!” he wheezed, pointing at his friend with a small sneer and shooting him a sharp glare from bleary eyes. “That is not the point! If I knew you were going to torture me-”

To be fair, torture wasn’t really his intention. “How is this different than any other workout during the school year?” Just an added bonus of his little scheme.

“It’s different because we’re on break!”

“Not an excuse to be lazy.” Red eyes drifted toward the black and yellow gym bag resting under the bench by the wall. He could see that obnoxious Crimson Riot charm dangling next to a cartoonish turkey leg from here. How the hell did those things not get in his way when he used his phone.

“Dude!”

He just needed a minute.

“Not an excuse to be lazy?!”

Two at most.

Kirishima rolled up with a groan as he reached for the half-empty water bottle. Ripping the cap off, he shook his head at his friend. “The word literally means to stop or pause,” he started, taking a large gulp of water. “That means we shouldn’t be here!” His arms flailed around the empty training facility.

“That word a day calendar seems to be doing wonders for your vocabulary,” Bakugo snorted, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt.

“I know what the word break means.” Kirishima finished the last of his water with a loud sigh. “Today’s word was perfidious for your information.”

How ironic. “Are you done whining?” Bakugo questioned, clearing his throat and forcing a scowl on his brow. A lump of guilt settled in his stomach as he focused on the task at hand.

“No.”

“The sooner we finish the sooner we can get something to eat,” he commented, walking over to the redhead. Bakugo lightly kicked his side. “Round three, shitty hair. Let’s go.” He looked back to the phone.

“Next time you get the twisted idea in your head to ‘hang out’, I’m picking what we do,” Kirishima huffed as he took a deep breath.

Maybe he wouldn’t notice it if he grabbed it now. “Okay.”

“Brunch, then the arcade.” Maybe drag Sero and Kaminari just in case Bakugo decided to pull this little stunt again so he wouldn’t have to suffer alone.

“Noted,” Bakugo nodded as he moved toward his gym bag to grab a towel. “Now get the fuck up.”

“Fine,” Kirishima groaned, moving to his feet wobbling a little bit. “Let me get some water.”

Finally.

“Some of us are trying to enjoy our break without getting heat stroke.”

“Tch.” Bakugo turned away from his friend as he listened to his footsteps fade. The water station was located about a couple of yards outside of the training facility. Knowing Kirishima, he would fill his water bottle and then take a couple sips off the top before refilling it again.

Two minutes.

Two and a half if Kirishima decided to take his time.

Taking a quick glance behind him, Bakugo dived for Kirishima’s phone. Since when had that idiot put a passcode on his phone?

“Shit…” he hissed, thumbs tapping against the sides of his phone. He’d start with the obvious.

1-0-1-6

Bakugo growled watching the screen shake as his attempt was denied. “What the fuck else could it be?”

It had to be something simple.

Kirishima wasn’t the brightest person in their class. His password would be simple and easy for him to remember. If it wasn’t his birthday, then there was a small possibility it could be Ashido’s. Bakugo didn’t know Ashido’s birthday. Quite frankly, he was impressed that he knew Kirishima’s.

His eyes narrowed as he studied the bubbles above the number pad. “Why the fuck are there five?” Bakugo hadn’t noticed the small cue when he first picked up the phone. “Can’t be a birthday then…”

What the hell else could it be?

It wasn’t a birthday or any other date for that matter.

He wouldn’t use the first five digits of his phone number.

Their student ID numbers contained seven digits.

Kirishima’s dorm number only had three digits.

Unless it wasn’t a number.

6-2-6-5-9

The phone unlocked with a little click sending Bakugo to the main screen. He wasn’t sure who to be more upset with. Kirishima for actually setting his passcode to be ‘manly’ or himself for knowing to try it.

Bakugo quickly found his contacts scrolling through the list. Thankfully his friend kept his contacts organized and labeled properly even if he did use an obscene amount of emojis to label each person listed in his phone. He found her name toward the end with a star next to it.

His eyes scanned over the number.

URARAKA OCHAKO

90-7827-3--

“What the hell are you doing?”

Bakugo’s shoulders stiffened as he looked at the redhead standing a few feet in front of him. His eyes drifted back to the small red phone in his hands and back to his friend.

“Well?” Kirishima questioned, disapproval on his face.

“I, uh-” He looked back at the phone as he focused memorizing the phone number. “I just had to call my mom.”

“So use your phone.”

“Battery is low.” A part of him wished he could just message the phone number to himself, but Kirishima would see it the next time he went to text him.

“Since when do you ever call your mother?”

Unless he deleted the message from Kirishima’s chat history. “Since I got in trouble last night for destroying the kitchen table.” He was already caught.

