#he's at least learnt not to use them on the training pitch

[jecksaa]

He Tried His Best

Idea: This is purely because @slytherizz disrespected me earlier today. So I wrote Leander smut just for her! But i hope you all enjoy this, along with the misery she will feel! Pairing: Leander Prewett x F!MC (Saoirse Ryan - see what I did there) Word: 2.1k Tags: Quidditch Match, It has Smut... I'm not spoiling it, SHE HAS TO READ IT TO FIND OUT! A/N: If we friends, and you disrespect me, you get smut writing for you with your least favourite character. So I hope lessons were learnt today. AND PLEASE MDNI - 18+ ONLY

As Leander got changed into his Quidditch uniform, his hands begun to shake. The nerves becoming overwhelming. No one was sure how Gryffindor managed to pull themselves out of a losing streak and make it to the Final. But here he was. Taking a breath to steady himself, of course they were up against the best team in the school, Slytherin. Imelda made sure her team was top notch, drills daily, she was relentless. And if Leander was honest with himself, he was a bit scared. “Come on, Mate. Time to kick some snake butt!” Garreth clapped him on the back, startling him slightly. “Yeah, right.” Leander grabbed his broom and followed his team mates out of the locker room. They all stood on the pitch, brooms in hand, awaiting orders from Kogawa to take flight. Leander looked over the Slytherin team, Imelda had been captain since Quidditch was reinstated at the start of their six year. She was able to recruit Sebastian for his build, he had only become bigger since training with the strict Slytherin, a terrifying beater for sure. But there was only one person on the team he was truly afraid of, Saoirse Ryan, the new fifth year. Now a seventh year, she was lively, loved getting into arguments, and gods was she the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her bangs framed her face so nicely. Her eyes always looked like the start of a sunset; a tinge of orange flickered around the lightest brown he’d ever seen. Those eyes had been burning a hole into him since they stepped onto the pitch. It was known that she hated him, but he couldn’t help but like her. *whistle blow*

Kogawa altering the two teams to get into position, the atmosphere was heavy, the crowd was loud. Both sides chanting for their houses, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw picking sides and joining in the fun. Gryffindor had been labelled the underdogs this year, Leander wanted to do his best this game, even if they didn’t win. He didn’t want to regret not going all out on his last game ever. He took his spot as Keeper, he scanned the sky, Garreth was on his left, Sebastian was opposing Garreth, he said a small prayer for his teammate. His eyes found Saoirse, the fastest chaser this school had to offer. *siren sound* He watched as everyone took off, becoming a blur. He needed to stay focused, eyes on the chasers. The first couple of Quaffle’s had been easy to stop, ramping up over time as everyone settled into their rhythm. Swaying back and forth on his broom, watching as his teammates fought tooth and nail to stop the Slytherin chasers from getting through, and there she was, Saoirse. She was wicked fast on a broom, Imelda made sure of that. The way she pulled her broom up slightly told Leander she was going for a curve throw; he was thankful that he had watched her closely enough to figure out her tells. Dipping to the right, catching the Quaffle and stopping the 10 points that would have brought them to a draw. He could hear half the crowd cheer for him, it felt nice. It was a close game, 130 points to 140 points, Gryffindors way and it was so close to being over. Everyone was beginning to grow tired, arms sore, and Leander’s chest hurt a bit more than he had expected from using himself as a shield. He could see Imelda and Nellie racing for the snitch, Northcott protecting Brattleby as he scored against Slytherin. Leander just had to hold out a bit longer, stopping another shot taken by Flint. Come on, they were so close.

The sound of Garreth getting hit by a bludger drew his attention away for two seconds longer than it should have, Saoirse seizing her opportunity to take a shot that would finally go through. Leander’s eyes snapping to the Quaffle, diving for the ball. Catching it with his right arm, the momentum throwing him into the goal post. The pain radiated through his body as his ribs connected, taking the wind out of him. “IMELDA REYES HAS CAUGHT THE GOLDEN SNITCH, SLYTHERIN HAVE WON.” Kogawa’s voice resonated around the pitch. A flock of green rushed to Imelda, a well-deserved celebration. The Gryffindor players made their way off the pitch, defeated, tired, and sore. Gods, Leander wandered if he had cracked a rib or two. The locker room was quiet, everyone feeling a bit solemn. Leander sunk himself to the bench, hoping the pain would subside before he took to the showers. Getting lost in his own thoughts, he could have played better, but overall, they still would have lost. Pulling his jersey up, his ribs had begun to bruise, traveling towards his back. “Shit Lee, that looks rough.” Garreth said as he dried off his hair “Here, take this.” He passed him a vial full of green liquid. Leander took the potion “Thanks, Gaz.” Downing the contents, feeling the pain subside slightly. He would need to make a visit to Nurse Blainey after a hot shower. His teammates left one by one until it was just Leander left, the pain finally easing he shed his jersey, last time he would wear it. Turning the tap, the water hit the tiled ground. Leander occasionally sticking his hand in to check the temperature. Discarding his pants, he practically threw himself under the water. The scolding relief washing over him, sweat and dirt washed away instantly. The scorching feeling taking away from the throbbing pain that lingered in his ribs. “Leander, you still in here?” A familiar voice called out for him. “Saoirse?” “Yeah.” Her voice grew closer. “What are you doing in here?” Leander questioned. “Garreth said you were still in here.” Why did it sound like she was on the other side of the shower curtain. “That doesn’t answer my question.” His voice filled with concern. “You hit the post pretty hard, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Saoirse sounded concerned, if only he could see her face. “I’m okay, Gaz gave me one of his wiggenweld potions. Feeling gre-“ Leander winced at the pain that shot through his side, cursing himself for talking with his hands so enthusiastically. His hand grabbed for the pain, hunching slightly. The sound of metal clinking on metal quickly filled his ears, eyes darting to the now opened curtain, blown wide at the sight of Saoirse standing there with a panicked expression. “Are you okay?” She asked. “I-uh…” Leander was unable to string two words together, quickly covering his exposed manhood. Saoirse’s cheeks flushed a similar shade to his uniform, he had never seen her like this. She truly was the most beautiful witch he had ever seen. Her eyes ran over his body, he had never felt more self-conscious before this moment. He could feel himself harden as her gaze ran lower, he was frozen. Her tongue wet her lips gently, parting them slightly. “I have another...ah... potion… if you need it?” The same gaze flickering back to the still prominent bruise on his side. Her hand held the potion towards him. “Umm… can you look the other way…” Leander felt the heat bloom over his entire body. “Of course.” Turning to face away, hand still held out. Leander sheepishly took the vial and quickly downed it before handing it back. “Thank you.” He could already feel the pain fading. She was still standing there, within reach. “Do you need anything else?” He couldn’t wrap his head around why she was still here.

Turning back to face him, cheeks still flushed. “I don’t, but I think you do.” Flashing him a wink, followed by a smirk. Kicking off her shoes, she took a step into the cubical, Leander instinctively stepped back. His back pressed into the cold tiles, unable to escape. Another step closer, Leander threw his hands up in protest. His erection now free from his grasp, eyes shut tight. “What are you doing?” His voice cracked. There was no response, it felt like an eternity of silence. He wandered if she had left, seen his naked body and ran for the hills. He blinked his eyes open slowly, the water running down in front of him, his vision slight obscured. But she was still standing there, her socks soaked through. Her Quidditch uniform slightly damp from the splash back. Her eyes were dark, like they had found her prey. Her lip was pulled between her teeth, biting down gently. Saoirse’s hand reached for the still outstretch arms, pulling him towards her. Stumbling forward, his hands landing on her to catch himself. Her arms extended around Leander’s neck, pushing herself up on her tippy toes. She pulled him to meet her lips, capturing him in a kiss. Her lips felt so soft against his, her fingers scratched at his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. Leander’s hands gripped at her hips. This felt like a dream, maybe he hit his head instead and he was currently unconscious. If that was the case, he never wanted to wake up again. Her hand trailed down his side, slightly grabbing at the bruise that was still present. Leander winced at the pain, oh… this wasn’t a dream. Saoirse’s fingers danced over his chest, gradually pushing him backwards, breaking the kiss apart. The tiles felt cold against his skin once more, the water drenching her entirely. Her hand pushed the shower head upwards, Leander’s eyes dragged over how the wet uniform clung to her form. Whimpering quietly at the sight, fingernails trailing down his chest, over his abdomen, he could feel his muscles tighten at the touch.

He watched her sink to her knees, running her tongue over her lips as she grasped his length between her hands. He had imagined this scene so many times before, how she would look, feel. Fuck, this was better than anything he could ever conjure himself. Her tongue run up the underside of his cock, flicking the tip as she slightly pulled away. Whimpering louder this time. She was peering up at him, watching his reaction. Her eyes looked like a storm was building at the end of October, that orange glint that danced with the foliage changing between seasons. “F-uck…” Leander’s hands flew to her hair as she took him in her mouth. Completely wrapped around him, her head began to bob ever so gently, swirling her tongue around his leaking tip. One hand slowly jerked his length, the other gripped his thigh, supporting herself. Gods, the sounds she was making made his head spin, humming against his skin. His hands tightened in her hair, sliding between where her ponytail started. Leander pushed slightly, his length dipped deeper into her mouth, she didn’t seem to mind. His head fell back against the tiled wall, desperate moans echoed in the bathroom. He hoped no one came back looking for him. Please, he needed this. Saoirse’s pace picked up, cheeks hollowing as she sucked at him harder. Leander’s hips bucked against her, hands holding her head in place. Her moans vibrated around his length, thrusting deeper, grazing the back of her throat. Her nails dug into his thigh; his groans grew louder. The build up of his release was approaching, his fingers gripped tighter in her hair. Pulling her further onto himself, his hips thrusting quicker. Leander could thank Godric himself for this feeling, her damp swollen lips around his cock felt like heaven. Her muffled moans mixing with his, the sound she made every time his cock hit the back of her throat. Small praises left his lips, a numbness spread throughout his body, it sent a tingle up his spine. “Yes, fuck- yes!” His grip was relentless, forcing his entire length inside her mouth. Her eyes watered as his release coated her throat. Holding her there for a second longer than he should of, she pushed at his thighs. Releasing his grip, she broke away from his cock. Chest heaving as her breath caught up to her. “Fucking hell, Leander. A warning would have been nice.” Rising from her knees, her voice sounded cross with him but her lips pulled into a smirk. “Sorry… it just felt really good.” His voice a little meek, an octave lower than normal. “Well, you can consider that my apology then. It was partially my fault you hurt yourself.” “Oh, well then… Apology accepted.” The noise that left Saoirse caught Leander off guard, he wasn’t sure he had ever heard her laugh before. It was a sound he would like to hear more of.

[magicianenthusiast]

Very Important dabi headcanons

his eyes glow in the dark. this headcanon is very close to my heart

the glow doesn’t help him in any way, doesn’t improve his vision, nothing

if anything its a hindrance bc they glow really bright and they give him away on night missions

none of the other todorokis have glowing eyes. its just dabi. nobody knows why.

it started during puberty and he didn’t notice for the longest time until one day he caught sight of himself in a mirror one night and was like huh. then he forgot about it again.

when the league first started living together he scared the shit out of tomura by standing in the pitch black on his way back from the fridge bc all he saw were a pair of glowing eyes staring back at him

i am on team tall dabi

according to google endeavour is 6′5. i like the idea that dabi is the same height, or at least within an inch

like hes just Uncomfortably Tall

but hes still built like a piece of string and horrific posture

his quirk burns a lot of fat bc its really too powerful for his body to handle so hes really scrawny

this is another reason nobody realised touya = dabi

he just Looms. he doesn’t even mean to.

he doesn’t use gamer talk like shigaraki and spinner but his way of talking is Absolutely Incomprehensible at times

when he first ran away he was really keen to get rid of his richboy accent so any piece of slang he came across he immediately incorporated into his way of speaking

he also tried to mimic rougher ways of talking from other villains he ran into whether or not it fitted

the results were painfully cringe but after a while he settled into it and it just became a part of being dabi

even the other villains have to ask what the fuck hes saying sometimes

like he basically speaks the japanese version of cockney rhyming slang

he never went to school, or had any friends

at first he had a private tutor bc endeavour wanted to focus in on hero education in a way that he couldn’t at a normal school

he still learnt all the normal subjects but there was less focus put on them

he learnt a lot about the history of heroes, hero laws, the science of fire, strategy, etc.

this came at the expense of a lot of more creative lessons like art

he was meant to go to school after shoto was born and endeavour gave up training him, but then he attacked shoto

after that endeavour decided it was a risk to have dabi around other civilian kids (and also he didn’t want people to know that his family wasnt perfect)

because he never went to school theres loads that everyone else knows that dabi just doesnt

like not just social skills - which he definitely lacks - or experience of school culture

but bc his lessons were so focused on hero work it came at the price of other basic lessons

like the planets. dabi straight up didn’t know about other planets until he was in his late teens.

he watches every episode of ancient aliens. he insists he watches it ironically. hes lying.

hes trans (another reason nobody recognised him).

hes annoyingly good at shogi, mahjong, go, chess, and poker. hes pretty good at cardgames. hes atrociously bad at video games.

the only exceptions are candy crush and fruit ninja and other shitty mobile games.

hes dyslexic so even though he enjoys reading he hates how long it takes him so he rarely does. his handwriting is also really bad.

he has a twitter account, its under a fake name and he uses it purely to pick pointless fights with people.

also i know mha takes place like 200 yrs into the future, but i like the idea that tumblr has somehow remained exactly the same and dabi is on there

like cmon he is SUCH a tumblr kid

he lets toga dye his hair for him these days. since he cant put the black directly onto the white, he lets her pick out the base colour first.

during the interim before he joined the league he had a few jobs

i like the idea giran owns several businesses that are fronts for Nefarious Activities and gave dabi jobs in them bc he didn’t really care how bad dabi was at it

dabi never got good at customer service but he did get a lot of experience running the businesses (a bar, small noodle place, corner shop)

when theyre short staffed giran still calls in dabi and bc the businesses are all in bad areas where heroes don’t patrol everyones just like. ok.

like sometimes people just walk in and see wanted fugitive and  murderer dabi counting the tills. it be like that sometimes.

[writtenwhalien]

No I def assume jimin for 3 🤣🤣 im so sorry

okay anon, here it is, i hope you like it!  :) i’m happier w this one lol.

↠ jimin x reader ↠ secret agent/spy AU | enemies to lovers (implied)  ↠ 1170 words

prompt: “it’s pitch black and I can see you blushing.”

“Great,” you huff, unloading your gun out and putting it on the shelf. “We’re stuck in here and it’s all your fault.”

Raising a brow, Jimin gives you a mocking smile. “You’re the one who missed the rendezvous point. If your late ass had been there on time, we would’ve been out of here.”

Seething, you step forward and point your finger at him in an accusatory manner. “I was cleaning up your mess. What kind of idiot leaves the security guard half conscious for him to call for backup?!”

“Well excuse me for being careful not to kill innocent people!” Jimin snaps back, taking a step closer.

“He’s not innocent! None of them are, you fool! God, have you learnt nothing from this mission?” You groan, giving your partner one repulsive look before slumping to the floor yourself.

There’s no point in arguing all night; you know that. Besides you argue with him enough and quite frankly you’re tired of it. Just as tired as your muscles and exhausted mind from the past twelve hours that have ended up with you and Jimin locked in a supply closet in the penthouse of one of Thailand’s most expensive hotels.

You’re grateful it’s a rich family you’re after because if it was anything else, you’d probably be trapped in a drug warehouse or something else of the kind. At least this 10x10 supply closet has pillows, emergency food, water, and better yet, alcohol.

Before you can reach for it yourself, Jimin is already reaching for the most expensive bottle on the top shelf, using any tool he can find to take the top off. Perks of your academy’s intensive training you suppose — you’re both trained agents and have been taught to utilise practically anything in any situation.

Literally anything. There’s a ten out of ten chance that you and Jimin could use any of the items in here to escape this closet. Both of you know it, but neither of you say it.

Jimin slumps to the floor just as wearily as you. He chooses to sit right next to you, and for once you decide not to comment on his lack of personal space.

After taking a long swig himself, he holds the bottle out for you, which you eye up for a moment.

“We’re technically still working,” you say quietly. “What if the Chen men return?”

Jimin shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He takes another swig. “My tolerance is great—“

You snatch the bottle from him and bring it to your mouth, taking less than Jimin.

“I guess that means you’re done working for the night?” Jimin says, an amused smile toying on his lips as he watches you drop your head back to the shelf behind you.

“I guess it does,” you sigh, limbs aching and feeling heavy.

“You know…” Jimin shifts closer to your side to speak quietly into your ear. “I could easily open the door with a coat hanger…”

You lift your head and give him a testy glare. “Yeah, so could I. But we’re not. So shut up and drink.”

You shove the bottle into his chest and he lets out a little grunt, distracting him while your eyes drop to those full lips of his. You always steal a glance every chance you get, especially when you’re this close to him. You don’t think much of it — he has nice lips, that’s all.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he smirks, keeping the close distance between you as he drinks some more.

Just as you’re dazedly watching his Adam’s apple while he swallows, the lights suddenly go out and you’re left in complete darkness.

“What was that?” you whisper loudly, instinctively reaching a hand out for Jimin.

It lands on his thigh… a little too close to his crotch. But you don’t realise.

Jimin shifts closer in an attempt to make you feel safe. As your partner, he knows about the one fear you have — the dark. You appreciate that he never makes you feel any less because of it, unlike your old team who used to taunt you all the time.

“The lights are probably on a timer,” he says quietly. “Also, your hand is almost touching my dick.”

Eyes wide, you tear your hand from his leg and face him. You’re grateful it’s dark in here so he can’t see your flustered appearance. “Sorry, accident.”

Jimin chuckles softly, gently placing an arm around you and you feel his warm breath fanning your face. “It’s cool, I mean, if that’s how you wanna pass time then I’m happy to help.”

You can’t see him, but you can tell he’s smirking.

“You wish,” you hiss.

He laughs a little louder. “It’s pitch black and I can see you blushing, princess.”

“Oh shut up,” you mutter, ignoring the warmth that’s in your cheeks as you throw his arm off of you to get up and look for a torch.

Jimin beats you to it. Pulling one out from beside him, he tugs on your arm to keep you sitting next to him as he presses the button, illuminating the room in white light.

Seeing you visibly relax with the light back on, something in Jimin softens and reaches up to grab a pillow before handing it to you. You frown in confusion.

“Sleep,” he says, putting the pillow in your lap. “I’ll stay up in case anything happens.”

You wait for something, a catch, a snide comment, a flirty comment even… but it doesn’t come.

Jimin just looks at you with what can only be described as concern in those big brown eyes of his. Looking at them now, you realise just how kind they are.

“Thanks,” you mutter, suddenly feeling a bit awkward. “Wake me up in a bit, we’ll swap.”

Jimin nods, giving you the smallest smile before taking his tablet out of the bag to probably do some more work on the case.

You put the pillow down between you, lowering your head and letting your eyes close. Sleep finds you more easily than you thought it would.

When you wake up hours later, it’s an hour past dawn and Jimin is gently shaking you awake with a whisper.

“Y/N, Y/N, you gotta get up. They’re here.”

It takes you a moment to get up and become completely aware of yourself and your surroundings, and when you do, you find yourself staring at the jacket draped on your shoulders. Jimin’s jacket.

You look at it, and then look at him. You also realise he let you sleep for longer, staying awake himself. His cheeks go pink but he says nothing except, “You looked cold.”

“Right, thanks,” you smile awkwardly.

“Don’t mention it,” he nods, just as awkward. But he quickly clears the tension away and hands you your gun while you get yourself up. “They’re in the room to the left, the plan is the same as yesterday,” Jimin whispers, grabbing the coat hanger and swiftly breaking the door lock.

“Okay,” you nod, pressing yourself against the wall as you wait for him to push it open.

But he doesn’t just yet.

He’s looking at you, almost as though he’s forgotten the mission, and for a split second, you both actually do.

Then his lips turn up into a smile. “Ready?” He cocks his gun and gets into position.

Your lips reciprocate mindlessly. “Ready,” you nod, and Jimin pushes the door open.

Today, you both work stealthily and in unison, feeling more in sync than you ever have before.

[bluegarners]

Dick realizes he’s forgetting his childhood. 

~oOo~

It hits him one day. It hits him hard.

In reality, it must have been a gradual thing. An overtime thing. A steady decline thing that he just didn’t notice, like rain on eroding rocks. Chipping, chipping, chipping away and weathering it down into pebbles. 

But when he stops to actually look around, takes a moment to really think, it hits Dick hard. The wind knocked out of him, train plowing into him, upper cut to the jaw, mind reeling hard. 

He can’t remember what his mom’s voice sounded like. 

He remembers the old song she used to hum to him, can still dredge up the melody if he really tries, but he can’t remember what she sounded like. He’s almost sure she had a beautiful voice. Almost sure it was breathy and lower in pitch because she was a proud woman that used her voice for authority and rule. Sometimes, if he sits down and thinks exceptionally hard, he thinks even his father might’ve sung with her too.

Oh. Another thing.

He can’t remember the name of the cologne his father used.

It was something spicy, Dick’s sure. Something spicy that smelled like a mix of all the worlds best fireplaces and cinnamon sticks. It was warm, Dick’s positive of it, but sometimes he catches a whiff of vanilla and his mind goes back to his father on Sunday evenings when they didn’t have a performance, so maybe the cologne wasn’t spicy and Dick is just forgetting and remembering it all wrong.

That’s terrifying. How can he forget something as unique and special as his own mother’s voice or his father’s scent? What kind of son forgets something so pertinent to their parents?

He’s read articles about trauma messing with memories. Something about stress hormones going into overdrive, infecting and plaguing the fear factor and hippocampus that the brain just doesn’t recall anything. But he’s also read articles that say trauma enhances memory, that the adrenaline is just so prolific that it literally encodes the events permanently into the hippocampus rather than erase. 

He’s even read articles that victims of childhood trauma lose their innocent past completely in a blink. That they may even believe the events never happened and it was all just a dream.

But Dick knows he had parents. He knows that his father was a happy man, outgoing to the fullest and in love with life. He knows his mother made delicious pancakes straight out of the box and that she always used real maple syrup instead of Log Cabin. He knows that they were all very close and his parents never made him feel ashamed for being clingy or wanting to sleep in their bed after a nightmare or seeking comfort after yet another failed trick or flip. 

Dick knows. He remembers. 

But sometimes the details get fuzzy. Was his baby blanket, the one he knows his long dead nana stitched for him, blue or gray? Were there two rooms or just a bed and a couch in their tiny trailer? Did Pop Haly boom or rumble with laughter? He knows these things happened. How else would he even know he had a blanket or a trailer or the comfort of loud laughter during even louder performances? 

But for all his remembrance, for all his recollection, he doesn’t know if it’s real. If what he thinks are memories are but fond daydreams substituted for the blank spaces. He doesn’t have many pictures, but he’s got so many posters from Haly’s Circus. Enough so that his father’s face will never be confused with some stranger’s on the street. Dick has stared at all the bright colors for hours on end, and he knows exactly what shade of green his mother’s eyes were. He could pick out their colors in a forest and still know it wouldn’t be as close to what his mother’s eyes were like.

He knows faces. He remembers faces. He doesn’t remember who they were though. Who these people were and what they sounded and smelled like. What stories they shared. What family lineage they held.

He doesn’t remember what routine they were doing that night. He thinks it was a daring one, one they hadn’t done many times before hand because they wanted to make a good impression in Gotham. They were only going to be there for a month, Dick remembers that, but he can’t remember why it was so important to impress. 

He was up next. His father had just flung his mother into the air, twirling and falling, and then his father had caught her by the ankles and they were swinging through the air as if they had grown wings and learnt how to fly.

He was up next. Only nine. Nervous but excited. There were so many people in the crowd, but he can only picture a massive blob. Bright lights. His mother’s face. Green eyes. His father’s strong shoulders. Cinnamon carrying in the wind.

He was up next. He would leap out, flip twice, and somersault his way into his mother’s awaiting grasp. Then, they would float and trade off holds with one another and Dick would be the one holding his mother’s ankles and he would be upside down as well and then-

He was up next. He was up next and he could see his mother’s bright smile beaming towards him, his father’s reassuring grip on the bar steady, and Dick was tensing to make the leap and then-

The line snapped.

