#i slowed the clip down a bit so you could track the movement

[bitchthefuck1]

I never noticed this before, but in Austerlitz when Logan runs at Kendall like he might hit him, Roman tries to reach out and stop him.

The only other time we see Roman actually try to fight back or intervene is when Kendall tries to grab Shiv in the finale.

[wannaberp]

— WHO IS MATTHEW LUONG?

he’s a TWENTY-TWO year old wannabe, born MARCH 17, 2000. he’s undecided regarding the companies and lives by the words “i feel small, but so are stars from a distance.”

maybe you should learn more or ask him a question.

▶ PLAY THE CLIP [ audition_tape.mp4 ]

matty finished getting the music queued up and carefully adjusted the camera. he had rented a studio space for a while but he didn’t have a lot of time to get this filmed. so he hoped that he wouldn’t have to do that many takes.

he turned the camera on running over to his first mark to introduce himself. “hello, my name is matthew luong, i’m twenty two years old from chicago, usa.” he chirped brightly, the script being something that he had easily memorized. “today i will be performing a self-choreographed dance for troye sivan’s fools.” it had been a little bit of a gamble doing his own choreography. covers tended to be better recieved overall. but matty figured if his end goal was to do some choreographing too it wouldn’t hurt to show that it was something that he could do.

he picked up the remote for the stereo to turn it on and then carefully placed the remote on the ground a safe distance away. the opening piano notes began and matty began. he tried to keep his limbs soft and rounded while still keeping his movements accurate and planned. the opening bit was sonically small and soft and so matty did his best to convey that with his body.

the chorus came pretty quickly in this cut of the track. at the first sharp snap of percussion matty fell wincing slightly as he caught himself wrong, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. it wasn’t a very long piece but it was a pretty grueling one once it hit the chorus. there was no real time to slow down so he continued through it sharpening his movements and angles as he went through the song expressing the heart break as best he could.

eventually the song drew to a close and matty walked away from the camera slowly. once the music faded completely out he circled back around so he could go turn the camera off and watch back his performance. he had the practice room for another fifteen minutes or so if he was lucky he might be able to squeeze in one or two more takes.

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts

PART 11:

It’s been a long day. A long, arduous, day of plastering on your best customer service voice and smiling pretty for each and every person that walked through your door. Luckily though, your last patient was waiting just behind the door. Rubbing a tired hand down your face, you stride in, trying to look cheerful.

“Hello! So I see from your chart that you’ve-“

The sight that greets you is not what’s on your clipboard. It leaves you stopped in your tracks- trying to figure out why there was a child where a grown woman should’ve been sitting. You check your paper again, making sure you’ve got the right room. You do, and that just confuses you all over again.

The little boy is dirtied, grime lining his cheeks and staining his clothes- he is clearly not the middle aged woman who was on your schedule for today. His hair is a little matted, oily and very obviously unkempt, but that's not what worries you the most. No, what worries you the most is his skin.

All across his forearms, and down his legs is strange tearing. It's like the skin as been split from the inside out, leaving behind a pattern of angry red scabbing and pink scars. They're not clean slices either; the edges are clearly jagged. The cuts were laced together, overlapping and intersecting in a pattern not consistent with any blade or claw you'd ever seen before, and you had seen almost everything.

The sight leaves you reeling, but you don’t falter. A measly schedule mix-up wouldn’t throw you off this easily, especially not with how clearly this little boy needs your help.

"Alright, do you think you could give me your arm?" You ask gently, trying your best to sound friendly. You're not sure if it really matters though- the boy looks straight past you. Focuses his eyes on the wall behind you, like you're not even there. "Can I have your arm? Just to clean up the wound, I promise. It looks like it hurts a lot, and I'd love to help you feel better."

The boy looks at you then, and you're horrified by what you see. He looks at you, big gray eyes and dark eyelashes, but there's nothing there. Absolutely nothing. It's like looking into a void, and all you can see is your own reflection in his irises. It leaves you unsettled. Itching in your own skin, almost tempted to look away.

The boy puts his arm out. Holds it completely straight, locking his elbow robotically. His face stays perfectly impassive. He doesn't even blink while the open cut visibly shifts with his sudden movement.

"I- alright, I'm just gonna clean around the wound. Sound good?" You try again, taking his tiny arm in your hands.

Under your fingers tips all you can feel is skin and bones. He's practically skeletal, and you can't see any veins under skin that was already paper-thin. You're not sure who this boy is, where he came from- but you could tell from a mile away; he didn't have anybody looking out for him.

The thought made your heart break, made your fingers itch with the need to take all his pain away. Fueled by that, you did your best to clean his wound quickly.

It was a fairly large wound, but it wasn't very deep. That would have been a bright side except when you took a closer look, this new cut resembled all the old scars lining his arms and legs. Whatever did this to him, whatever caused the tearing and the weird pattern of scarring, had been doing it for a long time. A disturbingly long time considering the state of the rest of his body.

The current wound is no longer actively bleeding, but it definitely isn’t scabbed yet. Its vulnerable to the air and to infection, so you quickly start cleaning it. The boy doesn’t move the entire time- not even wincing when you spray disinfectant on the cut. It’s the strangest thing you’d ever seen. It was like the boy wasn’t even in the room with you at all. Like he was somewhere else entirely.

He only needs a few stitches, for the broadest part of the cut, but the boy doesn’t react when you tell him that either. He doesn’t flinch when you smear the cold numbing gel, nor does he even blink when you thread your needle. He watches the entire time though- empty eyes tracking each time the needle sinks into his skin. The process is over and done with in minutes, but nothing feels simple. Everything feels wrong and your fingers still itch red-hot beneath your gloves.

A part of you is tempted to use your quirk, just for a second, to see what he was feeling. To try and connect with him at all, since none of your earlier attempts had even remotely worked. But you don’t, you don’t do that- even was you begin cleaning up. You keep your hands to yourself as you wrap up the extra gauze, terrified of what you’d feel if you touched him.

The boy suddenly murmurs something, voice hardly a whisper.

You can’t make out his words- not from where you are a few steps away. So you near a little bit, taking care not to scare him with any sudden movements. He watches you, mouth pressed into a neutral line until you’re close. Then he chews his cheek, takes a deep breath and speaks.

“I-I’m sorry.” The boy whispers.

He shoots forward grabbing onto your wrist with tiny fingers. A chill like you’ve never experienced before runs through you.

It’s like your blood’s gone glacial- freezing up and stalling the flow in your veins. Goosebumps cover your skin almost immediately, teeth threatening to chatter after hardly a few seconds. You’re frozen in place, fear squeezing your heart in your chest, and all your can do is look at the small child holding on to your forearm.

His face is no longer neutral. His eyes are staring right back at you, wide and unbelieving. You can see now that his eyes aren’t translucent gray. They are blue. Pure blue when they catch the white light from the ceiling above and not the dull grey of the floor tiles. You only catch it for a second, then he’s dropping his head, throwing your arm away from him.

“I’m sorry.” He says again.

You spin on your heels, eyes wide. He doesn’t sound like a child. Throughout your time at the hospital, you’d seen many children come and go through the doors, but he didn’t sound like any of them. He sounded withered, tired, like even speaking took the wind out of him. It was a hollowness that had your heart stopping in your chest.

Then he kicks his foot behind him, grabbing at a handle shoved between his heel and the back of the shoe. All you see is the glint of the blade as he unsheathes it and your blood runs even colder than before. You bring your hands up, defensive and terrified but he just blinks at you. Blinks at you and doesn’t even flinch as he drags the serrated blade up the entire length of his forearm. Blood pools around the wound and drips onto the floor, forming an unnaturally perfect circle in front of him. You’re freaked, but the boy is passive. Passive even as the blood congeals, turning thicker and darker until it’s black.

He steps forward, into the center of the black puddle. The void eats him whole.

Your heart lurches in your chest, pulse speeding up, as you watch the void begin to shift once more. The boy’s blood retreats into itself, twisting and pulsating until it’s completely gone. The floor is spotless, and you’re left suffocating.

You can’t remember leaving the room, only bursting through the backdoors and into the cool night. You brace an arm against the brick wall, and snap at the waist gasping for air.

“Oi- leech. Leech.” He calls, and when you look over he’s suddenly right next to you. “What’s up with you, huh? Called your name. What, couldn’t fuckin’ hear me or somethin’?”

You hear his voice now, but it doesn’t do anything to quell the panic. Your heart is racing. “Bakugou. I need to-“ Your breath catches. “Fuck, there was this kid and he- cuts all up his arm and then he took out a knife and s-sliced-“

“A knife.” Bakugou repeats, eyes like wildfire even in the dark. “Where—what the fuck are you talking about? Slow down, can’t understand a damn thing.”

You try to listen to him, you really do, but even repeating the words makes you feel sick.

Throughout your years as a nurse, you’d seen a lot of gore. You’d seen more injuries, and more blood, and more horrific aftermaths than you could recall, but something about this boy made you sick. Maybe it was his small frame- how he couldn’t be any older than 11. Maybe it all the scars lining his arms. Maybe it was his quirk. The way he had to gravely injure himself just to use it.

You try to explain, but the words are coming out wrong. They’re clipped and panicked and Bakugou looks unhappier with each new one punched from your lungs.

“Stop- stop.” He says, fists clenched at his sides. “Did he come at you? Try to get you with the knife?”

“No- I- he got himself. Bakugou, he took the knife and cut himself. And all the blood, it just- it pooled on the floor and turned black and then he stepped in it!” You’re gasping now, hands out in front of you making a wide circle to demonstrate. “He disappeared and I don’t know where he went and I- he was bleeding so much. He was bleeding and he was covered in all these scars and he just cut himself and didn’t- and didn’t-”

You watch Bakugou curl his lip, shifting on his feet. He doesn’t say anything. Not for a long moment, and then he’s surging forward, large hands on your shoulders and forcing you to look him in the eyes.

“You need to breathe.” He says, voice quiet. Like he meant it to carry for just the two of you. “You need to breathe. Can’t do anything if you pass out in the street. So breathe. Just breathe.”

Bakugou squeezes your shoulders, thumbs digging into your collarbone until you look up at him. His eyes are wild, like solar flares, darting back and forth across your face. It’s obvious he doesn’t like what he sees. Still, you try to follow him. Try to look to his own ribcage for guidance until your world stops spinning.

You’re not sure how long you stand there. With his hands on your shoulders, trying to remember how to breathe. It sort of feels like forever.

“I- I need to,” You say suddenly. There’s something caught in the back of your throat, causing you to clear it before speaking once more. “I need to do something. Find him. I-I need to find him. I can’t. He’s bleeding.”

“I know. But you’re staying here. You can’t be reckless.”

Bakugou’s eyes are still blazing, but his voice isn’t like you’ve ever heard it before. It’s quiet, even, just low enough for you and you alone to hear. His thumbs on your collarbone are tracking gentle circles- you wonder if he knows he’s doing it at all.

“You’re gonna go home.” He says. “I’ll take you home, and then I’ll go back out and look. But you’re not goin’ anywhere like this. It’s reckless. Understand?”

Every bone in your body screams for you to fight- to tear off down the alley shouting and screaming until you found the little boy that so desperately needed help. But that seems impossible with the way Bakugou is looking at you now- so sure and certain of his plan. Like there’s no room for argument. Even if you tried to run, you’re sure he’d just catch you.

“You’ll look?” You ask quietly, all wide eyes looking up at him. “I- I need you to promise me. Promise me. Please.”

He squeezes your shoulders once, averting his eyes. “Yep. I will. Promise.”

Then he’s retreating like he’s been burnt, spinning away from you. He drops his hands by his sides, flexing his fingers, and starts off down the alley.

You figure that Bakugou expects you to follow, but your shaking makes that a tall order to fill. Still, you put one foot in front of the other, trying not to see pooling blood in each shadow that lines the empty street.

“What’s he look like?” Bakugou asks suddenly, just a few feet in front of you. “How old?”

“Um, blue eyes, but they look grey unless you really see them. Dark hair. He wouldn’t say his age, or anything really, but he’s definitely no older than 11. Maybe 10.”

That thought has your heart lurching in your chest, spinning your world on it’s axis once more.

“Why- why would he- he was covered in all those scars,” You start, running a heavy hand down your face. “They were from him. His blade- because his quirk is with his blood and- oh god, he was doing that to himself.”

Your heart collapses in on itself. It sits heavy at the bottom of your ribcage, weighing your entire body down with lead. It’s like you’re carrying a mountain with each step, and all you can think about is empty blue eyes and angry red scars.

“Why would he do that?” You ask quietly, eyes following your feet closely just to keep you moving. “Hurt himself just to do that? He can’t want to- there’s no way. Someone has to be making him- someone has to-“

Bakugou spins around, eyes like steel. “Kids’ll do anything to feel powerful.” He flicks his gaze down to his own hands, fingers twitching. Then he shakes his head, begins walking forward once more. “Even hurt themselves and others.”

“So you don’t think- you think he’s doing that all by himself? He can’t, that’s not, it can’t-“

“It can.” His voice is quiet, devoid of all the explosive inflection you’ve come to expect from him. “Trust me, I know.”

Bakugou’s walking in front of you, clad in his hero costume. His black mask is intact, but even without it you’re not sure he’d let you see his eyes. They gave too much away.

Bakugou keeps moving forward, hardly even turns back to make sure you’re still following. He’s quiet, strangely so, and you’re not used to this kind of silence with him. It’s odd- makes the already inky streets bleed darker shadows, every twist and turn heightening your anxiety. You walk a little closer to him.

He turns his head, red eyes catching you close behind him. His lip twitches up for a moment and he slows. Broad shoulder’s slot into place next to yours, and you swear the streets get a little less scary.

“I’ll find him.” He says. “I will.”

Then the silence hangs thick and heavy over the both of you.

Before you know it, you’re opening the door to your apartment building with tired limbs. Bakugou stays back, but you can feel his eyes watch you. Even through the glass when you shut the door behind you. You give him a half-hearted wave but it doesn’t feel right even to you.

You enter you apartment, immediately flicking all the lights on, tilting your lamp until it’s shooting light through every dark shadow. You know that’s not how it works- that the child used blood and not darkness to teleport, but it still helps ease your mind a bit. Anything to get rid of the blackness at the edges of your vision- the blackness that reminds you so much of pooling tar.

Curling your knees up to your chest, you press your back into the cushions of your couch. You wonder when the fear started settling in. At what point on the walk home that the adrenaline faded- when you started wanting the boy and his blood to disappear instead of being found.

You glance at the clock and then to your balcony door, rinse and repeat for the next few hours. Awake and fearful, practically begging Bakugou to show up. As the world seemed to grow more dangerous, you felt more and more helpless without him.

It was a thought that left you feeling even sicker than before, but you couldn’t deny the relief you felt at the sound of knocking.

“Hey,” You yawn, tiredly, sliding the door open for Bakugou. “You find him?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” He admits, brushing past you. “No fuckin’ trace. You sure he was a kid?”

“Positive.”

“And he was covered in scars?”

“Mhm.”

He drops on your couch, tipping his head all the way back with a groan. “I didn’t see any shitty brats. Sorry.”

The apology comes out sharp, a little sarcastic, but his eyes give him away. He is sorry. At least, as much as you can expect from him.

You drop down onto the other side of the couch, tucking your legs up close to your chest. There’s warmth clinging to the cushions, left-over from where you’d been sitting, but you’re still freezing- skin left with a perpetual chill.

Bakugou lets his head loll to the side, rolling against the back of your couch, until he’s looking directly at you. “You alright, leech?”

A part of you wants to lie- but you figure it wouldn’t do much good. He’d just see right through you anyways.

“No.” You say softly, winding your arms around your legs. “Sat here the whole time. Awake. Thinking.”

He looks at you a little strangely then, shifting until he’s sitting straight up.

“Something bad ‘s happening, I think.” Your voice comes out hollow. “With the boy. He’s- I’ve never seen anything like that. He said sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“Mhm. Sorry. To me. And then he grabbed my arm.” You scratch at your arms, trying to keep the itch in your skin away. “I don’t- I think he knew. About my quirk somehow. He touched my skin. Under my sleeve.”

“What?” Bakugou jolts forward, eyes crazed. “Tell me again, from the fuckin’ top. Don’t leave a single goddamn thing out.”

So you recount it, once more, paying extra attention to the way Bakugou reacts to each one of your words. His eyebrows knit together, eyes hardly leaving your face for even a moment. It’s not until you explain the way you’d felt, when the boy had grabbed you, that Bakugou clenches his fist. His knuckles go white as he grits his teeth.

“He fuckin’ knew.” His voice is venomous, steely and serious. “He knew- but that doesn’t- I sat out. Watched- everything. Fuckin’ kid couldn’ta slipped past me. Must’ve come in the same way he got out.”

“You were outside?”

You question is swallowed up as Bakugou stands, gravely voice steamrolling entirely over your own.

“Fucker knew,” He seethes, crossing his arms. “He fuckin’ knew, and he got past me. Gonna- gonna find him. Swear to fuck-“

“He’s a child.” You try to protest, but Bakugou isn’t listening. “Not some crazy super villain and-“

He’s practically worked himself up into a frenzy now, muttering threats under his breath while he paces. You’re not exactly sure why he’s so upset, but he looks at you and suddenly there’s no mistaking the funny little crease in his eyebrows.

Worry.

You can help yourself then, standing and nearing him. Reaching out your hand until your gloved fingers make contact with his forearm.

“He’s just a child.” You say, eyes wide and imploring. “And he said sorry. It’s- I think he didn’t want to. Someone’s making him. So it’s not his fault, alright? He didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.”

Bakugou flicks his eyes down, to where your fingers are resting on his skin. He scrunches his nose up, but he doesn’t shake you off.

“This time.” He says, red eyes staring back into yours, his voice just as serious as before. “This time you’re fine. But it’s not- there’s not gonna be a fuckin’ next time, alright? I won’t- it’s just not gonna fuckin’ happen.”

You think he’s finished, but then Bakugou is flaring his nostrils, and clearing his throat. “‘m gonna find this fuckin’ kid, okay? Swear it.”

“I know.” You say, because you do know. When he looks at you like that, it’s clear there’s never any other possibility. Nothing but the future he carves out for himself. “I know you will.”

Bakugou nods, and after that it takes only seconds until he’s deflating. You’re almost sure you’ve forgotten your gloves then, when his chest settles and the angry red seeps out of him complexion so suddenly. But when you look down, you see nothing but silk where your skin should be.

“You didn’t sleep.” He finally says. “Kid used up some of your quirk, and you’re not fuckin’ tired?”

You look up at him. “No. I- I am. Couldn’t fall asleep though. Freaked out and everything, you know?”

“You’re home now.”

“I know.” You say, finally stepping back and turning away. Wringing your hands together, you settle back into your spot on the couch. “I tried, earlier, to sleep, but I just keep seeing stuff. In the shadows, I mean.”

