#but GOD STRAPS the whole concept is so gross

[trashcatsnark]

Saw the ask about dahlia and the which seed sibling took her virginity and now I'm obsessed I HAVE to know how each of them would react to being Dahlia's first and also how Dahlia reacts to each of them pls i'm crying screaming throwing up

Hehehe, I'm just cackling to myself about the eagerness to just know how popping this Junior Deputy's cherry goes, thank you so much for asking!

This is gonna be long and triggering so, TW: noncon, violence, gross kink shit, and gross ideas about virginity

So, I think all the Seeds would take a level of pride in it, like all the Seeds are a certain level of gross. They're all going to have a certain level of idea that being her first means something more than it does, ya know- like that concept of being someone's first sexual partner meaning you have some sort of entitlement/ownership of that person and that its more special because no one else had them which stims entirely from insecurity and grossness. But thats the Seed siblings.

Joseph is canonically is intended to be the one who pops her cherry, for him I think there is the least amount of smugness but the most amount of entitlement. Like to him this is obviously how it's meant to be, his divine right, a gift from the lord to replace all that he has lost, reimbursement for his sacrifices- of course, he is meant to be her first and she is an 'unspoiled gift' (Gross Joe, Gross) And definitely of the mindset of cherishing that gift (just ignore the whole violence, drugging, non-conning, and violation- that's just gods will, ya know?)

But like as far as siblings to lose her virginity too- Joseph's probably one of the better options just because he's gonna take his god damn time. Like, Joseph fucks- we done knew, rn the idea of him like having her drugged with lowgrade bliss and brought to him is the idea sticking with me most. Like, so she's going to be more uhhh pliant than she would usually be, he's going to eat her out, finger her, make sure she's prepped. Definitely already referring to himself as her husband as he does it, also probably as the father and her as wife and 'my child' which yeah- he's like that ya know.

Definitely cums inside of her- not wasting a drop anywhere, he is trying to get her pregnant as soon as fucking possible.

Definitely private like in his little living quarters tucked away on his compound and candlelit, intimate vibes.

Faith is probably the second nicest with it, if she had gotten to be Dahlia's first. Definitely, would also have her drugged. Also, given her lack of peepis- lot of focus on eating pussy, fingers, but also definitely has a strap I imagine. Faith in my brain is a seasoned sapphic woman, she knows what to do and what to have on hand.

Definitely not as private- Faith is a 'fucks in a field of flowers' kind of woman. Groping and touching a dizzy drugged Dahlia, pulling her clothes off, touching her everywhere in broad daylight surrounded by bliss flowers. Taking care of her, massaging her (i imagine Faith giving Bliss Oil massages a lot)

Lots of compliments and praise, saying how pretty Dahlia is, how perfect she is- how it was always going to be this way and just think of how happy they'll be, think of the life they'll build together~

But I also imagine she's more smug and a little more selfish, for lack of a better word. IE- Faith is sitting on Dahlia's drugged fucking face and grinding until she gets off. Like she is not only gonna focus on Dahlia's pleasure, she is gonna get hers. She's also more smug, specifically around John- I imagine John is the one she has the most sibling like relationship with- like they pick on and bully each other. Definitely would brag about being her first and definitely uses being the only other woman as a smug point like- small jabs about how she knows a woman's body better, Dahlia needs a woman's touch~

John is so fucking smug and insufferable- both in general and about this. My plan is for him to actually develop feelings for Dahlia first, so that already grants him a certain level of entitlement and then learning he has to share was a nightmare.

I don't imagine John being particularly... soft. He's very reckless and impulsive, imo. Like he's the kind of guy who gets frustrated and flips shit, tries to drown her just because he's mad- he acts on his emotions. I could definitely see his as being more heat of the moment, struggling for something- she breaks free during another attempted confession- wrestling for a weapon, but then violence as it often does for John starts to blur that line and he wants more of her, because she's his and he wants her and he's entitled to her and in his own fucked up head this is love, pain is love, and hands start moving.

For him it's more greedy, desperate, taking what he wants and the fact he's her first, the fact she's never been anyone elses just cements more in his mind that she is his. Its more selfish and focused on him and taking and down the road he may regret not being more loving or gentle or romantic because a part of him wants to be those things- but in the moment he took what he wanted and he wanted her.

Definitely would feel like being her first makes her more his than anyone elses, already kind of feels that way regardless, that she was meant for him- the proof a life of suffering and atonement and constantly trying and failing to feel like he was enough was finally rewarded by being given her.

Jacob is by far the roughest and the least romantic about that shit. Like he always to me felt the most accutely ware that what they're doing is fucked up- he's just cool with doing fucked up things cause he thinks sometimes you gotta. Which makes him weirdly less redeemable but also like more understandable.

Deffo gets off on that same level of 'ownership' and it being a claim, but he's less like 'oh my wife gifted by god' and more just, 'this is mine i get to have it because I'm able to take it, fuck you'

He wants to make her feel owned, like a tool- like she belongs to him.I could see him doing it front of the cages, in front of other prisoners, Pratt, chosen, cultists- its not meant to be soft or kind, he's proving who she belongs to and humiliation can be a good... corrective tool in his mind.

Brutal, rough, in the mud- barely any foreplay, (this is disciplinary sex goddamn it), worst candidate to take her virginity or best depending on your vibe Deffo no drugging like Joe and Faith since he wants her to be very fucking aware and frankly wants her to fight him a bit, wants her to feel how fucking helpless she is.

Definitely smug and proud of it, never lets her forget who her first was- also never lets John forget when he's being particularly annoying.

As far as Dahl's reactions to each one. Regardless, there's that level of violation and trauma. She tries to downplay it, of course they'd do that- they do fucked up things, just another thing to a long list. Compartmentalize, try to ignore how much she's struggling because everyone is. Jacob would be the most visceral for her and feel the most brutalized after because- Jacob. But in a weird way, I think mentally she'd almost prefer that because it'd be less... confusing. Like with Jacob there is no reverence or insistence that it's more, he doesn't muddy the waters so much (untill he does), either way her first time will be very... memorable.

[tenbees]

(1) i read your entire response to the butch/femme question and i completely agree! i was really having a lot of trouble putting it into words, but for some reason there’s sth which always bothered me about the butch/femme subculture and stereotypes. butches aren’t men, and i don’t want people to think i’m gonna police who other people date/what kind of “roles” they get into, but when you see a masculine woman who, at times, passes for a man, dating a very obviously feminine woman, it always

(2) rubbed me the wrong way. like, if you see this couple out in public, maybe w their backs turned, at first glance you would assume they were a het couple. why is it such an “iconic” and old part of lesbian culture and herstory to imitate heterosexuality and heterosexual dynamics? why does a feminine person have to be “soft”, sexy, wear red lipstick, and be “protected” by her masculine, “strong”, muscly, more stoic partner? it seems to me like a v obvious parallel to hetero dynamics

(3) and there’s also this weird surge in lesbian/wlw communities where some lesbians are stealing terms from gay men (top/bottom) as a way to allude to the dom/sub kinks they’re into. “i’m a strong butch and i love STRAPPING my girly sweet sexy feminine partner w my butch cock!” like, what’re y’all doing? what is this obsession w straps and not being able to talk about anything else? and why is there so much of an emphasis on masc/fem pairings rather than like, idk, regular lesbians who

(4) don’t really fit into either category? maybe some lesbians don’t particularly want a masc partner to “protect” them and “strap them down and rail them.” maybe some lesbians just present averagely, like wear jeans and have medium length hair and want to date other women who present casually and not overtly masculine or overtly feminine? what about butches dating other butches, or two regular feminine lesbians dating each other? this hyperfocus on butch/femme completely erases lesbians who

(5) don’t identify with that label, don’t care for being “soft” and weak for their masc partner, & aren’t at all interested in weird power dynamics n yin & yang roles within their relationships, which again, seems to keep alluding to heterosexuality and the complementary masculine, dominant, emotionless partner who “looks after” his feminine, girly, makeup-wearing, subservient wife/gf or something. some lesbians are just normal and don’t want to imitate hetero roles in their sex and love lives.

yeah butch/femme relationships make me... uncomfortable is a strong word, but maybe uncomfortable lite lol? in a way that relationships between two butches or two feminine women don’t, and i think it’s because of the parallels to het relationships. it’s not really clear what butch/femme is supposed to be, because some people will say that they aren’t playing any role and that they’re just naturally feminine and that they just naturally desire a masculine partner who they can stitch back together in private while being protected by them in public or something (which seems so fucking specific to be something that comes about naturally and isn’t influenced by literally anything lol) while others will say that it Is roleplaying specifically to facilitate women fucking women and will fucking. write guides for butches on how to act more butch when asking femmes out, which just seems So artificial and ridiculous to me. but whichever it is, i do feel uncomfortable every time i see, like, a femme saying that she never feels more femme than when she’s vacuuming in a dress and uses her ankle to lift up the cord or when she’s getting strapped into a mattress, or a butch saying she never feels more butch than when she’s packing or a femme is sucking her strap (all of which i’ve seen) because the parallels to heterosexuality are So fucking obvious.

i can understand why it’s iconic, especially because that sort of culture has sprung up all over the world and it seems common for budding lesbian communities to have some sort of heterosexual-esque roleplay, for safety and because they had no other relationship models, i just hate how it’s taboo to question it or to even insinuate that it imitates het relationships when it’s so blatant. i don’t understand how people can deny it? and i’m not talking about all masculine/feminine relationships--who cares if people who present differently are in a relationship--it’s just when they start talking about their roles and waxing poetic about how femmes and butches are meant for each other that i’m like... the fuck are you going on about lol.

also don’t get me started on the strap thing 💀 the phrase butch cock is my fucking power word kill i cannot express how ridiculous and revolting it sounds lol. i think like 99% if not all of the ‘lesbians’ obsessed with straps are bi, and it makes sense that it would be such a huge part of butch/femme culture because so many of the original femmes and even butches were bi. reading through the persistent desire, so many of the women mention having previous male lovers or knowing femmes especially who left butch/femme culture to marry men. not to be ~controversial~ but it would make sense if a wlw subculture that heavily involves strap ons and masculine/feminine yin/yang roleplaying was/is very popular among kinsey 4/5 bi women.

[bloomyn]

slide into the drivers seat ; 01

in which your boss is one hell of a ride and you’re sitting shotgun. 

table of contents

pairing: chrollo lucilfer x f!reader

disclaimer: i know absolutely nothing about business school, so please disregard all inaccurate numbers

taglist: @kakashishoekage @revalise

. . . 

so apparently a business degree doesn’t get you a job immediately after grad school. 

the 85,000 dollar piece of paper that’s still in an envelope sitting on your dinner table is worthless, wonderful. well, not worthless per se, but it’s definitely not going to be helping you anytime soon, and by that you mean it doesn’t take an 85,000 dollar degree and four years of business school with privileged males (gross!) who think they know everything for you to answer a phone and schedule a meeting. 

but a job at phantom inc., even if it is being a secretary, is a much better bargain that you could’ve ever asked for. that’s what you tell yourself as you ride the elevator up to the 56th floor, “that’s where you’ll want to be!” the front desk secretary had told you, “shizuku will be expecting you!.”

truth be told, you didn’t know much about the position, just that you needed a job and your pride had gotten in the way of reaching out to other colleagues. they’d probably get off on the idea of you asking for help. 

assholes. 

“i had a feeling you’d be here again!”

you’re not even a full step out of the elevator when a woman with gold framed glasses and black bangs comes bouncing down the hall. she’s dressed more casually than expected and she’s got a --vacuum cleaner?-- charm hanging off her hip.

“ah, i’m [name]. they told me to come--”

“you’re in the right place!” she grins, ushering you towards the desk in front of you, “thank gods you’re here, the last girl quit so fast she hadn’t even gotten paid yet.”

“she what---”

the words go unnoticed [ignored], and before you can even shake hands, shizuku’s handing you a binder thicker than the bowl of overnigh oats you’d had in the car, ‘contacts’ it reads in big emblazoned words. 

“it’s probably in your best interest that you memorize at least some of these...or all of them.” she mutters the last part under her breath, and you think you can see her send a quick prayer to the sky. 

“most of the work is pretty self-explanatory.” she adds quickly, “when the boss comes in he can brief you a bit more.”

“so he’s not here now?”

the blush is obvious on her cheeks when she responds, “he had some, --other, things to take care of. i’m sure he’ll be back later.”

right. of course.

shizuku leaves with the same bounce in her step as before and you get to work.

. . . 

you hear him before you see him. well, you hear her before you hear him. it’s like the concept of public decency was wiped from their mind and replaced with absolutely nothing because the first time you look at your boss--

“baby let’s take this to your office.”

-- he’s got half a shirt on and a whole woman clinging onto him.

. . . 

“shirtless?”

the boy with the cropped hair from earlier can’t stop laughing. 

“i’m serious! i think his girlfriend is with him too!”

 the boy in front of you is awfully giddy for it being 9:30am and your boss (and technically his boss too!”) is fucking the brains out of some girl right now. out of, ah, respect for the couple, you’d abandoned your desk, taking as much of the paperwork as you could carry out of there. 

a wonderful start to your first day, truly, the wonderful world of business. 

“d’ya want to hang here then, with me?” the boy says. 

“i don’t even know you.”

“ i can take you to the spare room…” he singsongs, fiddling his hands behind his back , his eyes flick towards the stack of papers sitting in your hands as if to say, “what? you’re gonna say no?” and you’re not exactly  in a place to deny the boy at the front desk. so you give him a sigh and a nod.

“[name].”

“shalnark.”

. . .

six months later

you really don’t get paid enough for this. 

“i’m very sorry sir,” you say into the receiver, “mr. lucilfer is preoccupied at the moment and is not able to take your call, can i schedule a better time for the two of you to meet?”

the man on the other line grumbles, giving you a date and time and “if he doesn’t pick up i will be filing a complaint!” 

he won’t though, he’ll take one step into the office and walk right out. watching people walk into the office is entertainment for you now, first it was pure awkwardness but now… the moans coming from the office in front of you are nothing but background noise to the clack of your keyboard. 

it’s none of your business anyway, you just schedule the meetings. in fact, you’re sure that the only reason your boss gets away with not attending board meetings is because he’s quite literally fucking board members daughters in his office. a disgusting power move if you do say so yourself. well, that and he has the coldest stare you’ve ever seen.

“bye-bye [name]!” the blue haired girl, neon, 22 year old daughter of ‘nostrade’, ‘nostrade’ who has an appointment with chrollo the 23rd of every month from six pm to ten pm to discuss finances, yeah, that nostrade, comes swishing out of the room. “i’ll see you next week ‘kay!”

you wave a soft goodbye, ignoring the fact that her heel strap is broken and there’s a new bruise on her thigh. but like always, none of your business. the only advantage to this whole scenario, for you, at least, is the image of post - sex chrollo lucilfer, slick with sweat and still no shirt !, leaning against the doorframe. (honestly, the reason this company even has a dress code is beyond you.) 

“ [name], did someone call?” 

oh, he looked way too good in those slacks. 

“yes sir, he said he worked with the zoldycks but --”

“illumi knows better, will you delete his contact then?” he finishes quickly, using his dress to wipe the sweat on his brow. 

you nod, sparing yourself one more glance at the curves of his abs, and oh the ones that dip just below, oh. what’s this? his belt is different today, saint laurent? no, salvatore ferragamo, maybe. 

“ [name].”

you blink twice, casually looking away before you meet his eyes again. 