Dick thinks his mother might’ve called out to him as they plummeted. Maybe a cry for help. A startled yell. A gasp. A shriek. Terror.

Dick likes to think he remembered her calling out his name.

He doesn’t know if what he does remember is true or not; if his parents’ bodies actually crumpled like wet paper or if they snapped like dry wood. He remembers their descent, but maybe not, because Graysons were known for flying but his parents fell like they had weights tied to their legs. Sound escaped him, smell too, and maybe that’s his problem. Maybe he just can’t remember important senses like sound and scent, but he does remember the way the sawdust turned black.

They had all worn their favorite leotards that night. Red, green, yellow, bright and happy. He doesn’t remember why it was so important to impress Gotham. It just stained their uniforms anyway. Stained their livelihood.

He doesn’t remember how long he stayed up there, gazing down down down at his parents. Broken and bloody. There was white mixed in with the red, and a little bit of purple here and there, bright splotches of blue and pink, and it’s funny that he remembers all that because their leotards only had three colors. 

He blanks on the rest. Just knows that Danny Poteet shoved his face into his shoulder as the crowd disappeared, the mass of blobs and blurry faces fading. Mister Poteet was a nice man. He can’t remember what Poteet did, what his act was in the circus, but he’s pretty sure he had a long beard. Was that important? Was that even his name? Dick doesn’t remember.

And it angers him to no end that he can remember the organs that split their way through his parents leos, can probably name them now that he’s older, but not what his mother said to him as she fell. Not what his dad smelled like. Not what Danny Poteet mumbled to him as red and blue lights filled the tent.

He’s forgetting. Did he ever remember?

He wants to tell stories of his childhood. So badly wants to regale his brothers of his days in the circus. He can tell them all the working secrets of how twenty clowns fit inside a car meant for a baby. How fire breathers drank oil without it ever touching their tongues. How the strong man was actually just a pillow lifter with down in his suit. How strong and fast and beautiful the Flying Graysons were on the trapeze. 

He can tell all those things because they were simple and everyday and honestly common knowledge (which also scares Dick because what if he only “remembers” these things because he looked them up one day and just pretended that he always knew it because that’s how he grew up, that is how he lived, but what if he’s wrong-). More than anything though, Dick wants to tell them about his parents.

About Mary and John Grayson and how they were the kindest and most amazing people Dick ever knew. But he can’t. Not without lying, and his parents hated liars (he hopes they did, please, he hopes he remembers at least one truthful thing that he hasn’t made up).

So when Tim looks at him like he’s lost his mind when he says, “I think my dad smelled spicy,” or when Jason laughs at him when Dick tries to tell him about this baby elephant that might’ve existed at some point or when Damian only sighs when he tries to recall a story with so many holes and fragments that it’s just incomprehensible, Dick feels like crying.

How can someone just forget a lifetime of memories? How can he just lose the only connections he has to his parents like it’s nothing? 

Posters only go so far. Faded and hazy dreams of a melody that won’t leave his throat only do so much. Wisps of vanilla and burnt wood only taper the feelings of loss ever so slightly.

It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

He’s forgotten. He’s forgotten.

[an-exotic-writer]

jungkook; ready to love (you, officially)

❝you asked: “what happens when i want to be more than friends?” / jungkook said, when that day comes, you grab him by the face and kiss the life out of him. that day came. ►2440 words // scenario, continuation of ‘when you’re ready to love’ written for @astaegmatism​ ♡ well, i read this the other day and ya know, i just felt like writing a sequel to this so here it goes *finger guns* // i actually finished it lol, here it is if anyone wants to read! ;w;

Ever since that day at the rooftop with Jungkook, not a day goes by since that you haven’t thought about that incident. It replays at random moments without you knowing. Well, maybe subconsciously you’re constantly thinking about it but that’s not fair. How are you supposed to control something you’re not meant to?

Maybe you deserve it, you think to yourself. Jungkook has made it clear that he’s interested in you and it’s not like you’re not interested in him. You are! Saying that you’re interested in him would be an understatement and yet... it’s been three months and you haven’t made up your mind.

What confuses you even more?

It’s how Jungkook doesn’t pressure you into anything. Sure, he teases you every now and then but you know he’s not genuinely pressing or rushing you for an answer or a change of heart. He’s... gentle, with the way he handles the conversation when you bring it up (because it gets overwhelming when you think about it at night and Jungkook-)

“...you’ve gone pretty quiet, Y/N,” Jungkook muses over the phone and you now remember that you were on a phone call with the guy. There’s no point hiding it, because Jungkook can tell how you’re feeling (sometimes) just by hearing your breathing pattern. How it starts to tremble with each exhale, unknowingly Jungkook has learnt it meant you were anxious about something.

“Y-Yeah, I’m just... thinking,” Your voice is shaking and you’re certain your hands would be too if you were holding your phone to your ear but luckily, you’re lying on the bed and your phone is on speaker beside your ear. Almost, you feel like it would be nice if he was laying here with you. And just at that thought, it makes you wonder if... if you’re finally ready to be more than just friends with the boy who upon first meeting, squished a portion of cake to your cheeks as a friendly way of trying to call you sweet. (don’t remind Jungkook, he still feels bad at almost traumatizing you when you first met)

“About?”

Here comes one of the many things Jungkook adores about you. Straight to the point, no sugar-coating and no bush in sight to beat around. Well, it’s usually polar opposites. Either you would beat the bush to death and the generations after that, or you go straight to the point and snap the leaf to write your answer directly.

“...you,”

This was the latter.

"What about me?” Jungkook tries to sound collected, but based on how his voice pitches, you can tell he’s getting nervous.

“I... I’m just confused. I know I really like you,”—Jungkook’s heart skip a beat—“but a part of me still feels like I’m not ready and I feel bad because I don’t want you to keep wait-”

"You’re not keeping me waiting, Y/N,” Jungkook cuts you off before you spiral off into a monologue that doesn’t need to happen, which is why he’s cutting you off now. (He usually waits to hear you out but he’s skipping past that because he’s heard this before so he might as well reassure you now)

He hears a gasp because you’re surprised, and he knows you are but you keep silent to hear his train of thought.

“I’m simply in love with you and... I can feel that you feel the same way too. If the day comes when you’re ready to reciprocate that openly, I’m more than willing to be with you. It’s not like things would change between us, we’re just going to get mushier—is mushier a word? Ah, whatever,”

There’s a small pause of silence, it evokes Jungkook to ask: “You there?”

“...how is that not waiting for me, Jeon?”

He chuckles at the confusion in your voice. He has this image of you furrowing your brows and having puffed up cheeks from being confused.

Here you lie in bed, with furrowed brows and puffed cheeks.

“Because I know I’m already in your heart, it’s just going to take some time before you get comfortable with me being there, and hopefully accept that… or not, that’s all up to you,”

“How do you know you’re in my heart?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“N-Nope, ’m good.”

Jungkook didn’t know if he helped you or not that night, but based on how you didn’t say anything to combat that, he finds comfort in knowing at least he’s somewhat right.

You slept with ease that night.

//

The days after that have been... more confusing than you thought. It confused you so much that the more you thought about it, the more it pissed you off. What the fuck is going on?

Trudging out of bed, you find yourself standing in front of your reflection. Next to it is a photo of you and Jungkook, not even aware that a friend was capturing a moment the two of you shared. The longer you stared at it, the more it reminded you of why you were mad in the first place.

Mad at… yourself!

With a newfound confidence that struck out of nowhere, it was time.

Fucking hell was it time.

You can’t handle it any longer and you’re done trying to make up your mind or settle for an answer that leaves you wavering the next day.

It was time to observe.

To be Detective Conan—alright screw Jungkook’s references.

//

You spent a week keeping your distance from Jungkook.

Okay, that sounds serious but by keeping your distance, it was rather… taking note of how your mind reacted around him. Of course, it was easier said than done when the boy is constantly trying to be close to you, pick at your brain, “casually” hold your bag for you and running off so you’d chase him up to the rooftop where you’d conveniently waste two hours of staring at the abyss of the world alongside him.

Boy oh boy did you take mental notes, and when you typed them out for yourself to read through at the end of the week, it was clear that—“That piece of shit…”

For two weeks, you had wrote down thoughts you’ve had of him and let’s just say… they accumulated to more than your notepad on your phone could handle because you’re scrolling, and scrolling and scrolling. As you go through them, the recollection flashes in your mind, playing like a projector.

Jeon likes to drink Americano from this café.

He bought the bouquet of flowers for graduation from this florist.

We got caught in the rain and was stuck in that phonebooth for an hour because we’re both too stubborn to get out.

Jeon’s fave café.

Jeon’s fave park to go jogging.

Jeon—

The list continues, listing all the details about him and more details about him that… strangely enough, you’ve never noticed you remembered. And… the more you seem to remember, the more… memories you want to create with him. It hits you why it’s… it’s taken you this long to realise your infatuation with him. Jungkook was that slow burn that made you love him more and more each day without you realizing. How you wanted to see him each day, and when a day goes by without seeing him, it aches for you to be without him.

Jungkook was right when he said he was already in your heart.

You didn’t know when, and you didn’t know how but… he was already there. He made his way through when you didn’t expect him to. He’s been patient and sincere with his presence and… the way he genuinely just wants what’s best for you. He… you… you like him.

You… fell in love with your best friend, too.

//

Jungkook smiles when he sees your name on his caller ID. He grips onto his phone properly to swipe across the screen, just to say: “What do I owe the pleasure, Y/N?”

“Jeon, wherever you are,” It sounds like you’re breathing really heavily, “Don’t move,”

His brows furrow, “Is everything alright? You good?”

“I’ll come to you!” You exclaim, and he’s laughing. “Do you know where I am?”

He snorts.

“Oh yeah,” Now it sounds like you’ve stopped walking when the soles of your shoes screech on the pavement ever so lightly, “Where are you by the way?”

//

“Jeon!” Your voice echoes across the field, penetrating straight into his ears as he whips around, only to grin like a fool. His eyes form mini crescents at the sight of you running up to him. He holds his arms out to stable you when you’re within reach. His hands grip onto your sides with a soft easy there tiger and when you’re grounded in front of him, trying to catch your breath, his smile only grows bigger.

“What’s up?”

Your fists clench by your sides, feeling your insides tumble about. Thousands of butterflies are probably somersaulting in there and the whole zoo has come to watch how your nerves jolt about in anticipation to what you’re about to do. You’ve had only this thought in your mind through your whole journey to reach him. Now that you’re finally in front of him, you’re trying to psyche yourself up.

Almost as if you’re trying to be your own hype man to… to…

“Hello? Earth to Miss—”

“I’m going to do something to you, Jeon,” You swallow the lump in your throat, and this is where Jungkook’s smile slowly fades. His face morphs into one of confusion instead.

“G-Good or bad?”

Okay, this is throwing you off a little.

“What’d you mean?”

“Well… what you’re going to do to me, is it good or bad? Do I need to cover up somewhere it really hurts?”

The both of you trail down to… his nether region where his hands slowly move to cover it (because there has been a history of you kicking him with not-so-ladylike strength that one time he took a prank too far and he owns up to say he deserves it—not that he’s done anything this time, he’s just being cautious).

“What? N-No!” You’re frustrated at this point, running your fingers through your hair in annoyance, but you know what? It’s working. Your nerves are worked up enough for you to gather the courage brewing in your guts that you close the distance between the pair of you.

Suddenly, it feels like the world slows down.

Your hands rest upon his shoulders and instinctively, Jungkook’s hands dart out to steady you by your waist, afraid you’d topple over and get hurt. His eyes widen when you lean in to press your lips together. Your name is muttered against your lips, drowned out by the gasp that follows soon after from him.

His hands, clutches onto you tight—as tight as your hands are on his shoulders. Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut, in unison with yours. Your body tenses when you don’t feel a reaction, and that gets you to peel your eyes open and break away from the kiss. That triggers him to act upon his feelings for once, after holding back for the longest time, this is the one-time Jungkook allows himself to do what he wants.

He snakes his arms around your waist to pull you closer, making your breath hitch. He chases for your lips and he kisses you back. He kisses you with everything he has in fear this could be the first, and last time it would happen. He feels his heart burst into warmth when your hands move to circle around his neck to pull him close, as if the both of you weren’t already. You feel his tongue brush against yours ever-so-delicately and the vibrations of his lips when your fingers rake through his hair.

He intends to continue, but you have yet to say what you’ve been wanting to that you gently nudge him back with a hand on his chest, the other still hooked around his shoulders.

“J-Jeon, I have something to say,” You’re a little breathless, disorganized, but altogether too beautiful for him to handle with your slightly red, plump lips and hazy eyes looking into his own. He chuckles and cups your chin gently, brushing your lower lip with his thumb as his other hand keeps you rooted.

“Yeah?”

“I… I like you,”

Jungkook chuckles, softly, almost whispering as he breathes out: “I like you too,”

He licks his lips and his eyes trail down to yours, before gazing back up to your eyes when he has a feeling there’s more you’re about to say. His thumb gently rubs circles against your hip bone, while his other hand that was previously on your chin, moves to join his other arm around your waist.

“And…” You heave out a deep breath, blinking up to him, “I-I want to be more than just friends,”

Jungkook knows where this is going, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to have fun.

“So… best friends?”

Instantly your face turns upside down with frustration and Jungkook quickly pacifies you with a kiss. And a couple more pecks to bring a smile to your face, mirroring his own smile before he tugs you into his arms. His arms band around you so tight, it feels like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. He presses a small kiss to your temple, whispering, “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear that,”

You’re grinning against his chest, arms wrapping around him just as tight.

“So… we’re…”

He strokes your head gently, closing his eyes to savor this moment.

“We’re still best friends,” He says, “Best friends who like each other a lot but this time,” You lean back a little, just to look up to him looking down on you,

“T-This time?” Your voice is soft, so soft that it’s only for his ears only. That alone, makes Jungkook’s heart do a lot of things in a heartbeat.

“This time, from this day onwards, you’re also my girlfriend.”

((“jeon…?”

“hm?” he turns his gaze from the sky the both of you have been laying under, gazing into your eyes as he plays with your hair.

“’m sorry it took me so long,”

he tuts with the shaking of his head, darting over to give you a long kiss to your lips.

“don’t be, don’t ever say that. it’s my fault for falling so quickly for you,” he wiggles his brows and you try to push him away, only for him to reel you in closer.))

[ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole]

Heather

A one shot based on Conan Gray's Heather song.

First attempt at writing since an early teenager so apologies if it's a little disjointed. And thank you @boldlyanxious for your encouragement to take the plunge and actually get this idea out my head!

Also to @zambie-trashart @loveswifi for being amazing and connecting people ❤️

Masterlist

..................................................................................

Damian and Jon were a dynamic duo. Best friends. Super sons since they were “forced together” Damian taking the lead with Jon following shortly behind. Damian’s brothers liked to tease him, that Jon was like a puppy dog, with his “adoring eyes” only for Damian. ‘Tt’ thought Damian. Jon was his acquaintance and team mate of course he would follow him. They were a Super Son duo team; it was them against the world.

Jon and Damian were in the training room when Batman and Wonder Woman wandered with an unknown person. 

“Robin, Superboy, this is Ladybug, Wonder Woman’s apprentice.” Batman said when Damian and Jon had paused from training. “She will be joining you on your next recon mission. She has just rejoined the world from being in Themyscira for a while. Working with you two will help her readjust to working with the Justice League.”

Jon, rushing up to the newly introduced Ladybug “Hi there, I’m Superboy! WOw you’ve been to Themyscira? What is it like?? Do you have super powers! We have a briefing on the mission in an hour, have you been shown around the base yet?”

Damian turned to Batman and hissed “Can we trust her? We don’t know her at all. She will be a liability” not impressed by the surprise new element and glaring at her when he got the chance. 

“Robin” growled Batman, “She can be trusted, you will work with her nicely”.

Wonder Woman observed the situation with mirth while Ladybug just looked overwhelmed with the conflicting energy pulsing between everyone.

Diana’s apprentice, “Ladybug” was a similar age to them and after that initial mission she ended up joining them on other missions. 

Damian wasn’t happy with this initially, but he slowly started to warm to her. Ladybug held secret identities in high regard and never tried to “uncover” his or Jon’s, she took missions seriously, far more than Jon, and was apt at strategizing and working with the bare minimum. She didn’t demand their attention, monopolise Jon or try to be best friends with them. She needed work on her fighting technique outside the suit and had trust issues too, but eventually she grew on Damian. It helped she listened to his critique and responded accordingly as well as took any opportunity to train especially with him and Jon. Compared to others Damian and Jon could have been paired with, she was adequate.

Jon welcomed her too quickly from Damian’s point of view, but he followed Damian’s lead for the most part when socialising with her, though always friendly didn’t reveal too many secrets unintentionally. On the positive, Jon had ‘finally learnt’ some etiquette with others. Jon didn’t drape his arm over her shoulder or continually try to initiate his tactile friendship with her like he had with him. Damian would rather not scare Ladybug off with Jon’s annoying need to hang off people. After the last mission when paired with a Green Lantern, he’d rather work with her than be paired with someone else, she was tolerable at least.  

….....................................................................

Damian had been noticing a shift occurring in his best friend over the last year or so. At first, he was finally learning how to tone down his tactility with their friendship. Damian was pleased with the result as Jon was finally growing up, though he did miss the warmth of Jon’s arm over him occasionally or the enthusiastic hugs when they met up, especially when it was just the pair of them. He would never admit it out loud, but the hugs were something he never thought he would miss. He missed Jon lean his head on his shoulder when they watched films together. The sleepovers had subtly reduced too. That Damian really did miss. At least Jon’s social etiquette had improved though.  

Well, that was Damians originally though, more recently he had noticed Jon was slowly losing his newly gained etiquette with Ladybug. His tactility was starting to return around her, and it was very unbecoming. Damian had sworn Jon had finally been trained out of that, what was worse though, was Ladybug started to respond in subtle tactility too. Not as extreme as Jon’s and was, a hand on his shoulder, a 'la bise’ when greeting, all within socially acceptable etiquette, but it should be frowned on. They were professionals. She was encouraging Jon’s behaviour to return. Damian did note that it seemed only with her though, he couldn’t make that out. Part of him wanted it to return with him too or only him maybe. 

….........................................................................

Damian was sulking down in the Batcave when his “idiotic” brothers found him.

Upon seeing Damian growling at the computer searching through a case “What’s up little D? I thought you usually patrol with Jon tonight” echod around the cave. Damian glared at Dick “He cancelled. Jon said he is training Ladybug this evening”.

Jason whistled “So he finally got over his crush on you and moved on to Ladybug huh!”

Tim replied “Kon says he doesn’t shut up about her at home.” putting on a ‘high pitched voice Tim continued “‘Oh, what blue eyes she has’ ‘Oh, how strong she is’ ‘how pretty her smile is’”

Damian turned his glare to his other brothers. “Tt, Drake stop with that infuriating voice. Todd, Jon does not have a crush on me! That is ridiculous! He is training with Ladybug to improve her fighting skills and strength. She is overly cautious when in her suit with those without super strength therefore Jon is the perfect candidate. And Drake you are being ridiculous. If Jon and I mean IF he likes her it should be for her hero professionalism not for her looks! Tt'' rolling his eyes at the absurdity of the situation.

“Oh please! Jon has been flirting with you for years and not got anywhere. Ladybug turns up and responds to his flirting of course he’ll move on and want to spend time with her. He is using the training as an excuse to be close with her ALONE. If he really wanted to train, he’d have invited you too for feedback.” Jason snarked back. 

That got Damian to pause for a second, though still scowling at his siblings. ‘Why hadn’t he invited him along to help train. He was always up for training and was happy that Ladybug had started to get Jon to consider training more seriously… wait, what if Todd was right and that wasn’t what Jon was after…. And Jon flirting with him... when did he do that???’

“Please tell me, you knew Jon was flirting with you right! That you were ignoring his advances due to being uninterested and didn’t want to hurt his feelings more than you were. Don’t say that you are pulling a Bruce and being dense on the emotion spectrum” supplied Tim. 

“Jon has never flirted with me Todd! Drake! He is my best friend that is all and being a good partner to Ladybug” spat out Damian and looked as if he would reach for his katana any moment now. 

Dick taking pity on Damian, stepped in before any maiming occurred and the conversation got any more heated. “Little D, you do realise that there are other methods of flirting other than the ones we typically witness at Gala’s where people ‘thrusting’ themselves on to us. That there are different languages of love? Jon’s most obvious ones are spending time, touch… I’d agree with Jay and Timmy. Jon did have a crush on you with him following you around all the time, even at his own inconvenience. His constant touch and being near you. The puppy dog eyes which he only gave you. You must have noticed this. And this had started to decrease before Ladybug’s arrival. I’m betting he got fed up with waiting for you to notice him and started noticing others. Ladybug has just kick jumped his next crush, and I’m guessing, and I do mean I’m guessing, but based on the facts and observations she returns his feelings.” Dick then turned and grabbed Tim and Jason and started drag them to change for patrol, “We’ll leave you to process”, frowning at Tim and putting a hand over Jason’s mouth when they looked like they wanted to say something more.

 

Post patrol Damian went to do research in his room on his ‘secret laptop’, he did not trust Tim not to try and hack into his known tech. Damian looked up “flirting techniques”, language of “love”, then “how to tell if someone is flirting with you” “how to tell if you like or love someone” and “how to interpret your own feelings”. Dread built in his stomach. 

When Damian did fall asleep it was not fitful slumber at all. 

 

 

I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater

You said it looked better on me than it did you

Only if you knew how much I liked you

But I watch your eyes as she

Walks by

What a sight for sore eyes

Brighter than the blue sky

She's got you mesmerised while I die

 

It was at the Justice Leagues winter party; Jon was wrestling Damian into an old Christmas jumper of his. “There! See. It looks fab on you. Actually Dames, I’m pretty sure you wear it better than I did'' Jon stated with a cheeky grin. Damian “Tt, the jumper is hideous” fighting a subtle blush by looking away with Jon being so close. “C’mon Dames. It’s Christmas. The jumpers aren’t meant to be ‘tasteful’ and whatever. It's meant to be....” Jon tailed off. Damian looked back at Jon to follow his line of sight. Ladybug had entered the room with Diana. Damian finally got what his brothers meant with “puppy dog eyes” Jon’s whole face softened as he smiled and waved her over. Damian’s stomach clenched. 

 

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

Wish I were Heather

 

Jon greeted Ladybug with a kiss on her cheek, “M you made it! But where’s your jumper?!”. Ladybug replied with a smile “I said I would be here Jon.” then uncharacteristically nervously stated “I wasn’t sure about the jumpers though. It was so open ended” before going into a ranting “Did you mean thick ones, or thin ones, sparkley, tasteful, ugly! Urgh! AND you didn’t respond to my messages to help!”

Damian felt the girl was a whiplash of emotions at times. Jon laughed kindly while semi leaning on Damian though put his hand on Ladybug’s shoulder “Calm down M, here take mine. I brought lots with me as I knew Dames would potentially kick up a fuss. His is the fifth one he tried on”

Jon took his jumper off and handed it to Ladybug. As soon as she had it on Jon fussed over her “We need to have you looking perfect! You pull this jumper off amazingly” causing Ladybug to sport a faint blush.  

Damian felt sick. It hit him. Jon liked Ladybug. Jon knew Ladybug’s identity. Jon had liked him, but he only was realising now that he liked him back, but it was too late. Jon was moving on. And Damian couldn’t even blame him. Ladybug was objectively pretty, but she was more. She was a good hero, not just a vigilante but a hero. He’d seen her on missions, and she cared about others, civilians, her team and even criminals and villains she took done with force but strange care. It made sense that Jon would move on with her.

 

Watch as she stands with her, holding your hand

Put your arm 'round her shoulder, now I'm getting colder

But how could I hate her, she's such an angel

But then again, kinda wish she were dead as she

Walks by

What a sight for sore eyes

Brighter than the blue sky

She's got you mesmerised while I die

 

From there Damian witnessed Ladybug holding Jon’s hand as he dragged her around introducing her to other members of the league she’d yet to meet. Jon draping his arm over her shoulder, while they held conversations. ‘Just like he used to do with me’ Damian’s brain supplied. 