“I’ve watched you blow holes in the wall while calling your mother a ‘fucking bitch’ to her face and all of a sudden you have to call her?”

He’d forgotten about that. “Yeah.” How the hell was he supposed to send himself a contact on this piece of crap? On his own phone, there was an option for it under the contact name.

“For what?!”

“I’m not going to be home for dinner.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Kirishima screeched with a bitter laugh as he stomped over toward him.

There it was. “No.” There was a button at the corner of the screen for more options.

“Give me my phone.”

“One minute.” Bakugo pivoted back, moving the phone out of reach.

“It’s my phone!”

“I’m not scrolling through your stuff!”

“Well,” Kirishima gritted his teeth as he stepped in front of his friend. His arms folded in front of his chest. “You’re not calling your mother either.”

Bakugo sighed, dropping the phone to his side. “I need to use your phone.”

“For what?”

Jaw clenched and lips tightened, he turned his head away as he felt his ears burn. The more he tried to find the words to explain the dumber it felt tickling at the edge of his tongue.

“Well?!”

“Why is this such a big deal?”

“Umm-” Kirishima snapped back, eyes furrowed angrily. “I go to get water, you’re going through my phone without my permission, and you have the nerve to sound offended?”

If there was ever a time for him to feel like a complete asshole, now was perfect. He’d managed to betray one of the few people who sincerely tried to put up with him. “Look-”

“Yeah, gimme my phone,” he lunged toward Bakugo, tackling the blonde to the floor.

“Hey wa-”

“I said gimm-”

“That’s my side you asshole!”

“Well my knee wouldn’t-”

“I can’t breath! Y-”

“You can breathe. If you couldn’t you’d be quieter…”

Smart ass.

“And I’d have my phone. Give. It,” Kirishima commanded, tapping him on the head like a naughty puppy.

Bakugo growled loudly, face sinking into the mat as his body relaxed. He could easily overpower Kirishima. For all of his fury, the redhead had left his arms open despite placing a knee to his back. All he had to do was flash an explosion in his face to blind him and roll him into an armbar. “Fucking fine.” But that would make him an even bigger jerk.

“Good boy.”

As soon as Kirishima removed the knee from his side, Bakugo scrambled to his knees. “Here,” he grunted, tossing the phone back as he stood up in defeat.

“Thank you,” Kirishima nodded with a polite bow and small smile.

Fucker.

“You wanna tell me what this is about?” he questioned, holding up the phone. “Like, I would like to think that you’re not snooping in my stuff, ‘cause I’ve got some pretty sensitive-”

“Ugh, what the fuck? No!” Bakugo sneered. “I'm not interested in your amateur work!” He had enough trauma, he really didn’t need to see that.

“Pervert! I was talking about my poetry!”

Sometimes he wondered why he was friends with this idiot.

“I’m not dumb enough to keep-”

“Stop! Just-” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before inhaling deeply. “Look, I just needed a phone number.”

Kirishima smirked, placing a fist against his hips. “So you couldn’t ask like a normal person?”

Bakugo wasn’t going to bother answering a question they both already knew the answer to.

“Who’s number?”

Silence.

“Well?! ”

His chest tightened, embarrassment rising. “Uraraka’s,” Bakugo muttered, gargling out the syllables behind clenched teeth.

Lifting the phone to meet his eyes, Kirishima easily maneuvered through applications on his phone. “Huh?”

Damn it. “Uraraka,” he said again, teeth gnashing together as he made unintelligible sounds.

Kirishima looked up from his phone, shrugging his shoulders slowly.

“Uraraka!”

“Oh…”

Bakugo’s shoulders collapsed down as he felt his face burn.

“Why?”

Now he remembered why he decided to just take his phone and get the number himself. “Do I need a reason?”

“No.”

Good.

“But-”

Goddammit.

“That just leaves me to speculate why you want her number.” Kirishima’s voice was dangerously nonchalant. “I have a lot to think about. I mean-”

This is what he got for trying to socialize.

“-you all were pretty close at the club-”

Things were much easier when he didn’t bother to interact with other people.

“-and you seemed to get all worked up about me seeing you dance with her.”

Bakugo wasn’t sure when he slowly started shifting into this somewhat social creature, but he was starting to rethink the benefits of being a hermit.

“You left pretty suddenly,” Kirishima’s brows raised, “and went back to the dorms.”

Oh.

“And Uraraka stayed out for ice cream, right?”

He knew. “How would I know?”

He plopped down on the bench, kicking his legs out in front of him with a proud smirk, “Dude, don’t insult my intelligence.”

“Fuck you and your word a day calendar!” Why was this such a big deal?