“yes sir?”

you can’t tell if it’s a smirk on his face but the tip of his mouth curves up as he makes his way towards your desk. his walk is sly, his office is only a few steps away from yours but watching him make his way to you feels like an eternity. resting his elbows on your desk, he peeks into your workspace, eyes looking over every pen and pencil on the desk.

“is there something you need, sir?”

it’s embarrassing how close you were to moaning ; god you were practically choking words out at this point. 

but still, the question goes unanswered. 

“i’m expecting a package later,” he finally answers, “ please bring it to me when it arrives.”

you nod, turning away to write a fake note “reminding” yourself to drop off the package, and by the time you turn around, the door to his office is shut and you’re left in silence.

. . . 

shizuku looks up through her glasses, eyebrow raised and lips wrapped loosely around her milkshake straw. 

“girlie i pray for you sometimes.”

rolling your eyes you pick a fry off her plate, “it’s not that bad.” 

you fail to address the fact that you basically get a free show everytime neon shows up so , yes objectively it’s not that bad.

 it’s a little bit evil though. 

“at least you’ve got me ‘n machi here.”

“gal pals.” you say

“gal pals.” she affirms.

 it’s not awkward with shizuku, in fact she might be the only normal person working at this company. she’s your little break from reality. 

“boss is callin’”

you snap to your phone, ringing with CHROLLO L [WORK] on the screen.

“he’s needy.” shizuku taunts, “gotta have his little secretary back at work right.”

“if it’s because he doesn’t want to pick up his package i’m gonna flip.”

sighing gently, she pats your hand. “you’re working towards the paycheck babe.”

. . .

it is the package. 

the poor delivery man is shaking in front of you desk as you walk out of the elevator. 

“i can sign for it!” you chirp, adding a bit of sweetener to your smile ; a something to make the poor man feel better. he extends the pen toward you and you sign, gently placing the package on your desk. 

“have a good day ma’am.”

you nod and wave, not even bothering to look at the package on your desk. 

chrollo can wait for it. 

. . . 

neons moans are too fucking loud. 

the girl‘s moving pathetically, no, clumsily on his cock, her ass is nice he’ll give her that but — fuck you would look so hot in her position. tits bouncing, falling out of the stupid white button down you’re wearing right now. 

he can see you out of his office, (two way glass is a fucking gift)  what are you doing , answering a call? doesn’t even matter. your tits just barely poke out of your shirt and it’s got him so hard. 

is neon still here? 

“baby please—” she mewls, forcing his head into her hands, pressing a harsh kiss on his lips. he doesn’t even bother to look at her, his eyes are on you.

you’re wearing cherry chapstick. he could smell it this morning when he picked up his folders from you. 

“good morning sir.” you’d said, “anything you need this morning?”

the answer was “yes. you.”

but instead he nodded. 

 neon finishes loudly, tugging on his hair and crying into his neck.

he wishes it were you. 

[silverwhiteraven]

Borne of the Stars - Chapter 12 - An MLB Kryptonian AU

Tag List:  @eve-valution @weird-pale-blonde-person @kris-pines04 @soulmate-game @abrx2002 @amayakans @vixen-uchiha @heldtogetherbysafetypins @raisuke06 @dorkus-minimus @mopester-is-here @moonlightstar64 @annabellabrookes @toodaloo-kangaroo @the-navistar-carol @elspethshadow @chocolatecatstheron​ @ivymala07 @maribat-is-lifeblood​

[ Summary: Author celebrates her Birthday by posting a chapter before the day is up. Kara meets her Kwami and circumvents her grounding. ]

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 11 ] [ Chapter 13 ]

Kara was shocked, sure, but not taken completely by surprise. She spent enough time around Zee Zatara, Zatanna, to know what something being magically conjured into existence looks like. That didn’t stop her from taking a step back though; she knew she wasn't invulnerable to magic, and not knowing what was appearing called for a level of caution.

Her eyes went wide and the hand that had tightened into an instinctive fist went slack as the light faded and the form finished taking shape in the open air. The other hand around the open box tightened as she stared at the creature, grounding and preventing her next instinctual reaction at the sight: a soft squeal of aww.

She clamped her jaw shut tight to further prevent the sound as the little purple-tinged black feline opened apple green eyes and a fanged cheshire grin spreading and opening to form words.

“Well well well, what do we have here? Sure, I expected someone different than usual, but this takes the fondue!” He exclaimed then circled Kara, and she kept still as her eyes followed the floating creatures movements. 

“What the-!” She couldn't help gasping after he disappeared behind her in another of his circles and felt the faintest of feelings in her chest for only a moment, like a string being pulled through from the back to the front, before he emerged in front of her. Out of the spot she had apparently felt him going through her. “Not cool! Don’t do that!” 

“Fine, fine,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “but now I know all I need to. This is going to be fun,” and the grin returned, almost feral now alongside the previous mischievousness.

Kara glared in suspicion at the little creature, finally setting aside her inner feeling of ‘aww, so cute’ to focus on the problem at hand. In hand? She lifted the box back up and looked at the black ring inside, then back to the magical feline. “What do you mean, fun? What do you know?” 

The creature chuckled, “You aren't human; you may look like it on the outside, but the inside tells a different story.”

She shuddered at realizing what he had been doing when going through her chest cavity. “Ew, yuck, gross, no, do not go checking things like that- Wait- So you know? You can tell?”

“Obviously,” he drawled before looking away without explaining and started to zip around the semi-messy room like a hyper and curious cat. “Kid, you don’t happen to have any cheese, do you? Just a bite is fine; I hate to say it, but as much as I’d love to sit down and eat a whole wheel, I actually seem to be looking forward to transforming for once. Seeing what you can do with my help should be interesting!”

“And what exactly can you do, uh-?” Her skepticism fell flat when she realized she didn't know his name. She followed after the tiny creature as it left the bedroom and watched him sniff out the mini-fridge set up next to the television of the suite’s living room. He popped the door open with a cry of victory and dove in, coming back out with her string cheese and taking a bite out of it.

“Call me Plagg, Kwami of Destruction, source of power for the Black Cat Miraculous you’re holding.” He seemed to raise an eyebrow at Kara as she looked down at the ring in the box, brushing a finger over the apple green paw print on the center. “Well? Put it on already!”

She hesitantly took the ring from the box, tossing the empty container to the side. Another glance at the waiting Kwami and she slid it on. Her eyes went wide as the ring turned a weathered gold, the shape turning to that of a signet ring. The shape of the seal was close to that of the one her and her cousin both wore as heroes: the Crest for the House of El. It was still different, though: not the usual stylized S, but rather, now the two ends of the S were reconnected into the original sideways infinity symbol. The S itself was still the prominent, though. 

Kara looks back at Plagg and the smug look he wore. “Neat, huh?”

“Yeah…” She hesitates before continuing to ask her new question. “What, exactly, is a Kwami?”

“Oh you know, just like any old gods, deities, incarnations and embodiments; whatever you want to compare us to. Basically forces of nature, concepts, and magic that, when tired to Miraculous, can have our powers channeled through other beings to do good. Well, good is supposed to be what we’re used for,” he adds with a glare out the window to the glowing streets.

“And that?” she wonders, noticing his stare.

“Yep, caused by the powers of one. You and the Ladybug Wielder are being called in to help recover one that's been used for evil. The Miraculous and the Kwami with it basically sent out a distress call when they were commanded to go against what we’re meant for.” 

Plagg looked sad as he said it, and Kara couldn't help but reach out in sympathy and give him a gentle pat on the head between the ears. It shook him out of it and he focused back on her. 

“Say ‘Plagg, Transform Me’ to pull me into the ring and suit up. The faster we get this over with, the sooner I can find myself a better cheese selection!”

“Wait, you said Ladybug Wielder, I get a partner?” She wasn't confused by it, having partners was normal for her, but the superhero in her wanted to make sure she didn't make a big mistake in misidentifying an ally.

“Yeah,” the Kwami confirmed, “the Creation to my Destruction, the symbol of Good Luck to my symbol of Bad Luck. The Ladybug to your Black Cat is out there and you two should be meeting each other soon, preferably before anything else so you can start working together.”

“How will I know who they are? Will they be easy to spot?”

Plagg cackled like a friend had just whispered an inside joke into his ear. “Oh yeah, very spottable.”

She raised a skeptical brow before shrugging it off. Instead of dwelling, she grinned and looked back out towards the chaos outside. Feeling ready, she called as instructed, “Plagg, Transform Me!”

The black, green, and white magic washed over her effortlessly, and just like other times friendly magic had been used on her, she felt almost nothing at all except the new weight of her costume settling itself. She did note her center of gravity had shifted, and wondered about the physical changes she may have gotten as well. One presented itself as she glanced through the doors to her bedroom, at her reflection in the full length mirror, and instead of a pleased and satisfied hum, there was a purr in its place.

Her new outfit really was satisfying to her tastes. It had an overall military uniform look to it with a formal flare. The top was mainly black and asymmetrical, a line of silver buttons going down one side, the collar straight with a line of green all around the edges. The sleeves ended in long, folded back cuffs at the wrists, also adorned with green trim and silver clasps. Clawed black gloves covered her hands, another tripping of green wrapping around her wrists. The black pants were complying to the formal look, complete with neat creases down the centers, but still had functionality with cargo-style pockets on the thighs. The shoes were heavy black combat boots, laced with overlapping green and silver ties. A sash wrapped around her waist, looking black but shimmered green underneath; one end fell loose behind her, swaying like a tail of its own accord; a silver baton stuck out where it was all tied together. The mask over her eyes, comfortable despite not being used to one, matched the tail in color: black with an underlying green sheen, except for the solid black that fell from her eyes like the tear marks of a cheetah. The feline ears atop her head, nestled into a new side swept undercut style, were solid black but for the green edging. The acidic green slit eyes were unsettling at first glance, but they pupils went wide and outright dorky as she looked herself over.

Her favorite part, however, had to be the cape. It was a one shoulder cape, draped over one arm in neat folds, the opposite side longer than the other as it fell behind her. The exposed shoulder had part of the cape attached to it, held by a black clasp with a silver crescent, but revealed a triple layer of silver shoulder plating. The opposite shoulder with the cape draped over it had a larger silver clasp holding it in place, but it was more like an emblem with its large black crescent moon encasing a green paw print. A few green straps held the shoulder pieces in place, from across her shoulders and down and around her torso.

“I’ll need a new name with the new look,” she muses. Her thoughts run quickly over far too many cliche names and ones already taken, before settling on one.

“Oncilla.”

She turns away from the mirror and laughs to herself, “I have never been this happy to get around a grounding so easily,” before going straight to the balcony doors, throwing them open, and launching herself into the open air with a whooping holler, more than happy to be back in the game.

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Hand That Reaches for God- Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

“I’ve come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours.” – Jane Austen

-106 Days After-

  “I used to think that love was complicated.” 

  The aisle was sprinkled with fallen leaves, lined by the candles from inside that burned brightly, the wax bleeding and melting into the crimson blades of grass. 

  Pheli looked at Sam like he was the only other person in the world, because, to her, he was. 

  “I didn’t think it was real . I always thought it was playing pretend. It was just another game, another mask that people put on to seem like their life is worth somethin’. I thought love was just a word.”

  Sam smiled back at her, stroking the back of her fingers with his own. His cheeks were pink, and his long hair caught the breeze, sweeping across his forehead. 

  “But I was wrong. Love is a person. Love is everything.”

-104 Days After-

  Sometimes all it took was a single look to know all that is needed to know about another person. The week that Ophelia had been staying in Emerson’s bed had resulted in Dean and Emerson communicating only by looks. There was a tension building up between them that could be cut with a knife, and she was dying to cut into it. 

  The girls were going into town; they had the Jeep packed for the day and their guns loaded. There hadn’t been an incident since before they arrived. The town appeared to be abandoned, so the brother’s weren’t as worried as they usually were for the girls to be alone. Emerson was leaning against the drivers-side door as her sister and Sam sucked face in her peripheral vision. 

  Dean walked to her with his hands in his pockets, he looked at her sheepishly. “Need something, Winchester?” Emerson asked with pursed lips, trying to hide a growing smirk.

  “Yeah, I do,” he said, putting his hands on her hips. 

  “How can I help you?” 

  “Be safe,” Dean whispered, closing the space between them with a kiss. 

  It was weird, how things had changed. Emerson’s eyes flickered up to Deans, her eyelids heavy from the kiss.  The world felt as if it was full of possibilities, and her heart squeezed at the implications. There were so many imperfect moments that lead up to the moment they were in, where they stood together, but none of them mattered. The only thing that mattered was Dean. 

  “I will be.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers and exhaled a sharp laugh through his nose. “Better be. Can’t lose you, Em. I won’t do it.” His rough fingers tickled the back of her arms and down into her palms as he laced their fingers together. 

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Dean.”

  It hung in the air between them, a shared thought that neither of them could say out loud.

  Something already has happened. 

  “Yeah,” he agreed tightly. 

  Saying goodbye was the worst part. The thing that none of them had considered was that, even before the explosion changed everything, life was already uncertain. Dean almost died at war. He did die that day in the hospital. Life wasn’t a guarantee. It never was.  

  “Hey,” she whispered, placing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Soon we will be a part of a really lame wedding. We will have to get all dressed up and probably dance. I’m not going to die, but I may wish I had while that’s going on.” Emerson smiled at him, wrinkling her nose.

  “Sounds awful.”

  “It will be.”

  “I’ll try to make it better.”

  “You make everything better,” Emerson whispered back, kissing him one last time. It was a pressure against his mouth, his lips were warm and soft against hers. She could feel him sigh against her kiss, letting his worries melt into her. She would be damned if she let fear ruin another thing in her life. She’d spent every day of her life letting fear rule her, and she was fucking done. 

  -4 Years Before-

  Emerson didn’t know it, but Dean was there. 

  It was her high school graduation. He was able to swing some leave before he shipped off to his first real assignment. He was wearing civilian clothes, his favorite t-shirt that now fit just a little too tightly around his newly strengthened biceps. 

  He went to see Sammy graduate, but there, next to his mother, sat his father with a possessive hand curled around her wrist. He would fuck everything up, so he stood in the background. 

  His eyes scanned the program, and he felt this big stupid grin grow on his face. Commencement Speech by Emerson Maklen. He was so damn proud of her. They walked two by two up the row to their seats, and even in the rows of identical black, boxy robes his eyes locked on her. He could pick her out of a line up blindfolded. She’d been catching his attention her whole life, after all. 

  She looked bright and happy, the sun catching the gold in her hair. Hers was the face he thought about on the worst nights of basic training, when all he wanted was to go AWOL and hide in the fucking mountains. It was her smile, her annoyance that lived in her bottom lip, and the judgmental quirk of her eyebrow. 

  They announced her, and she walked up to the stage, adjusting her cap. Emerson wasn’t like Ophelia, she wasn’t effortless and perfect, but for Dean, that was a lot of her charm. She took the stairs one by one as to not trip, and when she reached the podium she gripped the edges with white knuckles. 

  You’ve got this, Em.

  “Good afternoon.” The microphone hissed with feedback and she adjusted accordingly. “I was asked to speak today… scratch that. I was forced to speak today. If any of you know me, you know that I’m a twin. My sister Ophelia is a force . When she wants you to do something you say yes. No if ands or buts about it. So when she said she thought I should speak… well, here I am.” She laughed breathlessly into the microphone. 

