#but i had momentum with the hand duster and only the hand duster

[exrayspex]

more naclyoho

since i made progress but did not finish my mending project on the 3rd, i finished it on the 4th. where before there were holes and worn fabric, there is now fun embroidery!

love how it turned out! i'd like to figure out how to fix and protect those ragged stretchy cuff ends too, but that's a project for another time. i also cleaned the toilet bowls.

on the 5th i washed another window's blinds! very slowly, with many breaks, bc what a fucking task lol. that window is taller than me 🫠. but that's 2 windows done! i swept and washed the sill and the floor underneath while i was down there, too, so I won't have to move the piece of furniture that goes in front of it again, if i clean the rest of that floor soon (a big if, but less big for having done that).

today/the 6th, i did some dusting and added in a few high up spots that can't be easily reached and were therefore Very dusty. i wasn't willing to get out a ladder today but i was willing to stand on tiptoe and/or the stairs and really reach, and some stuff's cleaner than it's been in a while for it. also got what I could reach of some wall, which shouldn't be allowed to get dusty, and yet!

[drpeppertummy]

character needing to clean up the house etc, making the mistake of stopping for lunch and accidentally embiggening themself and now can't bend over to clean properly 😔

(definitely not based on real life events.. 😭)

[mild hunger & stuffing]

He hadn't wanted to stop cleaning at all. He'd been on a roll, and when Val was on a roll, not much could slow him down. When his rumbling stomach became too difficult to ignore, though, he'd finally caved and reluctantly set down the duster for a lunch break.

Val was surprised to see that it was after one by the time he got to the kitchen. No wonder he'd been so hungry; he hadn't eaten since early that morning. He held a hand to his belly as it let out another irritable growl and took to the fridge, wincing at the cold air as he fished out last night's leftovers. The idea of a hot bowl of soup made his mouth water. Humming softly to himself, he scooped out a good-sized serving and stuck it in the microwave.

Not wanting to get too settled in and lose his momentum, Val opted to eat standing up, leaning against the counter with the bowl in his hand. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until the first bite hit his stomach, and suddenly he was wolfing down his lunch like he had minutes to live, his empty stomach guiding his pace. He didn't slow down until the bowl was nearly empty. By that point, he realized, he was undeniably stuffed, his belly feeling taut and bloated after gulping down so much soup so quickly. There was only a little bit left, though, and he supposed he may as well finish it.

The last few bites went down more slowly, but it wasn't long before the bowl was empty. He sighed, resting a hand on his full belly as he took a moment to settle. He'd definitely overdone it a little; he felt like a stuffed turkey with his tummy bulging out snug against his pants. Still, there was cleaning yet to be done, with a dirty bowl now added to the to-do list. He hummed as he washed it, round tummy pressing against the counter as he scrubbed.

With the bowl out of the way, Val returned to the living room and went on dusting. He stood on his toes as he reached up for a high shelf, leaning in as he strained to dust off the books hiding atop it, and heard a clatter below him. Looking down, he realized he'd bumped a picture off the shelf with his protruding belly. Fortunately, it had landed on the soft rug and didn't appear to be damaged. Sighing, he leaned down to pick it up. He was stopped, though, when he found that he was too bloated to lean over all the way. He stood upright, hand on his belly. Then, cautiously and awkwardly, he knelt down on the floor.

"Having a little trouble?" Val looked up, startled, to see Connie on the stairs, leaning against the railing with an amused look on her face.

"It got away from me," he said, smiling sheepishly. Connie laughed.

"They do move pretty quick," she chuckled. Val pulled himself upright and set the picture back in its place. Connie approached him and draped an arm over his shoulders.

"I think you've got this place looking pretty sharp," she said, giving his tummy a fond pat. "Why don't you call it a day before you knock anything else over?"

"Ha, ha," he said, unable to hold back a smile. He slipped his arms around her waist and hugged her warmly, planting a gentle kiss on her jaw before letting his chin come to rest on her shoulder. Connie smiled and patted his back.

"Alright, come on, Romeo. There's better places to hang around than the bookshelf."

"Oh? And where did you have in mind?"

"Hm, if you're still in a cleaning mood, how about the bathtub?" He looked up, and she gave him a sly smile.

"Oh, I could be persuaded," he grinned. "Maybe we can go change the sheets afterwards, how about that?"

"It's a date."

[sususzasza]

The Dreaded Evil Lantern

Title: The Dreaded Evil Lantern Pairing: Aziraphale x Crowley Genre: fluff, fantasy, angel x demon, romantic Word Count: 4 385 Summary: Aziraphale finds a strange lantern on a shelf in his bookstore. The lantern is a work of Hell that imprisons the person who touches it. There is only one way for Aziraphale to escape. Is he ready to face his personal hell?

It happened on a normal, boring Friday morning. It could have happened on Thursday afternoon, however, Aziraphale forgot to dust the bookshelves that day. The angel deviated from his routine because of a certain biscuit plate he received as a gift. This is the reason why that particular incident happened on Friday morning.

Humming softly, Aziraphale swept away the cloud of dust on the spines of the books. The angel enjoyed dusting the bookstore. He was happily lost in his thoughts as his hands moved nimbly through the old books. Aziraphale is a very talented angel, he pays attention to every detail of his work so he can avoid mistakes that would cause him serious remorse for months. However, on this day he was not careful enough.

The vinyl that was spinning on the player suddenly stopped. Alarmed, Aziraphale raised his head from among the dusty books, knocking some of them off the shelf with that momentum. The angel quickly moved to the record player and anxiously examined the worn vinyl. It happened exactly as he thought. The disc grooves are damaged. The angel sadly studied the worn record in the sunlight filtering in through the window when the door to the bookstore burst open and Crowley slammed in. The demon was in his usual annoyed mood. He tossed the glasses that hid his snake eyes onto a shelf then sank into Aziraphale's antique armchair and huffed wordlessly to himself. Sighing, the angel put down the unusable record and adjusted his vest and turned to Crowley.

- Hello, Crowley! I'm glad you stopped by, can I help you with something?

The angel knew that expression on Crowley's face. The demon nervously drew his eyebrows together, pursed his lips and nervously drummed his fingers on the arm of the armchair. Someone or something made him terribly angry so before he committed horrible crimes to relieve his tension he went to the angel instead.

- Maybe some soothing tea? - Aziraphale offered with a cheerful smile.

The angel no longer took Crowley's annoyed mood seriously. The demon's sudden anger came as easily as it left. With a little distraction he already forgot about his gloomy mood.

- I don't need your useless tea - Crowley growled but immediately felt ashamed.

There have been more transfers and changes in Hell. One of the high-profile demon-scribe dared to ask for an old account that Crowley was sure had been settled and forgotten hundreds of years ago. However, the scribe did not expand and upset Crowley's already volatile state of mind in such a way that he turned him into a centipede without thinking.

So Crowley didn't start his Friday well. In addition, on the way to Aziraphale's bookstore he also remembered the faint memory that he had seemingly thrown the said bill aside centuries ago. Maybe he never closed that case in the end? Did he unnecessarily turn that insignificant scribe into a centipede? Crowley had been raging like this since morning. It wasn't enough that he was upset now he might also be remorseful for the rude way he answered the angel. Crowley doesn't really like to care about other people's feelings. He doesn't care what other man, demon or angel thinks. He owes no one kindness or anything. The world is cruel and Crowley has no desire to change it. However, the demon lived with one very important exception. He was really interested in an angel so he didn't want to hurt him.

Aziraphale pursed his lips in disapproval but did not push the idea of the ​​tea any further. He turned back to his books and looked for the duster.

- I think if you feel like grumbling you can do it alone. However, if you want to talk about what pissed you off so much go ahead, I'll listen!

Crowley heaves a long sigh then pours out a long stream of complaints which the angel listens to patiently as he begins to wipe the shelves from the beginning. When he reached the place of the knocked down books he was greeted by an interesting sight. He frowned at the shabby lantern-looking object. Not only does Aziraphale not remember how this item ended up on the shelf the lantern also radiated evil energy. Definitely a demonic item. Aziraphale didn't think but reached to the lantern's ear to get a closer look at the object but as soon as he touched it, he was inhaled by it.

All Crowley could see was Aziraphale standing at the end of the bookshelf one moment then disappearing the next. The demon almost jumped out of the armchair. He had already forgotten his monologue about the underworld bureaucracy. He strode through the store and then came to a lantern lurking completely innocently on the shelf. He recognized it immediately and slapped his hand on the forehead worriedly.

- Aziraphale, I say to Satan’s name, how can I get you out of there? - the demon hissed between his teeth.

Crowley considered two possibilities. One is that Aziraphale, gathering all his miracles, confronts the power of the lantern and breaks out of its captivity, alone. Crowley found the first option problematic because he himself did not know the lantern's true power and what it could do to demonstrate its power over the captured being. The second possibility is that the demon goes after Aziraphale. The second possibility is also really worrying. What guarantees that Crowley will end up in the same place as the angel? What if only one of them is strong enough to break the spell? What happens when they are stuck inside the lantern's prison for their eternal existence?

Crowley's annoyed mood returned but he was forced to act as soon as possible as he didn't like the angel being possessed by such a powerful spell. He stared accusingly at the lantern on the shelf with narrowed snake eyes. If he had kept a closer eye on the angel and not buried himself in his own annoyance he could have prevented the trouble. But it's too late. Now he will have to save Aziraphale. He came to a decision then firmly raised his hand to the lantern and after a few moments of hesitation touched it. He was immediately drawn to the shabby object. Crowley spun around in the vacuum that just pulled him into it. Sometimes he spun in pitch darkness, sometimes he spun in blinding light then in the blink of an eye he fell face down on the ground. The force of the fell made him dizzy but finally he shook his aching head and looked up. He felt as if he had shrunk as small as an ant and entered the inside of the lantern. It was dim and surrounded by cold clay walls. Would that be it? Is this all the dreaded lamprey has in store which reputation holds all of Hell in fear?

- Crowley! - came a certain voice from behind.

Aziraphale helped him off the ground and dusted a little off the shoulders of his dark jacket.

- What are you doing here? The lantern emits a clear evil force! Didn't you notice? What kind of sane demon voluntarily enters here? Don't say you don't know this object because it is clearly the work of Hell!

Crowley whirled around in a daze. He didn't think he could detect any ominous signs. However, the thought that what greeted him in the lantern was only the calm before the storm did not let him rest. He grabbed Aziraphale's arm and pulled him closer.

- Stay close, you have no idea what we're up against! - Crowley growled as he ran his eyes around the inner wall of the lantern.

- So you really know what happened! What's all this? - the angel asked as he dutifully ducked into Crowley's shadow.

As is well known, Aziraphale is indeed a high-ranking, powerful angel whose miracles are almost guaranteed to be fulfilled. However, it is also a known fact that the angel was happy to let Crowley protect him. Of course it wasn't because he thought the demon was expendable, no way! Aziraphale liked to think that it gave Crowley pleasure to protect his friend. Due to the nature of the demon he liked to be the master of event, and as a result he believed that he could protect Aziraphale as well. He didn't constantly come to his defense because he thought he was weak, no way! All he knew was that his instincts led him to the angel's side in any sinister event and he felt an inner urge to protect him to the end.

- Maybe you could provide some explanation? - Aziraphale insisted.

- This lantern is a very famous craft, a demonic object that serves as a prison. It was created to enslave the most ferocious demons. The interior of the lantern completely neutralizes all kinds of miracles. There is only one way to get out.

- Namely? - interrupted the angel with eyes shining with hope.

- I'm sorry to say that I don't know how.

- You don't know the way - muttered Aziraphale brokenly. - What do you mean?

- Just as I said.

Aziraphale was speechless in his amazement. What a folly he committed when he carelessly grabbed the demonic lantern and even Crowley fell victim to his carelessness. A look of horrible shame and worry crossed Aziraphale’s face that Crowley couldn't bear so he tried to gather more information from his memories about the lantern.

- This place is referred to as a personal hell. I suspect that if this is the case then each prisoner will have to free himself from the lantern curse.

- Crowley… - the angel hesitated. - You shouldn't have come after me. Personal hell doesn't sound too promising. In fact! It sounds hideous! You're a fool to come after me!

- Shh, angel! - hushed Crowley.

It doesn't matter what awaits him here. There was no way he wanted Aziraphale to suffer alone what the lantern had in store for him. Crowley was alert for any attack, not knowing the meaning behing the so called personal hell. However, he was suddenly gripped by a strong burning sensation around his shoulder blade where his wings joined his body. In pain, he fell to the ground and began to scratch the bottom of the lantern with his fingers in agony. He couldn't think of anything else but the feeling of living fire burning his wings and the heat spreading through his body and paralyzing his limbs. He began to gasp desperately but the air did not relieve his pain it only increased it. He could still feel Aziraphale trembling, kneeling beside him and turning him on his side. His gaze locked with Crowley's before the demon passed out. Aziraphale's throat tightened then suddenly a sob-like sound left his body which revealed everything about his hopelessness. He couldn't speak and maybe he didn't want to because he was afraid that all his strength would leave him. Then suddenly he felt it too. The burning sensation in his back, the searing pain in his wings. He crouched on the ground next to Crowley. He thought that if he was taken by death now at least Crowley wouldn't be able to see it.

~~~

Crowley woke up in Heaven. The sterile white walls and furniture revealed where he had been. Groaning, the demon sat up. He no longer felt pain but he immediately noticed that Aziraphale was not with him and that he could hear angels chatting around a distant table. Footsteps could be heard from the other end of the hall. A tall angel strode across the snow-white floor, oblivious to Crowley. When she reached the table of the angels she announced aloud that the traitor had been found.

- Bring him here! - Michael's unforgiving voice was heard.

The angels did not notice Crowley. The demon thought that by some miracle he was not perceived. It's like he's not even there. After a few moments an army of angels appeared dragging Aziraphale in front of the archangels. Crowley watched in astonishment as his best friend was brought in as a traitor. Michael measured Aziraphale cruelly then issued the punishment:

- His existence must be erased. A traitor deserves no mercy. The enormity of his sin, however, demands that, in addition to being obliterated he must suffer such in amount that it will accompany him into non-existence.

Crowley saw Aziraphale shake and turn pale then be led astray by the angels and bright handcuffs placed on his wrists.

- Michael, I haven't committed any sin - the angel pleads brokenly but the archangels ignore Aziraphale.

Crowley trembles with rage. How dare they treat his friend like this? Aziraphale doesn't deserve this. Angels surround the figure of Aziraphale. Two of the angels force him to his knees. At Michael’s command, Aziraphale's wings appeared and two other angels fought him and began to tear them off. The scene was cruel and bloody. Crowley couldn't contain his emotions. He jumped up from the floor and ran to the cruel angels who were torturing Aziraphale. Crowley shouted at the top of his voice. After being ignored he tried to throw himself at the angels but his body proved malleable as he fell through the tormentors. He then tried to perform a miracle to end the cruel scene. Nothing used. He heard nothing but Aziraphale's pained voice, saw nothing but the blood and tears of the angel. The demon felt his own blood boil with rage and pain. He was helpless and condemned to watch it all. He suddenly didn't know which one of them being hurt more. Is Aziraphale or Crowley the greater victim? He was unable to intervene. Crowley began to feel dizzy his eyes throbbed from the sight, his heart raced, the air was drained from his lungs and then all his senses turned off at Aziraphale's scream. His body fails him and he falls back into deep sleep.

When he regained consciousness he found himself on the carpet of Aziraphale's bookstore. The sound of an argument was heard from the back of the store. He recognized Azirapahale's voice and then his own. So they were fighting. A few moments later Aziraphale stormed into the foreground. His face was contorted with rage, his skin glowed red with anger and he was almost panting in the heat of the fight. Crowley arrived soon after. The demon saw himself from the outside. He seemed evil, unlovable, unforgiving.

- Get out of here! - the angel scolded him. - I can't even see you!

Crowley's heart sank in his chest. What did he do anyway? He didn't want Aziraphale to hate him. He couldn't bear it. Crouching on the carpet he gripped his jacket exactly where his heart beat.

- Cover up! And never come back! I will never forgive you!

Crowley could hear Aziraphale yelling to his fever dream self. His heart no longer dared to beat excitedly. The air around him froze. What will happen to him without Aziraphale? He can't live without him. And then behind the haze of gnawing despair he suddenly realized. That was what he feared the most. His greatest fear is losing his angel. Aziraphale, who is almost the condition of his existence with whom they have worked together for more than six thousand years, with whom he shared his joy and sorrow, who shared the same with him.

The realization settled on his shoulders with great force but the dream image dissipated and he woke up again between the clay walls of the lantern. His body lay exhausted on the cool ground. Barely an arm's length away lay Aziraphale. His face and whole body were pressed against the floor. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his face sometimes twitched into a painful grimace. He had a restless dream. Crowley crept closer to the angel. He pressed his forehead to Aziraphale's then concentrated hard and tried to enter the angel's dream.

Many angels and demons consider it dishonorable to dwell on other people's thoughts. The angels simply referred to it as an immoral act, however, in the demon world mind reading could easily serve as the basis for selective torture. Crowley didn't want to come across a thought that didn't belong to him and he just focused on getting into Aziraphale's current dream. He searched and avoided the angel's tangled thoughts for a long time before he found what he was looking for.