Kirishima laughed, “So you and Uraraka snuck off for a bit. It’s not a big deal. I’m just hurt that you didn’t tell me, dude.”

Guilt bubbled at the base of his stomach mixing with the anxiety fluttering around his chest. He wasn’t sure when he started feeling guilt, but he could see why people cracked under the weight of this emotion.

“Like, I talk to you about Mina-”

He didn’t ask for that. In fact, Bakugo would have preferred not to have to hear about their weird relationship.

“I figured you’d at least talk to me about your first girlfriend-”

“She’s not my girlfriend! We just got some damn ice cream!”

“Crush whatever.” Kirishima snickered, reaching to wrap his arms around him in a hug. “Awww, my little Bakubro has a crus-”

“Forget it!” Bakugo barked, stomping over to his bag. He shoved his towel, water bottle, and phone into his bag, roughly tossing it over his shoulder as his face reddened. “Just forget I said anything. I’m ou-”

“Dude!”

“No!”

“She’s in the main building,” Kirishima chuckled, shaking his head at his friend’s panic.

His face relaxed as confusion replaced anger, “Huh?”

“You want her phone number, go ask her yourself. She’s on campus.”

Bakugo blinked once, twice as he tried to process the information. The adrenaline from his anger vibrated down his spine as he felt himself relax.

“She’s back early because of work study,” he smirked, pushing himself to his feet. “You would know if you were in the class chat.”

“Tch.”

Gently patting his shoulder, Kirishima beamed, “You might wanna hurry up, because she’s done around six. I mean you could go visit her at the dorms-”

“You can’t just give me her number?” What the hell was he supposed to even say to her?

“No.” Kirishima grinned happily. “Consider this your penance.”

He deserved it.

“Especially since you stole my phone, won’t tell me why you want her number, and I’m being gracious enough not to push you.”

That was fair.

“For now.” Kirishima knew that Bakugo would talk to him when he was ready.

Or when he cracked.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thirty more minutes.

Uraraka wasn’t going to complain. With no classes, her work study hours were longer which meant more money going into her savings account.

But, it was boring.

She’d spent the day working on orientation packets for the incoming first year students.

In the morning, Uraraka spent hours copying flyers, forms, liability forms, questionnaires, rules, and anything else U.A. felt the incoming students needed to know. She honestly didn’t remember it being this much paperwork.

This amount of paperwork was probably because of everything that happened during her first year. Her class had been kidnapped, attacked, and assaulted more times than she cared to remember during their first term.

She’d watched the bright green light roll back and forth along the glass plate of the machine for hours as she waited for her copies to finish. When Present Mic interrupted her to tell her that she’d need to recopy one of the forms because there had been a last minute change, she’d nearly released a scream that could rival Mic’s loudest wail. Luckily, she was able to set the paper up in the copier and take her lunch break.

She made her way back to her workstation after treating herself to a ridiculously large and, in her opinion, overpriced iced coffee. Uraraka decided she deserved a treat for not screaming when the copier jammed for the eighth time or at Present Mic’s interruption. Now that the papers were copied, she had to assemble packets and sort the small forest of papers around her.

“Let’s see,” she murmured, chewing on her bottom lip as she set another stack of papers aside.

Nearly five hours and another iced coffee later, she was halfway through the papers. She had a couple of days before All Might and Aizawa needed the papers but she wanted this task out of the way as soon as possible.

She pulled the pink and white notepad across the table as she examined her to-do list. With a loud sigh, she picked up her coffee and bright the straw to her lips as she read.

First year student orientation and first day packets.

Inventory combat equipment.

Finish her own application to extend her work hours for the upcoming year.

Update the student database.

Call IT.

Get more copier tone-“

“Umm-“

Uraraka’s eyes widened as she bit down on the plastic straw. “Bakugo?” she questioned, slowly lifting her head up to face him.

He took an awkward step into the room, an arm bent behind his back as he scratched the base of his neck.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, suddenly very aware of the fact that she was still wearing the hoodie he’d given her. She swallowed a gulp of room temperature coffee as she tried to will the flush from her cheeks.

“Kirishima needed some paperwork,” Bakugo mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets he tilted his head behind him.

She could clearly see the bright red tuft of hair through the large window in front her. “Oh.” That explained it. “Well it’s nice that you came with him.”

He nodded, face twisting between unreadable emotions while his eyes followed her motions.

“I was just finishing up with some paperwork,” Uraraka babbled as she sat her cup back to the table. Her fingers nervously skimmed over the pile papers as her eyes dropped down to the table. “I uh-“ His gaze made her feel heavy and self conscious. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed the coffee stain on the front of her shirt or tired bags beneath her eyes. “I thought I would be able to get these done today.” Oh all the days for her not to wash her hair, it had to be today.

