#backwards and now it's almost constantly hurting & also i can feel my heartbeat at the bottom of it & also if i move or use it the pain

[ronanlynchbf]

Girl help i think i fucked up my pinky..... 😶

[ayellowcurtain]

Secondly, I was wondering if you could do an AU about Sander being Amber's older brother. In which he's like "too cool for you" until he meets his sister's boyfriend's cute friend aka Robbe...

The subway is crowded, Sander doesn’t understand why Amber can’t get herself a bike and learn how to use it. She tries to stay away from everyone around her, trying to keep her childish tiara in place and he just rolls his eyes, ignoring her grip on his favorite jacket to keep herself standing.

It’s not the best thing, to go to one of Amber’s parties, but Sander needed to get out of the house and nobody else had plans for the night. Their parents would probably never get over his break up with Britt and Sander is tired of hearing it, it’s over, it was over long before they had the balls to actually break up.

So tonight he just needed some fresh air, beer - even if it’s a cheap one - and hopefully a joint. Amber said her friends smoke and Sander is counting on that.

“Just be chill tonight, okay? They’re my friends and I would like to still have them tomorrow morning.”

Sander thinks about asking Amber what the fuck would he do to end her whole pink-princess world, but he doesn’t even bother, getting out of the subway and waiting for her to follow.

It’s a quick walk from the station to Zoe’s flat. Sander keeps repeating the name inside his head to make sure he knows who he’s talking to when the blonde girl probably opens the door for them.

Amber is texting someone on their way upstairs and Sander waits one step behind her when they get to a door on the third floor, the music inside clearly not being stopped by the door or the walls.

“Hey…” He kicks the back of her left foot and Amber huffs annoyed, looking back. “Whatever happens tonight, stays between us. I’m not gonna tell them about you going somewhere with a guy, getting shitfaced with weed and booze and you’re gonna keep your pretty little mouth shut about me too.”

Amber rolls her eyes but nods her head and Sander feels a little more at ease. They don’t get too along, but they do know how to cover each other in these situations. There’s a noise, someone unlocking the door and not a girl opens the door for them, not blonde either.

Sander analyzes him from head to toe. He’s the one. Whoever he is: taller than Amber, but still so small, brown hair framing his face, tanned skin, cheeks tinted pink - probably from all the beers he already had -, an easy and soft smile as he seems surprised not to see only Amber, but also someone behind her. He stutters a little, looking right at Sander and he smiles at the boy.

“Robbe! Hi!” Amber forces herself in and Robbe steps aside to give her space and his little sister is gone just like that, in the blink of an eye. They’re completely alone now. Sander steps forward, right at the door, looking at the empty hall leading to probably a small living room filled with Amber’s friends.

“Hi?” Robbe laughs his question and Sander wonders if he can actually fall in love. He never thought he would ever really fall in love until right this second, with Robbe.

“Hi...Sander.” He offers his hand and Robbe looks at him, frowning but shaking his hand.

“Robbe.”

“I know.” 

“Yeah, sorry. Come in…”  Robbe laughs again and Sander wonders if that’s one of his things: to give people the softest laughter as he talks. Or if this is just with Sander. He hopes for the second one. Sander walks inside as he was told to do, he could follow Robbe’s directions anywhere.

“Do we really need to go there?” Robbe frowns even more, but his lips are still stretching up slightly, he has this lines that make his dimples even cuter.

“Huh?” Drunk and clearly confused Robbe asks back and Sander smiles.

“It feels crowded. I’m a little bit claustrophobic. Could we stay somewhere else?” Sander tries his best shot and Robbe doesn’t look bothered by it. He still looks at Sander, deep inside his eyes, but just for one second, looking back at the party, thinking and Sander wonders how drunk he is.

Robbe nods his head very quietly and points with his head to the side. Sander looks at the first door behind Robbe.

“That’s my room...if you wanna wait. I’m just gonna get us something to drink.”

“And maybe smoke?... Pretty please?” Sander pouts and raises his eyebrows and Robbe laughs with his whole small being again and Sander wishes to make him laugh forever.

“Yeah, something to smoke too.”

Robbe walks away and Sander goes to that door, opening it slowly.

Plain white walls, a light wood bed frame with dark blue blankets all scrunched up in the middle, black and white posters everywhere, photography of skaters making tricks. He likes photography…

Sander walks to the table against the big window, touching the clearly worn shirt hanging on the back of his chair. He’s so tempted to hold it, see if it’s still warm, if it smells like anything, but he holds his impulses for once, and Robbe opens the door and gets inside.

-

“So...you’re Amber’s big brother, huh?” Sander rolls his eyes, holding the joint when Robbe offers it back to him, letting the weed fill his brain instantly. It helps, taking the edge off of how Robbe makes him feel. Sweaty hands, overheating, very aware of how fast and strong his heart is beating. They’re sitting right next to each other on the floor, backs against the side of Robbe’s bed. If they look at each other at the same time, they’ll be just inches away.

“Yes, sadly.” Robbe laughs and Sander carefully turns his head to look at him. Robbe smiles and laughs like he means it, his lips shiny from him constantly biting them or wetting them with his tongue, sticking out at top of his bottom teeth when he laughs, his cheeks getting redder and redder the more they smoke and drink. But Robbe isn’t noticing, probably, and Sander gets warmer inside, seeing everything with a hint of sunny yellow when he’s around Robbe like it’s his aura and it spreads all around the ones that are close enough to Robbe.

“She’s a lot, I’ll give you that.” Sander smiles and offers the join back and only then he realizes that Robbe was staring at him while he got lost inside his own fuzzy brain. Robbe isn’t noticing how his intentions are clear, written all over his face right now, staring at Sander’s lips, his own mouth parted, doe eyes with big pupils. Robbe blinks slowly and closes his mouth, swallowing so hard Sander can almost hear it.

“Do you want more?” He asks, offering the tiniest joint still burning in between his long fingers.

“Hm, no. I think I’m good, way too high even.” Sander wets his own lips with his tongue, suddenly aware that’s been hours since they sat here, his ass is starting to hurt, but he doesn’t want to leave Robbe’s bedroom. Ever.

The music that was loud when he got here - almost making the thin walls dance to the beat - is now just a sad, boring whisper at the back of the flat. Sander is almost sure nobody else cares about the playlist so it ended and something else - something bad - started playing instead.

“I’m so fucking hungry…” Robbe whispers with a raspy voice, his throat probably as dry as Sander’s. “Do you want anything?”

He blinks as Robbe moves by his side, putting both hands on the floor to try to get up, but his balance is clearly not working and he almost falls on top of Sander, putting one hand on his shoulder. Their foreheads and noses are almost touching, Sander’s heart is pounding against his chest, his ears buzzing loudly according to his heartbeats. And then Robbe is kissing him, more like a pout against his lips as Robbe pushes himself to stand up and Sander is left there, looking up, with puppy eyes, wanting their lips to stay connected, but Robbe is standing up correctly now, his lips shiny again and Sander hopes it’s because of his own lips this time.

“I’m gonna get us something…”

“Don’t take too long.” Sander sighs his words, relaxing against the bed, keeping his eyes glued to Robbe’s as he smiles and walks backwards to the door.

“I won’t.”

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Forty Eight

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 11th, 1995

Emile was exhausted. Maybe staying up all night at the sleepover wasn’t a good idea. He had been talking to his friends, and his friends kept laughing when he tried to say something and his words got tangled. He was so tired that he could barely speak straight.

The worst part, though, had to be that he had lost his filter around three in the morning and everyone was suddenly asking him personal questions, that he didn’t know how to answer. After all, how did you tell a bunch of teenage boys that you were bisexual? How did you explain that you were a bit shy around the topic of sex and a virgin? Certainly not easily.

Emile inwardly grumbled and waited for his parents to come pick him up. He just wanted to sleep at this point. Maybe he’d get his filter back and he could avoid more awkward questions come later.

  November 12th, 2001

Emile sat in the back behind the stage, catching his breath. He had to do a lot of moving around the stage even if he didn’t have a lot of speaking lines in the play. So when all was said and done, and his one performance that he was called upon for occurred, he was so breathless and his nerves were so shot that he nearly passed out the second he got backstage.

When his ears finally stopped ringing and he felt like he might be able to stand without throwing up, he saw a familiar hand enter his field of vision. He looked up and saw Remy standing there, a smile on his face. “The play’s over, mio amore. You did wonderfully, but I want to take you home now, if that’s all right?”

“Yeah,” Emile breathed, standing up shakily. “I don’t think I’m made for theatre, Rem.”

“Maybe not,” Remy allowed. “Or maybe you’re just not the acting type. There’s more than one way to participate in a theatre performance, mio amore.”

“You keep calling me your love a lot more frequently recently,” Emile said, eyebrows furrowing. “You okay?”

Remy turned a light pink. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“So there’s no reason that you’ve suddenly been a lot more loving?” Emile asked. “I’m not complaining, I’m just confused.”

Remy shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re lying, Rem,” Emile said softly.

Remy flinched. “I know. But I don’t know how to describe it properly.”

Emile squeezed Remy’s hand and they moved out of the theatre. “Can you try?” Emile asked. “Because I’m starting to worry that you’re dying.”

“I’m not dying. Not to my knowledge, at any rate,” Remy said, scratching the back of his neck. “I...just...want to make sure you know. That I love you, I mean.”

“Rem, I know that even if you never say it,” Emile murmured softly. “Do you think that I doubt that?”

“Nn...no. No, I don’t think you doubt it. But like...for a while, we were just...loving, all the time, and nothing could stop us from loving each other. Now, though....now, I don’t know. It feels different.” Remy shook his head. “I really don’t know how to explain it.”

“The honeymoon phase is fading,” Emile filled in. “You’re used to there being big declarations of love, and happiness all the time, and everything looking and feeling great, with no downsides. Or if there are downsides, they’re easily solvable. But now...time continues to pass, right? And the declarations seem fewer, and the problems seem bigger. And the relationship is, in general, weird.”

Remy turned a darker pink and looked away. “Why do you always have to hit the nail on the head?” he complained.

“Because psychology is a lot more than head-shrinking,” Emile said with a grin. As the grin faded into a more serious expression, he continued. “Honey, you don’t have to recreate the honeymoon phase. Firstly because it’s near impossible to do, and secondly because we still love each other. I love you, no matter what problems happen. It hurts like hell when we hit a bump in the road, but we’ve made it through the bumps before, and we can do it again. And you’ve shown that you love me. Even when trying to do the impossible, you put your all into it, because you believe it will make me happy, and in turn also make you happy.

“Fact is, though, Rem, that no one can be happy all the time. We’re going to have low days where a simple word can’t cheer us up. We’re going to have days where we can barely stand to look at each other, for whatever reason. The honeymoon phase isn’t coming back. But that’s okay, because what happens after the honeymoon phase is deeper, and so much better. Because when we hit the downsides, we’ll have each other to lean on and get through them. I don’t doubt that we’ll have our fights. I don’t doubt that there will be days where we wonder if getting serious, and staying together was the right move. But I also don’t doubt that we can work our way through that, and love each other no matter what.”

Remy looked at him for a long moment, before he huffed and crossed his arms with a smile. “You’re annoying when you’re right.”

Emile grinned and kissed Remy lightly. “So are you going to stop trying to bring the honeymoon phase back? You can say you love me, still, and I don’t mind the pet names, but I want you to mean them, too.”

“I always mean them,” Remy said, frowning.

“Poor word choice,” Emile corrected himself, “I don’t want you to constantly remind yourself that you have to say you love me, call me pet names, or anything like that. I prefer when you say it because I did something cute in your eyes, or because we’re both tired and vulnerable and want to sit on the couch together and cry over one of my cartoons. Rather than it just being something you say as a tacked-on ending to a phone call, or say to try and bring back something that won’t be able to return. That’s not to say I don’t love it when you call me pet names or say you love me, it’s to say that not doing all of that all the time is healthy, and expected in any relationship.”

“Oh,” Remy said simply. “That makes sense, actually. I guess I can try to let it go, but that doesn’t mean I won’t worry that the spark is dying occasionally.”

“Hey, if you’re worried about it that’s a good thing. Because you want it to stay. And so do I,” Emile said, putting a hand on Remy’s shoulder as he nearly collapsed onto the asphalt. “I need to go home.”

“Yeah, you look like you’re about to pass out still,” Remy said. He paused in walking, grabbing Emile under the armpits and knees and picked him up bridal style.

Emile made an eep noise in response. “Was that really necessary?”

“Oh yeah,” Remy said with a laugh. “Can’t have you passing out on the way to the car, Emile. I’ll drive us home, sound good?”

Emile grumbled. “I could have handled myself,” he groused.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say, honey,” Remy laughed. “Come on, it has to be nice to have someone to care for you.”

“I mean, sometimes, yeah,” Emile said. “But not all the time.”

“Honey, the last time I helped you was with a juice cap two weeks ago. I do not help you ‘all the time,’” Remy retorted.

“I could have gotten the juice cap on my own!” Emile protested.

“With the rubber gripper is not ‘on your own’!”

Emile groaned and let his head loll backwards towards the ground. “You are. The worst.”

Remy just laughed. He squawked, however, when Emile started to tickle him. “Honey, I’m going to drop you! Stop!”

Emile giggled but let his hands drop, and he sighed. “That was not smart. I don’t have any energy left now.”

Remy snorted and carried Emile to the car. When he put Emile’s feet on the ground, though, he swayed and his legs buckled. “Woah!” Remy exclaimed, putting steadying hands on Emile’s shoulders. “Honey, no more theatre for you, okay? Not as an actor, at least. Not if you’re this close to passing out and getting hurt.”

Emile groaned and nodded. “I wasn’t sure I was cut out for the actual stage...and I was right.”

Remy laughed as he opened the passenger side door of the car and helped Emile in. “Can you strap yourself in, or are you too shaky?”

Emile sluggishly strapped himself in and gave Remy a thumbs-up. Remy shut the car door, got in the driver’s side, and started the ride home. “You know, I’m glad you put me on the title of the car,” Remy said. “Because now when you do stupid stuff that makes you almost pass out, I’m able to drive you home, or to the hospital if you’re really hurt.”

Emile just grunted, draping an arm over his eyes as he leaned back in his seat.

“Oh, honey, you are so out of it,” Remy laughed. “You really shouldn’t push yourself this hard, you know. We have Thanksgiving and then you’ll have finals before you know it.”

Emile whined, “Don’t remind me.”

Remy just shrugged and offered Emile a smile when he let his arm drop. “Hey, tell you what, though,” Remy said. “When we get back home we can cuddle all you want. That was an amazing performance.”

Emile offered Remy a weak grin. They got back to the apartment, and Emile felt slightly guilty that Remy had to help him out of the car, into the building, and up the stairs to their apartment.

They got to Emile’s room and he managed to toe off his shoes and collapse onto the bed with a groan. “Cuddles?” he asked into the blankets.

“Sure,” Remy agreed, climbing into Emile’s bed and pulling him close.

Emile hummed and buried his head in Remy’s chest. He wanted to take in everything about this moment: the way Remy smelled, like that cologne he was trying and slight sweat from the heat of the theatre. The way that he could hear Remy’s heart beating in his chest, and how it slowed Emile’s own heartbeat. The way that Remy would sigh into his hair and pull him a little closer, until they were pressed up against each other. Emile lazily put an arm on Remy’s shoulder and used his thumb to stroke Remy’s shoulder.

Eyes growing heavy, Emile just continued to savor the moment, the quiet sound of traffic outside and the ache of his bones, but the warmth of another body right next to him, willing to love him until the end of time. The darkness of the room, with only light from the kitchen moving in through a sliver of the door.

Remy took Emile’s glasses off and Emile blinked owlishly up at Remy. “Wha’ was tha’ for?” Emile asked, words slurring together.

“I thought you were asleep, honey,” Remy said. “And we can’t have you breaking your glasses.”

Emile nodded, burying his head in Remy’s chest again and sighing.

The silence stretched between them, before Remy shifted and Emile frowned, eyes squeezing shut tight as he whined and grabbed onto Remy’s shirt. “Emile,” Remy said. “Emile, I have to go to bed.”

“Here is a bed,” Emile said, weakly patting the mattress.

“Here is your bed,” Remy replied. “My bed’s in the other room.”

“Want you to stay,” Emile mumbled.

Remy blinked. “Why?” he asked.

Emile looked up at him blearily, and said, “‘Cause I love you,” like it was obvious. Because it was obvious, wasn’t it?

“Yeah, you love me all the time, but you never insist that I stay with you through the night,” Remy said. “Why tonight?”

“I want comfort,” Emile said. His filter was leaving fast, as was most of his waking thought process. “I want to feel safe with you. I want to...to...know that you love me through more than words. I love your words, but I want to use more than just words. I wanna cuddle and show that I love you, and want you to love me back.”

Remy ran a hand through Emile’s hair, murmuring, “It’s okay, I can stay, but you know I love you so much anyway, right?”

Emile mumbled, “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you and your love,” he said. “I’ve done so many things wrong about us, and you, and everything...and I don’t deserve the chances you’ve given me.” Tears were in his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I don’t deserve you, either,” Remy said. “You’re smart, and kind, and incredibly cute, and I could see myself spending the rest of my life with you, which is terrifying. I...I love you, Emile. Just...just rest, okay?”

“Mmm...‘kay,” Emile mumbled, quickly falling asleep.

[stansrichie]

how do you sleep when you lie to me?

summary: reddie soulmate au where when you write on your skin, it’ll show up on your soulmates skin as well so eddie started wearing long sleeves… until one day, he doesn’t.

read it on ao3 here! :]

pairing: richie and eddie

words: 3.3k

warnings: eddie is big dumb, mild angst, mainly pining/fluff, college au, soulmate au, they’re like 19

a/n: i haven’t written in a while so PLEASE bear with me i tried- i also didn’t prooread this yet so ignore typos its 5am :[

Eddie had just drifted to sleep when he felt a faint tingle on his arm; his soulmate writing something.