~~~

Aziraphale woke up on wet concrete. The embarrassing rain fell on his forehead but did not soak him. The rain fell on him and it didn't. He realized that something like this could happen to his being both present and not in this world. But what is this world he has fallen into? Or is he just dreaming? The angel slowly got up from the wet concrete and looked around. He found himself in a small street. He saw a bakery on the right side of the road. And through the raindrop-soaked glass door he saw himself. That is a very similar version of himself. He was, but he wasn't. He wore a simple denim jacket with a gray T-shirt along with matching long denim pants and simple sneakers. In addition to his clothes he was shocked by the fact that he had a beard and curly hair. Involuntarily, he touched his shining golden angelic hair. How does this very human version of himself get here? And why does it look like he's waiting for someone?

Aziraphale heard the sound of a motor from the end of the street. He saw a dark figure slowly stop at the service opposite the bakery. Motor service. Interesting. He couldn't imagine how his version of himself could handle working in such a noisy and dirty environment. Then the dark stranger took off his helmet and Aziraphale's heart skipped a beat. He took a few steps back in shock then moved closer to the human version of Crowley again. The man wore leather pants with motorcycle boots accompanied by an embroidered leather jacket with Satan himself roaring on the back. Crowley had shoulder-length dark brown hair, stubble covering his face, and he also wore a black sunglasses. Aziraphalet was suddenly drenched in sweat. He had expected everything except that he would dream of Crowley like this. He watched the man-demon mesmerized he was curious about every detail from this version of Crowley but he startled himself. The man in the denim jacket ran out of the bakery and stopped next to Crowley's motorcycle. He looked at the leather clad Crowley with a confused smile and an awkward silence settled between them as he looked back at him but said nothing. Crowley was apparently reluctant to talk to him. Aziraphale's face flushed and he felt ashamed even for himself. Why not leave Crowley alone?

-       Hello - said the curly haired Aziraphale awkwardly.

Crowley looked at him but also ignored him. The angel put his hand over his mouth in shock. Somehow he wasn't surprised by Crowley's harsh style. However, it seemed that they were not even friends with the demon in this world. The human Crowley slapped his helmet under his arm and began to walk into the service but Aziraphale grabbed his arm and stopped him.

- I made a mistake - he finally said.

Crowley didn't answer just looked at the downed curly head and the hand gripping his arm.

- You were right - Aziraphale in jeans swallowed. - I should have trusted you.

Crowley yanked his hand away and went around his bike to separate him from Aziraphale. He smiled bitterly and said only this:

- But you didn't trust me.

The angel saw the human self wince at Crowley's words. Whatever he did he deeply regretted it. He had made a big mistake and now he was afraid of losing Crowley.

- It's… I… Crowley…- the human Aziraphale hesitated just as the angel would. - Look at me! Don't you see?

Aziraphale did not understand what was happening and had no idea what exactly he was witnessing. His gaze darted between himself and Crowley but the latter looked at him with a completely expressionless face.

- Can't you see how scared I am? - pleaded the now drenched curly haired Aziraphale. - I never had anyone. I could only trust Maggie until now. I've known Maggie since college, you and Crowley... Three crazy long months. I'm afraid to let someone get so close to me in such a short time. Do you understand what I'm saying?

Crowley was silent for a long time then spoke softly:

- What are you afraid of anyway?

Aziraphale sighed in delight that Crowley was even continuing the conversation with him.

- I think I like your company Crowley.

- This is not an answer to the question.

Silence again and only the sound of the rain roared in the angel's ears. What was he afraid of? And the angel knew the answer.

The Aziraphale in denim ran his hands through his hair and smoothed the wet curls back. He pursed his lips and opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. The angel blew impatiently then shouted to himself even though he knew he couldn't hear:

- Pull yourself together and finally say it! Say it, you idiot!

He shuddered under his soaked clothes. Maybe it was just the cold raindrops or the angelic inspiration but he seemed to be pulling his coat tighter. He let out a breath then looked determinedly into Crowley's eyes.

- I'm afraid that I'll lose you after I let you in. I'm afraid of the pain of losing you. I'm afraid of what it means to be afraid of these things… - Aziraphale's lips trembled but his voice remained strong. - I think I'm most afraid of admitting to you that I love you and you don't love me back.

Aziraphale was astonished by his own courage. The spoken words hit him in the chest and he staggered back from the force of recognition and fell to the ground. He was shivering all over but he couldn't blame on the cold rain. His vision was hazy from the scene before his eyes and he blinked widely to hold back his tears.

- That's the answer – muttered the demon Crowley right next to him.

The angel turned in surprise in the direction of the voice. The demon crouched next to him and looked at their human version with snake eyes. He smiled faintly.

- You... This now... Did you watch this all the way through? - stammered Aziraphale but he didn't dare raise his eyes to Crowley, he just stared ahead.

- I also had to face what I fear the most. The power of the Hell Lantern lies in recognizing your greatest fear and turning it against you. The lantern is a prison that uses your mind to live in your own fear until you face it.

- Crowley... - the angel looks straight ahead but is driven by curiosity. - What is your greatest fear?

Crowley points to himself behind the motorcycle. The man has already taken off his glasses and a mixture of terror and hope can be read from his eyes.

- Look at that fool - he said with a bitter laugh. - He waits in silence and hopes and makes a fool of himself and is afraid that he is doing it all in vain. He is terrified of losing the drenched angel standing in front of him.

Aziraphale did not move. His body was paralyzed by what he heard but his thoughts were chaotic. And he couldn't take it anymore a stray tear rolled down his face.

- I don't know what to do - he confessed in a whisper.

- It's simple - the demon replied. - I'll tell you the steps. Gather your courage. Look at me. And say what you've said before.

The angel took a big swallow. Six thousand years of friendship is not so easy to throw away. However, the lantern saw clearly what his weak point was and he had to face it or he would be stuck here forever. The moment has come for him to speak the truth that his heart hides.

- I shouldn't have started dusting today - Aziraphale moans desperately but looked up at Crowley. - Crowley, you're my best friend.

The demon didn't interrupt him his penetrating yellow eyes searched the angel’s and waited patiently for him to say what he wanted to hear for so long.

- I would like you to never forget how grateful I am for your friendship, but I think...I think it’s not enough anymore. I'm still afraid to admit that I love you. Perhaps for centuries. I don't even know the time anymore. Forgive me if I say something that offends you, but…

Crowley's lips pressed against the angel's. And Aziraphale's heart almost left his body in excitement. The angel wasn't nervous no, he didn't have to keep the secret any longer and he didn't have to fear being found out anymore. He slowly surrendered her entire being to the kiss and closed his eyes to enjoy Crowley's closeness. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in the bookstore in front of the shelf. Crowley stood beside him and sent the lantern back to Hell with a flick.

- Devilish invention - he grumbled but Aziraphale looked at his face with a softened expression and curled his arm around the demon’s.

- I think we could use a lunch - suggested the angel with raised eyebrows.

Crowley nodded but scratched his chin and asked the angel:

- Then can we take this as a date?

Aziraphale laughed.

- Imagine that an angel in love and supposedly a demon in love go to lunch together.

Crowley put on his glasses.

- That clearly seems like a date to me - agreed Crowley then added as they walked out the door: - The demon is not only supposedly but irrevocably in love.

Aziraphale's smile never left his face that day.

[jonesy-and-max]

part 7: Work III

Jing-a-ling!

Jonesy’s eyes snapped open, cutting her off mid-snore. 

“Hello?” A voice called from the other side of the bathroom door, “Are you guys open?”

“Muh,” Jonesy grunted and lifted her head off the cool linoleum tiles of the wall she had fallen asleep against. This took considerable effort as her head felt like it had gained about one hundred pounds since last she moved it. She pulled her right hand out from the front of her jeans and wiped the drool from her chin. The bathroom was thick with smoke, she looked at her left hand which still held what remained of her second helping of dessert. She blinked each eye individually, it seemed they had forgotten how to work in unison. She wondered when she had fallen asleep. Jonesy giggled to herself thinking about different little crews operating her eyelids. Little purple dudes upset that their phones were out and couldn’t talk to the other team working the opposite eyeball. Little purple dudes, they’re so mad, She laughed to herself. Wait, her laughter dissipated, how long have I been asleep…

“Hello-OH!” the mysterious voice called again.

Jonesy took a deep breath to clear her head and focus her thoughts, unfortunately she had created a pretty dense hotbox in the single serve bathroom. Taking a deep breath didn’t right the ship, it just made her more stoned out of her mind.

“Uh-oh.”

The door creaked open, smoke swirled and danced, escaping into the air. A hand lunged forward, grasping the door frame. Two heavy coughs echoed from the unseen world within the bathroom. One heavy footstep, followed by another. Lurching forward, a shape that could only be described as human emerged from the aromatic fog, eyes glowing as red as a John Carpenter revenant, she shambled forth wearing the mist like a heavy cloak.

“Sorry! I was just taking a huge…” Jonesy trailed off when she finally realized who the owner of the voice had been. “... shiiiiiiiiit…”

Standing at the counter was, in fact, the one and only, Jamie Reynolds. Jamie fucking Reynolds. Just standing there, like a normal person. Like she was just your average, everyday customer, breezing into Popcorn Video to rent some movies. Not at all like she was the most breathtaking woman Jonesy had ever seen in her life. Her skin was a warm brown, the oranges and reds of autumn reflected in her complexion. Her hair in braids, draped over her shoulders in a gray duster that fell just above her beat-up pair of combat boots. Under the coat she wore an old brown and gold Beastie Boys tee, tucked into ripped and faded, high-waisted jeans. Jonesy always wished she could look as effortlessly put together as Jamie Reynolds. There was an aloof confidence not only exhibited in her style, but in the way she carried herself. It was hard to resist infatuation and Jonesy was nowhere near immune to her magnetism.

Jonesy closed her eyes tight and opened them. Yup. Okay. That’s definitely really her, she thought, confirming her worst fears and fantasies, and I am definitely awake right now. She smiled at her and Jonesy almost collapsed to the floor. She steadied herself and continued her forward momentum.

“Hey, you guys are still open right?” Her voice had a smokiness to it that Jonesy would, with no hesitation, ride into certain death for.

“Abso-tootley!” Jonesy died inside, “abso-tootley” what in the absolute fuck??? When has that word ever left your mouth?? In the history of words, when has that word ever been a word that you have said to anyone??? She could feel her ears getting hot, and wondered if Jamie could see them getting red, which only made them hotter. She finally made it behind the counter, took a deep breath and attempted to integrate herself with this plane of existence.

“Your eyes are very wide.” Jamie tried to hide her amusement.

“Are they??” Jonesy squinted, attempting to look normal and small. Do normal people have small eyes? Her brain tried to access the information, unfortunately that file could not be found.

Jamie’s smile was warm and assuring, she wasn’t judging her, just benignly amused at how thoroughly baked Jonesy clearly was.

“Sorry about, uh,” Jonesy felt words coming from her mouth, “I don’t know where Max went,” She looked around the store and then pointed at the bathroom, “I was just, uh, I was…” She could feel the sweat forming under her armpits and on her forehead. 

“Taking a huge shit?” Jamie leaned on the counter and raised an eyebrow.

Jonesy burst out with a laugh and covered her mouth just as quickly. Jamie was startled for a moment and laughed with her.

“Um. Just so you know, I think you forgot something?” Jamie pointed at Jonesy’s pants.

She looked down, and to her abject horror, it appeared that she had, in fact, forgotten to zip and button her pants, “Oh…my god.” She blushed hard and turned her back to her crush, fixing her situation. She turned back around, lifted her hat, wiped the sweat from her brow, and chuckled miserably.

“Are you good?”

“Yep.” Jonesy gave her two big thumbs up.

“You sure?”

“Mmm. Mm-hm.” If only Max’s asteroid would headshot me right fucking now.

“Cool.” That smile again. Jonesy couldn’t believe her knees were actually weak. Like, that was a real thing that happened to people. She let her arms do the work of keeping her steady.

“I just wanted to make some returns before I had a look around.”

Jonesy gave her another thumbs up, “You know you could’ve used the return slot, right?”

“I know.” Jamie’s eyes met with Jonesy’s. They had a dream-like quality to them, always half closed, a pair of rich, black diamonds.

Jonesy opened her mouth to speak, but only a quick breath escaped. She looked back down as she scanned the returns.

“Airheads, huh?”

“Haha, oh, yeah. My brother loves that movie, but Brendan Fraser is fine as fuck in it, right?”

“Oh! Uh. He’s cute, yeah.” Fuck you, Brendan Fraser. I knew it. Fucking Airheads. Fuck you, Max. Where are you? Why did she look at me that way, though?? Please, for the love of all that is holy, stop sweating. Why is my back sweaty? Can she see how sweaty I am?? Where the fuck is Max? Jonesy's thoughts spun and crashed while she had been motionless for a concerning amount of time.

“So…uh…where is Max anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of you without the other..”

“Huh?”

“Max?” Jamie raised her left eyebrow.

“I don’t know where he went, actually.” Jonesy looked around the store, but if he had been here, he absolutely would’ve been front row to this display, popcorn in hand.

“I think it’s sweet that you two work together.”

“Is it? I just think together we make one employable person.” Jonesy joked.

“Haha, nah, I mean, like, most couples I know kinda can’t stand to be around each other as much as you guys. You must really be in love, huh?”

“What? Couples? Me and Max? A couple?”

“You two aren’t together?” 

“Gah! Max and me?? You think me and Max are-”

“You’re not together? Then why do you spend so much time together?”

“We’re best friends! No, dude, me and Max we’re just platonic life-partners, haha. He’s, like, a brother to me, plus he’s, like…he’s not exactly my type.” Jonesy quickly finished scanning Jamie’s returns, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh?”

Jonesy could feel Jamie’s eyes on her. She looked up, carefully, slowly, until Jamie came back into focus. Their eyes met. She could feel the blood rushing to her ears and cheeks again. 

“What’s your type? If you don’t mind me asking…” Jamie blinked slowly and held Jonesy’s gaze. “Maybe I know someone?”

WAM! The door to the back room slammed open. Breathing heavy, covered in dirt and scrapes was Max, holding a hammer and looking particularly unhinged, even for him. Jonesy and Jamie stared at him, mouths open, unable to find the words. He trudged over to the counter, took a bottle of water from the minifridge and guzzled it all. He wiped his mouth, adjusted his glasses and sat in the chair behind the counter. He vacantly stared into the void for a moment, took one more big breath and finally seemed to realize there were other people in the room.

“Oh! Hey Jonesy.”

“...Yeah. Max.” Jonesy’s eyes darted from Jamie to Max.

“Oh!” Max noticed Jamie and smiled at Jonesy, “Hey, Jamie Reynolds.” He gestured at the two of them. “What’s up? What’s goin’ on here?”

“Oh…I was, uh, just about to recommend some movies Jamie might like to check out…” Jonesy was still trying to wrap her head around, well, honestly, pretty much everything that had been happening since she left the safety of the bathroom.

“We were just talking about how apparently the two of you aren’t actually a couple.” Jamie looked at Jonesy.

“Bwahahahaha!” Me and Jonesy??” Max leaned far back in his chair, almost toppling over. “Oh my god that’s fucking amazing!” He elbowed Jonesy in the ribs, “Can you even imagine??”

“I actively try not to.” Jonesy deadpanned.

“She says you’re not her type, apparently.”

“That’s the understatement of the century.” Max cackled and rolled his eyes, socking Jonesy playfully in the arm.

Jonesy punched him in the arm in return, “Hey, Max!” She made her eyes wide at him.

“Oh,” Max attempted to recover, “Like, I’m just too good looking,” he swerved, “Her feelings of inadequacy would never let our love flourish. It’s actually quite tragic.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Jonesy smirked and rolled her eyes theatrically for Jamie. “It’s definitely not the farts, the squirrel chasing, or the UFO obsession.”

“That’s not fair, those squirrels are plotting against me with the UFOs.” Max jumped to his feet and stuck out his tongue at Jonesy.

Jamie laughed, “Are you guys doing a bit?”

“A bit?”

“A bit of what?”

“You’re telling me this is just you guys, like, you’re always like this?”

“Like what?” Jonesy and Max asked in unison.

Jamie was becoming endeared by the two of them. “Never mind.”

Jonesy and Max looked at each other and shrugged in unison.

“So what’s your shirt, Max? It’s dope, what’s “Gore King?”

“Oh!” Max lit up, “Thanks! It’s for the Chain-Slaughter 6 premiere tonight. That’s one of the monikers of Edgar Salt, the main slasher. I made it myself.” Max waved a hand in front of his shirt, presenting it proudly. “Are you going?” Max and Jonesy made quick eye contact.

“Ugh, you guys are gonna think I’m so lame…” Jamie squeezed her eyes shut tight.

Jonesy leaned forward, “That is literally impossible.”

Jamie opened one eye, looking from Max to Jonesy, bracing herself “I've never actually seen any of the Chain-Slaughter movies.”

Max fainted. Jonesy gasped her mouth in disbelief.

“What?!” Max jumped up from the floor behind the counter. “That’s crazy, dude! They’re the absolute greatest horror movies- NO!, greatest movies ever made!”

“Not to overhype it or anything.” Jonesy chuckled.

Jamie laughed, enjoying Max’s passion, “Okay okay! I’m convinced!”

“Stay right here. Jonesy, do not let her leave, I’ll be right back!” Max lept over the counter and disappeared into the aisles.

“So, I guess he’s a bit of a fan huh?” 

“Oh, very casual.”

The two young women laughed until it ran out, Jonesy looked around the room, same as Jamie until their eyes met again. Having Max there had almost immediately eased Jonesy, she was no longer sweaty, even her all-consuming high had lost its weighted edge.

“I like your outfit,” Jonesy offered. “It’s awesome.”

“Oh? Thanks! I like your nails.” Jamie reciprocated. 