He looks at you a little weird, hardly for a second, before pursing his lips and shifting his eyes away.

“I know, I know, it’s dumb. Childish, probably.” You backtrack, a nervous, tired laugh leaving your lips. “Couldn’t help it though. Still can’t- actually, I have no idea how I’m gonna sleep tonight.” 

He shifts on his feet, obviously uncomfortable. “You scared of the dark now or somethin’?”

It sounds even more ridiculous when he puts it’s like that- when he phrases it as something so minuscule. But it doesn’t feel tiny to you. The fear isn’t manageable at all when you think about retreating to your bedroom, cowering away from all it’s dark corners and crevices.

Well, you reason, tomorrow was a day off for you. Losing out on a night of sleep is probably the least expensive loss you could’ve suffered tonight.

“Maybe I’ll just stay up.” You finally decide, rubbing at your eyes. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna stay up, I think.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be fuckin’ ridiculous. You’re fallin’ asleep right now.”

“I’m not. I’m good.”

You lie and you’re sure Bakugou can see through it. Still, he says nothing, choosing instead to bide his time. But with each passing minute he squints his eyes, knits his eyebrows together a little more with each yawn that you try to suppress. He gives it another few seconds before swearing under his breath, spinning around until you’re only looking at his back.

“J-just sleep there.” He grumbles, pinched and tight while he clenches his fists at his sides. “‘s your fuckin’ house.”

“I can’t,” You yawn, once again trying to hide it behind your hand. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

“I’ll sleep later, ‘s fine. Stop complanin’.”

“I said it’s fine. ‘n besides, I’ll stay up, yeah? Nobody’s gonna fuckin’ get ya.” His voice is a little soft, and you think Bakugou knows it too, because then he’s clearing his throat. Loudly. Making a show of setting his shoulders back until he looks intimidating again. “A-and if you’re not sleepin’ in the next 5 fuckin’ minutes, you don’t gotta worry about anyone anyways because ‘m gonna kill you myself. So go the fuck to sleep already. Leech.”

You can’t help the giggle that leaves your mouth. Nor the second, louder laugh that tumbles from your mouth when he whips his head around at the sound.

“I get it.” You say gently. “I’ll sleep. But please don’t murder me while I’m at it, okay?”

Bakugou smiles something tiny and satisfied, but he covers it up by turning back around. By sinking to the floor a few feet in front of you, crossing his legs beneath him. He keeps his eyes trained forward, palm unturned and clearly ready to explode whatever lurked in the dark.

For lack of better words, he looked like a guard dog. The most blood thirsty one you’d ever seen, maybe, but that still didn’t change the fact that as long as he was around, nobody out to get you was leaving the room unscathed.

It was thought that settled your mind, had your heart slowing down in your chest. Enough to have you easing down into the cushions, stretching out on your couch with a tired sigh.

You try not to think about who is sitting directly in front of you. Try not to think about how you can’t tell if the blanket you’re using smells like him, or if he’s just sitting too close to tell. Try not to think about how easy it’d be to whisper something tiny-a thank you maybe, for everything he’s doing.

But you know he’d hate that. You know he’d pinch his face up, like you’d just burned him, and that knowledge of him only has you warming a little more.

So you pull the blanket up around your shoulders and settle instead for watching the back of his head as you drift off. The way he never stops moving- making sure to look at each and every corner of the room as often as he can.

//-//

oh my god y'all semester's finally over,, i cAN DO THINGS I LIKE AGAIN - pls my blog has been so dead for the last like, month but i swear im bout to revitalize tf out of it babey !!!! ;))))))

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai @christianagrace9  @the-shota-king-masayuki @shy-panda02 @devastyle @shoto-supremacy00 @shotoful @falloutgirlzz

[shorkbrian]

Infuriated

Prelude - ok.

Y’all are so horny for Levi Sir and I get it he’s hot lol. I am trying to get to everyone’s asks I promise!!! Also it’s up to you why Levi is mad lol

Prompts - 

Pairing - Levi Ackerman X Reader

Warnings - NSFW, dubcon, noncon, choking, mentions of snuff, emotionally compromised Levi, overstim.

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/2f2hbFjim051DVx0o8o4rU?si=5waL376sSRSqjN2j8G0Y8w

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He comes home in a bad mood.

He shuts the door quietly, and it’s clear he’s beyond pissed. Past the point of yelling, of slamming the door and causing you to flinch with the indicator of his foul mood. It’s not you he’s mad at, but it might as well be. He finds himself wanting to break something, but not dishes or glass, just you. 

Wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze till your breath rattles in your chest.

Levi finds you in the living room, standing by the hallway with wide eyes, shrinking against the wall. You thought you could avoid getting his anger taken out on you if he didn’t catch you while you were lounging on the bed. Hoping the man wouldn’t strip you bare and crush your soul like he had so many times before.

He’s so enraged that he can’t even think of the event that provoked him to such a state in the first place.

“Come here.” He stops in his tracks when he sees you, hands flicking to his tie so he can unknot it, loosen it from his neck. It’s not often he gets this angry, warm and burning, filled with emotions that he doesn’t know how to process, doesn’t even really want to.

“Come here.” Levi repeats himself, eyes burning when you still don’t move, as you begin to shake. You’re afraid of him again, good.

You had gotten past that, at least to the point where you could hide your fear of the man. Tamp it down beneath submission and pleasure, because doing what he says meant getting fair treatment.

But you aren’t doing what he says. You’re cowering against the wall, and Levi’s furious. You’re meant to follow his every order, know what he wants you to do before he even has to say, and yet you’re ignoring him as if you had the luxury of making that decision.

His shoes click across the tile as he strides towards you, already unbuckling his pants with sharp movements. When he reaches you, your frightened eyes pleading, the rise and fall of your chest quickening. Levi bets if he checked, your pulse would be fluttering, fast, like a scared little bird.

Your head snaps to the side when his hand connects with it, the sharp sound echoing throughout his home. 

“Take off your pants.” Clothes are a luxury he’s been allowing, but this blatant disobedience when he’s already fuming will result in punishment. 

Trembling hands fly to your pants, and Levi almost wants to laugh at the expression in your face as you turn it back, cheek reddening immediately. You should’ve came when he called you.

He doesn’t bother to take his slacks off all the way, barely pushing them down to his thighs before taking his cock in hand. He’s not even hard, but he needs to fuck something, focus on a different emotion than the fury settled deep in his bones. The satisfaction of how easily you break under his hands, the pleasure of filling you, stretching you past your limit, the way you draw him in like that’s where he belongs, even though it’s obvious you want to be anywhere but with him.

The hand on his cock is too dry, too rough, but that doesn’t matter. Levi’s able to pump himself to hardness as you fumble with your pants, almost falling as you slip them off.

With a quick movement, he’s slamming you hard against the wall, breath punching out of you, head hitting the wall and dazing you.

Levi spits in his hand, takes it between your legs and rubs his saliva where it’s needed. There’s no way you’re wet, no way you’re ready to take him. But if there’s a little blood, there’ll be a little blood. Levi can clean it off your thighs later.

It hurts when he starts pushing inside, the head of his cock breaching your hole far too fast. The crushing realization that he isn’t going to actually prep you is evident across your face, obvious by the panicked little whine that falls from your lips.

“Shut up.” He can’t stop himself from snapping at you, irritated at the noise. 

He’s focused on filling you, the too-tight squeeze around his length and the overwhelming heat of your body where he’s pressed against you. At least you know better than to try and fight him, hands only clutching his shoulders, not trying to push him away, just trying to hold on.

What he would do if you struggled now, Levi doesn’t know. It’s possible he might break something important, push too hard, forget his own strength as he throttles the life out of you.

That reminds him.

The hand not guiding his cock into you rises to your throat, grasps the smooth column tightly, tight enough to feel the ridges of your esophagus, spongey and delicate. If he squeezes a bit harder, Levi wonders if it would collapse, crumbling beneath his fingers like tissue paper.

But your loss would make him inconsolable, so he reigns in his wrathful curiosity, his impulsive side that only sees the sun when he’s furious.

He's fully seated now, pressing deep into your sensitive walls. You’re shaking, trying to hold in your tears, your pitiful noises, your desire to beg him for mercy. There’s no slick feel, other than the slight ease from his saliva, so Levi knows you haven’t torn. 

That eases his mind a bit as he slowly retreats from your hole, intent on making this quicker than it should be. He needs to fuck, hard and fast and maybe just a bit painful. There’s no explainable reason as to why, and Levi isn’t interested in trying to analyze himself at the moment.

So he draws out, pushes back in immediately, doesn’t mind your choked, hiccuped gasp. You’ll adjust soon enough; even as he pushes back in, you’ve started to get wet, and there’s no stink of iron in the air, so it’s your body trying to make this easier for you.

Levi figures it’s good that at least one of you was actually concerned about that.

As the slide becomes easier and easier, his pace picks up accordingly, until he’s swinging his hips in a punishing rhythm. He can’t stop himself from giving a rough press onto your throat, relishing the way your body jerks, already breathless and panicked, now denied air and already missing it.

He’s getting close, which is surprising. Levi thought it might be difficult to reach release, reasoned that he was too focused on the rage filling his veins and weighing him down to lose himself in your body.

But he should’ve know, you always have an effect on him.

Your cunt starts clenching around him, and Levi’s head shoots up from where he’d been watching the steady hammering of his cock into you, glares at your face now.

“Don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare.” His tone is clipped, and he’s mad all over again. He doesn’t even know why.

It’s not fair that you’re enjoying this while he’s still simmering, struggling to calm himself. It’s not like he doesn’t want you to find pleasure, but the least you could fucking do is have some decency for once and not cum before he does.

You clench your teeth, grimacing as you try to listen, do your best to obey. He’s trained you well.

But not well enough.

With a pitiful cry, you squeeze tight enough to make Levi groan as he refuses to stop moving his hips. Velvety walls spasm around his length with a vengeance, your nails digging into his shoulders as you lose yourself to the sensation.

Levi’s infuriated.

“You’re not allowed to cum.” He hisses, and your eyes are filled with sorrow, with regret and remorse, with emotions Levi has never bothered to learn the names of.

He slows down, slams into you hard enough that his tip kisses your cervix, makes you lurch in pain that lances through the afterthroes of your orgasm. 

Your throat is abandoned for now, his hand joining his other in painfully clutching your hips, fingers dimpling up your flesh, sinking into the pillowy skin so he can pull you down onto his cock the same moment he thrusts up.

It’s hurting now, your face contorting on each deep thrust. Levi doesn’t care, you were selfish enough to take your pleasure before him, when he so obviously was trying to soothe himself.

He’s starting to get a cramp from how hard and slow he’s driving up into you, but he’s crawling closer and closer, so he ignores the twinge for now.

And then he’s there, bursting from the inside out, uncaring of trying to avoid filling your womb with his seed.

It feels good, good enough to talk him down from the edge of hurting you, of destroying, of raging and bruising and damaging.

Levi’s left panting as he finishes, as his abs clench and unclench while he shoots his sticky finish into your tight hole. You’re still grabbing at his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut at the foreign sensation; Levi usually dons a condom, or at least pulls out. Rarely does he lose himself to do what he just did.

He’s calmer now, feels less like a pacing tiger that's been provoked and prodded until it attacks.

But he finds himself irritated at you, at your audacity.

The man knows he’s being irrational, and that he’s emotional right now, prone to lashing out and striking at anything that dares to defy him. You hadn’t done anything particularly wrong except exist in the same space as a thoroughly pissed-off Levi, and he recognizes that.

But he still wants to see you punished.

So you find yourself on the bed, stripped of your clothes. The only thing you’re wearing is a leather collar, attached to cuffs on your wrists by a thick metal ring. The contraption keeps your hands up by your face, unable to do anything but clench into little fists. It’s almost cute.

Theres a spreader bar cuffed to your ankles, and a vibrator in Levi’s hand. He had cleaned himself as soon as he pulled free of your warmth, not bothering to stop the cum that escaped from the unconscious clench of your hole.

Levi had taken a moment to change out of his work clothes, calm himself further and evaluate everything with a clearer mind. Now dressed in nothing but loose sweats, he felt more at ease, cooler both physically and mentally.

The vibe was flicked on, pressed to your mound at the same time Levi wiggled a finger inside of you, feeling his cum still warmed by your body. It was a weird sensation, but you were wet, and he was focused on the task at hand.

Making eye contact with you, Levi leveled you with a stern look.

“You aren’t allowed to cum.”

Four minutes later, when you crested the edge despite an obvious struggle against it, Levi clenched his jaw, removing the vibe and his finger from rubbing at your walls.

When your eyes opened, Levi met them with a glare.

“You aren’t allowed to cum.”

The vibe was flicked back on, a setting higher this time. Levi shoved two fingers inside of you, and you whimpered in distress. You’d beg if you knew it would sway him, but Levi had forced you enough times for you to know that he followed his own desires.

You were just supposed to lay there and take it.

[justmaybee]

HC Drabble 1 | Kaebedo

A/N: Never tried posting any of my HC’s before, but I chose a few and wrote a little messy thing based on ‘em. Pretty fun, might try again if I can think of anything~

Warning(s): bodily pinning

Kaeya is squirmy, stating things that are obvious.

He’s not coordinated enough to get himself free most of the time, but—Barbatos above—he will still try his hardest. Kicking, jerking, wiggling whatever he can like it’ll dampen any of the ticklish feelings coursing through his body.

Albedo knows this. He’s also come to realize something that happens as a result.

Something he could use to his advantage.

Because Kaeya can keep from laughing, reacting much at all really, for a long time early on. He’s almost impossible to break if he’s not attacked swiftly, in a place too sensitive for him to stop himself.

But—

If Albedo plans accordingly, he can take advantage of his newfound information.

The first time he tries it out, he has a prediction, but he’s not certain how things will end up. That’s a test for you.

But when he shifts beside Kaeya in bed, rolling onto his side—over Kaeya’s arm that rests underneath him—to grab his other arm, he’s able to pin it above his head without much resistance.

Kaeya can barely raise his eyebrow before he’s wide-eyed and holding his breath.

Albedo’s free hand traces firm, slow circles under his arm. Two fingers, a careful pace, pressing with enough pressure that there’s no way to ignore the electric current zipping up and down his left side.

Kaeya doesn’t laugh, it’s not—it’s not that bad, but his shoulder twitches, elbow making it an inch down before Albedo’s hand tugs back.

Oh—wow—he’s, um—

Kaeya blinks once, twice. He can feel heat building by his ears, washing down his neck. Albedo...hasn’t changed his pace, his method, but it...tickles more.

Why does it tickle more?

Kaeya can feel his throat spasm around compressed laughter. His eyes squeeze shut, head falling back when Albedo does a quick spiral into the center of the hollow.

It—it tickles. Why does it tickle so much—

He doesn’t notice the noise he’s making, the clipped off whines that catch in his throat before they can free the laughter that flutters in his chest. He’s focused. He’s so focused. Because it tickles so much more than he’s used to, and he can’t bring his arm down. He can’t stop it. He can’t—

The same slow, circular track. It never changes. Never speeds up. But it’s all it takes for Kaeya to crack, arching his back—the bit of movement he can do—before bursting into frantic, panicked giggles.

Albedo smiles, continuing the same consistent pace.

Test complete, with rather positive results he must say.

So yes, Kaeya is very squirmy. So what happens when that’s taken away from him?

Well, it’s obviously not something he encounters often, and in the throws of sensation and confusion, there’s not much room to think clearly, even if it’s there’s only one thing on his mind.

An echo chamber of his own making. Unable to move and release the energy pent up and brimming inside him, but unable to stop trying, to stop thinking of it. It must really take a toll on his defenses.

“AHA! A-Albedo! Let—ha!—let go! Plehease stop! Plehehehehease!”

Oh this will be fun to experiment with.

———

Albedo is eternally curious, and infamously intelligent. Kaeya (and himself) are usually his test subjects.

Kaeya is one (1) squirmy wormy, and if he cannot squirm, his grip on his cool lowers exponentially.

To get anything out of Kaeya, Albedo must be quick and deadly. Being too little of either has definitely resulted in positions being reversed.

Not an HC, but Kaeya’s hand was this close to Albedo’s ribs the whole time, which could’ve been disastrous if he were able to act on that information. Sometimes Albedo is willing to work with a bit of risk.

[tellatennie]

Shigaraki smut

I wrote this high asf so it'll most likely get deleted soon because when I wake up after publishing this ill regret being born lmo. This is literally my first time writing smut and i did it when i was high. Probably not a good combo.

WARNINGS: SEX

"OHH THAT'S JUST CHEATING" I shouted at my boyfriend, while smashing the buttons on the switch controller. We were playing Mario Kart and needless to say we were both quite competitive at it. "TOMURA STOP THAT'S CHEATING" I shrieked, he kept poking my side just when I would be getting ahead of him, causing me to lose control of the controller and allowing him to slip by. 

"Its called playing smart!" he smirked at me and crossed the finish line in first. I sighed and rolled my eyes "Next one I'll get you" We were playing rounds of three, three tracks, three games, three chances to win. Now I only have two chances to win, seeing as my boyfriend was a cheater at every game we played. He even cheated during Monopoly by getting Dabi to distract me while he stole money and hotels from the box.

I had a plan though, I knew what to do to throw him off his game.

We started the second race, and we both kept our cars almost directly next to each other the whole time, at this point we knew how the other would react to something and we used that against each other. Crossing the line to start our third and final lap I waited until just the right moment to put my plan into play. I had planned it just carefully enough where he didn't see something was coming, but I was just barely ahead of him. 

Just a little's way away from the final finish line I jumped on him and grabbed his controller and yanked it from him as hard as I could. He let out a yelp of shock and quickly reacted, going for the controller immediately. My premeditated plan work perfectly as I lifted both my feet up with s p e e d. He landed on my feet and groaned in light pain. He rolled his eyes as I passed the finish line in first and he stood up.

"That was so unfair!" I gave him the most innocent smile I could muster. "Its called playing smart babe!" I said in a borderline mocking tone. He snatched his controller back from me, accidentally disintegrating it. I laughed at his now emotionless 'I just died inside' face expression.

"Don't worry baby, I always keep spares just incase." I stood up and walked over to my table, picking up another controller I had set out, whilst picking up a little surprise present I had gotten Tomura. It was put in a cute little box that I had carefully wrapped ribbon around. I walked back over to him where he was sitting on my couch fidgeting his fingers, "I'm sorry (Y/N)". I plopped next to him and handed him the box. turning to face him while watching his expression change from confusion to happiness at the realization that I got him a present. He tugged at the ribbon but to no avail, the ribbon was put on there a bit tight, so he ended up just disintegrating the ribbon off. He lifted the lid off the box to reveal a pair of gloves that cover only two fingers to help him prevent destroying some things with his quirk. He lifted the gloves up and a smile spread across his face.