Sitting up in bed, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and turned his head to look at the clock on his desk. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he mutters frustratedly to himself, flopping back down on his bed and curling further into his comforter, trying to be as quiet as he can since Stan was sleeping less than 5 feet away from him in their shared college dorm. “Why the hell is he up at 4 a.m. when we have class in the morning?”

Eddie had always been a light sleeper, so it was at times like this when he was awoken at the ass-crack of dawn, watching silently as Richie wrote on his arm, waiting and hoping for a response; a response Eddie was, quite frankly, too afraid to give him.

It had only been a few days after he turned 18, the age where you can finally start seeing and writing messages on your skin to your soulmate, that Eddie figured out Richie was his soulmate.

It was their senior year of high school and they were sitting in English class, zoning out while as the teacher continued rambling about some summer reading project they were supposed to have done, when Eddie felt it. He was wearing a sweatshirt, so he lifted the sleeve a little, watching as his soulmate started doodling what looked like an intricate rose.

He smiled as he watched for a few minutes, thinking the flower was beautiful, and moved to tap Richie on the arm to show him the design but paused as soon as he started. His breath hitched as he looked over his shoulder and saw Richie drawing a rose on his arm. The exact same rose that was currently being drawn on Eddie’s.

Up until that point, Eddie had never written a message back to his soulmate, afraid of saying something stupid, and after figuring out it was Richie, he knew he could never write anything back at all. At least not until he figured out what the hell he could say to him because, in reality, what was he supposed to say to his best friend that has shown no romantic interest in him before? ‘Hey, Richie, it’s me, Eddie. I know you’ve said a thousand times that being around me makes you nauseous because I constantly smell like my mom’s cheap perfume, but maybe that’s karma because we’re kinda soulmates. Life comes at you fast, huh?” Absolutely not.

Not only could Eddie not convince himself to tell Richie, but neither could the rest of the Losers. Not Bill, who sat Eddie down and held an impromptu intervention with Mike after Richie had come to them a hundred times, crying about how his soulmate probably hates him already since they never respond to him. Not Stan, who nearly decked him in the face for running away when he was given the perfect opportunity to fess up when Richie asked him why he had drawn the exact same smiley face he had on his hand. And not Beverly or Ben, who cornered and sat him down just last week after his last lecture of the day, telling him it had been almost a year since he found out and had yet to talk to Richie.

Now here he was, lying in bed at 4 in the morning, curling tightly into his comforter as he tried to ignore the guilt he felt in the pit of his stomach and watching Richie write what was probably the fourth message he had gotten today.

I’m sorry if I’ve been annoying you for the past year. Part of me hopes I’ve been writing on the wrong arm this whole time and you’re just not right-handed, but I know that isn’t really it. Just please say something, anything, so I at least know you’re out there and I’ll stop. I promise.

More than half of his forearm had been covered. He could only read over the message once, feeling tears well up in his eyes before shoving his arm back under his blanket and shutting his eyes as tightly as he could. He hated that he was hurting him, but he was scared. He was so scared. Scared that Richie would hate him by now. Scared that Richie didn’t return the same feelings for him that he’s had since freshman year. Scared that this will ruin their friendship if Richie doesn’t. He’s so scared.

“Eddie, it’s the middle of September. It’s like 600 degrees outside. Why the fuck are you wearing a jacket?” Richie asks, furrowing his eyes brows and staring at the smaller boy in front of him, his head slightly tilted as he waited for an answer.

After locking the door to his and Stan’s dorm, Eddie pushes past Richie, nearly knocking the boy over, and throws his backpack over his shoulder as he leads them down the hall and out of the building. This is what they always did. Richie woke up early, got dressed, walked to Eddie’s room, and waited for him outside so they could walk to class together. That’s what best friends do, right? “Because I’m cold, Richie, why else would I wear a jacket, dumbass?” he retorted, tugging the jacket tighter over his body. Ever since Eddie started wearing long sleeves around him, Richie asked the same thing all the time, and got the same response every time. Only this time, it really did feel like it was about 600 degrees outside, and Eddie could already feel his forehead start to get damp as they walked, yet he had no intentions of removing the jacket.

“Whatever, weird ass. I feel like I’m fucking melting out here, and you’re still dressing like there’s a blizzard barreling down on us. Are you okay?” Richie asked, his previously sarcastic tone of voice turning to one of genuine concern, catching Eddie completely off-guard with how fast he switched up.

“Y-yeah. I’m okay. Just been feeling weird. I’m fine, though,” Eddie tumbled over his words, keeping his eyes on his feet as they walked. “I didn’t get to ask you earlier, but how was the trip?” he asked, peering up to meet the same pair of concerned eyes he had been avoiding the entire walk. Over the weekend, Richie was forced to go to some art museum two hours away with his class for an exhibit, and instead of making it a day trip, they left Saturday morning and didn’t return until Sunday afternoon.

Richie knew good and well that Eddie wasn’t as okay as he was telling him, but they were best friends. He told Eddie everything and Eddie told him everything too. If he wanted him to know, he would tell him. Why would this be any different? “It was alright. Kind of boring, but it was required. I know it was only one weekend, but I missed you,” Richie replied nonchalantly, shoving his hands in his pockets. It wasn’t until a few moments later that he realized what he’d said, and frantically tried to backtrack and save himself. “You guys. I-i missed you guys. You know… it was weird not hanging out with you all. Like... all of you. Not just one,” he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the nape of his neck, and Eddie noticed a faint red tint had taken to his cheeks that couldn’t have been from the heat.

“Yeah…y-yeah. I got it,” Eddie stuttered back, feeling like the combined heat the jacket and the heat from his own cheeks were about to suffocate him. “I bet it was. Didn’t have anyone to fuck around with and call ‘itty bitty Ewok” the whole time you were there.”

This pulled a loud laugh from Richie, who completely stopped in his tracks to grab his chest dramatically at the nickname he had coined for Eddie. “Come on, Eds, if anything you missed me calling you that,” he replied in-between chuckles, wiping a single tear from his eye.

“Fuck you, Richie, you already know I’m insecure about my height and Ewoks are actually pretty badass. They could kick your ass in a heartbeat just like I ca-” Eddie stops himself, sighing and shaking his head as Richie had only been probed to laugh harder. “Fuck you,” he spat, squinting his eyes at the other boy before speed walking ahead. However, he didn’t get very far before he felt himself being tugged backwards into a hard chest.

“I’m sorry, Eddie. I was just kidding, I promise,” Richie grinned down at him, though Eddie wasn’t paying much attention to what he was saying. What he was paying attention to, though, was the hand on his waist that was pressing him firmly against Richie’s body, only separated by his backpack. “Forgive me?” Richie whispered, leaning right down to Eddie’s ear and making him shudder a bit at the feeling of his breath fanning his skin.

“Whatever,” Eddie breathed out, shoving Richie away and fixing his bag on his shoulder, continuing to walk ahead as he heard Richie continuing to chuckle behind him.

They walked in silence for a few more minutes, getting closer and closer to their classroom building before they finally arrived. It wasn’t until Eddie pulled the door open and held it for Richie that he spoke again.

“Is that something your soulmate wrote?” Richie asked, pointing to the marks peeking out from Eddie’s jacket that had slightly risen up on his arm as they walked inside.

At the question, Eddie’s eyes widened, and he immediately pulled the fabric of his sleeve down, averting his eyes from his best friend. “Yeah… yeah, it’s nothing important. Just a doodle or something,” he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders and silently praying that Richie would accept his answer and change the subject.

“Must be nice. I don’t know what I did to my soulmate or--or if I even fucking have one at this point, but I can never get a response. I’m starting to think that maybe I should just…give up? I mean it’s almost been a year now and all I’ve gotten is radio silence. I can’t keep begging for nothing, you know?” Richie asks, looking over at Eddie with dark, heavy eyes as he finished. His shoulders were slumped in defeat and his head hung a little lower as he walked.

“Yeah. I-I’m sorry, Richie. You don’t deserve that… you really don’t,” Eddie replied, fidgeting nervously with backpack straps and quickly glancing at Richie before focusing back on the ground and walking into the classroom.

He hadn’t been lying. After a while, the messages on Eddie’s arm started coming in slower and slower before stopping altogether.

There were times when he thought Richie had started trying again, feeling the familiar tingle on his arm, only to look down and see a grocery list or a homework reminder.

By now, it had been nearly two months and there hadn’t been a single message from Richie for him to read. Richie had also become a little quieter when they all hung out. Acting a little out of character for his usual self, and the entire group noticed. They also knew Eddie was the one that could fix it, and they’d threatened him at least 3 times this week to tell Richie before they did. To say he felt guilty was an understatement. He didn’t think it would come to Richie completely giving up he just¾he just needed more time, was all. More time to come up with something to say to him.

Eddie was just about to sit down and start on his homework when he felt it again. Writing on his arm.

Study group for comp sci in library @ 6

He stared at the note on his arm for a few minutes before looking at the time on his laptop. It was 3:45 now, so he only had a little bit of time to decide if he would show up or not. This was the first time Richie had written a complete sentence, whether it was for him or not, let alone with something as specific as his afternoon plans. It would be the perfect time to reveal himself to Richie, but he couldn’t help but doubt himself. “Jesus fuck, I’m gonna need a Xanax after this,” he muttered to himself hiding his face in his hands and exhaling loudly.

It was currently 7:30pm and Eddie was standing outside of the library entrance, looking like an absolute idiot. He had gotten to the library over 30 minutes ago, but every time he made the move to walk inside, he walked right back out.

He peered through the glass doors of the library entrance and saw Richie packing up his bags at a table in the back corner of the bottom floor and waving goodbye to a few other students. Panic started to rise in him because it was literally now or never, and he didn’t even use his time standing around outside, let alone the entire year he’s kept this secret, to think of what the hell he’s supposed to say when he walks up to him.

His body starts moving before his mind can get it to stop, and he suddenly finds himself pushing through the front doors and walking right up to Richie, who was seconds away from leaving.

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie called as he neared the table, internally cringing at how awkward and nervous he sounded. Richie looked up from shoving his last book into his backpack, his eyes widening in surprise and his mouth opening to say something before Eddie cut him off. “H-how did your study group go?”

“How did you know I had a study group? I never mentioned it to…” Richie trailed off mid-sentence as he took in Eddie’s appearance. He was shifting nervously from one foot to the other. A faint blush was set on his cheeks, tinting them a pretty pink color over his freckles, and he was completely avoiding Richie’s eyes. Other than that, there was nothing significantly different about Eddie that caught him off guard; that is, until he noticed Eddie’s shirt. For once, he wasn’t wearing anything long-sleeved, and Richie noticed a few familiar scribbles on Eddie’s arm from afar.

Stepping away from the table, Richie started moving closer to the other boy and Eddie felt like he couldn’t breathe. He stood completely still, frozen in place, as Richie stopped right in front of him and took his arm in his hand, holding it up so he could read what was written.

“Study group for comp sci in library at 6,” Richie read out loud quietly before looking up and meeting Eddie’s eyes, causing Eddie to meet his gaze for the first time. They were both silent for no more than 3 minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Eddie was still barely breathing, waiting for Richie to react, and Richie was looking at the message on Eddie’s arm again that was identical to his as if everything was hitting him at once.

Eddie had just looked away from Richie’s face when he spoke up again.

“Why?” he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of hurt and desperation. “W-why would you …hide this from me for so long, Eddie?”

When Eddie looked up, he realized just how upset Richie really was. His eyes had already begun to water, and he knew he was completely overwhelmed with the situation. He felt terrible once again; not that he didn’t deserve to. “Richie, I-”

“Do you realize how hard I tried? Eddie, I didn’t even know if there was someone out there or not. I-I waited so long hoping to get a response, and you--you were there the entire time? You knew the entire time?” Richie cut him off, looking like he had been completely defeated.

“I-I’m sorry. I just- I didn’t know how you would react. You’ve never shown any real interest in me and I didn’t want to ruin anything I-I was just scared of… of losing you,” he replied, feeling his own tears start to slip down his cheeks. “I know I’m the fucking worst and I had so much time to say something but I couldn’t-”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Eddie? Like are you bullshitting me right now? This entire time, you haven’t stopped to think even once that I might have feelings for you? That I might have been in love with you since we were prepubescent 13 year-olds in high school? Not once?” Richie continued, shooting questions at Eddie every chance he could. “Not when I asked you to prom senior year, even if I did try to play it off as a friend thing? Not when I kissed you that one time when we went to the drive-in? Or not even now when I wake up early every morning to walk you to class, even when I don’t have the same classes? Not once?”

Eddie was speechless. Absolutely speechless for at least 2 minutes before his mind finally started working again after that confession. “I really am sorry, Rich, I know I should’ve said something a long ass time ago I was being stupid… I had no idea you felt that way, but I-I feel the same,” he replied nervously, peering up at Richie through his eyelashes, his bottom lip between his teeth. “And to be fair, you told me the kiss was accidental and that you only did it because you were trying to wipe butter off of my lip and slipped-”

But he’s cut off when he feels a pair of lips against his, and he barely has time to react before Richie’s pulling him closer against his chest and deepening the kiss. Eddie feels like his entire body is fire, and even though they’re kissing in the middle of the library, it feels like they’re the only people in the room, as cheesy as that sounds. It was a fairly chaste kiss, but it was desperate and needy, something they’ve both wanted for years, and they were both breathless when they pulled apart.

Eddie’s lips were red and a bit plumper, and when Richie’s eyes flickered down to them and noticed, he couldn’t help but pull Eddie in for another quick kiss.

“That one wasn’t an accident,” Richie finally spoke after a few moments of them trying to catch their breath, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re such an idiot,” Eddie chuckled breathlessly. He felt like a thousand weights had been lifted off his shoulders. His insides felt like jelly, like he couldn’t believe that had just happened, but it felt good. He felt good.

“Yeah? Says the one that kept being my soulmate away from me for an entire fucking year,” Richie countered, squeezing Eddie’s hip and making his breath hitch.

“Not an entire year just…close,” Eddie murmured under his breath, hiding his face in Richie’s neck.

“Too long,” Richie replied, his voice slightly muffled as he pressed his lips against the side of Eddie’s face.

“M’sorry,” Eddie responded, which he’d probably said a thousand times tonight. But he meant it. He meant it every single time.

“I know. I’m just glad you’re here now,” Richie sighed in content. Of course, they’d talk more about the situation later, but for now he was just happy he had found out who his soulmate was. Even better, it was Eddie.

Eddie knew it too. Knew he’d have a lot more explaining to do, and a lot more apologizing to do, but for now he wanted to stay just like this for a little while longer because he wasn’t afraid anymore. He didn’t have to be; he never had to be, and he wished he could’ve convinced himself of that earlier because being in Richie’s arms felt like the safest place he’d ever been in his life.

[rosesgonerogue]

Let the Sunshine In - Chapter One

AO3

Three Years Later

Awareness came in waves. There was a constant drumming that was enough to drive someone insane, as well as someone breathing heavily. It sounded wrong, and even worse, it felt wrong. For some reason it gave him the visceral urge--no, the need to hurt, to maim, to kill.

After the sound came the pain, the feeling of needles dancing across his skin, of circulation resuming in disused limbs. Soon after came the smell of sulfur, of something rotten. Finally a toxic green light filtered into his vision, the unnatural shade looking infinitely distasteful. 

What was this? Where was he? His mind felt broken, fractured--the information he needed was all there, somewhere, the pieces just didn’t fit together, and it pissed him off. 

He was in some kind of disgusting, green water, and outside the water a whole host of people waited. The pounding grew faster as his eyes flicked around. A part of him swore to find whoever was responsible for the drumming  and acquaint their face with a wall. 

“-odd, we simply want to--”

“Who the hell are you?” The extremely rusty voice surprised him. It was his. Something about that felt important. “What happened, where am I?” 

“You are Jason Todd,” a stern man said primly. “And I am R’as al Ghul, an acquaintance of your previous mentor. We are at the Lazarus Pits.” 

The pounding got louder and he--Jason--clenched his fists, ready to kill someone to make the heartbeat sto--

Heartbeat. It was his heartbeat. 

The heartbeat he shouldn’t have. 

A rush of memories assaulted his brain; a crowbar descending, unhinged laughter, an explosion, but most of all, pain. Pain and fear. 

This wasn't right. His hands sank into his hair, ready to pull it out as he stumbled backwards, unable to process everything. He was dead--or he should be. He wanted to still be dead. 

The man, Ra’s, advanced, speaking calmly and slowly, like Jason was a wild animal. “If you would follow me, we can--”

Jason rushed the man with a strangled cry, bludgeoning the man with his fists, elbows, feet, fighting however he could. He heard a few distinct snaps, but he didn’t stop until the man was a bloody mess at his feet. 

He still quivered with rage, his entire body feeling like it was about to explode. 

“You should have left me dead,” he growled before barrelling through the mass of people that moved to surround him. His feet carried him out of the cave he had been in and out into the night that waited. After being dead, apparently even starlight was a little bright for his eyes--if it had been daylight, he might have just gone blind right then. 

Something inside him dictated where his feet carried him. He felt a distinct pull to… something. It felt important, so Jason began trudging along. 

**************

“I think that’s the last box, sweetie,” Sabine said, following her husband in. 

“Thank you guys for helping so much, it really means a lot,” Marinette said with a smile to her parents. 

Tom set the box down carefully, eyes already filled with tears. “I can’t believe my little girl has a place of her own. It seems like just yesterday I was teaching her to make macarons for the first time.” 

“Oh, don’t you start crying, Tom, or I’ll start crying too,” Sabine said, swatting her husband with a sniff. 

In a few short weeks Marinette would be starting her studies at the best fashion program in all of Europe. Like many of her classmates, she was staying in Paris for at least the near future. She had originally planned on staying at her parents’ house for at least the first year of the program, but the perfect opportunity presented itself, and Marinette just couldn’t say no. 