  “The truth of the matter is that when you love someone, no doesn’t even come to mind. No matter what she asks me, I’ll do it, because that’s what you do for your family. Love isn’t a word, love is other people. Love is your teacher staying late to explain the concept, love is your mom cutting off the crust to your sandwich, love is laughing until your sides ache,” Emerson said, her voice trailing off as her eyes scanned down to the podium. She had this smile, it was the smallest smile that, if Dean hadn’t been watching her for most of his life, he wouldn’t have noticed. But he had been, so he did notice. “Love is someone who will sit up on the roof and talk about your fears with you. Someone who believes the stars are in your eyes.”

  It was like having all of the breath knocked out of his body. His mouth went dry, and his hands began to tremble. Is she saying what I think she’s saying? He didn’t think she could possibly know the effect that she had on him, how the world seemed to be brighter when she was in it. He wanted to believe her, to drink her in. He wanted to run up on that stage, rip the cap off her head, and kiss her. She was graduating alright, they both were. 

  She looked back out to the crowd. “We have spent the last four years growing, changing, and looking to the future. So, class, the only advice I have for you moving forward is to not spend all of your time staring ahead of you, because the moments that we live in are leaving us just as they begin. So be cautious, because in my own pursuit of love and passion for the future, I missed the love that was already here in the present. I missed the joy that the last four years have brought, and no matter what you do, you can’t turn back time. You can’t undo or rewind, you can just make sure to not miss the next opportunity. So let these years ahead of us be the best yet. Take those opportunities as they come, and enjoy them, because, trust me, you’ll miss them when they’re over.”

  It was only a fantasy. He couldn’t run up onto the stage and kiss her, because she just talked about wanting to live in the moment. He wasn’t a part of her present, he was her past. 

  He knew that she was right, though, love was a person. Love was Emerson.

  -104 Days After- 

  “Ew, gross,” Ophelia commented, pulling Emerson out of the bubble that she and Dean were in. “Can you guys quit sucking face for five minutes so we can go shopping?”

  Emerson smiled up at Dean with rosy, embarrassed cheeks. “I’ll see you later.”

  “See you,” Dean agreed, his hands falling to his sides.

  Emerson let her gaze linger on him for just a second more before hoisting herself into the Jeep. She adjusted the gun that was strapped to her thigh and started the Jeep. She glanced at Dean in her rear view mirror and watched him throw up a small wave. 

  “You two seem to be getting along,” Pheli said in an accusing tease.

  Emerson snorted, rolling her eyes. She put the Jeep in gear and pressed her foot on the gas. “Yeah, so?”

  “So? So?! You’re infuriating, you know that?”

  She glanced at Pheli with a raised eyebrow. “You’re really bothered by this.”

  “Yeah, I fucking am!”

  If Pheli was in a cartoon, smoke would be pouring out of her ears. 

  “Why?”

  “Watching you two fight it is exhausting. It’s like watching the longest slow burn of all time. Why don’t you just be together? What are you waiting for?”

  “What do you mean?” Em asked, shifting her weight uncomfortably. “We are…”

  “ Together? Are you really? I’ve never heard you say that you love him or called him a pet name…” 

  “Just because we don’t look like you and Sam, doesn’t mean what we have isn’t real.”

  “I know that,” Pheli murmured softly, her face turning toward her lap. 

  Emerson focused on the road in front of her. The asphalt was covered in fallen leaves. It would be cold soon, winter was coming and it was something that was frequently on Emerson’s mind. She never let herself focus on relationships and more than anything, she felt as if there were bigger things to worry about. “I know how I feel about Dean,” she admitted quietly. “I know you think I’m fighting it, but I guess I just think that we have what we have. What am I supposed to do- marry him, have babies?”

  “Well… yeah.” 

  “Doesn’t that feel just a little… pointless? Look at the world Pheli! It’s so fucked up. You can’t seriously think that some flowers and a white dress will change anything.”

  “I do,” Pheli snapped, turning toward her sister in her seat. “Pull the fucking Jeep over now.” 

  Emerson glanced at her sister in surprise and did what she was told. She put the Jeep in park and turned toward Pheli. “What, Ophelia?”

  “I know you think I’m being shallow, okay. I know you’ve always thought I was shallow. Sweet little Ophelia is too soft to be involved in anything real, if you put her out in the rain she’ll melt. I have news for you Emerson. I know that the world is fucked up. I have two eyes. So, do I think that a wedding will help? Yeah, okay, I do. I think if I’m going to tell Sam how much I love him, I should do it before something horrible happens and I lose him. If I can find an hour, a minute, a second of joy in this goddamn horrible place that we are in, then I’m going to take it. So call me shallow or stupid, or pointless if you have to. I get it, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t worth something.” 

  For the first time in her life, Emerson realized that she misunderstood her sister completely. She spent her whole life trying to be tough, wearing her suit of armor while Ophelia wore her crown of flowers and played the role of the princess. She always thought that their roles were determined by what they could handle, but it turned out that they each shouldered something. Pheli was the joy. Without sugar a cake would be bitter and horrible, and although they wouldn't still be standing without Emerson’s strength, they wouldn’t have hope without Ophelia. She’d been wrong. The whole time she’d been wrong. 

  “I’m so sorry,” she gasped out, covering her mouth. It was like everything inside of her was crumbling. She didn’t have to be the strong one. The two girls came together, their arms tangling in a desperate, rib crushing hug. 

  “Em, it’s okay,” Phel whispered. 

  For once, she was inclined to believe her sister. She didn’t mean to sob into her hair, snot and all, but once it started she wasn’t able to turn off the faucet. She had twenty-three years of pain bleeding out of her. 

  They sat there for what felt like a lifetime, and Pheli let her sister cry it out until there was nothing left. Em felt drained, like the life had been sucked out of her body through a crazy straw. She turned her face and buried it deeper against the crook of her sisters neck. She didn’t have it in her. She had nothing left but a single breath of strength that she was saving. It was her last straw, and she couldn’t use it yet. She knew she would need it and like a proper hoarder she kept it there, hidden behind her ribs right next to her heart. “I’m good,” she said through a shaking, pained exhale. 

  “You sure?” Pheli pushed her hair out of her face and wiped her tears from her cheeks. 

  “Yeah, I think so.” Her throat was aching from the sobs, and she knew that her eyes were swollen. “Let’s go get ready for this wedding. You’re right, we deserve some joy.” She took the Jeep out of park and took her sisters hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. 

  Pheli scooted closer and rested her head on Emerson’s shoulder as they drove into town. 

  As long as they’d been at the cabin, no one had seen another person in the town. It seemed to have been evacuated months previously. There weren’t a lot of supplies left, but the rest of the town was mostly intact. “Where did you want to look?”

  “I think there’s a bridal boutique downtown.”

  It was an old town. The streets were brick, and the buildings were all old, most of them seemed to be the original structures in the town. Emerson pulled the Jeep over and parked in front of the boutique. It was small and locally owned, but it appeared to have survived the looting. The front door looked normal. “I don’t suppose its unlocked?” Emerson questioned, not asking anyone in particular. She tugged on the handle. It was locked. She glanced around before crouching down and grabbing a piece of brick on the ground. With all of the force that she had she slammed the brick into the glass. It fell away easily, and she stuck her arm through the new opening, unlocking the door from the inside. “Bingo.” 

  “I hate when you guys do that,” Pheli complained, grabbing her sisters arm. She examined it closely, and when she determined that no damage had been done, she released her grip. 

  “A necessary evil.” 

  The girls walked through the front door. The shop looked untouched by time and pain, and Emerson understood more than ever why the wedding was a great idea. She walked to a mannequin and ran her fingers along the white satin fabric, her callouses catching on the fabric. She never thought that she’d be the girl that would obsess over a dress, flowers, or the right guy. She didn’t see herself spilling over bridal magazines or trying to find the perfect curtains to match her couch in suburbia. She wasn’t that simple. But there was something about what Pheli said that dug into her, burying itself deep within her. It wasn’t about the dress, or the flowers. It wasn’t about the house or the curtains. It wasn’t so vapid and pointless. It was an outward description of the way that she felt, and if the aching in her chest was any indication, than she should be wearing a princess gown adorned with jewels. 

  “Em?” 

  “Huh?”

  “Look,” Pheli said. Her voice was soft as she held a dress to her chest. “It’s everything.” 

  “Try it on,” Em suggested with a warm smile. 

  She wasn’t adorned with jewels. She was hiding behind a veil of darkness and fear, because even after every moment that brought her to the right answer, she still ended up growing into a girl that she never thought she would be. She was worse than vapid, she was broken. For the first time in her life she wished that she could be the simple girl who wanted the wedding dress and the floor length curtains. She wanted anything other than what she had. She wanted to be brave enough to let Dean love her, because even though he said that he would, she knew that he couldn’t wait around forever. 

  Pheli bit her bottom lip. “You think?” 

  “Come on, why not? That’s why we’re here.” 

  “Yeah, but… I don’t know this seems stupid.” Pheli exhaled in a single huff, and Emerson would’ve thought she was itching for a compliment if it weren’t for the tears lining her bottom lashes. 

  “What’s going on, Phel?”

  “It’s just… I know that we’ve always known that she wasn’t going to make it, but I still wish Mom was here.” 

  It was something so normal, that it hadn’t even occurred to her, and the weight in Emerson’s chest pressed down harder, taking her breath away. “Me too.” 

  She wished a lot of things.

  “I always thought she would walk me down the aisle, and I guess it’s stupid since it isn’t even real…”

  “Hey,” Em said, stopping her. “It isn’t stupid, and it’s real. I’ll walk you down the aisle.”

  Pheli sucked in her nose, sniffling a bit. “Thank you,” she whispered. It was like she needed her sister’s permission to be happy. 

  “Now go try it on before the Rogues come here and fuck up our fun!” 

  “Right, right,” Pheli said sarcastically, with a wide smile. “I’m going.”

  As Pheli disappeared behind the curtain in the dressing room, Emerson wandered. “I’ll be right back!”

  She opened the front door and stood outside, taking in deep breaths of crisp fall air. There was an antique shop across the street that she wanted to check out. She crossed the street, a little more languidly than usual. It was the peace of the town, the way the cool breeze pushed the leaves, and the way that no sound seemed to penetrate the bubble that they were in. She felt safe, even though she should’ve been on her guard. 

  The door to the antique shop had already been busted, so she pushed in, her boots crunching on the stray pieces of glass from the broken door. Leaves had blown into the hole in the door, entire shelves had fallen, or been pushed over. The store was a mess, to put it simply, but Emerson was looking for something specific. 

  She stepped over fallen toys. Wooden horse heads on sticks, dolls with missing eyes, and a lonely tricycle. She climbed over a stray chair and overturned desk. She spotted what she was looking for midway into the shop, and she was going for it, taking the quickest route. There was a glass case toward the back of the store. She placed her palms on the top of the glass and shifted her weight so she could hoist herself over behind the counter. The keys were still in the lock. She turned the key and slid the backing of the case away and looked in through the back. It was dark in the shop from the overcast autumn day, but she was still able to pull each item out and examine it. 

  There was a set of old pearls that were coated in dust. She pulled her shirt out and wiped them clean, squinting to try to see if they were worth pocketing. She dug around some more and found an aged crystal brooch, a small beaded bag, and a crystal hairpin. Bingo. She blew the dust off the hairpin, exposing a beautiful aquamarine crystal. “Something blue,” Emerson murmured. 

  There was a crash deeper in the store, something fell over, and it pulled Emerson out of her quiet moment alone. She shoved the pin and necklace in her pocket and unclipped her gun from her thigh holster. Her fingers were trembling as she pointed the gun toward the noise. Her finger hovered over the trigger, as her thumb clicked the safety off. She wanted to shout out, but if it was a Rogue, that spelled trouble. She preferred not to use the gun at all. The less noise the better. 

She didn’t hear anything else coming from that area. Nothing else had toppled over and there was no groaning. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and slowly hoisted her leg over an overturned chair to get out from behind the counter. She glanced behind her, realizing that if she got into a chase that she would be royally screwed. There was no quick escape route through all of the random items that had been toppled during an earlier raid. 

  Emerson swallowed hard and moved forward, stepping over fallen items, keeping her hands as steady as she could on her weapon. She pushed a fallen rack of fabric out of the way with her gun, causing dust to invade the air. She coughed a few times, covering her mouth with her bicep. When the air cleared she found herself staring at the back well, the door to the alleyway out back was ajar, but other than that she was completely alone. 

  She frowned and squatted down finding an old model car that looked like it may have recently fell. It’s spot on the shelf had an empty space where the area around it was covered in a thick layer of dust. She stood up, and her eyes caught a smear on the edge of the door, like a hand had been pulled across the edge, disturbing the settled dust. She walked towards it and placed her own fingers over the smudge. It was easily a size and a half larger than her own hand. Her fingers curled in on themselves, and she put her gun back in her thigh holster before heading back toward the front of the store. 

  “Em? Emerson!?” 

  She heard Pheli calling her name from outside of the shop, and her heart picked up in her chest. She picked up speed, jumping over pieces of furniture. She pushed through the front door. “Phel?” 

  Ophelia stood in the middle of the street looking frantic, her dark eyes wide. “Where the fuck were you?” She asked, running to Emerson. She threw her arms around her sisters neck, squeezing her tightly. “I thought you were toast.” 

  “No,” Emerson whispered, hugging her sister back. “I’m okay. I’m all good.” 

  She pulled back from the huge and took in Pheli’s appearance. 

  She was wearing a long, champagne lace dress, that had a v-neckline, and capped sleeves. It fit her like a glove. Seeing her in it made Emersons chest squeeze. She didn’t have to be one of those girls, but Pheli deserved it. She deserved to be the princess that she spent her entire life pretending to be. “Phel.” 

  “What?”

  “You look so beautiful.” 

  “What?” 

  “The dress,” Emerson whispered with a smile. “Spin around.” 

  Pheli looked down, as if it occurred to her for the very first time that she was wearing a wedding dress. She spun slowly, and Emerson grabbed the zipper, pulling it all the way up. “You can’t do that again,” Phel said quietly. 

  “Do what?” 

  “Disappear.” 

  When the zipper was in place Pheli turned back around  and stood face to face with her sister. “I’m sorry,” Emerson said quietly, but smiled. “I was just getting you something.” She dug in her pocket and held out the two items that she stole from the antique shop. “Something old and something blue.” 

  Pheli ran the pearls around her fingers and held the pin up to the light. She sucked in her breath through her nose and smiled. “Thank you.” 

  “You’re welcome.” Emerson met her sisters smile, but there was still a hint of something else, something that she couldn’t quite name. It was the thing that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. It was a pair of eyes watching her from the darkness. It was fingers swiping through dust. It was the knowledge that everything was always going to end up the way that it did, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing that she could do about it. “Now lets get home and get you married.” 

  “Not until I get you an outfit, Emerson Mae. It will be a big night for you, too.” 

  As she laced her fingers with her sisters and walked back into the bridal shop, she knew, deep down in her soul, that Ophelia was right. It would be astronomical.     

—————

Authors Note: Hey y’all! Thank you so much for reading! I just wanted to give you a little update. I have one more chapter planned out for this fic. I do plan on doing a part two, that I hope to begin in about a month. October is really busy for me, and I have a lot of projects, so I’m giving myself a beat to get the next section in order and write a few chapters ahead so I can get back on a regular posting schedule. So stay tuned! I’ll have more official details at the end of the next chapter. <3 Thank you again for all of your constant support, it truly makes this all worthwhile! 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

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WIP snips!