“Oh! Thanks!” They were a dark, metallic, forest green. “I think it’s called Monster Blood or something.”

“Like, the Goosebumps book!”

“Yeah!”

They both nodded. 

Jonesy looked for Max.

“So… before, when you were in the bathroom… was that Squirt I smelled?”

Jonesy’s entire face turned a bright red, “I wh- I don’t - I’ve never - I don’t think I can even - I was just -”

“From Kenny, the weed?” Jamie ignored her stuttering, “He said he was working on a strain called “Squirt,” he let me take a hit a few days ago. That cloud smelled just like it!”

Jonesy’s heart was pounding in her ears so loudly she barely made out what Jamie was saying, “Kenny? You know Kenny?”

“Of course! Where else can you get top shelf bud from, except Kenny Cox?”

“Yeah, um, I mean, I thought…”

“Thought what?”

“Haha, uh, nothing, nothing,” Jonesy adjusted her cap. “Yeah. Kenny let me have a couple samples. I had some for my after break “dessert.” Jonesy wrapped “dessert” in a pair of air quotes, winking at Jamie like a dork before catching herself, cringing. “Just uh…please don’t tell anyone. I love this job.”

Jamie touched Jonesy’s hand, leaning in close, “Your secret’s safe with me, babe.” Jonesy stared unbelievingly at what was happening. “It smells good on you, by the way.”

Jonesy’s brain switched off. “Buh,” was all she could manage to reply.

WAM! A stack of three vhs tapes hit the countertop, startling the girls back to reality.

“I have here, placed before you, the true Holy Trinity!” Max held up the first copy, “The one, the only, often imitated, but never duplicated, OG, Chain-Slaughter.” He picked up the second, “Chain-Slaughter 2: Reckoning,” Finally, picking up the third copy from the stack, “and, of course, Chain-Slaughter 3: Fright Lights, Gore City. Three great tastes that go great together! The original Chain-Slaughter trilogy is filled to the brim with blood, guts, suspense, thrills, chills, babes, hunks, action, and unrelenting horror! An overstimulating, spine tingling, stomach turning, four and half hours of mayhem!” Max had found himself standing on the counter, Jonesy and Jamie looking up at him, entranced in his carnival barking fervor. “I envy you, Jameson Q. Reynoldsman…”

“Not my name.”

“I envy the journey you're about to take.” He gently held her head in his hand. “If only I could experience it again for the first time.”

Jonesy cleared her throat. Max realized what he was doing, grinned and shrugged.

“Suffice to say,” Jonesy interrupted, “Chain-Slaughter fucking rules.”

Jing-a-ling!

“Chain-Slaughter sucks dick!”

[keirangoldenwatch]

WIP Wednesday

It's that time of week again! When I put a chunk of a chapter here to keep my brain focused on my fics instead of whatever-the-fuck-else I've got on it. Whee.

Onward!

-----

“We were gone for thirty minutes,” Rezhek said wearily, speaking up so her voice carried down the hall. The taller of the two silhouettes hesitated by a couple of steps. “I’m going to assume that wasn’t enough time to get into more trouble, but please, feel free to prove me wrong.”

“No trouble here, General Grumpy! It was just some harmless shopping!” Tivvea cheerfully replied. She didn’t break her stride until she was in detailed range of Rezhek’s sight, or more accurately close enough to go in for another arm-around-the-shoulder lean. Rezhek dodged.

Tivvea snorted and used the missed momentum to turn on her heel, facing the pair of soldiers with a big smile. “Clothes shopping, specifically! I don’t know about some of you, but some of us like to wear stuff that isn’t several tons of metal,” she met the glower Aric gave her with absolute shamelessness, “Not that you don’t rock it! Corso, get over where Rez can actually see you. I need to show you off.”

Corso was already darker around the cheeks when he, too, stepped into Rezhek’s field of vision. That wasn’t the only deviation from his standard appearance, though--then again, his blush was becoming more common on his face than not, thanks to somebody. The heavy Mantellian armor he’d sported since they’d met had been replaced with a set that was a bit more form fitting than the former’s blocky, simple design, and atop it was a long, leather duster with that accentuated his shoulders and arms. It certainly looked more fashionable, but Rezhek wasn’t much of a judge on that aspect of clothing. Rather, she had to wonder how practical a coat that long might really be in a firefight, or if some of the leather straps on the chestpiece and legs were actually doing anything functional or if they were just there to make it look “pretty”. Tivvea extended her arms towards him and did a little jazz-hands gesture.

“Ta-daah! Living proof that everyone looks better in leather.” She sounded so proud of herself. Corso raised his hand to rub at the back of his neck. Tivvea either missed or ignored his embarrassment, because when nobody gave her the immediate response she wanted, she pouted and closed the distance between herself and Corso and started pulling and preening at the coat. “Pssh. All of you wouldn’t know fashion if it shot you in the ‘cargo hold’.”

“The coat doesn’t look very practical,” Aric said what Rezhek was thinking, and about as bluntly.

Tivvea let out a huff of hot air. “It’s armored! And it’s got a lot of compartments for holding extra weapons or medikits or kark like that. Besides,” she reached up and adjusted the heavy collar around Corso’s neck, which put her fingers right near his jaw. Rezhek kept the twitch of her lips still when his face grew darker from that. “My first mate has to look the part, you know? Mercenary armor just isn’t going to cut it when you’re flying on a ship as classy as mine. You’ve gotta look the part! And that part has to be as hot as me. So it’s a high bar. But he pulls it off!”

Corso mumbled something that Rezhek thought might have been “You think I’m...?”, before he trailed off. He was grinning like a fool behind the coat’s collar.

Rezhek sighed and placed her hands on her hips. “Alright, yes, fine, it looks good on him. I’m sure it’s very color coordinated as well.” Tivvea’s grin came back and she nodded. Corso just took the compliment with a weak chuckle. “But we have work to do. One of Tavus’ team was spotted on Taris.”

“Taris?” Tivvea’s grin weakened. “Oh, great. I’ve always wanted to visit a planet completely destroyed by orbital bombardment. So many smuggling opportunities there.” The sarcasm was strong with that line.

“It’s not about your smuggling,” Aric gave a sharp shake of his head, “We got permission to make your ship Havoc Squad’s official charter. So you’re going to go where we need you to, when we need you to. Understood?”

“That comes with pay, right? Because Risha’s plan was kind of lacking in the ‘steady income until the big pay-off’ department, but I could find other ways.”

“Captain...” Corso started, somewhere between a warning and imploring her not to poke the Cathar.

“The Republic will compensate you, if you keep your end of the deal.” Rezhek interjected, before Tivvea could get the rise out of Aric that she was digging for. Tivvea stuck her tongue out at her, but Corso mouthed a word of thanks over her head. Aric’s scowl lessened slightly. “They’ll also provide us with requisitions. Food, ammunition, medical supplies, etcetera. So you get paid, and you get free supplies.”

Tivvea drew back her tongue and cupped her pointy chin in her hand, acting contemplative. “I do like ‘free’ stuff.”

“You’d also get to shoot Imps, assuming you still like to do that.” Aric added, entirely deadpan. Rezhek failed to catch the small snort that triggered.

“I would have done that anyway, but--!” Tivvea stuck the hand holding her chin out towards them, her thumb up and her smile back to it’s full beam. “Let’s karking go! And you guys remember that I already agreed to this, like, earlier today, right? My memory’s not that bad.”

“You could have changed your mind,” Corso said with a slight grin, “Or grown some sympathy for the Empire in the last half hour.”

Tivvea grimaced back at him. “I’d ask you to shoot me if that ever happened. But, like, in the knee or something. Even if I went crazy I’d want to still look good.”

[littledraga]

The Family

My first Autodale fic! I hope to make a bit of a series of the “true tales of The Friendly Shadow”. Hope you like it!

Opening a bottle of scotch, Friendly Shadow grabbed a fresh glass. It was late, normally nothing happened this late. It was a good time to relax, or as close as he could manage anyway. Pouring a generous amount into his tumbler, Shadow sat down in a plush chair, trying to pretend he was living a normal life. Maybe even a pretty one.

Just as he brought the glass to his lips, Hive’s voice was in his head. Biting back a ground he put the glass down and listened.

“Shadow, you’ve work to do. It seems there’s been another breach.”

“Another Freak?” He asked as he stood from his chair.

“So it would seem,” was all Hive said, for now.

With a heavy sigh, he looked down at his glass. He thought about downing it and going. What could one glass hurt? The glass was halfway to his lips before he thought better of it. It was best not to risk it.

Sitting the glass down next to the bottle he slipped on his shoes and started for the door. Grabbing his hat off the coat rack he stared at the heavy duster. It had hung there for so long it had started to collect a thick layer of dust along the collar. Looking at it, he could hear the children yelling and running. He could hear the compliance.

Scowling deeply, he put on his hat and his gun and locked the door behind him. The coat still hung on the rack, waiting to bear down on him.

At the house, he schooled his face as he walked up to the line of Handymen blocking the way. They turned to face him in unison.

“Ah! There he is,” said one of them cheerily. It pissed him off, but he ignored them.

“It’s awfully quiet,” he remarked as he looked the house over. Nothing was happening, it was almost as if the house was empty.

“Yes, we’re not sure what’s going on. There was screaming, a crash, and everything’s been silent since. We fear the worst.” Hive explained, sounding almost concerned.

A hum and Shadow grabbed his Tesla gun. He pushed by the Handymen without another word as he walked to the door. With only one crash, there was hope that the family was alive. He hoped.

At the door, his heart raced in his chest. His face didn’t show his nerves and his shoulders were squared for a fight. But Hive knew, Hive knew everything about him, and he hated it.

Steeling his nerves he opened the door widely. Silence. He had been expecting more. Mayhem, blood, crying, something, anything. Instead, it felt eerily still inside, it felt like death.

Still, there was work to do. Deeper into the house he crept, gun held out in front of him. He was afraid to speak or make too much noise, if the Freak was still inside he didn’t want to surprise or anger them. If anyone was still alive, he would keep it that way. It was his job.

Passed the living room and into the kitchen, he went. A china cabinet had been knocked over. The dishes were strewn about the floor in pieces and the glass doors were shattered as well. A shame, he thought briefly as he kept going.

Down the hall, he found them, standing just inside the door to the master bedroom. He could see it looking at the family huddled in the corner, trembling with fear. Watching them, the Freak tilted its head slightly, this way and that.

He had the advantage then. Aiming the gun at the back of the Freak's head he charged his shot. The sound of the static filled the hall and into the room. Too slow.

With a sound of rage, the Freak turned quickly and swiped at Shadow.

Jumping back, Shadow hit the hall wall. Pictures fell, glass littered the carpet. His gun fired uselessly, hitting a wall and leaving a hole.

Now that he has the beast’s attention, he retreated back into the kitchen. They follow, arm raised for another strike.

“Get out!” He yelled to the family, trying to keep the Freak focused on him so they can escape. If he could just keep the creature’s focus, they could get out.

Leveling his gun at them, he quickly fired at the Freak, and guided them across the room and deeper into the house.

Bleeding, but far from dead, they took a swing and knocked him back hard enough he fell over. Cursing, he barely rolled out of the way in time as they brought a heavy fist down where his head had been.

Another shot and he was on his feet again. Stumbling into another bedroom, he shot again, this time a window shattered. He wasn’t doing enough damage to stay ahead.

Ducking under the Freak’s swing, he rounded back around the house, firing in desperation.

The Freak finally started to wear down, but he was exhausted too. He had to use his momentum.

Jumping back to get as much distance as he could in the wide living room, he charged his gun again. He took a final aim at the creature and fired as they lunged at him with what strength they had left.

The shot grazed off the Freak’s side and kept going.

As he fell under the creature’s weight, he saw the family staring in horror as the charge headed for them, inches from the door, inches from safety.

The Freak was heavy against his chest. He could barely breathe as they dug their claws into his sides, baring their teeth above him. Gasping for air, he fumbled with his gun and pressed it against their ribs and pulled the trigger.

Once, twice, thrice, before the Freak finally went still. Shadow could feel the current charging through his systems. It hurt more than the claws. For a few brief moments, the world went black.

When he came back to, the creature on him was dead, still bearing down with a suffocating weight. It took all his remaining strength to push them off. Gasping for breath, he tried to remember the last few moments before he had overloaded himself.

The memory of the family’s faces flashed across his memory. With a sharp gasp, he quickly jumped to his feet. Unsteady, he wobbled and had to hold himself up with a wall. As fast as he could manage, he went to where he had seen them, hoping beyond hope they had survived, gotten to safety.

Where they stood was only a pile of char. He could still make out their shapes, imagine their terrified expressions. Thought he can hear them scream.

He wanted to puke, he wanted to scream, to cry, to get angry. Instead, he put a hand to his head.

“Hive, they’re dead,” he all but whispered, afraid to look but more afraid to look away from their remains.

“Good work, Shadow!” She praised in a cheery voice.

The sick feeling got worse, he held his arm over his stomach. “No, Hive. They’re all dead.”

“Ah, worried about the Jeffersons? It’s quite alright, perfectly acceptable margin of error. They likely would have been too traumatized to rejoin society anyway, Shadow. You’ve done a fine job,” she reassured him. Her voice was, almost, comforting.

Looking at the burnt bodies he felt anything but proud. He was supposed to keep the citizens of Autodale safe. Not char them like cheap barbeque.

“Yeah, another one gone.”

Without a word, he stepped out of the house and into the street.

[babyflossy]

i’ll be here when you wake | w.jh

gif credits to owner

pairing: jun x reader

summary: whenever you bite off more than you can chew on a mission, jun is always there to help.

genre: kinda gang au i guess? not really tho

warnings: swearing, blood, fighting, killing, reader gets stabbed?

word count: 1747

the golden glow from the streetlights lit the ground beneath you in regular intervals. the gravel crunching under your feet was the only noise you focused on. the shouts behind you continued angrily but quieter, now you were slipping away from them. ducking into an alleyway, chest heaving, you snuck a look past the corner of the wall to see the men approaching. you pressed seokmin's contact name hastily, crouching to the ground to rest.

he picked up before the first ring. "where the fuckare you?" you whispered into the microphone, still glancing back. it didn't seem like they had noticed you slip into the alley and you sighed with relief. "there's so many of them."

"shit, okay. we're, like, two blocks away. you still have your gps on, right?" patting your pockets to feel for the device jihoon had armed you with earlier, you sighed when you didn't feel it, thinking it must have fallen out when you were fighting the guards.

"no, it must have fallen out," you searched the area for anything you recognised, coming up empty before you saw a street sign high up on one of the buildings opposite. you carefully recited it to seokmin, hearing cursing and the squeaking of tires soon after.

"you're on the other side of town, we'll be longer–" you heard the phone being pulled away from him and joshua's voice rang through the alley.

"jun's less than a block away, he's on his way." his words shot a sliver of hope through you.

the men were approaching quickly, and you knew they would see you as they passed the entrance of the alley. you exchanged the phone in your hand for the gun strapped to your thigh, only to see it was empty. you shoved it back into the holster and reached behind you for the trench knife minghao had gotten you for christmas. after you had secured it around your knuckles, you carefully unholstered the flail mace you had also gotten for christmas, swinging it around you in preparation.

you listened carefully for jun's footsteps, but heard nothing more than the men's shouts too close for comfort. you knew you would have to start without jun, and pray he would get there quickly. with one last look at the group of men, cloaked in black brandishing knives that glinted in the artificial life of the street, you left the safety of the alley.

seeing you only seemed to fuel them on, and it didn't long before the leader was within arms' reach to you. swinging the flail mace around your head to gain momentum, you let it smash into the side of his head, hearing the bone of his skull shatter under the spiked metal. he spun to the ground, blood covering his face and pooling in the cracks of the pavement below.

it was like you opened the flood gates; man after man hurdled themselves at you, knives bared, slashing the air around you. you dodged them expertly, thrashing the flail mace around, punching them with the knuckle duster on the knife before jabbing it into the soft skin of their necks. it seemed as if time stopped. as the men dropped into the mixture of crimson blood coating the street, more appeared in their place.

missing a neck by a hair was your first mistake. your arm kept moving, not stopped by the flesh, exposing your side to the attacker. he managed to lodge his knife into to the skin under your ribs. the blunt pain making you see stars, feeling the blood start pouring down your side. before he could celebrate, he dropped in front of you, blood trickling out his mouth, a dark pointed arrow stuck neatly into his back.

he had blocked you from seeing jun run around the corner, bow poised as he took aim at the attacker that had hurt you. you could almost cry with relief, but you couldn't focus yourself to see him make his way around the attackers. your thoughts were scrambled as the knife in your side continued to slice your flesh.

without realising, you had fallen to the floor, dizzy. you couldn't concentrate on the way the men around you dropped like flies; arrows lodged into them in various places. the time between the knife entering you and when jun's face became visible was unfathomable to you. you noticed his expression; fear, concern, anger. you hoped the last one wasn't directed at you, but then again, he had told you to take backup.

your ears picked up tails of the conversation between him and whoever was on the phone. you felt in a surge of consciousness his hand in yours, slick with blood but comforting nevertheless. the black spots teasing the edge of your vision finally engulfed you before you heard the tires rolling down the blood-soaked street.

you woke to more shouting. you were moving fast, very fast. you tried to see what was happening but the light above was too bright, so you gave up. the voices around faded into a hum, blending together until a voice close to you stood out. you recognised it as jun's immediately, but you couldn't distinguish what he was shouting. giving up, yet again, you let the darkness take over after rationalising that jun was here, and he wouldn't let anything happen to you.

the next time you stirred was just before you felt a plastic mask cover your face, air pumping out harshly, surprising you. a voice close to your ear spoke to you but you didn't try to work out what it said and simply let the air pull you further into unconsciousness. your body felt heavy as the air filled your lungs, numb and cold. the last thing you registered was the hand from earlier slip back into yours, the only warmth in the freezing haze.

you weren't sure if it was the beeping that woke you up, or the wetness falling onto your hand. your mind felt foggy and the light behind your eyelids was flashing. the wetness continued to drop into your hand, accompanied by a soft sniffling that seemed to clear your mind slightly. after building up your strength, you opened your eyes. the first thing you saw after the light cleared was a mop of messy brown hair.

he didn't look up, not realising you had woken and your heart broke when you realised, he was crying. unable to speak, throat thick and dry, you focused on squeezing his hand. your grasp was weak but noticeable and his head whipped up to see you staring back at him. the tears flowed heavier as he laughed in relief. his arms were wrapped around your neck before you could process it and your senses were clogged with his soothing scent.

