#it was supposed to be a surprise but my trainer is so considerate and asked how i felt about them and told me when i said i don’t actively

[archangeldyke-all]

ok but imagine injured boxer sevika x physical therapist reader omggggggg 🙇🏾‍♀️🙇🏾‍♀️

omg... i am imagining vividly...

men and minors dni

you're her personal physical therapist-- meaning she pays for you to come to all of her matches, to work with her trainers in the gym to make sure she doesn't injure herself while working out, and to help her recover from every twist, sprain, break and tear she gets.

it didn't start that way. it started with her coming to see you at your sports therapy clinic once a week.

but she liked you. not just personally, but professionally too. you were the first PT she'd been to that seemed to actually listen to her, to take her medical history into consideration when treating her, to help her stretch and heal without it ever really hurting. so over time, she made you part of her team.

she liked you personally too, don't get me wrong.

she was obsessed with you. it became increasingly difficult for her to look you in the eye when you would stretch her, your hands so warm, gripping her so firmly, a concentrated look on your face as you examine her own face for any hint of pain.

nearly every time she meets with you she has to jerk off after.

she takes to closing her eyes when you're touching her-- worried that you'll see the lust in her eyes you so often mistake for discomfort.

she loves that you come to her matches, loves seeing you in the crowd, biting on your lip as you watch her get beaten to a pulp. she knows you're just trying to figure out what she's hurt or pulled, new diagnoses and exercises flashing in your mind as she fights. but sometimes she thinks she catches a bit of lust in your gaze.

what she loves most is when she wins a round and looks out to the crowd in victory, and catches you scrambling from your seat to cheer for her, a grin on your lips.

anyways, it's her off season, and sevika misses you. she's supposed to be recovering, keeping training to a minimum, letting her body rest. unfortunately, that means she doesn't get to see you as often.

she thinks she'll be fine. but when the three week mark rolls around and sevika's only seen you in passing for one or two hours every week, she gives in.

she texts you one late night, pleasantly surprised when you reply immediately.

'shit' she says.

'shit?? what shit??' you write back. she chuckles at your panic.

'went for a jog and twisted my ankle. the bad one. :/'

'fuck sev.' you reply.

then a second later: 'i'm coming over tomorrow. remember RICE!'

'rest, ice, compress, elevate, i know. see u tomorrow.' sevika says, a smile forming on her lips.

what sevika forgets to consider, is that you're a professional, and she's not a good actress.

you sit her down on her couch, poking and prodding at her ankle. she reacts strangely to your initial exam, telling you something hurts one minute but being fine the next. you chalk it up to sevika downplaying her pain, a coping mechanism of hers-- something the two of you have been improving on together.

but when you make her get up and walk back and forth across the living room, you get suspicious. her limp doesn't add up. on one lap around the room, she even limps with the wrong leg. you chuckle from your seat on her couch.

"what?" she asks. you shake your head, motioning her toward the couch. she plops down beside you.

"sevika..." you say. she nods at you. "why are you faking an injury?" you ask. she freezes. "you need to get out of a meeting or something? i'll sign a letter if you need-- don't tell anyone, obviously but--"

"no i--" she laughs, shakes her head and scratches her neck. "it's stupid." she says. you nudge her.

"tell me."

"i missed you." she says. you blink.

"oh." you say. a smile slowly works it's way up your face. "oh."

"shut up." she grunts out. you laugh.

"i missed you too." you say. sevika huffs beside you.

"it's stupid." she grunts. you laugh.

"no it's not! it means we're friends!"

"yeah, but i don't wanna be friends with you!" she says. you blink.

"...okay? i'll leave then. y'know it's okay to make friends from work that's how most adu--" sevika cuts you off with a swift peck to your lips. she leans away with a nervous look in her eye.

you giggle. a lot of things start to make a lot of sense to you, very quickly.

"shut--"

"'s this why you're always making sex faces when i stretch you?" you ask. sevika's jaw drops. your smile grows.

you scramble to crawl in sevika's lap before she can get up from her seat. she sits back in shock as you straddle her legs and rest your hands on her shoulders.

"i mean don't get me wrong it's hot as hell, i just wasn't sure if it was me or your masochistic tendencies." you say. sevika blinks.

"i don't have masochistic tendencies!"

"you get beat up for a living!" you say, laughing. sevika pouts. you lean in and peck her lower lip. her pout disappears as she smiles against your lips. she wraps her arms around your waist.