(they flow from form to form)

“So, you kids made up?”

“Yeah,” Karkat says, just as quietly. “Terezi, c’mon, wake up.”  

“No one tells a dragon to awaken,” Terezi says, voice muffled as she snuggles. “‘S Saturday anyway.”

“You’re not a dragon and it’s Tuesday, c’mon. There’s pancakes and bacon.”

Terezi stirs, and finally lets him go. “Good, bring me some,” she says, and rolls over.

“Haha, no,” Karkat says.

Build a Life from Scratch

“Disciple?” one of the Demonesses leaning against Highblood asks.

“Dirtblood heretic of a false--” Highblood mutters, glaring at you, for lack of anyone else to glare at. The Demoness in his lap reaches up and smacks his cheek Her hand lingers, stroking where she smacked him.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooooosh,” she says, a humming vibration that manages to somehow send shivers down your spine.

“Stop that,” Highblood mutters.

“No,” the Demoness in his lap says. “Rub my neck.”

“I’mma break your neck,” Highblood says, but does what he’s told.

“Disciple?” The Demoness prompts, pouring another drink. This one she hands off to you.

“Catskin’s in one piece, and decided to leave me in peace instead of pieces,” you say, and take the cup. The contents are definitely alcoholic with notes of honey. You take a sip.

“Mead,” Demoness says.  

“Don’t drink it, shit’ll make you crazy,” Highblood says.

“It’s not mind honey,” Demoness says back. “Just honey.”

jam fic I wasn’t able to sufficiently make grotty or nsfw enough, tentatively titled (glaciers melting in the dead of night)

Posting the whole thing since it’s super rough

(Warning for mild dub con, body horror and some really gross biotech + depression/suicidal ideation +HIC being kind of Captain Bad Touch.)

So, disintegrating "I failed" Dirk from Game Over doesn't die or actually disintegrate, that would be too easy. Instead he gets pulled between multiverses and goes through a hole punched into reality by the Psiioniic who is going through a "rough patch" of space. (Because weird shit and I half stole this concept from roachpatrol.)

So he's in real, actual space and you cannot actually breath in real actual space even if you're a god. Dirk might have ended up a seagull slamming into the ports of HIC's flagship but HIC is curious enough she has Psiioniic pull him on board before he can like, die.

This particular iteration of HIC is curious about the strange creature that appeared and has him sent to the infirmary so they can figure out this new alien psiioniic. Dirk is unconscious and doesn't have much say in the situation. When he wakes up he still doesn't have much say in the situation, but it too depressed to care or even pull out the various tubes and IV-equivalents.

In a bid to commit suicide.

After a week of Dirk being semi-catatonic, HIC decides to check on Dirk herself.

This...doesn't go well. Dirk rouses out of his stupor and promptly attacks HIC. HIC defends herself, but does not actually want to kill her new pet so she has Psiioniic restrain him. Dirk tries to pull the soul stealing thing, and gets his ass knocked out and then drugged.

HIC is advised to put the psiioniic down, it's obviously some kind of assassin/trick/what have you. HIC does not agree. She also makes a habit of repurposing weapons used against her. As you do.

She has Dirk moved to her quarters, which actually take up a sizable chunk of the ships space. She takes care of him more or less by herself, with some assistance from Psii. Dirk is either non-responsive or tries to attack her, and she doesn't know why because she a) does not speak English b) Dirk doesn't do a lot of talking while he's attacking.

So, Operation Strange Alien Taming begins.

So, Dirk has been pretty much hunger striking since he woke up. He is not aware at first this is a different reality/universe's HIC, though the fact that this universe has trolls should have clued him in. He can understand what she's saying ("sugar grub, you don't want to have that tube worm made permanent do you? C'mon sprat, point at the picture and tell me what it is...") But she can't understand him, so he has that.

So he has a food tube and something like an IV for hydration.  There is also a catheter involved. He has made a few attempts to remove one or the other of the tubes, which are literally some variety of bioengineered worms because why not include some body horror.  Dirk basically ends up restrained because he keeps trying to pull them. Imagine a big gel filled bean bag chair that's too big to be moved or shifted and is possibly also alive. The restraints are bright fuchsia straps over his legs, arms and chest and hips.  The gell filled possibly also alive bean bag shifts and moves every so often, so he doesn't get bedsores or something.

HIC does not get bored or very annoyed in the face of Dirk's obstinance. She's very interested in the way he pretty much seems to understand her, and even recognize her. (In a weirdly personal way. Like she was something personal to him, part of a revenge cycle or something, which pointed in the direction of him being and assassin of some kind, but there's no species matching his description in the databanks yet, so what the hell?)

Dirk is kind of confused. And also angry. But mostly confused. He would have expected offhand culling or maybe torture, not this weird persistent demi-kindness.

He is also aware that there are other trolls here? He comes up with random theories he could probably solve by asking questions but he doesn't bother asking questions. Because he is also depressed.

He is more depressed than goddamn Shinji and there is no one to tell him to get in the mech.  He is more depressed (but less of an asshole) that Thomas Covenant. He is more depressed that someone walking through the Doldrums.

He thinks he might actually be in a dream bubble somehow.

Dirk talks, eventually. Staying quiet when you have oh, a decade or so brave speeches for when Confronting Fish Hitler At Last is pretty much impossible. And maybe he also wants to push, to figure out what the fuck is actually going on, because he's finally figured out HIC, this HIC doesn't speak English, and is apparently trying to teach him Alternian.

So there's a point where he declares that she won't wear him down with this. He'll defy her to the end in the name of the millions she drowned and tortured and in the name of his ancestor who defied her to his last breath and so on and so forth. It's a really good speech and doesn't sound at all like something he practiced in front of a mirror when he was oh, twelve or so.

HIC listens to  the Brave Speech, spoken in more or less good Alternian and is completely dumbfounded. "Guppy, water you e-fin talking a-boat?" she asks. "I've never met your species or been to your planet." On the other hand, he knows Alternian, and definitely has some kind of beef with her, so she's a little confused, and even more curious.

Dirk...is pretty sure that's genuine confusion in her voice. He's also pretty sure that HIC would have no reason to play at being confused, or like she didn't know who he was. He's pretty sure she doesn't actually know him at all, which makes him think in terms of  again, dream bubble, and she's dead-dreaming much earlier in her career.

The question is, does he want to remind her she's dead? The answer is: no, probably not. (Dirk also goes on a slight tangent on whether or not he's still alive, and kind of distracts himself and falls silent, pretty much ignoring HIC.)

HIC, who is actually alive, and likely to stay that way trying to think her way through various possibilities. "Maybe it's like that story where there's a time traveler trying to kill some fish before he can make a military mistake or some-fin."

"If so, who ever it was had lousy aim," Psii says.

"Whale, see if any explorers have found a planet with mammalian trolloid lifeforms."

(They haven't.)

What she's going to do once she finds the planet, she's not sure. Maybe keep them from developing time travel technology because she can't really sea that going whale. (Especially if you get dumped out in the middle of space.) Maybe this grub popping up is what directs her to find the planet.

She brings this up with the alien, who gives her the strangest look. He doesn't say anything, and she can tell he doesn't want to. "Whale, how about you introduce yourself, since you're talkin now?" She asks, and pets his hair. The alien turns his face away and doesn't answer. "Rude," HIC says. "I'm--"

"Your Imperious Condescension," Dirk says.

"Whale yeah, boat I like you," HIC says, still petting Dirk's hair. "And you're a pitiful little ship, so you can call me by my hatch name, with is Meenah Peixes, when it's just us."

Dirk starts into his "you won't break me" speech. Meenah is not actually impressed. Amused and a little baffled, maybe, but not impressed. She covers his mouth with one hand, and shooshes him. "You're all ready a broke up wreck, sugar grub, either trying to krill me or yourself, maybe both I don't even fucking know, I'mma more curious about how to put you together."

Dirk starts into his "you won't break me" speech. Meenah is not actually impressed. Amused and a little baffled, maybe, but not impressed. She covers his mouth with one hand, and shooshes him. "You're all ready a broke up wreck, sugar grub, either trying to krill me or yourself, maybe both I don't even fucking know, I'mma more curious about how to put you together."

This is where Dirk gets scared. She has, as far as he can tell, called his bluff. (He did not in fact have a bluff.) He also gets an inkling now that this is not an HIC he knows. This is not Betty Crocker, but she no less dangerous, and he has no fucking clue about what to do. Nothing is going according to script. He just kind of stares up at her.

Meenah can see that he's scared. Which would make sense if he's some kind of rebel of a planet she hasn't found yet, whose gone back in time to defeat her. ("'Tuna, why is my life suddenly a really bad sf movie?" she asks. "It was bound to happen sooner or later, Empress.") "You're already talking to me, sprat, you might has well tell me your name, before I make one up."

Dirk does not want to be called "Fluffy" or the Alternian equivalent. This is a feel that emerges from the bleak gray sea he's been floating in. "Dirk Strider," he says. Meenah pretends a shocked gasp. "The notorious rebel, Dirk Strider who I never even fucking heard of," she says. "What an honor! Except not, because you were mostly a flitterbug on Tuna's windshield."

She tries to get him to talk some more, but Dirk is not a great conversationalist at this point. She eventually heads off to do Empress Things, but leaves Dirk with an entertainment unit and a remote control. ("Tuna see how well he can read the menus and shit." )

Dirk does end up watching movies! Someone of the medical persuasion comes in to check on him. Dirk does not actually try to fight them. He's offered food, which he refuses. Medical person sighs fills up the UV worm, the food tube worm, and cleans up the colostomy bag worm. (Dirk is both grossed out and fascinated by the biotech.)

Meenah works up a steady campaign of bringing food, little snack foods and drinks with her when she visits Dirk. She asks him questions related to the time travel theory she has concerning his presence. (Dirk lies a lot. Meenah is pretty sure he's lying. Sometimes he tells the truth and she's still pretty sure he's lying.)

HIC typically offers food or drink, then tries to get Dirk to talk. Sometimes she can get him to eat. Occasionally Psii comments. "This is weirdly pale Your Imperious Condescension."

"Sometimes a beach is just weirdly pale, 'Tuna," Meenah says. She pets Dirk's hair, which is starting to grow out. She also strokes his cheek, which makes him shiver. "Lying around all day ain't good for you. Want to get up and move around?"

Dirk has not idea what to do about this, or about this weirdly honest sounding question. "If you're going to bribe me into betraying my family, why don't you do it with questionable sugar coated rosewater candies?"

"Wouldn't know where to get that. Want a deep fried water beetle?" Meenah pops one in her mouth and chews. "So, family, you're ancestor who I don't know but apparently cacked and...?"

Dirk talks a little about his Bro, but he's hesitant. Part of him really does think talking about Bro is a betrayal, like he's giving away details. He's pretty sure by now he can't do that, that he's somehow in a completely different universe, but it's still in the back of his head despite jokes about betrayal. "Your ancestor and his--moirail I'd guess--sound like they'd be bitchtits opponents," Meenah says. She finishes off her deepfried water beetle and offers him one. "Haven't found your world yet, but I guess we can find out?"

The idea of HIC going to Earth, invading Earth even an alternate Earth to find out what kind of opponent his Bro was makes Dirk's stomach flip. It cracks whatever reserve he's been able to maintain. (Not much of one.) "Please no," he says, even though he knows on a certain level it should be (hopefully) impossible. Alternia's universe created the Beta universe, after all.

"Sugargrub, from my end, I got attacked first," Meenah points out reasonably. "A beach has to snap back or no one'll respect her." The look of sheer horror on Dirk's face is at once hilarious as fuck and pitiful as all hell. Meenah almost laughs, but it looks like Dirk might throw up, which wouldn't be funny at all. "Aw, sprat, no," she says and goes for the nearest trash receptical.

She almost doesn't catch it in time. Also, the position is pretty awkward given how he's strapped down. The poor grub turns almost gray-white and heaves up a bunch of bile and nutrient solution. "Shoosh, Dirk," she says. "Fuck, you're a wreck, I'm almost sorry for doing that, you don't blink at half the shit I say sprat. Is that actually what happens?"

"No," Dirk gasps, voice hoarse and raw. "No." And in a voice like he doesn't even know that he's saying, it. "I don't want anything else to be my fault.

Meenah spends some time shooshing Dirk though most of what she's doing either only works for trolls or would only work for humans who are not Dirk. She does eventually get him settled down, making no promises of course that she won't conquer his planet if she happens to find it. "I had a little surprise planned for you on the recreation deck, maybe let you exercise some, but you look like carp, so maybe not," she says. "I have something that might calm you down though" She pushes a needle into the UV worm and presses a plunger.

"It's drugs," Dirk says.

"Just something to keep you calm," Meenah says. "We can go another day."

Dirk tries hard not to have his interest piqued. He's not all that successful. He's been watching the entertainment screen, mostly and he's at the point where he'd be wanting to build something, or take it apart and put it back together. "Really?"

"You'd be restrained because I don't trust you not to attack me or run around like an untrained barkbeast, but yeah."

"It's a dog park isn't. You were going to take me to a dog park," Dirk says. Meenah stays with him till he goes to sleep, feeling weirdly hopeful at the prospect of being able to walk around, even if hobbled. It's another couple of days, but Meenah makes good on her offer of an outing. She dresses him in a black uniform with orange trim. He tries to dress himself, but she smacks his hands. she cuffs his hands and ankles, and links them with a chain. The final item is a choke chain collar and a fuchsia leash. She grins like a shark as she puts the collar around his neck. "If you're good, I won't have to hobble you in the future," she says.

"I notice you don't say 'won't put me on a leash'," Dirk says.

"Whale, parading rebels around on leashes is just how it's done."

So, Dirk gets walked. Meenah occasionally stops to talk with courtiers. Courtiers stare at him and delicately question the uniform, which turns out to be a standard dress Threshecutioner uniform. Meenah does not answer questions about the uniform or about why an alien that tried to kill her is wearing a Threshecutioner uniform.

The entertainment deck has restaurants, theaters, gyms, pools and a large parklike area. Meenah walks through the park, eventually finding who she's looking for: Her Chief Threshy. Said Chief Threshy takes one look at Dirk as asks in a pained voice, "Empress, why is an alien assassin wearing a Threshecutioner uniform with tabs for my goddamn flaysquad?"

Dirk stares back and tries not to react. The troll is not especially tall, but he's broad, with short hair that just barely long enough to curl, and short rounded horns. The uniform's trim is bright red, and so are the troll's eyes. He's pretty sure he's seen this troll before.

"I ain't so shore he's an alien assassin Carpkat," Meenah says. "Water you got for me?" She asks.

What he has is a picnic lunch. A cold roast bird, fried beetles, a tray full of rolls of meat and cubes of cheeses and something that might be potato salad if it wasn't blue. There's also bottles of some kind of beverage. "Carpkat" makes a plate for the Empress.

"Are you mute or something, asshole?" the troll asks Dirk.

"He's just shy," Meenah says. "He don't talk much aboat anyfin unless I make him." She pokes Dirk. "Say somefin."

"So, why am I wearing a Threshcutioner uniform?" Dirk asks.

[hillariat]

When I’m with you

Tags: Original work, Fluff, Romance, F/F, wlw, Comedy 

Word count: 3,066

Summary: She followed me to my doorstep, and we embraced in a hug that lasted way longer than it should. As she departed, bidding an I'll text you when I'm home -a mere formality in Singapore- I began to wonder.

Did she feel the same?

In which Rachel has feelings for her best friend Jiamin.

