#if you want the next chapter please reblog to remind me bc i WILL forget

[eyes-onthehorizon]

The Old Guard Provide... Leverage

(otherwise titled Pan Finally Found The Time To Rework ‘February is a Month like Any Other’)

One:

heist [haɪst]

Word forms: plural heists

countable noun [oft noun NOUN]

A heist is a robbery, especially one in which money, jewellery, or art is stolen.

(“Is it really a heist if we’re actually avenging a crime?”

“Psht, technicalities. Heists are about derring-do, and there’s plenty of it to be done.”)

Nicoló was going out of his mind. Not so much as a whiff of a clue had presented itself and the excuses for burrowing around Whitechapel Manor were fraying at the edges. His carriage, which had so artfully broken down in the snow, had finally been repaired and Nicoló had no choice but to depart the following morning.

Andy was desperate to get into the study at any cost; in a last-ditch attempt, he’d decided to write a few letters for his beloved who was waiting to commence their belated honeymoon. All my papers had been ruined in the snow, you see, he’d shrugged self-effacingly at the butler. Might I trouble the study for a few pages?

The same butler stood sentry at the doorway. He wasn’t a distrustful man, quite the opposite: Jennings had been the one to oversee his recovery after he’d taken that nasty fall off Sir Graham’s stallion. He’d become something of a mother hen to Nicoló, and constantly hovered nearby in case a bookshelf or candlestick might decide to commit murder.

It would have been sweet, really, if Nicoló hadn’t been in the midst of intelligence-gathering against one of Britain’s most powerful men. In his own home.

Without looking up from the desk, he spoke: “Jennings, would you be so kind as to fetch me some tea and scones? This is thirsty work.”

He saw Jennings hesitate from the corner of his eye, and kept his expression still. “There is nothing to worry about, old chap. The worst that can happen in here is a paper-cut and I think even I might survive such a calamity.”

“Ha, right you are, Sir. I’ll be back in a moment.” Thank goodness he had a sense of humour.

Nicoló moved as quickly as he could, rifling through drawers and boxes, returning them to their original state with a dexterity Andy had always admired.

(“It’s freaky. You’re a freak.”

“Andy, we don’t die. We are all freaks here.”)

It wasn’t until he could hear Jennings’ footsteps returning down the hallway that he found the hidden compartment in the desk. He made a show of walking around the room, deep in thought, turning only when he was spoken to.

“Your food, Sir.” Jennings said a little breathlessly. Had he rushed? The man was definitely pinker than when he'd left. Nicoló felt a pre-emptive flash of shame at what he was about to do.

“Ah, splendid. Thank you. Do you have any more of the marmalade from breakfast? And is there any chance Cook could rustle up a sandwich with those little tomatoes? I’m positively famished.” Nicoló knew the marmalade had run out because he’d heard the cook grumbling about it when he went down for hot milk the previous evening. It seems he’d eaten through quite the supply during his stay. And cherry tomatoes, at this time of year? It was more unlikely than one would think.

Jennings’ smile had reduced to something resembling a straight line – never a scowl, the man was much too professional for that – the longer Nicoló’s requests went on. Nevertheless, he was bound to do his duty. He bowed, a little, and departed once again.

Nicoló let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. This was the worst part of masquerading as a toff: the way he was expected to treat the servants.

He took another turn around the enormous desk to inspect the hidden compartment. It had been jammed hastily shut, with the key hanging conspicuously from a hook on the wall. Nicoló turned it, but the damn thing was stuck.

I’m so close.

He wiggled the drawer.

Jennings is coming.

He tried pushing from below.

What is he hiding?

He took out his pen-knife.

I’m going to get caught.

Tried to leverage it open.

Calm. Stay calm. Stay fucking calm-

He smacked at it in frustration, and this of all things was what finally did the trick. He emptied it, papers and all, into the wastebasket alongside all his crumpled up draft letters. Not wasting a second, he slid the drawer shut, turned the key and returned it to the hook as he kicked the basket over.

Jennings entered the room, bearing a full tray of food and a second pot of tea. The guilt washed over Nicoló again as they both realised he hadn’t touched the first pot that Jennings had gone running for, but the butler’s glance at the messy floor brought him back into the moment.

“Oh my. I’m so clumsy. I do apologise Jennings – would you mind setting up my tea in the blue sitting room?”

“Of course, Sir. I’ll tidy the mess after you’ve tucked in-”

“No need, my fine fellow. Truth be told, I’d rather these letters remain for my beloved’s eyes only. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge and all that, you know? I’ll get this tidied up in a jiffy.”

Torn between the need to do as he was told and allowing a gentleman to do a servant’s work, Jennings hesitated a moment before deciding to just take the easy way out, for once. Nicoló sent up a prayer of gratitude and began piling everything back into the wastebasket.

 ao3

[thefallenbibliophilequote]

Shake It Off

Loki x Reader

1989, chapter 6

"She danced to forget him"

Summary: It's hard to find the one, but even if you do find him it's always going to be a daily struggle to make it work. Can you even make it work after he broke your heart? The answer to that is complicated, but it all started when you found each other again in the Stark Tower- and that's where our story begins.

Word count: 2,404

Warnings: as always language, Hydra, angst, mentions of and alludes to sex.

A/N: I really hope this series won't flop because I wrote all of the chapters before I started posting, and like I put so much of myself in this series- I just really hope it'll go well. This chapter is shorter because but it is much needed. I didn't post last week bc of the writers content freeze week, so here it is.

A/N2: the dividers were made by the awesome @chrissquares and @nacho-bucky beta read all of it!

No one is allowed to repost my writing or steal or copy my work! Reblog on tumblr is fine.

Series masterlist

Song on Spotify and YouTube

Steve's arms were around you as your tears stained his shirt, it must have been midnight by now. You came to his doorstep a little after Loki left you again. You knew what you were in for the second you agreed to the temporary bliss that he gave you, but you didn't expect all these old emotions to come back when he would leave you.

"I thought I'll be able to handle it. I thought it'll be worth the rush."

"It's alright darling, I know." You didn't see the angry frown between his eyebrows or his clenched jaw. He couldn't let the anger on the god get the best of him right now, you needed him more now- you needed comfort in a friend. After everything that happened, you knew you would always find safety in his embrace.

"Steve, did you know what he is?" you murmured into his neck a little while later.

"What do you mean?" pulling back he took a good look at your face, and you knew he could see every tear stain on your face and you wished you could hide yourself from him.

"That he is…" you didn't quite know how to describe it, your mind a bit fuzzy. "Blue."

"Oh, yeah we knew that."

"Wait, everyone knew that?" he started to rub your arm, the soft touch made your skin prickling from the cold with goose bumps spreading all over.

"There are a lot of things about him that you don't know Y/N, I really was just trying to protect you from him and from this pain." You nodded at him.

"I wish I'd listened to you sooner. I can't believe I didn't know anything, what else is there?"

You saw his mouth gape but no words came out.

"It's a lot, I'll tell you some other time." By the look on his face you knew you won't be getting any answers now. Nodding, you put your head back down.

"Can I stay here tonight?" you sniffled and thanked him for the tissues he gave you with a smile. You couldn't hear the answer he gave you between blowing your nose. "Can you repeat that please?"

He laughed at you but answered regardless, you were too adorable to deny.

"Of course, kid."

•

The loud beat made it hard for you to hear Natasha who was standing right next to you. It's been a couple of weeks now, and the noisy distraction of the club worked perfectly to take your mind off of anything else.

"What did you say?" you covered the top of the glass in your hand with your other hand, leaning forward to Nat.

"I said maybe we should get out of here, it's already pretty late and Wanda is drunk and you know what happens when she is drunk-"

"Things start to float and gravity is non-existent, yeah I know." You looked around the club, your eyes catching that of a dark eyed handsome man. "The two of you can go; I can take care of myself."

When you saw the two of them walk outside you went towards the beautiful gentleman.