"i missed you." sevika sighs against your mouth. you grin.

"missed you too." you say.

"you wanna... help me stretch?" sevika asks. you blink down at her.

"was that a come-on?" you ask, bursting into laughter.

"sorry." she groans.

"take me to your bedroom before you turn me off completely." you say, giggling.

she tosses you over her shoulder and sprints to her room.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay

[kourabiedes]

I would love to hear more about Robin, specifically :3 Gimme deets, please!

Oh yeah I guess I should do that

In an out of universe sense, Robin is my particular brand of Juliana. I designed her to fit the experience I had with Scarlet... which basically involved me poking my nose into every. single. corner. of Paldea. She's a hiker, backpacker, and budding photographer, because all those things are what I spent the entirety of my playthrough doing. I think I got like forty hours in before I finally was convinced to stop fucking around and go for the non-Path of Legends badges. A lot of the DLC I did as wing-sister to @the-starkindler, who was playing Violet, and we developed a lengthy headcanon winding the two versions together using our respective characters -- you know, like an Emerald version. This bit is key because it means there are two bike-dragons running around Paldea and the Academy, instead of being represented by one fruit, is more of a basket of them. (Insert jokes here.)

I'm going to put a cut here, because I have a lot to say about my silly girl. Beware all who enter here, for there are OC headcanons afoot.

In-universe, Robin is an established student at the Naruva academy, in her second year, arriving sometime after the Team Star dust-up. She is Kalosian, from somewhere in the vague area of Anistar City (if you don't remember your Kalos locations, that's the place with the big red sundial). She's an introvert who grew up in a family of extroverts, and, as you can imagine, that need for a moment of peace fueled her early interest in backpacking. This got markedly worse when the little sisters started arriving. She has five younger sisters, all between the ages of eight and four at the time of her second year. For context, she's going on sixteen at that point.

(I love my little sister dearly, but she alone was almost enough to send me howling into the wilderness. Five of those? Yeah, Robin's a backpacking pro for a reason.)

At ten (because that's such a sane age to do this), Robin's mom nudged her out the door to do the traditional Kalos Gym circuit. Robin came home from that with a level 100 Espurr, several memory cards' worth of pictures of Kalos, and like, two badges. Her mom wasn't overly surprised.

This is kinda how Robin is. She doesn't want to be a powerful Trainer for the sake of being powerful. She makes herself strong so that she can easily do whatever it is she actually wants to do, which is See All The Things. She's not real worried about whether those Things are supposed to be Off-Limits or not, either. So, as you can imagine, she's fascinated by the stories of the mysterious and/or off-limits places of the world. Cerulean Cave. Mount Silver. Mirage Island. The Great Crater of Paldea.

So when her mom suggests Naruva Academy for her, well, she leaps at the chance. Mom figures hey, her kid may be a little odd, but she clearly has a way with Pokemon, and she's sharp, so send the kid to a good school and see what develops. Robin, on the other hand, is plotting her first Great Crater expedition within seconds of the conversation.

Does this mean she's in and out of the Great Crater a lot? Well, not really, though it's not for lack of trying. The Great Crater really is hard to get into without a flying Pokemon at the very least, and the strength of the wild Pokemon there is considerable. She never gets very far in before having to turn back for simple survival. Nevertheless, she's determined to see the bottom of it someday. (Also she does have to attend classes, which cuts into her exploring time severely. Gotta keep dem grades up or mom might pull her home! The grades net her a Tera Orb though, so hell yeah.)

One question that could be asked is, did she know the Paldea Pals before, since she's an established student? Well, yes and no. She knows of Arven, because the poor guy is utterly overshadowed at this point by his shitlord parents. She knows of Nemona -- there probably isn't anyone in the school who doesn't, to be utterly fair. She doesn't really have any opinion on either. They run in different circles, and the most she's interacted with either is whenever Nemona pounced on her looking for a battle. (Yes, she accepted. No, she never won!)

So how does she get pulled into the Scarlet story? Well, one weekend, while she was out chilling with her Pokemon in the wilds of Paldea, there was a really loud sonicboom overhead, and a few minutes later, a tired-looking red lizard Pokemon walked into her campsite. Like most people, she assumed he was a rare breed of Cyclizar at first, because who expects an ancient legendary Pokemon to just waltz into your life and ask for a sandwich? He's injured, but not badly, and she has the brilliant idea to take him back to the Academy with her and see if the teachers can help. She cuts her picnic short and does just that. No problem, right? Nothing life changing about that.