Author’s note: This is just something to take note of before reading if you aren’t familiar with Singapore. This story uses some Singlish, mostly in dialogue. Singlish is the colloquial variation of English in Singapore. It has its own unique grammatical structure and slang terms borrowed from multiple different Asian languages. Different people integrate Singlish into their speech to varying degrees. For Singlish terms, I’ve given in text translations in [ ]. 

Also I’ve cross-posted this on Royal Road under the same title and author name.

____________________________________________________________

The first time I felt it, I was at the park with her in the middle of the night. She kept nudging me to try the flying fox. I rebuked that it wasn’t my thing, that it wasn’t appropriate with the skirt I was wearing, that she wasn’t strong enough to push me all the way to the other end.

In essence, I was scared. Yeah, a 15-year-old was scared of a piece of playground equipment that little 5-year-olds rode on a daily basis. Jiamin mocked me in much the same way, as if my reaction were a teleprompt script of my thoughts. I relented and awkwardly attempted to sit on the damn thing. She saw me struggle and halted her sharp remarks, most likely to not dissuade me from my reluctant decision. Instead, she opted for a constipated face, struggling to contain her laughter.

With an effortful push from Ms constipatedface, I was sent gliding across the playground with the whirring noise of cables being my only company. It was....not as bad as I thought. The slight breeze that brushed against my face, the passing scenery of a peaceful night was relaxing, the - yeah I was lying to myself. This was fucking scary. My feet were suspended a meter off the ground, ripping any sense of control I had over this damned thing away from me. I was at the mercy of the imparted force of Jiamin's push and whatever resistance the ill maintained wires provided. Without my calculator and notebook, I had no clue when or where exactly I would stop and not knowing brought upon deep seated feelings of insecurity that I thought I had tucked away under piles of 100th percentiles in report cards.

Fortunately for me, the flying fox slowed down to a stop whilst I was buried in my thoughts. The wires sagged under my weight, leaving my feet within reach of the ground. Jiamin jogged to me with a gleeful expression painted on her features, clearly very entertained by my suffering. I on the other hand probably looked like I came out of the Vietnam war. She asks me how it was, and I groaned. Well, “weh” was more accurate, but I’d like to think it was a groan. She chuckled, her deep voice filling the otherwise empty park. It wasn’t any different from her previous chuckles, but my heart clearly felt otherwise.

It fluttered.

 I mulled over that feeling for several weeks. It wasn’t a foreign concept to me. I’ve heard friends talk about it at the canteen, heard hushed gossip amongst classmates during lessons and dramatized portrayals in media. But why now? Nothing has really changed between us; she hasn’t changed at all. So why now? 2 months ago, I would’ve said her laugh sounded like a dying pig but now I’m not so sure.

I took a glance at her, seated at a table diagonally to the right of me. To the undiscerning eye she was diligently taking notes in class, her face laser focused on what she was producing on paper. But I knew better. She was probably drawing bats and skeletons and anything else that could pass as a villainous henchman in a kid’s cartoon. She never cared much for math, or any other subject outside of recess. She once told me that she didn’t see the point of trying since she wasn’t planning to go anywhere after secondary school. When I pried further, she said “I’m damn stupid. Confirm cannot go anywhere”.

I think the only time I've ever seen her willingly try to study was in primary 5, a year before our Primary School Leaving Examinations. She suddenly became very interested in studying after I told her I wanted to go to Bukit Panjang Government High, a top public secondary school. Maybe she finally realized how important studying was. For that entire year she was buried in textbooks. I swore her head could've become a bookmark. When results came around, everyone thought it was a miracle, some divine intervention from god, that she did as well as she did. But I knew better. She was never one for prayers. We both entered Bukit Panjang Government High and Jiamin went back to slacker mode.

 She turned to me, sensing my stare. We made eye contact, chocolate brown meeting chocolate brown, - yes Chinese kids all look the same – but for some reason I was ensnared.

I felt my face flush red.

I want to die. Please take me now death.

Bewilderment was plastered on her face. A moment passes. Then, as though she was struck with a thunderbolt of genius, her expression turned to a knowing smirk. Death, anytime now please.

She stuck her tongue out at me like the child she is and I, obviously, returned the favor. Because what else do you do when someone flicks their tongue at you? Ok, no death for now.

We shared a quiet giggle before turning back to our work. Well, I tried to. My whole body was consumed by….nice feelings. Warmth that felt like a hug. Butterflies threatening to break from my ribcage. That sort of stuff. It was topped off with starry eyes and a dreamy smile that probably made me look crazy.

I was so glad I didn’t have a tablemate, else I’d be probed on my strange expression. I don’t think claiming that I was merely enjoying the lesson at hand would’ve been believable. If it was it would imply that I was going gooey eyed over first order derivatives. I know I’m a nerd but I have standards. It’s got to at least be partial derivatives in a matrix to get me flustered.

So uh yeah, “mulling” didn’t actually involve thinking about my feelings. More like awkwardly fumbling through the full spectrum of emotions. I should do something about it. Just as I was about to plunge into another train of thought, I received a text from none other than her.

Jiah Lian: Wanna go monti next week?

That’s weird. Monti was a candlelit atas* [Fancy & expensive] restaurant that sat on Marina bay, aka the kind that people bring their lovers to for a proposal and have anniversaries and junk.  I’d been wanting to eat there for months because apparently the pasta is to die for and they cook it tableside (I know, I have spoilt rich girl tastes) but I never really got around to it. I didn’t think it was her kind of thing. If I nagged her enough, she’d probably go with me, but show up in shorts and sandals and complain about spending $58 on pasta.

Trash bag: Sure, but don’t wear shorts

Jiah Lian: Wah, u wan see me naked alr? Pervert

Trash bag: Gross

Jiah Lian: ILY too :)

Trash bag: Wed?

Jiah Lian*: Caaaannnn

[*a pun on the Singlish word “ah lian” which means female gangster]

 Wow. Oh wow. Out of all the things I thought would happen today, seeing Jiamin in a dress was not one of them. To be frank I was expecting her to show up in either shorts or a shirt-pants combo. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t pleasantly surprised though. She was wearing a spaghetti strapped cocktail dress that hugged her in all the right places, accentuating her slim form. The dress slit went all the way up her smooth, never-ending legs, leaving just enough room for the imagination. It was bare back too. The dress probably showed a bit too much skin considering she came from a conservative household, but I’m not complaining.

In a manner that was so unlike the way she was dressed, Jiamin yelled “Rachel!” and hurriedly made her way across the train station to me. She was like a puppy bolting towards its owner when they came home. Adorable.

She circled me once over, eyeing up my outfit in enthusiasm. Seemingly satisfied with what she saw, she gave a smile that ended at the corner of her eyes.

"Wah you damn chio*"[Pretty] She said, gesturing to my dress. It was a simple, off shoulder, A-line affair.

I nudged her shoulder playfully with my fingers.

“You also”

In response, she gave a goofy, ear to ear grin, her normal go-to reaction to compliments. Though this time I could’ve sworn there was a tinge of red coloring her cheeks. Maybe it was a trick of the light.

We made our way to the restaurant, talking about anything and everything from some idiot in history class that declared that they didn’t need to know about Hitler because, and I quote; “all the Jews are dead” (I don’t know how he got into an elite school) to whether or not caviar and white chocolate would taste nice together. Our hands brushed together once.

“In theory it should work because, according to food science, they have similar flavor compounds, like trimethylamine which has a fishy odour. So they – “

“What the shit! Who the fuck thinks white chocolate tastes fishy?!”

“Science does!” I happily sang. “and it thinks white chocolate would be very good with caviar.”

She cringed.

“Eeeeee, fuck that’s damn gross.”

“Hmm I dunno, now I’m very tempted to try it. Maybe I’ll order caviar later.”

She grasped her chest in relief.

“Thank god, Monti don’t have caviar.”

I gave her the most innocent and earnest smile I could muster.

“Then next time, we’re going to a seafood place and I’m bringing white chocolate.”

She looked at me with absolute horror. “I don’t know you! Who is Rachel?!” She proceeded to wander off in faux abandonment. I on the other hand am cackling with laughter. I loved grossing her out with science.

Once I caught my breath I jogged after her.

 Our dinner was filled with idle chatter and a savored appreciation for the food. There was a moment where I thought she was going to place her hand over mine as she lightly grazed it, but in reality she was just trying to steal my phone. I would’ve thought that after the 10th time she’s failed that stunt, she’d know better. When the bill was settled, Jiamin of course complained about the exuberant price of pasta and my 'atas' tastes.

"I can treat you, y'know as 'compensation' for your company."

She snorted.

"You make me sound like a prostitute." We both chuckled. I continued.

"Legit though, I can treat you if you want."

She dismissed me with a wave.

"No need, hanging out with you is treat enough" She had a smirk and a...blush? Or was that the lighting? Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I've gone into cardiac arrest and I haven’t told my family that I wanted a secular funeral. God bless the dim lighting.

 On our way out, Jiamin's hand brushed against mine again.

Normally I wouldn’t think much of this, but the fact that it’s the 3rd time it happened today and on the same hands mind you,I was a bit perturbed. Jiamin was never shy about physical affection. In primary school she would constantly hold my hand, stating that it felt “nice” or something. I didn’t know why it’d be nice though; I was a sweaty kid; my palms were nasty. A couple months ago she tackle-hugged me because I helped salvage her “hopeless” physics project. In that same timeframe she pinched the crap out of my cheeks after we looked at my old childhood photos when we were at my grandparent’s place. That’s on top of her still holding my hand all the time. Then again recently there’s been a lot less physical affection. Maybe I pissed her off. Eh, she’ll talk about it when she’s good and ready. After all, she’s that kind of person. If you try to crack her open like an egg, she'll call you bitch and stop talking to you for 2 weeks. Trust me, I've tried.

Her hands brushed mine again, though this time she seemed more daring. Her index curled up around my pinky, as if testing the waters. I responded in kind, and she took that as a sign to be bolder. Her fingers cautiously crawled up further and soon our hands were intertwined. My stomach did something that the rest of me could not; a fucking backflip.

 I really didn’t want this night to end so soon and it seemed as though Jiamin thought the same. She suggested that we take a walk along the bay because ‘food coma’. I happily agreed and that’s how we wound up walking along the bay hand in hand.

Her gaze was drawn to the city skyline on the opposite side of the bay, just as mine was to her. Her deep brown eyes hidden among too long messy bangs, petite pink lips and razor-sharp jawline were all illuminated -no- highlighted by the moonlight. She really was something else. I could almost just-

"The view damn nice."

My head snapped to said view. Little boxes glowed with artificial hues of blues, greens, whites and yellows. They peppered the orderly array of skyscrapers, starkly contrasting the night sky. Each building was interwoven with one another, smaller ones disappeared in the shadow of larger ones and the ones that were front and center demanded attention like a whiny 5 year old. Some towered above others in a supposed race to be the tallest, but never in a disorderly fashion. Every tower had its own distinct curves, angles and edges. Shapes that would normally belong in a dull geometry paper were fused together into deceitfully simple artistic hybrids, giving each building its own sense of character. Yet they all managed to fit together nicely into a coordinated group of semi homogenized modernity.

Pristine, structured, and beautiful. Truly fitting for a metropolis.  

 "It’s weird how every tiny box that’s lit has a worker inside" Jiamin gestured to a well-lit office building. She turned to me.

"Do you think our lives are gonna be like that? Working until 8+ in a box then go home and sleep and then do it again?"

I shrugged.

"Maybe? That depends on the job type and-"

"Do you want that?"

My expression furrowed. I’m not really certain of my reply but let it slip anyways. Bad Rachel.

" I-I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far. I mean we're so young and all.”

She quirked her brows.

"Then why you study so hard?" Despite her choice of words, her tone holds no animosity, just genuine curiosity.

"Well, because I like it." Jiamin continued to look at me, expecting more. I took a deep breath and continued. "And also because it gives me security"

"Like it opens up more doors? "

"No. It gives me something..." My eyes searched the ground as though the right words would appear at my feet. I swallowed. "to be proud of"

Jiamin fell silent at that. Her eyebrows furrowed, whether in thought or in sympathy I don’t know, but I hope it wasn't the latter. I don’t need that.

She chewed on her lips, contemplating on whether or not she should say whatever it was that was on her mind. I had half the mind to ask but again, I knew better.

"Sometimes I fail things on purpose."

My jaw dropped.

"What? Why?"

She shrugged.

"People think I damn useless. Like cannot do this, cannot do that. -she brought up her fingers to count - I lazy, stupid, hopeless, cannot make it."

I frowned and knitted my brows, trying to stitch together what she was trying to say.

"So you want to spite them?"

She sighed.

"Maybe. At least I know I'm good at failing"

I fell into silence, letting that sentence stew in my thoughts for a moment. I knew what I wanted to convey but I didn’t know how to convey it right. Neither of us cared much for words of pity after all.

"You know, I heard the best way to say 'fuck you' to someone is to be happy."

"You think I not happy is it?" She growled.

I held my hands up defensively. "No no. That’s not what I’m saying. I'm trying to say that maybe you should consider what does make you happy."

Jiamin paused for a moment, lips pursed in thought. She turned away to look at the skyline again and that was the end of that conversation. There were more words to be said about this topic, but they weren't going to be said today. That's fine with me.

 The journey home was filled with a comfortable silence, the kind that I've always enjoyed with her. Though this time there was an added feeling of warmth and a silly soft smile plastered on my face. I never thought I'd like hand holding this much since primary school.

She followed me to my doorstep, and we embraced in a hug that lasted way longer than it should. As she departed, bidding an I'll text you when I'm home -a mere formality in Singapore- I began to wonder.

Did she feel the same?

 My answer came the next day, when I found a bouquet of flowers carefully tucked under my desk. Attached to it was a handwritten note with an anonymous sign off. I had only read half the note when I realized who my secret admirer was.

The messy scrawl was practically indecipherable to all but the best doctors, but I had seen it far too many times to not know what the squiggles conveyed. I sighed. I told her more than a dozen times that she should've done her handwriting homework, stating that unlike every other mundane piece of work she never did in primary school, this would come back to bite her. Only once had she listened.

It was apparent from the first line of the note. The ‘a’ in dear, in my name and scattered about in every other word that demanded the vowel stood out like a sore thumb. Unlike every other letter which was hideously malformed beyond recognition, the ‘a’s were written perfectly. From the not quite circular tri-pointed body to the tail flick at the end, the ‘a’ was a perfect imitation of the template we were forced to trace over as kids.

I pulled out my phone, shooting my not-so-secret admirer a text thanking her for the bouquet, watching in amusement as her face turned the same color as those flowers.

[cassiopeiassky]

When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 45

Random tidbit - this part contains some of the very first concepts that were written for this story.  Strap yourselves in, it’s an emotional roller coaster.  You’re welcome.

Plot:  When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.  

Word count: 3215

Warnings:

For the entire work:  Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst.  This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut.  If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Mentions of violence, death and physical assault, disturbing descriptions, panic attack, anxiety    If I need to add anything else, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.  If you don’t want me to publish the ask, I won’t, or you can feel free to do it as a Nonnie.  I will not take offense to any trigger warning requests.   Your well-being is important to me and I do NOT want to trigger anyone.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

“I love you so much, I’m so sorry.  I’m so fucking sorry, but I had to do it.  I had to, I had to be the Winter Soldier,” he mumbles into your hair repeatedly as his left arm wraps around your back to hold you close while his right hand cradles the back of your head.  