"i thought i lost you," his voice was shaky, and you managed to reach up at swipe at the wetness on his cheeks. he caught your hand, pressing his lips to the back of it before placing it at your side and rushed to the door, opening it and shouting out, "she's awake."

as soon as the words left his mouth, hurried footsteps filled the hall. the first person in the room was mingyu, white long coat on, followed closely by jeonghan in the same apparel. they wore matching smiles of relief as they walked over. jeonghan fiddled with the machine next to the bed, brow creased in concentration as he checked your vitals. mingyu held a torch to your eyes that you blinked away from. "how do you feel?"

"like shit," your voice was croaky and hoarse, and you eyed the water on the table next to you in desire. jeonghan followed your gaze and handed it to you, telling you not to drink much or else you would throw up. you ignored him and drank until the cup was taken from your grasp.

"your vitals look okay," you watched as more bodies filled the room. wonwoo and seokmin stood at the foot of the bed, watching as mingyu and jeonghan went about checking the machines and replacing the iv drip. after soonyoung, seungcheol and chan tried to enter the small room, everyone was shooed out by mingyu, leaving you and jun alone in the room.

he pushed off from the table at the back of the room and sat at the end of the bed, taking in your tired face. "i was so worried," he looked down and you worried he was going to start crying again. you weren't sure you would be able to watch without crying yourself, and you felt too drained to do so. "we all were. no one was sure you would make it."

"i'm sorry," it was so quiet you were almost surprised he heard it. his watery eyes met yours and he shuffled up the bed, taking your face between his hands.

"don't apologise, it wasn't your fault."

"but you told me to take backup–"

he cut you off by pressing his lips softly to yours. his hand cupped your jaw as you kissed, warmth spreading through you like a wildfire and calming you despite the events of the last day. jun always had a way of grounding you, of making you forget about whatever situation you were in and giving you a few moments of peace before facing whatever it was you two had gotten yourselves into.

he pulled away, pushing your hair out of your face with one hand whilst stroking your cheek delicately with the other. he was treating you as if you were glass which normally would have bothered you, but you let him coddle you, knowing it would help him feel better.

it didn't take long before your eyes grew tired again and you leant against jun where he lay beside you in the small bed. he seemed to notice you were trying to stay awake and chuckled slightly, the noise vibrating through him. "go to sleep, i'll be here when you wake up." it didn't take more before you were turning in his arms, as much as your bandages would let you. the pain was still numbed by some painkillers jeonghan had given you earlier, the numbness fading through your body.

jun's arms were carefully wrapped around you, creating a safety blanket over. you let yourself be lulled to sleep by his steady heartbeat and the feel of his head resting on yours.

a/n: i don’t really know if i like this but i thought i would post it anyway in case any of y’all have lower standards than me lmao

[etheralisi]

Miraculous: welcome to the miraculverse

Thought I might as well cross-post over here too?

AU: Kickstarting this one off with a Jumanji AU. Kinda based of of this post: http://miiiraculous.tumblr.com/post/171394972347/a-jumanji-au-that-sorta-got-away-from-me-in-the

Brief desc: 5 teens. One mysterious video game... Detention has never been quite so weird.

“So… what brings you to detention?”

It had been five minutes since Mr. Damocles had locked the group of teenagers in the school’s basement, explaining before he’d left that he wanted the place to be tidied so it could be refurbished (something about a secret underground base of operation for the owl? Whatever that was) and since they were meant to be in detention, this would be far more productive than to just have them sit around.

The boy with the red cap, Nino if Adrien remembered right, looked up from the dusty shelves he’d been staring at, no doubt lost in mind numbing thought. He was pretty sure he’d seen this guy before (maybe in the cafeteria?) though they had never so much as spoken to one another. Come to think of it, Adrien barely had the chance to speak to anyone who attended the school, Chloe always attached to him at the hip like a limpet, tugging him along with her before he could ever get a word in.

Oh yeah, she was there in detention too, currently sulking in the corner of the room about how ‘unfair it was that she had to do physical education when sweat clearly didn’t look good on her’.

“Hmm? Oh, I was caught listening to music on the headphones. Dude, I was so sure that a supply wouldn’t mind me doing that… but nah,” He sighed, fingers trailing his neckline, “You?”

“Too many school days spent absent,” because his father pulled him out of school way too often, wanting him to model for him all the freakin’ time.

“Oh, I see,” He trailed off, an uncomfortable silence encompassing the pair yet again.

“Err, do you-”

“Ahem!” A loud cough drew the pair’s attention to a girl standing a few feet away from the pair, a feather duster held firmly in her hands. She waved it at them, scowl on her face as she continued, “How about you put that mothers meeting on hold? Me and my friend Marinette can’t just clean this place ourselves, you know?” Her gaze shifted over to the sulking teen in the corner, “Goes to you too, Queen Bee. Or are you too scared that you might get your precious jacket your daddy bought for you dirty?”

Chloe glared in her direction, dusting off the jacket in question, as if daring the dust particles to come any closer to her designer clothes, “You’re just jealous that your taste in fashion isn’t up to par with moi.”

“Pfft, whatever makes you sleep at night, I’d hate to ruin your ever so needed beauty sleep as well-”

“We’ll help!” Adrien spoke up abruptly, hoping to split up the argument before it developed into something more. If they were going to be stuck here with each other for the next few hours (and not to mention the weekend), then he didn’t want to be stuck with two seething girls, casting death glares at one another when they thought no one was looking. Or maybe they wouldn’t even care if others looked on.

“Adrikins?! You’re seriously going to get your hands dirty? Why don’t you leave the work to them? I’m pretty sure they live in this kind of mess anyway.”

The girl ignored Chloe’s outburst, instead handing him a feather duster to match hers, “Well here you go,” She leaned in towards his ear, though she hardly spoke any quieter than before, “No need to let that blonde haired brat tell you what to do.”

The indignant shriek from across the room was duly ignored by the girl, though Adrien found himself wincing, even just a bit.

“I’m Alya Césaire and I'm guessing that you're that model Adrien, right?” Adrien frowned, brain whirring as he tried to place where he’d seen Alya before, though nothing to mind came up. How did she-?

She chuckled, pushing up her glasses as they began to fall down the bridge of her nose, “Quit looking so surprised. You’re a model… and besides my girl here won’t quit chattering on about you,” The smug statement elicited an embarrassed squeak from the girl standing next to her. Adrien turned to the girl, who must’ve been the ‘Marinette’ Alya had spoken of earlier, and his eyes shot up in recognition.

“Hang on… you’re the girl I gave my umbrella to on the first day of school,” Marinette flushed at the recognition, shuffling awkwardly where she stood next to her friend.

“Am I! GAH- I mean, I am... actually! Yes! That’s I,” Her arms flailed about at her wording mistake, and Adrien could barely stifle a grin at her antics. He liked this girl.

“Well it’s really nice to- ACHOO!” His sneeze echoed across the basement, turning all eyes to him with a mixture of emotions ranging from concern to amusement.

“Uh, you okay dude?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” He rubbed his nose, now itchy and red from his allergic reaction, “Just forgot I was allergic to feathers,” Adrien suddenly realised, casting a look down at the duster held in his hand.

“Oh! Here!” Marinette rushed towards him, holding out a cleaning cloth, “No feathers!”

He took it graciously, charming grin, his father had taught him to use, stretched out on his face as he mumbled a thank you.

The detention group began the big cleanup, Marinette sweeping, Alya, Nino and Adrien scrubbing the dirt off of items that had been stacked in crates to be sent off to other rooms, and Chloe making a half assed attempt at bossing them around whenever she looked up from her phone. It proved impossible to get her to help, and they only stopped asking for (read: demanding) her assistance when they realised she’d face the consequences when Mr. Damocles came back to check upon them (that’s if her ‘daddy’ didn’t pay him to keep his mouth shut and lay off the consequences.)

By the half hour mark, they were already quite tired and sore from bending their backs over constantly, so Nino suggested a break.

“Come on, just for a little while!” He wheeled over a television set, hooked up to a fairly outdated games console.

“You seriously expect me to play on that old thing? With you lot, no less?” Chloe scoffed flicking her hand in a flippant manner as she got back to texting (“I thought our phones were confiscated?”)

Nino groaned, “No one said you had to. But is anyone else in?”

Alya shrugged her shoulders, “Sure why not. I’d love to have a go at,” She glanced at the game inserted, frowning as she glanced at the title, “... Miraculous? I’ve never heard of that one before. Marinette, you play games. Know it?”

“No, I don’t think so. And I’m really not that big on games, I mostly play Ultimate Mecha Strike,” She picked up a controller from the stack and plugged it in along with the other three, “That’s not to say I won’t play, though.”

The loading screen started up, displaying a single logo in the middle of an otherwise dark screen. It disappeared within seconds, replacing itself with a twirling symbol that was almost hypnotic if stared at for too long. All four of them waited in silence for it to change, each a little curious as to what the game ‘Miraculous’ entailed.

At long last, a title screen showed up, displaying the word ‘Miraculous’ in a bold but curvy font, red with a few black spots dotted here and there just like the those of a ladybird. In the back, it showed a steadily moving pixelated Parisian cityscape, the Eiffel tower being the main feature.

Then it switched to a character selection page, the generic caption ‘select your hero’ atop the screen. True to its words, there were multiple heroes to choose from, differing from some kind of girl in polka-dot spandex to a woman in a very flowy feather dress.

‘Mayura’ as she was called, was for some reason darker than the others, and when Alya tried to select the hero as an option, nothing seemed to happen. She sighed, resulting instead to choosing one called ‘Rena Rouge’, a girl clad in a fox themed suit.

Nino chose Carapace (“Duuude! I’m basically a Ninja Turtle!”), Marinette opted for the polka-dot one, who was apparently called ‘Ladybug’, whilst Adrien settled on a cat themed ‘Chat Noir’.

Alya snickered as she came across one called ‘Queen Bee’, “Hey Chloe, shame you’re not playing. This superhero would be perfect for you.”

The blonde looked up from where she was frustratingly tapping her thumbs against her phone screen, apparently perking up at the word ‘superheroes’. She bit her lip, before stashing her phone into her jacket pocket and headed over to where they all sat.

She glanced at the shocked stares the group gave her and rolled her eyes, grabbing the last controller from the pile, “Eh, It’s not like I have anything better to do. The signal down here was terrible. It’s impossible to get anything sent through.”

Adrien cast her a knowing smile at her as she selected her character, understanding all too well what he real motives were, but opted to remain silent. When she caught him staring, he averted his gaze, not wanting her to get the wrong idea.

The screen faded back to an empty black, a loading icon once again swirling in the middle.

“Urgh, that’s the thing about these old games,” Alya huffed, crossing her arms in agitation, “They take forever to load. I can’t-”

BA-DUM!

The hanging lights began to swing, barely noticeable to first, but then gained more momentum, swinging so violently that there was a chance that they could fall any second. Tables shook, and the television rolled back on its trolley, clashing into the wall behind it with an almighty thud. The group all got to their feet, dropping their controllers with shock as they stared at what appeared to be the effects of an earthquake in motion. Crates filled with dusty clutter slid across the floorboards with a groan as if they were not in a basement and had instead stepped foot on the lower deck of a ship.

BA-DUM!

If he hadn’t been fearing for his life so much, Adrien would have winced at the mess this freak of nature was causing, did the world not realise how much work they had put into tidying up?

BA-DUMB! BA-DUM!

“Anyone else hear that?!” Someone shrieked over the din, though Adrien couldn’t tell who, only just managing to catch the words that were almost lost to the world.

BA-DUMB! BA-DUM! BA-DUM!

It was then that Adrien realised that that sound hadn’t been the drumming of his own rapidly beating heart, rather, it was in the space around them, drawing out the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping.

BA-DUMB! BA-DUM! BA-DUM!

It was if the earth itself had gained a pulse, thunderous, and carrying that musty earthy feel that tugged at something deep within his soul. This sound held centuries of fiery anger and had poured fear into the hearts of many, many before them.

And just like that, it was over.

But the silence was deafening to his ears. Worse than a scream, just like-

Just like the way Chloe had just started to do at the sight of her hand. Or, well, lack of it. Particles drifted from it, sand blown by some unfelt wind that drew it towards…

The console?

The group stared, stricken at the sight of the girl who, while most would openly admit as not that nice of a person, definitely didn’t deserve such a horrific fate as this. Chloe… she was Adrien’s friend, and staring at her as she dissolved into a nothingness made him feel completely numb.

...Maybe that's because it was happening to him too. Fear swelled in his eyes as he stared, slack jawed as his hands began to disintegrate and drift off into a fine dust, just like what had happened to Chloe.

No no no no no! Nonononononononono-

But it was too late.

The game was already in motion.

AN: *Slams down the door*

Hey? I'm back again?

And I’m here to torture these characters with a Jumanji AU (welcome to the jungle), the scene where everyone gets thanosed because apparently that part in heroes day with Chat was not enough for my evil heart.

Might do another chapter on this? But I don't know. Gotta leave room for the others.

Also feel free to leave suggestions? I might choose one or two of them from time to time.

[storyknitter]

Aftermath

Theron struggled to stay upright, putting one foot in front of the other through willpower alone. Thank the stars for Lana, propping him up and keeping him from tumbling over; he didn't trust his legs much right now, since they were trembling as though he'd just sprinted across half of Coruscant. His breath hitched and heat exploded in his chest. Oh fuck, this hurts. He tried to recall the meditation techniques that he’d learned from Master Zho a lifetime ago, but between the pain and worry, his focus was completely shot. He glanced around, searching for Vassanna. Thankfully, Lana appeared to be mostly unscathed, but what about Sanna? He had to find her.

He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his racing heart, but all it did was make his chest feel like a thermal detonator had gone off in his lungs again. Idiot, he scolded himself. This was miserable; how in the hells had Sanna dealt with this on Asylum? He couldn't believe that she'd fought her way back to the Gravestone feeling like this. Granted, she'd had an evil ghost in her head that claimed to be helping her, but--

Oh shit. The Gravestone.

He stopped so abruptly that Lana’s momentum pulled him forward, nearly causing them both to tumble to the ground before regaining their footing.

Fucking hells, Zildrog. What happened with Zildrog? How much damage had the Order done to the Alliance? Had he still failed, after everything he'd done, everything he’d put them through? Lana was leading him to the stairway, to leave... without Sanna. Where was she? Did she ... No, she made it. She had to have made it. Icy fear settled in his chest, curling up next to the fiery pain. Sanna, where the hells are you? No no no, please be okay, don't be de--

“Oh, for Force’s sake, Theron, she is right there,” Lana said as she gestured off to the side, exasperation in her voice.

“Oh.” Relief flooded him as he caught sight of the Mirialan, speaking animatedly into her wrist comm and pacing a hole in the stone floor. “‘er armor’s diff’r’nt....” His inane observation drew a raised eyebrow from the blonde.

“Yes, she’s changed it. Clearly.” Lana’s dry retort brought a small smirk to his face -- he’d missed her, too. “As have you. Now, if you would be so kind as to quit mumbling so I can concentrate? Else you might not make it to the ship.”

Theron closed his mouth with an audible snap, keeping his snarky response to himself; he leaned a bit more on his friend, trying to keep his wobbly legs from giving out as his gaze drifted towards the former Jedi. The white of her armor made her eyes stand out more -- he definitely remembered that from Copero. Hells, how was she more beautiful than he’d remembered? It hadn’t been that long since he’d seen her last.

The world shifted beneath him and Theron’s knees hit the ground, pain shooting through his entire body. His vision went black for a moment and he couldn’t contain a moan. The only thing keeping him from completely crumpling to the floor was Lana's arm around his ribs. Hey, at least those aren't broken this time. Now c'mon, Shan. Breathe. You know how to do this. Focus. Remember. Master Zho always said-- His coherent thoughts were washed away by another wave of misery, ripping a groan out of his throat.

When the pain ebbed, he forced himself to take one slow, shallow breath, and then another. On his third breath, he caught a familiar scent, one he must have imagined thousands of times over the past months. Theron looked over, dazed, as Sanna slipped under his other arm, bracing his weight against her shoulders, her hand grasping his wrist. For a brief moment, he felt as though he was being pulled apart before he found himself standing again, supported by the two closest people he had to family. His legs conspired against him, however, and the pressure on his chest increased.

“Hold on, Theron, we’re almost there. Just hold on. Stay with us,” Sanna whispered softly in his ear and he felt a sharp pinch near his hip, missing the concerned glance the women shared over his head.

“Should feel better now,” Lana murmured and Theron sighed as the cool tingling of a kolto shot flowed through him, stifling the blaze in his chest to a more bearable heat.