Waking up to the sunshine you looked back at the sleeping man next to you, happy to find him still asleep you groaned at the headache when you got up. You collected your clothes from the floor, panicking for a second when he started to wake up but you quickly put him under, and you were out of the door soon after.

They never stayed, but neither did you. You heard the things people started saying about you in the Tower when they saw you coming back in the morning mostly alongside a sweaty Bucky who was back from a run and a worried Steve who tried to stay silent about how you were dealing with everything that happened.

They didn't like the amount of guys you hooked up with and left a day or so later. To you it was a nice pace but you knew the high of the alcohol and sex wouldn't last long, you needed something different. Plus, it wasn't your fault that they weren't interesting enough.

"Agent Y/N?" you heard the voice behind you coming into the room you sat in with Sam, planning the next stakeout.

"Yes? Oh hi Mike, what have you got for us?" the guy smiled at you and nodded towards the falcon.

"I have the schematics of the whole area that Agent Romanoff asked me to bring you." He handed you the folded papers and when your fingers lightly brushed his it was as if a light bulb lit up in your head.

Sitting back down you leaned forward with a smile.

"So, you said Natasha sent you to bring me these papers?" he nodded at you and you handed the papers to Sam. "Well that's very nice of you and I actually wanted to speak to you so it's a nice coincidence. Would you like to go out to dinner sometimes?"

Sam choked on his drink and made a lazy excuse to get out of the room.

"Really, you want to go out with me?" You couldn't help but actually find him cute when he wasn't as shy now as usual.

"Yeah, I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to." He flashed you a smile at that, and that's how it all started.

•

It was a month later when you walked with Mike down a park with ice cream cones in your hands. He intertwined your free hands together.

Looking at him now, it was simple to see that he is sensible and incredibly nice too, you knew he is everything a girl could dream of getting.

The two of you were close now to the Tower and the charming guy that he is he opened up the door for you to walk in first. When you were inside you kissed him goodbye as he headed back to his department from his break that he spent with you.

You turned around, only to notice Steve leaning back against the wall of the elevator, waiting for it. You cleared your throat when you got closer, not looking forward to have a talk with Steve that surely will come.

It started the moment the elevator doors closed behind the two of you.

"So, you've been dating this guy for about a month now, right?" he started casually and you only nodded.

"Mike seems like a really good guy actually, I know you didn't want to talk with me about him especially after-"

"After what?" you scoffed. "After Loki left? I have Mike now, and he is much better than him."

"Well it's good to hear you're happy now. He reminds me of the guys back in my time."

"Old?"

"Gentlemen."

"Well he is, it's only been a month but I couldn't have asked for anything better."

"According to Tony, he is an excellent employee too." The smirk on his face didn't go unnoticed.

"You did a background check on him? You can't just do that!"

"Stark and I just wanted to see some stuff. Plus, he is Tony's employee so he can do background checks anytime he likes."

"You guys are horrible." You grumbled and attempted to punch Steve's shoulder but it ended up hurting your fist. You huffed in frustration when he laughed at you.

•

Another month went by and you found yourself keeping busy whether it was with training, or missions or going out with Mike and your friends. This week though was blank of anything to do. Steve banned you from the gym, saying that you're working out too much, which caused the stubborn father and daughter to spar with the loser doing whatever the winner wanted them to do. Bucky looked exasperated at the two of you from the sides, and you heard a Thank God being murmured when Steve finally pinned you to the ground and won.

In your room you decided to clean it up a bit. By cleaning you really mean redesigning your whole room while making a total mess and reminiscing on old stuff. Going through your dresser you found some old jewelry boxes, opening one you saw old stuff you used to wear and sorting through them would probably be for the best.

That's when there was a knock at your door, turning around you saw Mike standing there.

"Oh hi, what are you doing here?"

"Captain Rogers let me up, I just wanted to see you and ask if you wanted to maybe come to my apartment after work?"

"Sorry about the mess, I'm in the middle of cleaning." You left the box jumped over piles of things to reach him and give him a soft kiss. "Yeah sure that sounds great."

"I know we said that we would take this slow, but I was kind of hoping we could take this to the next level." A boyish grin spread on his face and you felt gentle kisses as he nestled his face in your throat. "What do you say?"

"Yes. I'd love that." You kissed him back then until he had to go back to work.

Quickly, you closed all the boxes and put them back in their place, forgetting all about reorganizing. Now you have a more exciting thing to do.

•

You woke up the next day to a soft snoring behind you, and an arm wrapped around your waist. The sun was barely out yet, leaving the room with a small glow of orange and red.

You saw your dress on the floor of his room and felt the soft sheets covering you, shivering you pulled them closer and tried to close your eyes to get a little bit more rest.

"Are you sure, darling?" Loki had asked you then when the two of you were barely dressed and breathing heavily between kisses.

"I'm more than sure, Loki I want you." He stopped kissing your neck and pulled back which made you whine and pull at his shoulders.

"Do you think you can handle a god, my love?" you wished you could wipe out the smirk on his face, which is what you did when you pulled yourself up to claim his lips with yours.

"I've handled you this far, so for the love of the gods just fuck me, please." You whimpered at the end of the sentence when you felt his hands start to roam your skin.

"As you wish, my dear." Loki will forever give you anything you ask for.

You woke up with the sunshine painting the room golden as you backed up against the warm chest behind you. You've never felt this warm before, with the man who took over your heart and soul and the love marks he left on you- claiming you. You could still feel the bliss from last night engulfing you with him in this room.

"Did you sleep well?" you turned to the dark haired prince who held a smile that matched yours. Sleep still hang between his eyes.

"Perfect." He pulled you in and suddenly you weren't tired anymore.

The man next to you was still asleep when he changed his position, turning to his other side. You sank deeper into the bed, letting the memories drown you until sleep took over.

•

Yet another month flew by and you could barely remember any of it. Yes there were some successful missions against Hydra, and there were some less successful ones too. In between you went on more dates with Mike and he definitely helped you.

"So I planted a virus in his computer that changed all of his autocorrect!" you burst out laughing at the end of his story.

"And you did all of that because he stole your girl?" he nodded and you laughed harder. "No one can steal a girl, a girl leaves if she wants to. If she left you for someone else then she didn't deserve you."

Your hand was on his thigh and he put his over it with a small chuckle.

"Maybe, but I am certainly not going to let you go." He kissed your knuckles. "I've liked you for a long time you know, and not just as a colleague."

"So I've been told."

"Oh?"

"Natasha told me a little while ago, sometime before we got together. I must say I didn't notice until she said that."

"Well I am offended, oh you hurt me deeply Y/N." you pushed him away from you but brought him back for a quick peck on his cheek."

"Do you forgive me now?" he pondered about it.

"I think I might need a little more."

"I'm sure we can arrange that." Leaning in again, the phone began to ring and he leaned his forehead against yours.

"That's work."

"Always comes in the way."

"Speaks the girl who goes to week long missions!" he stood and went back a few steps.

"You chose to date that girl from your free will!"

•

You've been together for almost half a year now… shy two or three months. You couldn't help thinking how this is probably the guy that you needed, someone steady who took good care of you and made you feel cared for. He never was late, and always so attentive listening to every word you said. How can you need anything more? That was a question that pestered your brain, trying to find reason in your numb heart.

You always smiled around him, and Steve obviously approved judging from the amount of time he let him go into the Avengers quarters. You knew you were attracted to him. It was hard not to be. And yet, it wasn't just there yet- it wasn't like it was with him. It must be a good thing though.

•

"Is this all you got?"

"Sir, you have to understand- we didn't have much time to get all that we needed, we still don't know a lot." Doctor Zazu sighed at the small bunch of paper in front of him.

"Very well, for now we will work on the safe room- you better take care of it. I have enough work working on the formula for the asset." The agents nodded and the doctor turned around to look at the chair, the similarities were uncanny but he improved it, now he is sure this will work- there is no other option.