As you have no doubt guessed, the sonicboom was Miraidon fleeing the crater after being attacked by his nasty counterpart. Koraidon, in this melded universe, was brought over as well before <redacted>, and he and the Miraidon actually bonded and are buddies. When Mirai ran for his life, Kori tried to follow, but he's not as fast and had to land. (Miraidon has that jet butt, after all.)

From here, she gets enmeshed in the Scarlet and Violet storylines -- or, well, some of them anyway. The storylines are divided between her and Mirai's rider Alanna. They sort of swap between player one and player two frequently. Robin was involved the most with the DLC stories and Starfall Street. She was the one Ogerpon chose as a partner (maybe it was all that little sister experience!), and she ended up with Chien-Pao out of the four Treasures. (This is not quite as cool as it sounds. Pao just wants to PLAY. All the fuckin time.)

Let's see, what else. Oh, she has a massive crush on Perrin (unrequited), and though she starts out wanting to shove Carmine into the river, they bond over time and Robin kiiiinda thinks she's cute. (Does this count as Carmine x Juliana shipping? Probably not lmao)

Tl;dr, my Scarlet character is pretty fun.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 153.2: Painting (Part 2)

Sorry for the wait, loves! You can start with Part 1 if you'd like.

Having Harry Potter's eyes on him again after all this time was surreal. His gaze, his scrutiny was a tangible thing and Draco could feel the weight and heat of his gaze like fingers on his body.

Draco had been a model for art classes before but it had never felt like this. It had never felt so strangely intimate like he was baring his soul instead of just his body.

Today, Potter was sitting directly in front of him and he'd spent nearly the entire class focusing on his feet, calves, and ankles. Which was fair, he supposed, since he was sitting on the ground, right leg drawn over his left as he slipped his foot into soft-soled ballet shoe. The look of concentration and frustration on his handsome face shouldn't be as attractive as it was.

Then again, Draco had spent years trying desperately to get that sort of attention from Potter when they were kids, maybe it wasn't too illogical.

When the bell rang to indicate the end of the session Potter blew out a loud breath and shoved his glasses up into his hair to scrub at his eyes.

Draco forced himself to look away and started stretching out all of the aches and the pins and needles that came from sitting still for so long.

Matilda tittered over Potter's art and Draco wondered if he ever got sick of people treating him like that. He couldn't help but look over at him again as he rubbed at the knot in his neck.

Potter finally looked up, as though he could feel Draco's eyes on him, and their eyes caught and held, and something sparked in the depth of those green eyes that had fascinated Draco since he was eleven years old.

Potter broke eye contact to turn his attention back to Matilda and Draco looked away, too, starting to move and stand.

"Hey," Potter said and Draco looked up again to see that Potter was standing in front of him.

(Read more below the cut)

"Hi," he replied, surprised. Potter hadn't spoken to him since the first class on Monday, granted today was only Friday, but Draco had sort of assumed they were done with any semblance of communication.

"Are you alright?" Potter ask, gesturing to the way Draco was still kneading his neck.

He nodded, "Fine. Just a little stiff, I fell asleep over my text book last night," he confessed for some unknown reason, "Sitting still that long didn't really help."

"Do you already have lunch plans?"

He raised an eyebrow at Potter, "I have to drop off my rent."

Potter frowned, "That's not eating lunch."

"It's the most important thing for me to do so I don't get kicked out of my flat," he said, shrugging, and not telling Potter that he was currently deciding on whether paying his rent or eating was more important.

"Do you want to get lunch after?" he asked.

He shook his head, "I'm not sure-"

"You don't have to pay for it," Potter offered quickly, recognizing the root of the problem in spite of Draco's efforts.

Shame and embarrassment broiled hot in his gut and he felt that infernal blush heat his skin. "Potter, I am not in need of your rescuing today," he sniffed as he started to walk away.

"I could make some lunch, then," Potter offered, sounding a touch desperate.

"Why?" Draco asked, still feeling prickly and like he'd rather do anything than what Potter wanted him to do. "Why is this so important to you?"

Potter shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed a trainer over the floor, "Dunno," he muttered. "I just," he shrugged awkwardly, "thought it was nice to chat on Monday," he offered.

"It's not some desperate need to save someone?" he asked.