"Wow.. Thank you baby" He slipped the gloves on and looked at me with a goofy smile. "But I'm still gonna beat you in round 3"

"I'd like to see you try"

We had a deal that neither of us would try to make the other lose. ‘A fair fight’ we called it. It’s obvious no one had the intention to make this a fair fight, we were both glancing at each other and smiling. So yeah, obvious. 

Eventually we had both made our way to first and second place, but I was showing to have the chance of being first. I was quite ahead of him and I just had my fingers crossed for a Bullet Bill power up to seal my win.

I came up on a row of power ups and I drove through one, waiting to see what I got. I got a banana. I huffed in defeat and kept driving, throwing the banana behind me. 

“Ohh whaT THE HELL” Tomura said as he conveniently ran over the banana, causing his car to slow and allowing me to gain more of an advantage against him. "Haaa looks like I'm going to win!" 

Suddenly he pounced on me, pinning my arms above my head with one hand while taking away my controller with the other. “What happened to no cheating? Did you just get too mad at me?” I mocked. He leaned over and kept my arms pinned with his forearm and used his hands to keep steering his car, not responding to me. I tried wiggling my arms out but to no avail, he’s pretty strong.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and flipped him onto his back in return. I snatched his controller away and made his racer drive off a cliff and tossed the controller onto the ground where he wouldn’t be able to reach it. I looked back at him to see that his face was slowly turning red. I leaned down and rested my head on his chest and smiled at him. I let go of his pinned arms and lowered my hands to trace the scratch marks on his neck. He brought his hands down and ran his fingers through my hair. He sat up and gripped the back of my neck, pulling me in to kiss him. I could feel his other hand start to roam up my thigh when we suddenly heard the Mario Kart finish line music play through the speakers. We broke away from the kiss to see who had won. 

”WALUIGI!?” I yelled, jumping from my spot on the couch. Running up to the tv with my controller. “HOW DID WALUIGI WIN HE FUCKING SUCKS!” I huffed and crossed my arms, mumbling quite rude things directed at the annoying character. I felt Tomuras arms wrap around my waist as he laid his chin on my shoulder. 

“It’s just a game baby, besides, that just means you and I are still tied. So we need to find another way to find the winner” He whispered that last part in my ear. “What other way are we gonna decide who wins then- ohhhh” I felt very very dumb in that moment. Tomura laughed and pulled me back onto the couch. I sat on the couch as he turned off the tv. I patted the cushion next to me to tell him to sit. He gave me a questioning look and sat next to me. 

I flipped my leg around and crawled into his lap, facing him. He rested his hands on my waist and leaned up to kiss me. I put my hands on the sides of his head and deepened our kiss. He licked my bottom lip, asking for my permission. I parted my lips and he slipped his tongue into my mouth. There was no “battle for dominance”. There was him, just this gorgeous man exploring my mouth for the umpteenth time. 

We broke from the kiss and I buried my head in his shoulder, slowly starting to rock my hips against his lap. I took in the scent of his cologne, it was the same cologne I had bought him for his birthday. It was my favorite on him and the fact that he uses it almost everyday makes me feel so many emotions, most of which I had never even grown up with. 

He groaned as I grinded against him faster, I could feel his very obvious hard-on through his pants. He matched my grinding with his and used my hips to direct me the way he wanted. “God I love you” He mumbled into my ear, I tried to giggle but moaned as he put his hands up my shirt and kneaded my breasts. It had been a while since we were this intimate due to him being busy with the league but I was glad I had caught him on a day off. 

He suddenly picked me up bridal style and carried me to my bedroom. He laid me on the bed and stood in between my thighs as I wrapped my legs around him. He slid my shirt over my head and un clipped my bra and started sucking on my sensitive buds. (I’m literally so high rn) I put my hands in his hair and tugged slightly, moaning his name.

”Nngh- T-Tomura, I n-need you” He looked up at me and stood straight, slipping my leggings and underwear off my legs. “Do you baby? Because you seemed to be doing fine earlier” He unbuckled his pants and pulled them down along with his boxers. He aligned with my entrance and I was waiting for the immense pleasure soon to follow but there was nothing. I looked up at him and saw him smirking at me, whilst not moving. 

“W-what the hell. babe come on, pleaseee” I groaned with anticipation, trying to squirm but he quickly put his hands on my thighs, stopping any movement from me. “aghh Tomura I don’t know what you’re trying to do- OH GOD” I was mid sentence when he suddenly trust his member in me as fast as it seemed like he could. He groaned as he thrusted into me again and again “Oh baby you’re so tight” 

Our moans filled the whole apartment as he never showed any sign of slowing down. I gripped the sheets and tried to match his movements but he kept me in his grip. That’s when I knew I was his for tonight, and I loved every second of it. With every deep thrust, his member hit my core just at the right spot where every time I feel like I’m going to burst from pleasure. My eyes rolled back into my head, waiting for my upcoming climax.

He stopped moving. My eyes snapped to him. 

“Get on the bed on all fours for me baby” He said in a low octave that he usually had during our more intimate interactions and I feel like he knows it turns me on. I crawled onto the bed on all fours as instructed. He came up behind me and before I could even say anything snarky he once again thrust his member into me before I could even react. I buried my face in my pillow and matched his pace, pushing my ass into him. 

He rubbed my ass sensually as his pace quickened. “mmm baby I’m close” he groaned. I nodded in my pillow and tried not to make the loudest sound I could. I could feel my climax rounding the corner. 

I gasped and made an almost scream sound as I came around his dick. His pace slowed as he busted in me. He pulled out a few seconds after and I laid on my side, him following suit. 

“I missed you” I mumbled into his chest as he pulled me closer. He rubbed simple shapes on my back and kissed my forehead. 

“I missed you too baby.” I giggled and looked at him, pecking his lips.

”I think it’s safe to say you won the tie”

Ahhhahh i’m so fucking high right noww. I’ll most likely add a note at the top when I get off the high so whatever my sensible self says, listen lmaoooo

[sithsecrets]

release | din djarin x reader

A difficult hunt has Mando in a huff, and his crewmember knows just what he needs.

---

2.9k words

mentions: mando’s frustrated but not mean in the slightest, blowjobs, general musings on sex

---

Some hunts are easier than others— that’s one of the first things the Mandalorian told when you joined his crew. You’d thought that was a fair answer to the question you’d ask, and it made a lot of sense at the time because of course bounties have levels like practically anything else. Some people are stupid, others are smart…  A simple bail jumper’s probably not going to be much of a challenge, but a spice smuggler or a member of an organized crime ring? That could be difficult.

Before this assignment, you’d thought you knew what a difficult hunt looked like. There was the pimp on Jakku that led Mando on a chase for three days in the dessert, the pair of bail-jumping brothers that ended up being very well-connected to some very scary spicemakers, and a few other quarries that stick out in your mind. But Mando’s most recent mission…

This whole thing was a clusterfuck from the start. Karga had called it a “special quest” when he offered up the puck, and you’d been right there at Mando’s side when he asked for the price. The number that came out of Karga’s mouth was absolutely insane, almost too good to be true.

There was a catch, of course. The quarry is a member of an alien species known for their sameness— each being looks identical, no sex, no gender, no differentiating characteristics. To make a hard job even harder, the quarry’s…. a bad person. They’re dangerous, armed to the teeth, and known to leave a lot of collateral damage in their wake. And they’re rich. Unbelievably rich. The kind of rich that makes a person bulletproof, the kind of rich that lets a person disappear at will like they never existed in the first place.

Yet despite all of this, despite how difficult the task seemed, Mando accepted the puck anyway, and now you’re here in the Crest wondering what the fuck you’re going to do with him.

Four dead-end leads and three planets later, you think Mando’s going to crack. He came back to the ship earlier in a huff, announcing that you, he, and the baby would be going to yet another location to track this person down. Quiet rage has been radiating off of him ever since, the anger Mando feels slipping out here and there in all the wrong ways. He was less patient with the Child earlier when he was putting him down to sleep, and Mando’s tone was clipped when he declined your offer to make him something to eat. You try not to take any of his behavior personally, knowing good and well that Mando’s running on empty. The stress of this hunt has been immense, and you’re not sure if he’s been sleeping or eating like he should during his days away. Knowing how Mando takes care of himself in the best of times, though…

The man needs to relax, you think. He needs a good meal, something warm and filling, and a good night’s sleep. Mando also needs to blow off steam, needs to fight or scream or fuck—

You force yourself to clear that thought from your mind, even as you prepare yourself for what you’re about to do. It’s gamble, to say the very least— this could cost you your job, your place next to the Mandalorian. You don’t think you could stomach it, being sent away by this man that you care for, but something has to be done— about Mando’s agitation and your feelings for him.

Drawing in a deep breath, you stand before the ladder the leads up the cockpit, gathering every bit of courage you have. “Mando,” you call, hoping he won’t react too poorly to be disturbed right now. He went off hours ago, shutting himself away up there to “look over some intel,” whatever the fuck that means.

“What?”

The word comes out short, but not angry, and you figure it’s fine to go on.

“Can I come up?”

Mando doesn’t give you much in the way of an answer, but the noise he makes is affirmative enough. You climb up the ladder, the rungs cold on your bare feet, and then you’re there in the cockpit. Mando’s just as tense as he was when he went up here in the first place, shoulders drawn taut, eyes trained on a hologram in front of him. It looks like some sort of map, though the lines and colors mean little to you.

“How’s it going?”

He doesn’t even turn his head. “Fine.”

You watch Mando for a moment, nervous as you consider how to play this.

“Don’t you think you should rest, Mando?” you ask, coming to stand beside the pilot’s chair. He’s still hasn’t looked at you, hasn’t so much as glanced in your direction. “You need to eat, and I think sleeping would—”

“I’m not tired,” Mando cuts, and it takes everything in you to bite back your frustration.

“Yes, you are. You’re exhausted, and probably hungry, and even the baby can sense it.”

You don’t get a word of acknowledgement from the Mandalorian, not so much as a fucking syllable, and you finally slip just the slightest bit.

“Mando,” you declare, tone firm and demanding, and finally, finally, you have his full attention.

“Yes?”

Exasperation is clear in the Mandalorian’s voice, but he’s looking at you know, turning the pilot’s chair in your direction. One or two steps closer, and you’d be standing right between his legs, close enough to reach out—

Focus.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you huff, hands on your hips. “You know I’m right. I know this quarry’s been hard to catch, but you’re starting to slip.”

Once again, Mando leaves you sitting in silence, though it would seem that some of the fight’s left his body. Carefully, you inch forward, and just the slightest thrill runs up your back when Mando opens his legs to make room for you.

“I’m worried about you,” you confess, voice softening. “I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

Mando’s sigh is long and tired, but he’s out of energy to argue any further. “You’re right,” he concedes. “I— Maybe I am going a little too hard.”

“Of course I’m right.”

You take no real pleasure in this, but you are glad to hear Mando admit that he needs to slow down. With that done, though, it’s time for you to be brave, perhaps braver than you’ve ever been in your life.

“You need to relax, Mando,” you say softly, reaching out to rub at his arm. The visor follows your every move, but Mando trains his eyes right on you when you murmur, “Let me help you.”

“How— What do you mean?”

You’ve got the Mandalorian stuttering, and something about that boosts your confidence to a dangerous level. It almost feels like it’s not you that sinks down onto the floor, dropping onto one knee and then the other between Mando’s legs. Your fingers are on his belt for no more than a second before he’s reaching out, before he’s pushing your hands away and jolting in shock.

“Whoa, mesh’la, that’s not—”

“Necessary?” you cut, cocking your head. “I think that it is, Mando. You need to relax.”

“Yeah, but I don’t— You’re not obligated to—”

“Of course I’m not obligated. I want to do this, Mando. I want to take care of you.”

You settle on your knees and twist your hands out of Mando’s gentle grasp, the leather of his gloves cool on your palms. His fists clench and unclench under your touch, anxious and fidgety, and you feel the need to pause for just a moment.

“Mando,” you say softly, squeezing his hands, “I know what you need, and I’m happy to give it to you. But if you don’t want this, tell me now. I’ll go back down to the hull, you can go back to your map, and we never have to talk about it again.”

Mando hesitates, and you find yourself wondering if you this was a good idea.

“You actually want to do this? You— To me?”

You nod. “I really do.”

Finally, after a few more seconds of tense silence, Mando lets himself relax. You feel it, the way the muscles in his thighs go slack under your arms, the rest of his body sagging back in the pilot’s chair. Eyes track your every movement as you unbuckle Mando’s belt, though you see nothing but the blackness of the visor when you glance up. He’s good help, shifting from side to side as you try to tug his pants down just the slightest bit, and then there’s nothing left for you to do but start.

The moment you lean down to kiss the head of Mando’s cock, you’re blindsided by just how much you missed this. It’s been so long since you had sex with another person, so long since you felt the weight of a man on your tongue in this way. And the smell, Maker, the smell… You get lost in what you’re doing, focused on nothing but the feel of Mando’s cock in your mouth and the throbbing between your thighs. So lost, in fact, that it takes you about ten seconds too long to realize that you’re being touched.

Sometime between you undoing his belt and this very moment, Mando took off his gloves and threaded his fingers in your hair. He doesn’t pull or push or so much as try to control what you’re doing, but there’s a pressure there, a warmth. It would be inconsequential if Mando were someone else, the fact that his hand is bare against your scalp, but he isn’t. Such a simple gesture, and yet…

You sit back on your heels and catch your breath, one hand stroking Mando’s cock at a steady, even pace. A noise indicative of something not unlike despair slips out of the modulator that same instance, so quick and so quiet that it’s almost lost in the static, and not for the first time do you find yourself cursing the fucking helmet. You ache to see Mando’s face, you ache to see his whole fucking body…

“Are you feeling better?” you purr, mouth slick with drool as you talk. You’re not sure Mando likes you all sloppy and ruined like this, but you think it’s safe to go out on a limb just this once.

“Yes,” Mando grits, body shuddering when you lean down to kiss his cock. You take private pleasure in that, thrilled by the notion that a person like you could affect a person like him in such a way.

“Would you feel even better if you came down my throat? Or do you want to see it on my face instead?”

Mando keens, and you feel all-powerful.

“In your mouth,” Mando answers, fingers coming up to stroke your cheek. He sounds shaky, and you let up on his cock just the slightest bit. “I don’t— You don’t deserve to have someone make a mess of you.”

“I don’t mind a mess,” you say, because you don’t, not if Mando’s the one fucking you up. “Maybe next time I suck you off I’ll let you cum on my tits. I—”

“Now you’re just fucking with me,” he groans, squirming in his chair like he can’t help it.

“I’m not,” you purr, “I promise you I’m not. You can do anything you want to me, Mando, I mean that. I’ll lie there and take it—”

“Maker, your fucking mouth,” Mando cuts, breath ragged. “If you keep fucking talking, I’ll—”

He never gets to finish the sentence, words crumbling into nothing as you abandon your little game. You suck him off in earnest, using your tongue, paying special attention the places that make him jerk in his seat when you so much as breathe on them. It doesn’t take him long to fall apart, and you try your best to take it all, swallowing obediently like the taste is nothing to you. And how could you care about something as inconsequential as of the flavor of Mando’s cum when his cock is pulsing in your mouth, when he’s groaning and fisting his hand in your hair…

Listening to Mando cum, feeling him cum makes you drunk off arousal, but you force yourself to tamp down the feeling. He’d fuck you if you asked, rub your clit and let you clench on his fingers until you came at the very least, but this just… isn’t about you. No, this was something for Mando, a way for you to help him calm down, and you don’t want to ruin whatever peace he’s found by making demands. You’ll get yours soon, if you’re patient, and that’s more than okay right now.

Mando seems tired when you finally pull off of him for good, body sagging under his armor like simply holding himself upright would be a chore. You feel shy under his gaze, all your confidence and bravery slipping further and further away by the second. This was something you’d neglected to think about when you formed this plan in your mind, the after. Sucking Mando off and making him feel better is all well and good, but you still have to look at him, still have to go to sleep tonight and wake up in the morning knowing this happened. Knowing that he knows this happened…

Slowly, ever so slowly, Mando musters up a bit of strength, pulling up his pants and doing up the fly as you watch from your place on the floor. You’re half expecting to be dismissed when he’s done, and that’s why it’s such a shock when Mando leans forward to hold your face in his hands.

“Come here,” he says softly, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Your legs burn when you stand up, and your knees ache from kneeling like you did. None of that matters though, not when Mando sits you on his thighs and wraps his arms around your body. You’re facing him, legs dangling just above the floor on either side of his. The beskar is cold and hard against your skin, but Mando’s hands are warm, the expanse his palm soothing down the plane of your back. Up and down, up and down, up and down the heat travels, breathing life into something delicate and raw inside your chest. You thread your arms around Mando’s neck after a few minutes, glad that he’s still not talking. Something about his affection has you choking up, and you’d rather die than give yourself away. It’s the silence, you think, the way he says so much without speaking a word.

“Thank you.”

The words come out in a staticky whisper, the sound of them crackling in your ear. And though it pains you to do so, you sit up and look at Mando properly, missing the warmth of his neck the minute it’s gone.

“It was… You don’t have to thank me,” you say softly, fiddling with the collar of Mando’s shirt. You wonder where his cape is and why he took it off in the first place, though you’re not exactly sad to see it go. “Are you hungry? I made you a plate earlier even though you said you didn’t want to eat. It’s still good if you want it.”

“I do have to thank you,” Mando insists, holding your chin in his fingers. “You take good care of me, cyar’ika.”

Cheeks hot, you refuse to meet his eyes. “Well, it’s not like you don’t deserve it.”

You want to ask him what those names mean, the one he called you just now and the one he blurted out earlier when he tried to stop you. But you think it might ruin the mood, and so you swallow the question like you swallowed the lump in your throat a few minutes ago.

“If you go lie down in my bed,” Mando says slowly, one hand trailing down, down, down your shivering back, “I’ll take good care of you too.”

And though the very idea of what that could mean has you ready to run down the ladder as fast as you can, you shake your head.

“I just want to go to sleep, Mando,” you tell him, “I’m tired. And I know you are too.”

Mando’s going to protest, he’s going to insist he pay you back, this much is made clear by the way his hands tighten around your hips. But you cut him off before his tongue can so much as form the words, pressing your chest against his, rolling your hips…

“But when you catch the quarry, we’ll do whatever you want. I said you could do anything to me, remember?”

The Mandalorian’s breath hitches, and you know then that you have him.

“This was a release,” you explain, ducking your head to press you lips to whatever skin you can. The helmet does a good job of concealing his jaw, but not every bit of his neck is hidden away. “That will be a celebration.”

Mando huffs through the modulator, though you think his discontent is all for show.

“Fine,” he concedes, “but you better be waiting for me in that fucking bed when I get back.”

[liveindaydreamswithhim]

Dance Practice

A small blurb of Harry and his girlfriend practicing the choreography for TPWK.