•

Tags: @ayybtch @buckys-other-punk @chaoticpete @madcrazy50 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @the-departed-potato @rogerrhqpsody @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @percabethismyotp14

[minijenn]

Keys Comm #5

Woooo baby we got a big ol bundle of angst with this comm. Its for an anonymous commissioner, who wanted some angsty interactions between Sora and Young Xehanort following (spoilers?) Sora officially joining the Organization in Keys. This is a pretty fun dynamic to explore (its why its popped up in the last two chapters cause I think its fascinating), so enjoy the angstfest ahead (also if you reblog this do not tag any ships bc thats not what this is if you do i will scratch your eyes out k thanx!)

***

Even though he’s died on more than one occasion, Sora has never felt closer to death’s door than he does now. Now that he’s following his foes willingly, walking through the gates of a castle he’d once stormed as a conquering hero. Only to return as nothing more than a lowly slave.

Ansem and Xemnas head off in separate ways not long after they arrive, leaving Sora alone with Young Xehanort. The young master turns to him with his usual calm grin, though it's tinged with a touch of smug satisfaction that Sora might have once found sickening. But now, he can only incline his head in forced respect for his master, listening in solemn silence to whatever it is he has to say.

“Welcome to your true home, my thirteenth,” he says cordially. “After your last visit here, I trust you know your way around, so I’ll spare you the grand tour. I will, however, gladly show you to your room.”

Sora glances up at this, caught off guard. “...My room?”

“Of course,” Young Xehanort beckons him to follow as he continues on through the castle’s grayscale halls. “Did you really think we’d be barbaric enough to force our most invaluable member to sleep in a dungeon cell?”

“That’s… exactly what I was thinking…” Sora mutters, glancing down.

“I know,” Young Xehanort returns, reminding him yet again that his thoughts are essentially an open book to be read by his master, both old and young alike. “Still, I’m sure you’ll appreciate the room we’ve prepared for you. It used to belong to our previous thirteenth member, you know.”

Sora’s gaze snaps up when he hears this, a pang of grief tugging at his heart at even this indirect mention of Roxas. At even just the thought of any of the beloved friends he’s now lost forever. That grief stings even more when he steps through the threshold of the chamber Young Xehanort takes him to, a clean, largely vacant bedroom that he can all too easily imagine Roxas occupying. A bedroom that’s meant for the Organization’s thirteenth member, both back then… and even now.

“You can take all the time you’d like to settle in later,” Young Xehanort says, still standing in the doorway. “Your induction ceremony is set to begin shortly, and you mustn’t be late for it.”

“I-induction?” Sora glances back at him, confused.

“A way for you to formally accept your place among your fellow members,” Young Xehanort explains. “Believe me when I say they’re all very eager to welcome you into the fold, Sora. However, you will not stand before your Organization wearing that.”

Sora looks down at his usual clothes, already anticipating where this is likely going. Even so, he tries to bite back the rising dread when he asks the obvious question. “What will I be wearing then?”

Young Xehanort’s former grin returns as a bundle of black fabric appears over his outstretched arm. Sora takes in a small, sharp breath when he sees it, the final piece to tie his hideous new appearance together, meant to show exactly what side he stands on now. The side of darkness, the side of his master, the side of Organization XIII.

Sora says nothing as he takes the coat, staring down at it in muted despair. Of course, Young Xehanort only serves to rub salt in the wound with what he has to say next. “Wear it with pride, my thirteenth. It was made to help you to look the part of the role you’re very soon about to play.”

“...What “part” is that anyway?” Sora dares to ask, even though he knows he shouldn’t. “Now that I’m here, don’t I at least deserve to finally know why you chose me and what you want me to do?”

“You’ve already been told why,” Young Xehanort tells him as he turns to leave. “As for what… you’ll learn that in due time, my thirteenth. For now, you have an hour to prepare for your ceremony. I’ll be back to collect you when you’re ready. And remember: everything from the life you knew before must be cast off before you step into our ranks. You belong to us now, Sora; never forget that.”

“I-I won’t… master,” Sora replies, wishing with every fiber of freedom his ruined mind and broken heart has left that he could.

“Very good,” Young Xehanort says, still smiling as he leaves his thirteenth vessel to himself. True to his word, he returns exactly an hour later, and is visibly pleased to see Sora fully clad in his new black coat, finally ready to perfectly fit in among his fellow seekers of darkness.

“Our attire suits you well, Sora,” Young Xehanort notes as he looks over his newest vessel. “Isn’t this much better than those ridiculous clothes the lights gave you to wear?”

Sora doesn’t answer; instead, he glances back at those clothes, folded neatly on the bed behind him. Young Xehanort notices them too, as well as the look of longing written all over Sora’s face. Longing for something he can no longer be a part of. “I’ll dispose of those for you,” he offers, extending a hand out to receive them.

Sora hesitates, his sights still set on the clothes before he briefly offers his master a morose, pleading glance. “C-can I keep them? Please?”

“Really?” Young Xehanort raises a critical eyebrow at this request. “You wish to keep something that will only ever serve to remind you of all of the pain and turmoil you’ve been through? Didn’t you come here to escape the grief the loss of the lights left you with? Wouldn’t you much rather forget about the life you left behind? Don’t you want a fresh start, Sora? A clean slate? A new beginning with your new family?”

No, Sora desperately wants to say, but he doesn’t. He knows he can’t; because whatever family he used to have and love so dearly is long gone now. And the only one he has left is a family he never once thought he’d be a part of. Until now. “Y-yes,” he says softly, a single tear streaking down his cheek. “I do…”

“Then let us go so that family can receive you,” Young Xehanort says, his hand still held out. “But first, your old clothes.” Sora hesitantly nods, slowly taking the clothes from his bed before handing them over to the young master, his hands trembling all the while. “You may not believe it yet, my thirteenth,” Young Xehanort continues, urging Sora onward down the hall. “But you truly do belong here with us. At long last, you’re finally home.”

Sora says nothing to this, his head hung in saddened silence as he begins his solemn march to his long-awaited induction ceremony. Young Xehanort lingers behind for a moment as a dark corridor appears behind him and Saïx steps out of it, exactly as he requested. “Burn these,” the young master coldly commands, handing Sora’s old clothes over to the other member before he continues on his way. “I never want to see them again.”

***

Sora quickly finds that in a world with no real passage of time, the days blend together in a dull, dreary drudgery. He isn’t given any specific tasks to carry out like his fellow members are, with his master merely explaining that his true role is meant to be carried out “at a later time”. So instead, he’s largely left to his own devices. And most of that idle time is spent alone in his room, overwhelmed by grief as he openly despairs over everything that he so swiftly lost.

That grief hardly stays contained to his room however. His powers react to his immense misery, blackened spikes bursting from the gray ground not just in his chambers, but throughout the hallway surrounding it too. Complaints begin to file in from the other members, who find the unbreakable spires to be a gaudy nuisance at best and an impassable obstacle to getting around their own home at worst. And those complaints are what prompts Young Xehanort to pay his newest vessel a visit in the hopes of nipping this newfound problem in the bud.

He enters his thirteenth’s room without knocking, finding Sora sitting on his bed, his knees pulled to his chest and his face buried in them as he weeps softly. Countless black spikes litter the area surrounding him, all but destroying the once pristine room. Young Xehanort scowls as he steps past one of those spikes, interrupting his vessel’s despondent sobs when he speaks up.

“Why are you still mourning over the past?” he asks and Sora glances up with a startled gasp, his eyes still red with tears. “It’s been 2 weeks since you’ve joined our ranks, my thirteenth. You must learn to move on.”

“I-I… I can’t…” Sora looks away, his voice quiet and pained. “I miss them so much…”

“No, you don’t,” Young Xehanort counters as he approaches the bed. “What you miss is the memory of how you felt about them. If you let those feelings go, then you can finally find the strength to move forward.”

“I… I don’t know how to let them go…” Sora admits, leaving out the fact that he doesn’t want to let them go either. That he doesn’t want to forget them or how he felt about them or how much he loved them, how much he still loves them, even now that they’re all long gone.