“Hey Brat, how you holding up? You’re looking pretty glum here without Jon and the others keeping you company” Tim surprisingly snuck up on Damian. “Tt, I’m fine Drake. Jon is introducing Ladybug to everyone and ensuring her first party isn’t unpleasant.” 

“That doesn’t explain why you aren’t there with them” 

Damian looked at Drake with narrow eyes trying to figure out what he was digging for. 

“Look Damian. I’m probably not the best here” 

“Tt, I’d agree to that” snapped Damian rolling his eyes

“Oi Brat! I meant comfort, support and what not. That’s Dick’s department really” Tim sighed “Damian! Look I’m offering a listening ear, as unfortunately for the pair of us you are my brother, and you look like you need to talk to someone.”

Damian looked at Drake for a moment and contemplated what he wanted to do, other than grab his katana and maim someone. Preferably Drake or... maybe Ladybug, which was a surprising thought. 

“I want to hate her, but I can’t as she is a literal angel, and she makes Jon happy.” Damian quietly disclosed to Tim before wandering off to avoid the bombardment of questions that potentially could follow. ‘At least Drake is better than Grayson or Todd to admit that too, his form of torment is less overt’.  

 

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

I wish I were Heather

Oh, I wish I were Heather

Oh, oh, wish I were Heather

 

Damian now wasn’t sure whether wondering off from Drake was a good idea after all. He had sneaked out of the main hall where the party was to try and find somewhere quiet to untangle his increasingly chaotic thoughts. Unluckily for him though, he’d stumbled upon Jon showing Ladybug the stars from the gallery room. Before Damian could react by letting them know of his existence or get away, Damain witnessed something he really wished he could unsee. Jon gently lifted Ladybug’s chin and slowly kissed her. He had given her every chance to move away if she had wanted too but she hadn’t.

The nausea and pain returned by the time Damian slipped away from them. 

Jon liked Ladybug; Ladybug liked Jon. They were kissing. 

‘I wish it was me instead’ ‘I like Jon’ ‘Jon likes Ladybug’ ‘I missed my chance’ whizzed around Damians head. 

Damian thoughts spiralled from there. He reviewed his interactions with Jon. He could bash his head against the wall with his obliviousness. Damian took a deep breath and schooled his icy façade back into place. He re-joined the party like he hadn’t witnessed Jon kissing Ladybug and his heart was finally admitting to hurting. 

 

When Jon joined him later, Damian kept his hurt locked up with Jon bounced with happiness in front of him. 

“I asked M, I mean Ladybug to be my girlfriend. I was so worried she’d reject me, but she didn’t! She said Yes Dames! M said yes. To me Dames, she actually likes me! Oh gods I didn’t imagine it did I”

Pushing down the hurt, Damian replied “Tt, tonight is real Jon, and she would be an idiot to reject you” ‘like me’ left unspoken.

 

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

Wish I were

[littlefreya]

Set me Free

Summary:  Part Two to Let Me In - After a night of being an asshole, getting drunk and then falling asleep when you were just finally getting into the mood. The Captain wakes up finding himself in somewhat of a pickle.

Read Part One

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Reader (You)

Word count: 4.1K

Warnings: Explicit Smut, Male Sub / FemDom, bondage, sex toys (woman playing with a vibrator), oral preformed on a male and a female (face-sitting), power play, teasing, unprotected sex, bodily fluids. All the good stuff.   

A/N: SmuttyWeekend Commences! Guys this is my first MaleSub and I was struggling with it being a FemSub. So please gimmie feedback. 😥😥😥😥 Many thanks to @agniavateira who edits my work.

Title: Set me Free

The big military grunt is lying in the middle of an ocean of navy blue sheets, utterly nude as the sunlight beams through the window and kisses his rigid abs with a warm, golden haze. From all the men who ever fell unconscious in your bed, Syverson has to be the most delicious treat of them all.

Taut muscles stretch across an incredibly large, triangle-shaped upper body and thick, solid thighs. His glowing skin is covered by a dusting of black hairs which flow from his wide chest to his torso, leading to his delightfully enormous cock that nestles between a bundle of dark curls. 

He is the epitome of masculinity, especially with that thick beard which he refuses to shave. 

You sit on your small IKEA chair, lounging lazily with your ankles crossed together while sipping your latte macchiato and enjoying your new morning view. 

The big man usually sleeps around 3 to 4 “generous” hours if he’s lucky to get any proper sleep at all, and not be consumed by night terrors. It’s something you’ve learnt to deal with, at least sort of. But with the amount of alcohol he consumed, he’s been out of it even after you woke up. 

You indulge yourself looking at his sleeping form. Watching as his chest gently rises and falls and his cock semi-hardens from the stream of blood that gravitates to his loins. 

If only you could wake up to this impressionistic vision of beauty every day for the rest of your life. But no, you had to go and get yourself involved with a military bloke, a captain, nonetheless. 

Finally, he begins shifting on the mattress, the muscles of his chest flex inward and his stomach sucks in, followed by a low roar emitted from his defined lips. 

There is much of the beast in him, sometimes even more than the man. 

You capture your lower lip beneath your teeth, waiting with mirth and anticipation for him to open his beautiful blue eyes. 

His face curls with what you assume to be a mild sensation of pain. The strong scent of whiskey wafts from his body as if he bathed in a brewery. You wouldn’t be surprised if the captain is nursing a minor hangover, which you have the perfect cure for.

The metal bars shake and then thud against the wall as he foolishly attempts to move his arms. Sharp, ringing sounds thunder in your ears as the small chain of his cuffs grind against the peg. You smile, placing your empty cup on the study, watching your man as he wakes from his deep slumber to find himself in captivity. 

“What in the n…” 

His eyes blink open. He observes the leather cuffs around his wrists and begins moving around wildly, attempting to free himself by shaking his hands back and forth with force. The bed creaks and shifts beneath his weight. A slight tension rises in your chest; a man as strong as Syverson might actually break the bars and the bed too, possibly.

You clear your throat to redirect his attention, only to be greeted by a furious glare.

“Morning, Captain.” you hail, your voice smooth and relaxed, contradicting Syverson’s blazing temper. A mixture of daze and anger drapes his face as he focuses on your sight. 

You wonder, does he even remember the little performance from last night? Because you sure as hell are going to remember that for the rest of your life.

He angrily narrows his blue eyes, giving you a menacing look. His jaw clenches hard beneath the rough thicket of his beard. 

Syverson is a force to be reckoned with; he is not a man who enjoys these types of silly games. Everything about him is hard, down to business, and with him saying the final word in the conversation.

Too bad that right now he is no longer in a position of power.  

“What the hell is this?” 

His eyes take you in, gliding down the sheer black night robe you’re wearing, intentionally left untied. A hint of the roundness of your breasts winks at him through the open slit and the very outlines of your nipples tease through the translucent fabric. There is a flinch in his cock as more blood stirs down to fill his organ at the sight of your divine body. 

You decide to step up your game, placing your legs on the floor and spreading them to allow a glimpse of your ripe little peach. Syverson attempts to lift his head and get a better look while your giggles fill the room.

“This, my darling, is your punishment for one, being a complete asshole and embarrassing me in front of your friends-”

Syverson gives you a slow eye-roll and attempts to fight the cuffs again to no avail. “Je-sus, woman! You’re still at this? Fine. Remove these cuffs and I’ll give you my very ardent apology.” 

You chuckle and shake your head, rising from your chair and moving toward the bed. The pink silicone toy Syverson bought for you hangs from between your manicured fingernails as you wave it around casually. Sy follows your movements with the diligence of a trained special forces soldier, learning every possible detail as if you’re the enemy right now.

Might as well be.

“What are you doing, woman?” he speaks slowly, his voice holding a tad of a warning as you climb onto the bed and settle yourself between his feet. You sit straddled, ankles folded beneath your behind, letting your juicy cunt to be openly presented to the helpless man.

You can hear the low pitched growl rumbling in his chest, like an approaching storm. It makes your skin prickle and your lungs squeeze inside your ribs. Even bound to your bed, he effortlessly holds a brooding presence. A huge Texas bear, all muscles and dripping of control. Every time you sleep together, he pins you down and charges your body as if you’re some target that needed conquering. 

He never leaves you a fighting chance. Not up til now.

“Two,” you emphasize the word, lazily trailing the tip of the toy against your inner thigh. His eyes follow every movement, his jaw locked tightly. “- you left me wet and waiting last night, after giving me a very nice singing performance.”

The big man scowls as the vague memory of banging at your door starts sinking in. By the look on his face, he hates every single moment of it ever happening. 

Probably prefers blaming you rather than taking responsibility.

“Don’t be like that, Texas.” you lick your lips, offering him a cheerful smile. “You have a gorgeous singing voice.” 

“Final warnin’, kitten.”

You click your tongue and smile mischievously. Discarding the toy at his foot, you move on your knees, giving him a vixen grin before beginning to crawl forward. The delicate material of your gown caresses his naked skin as you snake your way between his open legs until you are at his pelvis, facing his very solid cock.

Your nimble fingers reach to grasp him, barely managing to circle his generous width. A low groan forms in his throat as you squeeze him roughly and run your hand up and down.

Syverson looks mesmerizing, the temptation to take a polaroid photo and have this moment forever imprinted in chemicals and light tickles your brain. More than anything, you ponder at the war that wages in his mind:the conflict between wanting back his control and enjoying the way your hand kneads him.

“This is an ego thing, isn’t it?” you ask him while licking your lips, inching your head closer and closer to the swollen head. 

His chest rises and sinks urgently as his breath becomes heavier. Involuntarily, he bounces his groin, his body begging for your mouth.

You allow the tip to graze you, collecting a few drops of pre-cum on the plush of your lips, letting it spread on the velvet flesh. “I bet they teach you how to withstand torture and questioning in case you’ll fall captive.”

“Not that type of torture,” he replies and then gasps as your tongue dips at the small hole in his cock. You push against it, tasting the salty drops before circling your tongue around the head. His teetering gasps and the way his biceps swell larger when he moves in his cuffs are enough to make you throb with arousal. 

No wonder Syverson likes to be the one in control; seeing someone so helpless and bound at your mercy is quite the aphrodisiac. This is especially true when it’s a man like Syverson, a brooding hulk who weighs more than twice your size. 

Ironically, Sy doesn’t even need to yell or use his fists to be intimidating. He can talk anyone into submission with his voice. He has this energy about him, a confidence that makes men, even who are just as big, to cower with fear. 

Even now, as he lies in captivity, his eyes are shooting daggers at you, sending you a clear message: “You’re goin’ to regret this, darlin’.”The punishment is probably going to involve you being unable to walk for a week, but you’re certain that it’s worth every second of him being subdued to your bed. 

Ever so slowly, your tongue glides down his length, tracing the ridges and the thick tendons that throb against your tongue. Motion-synced with the captain’s forced moans, you roll your tongue and slide it all the way back up.

You pause, staring at him as he pants, eyes hazy with lust, his abs sucked in. There’s a strained anticipation on his face, begging for the wet cavern of your mouth, but he never utters a word, only sucking in his lower lip with desperation. Your big army gruff doesn’t beg. 

He“ain’t no pooch like them city boys.”

Pumping his cock with one hand, you give him a mischievous grin while pressing your cheek against the muscle of his thigh, feeling it flex beneath your touch. Every sinew of his body is straining, anxious for pleasure and release. 

“You want to fuck my mouth, baby?” he releases a low growl, his eyes narrowing at you, his teeth grinding together. “You know I do, so put that damn mouth of yours to good use.”

Your nails trail around his thigh, tickling him feverishly. You watch how he jolts against your touch while one hand still squeezes his cock, making torturous pumps that are too slow and moderated to bring him closer to what he needs.  

“Yeah, you want your big fat cock inside my mouth?” you raise your face to his towering erection, your lips part open slowly. You leaned down to lick him up and down before biting onto him, only to watch how he spasms with ache.

“You know I do, kitten.”

To your disappointment, he still remains composed, despite the anger and arousal that spikes his blood. It infuriates you; you want him to beg, to say he is sorry for being such an idiot and for ruining your first night together ever since he returned. 

You squeeze him hard enough to make him grunt and descend to devour his cock again. Your lips wrap around him, tasting the bitter salt on the lush of your tongue before sucking him hard, just the way he likes it. Your throat relaxes to take him deeper, deep enough to hear those mellow groans and watch as he throws his head back, blissful at the way your warmth surrounds him.

You suck harder, working up and down his shaft, humming with him inside your mouth while your hand twirls and tugs at the base of his cock. The vibration of your hums makes him grunt, and those grunts and moans are the sweetest melodies to your ears. 

It’s easy to lose yourself in the sensation, in these sounds and the way he fills your mouth. You’re in love with him, your heart flutters in the thought of making him feel good, especially since you’re forced to spend so much time apart. It wrecks your heart every time, yet the thought of not having the captain in your life at all is unacceptable. 

He longed for you too, you are certain of it. And not just for your mouth and the way his cock reaches the edge of your throat while you pump in and out. He has a shit way of showing that, being such a hardass and saying “I don’t do romance, darlin’” while slapping your ass as if you were some broodmare. 

But the raging ocean in his eyes is enough to say all those words he could never utter.

You hear his low voice cracking and sense the swelling of his cock against your tongue. Quickly, you withdraw with a loud wet pop as his cock exits your mouth.

“Fuck!” you hear him utter, the cuffs dangling against the bar while he frowns at you. “Why did ya stop, kitten?”

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you lift your head, allowing a sneer to linger on your lips like something out of a horror film. You arch your back and crawl on top of his body, your knees bracing themselves at each side of his wide frame, and your nails scratching the slight fur of his skin.

“You’re not coming in my mouth, dear.” 

You climb onto the big bear until finally, you are sitting on his chest. You slightly moan at the softness of his hairy chest that tickles the drenched spot between your thighs. Syverson grits his teeth, his jaw pushed forward, eyes red with rage altering between your naked breasts and your dominating glare. The soothing palm you press against his coarse cheek does nothing but humiliate him, which of course, makes you press your lips and coo at him tauntingly.

“Still not going to apologize?” 

“Untie me first and I’ll give you the apology you deserve,” he demands, still struggling to remain in control but you can see the fuzzy haze of arousal in his eyes, the way his lips part and his breath becomes rigid. He can smell you, he senses the wetness of your mound as you sit on his chest. It makes the animal in its cage become enraged.

You shake your head, sighing with false disappointment and lift yourself to your knees, carefully targeting yourself above his face with preparation. 

“I consider this a prize, Sy,” you murmur, looking down onto the slightly scarred face of your soldier who now returns a fascinated gaze to you. “I know how much you love to eat my pussy.”

He scoffs at you yet still licks his lips with anticipation as you lower yourself onto his inviting mouth. This was always his thing. There was no doubt that Syverson mastered the art of oral sex as another form of domination. Yes, he was an attentive lover. Making his lady squirm with ecstasy brought him joy, yet it was also another way he controlled you. 

This is going to be tricky, yet you’re devoted to turning his little game around. 

“You better make me come, Sy,” you warn, landing your pelvis onto his lips and releasing a deep moan as you feel the warmth of the captain’s skilful mouth around your mound. 

“F-u-c-k!” you utter loudly, placing your hands above the bars for leverage. His velvet tongue meets your cunt, drawing wet circles around the seam and collecting your juices before plunging into you with earnest devotion. You gasp and throw your head back, clenching yourself around him and riding his bearded jaw.

“Like it when I fuck your mouth, Captain?” you call out breathless, trying to mimic the way he speaks to you when he shoves his cock down your throat on the occasion and fucks your mouth. 

“Yes, like that, thrust your tongue inside me.” 

You gasp the command at him, moving harder, your clit brushing against the moustache of his beard, eliciting a tickling sensation that stimulates you to the point of losing the ability to speak coherent words. Yet, you claw your talons onto control, your knuckles turning white around the edge of the headboard as you fist it in your sweaty palms and buck your hips and ride his face.

“Yes!!! Fuck! Like this! Suck it, harder!” 

Even in his subdued position, Sy sustains every inch of mastery, eating you out as if you tasted of heaven. His tongue glides between your slit and your clit, rolling across your delicate nub. The sobs you make only urge him to increase the pressure around your clit and thrust his tongue harder. And just when you think you are close enough, the bastard mumbles something against your lips and the vibration of his bass throws you across the edge.

You come violently, slamming the headboard against the wall and pushing yourself hard onto his face. You can feel yourself soaking his beard yet he continues to lick you dry, sending slight aftershocks through your body.

Breathing heavily, you slowly climb off his face, looking at him as he glares at you darkly. You can see the little cracks appearing behind his eyes, his dominative nature stretching to the point of pain. He wasn’t amused to begin with but now he is close to being berserk. 

Still sitting on his chest, you turn your sweaty chin across your shoulder to glimpse at his tortured cock which now looks painfully red and desperate for some attention. 

“Are you done playing games?” 

There it is, the thing you’ve yearned for. Despair, helplessness. His brow is covered with sweat and his feet kick at the mattress. Oddly enough, you hardly care anymore if he apologizes or not. You know he won’t, it’s not because he doesn’t care, it’s because it’s all part of the battle. 

And if anything, Syverson hates losing.

“Not even close,” you answer while you crawl backwards, maintaining fierce eye contact with your enemy. Your glare returns the fight which is now escalated to a whole new level. Like a cougar ready for assault, you snake yourself to the starting point. Your hand meets with the pink toy, which is laid just where you left it.

His eyebrow crooks up, looking at you suspiciously and somewhat concerned. “What are you doing?”     

You hold the toy firmly in your hand while spreading your legs across each of his. Your index finger smoothes over the length of the silicone toy, flirting with the on and off button against your tip. 

“Remember how you told everyone at the bar that I fuck myself while you watch on Skype?”  

“Stop it,” he shoots a warning glare, his neck stretching up with frustration. You tilt your head, puckering your lips sweetly into a pout before flicking the toy on, letting it vibrate in your grasp. 

“For fuck’s sake, woman!” he growls and his eyes widen as you position the toy against your clit and instantly begin gasping as it brings you to incredible pleasure in less than a second.

“Oh god, baby!!!!” you gasp, closing your eyes and curling your toes. You massage your clit slowly, letting the vibration coax you just enough before the sensation turns painful. You slip the entire length of the toy inside you while screaming loud enough for your neighbours to hear.

“Sy!!!!” his name is on your lips while you drive the vibrator in and out, angling it at the right spots that make you mewl like a whore. Your eyes flick open to glimpse at the man who stares at you, eyes drenched with hopeless desire, mouth gaping open as his cock flinches with pain and need. The fact that he cannot have you right now is throwing the animal in him to a new length of frustration he never knew before. He squirms on the bed, throwing his head back and then shaking it at you, his lips pressed to a thin line beneath his messy beard. 

“Fuck this, I am sorry! Okay?!”

You pump the toy in and out and yip while your finger ticks the button for a higher speed. “Not… good… enough!” you cry out, feeling your walls shuddering. You look at Syverson’s cock, imagining it inside you instead, his wider girth, the warmth of his body. 

You need him, not a toy to replace him and still, you come, your body clenching around the soft silicone. 

“Will you stop with the games already!? I said I was sorry!” he shouts at you with his face on the verge of panic. His eyes were glossy with anxiety and misery. If you weren’t as desperate to make love to him, if only you didn’t miss to feel him, sunken at your depth, you would have been able to go for hours.  

You chuckle viciously, brushing a sticky strand of hair from your forehead while finally shifting yourself to straddle his hips. His chest heaves with eagerness, his breath loud and urgent as your fingers seizes his cock one more time and you lift your hips. He growls once you lubricate his erection against your slit before taking him into your core. 

Ever so slowly you let yourself fall on his shaft, taking him inch by inch, enjoying the pure harmony that releases from both of your throats. 

“Fuck!!!!” Sy shouts, his frustration finally being answered by the slippery heat of your taut canal. Not stopping, you sink down until the soft edge of your ass rests neatly on his tight balls. Until he is bottomed out inside you, pushed against the rim of your womb. 

Painfully engorged your organs throb against one another, blood pumping fast with fury, yet you remain still. You give Syverson one last cruel smirk of triumph.

“Oh come on, woman!!!!” he grunts and bucks his hips, making you rise with him as he lifts you from the bed with ease. “I’m sorry, okay? I love you, I didn’t mean to say that stupid thing. I am just a jarhead, I don’t know how to be different.”

The evil grin quickly fades from your face. For a second, your heart beats abnormally fast while your eyes feel moist. A joyous spasm runs through the knot in your stomach.

“You love me?”

Sy looks at you with a deep frown, the usual fierceness his eyes hold is now replaced by something as fragile as a butterfly wing. You know better than to touch it. 

He never said it before, not to you, not to any other woman.   

You are flooded by a whirlpool of emotions, hitting you all at once, assaulting your heart and your loins. Your senses are at a complete loss, forgetting all about the stupid battle for control. You want nothing but to have him, to fuck him until you cry out of love. Lifting yourself up, you begin to ride him with incredible force. Hips rising up and down on his girth, nails digging into his torso and sliding up his chest.

“Sy!” You cry out his name, feeling full of him. He groans with amazement, finally praised by the sweetness of your body which he achingly longed for in months.

“Yes, baby,” he calls for you, jerking his hips to meet you as you sink down and throw your head back. “Ride me, fuck me, darlin’.”  

You roll your hips and dance on his cock vigorously, your back arching while you sing with ecstasy. His cock is swelling inside you, locked between your closing walls as they attempt to drain him of everything he has. You know it won’t last long yet right now you don’t care, you don’t care if he comes without you. 

Because he loves you, the warmth that spreads from your heart onward is just as good. 

Yet still, you come, grinding your clit against his pubic bone while tears spring down your cheeks. You hear his voice calling your name in a blur, throwing an onslaught of praises before he lifts you up with his body.

All spent, you collapse flat onto his body, humming to yourself as the hot sprout of his semen fills your womb. Your head rests on his chest, listening to the beating drum within while your fingers draw circles onto his skin.

“I love you,” you say it back, slightly tilting your head to meet his eyes. He smiles at you relaxed, finally released, his breath is still irregular, small gasps of air break between his lips.

“Now uncuff me, kitten, let’s get some breakfast.”

You lift your head and slide further up so your face is levelled with his, your fingers play with his beard while you observe him.

“I am not sure I am done switching just yet.”

_____________________________________________________

disclaimer: I don’t own Sand Castle or Captain Syverson

[all-the-love-harold]

Fine Line

Chapter 2 - I don’t want to be alone

December 20th 2019

“Hey Bowie?” Clara said in her high pitched dog voice and watched as Bowie titled his head to listen to her “Do you want to wake up uncle Harry?”

Bowie jumped down off the bed and ran straight to Clara’s bedroom door waiting for her to open it.

“Ok let’s go big dog, go jump on uncle Harry!” she opened the door and let Bowie out to the living room where a very hungover Harry was snoring on the couch. Now the thing that Clara had learnt best about Bowie over the last few days was that he had absolutely no understanding of personal space so as soon as he saw Harry on the couch, he jumped up and Harry groaned as he landed on his belly.

“Noooo” he moaned “Too early”

“It’s 8am Harold” Clara chimed “Time to drive home for christmas”

Christmas was Clara's favorite time of year and as a result she unusually started preparing in october and she had a ready made playlist of christmas songs to play at any given moment. So she pulled her phone from the pocket of her hoodie and pressed play on “I’ll be home for Christmas” and turned it up as loud as she possibly could.

Harry rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, “ 5 more minutes”

“Big night then?” she said, sitting herself down at the end of the couch where Harry’s legs were tucked up and Bowie crawled over to snuggle up to his new mum.

“Mmmhmm” he sighed “got back at 4 am”

`

“So I guess I’m driving then?”

“You’re amazing” he smiled, without opening his eyes again.

The morning was slow, Clara made Harry some eggs on toast and then found the biggest travel mug she could for his coffee and one that was only slightly smaller for her own. She packed Bowie's bag of toys and training treats and by the time they packed the car, double and triple checked that they had everything including the presents and the ingredients for the pudding that Clara was going to make, it was 10am and Harry was starting to feel a little more alive albeit a little tired.