Marinette’s beloved grandmother, Gina, had decided to bike around the world. This was pretty much how she spent her life anyway, but now her granddaughter was legally an adult, which meant she could grant said granddaughter some much needed freedom. 

Despite how little time Gina actually spent in Paris, she was the proud owner of an adorable little house. She had already willed the house over to her fairy, but now she could tell Marinette to move in under the pretense of having her house-sit. Gina paid for the utilities still, and her only stipulation was that Marinette had to keep a room clean and ready for her, should Gina show up unexpectedly. 

The thought of having her own house, free of charge, even, was mind-boggling, but at the same time it was everything Marinette hadn’t known she needed. There was the natural yearning all young adults had to try things on their own, but this solutions came with the ultimate safety net. Even more importantly, it came with the privacy that she desperately needed. 

While she waited for her program to begin, Marinette had spent the majority of her time at the bakery. It was fun, being with her parents and taking care of deliveries whenever Luka had a gig. It also made keeping a secret identity secret nearly impossible. This way Marinette was still close enough to help at the bakery when she needed to, but her parents weren’t constantly barging in at inopportune moments. 

As they set up, somehow her things fit in perfectly alongside Gina’s like it was meant to be. The last thing the family had to do was go grocery shopping so Marinette had something to eat  other than the copious amounts of pastries her parents had forced on her. 

When the deed was done, it was time for her parents to leave, even though none of them were really quite ready for that. 

“You’re not used to being alone,” Sabine fussed. “Are you sure you don’t want to spend just one more night at home?” 

“Or we could spend the night here with you,” Tom said hopefully. 

“No, I’ll be fine,” Marinette said with a smile. “I’ll be sad, but we’ve got to start somewhere, right?” 

Staring at his daughter, Tom couldn’t hold it in any longer-- he started crying. “Don’t forget to call us, sweetheart, and write too! We’ll be waiting to hear from you.” 

“Tom, she’s moving twelve blocks away. If she doesn’t have time to visit us, we can just pop in on her, right?” 

“Right,” Marinette confirmed, eyes completely dry. “I’ll make sure to visit often.”

Finally she was able to bid farewell to her parents, closing the door to her house behind them. She milled around looking for something to do, finally settling on turning the TV on for background noise and getting to work on her latest commision. 

Just as she was getting into the groove and making real progress, Marinette’s phone rang. She sighed, finishing the last little bit of handwork on that section before answering the video call. 

“My little Marinetta, how are you?” Gina asked. As far as Marinette could tell, her grandmother was somewhere tropical at the moment. Where exactly was anyone’s guess. 

“Good, Nona, just getting settled in!” 

“Are you just sitting around at home?” she asked suspiciously. 

“No, I’m working on a commission and--”

“I didn’t leave you the house to just sit around, my fairy. You need to be young and free, even if it’s only occasionally. This is your first place of your own, so go celebrate! Go out to dinner, go get ice cream, find a party to go to, I don’t care, just go do something!” Gina commanded. 

“Yes, Nona,” Marinette said, knowing it was useless to resist. 

“I’ll be waiting to see a picture of whatever you do,” Gina said firmly. 

“Yes, Nona.” 

Gina kept chatting for a while longer, but before she hung up, she reminded Marinette one more time that she needed to go celebrate somehow. Afterwards Marinette attempted to keep working on her commision, but it was fruitless knowing that her Nona expected her to go have fun. 

Even though they had just bought groceries, Marinette didn’t really feel like cooking after all the day’s activities, so she decided to walk over to one of her favorite cafes. It was a ways away, but she didn’t have much else to do with her time, so she decided to simply enjoy the weather. She ate a light dinner at one of the outside tables, made sure to send a picture of it to Nona, and once she was finished, she swung by one of the nearby farmer’s markets on impulse. Yes, she had the groceries she had gotten earlier, but no grocery store could beat fresh produce like this. 

The farmer’s market was closing soon, which meant that a good majority of the things that were high in demand were already sold out. There was one vendor that had one frozen chicken that she really didn’t want to take back home, so Marinette got a really good price on it.

It was nearing dusk as she made her way back to the house, but she couldn’t help but feel uneasy. There was something in the air that just felt wrong. It was kind of similar to the feeling she got from akumas, but also not. It was familiar, but twisted, corrupted inextricably. As she walked the feeling only got worse, and Marinette didn’t know if she should go find out what it was, or if she should just run away as fast as she could.

In the end, the urge to investigate won out. She was Ladybug, it was her responsibility to see to the safety of Paris as a whole. On edge from the unsettling feeling, Marinette moved through the streets discreetly and carefully. 

Her instincts took her to the opening of an alleyway in a fairly quiet part of town. The feeling of wrongness was pervasive as she edged forward. It took everything in her not to gasp at what she saw. 

A boy who looked about her age stood at the back of the alley was surrounded by three cloaked assailants. He could almost be mistaken for an akuma because he didn’t actually wear clothes, he was only covered by ragged bandages, almost like a mummy. The poor boy was gaunt, he looked like he was only a few steps away from death. He couldn’t be an akuma, because in all this time, Marinette had never seen one so feral. 

“I have to help him,” Marinette whispered, hand tightening on the handle of the bag her chicken was in. “Tikki, spo-”

“No Marinette!” Tikki hissed waving her arms frantically. “Don’t transform. We should leave, this is dangerous.” 

“What are you talking about, Tikki? That boy clearly needs help.” Marinette’s claim was only emphasized when one of the assailants drew a sword-- and actual sword being used by someone who was not akumatized. 

“If you transform he’ll hurt you! We really should leave,” Tikki said, trying to pull her away. “I’ll explain at home, but we need to leave.” 

Something about the boy was deeply unnerving to Marinette. His very existence felt wrong. But something about this made her think of Robin, who she hadn’t allowed herself to think about for quite some time now. 

“No,” she said with steel in her voice. “I’m not abandoning someone who is scared and alone.”

“Marinette, you’ll get hurt!” 

“Not if I’m lucky,” the girl said with a smile that held far too much venom. 

The boy was already faltering when Marinette entered the alleyway. His eyes latched onto her for the briefest of moments, but that only caused for one of the assailants to get even closer, knife grazing the boy’s arm. 

Years of being Ladybug had taught Marinette to move nearly silently, as well as where to hit to take down an opponent quickly. The first man was taken down by sheer luck--she somehow managed to hit the pressure point at the juncture of his neck despite being hooded. He fell down, immediately unconscious from her assault. The one who didn’t have a knife in hand glanced over, only to be met face first with a swinging frozen chicken. 

By the time the third man turned to see her, the chicken was already swinging to knock the knife out of the man’s hand, potentially breaking some fingers as it swung. Marinette had already cracked the man across the face before the knife had clattered to the ground, leaving only her and the boy conscious in the alleyway. 

He looked at her with crazed blue eyes, his pupils blown as he fixated on her. “You!” he snarled, leaping forward. “You had something to do with this!”

“No, I just wanted to help, let me--”

Before Marinette had to do anything in the way of restraining him, the strange boy staggered forward a few unsteady steps before collapsing right onto her. She hadn’t noticed the way that he towered over her before, but supporting his entire body weight helped her realize just how absurdly large this boy was. With that in mind, she should probably stop mentally referring to him as a boy. 

“Marinette, this is really dangerous. He could hurt you, he already tried to!” Tikki said, once again trying to pull her away. 

“Tikki, he needs my help,” Marinette said, stubbornly shouldering the boy. “I’ll keep myself safe, but I won’t leave him here!” 

“You promise you’ll do everything you can to keep yourself safe?” Tikki asked, eyes baring into Marinette’s soul. 

“I swear.” 

“Fine,” Tikki sighed, wilting a bit. “Go ahead and transform, it will be easier and faster to carry everything that way.”

*********************

Be warned, this is just going to be me ranting about Batman lore for far too long. 

Okay, so even in AUs like this that are clearly distanced from canon, I like to research and make it as close to canon as possible. For those of you that don’t know, doing research on anything related to Batman is a MESS. I’ve read “Death in the Family,” the original Batman issue where Jason dies, I’ve watched “Under the Red Hood,” just because I wanted to get a really good sense of Jason and what the whole alive again experience was like for him. I also looked into the Lazarus Pits for placement questions, and apparently there are little Lazarus pits all over the world, including in Switzerland. Switzerland is close enough to France that I just went with it. 

Now for the part that REALLY kills me. I recently also watched Son of Batman, and in it, Ra’s is killed, but apparently he was too dead for the Lazarus Pits to work. However, upon looking into Jason, it is revealed that he was brought back to life after being dead for a few YEARS. I’m not even going to go into the fact that Jason’s body was complete even though he died not by crowbar, but by an explosion. I’m not touching that. Additionally, Jason was still really short and pretty scrawny  from being malnourished when he died, and he somehow comes back as a beefy twenty-something year old. 

TLDR; the Batman canon is a mess, so when writing fanfiction I can do what I want and it’s still canon compliant.

Let me know what you guys think!

Taglist: 

@cravethosecrazysquares @krispydefendorpolice @thesunanditsangel @sonif50 @kris-pines04 @persephonebutkore @tbehartoo @corabeth11 @caffeinetheory @drarryismylife101 @bluerosette23 @weird-pale-blonde-person @mystery-5-5 @heaven428 @thethirdwheelfriend @thetinymoonflower @interobanginyourmom @chocolate1721 @akana-sama @skyel0ve @katiegardneriscoolerthanyou @theatreandcomicfreak @jardimazul @karategirl119 @thewondersoflebanon @tbehartoo @shizukiryuu @northernbluetongue @moonlightstar64 @naoryllis @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @saphiraazure2708 @yokizu @jeminiikrystal @chocolatecatstheron @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @zalladane @slytherinsheashire @bran-thecreeper-stark @otaku4312 @emotionalsupportginger @dorkus-minimus @18-fandoms-unite-08 @tired-butterfly @bamagirl513 @pauliestorylover @alenee13 @ladybug-182 @senpaiweird @kalligraphics @jessigurl-design @emeraldpuffguide @veunnotvuen @storyteller-d @g-arya @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @procrastinatingrightnow @sturchling @dast218 @trashystar420 @indecisive-mess-named-me @awesome-starfish-and-tacos

[luluxa]

Upon request, re-posting an old au minific I appear to have deleted. 

It was caused by this Signs bit:

Knights: Aries, Leo, Sagittarius (Jeremy, Andy, Richard)

Dragons: Capricorn (James)

Hide

James really does hate filming high up on shit mountain roads, driving a shit broken car. He feels highly uncomfortable there in his feeble human body, wanting to just rip off the mask and fly. Flight is natural, flight is safe, while being trapped in a flimsy metal box clamps his throat with panic. James’s wings ache for a fly when he’s so high up, and in the same time, he’s scared shitless he will lose control and give himself away. He tells everyone it’s a phobia to explain his nervousness. Then again, he’s also got his very own light aircraft, and has no problem driving on good mountain roads in supercars – options he deems safe, since he’s entirely in control then, and while it renders his claim a bit suspicious, it’s written off to his general weirdness, thankfully.

He tells Jeremy and Richard to stay away from him on that insane Bolivian road, knowing he’ll be concentrating too much on driving his shit car and maintaining the mask to react in a camera-friendly way to the usual bugging. James is pretty certain he won’t give himself away completely, but he can’t be positive he won’t do something stupid, like shoving  his machete down Jeremy’s throat.

It appears, though, that annoyance isn’t his worst enemy.

“I have no brakes!” Richard yells over the radio, sounding panicky. “I can’t fucking – I’m going to drive into the fucking cliff on purpose because it’s the only way I can stop!”

“Quit yelling,” James tells him. “Just stay away from the edge.”

Richard swears at him, and then a huge truck materialises out of nowhere in a cloud of dust and Richard veers away from it sharply towards the abyss.

“Fuck!”

It’s the last thing Richard gets to say before his brake-less car tips over the brim and disappears.

James stops breathing, braking on autopilot and jumping out of the car in the same time. He can’t quite control himself afterwards. The rational human thinking vanishes between one heartbeat and another, replacing with the ancient and instinctive knowledge. He can save Richard.

He jumps after the Toyota, spreading his wings mid-dive. It takes another second to grab the toy-like tin can and then Richard, who falls out of it. He’s alive but has hit his head and is unconscious, James realises immediately, already gliding along the narrow canyon. He’s crushed the Toyota, he notes absently, and drops it down, since it’s useless now.

And then the reality kicks in.

Yeah, he’s managed to save Richard. But he also fucked everything up beyond repair.

James turns around and flies back to the spot he took off from. The traffic has stopped and there is a growing crowd on the road – locals, the camera crew and Jeremy, all of them staring up in astonishment and horror. James doesn’t want to land there, but Richard needs medical help, probably having a concussion, and James needs to explain himself. Or he can just run away. Well, fly away, now when he’s blown his cover.

It’s dead silent on the road when he touches the ground and puts Richard on it gently. He seems impossibly tiny compared to James’s clawed dragon paws. He edges away, glancing up to meet Jeremy’s eyes, white with shock.

James almost puts the mask back on, wanting to shrink down and hide, but that won’t improve anything now, will it? He’s ruined everything. His only consolation is that Richard’s alive and more or less okay, but that won’t improve anything either, in the end. James is still a dragon who has lied to his closest friends and the whole fucking world. He’s lied to a bunch of Knights’ descendants, more to the point, who hate Dragons not only on principle or tradition, but because they have it in their very blood.

James imagines the reaction he’s about to face and runs away, and then even farther so, ripping a portal to the Other Side and diving into the white light. He will have to apologise anyway, but not right now. He can’t do it right now.

-

 Jeremy’s so shocked he can’t speak for the whole ten minutes. He watches the Dragon – James, for fuck’s… how can it be James? – fly away and then disappear entirely in a bright flash. He just fucking vanishes, without a word, leaving Richard lying lifeless in the dirt.

It’s when he finally snaps out of his stupor and moves, checking Richard’s pulse – it’s there, and he stirs when Jeremy squeezes his wrist tightly with relief. Jeremy still can’t speak, though, just watching helplessly as some locals and their own doctor fuss over him.

James has saved his life. James has fucking turned into a Dragon out of nowhere and saved his life. It doesn’t make any bloody sense!

“What happened?” Richard asks with confusion when he’s finally seated up and declared all right. “I can’t remember anything. Again.” He adds, sounding scared. “Where’s my Toyota? Where’s James? He was right behind me.” He glances around, eyes large.

Jeremy sniffs. “The weirdest shit has happened,” he says, finding his voice at last. “It’s all on tape, I hope, because I need to watch it.”

The locals discuss the incident loudly in Spanish, repeating ‘Dragón’ over and over again, until even Richard catches up.

“Dragon?” he says, scowling. “Would someone explain me what the hell is going on?”

Jeremy glances at Andy helplessly, hoping he would do it for him, but Andy looks just as lost as Jeremy feels.

He sighs. “Well, I haven’t seen it, but I think your brakes gave up entirely and you fell over the edge. James was right behind you, and he – and I can’t believe I’m saying it – turned into a Dragon and went right after you. He flew away when he brought you back.”

Richard stares at him blankly, then snorts. “Very funny. Now, seriously, what happened?”

It takes half an hour and Iain showing him the actual tape to convince him. Jeremy watches too, because he begins to doubt himself. But nope. Here he is, fucking James May, a hairy idiot in a bandana, jumping out of his ridiculous Suzuki and suddenly turning into a huge, glowing fucking beast with silver wings. His scaly tail swipes Iain’s camera car as he jumps off, making it fly a few feet backwards – the image shakes and wobbles and then stabilises again.  

Jeremy can’t help but stare in awe once more at the Dragon gliding easily and gracefully down the canyon, the Toyota in one paw and Richard invisible in the other.

“I feel faint again,” Richard complains, watching James lower him on the ground. “That’s impossible!”

It is, but it’s happened anyway.

James takes most of the road in his dragon form, people scattering away from his tail and his wings. His eyes are electric blue and Jeremy can recall the heat emanating from his hide. It was a breath-taking fucking picture. And a pretty exciting one.

It was hella exciting picture, Jeremy has to admit, watching James turn around and leap right up into the air, spreading his wings, all in one smooth motion. There is no odd awkwardness in the Dragon that human James possesses, no visible pudginess, just streamline muscle and silver, bright on his wings and dusty on his tail. Jeremy might have always hated Dragons for their nature, but deep down inside he also has always found them quite magnificent visually, and James is no ugly specimen, both in human and Dragon form. As for the nature…

“Lying fuck,” Jeremy growls, when the tape ends. “Sneaky, lying, deceiving fucking bastard!”

Richard takes a breath but doesn’t say anything, scowling.

-

 James is gone for a month.

He doesn’t appear in his house and Richard has to take Fusker to Wales. Richard checks his phone surreptitiously for messages, while Jeremy fumes and refuses to talk about the incident. It’s a pretty huge elephant of a subject and no one knows what to do about it.

The tabloids can’t fucking calm down, the Beeb can’t calm down, they are constantly bothered by the paps, the fans, the management, friends, and also, alarmingly, the Dragons. Jeremy tells them all to fuck off.

“He’s saved my life,” Richard says one night to him, when he has consumed a sufficient amount of wine to at least not walk right away. “I don’t bloody care if he ate people before Top Gear, he’s saved my life and he’s my friend. I’m not dismissing him. If he ever turns up, that is.”

Jeremy snorts. “A lying fuck and a coward.”

Just like that, Richard is angry. “Well, with your brilliant attitude, I don’t blame him! I wouldn’t want to put up with your ungratefulness either!”

Jeremy pours himself more wine sulkily. “I don’t so much care he’s a Dragon as that he’s a deceiving fucking Dragon. We were friends. He could’ve just said something.”

“Oh yeah?” Richard winces. “I have a wall in my house covered in Knight portraits and weaponry. I’ve got a Dragon skull in my backyard. So do you. So does Andy. I suppose he didn’t want to find out how rusty is that spear over your desk if you suddenly decided to shove it through his gut.”

Jeremy pouts. “I would never do anything like that!”