Bakugo himself looked like he’d just finished working out. Even though he was standing on the other side of the table, her nose managed to catch a whiff of that heavy sweet nitroglycerin scent. She also hadn’t minded watching the twitch of his arm muscles as he-

“But I still have a bunch to sort,” she stammered as she continued to move papers around the table. “I thin-“

“You wanna hangout?”

She stilled, fingers digging into the papers she shuffled. “Huh?” she questioned softly, slowly releasing grip she had on the paper and wincing at the sight of the wrinkles. She was going to have to redo those.

“You said we should hang out,” he huffed, rolling his shoulders back casually as pink stained his cheeks. “Do you wanna hang out or don’t ya?”

“Yeah.”

“Tomorrow?”

Right now would have been wonderful too. “Okay,” she nodded as she stood up straight. Rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie, she wiped her hands against her jeans.

“Give me your number.”

“Wha-”

“So I can text you,” he grumbled, shifting his weight to one of his legs. Bakugo took a step forward and shoved his phone at her. “Just put your number in.”

Uraraka typed in her phone number before handing him back the phone. “Okay, I’ll talk to you then.”

He nodded, a slow smug smirk curled at the corner of his lips, “That’s my hoodie.” Bakugo pocketed the phone, looking down at her with wide curious eyes.

“It is,” she commented, looking down at the garment as if she had forgotten she was wearing it. “I was gonna wash it and give it back you at the beginning of year-”

“Whatever,” he shrugged, “It’s not a big deal.”

She smiled sheepishly, wrapping the hoodie around her body.

“I gotta go,” he told her, clearing his throat. Tipping his head back toward Kirishima outside of the door, Bakugo rolled his eyes at Kirishima’s obnoxious laughter while he chatted with one of their teachers.

“Alright.”

“I’ll text you later. “

“Awesome,” she beamed, watching him walk out of the door and giving a happy wave. “See you Bakugo.”

“Later.” He nodded.

Uraraka watched him walk past the large window that opened to the view of the main floor. As soon as he stepped out of sight, she crouched down to the floor cradling her cheeks. “Oh my god,” she mouthed.

It was so much easier to talk to him when she was high off of a successful end of the year and overworked from school. The alcohol had also helped.

“What the heck just happened?” she gasped quietly as she shook her head.

Bakugo had just invited her out tomorrow, presumably just the two of them.

He’d asked for her number.

He'd noticed she was wearing his hoodie and let her keep it.

And promised to text her later.

If she didn’t know better, she would think he was flirting with her but Uraraka knew better than to make crazy assumptions.

The soft vibration of her phone stopped her panic as she reached into the front pouch of the hoodie. She pulled out her phone, tapping on the screen to view the message.

90-3473-2666, 5:47PM

It’s me.

Her eyes widened as her mouth dropped open.

90-3473-2666, 5:47PM

Told you I’d text you later.

To be continued…

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #4: Saving TIme

Frederick hated the patrol duties that came with being a Guardian of the Archive. Languishing with each step he took between the hundreds of shelves, lined with thousands of books. He’d been forced to stay inside this stone coffin many times during his training and studying. Convinced that, once he’d finished, passing by the very-thin skin of his teeth, it would be nothing but adventure and Guardianship. Chasing thieves through the market, being sent on missions to locate and capture dangerous magic and knowledge for the Archive. But no, the first two months had seen them watching books.

Charlette, on the other hand, enjoyed it. The silence of the library, the smell of the ageing paper, the wiff of a candle long-since burnt out. Frederick found it irritating, he much preferred being teamed up with Alistair on these nights, at the very least he could talk to the other man. With Charlette it was often either long lectures on history or science or whatever the woman had fallen asleep reading the night before. That or awkward silences, something had changed since they’d become full inductees of The Order, not like when they were children attending tutoring or apprentices stuffed into The Barracks. Like they’d forgotten how to simply speak to one another. Which, of course, only made patrol with her even more painful.

“Find anything?” he’d ask through the bookcase they had between them. “Of course not.” she’d say back, the sudden voice from between the books having startled her. “Any… Ixali?” “No” “Any morbals?” “Yes, three.” sarcasm dripping from her tone. “You’d best run. I hear Elzen are their favourite.” “Then you’ve obviously not read enough about them.” He’d roll his eyes, letting out a far-more-audible than needed sigh. The lack of a response from Charlette letting him know she was in ‘ignore the fool’ mode. In other words, Charlette at her most entertaining.