Time lost all meaning -- he was seated now, propped up against... something, a wall of some sort. How and when he’d arrived at this place, he couldn’t say. That’s probably not great, he mused. Lana was still on his left, head bent and hands on his torso as she worked with the Force; Vassanna was on his right, taking off his boots and socks.

(There was a smart-ass comment begging to be made about her taking off his clothes, but he was fairly certain this was neither the time nor the place.)

Theron couldn’t stop staring at Sanna though, even if he’d wanted to. Sitting this close to her for the first time in far too many months, able to reach out and actually touch her... damn, he’d missed her. Guilt swept through him as he noticed the smudges below her eyes; he was sure they were darker than when he'd left. She seemed thinner, too, but it was hard to tell with her new armor.

He could see cracks in the Jedi mask she was wearing, in the smallest of frowns she wore and whatever she was mumbling under her breath. If only his implants were active, he might have been able to pick up what she was saying. Blinking hard in an attempt to remove the black spots from his vision, Theron focused on her lips, taking the old-fashioned route.

“--die. Not like this, not yet, don’t die, don’t die. It wasn't supposed to be like this, please don't die....”

Hope swelled in his heart. Perhaps Sanna could forgive him after all was said and done -- he just had to live long enough, just had to make it back home.

Her face blurred and he blinked again to bring her lovely violet eyes back into focus. It worked only briefly before she dissolved into shadows. No, don’t leave me here sweetheart. Please, please stay, he thought desperately, reaching for her. A grimace twisted his face and he groaned as he pulled at his wound, doubling over. Theron tried and failed -- again -- to slip into a meditative state, but every time he grasped hold of his focus, it slipped from his fingers, tugged away by the intense pain searing its way through his body. The heat was an odd contrast to the suddenly-cold temperature surrounding him and he shivered as the chilled, stale air seeped into his bones.

“Theron!” Sanna’s voice sounded strange to his ears -- how’d she get so far away? He was certain that he’d just felt her cool fingers on his. His heart lurched at the possibility that the GEMINI droid or Atrius had gotten their filthy hands on her.

No, wait. He'd shot Vinn -- and it was worth all the pain in the galaxy. That rotten bastard worshipped the monster who’d tormented Vassanna for years.

Theron had expected that ingratiating himself with Vinn and the Order would be difficult and repugnant at times, but he hadn’t expected one of the hardest things to be dealing with the near-constant monologuing. Atrius had two preferred topics, upon which he could blather for hours: how wonderful and amazing Valkorion had been for Zakuul, and how the Outlander -- the terrible, murderous, and evil person that she was -- had ruined everything. It had taken every bit of Theron’s self-control to play along and not punch him in the teeth as he so richly deserved.

Focus, Shan. Find Sanna. You have to find her before it’s too late. Dragging his eyes open, he was surprised to see her face mere centimeters from his, her eyes wide.

“San...” He tried again to reach for her, but his arm wouldn’t obey his commands. He needed to be sure that she was okay, that Lana was okay, but he couldn’t... couldn’t...

“Theron?”

Was that fear in her voice? Just be okay, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I can’t keep you safe. I tried, he thought. Her hands were blessedly cool on his face and he managed to meet her eyes again. I love you.

“Theron, please. Stay.”

I asked you first, he thought as she faded from his sight.

“No no no, just breathe, you’ll be alright. The kolto tank’s almost ready, just stay still,” Sanna pleaded, nearly ripping Theron’s other glove off so she could finish removing his grey duster; panic made her hands clumsy and slow, and they shook uncontrollably. “Please, Lana’s having a hard enough time keeping you -- Theron!” He had curled into a ball with a groan, knocking the Sith back slightly and disrupting her Force-healing. Sanna grabbed the spy’s shoulders and pulled him upright, doing her best to ignore the way he trembled and the pained moan that escaped his lips. She breathed a small sigh of relief as he opened his eyes, but they went unfocused almost immediately.

“Theron?” Fear welled up in her throat, threatening to drown her; her hands found his cheeks, scratchy with stubble. Oh stars, you're so pale. Please don’t go, not yet, not like this. His whiskey-colored eyes were unreadable as he pulled his gaze to hers, one corner of his mouth twitching up in a fleeting smile.

“Oh no, Theron, please. Stay.” His eyes fluttered closed and she gasped out a denial as he went limp, his head slumping forward. Without thinking, Sanna tilted his face up and pressed her lips to his. Pulling back, she frantically searched for a response, smothering a cry.

“That didn’t work. It always works in the holos,” she whispered, trembling. “Why didn’t it work? Theron? Theron wake up, open your eyes. Please.”

His Force-signature sputtered like a flame in the wind and he listed to the side, slipping against the durasteel wall. She kept one hand on his upper arm to keep him upright; her other hand rested tenderly on his cheek as she studied his face.

Lana's head was bowed in concentration as she wove the Force through Theron and his injury. Brushing her thumb along his cheek once more, Sanna moved her hand to the Sith’s shoulder in unspoken permission to take whatever Force energy was necessary to keep Theron alive.

No no no, not like this, not yet. We're supposed to have a different future than this, I saw it. Please do something, she begged the Force, anything! Not like this, please not--

Vassanna started as a large, furry hand came to rest on her shoulder. Bowdaar shooed her away from the spy and -- with a touch far gentler than one would expect of a Wookiee with “Boneshatterer” as an alias -- scooped Theron up at Lana's nod, carrying him to the waiting kolto tank.

Time seemed to grind to a halt, yet fly past at once. Lana slumped against her in exhaustion, and the two women sat on the floor, shaking and staring at the tank’s monitor as it beeped out data on Theron's vital signs. The Star Chaser’s medbay wasn’t the newest or sleekest, but -- like the rest of the ship -- “had it where it counts,” according to Captain Nabeshin.

As he stabilized in the kolto, Vassanna rested her head on Lana’s and whispered, “Thank you, Lana, for --” For healing him. For keeping him alive. Oh stars, let him be okay... “For everything.” The Sith’s response was a weak nod and an “of course” that was more hum than actual words.

“I suppose I should thank you for doing a practice run on Asylum for me,” Lana said. They exchanged a sad smile, remembering the frantic haze of those early months after they'd freed “the Outlander” from carbonite but before arriving on Odessen. “The healing itself was almost easier this time around, as I knew what was most effective. However, I didn't have to haul you around while trying to heal you -- and I believe you had some outside assistance as well.”

“‘Outside assistance.’ That’s one way to put it,” Sanna said, snorting inelegantly. “Why don’t you go take a rest?” she asked as her advisor attempted to conceal another yawn. “Maybe have a quick shower and then sleep. Recharge. It’s been a long and... interesting couple of days. Weeks. Months, if we’re being honest.”

“Normally, I’d argue with you,” Lana said with a sigh, “but I can hardly keep my eyes open. That was more difficult than I’m used to.” Glancing over at Theron, floating peacefully in the kolto, she gave Sanna a pointed look. “You should certainly do the same. Don’t just sit here; that’ll help no one.”

Meeting her golden eyes, Vassanna nodded. “I’ll find you if we need you. Rest well, Lana.”

The blonde dragged herself off the floor and, giving Sanna an encouraging pat on the shoulders, headed towards the crew’s quarters; fatigue was clear in her every movement. Sighing heavily, the Jedi settled into a light meditation in an attempt to fend off her own exhaustion.

“Nope!” Eli’anara piped up from the doorway, startling her cousin, before coming to stand in front of her. “You’re up for a shower an’ a nap too. Captain’s quarters are empty an’ your bag’s already there, waitin’ for you.”

“I’m not going to take your room, Ellie,” she said, shaking her head.

“‘Course you are. Wouldn’t wanna be rude and not take something that’s given to you.” Before Vassanna could protest further, Ellie held up her hand. “Just go, cuz. I’ll keep an eye on your Spy Guy...” she trailed off awkwardly. “If, uh... if he’s still yours? I mean, I’ll keep an eye on him regardless, I s’ppose.”

“I, umm... we didn’t really--” The Captain waved her off again.

“Eh, either way, just go. I’ll make sure nothing bad happens, I promise. You two can cross that bridge later; he’s clearly not going anywhere,” she said with a small smirk, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to point at the kolto bath.

Sanna walked to Ellie and Corey’s room in a haze, showering and changing into her casual clothing on autopilot. She laid down on the bed but couldn’t relax enough to meditate or sleep, despite her best efforts. Every time she closed her eyes, a scene with Theron would play out on the back of her eyelids: Nathema, Umbara, Iokath... even Yavin and Rishi. Giving up on rest with a sigh, she hauled herself out of bed and headed back to medbay.

Captain Nabeshin didn't seem surprised to see her walk through the door. “Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, and Vassanna shook her head, leaning against a table and folding her arms across her chest. “Mind keep replaying things on a loop and ya can’t seem to stop it?” The Jedi fixed her with a stare before nodding slightly. “Nah, I’m not spying on you or anything; you’re just not the first to nearly lose the one ya love, cousin. The waiting’s the worst.”

Ignoring the curiosity in Sanna’s gaze, Eli’anara continued her one-sided conversation. “Want a book? Holo-film? Distractions are good,” she said with a wink, placing a datapad in her cousin’s cool hands. “Read something. There are tons of novels on here. Don’t just sit and stare, you’ll go crazy.”

“Who’s to say I’m not already a little crazy?” Sanna asked. I’m the one who thought I could somehow get everyone in this galaxy to get along and finally have peace, she mused bitterly. That was stupid and crazy.

Ellie snorted. “Can’t help ya there, cuz.” She let out a wistful sigh, glancing towards the kolto tank. “Guess I won’t be sucker punching him yet for what he did to you, huh?”

“What? No!” Sanna leveled a serious look at her cousin, shaking her head. “No reprisals, from anyone. Theron was on our side the whole time.”

“You’re no fun at all, cousin. And I was kidding! ... Mostly.” Finally buckling under the no-nonsense glare from her cousin, Ellie sighed heavily. “Fiiiiine, I pinky-promise that won’t punch him. Unless he does something else stupid.”

Smirking as she walked out the door, the Captain pointed to a fluffy, comfortable-looking chair that Sanna was certain hadn’t been there before. “Enjoy your books,” she said over her shoulder.

Vassanna glanced at the monitor before forcing herself to sit on the edge of the chair and peruse the titles on the datapad, tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair. She scrolled through pages and pages of novels, eventually choosing one at random; swiping to the opening page, she read the first paragraph, then the second.

You mean everything to me.

Theron's words echoed in her mind and she blinked, trying to read the paragraphs again.

I’d do anything to protect you.

And again.

You know I love you, Sanna.

Her own words were the next to haunt her, thrown at Theron from a place of hurt and petty anger.

So you betrayed the Order too. You have quite a track record.

Shame and guilt filled her as she recalled how easily she’d allowed her emotions get the better of her. “Oh, stars -- the look on his face,” she whispered. Sanna glanced back down at the screen in a final attempt to read, but the words were blurry and she blinked away tears.

She stood in frustration, pacing and flinging the datapad onto the table near the kolto tank. It skittered into the neatly folded stack of Theron’s clothing before tipping the pile over, and Sanna snatched up the grey duster as it slipped to the floor.

Noticing the red patch on the shoulder, she huffed out a small chuckle. “Of course it has red on it. Have you ever owned a jacket that wasn’t red?” She shook her head with the tiniest of smiles and held the coat out to fold it. The smile disappeared and her breath caught in her throat as her eyes were drawn to the scorched hole in the back, just the size of a lightsaber blade.

“Oh Force, let him live,” she whispered. “Please let him live...” Sanna clutched the jacket to her chest as her gaze flew to the monitor on the kolto tank, the steady beeping and regular notifications it displayed reassuring her. She looked up at the ceiling of the medical bay, blinking furiously in an effort to contain the tears that threatened to overflow. After taking a deep breath to calm herself, then another, she gently folded Theron’s coat and placed it carefully next to the rest of his clothes, her fingers hovering on them longer than strictly necessary.

Resting her hands on the table, she hung her head as a sniffle escaped. Emotion, yet peace, she thought, taking a deep, shuddering breath before exhaling slowly. “Emotion, yet peace,” she murmured, breathing deeply again as her eyes closed. “Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death--” she stopped abruptly, unable to finish the phrase that was meant to offer comfort. Her eyes flew open and she pivoted, walking briskly across the room.

Vassanna stood helplessly in front of the kolto tank, fingers idly touching the transparisteel near Theron’s hand, as if to hold it. “You can't die yet. Please, you can't.” She paused, swallowing away the tremor in her voice before donning the mantle of Alliance Commander, hands clasped behind her back.

“Agent Shan. You will not die,” she bit out. “Do you hear me? That is a direct order from your commanding officer. If you disobey, I will not hesitate to toss you in the brig. Or perhaps I'll just stick you on desk duty for the next year. When we get home, there will be a serious discussion about mission parameters and approvals, as well as their consequences. Am I understood?” Her tone was crisp and brooked no argument, though Theron was in no position to do so.

She blinked in surprise -- had he actually nodded? No, don’t be ridiculous, she chided, shaking her head to refocus.

“Excellent. You may expect a notification on the meeting time when we arrive on Odessen.”

At that, the Mirialan shifted slightly, wilting as the façade of Alliance Commander faded away, leaving behind a heartbroken woman staring at her injured lover.

"Why?” she cried, hugging her arms to herself. “You hurt me and I'm so... so upset with you. Why couldn't you trust me? There had to have been a way to tell me, so I didn't have to... and I... and you....” Her words trailing off, Sanna rested her forehead against the kolto tank with a small thud, her eyes burning with tears she could no longer blink away. A sob shook her shoulders, then another. “It wasn't supposed to be like this, Theron.”

Closing her eyes and clapping her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry, she stood there for what felt like ages, reciting the Code and trying to calm down. Turning her back to the tank, she leaned against it and slid down to the floor, knees tucked to her chest.

She buried her face in her hands and wept for the first time since the weeks after Umbara.

[antiquechampagne]

Chapter 1

Payne looked up at the giant neon arrow, the red and blue light playing off the face shield of her blastmaster helmet. Goodneighbor seemed the best bet to find a safe place to take a breather. Well, at least safer than any place she had found so far in Commons. At least it has some decent defenses.

Pushing open the heavy metal door with a creek, two storefronts greeted to her that both appeared to be open. Payne quickly scanned around. The street appeared to be mostly deserted, which seemed about right given the time of night. As she stepped into the street, a man strode into the street light, blocking her path.

“Welcome to Goodneighbor. First time, eh? Sounds like you might need some insurance.”

“Not interested.”

Payne ignored him and walked towards what appeared to be the general goods store. As she passed, his hand shot out, roughly grasping her arm.

Growling, the thug spat “I don’t think you heard m…” Payne shifted her weight and came down hard with a boot to the back of his knee. Falling forward, he let go of her arm to catch himself. As her momentum carried her, Payne spun, smoothly grabbed her combat knife from behind her back and slid it under his chin. She drew him up, slowly, until his ear met her chin.

“I said I’m not interested. Understand?”

Sheepish and wide-eyed, he nodded in acknowledgement as thin beads of blood ran down his quivering neck. Payne released her grip, wiped off her blade and put it carefully back into its sheath hidden behind her ragged black duster. She continued to the merchant.

“Now now, just look at that. I was going to close up shop for the night, but you put on such a good show… I’m going to stay open just for you!” the ghoul behind the counter chuckled. “Daisy’s the name. What are you looking for? I’ve got a little bit of everything. KLEO next door has all the weapons you can shake an irradiated stick at.”

After a few minutes of searching, Payne has picked out a smattering of food and meds, while putting up a stash of junk for trade.

“What else is there to do in this town?”

“You can wet your whistle at The Third Rail. Magnolia’s voice is the loveliest this side of the Charles River. The Memory Den draws a… particular crowd, interested in reliving their pasts in the Memory Loungers. I wouldn’t recommend it. Most things are better left in the past. If you don’t want to sleep on the ground and have some measure of privacy, there is the Hotel Rexford. Man, that place used to have the best parties. You can pick up chems there too. Look for Fred Allen.”

As Payne packed up the newly purchased goods she thanked Daisy and headed over to see what KLEO had to offer at the aptly named Kill or Be Killed. A jet-black robot stood tracking her with a single glowing red laser. From Payne’s observations in the Commonwealth, assaultrons could quickly turn a situation lethal if they became hostile.

“Hello. I have to say, I like your style. Very assertive.” The robot purred. “What are you buying, baby? Oh, and don’t worry. I only test the weapons on the customers I don’t like.”

While browsing the ammo, an item on back shelf caught Payne’s eye. It was bright white, as sterling as a used piece of armor could be, stood out between the gunmetal and worn leather that packed the place.

“What’s that?” Payne inquired, nodding with her chin. “That white helmet in the back. I haven’t seen anything like that before.”

“You must be new around here.” KLEO brought the helmet closer for Payne to inspect. “Surprised you haven’t at least heard of the big bad boogiemen of the Commonwealth, the Institute with their Synths. Robot body snatchers. This piece right here is a helmet from one of their uglier models. Not classy, like yours truly.”

Turning the helmet over, Payne nodded in approval, her gloved fingers trailing down the full faceplate. “Do they ever show up in black?”

“Sorry, sweetie, the Institute just loves the shiny tin man look.”

Payne handed the helmet back. “Thanks, but maybe another time then. I will take this ammo though.” Slinging her bag back over her shoulder, she headed off down to The Third Rail.