Word Count: 2.3K 

“You are starting the side steps too fast,” Y/N huffed again, wisps of baby hair clinging to her forehead due to sweat.

Harry huffed a breath of annoyance and turned off the track playing with the remote he held in his hand. His voice stopped ringing throughout the living room that was now surprisingly bare, since all the furniture was pulled to the side towards the wall in order to give them some space to practice the choreography.

“Maybe the song was going too slow,” he retorted and he grabbed his water bottle from the floor, drinking a few sips to quench his thirst after practicing the dance moves for the past hour. Harry’s dry throat felt immediately better, but the prickling he was experiencing subsided too fast, almost to the point where it hurt him and he blamed the coldness of the water. He quickly hid a cough knowing that it would definitely earn him a scold from Y/N, who always warned him about the dangers of sudden temperature change to the body.

Y/N rolled her eyes and walked over to him, taking the water bottle away because she knew that if he drank too much, his left side would hurt after practicing the routine a few more times and also, she would be able to hear the water from his stomach and that shit always made her laugh, thus making the dance practice impossible to continue.

She threw herself on the sofa pushed to the far-right side of the room and stretched her legs in front of her to get rid off any soreness caused by the amount of time she spent working them out. Y/N looked up at Harry whose breathing was finally stabilising. He was wearing black cotton sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt that he kept using to wipe of the sweat off his face like he was doing at that moment. The t-shirt lifted and a sliver of skin showed, revealing the fern tattoos on either side of his hips that were now glistering with sweat. Y/N bit her lip and averted her attention to his feet, which were clad in pink fuzzy socks that she swore belonged to her and she smiled fondly when she remembered Harry exclaiming that he needed them to make the side slides of the choreography cooler, even if that meant that he nearly slipped during the rest of the routine.

“What are you smiling about, eh?” Harry said, one side of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

Y/N raised her gaze, “Only how terrible of a dancer you are.”

“Hey,” he exclaimed looking hurt.

Y/N giggled knowing that it drew the wanted reaction out of him. She placed her chin in her hand and thought about the time a few weeks before when Harry asked her to be his partner in learning the choreography for his new video clip in order to help him practice. She remembered how he approached the subject by first announcing to her that he would release a video clip for Treat People With Kindness and he then turned shy and reluctantly confessed that the concept was going to be dancing. Y/N been very surprised when she heard him, not being able to picture him in sync with other people dancing. Harry then did something she did not expected and engulphed her hand into his big ones clad in rings and pulled it in his lap, thumb brushing over the inner part of her wrist. She knew that he only did that when she needed comfort, but then realised that this time perhaps he was comforting himself.

And that was when he asked her to learn the routine with him.

Y/N remembered that her mouth opened in shock and that she was left staring into his emerald green eyes that were looking back with a hopeful glance. She understood then that there was nervousness hidden behind them because he was going to do something outside his comfort zone, something completely unfamiliar and he needed her next to him for support. Really the decision was made for her the moment Harry deeply stared in her eyes, puffing his bottom lip out, a few curls falling in his face.

Y/N could never say no to him and that brings her in that particular situation weeks after he had asked her to. Not many weeks ago, during their first rehearsals, she remembers how giddy she felt for simply spending time with him. It had been a very long time since she had last seen him because of his tight schedule and now she was able to spend every day with him. The first few rehearsals had been a disaster since none of them could really focus on the dancing since they were so close to each other. During Harry’s solo part, Y/N would take a step back and just admire him. Although the admiration rarely lasted long before she waltzed in front of him, hands outstretched to wrap around his neck and legs lifting from the ground so that Harry could twirl her. More often than not she would take the chance of his shirt rising to kiss on his stomach, otherwise she would lift it herself to gain access to the warm skin underneath. Harry did try to distance himself from her playfulness by using his stern voice that he knew always nudged Y/N into submission, however, it was impossible to resist the girl that held his heart in the palm of her hand and also the stern voice caused a completely different and more dirty reaction than foreseen. Feeling warm at the thought of his then close proximity, Y/N gets up and approaches him, wrapping her arms around his waist and her legs around his thighs so that she is hanging from him.

Harry was surprised by her actions and let out a small yelp while almost loosing his balance, resulting in him taking a couple steps back to regain it. His hands quickly wrapped to the closest body part he could find, and he ended up holding her up by the neck. Harry’s eyes grew in size.

Y/N looked up with a challenging look on her face.

“And you really want me to trust you to lift me in a cartwheel when you can’t even pick me up normally,” she raised her eyebrow, her voice a little muffled from being pressed so tightly to his hard chest.

“That is unfair and you know it–” he replied furrowing his browns. His hands went to her waist picking Y/N up and placing her back on the floor safely, “I have very strong arms.”

Y/N’s attention landed on his biceps that were bulging out of the sleeves of his t-shirt. She hummed in agreement and ran her fingers over the tattoos scattered on his left arm. The skin was soft, but the muscle underneath it was hard now that Harry was flexing them and she enjoyed the way it brought goosebumps to the area. Realising that she got distracted, Y/N dropped her hand and averted her eyes although she still managed to catch the knowing smirk on her boyfriend’s face.

“Shall we continue, love?” Harry asked innocently and walked back to the centre of the room not waiting for a reply, Y/N following his lead.

Harry pressed the button and the music started again. Both of them practiced the steps they had learned following the music. When it was time for him to jump on the sofa, she was filled with worry because every time so far he managed to slip due to his footwear and at the second jump Harry flared his arms with a panicked look on his face and Y/N’s heart plunged to her stomach as she took a step to his aid before Harry sent her a wink to alert her that he was simply playing with her. She scowled and mimicked the routine perfectly but couldn’t stop her gaze from turning to Harry and admiring him.

The hair at the nape of his neck jumped with movement while the rest of the curls were tied up in an old lavender scrunchie. His expression was very focused as he stared intensely on the window opposite of him, pretending that it was a mirror since it was the only thing big enough in their apartment that created a reflection. The setting sun was coming through, lighting the whole room in a soft orange glow as the sun slowly disappeared behind the buildings. When she was dancing facing him, she noticed that the light hit Harry’s eyes just perfectly for them to appear as a very soft shade of green like the depth of a tropical ocean, while at the same time bringing out the gold specks near the centre of his pupil. His lips were a ruby pink, but they were not kept still. Instead, they were mouthing the count of the steps and Y/N smiled endeared.

“I hope you don’t do that in the music video,” she commented.

“What?” he asked as if someone had burst the bubble of concentration he had created.

“You are mouthing numbers.”

Harry frowned but continued dancing. However, he lost a couple steps because he was thinking of a response.

“I’m sure that they can pass for me saying the lyrics. No one will know,” was all he said.

Y/N smiled knowingly.

When it was time for the part of the routine where they were touching, her hand placed on his back, she felt all of the heat radiating off him and how his back muscles tensed when he moved. Y/N didn’t want to take her hands off him but had to follow the choreography. However, when it was time for the cartwheel, even if Harry was expecting her to follow through, she simply stayed in front of him, pinched his rosy cheeks and kissed the tip of his nose, before continuing with the rest of the song.

Harry rolled his eyes and pretended to be annoyed. He smiled smugly at her when he did his small, propelled lift with her and was very happy with how smoothly that try was going. It made him proud that he had finally learned the choreography without stepping on his partner’s feet or getting lost after a twirl. Lastly, with his hand still in Y/N’s, he took the last few steps and with the girl’s arm around his waist, he fell backward and giggled giddily because they finished the routine.

A big smile stretched across his face, even if he was breathing heavily. On the other hand, when Y/N let go of Harry, she fell on the floor panting, fatigue finally taking a toll on her.  That made his smile even wider as he joined her on the marble floor of their living room, the coolness lowering his temperature down. Harry laid on his side, so that he could stare at his girlfriend, who had her eyes closed, face completely still apart from the puffs of air that exited her mouth as her body tried to regulate her heartbeat. His breath fanned across her face, cooling the heated skin of her cheeks and collarbones.

Her arm stretches out, blindly gripping the air, before finding Harry’s thigh, continuing up his stomach and then landing on his forearm, using it as an anchor to pull herself to the side so that she could face him. She placed her head on her hand so that it squished her cheek, making Harry laugh. He in return stuck his tongue out provocatively and raised his hand to her temple, placing a strand that escaped her ponytail behind her ear. Y/N closed her eyes again, the coolness of his rings offering her some relief.

“My thighs hurt and not in the nice way,” she sulked and opened her eyes when she heard Harry laugh, watching as his green eyes twinkled even though darkness was taking over the room.

“Poor thing,” he replied in mock sympathy.

Y/N decided to ignore him and scooted closer to him. His hand on her cheek slowly descended to her neck and she twisted her torso in order to give him better access. Harry’s fingers tapped the side of her throat where her pulse still beat faster than normal, but now Y/N was not so sure anymore that it had anything to do with the dancing. She bit her lip as she felt the heat from his body right next to her, this time welcoming the higher temperature.

Harry brought her face closer to his in a sweet kiss, placing his mouth between her bottom lip and tasting her strawberry balm. A hum was heard from the back of her throat and he knew he had her where he wanted to. To aid his cause he placed his hand on her hip and squeezed once and earning a sharp intake from her before rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.

“How about some relaxing time?” was what he said, but Y/N recognised something else hidden behind his tone.

“What are you suggesting?” she asked in a hushed tone, pupils blown as she looked at the gorgeous man in front of her. She became very aware of how thin the white t-shirt was and how she could actually see through to the ink staining his skin, and more so, she was aware of the look he was giving her.

“What do you say about some time spent between my thighs? I know how much you love it?” Harry’s tone was sultry and nonchalant, his deep voice ripping right through Y/N’s body.

She shivered and it didn’t go unnoticed by him. The pressure on her hip was heavy and the smell of his cologne was even heavier. All that Y/N could manage was a nod.

Like a mask dropping, Harry’s face shone, losing the seducing tone and he smiled wickedly while dropping every contact with the girl.

“Alright then, time to get up and practice some cartwheels,” he got up and clapped his hands.

In the back Y/N dropped her head on the floor and groaned.

[the-children]

The Westmoore Tragedies | Chapter 2

[ TW: Gore below the ‘Keep Reading’ line. ]

“Our children aren’t safe!”

“Have they found who killed those poor people?”

“It’s gonna happen again!”

“We want answers!”

More voices soon joined in, eventually creating a dull roar of overlapping panic from a slowly growing crowd of villagers that had gathered before the town hall—it was a bi-weekly occurrence by now since the massacre was discovered. Rodarin shifted his posture against the stone wall of the storefront he leaned upon, watching and listening as they shouted their concerns and pointed fingers. He couldn’t blame them—hells, he sympathized with them. They were scared because no one had answers, and they were angry there was nothing they could do. A gentle sting of pain pulsed through his lower lip as he bit at it in frustration, quickly turning from the crowd as he made his way to the schoolhouse. He needed to pick up his son and daughter early so they could begin packing their clothes and toys. Sarina planned to leave with the twins, take them to stay with her sister in La Noscea while Rodarin stayed a few more nights to find out what he could.

Firm steps echoed along the tiled floors of the hallway, his stare held upon the dull reflections within the tile while he lost himself to his thoughts. Westmoore had always prided itself on its higher educational standards—it was the reason he and Sarina moved here once they learned she was pregnant. It wasn’t a massive, sprawling city like Limsa Lominsa—but it wasn’t some small, run-down village either. There were multiple classrooms, one for each grade. Luckily, his children were only a year apart—their classrooms were directly across from one another at the end of the hall to his left. As he rounded the corner however, a sudden chill licked at his spine, causing him to stop in his tracks. 

He had been so absorbed in his thoughts about the circumstances surrounding the disappearances, that he hadn’t been paying attention to his own. This wasn’t right.. something was very wrong about this. The hallways were unnaturally dark given the time of day—and even more alarming were the sudden lack of windows. His breaths became slightly unsteady as a sense of claustrophobia gripped at his lungs. It was far, far too quiet. There were no murmurs of lectures, nor childlike chatter and laughter. With this level of silence, he didn’t doubt he could even hear the soft scribbling of pencils from the classrooms on the second floor—but there was nothing. He took a few quick steps, which seemed to echo endlessly in this dreadful silence, to peer down the main hallway. The front doors were closed. They were open when he entered—they were always open to help keep the hallways cool during the hotter days. And that was another thing—the cold. The chilled air that sank deep into his flesh that was beginning to make his teeth chatter. This wasn’t right.

His heart began to drum within his chest, heated breath billowing from parted lips as he walked briskly towards the end of the left hallway—he needed to see his children. The doors to the classrooms nearly burst open behind the urgency of his entries, but both would be empty. His heart hammered loudly in his ears, hands lifting to run through and pull at his hair as his mind raced with horrible possibilities. Who took his children? What were they doing to them? And were they even still alive? Soft whimpers and murmured pleads began to dribble from his lips as tears gathered—but fighting through the sickening fear that knotted in his stomach, he sprinted for the other classrooms. With shoulder positioned forward, he burst through door after door—each more violent than the last as wood splintered and hinges cracked. He had eventually searched the entire first floor—even the main office and cafeteria. As he approached the staircase that led to the second floor, the shadows seemed to grow darker. His frenzied pace faltered, shaking fingers resting upon the rail as he peered up into the dark.

He proceeded with caution, climbing the staircase with slow, careful steps as he took this time to try his damnedest at calming himself. Rounding the bend that brought the staircase the rest of the way up, a deep crimson hue began to bleed and taint the shadows, corrupting it into a sickly crimson that tainted his vision—his careful stride pausing a moment to adjust his eyes. His heart skipped a beat as he heard the faint rustling of paper and muffled laughter of children, his pace quickening once more at the mere prospect of finding his son and daughter. Though once he reached the top of the steps, his excitement was quickly crushed by the smeared blood that streaked along the hallway. The first classroom’s door on the right was wide open, blood pooling into the hallway from within. He could make out the smeared drag marks that lead from this open classroom to the one at the end of the hall, with its door closed. Various small shoe prints were left behind in the blood’s trail, all following towards the same closed room. He inched his way down the hall, shaky breaths filling the air between the pauses of muffled laughter and movement that came from the closed classroom. On his way, he carefully inched closer to the open door where the blood trail originated.

His pulse hammered away in his ears as he mustered the nerve to peek into the doorway. The chairs and desks were scattered in disarray while mutilated bodies of adults—teachers and staff—littered the room like trash in pools of blood. Their flesh had been ripped and shredded to literal ribbons, and their faces seemed to have been hollowed out—no eyes, no teeth. “Valrin?.. Mia?..” Rodarin hissed in a pleading whisper, his ears straining as he silently prayed for an answer—only for it to go unheard. Jaw clenched tightly, he stepped back into the hallway and continued to follow the trail towards the closed door at the end of the hall.

His hand hovered over the doorknob as he listened to the commotion within. Occasional laughter, gentle snips of scissors, rustling of paper—if not for the insane circumstances, one would simply assume it was time for crafts. Slowly, steadily, the door opened as Rodarin watched in horror. Various children were scattered among the room, sitting beside the fresh corpses of their teachers—some were still twitching, kept alive to suffer longer. Soft grunts of effort escaped one child as he clipped away at the flesh of a dead woman’s arm. Others were cutting various shapes and patterns into limbs and torsos. Ribbons of skin were used as bindings and plasters for other small crafts. Eyes were scooped from their sockets with tiny fingers as the onlookers cried “Ewwwwww~!” in playful disgust, tossed from one to the other in a sick game of catch. They were playing.. Their faces were lit up in delight, not a care in the world as they played in the blood and gore of their victims. In the obscene horror of it all, Rodarin almost didn’t notice the dark, shadow-covered children standing off to the side, watching the others play with wide eyes and plastered smiles of pure white.

“Mr. Calrise.” He jumped at the formal call of his name, turning quickly to glance down the hall—which was empty. When he looked back, the shadowed children were before him, clawing at his legs as they tried to climb up. He could feel their tiny fingernails digging into his flesh. “Mr. Calrise?” He heard the call again, but was overcome by the weight of the climbing shadows—falling to the ground as his head cracked upon the tile during its whip back. “Rodarin!” A smack stung at his cheek, his eyes bolting open while he gasped and wheezed in panic. Melrin’s hands pressed to his chest, keeping him steady as he studied Rodarin with a worried, concerned expression. Young teens peered past Melrin from the classroom doorway, staring in curiosity and slight fear. “Rodarin, you alright?” Melrin mumbled as he helped him to his feet. “I.. uh..” He was at a loss for words, completely stunned as he looked around. Everything was normal, aside from having woken up on the ground. Melrin gave him a light pat on the back. “You just came to my classroom, stared for a while, then fell over. You feelin’ okay?.. You’re bleedin’” Melrin commented as he gestured towards the bloodstained leggings of Rodarin’s pants.

With tentative fingers he peeled back the cloth, revealing the various tiny scratches that had sunk deep into his flesh. A nauseating panic still gripped at his heart, but for whatever reason, he was back. And he needed to see his children. He needed to leave. “I’m fine. Got scratched up by a damn jackal earlier, must’ve had some disease—feeling all out of place.” He said, fabricating his story quickly as he gave a quick apology and walked briskly towards the staircase with a slight limp. He was on the second floor, and the injuries were still there. It was real, it had to have been. So then why was everything fine now? Back on the first floor, normality had been restored—no busted doors, and only more questions plaguing his mind. He made for the end of the side hall again, finding his children alive and well—and giving them each a long embrace, embarrassing them in front of their classmates. If only they knew why..

He spent the rest of his day with his children, pushing what had happened to the corners of his mind. His children were safe, and he was thankful. That night, he helped them pack their bags, making sure they had enough room for all their favorite toys to keep them entertained while they were away. A restless night awaited him, peeking in to check on them while they slept every ten or twenty minutes as he tried to figure out what the hells had happened. Sleep wouldn’t come until the next morning, Sarina and the kids giving their farewell hugs and kisses as they made off for La Noscea. Rodarin collapsed on the couch, his eyes no longer able to stay open. It was short lived, possibly only three or four hours passing before frantic knocking came to his front door. It took him a moment to heave himself up from the soft embrace of the cushions, the front door creaking open to reveal a captain of the Fleet. “Rodarin, come by the schoolhouse. We found the staff dead.. It’s happened again..”

    to ̗̱b̙̤̟e͍͙̦̬̘͞ ̧̠c̣̪̖̙̣̭̮͟o̳̝͝n̥t̪̳i͙̕n̩͡u͓̝e̜̤̘̙̫̩͕d͔̬̩̠̟͙̭͘                .

[picnic-table-writing]

Raspberry Gummies

We arrived during the opener’s last song: lopsided indie rock. The backyard venue was buzzing with people I had never met, save for an oasis of familiarity near the middle which Tessa and I latched onto like a life raft––rescued by smiling faces and friendliness. Eva, Aidan, Emily, Emilie... usual candied dynamics in a fun-sized portion.

We soon decided to both have another gummy––Are you feeling anything yet?