“Then allow me to show you,” Young Xehanort extends a hand out. And despite his better judgement, it's a hand that Sora anxiously takes as he lets his master ease him into properly sitting up.

“The lesson you need to learn here is a simple one,” Young Xehanort begins, taking a seat on the bed next to him. “Your emotions weigh you down; they always have, and if you continue to let them get the better of you, they always will. You’ve been letting those emotions, your fear, your grief, your worry, cloud your mind and rule your heart. Your magic thus responds to them in turn, making your powers chaotic and uncontrollable.” He places a hand against one of the several spikes surrounding them. “Stopping those emotions from coming completely will take much time and practice for someone as young as you, but you can accomplish it eventually. In the meantime, you can start by suppressing them. And in doing so, you can finally begin to truly live the new life I’ve so generously given to you.”

Sora stays silent for a long moment upon hearing all this, trying to soak it all in. His tears have stopped by now as he finally takes stock of the mess his magic has made of his room, at the disastrous danger he’s always known his powers to pose. He tries to call them back in, but with his sadness still stirring so strongly within him, he finds it to be a largely impossible feat. Unless… “Suppress them?” he looks to his master, lost and confused. “Y-you mean… pretend I don’t feel… anything anymore?”

“Precisely,” Young Xehanort nods. “Pretend… until everyone around you believes in the mask you’ve put on. Until you believe in it yourself. And when you do, suddenly you’ll find that you won’t even have to pretend any longer. The mask will become real.”

This kind of advice is something that’s entirely new to Sora. All his life, he’s been told that his emotions are important, that they matter, that they’re what make him strong, what make him bold, what make him human. But now, he’s being told to throw those emotions away, to cast them off and put on the same mask of cold indifference that every other one of his fellow members so easily wears. It’s not a mask he wants, nor is it one he welcomes; but if it can numb the pain he still so powerfully feels, at least in some small way, then it's a mask he knows he might as well wear. At least until he doesn’t have to anymore.

So he closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath, and forces those emotions back into the depths of his heart. For as difficult as it might be, he somehow shoves the grief, the guilt, the pain, all of it under the surface, just as his master had said. And, when he opens his eyes again, he finds that every single one of the spikes his emotions had unintentionally created… is gone.

“I… it worked…” he balks, genuinely surprised.

“So it did,” Young Xehanort nods his approval. “But this is just the start of what you could do if you learned to truly control your powers, Sora. Your magic is very unique, so strong, yet so untamed in its current state. The lights wanted you to lock that magic, that part of yourself that’s so natural and so special, away simply because they deemed it to be ‘dangerous’. But here in the darkness, you’re free to wield those powers however and whenever you please. You’re finally free to be yourself.”

Free… not to express his emotions anymore, but his powers in their place. And really, now that he’s come all this way and has started settling into his place among the shadows, that’s exactly what Sora realizes he needs to do. To embrace who he is now… and leave behind whoever he used to be.

“P-please,” he begins, looking to his master earnestly. “I want to… I’ve never been able to…” he trails off, shaking his head as he steadies himself and starts his request again. “C-can you show me how to use my powers the right way, master?”

Young Xehanort grins broadly, a spark of what almost seems like pride flashing across his face as he places a hand on his newest vessel’s shoulder. “Oh, my thirteenth,” he says, his grip on the boy tightening ever so slightly as he speaks. “I would be more than happy to.”

***

Sora does what he can to avoid the other Organization members. He isn’t fond of the idea of forming a friendly relationship with any of his foes-turned-allies, and he’s certain just about all of them feel the same. So he mostly keeps to himself, only really leaving his room for the sake of magic lessons with his master and to fetch some food every few times a day. For the most part, he isn’t bothered by any of the other members he happens to pass by on his way to the castle’s kitchen. A few, such as Vexen or Demyx, will sometimes shoot him dirty looks, but otherwise won’t say anything to him. But of course, today on his way to get something for lunch, he’s unfortunate enough to quite literally run into two of the members who openly hate him most.

He’s largely lost in his own thoughts when he rounds a corner, only to collide squarely into Larxene. “Ugh! Stupid brat!” she hisses, harshly shoving Sora to the ground. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?!”

“Now, now, Larxene,” Marluxia says as he steps in to stand alongside her. “We shouldn’t be so rude to our newest member. After all, I’m sure it's very hard for him to focus on much of anything other than how much he misses his dearest, now-dead friends…”

“Pfft,” Larxene snorts out a laugh. “Yeah, poor little kiddo must be soooo lonely.” She grins wickedly as she suddenly reaches down, grabbing Sora by the front of his coat and pulling him up off the ground. “If you’re that bummed out, why don’t we keep you company for awhile?”

“N-no thanks,” Sora shudders, trying his best to pull away from Larxene’s surprisingly tight grip. “You really don’t have to-”

“Nonsense,” Marluxia says with a smug smirk to perfectly match Larxene’s. “We’d be remiss if we didn’t take the opportunity to spend some… quality time with our newest member. And besides-” Sora gasps in sudden fear when Marluxia summons his deadly scythe, Larxene’s knives flashing into her free hand as she holds them up threateningly. “We both have some unfinished business with you, number thirteen.”

Larxene abruptly throws him to the ground once more, calling upon a dark barrier in the space behind Sora to keep him from slipping away. “Aw, don’t look so scared, Sora,” she chuckles as both her and Marluxia brandish their weapons. “We just wanna have a little fun with you…”

“Fun indeed…” Marluxia agrees, drawing the tip of his scythe in dangerously close to Sora. “And perhaps… just a little payback too…”

Sora is unable to stifle a pained cry as the scythe suddenly rips across the right side of his jaw, creating a long, deep cut that tears all the way up toward his nose. The blood from it leaks across the rest of his face, to the point that he accidentally catches a taste of the bitter fluid when it inevitably leaks into his mouth. He doesn’t get a chance to nurse the new wound however, before a sharp, brutal shock ripples its way through his body, sending him flying back hard into the barrier behind him. Larxene laughs in twisted amusement as she keeps her electrifying magic pouring into him, until he quickly reaches the point where he can’t bear the agony of it any longer.

“S-stop!” he cries in the seconds between shocks. “P-please… stop…”

“You’ve resorted to begging for mercy?” Marluxia sneers unsympathetically. “And just when I thought you couldn’t get any more pathetic.”

“Seriously, what are you? Some kind of dumb dog that thinks those sad little puppy eyes of yours will convince us to cut you some slack? Please,” Larxene scoffs, raising her knives to toss them his way. “Get over yourself. You might have gotten lucky enough to beat us both before, but you’re nothing now.”

“Nothing more than a shadow of who you used to be,” Marluxia adds, raising his scythe high for another painful strike. Sora braces himself for the brunt of both attacks, closing his eyes and shielding himself away from the vicious torture they both intend to put him through. And yet in the end, those attacks never come.

He opens his eyes seconds later when he hears the sounds of Marluxia and Larxene’s weapons striking solid metal. The pair winces in apt surprise when Young Xehanort fends them off, using a bit of his own dark magic to swiftly shove them both away. He stands in the space between the duo and Sora, his Keyblade called upon seemingly for the purpose of defending his newest vessel from their violent ire.

“Do you two really have nothing better to do with your time than harass our newest member?” he scowls coldly at Marluxia and Larxene as they begin to pick themselves back up from his brutal attack.

“W-we were just-”

“I know exactly what you were doing,” Young Xehanort abruptly cuts Larxene off. “Whatever disdain you might harbor for our thirteenth must be put behind you. He is one of us now, and I expect you to treat him as such. Do you both understand or is that too much for your simple minds to comprehend?”

Marluxia and Larxene exchange frustrated glance at this, both of them clearly humbled and embarrassed by their young master’s admonishment. In the end, however, Larxene crosses her arms, simply nodding as she glares away. Marluxia is similarly bitter as he offers his answer aloud. “Yes, master.”