“You came back to me,” you whisper against his neck, and you feel him stiffen before he gently pushes you back so he can meet your eyes.  He stays quiet as he caresses your cheek and smooths back your hair, the small, broken smile on his face at odds with the heavy sorrow and remorse in his eyes.

When he finally breaks the silence, his voice cracks as he utters your name.  It takes another long moment before he speaks again.  “I never left.”

It takes you a minute to comprehend what he said.  “..Wh….what?”

“I never left.”  He runs his hands through his hair and takes a shallow breath before continuing.  “The trigger words don’t work anymore.”  He squeezes his eyes shut.  “Wanda was thorough.  She found the backup triggers and disabled those, too.  I guess I didn’t think to tell you about them because they were never used on me.  Didn’t seem important.”

It feels like the bed has fallen from underneath you, almost like reality has shifted.  “Wait…but…but I saw…but…you hit me.”

Bucky moves as though he’s going to reach out to touch you, but stops himself.  “I know, Sweetheart, I know.  I was faking it.  The whole time, I was faking it.  When I did that…I did it.  I am so sorry.  I just…I couldn’t find another way.  We couldn’t find a way around that goddamn collar.  It was the only thing I could come up with to get me close enough to you to protect you, and to eventually get you out.”  The sincerity in his eyes twists at your heart; he looks so broken.

You don’t know what you’re feeling right now.  It’s too much, it’s just too goddamn much.  Have you finally lost it?  Is this even real?  You want it to be real, right?  But how. How?  How could someone go to such lengths and pay such a price?  

A price.  

Oh God.

“You killed Steve.” You say it quietly, and suddenly you can’t breathe.  “Oh, God, you killed Steve!”  The enormity of what’s been done overwhelms you and throws you into a full-blown panic attack.  How could he?  How?!

“Oh shit, no,” Bucky surges forward, softly cupping your face with his hands; the cool metal on your right cheek is soothing on your bruised skin but the temperature contrast shocks you enough to focus on his words.  “I need you to breathe, Sweetheart.  Breathe for me,” he croons before taking you through a grounding exercise; the same one that you’d used to help him.  “Give me five things you can see, Sweetheart, five things.”  

You hold onto his voice – and his forearms – like a lifeline.

“Um, you.  I see you.”  Focus on him right now and nothing else.  Breathe.

“Good, what else?” His voice is so soothing; soft and sure like it used to be when you were at the safehouse with him.  You pay close attention to the timbre of his voice, to the traces of the Brooklyn accent that shapes his words, and to the clarity and warmth in his eyes.  This is your Bucky, the man sitting in front of you. He’s here, finally.  The pressure eases somewhat.

You’re able to take deep, even breaths when the exercise is completed; you wouldn’t go as far as to say you’re good, but you’re definitely better.

“Okay?” he asks softly; it’s an inadequate word for the situation, but you know what he means.  

“Okay,” you confirm with a small nod.  

“Good.  I gotta tell you something, but it’s gonna sound crazy so I need you to hear me out, okay?”  At your slow, careful nod, Bucky licks his lips and brushes his thumbs lightly over your cheeks before speaking again.  “Steve’s alive.  He’s fine, he –“

Umm.  No.  Your brain isn’t having this.  “What? No.  Bucky, he’s not fine.”  You sit up straighter and pull out of Bucky’s gentle hold.  “They served his head, literally, on a fucking silver platter! He’s the opposite of fine!”  You can feel your chest constricting again as your body fights another wave of hysteria.

“No, Sweetheart, no!” His hands grip your upper arms, holding you still and grounding you into the moment so he can capture your attention.  “What you saw was basically a movie prop made with animal…parts.  Remnants from a slaughterhouse, I think.”  He continues quickly when your eyes grow wide, “It wasn’t really Steve.  He’s alive, pissed off but alive, in a cottage in the middle of the woods about 20 miles south of here with the rest of the team.”  Bucky pauses to watch your reaction carefully, and when you remain still he continues, “Before we left, Stark called in a few favors to some of the people he always mentions he knows, said he wanted to be prepared for anything.  I guess he’s good friends with the prop designer for some apocalyptic zombie horror show, so he called his buddy and asked him to design and create decomposable replicas of the entire team.  That’s why I was gone so long; we had to wait for it to get shipped here, and then to, uh, thaw.  It was…it’s a disgusting process.”  He pulls a face and you feel the tiniest of smiles form in response.  “It even fooled me when Stark opened the box - creepiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.  I’m so sorry to scare you like that, but it wasn’t really Steve, I promise.”

You sit back on your heels, dumbfounded and relieved.  And thoroughly grossed out.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers again as he reluctantly removes his hands from your arms.  You can only stare at him.  “Sweetheart, I swear, the only people I’ve killed since coming to Siberia are Krakken’s men.  That…that feels really fucking bizarre to say, but it’s true.  Those are the only deaths that weren’t staged.”

It’s almost dizzying how fast your brain is trying to work in order to process all of the information. It’s fucking surreal, and you have so many questions, and even though he’s sitting in front of you it still feels like it’s a dream and he’s going to disappear if you blink.

“So...your missions? Those families?”

“They’re fine.  Most of them are on vacation, actually.  The few that stayed in the country went to their vacation homes.”

What you’d been told and what you’re hearing now are violently colliding in your mind; one brought untold grief, but the other promises healing.  The echoing contradictions make it hard to keep up with what he’s saying, and you’re so scared that he isn’t really here, that you finally just fell off the cliff into a raging sea of insanity and are imagining him, whole, in front of you.  Despite this, you hear the spark of hope in your voice.  “How in…What?”

He nods.  “We got here the day after you did.  Stark’s been negotiating almost non-stop with the other nearby Pakhan since we arrived.  Turns out the Krakkens aren’t all that popular around here; apparently they don’t follow the rules and play nice, and they haven’t been upholding the code of honor that ties the Pahkan brotherhood together.  There’s so much betrayal and bad blood between most families and the Krakkens that when Stark offered to take care of the problem, and then added stock options and patents to the deal, they were all fairly eager to accept.”

The wave of relief that washes over you actually manages to clear your mind somewhat.  “Really?  No kids died?”

He shakes his head.  “No, Sweetheart, no kids died.  Those deaths were all staged.  And if I’m not mistaken, Stark sent all of the families with young kids to Disney theme parks.”

The intricacy of their plan is astounding, to say the least.  “Holy shit,” you mutter under your breath, as you finally, finally allow yourself to truly feel hopeful about getting the hell out of this pit.  “So you’ve all been here almost the entire time?  They were the ones taking out Krakken’s men?”

“Yes, we’ve been here almost as long as you have; Sweetheart, we’ve been working on getting you back since the second Anatoliy drove away with you.  And no, they weren’t taking out Krakken’s men – I didn’t want to risk them getting too close and getting caught, and losing the element of surprise. That was me.”

That’s…woah.  “That was you?  How?  You were with me at least one of those nights, right?  Or was it two?” You struggle to remember; anxiety certainly doesn’t do your memory any favors.

Bucky gazes at you with soft eyes.  “Sweetheart, it would take me until the end of forever to forget all the little details of you that I memorized, and although it feels that long, it’s only been a few weeks.  I know all your little tells - I know when I can kiss your shoulder and you’ll wake, and when I can shift your entire body to bring you closer to me without you so much as twitching a muscle - so I just waited until you were in a deep sleep.  You were so exhausted that I knew I wouldn’t wake you.”

“But…how?”  

Bucky shrugs.  “They wanted the Winter Soldier.  They got him.  What can I say, for better or worse I’m a damn good assassin.  And since Stark compromised their security system the day after we got here, it was easy to pick them off while they slept.”  Bucky’s expression darkens.  “Metzger’s reaping what his uncle sowed.  I’m not at all sorry about those men, and there’s gonna be more before this is over.”  

“Wait.”  You hold up a hand as another emotion starts bubbling up; anger.  “You’ve had control of the cameras?  You said when you came in that it was safe to talk, right?  That’s because their system is hacked?”  

He nods, seeming to brace himself for what’s coming.

Good.

“So we could’ve had this talk days ago.”  At his slight nod, you continue, “What the fuck, Bucky?!  You could have told me what was going on!  I didn’t have to believe that you killed kids, or that you fucking killed Steve!  Do you know what that did to me??  I was so fucking worried about you, and what would happen to your mind when you realized what you’d done!!”  Your voice grows thick as tears threaten to fall.  “God, I thought I fucking lost you!”  

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t tell you; it was too big a risk.”  You open your mouth to disagree when he speaks again, “They have three separate psychologists monitoring you.  Three. It’s part of his sick game; they watch you and basically tell him how far he can go – how much you can handle – before you break.  It’s how he knew to have tranquilizers ready for tonight; that wasn’t a coincidence, or even for worst case scenario.  He knew how you’d react – his doctors told him. If I’d told you everything earlier, they would have known your distress wasn’t genuine.  They would have known if you faked the reaction to the head.  They would have known, and it would have put your safety at risk.  I wanted to tell you - and I almost did, more than once - but Sweetheart, even when you’re guarded and not open about sharing how you feel, you’re still terrible at hiding your emotions.  It’s not a bad thing – it’s actually just one of the countless reasons why I fell for you so fast – but in this situation it could have gotten you killed.  I couldn’t take the risk.”

Well…goddamn it, he has a point there.  Shit.

He could read you like an open book, whether or not you thought your cover was closed.  From the very beginning, Bucky saw through your “I’m fine” and moments of uneasy quiet every goddamn time, even if he didn’t call you out on it.  Hell, trying to hide your emotions was something you’d done for years with Christopher, but even after all that practice, even Christopher knew when something was up; he just didn’t give a shit unless your mood bothered him.  You feel your anger begin to deflate. Bucky’s right – you would have blown it.

He looks over to you before looking down at his hands.  “God, I promise, I didn’t want to hurt you, or terrify you, or leave you alone.  Can I explain my reasoning?  Or do you just want to hear the plan to get you out?”

You look down and stare at the bedspread bunched between you and him while you attempt to gather your thoughts.  You know without a doubt that he loves you more than he loves himself, and you know he would never want to hurt you, mentally, physically, or emotionally.  He had to have had a damn good reason to do what he did - it wasn’t exactly like any of this could have been easy for him - and suddenly some of the pieces start to fall together.

You’d had no broken bones, just some bruising and a few cuts from when he was ordered to attack you. Sure, you were sore, but not ‘holy shit I was attacked by the Winter Soldier’ kind of sore, but more of an ‘I’ve been training with Bucky’ kind of sore.  Well, maybe a little worse than that, but definitely not as bad as having your ass handed to you a trained, cybernetically enhanced assassin.  You weren’t taking the hits extraordinarily well – he’d been pulling his punches. So much so, now that you think about it, you wonder how no one noticed. Thinking back on it, you realize that every time he ‘attacked’ you, he kept himself between you and the others, effectively blocking their view so they couldn’t see everything.  You also wonder how it hadn’t been blatantly obvious to you, especially with the split second he’d hold his hand before striking you – that was deliberate, to let you know how to absorb the hit.  And then he made you pass out, to end it all as quickly as possible while doing minimal damage.

He hit you, yes, because if he didn’t, someone else would have.  And it would have been far, far worse.  It would have been Grigory.  Or Anatoliy. Or both.  Maybe even all of the Hounds, if Bucky had refused.

And he willingly kept you in the dark; he let you think he’d killed Steve, for fuck’s sake.  But he’s right – you wouldn’t have been able to fake it – you probably would’ve accidentally compromised the team and gotten everyone killed.

Fuck.  It’s too much to take in, but you can’t fall apart; you don’t have that luxury.  You need to take what you know – that Bucky and the others have been working non-stop to get you back and that they’re doing what they need to do in order to accomplish this – and you need to fix your mind on that.  If you get back to Artie and Jimmy, and back to Bucky, the end justifies the means.  It’s easier to understand if you look at it from that point of view.

Fuck, you’re going to need a shit-ton of therapy after this.  Still, for the moment, you know what’s real.

Looking back up at Bucky, you take a moment to drink him in; he must have taken your lack of a reply to his questions as a silent demand to be left alone.  Studying the dejected curve of his shoulders and downturned head, you say the only thing you can think to say; the only thing that really matters at this point.  “Bucky, I trust you.”  It’s the truth.  You don’t have to like his methods, but at the end of the day, you trust him; there really weren’t any other options.

He looks to you, surprised.

“I mean, I’m not thrilled about it…we’ll, uh, we’ll have to talk about some more it later, I think, but the alternative was much worse.”

Bucky stares at you with the teeniest, tiniest bit of hope in his eyes, but says nothing.

“You didn’t have a choice. Well, technically you did, but I know what that choice was – Bucky, those men weren’t going to pull their punches if they beat me, and they sure as hell weren’t going to be gentle if they raped me.  I don’t have to like it, but you being the Winter Soldier me kept me much safer in the long run.”  

He flinches at your words, but nods.  “I’m so incredibly sorry.  Please know that it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”  He looks miserable yet resolute when he speaks again, “I’d do it all over again, though, to keep Krakken’s men off you.  Even if I end up losing you – at least you’ll be alive. That’ll be enough for me.”

More pieces click together. “This is why you kept asking me to forgive you when Nicolai was saying the trigger words…isn’t it…”

Bucky nods.  “I don’t expect you to-“

“Buck, don’t,” you’re quick to interrupt him with a gentle hand on his forearm.  “Just don’t.  Don’t push me away to punish yourself, and don’t act like this is the end.  Neither of us deserves that.  Look, we’re going to have to deal with the fallout when we get home, but we’re going home.  Together.  Home. You and I.  Okay?  I love you, and I’m not giving you up just because some motherfucking cockjockey and his evil twatsickle of a brother decided to involve us in their fucked-up plan to take over the world.   You’re doing the best you can with what you have – this isn’t your fault, okay?”

“…But…”

“But nothing, goddamn it. But nothing!  They gave you impossible choices, Buck.  I don’t blame you for choosing the way you did.  Hey,” you pause and gently cradle your hands to his face to lift his head when he ducks to avoid your eyes.  “If you need to hear the words, I’ll say them.  I’m thankful you made the choice you did.  I’m thankful, because it means that I get to go home to you and our boys.  I forgive you, Bucky.  I’ll say it as many times as you need me to, but just know that I’m also going to tell you that there’s nothing to forgive because I don’t blame you.  This is on the Krakkens, not you.  You’ve fought them too hard for too long – don’t give them the consolation prize of tearing us apart.”

He quickly pulls you into a bone cracking embrace, holding you close and tight until you’re convinced that he actually listened to you.

“You’re comin’ home?  With me?” he asks in a rough whisper with his face buried in your neck.

“You’re goddamn right I am.” Like you’d ever answer any differently.

He pulls away to stare at you a moment before kissing you fiercely.  In the instant that his lips capture yours, everything wrong in the world ceases to exist and it’s just you and Bucky.  It’s in this moment, this very second, that you finally accept that you’re not imagining this; he’s real and he’s here.  And he’s taking you home.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles when he reluctantly breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours.  “I know this isn’t the time or place, I just needed to feel you, to convince myself that I’m really here with you.”

You huff a quiet laugh in response as your fingers caress his scruff.  “Don’t be, I was just thinking the exact same thing."

You each hold the other, taking the opportunity to breathe each other in.  Like all good things, it can’t last nearly long enough.  

Bucky pulls away, but remains close enough to maintain bodily contact.  “I need to check in with Stark, Sweetheart.  We’re getting you out of here tonight.”