Richard shrugs. “Yeah, but neither of us was ever reserved about hating the fuck out of the ‘flying geckos’. I imagine it wasn’t nice to listen to, day after day.”

“Well, he should’ve chosen a better company to hang out, then!” Jeremy retorts testily. “He knew who we are, no one was twisting his arm or begging to stay with us.”

“So you don’t want him to come back, in that case?” Richard asks bitterly. He doesn’t want to choose between Jeremy and James. They are both his friends, they are both a bit annoying and a bit great. How is he supposed to choose?

Jeremy seems to deflate, though, sighing. “Don’t be stupid, of course I want him to come back. He’s not in a hurry, though, is he? Maybe he decided he’s had enough,” he mutters morosely into his wine.

Ah. Richard huffs. He has two hurt and scared idiots on his hands, then, and the only thing he can do is wait helplessly until James decides to resurface from the Other Side or wherever it was he’d fucked off to.

Maybe he should locate a psychic, or something, who could at least send a message?

Or maybe James senses something on his own, being a Magical bastard, because on the next day after the conversation, he comes back.

-

 The track is quiet, the portakabin is quiet. There are few people hanging about and they all stare as James drives through the gates and parks by the porch.

He waves at them, upon climbing out, receiving uncertain wry smiles and hesitant nods.

For fuck’s sake. He never was anything other than civilised and it’s not like he’s about to fry someone’s head off now, all of a sudden.

The portakabin is half-empty but those present fall completely silent as he passes by. It’s getting annoying, James decides. He pauses in front of the presenters room’s closed door, glancing back and meeting spooked stares. Would they faint if he growled at them?

James doesn’t do anything of sorts, of course. He opens the door and walks in.

Jeremy is busy typing something angrily into his laptop, facing away. Richard glances up, though, and kicks Jeremy’s chair to get his attention.

“Hello,” James says, stuffing his hands in the pockets, not moving anywhere from the door. He’ll need that to put between himself and Jeremy who looks like he’s about to hurl a table into his face.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Jeremy asks, voice almost a growl. “I don’t recall sending you on a leave.”

James blinks, expecting a rather different kind of abuse.

“Wanker,” Richard adds, grinning, and then walks over to hug James, which is another form of abuse James didn’t expect.

He swallows, waiting the hug out. “Sorry,” he says in the end, confused and not sure how to proceed.

He expected anger and accusations, he expected to be fired and told to never show up again, ever. He was evidently mistaken and also being a bit of a twat.

“Yeah, you should be sorry,” Jeremy points out. He’s put the laptop aside to lean forward in the chair and stare at James sharply over his glasses. “You should’ve told us years ago.”

James shifts uncomfortably. He should’ve, but he was never too courageous, or too open, or trusting enough. He shrugs. “I prefer having a human life,” he says guiltily. “I’d rather be human. I hoped if I pretended hard enough –“ he halts, confronted by two bemused frowns. “You’re right about the Dragons, you know,” he tries again. “We’re a vile, bad-tempered, arrogant bunch. I don’t really like being any of that and spending more time around humans helps.” He sighs at the bewilderment both Richard and Jeremy are emanating. “I have always been a rather shit Dragon,” he says with a wry smirk. “So I decided to see if I can be a less shit human. It’s not that I’ve succeeded, evidently,” he mutters to himself, when no spark of understanding crosses his mates’ faces.

He almost steps away when Jeremy gets up and walks towards him, but then he realises there’s no threat in the set of Jeremy’s shoulders, but something fragile about his face –

“You’re a bloody idiot,” Jeremy tells him and hugs him as well.

Frankly, that’s too much hugging in one day, James thinks faintly. He certainly didn’t deserve any of it.

“I never noticed you were so hot,” Jeremy mutters into James’s hair then, holding him tight.

Richard snorts.

“Hot?” James asks cautiously.

Jeremy stills for a second and straightens up hastily, pushing him away. He appears to be blushing. “To the touch! Temperature-wise!” he squeaks.

James squints at him, finding the blush very interesting. “You should’ve touched me more,” he says wryly, making Jeremy’s embarrassment more pronounced. “I tend to get hotter when people get up close,” he adds, smirking. “Can’t help it.”

Jeremy rubs his neck, finally grinning too.

Richard looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh at them or roll his eyes. “Yeah, maybe leave the experimentation in that area until I’m not in the room. In the meanwhile, can we finally agree that James is staying so we can go film some more of Top Gear?”

When Jeremy nods, James allows himself to relax at last. “Seriously, I’m sorry. If you have any questions I’ll try to get over myself and answer them. Maybe not all of them, though,” he adds, upon a second thought. “Gotta maintain some mystery.”

Jeremy scoffs and Richard gets to have his eye-roll, at last, which puts the end to the reunion.

They summon Andy and Porter, request more tea and candy bars, and then argue for the rest of the day about the pressing matter of how to present James’s sudden non-humanness to the audience. It’s odd and familiar in the same time, and makes James believe that more things remained the same rather than changed irrevocably.

Maybe he was right about his choice, after all.

And he’s certainly chose right people to befriend.

[redhoodieone]

It’s Cold in Here Part 8

A/N: Heyyyy! Okay, so since I refuse to use the horrible homosexual offensive words, so I tried to use the less offensive ones, and I apologize firsthand if I offend anyone (I am not homophobic as I have a close gay cousin and a lesbian cousin as well) as it is not my intention to hurt, bully, or shame against anyone who is gay or bisexual because I adore and love everyone in the LGBTQ. And this part is the moment we’ve all been waiting for…the identity of our mysterious text messenger! The surprise evil villain might not surprise anyone, and I hope I didn’t disappoint anyone so if this part doesn’t get any positive notes, then I won’t continue this series. I mean, I tried my best with this, and the only way I’ll know if everyone wants to keep reading it is if they show me they’re interested in me to continue this series. So, the fate of this series is in your hands. Otherwise enjoy this part, and I apologize if I failed to impress you.

Warnings: Language and violence. Y/S/N = Your superhero name.

It’s not hard to lie. The only way to successfully lie is to believe it yourself. As expected, no one contacted me when the evening came. Dick had left after our strange cuddling-fest nap, and I still haven’t heard from Jason since last night, which is something I found myself appreciating more considering I wouldn’t even know what to say.

Because after everything that has happened in the past few days, I believe my mind is fractured from the constant thinking and obsessing.

As midnight approaches, I’m already dressed in my costume. The black fabric, leather, and armor pieces cover my entire body. A white bat is centered in my chest, and I put my two guns (with rubber bullets, of course since Bruce is anal about that) in my thigh holsters and strap a knife into my one of my boots. My bo staff is also secure on my back in an added part of my costume that Tim designed for me, after he trained me for several months and realized I had a special connection with it. I pull my hair back into a usual ponytail to keep my strands of hair from blocking my view. The last thing I need to do is slip on my domino mask, and I officially become y/s/n, and I’m on my way to Ace Chemicals.

Soaring through the skies and in the city becomes a quick blur to me, as I swing and jump with the help of my grapple gun. It’s almost twelve, and the only thing I can think about is who this person is.

Who the fuck are they?

What the fuck they want?

And what the fuck am I going to do afterwards?

My adrenaline is pumping through my veins, and I feel myself start to power up in a way I know my emotions will get the best of me. Bruce always taught us to keep our emotions in check during fights and missions, and with the way my mind is twisting and turning like wheels, I fear I’ll lose control.

I release my grapple hook and land flawlessly on the rooftop of Ace Chemicals. The air is filled with smoke from the factory, and I notice my surroundings are being compromised by the smoke, ocean fog, and darkness. I slowly walk around; with my hand constantly touching my thighs to easily grab my guns if I need them. It’s quiet; too quiet. I can only hear my heartbeat pounding hard and my uneasy breathing.

Someone landing behind me is what freezes my body.

“Hello Y/N.”

I whip around and aim my gun in front of me, after quickly pulling it out and switching the safety off.

They stand there as if I should have known all along, even though I didn’t even suspect someone like this.

Deathstroke.

His helmet frightens me with the way the copper side of his mask shines when a police blimp shines down on us; as the other side is dark, just like his soul. His costume is terrifying enough, as I can clearly see he has every weapon possible: guns, knives, and a sword?!

I’ve never fought Deathstroke before. I’ve only heard stories about him from the Batfamily, and the only vital information I have on him is he’s a serious asshole, who has tormented Dick a lot during his Teen Titans days. 

“Speechless? I’m hurt,” Deathstroke finally speaks in the deepest voice I’ve never heard before. He chuckles at me and begins to circle me; as I follow his gaze every second. “You know, I expected better from you. You have two guns, and a stick. Did you think you were meeting the Riddler or something?”

I’m too shocked to speak. Deathstroke picks up on it and finally stops walking. I stop as well.

“You must know a little about me since I’m the big bad guy who has always tried to kill the first Robin. I have a reputation of trying to kill young kids, but you know what? I think I’m going to branch out because why only focus on kids when I can kill anyone and get away with it?” he remarks.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you so fucking obsessed with taking down Nightwing?” I snap, as my voice finally gains strength to speak. “What’s in it for you?”

“You have such a pretty voice for a pathetic little girl who insists she belongs to the Batfamily. Why? You’re asking me why I’m doing this and the only answer I can give you is: because I can and I will. You must be stupid to think that I don’t know anything about Dick Grayson. I know he was the first Robin, and I know he’s Nightwing; just like I know you’re Y/N Y/LN. I make it my mission to know everything about who I kill. But look at you Y/N! You’re trying very hard to be a big girl now! I’m actually surprised you came here all alone and with obviously no big plan to take me down. Do you understand that I can kill you within five seconds with just my two hands?”

I glare at him as my arms weaken from holding my gun up at him. “Why not just kill me then? Isn’t that what you plan on doing anyways? Don’t you want to kill me just to get to Dick?” I taunt him.

“Now why would I do that right now when I can just dangle your lifeless body in front of him and everyone else? That psychotic clown in Gotham actually has a decent point: why end you physically when I can end you mentally as well? Not only will it scar your family and friends, but it will scar Dick as well,” Deathstroke answers seriously. “It would be far better than just outing him as well.”

“But why are you so obsessed with his sexuality? Are you just a sick homophobic fuck or are you just doing this because you have no other options to bring him down?” I demand.

Deathstroke pulls a knife from his costume and walks over to me. He holds it tightly in his hand, as he looks down at me.

“You really didn’t pay any attention, did you? I fucking hate the Batfamily. Believe me, woman. I have tried countless times to kill the Batman. Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and that new little shithead are incapable of dying because of the Bat’s influence. But now that I know Nightwing has a deep, dark secret, why not kill him over it? And why not destroy him mentally as well? How do you destroy a man, Y/N? Do you just kill him and leave it at that? No. No, if you really want to make a man fall, you take everything away from him until he has nothing. Take away a man’s love, pride, and reputation and what does he have? Nothing, just himself. He only has himself to pity. But since you’re playing a big part in his life, you’re going to help me expose him,” Deathstroke threatens.

“And what if I say no?” I challenge. I hold up my gun again.

The knife is now up against my neck; with the tip drawing a little blood. My gun remains under his jaw. “Then I’ll just do it my way, and trust me sweetheart, you won’t like that very much,” Deathstroke vows.

Breathing hard in anger, I realize it’s fight time. I kick him in the chest with everything I have; making him stumble back. I run to a hidden brick wall, as I hear him shouting nearby.

“You honestly think you can fight me? That’s funny, because the last girl I fought barely had time to scream because I ripped out her throat. I can remember her insides bleeding all over my hands. It was a pretty sight. I bet your insides are pretty like your voice. But there’s only one way to find out, right?” Deathstroke shouts.

I jump out and began firing at him. Deathstroke dodges and ducks from every rubber bullet I shoot at him. And just when I think I can’t shoot anymore; he begins running at me. I quickly get my bo staff and get into position to fight. Deathstroke pulls his sword out to fight me.

“You’re hopeless. Why are you even fighting for him when he clearly doesn’t want you anymore? It’s all an act, Y/N. He’s trying so hard to be someone he’s not, and all because he wants daddy to keep loving him. The poor bastard’s real parents are dead, and all he has is Batman. So, I can actually imagine the fears Dick must have. Would anyone want a fruitcake, pansy-ass boy for a son?! I wouldn’t be surprised if Batman threw him out because after all those years of making Dick be exactly like him, it would be as if he failed him. And nobody wants a failed son, right?!” Deathstroke yells.

“Dick is not a failure! If anyone is, it’s you because you have yet to kill him!” I shout back. I use the end of the bo staff to hit his shoulder which makes him pause mid-fight, as I take the advantage to kick him in his stomach. “You’re weaker than him. You’re a coward. A real assassin would have gotten the job done on the first day. You’re a joke, Deathstroke. Bane broke the Bat’s back. The Joker got to torture and kill one Robin and paralyze Batgirl. Ra’s al Ghul raised and trained the little shithead to hunt and kill people. And what have you done? All you’ve done is stalk, attempt to torture and kill superhero teenagers. Not much of an accomplishment unless you consider yourself a fan of Jason Voorhees.”

I manage to dodge most of his hits with my bo staff; following every technique I was taught by Tim. Deathstroke doesn’t slow down, and after he tries to stab me or knock the bo staff from my hands, he succeeds in cutting through my bo staff. As the two pieces fall to the ground, I stumble backwards to get away from him. He puts the sword away and retrieves the knife he put away earlier. Deathstroke shoves me up against the brick wall, and the knife is against my throat once again.

“Now, are you ready to listen or do I need to show you how serious I am about this? You think you can protect him, Y/N, but you can’t protect him forever now that I’m around. And if I must, I’ll just kill you off first since I hate bitches who won’t cooperate. I can kill you right now and-”

A gunshot is heard, and it echoes all around use. A bullet grazes Deathstroke’s arm; nearly missing me. We both look up, and Red Hood jumps down nearby. He aims his gun at Deathstroke. “Let her go, Deathstroke or I’ll personally put a bullet between your eyes with a smile!” Red Hood promises loudly.

Deathstroke chuckles. He removes himself from me but looks back at me one more time. Red Hood moves to where I am, but it appears Deathstroke doesn’t want to fight, and holds up a smoke bomb as he reaches to the edge.

“When you want to take things more seriously Y/N, I’ll be in touch. Until then, text you later.”

And with that, Deathstroke vanished.

Red Hood turns around and looks down at me. “Deathstroke is your mysterious text messenger? Were you planning on tell me or the Batfamily at all?” he asks harshly.

“I was told not to tell anyone,” I say defensively. I walk to the edge and aim my grapple gun up, but Red Hood pulls my arm down.

“And since when do you listen to the bad guys, Y/N?!”

“Since I’ve been hanging around you, Jason!” I snap angrily. Pulling myself away, I close my eyes and try to calm down. Yelling isn’t helping, and I barely realize I have fucked up so much within an hour. “I don’t have time for your lectures, Jason. I have shit to do and I need to make things right before something bad happens.”

Red Hood breathes hard, which sounds a little strange coming from his helmet, but I can tell Jason regrets his outburst. “I’m sorry…for yelling at you. You were in a difficult position, and I’m just relieved you’re okay. Deathstroke is a fucking asshole, and he could have hurt you…or…” he trails off quietly.

“I know, but he obviously didn’t kill me because he needs me around,” I say.

“I could have lost you…if I were here, I wouldn’t have allowed all of this to happen,” Red Hood continues.

“Look, all I know is…I’m sorry for lying and keeping secrets but I need to go home now because I need to figure out what to do. I obviously can’t ask anyone else for help because it’ll only make things worse and Deathstroke will do something more evil than what he already has planned. I need to be prepared,” I say seriously.

“Then let’s go, because you’re not going to do this alone anymore. But we will stop him, and we’ll help Dick and figure something out. I promise.” Jason says, as he jumps off the building with me as we fly into the dark sky where we hope we can find a way to stop Deathstroke.

Once and for all.

The fate of the series is in your hands now. Otherwise, I hope I impressed you if not I’m sorry to disappoint. I always figured Deathstroke would be the one to torment and try to kill Dick Grayson anyways. 

[little-lily-w]

Day 5

I just wanted to upload the night of day 5 with the Antichrist. 

If you want to know the whole story (not ended yet), you can check Breaking Purity in AO3  https://archiveofourown.org/works/16812496/chapters/39462706

Summary: Reader attempts to escape with the help of Benson but she fails... and Michael is gonna show her the consequences.

Words: 2300

Benson stands up and goes to the glass door but before she opens it, she turns to look at you. -Who are you? – she asks. -She is not allowed to talk – Michael interferes and applies pressure on the red leather ribbon of the chain and you can perceive his temper. - Well, I don´t fucking care – Benson replies and watches you in the eyes. You bite your lips nervously, not knowing what to do – Who are you? – But since you don’t respond, she changes the question: - Do you wanna come with me? You open your mouth with surprise, now your heart pumps fast and you are about to hug her legs, but you stay there looking at her with scared eyes and moving your head surreptitiously to try to get her understand your situation. - Miss Benson, I´m gonna ask you to leave. - Do you wanna come with me? – she repeats ignoring him – I´ll put you under a spell, you won´t need a radiation suit. - Miss Benson... - You have to decide now, darling – she says. Your mind is running like a rollercoaster and your body shakes violently but with terror consuming your face you finally open your mouth. -Yes! – you let out in a horror scream. He is about to stand up to confront the lady but she attacks first and with a movement of her hand she makes him drop the chain. You don´t have time to think, just crawl to escape his side and stand on your feet when you reach her. She holds your hand and opens the glass door, making you run at her pace while she constantly watches backwards to check Michael, but he is still sat down at his desk. The corridor is very narrow and its lightbulb twinkles. Now you can see the end of it, a solid black door and when you both reach it, she steps forward and opens it. There are a few meters of concrete floor that disembogue in a ladder attached to a wall. You both carefully go down, step by step and you can already see a circular door on the concrete floor at the base which you suppouse is the exit of the sanctuary but when Benson finally opens it, you two are again at the drawing room with Michael whose face has an evil grin. You are trapped in the confusion but the lady is quick to hold your hand and open the glass door again, making you run really fast this time. You pass the black door and go downstairs but when you reach the circular door, he is in front of you again at his desk. -Fuck – says Benson but takes you for a third time the same way.