“Then in that case, you’re both dismissed to return to your actual duties instead of wasting your time standing around here,” Young Xehanort instructs, dismissively waving them both away.

The pair quickly retreats after this, though not before they both look past Young Xehanort to offer Sora one final hateful glare. He only barely hears Larxene hiss something about him being “master’s pet” to Marluxia before they round the next corner, finally leaving him alone with that master once more.

“I apologize for the misguided hostility of your fellow members, Sora,” Young Xehanort turns to him, extending a hand out to help him up. “It seems as though some of them are having a hard time letting the past go. Are you alright?”

As shaken as he still is by the recent attack, Sora struggles to collect himself enough to do much of anything else outside of accepting the hand his young master is offering to him. “I… y-you… you saved me…” he mutters, bewildered by the very thought.

“Of course, I did,” Young Xehanort offers him a cordial, almost kindly smile. “You’ve suffered more than enough by now. There is no need for you to suffer any more, especially at the hands of your own allies. You’ve been through enough of that when you were back with the lights, I’m sure.”

Sora sighs at this mention of his lost friends, though he maintains his mask well enough as he lightly traces the scar now marring most of his face. He flinches when Young Xehanort suddenly reaches out to touch it too, though as soon as his fingers so much as skim the still-bleeding cut, his skin weaves itself back together, the pain that it caused him all but disappearing completely.

“There,” the young master tilts his vessel’s chin up a bit to inspect his now-clean face. “Like it never happened. After a few more of our lessons together, I’m sure you’ll be more than capable of defending yourself against the petty wrath fellow members might decide to inflict against you. But until then, you can depend on me to protect you, my thirteenth.”

Even against the emotions he’s still trying to keep hidden under the mask, Sora can’t help but feel something he can’t believe he has toward his young master of all people. A sense of genuine gratitude, a deep, genuine gratefulness for the protection Young Xehanort is offering him, for the kindness he’s extended toward him in a time when he so desperately needs it most. In the absence of anyone he might have once sought that same sort of kindness from instead. “T-thank you… master,” he whispers, bowing his head in respect that, perhaps for the first time, is completely earnest, completely on his own accord.

“Think nothing of it, my thirteenth,” Young Xehanort’s smile widens in the satisfaction of knowing he now has Sora exactly where he wants him. In knowing that he now owns every part of his thirteenth vessel: body, heart, and mind alike. “After all, it’s my job to warmly welcome you into our ranks. And I’m so glad to see that you're finally starting to feel like you’re right at home here with us. With me.”

Commissions are CLOSED

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [23]

x. survival of the fittest

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: angst, language, violence, fighting, blood. 

Summary: Following Bellamy and Lincoln to Mount Weather doesn’t go according to plan. Because nothing ever does. 

a/n: hi, so first of all, yesterday I finished writing EPISODE 50!!! this is a big deal bc halfway!!! I’m having so much fun writing and sharing these chapters with you guys, and the sweet comments, and asks, and reblogs make me smile even on the bad days, so thank you!!!! this one is shorter, but because the last one was so long, I feel like you guys are probably craving something a little shorter! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

Despite looking the part, you never actually fall asleep. 

Bellamy comes in a while later and falls asleep next to you, gathering a few hours of rest before Lincoln quietly wakes him and tells him it’s time to go. You feel him press a kiss to your forehead and whisper, “May we meet again,” and you have to resist the urge to open your eyes and beg him to stay.

You wait until you hear his footsteps retreat before you open your eyes and sit up, looking around the now empty tent. His clothes have been left behind, his body now dressed in Grounder attire, and your mind flashes to the necklace around your throat. You reach up and touch the moon charm as you think of Clarke’s watch, disposed of as soon as she was taken into the mountain. You reach up and unclasp it, taking it off for the first time since your father gave it to you. 

It has been with you as long as you can remember, a source of strength through your captivity, his death, and your abuse, and you know that losing it to just anyone would tear you apart. So you step out of the tent, necklace tight in your grasp, and search for Octavia. You can’t be sure that Clarke’s new outlook will allow her the sentiment, so you decide to leave it with the only other person who will truly care for it like it’s her own. 

You find her in her sleeping bag, fast asleep, and you gently drape the necklace over her palm so that she’ll see it when she wakes. Then you sneak away and search for Clarke, needing to do one last thing before you follow Lincoln and Bellamy into the mountain. You find her asleep in the other tent with your mother, and you rifle through her bag quietly until you find one of her sketching pencils and some paper. You scrawl out a quick note and leave it beside your twin, needing to get one last thing off your chest in case you never make it out of this mountain alive.

I killed Shumway to protect Bellamy. I hope that doesn’t make me weak.

But I just hope you know that loving you, being your twin, it never made me weak. Only strong. I know dad would say the same.

But now I have to protect Bellamy again. I hope you understand.

La lune

You turn and leave the tent, remembering the conversations you overheard last night about what direction the Reaper tunnels are, and then you sneak out of the camp quietly, following the sun as it rises in the sky, eyes and ears open for any sign of Lincoln and Bellamy.

-

It takes you an hour of running to find any sign of them in the woods. 

As you cross a creek, you pass a dead deer and a small sack of discarded limestone. You remember Lincoln’s description of the Reapers, and how it’s used as war paint among them. There are also two sets of shoe prints pressed into the mud around the creek, and you are positive that they haven’t been gone long. 

You take off running again, following the direction of the footprints as they hopefully lead you to the pair. You’re so focused on the prints in front of you, that you don’t hear someone approaching you from behind until it’s too late. 

You spin around, coming face to face with a Reaper who lets out a horrifying yell. You have a split second where you fumble for your knife, forgetting that it’s still at the village, and then he swings a club towards you, hitting you in the head with it.

Pain explodes throughout your skull as you drop to the ground, everything growing hazy around you. You try to stand and run, but you fall, and you resort to crawling away on your hands and knees. The Reaper grabs you easily and lifts you, throwing you over his shoulder to carry you as everything fades to black. 

-

The first thing you notice upon waking is that you’re moving. 

As your consciousness returns, the pain in your head returns with it, and you let out a quiet groan. It takes a second for you to remember what happened, but the jostling movement of the Reaper carrying you is enough to remind you. You stay still, slung over his shoulder, debating what to do next: stay or run.

If you stay, you might get a ticket to walk right into Mount Weather. Or the Reapers might eat you. If you run, you’ll still have to sneak into the mountain. But the Reapers might not eat you. 

But as much as you pretend to debate what to do, you know you’re not going anywhere. Because this Reaper might get you into the very same mountain that your dumb boyfriend (boyfriend?) is trying to get himself into. 

So you stay put.

The Reaper carries you all afternoon and into the evening, showing no signs of strain or exhaustion. As the sun begins to set and the sky darkens, you hear him pause and say something in Trigedasleng before continuing on. You look around him and realize that you’ve entered the tunnels, and you feel your stomach drop in fear. 

As he travels deeper and deeper into the mine, you can hear the growing sounds of Reapers feasting and fighting nearby. You make a silent plan to run if he starts to walk that way. 

After a few more minutes of walking, he reaches an intersection. He pauses as he considers each, and you look around him to evaluate each path. You can tell that the Reaper dinner is down the tunnel to the right, shadows and silhouettes dancing on the wall from the light of a fire. Straight ahead, the path is darker and quieter, and you have a feeling it leads towards the entrance to the mountain.

You wait with bated breath as he seems to consider both options, before he starts to turn towards the right. You instantly start fighting and yelling, trying to escape, not ready to be torn apart and eaten. The Reaper tosses you from his shoulder and onto the ground and you scramble to your feet, ignoring the pain shooting through your body from the rough landing. 

You barely make it three feet before he grabs you and spins you around, and you use the momentum to fuel the fist that’s flying towards his face. He barely flinches when you make contact before immediately returning your hit with one of his own. You cry out in pain and he pulls you towards him, holding his other hand over your mouth and muttering, “Quiet.”

You grow still and he waits until he’s sure you’re not going to scream before he drops the hand over your mouth and starts to drag you down the path straight ahead, away from the Reaper feast.