Tags Round 1:   @rogersxbarnesx @hellomissmabel @beccaanne814-blog @musichowler @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest @shifutheshihtzu @iamtal @passiononfire @jade-cheshire  @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @lostinspace33 @gingerrootknits @callmebucky-doll @learisa @sammedrano @hardcorehippos @vaisabu @widowvinter @amrita31199 @bellenuit45 @agentraven007  @sarahjeaniejean @canumoveyourseatup-no @unpredictable-firecracker @ omalleysgirl22  @crazyliraz   @shamvictoria11    @kaaatniss @lillian-paige @ladylizzieofdarbyshire  @sexyseabass1231   @knittingknerdy @4theluvofall  @howdoesoneadult @ms-potts-to-you

[rootbeergoddess]

Weekend at Yondu’s: Chapter Two

I want to thank @thereadingpal and @durin-the-deathless21 for being my beta readers. The weekend continues! I also love writing Kraglin as the frustrated boyfriend.

“Peter, it’s six am in the morning!”

“I just---”

“GOODBYE PETER.”

“What should we wear today? Unicorn dress or your pink striped dress?”

“Unicorn pwease!” Buttercup declared.

Yondu picked up Buttercup’s dress. It had a blue tutu with a blue and pink unicorn on the top. Buttercup raised her hands over her head and let her grandfather put her outfit on. With her dress on, Buttercup sat down and offered up her feet. Yondu grinned as he slipped on her stockings which also had unicorns on it.  Happily, she wiggled her feet as she looked at her stockings.

“Unicorn sockies!” She said with a big smile.

“That’s right. Now let’s put your shoes on and we’ll go out.”

Buttercup slipped her pink Mary-Janes on and stood up, reaching for Yondu. Yondu picked her up and carried her downstairs. The whole way, she wiggled with happiness. Yondu loved going to the park and she loved being outside. Kraglin had gotten the stroller out. Another strange invention for babies. You placed a child in it and pushed them around. Kraglin thought it was a bit lazy, but he wasn’t going to say it out loud around Yondu. Yondu thought Buttercup deserved to be spoiled.

Buttercup sat down in her stroller and waited to be strapped in. Once she was, she pointed to the door.

“Go, go, go!”

“I guess someone is ready,” Kraglin said with a small smile. “To the park?”

“Yeah! Go park!” Buttercup said.

Peter had written down on the schedule that Buttercup needed to have some physical activity. It was good for her development apparently. He suggested the park and since Buttercup seemed keen on the idea, the two of them decided to take her out. Peter said something about vitamin D and how Buttercup really needed it. Yondu was no doctor, so he wasn’t going to argue. It was a nice, sunny day with a cloudless sky. Buttercup swayed from side to side in her stroller, humming to herself. Yondu, per the norm, was smitten.

“She’s precious, ain’t she Kraglin?”

“She sure is boss.”

While the two of them were walking down the street, a few people stared. Yondu ignored them instead of giving them the finger as he normally would. Kraglin was a bit surprised that more people weren’t staring at them, but Peter explained that Earth had been invaded a few times. There were also some heroes that were aliens, so people were used to it. Yeah, people stared, but it was probably because they were interested in the alien before them. Thankfully, no one was trying to ask for pictures or bothering them. Buttercup would just wave to people who stared. When she did, they would smile at her and wave back.

They reached the park. Already, people were there with their children. Yondu undid Buttercup’s straps and she stood up. Looking around, she pointed over to the colorful jungle gym. Bouncing slightly, she turned back to Yondu.

“You wanna go play?” Yondu asked.

“Yeah! Play!”

“Alright, let’s go play,” Yondu took Buttercup’s hand. “Kraglin, find a place to park the stroller.”

Kraglin nodded as Yondu walked Buttercup over to the jungle gym. Buttercup let go of his hand and climbed onto the gym. She walked onto the bridge and peered out of the bars to look at Yondu. She waved at him. Yondu grinned and waved at her, watching her climb up to the top. She slid down the slide and Yondu caught her.

“I gotcha!” He said.

“Lemme go!” Buttercup giggled.

“No, you’re mine!” Yondu kissed her face. “Mine, mine, mine!”

Buttercup continued her bubbly laughter, squealing in delight as Yondu swung her around. He set her down and she quickly got back onto the jungle gym. Yondu grinned with pride as she waved to him before going over to another bridge and began playing with something. Yondu felt his heart swell. God, he loved this little girl so much. How did he get so lucky to be rewarded with a granddaughter?

“Oh, your daughter is so cute!”

Yondu turned around to see a blonde woman holding a baby. She was wearing a striped tank top and extremely short workout shorts. Yondu grinned.

“She’s my grandbaby,” Yondu corrected. “But you are right. She is cute. Gets it from me.”

“She really seems to love you,” The woman said, bouncing the baby. “You’re good with kids.”

“Yeah, I love children,” Yondu scooted a bit closer to the stranger, showing his teeth. “But you know what I love more? Making children.”

“And that is enough!”

“OW!”

Kraglin grabbed Yondu by the ear and dragged him away from the confused blonde. Yondu looked back at her before pushing Kraglin away, growling at him.

“What the hell was that for? I was going to score!”

“You are not going to have sex with a young mother who has a young baby,” Kraglin crossed his arms. “Also, we’re supposed to be watching Buttercup, remember?”

“And I am! Look,” Yondu pointed to her. “See? I still see her.”

Buttercup was sitting next to another child; it was a little boy wearing a collared shirt. The two of them were holding hands, playing with some moving blocks attached to the gym. Now Kraglin found it adorable. Buttercup had made herself a little friend. But he could see Yondu wasn’t pleased. Kraglin watched as Yondu moved back his jacket but before he could whistle, Kraglin covered his captain’s mouth.

“Boss, no.”

“Who is that?” Yondu pushed Kraglin’s hand away. “Who is he and why is he holding my grandbaby’s hand?”

“He’s probably someone Buttercup met today,” Kraglin said. “She’s a toddler; she doesn’t have a concept of romance or sex. You don’t need to freak out.”

There was only one problem with Yondu loving Buttercup so much. He was overprotective. Yes, most grandfathers were, but Yondu took it to a whole new level. Yondu had declared that Buttercup could not date until she was married. His reasoning was because men were awful, horrible pigs. Kraglin reminded Yondu that he too was a man and that apparently proved his point. So, if Buttercup showed any interest in a boy his need to protect appeared.

Buttercup was unaware of her grandfather’s anger. She and her new friend had come down off the jungle gym, still holding hands. Yondu kept his eye on the two toddlers, glaring at the young boy. But Buttercup smiled at the child, obviously happy to have someone new to play with. The children went over to the sandbox. Yondu marched over to them, Kraglin following behind.

“Hey sweetie,” Yondu said, squatting down. “Whatcha doing?”

“Making castle.” She replied.

“Yeah? Who is this?” Yondu pointed at the boy.

“This Max,” Buttercup pointed to Max. “He my friend.”

“Hi,” The little boy waved at Yondu.

Yondu gave a small smile and waved to Max.

“So you two are going to make a castle?”

“Yeah!” They both said.

“How about Grampy helps you?”

Kraglin sighed with relief. He was really glad that Yondu hadn’t attacked Max. He didn’t think Yondu would have hurt a toddler, but Kraglin knew his captain way to well. For the rest of the day, Buttercup and Max played together. After making a castle, Yondu let Buttercup ride on his shoulders while Kraglin let Max ride on his. They soon met Max’s parents who were very kind and even invited Buttercup to Max’s birthday party. It was going to be a Harry Potter birthday (Kraglin wasn’t sure what that was) which made Buttercup happy. Yondu said he would check with her parents.

“Kraggles?”

“Yeah B-cup?”

“I hungry.”

“Yeah? Wanna get some lunch?”

“Munch pwease.”

“Goddamn, if I ever meet the feller who invented this pizza stuff I’m gonna buy him a beer.”

There wasn’t a lot of pizza in space. In fact, there was no pizza in space. Pizza was a Terran invention that Yondu loved. Every time they were on Terra, Yondu demanded they eat pizza at least once. It was a pretty brilliant invention. Bread with some sauce and cheese with whatever toppings you wanted. Terrans may be behind other planets, but pizza was one of the best inventions in the world.

“Pizza good!” Buttercup agreed.

Kraglin had cut up Buttercup’s cheese pizza into small bites so she could eat it. Swinging her arms, she sat in her highchair and ate her food. Kraglin had gotten himself a slice of pepperoni pizza while his boss was on his third slice of pizza. This slice was topped with various meats. It seemed a bit overboard, but Kraglin knew better than to judge his boss’ food choices. However, he was worried that Yondu was overdoing it.

“That’s your last slice right?” Kraglin asked.

“Heck no!” Yondu licked his lips.

“Boss, you might want to slow down,” Kraglin grabbed a napkin. “Stand still B-cup, you got some sauce on your lip.”

Buttercup let Kraglin wipe the sauce away while Yondu stuffed the rest of his pizza into his mouth. He barely chewed it before swallowing. Kraglin grimaced slightly. He knew Ravagers weren’t known for their table manners. He got that, he was a pirate too, but the thing was that Kraglin knew how to pace himself. He didn’t scarf down food, he chewed it and swallowed it like a normal person.

Yondu didn’t.

“What are anchovies?” Yondu asked looking at the menu. “They have it on this one pizza with onions, green peppers and garlic. Sounds good.”

“Ew,” Buttercup made a face. “Onions smelly. Anoveys yucky!”

“Yes, those sound pretty gross,” Kraglin gacked slightly. “Boss, are you sure---”

“You questioning your Captain?”

“No,” Kraglin sighed.

“Good! Yo waiter, another round!”

“Hey Pete, what are those tablets called? The ones that help upset stomachs.”

“Tums?”

“Yeah, do you have any of those?”

“In the bathroom. Why?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Grampy sick,” Buttercup looked up at Kraglin. “He got hurty tummy.”

“Yep. He sure does.”

Buttercup squeezed her rubber ducky. Tonight, she was having a bubble bath. She splashed, smiling as the bubbles floated up. She would reach for them and when they popped, she giggled with delight. Kraglin smiled as he started wetting her hair. Buttercup loved water. That was one huge difference between her and her grandfather.

Yondu hated taking baths. If he ever took a bath, it was rare. Kraglin had to fight with Yondu to get him clean. It was like he was allergic to water or something. He also complained that soap made him smell girly.

“Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles!” Buttercup sang.

Kraglin just smiled as he lathered up Buttercup’s hair. Once her hair was all lathered up, Kraglin poured water on her head to clean out the bubbles. After cleaning her up, he picked up Buttercup and started drying her off. Meanwhile, he heard a loud groan from the toilet. He glanced up to see Yondu leaned over the toilet, vomiting. Kraglin shook his head as he wrapped Buttercup up in a towel.

“Kraglin!” Yondu shouted. “Give me more of those tablet thingys!”

“You can’t have any more until later,” Kraglin picked up Buttercup. “Also, I told you so.”

“I don’t need any of your sass boy!” Yondu said before double over and vomitting again.

Kraglin shook his head.

“Buttercup,” Kraglin looked at the baby in his arms. “Your Grampy can be stupid.”

“Yeah.”

[ivyschoice]

The Murder Game (no actual murder tho, don’t worry)

@amelia-is-watching i hope it is the 31st where you live (what are timezones lol) and also that this is the right time bc i’ve not seen another gift given.. anyways this is your ‘secret santa’ gift!

Title: The Murder Game Rating: T

Note: first of all this got kinda long i hope that’s ok 🙈 also i hope the grammar and everything is tolerable (excuse me if i used weird expressions :D)

But most of all I hope you enjoy^^

-

the story is set in the beginning of book 2 or just in a time were everything was alright

-

“I’m so glad, we finished this assignment today”, Zack sighed as we walked back from the library to our suite. It was already getting dark. “Yeah”, I agreed, “That means we have the whole weekend to do other things…” “Like your girlfriend?” He grinned and had to jump to the side to avoid being hit by my elbow. “Zack! … Although…” We had reached the house and were now climbing up the stairs to the suite. “Gross, Amelia, I was kidding!”, Zack exclaimed walking faster, so that I had to hurry to keep up with him. “No, you weren’t.” “Yeah, you’re right”, he admitted and we both had to laugh.

“Oh, by the way”, he said while searching his pockets for the key, “I wanted to tell you about this great idea I had for…” He stopped as the unlocked door swung open and revealed a crowded living room. Kaitlyn, Tyler, Abbie, Tripp, and Edgar somehow managed to sit on the couch together, watching something on Tyler’s laptop. Brandon and Madison sat on the ground next to them and were looking at something on her phone. We stood there in the doorway for a moment – struck by surprise.

“Uhm, hey… all of you”, I managed to bring out and gave Zack a little push, so he would go inside. “Are you having a party without us?”, he asked. “And you’re here, too?” He was looking at Brandon. “Well, it was like that”, Kaitlyn started to explain, while coming over to us, “Tyler had invited Tripp and Edgar to watch the newest episode of The Crown and the Flame with us, Tripp asked Madison to come along and Brandon wanted to see you, so we told him he could wait here for you… Oh, and Chris had already planned a Bros’ Evening or something, so they’re here as well…”

I peeked around the corner and saw Chris, Logan, Darren, and James standing in the kitchen together. The latter spotted me. “Hi, Amelia!” “Hello..?”, I replied, not sure how he fit in this group constellation. “He actually came over to talk to you about the play”, Kaitlyn whispered in my ear, “But he seems to be having fun, so you don’t have to do that now.” Then she kissed me on the cheek and put her arm around my waist to guide me to the couch. I followed her willingly.

There was no more room on the sofa, so I had to take place on the arm rest. Zack, who had sat down next to his boyfriend in the meantime, looked up to me. “The idea I wanted to tell you about, is actually a game for a bigger group of people…” He grinned at me. “So we could play now?” Tyler shushed at us, but Zack stretched out his arm and hit the pause button, which resulted in several upset outcries. Tripp wanted to press play again, but Zack slapped his hand away and stood up.

“Guys, guys, guys! I just need you to listen to me for like 5 minutes! Please…” Chris and the others came over from the kitchen. “What’s going on?” “Zack is stopping us from watching the mid-season finale!”, Edgar complained. “That’s not true – ok, yeah, it’s kinda true – but I wanted to tell you about this game… I heard that the upperclassmen do this like every year – it’s called murder game-““Oh my god”, James groaned, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” “Hearing you say that makes me really curious about this”, Kaitlyn said with a mischievous spark in her eye, “Go on, Zack.”

“It works like this: Every player puts their name on a piece of paper and then you draw a name – which can’t be your own – and whoever is on your paper, is your victim…” “Victim as in murder victim?”, Tyler asked. “Heh, you got it. You have to ‘kill’ the person you drew by handing them an object – it can be anything, but the person has to take it voluntarily, so you can’t force something into their hand.” James let out a sigh: “This is gonna get so intense.” There was a smile on his face though.

Zack quickly continued, before any discussions could break out. “When you get killed, you have to give your murderer your piece of paper – so keep it on you at all times – and then they will have a new victim. The last person remaining is the winner. We’ll make a group chat where you can write if you’re murdered, but of course you can’t tell anyone who killed you or who you have to kill.” “That was a lot of explaining for such a simple concept…” “Shut up, Edgar!”