“There are shops in holmes chapel Ra” Harry said as he shut the boot to the car “if it turns out that we’ve forgotten the custard I will go out and get it”

“Right let’s go then” clara smiled “and you can face Anne when there’s no custard because they’re sold out”

“I’ll make the fucking custard” he laughed as he pulled the door open and hopped in the car.

"Hi Bowie" he chimed as the dog who was sitting on the back seat of the car rested his head on the shoulder of the passenger seat "you're pretty cute little dude"

Clara's heart swelled, she had grown to love Bowie more than anything else and it was nice to see that she wasn't alone.

The journey was slow. Traffic was almost at a standstill on the highway that would take them out of London and into the countryside, but that was to be expected this close to christmas. Clara imagined what it would be like christmas eve and became very thankful that herself and Harry had the kinds of jobs they could take extra time off from.

“I’m dreaming of a white christmas” Harry sang, turning the stereo up as they came to a stand still once again

“Just like the ones I used to know” Clara sang, horribly out of tune

“Where the treetops glisten '' Harry giggled his way through the next few lines as Clara continued to sing out of time and tune.

“It’s a good thing you’re a lawyer” He said when the song ended

“You’re saying I couldn’t make it as a singer?” Clara said, pretending to sound offended

“On no, I think you’d be great” Harry laughed “With a lot of autotune and lip sync”

“I’ve learnt to lip sync your entire album, so I’ll take your next tour off your hands”

“Yeah great” Harry nodded “You do that, I’ll write the next album and you can tour that”

“We make a great team” Clara laughed “Too bad you look like a troll and you can’t tour for yourself”

Harry shrugged “Hey, I’m just keeping you in a job”

Clara laughed “Alright” she said steering the conversation in a more serious direction “Tell me about Shelly”

Harry shrugged and sighed at the same time, running his hands through his hair “there’s not much to say really, unless you want details about all the sex we’ve had”

“Nope” Clara said definitely “There’s got to be more to it than that H, she was at the show last night, I know you, you don’t invite your fuck buddies to things like that”

“She didn’t stay long though, did she?” Harry was blushing mostly because Clara was right, there was more to it than that, he just wasn’t ready to admit it to himself yet.

“No, I think she was gone before the end of the first song”

“Exactly” Harry nodded

“And you’re not just downplaying this because I’m sad and single now?”

“No” he shook his head “you never downplayed your happiness when I was sad and single”

“Fair pont” she said keep her eyes fixed on the road “Just be careful H, I only spoke to her for a minute so take what I say as a grain of salt, but she seemed like the type to collect trophies”

“What do you mean?” he asked

“Well you’re not exactly some unknown, undiscovered musician, gigging around London, sleeping with you gains serious bragging rights, she seems like the type to want them”

“I actually thought the opposite” he pondered, looking out the window and playing with his lips. A habit that he’s picked up over years

Clara’s heart sank, she hated that he couldn’t see what she and Gemma had thought was so obvious “Like I said, grain of salt, and if you’re happy, I’m happy, just be careful”

He smiled “Don’t tell Mum? Yeah”

“I’m not making any promises, Anne knows how to get me talking”

“Well I might just tell Jenny about …… “

“About what Styles? Jenny and I have no secrets”

He sighed “Maybe you should”

“So what kept you out until 4am if Shelly left the show so early?”Clara decided to turn the subject back around to Shelly so that he wouldn’t ask how she was feeling about the break up, because if she was honest, she didn’t know how she was feeling.

“Mostly stupidity” he rubbed his eyes “But I also went back to her place at about midnight”

“So you’re saying you slept on my couch right after you had sex with her?”

“Yep” he nodded

“Did you shower first?”

“Kinda” he smirked

“How do you “kinda”” Clara said using her hands to make air quotes “have a shower”

“Well we had sex in the shower”

Clara laughed “Of course. Oh God” she sighed dropping her head a little without taking her eyes off the road “I miss having a sex life”

“You’ve only been single for like a week” Harry said, trying to make her feel better without saying too much about Will

“Yeah but I haven’t had sex in months, I knew the break up was coming” she said honestly

“Well you certainly weren’t” Harry giggled tentatively

Claral laughed and playfully slapped his knee “Fuck you Styles”

He shrugged “You can if you want”

“Excuse me” Clara had to fight the urge to slam her foot on the breaks and avoid a collision the the motorway

“I’m joking Ra” Harry laughed, although he wasn’t entirely sure that he was. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d always had the idea that he and Clara would end up together.

“Good” Clara giggled nervously “Because I know where that’s been” she gestured towards his crotch

“And I know where that’s been,” he said, doing the same movements towards her, a smile etched on his face so that she knew he was joking “and it’s looking a bit dusty”

Clara laughed “I won’t take this abuse” she said jokingly “Keep going and I’ll pull over right here and you can walk back to holmes chapel”

Harry reached out and turned the music back up to almost full volume

“It’s beginning to look a lot like christmas” he sang along with michael buble

“Everywhere you go” Clara joined in and that was that for the rest of the trip. They sang as loud as they could and laughed at each other singing out of tune. They made up stories about the cars passing by and spoke about just about anything, relishing in the time they got to spend together, enjoying each other's company because they knew that in just a few weeks, Harry would be off again, and they would be a part for most of the new year. Or so they thought.

***

December 25th, 2019.

It was 6am. It was still dark outside but Clara and Bowie were wide awake. Like little kids on christmas morning, they were excited. Well at least Clara was. Bowie just knew that he’d get some kibble as soon as Clara got out of bed. But Clara had so much to do this morning, she was responsible for christmas lunch this year and she hadn’t even made so much as a dessert. But christmas was here and there was no way that she was going to allow the day to be anything less than festive.

“Right then Bowie,” she yawned “let’s get this show on the road”

The dog lifted his head, looked at Clara as she spoke and flopped back down again when she was done, as if to tell her that it was far too early for an adult to be getting up on Christmas morning. And it was clearly too early for him to be having any breakfast.

Clara laughed and swung her legs out of the bed, “You can stay in bed if you then, but I will be cooking a chicken later, you might want to get up for that”

Bowie groaned and Clara laughed as she put on her dressing gown and walked out of the room. It was a cold morning, but the house was so well heated she would never have guessed that there was frost outside.

The thing about Christmas in Holmes Chapel was that it was full of chosen family. Clara and Harry’s parents had both split up when they were really little, Clara’s when she was four and Harry’s when he was seven and ever since then, their mums had banded together to make sure that christmas was as festive and magical as possible. And Harry and Clara had always wanted to carry on the tradition now that they were all grown up and usually only home for christmas.

Clara walked into the kitchen and switched the kettle on, still feeling a little sleepy, she didn’t turn the light on and walked straight into Harry, who was standing in front of the pantry.

“Morning” he said sounding as if he was still half asleep

“What are you doing up so early?” Clara questioned “And why are you just standing there”

“I just got off the phone with Shelly”

“Oh gross” Clara sighed “well could you move so I can get to the tea”

Harry took an over exaggerated step to the left “It wasn’t that kind of phone call”

“Why else would she be calling you before 6am on christmas day - you want one?” She held up a tea bag.

He nodded “To wish me a Merry Christmas” all of a sudden all of the colour drained from his face and he gulped before he could finish his sentence “and to tell me that she’s pregnant”

Clara paused as she reached for the kettle and looked up at Harry “She’s what now?”

“She’s having my baby” he huffed and threw his hands up in the air

“And how are we feeling about that? Clara stepped lightly, she didn’t want to say anything that might offend him right at this moment in time.

“Confused” he shrugged “I was so careful, I used condoms every time and she told me she was on the pill, I can’t be a dad right now, I’ll be on tour when it’s born”

“Did you tell her that?”

“Yeah” he nodded “she told me to cancel, she wants to keep it” he ran his hands through his hair “I don’t know what to do Ra? Tell me what to do?”

She gestured towards the bar stool that sat at the kitchen bench and put his cup of tea down next to him “do you want a baby?”

He sighed “I mean, yeah, one day, but fuck not right now”

“And more importantly” Clara looked at him sternly “Do you want one with Shelly?”

He took a sip of his tea “No” he said plainly

“Well there’s your answer”

“But she wants to keep it Ra, I can’t just ghost her now and it’s not like I’m not going to love the kid, but it’s just horrible timing”

“I think you need to talk to shelly in person”

“Yeah” he nodded “I do….” he paused “Can you come with me? Might be handy to have a family lawyer right there”

“Might be a bit intimidating right at the beginning H” Clara admitted “I’ll get you through the custody and child support battles if that’s what you want, but you need to sit down with her and get all your feelings out on the table first - and then if she doesn’t cooperate, call me and I’ll go full lawyer on her”

“Lawyer on who?” Anne said, walking into the kitchen wrapping her dressing gown tight around her to keep her body heat in.

“Oh no one” Harry smiled his charming smile “Merry Christmas Mum”

“Oh Merry Christmas my boy” she wrapped her arms around him “It’s so nice to have you home”

His head sank into Anne’s shoulder and suddenly everything didn’t seem so urgent or stressful

“Good to be here mum” he sighed happily

“Now Clara” she said pulling away from Harry “Merry Christmas Dear”

“Merry Christmas Anne” she smiled “Thanks for having us all in your house”

“Oh it’s no trouble, you’re doing most of the work love, I’ve just got spare rooms. Now,” she clapped her hands “How can I help?”

Clara smiled “You can’t, make yourself a cup of tea and relax Anne, you deserve it”

“Relax this year before you have a grandchild to dote on next year” Harry thought to himself before smiling at his mother and handing her a teabag, butterflies filling his stomach, the thought of being a father still sinking in.

“If you insist” Anne shrugged, “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything”

Harry waited until Anne was as far away as possible and then whispered “I think I have to go back to London tomorrow, talk to shelly”

Clara shook her head “No” she said “you need a few days to get your head around it all. Work out what you want and have a clear head when you talk to her”

“Breaking up with someone are we H?” Ben, Clara's brother said walking into the kitchen.

“No” he laughed nervously “One of the PR managers at my label is trying to get me to get caught by the paparazzi while I’m home” This wasn’t a lie. They’d been bugging him about that for a while now, but right now it was the least of his worries.

“Maybe your job isn’t as great as it looks” Ben shrugged “anyway, Merry Christmas” he smiled “What kind of feast are we having Ra?”

“Well you’re having a roast chicken and Harry and Gemma are having a nut roast”

“Sounds delicious, what can I do?”

“Nothing yet” Clara smiled wishing he would go away so she could finish her conversation with Harry “Go sit down and get warm by the fire, I can see the goosebumps on your arms”

Ben nodded and left the room, feeling a little awkward for not helping and Clara turned to Harry.

“You need to get your head around this pretty fast H, because if she’s already saying she’s going to keep it, I can almost guarantee you she won’t be changing her mind. And I know you, you won’t just be a child support dad, so when we get a chance after lunch has happened, we’re going for a walk, and were going to talk this through until you know what you really want from this”

Harry’s face had turned a ghostly white “Ok” he nodded

“And until then” clara smiled “I’m going to distract you, see those carrots over there?”

He nodded again

“Peel them” Clara said “and the boil them in that pot”

“I can do that” he sighed “But then what”

“Well then you can chop the nuts” Clara took a sip of her tea and tried to empty her head of the idea that Harry was going to be a father and work out where the hell she needed to start for this christmas lunch, which she had refused help with.

***

Holmes Chapel was really beautiful in winter. The trees glistened with frost that had never melted from that morning and paths looked like something straight out of a fairy tale. Harry and Clara had managed to escape their families for a little while, using Bowie as the perfect excuse to go for a walk in the cold. It had been almost eight hours since Shelly had told Harry that she’s pregnant but the information had barely sunken in.

“What are your thoughts H?” Clara asked after five minutes of walking in silence

“I don't have any” Harry admitted “I don’t want a baby right now Ra, but I’ve got one and I don’t know what to do”

Clara nodded, “I think the first thing you need to think about is what you want your relationship with Shelly to look like.”

“I don’t know” he said firmly “I really like her but this makes it very serious very fast”

“It does” Clara nodded “But I’m not sure you’re in a position to be picky about that right”

“I guess we’re better off working out that we don’t work together before the baby arrives”

“That’s one way to look at it…” Bowie spotted something and launched himself forward “Bowie” Clara said firmly “with me”

“Or it could work and I’d have a ready made happy family before I thought I would”

“Yeah” Clara sighed, little apprehensively, “This could be great for you”

“What do I do if it’s a disaster”

“You call me” Clara said “and we do everything we legally can to get the custody agreement that suits you”

“I’d want all of it” He admitted

“I know” Clara smiled “But I wanted you to say that, so that you’d realise that this is not such a disaster”

“I hate it when you do that” Harry smiled down at clara

“Do what?” she smirked

“Know what I’m thinking before I’m thinking it”

“Oh that” Clara blushed “I’ve been doing that since we were 5”

He nodded and sighed “I guess I’m going to be a dad next year then”

[silma-words]

14. “Just please be my best friend right now, not the guy I just confessed my love to.” for adrian x mc?

N/A: Thank you for the prompt @detectivedumortain 😊 I don’t know if this is what you had in mind, but I hope you will like it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Ellie)

Rating: PG-13

Warning: Alcohol consumption

Category: Random fluff

Summary: Bloodbound AU (after book 1 – the events of book 2 never happened) – While Ellie is gone out with her friends, Adrian receives a much unexpected message from her after she has had one too many drinks…

Inspired by prompt #14 from Prompt List #1: “Just please be my best friend right now, not the guy I just confessed my love to.”

Words: 2450

**Disclaimer: Characters and background plot are the property of Pixelberry.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hangover

Adrian was lying lazily on his couch, nose buried deep in the folds of an old worn-out book, when a sound made him jump out of his concentration, drawing his attention to the phone lying face down on the coffee table. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting between the device and the page he very much wanted to keep exploring. When the ping was immediately followed by another four, he smiled fondly and dropped the book onto his lap, knowing with certainty who these texts would be from.

*You don’t know what you’re missing*

*Drop your boring book and join us*

*I promise you won’t regret it*

*They have that fancy whiskey you love, Macallan Sherry Oak*

*And play decent music that even you would approve of*

Her texts made him chuckle, secretly filling him with warmth knowing that she was thinking about him on her night out with Lily and a few of their friends. As much as Adrian wanted to spend all of his time with her if he could, he was convinced that they both needed some time for themselves once in a while. Especially when Ellie and Lily were planning to meet with some of their common friends, with whom it was always a little tricky to keep up appearances to make sure they did not find out about the vampire world.

Adrian was not a huge fan of texting, but he couldn’t leave her hanging. That, and he also did appreciate the chance to interact a little with her despite the distance.

*Macallan Sherry Oak, hum? Consider me impressed*

The fact that she remembered which whiskey his favourite was made him smile. She did not lie during her interview: she did have a great memory.

*Sounds tempting, but maybe another time? I feel that I’d enjoy this new bar way more with you alone*

Once he read over his text again, he worried for a second that it might have been a tad too blunt. He really needed to get a hand around these ‘emoji’ thingies, and start using those. It took a few minutes until the phone pinged again with her response.

*Is that a date then, Mr Raines?*

The winking smiley face ending her message eased his worries instantly. Another proof that emojis did actually have a purpose.

*Sure it is, Miss Reed*

His answer was met with a flurry of pictograms, making him smile brightly, before he drifted back to his reading, confident that Ellie would be soon too distracted by her friends to continue their exchange. And he was right. His phone remained awfully quiet for hours, letting him indulge in his ‘boring book’ (her words) and slowly doze off on the sofa.

When he eventually woke up from his unexpected nap, his attention was captured by the flickering light of his phone, indicating that he had missed a few notifications while he was out. A couple of work emails, a few newsflash from his financial news app, and... eleven text messages, and five missed calls. All from Ellie.

He raised up quickly to sit properly and open the messages, a ball forming in his throat at the idea that maybe something had happened. It wouldn’t be the first time. This woman had a talent for trouble. But his worries faded instantly upon browsing quickly over her texts, which were... nothing but a succession of random pictures of her evening, accompanied by random sentences full of typos. The series of text ended with a bunch of random fruit and veg emoji that Adrian was not quite sure how to interpret.

Adrian chortled at this. Well, the girls were having a good night by the looks of it!

Checking the timing of her missed calls, he saw that these had been only a few minutes apart, but that she had eventually left a couple of voice messages. He could not repress a laughter upon hearing her inebriated voice as he started listening to the first recording, nearly able to picture from her pitch the blissful smile that must have adorned her lips as she spoke.

*Hey, handsome! I guess you’re probably asleep or something but... huumm, I just wanted to hear your voice... because I... hum, well... I guess ‘cause I’m missing you like crazy right now and I wish you were here... although tis’ probably best you’re not, you’d probably be embarrassed of my sorry drunk ass right now but... aaarh, I guess I just wanted you to know that I miss you, even if I see you aaaalll the tiiiime and... aaarrg I probably shouldn’t say that... you’re goin’ to freak out and think I’m like some kind of overly needy panda bear clinging to your leg... oh god, why the hell am I sayin’ t...* /end of message/

Adrian’s smile was nearly reaching his ears by the time that first message was cut by the robotic voice, the corner of his eyes crinkled with amusement, but his eyes gleaming with warmth at the sound of Ellie’s declaration. The seconds he had to wait for the next voice message to play nearly seemed interminable.

*Hum, well... sorry about that... hum… right, hum… nevermind! Well, I should probably get going now and leave you to whatever your old ass is doin’ right now but… aaarh I guess I’ll see you soon at work on Monday anyway… or before if you want, or… but if you don’t that’s fine… aaarh ok, that’s me hanging up now, before I get even weirder… byyyye!! I love you!.......... ooohhh sh…* /end of message/

Well. That was a hell of a message. Adrian was beaming, the sound of her voice still ringing in his ears, the sweetness and awkwardness of her ramble warming his body all over. And his heart was slowly restarting after it had jumped and landed with a thud when he had heard her last words.

He had definitely not been expecting that. Neither did she, by the sound of the muttered curse that seemed to have followed. Neither of them had spoken these words before. Neither of them had dared rushing things by voicing their feelings out loud. Although to Adrian, those feelings were as clear as day. Silently expressed in the way he looked at her, touched her, cared for her. But he did not want to presume that Ellie was feeling the same, although he had been desperately hoping so. Hearing her saying it out loud was a relief, an unexpected gift that he was not still entirely sure he deserved.

But what to do now? Should he say it back? Run to find her to tell her he felt the same? She might not even remember saying it, judging by the state of intoxication she seemed to have been under when she called. She might even regret it, or might not have even meant it. The conflicting thoughts now rushing through his head instantly washed down the smile from his lips. Oh God, it was like being a teenager all over again!

He had to go and see her. At least to check if she had made it home ok.

His mood swinging from elation to anxiety as he was replaying her messages in his head, he made his way to Lily’s and Ellie’s apartment, eager to see her but nervous about what he should say. That journey seemed to last forever. So did waiting at the door for someone to let him in, his ears trained on the slow and familiar heartbeat he could hear through the solid wood. Luckily, Lily was quick to answer the door, although she was clearly surprised.

“Hey A!” she greeted him with a smile, before furrowing her brows in concern. “Oh no, what kind of messages did she send you? Did she freak you out?! That was a bit of a struggle at some point to get her hands away from her stupid phone..!”

“No, no, don’t worry Lily”, he reassured her. “I… I just wanted to check up on her as the night seemed to have been quite… wild?”.

Lily sniggered at his choice of words.  “Oh yeah, that was a good night!”, she beamed, gesturing for him to come in, before adding with a grin, “… although I don’t know what Ellie would say right now… I had kind of forgotten the lovely after-effects that overly sweet and cheap cocktails can have on a human organism… and so did she, I reckon.”

Lily giggled a little at this, shooting an adorable apologetic grin at Adrian as if to prevent him from even thinking about blaming her for Ellie’s massive hangover. If she had reached that stage yet.

“Well, may I go and see the damage for myself?” he asked with a grin.

“Be my guest! But I hope you have learnt how to block your nostrils over the years, coz in there... yuk!”

They both shared a laugh at this, as Adrian dropped his coat and jacket on a chair before heading towards Ellie's room, bracing himself as he knocked softly at the door “Ellie? May I come in?”

His call was met by the sounds of ruffling sheets and by an intelligible grumble that he interpreted as a ‘yes'. Slowly pushing the door open, his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness of the room to find Ellie’s form, surprisingly not tucked in the sheets, but instead awkwardly sat on the floor by her bed. Her cheek was resting on the edge of the mattress, her arms sprawled around her head lazily as if to prevent herself from slipping off to the floor.

Adrian quietly crossed the room to kneel by her side, laying a comforting hand between her shoulder blades while reaching over her arm to brush away the sticky strands of hair from her face, revealing a pale figure staring ahead into nothingness, her mouth slightly open as she was taking in shallow breaths.

“Oh sweetheart…” he sighted softly, offering her a warming smile as her eyes finally seemed to have focused on him. Caressingly gently the burning skin of her temple, he offered: “Do you want to stay down here, or do you want me to move you to the bed?”

It took Ellie a while to answer, as if gathering her thoughts as well as her strength to voice them was beyond achievable for her. She finally nodded weakly, her lips finally moving to let her feeble voice out: “I tried but… couldn’t get back on the bed after I…”.

Nodding back at her to show her that she did not need to say any more, he pressed a quick peck on her forehead before gently moving around to collect her limp body in his arms and deposit her carefully onto the bed. Helping her out of her clothes was the next step, and Ellie did not complain whatsoever during the whole process, focused on keeping her eyes closed to try to ignore what this shuffling around was doing to her stomach. Once he was done, Adrian sat by her side on the edge of the bed, one hand holding hers onto his lap, the other on the side of her neck so he could brush his thumb over her cheek soothingly.  

“Sounded like you had a great night yesterday” Adrian teased, as Ellie looked at him with foggy eyes, attempting to raise a sceptical brow but failing miserably.

“Yes we had… but” she had to stop for a second, her stomach heaving dangerously, “not so much fun now”.

“Yes I can imagine”, he chuckled lightly, his eyes roaming over her features to check everything else was alright.

Lost in the peaceful silence that was filling in the room as she was gradually relaxing next to him, securely tucked in in the bedsheets, Adrian had nearly forgotten why he had initially rushed to her place. That was until he saw her eyes suddenly snap open and her brow furrow, as she broke the silence to ask: “Wait… what do you mean by ‘sounded like you had a great night’?”

Well, at least that answered his previous concern that she might not remember was she had said in her messages. He could just pretend that nothing out of the ordinary happened, and leave it at that, hoping that those words would grace her lips once more in the near future, under better circumstances. Hopefully. Except he did not want to pretend. Or could not.

“You don’t remember calling me last night?”, he asked softly, unable to hide the gleam of expectation in his eyes.

Her frown and confused gaze answered his question before her lips did. “No I….” she started, before suddenly widening her eyes in silent realisation, as glimpses of last night’s drunk endeavours resurfaced to hit her in the face. Eyes wide, she was starting to remember… bits after bits… and then all of it.

“Oh nooooo…”, she muttered, the blood somehow suddenly finding its way back to her cheeks despite the weakness of her body. If the flush of her skin and the thumping of her heart were not enough to ensure Adrian that she was now remembering everything she had said, the sheepish smile that adorned her face as she dropped her eyes to their joined hands was proof enough.

Squeezing her hand a little more tightly, he braced himself: “Ellie, I…”

But as he was about to speak, Ellie suddenly straightened up in the bed, covering her mouth with her hand and she heaved once more, her body violently reminding her that now was not the time for heart-to-heart conversations. No. Now was the time for her to pay the consequences for over indulging on G&Ts and margaritas a few hours before.

Clutching Adrian’s arm to keep herself up, she pleaded weakly, the corner of her mouth curled in a feeble smile that showed that she was admitting defeat: “Adrian, please… just… please, be my best friend right now, not the guy I just confessed my love to…. I’m gonna need you to carry me to the bathroom…”.

If Adrian was a little disappointed, he did not show it. Probably because he knew that now was clearly not the right time to discuss this. And probably because he could see the reassurance in her eyes that she was not going to take her words back. They would get to this part again eventually, there was no point in rushing things just because the alcohol had loosened her lips.