Shaking his head, Potter looked up at him, "Are you in need of saving?"

"No." He sighed, "fine. Let me pay my rent and we'll have lunch."

Potter perked up considerably at that, "I have the ingredients for stew and I baked a loaf of crusty bread yesterday. Does that sound good?"

It sounded heavenly, to be honest. He nodded, "Sure."

"Great!" Potter enthused, smiling brightly at him. "Here," he said, spinning around to rip out a sheet of paper from his sketchpad. "Here's my address," he said, scribbling it down, "and my mobile number."

He reached out and took the paper from him, "Thanks."

Potter nodded and moved to start packing up, "Just come over whenever you're ready," he said, turning to smile at Draco over his shoulder.

"Alright," he said weakly, watching as Potter shoved his pencil through his bun.

"See you soon," Potter said, as he shrugged on his coat and threw his bag over his shoulder, "I'll just go get everything ready."

"See you," he said. He watched as Potter headed toward the door and only turned when Matilda approached him with an envelope in hand.

"Hello there," she said, smiling at him, "Great job this week."

"Thank you," he said, accepting the envelope that held the cash he needed for his rent. "Thanks for the opportunity," he said, even as he glanced toward the door again.

"He's something, isn't he?" she asked knowingly.

From the outside, he was sure that this just looked like two old classmates catching up, not people who'd been sucked into opposite sides of a war far too young. "It's complicated."

"Isn't it always?"

Draco sighed, "I suppose."

"Well all I know is that he's never taken an interest in anyone the way he has in you."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

She lifted her hands in surrender. "I'm just saying, this is the fourth class he's taken here and he's always polite to everyone, listens to what they have to say, but keeps to himself for the most part. I've already heard him say more in the past week that you've been here than I've heard in the past five months."

He wasn't quite sure what to say to that because truth be told, he didn't understand Potter's attitude toward him either.

"All I'm saying," she continued, "is that I'm glad you're here. For Harry's sake as much as ours."

"Thank you," he said, humbled and uncertain.

She patted him on the hand, "I've got to check in with Arty. See you Monday?"

He nodded and went to get changed, thinking that things might be starting to look up.

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

He ought to have know that it was a feeling that couldn't last, ought to have realized from a lifetime of experience that anytime it felt like things were starting to get under control everything was about to come crashing down around him.

Draco checked the address on the paper one more time because it seemed like this adorable little home with a front garden that would be lovely come spring and a cobblestone walkway couldn't possibly belong to Harry Potter. But if the address was to be believed, it was his home.

He walked up the front walk and knocked on the door.

"It's open," Potter called and so he stepped through. "I'll be right there," he added and Draco heard the beeping of a timer being set.

Draco took off his coat and hung it up in the little closet before peeling of his wet boots and setting them on the boot rack.

Potter appeared in the entry way a moment later, "Sorry, I was just putting a cake in the oven," he said. "You still like chocolate, right?" he asked as though he was actually concerned about it.

"Yes," he replied.

Potter stared at him for a long moment, "What is it?" he asked.

"Sorry?"

"Something's happened-"

He waved him off, "Don't worry about it. Thank you for having me for lunch."

He was quiet again before apparently deciding to let it drop, "Well, come in," he said, heading inward. "Make yourself at home."

"Potter," he said, looking around at the cozy living room with a soft, thick carpet; and a fireplace with wood crackling away; and cozy, squishy sofas and chairs with warm throw blankets, "You have a lovely home."

"Oh," he said, glancing around, "Thank you. I'd been living in Grimmauld until about four months ago and I realized it was making me absolutely miserable. So I bought this place."

"Did it come like this?" he asked, as they headed into the kitchen that had warm, dark wood cupboards and a matching table and chairs.

Potter shook his head, "No. But I don't have a job and doing projects has been really good for me. I built these cabinets," he added, nodding to the cabinets lining the walls, "and the table and chairs."

"Wow," Draco said, impressed in spite of himself.

Potter shrugged, "Everyone has the things they're good at." Then he opened a muggle refrigerator, "I have water, milk, and apple cider, what would you like?"

"Cider?"

"Good choice," he affirmed as he took out the jug and poured Draco a glass. "How are your classes going?" he asked as he slid the cup over to Draco.

And this was something Draco could talk about without reservation. As Potter sliced the bread and dipped the stew, Draco told him about his classes, about the time he'd spent learning and observing already.