There were three things people knew Frederick for. Being shameless, being quick and being quiet, all the hallmarks of a good troublemaker. And with his heels lifted and his steps long, gentle, slow and quiet, he’d break away from the patrol-path Charlette had laid out for them. Stopping, for a short second, to pull a book out from the shelf, open it to a particular page and drop it on the floor. Then, careful as can be, sneaking into the depths of the Archive, his armour giving off the barest of clanks. “Fred?” she’d ask, turning her head to the side as she heard a book thump to the floor. Up until now she’d assumed he was sulking on the other side of the book case. “Frederick, are you giving me the cold shoulder?” she’d almost reached the end of the aisle, turning around the corner to try and confront the Hyur. She knew he hated these patrols, how he could have thought drudgery would not be a part of their duties she didn’t know, but the man was awfully childish about it. “Fred, come now, I didn’t mean anything by it-...” she’d catch her words before she’d finish, however, as the aisle was decidedly Fred-less. Her ire renewed she’d look around as if hoping the man had tumbled into a stack of tomes or had climbed a bookcase again. But no, he’d abandoned his post and ruined an almost perfect fifteen-in-a-row walk of her patrol-plan. The nerve!

“Fred!?” Charlette hissed-out, still following the libraries rules of silence even at the dead of night where no one would ever be here. Save Charlette and the patrolling guards. No response, she’d walk into his designated aisle, the fact she was forced to leave her post only making the woman more angry. “Frederick van Swart, I swear on my mother’s life if you do not come out right now the Head Archivist will hear of this!” she should have expected that would have no effect, but the fact that the man seemed to not even care for the opinion of the Head Archivist was unbelievable! Noticing the book from earlier, she’d walk over to it, feet stomping on the ground louder than they should. Leaning down to pick it up, her thumb holding the place in the pages as she turned it over and read the cover.

“Time Saving: The Art of Efficiency through Chronomancy.” her eyes going wide, tilting her head head even as moderate panic welled up inside of her. Frederick was no great talent in the aetheric arts but... they’d picked this book up from a merchant that had managed to freeze himself and his caravan in a time-loop of fifteen seconds. They still had him and his chocobos, running their repeated gauntlet of motions and words deep in the Archives vault. If that idiot could do so much damage, what could an even greater moron achieve?

“Frederick?!” her voice raised in earnest now, echoing through the vast chamber, a note of panic clear in her tone. Had he really attempted to, what? Fast forward the patrol? Skip the night all-together? Freeze time so he could go for a more entertaining stroll through town and do, goodness knows what? She was pacing, her plated boots clattering against the thin carpet over the stone floor beneath her. “No, he’s not that stupid. He saw the merchant, he’d know… oh gods but it was him that liquefied the bunks in The Barracks that one time. But surely he’d learned his lesson… don’t be daft Charlette, Fred is a disaster in waiting.” she’d make her way down the aisle, turning into the long corridor that ran between the many bookcases and seeing a line of books laying down the path like a line of bread crumbs. Walking forward, she’d pick up the first ‘Herbology and Hellfire: A guide to burning sensations and how to cure them.’ that seemed appropriate for Frederick, the next she retrieved ‘Eating your Weight in Aether: A Gluttons Guide to Cooking with Thaumaturgy’ that was a strange choice, was he just leaving them on the floor as he went? Frederick had no love for books, but no outward disrespect either. The next ‘Lovers Touch: Enhancing Lust with Arcanism’ “Oh gods, I hope he’s not read this one.” and finally, ‘Preparing for Pustules: Beginners Study in Apothecarium.’ She’d hold the four tomes, stacked in her arms in front of her before turning to put them on a nearby reading desk.

“Frederick, come now! This is not funny anymore. We’ve work to do!” still nothing, it was in the back of her mind constantly. The man, no, the boy is playing a trick on her, but she couldn’t beat down the worry in her gut. There were untold horrors on these shelves, mixed in with some of the most inane reading she’d ever found. Someone like Frederick could have simply misinterpreted something as innocent and, become stuck between realities or something. “We need to be more careful with these fucking books!” it was, a rare and exciting occurrence for Charlette to curse out loud. Frederick would be laughing, wherever he was. Looking back at the books she’d thump a hand on the table in frustration, the stack toppling over and falling across the table, sliding over each other until they fanned out like the cards in a deck. And she saw it. The first letter of each book spelled out one word. “H.E.L.P.” and over the edge she went.