Smiling at her warmly, he simply nodded, pushing the bedsheets away to cradle her trembling body once more in his arms and carry her to the bathroom. She was right. Now was not the right time. He would tell her. Eventually. Just not right now.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @adriansbiss, @itsjustwinter, @shanzay44, @purvishraick

If anyone wants to be added/removed from the tag list, let me know!

@choicesficwriterscreations​

[imnotrevealingmyname]

When A God Gets Lost

Chapter 1

Summary: There are bad ways to travel; then, there are terrible ways to travel. Teleporting to another dimension through the Æther is the latter, apparently. But as the old Bengali adage goes, even tigers will eat grass when they're starving.

Maybe a Midgardian from a different dimension isn't such a bad travel companion after all.

Author's note: This is my submission for the @allaboardthereadingrailroad 's Marvel Diversity Challenge. The OFC is an Indian- a Bengali, more specifically.

Tags: @what-just-happened-bro @is-it-madness @myraiswack @green-valkyrie @teenagereadersciencenerd @ohdearhiddles @whatafuckingdumbass @poetic-fiasco @mrs-wolfhard @your-favourite-skittles @lehuka123 @kellatron55 @shiningloki @latent-thoughts @outlawangel2020 @loki-yoursaviourishere

Warnings: Gore, mild violence, mentions of death.

Loki had known this would come to pass. He had known what he had signed up for, when he'd agreed to accompany Thor to Svartalfheim.

He'd even welcomed his own death.

At the time, the sweet prospect of release had seemed to be a gift from Valhalla.

So he hadn't tried to stop it from happening.

Except, he had.

Blood dripping from his mouth, Loki struggled to let go of strings of seiðr desperately anchoring him to his body.

Dust settled on his mottled blue skin. His ears were ringing, and blacks spots seemed to have been tattooed into his retinas.

If not for the pain, Loki would've laughed at the irony of the situation. Once again, despite all his orchestrations, he was a helpless spectator, strung tight while instincts battled brain.

White hot pain seared his entire body, radiating from the wound to his extremities, as he fought to make the tendrils of seiðr retreat. Unfortunately, it was tied to his genes, bound intricately to the essence of his consciousness. It kept him from slipping into the much anticipated slumber, tightening its hold exponentially.

Numbly, Loki thought of all the times he had heard people talk about life flashing before one's eyes before the final rest settled in.

Loki saw nothing, however. The only thing that passed before his eyes was the dreaded vision of violet sparks of seiðr curling around his own, slowly drawing his life force from him.

The salt of his tears mixed with the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. This helplessness was something he had vowed to never fall into, ever again. But here he lay, defeated yet victorious, in a veritable stream of his own blood, fighting the very instincts that had brought him thus far in life.

Odin, Frigga, Thor… Asgard. They had all taken everything from him, everything he had ever treasured. Self worth, family, his very identity…

Loki had hoped that he could find it in death. Who he really was.

But no, he had been stripped of that luxury, too. Not once, not twice… several times. Twice at his behest, and several times at another's, humiliated and agonized.

Maybe I should stop fighting.

But that wasn't who he was. Loki may not have known who he truly was, but he knew what he wasn't. He had never been one to stop fighting.

But what am I fighting for? Will this right my transgressions? Their transgressions?

Maybe sometimes… to stop fighting was to land the ultimate blow.

Gasping for breath, pain ripping his innards to shreds, he looked down at his midriff. There it was; his seiðr. The only measure of identity he had left. It was flowing from his fingers, from his mouth, weaving between his wounds, holding him together in every sense.

Loki's head fell back as he gave in to it, letting his instincts take over.

He didn't know how much effect his seiðr would have, but seeing as he couldn't do anything about it, apparently…

Unfortunately, he had underestimated the power of his own magicks. Seiðr, in every form, was sentient in its own right. Unbeknownst to Loki, continuous exposure to two infinity stones had affected his own magic in several subtle ways. Seiðr learns from itself and grows- he had learnt this even before he knew how to speak complete sentences.

Never had he thought that magic of such cosmic levels could mingle with his own.

Until he saw a few straggling fragments of the Æther hovering around his limp form.

In its urgency to revive him, his seiðr had drawn the Æther to itself, having turned into something resembling a magnet for cosmic powers.

To his horror, the bloodred fragments of the Æther clustered around him, forming a small tornado of dust and seiðr, swooping in to throw an eerie light over him.

The light only grew in intensity. The pain was lessening- his body was almost completely numb now. Wind howled in his ears, and flashes of green and red blinded him.

Satisfied with its work, his seiðr rose to greet the Æther.

Loki had been completely pinned to the ground. He struggled to look down, and saw that the wound had healed almost all the way through- enough to let him survive.

Immediately, he tried to draw back the seiðr. Enough damage had been done, he didn't need any more adventures.

The seiðr had other ideas, apparently.

Green and red danced together, shimmering and singing a shrill, haunting tune that rattled Loki to the core, producing a stab of pain in his gut.

Oh. His seiðr could only do so much. The spear that had impaled him must've been poisoned…

Which meant that his control over his seiðr was limited, and it knew it.

And thus, it was trying to regain strength by sapping it off the one of the most dangerous entities in all of the Realms.

Unlike normal seiðr, the Æther- as well as the other Infinity Stones- needn't be bound to an individual. They had their own separate existence.

Loki didn't even want to know what might happen if it bound itself to him.

Unfortunately, the velocity of the mingling magicks was growing, forming a pitch black void above him.

Fuck.

A sound of surprise and shock was the last thing that left his mouth before he was sucked into the vortex.

A deep rumble ran through the entirety of Svartalfheim when the dust settled- almost as though the Realm heaved a sigh of relief.

----

Aakshya's head hurt. Half an hour on the Arambagh local train with two three year olds bawling their lungs out less than two metres away could do that to anyone.

The last few days weighed down on her. It was all so surreal. Her last living relative- the last one she had been on good terms with, anyway- was gone.

Aakshya sighed softly, adjusting her glasses as her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away. It wasn't surprising, not really. Her great aunt had been quite aged, but losing her was still a blow she wasn't quite prepared to deal with.

At least here, she could mourn in peace.

The Chandur forest had always been her happy place. After very long weeks at work, she had a habit of spending the weekend in a small resort here, sometimes. It was just quiet enough to help her recuperate.

The resort was still half an hour away. She decided to take her time today.

The sky was darkening, and she could see the moon through the spaces between the canopies of the trees.

The moon seemed larger today. Or maybe that was just the tears in her eyes.

She sped up a little, a prickly feeling spreading over her nape.

Were the trees rustling a bit more than usual? No, that must've been the wind… right?

Aakshya stopped dead in her tracks, clutching her bag tightly.

To her right, someone stumbled in the dark, groaning deeply and uttering a string of incoherent words in a language she couldn't recognize.

Maybe it was just the owner of the resort... Though why would she be here? Wouldn't she be at the resort itself?

"Sukanya Di, tumi?"she called out timidly. "Tumi ekhane ki korcho?" Is that you, Sukanya? What are you doing here?

She whipped around, frightened.

The sight that greeted her eyes was unnerving.

A blue-skinned, armour-clad man, covered in blood, was half sprawled on the ground, chest heaving as he struggled to rise.

The weirdest thing was that he was surrounded by red and green light that seemed to be trying to enter his body.

Aakshya stumbled backwards- but then she yelped when the man's hand shot forward and grabbed her upper arm, preventing her from fleeing.

"What is this place?"he rasped, using her as support to pull himself up to full height. Aakshya's eyes widened- he was over a foot taller than her, and he seemed to have been impaled clean through his chest.

Judging from the blood, the wound was fresh; but it was already closing in front of her eyes.

What in the world-

"I asked you something, mortal,"he snapped, shaking her a little. It affected his balance, apparently, because he swayed dangerously, catching himself by steadying himself against a nearby tree.

"Are you- is this some kind of a prank?"she squeaked, trying to pry his fingers off of her.

The man growled, and then coughed up a little more blood. "Answer the bloody question, girl."

"Earth, we're on Earth,"Aakshya managed, now fighting to get out of his hold. "Unhand me, you-"

If the fact that a man who had been impaled quite recently was stronger than her was a matter of concern, it didn't strike her then, as she attempted to scratch and bite him. The man merely grunted in annoyance, retaliating by giving her another shake.

"You're lying,"he snarled. "This cannot be Midgard."

"I don't know what's going on, but-"

"Unless… no…" He seemed to be speaking to himself now, though his scarlet eyes were on her.

It was completely dark now, and Aakshya was in the hold of some creep in a forest.

Well, I'm fucked.

----

Loki couldn't believe how bad his luck was. His chest stung with every laboured breath, and the Æther was still swirling around him, and now he had been transported to a different dimension.

He could feel it.

Which meant…

There were two of him in this dimension alone.

Oh, fuck.

Meanwhile, the girl was still trying to free herself from his grasp.

Loki gave her a crooked grin. "Looks like you're stuck with me now."

She gave him a look of outrage. "No, I-"

"What's your name?"

She seemed to quell under his gaze. "Aakshya."

"Pretty name. I'm Loki, God of Mischief and Father of Magick."

Aakshya scowled, trying to hit him. "Look, if this is some weird cosplay thing, I'm really not in the mood-"

Loki sighed, using the dredges of his seiðr to still her. "Girl, I've been impaled with a poison tipped spear and thrown into a different dimension, so I'm not in the mood for your tantrums."

Her eyes bulged with rage and she tried in vain to bite him.

"How about you and I go on a nice little walk, hmm? I can sense your loneliness and heartache, girl. I am very perceptive,"Loki said with a small smirk. "I can help you, if you help me. What say you?"

"I say you're a dangerous, senile man who's a bit too obsessed with mythology,"Aakshya spat, struggling to move.

Loki laughed softly. "Oh, but a little danger never hurt."

[echoesnshadows]

𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚  𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐡   ,   a     twenty   six     year   old   grisha   in   the   little   palace.  she   is   a     heartrender     and   are   known   in   the   little   palace   as   the    𝒎𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌  .   they   are   known   to   be    honest     and     abrasive     and   vaguely   resemble    anya   chalotra     .  

            hey  best  frens  !  i  am  so  so  hyped  for  this  ,   i  can’t  wait  to  see  all  your  muses  on  the  dash  and  to  start  writing  with  you  all  !  i’m  very  very  new  to  the  grishverse  ,  i’ve  only  watched  the  netflix  show  (  bc  come  one  ,  who  hasn’t  )  ,  so  there  are  prolly  a  lot  of  knowledge  deficits  in  my  puny  brain  .  please  let  me  know  if  there  are  any  like  very  un  -  canon  things  in  my  intro  ,  i  kinda  just  wrote  it  on  a  whim  .  there  are  a  lot  of   oc  npcs  mentioned  and  not  really  sure  whether  it’s  fits  in  at  all  .  but  hey  ,  at  least  ..  yeah  .  anyway  !  drop  a  like  for  plots  XD

 TRIGGER  WARNINGS    :    MENTIONS   OF  DEATH  ,  BLOOD  ,  PATRICIDE  &  JUST  OVERALL  HORRIBLE  WRITING  .

 let  the  record  show  that  diana  makarovich  wasn’t  born  heartless  .  as  a  child  she  was  ebullient  and  jovial  ,  brimming  with  compassion  and  deeply  consumed  with  a  fervent  determination  to  make  a  difference  .  she’s  the  light  of  our  lives  ,  anton  &  maria  makarovich  would  say  ,  gazing  out  to  their  daughter  chasing  butterflies  through  rain  -  spotted  window  .  then  that  light  became  a  shadow  till  eventually  she  was  merely  an  echo  .

 THE  SERIES  OF  EVENTS  THAT  LED  TO  THIS  UNPRECEDENTED  METAMORPHOSIS  WAS  THE  FOLLOWING  :

 　　—　at  eight  years  old  ,  her  home  was  ransacked  by  investigators  who  sentenced  her  parents  of  violating  their  allegiance  to  the  crown  ,  that  they  were  spies  for  the  fjderans  .  and  she  watched  through  a  little  slit  between  the  cupboard  doors  how  her  father  betrayed  her  mother  to  save  himself  .  they  both  ended  up  dead  anyway  .  but  what  diana  wasn’t  sure  with  ,  is  whether  she  killed  one  of  them  .

  　　—　at  ten  years  old  ,  barely  surviving  on  whatever  scraps  she  could  find  ,  she  was  taken  into  to  an  orphanage  .  there  she  learnt  the  lesson  of  pain  ,  how  to  hide  her  tears  ,  and  how  to  always  protect  yourself  first  .  it  wasn’t  much  different  to  living  on  the  streets  of  poliznaya  ,  only  the  matron’s  bark  was  much  harsher  than  winter’s  bite  .

　　—　 eleven  ,  the  grisha  examiners  came  and  all  the  children  were  lined  up  ,  poked  and  prodded  ,  listened  to  heavy  sighs  at  fruitless  results  then  shoved  to  the  side  .  diana  had  never  thought  she  was  different  .  she  was  just  like  the  rest  of  them  ,  abandoned  ,  lonely  ,  beaten  and  broken  down  by  life  .  even  if  she  could  often  hear  their  hearts  pounding  or  even  if  blood  coincidentally  trickled  down  the  nose  of  who  she  despised  .  when  her  turn  came  ,  she  rolled  up  her  sleeve  ,  expecting  nothing  but  pain  .  but  she  had  been  wrong  ,  about  the  nothing  part  ,  but  not  the  pain  ,  there  was  always  pain  .

  　　—　twelve  ,  only  a  year  at  the  little  palace  and  her  skills  and  already  grown  tremendously  .  it  was  then  she  was  trained  privately  by  stepan  burdin  ,  an  old  man  with  a  receding  hairline  and  penchant  for   fostering   morally   ambiguous   students  but   he  had  had  an  underlying  agenda  ──  he  was  to  train  assassins  for matvei  berezin  ,  a  dangerously  ambitious  noble  on  who  many  have  argued  ,  was  hanging  on  the  precipice  of  his  sanity  .  stepan  was  able  to  harness  her  abilities  ,  her  power  grew  to  such  unfathomable  heights  that  she  was  able  to  use  her  powers  with  the  most  minuscule  movement  of  hands  .

  　　—　four  years  later  she  was  no  longer  a  girl  ,  she  was  a  weapon  .  and  she  was  used  as  so  .  stepan  trained  her  perfectly  for  matvei  ,  and  in  exchange  for  a  comfortable  life  ,  with  food  ,  a  house  and  peace  ,  she  would  be  her  spy  ,  to  extract  information  ,  secrets  ,  lives  ,  to bring  upon  mortal  peril  on  those  who  stood  in  his  way  (  though  she  did  not  know  about  the  latter  till  it  was  too  late  )  .  

  　　—　for  ten  years  there  were  rumours  of  mysterious  passing  of  nobles  ,  some  grisha  ,  some  otkazat’sya  ,  but  one  survivor  ,  just  before  the  life  slipped  from  him  ,  reported  of  violet  eyes  .  that  was  all  he  could  say  of  the  perpetrator  .  and  so  for  ten  years  ,  there  perpetuated  a  story  of  VIOLENT  VIOLET  .  the  mysterious  assassin  of  ravka  .  and  it  soon  becomes  a  saying  people  tell  their  children  ,  as  soon  as  you  see  violet  ,  you  run  .

  　　—　for  ten  years  ,  a  girl  of  shadow  has  been  reduced  to  an  echo  .  and  soon  ,  she  knows  ,  she  will  be  nothing  .  not  even  a  whisper  ,  just  the  quiet  whimper  of  a  nine  -  year  old  girl  who  was  brutally  introduced  to  the  harsh  reality  of  life  .  she  has  not  yet  fulfilled  her  contract  with  matvei berezin  but  has  been  allowed  back  to  the  little  palace  in  preparation  for  the  impending  doom  .  but  diana  has  no  plans  of  staying  ,  she  was  going  to  escape  ,  break  away  from  the  chains  of matvei  berezin  ,  from  the  commands  of  the  queen  ,  she  was  going  to  have  her  peace  .  (  little  did  she  know  true  peace  only  comes  on  your  deathbed  ,  when  you’re  heaving  your  very  last  breath  )  .

 now  diana  makarovich  is  pitch  -  black  winter  nights  ,  she’s  the  shadow  that  haunts  you  ,  the  monster  under  your  bed  ,  the  cold  that  bites  you  in  your  sleep  ,  you  never  see  her  but  she’s  already  behind  you  ,  with  a  white  -  knuckled  grasp  around  your    precariously  beating  heart  .

[exosmuttytalk]

Just Dance

Characters: Chanyeol, female OC

Genre: Fluff, hurt and comfort (kinda?)

Word count: ~2400

Summary: Following a round of her favorite videogame, Chanyeol makes the best effort to prop his girl up.

A/N: Originally, this was going to go a different route with a different main character, but then I thought about my friend @blogmariasan​ and wanted to write something for her ~

How cute does he look in that gif tho

The rapid beating of your heart in your ears and the loud music coming out of the speakers were strong enough for you to miss the noise the front door made when it turned on its hinges. Or the rummaging at the hall as he left the keys at the usual spot on top of the dresser and hung his coat on the hanger.

“Oh, so that’s what you do when I’m not at home, hmm?” his voice came from the doorstep to the living room, where you had moved the coffee table out of the way to make enough space for your workout, standing in front of the TV. “Fraternizing with our enemies.”

The high amount of energy your body stored at the moment combined with his voice startling you sent you practically flying across the room and into the sofa that had been pushed backwards. Sweat dripped down your back and you could feel blood rushing to your already flushed face.

The subject of dance came up fairly often in conversations with Chanyeol, who would sometimes need reassurance when he compared his own dancing with some other of his band mates, but who you’d never let watch you dance. Not on purpose, of course.

Dance is one of those things that do not matter to normal people. Everyone’s been to a club or a party at least once, has made a complete fool of themselves and then has gone home, hopefully having had fun. Not you.

When you were a kid, almost all your female classmates had enrolled in some sort of dance classes: ballet, regional dances, hip-hop, you name it. You knew many people who were part of an amateur band that learnt and performed their favorite artists’ dances. You weren’t one of them. At those end of year performances at your primary school, you’d always be left at the back, fulfilling the inconspicuous roles of trees, random animals, or the time when you had gotten quite a share of the spotlight as a door knob in a musical version of Alice in Wonderland. Coordination was just not your forte.

Everybody who knew you knew that as well. Including your boyfriend, who had found out about your slight incompetence when it came to being a protagonist and to moving your body in a graceful manner quite early in the relationship, when he had taken you as his companion to a family wedding. As enthused as always, he dragged you across the room to the dance floor, and knowing many of his family members were scrutinizing your every move, you had no option but to dance with him. Thankfully, one of his uncles was a nurse and was able to examine your ankle and determined you had only sprained it. As soon as he heard that, all the worry he had been sporting on his face since he saw you trip and hit the ground, disappeared. It was instead replaced by a slight mocking expression that only grew bigger when his grandma patted him in the back and told him you were nice but he needed to teach you to keep a bit of balance. What a beautiful family introduction.

Wasn’t that funny though? You wouldn’t trade your life for anything in the world, but you would have preferred if dance wasn’t such an important aspect in your partner’s life. Being energetic as he is, Chanyeol would usually blast music while at home, didn’t matter to him whether it was his own music or someone else’s, and dance around while doing chores. He’d do it in the car as well.

“Dancing is very fun, baby, you still haven’t found the perfect song for you.”

Just watching him prance around the house made you unbelievably happy, but you never let yourself get into it. As much as you watched and enjoyed every single one of his performances, and for many of them, you’d learnt the whole choreography, you didn’t allow yourself to get carried away beyond a gentle sway.

The thing is you loved dancing. You actually loved to the point it was your main form of exercise. Who doesn’t love getting carried away with their favorite music? You just were aware of the quality of the movements you produced, so you refused to do it in front of other people.

“I wasn’t doing anything with your enemies! And they’re not your enemies, you’re just petty!”

You stood back up and forcefully pulled the sofa back to its original place. Then, you turned off the game console without even worrying to save your progress and left the controller on top of the table a bit more harshly than necessary and left the room in a huff.

When Chanyeol asked you to move in with him, you knew you wouldn’t have as much privacy as you used to do living in your tiny one bedroom apartment, but you didn’t particularly mind it. By that point, you had already spent plenty of time at each other’s homes and he was an easy going person, so you felt at home. Besides, his busy schedule kept him out of the house most of the day; so you felt at ease. Even more so when you discovered, in a party with his band mates where he pulled it out as an entertainment safe bet, that he had unlimited access to one of your favorite videogames. So now, whenever he was out and you wanted to exercise, you’d turn it on and dance on your own, enjoyed yourself and bumped into enough stuff around the house Chanyeol would always enquire about the bruises on your legs.

His brows furrowed when he heard your snappy tone and you made your way out of the living room.

“Babe? What’s wrong?” He followed you into the bathroom where you struggled to get out of your sweaty workout clothes while at the same time avoiding his gaze from scanning your flushed face. “You’ve already been living here for long enough, you can use anything here whenever you can, you know that?”

“It’s not that!” You responded, annoyed and in the verge of tears.

He waited for you to come out of your t-shirt to grab your hand and pull you back into the bedroom, where he sat in the middle of the bed, cross legged and making a space big enough between your legs for you to fit in comfortably. You flinched when his fingers started sliding down your still damp back in soothing movements, but couldn’t help but dive into his comforting hug.

“So now you’re gonna tell me what’s got you all up in arms today, hmm?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but you know keeping bad things in will get you nowhere. Why are you angry? You seemed so happy when I came in.”

“I am not angry…” you said in a low tone while you tried to hide your face against Chanyeol’s chest.

“So what is it?” He cupped your face in his hand and raised your head to look at you. As soon as his eyes fixed on yours, you felt another wave of heat hit your cheeks. “Are you blushing?” You could almost hear the gears grinding in his brain as he connected the dots. “Is it because I caught you dancing?”

You let out an undefined sound that served as an affirmation and took your eyes away from him.

“I remember how embarrassing it was for you at Hee’s wedding, but there’s no one else but me here. You can enjoy yourself without a problem!”

“It’s not that… I can’t dance in front of you.”

“But why not, baby? I will do it with you, it’s fun!”

“I just…” you hesitated, but the expression on his face as he waited was enough. “I am a bad dancer, okay? I know that.”

He nodded with caution, not wanting to make you feel worse with his acknowledgement.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Of course there is a problem! You dance for a living”

“Well, I do other stuff too, but it’s a pretty big part. What does that have to do with this?”

“I love you, okay? I really like seeing you perform and I know you love what you do. But sometimes I wonder if I’m good enough for you,” you finally confessed.

“What?” his voice was higher pitched than usual to express his confusion. “Where is this all coming from?”

“I sometimes think…maybe if you see how bad I am at this, you will compare me to your other friends who also dance and think you can do better than me.”

“Are you really telling me you’re scared of me leaving you for someone who dances better than you?” his voice kept raising in disbelief.

“Well, if you put it that way! Just listen to me! You are always around people who are more talented, better looking and who have more interesting lives than me. I have none of that. How am I supposed to feel!?”

Chanyeol leaned back into the mattress and pulled your body along with his, so in the end, he was lying across the bed on his back with you on top of him, resting you face against his t-shirt. You rose up your gaze at him and saw him staring at the ceiling with a blank expression, while his fingers never stopped drawing random patterns against your bare skin.

“You know, when I first got into this I was an awful dancer.”

“What?”

“Yeah, in comparison with Jongin or Sehun, there’s nothing I can do in terms of dancing even now. They were so much better than I was, and not just because of their natural talent. I’m a terrible dancer. My legs and arms feel too long to be controlled and collected as they are when they dance. All that you see now is the result of years of practice.”

“I have never been too self conscious about it because I trusted myself enough, but I remember there was this girl at the training centre who always made comments about my dancing. She was a bit older than I was and she used to tease me about it all the time. She wasn’t very nice.”

“Is she still mean?”

“Oh, maybe she is. I haven’t seen her in years, I ended up debuting with the guys but she never got to that point, despite the fact she had been training for years at that point.”

“That’ll serve her right,” you shrugged.