Heading past the tuxedoed bouncer and down the stationary elevator, Payne sauntered up to the bar. The mismatched stools appeared like broken soldiers lined up in the sultry light. Only a few patrons peppered the scattered ratty couches and stained tables. Payne placed her helmet on the bar and shook out her long black hair as the Mr. Handy bartender wearing bowler hat jetted lazily over to her.

“Name’s Whitechapel Charley. Whatya have, guv? We got beer.”

A single black eyebrow cocked up. “Really?” Payne nodded towards the back of the bar which was lined with row of colorful, and sometimes glowing, glass bottles. “Then what is all that? Is that Nuka-cola Dark? Man, I haven’t seen one of those in ages.”

“Very cheeky. You actually planning on buying anything?”

“Whiskey.” Payne placed her caps out on the bar. The ghoul sitting a few seats down slid down into the seat adjacent to her.

“So, new to Goodneighbor? How’s she treating you?” his coarse voice rolling over a silvered tongue.

“Well, if you like getting the shake down as soon as you step in town, then great.” Payne growled.

“Oh, really? Let me guess. Tall, bald guy wearing leathers.” Payne nodded. “That is not a very neighborly way to act, now is it? Finn should know better.”

“I handled it. If things like that continue to happen, though, I may just lose my temper.”

The ghoul cocked his head and a sly smile splayed across ropey features. “No need for that, babe. Everyone is welcome here, if you play nice. You can play nice, can’t you?

“As long as people play nice with me.”

The lights dimmed, drawing everyone’s attention to the stage, set up with a single silver microphone.

“Now you are in for a treat. Magnolia has the loveliest pipes around.” Payne looked towards the stage. As she did, the ghoul nodded to the bartender, retrieved his tricorn hat and quietly slipped out. A slim woman dressed in a sparkling red evening dress and pin straight hair mounted the stage. Just as promised, the air soon filled with the honeyed tones of her sultry jazzy voice. Payne sat sipping whiskey, the notes tickling long forgotten memories.

When the house lights finally returned, Payne rotated back to face the bar, the wistfulness draining from her eyes. Sentimentality was no friend to a wastelander. As she finished the last drops of her whisky, Whitechapel Charley returned.

Taking her glass and whipping the bar, he asked. “So, what brings you to town. Looking for some work?”

Payne’s eyebrow arched. She was starting to run a little low on caps. “I’m listening.”

“I got a dirty job that needs to get done. Anonymous client who wants the job done clean and quiet. Still interested?”

Payne nodded. Dirty work normally paid more anyway. “How much?”

“200 caps for a total clean up. Payment after the jobs done and don’t worry, I’ll know when it is. 3 locations, warehouses in town. No witnesses. You can understand why I can use my regulars.”

“Consider it done.”

Author note: Welcome to my first chapter. I hope to keep this going for a while, but I know that I am not going to be able to keep a regular schedule. Sorry, at this time that is just not in the cards.

[edgedadhell]

Swallowing Matches (E)

Title: Swallowing Matches

Rating: E

Tags: Established Relationship, Retribution Spoilers, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Angry Sex, Rough Sex, Porn with Feelings, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex

Read @AO3 

Jack is pacing feverishly when the dropship lands, doesn’t stop even when the door opens and four blood-spattered agents wearily exit.

“Debriefing, Commander Reyes, now,” he barks, and turns and strides away, knowing Gabriel will follow. Where one of them goes, the other follows. Or at least, that’s what Jack had thought. Now he wonders just what is going on inside Gabriel’s head.

For now Gabriel’s footsteps echo behind his own.

“Strike Commander, sir,” Jack hears McCree start, hastily trying to catch up to the two of them.

“Did I ask for you, agent?” Jack snarls, and is vaguely satisfied when McCree’s footsteps stop. Still Gabriel follows silently. The corridors stretch out long and empty before them, devoid of any other agents.

Finally Jack can’t take it anymore, and he whirls on Gabriel, who is clearly taken by surprise as Jack wraps his fingers in Gabriel’s collar, using his momentum to slam the other man through a nearby door and into a nearly-empty storage closet. He slams the door shut behind them. “What were you even thinking?” Jack says, but it’s all he can get out before he’s kissing Gabriel, pressing their chests together and feeling his wild heartbeat thrum through his pulse. Fuck, it’s proof that Gabe is alive, that he’s here, but suddenly it’s not enough for Jack, and he scrabbles at the remaining vestiges of body armor, letting it fall to the floor as he bites and licks at Gabriel’s lips, pouring his harsh words out into the kiss and into Gabriel’s open mouth.

Gabriel’s hands are on Jack’s waist, under the blue duster, also grappling with armor and clothing, trying desperately to claw their way to skin. Gabriel’s trembling, Jack realizes, and for a split second he realizes that Gabe was scared, scared that he wasn’t going to make it back this time, scared that he was going to sacrifice his agents’ lives and break his promise to Jack.

It drives the need inside Jack higher, and he rips Gabriel’s beanie off with one hand, throwing it to the floor as the two of them continue to kiss like their lives depend on it, tongues slicking together. Gabriel bites down on Jack’s bottom lip, hard, finally pushing Jack’s duster and body armor off so that it hits the ground with a thud. Jack groans into Gabe’s mouth, tries to stifle himself as Gabriel pushes a leg in between Jack’s and grinds against him, both of them hard and aching. They’re each trying to pull the other one closer, as close as possible, two bodies trying to occupy the same space and never let go.

A hand creeps into Jack’s hair, pulls his head back and to the side roughly, and Jack hisses as Gabriel is suddenly biting and kissing his neck, moving up to Jack’s chin and then his ear. “I did what I had to,” Gabriel says, and Jack growls, tries to wrench his head away but Gabriel’s hand is still in his hair and there’s just a starburst of pain, bright and hot and tingling at the back of Jack’s head. He shudders slightly in Gabriel’s grasp, his own hands frantically pawing at the clasp of Gabriel’s pants, and Jack curses at every single one of his fucking belts keeping him from what he wants.

Suddenly, all Jack can think about is total skin-on-skin contact, the heat between them burning away the dread still creeping up his throat, the dark fear that he’s not coming back this time. There’s a roiling pit of anger in his stomach, leeching out through his entire body, strangling his heart as it meets the aching void that hides just behind his ribs, where the cold certainty that this time is the last lives inside him. His eyes burn, but Jack blinks rapidly.

“Naked,” he spits, is vaguely pleased at the confused, affronted look Gabriel gives him as he is interrupted from his mission to suck a line of bruises on Jack’s neck. “I want you naked right now.”

Gabriel smirks at him, backs up slightly in the cramped space of the closet. “That’s an order I can get behind,” he says, quickly unzipping his hoodie and pants, leaving them to pool on the floor beneath them. As he strips, Jack takes in Gabriel’s body, the way the muscles flex and bunch under his skin, the scars that Jack knows are a roadmap to Gabriel’s life, their life, shared together wholly. He frowns slightly, part of him noticing patches of dried blood with no corresponding wounds —their healing factor isn’t that fast— before the more pressing matter at hand takes over his focus.

“Anything else?” Gabriel asks, and Jack grinds his teeth at the purposefully light tone of his voice. Like he isn’t taking this —any of this— seriously. But Jack can see his cock thick and straining between his thighs, so he isn’t completely unaffected at least.

Jack feels like his head is buzzing, his hands shaking as he also strips down, kicks off his boots with a thud that seems to echo in the small space between them. Everything is just— Jack doesn’t know what to do, right now, and he thinks the last time he felt this helpless was back during the Omnic Crisis, the week he spent next to Gabriel’s hospital bed, waiting desperately for him to wake up. It’s nearly the same feeling as now, with an added layer of righteous anger on top. How dare Gabriel do this to him, to them, put himself in danger, put their lives’ work in danger, for a reason Jack suspects he will not divulge.

And underneath all that, underneath the fuzzy fury and clawing fear, Jack feels nothing but sweet, hot relief that Gabriel came back to him.

Jack opens his mouth, not quite sure what, exactly, is about to come out. Gabriel waits, patient. Displaying all the patience he did not use in his mission.

“Fuck me,” Jack says, the words surprising him. But as soon as he says them, he knows that is exactly what he wants right now. He wants Gabriel inside him, wants to feel him deep and hot to prove to himself that he’s still here, that they’re still alive. He needs Gabe to melt the cold fear that is threatening to strangle his heart and lungs until he suffocates from the inside out. “Fuck me,” Jack says again, stronger this time, and he turns and braces himself against the back wall of the closet, ignoring the few shelves of cleaning supplies above his head.

He turns slightly, watching Gabriel from the corner of his eye as the other man stares at him for a moment too long, almost as though he can’t believe Jack’s demand. Then he blinks, like he’s refocusing, and Jack sees that fucking smirk appear on his face again as Gabriel bends down to his discarded belts and flips open one of the canisters, pulling out the small bottle of lube he always keeps in there.

Gabriel’s hands are trembling again, Jack realizes with a start, but then he is behind him, lube-slicked fingers probing at his entrance, one sliding in easily, familiar, known. Jack bites his lower lip against any noises that threaten to spill from his mouth. He knows those are Gabe’s favorite, and he’s still angry.

Gabriel is hot against his back, hot and solid and here, stay here, please don’t leave, and Jack can feel the head of Gabe’s cock against the back of his thigh, hard and a little wet. Another finger slides in, and Jack tenses, has to bite down even harder on his lip as Gabriel scissors them, opens Jack up for him. Gabriel’s other hand is on his waist, canting his hips up slightly, widening Jack’s stance for easier access. He can hear Gabriel breathing harshly through his nose, fingers twisting in and out of Jack, trying to get Jack to break.

Twisting, Jack brings a hand up and grasps the back of Gabriel’s head, pulling him into another biting, dirty kiss that leaves both of them breathless. Gabriel’s hair is soft under his fingers, a sure sign that it’s getting longer and that Gabriel will be shaving it again soon. His lips are soft but the kiss is not, and Gabriel takes the opportunity to thrust another finger inside Jack, catching him unaware. Jack stiffens and moans slightly, then bites Gabriel’s bottom lip hard in retaliation.

Jack breaks the kiss, leans one forearm against the wall for better leverage, and reaches down to palm his own hard, neglected cock. The touch sparks a rush through him, pleasure pooling in his gut, and suddenly Jack needs, needs Gabriel inside him right now, doesn’t care if he’s not quite ready.

“I’m ready,” he pants, and Gabriel doesn’t even question him, just pulls his fingers out to slick his cock up. Jack keens at the emptiness, grips the base of his cock tight in an effort to not break down right there and beg.

He isn’t quite open, and both of them curse as Gabriel enters him, pushing slowly inside. It hurts, but it’s so delicious, Gabriel’s cock hot like a brand and thick inside him, filling him up exactly how Jack needs. Gabriel is panting in his ear, and Jack feels like everywhere they touch, from Gabriel’s chest against his back, his hands on Jack’s waist, his dick inside him, is on fire, warming Jack up and immolating the dank despair within. Gabriel thrusts slightly, buries more of himself inside Jack, and Jack lets out a shuddering moan, hand curling into a fist against the wall of the closet.

Gabriel finally bottoms out and the two of them take a moment to breathe, soft panting filling the air as Jack adjusts. He knows Gabriel is waiting for his okay, and for a brief, blinding moment, Jack is terrifyingly angry at the way Gabriel has decided to listen to him now.

“I said, fuck me,” Jack snarls, and he only gets a sharp inhale as warning before Gabriel is obeying him, hips pistoning in and out, zero to sixty in less than a second. Jack coughs out a laugh that devolves into a drawn out moan, feeling the way Gabriel’s hips smack against his ass, over and over again, the slap of flesh loud in the air. It’s overwhelming, it’s all-encompassing, it’s angry: Gabriel is panting out sharp, bitten off breaths behind Jack as he pumps his hips, and it feels like he’s trying to push Jack into the wall with every thrust, but Jack pushes back every time, cants his hips up as Gabriel fucks into over and over.

The burn fades, leaves behind nothing but searing pleasure as Jack is rocked nearly up onto his toes with each thrust, feeling every inch of Gabriel’s cock as it fucks in and out of him. Gabriel tags his prostate on one thrust, and Jack can’t even try to stop the moan that tears from his throat at that. He can feel Gabriel smile against his neck, his face tucked into the slope of Jack’s shoulder, and suddenly nearly every thrust is grinding against his prostate. Jack curses even as he scrabbles at the wall, his dick wet and shiny with precome between his legs.

And then Gabriel is clutching Jack to his chest, one arm around Jack’s waist, the other curled over his chest, and his hips are moving in slow, grinding thrusts as he gasps and pants into Jack’s shoulder. Jack feels —is that wetness? Is Gabe crying?— against his back, and then Gabriel is locking up, hips giving one, two, five quick thrusts before he buries himself completely inside of Jack, coming in thick spurts. Jack moans at the heat he feels spreading inside him, and then suddenly he’s coming as well, the orgasm like a freight train out of nowhere, speeding through his brain as his dick jumps and spends itself against the wall. Jack clenches tight around Gabriel, who moans and bites Jack’s shoulder, his hand coming down to milk Jack through his orgasm, just the way Jack likes it.

Coming down from the high of orgasm is like stepping off the surface of the moon and suddenly plummeting into the Grand Canyon. Jack uncurls his fist from where he had propped himself up against the wall and winces slightly at the twinge in his knuckles from clenching so hard. He can feel Gabriel still hard inside of him, though beginning to soften, and Jack clears his throat quietly when he realizes that Gabe isn’t pulling out of him.

Gabriel startles and slowly withdraws with an apologetic noise. Jack hisses at the feeling of cum leaking out of him and inwardly laments that he’s going to have to do the debriefing like this. At least Gabriel would also be vaguely wet and uncomfortable in his pants. He can hear Gabe pulling his clothes back on. Closing his eyes, Jack takes another moment to breathe. His eyes are stinging again.

“I’m not going to break my promise, Jack,” Gabriel says suddenly, and Jack whirls around. Gabriel has his pants and undershirt back on, but he’s holding up his left hand, a flash of silver on his ring finger. “I promised I’d always come back to you, and I will.”

“You can’t if you’re dead, dumbass,” Jack says, picking his own pants up off the ground. All he wants is to desperately keep the veneer of anger up. It’s better than the all-encompassing fear.

He sighs as he picks up his undershirt, shakes it out. The matching silver ring on his own left hand flashes in the light. He looks back up at Gabriel, who is adjusting his beanie on his head, looking for all the world like nothing just happened, like the two of them didn’t just wreck each other, like they aren’t going to continue wrecking each other as soon as they step foot in that debriefing room.

“I just want you to stay alive, Gabe,” he says, voice quiet and restrained. “I want us both to stay alive, together. We’ve bled so much for this world already; at least allow me the privilege to stand next to you and hold your hand even if it all goes up in flames around us.” Jack sighs and puts on his duster. He doesn’t look at Gabriel as he opens the door to the closet; doesn’t look at him as he stands in the exit and clips the last piece of body armor back into place. “I’ll see you at the debriefing. Don’t be late.”

Jack slips back out into the hallway. His footsteps echo behind him.

[sunset-wishes-upon-hill]

The End of Eternity (Jessica Stanley’s death)

A/N: I’m sorry for being inactive here but I had to go on a 12 hours flight on 10th to Korea, pick up my cousin then do another 12 hours back to UK on 12th and I’m really tired so until I slowly recover from fatigue, please understand I might not be responsive as fast as I wish. Thank you. I hope you enjoy this heavy chapter.

In Forks, novelty was a strange affair. Nothing seemed to change much – the people, the weather. Everything seemed on stand-by like steady beat of metronome, an undisturbed surface of water; waiting for that momentum to trigger the Newton’s cradle into motion.

Click.

Maybe people liked it: the familiar, auguring re-run of yesterday than obscuring uncertainty. The comfort of knowing was especially enticing.

Jessica woke up this morning to another rainy day. Her phone ‘ting-ed’ with a notification of a text from Amy: ‘Hey, Lauren can’t make it :( can you come instead? I’m waiting in front of your house.

She along with Amy and Lauren had decided to go on a road trip to Seattle for two nights until Jessica backed out the last night, wanting to stay home. Jessica looked out the window, seeing the small white car, parked by the curb.

Beeeeep

Jessica quickly washed, dressed and gulped down a glass of coffee, intending to grab something to eat in the rest stops between the journeys. She said goodbyes to her parents and her dog and cat before getting in the car.

..che..che..

Amy grinned excitedly and turned the radio up high, then they’re off. The road was wet and it was still raining, gently hitting the windshield with rhythmic pitter-patter. The combined sound of the rain and windshield wipers forms some sort of odd lullaby and she leaned her head against the car window, gazing at the scenery zipping by – a tableau of forest green, wispy strands of fog clinging to the ground and heavy grey storm clouds up above. The window fogged up and Jessica closed her eyes, concentrating on the notes of the rain, wipers and song playing in the background.

I’m kinda glad I decide to come..

A large white truck emerged from the intersection in frightening speed clearly above the 30mph speed limit. An ear-screeching skid. Desperate honks. Someone screaming.

Jessica slowly opened her eyes–

The ten-ton box truck ploughed into the passenger side with enough force to deploy their airbags, her head smashed to the side window she had been leaning against. The doors tore off and sent her seat toward the driver’s side. The truck propelled the chassis into the air, jouncing across the road and slashed the engine apart as though one was swishing the cobwebs with a duster. The small Chevrolet spark was demolished, the truck slammed into the tree across. Wheels and hubcaps rolled and collapsed onto the road where the car once was. Specks of sparked gas tanks formed tiny candles and lapped at the wet road.

Pop

Pop

Crackle

The radio from Amy’s car was still playing a song, broadcasting into the tranquil forest road.