You know you're getting close when the lighting in the mine changes from torches to lights. When you reach a section of mine with a large door at the end, he spins you towards him and reaches for your jacket. He yanks it off your shoulders harshly, and you stand frozen, unsure what he’s doing. But when he reaches for the bottom of your shirt, you scream and start to fight him again. 

This time you make it much further when you take off running, but he still catches you with ease and hits you, knocking you to the ground. As you recover from the blow, he pulls out a strip of fabric, which he uses to gag you, before reaching for your shirt again. He gets it over your head before you start to fight him, and he sighs and pulls out a bag for your head and ropes to restrain you. 

After your wrists are tied, he tugs off your shoes and then your pants, leaving you in your undergarments and with some semblance of modesty. Once he has you mostly stripped, he grabs you and tugs you to your feet, just as you hear voices grow louder down the path behind you. He drags you through the mine again before forcing you to your knees, leaving you to wait, blind to the world. You hear the voices from before grow closer in the caves and the quiet sounds of struggling before others are forced to the ground around you. 

The large metal door swings open, creaking loudly, and the Reaper pulls the bag off your head,   restoring your sight. You look around you and see that you are surrounded by Grounder women, none of them familiar to you, but they are also stripped to their undergarments, and you realize it must be part of the intake procedure. You redirect your attention to the open door and see people in suits filing out of the door, yelling at the Reapers. They activate a device that forces all the Reapers back, and someone with a clipboard comes to stand in front of the Grounder at the end of the line. 

Their voice comes out muffled, but it sounds like a woman muttering “harvest” before moving to the next Grounder. You watch as she moves down the line, while the Reapers behind you receive the drug that keeps them addicted, until she finally reaches you. She gives you a hard look through her gear, taking note of your bruised and bloodied face. “You must be a fighter.”

She leans closer to you, and you can see her smile through the window of the suit. “The fighters have the best blood. Harvest.” And then she finishes with the others before yelling, “Mark them all for harvest!”

Guards from the mountain descend on each of you, grabbing you and pulling you to your feet and dragging you into the mountain. They take you immediately into a large metal room, and you can see a worn sign at the top that reads Quarantine Intake. 

One guard now turns to two as they approach you with a metal collar attached to a long pole. You can hear the others fighting the process and you back away slowly, not wanting to be a part of this. But you back straight into the second guard, who holds you still as they snap the collar around your neck, securing you in place. 

Now that you’re tied onto a short leash, they tear away your undergarments. You fight them as they try to expose you, but one yank on the collar leaves you gasping and choking for air, unwilling to fight. They strip you down to nothing and leave you standing in place, shivering, before you hear water start to run through the pipes behind you. 

When the water hits your skin, you fight back a scream, the temperature something akin to lava. They spray you down thoroughly, burning every inch of your skin until it’s raw and red, before they approach you with powder on brushes. They smack the powder onto your body, and this time you do scream out as it burns your already sensitive skin. They use large brushes to scrub and clean every inch of you, and you watch weeks of blood, dirt, and sweat run down your body and into the drains at your feet. 

They force pills down your throat and multiple needles into your arm, before giving you a new set of undergarments that barely cover you. The last shot they inject you with leaves you feeling light and hazy, and soon after, you pass out.

-

You wake up in a cage. 

All around you are Grounders in cages, some moaning, some crying, some completely silent. You try to lift your head to get a better look, but it feels heavy and you feel so weak that you can barely move. 

You struggle and strain but fail to move, and the effort makes you so tired that you fall right back asleep.

-

[novantinuum]

A Link Beyond Memory (ch 2/4)

AO3

Fandom: Trollhunters, 3Below

Rating: T (for minor language in future chapters)

Words: 600~

Pairings: Jim/Claire, but not focus

Summary: Shortly after the events of the Eternal Night, memories of a day that never happened somehow resurface in Jim’s mind in his sleep- and upon recalling the friendship he and Aja formed, he decides to pursue that connection again. Slice of life, and kinda a slow burn friendship reunion. A hybrid of prose and chat fic (to be seen in later chapters.)

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Note: Unfortunately, fic circulation online is getting harder and harder as the months pass. Please, if you read to the end and enjoy, consider helping me out by reblogging this post, or even commenting/giving kudos over on AO3. Thanks! :D

Chapter 2: Transit

Transit- The instant when a celestial object crosses the meridian, thus reaching the highest point in the sky.

~

T: hhhh miss ya already. tbh i dont know what im supposed to do this summer now ahah

T: i was all looking forward to hangin with you and claire and everyone else in trollmarket and now…

T: i mean i still have aaarrrgghh. and darci and eli too i guess but

T: really starting to wish i came along.

T: i know you said to watch over the town while youre gone and i know thats a good point but honestly i just wanna be with you

T: jim?

T: yoooo ? did u die

T: god i hope not after all the end of the world chaos thatd be really anticlimactic

J: Sorry no I lost signal for a bit!! Miss you too gahhh.

T: pls know if you so much as say the word ill crawl on the first airplane i can find and launch myself directly at your face

T: jim liSTEN jim im not even kidding

T: screw arcadia

T: if you need me im there

J: Omg I’ll defo keep that in mind

T: ..jk dont screw arcadia tho i love this place. also its already screwed enough at this point so

T: hey but you think merlin could make me another warhammer for my growing arsenal?

J: Yeah I think he could be easily convinced.

J: He’s kinda sucking up to me now hahah

J: He already made Claire a sorta necklace amulet to store her armor so a magic hammer should be no problem

T: awesomesauceee

J: Any particular reason lol?

T: i dunno i just think itd look wicked cool to double wield, like general orzan from gun robot three. also lets be real after all the crap he put us through we deserve S W A G

J: I’ll ask tomorrow. Hey quick Q for you though

J: Well okay not exactly quick  

J: It’s actually a long story but-

T: ye?

J: Do you happen to have Aja’s number or anything?

J: We took her and her bro down to the Janus Order, lightning in a bottle, remember her?

T: ye i know- lively! and uhhh don’t think i do? havent really talked to them since why

J: I get the strangest sense we’re supposed to know them more than we do. Had a really weird dream but it felt more like a lost memory. Think it’s an amulet thing, like that alternate timeline it made me live through once?

T: huh funky

J: Also supposedly according to the dream/memory both Aja and Krel are… not from Earth?

T: dude no offense but are you sure it wasnt just a normal dream

J: Seriously.?

J: Merlin turned me into a fucking TROLL and aliens are where you decide to draw the line

T: okay yknow thats fair

T: i take that back  

T: okay so,, aja and krel are MAYBE aliens. got that. go onnn

J: What I saw honestly felt so real, I swear. It was two weeks ago, at the science fair. We were fighting a troll in the planetarium with them, and the troll kept combining magic with some alien tech, which kept reversing everyone back to the beginning of the day, like a time loop or something. But I could remember everything bc of the amulet. Aja remembered bc of some energy shield she had. We lived through the same day almost a dozen times.

T: whoa…

J: And get this- in some of those loops we even went to their house and got to look around inside their spaceship! But none of us are supposed to recall any of it bc technically the entire day never happened? It’s how we defeated the troll, that bit’s a little fuzzy. A lot of technobabble sorry.

T: goddd out of all the days to forget huh

J: Right??

J: I guess… if she remembered all of this before I’m kinda curious if she still remembers now too. If it really happened. We were friends in that memory. It’d be nice to maybe get to know her again, y’know?

T: okay you’re prob gonna hate me for suggesting this but i THINK steve has her number

T: bc i was talking to darci and she said that mary told her that aja and steve are like, a thing now

T: a Thing thing

T: i believe her exact words were ‘staja’ ?

J: Oh my god how’d that happen is he even capable of proper flirting

T: well if shes an alien like you think then maybe she doesn’t know what human flirting looks like

J: Haha maybe indeed. I’ll go talk to him thanks

J: G’night Tobes love ya

T: night buddy <3

(my notes from ao3:)

Admission, I had far too much fun with the text format. I've never attempted anything like it, but I especially wanted to create unique "character voices" that extended into the way they each type- which was a cool challenge.