But this time, when you reach the final door, Michael makes a slight movement with his hand and now you are in the drawing room, giving your back at him, but Benson is on the other side of the glass door, looking at you. You both try to open it (you with your hands, she with magic) but it doesn´t move at all. Tears of desperation start to fall down your cheeks as you see the lady put her hand on the glass and articulate the words “I´m sorry”. You also put the hand on the door and let it slide down, as you cry and pant, watching her walk away slowly and upset this time. You keep looking through the door but she doesn´t come back this time. And then, you realize someone is breathing heavy a few meters behind you. Your eyes open wide in a terror mode and you turn around in full slow motion. Michael is there, standing up straight and steady. You can feel every inch of his lips move precisely: -Yes. Run.

Your legs respond like they have their own brain. Under the complete silence of the Sanctuary you passed him at full speed, hearing your own heartbeats galloping in your ears. Straight ahead you could see a bathroom and no exit, and the bedroom is on your left, so you turn right, running to another corridor.

- Y/N! – he calls without moving yet, enjoying the feeling of what´s soon going to be a hunt while he opens the drawer of his desk and grabs a long black scarf – Was it fun to try and defy me? ´Cause it´s going to be real fun when I catch you!

You can hear his words, the upper part of your body is getting paralyzed at the fear, but your survival instinct demands your legs to continue moving even though the long chain makes it difficult and its sound terrifies you even more. You pass the kitchen on your way through the new corridor, and two more rooms, each one on your left and your right respectively, but you don´t have time to know what there is inside. Your mind is just focused on getting you as far away as you can. Then there is a wall facing you and you have to turn right. You open the door of the last room and realize that you ended up in what used to be the first place where he kept you. You gasp, out of air, every muscle in your body under adrenaline, as you look everywhere for something to hide you. The only thing that seems to make sense is a tall pile of boxes in left corner so you slip between them and the wall, exhausted and watchful.

- Y/N…! – Michael calls in a mocking tone. He is already at the beginning of the corridor, with no rush, in full hunter mode – Come out, come out, wherever you are.

You can hear his steps, passing the kitchen.

-You know what I love about this? – he stops to close the door of the right room – That for every minute that I spend searching, the harder it´s gonna be for you and the more enjoyable it´s going to be for me – He steps in front of the left room and smells deeply with eyes closed. You can almost hear it and when he opens his eyes, they are of darker shade of blue, his pupils wildly dilated – No, you are not here – he says out loud and closes the door of this room – Hope you know the little agreement we had is over and it´s not going to happen again, my dear. But apart from that, I have a little tease to correct, don´t you think so?

Michael is now in front of your room´s door and you don´t need magic powers to sense him. Every muscle in your body tenses up and you hold your breath to not be noticed but you know inside it´s useless. So you are there really silent and about to burst into tears and he opens the door, making you feel each and every one of the steps he slowly does. He stops at the centre of the place and you think that maybe you have a chance, but you don´t realize that he has already seen the red tip of the chain peeking through the boxes. So he extends his leg and sets his foot on it.

- Game over – he says and you lose sanity, pushing the boxes and attempting run. And you are successful at it till the weight of his foot on the chain stops you a meter away. Now he leans down to take the red ribbon and slowly pulls part by part the chain so your body just has to go backwards while you sob in silence – Yeah, that was another great try – He manipulates your body so that your hands lay on the wall but your torso is away from it in an inclined position with your butt raised up a little bit. Your nightgown falls down with a twist of his wrist– So, as you were such a brave girl to disobey me and break the rules, I hope you are also a big girl to take on the punishment – He says while he moves his hand to secure your palms to the wall and your feet to the floor with magic. You can barely move your back and head or bend your legs but it causes you great discomfort. Despite that, your body complies, not opposing much resistance, you know it´s in vain and you can´t make a reasonable defense movement shaking like that – But you are not, are you? You are just a dirty little mess for me – he inhales deep caressing your back – But that doesn´t mean I´m going to be gentle – Michael extends the scarf – Open that little mouth of yours – You do as you are told in slow motion, fearful. He gags you with it and makes a knot on your nape to secure it – Good girl – he whispers maliciously in your left ear – Starting to behave so far -Now he scratches your back down to your hips and you tremble – What did you tell me before? That I looked like a vampire? Dear, you don´t know what idea that gave me – He suddenly bites the skin of your right scapula and you hiss – No, you don´t even fucking know.

The taste of your flesh makes a ravenous lust emerge from him and he sinks his teeth under your shoulder blade. You cry out and then again he takes the skin of your lower back in his mouth with feral force.

- Please, stop! – you yell through your gag, saliva dripping your chin and he is quick to move to your neck.

-Yes, scream! Scream for me – he says and takes a bit of your right shoulder between his teeth. It feels like needles because there´s not enough skin – You can make any fucking noise you want and no one is going to help you – He is in a mix of anger and hot hunger, coming up to your neck with slowly and deadly suctions.

- Please! It hurts! I won´t do it again, I promise! – you try to speak and sob while he scratches your right thigh up your butt cheek adding more red and violet marks to your body.

- I know you won´t – he breathes in your neck a bit agitated and moves his right hand to your mouth, wetting his middle finger with the saliva that keeps falling out with every yell or words you make – But I´m not in the mood for compassion to little things in distress – he moves his hand to your butt and forces the tip of his wet finger into your hole while biting your neck.

- Plea… please – but you can´t form a correct word. Your body tenses at this new sensation, invaded with pain and his delicious breath on your nape.

- Relax and it will be easier – he says and moves his finger further in.

You gasp and bend your legs to get away but your feet are stuck on the floor holding you in place. Michael sinks his teeth on the left part of your neck but this time he is not applying much strength to let his tongue play with your skin too. Your knees feel weak but you can´t fall, just having to stay there at his mercy. He continues doing the same with other parts of your neck and after the fourth time your jaw falls open, weak and gasping for air, and he is able to push his entire finger in. The insides of you gripping him but at the same time letting him explore, surrendering to his touch and to his exquisite warm mouth. He moves his left hand to your sex and slides it back and forwards your slit, soaking his fingers at your wetness.

-Please…! – you repeat in a barely audible sob, while you continue gasping for air. Then he moves to your clitoris and starts circling it, making you pant.  You can´t take it anymore and at the same time you don´t want it to stop, feeling so full and vulnerable, in waves of pain of his teeth and pleasure of his touch, trying uselessly to control yourself when all your composure has already gone.

-  I know you can´t repress it anymore – he says as he circles your clit with more pressure making you grip his finger in your ass with more strength, every nerve burning alive – Moan for me.

And you do it, completely out of your mind, an orgasm rushing through you like a full speed train. Your body convulses violently and after the climax you don´t know what is happening any more. Your muscles are shaking of weakness, and your neck is so relaxed that your head slides down, eyes closed. He lets his finger slowly out, frees your hands and feet from his spell and your legs bend, letting your weight go down. He is quick to catch you so you don´t fall and brings you close to him. Your nape is resting on his chest and you can barely open your eyes or move, in a rag doll state.

-Come here, baby – he removes the gag, lifts your naked body in his arms and unclips the chain, letting it fall on the floor by the nightgown. Your head accommodates itself on his shoulder while he takes you out of the room and starts walking the corridor back to the bedroom. The soft sensation of his cheek brushing yours when he occasionally checks your face as he moves makes you sleepy.

Michael opens the bedroom door and puts you on the mattress, covering you with the sheets. Then he takes off his clothes except for his boxers and lies down beside you. You are asleep and exhausted so he brings you closer to his body and slides his hand from your hair to your face.  He smirks and kisses your forehead.

-See you in the morning, princess.

[wordsablaze]

A Moment Is Worth A Thousand Notes

A totally average day in which Peter is a polite catastrophe, Bucky snorts in amusement twice, Loki cares and doesn't want people to know, Thor says what we're all thinking, Tony can't control his emotions, Natasha tolerates no nonsense, Bruce has to demonstrate his medical skills, and more totally average things happen. Enjoy!

A/N:  *shrugs* my procrastination comes in the form of playing around with the Avengers' dynamic... Peter & Bucky & Loki centric, don’t say I didn’t warn you!

An alarm in the Avengers' Tower is generally met with a wide range of reactions.

Tony is usually somewhat omniscient and is already moving before it chimes; Clint tends to groan and share a look with Natasha before grabbing a quiver; Natasha is on her feet and muttering to herself before anyone else has time to verbalise their emotions; Steve looks over to Bucky, glances at where Tony would be, and arms himself with a shield; Bucky rolls his shoulders, cracks his knuckles and rattles at least one glass ornaments as he stands; Thor laughs heartily and sticks his hand out for a hammer before remembering he doesn't have one anymore and grinnng; Wanda takes a breath and clenches her hands with a small, determined smile; Vision looks around before nodding to himself and floating towards the nearest exit; Bruce sighs and takes off his glasses, getting ready to change into stretchy pants; Loki debates whether or not to help before deciding he has nothing better to do and smirking; and Peter... Well, Peter jumps. Every single time. He also mumbles an apology every time, without fail, but it's rarely given a reply.

This time, the threat isn't large enough to warrant all of them going. Tony, Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Thor are unanimously chosen to go, the five of them nodding to each other in affirmation. Bruce won't let Wanda leave the complex anyway, not since she broke her leg three days ago, and Vision seems to have taken to satiating Wanda's boredom as well as having the occasional conversation about infinity stones with Peter. Tony's already muttering to FRIDAY about choosing the right suit by the time Natasha and Clint have shared a conversation that might be a pep talk but could double as an inside joke.

Bucky and Loki are left with Peter, who looks mildly heartbroken at being left behind.

Despite their obvious differences, Bucky and Loki share a sympathetic look as Peter sighs and carries on re-writing the physics notes that'd been half-burned last time he'd stopped a fire on a school night, which happens more than you'd expect, as Happy is more than well aware of and can complain about for longer than Peter can make up excuses that range from reasonable to utterly nonsensical, and that's saying something.

It takes approximately nine minutes and a quiet phone call for Peter to burst out with: "Mister Barnes? And, Loki... Uh, Your Majesty... Please, can I go and help? I promise not to get in the way and I'll just help the civilians and I won't get hurt but I can't just sit here and do next to nothing, not that physics as a whole is nothing, but- so please-"

"Kid," Bucky interjects, barely processing the rambles. "Don't call me Mister Barnes."

"I'm really sorry, Mister Ba- uh, Mister James? I'm sorry, Mister James, I didn't mean to-"

Bucky snorts. Loki stares at him and even Tony, in the middle of shooting someone about to shoot Steve but alerted by FRIDAY, who he'd programmed to inform them if Bucky ever expressed amusement because he's just that kind of person, pauses for a second.

"How do you even know my name?"

Peter blushes. "I might have read some books in a few different libraries after Mister Rogers told me who you were..." he mumbles.

"Mister Rogers...? Wait, Steve? Steve told you to look me up?"

"Uh, not exactly... He might have sort of said not to...?" Peter bites his lip, more or less regretting both his sleepovers at the libraries and his lack of a brain-to-mouth filter.

For the second time in five minutes, a bemused Bucky snorts and Tony almost forgets his left from his right in his shock, resulting in a very annoyed Clint who ends up firing half a centimetre off target and even though that wouldn't be a big deal for anyone else, it's a mild tragedy for him.

"That's a yes, spiderling." Loki nods. He'd taken after his step-brother in the choice of nickname, one of the few things they actually agree on.

Peter beams at them and the two adults barely have time to blink before a worn school textbook is being thrown frisbee-style at the table and red and blue is zooming to the door. Loki blinks at Peter's passion, wondering if he'd even be here were it not for his similar and yet completely different childhood passion for creating mischief at every opportunity, but quickly dismisses the infinite possibilities in favour of donning a smile and getting ready to follow the spiderling to see what happens this time because he's truly unpredictable but it's always entertaining.

It takes Bucky all of four seconds to make a decision. It takes one look for Loki to agree and, within a heartbeat, the two of them are getting ready to slowly follow in case Peter gets hurt, purely because Tony would kill them if anything bad happened and not because they care for the teenager in any way, of course not.

By the time they get there, Peter's already pulling a mother and child out of the way of falling debris and gently handing a man his guide dog back. The two of them settle on watching, ready to move in if necessary. If anyone could see them, it might look comical: a frowning former soldier with a metal arm trying his best not to let a smile through and the God of Mischief leaning on a bricked wall with a soft, nostalgic and almost proud look in his eyes.

Peter, however, doesn't notice them.

When his spidey sense goes off, he assumes it's because someone is in danger and turns to try and locate the people who need his help. Coincidentally - or perhaps not - there just so happens to be three teens who clearly can't see the section of building about to crush them in front of Bucky and Loki. Literally jumping into action, Peter pulls them backwards and slides under the debris to stop it shattering on impact with the ground.

It continues like that, with Peter making sure people's cars aren't crushed or families aren't separated, as well as the odd pep talk here and there to stunned observers and getting occasional, surreptitious help by two very concerned and protective, well-hidden figures until some of the men on the same side as the ones the Avengers are fighting - but not the Avengers themselves - take notice of the red and blue figure flying all over the place.

"Oh, shoot," Peter whispers as a bullet flies towards him. He ducks and sends a wad of webbing back, catching the man and causing him to stumble backwards as he struggles to breathe through the makeshift gag.

Peter's not exactly had time to be trained in hand to hand combat so he has to rely on webbing the next man's hands together to avoid getting shot. The third mad ends up upside down, hanging from a balcony, and the fourth underestimates Peter and gives him an opportunity to shoot his webs at the gun, yank it towards him, and send the man flying into a car that's promptly locked so he can't get out.

Unfortunately, he doesn't sense the fifth man until his back has hit the floor with a silent but painful thud.

He's dimly aware of the knife aimed at him but he's too focused on making sure the man's legs are attached to the nearest streetlight to really comprehend it. The smug-looking man is saying something in what sounds like gibberish but is probably some extremely obscure - i.e alien - language when Peter rolls to his side and kicks the man, sending him flying in the air towards the streetlight, but not before there's a sharp pain in his side.

Ignoring it and somehow fooling Loki and Bucky into thinking he's unhurt, he pushes himself up and concentrates on getting people away from the action so they don't get hurt.

Once the fighting dies down, the thunder fades into silence and buildings are no longer falling apart, Peter stops to breathe. He then realises he can't breathe very well and staggers, trying to grab onto something, but finding nothing solid enough to support him as he wobbles around so, in no time at all, he ends up making a beeline to the floor.

Said beeline is thankfully interrupted by a metal arm.

A metal arm and the Avenger attached to it, of course. The Avengers may be a peculiar bunch but a sentient, protective metal arm existing without the rest of a body has not yet become a part of their team. And since metal arms don't have minds of their own, it's the mouth of the person the arm is attached to that says, "You're bleeding."

"I am?" Peter blinks, dazed.

Bucky shakes his head before he places an arm under Peter's neck and another under his knees, lifting him up despite the faint protests he receives.

"Uh... Mister Bar- Jame- Uh... Mister Bucky, you don't have to-"

"Shut up, Peter."

Peter, now letting himself register the pain of a bullet having scraped his side instead of worrying about how to address the other Avengers, gasps and shuts his eyes, letting himself be carried back to the tower.

"Curiosity hurts the cat," Loki teases, trying to distract Peter from the pain after seeing his scrunched up face and terrible attempts at appearing perfectly pain-free.

"Good thing I'm not Catman then..." Peter mumbles, feeling the vibration of Bucky chuckling rather than hearing it.

The three of them make their way back to their tower, Loki constantly casting a glamour around them so nobody has a chance to gape or take a picture that'll expose them to the press or wherever else rumours are born.

"How do you do an MRI scan?" Peter mumbles, his eyes only half open and his skin pale as he lets his head rest on Bucky's shoulder.

"What?"

"Doesn't your arm get in the path- in the way? Not that it's a bad thing! I love your arm, it's so cool! But surely it must get in the way, right?"

Loki's glamour falters for a split second as he sees the confusion on Bucky's face, the former soldier choosing not to reply to slurred, unfiltered questions in favour of speeding up.

"He takes the arm off," Loki answers just because he can.

Peter's eyes widen. "Really?"

"No." Bucky glares at Loki but he doesn't get time to do anything else because they're back at the tower. FRIDAY must have informed Bruce because he's waiting for them as they enter, making a face at the blood.

"Severity?"

"A bullet grazed him," Bucky answers, knowing Loki will be more or less exhausted after keeping up with his pace, worrying for Peter, and maintaining their glamour at the same time. Bruce nods and waves a hand to let Bucky know he should follow. Peter's more or less fully unconscious by the time they get to the infirmary but he wakes up when the top half of his suit is hoisted upwards.

"What-?"

"We can't bandage you up over the suit, kid," Bucky explains. Nodding, Peter sinks backwards and lets Bucky pull his mask off so he can breathe better, not having had a chance to do so before.

"You still good?" Bruce asks as he starts to apply an antiseptic that has to sting badly for someone with heightened senses.

Peter nods in reply, once again trying to hide his wince and, naturally, failing at it. Nevertheless, he doesn't complain until there's a gauze on his graze and a bandage wrapped around it for good measure. It's only after Bruce leaves that he lets his face scrunch up in pain.

"Ow! Ow ow ow ow ow-ow ow ow ow. Owwww..."

"Composing?" Bucky raises an eyebrow.

Peter freezes, sheepishly smiling. "Uh... Yeah, totally. Practice for my, uhm, school music... festival? Annual festival! That I totally take part in! Every year! Because that's what annual means... I'm fine!"

"I see that."

"Should I allow Loki into the infirmary?" FRIDAY asks them.