Charlette’s panic came with several qualities. Internal strife as she wrestled with whether to handle this personally or alert someone at a higher level. Often accompanied with pacing and wild-mumbling to herself. Then, anger, as she yelled and implored at the people either around her or hopefully still on this plain of existence, begging them to ‘follow rule and reason’. To, lastly, cold determination as she once again took on the responsibility of saving the idiots that surrounded her. She’d hit that final level, coming to a decision that she’d bite the bullet and speak to the Head Archivist, implore him for help to retrieve her lost companion. “Frederick, you brilliant fool, however you did this I’m not going to leave you like that merchant!” turning on her heel she’d stomp, half jog, down the corridor leading to the libraries exit. 

Her footfalls, loud and easy to track, gave Frederick the measure he needed. The man had been busy, between doubling over in laughter at Charlette’s panic, and setting up the story for her to discover her colleagues ill-fated idea. Now, he stood on a stack of books, that lay on the seat of a chair, at the perfect height to turn into the corridor and give the tall Duskwight the eye-level scare he’d been working up to. Stomp, stomp, STOMP. She was close, closer and close enough! Frederick swinging out from around the bookcase and yelling at the top of his voice

“MORBOL- OOF!” he’d scared her, alright, Charlette letting out an almighty “WAAAH!” and decking the man right in the face with a plated fist, hard as she could. He went flying back, toppling over his makeshift perch and landing hard on his buttocks and back. The wind knocking out of him as one hand flew up to hold his nose, wheezing to catch his breath, the other cupping his butt cheek as it stung with the pain of his landing. Panicked and confused, Charlette quickly lunged around the bookcase and gave him another kick in the shins as her anger flared, the poor Hyur rolling on the floor, arching his back as he put too much weight on his burning backside. “You awful, horrid, unbearable TWIT!” Having figured out what had happened, she’d shout at him, frustrated with his antics. “I thought you’d trapped yourself in time! Did you lay these? Ooh, you laid these out for me to find!” she was pacing again, even as Frederick writhed on the floor, trying to stem the blood rushing to her head as she desperately wanted to hit him again. Frederick, holding his nose to stop the blood now leaking from his bruised nostril, had gotten his breath back though. “You, you punched me! What’s wrong with you!” his muffled voice obviously incensed by the fact she’d decked him over a prank! “It was a joke! Gods, Charlette, you’re an animal, I could’ve broken my back!” he’d sit up, immediately regretting it as his tailbone screamed at him. “Powers above! My backside, I think it’s broken. I think you broke my arsebone!” she’d lean down, pulling his hand away from his face. He was bleeding but it was not broken. “I’m sorry, but you gave me such a fright. And look at what you were standing on, you idiot. You might as well have been balancing on a pole stuck up your arse.” he’d stop his complaining, looking at her, pointing a finger as a sudden, slightly bloody but no less bright smile broke across his flinching features. “You swore. Twice! I heard you!” and so he chuckled, a hearty, victorious laugh as if he’d won some great game by toppling onto his backside and nearly having his nose broken. She’d laugh too, shoving his chest, which caused him to yelp out and shift to the un-bruised cheek. This only made her laugh harder, the haze of rage clearing enough that she’d lean forward to hug the man, tightly. Oh, she was still angrily with the little shit but, in all honesty, glad he was alright. Glad he was here and not trapped between timelines.

And while neither of them had saved any time at all, they’d spent enough of it to quickly make it a short patrol. One they’d never forget.

[im-abanana]

“Meant to Belong” [1/3]

Wanted to write a fanfiction about BATIM (Bendy and the Ink Machine), and especially about my new ship Bendalice (Bendy x Alice). I just put it on AO3 too, but whatever, I’ll post it here too! :P 

This first chapter is Angst, but the next two will be Angst, Fluff and Smut, so be careful with the next ones and, if you don’t like it, don’t read it. Said so, I hope you’ll enjoy!

Summary: Hidden very deep inside his soul for many years, there was a shocking emotion that made the little devil realize that the fallen angel wasn't just a simple co-worker, or a friend, or a rival, or a family member to him; but more, so much more. Their peculiar bond was a little more... complex, unique, maybe genuine. In other words, somehow they were meant to be together, drawn and designed to truly belong to each other. But all the pranks, all the fights and all the teasing sometimes made everything difficult, especially after that particular night.

The thick door of Alice's private dressing room slammed loudly behind her back as the fallen angel walked towards the huge mirror on the wall, sitting in front of it and sinking her aching head in her gloved hands, sighing out deeply and trying to calm the raging thoughts that were invading her mind. “Why can't Bendy just understand that he isn't the only one working on this show? Why can't he be friendly, or at least kind to me and Boris? Why can't people and kids realize how much of an arrogant, spoiled brat that demon is? Why do they...” a wheeze escaped the girl's black lips as the last part of the question carved its way inside her brain, forcing her to feel a sort of guilt, even shame, in the core of her chest. “... why do they love him more than me?”.