“Yeah, well. I try not to think a lot about it, because I can still hear her snickering while I performed.”

“I’m so sorry about that,” you hugged him softly from your position and his arms returned the favor around you.

“It’s okay. The thing about this is that I know how you feel. I know how hard it can be to face the world, expose what you have and to be confident enough that it’ll be good enough. But some people around us are more than willing to tear us down over our smallest mistakes, so it’s quite unfair that we do that to ourselves too. That’s what helped me get over it.”

“Yeah, but now you are a quite good dancer and get paid to do so! Why would I show something I know I am bad at?”

“Because you actually enjoy it! Allowing yourself to enjoy things is part of being kind to yourself, and that’s something you need to work on.”

You let out only a soft sigh as a response.

“You know you’re the most beautiful thing that’s ever been in my life, right?”

You propped your head up by resting your chin against his chest, looking him on, silently. His hand caressed your hair.

“Sometimes I have bad days too. Sometimes I’m sad or angry. Or frustrated, because I am not getting where I want to be. But then, I come home and see you around. Maybe you’re in the kitchen, or you’re working on your laptop, or playing with the dog. Doing whatever. Just by being there, you make my day brighter. You make me smile and laugh. You support me when I need to. You get me in ways barely no one else does and I get inspired by you daily.”

His confession left you speechless for a while. Of course, you knew you were in with Chanyeol for the long run. You’d gone through terrible enough times together when your relationship was made public, so now you weren’t going to give up and neither was him.

“You’re so beautiful and so good I don’t even care about other people anymore. Yeah, I have many beautiful friends and coworker. But they have nothing against you, doesn’t matter how much prettier you think they are. Besides, my grandma loves you very much despite your stellar introduction to the family; that can hardly be beat.”

A small tear managed to slide its way down your cheek when you closed your eyes and laughed wholeheartedly to the mention of his grandma, but he didn’t notice. Just seconds after he’d finished his speech, he’d sat up on the bed, kissed your forehead and started rummaging through the closet.

“Here, wear this one!”

He tossed you one of his older t-shirts, with the name of his group written on the back, worn out and soft, before stripping off his own work clothes and searching for more comfortable stuff.

“I’m a bit rusty lately, so it’s a good thing you were already working out, we can help each other.” You were still sitting on your bed, t-shirt in hand but in your underwear, not sure what to do. His head popped up behind one of the doors when he noticed you hadn’t moved and his eyes scanned up and down your poorly covered figure, with a cocky eyebrow raised and a smirk. “Or we could head into the shower and I could teach you some of the moves we do under artificial rain… but only if you want, of course…”

_________________________

A/N: It probably wasn’t made clear enough, but the song OC was dancing at the beginning would’ve been a BTS one, if those were included in the game, which I’m not sure of. BTS and Exo are not enemies and they probably even get on fairly well with each other, so take it just as a joke

Other Chanyeol shenanigans 

Holidays   (OC/One Shot/Fluff-Smut)

Experimentation    (Chanbaek/One shot/Fluff-soft smut)

MASTERLIST!?

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Being Human - Chapter 14

<= Chapter 13

Summary : Another restful night. Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826561/chapters/66681460

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

WARNING : GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF VIOLENCE, ABUSE AND GORE. PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Hey ! How are you all doing ? Good I hope !

Sorry for the wait, I had to wait for something you'll see later in this chapter, but it was definitely worth it ! I hope you'll love it as much as I do !

Thank you for your patience, I hope you're still interested in this fanfic. Your comments bring me so much joy, I am always so, so happy to post something and see your reviews after that. Thank you so much for following me and following this story, this means so much to me.

Anyway, let's move on to the credit part, because yes... This chapter has two special things !

1) An art commission by my friend saltyh0td0g (https://twitter.com/saltyh0td0g), go check their amazing art !!

2) A voice acting commission, by - @puyo-proto​ (https://twitter.com/Puyo_Proto) - @jordanthecat11​ (https://twitter.com/JordantheCat11)

You can listen to it here !

Of course, the "Oh The Humanity" AU belongs to @doodledrawsthings​​ !

Happy reading ! And, just like stated at the beginning of this note, please be careful. This chapter is disturbing. And since it's Halloween in France now... Happy Halloween you all :)c

Thank you again for all your amazing support, it means so much to me !

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Chapter 14 - “What did I do?!”

Sleep had become Lukas’s only refuge. When one was sleeping, they couldn’t feel pain, they weren’t afraid anymore, it was just peaceful and blissful dreams, very different from the reality… And the Prince was no exception.

His eyes opened instantly, pulled out of his enchanted sleep, a searing pain in his left arm waking him up. The young man glanced all around, his breath fast and heavy as he was forced to remember what had happened, reality hitting him like a slap in the face. Oh. Right. He was still there.

How long had he been sleeping…?

The pain made him wince, the ice on his cheeks cracking from the movement. A silent cry left his lips and he closed his mouth, gritting his teeth as he waited for the pain to die down a bit. Once it did, the Prince tried his best not to move too much and lifted his head, trying to find the cause of this vivid and unbearable pain. His left and now only eye widened as found what was causing him so much pain. A stalagmite was stabbing his left arm, visibly growing more and more as Vanessa’s magic seemed to summon more and more ice in the cellar. Lukas’s already pale face became as white as a ghost’s, a horrified expression plastered on his features and his mouth opened from the shock. Oh no, no no no no no-

The Prince’s heartbeat became faster and faster as panic settled upon him, adrenaline fuelling his body -or what was left of it at this point-. All around him, the ice was invading the room, much quicker than how it usually did. It hurt, it hurt, it just hurt so much-! Something was probably happening up there, was Vanessa mad or- but the pain was too much for him to think clearly. He wanted to move his arm away… But couldn’t. The chains were keeping him in place, leaving no possibility for him to escape this… And with broken shoulders, he couldn’t do much either. This realization made him even more terrified than what he already was. It was going to go through his arm, he needed to do something, quick, now, the pain was unbearable, oh Gods, why-!

Woken up from the shock that had paralyzed him, Lukas gritted his teeth and attempted to summon his fire magic, despite how weak he was being at the moment. This might be the only thing that could save his arm, he needed to do this, he needed to take the risk! And so, after taking a deep breath, the Prince focused on his left arm, trying to condense all of the warmth his magic could offer on this single limb. And while it did manage to stop the progression of the sharp stalagmite… It also made it melt, cold water flowing on his now open wound. His arm was also warm enough to experience how vivid pain could be, not softened by the cold temperature anymore. It stung, it stung so, so much-! At least, when it was cold, the pain was bearable, but now… Despite how mute Lukas thought he had become from the dehydration, a deafening scream left his mouth, echoing in the cellar, if not in the entire manor. His muscles, all atrophied from how weak he was, tensed up. If the young man still had tears to cry, they would be running on his grey cheeks by now. He was scared, he was hurt, he just wanted things to be over, he just wanted to be free…! Why did he have to suffer so much?

All of a sudden, the room became a bit warmer and the ice stopped spreading. What…? Why, what was- And then, it clicked.

Vanessa had heard him. It wasn’t a coincidence, it couldn’t be a coincidence, the timing was just too right for that! However, now, the thought of having the Queen coming down here didn’t bring him any hope anymore… No, it just terrified him, especially with how mad she had been the last and only time she had come to see him. After what she had done to his right eye… He had no idea what she could do next. She was just too instable for him to predict at his point, and… She just wasn’t the Vanessa he knew anymore. Or perhaps… Perhaps she had always been this way.

Maybe he had just been too blind to notice all the red flags.

Just as he was panicking over the possibility of his wife coming down the stairs, a burning sensation erupted in his left arm- wait. Burning? In this freezing cellar…?

The Prince turned his head to try to find the cause of that strange and worrying feeling… Only to discover that his hand had turned black, pitch black and clawed, just like Vanessa’s, just like once she had been… Corrupted with her magic.

-“No…” whimpered Lukas, shaking his head weakly as his emotions were slowly getting out of control. No, this couldn’t be happening, this just couldn’t be happening, no, no, no! He hadn’t meant to use his magic so much, he had just wanted to stay alive, to survive! Not this!

Magic had always required people to be careful when using it. Each person, through training and predispositions, could practice and use magic until their body couldn’t take it anymore. Lukas had always been very attentive to that and had learnt to know his limits with time. Once crossed… Magic could have very destructive consequences over one’s body and soul, corrupting them, changing them into things that weren’t human anymore. By using her powers too much, this is what had happened to Vanessa… And this is what was happening to him now.

Horror had engulfed him whole, making his entire body shake despite how painful it was. This couldn’t be happening, why, why, why!

His thoughts were instantly cut short as he heard something coming closer and closer, sounds that made his empty stomach turn. Someone was going down the stairs. That simple thought made him realize how what he had gone through could as well be nothing compared to what she might do to him. And, without really knowing why… He tried to hide his corruption by closing his hand, not caring if his newly formed claws were scratching his palm in consequence. It didn’t hide much… But it was still better than nothing.

He had no idea how Vanessa would react to that. However, he didn’t have the time to wonder more about this as he heard the door being unlocked… And then it was pushed open, a terribly familiar voice echoing all around as she called out to him:

-“My Prince?” she sang with a twisted, very twisted fondness, “I heard your voice, hehehe!” she added, gleefully. Soon, her dark and distorted form entered the room, making Lukas shiver even more, his lips sealed close tightly as his eyes fell on her, unable to look at anything else. He was scared, so, so scared. This was it, then? He was going to die now, wasn’t he? Maybe…

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all…?

However, his fear soon mixed up with confusion as he noticed the Queen was holding something in her hands, some kind of… Tray? A tray with a glass of water and some sort of dark little balls next to it, things he didn’t recognized… But then, a horrid smell greeted his nostrils, a sudden urge to throw up settling over him instantly. Thankfully, his stomach was empty, preventing him from throwing up anything besides bile… And yet, it wouldn’t be empty for long, as what his dear wife had brought very much looked like burnt food, whatever that used to be before turning out like this.

Somehow, no matter how disgusting the smell was… The Prince’s stomach couldn’t help but gurgle just at the thought of eating something, even if it ended up being the most abominable dish in the world. He was literally starving and, in this situation, wouldn’t complain if it meant he could eat something, anything. And, furthermore… She was bringing him water, a whole glass of it! His mouth was so dry, and his body so weak, so dehydrated… Even from melting the stalactites, he couldn’t get so much of water!

But, on the other hand, despite how relieved he was to know he’d finally get some water… Some part of him was disappointed. It just meant that he’d have to bear all of this suffering a bit longer, when he could die and finally be free of pain.

-“Oh, are you hungry, my love?” she asked with a smile, a terrifying smile on her inhuman face. She then lifted the tray in her hands as she added: “don’t worry, I made some cookies, just for you!”

Oh. Oh, so those things were supposed to be cookies. He knew Vanessa had never been good at cooking… But this, this wasn’t food anymore. It was completely black, looking like just the littlest touch would make them fall apart. Still… Lukas was starving and very much needed food, his survival instincts screaming at him to eat, no matter what Vanessa was going to give him.

-“I know they’re a little burnt… But you’re going to eat them, right? I put all my heart into them…”

The Prince could only nod swiftly and desperately, his stomach only gurgling louder. This seemed to satisfy the Queen, who smiled more. She looked nothing like she used to and while seeing her smile brought him joy before all of this… Now, the effect was very much different.

-“Oh, I’m so glad,” she sighed, looking at him fondly as she approached slowly. Lukas couldn’t help but shiver more, doing his best not to draw any attention to his hand. Seeing how unstable Vanessa was at the moment, he couldn’t predict how she would react to the sight of his own corruption. At least, his hand wasn’t cold anymore… But it wasn’t human either.

The Prince couldn’t help but shut his eyes as she eventually stopped in front of him. However, the young man was quickly forced to reopen them as he felt the temperature of the room get colder very suddenly. As soon as he did, he saw Vanessa extending one of her clawed hands to the floor… And summoning an ice block, large and high enough for her to put the tray on it. Lukas gulped despite the lack of saliva in his mouth: if she could summon an entire block of ice in a few seconds from nothing… He didn’t want to imagine the things she could possibly do to him if she ever got mad again.

Vanessa seemed to notice his fear and came closer, bringing her hands to his chest, rubbing it with her freezing palms.

-“Don’t be scared,” she murmured with that sweet voice of hers, much too cheerful to be sincere: “It’s me, it’s just me, it’s okay,” she cooed to him, just like she would to a child in need of comfort. But Lukas was not a child. He was the one she used to love… And now he was locked in the basement, chained to a wall.

This was not the type of comfort he needed. All he wanted was to be free… Whether it was literally or figuratively which, in that last case, meant free of this now painful and horrifying life. All he could do at her touch was to whimper silently, shutting his eyes once more, simply unable to look at her monstrous appearance. This was not the woman he knew, this was not the one he loved-

She hummed a song for a bit, still rubbing his chest, maybe at an attempt to reassure him… But it wasn’t like it was working, on the contrary. It just made him even more scared. He only wanted this to end! Was this asking for too much…?

After a few minutes that felt like hours to the young Prince, Vanessa stepped away, finally picking up one of the “cookies” she had made for him. She seemed so proud of them, so happy of her “act of kindness”… And that just made the whole situation even more terrifying. Lukas couldn’t tell if she knew if what she did was bad or if she was simply unaware of it… And, in any case, it wasn’t like it changed a lot of things, was it? He was going to stay stuck here no matter what… Given how she acted towards him, it was obvious that she wouldn’t let him go nor escape that easily.

Once she brought the “cookie” to his lips, the atrocious smell hit him in the face once more and he had to bite his inner cheek not to gag. It smelled awful, so awful… And yet, his body needed food.

-“Come on, dear,” she insisted, pushing the biscuit on his dried out and shaking lips: “I made them just for you…”

Lukas eventually opened his mouth, already bracing himself for what was to come… And oh, was it a good decision. The taste was absolutely terrible, as if the ingredients had been mixed up randomly, in quantities that weren’t following the instructions. It felt mealy and crumbled on his tongue in the worst possible way. It was dry and, for someone who was extremely thirsty… It was torture. Without being able to hold himself back, he coughed, feeling the dust of the biscuit going the wrong way into his lungs… And he spat everything at her, on what used to be her beautiful green dress.

Oh. Oh no. No, no, no, no-

A moment passed where they remained completely motionless, as if they were both trying to process what had just happened. The Prince stared at her, terrorised. This couldn’t be happening, he just didn’t do that, he couldn’t believe it. He was going to die now, wasn’t he? Why wasn’t he more careful, why didn’t he-

A violent slap on his face silenced his thoughts, hundreds of small ice crystals on Vanessa’s glove scratching his face, cutting his fragile and grey skin. A yelp of pain left his mouth at the shock, leaving him trembling even more, his eyes shut hard as he waited for death to come. Because this was the only outcome at this point, right?

Maybe he would finally be free…

-“I can’t believe it,” reprimanded the Queen with a harsh tone: “I did my best to cook something for you and this is how you’re thanking me?”

The Prince shook his head slowly and weakly, mouthing a series of “I’m sorry” relentlessly as his voice was stuck in his throat, unable to come out from how scared he was. But this wasn’t enough for his wife, no, how could it ever be?

-“Don’t you lie to me!!” she yelled out of the blue, a dozen of ice pillars coming out of the ground abruptly as her scream echoed in the room. Fury was plastered on her inhuman features, her hair standing up more and more and her claws becoming sharper as seconds passed: “You’re never sorry, you never were and never will be! You’re a liar, a liar!” Her voice was getting louder high-pitched, and more hysterical.

-“T-that’s… That’s not true…” he protested in a whisper, barely audible. Oh, but Vanessa definitely heard it very well and, considering how much the temperature dropped… She didn’t share his opinion.

-“You’re lying!!” Her scream was much louder than the previous ones, making Lukas’s ears hurt from how strident it was. He winced, closing his eyes once more, afraid of getting slapped again, or worse… And yet, silence just followed, a very, very tensed silence that made him both confused and worried. He reopened his eyes, wondering what Vanessa could be waiting for… However, the sight that greeted him made him freeze in absolute terror.

His wife was looking at his left hand, deadly silent and her expression unreadable. Oh no, no, no, no!

-“I-I’m sorry, I di- I didn’t mean to, I pr-promise,” he tried, his voice quiet and shaking as he tried to reason with her, no matter how foolish it was to do so: “P-please, y-you know me, Vanessa! I would n-never try to hurt y-you!”

Slowly, very slowly, her red eyes glanced from his hand to look at him.

-“How long were you planning on keeping this secret from me?” she asked, her voice calm and yet extremely threatening nonetheless. This wasn’t good, this wasn’t good at all!

-“I-It just happened before y-you came here!” Lukas tried to justify himself, though he knew very well that his wife wouldn’t hear any of it. She was past caring for him, she just treated him like less than an object, treasuring him like a thing and not like a human being.

Another slap answered him, drawing out more blood and more tearless sobs out of him. This was a nightmare, why was this happening to him, why…!

-“Liar!” screamed Vanessa as she approached her face from his, her fangs clearly visible for him to see. This was a terrifying sight for the Prince, who whimpered and glanced away, resisting the urge to close his eyes.

-“I’m not!” he retorted, his voice a bit louder than before, though his throat stung from the effort: “I’m not! I n-never lied to you!” Soon, his voice was desperate, as if all of his frustration and melancholy were transcribed as words for her to hear: “I d- I don’t know what I did that made you mad! I don’t know why you’re d-doubting my love for you! What did I do, Vanessa?!”

The Queen remained silent, as if she couldn’t believe his ourtbust. But Lukas had had enough, he couldn’t take this anymore, he just couldn’t.

-“What did I do?!” he repeated, louder, his throat burning and stinging so much. And yet… Yet he could only ignore the pain as he kept going, his voice sounding hopeless and devastated: “I j-just wanted us to be happy! I loved you! I wanted to have a family with you!” he paused, his tone now low and heartbroken as he lifted his head to look at her: “I thought… I thought you felt the same…! B-but then, why?”

Couldn’t he be free already…?

-“Why would you do this to me…?” he eventually asked, inconsolable. However, the Queen’s answer was not the one he had been expecting.

-“You ‘loved’ me?” she repeated, her intonation low and dangerous. The Prince was about to say that, obviously, he had loved her, otherwise he wouldn’t have stayed wit her this long… But then, he understood what she had meant by that.

The young man had used the past tense. He had said “loved”… Implying that he didn’t anymore.

Lukas’s face paled at the realization. He had made the worst possible slip of the tongue ever, the biggest mistake he could ever make in his position-

-“N-no, w-wait,” he attempted to rectify his claims, very much aware of how dangerous this situation was for him: “I didn’t mean-” But it was too late.

-“How could you?!” shouted the Queen, ice spreading all over the floor, covering the previous layers entirely. She was livid, she was furious, she was-

She was going to kill him.

-“You never loved me! You just used me!” her loud screams were resonating in the entire cellar, a few stalagmites falling down from how loud they were. Vanessa lifted her hands again, but this time not to slap him. On the contrary, her hands stayed away from his face… Grabbing his left arm strongly instead. Panic engulfed the Prince again as he started to understand what were her true intentions. A series of “no, no, no, please, no” left his lips like a mantra, but it was too late.

The harm had already been done.

Before he was able to protest any further, a sudden and vivid pain erupted in his arm as he felt it freezing from the inside, his blood turning solid as she pressed her palms over it. A deafening scream left his mouth, most likely audible even outside the manor from the agony, from how excruciating it was. Slowly, too slowly, he could feel his blood getting frozen, one vein after the other, his skin turning blue as the torturous process spread from his arm to his shoulder.

Oh God, he was going to die. He was going to die, this was it, finally-! And yet… Yet he didn’t want to die! He still had so much to do! He wanted to become a lawyer, he wanted a family, he wanted to die as an old and happy man…!

Not like this!

-“Va-Vanessa, no! Argh, p-please!” he pleaded, his breathing much heavier and quicker than ever, his heart beating fast, trying to pump more blood for his arm and shoulder, but in vain: “Please, please, please,” he breathed out, looking at her, begging her: “D-don’t do this, please Vanessa, don’t do this!”

But Vanessa wasn’t there anymore. What was in front of him was nothing like the woman he used to know, used to love. Instead, a feral monster was standing in front of him, freezing him to death, her emotions out of control. Tears were coming out of her eyes, all turning into ice as they fell from her cheeks, hitting the icy floor with a clinging sound.

The last sound the Prince ever heard… Before his heart was affected by Vanessa’s magic, frozen in a blink as her powers kept spreading in Lukas’s body. His eyes widened, air stuck in his lungs as he was suffocating, his whole body unable to move a single muscle. An unbearable pain erupted where his heart was, making him gasp for air… But he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t, he was dying, he was slowly dying, this was agonizing, he couldn’t take it, this was torture, it was so much painful, he couldn’t-

His body suddenly became limp, his head falling forward as he let out his final shaky breath.

The Prince of Subcon Village had died.

______________________________________________________

Snatcher woke up with a gasp, his forehead damp from sweat and his eyes fixed on the ceiling. What- what was that? The man remained motionless for a few minutes, trying to find his breath again, his heart beating fast in his chest, pounding inside. It took him a moment to realize where he was: in the kids’ bedroom, lying down in the pillow pool. It was dark, the room was only lit by the few lights on the walls, those representing stars. Glancing around in the room, he could see the little girls sleeping in the canopy-bed, peacefully and quietly. Hesitantly, Snatcher brought his left hand to his face to inspect it, though it was perfectly human, unsurprisingly.

Another nightmare, huh?

The former ghost let his arm fall down on the pillows again, with a sigh. His eyes stung. With a quick gesture, the man brought up his hands to his face, rubbing it… Only to discover that his face was full of tears. Oh, of course. Obviously. Snatcher scoffed: ‘dreams were his only refuge, the only times he could be protected from pain and fears’… Yeah, right. He sighed again. Gods, this was by far the worst nightmare he had been force to relive… Clearly, the one he had wanted to forget the most, but apparently fate had other projects for him.

His eyes glanced back to the kids. He remembered doing this “video game” thing with them before going to bed. Without much surprise, they were much more experienced than him in that field, crushing his already broken pride, but hey, it wasn’t like another bad experience would change a lot, right? Hah! In the end, the kids won, they bragged, and this was it, the end of the day. Or night. He had no idea how to get his bearings on time in this spaceship. It wasn’t like there was sun or a moon to help him find the time! In any case, once they were done playing this “video” thing or whatever it was, they took him to their bedroom, showing him a makeshift bed in the pillow pool. Better than nothing, he had guessed at the time. And, quite surprisingly, he had been quite comfy for him to fall asleep quickly!

Well, if he had known what kind of dream he’d have, maybe he’d have preferred to stay awake.

Snatcher turned in his “bed” several times, eventually burrowing his face in one of the colourful pillows. This wasn’t over, was it? He would get a lot of nightmares like this one, he was sure of it. But oh, this one… This one had been one of the worst. His grip on the pillow tightened as he gritted his teeth, shutting his eyes. He didn’t want to sleep anymore, he never wanted to do that ever again.

And so… Snatcher started to cry.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

I hope you liked this chapter !

Don't forget to check the amazing audio by Puyo-Proto and JordanTheCat11, they did such an amazing job !! Same with my friend saltyh0td0g, show them how much of a great artist they are !

Thank you again for all your support, it means so much to me, I will never say it enough. Now, updates will happen more regularly than this past month, hopefully. See you on the next chapter !

=> Chapter 15

[dragynkeep]

do you have a backstory for the ace ops, since canon legitimately gave us nothing? and will they be in azre? i’m gonna reread it today since it makes me 🥺🥰

I actually do have backstories for the Ace Ops, and yes they do appear in AZRE! I did the backstories for Clover and Harriet, and my friends in my discord server did backstories for Elm, Marrow and Vine!

Clover

Since Clover is obnoxiously Irish coded in AZRE, I took a lot of inspiration from my older relatives’ childhoods for him. 

He was born in Mantle to a family along with a younger sister, Ciara, his mother Fionnuala, his father Patrick and his grandfather Niall. Before Clover, his family were all miners, and are very proud of it. In his youth, Clover was far more of a troublemaker and a delinquent, especially with his troubled relationship with his father when Clover decided not to go into the mines and instead wanted to be a Huntsman. 