Peter jumps, nods, remembers he's addressing an AI and mumbles a 'yes' that Bucky can barely hear but FRIDAY manages to catch.

"Who would name a voice after the most existential weekday?" is the greeting Loki goes for.

Peter laughs and Bucky rolls his eyes, Loki smirking in satisfaction and then raising an eyebrow, "Don't you need to get changed into something else... Perhaps something more casual?"

"Oh, yeah! Thanks for reminding me, Mister Loki- Your Majesty- uhm, I'll be right back!" and with that, Peter's all but sprinting out of the room, heading to where he thinks he'd left his clothes earlier and hoping he hasn't forgotten again.

He's gingerly pulling his hoodie down over the already-healing injury when FRIDAY buzzes to let the rest of the Avengers back in so he flops onto the sofa and shoots a web to get the physics textbook back into his lap, earning an odd look from Loki, who then drapes himself over a chaise because he might be the God of Mischief but he's basically trying to earn a place as honourary God of Dramatic Flair.

"It's 'curiosity kills the cat' by the way," Peter says, having internally argued with himself about whether or not to correct a God on his use of idioms.

"Anyone else injured?" Bruce asks before Loki can do anything but tilt his head in paltry confusion, their designated doctor having appeared from nowhere as pieces of Tony's suit fly over their heads and assemble in a workshop they can't see.

"Anyone else?" Clint echoes, "who else was injured?"

Peter's eyes widen in a panic and he coughs before Bruce can say anything in reply to the raised eyebrows. "I got a papercut!"

"Is that what made Bucky laugh?" Steve asks, having been informed by Tony of the amusement expressed on the way to the tower.

And, because he can't resist supporting lies of any kind, it's Loki's turn to chuckle. "He can't be blamed; it was fairly amusing to see the spiderling defeated by processed trees."

Tony looks sceptical but doesn't question it, simply making a face and heading to the kitchen to acquire a caffeinated beverage. Steve follows, pinching the bridge of his nose as he goes, and Natasha smirks.

"Someone's lying."

"Someone's always lying, we live a world of deceit..." Loki dramatically states, leaning back even more.

"Quit the melodrama, trickster," Natasha mutters - except her muttering is akin to an order - before turning back to Peter. "So, why are you lying?"

Resisting the urge to grin at the unintentional vine reference, he shrugs. "I lied about my physics notes... It's not easy to explain that you accidentally dropped them in a burning building six blocks away from your house. I mean, it's hard to explain anything to him anyway because he's always... Well, he's always sort of cynical, kind of like Mister Rogers - not that I compare Mister Rogers to my physics teacher because, if anything, he'd definitely be a history teacher. Or maybe a sports teacher? I mean, I know he's in those videos we always get shown but I think he'd be a better history teacher because he's already a part of the subject and he could, like, give first-hand accounts and, um, stuff..."

Natasha makes a face at the idea, settling onto a beanbag. "You talk a lot, kid."

"Uh. Thank you?"

"I'd stop talking as much until you fully heal if I were you; you keep half-reaching for your side and it's a dead giveaway." Her casual but knowing look makes Peter once again blush and he smiles as if the gesture can erase his guilt.

"Sorry Miss Romano-"

"Don't even think about calling me that, kid. Call me Natasha, like everyone else."

"Right. Sorry, Miss Natasha."

"Who missed Natasha?" Clint asks, having grabbed another hearing aid because his last one fell into the path of Thor's thunder and didn't make it out alive.

Natasha shoots him a blank, pointed look that says something along the lines of 'I'll deal with you later' and turns back to Peter with a much gentler expression as she says, "Just 'Natasha', kid. I don't call you Mister Kid."

"Halle to the lujah for that," Tony mutters as he walks in.

"There seems to be another food delivery at the door," FRIDAY informs them, "The last one arrived when nobody was here to receive it."

"Who ordered food?" Steve asks.

In all honesty, Peter can only quietly sigh in relief because he'd rather they question the presence of food itself as opposed to wondering why nobody was here to receive it when there should have been three of them capable of doing so. He also wonders who'd told the delivery guy to come back but leaves that to FRIDAY, knowing such a sophisticated AI system must have seen weirder things in its admittedly short time.

Everyone who hasn't noticed Peter's relief - which is all of them sans Loki and Bucky as the two of them still feel guilty for letting him get injured and haven't really taken their eyes off him since - is on their feet in an instant, the tension of unwanted visitors immediately buzzing in the air, but Peter stands with his hands out in front of him, fingers splayed in surrender, before anyone can come to any conclusions or shoot something, and admits, "So, it might have been me?"

"When did you have time to order food?" Loki asks, knowing full well that even someone with advanced healing can't place an order for food immediately after being scraped by a bullet.

Well, aside from Deadpool, but that's a whole other story...

If Peter was any redder, he might be able to camouflage with Tony's suit. "I ordered it just after you left... I, uh, figured you'd be hungry after fighting again... But I might have overestimated how long it, um, it would take for us- for you to get back?"

There are an entire two seconds of silence before anyone moves. In the end, it's Tony who breaks the silence by saying, "Well, we might have been here earlier if someone, not naming names, hadn't decided to blindly throw their ridiculously patriotic shield at an obviously unstable building extension."

"You know I had no choice!" Steve argues, clearly exasperated, and his tone suggests this isn't the first time they've had this argument even though the situation had only just occurred. Typical...

"What did you order?" Clint asks to take the attention of their argument.

Peter has to think about it, almost having forgotten. "Shawarma."

Despite being halfway through building a straw man for his conversation and having a reputation of never letting anything go until it's literally impossible to keep it going, Tony pauses and stares at Peter incredulously. "Did you just say shawarma?"

"Yeah?"

"Pete, if you weren't an avenger already, I'd have given you an invitation just for that."

"Ordering shawarma?" Peter frowns.

Thor beams at them. "Like father, like son, eh?"

Even Tony could camouflage with the outside of his suit after that comment. Ironically, the fact that both he and Peter have experienced the same extreme blood rush only further proves Thor's point and neither of them can argue against such compelling evidence without obliterating their respective reputations and end up walking into a myriad of jokes.

Before Loki can make a joke about families - and probably one about their dysfunctionality - Peter gasps. "Wait, did you just say you think of me as an Avenger?"

Natasha raises an eyebrow. "Weren't you telling your chair friend that you're an Avenger just a few days ago?"

"Well, yeah, that's N- should I say his name? I mean, you're the Avengers and you probably know all about him anyway- so yeah, that's Ned for you, I have to tell him that so he takes it all seriously and doesn't tell anyone else! And just because I think of me- Of myself- as an Avenger doesn't mean I think you think of me as an Avenger and- wait, you listened in on my phone call?"

"Gods, kid, you're a verbal catastrophe," Bucky mutters.

"Gods?" Steve echoes, puzzled.

"I'd say 'God' but we have two of them in the room."

"I wasn't aware you cared so much for me, metal-limbed mortal," Loki drawls and earns himself a stifled giggle from Peter.

"The shawarma!" Tony exclaims, now having recovered and decided to sound-proof a room for phone calls in the near future, "FRIDAY, accept the delivery and charge it to my tab if you will."

"I already have. Vision is bringing it up now."

Clint claps his hands and smiles softly as Wanda walks in. "You're just in time for shawarma!"

"Like that time in Budapest, huh?" Natasha smirks, knowing it'll both amuse and irritate Clint.

"Even I know the two of you remember Budapest very differently by now, can't you use a new joke?" Tony rolls his eyes.

Natasha simply glowers at him and he's suddenly interested in making sure the elevator is working properly, even though vision is in no need of it. Consequently, Peter giggles again and Steve winks him, an action that would have surprised Bucky had he not previously been all but forced to throw out every magnet in the building at once and ask FRIDAY to make sure no more were brought in because Peter kept sticking them to his arm 'for science' or something else equally endearing.

"Before Mister Stark comes back, can someone please explain what shawarma is so I don't look too shocked and give away the fact that I've never had it before?" Peter asks and his voice is so quiet they all have to strain to hear it.

"I've not had any either, Peter, I'll ask and you can figure it out with that." Wanda smiles warmly.

"Thank you, Mi-"

"Nope. I'm not that much older than you and I don't want to feel any older either," Wanda interrupts before he can stumble over a title for her. Which is lucky, because he'd probably have kept trying different combinations until she'd wanted to change all her names.

"Why don't we get to use that excuse?" Clint throws his hands up, but he manages to do it in a kind way, a feat that's probably a dad thing but is now more or less common in any Avenger who has a conversation with Peter, no matter how fleeting.

Peter offers him a bashful smile in place of condolences, which is the best he can do before Tony and Vision walk in, knee-deep in a conversation about AI and feelings.

They stop when Bruce walks in behind them and threatens to defenestrate the shawarma, resulting in an instantly protective Tony and an amused room of Avengers.

Soon enough, the lights are dimmed and insignificant arguments over positionings are started, as usual. Once they're all settled, pretty much tangled in both each other's presences and personal spaces, shawarma is passed around like fragile popcorn and a random Disney film is switched on because they'd decided to try and get through as many as possible as quickly as possible after discovering not every member could understand the multitude of song references passed around. And, at the end of the day, when classical films after exhausting fights are often played, Peter can tolerate abundances of destroyed school notes if it means he gets to experience moments like the ones he's been experiencing all day, even narrowly avoiding getting shot...

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[holllandtrash]

Stay; Tom Holland

pairing: reader x tom holland

warnings: swearing, alcoholism

request: yes 4.5, 22, and 47 on my prompt list

4.5 “I’m not broken so stop trying to fix me” 22. “Okay, am I drunk or did you really just say that?” 47. “My parents asked about you”

words: 2300+

summary: You said “I’m fine” a countless number of times but were you trying to convince Tom it was true or yourself?

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You twirled your phone between your pointer finger and your thumb, picking it up off the floor when you dropped it the odd time. In your other hand rested a glass filled halfway with whatever you had in the kitchen left. 

The hard liquor burnt your throat as you raised it to take a sip, but you ignored like you always did. After one more glass you knew you wouldn’t feel a thing and you’d be able to drink it straight like water.

Your phone lit up for the fifth time. Tom’s contact picture appeared on the screen and you tossed the phone beside you on the couch because talking to him at this very second didn’t interest you one bit.

Sure, you might have been the one to text him first.

And maybe you sent two more messages after that.

But that was earlier. Now you were a few drinks in and you wanted to be alone. Tom didn’t understand that, he never once understood that.

Soon after your phone screen went black, his picture then appeared one more time. You looked down at, appreciating how happy he seemed in the image, so full of light. You remembered snapping it when he was off guard, but you couldn’t help it. His genuine smile was something you wanted permanently pressed into your mind so of course you took the picture.

You expected him to call again for the seventh time, but after a few minutes you realized he was done trying. Which didn’t bother you at all, this was what you wanted. 

So you raised the glass to you lips, downing the rest of your drink in one final sip. Then you reached for the bottle that you had on the coffee table in front of you. After your second drink you found it to be easier to keep the bottle out instead of making continuous trips to the kitchen.

Just as you finished pouring yourself another, there was a knock on the door. You glanced at the door, giving yourself a second to make sure that there really was a knock and it wasn’t just the alcohol driving you to hear it. 

But then you heard someone’s knuckles hit the door again, this time louder.

Groaning loudly, you got up while still clenching the drink. It was past midnight so as you sauntered your way to the entrance you already had a good idea as to who was on the other side.

Before you even had a chance to reach for the handle, the door swung wide open and your suspicions were confirmed.  A very distraught Tom made his way inside your home and you soon regretted not locking it.

“What the hell?” he spat, he barely gave you a second to respond before slamming the front door behind him, quite loudly too. “What the hell is going on?”

“I have neighbors. Don’t raise your voice at me.” In your defense, you knew that you should have started off with something other than that you’re your mind became fuzzier with each passing second 

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and cleared his throat before reading something from the screen, “I think you’re a fucking prick and I wish that I had never met you.”

“Ouch.” You winced as you took another sip. 

Tom looked at you, completely bewildered, “You sent that to me! Out of the blue with no fucking context. You asked for space and I gave it to you but then you send me this and then five seconds later ‘I’m sorry. I miss you.’ Jesus, [Y/N] how drunk are you?”

“I’m not even that drunk,” you rolled your eyes, but since you were the type of person who relied on hand gestures while speaking, your glass flew from your grip and landed on the floor in front of your feet with a loud shatter. Glass shards traveled in all directions as what was left of your drink now soaked into the hardwood. “Oops.”

“Oops,” Tom repeated, mockingly, “Don’t move. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He excused himself and walked into the kitchen, returning a moment later with paper towel and your broom. He squatted down and began to clean up your mess, shaking his head while doing so, “I’m always cleaning up your fucking mess I swear.”

“Hey.” you snapped, but he kept his down and continued to sweep up the broken glass, “My drink would still be in my hand if you hadn’t have shown up here and I didn’t ask you to clean this up.” You knelt down in front of Tom, only to be met with his icy glare.

“I told you not to move you’ll get glass in your feet.”

“Stop worrying about me.”

He stayed silent as you reached for the paper towel to wipe up the liquid. You used more than half the roll but after everything was cleaned up Tom took the garbage from your hands and put everything away, finishing the job.

When he came back into the living room it was you who now avoided his stare. He walked right past you but you felt his eyes burning holes into the back of your head as he sat down on the arm rest of the couch. Since you knew he wasn’t going to leave, you sat down on the coffee table, knees tight beside each other, folding your hands in your lap. You felt like a child in this position, about to be scolded for something you did wrong.

“I love you.” Tom said after a few minutes had passed.

You looked up at him in confusion because of course this threw you off.

You’ve known Tom for almost three years and you dated �� on and off – for about nine months, or maybe ten. You stopped counting a while ago. But in that entire duration, not once had either of you spoken those words. They never felt right.

“Okay…” you trailed off because you sure as hell weren’t about to say it back, “Am I drunk or did you really just say that?”

“That was the third text.” he clarified, finally clearing the air. Knowing that he didn’t actually love you simultaneously relived you of the weight on your chest and also felt like a stab to the heart both at once. “That’s why I came over. I was worried that you were drowning yourself in liquor because that had to be the only explanation for sending it.”

“Why do you assume that I’m a drunk?” Blowing past the conversation about the text.

“You are a drunk.” A chuckle escaped his lips but this situation was anything except funny, “[Y/N] the longest you’ve gone without a drink was three days and that was only because I dragged you along to my family gathering at the cabin.”

“You didn’t tell me your parents were so against drinking,” you retorted, but you saw the way Tom bit his lip to keep from arguing over the subject more. “And clearly I’m fine so you can go home.”

“You’re not fine. You’ve never been fine.” He rubbed his face with his hands before pushing his hair back, slighting pulling at the ends as he released a sigh, “You are all over the place. You can’t keep a job. You can barely afford rent. I wake up in bed next to you one day and then the next you’re throwing all my shit out of your place. A month ago you asked for space and I gave it to you. But then you text me saying you love me-…” paused, shaking his head once again. A loud exhaled passed his lips before he continued on, “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“I want you to get the hell out of home!” you yelled and stood up while pointing at the door. Out of the corner of your eye you spotted a section of floor where glass still laid that you and Tom neglected to reach, but that didn’t distract you for long. Soon, Tom was on his feet and in your face as well.

“Why won’t you let me help you?” he shouted back. His chest rose and fell dramatically and your heartbeat matched its pace. “All I’ve wanted to do was help you and you constantly push me away.”

“Because you treat me like I’m some sort of charity-case.!” You exclaimed, not even caring about your neighbors anymore. If they woke up and started to bang on the door then you’d just send Tom out to explain the situation to them, “Jesus Christ Tom in your eyes I’m a project. You think you can fucking fix me but the jokes on you because I’m not even fucking broken.” With a sudden burst of courage, you brought your hands up to his chest and shoved him backwards, “I’m not broken.” You repeated, hitting his chest again but he stood there and took it, “So stop trying to fix me.” After one last push he gripped your wrist and held your hands where they rested on his chest. You could feel his pulse racing under the fabric of his shirt as you looked up to meet his eyes.

“Stop,” he demanded and the tone of his voice pushed away any last bit of confidence that you had. There was still tension in the air but once he sensed that you weren’t going to lash out again, he opened his mouth, “I don’t see you as a charity-case. I’ve only ever cared about you and wanted what’s best but you make it so hard for me to be here for you.”

He was right.

It was always you who broke things off and you only ever did when things became serious. Then after a few days, sometimes a week or two, you’d ask for him back. Because even drunk, you knew that you were your best self with Tom.

He brought out the good in you.

He made you see everything differently.

Your greatest moments in life were with him. Your favorite days were when the two of you would hide away in his house and curl up under the covers for hours. There was something about just being with him that made you so undeniably happy. He was the light and no matter what, that light never went out.

Not even when you asked for space for the tenth time, declaring that you actually meant it because let’s face it, you never meant it. The only reason you distanced yourself from Tom was because he’d always bring up topics you didn’t want to talk about. Number one being your drinking. 

Whenever that happened, the conversation turned into a fight and that fight always turned into a break up.

So each time, Tom gave you your space because he understood you didn’t want to talk to him or even see him. But that didn’t mean he gave up. He waited patiently for you to take him back because he knew you would. He knew you liked being around him. And when you finally did make up, he’d wait again before bringing up the touchy points of discussion. 

But it was just an endless cycle.

Fight. Break up. Make up. Fight.

You always hoped that Tom would just drop the subject completely, but he never did. Even now while you were in your broken up stage, he still showed that he wasn’t giving up.

And it had been a month since you last spoke to him.

It was an awful month, not just for you but for Tom as well. Because he adored being with you as much as you did.

“I’m sorry.” you finally said, feeling your eyes well up with tears. You hadn’t noticed Tom release the grip he had on your wrists, sliding his hands to rest on your hips instead, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” he whispered, just as you hid your face in his chest. He dropped his chin on top of your head and wrapped his arms around your body, holding you tight against his, “Just stop pushing me away.”