Jessica Stanley was pronounced dead on arrival. The truck has crushed her tiny body with its front two wheels. The paramedics predicted it would have been a swish and immediate death with little pain. Her body has been left in horrendous condition. They found Amy breathing but unresponsive and she was immediately sent to the ICU where she had yet to gain consciousness. The CT scan showed her brain had little activity. The truck driver, who was overworked and sleep deprived and did not see the small car in the fog, survived and was taken into custody.

Carlisle, in his ER shift, was one of few doctors that greeted her dead body. He had let out a chocked cry as black bag was unzipped to reveal Jessica’s eviscerated body, body hunched over the cold, silver table.

Her family was contacted. Her mother fainted on the hospital corridor. Her father let out a screeching wail as he confirmed his little girl’s body through a photograph in a sitting room, an image that was forever burned into his brain. It wasn’t her face that would haunt him to his grave. No, the photograph was done tastefully, showing only the necessary identifiers. Her birthmark beside her belly button, a scar beneath her chin when she had fallen over from a bike at five and a necklace carved with the name Jessica he had given her for her 18th birthday. It was her skin. Her usual warm skin was now grey and cold, almost hard looking as though someone copied his daughter’s marks on a mannequin. The doctor had said they could not show him her face and he knew why: ‘Remember your daughter the way she was when she left this morning.’

Soon after, Bella, Edward, Alice, Jasper, Emmett, Rosalie, Angela, Mike, Tylor along with other members of the family, came rushing into the hospital. The humans’ face had sickly patches of white undertone in them as though they were going to be sick any moment. Angela and Bella began crying; leaning on each other for support while Alice let out a dry choke, angered and shamed at her blindness toward what could have been avoidable.

Jessica was never supposed to have gone. She was supposed to have stayed home. How? Why?

Rosalie had never looked so sad as she was now. Emmett pulled her into a tight embrace.  The boys were silent. Mike slid down to the cold hospital tile, eyes afar and expression blank while Tylor erupted into whining sobs. Angela pulled him close. Edward slowly walked toward Carlisle, who stood afar with shaken Esme, both unspeaking.

“W..what happened?” Edward managed out.

“There was a car accident,” Carlisle slowly explained, his voice faltering the usual professionalism he managed during his work hours, “..The truck driver fallen asleep on the wheel and..crashed into their car.” He trailed off, unable to continue.

Edward gulped, “H-have they been informed?”

“I gave them the call just a moment ago.” Carlisle revealed, “They’re..they’re coming here right now.”

Edward’s gaze espied to the ICU where the truck driver was being treated, “You know they’re not going to let that driver live.”

“Yes.”

“And the driver won’t be the only one in danger right now.” Edward muttered fearfully, “They are going to massacre the whole hospital. The whole town…us.”

Carlisle did not reply. His eyes darting from side to side, troubled before clenching it shut.

“We have two hours.” Carlisle finalised, “I’ll greet them first.”

There was nothing more dangerous, more frightening, more tragic than the loss of love.

Forks were a town where things seem ever so unchanging, mundane. The people, the weather.

Until the day of incident that had claimed two young lives and more tragedies occurred afterwards. Amy never woke up from her coma. The truck driver mysteriously disappeared that night along with Jessica Stanley’s body. The truck driver’s family was found torn to shred in their home few days after the neighbour complained of foul smell coming from the house. They found his wife and two small children, two and five, mutilated beyond recognition. The police suspected a member of Jessica’s family but their alibis were confirmed. Her mother had been with a grief counsellor at that time. Her father at work with colleagues and clients. Her aunt at the hospital. Her uncle with a friend.

Times goes on. With or without Jessica Stanley. The seat that had been Jessica Stanley was taken up by another exchange student from Seattle. Lauren Mallory’s clique gained two new members; Angela, Tyler and Mike were slowly and gradually learning to move on in loving memory of Jessica and Amy. Bella and the Cullens’, however, hadn’t been so adaptive as others. The emptiness of her existence was still being felt. Her death still lingered and clung on like the fog on the day of the accident yet it will never impact them the way it did to them.

Italy, Volterra, down the dark, deep corner of the tall castle on the hill was a small room. In the centre of the room was a large open glass coffin, filled with thick light yellow hued liquid. Submerged inside was the missing body of Jessica Stanley, partially restored. A right side of her skull was missing; her face slightly spiralled and twisted and her mangled body hidden by the long black dress. In odd, Frankenstein-ish way, she looked monstrously beautiful and serene; a funny, mix-matched puzzles of veins and flesh and bones.

The three vampires never did recover. They were frozen in time. Frozen on that day. Caius’ greatest fear came to life – became one thing he constantly mocked and snubbed. Now there were two sets of statues on the throne. Demetri’s usual flamboyance and charming demeanour dampened into callousness and dour; Alec became more withdrawn and almost ill-tempered resembling of his sister. He had become more impulsive and short-fused. Jane had now moulded into her role as an older sister. She wished the old Alec back.

Things were difficult for Aro now. His balance of power and political maneuvering has completely tipped to one side. Marcus apathy was useful when confront against Caius’ zeal for punishment and justice and gave Aro the chance to play the neutral ground to sway the judgements to his bearings. This often gave the defendant the mirage the hearing they received was good and fair. It had worked for millenniums and there were little chances this modus operandi could fail.

But now, Aro was in a problematic position. His position was now being threatened – his strategically placed chess pieces were now, one by one, eaten away.

“You taught me once again how fragile human life is. And how utterly destructive love could be.” Aro muttered. He hadn’t had a good company to confer with for some times.

And so he comes here. To this room, where the dead girl laid. He imagines what she’d say. Her little, idealistic orate to his sentimental pessimism. Her willing hand in his. Memories and thoughts shared and taken. Her stubborn clinginess to fragile mortality.

“Do you regret it?” He asked, even knowing the answer he’d receive would be nothing but silence.

It was his newly conceived wonder he will never know for all he lived and he had quite few, most had unravelled with time. This will not.

“Would you have become a vampire had you known?” He leaned against the long rectangular glass, above where her face was.

“I wonder why I feel that, even then, you’d still have hesitated.” Aro hummed, “I wonder which was stronger, your love for life..or your love for love.”

Aro did not have many regrets. Nor did he dwell on them for too long. But Jessica Stanley was one of two regrets that would haunt him for eternity.

[loveroflove-brokenmother-blog]

“Like No-one’s Watching”

So I’ve gotten back into writing due to all the sin I’ve let back into my life. <3

I’m waiting for my AO3 account to be accepted or get invited or whatever it needs to do so I figure I could post it here for now. Though I highly doubt anyone’s going to read it as I’m still new here anyway hue hue. ^^’

Rated T just to be safe I suppose. Enjoy~~

100% inspired by:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZFEGpYVK_c

(dancetale.tumblr.com for more AU info)

                                               ~~~

A-     “How do you describe dancing?”

M- “Well… Whether you think you can or can’t dance…”

                   ==================================

 You know… When you’re desperate for a roommate in a big empty house you can’t be picky about who comes knocking. For example, if they were say… freshly released monsters from under a mountain… It’d been about a year and they didn’t seem too bad so… why not right? Just wish I knew more about them you know? I really ought to pay more attention to the news.

I tapped the pen on the table a few more times as I watched Sans move about the living room with the feather duster in his hand. Though, as far as I’d been watching, roughly 3 or so minutes now, he’s been dusting the same place the entire time. His “eye sockets” closed as he listened to whatever it was that was playing from the phone in his pocket. It was subtle but I could see his body swaying to the beat of the song and I felt my cheeks heat up ever so slightly.

“How does a skeleton even use ear buds?” I asked aloud before I could stop myself.

His motions stopped as he half turned toward me, flashing that ever present smile, and then shrugged slightly while wiggling the phalanges of his free hand. “magic~”

“Naturally.” I snorted softly and smiled in return. With that he turned back to his “work” though his motions had stopped. However, a second later he reached back and pulled his hood up and over his head and I felt a thrum of regret. He was probably trying to hide the earbuds he had tapped to either side of his skull now that I had mentioned it. I hadn’t laughed at him for it but questioning it may have embarrassed him.

When I had questions involving monsters like that it was his usual response so I’m not sure what I was honestly expecting by actually asking anyway.

I returned my attention back to my thesis paper for a few more moments before movement caught my eye again and I glanced back to Sans.

He had moved to the next shelf and I caught the end of a smooth slide as he did it; the slight motions returning, if only just barely noticeable. A slight tapping of one of his feet… The free hand moving in odd motions before reaching into his pocket and turning up the song that was playing… His hips swaying to the beat in off-timed rocks…

My eyes widened slightly as my own breath hitched, my heart thumping in my chest as my anticipation began to build.

He was starting to dance.

I hadn’t seen him, or any monster do it (Aside from that Mettaton fellow…) where others could see before. You hear all the stories; how monsters “fight” (whatever that meant) by dancing, how they learn about others or something. It was how they got closer to each other.

I couldn’t help but give a nervous swallow as my mouth dried out. You hear people say all kinds of things about monsters dancing… Like, how if whoever they’re dancing with is compatible then their dancing styles can merge and a strong bond can form. Now more than ever I wished I had learned ANYTHING about dancing when I was younger so I could…

That train of thought slowly sputtered to a halt as I just continued to watch his motions get more fluid as it spread to his limbs, one of his arms doing slight wave motions as he spun quickly toward the opening to the dining room where I was seated.

I quickly averted my eyes in fear of getting caught, staring at the papers on the table hard enough someone might fear they could catch fire. After a few tense heartbeats of silence, aside from the rustle of his clothes from his movements and slight squeak of his sneakers on the hardwood floor, I finally glanced back into the living room. He was now in the center of the large open room with his arm reaching upward to dust the chandelier above him.

From this position I could see that his sockets were closed and his cheeks were dusted with the soft blue of his blush. Another question I had asked but was brushed off with the quick answer of “Magic.” I felt more heat rush to my own face at the expression on his face. He looked… He looked lost in the music and no matter how much I willed myself to look away before his eyes opened and caught me I couldn’t look away. His body was swaying a bit more, the motions almost looking jerky but still having a flow to them.

The only warning I got was when he slid to the side again to lay the duster on a random shelf then spinning back to the center of the room. In a flash of blue light that blinded me for a moment I saw an upside down white heart (That might as well have been blue with all the blue light that shown around it) floating a few inches away from his chest.

I felt… like I was invading his privacy for some reason but he was the one who started it… in the middle of cleaning the living room… Right where I could see… Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I could even have moved if I wanted to though. The sight and the thoughts and questions running through my head kept me rooted in place to watch.

The heart stayed directly in the center of his chest as his swaying motions completely overtook his body. One hand reached into the air as his other went to his pocket once more to turn up the music to a point that I could slightly hear the distorted audio in the silence of the house.

Sans’ movements started slow, mostly just in his legs as they bent and tilted from side to side as his hips followed, his arms close to his chest with his head tilted downward.

I found myself leaning forward to try to get a better look at him but didn’t otherwise move, too afraid to break the moment for him. He’d barely even started and I could feel my poor heart trying to hammer its way out of my chest at the sight.

The swaying traveled up his legs to his arms as they circled his chest then up to his head, his back arching with the movements as his feet shuffled slightly, then one foot kicked forward as he leaned back.

I swallowed again and licked my lips and realized that I had my mouth hanging open like some dumb struck fool but other than closing my mouth I remained fixated on the sight in the living room.

Sans’ feet snapped back together as he straightened his body, his arms going above his head and pointed outward as he rocked his upper body for a moment then dropping his arms once more, his feet and legs spreading as he lowered himself into an almost squat, leaning to one side with more fluid arm movements then leaning back to his center suddenly. With a quick hop he dropped himself down again, one leg bent at the knee to hold his weight as the other was splayed to the side, his arms at head level for a moment then dropping down as well as pushing himself back up by his legs and dipping to the side, then using the momentum from that he spun himself to the side as one foot pushed forward and one arm pumped the air in front of him before facing me again.

Up until then it was somewhat simple to track and watch each movement as he was moving slowly and precisely. With that last move done his whole body picked up in speed. His arms and legs and hips all moving together to make each dance and pose flow flawlessly into a different one in the blink of an eye. The jumps and hops and tilts flowing almost like water but… As someone with no knowledge in the world of dance I couldn’t even supply the right words to describe the movements.  Just staring stupidly as he moved like he was telling a story with the motions of his body.

I blinked and tilted my head to the side, realizing that my mouth was open again but not bothering to close it this time; focusing on his movements again with a new perspective.

With Sans’ next hop and tilt his arms reached up to engulf his skull for a moment then sliding down to the next movement. It looked… sad… Maybe not sad but… tragic, perhaps?

My heart continued to hammer away, the beating matching his movements as my face felt like it would burst into flame.

It felt like he was dancing to my heartbeat.

My breathing picked up as the world practically melted around me; my sight and senses focused solely on his dancing. His eyes were still closed and his expression said he was also just as focused on his dancing as I was. Face scrunched up in concentration as “magic” sweat beaded on his face.

Sans continued his dancing as I watched on with a stupefied expression on my own face. His quick steps and motions picking up even more pace if it were even possible as my poor overworked heart thudded along with the beat until I felt like I might pass out. Had I even been breathing this whole time..?

Right before I thought it might get even deeper he straightened and leaned to the side with a few more arm movements then sliding his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and his body stilled.

I was still trapped in my trance as he exhaled slowly and opened his eyes to show me one empty socket and a glowing blue one; focusing on me.

The world still felt a little far off as he took a few steps toward me and stopping about an arm’s length away to stand in front of me. His face was still flushed the same dark blue that glowed softly in his eye and around the heart still in front of him. I still couldn’t make myself move or even breathe, he was no longer dancing but it still felt… the moment felt intimate and my heart still refused to slow down its erratic beating despite his stillness.

Finally, his eye shifted to the side and another bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face in a look I could only describe as sheepish. I was finally able to at least blink as confusion overtook me and he finally broke the silence.

“you uh… you’re showing a little there, kid.”

And with that the magic shattered and the world finally came back into focus. I blinked again a few times and took a quick inhale of breath as I just stared at him. The meaning of his words sinking in as I quickly dipped my head down to look at my own chest. My hands coming up to cover myself in an attempt of modesty but stopping suddenly as my breath hitched in shock.

Directly in front of the center of my chest was a right-side up green heart thrumming almost erratically but was noticeably slowing its own movements as I just stared stupidly at it.

A soft exhale drew my attention back to Sans and I saw that the deep glow in his eye was finally dimming and he looked like he was beginning to relax. “give a guy a warning next time yeah?” His voice still betrayed that he had been dancing only moments before but he still seemed… Well I wasn’t sure honestly; not upset but lost in thought.

I opened my mouth to speak but I was only able to mutter a soft “um” as I glanced back down to the bright green light at my chest.

Sans laughed softly and I could see his posture tilt as he leaned forward to point at it. “sorry about that, but your soul is pretty loud you know? i just kind of… got lost to the beat i guess.” I finally glanced up at him and noticed that he almost seemed embarrassed.

My brow scrunched up in more confusion as I glanced from him to the green heart and back again and I was finally able to actually speak. “You were dancing to your song.”

Okay, so I meant for that to be a question instead of a deer in the headlights statement but he seemed to understand and shrugged. “at first, yeah. but like i said; you have a pretty loud soul.”

My face felt like it was going to burst into flames as my heart (and from my peripheral vision the green heart) started to pulse a bit faster. Was he trying to tell me he actually WAS dancing to the beating of my heart?

Feeling overwhelmed with… whatever feeling was assaulting my insides I pried my eyes away from him and the heart to look at the walls and finally saw what our colored hearts were doing to the room around us. Green toward myself and blue toward him, the space between us becoming cyan with our colors so close and I could only look around with open wonderment at the pure… magic of it all.

Stupidly breaking the moment I whispered. “It’s… so pretty.”

He laughed softly and I turned to him in time to see a full bodied shrug. “yeah, i guess you could say these colors are pretty cool.”

I could only stare at him as that ever preset smile practically spread across his face.

“Sans did you just…”

END

                   =================================

M- “…You find a song you feel like you could dance to then just… listen to it. Get up and let your body move how it wants to. If you can’t do that then close your eyes and try to ‘feel’ how your body wants to move. Then you describe the feelings you get.”

A-     “… Sounds complicated.”

M- “Heh.. Yeah. It really is.”

[smilexcaptainx]

Steve Rogers Imagine

Requested: Anonymous

Imagine: steve rogers imagine where you accidentally break steve's favorite vase. and he was on a mission while this happened. and so when he returns, you made everybody dinner and it was good dinner, and you're really nice and acting mature and stuff like that. and steve finds it awfully suspicious how well behaved you were acting. and so he asks what happened and you tried to avoid the subject. and than soon enough he got it out of you and you were in full tears. steve thinks you're being over dramatic

A/N: it’s long ;3

Warning: fluff

 The Avengers were out on a mission which meant that you were home alone. And when you were home alone, the first thing you did was clean. But it wasn’t just cleaning, it was cleaning while dancing. You loved to dance while cleaning, it really put you in the best mood. You decided to clean Steve’s room first, you wanted to make it look spotless.

 His clothes was spread all over the ground, and it bugged you. You brought your speakers into his room and plugged in your phone. You put on your jams and got out the duster, you started to dust around, dancing to beat of the song. At your favorite part, you took the duster and used it at a microphone. You got to Steve’s favorite vase, he’s never told you why it was his favorite, but it was.