Before Clover entered Atlas Academy, Patrick passed away from Dust Lung; a dangerous respiratory disease caused by inhaling Dust and is inspired by the real life disease that affected miners, Tuberculosis or “Black Lung”. Clover took the loss hard and his place in Atlas was threatened due to his behaviour, but he was brought back from the brink by Ironwood, who was the new general and headmaster of the Academy.

Obviously, when Clover graduated from Atlas, he joined the Ace Ops, becoming the leader after a few years in service which was considered highly unusual and just showed his great prowess and skills. He was in the Ace Ops with Elm and Vine from the beginning, and Harriet, Giang and later Marrow joined later on. After years in service, he and Ironwood entered a romantic relationship but had to keep things on the down low due to unprofessionalism and laws meaning that relationships between a general and his soldier was disallowed.

A few years before current time, he had a son through a surrogate; Riley.

Elm

The only Ace Operative to actually be from Atlas. Elm had a fairly normal life, her family was in the cuisine industry and enjoyed baking, something that Elm picked up on from an early age (That cake in the RWBY celebration party? It’s hers now, she made it, change my mind.)

When she decided to join Atlas and become a Huntress, it was never about the fame or money, but rather she’d spent her entire life watching her parents brings smiles to people’s faces and wanted to do that to, just in a way she was best suited in. In the Academy, she was put into Team SBLE, where the team quickly showed that they were exceptionally skilled together with winning the Vytal Tournament. After leaving the Academy, the four went into the Specialist career, a rare choice for all four to stick together for graduation. 

During their first year, it went great. But soon they were called on a mission to clear out a Grimm nest near one of the sensory towers, hidden in a mountain that was connected by dozens of mines. The team went in, and there they found the biggest nest ever recorded. By the time evac came, Elm was the last one, having collapsed the mountain on top of them in a desperate attempt to kill the Grimm. 

While she survived, the loss broke her. Elm handed in her resignation and spent time at her parents’ home in her room, just staring at the photo of her team at the Vytal Tournament.  When General Ironwood personally visited her, she nearly slammed the door in his face. But he understood, and he was kind, and he offered her another chance. An idea he was coming up with, a unit of the best. He only had one other candidate so far, and in the back of her head Elm thought 'maybe this one will be lucky enough not to die'.

She put on a grin when she met the man who was about to be her new teammate, and poor Clover O’Connor found himself first on the receiving end of one of her handshakes, and then got a box full of fresh baked brownies immediately after.  

Vine

Vine originally came from a very rural village in Northern Mistral, living there until he was nine years old before moving to Argus due to his adoptive parents finding work there. Vine wasn’t particuarly happy with the move since he enjoyed the solitude that rural life gave him, and being a quiet person, moving to a busy city made him close in more on himself to the point that he became a selective mute.

However, he was brought into a small dojo in Argus with the teacher there seeing a small Vine and teaching him what he knew. Vine showed an aptitude to fighting and went into Sanctum to further his education. When he graduated though, he was given a spot in Atlas Academy due to his skills, but Vine didn’t particularly want to go because of his anxiety. However, he was convinced to give it a go and graduated Atlas, being chosen for the Ace Ops due to his abilities and for his personality, able to handle the more outspoken Elm and carefree Clover.

On top of that, Ironwood saw this unsure young man and decided that having Elm and Clover on his team would bring him out more, and give him opportunities to break out of his shell so to speak. For Vine, the Ace Ops ended up being that security that he didn’t really have in life, and both Clover and Elm would welcome him into the fold. 

Harriet

A Mantle girl through and through, Harriet was always a competitive girl, never backing down from a challenge and wanting everything to happen quickly, showing no patience for anything. In her eyes, being from Mantle meant that you had to give twice the effort for half the respect, and she would be respected.

Throughout her childhood, she had a best friend who stuck with her through thick and thin; Giang Meo. They trained together, had fun together, stuck together, and when they managed to secure spots in Atlas Academy, they were even put on the same team. Both mimicked each other, with Harriet specialising in wrestling and hand to hand combat with her plated arm weapons, while Giang specialised in kickboxing with his plated leg weapons.

After they graduated, both were picked by Ironwood, on Clover’s suggestion, to join the Ace Ops, making the iconic five man group along with Clover, Elm and Vine. Harriet was proud, taking her job seriously and wanting to show what she was made of, but her insecurities were compounded with every job in Atlas. Even after she made a name for herself, even getting the title of the Fastest Huntress in Remnant and breaking the previous record, she was still a commoner, and commoners weren’t respected in Atlas. 

Worse still, after Giang defected due to Atlas’ inability to handle the Faunus racism and his own radicalisation being pushed by growing White Fang activity, Harriet was broken. No longer trusting people, she didn’t see her team as friends, believing that it would just get in the way of her work, and she kept that mentality ever since.  

Giang

The Turtle to Harriet’s Hare, Giang Meo was the son of a Southern Mistrali immigrant who came to Mantle for work. His mother found work in Atlas working under the Nguyen family, a southern Mistrali family that took came to Atlas, starting a flourishing fashion company and making a fortune for themselves. 

During his childhood, he found little friends in Mantle due to his Faunus heritage, being a snow leopard, and latched onto Harriet when she showed kindness to the boy. Quickly becoming the best of friends, they protected each other for years, even going into Atlas Academy and joining the same team. However, during his time at Atlas, the racism he faced was just compounded, pushing Giang further and further into the radicalisation that would later claim him.

Once graduated and given a spot in the Ace Ops, Giang started moving away from his team. During that time, he married the only child of the Nguyen family; Chau, which sparked many controversies in Atlas due to them being a human and him a Faunus. Because of the push back from their family, Chau and Giang had to marry in secret, which was not considered legal by law.

This further embittered Giang. He joined protests, at first hiding his identity, and then showing himself proudly, but one protest turned into a riot and Giang joined in the destruction. Given his identity as a Huntsman and an Ace Operative was well known, Ironwood was formed to reprimand him and arrest Giang for multiple crimes. 

As the Ace Ops moved to arrest their former friend, Giang tried to see if Harriet would at least defend him, but she did nothing. Betrayed, Giang fled, resulting in a chase that ended in Giang wounded on the face, Harriet’s hip broken and Giang falling off Atlas’ ledge, where Ironwood declares him dead and seals all documentation on him. However, Giang didn’t die, and after nursing his wounds, he was brought into Salem’s forces, wanting justice and revenge for him and the Faunus of Mantle. 

Marrow

The Amin pack was a small but close knit family unit that was only small in terms of their tiny house on the far end of the crater, where the children are packed into the bedrooms like very rambunctious sardines and the neighbours learnt that complaining about all the howling and play fighting was useless, because an entire family of dog faunus working the mines would rather let their kids be happy and have fun when they can.

Marrow's mother was a newcomer to Mantle, a wolf faunus from a town far out in the tundra, with piercing blue eyes. While Marrow and Ulna took the husky genes from their father, their older brother Ramus took the wolf. Ramus and Marrow, like so many children, had to take jobs in the mines to help keep food on the table, and as the oldest of the next Amins, they eventually took on the job of helping out with the younger cousins and eventually, younger siblings. 

Marrow doesn't like the mines. He didn't like being a trapper. Faunus can see in the dark, sure, but spending twelve hours in pitch black by a little trap door, the only job being to pull it open to let air flow through, would be miserable for anyone. Sometimes though, he was sent into Mantle to pick up supplies if they had spare lien to get maybe a bit of bread to go with the customary broth that made up every dinner. One day, he ran into trouble. 

A bunch of children who saw a hungry dog faunus in a secondhand miner's uniform and decided to play chase. It was over in one word, when he threw their taunts back at them and told them to stay, his anger at the unfairness his family suffered peaking in that moment. Suddenly he had a chance for a better life. A Huntsman life. 

He applied for every combat school in the kingdom, and one said yes. Marrow put everything into this new chance, enough  to make a scholarship into Atlas Academy at the end. Team MCHA, however, was not so happy to have a scruffy boy from Mantle with a tail and a secondhand miner's uniform as the A on their team. 

May Marigold had better things to do then coddle an affirmative action student. Marrow ignored it. He knew his worth. He just had to get through four years, and then he could sign up for the military, and finally help his family, he could work his way up the ranks, make a difference for his people. He had ambition, and he knew how to use it. Then a mine collapsed. A worker tripped handling some agitated dust. Chain reaction. 

Ironwood immediately sent everyone he could to help out. If nothing else, the enhanced strength of a huntsmen could help them clear the fallen rocks. Marrow and his team arrived just in time to see another huntsman pulling Ramus out from under a boulder, and they put a shroud over his brother's head. Ulna ran away, Marrow's grades plummeted, and his team told him to get over it, faunus died, it happened a lot in the mines. 

He pulled himself up again himself, and eventually got what he was working for, graduating second-best in his year after May. The moment he got his first specialist paycheck, he funnelled as much as he could to his family, so that none of the kids had to work in the mines.

Soon, Ironwood decided to give Marrow a chance, moving him into the Ace Ops to further hone his skills and fill in the hole left by Giang. While most of the Ace Ops welcomed Marrow and tried to put the past in the past, Harriet was cold towards him, unable to shake the feeling that he was only there to replace Giang. Despite her animosity towards him, Marrow kept trying to prove his place in the Ace Ops. 

And that’s it for the Ace Ops’ backstories! Hope you like them tbh, me and my friends worked hard to build these characters up after having crumbs for them for over a year now.

[inkstaineddove]

Asystole

Ships: AusHun

Characters: Hungary, Austria; mentioned Prussia

Summary: His empire failing, Austria is desperate enough to make anything work. His empire failing, Hungary is desperate enough to finally break free. One of them must give.

Vienna, 1867.

Erzsébet padded across the hallway, spine stiff and shoulders rolled back. A minute before, some poor servant had been tasked to play the messenger, urging her to head to the office straightaway. Ordinarily, this sort of urgency would’ve shocked her; today, it was expected. All people talked, from the lowliest maid to the richest of emperors, and word of their machinations never seemed to escape her. Plus – if she allowed herself a moment of honesty, instead of falsely praising her cunning – her politicians had told her everything. There truly were no surprises.

Her first sight upon entering was that of Austria, scowling down at whatever papers were before him. She wondered when she had last seen him smile – and not the fake one he flashed at diplomats and hangers’ on, but the real one. It couldn’t have been years, could it? It seemed true enough, but for his sake she hoped she was wrong.

“Are you intending to get your face frozen like that or do you just enjoy tempting fate?” Hungary slid into her seat as she spoke. Her voice lilted up in a way that would sound like gentle teasing to the untrained ear.

Fortunately, his was trained perfectly to her pitch. He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, looking as if he was in no mood to be messed with. He’d been looking like that a lot recently. It disappointed her, only because it put a damper on her fun. There was little joy in kicking a dog while it was down, even one prone to biting.

“Would you prefer I pretend to sit here, giddy about all my misfortunes? If you wanted that, you should’ve convinced your boyfriend his time and resources would’ve been better off warring with a different enemy of the hour.” Austria attempted to keep his tone dispassionate, though it didn’t work. Try as he might, it never did.

She sniffed, scrunching up her nose. “Do you have to call him my ‘boyfriend?’ That sounds so…juvenile.” It was a minor thing to pick a fight over, but she certainly wasn’t going to over whether Prussia’s war had been legitimate. There was no need when they both agreed.

“I feel I have to because, if I didn’t and forgot my restraint, I’d be tempted to call him something awful like your little bitch, but I would never. I’m above that.” Austria smiled, all teeth and hostility, and Hungary wondered how nice they would look knocked out on the floor.

She flicked her wrist dismissively. No reason to get herself worked up over something so petty. There was business to discuss and deals to be made. She leaned her weight onto the arm of her chair. “Can you just tell me what you want? You know how it is, so many rebellions to plan and so little time.”

A quirk of an eyebrow was enough to show his displeasure. “Not like you to play the fool. There’s no reason for you to pretend to be so unaware.”

“If I didn’t pretend, you might get curious on my methods. If I reveal my hand, there goes whatever illusory personal freedoms I have. You want me even more miserable than I am?” His silence was the answer she wanted. She smiled, resting her cheek on her hand. “So, tell me. What does Hofburg have in store for me?”

“You’ll be thrilled to know that for a change, it’s an offer instead of an edict. I don’t see any point in attempting to sweeten reality to you – you live here and you’re not an idiot, after all. The empire, my empire, is in an increasingly bleak situation. You would think this would endear me into the hearts of all my subjects, but I suppose I underestimated how deep nationalism’s poison infected their bloodstreams,” Austria rolled his eyes at his own foolishness. “Yours being the most infected – and, as you love to remind me – being the most likely to one day succeed, a deal needs to be made to quell their bloodlust.”

That certainly was one way to put it. Hungary couldn’t stop herself from laughing, unable to look at Austria’s overly serious expression or risk breaking into hysterics. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself, though still with a noticeable smirk. “Bloodlust? Really, Roderich? They want independence, not the death of every Austrian. Who has the time for that kind of petty revenge?”

He scoffed, clearly insulted. “As if they’d be capable of that. If I had to sacrifice a few peasants here and there to keep them peaceful, I wouldn’t bat an eye. My kingdom for a commoner is a trifle. No, the blood they want is mine. They want to see what I’ve built up over the centuries diminished in months, in days. I’ve jumped into wars for less, you know as much. Unfortunately, I don’t think we’d fare well if an army were sent in and the backlash for such a heavy-handed move doesn’t make it worth the trouble.” He shook his head, clearing his mind of useless plans.

Hungary pitied him. Look how desperate he was to hold onto something so ephemeral, so meaningless. Empires came and went like the seasons. Here was a man who thought himself wise, yet he couldn’t grasp such a basic tenet of their existence. She had learnt it; so had Poland and Lithuania and every other plaything these so-called ‘powers’ sought. It was a lunacy, one that infected all of them the same. Now his was crumbling all around him and instead of attempting to move on, he would drag out the process. It was predictable and entirely disappointing. Despite having no reason to, she expected better of him.

She sighed and turned her gaze away from him. If she stared at him any longer, she’d feel nauseous. “What do you want from me?”

Relieved to be back on track, Austria’s body became less rigid. “Nothing, really. My offer is quite favorable to you. Our marriage, partnership, whatever descriptor you prefer becomes one of equals. Complete control of your lands returns to you. You’ll have the privilege or the torture to pore over the minutiae of whatever half-formed, barely coherent policy is cooked up by your own hacks in Budapest. Christ, am I normally this cynical?” He shook off the self-awareness. That could be dealt with later or, preferably, never. “Really, everything you’ve ever harassed me and all my various rulers about is now yours. You lose nothing in this arrangement.”

“Everything, bar the most important thing. Just because it’s been roughly twenty years hasn’t changed what the people want. You’re not giving me anything you view as important. Ruling my people has become an inconvenience, so you’ll hand it off to me. Ten years ago, you would’ve been insulted at the prospect. And now the insulted party will be us.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Why is conceding so difficult for your lot to do? Clinging onto everything will only make the inevitable that much harder.”

His eyes narrowed as he stared her down. “Nothing is inevitable. We’re in a difficult spot, but we’ve been through those before. As long as I bide my time and there’s no more incidents, everything will be back on track and no one will make anymore of their bitchy little comments.” The way he sneered as he said that last part, she was willing to bet that bothered him more than anything else. He tried smiling at her, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve conceded a lot to you with this. Fine, you’re not quite independent, but it’s just as good. In some ways, I’m doing you a favor. Foreign policy is such a nuisance. All of them are sharks, all of them would be circling you, sniffing out fresh blood. Europe isn’t how you remember it.”

Hungary grinded her teeth together. Patronizing, always patronizing. Even desperate for her assistance, he couldn’t view her as a peer. And then he wondered why she behaved the way she did? Why, sometimes, she can’t even stand to be near him? He was dumber than he had any right to be.

“Do you think I’ve been completely isolated from the world? I know how they all act, how they all think. The only ones I’d have to worry about fighting off would be you and Russia, and without me, what army do you have?” She smiled, enjoying how that blow landed. How could he argue against it? He’d said as much to her – sometimes with pride, sometimes with fear – many times throughout the years. “And believe me, I would love to strike out on my own and form my own alliances. I can think of a few who’d be more than happy to spurn you with a treaty or two.”

He folded his arms over his chest, staring at her with derision. “Insulting me won’t get you what you want, Liebchen.” He practically snarled out the nickname. Pet names had always been their favorite weapons. “This is the only deal you have. I don’t get all your bitching either. We negotiated with two of your most darling heroes. There’s no need for you to be putting up this much of a fight. Will you ever be satisfied with anything I do for you, or should I learn to accept your eternal disdain?”

She took shaky breaths through her nose. That was hardly enough to constrain her. “Perhaps I’d be more accepting of the terms if you’d bother to invite me to negotiations! I appreciate,” she roared the word out, her fury overtaking her, “that you were oh-so-fucking considerate enough to know who I would’ve chosen to be my representative. And here I thought you only paid attention to my lands to slaughter innocents! But you have never, will never, respect me enough to listen to me on what my own goddamn people want! Deák and Andrássy are good men, but they know nothing compared to me! How many times must I scream this at you until you get it? If I’m not allowed to have any free will in this life, then so be it! That’s my curse, but at least let me speak on their behalf! Give me the chance, the fucking chance, to win them the freedoms it appears I’ll never have!”

She only realized she was leaning over his desk when she was done. Her rage, built up over the centuries, was causing her to tremble. Staring into Roderich’s eyes, she swore she could kill him. She swore she could and it would be the last time, the most permanent of his deaths. It was so vivid in her mind that, for a moment, she believed it to be reality.

What brought her back to the present was how utterly bored he appeared at her antics. Here was the same song and dance they performed for each other. Here it was, meant to play out for eternity. Why would he fear her? What could she do to him that was permanent? Nothing. The one thing she could, he locked it away in some deal she wasn’t allowed to be apart of.

“Don’t you ever get tired of carrying on like that? So sanctimonious. As if your cause is the most just. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to be bound to you?” He shook his head. “I’m convinced that if you ever tried to shut up, it would kill you. Though, honestly, I’d be grateful for the silence.” As she sat down, he smiled with an unrivaled arrogance. “There. Now, please, Erzsébet, try to be reasonable for a change. There’s no use in becoming so hysterical over this. Everything doesn’t have to be such a battle. Fighting like this, you haven’t taken a break in centuries. Aren’t you tired?”

She would not be baited. She refused to tell him what he wanted to hear, refused even if it were partially true. “The only thing I’m tired of is being brushed aside, but I know not to expect change from you.” She looked outside the window and sighed. “The ink is already dried, isn’t it? I can’t stop what’s been put in motion.”

“For the most part. All it needs is ratification. Though, we’ve been assured that that won’t be an issue.” Once more, he relaxed against the back of his chair. His relief was clear across his face. “I’m glad you’ve calmed yourself of those delusions. While I can commend your…dedication, you’ll have much more important things to busy yourself with.”

Hungary smiled, pleased with his false sense of security. “You’re right, there will be. I understand that, at this point, I can’t prevent anything. But, when news travels around, most will not be happy. This flies in the face of everything they’ve worked so hard to achieve over these last few years. They’ve been sold out, and I’m inclined to believe them.” She licked her lips, savoring the moment. “So, when the people take to the streets, when they demand what they know is owed to them, I won’t try to smooth things over. Never again. I will be right beside them, doing whatever I can to rile them up. Whatever they choose to do, however they decide to handle this, I will support them with every fiber of my being. And if that creates problems for you?” She stood up, smirking and curtseying. “Solve them yourself. I’m no propaganda piece.”

Head held high, she began striving out of the room. It was the only card she had left, the only thing she could think of. With every step she took, she prayed he’d be as weak as she knew he was. He had said it himself, there was nothing he could do to fight anything. Today did not come about out of a position of strength for him.

“Wait, Erzsébet! Please, don’t do this.” She heard him rise, heard the soft steps of his feet. “If you do that, neither of us will walk away from this looking good.” A soft intake of breath from him. “For once, I’m not too proud to admit that I need you. But, please, don’t throw it all away over nothing.” His voice was gentle, as if he were pleading with a lioness and not a woman.  

When he reached out, she allowed him to touch her and spin her around. When had his hands last been that soft? Cornered, he was like a new man. “All you have to offer me is insults. What should I stay around for? I have more to gain away from you than besides you. I always have.”

“I know, dammit I know!” She watched his Adam’s apple shift as he swallowed. Roderich’s eyes were wide, all too aware that he was on the precipice. “Not now, though. You’re right, you’re my equal. I’ll give you whatever I can, within reason, to prevent that. Anything to prevent you from ruining me.”

The urge to scowl at his self-preservation was there. What else should she have expected? He was still Roderich; nothing could change the core of a man. Still, this was further than she’d ever gotten before. “You know me well enough to know what I want.”

“I assumed I did when making the last deal and look where it got me. Forgive me for wanting you to spell it out.” The beginning of a smile appeared on his face.

Erzsébet didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh. Feeling off-kilter, she settled for sitting on the sofa. “Not even you could mess this one up. I’m tired of sneaking around your back to leave the home. I’m not a young girl and you’re certainly not my father and you will stop treating me as such. If it’s that important to you, there’s only three places I’d be anyway, and you know them all. More importantly, start treating me like a person! You want your life to be less miserable? Then do yourself a favor and at least treat me with indifference, I’d rather that than constant disgust.” Her eyes met his and held them, challenging him to deny her. “And, whenever some big decision comes up, you better discuss it with me and actually give some consideration to my thoughts. You’re not any smarter than me and I’m as aware on everything as you are. If this is going to be both our futures, for whatever time you just bought yourself, then I’m not going to do anything to sabotage it.”

“That’s the very least of what I can do.” If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought she a flash of shame in his eyes. It couldn’t have been. She doubted that he could feel such things, so high were the walls he’d built.

She studied him skeptically. That had been far too easy. There must’ve been something he’d want in return. He couldn’t just have thought what he’d taken was enough. “Don’t you have anything you want from me? There’s no terms?”

Roderich paused, deciding his best course of action. He shrugged, apparently not finding any trap in her words. “Two. The first: cut off the affair. It can be anyone else, but not him. On a personal level, this will make me look like an even bigger cuckold than we all know I am.”

Erzsébet’s eyes hardened and she leaned away from him. “No, that’s out of the question.”

He frowned when she offered no further explanation. “Really? You could do so much better. Don’t tell me you actually love him.”

“You have no right to my personal life.”

“Right. I thought that was the case.” She couldn’t quite distinguish the exact emotions in his voice beyond disappointment and resignation. There was a layer to it that wasn’t simple to place.

He snapped her out of her thoughts when he spoke again. “Now, the emperor wants this sealed with some sort of formal wedding between us. I begged him to do anything but this. Unfortunately for the both of us, he thought it would make such a lovely story for the masses.” He gave an embarrassed smile. “I’m also not exactly asking for you to do this, since there became a gentleman’s agreement on it, but something that means much more to me.” He grew serious again at whiplashing speed. “Let me break the news to Gilbert. Give me the satisfaction.”

Erzsébet could imagine how it’d go. How the scene played out in her mind, it was horrid. Her stomach wrenched. “You’d wreck him.”

“That’s the point,” Roderich wore a cruel smile. He’d been imagining it as well.

“Why do you think I’d ever let you do that?”

He shrugged in an effort to appear nonchalant and failed. “Simple, really. If you tell him yourself, do you think he’ll believe you can’t just stop it? God, he’ll have every moronic scheme to prevent it and act all wounded when you tell him it can’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he were just your little plaything all along. Even though I have ‘no right to your personal life,’ as you so kindly put it, I’m no fool. What’s the point in risking it and being stuck with me?” He smiled at her, warm in a way she was unfamiliar with. His tone attempted to strike a friendliness that didn’t fit him. “If I do it, he hates me, comes sobbing to you about it, and you can both continue to curse my very existence. The status quo is maintained. It’s an obvious choice to me.”

She wandered if he’d prepared that speech just for now. It was tempting to ask him, but the knowing would be worse. Ignorance could, indeed, be a bliss. Erzsébet knew there was an ulterior motive for his words, there always was with him. He wasn’t Feliks, who she wouldn’t feel such guilt over listening to. Still, there was a human part of her that needed outside validation regardless of the source. “Do you think I’m a coward?” Her voice was so soft, she wondered if he’d even heard her.