The sun slid steadily towards the earth­­––warm pink light clipping the top of the house––while an ambient glow trickled through the not-quite-blossoming branches of the Sakura tree to blanket us all in spring. A lull in the performance lineup left space for socialization. I finally learned the name of a person who I’d seen three times before on campus (all coincidences, and two of which was them complimenting me on my sweater), which I now know to be Sonia. I congregated with the band who was my reason for coming in the first place: Aidan, Micah, Isaac, Josh––when are you playing? will there be time? are you excited?

By the time the next band started I was feeling comfortable, things were a bit funnier than usual but otherwise I knew where I was. I was struck by the quality of the music; it was as if a professional rock and roll band had stumbled in from the alley in a drunken stupor, deciding that the only way they would feel at home was by terraforming the environment through the purity of their sound. The singer and lead guitar fancied themselves comedians, pausing between songs to tell stories and laugh at the crowd. One of the tracks featured a slow building lead-in to the chorus, where the singer led everyone to crouch down in a hushed conspiracy of anticipation; and all the while the drummer kept the beat pumping with a head-splitting veracity. The release into frenzy with everyone jumping up in unison was just as electrifying as you’d imagine. I realized during those bridges that drummers are the most moving musicians to watch; no other shows the life-and-death drama of their craft more clearly­––in every moment the body battles its physical limits with the lifeblood of the song on the line. There’s something seductively tragic about their movements. It was near the end of their set when nighttime established itself over the yard, and it was under this cover of darkness that the gummies sprang their revenge.

Whenever I’m too high I tend to freak out, desperately grasping for continuity with every moment bringing a fresh wave of disorientation. I look at the person beside me singing along with the band, I search in my mind for what I should be doing, I try to copy them. I notice how the muscles of my face are being held, I am too aware of how air is hitting my arm right now. I swallow. It feels weird––my adam’s apple moving with its own agency. Someone catches my eye to the left, a guy around my height, wearing a denim jacket. His hair looks like mine did before I cut it, he nods coolly to the beat. The sporadic flashes of light illuminate his profile so I can see some of his face, and a numb horror washes over me as I realize that he is me. I feel foolish for having thought I was here as a person––no, I am a floating observer, a dreamy film camera here to capture my life from a few months ago. The more I look at myself the clearer this becomes. How strange it is to see yourself as others do––have I always looked that rigid? I’ve usually despised looking at myself in pictures, and while the hatred remained in person at first, it is starting to subside. Seeing myself in motion adds an element of sympathy that I could see people getting used to; a mouse face that announces its self-consciousness through animacy. I wonder what is so special about myself to get a filmic adaptation, but I make sure to frame the shot elegantly nonetheless. My trance begins to intensify, a dolly-zoom spinning sparks of parallax across my vision, when suddenly a hand grabs my shoulder and I whip around to see Tessa with an alarmed look on her face.

She said “what’s going on?” through wholesome giggles, and I immediately fell back into the evening as I previously knew it (back to past tense––thank god!). I told her that I saw another version of myself over there, and about my momentary freakout, and she laughs and I laugh, restorative light-headedness. She questioned me on it further, so I point him out to her, and he still looks exactly like me, but she says she can’t see him (wait wait, back again?). I’m quite a bit taller than her so she can’t see over the people between us and him, I lean over to give her room, and he turns away just as she looks at him. She says she can’t tell: it’s too dark.

We stood there gob-smacked and slack-jawed for a while, talking about how we couldn’t believe how high we were, before giving up on listening to the music and shuffling over to Kat––when did she get here? She was standing with Eva and Emily; we communicated our dismay to them and were met with amusement. Suddenly, in a non sequitur of consciousness, I found myself surprisingly deep into a conversation with Maggie about how her hair was shorter than it was last year, and I did my best to say what a normal human would in that situation. Returning to the druggy solidarity of Tessa and the others, we found enjoyment in saying the things we were thinking and marveling at how ridiculous they sounded out loud. Someone tells me to look down and before I know why or how, my vision becomes nothing but purplish white; an ocean of rods and cones crying out in pain. I exclaim and press my palms into my eyelids, the purple edges of the ocean start to recede and I finally realize that it was a camera flash: someone had taken a group photo of us all from below. I can only imagine how goofy I must have looked. I open my eyes to find Tessa equally pained, waving her hands in front of her eyes––ohmygod ohmygod, and once again we are spurned into inescapable breathless laughter.

I noticed at some point that the bands had switched, now an alternative indie group whose name has slipped my mind. The camera flashes continued their assault on my retinas, but once I got used to them I found the beauty in their spectacle. Along with each one came my own personal snapshot from the moment of the light, a Polaroid negative printed in blue and green over my eyes. A figure with outstretched hands, a paintbrush hair-flip, Josh’s smiling face; a chemical slideshow of jubilation viewable by me and me alone. I felt a rush of gratitude for the magic of my sensory experience, that the illusory system produces beauty even when it is momentarily broken.

The light behind the band was steadily cycling through all the colors of the rainbow, and Tessa and I became transfixed by a pressing scientific discovery. We noticed that the leaves of the tree in the distance became more sharply detailed when the light was near the red end of the spectrum, and murkier on the blue end. I stared at those branches for way too long, riding the marry-go-round of visible light, running my imagination along the tactile crimson buds and stirring the indigo soup. It had been who-knows-how-long before I noticed the music building in the background, keyboard arpeggios dancing higher and higher, tickling my eardrums. I turned to Tessa to say “wait this sounds amazing!” and she nodded her head enthusiastically—Right?? The singer with dyed-red hair stepped away from the microphone to focus on their guitar solo, singing with metal rather than breath. Closing my eyes, I could feel the physical presence of the music, a rainbow orb spinning above the yard. Everything reaching crescendo, fierce melodies piercing my soul, I felt a white-hot ball of euphoria rising out of my spinal cord, before it was sling-shotted by the resolving note into my skull, bouncing around inside for longer than I thought possible. Vegas bulbs igniting with every supercharged pinball bounce, I made a noise halfway between a laugh and a scream, and I had to steady my dizziness against the tree, a floaty high made from the overwhelming distillation of the music and the people and the life into my brain. I told Tessa I couldn’t believe how good I felt at that moment, that I had no idea such a feeling was possible. And the best part about it was that the gummies weren’t what gave me that high; sure they might have helped a bit, but I had a confidence within me that it was produced by my environment, and the inconceivable effect it has on me when I’m able to truly appreciate it.

This is not to say the experience wasn’t scary. Early on, the host of the party grabbed the microphone and said his neighbors had called the cops for a noise complaint, which did wonders for my paranoia. From that moment on, any passing flashlight or unexpected movement was a SWAT team with guns drawn. Also, I would frequently fall back into my retrograde amnesia–whereamIohgod mindset, a sinkhole of unreality that came and went unceremoniously. All I had to do to trigger it was look across the yard at myself, unable to suppress my curiosity in this past version of me. Tessa later called my experience ego death, which seemed right. It certainly felt like dying––like this was my last opportunity to kiss my earthly body goodbye before pledging allegiance to the great Nothing. There was so much I wanted to say to myself. And yet––like an estranged father on the run, I was condemned to make silent amends from a distance… observing my creation in all his damaged solitude through a one-way mirror, unable to salvage our relationship with words––I love you; I know you; I’m sorry, please forgive me. I made sure to keep my distance from him; it was hard to picture us interacting without one of us trying to kill the other. Tessa did well to diffuse my situation, repeating that the guy didn’t actually look like me at all, and approaching random friends to ask “are you nate? are you nate?” in a demonstration of my ridiculousness. She was right: when I eventually got close to him the effect vanished. But nothing could convince me that this wasn’t just another malevolent trick by the god who was responsible for our meeting. There is strange part of me that refuses to recover from the existential test of that experience; some arcane allure to the idea that I am not the only version of myself in the world. Maybe it’s because it makes me feel less alone. It’s comforting to believe that there’s other mes bumbling around out there, making the same mistakes for the same non-reasons, who would understand, who could join in on a smiling shrug at our own expense. The more friendships I have, the more I realize how far away true understanding really is; that no one will ever fully know me, even if they cared to. We are all castaways––each stranded on our own island of an archipelago. We have too much to tell each other, and the smoke signals aren’t enough. Sometimes I think the great expedition of our lives is to cross this unknowable gulf that lies between us, to become acquainted with the embarrassing core of each other’s being, to show the version of yourself that’s only there when you’re alone. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared at the prospect of someone stepping onto the shifty sand of my domain––what will they think of the me that hasn’t been packaged for human consumption? Maybe a compromise is best. Meet me in the middle, hitch your raft to mine for a little while, and we can trade our mother tongues into the night.

I was beginning to come down when Aidan’s band started their set. I had seen them play maybe eight times before, and this was up to their standard level of magnificence––no amount of complication could change my love and appreciation for them. To be in such close proximity to a creation so enlivening is enough to make me feel like the luckiest person in the world. They generate a sacred space at all their performances, one in which you can go bananas with your closest friends and give in to the insanity calling your name. Not only is it amazing to know a band so closely, but each of their concerts have been a gift––free of charge. They’re really out here making us all happy one weekend at a time, out of the kindness of their hearts and the strength of their art. The whole project has been oddly validating, as if it confirms the quality of our community. Part of me feels that the creation of something great from our friend-group was an inevitability; like a chemical process in which colliding enough interesting atoms together is bound to produce something beautiful––social alchemy.

By the time they finished, it was nearing eleven o’clock. Some people began to head for the alleyway exit, others shuffled forward in a congregation of thanks––this was when we’d ask for pictures and autographs if we weren’t already friends. After hugging everyone and doing my best to convey my appreciation, I noticed how fried my brain felt and decided it was time for me to leave as well. Of course, it only made sense to leave with Tessa––my comrade in the terrifying experience. I am endlessly thankful that she was there to keep me sane. As we were crossing the wooden threshold out of the yard, I couldn’t help but throw a glance back at myself, secretly hoping he was looking at me too. I saw him gazing up at the stars with a little smile on his face, breathing in the evening while it lasted. The smile was contagious, and I turned back contentedly to Tessa, ready to skip off into the darkness.

Nate

[confusednarcissistwrites]

Teenage Dirtbag (K.S.)

While I’m not exactly who you hoped would be writing these requests for you, I hope they are what you were looking for @nonchalantflower and anon 💛 I had so much fun writing for Kyle and would DEFINITELY be interested in writing more parts for this if you guys are interested! Enjoy, my thirsty friends 😘

(arguments, slight physical roughness, smut)

“Don’t forget your lime, sweets!”

You smiled and raised your cup in silent thanks to the girl pouring drinks behind the kitchen counter. It was far too loud to do much else. Music blared as people drunkenly sang karaoke in the living room and the rest were either singing along or trying to yell over the sound trying to hold conversation. You had not been much of a party-goer before Kyle, and you weren’t much of one after either. You sighed, looking into the cup for a moment before shooting back the contents. You briefly wondered why you were even there until a pair of arms wrapped around your middle.

“Y/N!!! Come dance with me pleeeeaaasseeeeee!” That’s right. You’d promised your best friend, Missy, that you’d escort her to this specific party to make sure she didn’t get herself into too much trouble. You knew it was just a lame excuse to get you out of the house, but you figured it couldn’t hurt anything. You allowed her to pull you into the backyard where the band was going strong and hot bodies danced freely in the night air. There was something about it that made you relax a bit. Your body slowly succumbed to the alcohol and began to rock to the music along with everyone else in the crowd. “That’s my girl! Get it babe!” Missy cheered, dancing and laughing easily with you. You let yourself laugh too, feeling yourself untense for what felt like the first time in months. It felt good. The longer you danced, the more you lost track of your surroundings. You closed your eyes and slipped under the music and intoxication.

You were abruptly pulled from this euphoria, however, as the music came to a close and Missy began tugging you back toward the house. “There’s a group starting Seven Minutes in Heaven!” she squealed. You briefly realized this was exactly the trouble you were supposed to be keeping her out of, but she was so excited that you couldn’t find it in your mildly inebriated self to tell her no. You and her brushed past multiple couples making out and someone definitely revisiting their dinner in the bathroom to find a large circle of people gathered in the library upstairs. A tall, blonde jock walked around collecting bits and bobs from each individual in his sweaty hat. You watched Missy pull her earring from her ear excitedly, ready to add it to his collection.

“God, this is so bad,” you giggled, shaking your head. “Just keep it in your pants, that’s all I ask.” She elbowed you sharply in the ribs before placing the earring in.

“You gonna play, toots?” the blonde asked, eyeing you up and down.

You shivered in mild disgust, quickly shaking your head. You were about to make a snide remark when Missy pulled the clip holding your hair up from your head. “Ow! What the hell?”

“You’re playing, and that’s final,” she said, adding your clip to the hat. You huffed, submitting easily. You definitely couldn’t deny that you needed some action.

“Alright, gents! Who’s up first?” the blonde called over the group.

“This guy over here! Total closet monster!” A group of guys started cheering and shouting from the corner of the room. You couldn’t quite see who was the object of their jeering quite yet. “Everyone knows bassists get HELLA pussy! Let’s goooo!!”

That was the first in a series of events that quickly filled your stomach with dread. No. Fucking. Chance. Suddenly, the unfortunate boy was pushed out from the group of shouting teens, confirming your worst fears. You swallowed, looking down and praying he didn’t see you.

“Shit,” Missy whispered in shock, turning to look at you. You grimaced, suddenly feeling a bit ill.

Chants of “Kyle! Kyle! Kyle!” rose from the whole room as the lanky boy you knew every inch of rolled his eyes and reached into the hat. You shivered, praying silently that fate could not possibly be cruel enough to lock you in a closet with your

ex-boyfriend for seven minutes of pure hell.

Fate laughed darkly in your face.

The minute he pulled the clip out, his intoxicated smile fell from his face slightly. He recognized it. Even now.

“That’s the little miss right over there!” The jock pointed to you and his exclamation was followed by a series of cheers and “oh shit”s from people who recognized the situation. You suddenly found yourself pushed to the middle of the room next to him, Missy shouting your name behind you as strangers' hands forced you forward.

“That’s his ex!” someone shouted, making you visibly cringe. The group collectively fell to hushed whispers and quiet laughter.

“Shit.” You finally forced yourself to raise your head, looking over at the boy who’d uttered the syllable and that you were once convinced you were in love with. He was still looking at the clip in his hands, but quickly felt your eyes on him and looked up. He was smirking softly.

Rage ran through you from head to toe in half a second. Who the fuck did he think he was?

“Well, lovers, the closet awaits! No one denies the destiny of the hat!” The more times this blonde opened his mouth, the more you wanted to punch him in the throat.

“The destiny of the hat,” Kyle repeated, clearly amused by the unevolved thought processes of the people around him. Pretentious asshole. He straightened his shoulders and strode over to the closet, seemingly unaffected. You watched in shock and anger, unable to understand how he could possibly think you were going to go through with this. He simply stood inside the doors, looking at you expectantly along with everyone else in the room.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” you muttered, stomping after him. The crowd erupted into cheers and hollers of crude things you’d hate to imagine your mother hearing. Wearing that damned smirk, he pulled the closet doors closed behind you and sealed you both in darkness.

“Seven minutes starting now. Remember kids: make love not war!”

You scoffed, your arms over your chest. “Okay. What the actual fuck are you

trying to prove?”

Kyle shook his head, looking at you in earnest. “What is it, Y/N? Don’t believe in the destiny of the hat?”

“You are a child,” you spat, fury bubbling in your veins. The blissful feeling of the alcohol in your system was long gone, replaced with anxiety and frustration. “Why are you doing this? This isn’t you.”

Now he scoffed. “You never knew who I was, Y/N. You just saw what you wanted to see and were disappointed. Join my little anti-fan club!” He threw his hands in the air, laughing bitterly.

“You’re so full of shit! You’re so busy hating the world and everything in it that you refuse to let people into your life.”

“Yeah, life really dealt me such a stellar hand, don’t you think?”

You fell quiet, so frustrated you couldn’t find words. Tears burned in your eyes and your fists clenched at your sides. You stepped forward, pressing a finger into his chest. “You had me, you asshole. But you pushed me out when you felt yourself start to need someone.”

He exhaled sharply, making you realize how close you had gotten. “Yeah, you’re right,” he replied, his voice suddenly lower and quieter, but still sharper than a double-edged blade. “It’s my fault I needed space to grieve my dying father- my apologies.” His breath hit your face as he over-punctuated every consonant, his hand finding itself holding your chin.

Your eyes went wide as he laid his hands on you, your breath caught in your throat. He noticed instantly, his predatory eyes glancing down at your mouth for a flicker of a moment. You both knew it was all over.

He pushed you roughly back to the other side of the tight closet, his mouth on yours with ravenous intensity. You gasped, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pushing him away. Your wild eyes met his, searching for something to make this make sense. Unable to find it, you tugged him back down to your lips. He growled lowly, his hands sliding under your shirt and firmly holding onto your sides while your hands tangled into his mop of dark curls; old habits die hard. His insatiable lips traveled down your neck to the spot he knew made your knees weak.

“Fuck, Kyle,’ you squeaked, hating how easily you’d given into him. But he had kissed you first. Perhaps the shoe was finally on the other foot. You were pulled from the moment by the sounds of cheering coming from outside the thin closet doors. You’d nearly forgotten you were being listened to by a room full of horny teenagers.

“Plebeians,” Kyle muttered hotly against your skin, unhindered by their antics. His hands slipped in opposite directions, one approaching the waistband of your jeans and the other reaching for the underside of your breast. Your hand quickly grasped his wrist, halting his movements.

His eyes flashed, meeting yours. Despite the darkness, you could see the lust in them. “What is it, princess? Forget what it’s like to be touched by a creature with an IQ higher than 6?”

You locked your jaw, glaring at him while you fought to catch your breath.

“There’s my stubborn girl,” he breathed hotly against your ear as you slowly released your grip on his wrist.

“I’m not your girl,’ you gasped, feeling his cold hand slip into your panties.

“Maybe not. But no one gets you wet like this.” He groaned softly, feeling your slick coat his fingers as he drug his fingertips through your folds. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

“Mm, and I’m sure you aren’t turned on at all, right?” you jabbed breathlessly, you hand slipping up his shirt to rest against his hot skin.

He visibly shuddered, leaning forward to catch your earlobe between his teeth. “Tease.” His long fingers made slow, tortuous circles on your clit, making you let out a soft cry into the dark closet. “Why don't you find out for yourself?”

His filth made you tremble, fisting his hair and tugging just hard enough to get him to let out a grunt of pleasure. His fingers quickened their pace, the forearm of his opposite side pressed against the wall next to your head as he pressed your bodies together. You reached down to feel his lust pressing adamantly against his fly and could confirm that he wasn’t lying. “Goddamnit.. I’m close,” you confessed, feeling your body betray you. You so desperately didn’t want to give him what he wanted, but his fingers were too persistent and he knew your tells far too well.