I imagined Toby as the sort of person who types out his thoughts far too quickly to care about punctuation, and IMO if Trollhunters was set just a year later (I generally just imagine it all set in 2016) he'd be keymashing. Jim is more of a full sentence type of guy who never turned off auto capitalization.

ALSO, a note on the contact photos- (Jim's which I directly took from a screenshot from Claire's phone, and Toby's which I edited from some 2D concept art)- That's the photo Jim uses for Toby's contact, and I imagine there's probably some inside joke where Jim took a really derpy photo of him at one point and they laughed so hard about it that he immortalized it as his contact. Jim's personal contact photo is... well, as this all takes place post s3 of course, a rather sad reminder of his loss of humanity. He can't bother himself to change it currently.

Future chapters will likely be a mix of text AND prose, instead of one or the other. Hope you enjoyed!

[sannisideup]

smile

chapter 2: just lay with me, waste the night away with me

find chapter 1 here (tumblr) and here (ao3).

Just lay with me, waste the night away with me

When he wakes up the next morning, he wakes up without a pounding headache and the urge to throw up repeatedly, and at first he wonders if something's wrong with him. But then he remembers how he's drank drastically less the night before than he does on a daily basis, all because she's forgiven him for something he has yet to forgive himself for.

"Fuck," he mutters to himself, and lifts himself out of his bed, running his pale fingers through his paler hair, and fisting it lightly. No matter what he does, he can hardly make sense of the witch's words. How can she have forgiven him, him, the man who had stood by and done nothing as his aunt continuously tortured her? How can she have forgiven her childhood bully who had treated her like dirt and called her slurs that she so clearly doesn't deserve?

He curses a few more times before he's already making his way to the living room where his self-made potions that make him just forget are scattered across the small table he transfigured a few months earlier from a spare pillow.

The potions only take a few minutes to take effect, and before he knows it, he's feeling much better. He no longer has to think about watching one of his closest friends die in a frenzy of fire, or remember the fact that he's a destitute wizard a month's rent away from being homeless.

When the haze lifts, he's ended up somewhere he's never gone before. The lights in the establishment are dim, and suddenly he's being dragged by the arm, and before he can say anything he's face to face with the curly haired witch from last night.

"What are you doing here?" she hisses at him, her brown eyes boring into his, glaring at him, reminding him of the night he'd watched her scream until her screams had turned into sobs.

"The same as you," he replies coolly, glaring right back at her.

"Right," she says, narrowing her eyes at him. "Just stay here, I'll be right back." Before he blinks, she disappears. He finally realizes he's in some sort of nightclub, perhaps more expensive than the one he's usually holed up in, as he's never been in here before. Regardless, he finds himself ordering a shot of the strongest drink available. The glass a quarter inch away from his lips when she reappears.

"Easy there," she says, before ordering the same. He tips the bitter liquid into his mouth and relishes in the burn that makes it way down his throat. "Three times in one month, got to be a record, right?"

"Huh?" He's already signaled the bartender for another drink.

"We've randomly bumped into each other three times in a single month. Also, seriously, those drinks are really strong, trust me. They're a one way ticket to a black void in your memory." She gives him a small smile, and his heart flips.

"That's the plan, love," he says, tipping the second shot.

"Great. Cheers," she says, lifting the small glass in his direction before it makes it's way down his throat. For a moment he's mesmerized by the way her tongue peeks out to lick a couple of drops of the alcohol on her lip. He shakes himself before downing a couple more drinks. He's pretty sure she's ordered and drank just as many.

"So what makes you want to take a ticket to a black void in your memory?" he finds himself asking, his words slurring, when he's pretty sure it's his fifth drink. Could be the seventh too, he's never kept count.

She giggles a bit, which makes his heart ache, before she replies, "Life."

"Cheers to that," he's saying, already feeling a little more alive and a little less like he's being smothered by life itself.

When the bar gets busier and they can't catch the bartender's attention, she's asking him a question that makes him flinch, and suddenly the line of glasses in front of him that are blurring together aren't enough, and he needs more, more, more.

"S-Sh-She's d-dead," he replies, the words getting stuck in his throat, his eyes watering, and he's making his way out, her voice a soft whisper against the screams in his head. When he closes his eyes, he can often still see the way the disease had completely ravaged his mother's body, when it gets too quiet, he can still hear her screams, the shrill noises made as the disease ate away at her bones.

He only realizes he's left the establishment when the cool air hits his face and suddenly he's heaving, puking his guts out, his body shaking. In a split second he's back at the manor, he's kneeling next to his mother's frail body, holding a bucket, and he doesn't even realize when the tears join the vomit. It's only when the brunette witch is running a hand down his back that he realizes that he's screaming himself hoarse and she's making soothing noises.

"I'm so, so sorry," she says when he looks up at her.

"Please make me forget," he pleads, his voice hoarse. He wipes his mouth against the sleeve of his robes before he begs her again. "Please. Make me forget. I, I c-can't."

Suddenly he's tasting strawberry chapstick and the bitter shots he'd just consumed minutes before. It shouldn't be, but it's the best thing he's tasted. And then, just as quickly, there's a quick apology, and she's walking away, and he knows he wants more.

"Spend the night with me," he's requesting, tugging on her arm.

"I-we're both drunk. This isn't wise," she tells him, softly unwrapping his fingers around her wrist.

"Fuck, I don't want to be fucking wise. I," his voice catches for a second, "I know I'm not worth your attention. Just spend the night with me. I won't touch you if you don't want me to. Please, please, please," he's pleading, and then he's in her apartment tasting the bitter strawberry-alcohol mix.

They trip over each other, their clothes slowly falling to the floor, one after another. And then she's screaming his name and he's forgetting in a wholly different way.

When he wakes up the next morning, his head hurts and he feels nauseous. A soft groan next to him brings back flashes of the night before, of smooth curves, and soft lips, and nails raking down his back.

He's trying to memorize her face, the way her bottom lip juts out slightly more than the top, the way her brown eyelashes rest on her cheeks, when he's facing bright, brown eyes instead.

"Hi." His voice is hoarse and she flashes him a smile that sucks all the oxygen out of his lungs, and he wants to tuck away this memory into the safest recesses of his mind, because he knows that this is it, that this is all he gets, all that someone like him will ever get. It's way more than he deserves.

And he knows it's wrong, and his head hurts more than ever but he's still inching his face closer to hers, and when she doesn't move away, he's kissing her again, his fingers making their way to her hair, and she's kissing him back, and then he feels teeth, and he's losing himself in her all over again, and he could die like this; he could live like this.

When they're sweaty and lying down next to each other, he confesses, "You make me want to live again."

She flashes him a brilliant smile and he basks in it, and he feels alive, and he finds himself smiling back, and it's been way too long since his muscled have moved this way, and he can feel it, he knows it, deep in his bones, that she's his, that no matter what, he can live, he will live, if only for her, but he can finally breathe once again.

Three years later, he tastes her strawberry chapstick and their wedding cake and he thinks of one thing only.

Mine.

1370 words

so i wrote this chapter the same day i posted the first chapter (i’m so happy i actually completed this bc tbh after i wrote the first chapter i wasn’t so sure i would actually get around to writing the second one, but i did so i’m proud of myself). the reason i didn’t post both chapters on the same day is to leave all of you in Anticipation. no but fr, bc it’s multi (dual?) chapter, i wanted it to be published separately otherwise it’s just like a one shot separated into half, sort of.

also if any of you have read my other fics, you know that i love writing without using any actual names (esp of characters) and i believe this is the longest fic i’ve written that has not mentioned any character names wholly throughout.

i hope you guys liked it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

~ lots of love!!!

p.s. don’t forget to double-tap & reblog thanks!

p.p.s. sometimes i re-read something i wrote & am genuinely surprised by how well-written it is. if that even makes sense lol

p.p.p.s. this is the first time i posted on ao3 first & then tumblr lol.