Tom’s breathing regulated, as had yours but that didn’t stop you from crying. Part of you worried that you were ruining his shirt with your tears but if you mentioned anything he wouldn’t care. He was used to it anyway. He held you in his arms countless times while you cried, which he was fine with, he liked being able to help even the smallest bit, but he was waiting for the day when you weren’t crying over them. Over your relationship.

“My parents asked you about you.” He admitted, “Just last week.”

Your gut twisted as you thought about his family. You’ve known his parents about as long as you’ve known Tom and you always felt so welcomed in their home. But you were certain they had no idea what your relationship with Tom was like. They didn’t know about the constant fighting and if they did they would probably hate you for hurting their son. Which was why you felt like completely shit when Tom said they asked about you. Clearly they noticed something was off.

“Wanted to know why you stopped coming around.” he added on, “I told them you were away. Hope that’s alright. They still think we’re together.”

“Are we?” you asked, tilting your head upwards, unsure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“Love, that’s for you to decide.” He told you, “You know where I stand.”

It was his way of saying that he was there to stay. You snaked your arms around his waist and hugged him tighter, not wanting to be the first one to let go. You wanted to spend the rest of the night in his embrace because that’s the only place you felt safe.

But Tom was okay with that because part of him knew that it was your way of saying you were there to stay too. 

masterlist prompt list

TAGLIST: @davros2004 | @cynderros | @manyfandomstohandle​ | @aussie-mantle​ | @honestlypeter​ | @clairesrainbow​ | @kennedy-christl​ | @bitchybaeeeeeew​ | @chasingsuperheroes​ | @kaiyaisbae​ | @spideyology​ | @fandomtoaster​ | @jjgirl4797​ | @alexander-william-gayskarth​ | @cyb4r​ | @spidey-holland-96​ | @spideytattoo​ | @alex15williams​ | @twong2001​ | @thesprintersoldier​ | if i forgot anyone i’m so sorry

[shadowsfiguresfigments-blog]

A good place to die Chapter 4

Warning: harsh language, violence

I regained consciousness, and it sucked. My throat hurt badly, and my limbs felt like goo, but that didn’t suck as much as the fact that Pennywise had failed to end me.

It wasn’t just me who was unable to kill myself.

A coughing fit made my entire body twitch, and my eyes shot open. I was lying in a fetal position on the washing-machine platform, covered in even more rags. Penny must have tucked me in while I was unconscious. The light had diminished, but I could still see enough to realize that he was sitting on the low wall that surrounded the abyss from which he had crawled almost two and a half weeks ago. It must have still been during the day, but definitely later than when Penny attacked me.

I was still alive.

The clown turned his head towards me, his eyes a weird shade of silver.

“Wha-wha-what… ha-happened?” I was wheezing, and my voice sounded like sand paper.

“Why… am I… I still alive?”

The clown shrugged, the rustle around his neck continuing the movement even when he was sitting still again.

“You weren’t scared. You were happy. I can’t kill you when you are happy.”

I felt drained and disappointed.

“Why?”

“Don’t you think I’d like to know that too?”, the clown spat at me.

“Well, I’m sorry.”

I buried my head between my legs and arms, waiting for my breath to stabilize.

After a while I could feel something touch my hair. I looked up at the clown standing before me.

“Listen, I’m exhausted and you are probably too. I should better go home now. Auntie will be worried,” I murmured, slowly unfolding my body. “I am sorry for what happened. Seems like I’m not the only one who has trouble killing me.”

My joke fell on death ears.

“Anyway, thank you for your effort.” I caught myself feeling somewhat anxious about my next question. “Can I come back tomorrow?”

His eyes turned somewhat more yellow, and his puzzled look became mingled with suspicion.

“Why would you want to do that?”

I wasn’t so sure myself. “I guess I like it here?”

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

I was lying in bed, thinking about the last couple of hours. Of course auntie had made a horrible fuss when she saw the state of my body. I told her I had tripped with the bike because of the new potholes, but I was pretty sure she didn’t believe me. She knew perfectly well that my nice classmates liked to mess with my bike – after all she already had to borrow me money for new tires and breaks, and once even a new saddle. And my accident also couldn’t properly explain the ligature marks on my neck. But she didn’t ask again, and so I could flee to the dark safety of my bed, contemplating the events of the day.

Pennywise had brought me back to the entrance once more, his eyes glowing bright blue. We didn’t talk, but it wasn’t uncomfortable – more like a fatigue we both shared. He even helped me with the brake cables that had been dislodged. He hadn’t answered my question, though.

Obviously he perceived me as a threat, and I still had no idea why. The fact that I wasn’t scared of anything seemed to be part of the cause, but how this would actually affect him was beyond me. He said he fed on fear and bodies, yet he had let that kid go when I visited him. I briefly wondered if he had fed on somebody in the meantime, but there was no curfew in place nor had I heard of any missing kids at school. I tried to be horrified at the fact that I was befriending a monster, but I couldn’t. The only thing that had managed to penetrate the numbness was the slight spur of excitement I felt any time I went down into the sewers. Maybe I should have started taking my meds again.

Once again I found sleep evading me.

Instead my mind was wandering back to my childhood days here in Derry. My mom had given birth to me at the tender age of fourteen, and the guy who had abused me had married her at sixteen. He wasn’t my real dad, as far as I knew. I was punished for everything I did and didn’t do. He was very versatile - he used his fists, his belt, sticks and whatever else he could find. When I was seven he started groping me. I told mum, and she smacked me so hard I had bruises for ages. As a punishment I wasn’t allowed to eat dinner. Again.

The only brakes I got were when auntie came to visit. She always had a little present for me, which Dad would quickly dispose of as soon as she left. But at least I wouldn’t be hit, and I was allowed to eat my three meals.  Then the fateful day came.

It must have been about a week after I had wondered into the sewers for the first time. Dad and Mum fought again, but it was different this time. Soon they started hurling things at each other. I crawled beneath the table to shield myself from flying tableware, empty bottles and the occasional book. Then Dad reached into his boots, pulled something out and a big BOOM followed. Mum sank to the floor, blood spilling from between her fingers, and Dad stumbled backwards, the gun falling from his hand. Very slowly, he turned around and looked at me. He pulled the table away and yanked me up by my arms. His face was almost as white as the wallpaper as he picked up one of the knives lying on the floor. He raised it high above his head, but before he could plunge it into my chest, another BOOM shook the kitchen. Mum had crawled across the floor, leaving a bloody trail behind, picked up the gun and shot him square in the head.

It took fifteen minutes for the police to arrive. The medics, who arrived just seconds after them, said that I was in shock and wrapped me in blankets. Everything after was but a blur. Days faded into each other. I was constantly moved between facilities, doctors and therapists. It had taken me a long time to figure out what they expected from me. When I finally understood, auntie took me ‘home’ with her, back to Derry. I couldn’t complain, she was very attentive and genuinely concerned. But it didn’t change the fact that I only ever felt like a zombie.

Around 4 a.m. I finally drifted into a light slumber. For the first time in forever I had hazy dreams of silk against my throat, of ghosts and glowing eyes. When I woke up I was drenched in sweat.

Auntie had left a note for me. “Bee is coming over at 6 p.m. I’ll make dinner. Hope to see you there too.” I wrote back that I would come. Bee, as we called her, was a good friend of auntie, despite being almost twice her age. She was a beautiful lady, though her red hair had become considerably greyer in the last year and creases had appeared all over her face. She was kind and caring, which was rare in Derry, and she actually listened to what you would say. As I was ready to leave for school, the phone rang and a nurse informed me that Mr. Shanks would be released in two days and expected his shop to be clean and ready for business.

School was horrible.

Apparently my frequent trips to the barrens had stirred up some drama. Rumors about me banging half the school were flying about, and even girls who had never spoken to me before were hissing “bitch” under their breath when I passed. My locker had been picked and somebody had filled it with used condoms, empty liquor bottles and other nice gifts. Boys were whistling at me and remarking how uninteresting my bony figure was, but that they’d do me for five bucks and the like. The only pleasant surprise was the dismissal one hour early because of a conference.

I felt like a fugitive when I sped away on my bike, heading for the barrens as fast as I could. This time I was going to take my bike with me, because I had a feeling somebody might come looking for it. And the second I had turned around the first bend of the sewer tunnel, I heard voices echoing from the entrance.

“You saw her here?”

“I swear, she was here like ten seconds ago.”

“Stupid bitch.”

“Where’d she go?”

“No idea. You think she went in there?”

“Well, she probably would.”

“Shall we go looking?”

“Through all the dirt? You crazy? I’m wearing my new Gucci.”

I backed away slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible. Only after I had gone on for several minutes I dared to breathe  again.

When I finally reached the cistern I was a little unsure of how to proceed. For starters I parked my bike against the wall, and then called out softly: “Pennywise?” I almost expected to not receive an answer, but after a couple of heartbeats the clown appeared behind the nearest pile of junk.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”, I asked, the tiniest sensation of nervousness building in my belly.

He shook his head, and his bells jingled. “I wasn’t sure whether you would come back, little girl. Since I can’t help you.”

I smiled a little. This weird sensation had begun to come more easily to my face after the last couple of weeks. “It’s still better to hang out with you than stay at any place out there, so if you don’t mind too much…”

He studied me intensely, his eyes the weird in-between silverish shade that wasn’t quite blue and not quite yellow either. “I still don’t understand why you, as a human, would want to be here.”

I thought about that for a second. “Maybe it is because you aren’t put off by me the same way everyone else is. It’s quiet, and I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not. And you were the first one to actually try to help me with what I really wanted. I know auntie means well and all, but she doesn’t understand me. I don’t think anyone can, really.”

He nodded, and I nestled into the rags on my usual spot. I had brought another book with me, a collection of short stories by Poe, and immersed myself into the beautiful flow of words that painted the most bizarre pictures in my mind. When I was just starving on the vast sea, contemplating the fact that I might have to consume human flesh to survive, a soft touch on my shoulders snapped me back into the twilight of the cavern.

Pennywise stood next to me, his big hand tentatively touching my shoulder. He looked like a little kid scared of dogs and being forced to stroke one.

“Would you read to me?”

I was caught off guard. He hadn’t complained before when I read out loud, but that he’d actually ask for it surprised me very much.

“Uhm, sure, if you want to…”

And with that the big clown sat down at the foot of the pile of junk, facing away from me, his head so close that my feet almost touched his hair.

I quickly skimmed through the book, wanting to read a story from the very beginning, and ultimately stopped at ‘William Wilson’, one of my favorites. As I started reading out lout, the clown let out the smallest of sighs.

 I snapped the book close with too much force, and the sound echoed through the abruptly quiet cavern. A quick glance at my watch told me it was time to go home, or I would be late for Bee.

“I’ll have to go, a friend is coming for dinner”, I explained as I slid down from my seat.

Pennywise turned his face towards me, his expression as confusing to me as ever. His eyes shone in the most profound blue I had ever seen.

“So, uhm… See you tomorrow?”

He blinked, but didn’t move otherwise. I smiled at him tentatively, before I made my way back to the tunnel. Apparently I would have to find my way back on my own this time.

[daveyjacobss]

nervous | racetrack higgins

reader x racetrack higgins

[newsies]

request(s): “Tough AF Brooklyn chick is pined after by Race Higgins” - anon

“Hey could you write something with a badass girlsie who the boys are kind of afraid of? Sorry it’s kind of vague I just don’t see many SUPER badass ones. Maybe she beats up the delancey brothers by themselves and the boys are like WTF?!!! And could it be racetrack x reader? Love you tons your writing is amazing!!” - @impractical-impala

summary: In which Y/N makes Race nervous

a/n: ayyyye guess who finally wrote something? but seriously, i can’t write fight scenes??? like idk how to do that so sorry if this sucks :( also, i know Y/N isn’t like super super bad ass in this so sorry about that too, i’m not really sure how to write that either. hope you like it though!

__________

Y/N was headed to Manhattan to deliver a message from Spot to Jack Kelly. She'd already finished selling her papes for the day, and Spot trusted her the most out of all the other Brooklyn newsies. It was a simple (stupid, in her opinion) message, but she didn't mind taking a walk on such a nice day. The sky was blue, the sun was out, and there was a nice breeze.

She'd come to Manhattan a few times before, and if prompted she would begrudgingly admit that, besides Brooklyn, it was her favorite part of New York. It didn't hurt that she liked a couple of the Manhattan newsies. Jack was enjoyable, Crutchie was too sweet not to like, and Specs was endearing. Then, of course, there was Racetrack Higgins, who flirted with her endlessly. She pushed him away or ignored his efforts every time, but he kept coming back. She found that she didn't mind too much. She found she also didn't mind that he - that all of them were a bit scared of her.

When she made it closer to the Manhattan lodge, she could feel eyes on her. On instinct, she took in her surroundings, searching for whoever was watching her. Spot made jokes a lot about how she was like a guard dog, always tense and ready to attack. Slowly, she walked towards an alley, listening to their footsteps as they followed her.

Once they were tucked into the alley, away from all people, she whipped around. In front of her stood Morris and Oscar Delancey, grinning menacingly.

"Wouldya look at that? It's one o' dem Brooklyn goil newsies," Morris spoke.

"Brooklyn? Ya think she'll put up a fight?" Oscar asked. They were acting like she wasn't there, but their eyes stayed trained on her. She was waiting for them to move first before she did anything. If she hadn't already guessed their intentions when they followed her into the alleyway, she sure as hell knew them now.

They both took a few steps toward her and she slowly clenched her hands into fists. The closer they got, the more she tenses up. The second Oscar's hand brushed her arm, she landed a punch right on his jaw. He stumbled backwards, but Morris came charging toward her. He threw a punch but she dodged it, kicking him in the shin. Oscar was back up and he grabbed her from behind, locking her arms behind her back. She lifted her leg up and swung it backwards, kicking him in the crotch.

He let out a groan and fell backwards, hands covering the area she had hit. Morris came at her again, but she grabbed his suspenders and pulled him down so she could knee him in the stomach before punching him in the head. He dropped to the ground with a bloody nose and wavering consciousness. Oscar tried one more time, but all it took was one swipe at his legs with her foot and he was down.

"Woah." She looked up to find Crutchie and Race at the opening of the alley, staring in awe at both her and the Delancey brothers lying on the ground.

"Mush came ta get us," Race explained. "Said the Delancey brudders had followed some goil into an alley and they ain't lookin' too friendly."

"We came to help," Crutchie clarified, smiling slightly.

"Thanks, but I think I got it handled." Crutchie laughed loudly, but Race continued to stare at her. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open slightly. If she had been really thinking about it, she would've realized he looked a little love struck. "You boys wanna walk me to the lodge? I got a message from Spot for Jack."

Race nodded quickly, closing his mouth and erasing his previous expression from his face. As they walked, Crutchie stayed slightly in front and Race and Y/N walked side by side. Every so often Crutchie would glance back at the two of them walking in silence, grin, and then shake his head and look forward again. It was no secret to the Manhattan newsies how smitten Race was with Y/N.

When they reached the lodge Y/N was taken up to the roof to talk with Jack, leaving Race staring after her. All the other boys watched him, whispering and teasing.

"I'm gonna do it," he spoke suddenly. The boys were silenced.

"Do what?" Specs asked nervously.

"I'm gonna tell Y/N how I feel." His face was set and he was determined to finally tell her. Immediately, there were protests from the boys.

"She'll punch you if you even try to touch her!" Someone shouted, warning mutters of agreement.

"She could kill you!"

"I heard once that 'er and Spot got in a fight and nobody's seen the guy since."

"No way! I heard they found the body washed up under da bridge."

"Would you lot shut up?!" Everyone was silenced by Race's outburst. He looked nervous and he was wringing his hands. "I'm tellin' her and that's that, so you can stop blabbering 'bout it!"

__________

A little while later, Race was outside smoking to calm his nerves. The boys had convinced Y/N to spend the night rather than make the trek back to Brooklyn while it was gettin' dark out. None of them doubted that she'd be able to hold her own, but Crutchie had pointed out that she looked tired and wouldn't be at her best if something did happen. She had eventually (reluctantly) accepted the invitation.

He felt his heartbeat speed up as he thought of telling her how he felt. The boys were right, if he said the wrong thing he would most likely end up dead or severely injured. Wasn't that some saying, though? Love hurts? Love. Because didn't he love the way she could fight better than any boy he'd ever met? Don't he love that she wouldn't let anybody control her or undermine her? Didn't he love the way she rolled her eyes when he winked at her? Didn't he love how she hadn't threatened him to make him stop flirting with her like she'd done to Romeo? That had to mean something good, didn't it?

He whipped around suddenly, startled by a noise behind him. There she stood, an eyebrow and raised and her arms crossed as she looked at him.

"You got some big date comin' up or somethin'?" She asked, joining him where he was sitting on the curb.

"W-What?" He could feel his hands start to shake slightly.

"You don't usually smoke this late. Plus, you're chewing that cigar like you ain't eaten in weeks." She wasn't wrong, but he pleasantly surprised him that she noticed the change in his behavior.

"I actually been meanin' to talk to ya," he said, trying to calm his breathing. She nodded for him to continue and he took in a sharp breath. "Ya know how I'm always flirtin' with ya?" She nodded again, furrowing her eyebrows. He could see the growing confusion in her eyes. "Well, I just - I wanted to make sure you ain't gettin' the wrong idea, 'cause I - "

"I get it," she cut him off. "You flirt with every goil, you ain't tryin' to settle down, blah blah blah." She rolled her eyes but her words were harsh, and she looked almost angry. He gulped, this certainly wasn't how he'd planned for this to go. "That all?"

"No." She sighs and looked at him, absolutely no interest shown in her eyes. "No, no that's not what I meant. That's - that's the idea I didn't want to give you. I ain't goin' 'round flirtin' with other goils, Y/N. It's just you." She wasn't looking at him anymore, and she stayed silent. He felt his nerves spike up and launched into a quick ramble.