A harsh knock on the door struck like a cold splash of water. Kyle quickly pulled his hand from your pants,his damp fingers splayed against your bare stomach. “Alright, kids. Couples counseling is up in 30 seconds. Put on your clothes and get decent… or don’t.” Fucking idiot.

Kyle stepped back, seeming to suddenly come back to himself. Still breathless, you straightened and grabbed hold of his angled jaw. “You are going to finish what you started, or, so help me-“

He grabbed your hand and pressed it against the still-very-present bulge in his jeans. The muscles of his jaw contracted beneath your fingers. “Trust me, pretty girl. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

The door flew open and you quickly pulled your hand from his. Applause greeted you along with momentary blindness from the brightness of the room. Kyle’s hand was around your wrist and pulling you out of the room before you could even fully regain your bearings.

(To be continued?)

[heavenunderthemoon]

Doctor, Doctor- Luke Alvez x Reader

Summary: Luke gets injured on a case and you’re his doctor

warnings: mentions of assault

The team had found themselves on a rather hard case, harder than most. Those that were in their home territory tended to do that.

Cases at home meant that, suddenly, that tiny, invisible, practically none-existent barrier between them and the monsters was ripped away.  That fine layer of protection that seemed to encase them every time they got off the jet, stepped off that plane and hailed their cabs back home, back to their family, back to their safety, was gone. Every twig snap, shadow, and eerie noise had their senses on edge. Not only did it cause the team to become more tense but it also awakened a protective rage. Monsters weren't supposed to follow them home.

But this one did.

A man, of course, white and in his mid-forties, avenging a mistake his mother made long ago. The team had split up, attempting to cover as much ground as they could in the abandoned warehouse. That was how they had caught him, the unsub leading them to a rather dilapidated part of the building. The floorboards creaked under his weight, and the team had shuffled in to follow uneasily. Distracted by the seemingly unstable building, they hardly had time to react when a blur of movement halted them in their tracks.

Luke had been the unlucky one to be closest to it. The hammer in the unsub's hands rained upon his head with a sickening crack and he collapsed to the floor with a groan. Already, his head was pounding, eyes fluttering in an attempt to shut them but he forced himself awake. His survival instincts kicked in, ignoring the team handcuffing and escorting the unsub out, only focusing on his breathing.

The team had been worried, extremely so. They practically had to hang up on the technical analyst, the Garcia woman  screaming into the phone as the team forced the former ranger into the ambulance bay and shuttling him off to the hospital.

He had protested the entire way. Sure, his head hurt, but he wanted to go home. Besides, it was a tiny little cut, how bad could it be?

After hours of pacing the waiting room and too many cups of cheap, hospital coffee, the team was informed by a nurse that they could see the man once more. With spirits high and hopes higher, the group made their way into room, surprised to hear a familiar laugh roaring through the space.

Sitting up in a hospital bed, gown disheveled and far too small on his muscular body, Luke wore a large, woozy grin. His hands clutched two slender fingers, his eyes never quite leaving the y/e/c orbs before him.

The room smelled like most hospitals, like sterilization and freshly laundered beds. The walls were covered in a pastel green color, as if reflecting its patient's illness on the walls. The tv played a re-run of FRIENDS, but the volume was almost non-existent, closed captioning dancing across the screen.

Beside the bed sat a small table, a small clipboard of notes lay across it, and a pen scribbled against the paper before the hands were returning to Luke's face. Y/n's hands floated before Luke's eyes, her soft voice telling him to follow her fingers before she was nodding with a smile, scribbling down something else.

With a lopsided grin, the man was speaking again. "How am I doin', Doc? Are you gonna need to amputate?"

From the minute Luke had been wheeled into your examination room, the man hadn't quite stopped looking at you like that. The way he looked at you made you blush, which was rather juvenile and not entirely something you would admit aloud, but true all the same. He looked at you as if you were wearing designer clothing rather than the two day old scrubs you had on. The scrubs you hadn't had time to launder because you had been working for thirty four hours straight, ones that had a stain on the sleeve that you weren't entirely sure what it was from.

Your hair had been thrown into a messy bun, the fast paced environment not giving you time to do anything fancy. And your makeup- well, you weren't wearing any.

But still, he looked at you as if he couldn't quite take his eyes off you. And it wasn't in the creepy, stalker way you had experienced men doing so before. No, because Luke was different. Just the man's demeanor told you so. The way he talked, voice slow and steady (maybe that was just the pain meds), or the way his eyes, two pools of melted chocolate, reassured you that being around him was probably the safest you'd ever be. You didn't need to see his badge on his hip to know that.

At the man's words, you let out a chuckle, clicking your tongue and sliding your pen back into your pocket. "I don't believe we'll be needing any amputations today, but keep landing on the wrong end of a hammer and we might have a different story."

Turning to the large group walking into the room, you smiled warmly. They were a large bunch, the jackets they adorned matching the one Luke had worn before he had been forced to change into a hospital gown. 'FBI' the breast pocket read. Briefly, you wondered what they did, but realized it didn't quite matter. They were here because they needed you to do your job, not to learn about theirs.

Patting Luke on the shoulder to indicate he could sit back, you grabbed your chart, going to stand near the team. They stood adjacent to Luke, and the small room allowed everyone to be in talking distance.

"I'm assuming you're the family? I'm Doctor Y/F/N Y/L/N, head of Neuro." Your easy smile was enough to release the tension from the team. Seeing Luke crumple the way he had made them worry, but the bright smile on your face reassured them.

"When he came in, the wound was looking a bit nasty." They listened intently while you talked and they didn't seem to miss the way Luke's eyes never quite left you as you spoke. "The swelling went down with some cream, and we took a CT to clear him of anything internal. Now, there was a small hemorrhage-" You watched as the team's eyebrows furrowed in concern, and you brought you hands out, a gesture for them to calm. "But his symptoms were small. Once we got the scan we saw that the bleed was tiny. Most bleeds will actually resolve themselves, so no need for me to go in where I'm not needed."

"Doc, you're welcome in my brain any day." Luke smiled cheekily, and your lips quirked, eyes narrowing playfully.

"I'm who you call when you need the big guns, you don't want me in your brain, Agent Alvez." His lips twitched when his last name rolled off your tongue and you would be lying if you hadn't gained the tiniest bit of satisfaction at the reaction.

He clicked his tongue, playfully grabbing his chest. "How you wound me. We went over this, it's Luke." He corrected, and he realized how desperately he needed you to say his name. He needed to say his name whether you were angry or sad or happy or excited. He needed you to say anything at all to him because your voice was something he hadn't even realized he needed until he heard it and now that he had he wasn't sure he would be able to live without it.

His actions made you chuckle, shaking your head at his antics. "Alright, Luke," You conceded, going to hang back up the man's medical chart on the bed. The nurses would take over from here, the former ranger only needing to be discharged after the rest if the pain meds wore off. The ones you had given him weren't too strong anyways, it wouldn't take much longer. "Try not to piss off anymore toolboxes, your head isn't as hard as you think it is."

The man smiled and just the sheer brightness of it made you suck in a breath. "I don't know, the screwdrivers in my shed were giving me a funny look the other day, I may have to teach them a lesson." He quipped smoothly and you rolled your eyes despite the large grin that grew on your features.

When you turned back to the door, the large group of agents seemed to be split between giving knowing smirks to Luke and impish looks to you. A certain blonde adorned in extremely bright colors seemed to want to interject, but the only other blonde clasped her hand onto the woman's shoulder tightly, stopping her from whatever she was going to say.

"I suggest that he doesn't go in the field for at least three days, and I would like to see him in a week for a precautionary scan to check and see if the bleed resolved itself. Other than that, he's good to go.  If you all have anymore questions feel free to ask Nurse Cassidy, she'll be in in just a moment to help you with discharge paperwork and medical prescriptions."

They nodded and, before they could respond, your pager was chirping, signaling the need for your presence elsewhere. Your hand grabbed at the pager clipped onto your waistline, eyes scanning the message before your eyes were flickering back to the agents.

"Duty calls. It was nice meeting you all." You gave a final nod, moving to leave the room, but just as you were about to exit a voice stopped you.

"Hey, Doc!" Luke called out, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You turned, one hand gripping the doorway as your head peeked out from the side. You hummed in response, eyebrows furrowing.

"See you next week!"

Maybe it was childish, or unprofessional, or wildly inappropriate. Perhaps it was the fact that you were sleep deprived, hungry, and running on fumes, or maybe it was just the charming nature of the Alvez man, a gravitational pull toward the comfort he naturally exuded, but you found yourself smiling widely, a pink tint covering your cheeks.

"See you next week." You nodded in confirmation, leaving before you could say anything else.

[thicctails]

Summer of Whump Day 4 [Abandoned/Escape]

Ω

 Omega blinks, her frazzled mind confused when she only sees darkness. She squeezed her eyes shut, then slowly opened them again. Her chest ached, and the air around her was dusty and cold. Darkness still surrounded her, but she could just barely see a stone floor. Wincing, she slowly pushed herself up, her limbs protesting the movement. How had she ended up… wherever she was now? She had just been practising using her bow with Echo, so how had she ended up away from him? Had she hit her head?

 She coughed, looking around the area she was in. It looked like some kind of cave, part of it having collapsed behind her. That probably explained how she had ended up here, but where exactly was here, and how could she get out? Instinctively, she reached for her comlink, but was dismayed when she found that it had been damaged. Luckily, her glance downward had also revealed that her bow had fallen down as well.

 Activating the weapon, Omega set off into the darkness, her way now slightly illuminated by a purple glow. Her footsteps echoed as she walked, a slight limp in her step. Now that she was awake, a couple of injuries became obvious to her. It hurt to put her full weight on her left leg, she had a cut on her arm, and she was almost certain she had hit her head because it was pounding.

 She tentatively moved a hand down to touch the cut and hissed when she felt wetness seeping out into her sleeve. It must have been bleeding quite a bit. Frowning, she extended her uninjured arm and began to feel along the wall. She had no idea where she was going, but she couldn’t just stay put. Maker only knows what was in these caves, and there was a good chance that she could run into something dangerous down here.

   Crosshair growled softly as he stalked through yet another tunnel. Damn this network for being a kriffing maze! His task was suppose to be simple, enter the caves and search for rebels. Apparently, there was supposed to be a camp set up in the central cave, but he wouldn’t know because he couldn’t find it!

To make matters worse, he had heard part of the cave network collapse not too long ago. So now, on top of having to navigate his way through this underground hell, he also had to worry about the whole place coming down on his head. Fun.

 A sound pulled him from his inner complaining, and he stopped in his tracks. Enhanced hearing was Hunter’s thing, but the one good thing about this place was that sound carried tremendously well. It was a quiet sound, soft foot steps that didn’t quite sync up properly. Then, a more interesting sound, the ignition of an energy bow. Someone injured, but armed. However, unless you had enhanced vision, like him, such a weapon was of little use in the dark.

 His hands found his own weapon and he gripped it, slowly moving forward. His steps were silent, and he slowed his breathing to make as little noise as possible. The other person’s footsteps were light, but not in a way that made it seem like they were trying to be. They were small, most likely young. It was odd that a child would be in this far, and alone at that, but that just made his job easier.

 Somewhere, buried beneath the influence of a modified chip, a piece of his mind screamed to just leave, that what he was doing was wrong. But he blocked out the voice.

 Good soldiers followed orders.

    Omega sighed as she hit another fork in the tunnels. The labyrinth of caves seemed to stretch on forever, and she had no way of telling where she had been, where she was, or where she was going. Releasing her pull on the energy bow’s string, she slumped down. Archery training had already been wearing her out, and her muscles just weren’t developed enough to draw the string back that long. As the purple light died, she pulled her knees up to her chest. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she pressed her head against her knees as she sat in the dark. She wished that she wasn’t alone.

 Suddenly, she felt something. It was like the feeling she’d gotten the day she’d met Pillow, but also like the one she’d gotten just moments before she’d nearly been drowned. Something, or someone, needed help, but there was also danger. She stood up but did not draw the bow’s string. Instead, she listened, and tried to use the feeling to gauge where the other life-form was. As she stood still, the feeling got stronger. Whatever it was, it was getting closer.

 Not wanting to be caught in a dark tunnel, Omega decided to keep moving. Using the wall as a guide, she moved down the left tunnel. The other presence seemed to detect her sudden movement, and it increased its speed in turn. It wasn’t just coming towards her, it was chasing her.

 Forgoing stealth, Omega drew back the bow’s string and began to run down the tunnel. Her leg protested such an act, but she simply grit her teeth and kept going. A rush of relief surged trough her when the tunnel opened up into a larger cavern, and she immediately killed the light. As quietly as possible, she backed into the room, her eyes flicking around the darkness. She needed to know what she was dealing with, and how much room she had to move in.

 She drew back the string farther, the bow humming with unreleased energy as she waited for whatever was chasing her to catch up. Once the feeling reached what felt like it’s peak, she fired.

 The bolt illuminated the room, a ripple of purple light shooting across the room. As it struck the space above the tunnel that she had just came from, she saw her pursuer. Intense brown eyes flashed in the purple light, the signature reticle tattoo making her stomach drop and her blood freeze.

 ‘Oh shit.’ Was the only thought that ran through her mind at that moment.

 Crosshair locked eyes with her as the light disappeared, and Omega immediately drew her bow string back again, firing off another round. She saw it flash by Crosshair, the experienced clone easily dodging the shot.  Desperate, she aimed her next shot towards the ceiling, hoping that she could cause something to fall and distract the elder clone for a moment.

  As the surge of energy flew upwards, she caught a brief glance of Crosshair’s confused face. The shot hit its mark, and a chunk of the ceiling broke away. Omega leapt back as a large hunk of rock hit the floor. She was about to make a dash for the tunnel she had came from when another piece of the ceiling came crashing down. Dirt and rocks began to cascade down upon them, leaving both clones to scramble for safety.

 Omega rolled away as a stone shattered nearby, a few of the bits of rock embedding themselves in her skin. She yelped and pulled herself against the wall, trying to get away from the chaos she had created.

 Crosshair had almost made it back to the tunnel, but one of the rocks managed to clip him as he ran. He skidded across the floor, unable to get up fast enough as more rocks fell down around him.

   Omega coughed as the room filled with dust. She covered her mouth and nose with her sleeve until it settled, keeping her eyes closed so that no dirt or grime could get in them.

 Peeking over her arm, her pupils constricted as she took in the damage. A few cracks of sunlight now shone through the collapsed ceiling, illuminating the once impossibly dark space. Chunks of cave stone and mountains of dirt now covered the cavern, spilling out across the floor. Pulling away from the wall, Omega slowly stalked around the edge of the mess, her eyes scanning for any signs of Crosshair. She hadn’t meant for this to happen, she had just wanted to distract him!

 A groan met her ears, and she quickly limped over to a pile of rocks. She gasped as she saw the prone form of Crosshair, his lower half buried under the rubble. A large gash on the side of his head gushed blood, the crimson liquid dripping onto the floor. Omega dropped down to her knees and started to push and pull rocks off the unconscious man.

 “Oh Crosshair, I’m so sorry! I never wanted you to get hurt…” She said apologetically.

Once enough rocks and dirt had been cleared off of him, she set about dragging him forward. She was only a little girl, however, so the task took her far longer than she would have like. By the end of it all, Crosshair was free, but she was exhausted. The terror and the running and the lack of fresh oxygen was beginning to take its toll, and she flopped down onto the ground beside Crosshair.  Breathing hard, she let her head tip back, resting on Crosshair’s back. Sleep sung its siren song, and she soon found herself caving in to her body’s demands.

   Crosshair groaned, wiping at his face. His head was pounding, but for the first time in a while, it felt almost completely clear. Shaking off his disorientation, he propped himself up on his elbows and took notice of a few things at once. One: The room he had just been in was now a heap of rubble. Two: He had a large cut on the side of his head. And Three: There was a child using him as a pillow.

 He turned over, easing Omega’s head to the ground as he got to his feet. The coldness that had been holding his true self hostage had been beaten back, although it still slunk through the recesses of his mind. For now, though, he was in control, and he took a moment to decide what he wanted to do with his newfound freedom.

 He looked at Omega, who was still sleeping off her exhaustion. She’d had a perfectly good opportunity to kill him while he had been unconscious, and she would have been well within her right. Yet she had not only spared his life, but had seemingly pulled him free of the debris, something he might not have been able to do by himself.

 A beam of sunlight caught his attention. An exit. He could easily grab her and bring her back to Kamino, as he was ordered to do. Good soldiers followed orders…

 …but family protected their own. He hadn’t had the choice before, but he did now, and he wasn’t about to squander his chance to start to make things right with his brothers.

 Scooping up Omega and ignoring his own pain, he ascended the rubble pile. Once he was close enough, he chipped away at the cracks in the ceiling until he had created a big enough hole to fit through. He put the girl through first, then shimmed his way out of the underground space. Picking up Omega once again, he scanned the area. They had come up into a dead forest, the plants here having been scorched at some point.

 After setting Omega down as gently as he could, Crosshair began to scale one of the trees. His razor sharp vision allowed him to spot a familiar ship, and even more familiar people. They looked frantic, pacing between the ship and what looked to be the site of a cave in. He could tell that they were arguing by their wild hand gestures and tense postures.

 ‘They must still believe Omega is down in the caves.’ He thought to himself. ‘I need to get their attention.’

 Reaching behind him, he gripped his trustworthy rifle and took aim at the ground near the Havoc Marauder. He fired off a shot, far enough away to not be dangerous but close enough to be noticeable. His brothers startled at the sudden blaster bolt, and he saw them look towards his direction. He activated his comlink.

 “If you’re looking for the girl, you might want to come over here.” He said smoothly, smiling a bit in amusement when he saw his brothers look at each other in surprise.

 Before he could get a reply, he deactivated his comlink. They’d be here soon, and he needed to be gone before they arrived. He wanted to stay, he really did, but now was not the time. If he went with them now, re risked bringing the Empire down on their heads. Not to mention the fact that his chip was still active, just muted for now. He didn’t want to be around them when it took over again.

 Hopping down, he paused for a moment to look at Omega again. The girl had obviously been practising with the new weapon she’d picked up from somewhere, and a part of him ached at the thought that he wouldn’t be there to help teach her.

 “I’ll return soon, ad’ika. Then you’ll get some proper lessons.” He said, his voice holding a promise without actually saying it,

 Turning away, he sprinted off into the forest. He’d need to come up with an excuse for his mission’s failure and a plan to escape the Empire’s watchful eyes.

 ‘Wait for me, vods. I’ll find a way home.’ He thought to himself, disappearing into the ashen forest.

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #22: Fluster

Fluster – make someone agitated or confused.

Aetherytes were constantly busy. You learned pretty quick to move away from one as soon as you manifested next to one, lest someone suddenly appear next to you and knock you both down.