[ao3-writer]

Black & White; The Invitation

     Yo, so I’ve decided I will start this series and before anything else, I am going to state that my updates are most likely going to be random, but I will try and post a new chapter at least once a week. This will keep you guys on your toes and (hopefully) not bored. This is entirely told from the 3rd POV, but if you guys/gals would rather it be 1st person, I can do that too.

     Also, I will continued to answer asks and such every now and then, if you want to stick to the consistent updates of this series, I suggest you turn on notifs for me just in case. 

    Don’t forget to vote. I’ll set a limit of 72 to 120 hours (three to five days) from when the fic was originally posted. I’ll throw in a reminder and a time stamp at the end of each update too.

     If I messed up in some way or if something I wrote is alarming and such, don’t hesitate in telling me. I really want this to be a good experience for everyone that reads :)

     How long will the series take? I’m not sure. School’s starting back up again so I hope to finish this before/around October. Maybe. We’ll see. 

    That’s all I have to say on the matter. So, without further ado- Enjoy!

[Side Note: This’ll probably be the most boring chapter bc a lot of intro and such so bear with me on this one, Great.]

 The second the letter slid through their doors, they all felt goosebumps raise. Who even sent letters anymore besides the IRS? Nobody. Except grandparents. But do they ever write to their grandkids anymore?

 Jack was the first one to open his. He tore into it, the curiosity being a normal attribute of his that never stopped him. The actual letter had a red trim along the edge, shiny and fancy. The words were written in big, loopy cursive that could only be predated to that of a fancier age in history.

 Mark stared at his own card, almost startled by how clean it looked. Elegant, some would say. But... for what purpose? He couldn’t tell. The other nine invitees couldn’t figure it out either.

 It was simple. A little invitation to a “fun gathering” of some sort in what appeared to be a small estate upon looking at it, but once up close, it resembled a mansion. The walls pale and brown, the front steps a soft gray that could’ve resembled plastic but it was clay. The road into the estate was neatly paved, as if it was polished clean day in and day out. 

  “I’m sorry.” Mark interrupted the silence of the car ride. “Where exactly are we?”

 The chauffeur look into the rear-view mirror and glanced at Mark and Amy where they sat quietly. 

  “Or... not,” Mark mumbled quietly as he looked back out the tinted windows to see they had entered a set of gates. Multiple cars all came around a large fountain that stood in front of the mansion, the chauffeurs all exited and opened the doors unanimously, like clockwork. 

 Mutters of “thank you’s” and “goodbye” were what was left before the cars drove off in file. The ten invitees all stood at the foot of the steps that led to the great, white doors that awaited them. One by one, they all clambered up in fancy gowns and attires as they reached the doors. A small doorbell called to Mark’s name, he pressed down on it once. Seconds passed before the doors opened majestically to reveal decor that came from a fairytale.

 A sparkling chandelier hung above their heads at a great height, the diamonds and shards of glass that twinkled had them mesmerized. The floor was marble, intricate designs of the most wealthy of symbols and twirls were outlined in different shades of marble. Standing in the center stood a man with slightly tanned skin, almost caramel, his hair swiped to the side magnificently and a smile that reflected his bright white teeth.

  “Welcome. I’m glad you could arrive. How was the ride?” He asked, voice high and cheerful. This set off alarms in Ethan’s head. 

  A chorus of compliments came from the guests and the man spread open his arm, pointing toward an entrance toward what must be a dining room.

  “Right this way, folks.”

 Everyone mumbled and spoke amongst themselves. Their conversations hushed and confused.

 Eventually they found their way into a large room with a long dining table, some small appetizers placed along the narrow path, some people made their way to the table almost immediately.

  “Please, seat yourselves and dig in to what food is there. The main meal will be served in just a moment,” the man said, smile bright and friendly.

  “Is it just me or is this place kinda creepy?” Ethan mumbled to Amy. She shrugged as she popped a shrimp into her mouth.

  “I don’t know, but the food is good,” she said chewing another shrimp that she’s manged to take down. The rest of the guests are all familiar faces that he’s seen and met before. 

 There was Dan and Phil over to the right of him, analyzing the lettuce wraps as if they’d jump and bite them. There was Rosanna, from Nerdy Nummies, talking to Mathew and Stephanie from Game Theory. Signe and Jack were staring at the decorations on the walls behind them. Then Ethan, Amy and Mark hovered next to the dinner table as Amy and Mark ate the food. 

 Ethan had came for Tyler, he had gotten sick and couldn’t make it but gave his invitation happily to Ethan. Which, he now regretted considering he got chills all over the second he got into that car.

  “Please, take a seat. No need to stand and meddle. Let’s get to know each other, how about that?” The Kind-Man asked. Everyone took his advice, finding a seat and sitting down. “I’ll start. I am your host, my name is Lucas and I am newly engaged. I help run a catering business with the love of my life in town.”

 Everyone stares at him and he nods his head over to his right.

  “Oh, uh, my name’s Dan. I know all of you, thank God, and presumably we all do YouTube here? So let’s get that out of the way first. Secondly, I am single and ready to cry.”

 They each go down the table, one by one. Phil was nest, and they followed order until they reached Signe, who sat on Lucas’ left. By the time they finish introducing themselves, as if it wasn’t an everyday normality, a maid and a butler walk in from a swinging door, presumably to the kitchen with trays of food.

 And all of the food that was soon placed on the table was mouth watering. 

  “A toast,” Lucas said, raising his glass before everyone reached simultaneously for trays of food, “to a night of fun surprises and reckless memories.”

 Everyone raised their glass and cheered weakly, before taking a drink and setting them down to start eating. The food was even better than it looked. In just a few minutes, Ro stole half the cornbread and Jack was stuffing himself with all the sausage links on his end of the table. Lucas’ plate seemed almost empty with few contents on it while the rest seemed to have loaded theirs up.

 In the middle of chatter and witty banter, Signe excused herself to go touch up on makeup. She left the table and quietly walked off, asking the maid in the process where the restroom was.

 Down the hall and to the right, she entered, locking the door behind her. She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing she had smudged some of her lipstick and her wing was starting to droop. She snatched a wipe from her clutch, wiping away the rest of her lipstick since they were eating after all. Tried to touch up her wing, scoffing as she did so when she wiped off too much. 

 She spent a good minute or two attempting to reapply it when she heard a knock.

  “Occupied!” She said, trying not too move too much as she came close to finishing. Another harsh knock and she sighed. “Just a minute! I’ll be out soon!”

 Once successfully saving her makeup dilemma, Signe closed her clutch and opened the door. 

  “Jaysus, someone’s impatie--” She began to mumble before being struck on the head. She groaned, hand on her temple where she was hit as she stumbled back into the bathroom. The figure followed her and closed the door behind them, locking it in the process.

 The chatter in the dining room continued, everyone carrying on their conversations happily as they ate, unaware of the sounds of Signe’s sudden despair. As the minutes ticked by and Jack grew lonely, he spoke over everyone else at the table.

  “Hey, can someone check up on Signe?” Jack asked, looking at everyone else. “She’s been gone for a while and I’m just worried she didn’t get lostin this big house.”

 Everyone exchanged glances, many of them silently begging not to leave the amazing food behind.

  “Sure,” Ethan replied after the conversations stopped.

  “No, I’ll go,” Dan said, “I need to use the loo anyway.” The two men stood up almost simultaneously, they stared down one another awkwardly before looking at Jack who suddenly felt the pressure.

 He didn’t understand why this felt like such a big decision. He’s sure Signe’s fine, but he’s just worried. What could he do?

V O T E :  Dan Howell or Ethan Nestor to find Signe

Voting Polls Close in 48 hours (2 days)

[So this is what the voting will end up being like. A scenario is given along with a question. You guys are given two to three options to vote for, do so in the comments/reblog. Don’t just like it. There’s the time limit before I close the polls.]