  He’s always told you to stay away from it, but you could see the dust collecting onto it. You had to do something about it. You started walking to his vase suddenly your foot tripping over a pile of Steve’s clothes. You fall foward, catching yourself on the desk that the vase laid upon. You were happy you caught yourself, but the momentum you gave the desk shook the vase.

 The vase started to wobble, making your heart skip a thousand times faster. You tried to save it, but as you leaned over to save it, you bumped the desk once more. That one bump made the whole vase topple over and crash against the ground. You gasped as the vase broke against the ground. Your hand slapped over your mouth as you saw all the pieces of the vase scatter around the floor.

‘’Steve’s going to kill me.’’ you whisper to yourself.

 Negative thoughts were running through your mind. You played it all it out in your head. Steve would return and he would go up to his room to get changed and see that his favorite vase was broken. And knowing that you were the only one home, he would know it was you. You wanted to just pack up and leave the team without saying a thing.

 But you knew that you were overthinking. You tried to tell yourself that it wasn’t going to be to bad. Maybe you could just say that there was an earthquake and it shook the vase and broke it. But there a flaw with that lie, everything would have to look messed up if an earthquake hit. You threw away that idea and just came up with another solution.

 Make them dinner. Yes. That’ll do. You rush down the stairs, glancing at your watch, it was officially 5PM, the mission was going to end at 6PM. You had an hour to make dinner. You got out your phone and looked up a dinner that would take approximately an hour to make. The first food that popped up was sloppy joes.

 You just went with it and pulled up the recipe, you didn’t have time to search for more things. Luckily, you had everything that you needed for the sloppy joes. You got them all and started to cook it up, hoping the ending result would be good.

***

 You wiped your forehead as the sweat built up. The steam was making you sweat, but the food was finally finished. You cheered with glee as you saw how amazing it looked and how awesome it smelled. You glanced at your watch once more, it was 5:45. You did it! You just needed to dish it up. You turned off the oven and went to get to the hamburger buns.

 You felt like all the pressure was on you even though there was nobody saying anything. You got the hamburger buns and got the plates. You each had your own plates, which you could tell from the pictures and color. Steve’s plate had his shield on it and it was blue. You decided to do Steve’s plate first and dished it up.

 You soon dished everybody’s up and put it on the dinner table. You made just enough for everybody, it was perfect! You set the plates around the table, trying to make the table look absolutely spotless, you wanted it to look perfect. As you finished, you stepped back and put your hands on your hips. You looked at it and smiled, it was nice and neat.

 The door suddenly opened, you about jumped out of your skin as you heard Steve’s voice.

‘’Y/N! We’re home!!’’ steve screamed, his voice echoing throughout the whole building.

‘’Whoa.. What smells so good?’’ bucky sniffles.

‘’I don’t know but– Oh! Hey Y/N!’’ tony exclaims, poking his head around the corner.

‘’H-Hey you guys! I made you guys some d-dinner!’’ you smile, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.

‘’Oh my– Y/N! The team and I were literally just talking about having sloppy joe’s tonight! This is awesome!’’ wanda laughs.

 You laughed nervously, hoping that everybody thought it was a real laugh. They bought your fake nervous laugh. You watched Steve go over and sit down in his spot, he looked at his sloppy joe and licked his lips. You hoped he wouldn’t find any of this suspicious in anyway. But you were wrong, Steve looked up at you and lifted an eyebrow.

‘’So, why’d you make us dinner Y/N?’’ steve asks.

‘’Why does it matter? I’m famished.’’ bucky groans, picking up his sloppy joe.

‘’Well, you guys are always doing things. You know, saving the world. So I might as well save your hunger.’’ you joke, awkwardly laughing afterwards.

‘’You for sure saved my hunger.’’ bucky sputtered, little chunks of food flying out of his mouth as he spoke.

‘’Bucky! You don’t talk with your mouth full!’’ wanda screeched in disgust.

‘’Do any of you guys need napkins?’’ you ask.

 Bucky raised his hand as he continued to gobble down his sloppy joe. The rest of the team raised their hands as well except for Steve. You went off to get some napkins, on the way, Steve squinted his eyes and stared at you suspiciously as you went to go to the napkins. He knew something was up. You returned and handed the napkins to everybody who needed one.

 Bucky wiped his mouth and than began to speak once more. He started to speak about the mission and how cool it was. You just stood there and listened to his rambling about what happened. Your eyes shifted and saw that Steve hasn’t touched his food and his eyes were still laid on you in suspicion.

‘’Why aren’t you eating Steve?’’ you ask.

‘’What did you do Y/N?’’ steve asks, pushing the plate away from him.

‘’What? I can’t make dinner for the people I love?’’ you ask.

‘’Now that sounds even more suspicious. Y/N. Tell me what you did.’’ steve says.

‘’Does anybody want a drink? I’ll go get some soda’s.’’ you say, pretending you didn’t hear steve.

‘’Y/N. I know you can hear me. Answer me Y/N. What. Did. You. Do.’’ steve repeats.

 You ignored him and started to walk to the garage to get the sodas. On your way to the garage, you could hear Steve calling out your name. But his voice soon faded as you entered the garage. You slammed the door shut and opened the fridge and got out some sodas. As you closed the fridge door shut, it revealed Steve at the door. You jumped, almost dropping all of your sodas. But you were fast enough to catch them just in time.

‘’Ugh! I hate it when you do that Steve!’’ you shout, fixing your position with the soda’s.

‘’And I hate it when you don’t tell me what you’ve done, Y/N. Just tell me what you did, it’s not that hard.’’ steve says, shutting the door.

‘’I don’t know what you’re talking about it. Now, move so I can give these soda’s to the people who want some.’’ you say, stepping to the side, trying to get around steve.

 Wherever you stepped, Steve stepped in front of you, annoying you even more.

‘’Tell me what you did and I’ll let you go.’’ steve says, crossing his arms.

‘’No! I didn’t do anything!’’ you lied, putting down the sodas.

‘’Y/N..’’ steve said in his low, convincing voice.

 His eyes were digging into yours, he stared right into your soul. You couldn’t help it, you had to tell him. You suddenly burst into tears, making Steve go into full concern. You fell to your knees, blubbering your apology, trying to find a way to say sorry about breaking his vase. But all Steve did was kneel down next to you and held you in his arms. You continued to say sorry over and over.

‘’Whoa! Y/N! Why are you freaking out?! I can barely understand you!’’ steve exclaims, running his hand through your hair.

‘’I broke your vase Steve! I broke your favorite vase!!’’ you sobbed.

 Steve didn’t say anything and continued to stroke your hair. You cried out even louder, thinking he was so pissed he didn’t even know what to say. But that wasn’t the reason he was quiet. You hear a little chuckle leave Steve’s mouth. You stopped crying hysterically and calmed down to the sniffling. Steve soon burst into full out laughter.

‘’What are you laughing at?!’’ you screech, getting out of his arms.

‘’Y/N! You’re being over dramatic,’’ steve laughed.

‘’What are you talking about? I broke your vase!’’ you sniffle.

‘’That vase meant nothing to me.’’ steve laughs.

‘’Well than–’’

 Steve didn’t let you finish and he crashed his lips against yours. Your comment you were about to say suddenly faded away and you couldn’t remember it any longer. Steve pulled away and smiled at you.

‘’That vase meant nothing to me. But you do.’’ steve smiles, running his hand down your cheek.

‘’Steve… I..’’

‘’Shh. It’s okay. I just want you in my arms.’’ steve says, spreading his arm out wide.

 You fall back into his arms and he starts to stroke your hair once again. You two started to talk. Steve told you he loved you and you loved him back. He told you how much of a drama queen you were, but you just decided to go with it because his adorableness made up for it.

The End

-

Send me an imagine, and I will write it. x

-

I do not own this gif.

Credit goes the owner.

[its-morphin-time-xiv]

<<== Remember That You’re Strong ==>>

Mentions ||

@lizardwaifu

@charm-in-spades

It had been a lonesome few days since she had been brought home by the Coyote, day in and day out she had shed tears, lost in her own mind, lost in her own emotions. She had truly fallen so far and could not climb back up from the darkness that had consumed her. Belladonna each and every night had somehow found the strength to bring herself to the white cliffs of the La Noscean coast that overlooked the eastern horizon, not hidden away by the mass of Aldenard in the far distance. 

The glimmering horizon was a beautiful sight. The stars twinkled in the masses of millions upon billions of dazzling lights that out reached anything she could fathom. The washing waves near malms beneath her sounded inviting.. yet all she did was stand on the edge, listening to the warm breeze as it played with her old and torn leather duster. Her hair held hands with the wind as every strand seemed to be caressed with some more careful breezes. It was if the fates had met their wayward star on her path to give her the comfort of misplaced caretakers. It had been... some time since she had seen her own family... she had missed them. 

The whispering winds kissed her skin with the warmth of the sea breeze as she let out a small audible sniffle, her eyes brimmed over with salted tears as the barriers she had put up for herself dissolved instantly among the lonesome skies. Her heart ached.. for days upon days it ached.. 

The hyurs voice was broken, quivering and pained yet she began to carry a tune that none other had ever heard. It was only during the times she felt the most alone that she would let the world of the empty hear her crying plea for someone... for anyone to be there. She could reflect this way, she could.. find a way to recover.. find a way to remember that she was strong. 

[Song link here!]

♪Come and gone, the perfect storm On and on, never ending Open doors, empty arms Don't look back, no pretending ♪

♪I don't want anything in our broken home Not the memories or the things we own Not the picture of us on the wall So take what you want ♪

♪Can you hear me? I'm trying to hear you Silence strikes like a hurricane Now I'm singing for you You're screaming at me It's hard to see your tears in the pouring rain ♪ ♪Take what you want Take what you want and go ♪

She felt a hiccup in her voice as the tears flowed more openly now. She bit down on her lip as she fought herself to continue, she truly wanted to end her song there. To run. To hide.. But she knew if she didn't.. she'd never find herself, she'd never find her way. 

With a stomp of her boot, she raised her voice now, instead of letting it die. Her cries mixed in with her wounded tone as she cast her hand out to the seas before her. A hand swiftly wiped at her eyes as she continued, her face slowly grew more and more smeared with the pain that she she did all she could to hide. 

The spikes along her spine began to visibly twitch and flick as she made movements, her body swayed from side to side as she worked to keep her body in motion otherwise she would've fallen to her knees, with the sobs her voice was brimming with. 

♪ Just go now, just go, go, go ♪

♪Still remember a time when you felt like home You and me up against the great unknown You were my life, now you're out of my life Yeah I guess that's life ♪

♪Can you hear me? I'm trying to hear you Silence strikes like a hurricane I'm singing for you You're screaming at me It's hard to see your tears in the pouring rain ♪

♪Take what you want Take what you want and go ♪

♪Take it No reason for me to hold on Look in my eyes I'm letting go♪

♪Keep it ♪

Bell forcefully shut her eyes as she wept, her voice raising more and more as she shouted the lyrics. Her boot stomping against the earth once more as she moved a hand through her hair, grasping every thread as she pulled. Vigerously she'd shake her head, the tears came in force now as her words went on and on. The flashes of memory all too recent before her eyes regardless. The pain burned her already weak heart without fail as she sobbed every word, screaming it out to the open skies. 

Althea's face burned into the back of her mind, the disappointment and the anger she wore, the frustration and care all seemed to mix with each other as they broke the poor mutant's heart over and over and over. The pureblood's words echoed in her mind as she continued every lyric of her little song. 

The fates played with the winds, letting them blow past her in swirls and waves along side the momentum of her voice as she sang to no one but the morning stars.

♪D̸̞̥̭̺̞ͅo̗̖͓͍͈ͅn̟̟͝'t̨͎͖͓͈ ̴̤̜̥͚n̛̥̬̥e̝̙̺̩͈ͅe̲̥̫̼d̬̺̞̮̞ ̼̣̫̟̺͎̩͜i̴̯̟ͅt̵̺̫,͉ ̧̻̣̤ḍ̺͢o̸n̩̟̭̰̞͟ͅ'̫̰̟t̩̣͔̺͓̺͟ ̳̱̬͓̜n͇͈̹̟̺͎̬e̱̥͔̺̪ͅe̺͓͕̠̪̠̪d ̷̭it̰̥,̶͇̦͔̱͓ ̳͇̹̺̲͈d͎̼o̜̦͎̼͉͔̮͟n̨̞̩̗̱̗̥'̛̥͓t̷̥ ̥͍̼̥̲̮̖n̼̼e̩͔̘̜̘̹e͔d̵̪̥̺̘͖͍̘ ̢i̳͍͞t̻͙̰!̗♪

As she sang she paused only briefly as the hyur began to clutch her chest to take in the deepest of breaths before letting out her best, ending the last verse high and loud. Her voice nearly cracking as she held her last words painfully. All the emotion that she had throughout the song seemed to bellow out in force as she screamed from on the high white la Noscean morning cliffs. The morning sun's disc could be seen now peaking shyly above the horizon. The tears streamed down her cheeks as if the dam that held everything simply dissolved in the quickest of moments. 

♪Take what you want, take what you want and go ♪

♪Can you hear me? I'm trying to hear you Silence strikes like a hurricane Now I'm singing for you You're screaming at me It's hard to see your tears in the pouring rain ♪

♪ Take what you want, take what you want and go ♪

♪ Can you hear me..? ♪

The final verse was sung, the chorus had all gone now. Belladonna stood alone on the warm breeze filled cliff as blurry eyes fluttered while her hands went up to wipe away the pain over and over. She sobbed loud as the song had ended, she couldn't hold herself anymore now that the words had finished. Bell wanted to rip her hair off, cry her eyes out, tear her heart fully apart but she couldn't.. She couldn't allow herself to fall anymore.. 

The woman shook her head, her face filled with sadness. Dragging her eyes upward she'd spy a suit of armor standing across from her, simply on the absolute edge of the cliff. It was herself. The armor she wore so proudly all those years ago. It was her first. 

She felt... strong. Strong than she had been in the past few days as her heart ached over someone who.. chose not to love her. She had to move on..

she had to..

So she remembered..

She finally remembered that she could stand again.. whether it be alone or with companions at her side.. She could stand, she could bring herself back up.. No matter how far she would fall.. she could always remember..

She finally remembered that she was strong.

[End]

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

[throughfartheststars]

It is worthy of note to say that my father is one for great entrance and even more dazzling presentation. Being that he is (in his preferred form of travel) a great in size and powerful in magic Gryphon, I must capture how he descended upon the plateau so that it might be rightly seen within my reader’s mind. The first thing to notice is his beak, curved and pointed, it is ridged with teeth within and adorned with a slimy black tongue, something that is to be seen when he swoops in for landing with a full belly screech escaping his maw. Up from the beak is a harpy’s crest of dusted grey feathers, raising high over eerie blue avian eyes and drawing attention away from the fluffed line of his thick mammalian throat and chest, mantled and maned in a hybrid mix of feather and fur that blended into a thin and coarse patterned fur down his back. His forelegs sported scale plates over the articulated digits, ended in great raptor talons that scraped the stone ground of the plateau when he landed. The landing was afforded by a great and powerful flapping of his expansive wings in combination with the slide of his velveted feline hindpaws, talons extended from them as his body turned into the momentum of his landing, tail curling and lashing behind him with the feather tuft at the end fluffed full out while he crouched and slid to a stop in front of Michael.

Also of note, for those that think a Gryphon is something roughly the size of a horse or a similar ridable beast, is that my father towered over the Gate, which itself was a full twenty-five feet of mass beside him while he was crouched. It is an aside that Gryphons are creatures that regularly mate with and win fights against dragons, repto-avian beasts within the same weight class. This in comparison, Michael and I stood at roughly six and a half feet each. Michael staring up in awe, I staring up with utter glee to see the creature I respected as a father.

“Good to meet you, Sir…” Michael managed to choke out as my father lowered his head and smoothed his crest, his great eye upon the angel I stood beside. It was far more amusing to me than it ought to have been to watch, and in recognition of mentioned fact I stepped around Michael to beam at my father and bodily leap upon him, arms around what I could grasp of his throat and laughter bubbling out of my mouth. For a moment I thought that father would hold his feral form for our hunt, while he lifted his head with me rather attached and curled his wing up that I would be supported while I grasped.the girth of his neck. I could feel his purr rumbling through his mane, the coarse feathers scraping against the smooth fabric of my shift. Then, in the way of his family (and the way I too had learned and enjoyed) he transformed. It was mesmerizing, his body seeming to turn into precious liquid crystal as the coloring of him seeped into the depths of his chest, obsured from view was the compacting of his mass into a humanoid figure, ligaments and bones and organs coming to form in a new shape as the liquid of his previous form began to drip away, surrounding in a sudden whirl when I leapt from his embrace, a moment passed before the water was brought to cease, coming to a full translucent still as the figure of a bulky man with greying hair and beard stood in tanned leather pants and a long blackened duster, his face shaded by the brim of a full leather hat, flat of the top and wide brimmed. His shirt shimmered quite alike my shift, and it fit loose under his coat.

In the manner of a sorcerer, he extended his arm and struck full posture with his back, a twist of his wrist and a gesture of his fingers commanding the water to gather around him, condensing itself into a flask strapped at his belt in a fine display of his flair and control. He lowered his hand and twisted the cap on the flask as he began his stepping toward Michael and I, a massive grin in his scruffy silvering beard and a definite swagger to his step. For a moment when he stopped he only looked at me, giving my chosen form a thorough look over and an affirming nod before he spoke.

“The Golden Heart! I thought this one was all kind of busy in Heaven now kid!” He laughed, a fine finish to his decidedly american southern accent. “And an angel? You wanted this one to be REAL interestin’ huh?”