Old Man Franks, tired as he was, almost forgot this, and only barely missed being clipped by an arriving Roegadyn armed with an enormous spear on his back.

He quickly moved out of the plaza and cast a quick glance about, and then raised his hand to his ear, activating his linkpearl

Rheika’s voice answered him. “Heya Franks. You get to the Toll already?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I take it you’re not?”

“Not yet. Fearless isn’t answering her ‘pearl, so Dahk and I went to her place. Ranaa said she and Makoto went to the Sekiseigumi HQ, so we’re headed there. Turns out she left it at home. Again. Anyway, go on in and figure out what’s going on, we’ll be there as soon as we find her. “

“Copy that. Hopefully whatever this is can be resolved fast. I need to catch up on some sleep.”

“Did you stay up all night working on cross-world portals again?”

“I admit nothing, see you soon.” He disconnected the link before she could chastise him further and headed into the Seventh Heaven bar. A few of the regular patrons tossed greetings his way, which he returned as best he could in his sleep-deprived state,

The bouncer who guarded the door to the Rising Stones nodded at him and stepped aside. Franks strode in, turning to shut the door behind him quietly. Darn thing tended to slam, he’d been meaning to install something to slow it down. Maybe after some rest today.

“All right, Tataru, what is this emergency…about…” Midway through his sentence, he’d turned to face the room. Sitting at one of the table were Tataru, Y’shtola, and someone who shouldn’t be there. Someone who couldn’t possibly be there. Because she was dead.

Standing up at the table, hand over her mouth and tears streaming from beautiful sea-green eyes that he hadn’t witnessed in years, was a viera woman that happened to be the spitting living image of the woman he’d married so long ago.

She dropped her hand, looking for all the world as happy as the day they’d wed. “Hello, my love.”

Twelve forfend, it sounded like her too. “What the hells is this? No…you’re dead, this is some kind of trick!” He pointed a shaking finger. “You’re a godsdamned Ascian, you HAVE to be! How the hells did you make someone look like her??”

She ran to him. “Darling, no, it’s me, I swear it!” She moved in close, trying to embrace him, but he backed away, shock and anger on his face.

“Fandaniel, that you? Because you just crossed a fucking line, you piece of filth, and I’m going to make you regret it!”

The woman looks over to Y’shtola, panicking. “He…what’s happening, who does he think I am?”

Y’shtola has already moved next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and holding the other with her hand. “Aleister, I swear to you on my life, this is not a trick. Do you remember how Rheika unmasked Elidibus, by tricking him about the Amaro? It proved that an Ascian can’t access memories of their hosts, do you recall that?”

He had stopped backing away, but his eyes didn’t waver from the woman who looked like his wife. He nodded.

Y’shtola looked to her. “Tell him something that only you would know. Something you’d never reveal under even the gravest duress.”

Her eyes danced back and forth, considering, thinking. Finally, they widened and she smiled again. Closer and closer, she approached him, but now he didn’t move. Could….could it be?

She whispered in his ear and he cried out in joy. His world faded, and there was nothing more than the woman in front of him. He pulled her in, crushing against her. Her arms wrapped around his back and pulled in just as strong. So many sensations, so many memories flooded him, and he took all of them in. The scent of her, the feel of her living body preseed to him, the sound of her voice as she whispers her love between sobs. He could not reply, too overwhelmed to cry and breathe.

Tataru moved next to Y’shtola, unable to take her eyes off of the embracing pair. “It…it really is her.”

Y’shtola nods.

“But…how?”

“I think that story is best told to us from them. Once everyone has joined us. I think our resident Old Man may finally be ready to open up, since the loss that caused him so much pain is no longer lost at all.”

Finally, Franks was able to catch his breath and he pulled back to look at her. He kept her close, arms wrapped around her waist, as though he feared she might vanish into mist if he let go. For her part, she likewise kept her arms solidly behind his neck. “Gwen….I…I don’t understand. They…multiple people told me they saw you get taken by Sylvanas’ death squads. We…” He hiccuped. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he kept going. “We scattered when we heard you got taken…that’s, that’s how I ended up here.”

She smiled. “They were right. I was put in with dozens of others, taken to a camp somewhere in Hillsbrad, couldn’t tell you where exactly. We were lined up. Living prisoners had their names taken, checked off a list, then executed right then and there. Some were….were fed to the soldiers. Others to plaguehounds. But for whatever reason, they didn’t kill the Forsaken. Maybe she had sentimentality about us, or maybe she planned to do it later, but we were just shoved into a makeshift prison and left there. We got food occasionally, but no interaction otherwise. Just neverending boredom. Zenjulin and Beskar finally found the place and killed off the few remaining loyalists that still manned it, freeing us.”

She shuddered. “By that point, the Banshee had fucked off to…wherever it was she went. I don’t know. Zenjulin explained it, but I wasn’t listening very well. Or he was missing details, I don’t know. Anyway, he said that our allies were being brought back together to stop her and whatever else she’d brought with her, but that you were still missing. I told them I refused to do anything until I found you. They understood, and I started tracking your movement. Which was hard, because you’d concealed them well, but eventually I made it to Stranglethorn and discovered the cave, the one Y’shtola tells me you came to that same one and it brought you here.”

Franks looked over to Y’shtola, who smiled. “I went there to take some readings, and found her emerging out of the cave. Once I realized who she was, I brought her straight here and had Tataru contact you.”

“Thank you.”

She shook her head. “There is nothing to thank.”

Franks looked back to Gwen. “I… gods, Gwen, you look like the day I asked you to marry me. Even despite all the years, both living and dead, I recognized you right away. I…I actually hallucinated last night…I saw you. Worked for too long without sleeping again. You looked…almost exactly as you do now.” He chuckles. “You uh…you didn’t have these, though”.

He reached up to stroke the fur of her ears. She made a very happy noise at the touch. “Okay, those are definitely a little sensitive, good to know.” She cuddled up against his shoulder, enjoying the sensation.

Eventually he stopped and pulled back again, looking her over. Everything was the same, her long graying hair, two green eyes, one slightly darker than the other, on a heart-shaped face. Everything save the ears. He vaguely recalled the shape of her human ears, but they were no longer there.

She giggled. “I…I don’t know what changed me or why it gave me my youthful body with these ears, honestly. You, though, you look a little bit older than the day you asked me to marry you. Maybe…around our 10th anniversary, I’d guess? Bit more white though, not that I mind. That haircut’s definitely a lot better, someone’s been taking care of you on that front, I see.

She placed her hands on his arms, rubbing them appreciatively. She moves them to his chest and down to his abs, sculpted like they’d been in his younger days from long hard hours of farmwork. “And I see you’ve definitely been taking care of the rest of you. Been way too long since I’ve seen these muscles.” she purred.

Franks laughed nervously. “Well, um….you get a second chance like this, you tend to appreciate and take care of things you took for granted…before.” His hands slipped down to her hips.

Their eyes met, growing lidded. Slowly, he ran his hands up her sides, appreciating every ilm of her curves, ghosting the sides of her breasts. He pulled her close, and their lips met in a kiss they’d not been able to share in decades.

Memories of all of their favorite intimate moments with the other flooded their minds, and both had a realization that those moments could now not only be remembered, but now relived. The rest of the world had long been forgotten and their kisses and touches became more heated when the world suddenly reminded them that it was still there.

“Ahem”

The pair broke, looking in the direction of the voice. The other Warriors of Light and the senior members of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn had all entered and were staring at the pair in varying levels of confusio

Rheika spoke up. It had been her voice that broke into their moment, Franks realized. “I hate to interrupt your moment, I swear I do, but uh…didn’t we have some kind of emergency? Also, um, who is this? Not that you don’t deserve to kiss someone that gorgeous, but I feel like I’m missing part of the story here.”

Franks laughs. Both he and Gwenefyr have turned beet red having realized just how much of a crowd their reunion had attracted. “Ah, yes. Um, well, everyone…allow me to introduce you all to Gwenefyr Franks. My…not quite late wife, as it turns out”

She giggled at that. “Hi, everyone. Y’shtola’s told me a little about you all. I…think I recognize at least some of you from her stories.”

Franks looked over everyone. Thancred, Estinien, and Alisaie weren’t even masking their suspicion. Dahkar, Alphinaud, and Rheika wore expressions of shock. Fearless looked like she was going to explode with joy. Urianger just looed perplexed.

It was Thancred who stepped forward. “Franks….are you sure? I mean, we’ve seen the Asicans puppet dead bodies before..

He immediately shook his head. “No, no, I thought the same thing. But remember, Elidibus didn’t have access to Ardbert’s memories so Y’shtola asked her to tell me something only she would know. It…it’s definitely her.”

Gwen took his hand and looked to the gunbreaker. “Thancred, right?”

Thancred nodded.

“Y’shtola told me you’d probably be the hardest to convince. I don’t know what to say or do to prove to you that I’m not a…..Asican, was it? But I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you. To all of you. Because I’m not going anywhere.” She looked up to her husband. “Right?”

He looked right back to her, his eyes sad. “I…don’t think I can go back there again. Not if it means…going back to the way our forms were.Are you…okay with that? With leaving it all behind? I promise, this place is…it’s worth it.”

She nodded. “I don’t think I can either. Azeroth has taken enough from us. And the others…they told me they won’t be surprised if we don’t return to the fight. They’re prepared to keep working towards the dream, but they’ll have to do it without us. I’m not going anywhere without you, love. We have a second chance at actual life and I’m not going back to a world without it or without you.”

Alphinaud speaks up. “Apologies, but did you say Azeroth? I’ve not heard of such a place.”

Franks nods. “Yeah. That’s….that’s the other reason I’m pretty confident she’s not an Ascian. And it’s a story most of y’all long overdue for hearing. And now that I have…gods I can’t believe I have you back…ahem. Well, there’s just no point in hiding it anymore. Gather round…time I told the full story of where I….where we are actually from.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Found

CW: Creepy whumper, noncon touch (nonsexual), ableist language, some violence at the end

TIMELINE: The summer before Chris begins attending college, shortly before Oliver Branch goes to trial for essentially accepting bribes for a Senate seat.

Tagging Chris’s crew:  @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions

“You look familiar.”

The voice hasn’t changed at all in the past few years, maybe just gone a little deeper. The soft, slight southern drawl is still there, genteel rounded consonants, drawn out vowels. 

He still dreams about that voice. It still sends shivers down his spine, not all of them from fear.

“Is that who I think that is?”

Chris feels his heart start to pound under the fabric of his t-shirt, and he dips his head low, as though he hasn't heard, as though he won't be seen. 

It's been four years of therapy and building himself a whole new identity and learning to be a person again since the night he was rescued, but even still some traitorous impulse deep inside of Chris thrills at the sound of his Sir. 

He’d been scrolling through his phone, waiting for Jake to finish up inside the store. He’s just been out here reading about campus life, researching dorm room checklists, taking a deep breaths as they took step after step after step towards Chris being an independent adult and not a dependent rescue. 

He’d come out to soak up a little bit of the warm sunlight, feeling its heat soaking into his hair - strawberry blond at the roots, faded blue around the crown of his head, long enough to graze his shoulders with the deepest ocean teal only at the ends. He has it pulled back, caught just at the nape of his neck with a little clip to keep it out of his eyes.

He wishes, as he listens to the familiar sound of the same fine leather shoes stepping crisply along the pavement, that he’d left his hair loose so he could hide behind it now.

Don’t look at him. Don’t look up. Don’t don’t don’t don’t-

“Look at me, darlin’.”

Chris’s chin raises, his head turns. He’s not sure who makes the choice to do that - it doesn’t feel like he’s the one who controlled the movement. 

“There you are.” Sir’s face is just the same, he doesn’t even seem to have gained a new wrinkle, although four years and his slowly imploded political career might have put a bit more gray in the sandy hair. “It is you, isn’t it?” 

Chris texts something - he doesn’t even know what, he doesn’t dare look, only glances down long enough to make sure he’s sending his text to the right person before he slides the phone into his pocket. One hand moves to a bracelet he is always wearing on the other wrist, the cool metal hex nuts braided into thick black nylon, spinning them with his fingers in a nervous motion. 

He’s just fidgeting. It’s just fidgeting. Normal people fidget when they’re nervous, normal people do this, it’s normal to be nervous-

Nothing that happened to you is normal.

“Ah,” Sir says, in his thick oily voice, and reaches up to graze the backs of his knuckles down Chris’s cheek. Chris only stares at him, wide-eyed, feeling impossibly, horribly small. “Where is that voice I loved so much, darlin’? Did you finally learn how to keep your mouth shut?”

Chris jerks back and away from the touch, eyes narrowing. He wants to bite back, to say something, anything, in a strong voice but the words are stuck in his throat, his defiance is locked away.

It must be visible in his eyes, still, because something in Sir’s expression goes cold and his hand slides around to the back of Chris’s neck, a heavy warmth that presses there, like every time he’s ever used that same grip in the same place to push Chris down to his knees. “Careful,” Sir says, in a voice that exudes gentleness. “Careful what you think, beautiful boy.”

Chris’s stomach twists, lurches, flips with disgust. “Don’t-... don’t, don’t don’t-don’t call me that,” He says, and his voice is smaller than he wants it to be, as weak as he is and not as strong as he wants to be. 

“They haven’t fixed you at all,” Sir says, tsking, clicking tongue against the backs of his perfect white teeth. His thumb is rubbing up just where Chris’s hairline starts just behind his ear and he can’t stop shivering, can’t stop shaking at how awful it feels and how good. 

“I, I-I didn’t need… need fixed,” Chris manages, airy and trembling under Sir’s touch. His phone vibrates in his back pocket, but he doesn’t dare pick it up to check.

I’m going back I’m going back he’s going to take me back he’s going to take me way I’ll never see Jake again I’ll never see anyone ever again-

Chris’s eyes fill with tears and he has to sniff them back, only to hear Sir’s low, deep chuckle. He’s too close, he’s way too close, and Chris cringes back against the brick wall, letting Sir move into his space and Chris can’t remember any longer how to get him out of it.

“Of course you had to be fixed. Look at you, you’re an awful mess without me. Who let you get your ears pierced? Your new keeper?" Sir's touch moves to his earlobe, rubbing at the sensitive skin and the small black stud there with the rough pad of his thumb, and Chris knows he could - should - run, or fight, but all he can do is go still and stare straight ahead, sunlight glinting off the cars in the parking lot.

It’s a gorgeous day, and a terrible one.

Everything is wrong.

Two teenage girls shriek laughter as one chases the other towards a small brightly-colored green car. They have long legs, tanned skin and short denim shorts, tank tops that cling to narrow waists.

They’re beautiful and probably don’t know they’re beautiful. They’re living easy lives they don’t know are easy. They’ve probably never had to hide underneath someone’s desk listening to other people live lives they never get to touch, they haven’t had to be so silent and so still, perfect carved statue people.

What they want is not irrelevant.

What they want matters.

He wants to be running with them, wants to collapse into the seat of a car giggling and easy, wants to go back to feeling the sun warm his hair but instead - in this moment - all he feels is frozen.

"I did," Chris whispers, jealous of those girls and all the life they get to live that isn't silent, frozen fear of Sir. "I, I, I don't have a, a keeper now-"

"That's such an awful lie, darlin'." Sir steps closer. “You know how I feel about you lyin’ to me.” Chris wants to vomit all over his shoes, right here right now. The smell of Sir’s cologne is so thick it gets stuck in Chris's throat and steals his air.

Jake’s cologne is light and soft and barely-there, something he only smells when he’s up close or holding one of his shirts. Sir’s wafts through the air around him, steals it, poisons it. 

"It isn't." His lips barely move. “It… isn’t a lie… Sir.”

The words drip from his mouth. He thinks of a documentary he watched with Jake that talked about acid rain. Imagines the words that come slow and steady from his mouth wearing bark off of trees, leaving only the pale flesh like human skin underneath.

He imagines himself as a white birch tree, with Sir slowly stripping him bare, discarding the parts of himself he has built with sun and air and Jake and time. 

His bracelet isn’t helping. His fingers are frozen touching the metal bits, not spinning them, just stuck. His necklace, the lightweight silicone feather that he uses so often when he is happy, lays heavy and hateful somewhere near his sternum. He can’t think - every track is stalling, the trains have all derailed, the thoughts inside are lost in the fog and the debris. He can’t step away. There’s nowhere to run to.

He can’t move his hands. He can’t move his hands. He can’t move his hands. 

He can’t move.

Not until the game is over.

Not until he loses again.

"Oh, it is. We both know it’s a lie, darlin’. You’re simply too old to be of much use to me, now, but...” Sir breathes out through his nose and Chris flinches as the grip on his earlobe suddenly tightens and Sir pulls, like he’ll tear the stud out entirely, and Chris whines low in his throat at the flash, the spike of pain.

Sir stops immediately, but his oil-slick smile finds its way back to his face. 

A child is pushed out of the store behind them sitting in a shopping cart, crying, the little boy’s mother shushing him and telling him they’ll get chicken nuggets on the way home and Chris wonders if the shadowy half-formed mom who lives in his most painfully closed-off memories ever offered to get him a Happy Meal-

“-what you're made for. The question I'm asking is who are you made for now?"

“No one,” Chris whispers, lips barely moving. “I’m… not made… for anyone anymore.”

He hates having to speak like this again. He hates it. They tell him his words aren’t bad, at home, that’s fine to be who he is, to speak how he speaks, they tell him he’s fine and it’s okay, and he’s fine he’s fine he’s fine.

“Mmmn, not true.” Sir reaches up, undoes the clip at the nape of Chris’s neck, his hair falling free in a shining, soft curtain that can’t hide him, not here, not now. “Look at how long your hair is. How awful.”

Chris closes his eyes as Sir’s fingers graze his cheekbone, tuck a bit of the blue behind his ear, trail the shell of his ear and back down the side of his neck. Every touch is a lit match against his skin, every second burns inside and out.

“I like it like this,” Chris says, fucking pathetic attempt at defiance, at standing up for himself, but it’s all he can manage. 

“Oh, beautiful boy,” Sir says, affection thick and condescending clogging Chris’s ears and his thoughts, oil that buries him and burns in his lungs. “Who has ever cared one whit what you like?”

“I do,” Jake says from behind Sir, his voice strong and loud and everything Chris’s voice can’t be in the moment. Chris watches Sir’s eyes widen in surprise and feels his own heart leap. “I care a lot, actually, and you’re going to need to step the fuck away from him before I show you exactly how much I care.”

Sir’s hand drops, and Chris takes in a deep breath, gulps in air as quickly as he can, falling back against the store’s exterior behind him with one hand reaching up to grab onto the feather pendant, rubbing quickly at the ridges carved into the deep blue plastic, while his other hand reaches back to feel the rough texture of the brick wall, rubbing the pads of his fingers there, focusing on the sensation.

Breathe in. Tap. Breathe out. Tap. Rub feather. Breathe in. Tap. Breathe Out. Tap.