She shouldn't have been jealous of Bendy, Alice was aware of that, and somehow the realization that she envied her co-worker made her feel sick in the stomach. Yes, that perfect little angel, the character supposed to be a perfect and gentle creature, envied a stupid, mischievous little devil; she envied the joyful sparks of light in the children's tiny eyes when he would walk on stage with that smug grin of his, she envied the praises Joey and the parents would give him after every single set, while she and Boris would just stay silently behind the curtain and compliment each other, she envied the larger quantity of “Bendy Merchandise” the creators sold every month, she envied... everything.

She envied his whole fucking existence and, very deep inside her heart, no matter how much she desired to become a star and shine at least half as bright as him, Alice knew she would have never reached Bendy's popularity. “Especially after tonight... how could I be so careless?”.

Tripping over Bendy's stupid tail, right in front of dozens of yelling kids while she was singing and dancing on stage side by side with the devil in question and the poor naive Boris, had been mortifying enough, definitely... those brats' ruthless laughter still echoed in Alice's offended mind, and the worst thing was that even the previously calm and uninterested parents completely lost it when the angel made that single mistake! And all because of that stupid step, that one slip! Com'on, it wasn't her fault if that idiotic demon cut her off all of the sudden; he always wanted to be the center of attention no matter what, and Joey knew it very well! But despite everything she said or her sincere apologies about her rash actions (“You could have injured Bendy as well!”, they carelessly said.), she was the one who got severely scolded backstage by the whole crew, except the sweet and generous Boris, of course. “And in an hour I'll have to perform once again in front of those people. Just great, fantastic, exactly what I need to feel better... I'm sure that “The Butcher Gang” would entertain those children way more than me, maybe I should ask them to cover for me. Ugh, but Joey would be furious, I have no choice it seems.”.

The only reasonable thing to do was sucking it up and walking tall and proud on that stage, not caring about the stinging criticism or amused gazes. As long as she didn't have to bear Bendy's wiseacre grin, everything would be fine.

At that exact moment, the wooden door behind the angel squeaked, sign that it had been opened by someone, without any warning, and then discreetly closed again with a silent thud. Alice's muscles tensed for an instant, and when she slowly turned around to see the mysterious visitor's face, she had to hold back an irritated groan and a few insults that came to her mind incredibly fast. “Aww! Don't give me that sneer, toots! I came here to check on you!”.

“Get lost, Bendy. I'm not in the mood to put up with you and your childish games.” the young woman replied with pure hatred, staring at the tiny demon standing right in front of her, as usual not scared or intimidated by her enraged expression; the devil's black jacket, the one he was elegantly wearing during their performance, was rapidly tossed away as Bendy made himself comfortable, sitting on a chair and relaxing, as if everything was his private property. And he still had that idiotic, conceited smile on his face... “I said get lost! I did not invite you inside!” Alice repeated with a snarl when she realized she had been completely ignored, getting up and clenching her fists. “Did you hear me, you stupid devil!? This is my dressing room! These are my things! That is my chair! And I want you out of here right now, you understand!?”.

“Woah, calm down Angel Cake, no need to be so snarky! I just came here to congratulate with you... for the perfect landing on the stage, especially on your butt! Seriously sweetie, after tonight the creators should change your slogan in -She sings! She dances! And she falls on her huge ass!-!” Bendy simply replied with a small shrug and then with a coarse laugh, smirking in response and turning in “his” chair, his pitch black eyes blinking joyfully as Alice got even angrier and grayer on her smooth cheeks. Oh, how he loved to tease that angel! “Uhh, someone's mad, toots? Eheh... ehy, com'on Angel Face, put that hairdryer down! I'm just playing aroun-! Alice... please, put that thing down. N-no, don't! Boris, Joey! BORIS AND JOEY, HELP ME! Alice wants to hurt me! AHH!”.

The black haired girl threw at the short demon the hairdryer, a spray can, a shoe, a thick book, a desk lamp and even a small table she found in a corner, managing to predict his erratic movements and scoring at least three perfect hits in the face with the last objects. “Golly toots, calm down! Don't ruffle any feathers, and just sit do-! Umh... ops, right, I'm very sorry! That was way out of line, I admit it! Forget what I just said and... no, stop with that stuff!” Bendy hid behind the nearby couch and bit his pale lower lip as he immediately recalled that Alice, in fact, didn't have wings. Sometimes the spiteful devil would call his graceful co-worker dumb names, like “Angel Cake”, “Angel Face” or “Toots” when he simply wanted to flirt, but the most hated of them all was definitely “No Wings”; being a horned fallen angel, an imperfect creation that represented pride and betrayal by nature, had always made that talented woman feel uncomfortable on stage, almost under constant pressure: after all, that kind and good-hearted angel was supposed to be a perfect and beautiful artist, but it was clear to see that, when all eyes were locked on her, she felt worse or maybe in danger, despite she tried to hide those nasty feelings with sweet smiles and a strong character. “I swear, this time I didn't mean it! I shouldn't have said that and I apologize for that, ok?”.