“No, because I can understand it. Sometimes it’s braver to manipulate.” There was an understanding in his voice. She wouldn’t be surprised if this were coming from experience.

“Fine, but don’t be crueler than you have to. Try to have some compassion if you can.” There was a feeling of hollowness Erzsébet forced herself to ignore. Her life would be livable, that was what was most important. No one would have done it differently.

“He’ll get what he deserves,” Roderich bit back his irritation. They both knew who it was really for. Instead, he nodded his head and offered her his arm. “I’m sure you don’t want to spend the rest of the day watching me work. Allow me to walk you to the door.”

She politely took his arm. They walked in silence to the door, too busy was her mind for idle chatter. Anyways, hadn’t they said enough? Only on her way out did she smile at him and offer him her thanks.

He smiled at her. “Thank you. I promise I’ll make this worthwhile.”

[tsarisfanfiction]

Long Way From Home: Chapter 2

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

Well, the first chapter certainly got some reactions, so I’m back again to either answer the questions from last chapter or make things more confusing.  Or both, because why not?  I’m planning weekly updates, but we’ll see what actually happens.  Thanks, uni.

<<<Chapter 1

Logic screamed that he was actually facing the Hood, the twisted man adopting his own appearance for some scheme or other that Scott really didn’t want to know about.  His gut told logic to go take a hike – there was no way the Hood would be standing there, barely two feet from his uniform, and not raiding any and all technology he could get his grubby little paws on. Nor would the Hood leave him unrestrained when he’d had plenty of opportunity to secure him during the gap in his memory.

Besides, the Hood was a perfectionist.  His disguises were flawless, a product of technology Brains rolled his eyes at but acknowledged was an engineering masterpiece, if sadly in the wrong hands. This Scott in front of him was not a carbon copy.

For starters, much to Scott’s chagrin, the man’s hair was a healthy brown all over.  No grey traitors wormed their way along his roots, signs of stress he desperately tried to ignore even as his brothers taunted him for their existence and pulled stunts that felt designed to increase their number. The brown was also slightly lighter than his own, although that could just have been a product of more washes and less gel.  Despite the lack of grey hairs, he also got the impression that this man was actually older than him, if only by a year or so.

“How did you get here?” His voice was different, too.  The pitch wasn’t the same, nor was the tone quite right.  Virgil could give a better summary of the nuances, he was sure.

The words, though. Those were all Scott, right down to the sharp delivery and clear expectation of a prompt answer.  Skipping pleasantries, and heading straight for the heart of the matter because they didn’t have time to dance around the issue.

“I might have a better idea if I knew where ‘here’ was,” he challenged.  “What is this place?  Where am I?” Where were his brothers?

The Other-Scott (Fake Scott? Hood-Masquerading-As-Scott?) locked gazes with him.  What he was looking for, Scott didn’t know, but he refused to cower away from his doppelgänger and met his steely, searching look with one of his own. Logic still insisted that the Hood, or at least the Hood’s technology, had to be responsible, but he’d learnt to trust his gut long before he’d even heard of his father’s dream of International Rescue and that was adamant that Kayo’s miserable excuse for a family member had nothing to do with the man in front of him.

What it couldn’t tell him was who the man was, aside from an imperfect clone of himself.  The unusual technology surrounding them – alien, Alan might call it for lack of a more rational explanation – was another piece to the puzzle that wasn’t slotting together.

Puzzles were more of John’s thing, not his.  There were many times his ginger brother had rescued the poor pieces from his hands as he tried to force them into the wrong places.

Why had John not made contact yet?

“Who are you?” he demanded when it became clear that the other man wasn’t intending on answering his other questions.  “Why am I here?  Where are my brothers?”

“Brothers?” Other-Scott repeated, frowning deeply.  “We found you alone.”

“Found me?” Scott spat.  “Where? Last place I remember was the securest part of my own home!  There’s no way you got near me without passing my brothers!”  His brothers, sleeping soundly in the belief that they were safe in their own home.  Even John had gone to sleep, secure on Five, but if they’d reached Thunderbird One’s hangar they’d have reached the space elevator docking system.  “So where.  Are. My.  Brothers?”

“You were in our home,” Other-Scott bit back, hands briefly balling into fists before being forced to relax again.  “Alone. Wherever your brothers are, it’s not here.”  Scott didn’t like the emphasis on brothers.

“Don’t lie to me!” he roared, temper fraying.  His brothers had to be with him, otherwise John would have made contact asking where he’d gone.  Otherwise this man – and others beside him – had invaded their home and taken him whilst leaving his brothers but that made no sense.  Why take only one member of International Rescue when you could have all five?  Why take only one Tracy – even if it was the eldest, the one with the most access to all their assets – when you could take more for additional insurance?

They hadn’t tied him down, and the wires hooking him up to the bizarre machines had long since lost their hold on him from his earlier movement.  A rookie mistake.  With years of Air Force training behind him, Scott launched himself at the other man.

Blue eyes widened just before a fist made contact with his cheek, and Other-Scott staggered backwards before catching his balance, his hand tenderly brushing over the injured area. The movement had put him to one side, no longer between Scott and the door, and Scott took full advantage of that. If this man wasn’t going to admit where his brothers were, he’d find them himself.

It was his turn to receive a punch as he jumped towards the door, putting him off-course and allowing Other-Scott to block his way again.  This time, his curiously wary look had changed to an angry one, and as they met in a flurry of blows Scott couldn’t tell which of them moved first.

“Let. Me. At. My. Brothers,” he spat between blows, gasping as an elbow caught him in the solar plexus just as Other-Scott doubled over from a fist to the gut.

“They’re not, argh, here!” Other-Scott insisted, hooking their ankles together and bringing them tumbling to the floor, where they pushed and shoved at each other, trying to get the upper hand.  Something fell off a table as Scott’s back slammed into it, shattering into many glass fragments and dousing him with a cool liquid.  Another bottle hit Other-Scott’s shoulder on the way down, before smashing on the floor and adding to the mess.

They were equally matched, neither able to get the upper hand as they rolled around on the floor, fists flying, heads clashing, and elbows jabbing whatever fleshy body parts they could reach in all the chaos.  Broken glass dug mercilessly into bare skin wherever it was visible, the liquid contents of the former bottles oozing through their clothes. Other-Scott’s head slammed against the bed, but he barely paused before Scott found his own head colliding with a metal table, darkening his vision for a split second.

“What’s going on here?” an unfamiliar voice demanded.  Scott ignored it, and Other-Scott met his latest attacks with equal fervour. “Scott, stop!”

Scott had no intention of stopping.  He didn’t recognise the voice, but Other-Scott had flinched so he did, which meant they were working together.

Strong arms grabbed him, hauling him away from Other-Scott with a grunt, and he kicked out at the warm body restraining him.  Other-Scott had been captured too, a shorter brown-haired man built like a tank firmly hooking him under the shoulders and frowning furiously as he fought to keep hold of Scott’s doppelgänger, who was as determined to get free as Scott himself.

“BOYS!” the voice thundered right in his ear, no doubt belonging to the owner of the arms restraining him.  “What is this nonsense all a- oof?”  Scott threw his head back, clashing with what felt like a nose, from the way it gave.

“Where are my brothers?” His demand came out almost as a scream, all his frustration at the situation pouring out of him as at least two more hostiles made themselves apparent.  Other-Scott was stopping short of causing any damage to his own captor in his bids for freedom, suggesting that while the man was breaking up the fight, he was still on Other-Scott’s side.

“I told you!” Other-Scott shouted back at him.  “They’re not here!  We only found you!”

“They must be here!” Scott insisted.  “Don’t lie to me!”

“E-nuff!” the man behind him joined in, the imperious tone ruined by the clear sounds of a broken nose. “Shedate im!”

Scott fought harder as a ginger man entered the room, looking at him with wide brown eyes before surveying the mess in front of him with trepidation.  He picked his way across glass-strewn floor carefully, but Scott was more interested in Other-Scott, whose attempts to get free had reduced to a token effort as his attention was briefly stolen by the ginger man. He recognised that look of concern too well, far too used to seeing it in the mirror.

“Oh my!” a frail woman’s voice sounded from the doorway.  “Oh, what a mess.  Jefferson, what are you doing to that poor young man?”

Jefferson.  The name was so familiar it hurt, but at least he had a name for Other-Scott – or so he thought until the man holding him responded.

“He’s quith ou o conthrol, muffer.”

Unable to help himself, Scott tore his gaze away from Other-Scott, who had now stopped resisting capture entirely in favour of looking in the direction of the doorway almost sheepishly, to catch a glimpse of the man holding him.  Silver-grey hair and a receding hairline weren’t immediately familiar, however, and the hold he was in preventing him from seeing much more. He could, however, see the elderly lady who had interrupted the fight.  Rosy cheeks, a slightly bent back and a quiver in her hands all pointed towards a particularly advanced age.

“Where are my brothers?” he asked again, reigning his voice in to an almost-level, if still intense, level.

“I told you-” Other-Scott started forwards again, only to be brought up short by the man still holding him tightly.

“Your brothers, dearie?” the old woman interrupted.  “Oh, I’m afraid I don’t know.  Jefferson, why don’t you help the young man find his brothers?”

“They’re not here, Grandma,” Other-Scott said, and Scott flared up again.

“Well then, dearie, it seems to me that instead of all this fighting, you should be looking to find out where they are,” Other-Scott’s grandmother pointed out.  “I’m sure their absence is terribly distressing him.  I know you’d be terribly distressed if your brothers were missing.”  She pottered towards him, the ginger-haired man sweeping back to her side and nudging broken glass out of the way with a foot before she could tread on any. “Jefferson, let him go.  Are you hungry, dearie?  I’ve got an apple pie that’s just finished baking.”

“Muffer!” the man holding him protested, but the woman was no longer paying her son any attention, bespectacled eyes homing in on Scott.  He looked around the room; Other-Scott was still held by the brown-haired man, and the ginger was hovering awkwardly by the elderly lady but shooting him assessing looks.  The grip on his arms was slackening, and it became clear that no-one wanted to fight with her in the midst, Scott himself included.

“Well, dearie?” the woman prompted, and he slid out of the other man’s grasp.  The instant he did so, a hand, just as frail and delicate as the rest of her, came to rest on his forearm.  “If apple pie doesn’t meet your fancy, I have an orange tart, or some banana bread.  Oh, if none of those tickle you, I’m sure I can find something,” she wittered as he found himself being coaxed from the room.

“Uh, apple pie would be… fine,” he said haltingly.  Behind him, he heard a noise of protest.  “Thank you, er, Mrs..?”

“Oh dear, I didn’t introduce myself.”  She sounded mortified at the omission.  “I’m so sorry, dear.  It’s Mrs Tracy.”

It shouldn’t have bothered him.  Tracy wasn’t an uncommon name, for all that there was only one family famous for it. The elderly lady looked nothing like his grandmother – either of them, even if his recollections of his mother’s mother were faded – but her grandson still looked like him, to the point he still didn’t trust the other man, or indeed anyone in the house.  In light of that, having his own surname thrown around startled him.

“Is there something wrong?” Mrs Tracy asked him.  “Oh, you don’t look well at all, dear.  Let’s sit you down.”  He found himself ushered into a seat as they reached what was clearly the kitchen.  A young woman was already there, pulling the promised apple pie out of a bizarre contraption that vaguely resembled an old oven. “Tin-Tin, would you be a dear and fetch your father?” the elderly lady asked her.  “This young man doesn’t seem very well.”

“But of course, Mrs Tracy.” Tin-Tin had a slight lilting accent to her voice, somewhere south-east Asian if Scott had to guess.  “I’ll find him now.”  She placed the apple pie, which smelled absolutely heavenly to Scott, compared to his own grandmother’s regular offerings, on the table and left the room.

“Eat up, dearie,” Mrs Tracy insisted, placing a plate in front of him.  “Help yourself to as much as you want.”

The apple pie smelled good, and despite his misgivings at the entire situation, a homemade apple pie was far too tempting and he found himself tucking in to a healthy slice.

“What would you like to drink, dear?” she asked.  “Tea, coffee? Oh, I have some juice somewhere, now where did I put it..?”

“Water is fine,” he answered between mouthfuls.

“Oh, are you sure?” she queried.  “It’s no trouble at all.”

“Perfectly,” he replied, only to blink as a steaming cup of tea appeared in front of him.

“You called, Mrs Tracy?” An older man had entered the kitchen while he wasn’t looking, an impressive and concerning feat considering Scott was still on edge about the entire situation.  His accent was the same as Tin-Tin’s, implying that this was her father.

“Oh, Kyrano,” the woman greeted.  “This young man, oh, silly me, I never asked for your name, dearie…  Dearie?”

Scott barely heard her, the cup of tea he’d started to lift falling from startled fingers to smash onto the table, spilling the liquid everywhere.

Kyrano. Another familiar name, if not a familiar face.  First, Other-Scott, who could have been his identical twin.  Then, Mrs Tracy, a name he knew all too well even if she didn’t look like his own grandmother.  Now, Kyrano, another name albeit one whose owner he hadn’t seen in too long, with a different face but the same intensity about him.

“Dearie?” Mrs Tracy asked again.  “Oh, what a mess.  He’s as white as a sheet, Kyrano.”

Something reminiscent of smelling salts wafted under his nose and he spluttered.

“You’re bleeding, sir,” the man said matter-of-factly.  “Allow me.”

Scott had forgotten about the broken bottles he’d been wrestling amongst with Other-Scott, but now the man had mentioned it, he could feel the sting of glass embedded in his arms. No permission was sought before a gentle yet firm hand wrapped around a glass-free section of his arm, holding it in place as a pair of tweezers were produced.  He was no stranger to medical attention, and while he didn’t know the man – Other-Kyrano, apparently, for all that he clearly wasn’t English, and probably couldn’t trump Scott in a fight – he did at least know the procedure for removing foreign bodies from open wounds and watched like a hawk as the man more or less followed the methods he would have expected.

“Please, drink your tea,” Other-Kyrano asked once a nasty, stinging liquid – disinfectant was horrible stuff and Scott would never like it – had been applied and bandages carefully wrapped around the worst of the wounds.  “You might find it helpful.”  A second cup of tea replaced the smashed remains of the old one, as Other-Kyrano efficiently cleaned up the mess.

How was tea supposed to help?  Lady Penelope might insist as such sometimes, but Scott would much rather a strong coffee chock full of caffeine.  Still, Mrs Tracy was looking at him with a worried look on his face, and Grandma would murder him for defying or otherwise offending an elderly lady who had done him no harm.  He cautiously pulled the cup closer to him, and was startled to discover it wasn’t an ‘Assam Blend’, or whatever other fancy teas Lady Penelope liked to serve up. It was herbal, and surprisingly delicious, he discovered after his first tentative sip.

“Kyrano serves wonderful tea,” Mrs Tracy told him, sitting down across the table from him.  She had her own cup of steaming liquid in front of her, and sipped at it delicately.  “Now, dear, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?”  Scott paused, taking another tentative sip of the tea to buy himself another moment to think.  Should he give them his name?  He didn’t know what they already knew.  Was it worth a lie?  No, he’d never be able to keep it up.

“Scott,” he admitted.

“Oh my,” Mrs Tracy said. “What a coincidence.  That’s the name of my eldest grandson.”  Scott’s gut churned unpleasantly, and he put the cup down before he dropped that one, too.  “Oh, you even look the same.  Isn’t that strange?”

Strange was one word to describe what was going on.  Suspicious was another.

“You’re the fella that punched Scott?”  A young man barged into the room.  He had pale blond hair and light blue eyes that should have made him attractive, except he seemed to have a permanent frown etched into his face.  “What gave you the right?”  Scott matched his glare with one of his own as the young man – barely an adult at all, if he had to guess an age – stormed up to him.

“Alan!”  Tin-Tin was there, resting a hand on his arm.  “Please, calm yourself.”

Another familiar name, and now that he’d heard it Scott found himself instantly drawing parallels between the man and his youngest brother.  There must have been at least five years between them, but Scott could see Alan looking like that man in a few years, although hopefully without the frown.

“But, Tin-Tin!” Other-Alan protested.  “Scott’s face is bruised.  I can’t just let that go!”  He even had the same personality, a rigid sense of right and wrong with little ability to see the other person’s side, and a reluctance to acknowledge that black and white was joined by a large span of grey.

“Your brother can fight his own battles, Alan,” Tin-Tin soothed.  “I’m sure it was all just a misunderstanding.”

“What about Dad’s nose?” Other-Alan demanded.  “You can’t expect me to…”

Scott tuned out the argument at that.  Dad. He tried not to be a petty person, but there were times when he couldn’t quite prevent envy bubbling up when he heard other people taking about their Dads, taking them for granted as though they’d always be there.  Over the years he’d got better at smothering it, but this was a man named Alan, with a brother named Scott, and a grandmother called Mrs Tracy, and they had their Dad.

He’d broken their Dad’s nose when he’d tried to stop him attacking one of his sons.  If that had happened to his Dad – if Dad was still around to break up fights on their behalf, no matter how unwelcome the gesture would have been in the moment – he’d be fuming, too.  He wasn’t going to apologise though.  Not now, when he didn’t know where he was, who he was with, or where his brothers were.  He didn’t even know what these people planned to do with him, regardless of whether or not his presence in their home was intentional on their behalf.

“Leave it, Alan.”  The blond man’s tirade was cut off by none other than Other-Scott – now confirmed to actually be a Scott himself – as he walked into the room.  “Is there any apple pie left, Grandma?”

“Oh, yes, dear,” Mrs Tracy assured him.  “Take a seat and I’ll bring some over.”

“Thanks,” Other-Scott said, pulling up a chair a couple away from Scott.  His face was bruised, as Other-Alan had said, a beautiful darkening along his cheekbone and narrowly missing his eye.  Other-Kyrano set a cup of tea in front of him, which he accepted gratefully and drank without hesitation.

“But, Scott!” Other-Alan complained, and his brother sighed.

“That’s enough, Alan,” he said, tearing into the plate of apple pie his grandmother placed in front of him.  “Leave it.”

Other-Alan caved, albeit with obvious bad grace, and stalked out from the room.  Scott watched him go.  Part of him was glad that the younger man was being openly hostile – at least he knew where, exactly, he stood with him.  Other-Scott was less clear, patched up from their scuffle and now sat at the same table, devouring his grandmother’s apple pie.  Suspicious glances remained, but there was no open hostility.

The door opened again, and Other-Alan re-entered followed by the two young men from the infirmary, and-

A second teacup smashed onto the table.

“Oh dear!” Mrs Tracy cried, hurrying over to him.  Other-Kyrano quickly swept up the remains as she took hold of his hand.  “Scott, dear, are you alright?”

“Scott?” one of the men asked.  He thought it might have been Other-Scott.

“Oh, Jeff, are you sure there’s nothing wrong with him?” Mrs Tracy was asking.  “This is the second turn he’s had in as many minutes!  Oh, look at him, he’s gone as white as a sheet again, Kyrano.”

Scott barely heard them. The man who had just entered the room had the obvious signs of a broken nose, identifying him as Other-Alan’s Dad. He also had salt and pepper hair, more salt than pepper, and a receding hairline.  Steel eyes fixed on him sharply, hard and unforgiving, and a five o’clock shadow did nothing to hide the dimples in his cheeks.  This was the same man that had restrained him, and while a glimpse in his periphery hadn’t been enough to cause recognition, now that Scott could see him properly he looked like Dad – an older version of Dad, but then he hadn’t seen Dad since he was nineteen.  No doubt, if Dad was still with them, he’d look very similar to the man in front of him.

This had gone beyond simple words like weird and suspicious.  Impossible sounded more like it.

“His medical results all came back clear, Grandma,” the brown-haired man from the infirmary assured her, squatting down in front of him and shining a penlight into his eyes.  He recoiled from the bright light, tearing his gaze away from Not-Dad – it couldn’t be Dad, Dad was gone – to frown at him.

“Did you call him Scott?” the ginger man asked, walking over to the table and slotting himself in a chair between him and Other-Scott.

“That is my name,” he said before anyone else could speak up.  A hush fell over the room, broken by Other-Kyrano setting a third cup of tea in front of him.

“Drink,” the man said. “It will help.”

“Your name is Scott?” Other-Alan demanded.  “But-”

“That’s enough, Alan,” Not-Dad interrupted.  The blond frowned, but obeyed.  “Scott, is it?”

“That’s what I said,” Scott retorted, taking a sip of the fresh drink.  As Other-Kyrano said, it did help.  Somehow.

“Scott..?”  Not-Dad trailed off expectantly.  Surrounded by too many familiar names, Scott decided against answering.  He took a longer drink, ignoring the patriarch of the family in favour of assessing the rest of the room.  Other-Alan and Other-Scott he already had some measure of, the former more so than the latter.  Mrs Tracy was a kind enough lady, and Tin-Tin seemed of a similar temperament. Other-Kyrano was difficult to read, but his focus was the two men whose names he had yet to hear.

The ginger noticed his scrutiny, returning it in kind.  There was something familiar about him, but Scott batted away the notion.  He was simply off-balance at the number of familiar names and faces already – that was no reason to start looking for more connections where there were none.  No matter now much the warm brown eyes of the two as-yet unnamed men reminded him of two of his brothers.

Not-Dad bristled when it became apparent that he wouldn’t give his name.

“I’d like to know, who, exactly, is trespassing in my home,” he said.  Clearly the man was used to being obeyed.

“I’d like to know how, exactly, I got here, and where my family are,” he retorted.

“You don’t know how you got here?” the brown-haired man asked, surprised.

“Virgil,” Not-Dad warned. The third teacup was spared the fate of the previous two purely by being on the table when Scott’s grip slacked.

“No,” he said firmly, powering through the unpleasant sensation dousing him again before Mrs Tracy commented on another ‘turn’.  “I don’t. I don’t know where ‘here’ is, either.”

“But how could you get here without knowing?” the newly dubbed Other-Virgil asked.  “None of us brought you here.”

Scott didn’t bother responding, draining the cup of tea before any more unpleasant surprises could befall it and standing up.

“Thanks for the tea,” he said to Other-Kyrano, “and the apple pie,” he continued to Mrs Tracy, ignoring Not-Dad as he pushed the chair under the table.

“Dear, are you sure you’re alright?” Mrs Tracy fussed.  He wasn’t, but he didn’t tell her that.  Instead he gave a short nod before choosing a door at random and walking through it, ignoring a protest from Not-Dad.

A corridor greeted him, with a neat row of doors on one side and a branch off to the left leading to who knew what.

“Now look here.”  A hand clapped down on his shoulder, and he was halfway to removing it forcibly before placing the voice.  Having already broken Not-Dad’s nose, thereby earning the wrath of at least one member of the family, it was probably not a good idea to injure the man further.  It didn’t stop him shrugging him off, however.  “I don’t want you walking around our home unsupervised, young man.”

“Then supervise me,” he retorted.

“I intend to.”  A hand returned to his shoulder – lightly, this time, Not-Dad clearly learning his lesson – and steered him towards what now looked a lot like an elevator from those old, vintage films Grandma occasionally put on even though they were from before her time, or so she claimed. Neither he nor any of his brothers were brave enough to dispute it.  “Gordon, I want everyone in the lounge.  Let’s start from the beginning.”

“Yes, Father,” the ginger man said – Scott hadn’t even noticed him behind Not-Dad – and tried very hard not to react to the name, even though the situation had flown past anything anyone could classify as a coincidence at this point.  Scott, Virgil, Gordon, Alan… all they were missing was a John.

Not-Dad gestured for him to enter the elevator, ignoring what seemed to be a perfectly serviceable flight of stairs, and he did so with trepidation, watching metal shutters slide across sharply before a jerk beneath their feet had them rising.

“Jeff Tracy,” Not-Dad said suddenly.  Scott glanced at him as the elevator stopped moving and the metal shutters opened with a clatter.  “Call me Mr Tracy.”  His cool, unpersonable approach was nothing like how Scott remembered Dad, and that helped, a little.  He didn’t intend on calling him anything, though.  Not until he knew why there was a clone of his father, and of himself, in this strange house.

Chapter 3>>>