Breathe. Breathe. Move.

“The keeper, I presume,” Sir says, holding out his hand to shake with a sunny, smooth Made-for-TV smile. 

Jake’s eyes rake down to Sir’s hand and back up again, chips of cold blue narrowing as he slowly sets the shopping bags in his hands down. He seems taller than ever, now, in his simple sage-green t-shirt and jeans next to Sir’s fussy pastel polo shirt and slack. They’re two separate lives that Chris has lived under two different names, represented by two men staring each other down in perfect silence.

After a moment’s pause, Sir drops his hand.

“I’m not his keeper,” Jake says, keeping his voice even. “It doesn’t work that way, Governor.”

“Mmmn, not my title any longer,” Sir says, a touch regretfully. 

“Yeah, and good goddamn riddance. I hope the charges stick,” Jake says flatly. Chris has no idea what he’s talking about, but something in Sir’s face goes colder, thoughtful. Considering Jake, the way he used to consider Chris, like they are just boys under a microscope, seen on a cellular level by men like Sir, designed for nothing else. 

“For his sake, you had best hope they don’t,” Sir says, still smooth as silk, but the coldness lingers, trails around the edges. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” 

Sir only smiles. Chris isn’t sure what the game was, exactly, but he knows that Jake has just lost it. “Nothing, keeper. How much does my boy cost to feed these days, anyway? I see you’ve got quite the haul, there.” He gestures, a languid motion, towards the pile of plastic bags Jake set on the pavement in front of the store. 

“He’s not your boy,” Jake says, evenly. His eyes skip to Chris - there’s a question there but Chris can’t remember quite how to answer it. Or how to speak at all. He rubs his fingers over the feather, back and forth, pressing into the lines carved in there as hard as he can. The brick wall is rough, soothing as his fingers dance along it. 

Finger-twist-tap-tap-tap. Finger-twist-tap-tap-tap. Finger-twist-tap-

“Don’t tell me you’ve picked that up again,” Sir says. He sounds disgusted. Chris can’t stop himself from glancing up to see the look of derision worn openly on his face. “You were so well trained, too.”

“Trained?” Jake’s voice is a ghost of sound, but something crackles in the whisper.

Chris’s face flushes bright red. He pulls his hand away from the wall and drops the feather, crossing his arms in front of himself, shoulders hunched nearly to his chin. He looks up, finding Jake watching him with a twist of pain showing on his own face. 

Chris has disappointed Jake, he thinks, by not being able to be stronger than this.

He closes his eyes against a rush of tears, tries to push them back. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-

“You okay?” Jake asks, and there’s a hesitation, a word left unsaid. It occurs to Chris that Jake is trying not to say his name, while badly wanting to.

Chris just shakes his head, lips pressed together. If he tries to speak, he knows he’ll trip on all his words, and Sir will mock him for that, too. Instead he stays quiet, and still, and stares straight ahead. Just like he was trained to. Just like he used to.

Just like he did when Jake first met him. 

He’s not okay. He’s not, he’s not okay at all.

Help me.

His lips move to form the words but no sound comes out. Chris opens his eyes again to meet Jake’s, pleading with him. There aren’t any words, he can’t remember how to say them. There’s only the begging he can do without sound.

There’s only the way he can move his lips, all the fear catches the screaming and holds it inside the stillness.

Just like before.

Save me.

“That’s better,” Sir says, softy. “Now, beautiful boy, you just stay there being pretty while-”

“Oh, you can just go fuck yourself on like six rusty knives, you absolute son of a bitch-”

Jake throws the punch before either Chris or Sir can so much as react to the movement, and Chris flinches back with a cry when he sees Jake’s fist connect with Sir’s face, the look of open loathing he wears there as the man crumbles to the sidewalk.

Jake looks up, taking a deep breath. “Chris. Call Nat and tell her to bring the car. We need a fast ride home.”

Chris still can’t remember how to make the words happen out loud. There’s a static inside his head, too much it’s all too much, and he clutches onto the feather necklace at his chest, mouthing, why?

Jake knows the question he’s asking.

Jake gives him a half-cocked smile, closing his hand in a fist.

“Because I’m about to punch this asshole again.”

[tagsecretsanta]

From @Gumnut-Logic

to @such-a-random-rambler

Sorry for the wait Random-rambler! I hope you enjoy it :) And a humongous thank you to Nutty for jumping in to help <3

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Title: Tactics

Author: Gumnut

Spoilers & warnings: None so far.

Author’s note: This one has been fun to write. There will be more. Theoretically, only one more chapter, but who knows with my muse.

The prompts were:

Fight in the snow, snowball or otherwise

Hat/gloves/scarf

Suits

I’ll let you work out which I included :D

Many, many thanks to @tsarinatorment for the extensive plotwork to stimulate my migraine fogged brain and to @scribbles for reading ::hugs you both so much:: Couldn’t do it without you. Also, thanks to @tagsecretsanta for all their hard work putting this challenge together.

Merry Christmas to you and a safe and well new year as well ::hugs::

I hope you enjoy this :D

-o-o-o-

It was ever so quiet.

Gordon slipped between the snow-laden pines on silent feet. Dressed head to toe in white, he was a ghost against the landscape.

The mission was simple. Get in, nab the target, get out.

He had the training and experience and he had an intimate knowledge of his opponents.

A sudden movement off to his left and he froze. His eyes darted between the trees.

A snow hare bounced off into the distance, throwing up puffs of white powder.

Gordon shifted the pack on his back, his gloved hand armed and ready at moment’s notice.

But there was no notice.

The first volley hit him from the opposite direction. How the hell? But he didn’t get a chance to ask as he was pummelled to the ground.

-o-o-o-

It went against his grain, but Virgil was desperate. He knew he was considered the weak spot in this campaign and honestly, he was. But there was value in his knowledge and while he wasn’t really known for a lack of confidence, his lack of military experience niggled at the back of his mind.

His brothers certainly valued his skill set, but he knew they thought he was a softy…and rightly so. He was going to make the attempt anyway.

After all, his skill set was definitely useful in any situation and it gave him a chance at least.

So, his first victory meant a lot.

He shifted the weapon and stepped forward, his exo-suit whispering, his massive snowshoes compensating for his weight. It had been a fifty-fifty gamble on whether he should use his exo-suit for this or not. The advantages had slowly outweighed the disadvantages when his new weapon came to mind.

He smiled just a little to himself as he shifted the gun on his shoulders and made his way towards his target.

And thanked every defensive process he had put in place when he was suddenly attacked from the air.

-o-o-o-

Alan was having the time of his life. 

He let out one hell of a whoop as he dove at his second eldest brother, launching a massive bomb of snow at just the right point to topple him in his exo-suit. The man was like a bug on its back, flailing in the white powder. Why Virgil thought the clunky thing would be useful in this scenario was beyond Alan.

His astroboard on the other hand was definitely an advantage and he had just proved the point.

Looping for a return volley and to make his grab for his brother’s flag, he wasn’t prepared for exactly why Virgil was garbed in metal. A wide-ended barrel was suddenly pointing directly at him, tracking…

The sudden rain of snowball machine gun fire hit Alan hard, toppling him into a spin that had him blessing not only his collision avoidance software, but his electrostatic grip on his board. If he let out a yelp, he wasn’t going to admit it. After all, he was a veteran of both Halley’s Comet and the occasional asteroid belt. This should be a piece of cake.

But yeah, he yelped and darted away as the stream of snowballs followed him.

Okay, perhaps Virg wouldn’t be as easy as he thought.

But this was no different from a video game, really. Regroup, grab more ammo, attack again.

After all, there were three other brothers to take out.

Alan grinned.

-o-o-o-

Scott Tracy was used to being in the know. Knowing the exact situation, and knowing what he needed to do next.

The lack of a connection to Thunderbird Five rankled him more than he realised it would. He missed his eye in the sky.

He needed a strategy, but in order to build one, he needed to know the players.

Of course, he could just barrel on in and play it by the seat of his pants, it wouldn’t be the first time. But the stakes were too high. Far too high.

So, he opted for reconnaissance first.

One’s drones had a stealth mode and built-in camo, so he was using them to his advantage. Hunkered down in his chosen lair, he deployed them across the landscape, their holographic readouts projecting from his wrist control.

His frown was causing his forehead to ache.

He located his first opponent quite easily. He wasn’t bothering to hide, much. But that was typical. Virg played his games on his sleeves, pretty much like he did everything else. He wasn’t much for stealth. 

But then he made up for it in brute force. Just look at his ‘bird. There was no way he was going to discount his second eldest brother. He watched as Virgil pulled himself out of a snow drift with his grapple and swung between the pine trees like some kind of mechanical monkey.

He was very surprised when he found what looked to be Gordon. It appeared he had already encountered one of the others and was sitting on his butt in the snow.

His frown increased. Now that was unusual. He had expected that brother to be troublesome and certainly not taken out already, much less by Virgil.

Hmmm…over confidence perhaps?

But then Gordon got up and started moving again. Hmmm, perhaps not as down for the count as he thought.

Heat signatures danced about the hologram as the drones skimmed across the top of the forest.

But only three brothers.

One was notably absent.

Scott’s frown threatened to rupture a blood vessel. That was a serious concern. The fourth was not to be underestimated.

It almost distracted him enough to miss the incoming bogey.

Shit.

He had dug himself a snow cave in the hope to hide from the technique he was actually employing, but then Alan...it had to be Alan, he could spot his flying style from a mile off…obviously had his own ways of gathering intel.

Scott grabbed his bag and slipping out of his cave took a running leap and shot up into the air, jetpack flaring.

Better to offend than defend.

Alan literally cackled as he swooped in, a massive chunk of snow in his hands.

Scott grit his teeth. The astroboard was faster and more manoeuvrable than his jetpack, but Scott spoke atmosphere while Alan spoke space.

The eldest darted into his little brother’s flight path and forced him to dodge. Alan squawked and spun in the air, but recovered quickly, flipping in a loop-de-loop that brought him back onto Scott’s tail, snow bomb still at the ready.

Alan cackled as he bore down on him.

Over-confidence, little bro, over-confidence.

Scott curled himself into a ball, killed his jet pack and let himself roll into a drop.

The wind whistled in his ears.

Right angle, right position just above the tree tops, and he kicked his jet pack back in and shot off in the complete opposite direction.

He grinned as his brother squawked again.

Gravity, little bro, gravity.

But Alan was smart and he recovered quickly again, this time using speed to his advantage.

Faster than Scott.

It rankled.

Really, it rankled.

Scott dodged, but Alan had the vehicular advantage.

Scott had experience, but Alan learned damned fast.

By the third time he had had to defensively dodge, Scott was mired by both pride in his little brother and a little desperation. He really needed to up his game or he was in some serious trouble.

Killing his jet pack again, he let himself drop enough to get a good view of the underside of Alan’s board before he swooped to follow Scott down. Grabbing his grapple gun and slapping a pack in with practised ease, Scott aimed and fired at his brother’s astroboard.

There was a satisfying clunk as the grapple secured.

Scott held back a smirk as he let himself swing like a pendulum from the underside of Alan’s support craft, throwing out its balance and sucking away some speed.

Of course, he wasn’t enough to slow it down much…well, until he got himself into the right angle and fired up his jetpack again.

Then it became a tug of war.

With the grapple clipped to his belt, he was at leisure to direct where his pull was coming from and although the astroboard had more guts than his jetpack, it only took a little physics and angle calculation to really throw the board off its flight path.

Of course, if this wasn’t his brother and this wasn’t a snowball fight initially instigated by Gordon nearly drowning John in tree snow, he would have already taken the astroboard rider out of the equation. But this was Alan, they were daring but not stupid, and really, it was just a training exercise.

An extreme training exercise.

Didn’t stop Alan from reaching under his board and dislodging the grapple.

Scott’s eyes widened. How the hell??

But he had bigger things to worry about as he was suddenly hurtling towards the nearest tree.

Experience, experience! And that was all that saved him from a pine needle faceplant.

His grapple retracted with a swift zip as Alan darted off into the distance.

Okay, perhaps he did underestimate his little brother just a bit.

-o-o-o-

“Eos, location on Alan?”

“He appears to be retrieving more ammunition.”

John’s fingers poked at his tablet, his bolthole lit up by flickering hologram. “Making more snowballs?”

“Large ones.”

“And Scott?”

“Has returned to the surface, but appears to be…pacing.”

John looked up. “What?” Another poke at his tablet and he brought up the drone’s display and sure enough Scott was walking a groove into the snow he was standing on. He had seen that movement many times before. Scott was thinking, scheming…planning. “Keep an eye on him. Let me know if he makes a move.”

“FAB.”

John returned to his tablet and the multiple displays from all the technology deployed by his brothers. Scott’s drones were definitely the most useful, giving him the eye in the sky he was forbidden by the rule of no Thunderbirds.

Gordon could be seen scampering away from where Virgil had torpedoed him into a snowdrift. Virgil was on approach again, snowball machine gun at ready. It would be interesting to see who would win that encounter. Gordon was military, but Virgil was stubborn to the extreme.

And Virgil was the challenge.

His engineer brother knew him too well and had pretty much hack-proofed his equipment. John was sure he could get in given enough time, but as always, time was a consideration. He had no doubt that given that time, Virgil would track him down and bust into his little hidden fortress and then John was screwed. Virgil the big softy or no.

So, he was relying on his brothers to take Virgil out.

He had no doubt they would and he just had to stay put in the meantime.

Easy, really.

-o-o-o-

Two brothers targeted, neither captured.

Virgil grit his teeth.

The word was definitely out about his snowball cannon now so the element of surprise was gone. That would likely be bad. He had hoped to take down at least one brother with that surprise, but no go.

No matter. He still had the cannon and it was very effective.

He made it back to where he had pummelled Gordon, but there was no sign of his aquanaut brother. Alan was likely still in the air and Virgil had no doubt that Scott was probably using a similar tactic. So, bar finding Gordon who was likely on the defensive already, John was the next obvious target.

The question was how to find him.

The terrain assigned to this exercise was quite large. The land was part of a complex owned by Tracy Industries in Canada. Their family often came up here for vacations in the snow, usually around Christmas. While they generally couldn’t shut down International Rescue on Christmas due to the collective idiocy of the human population of the planet, Grandma did demand that at least one weekend in the months of December or January be put aside for the family to celebrate.

Scott hated to shut down IR, but he certainly agreed that they did need time.

Virgil was grateful that he did. At least the Medic didn’t have to take on the Commander head on to get him to stop.

This year had been particularly stressful with finding Dad and the medical and emotional fallout from that expedition having lasting effects on all of them. So, Grandma had called it and they were off for a week and as far away from the Island as possible.

Which meant a white Christmas, a pristine lake and plenty of time for a healing family.

Until Gordon took his pranks one step too far and half buried John in tree snow.

Admittedly, it had been funny and Virgil had been hard put to frown. John hadn’t been wearing a hat at the time – it had been in his hand as he was about to put it on – and consequently his hair had been plastered to his scalp in a most undignified way.

Red hair really stood out against white snow.

Also, reportedly the Voice Who Not Only Answers But Can Swear In Multiple Languages ended up with snow melting down his back and ‘Gordon was going to get it’.

Gordon being the occasional idiot he was, took that up as a challenge, daring their genius brother to come whip his ass.

The visuals accompanying that thought had Virgil rubbing his cold face.

The entire encounter had devolved from there, a rare moment where John lost his cool and a sign of exactly how stressed they actually were. It took Virgil a good tug on his astronaut brother and Scott dragging Gordon away to separate them.

Virgil cornered John and wrapped an arm around him, trying to draw him out, to find out what was bugging him, but no. Fiery turquoise was already plotting revenge and Virgil feared this was going to escalate to something ridiculous.

There was a reason why most brothers didn’t anger John. He was an easy target, but the fallout was apocalyptic.

Like never being able to communicate electronically for the rest of your life kind of apocalyptic.

So, it was with some trepidation that Virgil suggested this training scenario.

No Thunderbirds.

Personal equipment allowed - hence the training name of the game and not the all-out death match it was tempted to be.

Snowballs the only weapon - to stop his brothers from killing each other.

Virgil had no doubt that both Gordon and John were quite capable of burying each other in snow. Alan literally started bouncing. Probably because he immediately realised he could bomb from the air.

And Virgil set himself up to be the sacrificial lamb. Well, the one wearing an exo-suit and carrying a snowball machine gun.

The caricature that came to mind at that thought was quite amusing so he stored it away for later scribbling.

But anyway, just because he was the most likely to go down first, didn’t mean he had to go down easy.

Hopefully both Gordon and Alan realised that now. It didn’t hurt to make a point.

The ultimate goal was to nab each brother’s flag – a patch of fabric attached to their hip. Colour coded and numbered appropriately, Virgil’s green number two fluttered as he moved.

But the puzzle still remained: how to locate John.

His brother always liked to be on high with a view. Be it on the roof of the house, up a tree or in space itself, that was a characteristic that turned Virgil in the direction of the hillside.

Sure, John could be up a tree anywhere in the forest, but these were pines. A mix of tall, straight up monsters with few lower branches and squat dense walls of needles. John might have shimmied up one of the taller ones, but Virgil didn’t see the point. No security or camo.

No, it was more likely that John had a bolthole up on the hillside. It might be natural or he might have built it himself, but it would be hidden and secure.

Virgil respected his brother’s skills immensely.

And acted accordingly.

His suit whispered as he moved. Trying to find a way to quieten his movements had been far harder than building the snowball gun.

It had taken multiple adjustments to its hydraulics and several lubricants, but he’d managed it to a passable extent. Enough to sneak up on Gordon at least.

Virgil smiled to himself.

Now that was an accomplishment he wasn’t going to let go for a long time, no matter the outcome of today.

His snow shoes kept his extra weight stable on the soft powder as his reached the slope and began to climb. The hill became quite steep quickly.

Perhaps it was the change in terrain, or perhaps he really was just bad at this, but he had no warning when a grapple shot across his path and embedded in a huge tree to his left.

He had just enough time to gasp before the high tensile cable was wrapping around him, pulling him towards that monster of a tree. 

It snared him about the waist and chained him there before wrapping around him again.

But he managed to keep the cannon free and he made some serious use of it, shooting at a flying blur that could be no one but Scott.

He rained snowball hell upon his brother.

But the daredevil pilot was fast and had more than one grapple pack.

Moments later the gun was as tied to the tree as Virgil was.

Scott certainly knew how to secure a rescuee when necessary. Virgil found himself splayed against the tree like some human-metal sacrifice.

If he had his laser, maybe. But he didn’t.

He still struggled.

And he kept on struggling, straining cables even as Scott came to an elegant landing in front of him.

Despite it all, his eldest brother’s eyes were apologetic. “Hi, Virgil.” A small smile. “I’m sorry, bro, but you have something I need.”

He reached in and with a flick of his wrist, nabbed Virgil’s green flag.

-o-o-o-

TBC