“Get. The. Living. Hell...” Alice hissed and lifted a pretty big wooden nightstand with both arms, her dark and shiny irises glowing red for a moment as she literally shouted the last part of the phrase and hurled that piece of furniture to him at the same time, not caring about destroying her refined sofa or anything else, really. She just wanted that intolerable cartoon out of her sight, once for all. “OUT! I've heard enough from you, Bendy! Go away!”.

Dodging the violent hit with a nimble leap, the tiny demon raced towards the dressing room's exit at full speed, his pointy tail tightly pressed between his shaking legs in defeat and pure terror. “You got that toots, leaving now, goodbye, see you in one hour, get ready and beautiful and prepared for the big show, babe!!!” Bendy nodded with great vigour, desperately crawling outside and closing the white door behind his narrow shoulders, giving up and choosing to live. Damn, what a jerk, he was just having fun!“Phew... That was too close indeed... jeez, what's wrong with Alice tonight? I was just kiddin', she is too overly-sensitive! Bah girls, I'll never understand them!”.

But that's when Bendy heard a quiet noise, an easily recognisable sound that filled his careful ears and made him freeze in his shady track when he realized what he had just done: his usually joyful and positive co-worker was silently sobbing behind the layer of wood that separated the duo, her slim face buried deeply in her tapered fingers. He, with his unintentionally cruel and selfish words, had made Alice cry and had probably hurt her already damaged spirit. Sadness, nervousness, humiliation, insecurity, fear, incomprehension and rage merged all together, causing a painful weep to escape from the angel's wet lips and a couple of heavy, inky tears to stream down her soft and marked cheeks.

Well, damn crap. Good fucking job, you made Alice cry, you stupid little dancing moron. You... you made your co-worker upset right after an important performance, very well done.

“She never cried before... or did she?” Bendy asked with a gentle huff, mostly to himself, dropping down and pressing the left side of his artificial skull against the thin drywall, guilt and sorrow filling his short limbs and spreading quickly along with an empty hole, consuming the energies of the middle, throbbing spot of his incredibly gaunt chest. “Did I ever... even notice?”.

Of course you didn't notice her feelings or Boris' ones, you idiot. You're just a egotistical little shit, you only care about yourself and your popularity, and no one else. Right?

No, wrong, so wrong. Of course he cared about that kind angel and about Boris, they were his best friends. Well, his only friends, to be fair... and making Alice suffer or breaking her heart was the last thing Bendy wanted to do, despite how much he loved to tease her, underline his own attitude or sometimes fight with her, verbally and physically. That little demon thought that everyone knew that he was just kidding, that all he liked to do was playing around and having fun, not only with the kids, his little beloved fans. But now he evidently took a bad step...“You fucked up Bendy, you hurt one of your own friends.”.

You shouldn't lie to yourself like that, you know?

Yeah, he shouldn't have indeed. Hidden very deep inside his soul for many years, there was a shocking emotion that made the little devil realize that the fallen angel wasn't just a simple co-worker, or a friend, or a rival, or a family member to him; but more, so much more. Their peculiar bond was a little more... complex, unique, maybe genuine. In other words, somehow they were meant to be together, drawn and designed to truly belong to each other.

No matter if they were living and thinking creatures, capable of taking their personal decisions and freely express their temperament, the innate attraction they shared was still there, impossible to remove or ignore. Was it because of his purpose, for the audience, was it just a trait he couldn't erase from his artificial DNA? Or was it because after all, it was a real feeling, spontaneous? “No. She is my rival, that's what we truly are, that's what we both chose to be. Joey might tell me that Alice Angel is my official love interest, but we both know this won't happen. I am the number one, I must be on top of this whole show, I won't give up the place I've earned just for love!”.

So, you're even admitting that you're in love with her, uh? Nice move, you idiot!

That wasn't good, oh no, that wasn't good at all! He had to fix the situation as soon as possible, no matter what, even if the idea of facing her again in a few seconds was rather scary and intimidating, so much that Bendy had to rub his throbbing temples with his white gloves. “Grow a pair Bendy, you're the boss here! Yeah, you're the big star! Now walk into that room and deal with Alice!”.

Damn right he was! And besides, he still needed to get his black jacket back.