The game sounded really fun and I was excited about the idea of winning it. I just had to! We all put our name on little paper straps and collected them in a bowl. “Chris, go around and let everyone pick one”, Zack commanded, “And if anyone picks themselves, please tell us immediately, so we can start over…” “Aye, aye, captain”, Chris responded and held the bowl out to Abbie. She unfolded her paper cautiously and read it – a smirk appeared on her face. I was one of the last to get a name and I opened the paper while leaning away from Kaitlyn, who – of course – was trying to get a peek at it. Chris. That shouldn’t be too hard…

The evening went on with all of us being suspicious of each other and no one taking anything from anyone – well except for Logan, who fell for Madison offering him the chips, but after that we were super careful. Around one o’clock we decided to call it a night and said goodbye to all of our guests. After studying the whole afternoon I was exhausted, so I kissed Kaitlyn goodnight and went to my room, while the others went to the rooftop to stay up a little longer.

The next morning I woke up to loud voices coming from the living space. Was there a fight? I pushed my blanket aside and hurried outside. Zack and Brandon were apparently in a heated discussion. “You can’t just do that! That doesn’t count!”, Zack exclaimed, making wild hand movements as he talked. “Well, I sure think I can, because you didn’t say, that wasn’t allowed…” Brandon seemed a little calmer than his boyfriend. “Yeah, I didn’t, but it’s kinda obvious, that that’s not how it works, isn’t it?” He was clearly upset, so I decided to step in. “Hey, guys, what’s going on?”

They both turned around in surprise. “Oh, hi, Amelia”, Brandon said, “Didn’t see you there.” “Because you were busy trying to kill your boyfriend in illegal ways!” “What… so this is about the game?”, I began to understand, “If you got murdered, you just have to accept it, Zack…” “It wasn’t like that…”, he protested.

“Brandon told him to take his hand, therefore murdering him as he took it.” I hadn’t even noticed Kaitlyn on the couch with a cup of tea. “They’ve been discussing this for the past ten minutes and it’s way too early.” She gave them a look of reproach. “But a hand is not an object!” I tried to stifle a laugh. “That’s not funny, Amelia!” “Yeah, it is”, I responded, “I guess you just have to accept your defeat… And Brandon, good job! That was smooth.” He gave me an approving grin and then put his arm around Zack. “Come on, we wanted to get breakfast, remember?” “I guess”, he mumbled and as they walked out the door, we could hear: “I would never forgive you for this if you weren’t that cute…”

“Phew, they’re gone”, Kaitlyn sighed as I sat down next to her. “Yeah, you won’t try to kill me, right?” “Of course not… Wanna hold my hand?”, she said with a serious expression, before we both started laughing. “But really, I can’t promise anything”, she said with an apologetic look. “Well, same.” I snuggled up to her. “Good to know that my girlfriend cares more about winning than me…” I was about to counter, that she said that first, when I saw her teasing smile. “Ugh, shut up.” She giggled and gave me a kiss on the top of my head. “Oh, did you see the group chat?”, she asked, “Darren and Edgar were also murdered.” “Wow, this goes down faster than expected…”

Later that day we were all casually hanging out – except for Chris, who had training. Which was disappointing because I was still waiting for a chance to murder him. “So how do you think season 2B will pick up after yesterday’s episode?”, I asked, laying on the couch with my head in Kaitlyn’s lap. “Oh, oh, I drew something – I wanted to show you!” Abbie got up and disappeared into her room. “How did she make fanart so fast?” I wondered and got a bunch of nonsense answers. “Magic?” “Being a vampire.” “Time travel!”  

“Ta-Dah”, she came back waving a piece of paper around. Tyler stretched out his hand. “Let me see first!” “Here you go”, she handed it over, “And you’re dead, sweetie, sorry…” She didn’t look sorry at all. Tyler’s face on the other hand was priceless. “B-But… I… you… I was supposed to kill you, too!” He fumbled around in his pockets and showed Abbie the paper with her own name. “Does that mean, I’m dead?”, she asked and started to look a little more sorry. “Ha!”, Zack was jumping up and down, “That is an even dumber death than mine, yesss!” “No, it wasn’t”, Kaitlyn commented, bringing Zack down to the floor immediately. “Oh, I don’t care, dammit, just look at my pic, ok?”

By Sunday morning Tripp and James were killed, too, and the six of us suitemates sat together for breakfast. I had made pancakes and bacon, so it was pretty awesome. “Hey, need some more syrup, Kaitlyn?” Chris held the bottle in her direction. “Ha ha, nice try, pretty boy…” His cheeks turned pink. “W-What? I wasn’t, I mean I don’t even…” “I think you can save it, we’re not buying that”, Zack said laughing. “No, really- ugh forget it, will someone just pass me the bacon?”, he sighed. My chance! “Yep, here you go!” I quickly picked up the plate with the bacon and handed it to him. “Thanks, Amelia, at least you-“ “Aaand you’re dead!”, I said with a wink. “Ugh, no…” “Just give me your paper.” He reluctantly gave it to me and I read the name. Kaitlyn. Oh, well.

I was still figuring out a genius plan to catch my girlfriend off guard, when someone knocked on the door later that day. “I’ve got it!”, I shouted and went to open it, since everybody else had disappeared to their rooms or wherever. Madison greeted me with a hug. “Hey, Amelia, it’s been really boring at the house – you know Sunday afternoon and stuff – so I thought I’d give you guys a visit. What are you up to?” “Not much really”, I said and let her step inside, “Tyler and Abbie are out and everyone else just found something to do…” “Oh, ok, then just you and me?”, she seemed unbothered, “Um, where can I put my jacket?” She held it in front of her. I automatically stretched out my hand. “Here, let me-“ I saw the glistening in her eyes and put my hand back down. “Just throw it over one of the chairs…”

“Guess what! I killed Brandon!” Kaitlyn came around the corner smiling triumphantly, “And that means-“ She saw Madison and stopped in her tracks. “… There are only three people left in the game”, I finished that sentence. We all looked at each other. This was going down. Now.

Madison smiled at me. “Can’t we just forget about the game for a moment? Let’s just hang-“ “Kaitlyn”, I interrupted, “I need to talk to you in private.” She nodded. “Give us a sec, Madison?” Then she led me to her room. As soon as she closed the door, I started talking. “Kaitlyn, you-“ “I know that you have to kill me…” I put a finger on her lips. “Yeah, yeah, but you have to help me! Madison wants to get me and she’s going to! She’s too powerful: She’s cute and innocent, so she can talk you into anything! I think she has the most kills in this game… Please be my ally and murder her! … Wow, that sounds bad out of context…” She put her arms around my neck. “And how do I know you’re not just saying this to get a chance to kill me first?” “Well, I don’t wanna die”, I said while pulling her closer, “And either way in the end there will be two people, who have each other’s name, so I would rather win together with you than not at all…”  “Oh, wow, how immensely selfless of you”, she teased me and backed away right before our lips would have touched, “But it makes sense, let’s do this!”

She stormed out of the room and I heard her shout: “Madison! I challenge you to a duel for Amelia’s life!” I ran after her and met Brandon and Zack in the corridor, who were drawn out by the noise as well. We found Kaitlyn standing face to face with Madison, two swords in her hands. “Swords?”, Brandon asked with a puzzled expression. “Cosplay”, Zack and I responded at the same time.

“We will fight with these”, Kaitlyn announced, “And if you win, Amelia has to take an object from you. But if I win, you have to take one from me…” Madison considered this for a moment, then said: “Fine.” “Oh, damn, she’s putting her hair up, this is serious”, Zack whispered in my ear and I could hear Brandon asking him, if the blades were sharp. I hoped not. Kaitlyn put one of the swords on the ground so Madison could take it. “I really don’t think this is a good-“ I tried to stop this from happening. “You can’t stop us, the deal has been made!”, my girlfriend exclaimed and swung her weapon at Madison, who parried skillfully. Zack, Brandon and I fled behind the kitchen counter.

“I can’t believe, they’re doing this. Awesome!” Zack was thrilled. “It is kinda hot”, I had to admit, “but this is gonna end in a disaster…” “I’m prepared to call an ambulance”, Brandon said and I was not sure if he was joking. The swords clashed together again and again while the two fighters manoeuvred their way around the small table in the living room. “Why… are… you… so… good at this?”, Kaitlyn grunted and staggered a few steps back, because she hadn’t parried properly. But she recovered and thrust at Madison without hesitating. Fortunately she had amazing reflexes or Kaitlyn’s sword would have stuck in her shoulder. “We have to stop them!”, I said in a low voice. “Easy”, Zack whispered back, “We just need a distraction…” There was a groan followed by “I’m fine, I’m fine!” and more clanging swords. “…Yeah, now.”

“What the actual heck?!”, a new voice appeared – Tyler’s. We three dove up from behind the counter. Abbie and Tyler stood in the door and stared stunned at situation. Madison and Kaitlyn had both lowered their weapons. “Kaitlyn, now!” I screamed and she understood. With a grim expression she leapt forward, stepped on the table and jumped in Madison’s direction bringing her sword down so hard, that Madison dropped hers. Not the finest technique, but it worked. Zack, Brandon, and I started cheering. “Kaitlyn, Kaitlyn, Kaitlyn!” She held her hand out to her defeated opponent with the biggest grin and Madison shook it. Tyler’s eyes were full of amazement: “That was-“ “super dangerous”, Abbie interrupted with a stern look.

“Well, nothing happened”, Kaitlyn said with a shrug, “Except that we won, oh yeah!” I ran over to her and hugged her. “I can’t believe we won the game!” “What? No! You can’t win together, there has to be one best murderer…”, Zack protested. “Of course we can!”, I replied and took Kaitlyn’s hand. “Come on, my heroic lady knight, I need to thank you for saving my life!” She giggled and let me pull her to my room. “Gross!” “Shut up, Zack!”

[eunbyulfmd]

DATE: april 21st EVENT: ❝ dumb litty ❞ MV filming and teaser photo shoot. LOCATION: studio where dumb litty is being filmed — pt 1 of 2 WORD COUNT: 1,178+

eunbyul had been sitting in the same seat for about three hours, as two or so stylists worked on her hair and makeup. they had decided on dressing her as athena first — the makeup artist mentioning something about red makeup and how difficult it was to remove ( if they wanted a clean canvas, the red would have to wait ).

so it had given her time to do a google search ( or ten ). whatever she knew about greek gods and goddesses was knowledge she had been given in her early high school years and she needed a refresher. 

those who knew eunbyul knew that she was still that young theatre kid who had auditioned years ago, and was always excited to take these concept photos. the one thing she wanted to do was really emulate these goddesses and hope to tell a story; of course, she didn’t understand the correlation between getting ❛ dumb litty ❜ and greek gods ( and thor...a norse god?? really, eunbyul was still confused about that, because three other google searches confirmed that thor and zeus were like...the same, just worked in different jurisdictions, and everyone else was two different greek entities...but whatever ).

anyhow, she’d looked up athena and found that, ❝ athena, also referred to as athene, is goddess of wisdom, courage, inspiration, civilization, law & justice, strategic warfare, mathematics, strength, strategy, the arts, crafts, and skill, ❞ so first, she’d represent this badass warrior goddess with an intelligence that could rival anyone in mensa. and eunbyul was so into it. 

from what she had seen in the mirror over the past three hours, she thought she looked beautiful. she didn’t look all that much like herself, but beautiful nonetheless.

after a coat of foundation, her eyes had been covered with this shimmery salmon-pink eyeshadow that mirrored the shape of her eyeliner; on her lips she just had a coat of lip gloss, on her cheeks she had the slightest indication of blush, and she was wearing the light-green contacts that had now become a trademark. 

her hair had been thrown into an updo, bleach blonde curls forming a sort of crown ( well, no, the golden leaves they’d added to the hairstyle was supposed to be the crown, but anyhow ), and her bangs were allowed to fall and frame the right side of her face. to match the golden leaves in her hair, they’d added a pair of large golden earrings.

what comes after is the rest of the costume, a mix between a corset and a very very short dress. the dress is is some type of matte leather in sage, and the corset ( that’s a corset by the loosest definition ) is a very light pink, and the front is open save for the four belt-like straps beneath her breasts. all in all, she thinks it’s pretty — hella short — but very pretty. the open-toed strappy heels even match the corset perfectly. 

eunbyul is ushered to the area where they’ll take the pictures and film the first portion of her solo scenes — an open area with lots and lots of poles. 

❝ mireu-ssi, ❞ ❝ yes? ❞ ❝ would you like to do the photoshoot first or have us film? ❞  ❝ ah, photos first, please. ❞

they work for about an hour, eunbyul taking any direction she’s given and bouncing back with a large variety of poses. the young woman has always been like wet clay, malleable, easily molded by gold star company into the idol she is today and representing an image that is both her own and someone else's.

by the end of the shoot, they decide to post the picture where eunbyul is looking straight at the camera, the sword she was holding ( her favorite part of the shoot, honestly ) covering her right eye. but the day isn’t over yet, she’s got the scenes to film, the makeup to remove and then she’d have to repeat the whole process as the queen of the gods.  

⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯

eunbyul is back in the same seat for another three or so hours ( after having wiped her face down with makeup removers and going through a compressed version her skin care routine once more ). this time her hair is down and straightened, parted in the middle. the makeup, like the stylists mentioned, is very red...but eunbyul loves it.

initially, eunbyul hadn’t been sure of how the color red could fit with the greek goddess; as a google search revealed, ❝ hera is the queen of the gods and is the wife and sister of zeus ( gross ) in the olympian pantheon. she is known for being the goddess of marriage & birth. despite being the goddess of marriage, she was known to be jealous and vengeful towards the many lovers and offspring of her husband zeus ( i mean...be angry at zeus himself, lady ). ❞ 

but as she looked at herself in the mirror, the red made sense. with the slightly opaque red of the eyeshadow there was softness, but with the red eyeliner and red glitter that coated her eyelashes there was this intensity ( especially with the green contact lenses ). the way she saw it, this was all of hera’s vengefulness and elegance. not to mention she was such a sucker for bold earrings, and the dangling black gems were a beautiful contrast to the light color of her hair. 

kang eunbyul is not conceited, i promise you. but the stylists and makeup artists do such amazing work, and she just wants to praise that.

after thanking the stylists and makeup artists, she was given her outfit to change into and almost laughed. 

it was a beautiful outfit, really, it’s just that there wasn’t much of it. 

still, it kinda made her feel as if she could run the world. the top was an off-the-shoulder red leather situation ( and eunbyul didn’t know that leather could be ruched like that ); the bottoms ( glorified underwear?? ) were a brighter red and a much tighter leather, with leather garter clips that some stylist helped her attach to the sheer red thigh-high socks. to top it all off they gave her a pair of red sock-boots she wanted to take home...they were just so pretty. 

the scenery for this one was in all black like the last, but instead of metal poles all over the place, the room had one large bed ( larger than her own ) covered entirely in black, and sheer black sheets cascaded from the ceiling. 

❝ okay, mireu...you’re beautiful, sexy and very angry...so, go crazy. ❞ ❝ will do! ❞

same as the last time, eunbyul gave as well as she took, posing in front, behind and on top of the bed for an hour before they felt they had the right picture.

this time, eunbyul was looking away from the camera, right hand set above her chest, her left hand somewhere behind her and holding her weight while her legs were crossed — she bright red colors she adorned were quote the juxtaposition to the black backgrounds. 

❝ mireu, thank you...we’ll film the solo parts for this outfit, and we’ll get you changed for the first set of group scenes. ❞ ❝ okay, thank you so much. ❞

and then she’d be back in that same chair for another three hours. an idol’s work is never done.