"I just mean that I really like ya, and I mean it's fine if ya don't like me - 'cause I really can't expect ya to. And you know I just wanted to get it off my chest, 'cause it's real hard bein' 'round you and pretendin' like I don't have feelings for ya. You can punch me now, the boys said you would. Pretty sure that got a bet goin' in there. Some say youse gonna hit me, other's say I'm dead, and then, ya know, some of the boys said you had feelings for me to, which is completely -"

His anxious ramble was interrupted by her hand over his mouth. She was smiling slightly at him, amusement written all over her features.

"You're cute when you're nervous," she whispered. "I'm gonna kiss you now, that okay?" He nodded quickly and she leaned in. Their lips met and it wasn't rough like he'd expected it to be with her. She was kissing him gently, and her lips were soft. He kept his hands folded in his lap, tightly gripping his cigar. He was afraid to touch her without any spoken consent, but she had her hand cupping his cheek.

When they pulled away she laughed at the expression on his face. She looked nice when she wasn't constantly waiting for someone to attack.

"So, who gets the money if I like you back?" She asked, smirking.

"Oh, um - just Crutchie." He was still having trouble breathing, but for an entirely different reason. She smiled and let out another laugh at his answer.

"Perfect. He's my favorite."

"Not me?" Race joked, finally able to act like his non-nervous self. She grinned at the fake pout on his face.

"Sometimes," she shrugged. He smiled and haphazardly threw his arm around her, feeling his heart pounding in his chest when she didn't push him away.

"C'mon, lets go inside."

[dialux]

trope it all up

My submission for the @jonxsansafanfiction​ Valentine’s Challenge, Day 12: Stuck together. My best attempt at working in four different prompts from the prompt challenge- each chapter encompasses one prompt. Chapter 3 of 5; Part 1 can be found here. Part 2 can be found here.

[ETA: Previous notes said that there would be four chapters. There will be five chapters; the last one is of the author’s choice day- confessions.]

Chapter 3: Arya and Bran are entirely convinced of Jon and Sansa’s relationship- and are willing to put aside their personal feelings for the match for their cousin and sister’s sakes; but with the two refusing to speak to each other and, even worse, Jon deciding to leave for the south, they decide to take matters into their own hands.

iii. stuck together

Jon yanked the ties around the neck of his rucksack in place firmly, and leaned down to place the sheets he’d tossed away back onto the bed. At the new angle, he saw the rough boots he’d forgotten to pack.

He cursed aloud, loudly, startling Ghost from his slumber.

“That’s not very lordly.”

“I’m not a lord,” replied Jon, turning to face Arya, who stood at the door.

She shrugged. “You were a king. I’d think you were worthy of a lordship, you know?”

He sighed and knelt, picking up the boots and folding the loose legs of the boots so they could easier fit into the pile. When he straightened, Arya was still there.

“What d’you want?” Jon grunted.

“Not me,” said Arya. “Bran- he wants to go over some numbers or something. Before you leave, I think.”

“Tonight early enough for him?”

She winced. “A bit earlier might be better. He has to talk about the stores we have then, with Sansa and the stewards- something about the Vale knights’ arrival.”

“Ah,” said Jon. “I’ll be certain to not overstay then.”

“Jon,” Arya sighed. He wasn’t sure what his face looked like, then, only that Arya took one look at it and started to backtrack. “No, nothing, I don’t- it’s just, you know, what happened? You two looked so happy-”

“Things change,” said Jon, and walked away.

...

Sansa sighed as the door opened. 

“Bran, I’ve been waiting for nearly a half hour,” she began, only to cut herself off when she saw who was at the door.

Jon was staring at her as if he hadn’t ever seen her before, which was, admittedly, absolutely untrue; just because he’d refused to be in the same room as her for the past two weeks didn’t mean that he’d never seen her- and then, just as abrupt as his entrance, he turned on his heel to walk back.

Sansa saw it coming a heartbeat before it happened. Her eyes widened, arm stretching out.

The wooden door slammed shut at the exact moment as Jon walked forwards, at precisely the right velocity to hit his nose. Jon wavered, and then stumbled backwards before finally toppling over. It was almost loud enough that Sansa didn’t hear the sound of the latch sliding into place.

She started forwards, concern outweighing both amusement and underlying awkwardness. Jon was leaning back against the ground, completely prone, hands cupping over his nose- he looked utterly ridiculous.

“Are you okay?” Sansa asked, bending over and prodding his arm. 

Jon hissed something out, muffled by his hands. When he remained in that position, Sansa reached out and tugged one hand away.

His nose looked- slightly crooked.

Better take care of that, she thought, and snapped the bone back into place.

Jon bucked at the feeling, chest hollowing out. After he’d calmed down, he glared at her; it didn’t do much, though, with his nose still bright red, his eyes watering, and him still prone against the ground.

“What the hell, Sansa?”

“If we’d waited for someone else to fix that broken nose,” Sansa replied, “you’d have had a very crooked nose, and I know precisely how vain you are about your looks-”

“You couldn’t get Sam?” He demanded.

Sansa waved a hand. “Someone’s locked the door.”

“What.”

“I’m thinking it’s Arya,” she told him. “Or Bran, but most likely both.” She could barely stop herself from snorting when Jon gingerly ran his fingers across the bone. “Oh, don’t worry- your nose will be fine. I’ve snapped enough bones together, Jon, I know I didn’t mess this one up.”

“I thought we taught her not to interfere,” Jon commented, slowly sitting up. “I mean, making her completely rebuild the south wall isn’t the kind of thing you forget, you know?”

She shrugged. “Arya’s always been uniquely stubborn.” Her lips quirked. “She gets that from you, I think.”

“Or your mother.”

“Or my mother. She doesn’t have any lack of people to choose from.” 

Jon made an inarticulate sound in response, still struggling to sit up. Sansa’s eyes narrowed, slightly. 

She hadn’t meant to say as much as she did, before. Those were old grievances, and ones that she’d thought she’d moved past. But there was something in the way that Jon blamed her, as if he wasn’t at fault- it lit a fire in her chest.

Sansa had made mistakes. She’d own up to them. What she wouldn’t accept was Jon’s proclamation of innocence. And until he accepted that, she wouldn’t offer her own apologies.

That, however, didn’t mean that Sansa would have to be constantly belligerent.

“Anyhow,” she said, affixing a smile to her face, “when are you- leaving?”

“I was going to leave tonight,” he said, eyes dipping away. “Before this idiotic stunt, I mean.”

“I doubt Arya meant to break your nose.”

“Arya doesn’t mean for a lot of things,” Jon replied dryly. “Things still, miraculously, happen.”

Sansa sighed and rose, turning towards the door. 

“Do you want to try to...” she waved a hand at the door.

Jon frowned. “Do what?”

“Break the door down?” Sansa arched an eyebrow. “You did that a couple years ago, didn’t you?”

“That,” he said, dignifiedly, “was because Arya was having a nightmare and was an absolute idiot. Also, I don’t doubt that Arya’s placed something significantly heavier in front of the door, and I don’t plan to dislocate my shoulder on top of breaking my nose today.”

That... sounded like Arya.

“I could pop it back in,” Sansa offered, and Jon snorted.

...

The silence was uncomfortable, enough to leave Jon itching to actually take a pass at breaking the door down. A dislocated shoulder would at least leave the two of them with something to talk about, as opposed to this itching, tense quiet.

Jon hadn’t- he hadn’t meant to hurt Sansa. 

He’d watched Sansa enter Castle Cerwyn, had seen the horror writ across her face when she heard that he’d given up his crown; and then Sansa had swept herself tall, hair glittering bright as a banner, and told Daenerys that Jon wasn’t the King in the North, not any longer.

It’d been betrayal that Jon felt, when Sansa called him a bastard in all but name. He hadn’t been able to speak to her after that, not without feeling a peculiar mixture of shame, guilt, and anger; and Sansa hadn’t approached him either. 

And when he returned to Winterfell, having abandoned the south and Daenerys, while Arya and Bran embraced him, Sansa had simply watched, as disapproving and coldly haughty as Lady Catelyn. 

But that was all in the past- and more to the point, it wasn’t Sansa’s fault alone. Jon carried his own mixture of blame. It might have taken Sansa throwing it in his face for him to acknowledge it, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of doing so.

He sighed. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Sansa looked up from where she’d been hemming a gown, brows pulling together. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” said Jon, breathing out heavily. “I was- an ass. I didn’t think very much about you or anything other than the war, and... I was angry.” His shoulders lifted, almost helplessly. “Angry at you, and myself, and our situation, and you were the easiest to face.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Sansa told him, and Jon remembered how stiffly she’d told him not to apologize for something he didn’t feel sorry for a week previous.

“I don’t,” Jon told her, leaning back against the chair. “I’m not saying this because I owe you something. I never have. I never will.”

Even years ago, there had been something furious in Sansa’s pale face, her dawn-bright hair; something that filled the hollows that had lived inside Jon’s chest since being killed. Jon had been caught up in Sansa’s terrible wake, like a leaf floating behind a boat’s paddle. Even when Jon expected to die in the worst ways possible, even when he was so afraid, so tired- there had been something that screamed of life in seeing Sansa, who always stood as undying and unbent as any weirwood tree.

“But it’s true,” Jon finished. “I’m apologizing because I owed you safety, and I didn’t offer it. I’m apologizing because I owed you kindness, and I offered you only grief. I’m apologizing because I owed you love, and all I gave you was anger.”

Jon wasn’t good with words; he was remarkable at fumbling with them, all told. 

But Sansa didn’t seem to care about his awkwardness, the way in which he stumbled over the syllables and hesitated; she blinked at him, and then placed her sewing aside and rose to her feet. She was of a height with him now; Jon could see, precisely, the way her eyes flicked between something bright enough to outshine the stars and something sharp enough to draw blood.

“And I should have told you of Bran and Arya,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have- avoided you, I know.” Her lips tipped upwards into a small smile. “I am sorry for that.”

“Sansa,” he said, softly, and she nodded, stepping closer to him. 

“Yes,” she whispered. One hand came up to cup his cheek, rubbing over his beard; Jon shuddered at the contrast between her skin and his own. “Yes, Jon.”

They hadn’t spoken of it, not ever. This attraction that lay between them like a weighted stone- they’d never once even breathed of it. There had been nights when Jon went to bed, drunk out of his mind, and dreamed of a girl: too bright to be Ygritte, too tall to be Daenerys. There had been mornings when he saw Sansa, backlit by the morning sun, eyes glittering, and felt something balloon in his chest. He hadn’t once so much as imagined that Sansa had felt the same, but then she’d laced her fingers through his in a small clearing next to a river and grinned. 

Jon swallowed, hard, and kept his eyes wide, wide open when Sansa leaned in.

Their first, proper kiss was soft- soft enough that Jon scarce felt it. The second was longer. On the third, he threaded his fingers through her hair, brought the other hand to her waist, and kissed Sansa, properly.

She made a thin, high sound when he pulled away. Sansa’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and dark, and there was a smile curving her lips.

Jon grinned back, and leaned in to kiss her once more-

-only for the door to burst open.

“Oh my gods,” Arya wailed, “do you have to do it all the time?”

Sansa strangled an irritated sound in the back of her throat, just soft enough that Jon could barely hear it. He felt his initial irritation fade into laughter at the sound, and hid his smile in the curve of her neck, and then turned, arching an eyebrow at Arya and Bran.

“You began this,” he said, and though just a few hours previous he would have meant this is your fault, right then Jon could only think: thank you.

[redlemonz]

Day #17

Couldn't sleep much last night. I kept waking up during various, random bursts throughout the night, simply missing her. It's starting to hit me again.. I'm slowly experiencing that same pain in this endless loop of reality. Which means it's going to keep happening on a daily basis anyway. What's worse is that I know it's gonna be a long day at work, as I have much to do, but will probably be yawning throughout the day. My mind is already steaming at this point, and I think the only way to relieve it from a little pressure is through the releasing of some tears in the shower. Fun fact upon writing that: I couldn't even last until reaching the shower as they slowly streamed down my face. What a great big mess, grasping onto the temples of his head with his fingers and attempting to hide himself from this harsh and unfair fate. My breathing slows, and with each breath it feels as though I'm inhaling much less air than usual. I can hear the sound of my heart beating and racing along faster than usual. Hello, old friend. I haven't missed you, but glad you could stop by to fuck up my morning. Ah well, it's bound to keep happening right? The strangest part is having to get use to the feeling - just accepting it and letting it wash over you, until it naturally flows away. Which it never completely does. There's been moments where I've even questioned on a logical basis, whether to go back into my past and consume my old antidepressants, out of near desperation at times. There's nothing wrong with reaching out for that sort of help, right? I mean I don't do drugs and I'm not currently consuming alcohol, so I'm somewhat doing a good job in taking care of myself, so that should technically warrant this option viable? Wrong. Because it would be exactly what I just stated - taking a step backwards, into the wrong direction. I haven't come this far, and battled myself for so damn long, just to surrender at this moment, and tag in a reinforcement for another while. This is solely my war to fight, and it's time that I actually took the responsibility upon myself to soldier on as the lone wolf I am, without reliance upon anyone or anything else, in order to fix myself. And even if I ultimately can't, I'll still die trying. Day 17 - true love truly hurts Even at work, I'm supposedly unable to hide this aspect of sleep deprivation on a physical basis. Not that I'm trying to withhold yawning or anything, because it's not that. The other two of the three asked me out of the blue whether I was really tired, although I had my upbeat, cheerful mask of a personality on - which is where my confusion lied. However, It wasn't the first time in the last 12 hours I'd been asked this either, as my bald, semi-professional indoor team mate had also questioned why my eyes were so red. Seems as though this pigmentation couldn't be resolved with my lack of sleep - how surprising. In fact, I'm being asked by the other two if I'm high instead so it must be bad. Yup - checked in the bathroom, and literally looking like I'm slightly possessed. Don't even care enough to try wash it away - may as well embrace how I feel, and it portrays my evil persona pretty well too. Have I mentioned I'm a bad person yet? Because I am. I have to say though - quite proud and happy with the fact that my efforts do seem to be recognised in my work now.. especially considering it's been a hell of a time for a lot of people in my current sort of role that seem to be getting a demotion of sorts in terms of the work they do. I can count my lucky stars there certainly, because I'm not sure how I'd feel or be able to contain the mess I am if I were in that position, as it'd just be another avenue for my mental breakdown. Because it helps that I have to force myself into enough sanity for the greater good, and to serve justice (as my alarm clock would indicate). I realise that I make my job right now feel super important and everything, and I'm probably even easily replaceable, but it's only because I really need this belief in order to gain some much needed points in self worth and self respect, considering I'm lacking much of either. It really does give a big blow to your confidence (and not in a good way) when you put so much effort in, and it can go either unrecognised, or be insufficient, or often enough - both. That's why I tend to be such a pessimistic and secure person, who remains within his confines and tries not to give a damn, though my sensitivity to others is one of my greatest flaws (and apparently my humility is not far behind). Because at the end of the day, raising your expectations through optimism can be dangerous - and even potentially fatal when that very optimism hits extremes, to the point where you now can't distinguish fantasy and reality from one another properly. I know it's all about balancing the two, but my sincere vulnerability has left me scarred enough through my experiences to even attempt crossing along that bridge. If anything, I see it as a good and sensible quality, as it avoids (or rather reduces) the likely disappointment and pain that await on the other side. It's primarily the reason why I didn't want to commit to anything more meaningful with other girls for years, even when a variety of opportunistic chances arose with ease (I'm an insecure and arrogant prick, yes, but I'm also rather charming). Also I just never really liked anyone enough. Until her. She broke that space time continuum when she walked back into my life, and without a second thought, I leaped across that bridge. Usually, when you think as though something's way too good to be true, it probably is. Not her. She was that speck of truth that places the doubt in sayings like that. She brought out the light in my life (figuratively and literally) and made me realise that it's okay, and even more so, pretty damn good, to step outside my usual comfort zone. There's just something about her that makes you want to do crazy things so hastily and spontaneously, and makes your heart race in a melodically beautiful manner (in a non-threatening way for once), even if you're accustomed to being one of the most organised and intellectual people you know. That all goes out the window when you meet the girl of your dreams. Let's not forget that I was constantly rejected on countless occasions when pursuing her from my friend zone, and even when we finally did get together, which left me suffering through a lot of pain and insecurity in the process. But the fact of the matter at hand is that I always had the knowledge of the monument sized risk I was taking each time that I took a chance on her. I knew that we were nearly polar opposites (but you know what Science says!) in almost every regard, and that a spectacle like her would never see a guy like me in that way. Hell, even she knew it, and wasn't afraid to essentially spell it out for me vocally on plenty of occasions. But her actions often dictated otherwise. And so, with that being enough motivation - I persevered through it all, until the day her heart had graced me with a special, vacant spot. I didn't need to go to Disneyland to have my Disneyland moment, when I was with her. I loved life (which I think, is the first time I've ever used those words in the same sentence together - feels a bit weird now) with her, as she truly made me the happiest and luckiest man alive. Though I was still in touch with reality, don't worry - she controlled my new found optimism from reaching that extreme level of fantasy, and balanced me out well - like the mediator she is. So obviously, it hasn't always been a honeymoon, and isn't always just and easy - which is why we are where we are right now. Because I took her for granted, couldn't control my insecurities, failed to listen, and the list of excuses go on - but you get it by now, that I fucked it all up. There's been a lot of pain we've both experienced as a result. I often don't know how to handle it, and my suffering can even be rather unbearable to the point where I sometimes wish I didn't awaken from my slumber, as I'm sure is easily established by now too. So, the real questions here are - was taking that leap even worth it in the end, after everything I've experienced, and after everything that's happened? You bet it was. Absolutely, and without a doubt. If I had the chance to go through it all again, I would - in a heartbeat. I'd just make sure to do things right, and be better, this time around. Why? Because she's worth it. She's always been worth it, and she'll always continue to be worth it. And how do I know this? Because even though I've come to know the harsh reality that I'm not worth it, I love her with all my heart.