From there things seemed a easier, Potter asked him questions throughout lunch and then in the living room curled up on opposite ends of the sofa with a warm cup of tea. He was a surprisingly good listener and Draco found himself telling him about everything.

Right up until he said, "And now I'm just not really sure how I'm going to make everything work," and then promptly wished for the words back.

"What do you mean?" Potter asked.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, "My landlord just told me that rent was increasing," he said. "And I already work a part time job as a bartender four nights a week and I pick up extra things like the modeling gig, but it's just not enough." He shook his head, "I don't know what to do. I might have to drop out for a semester so I can save up enough-"

"Fuck that," Potter said.

His head snapped up to look at him, "Sorry?"

"No," he said firmly. "Look, just," he scratched his beard, "Come stay with me. I have an extra bedroom, I own the house so you don't have to pay rent."

"I couldn't possibly-"

"You could help pay for food and utilities if you wanted," he offered like it was a compromise. "Come on," he said, "Even if it's just for a little while so you can save up enough for a different place. What have you got to lose? If you don't want to see me, you won't have to," he added. "There's a back door and a back set of stairs, you can have the bedroom on that side of the house."

"Potter, you're being ridiculous."

"No, Draco," he said, "You're being ridiculous. What have you got to lose?"

"You hate me," he said, because that was the truth, because they'd been rivals for years.

Potter looked at him like he had an extra head, "I don't hate you."

"But I did all of those horrible things," he said.

"You were a child," Potter said calmly, "A child who was threatened with death for you and the ones you loved. I meant what I said at your trial; you aren't responsible for the things that happened to you."

He was quiet for a moment, biting his thumb nail, "Are you certain?"

Harry nodded, "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

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

Part 1 | Part 3

[spiderlilyserendipity]

Obviously, pretty!

JJK x female reader

Tags: established relationship, rainy day sex, washing dishes together, soft domestic things yk, probably the most vanilla smut i’ve ever written on this account hahaha thank u for cleansing my mind with ur request anon, forehead kisses, i didn’t need to tag that but i Needed to tag that u feel me?

Warnings: none

WC: 2137

If there’s anything you know about your boyfriend, it’s that if he can’t go to the gym, he will pout all day.

After going too hard in dance practice, Jungkook ends up too sore to go to the gym one day. His trainer must’ve heard from the choreographer that Jungkook overdid himself, which is why Jungkook’s trainer told him their session for today was cancelled.

“What am I supposed to dooo if I can’t work out on my day off!” Jungkook complains, wrapping his arms around your waist as you wash dishes.

“You could help your wife clean the house.” You joke, knowing it’s your turn to wash dishes anyway since Jungkook made breakfast (or rather brunch) this morning.

You feel Jungkook smile, his cheek fluffing up where it’s pressed against yours. His face gets a little hot whenever you call yourself his wife, but you know he likes it. The two of you are college sweethearts, starting to date in secret shortly after meeting in first year. Fast forward six years and everything has changed. Your doe-eyed college boyfriend is no longer just an idol but part of the most successful band in the world. And not only that, he’s getting a master’s in business, a slightly confusing decision but one that you respect nonetheless.

You yourself have changed, too. You’re now a business woman, working in a skyscraper in Seoul, and doing considerably well for being only two years out of college. You make good money, and Jungkook does too, and you share this high-rise apartment together. Every year, you and Jungkook sneak away to Busan at least once or twice to meet his parents and your own parents have already begun asking when they’re getting grandchildren. So it’s safe to say it’ll only be a matter of time until Jungkook puts a ring on it anyway.

No one knows, but that’s what makes it special.

“Can’t do that.” Jungkook answers, pretending like your flirting didn’t affect him.

You smile as you rinse another plate off. “Why’s that?”

“It’s raining. If I do work while it rains I’ll get sleepy.” Jungkook pouts.

You laugh, rinsing a cloth under the tap and putting it in his hand. “Go wipe down the stovetop. It should be cold by now.”

Obediently, Jungkook lets go of you to do as you said. But you realize he hasn’t let the joke go when he pouts at you. “Okay, work done. Let’s go lay down.”

“Baby, you’ve literally done concerts in the rain.” You tell him.

“I don’t even do concerts. I’m a business major.” Jungkook lies unconvincingly, his cheeks turning pink. You giggle, finishing up the last of the dishes.

“Fine, you big baby. Let’s go lay down.” You take his hand and lead him back to the bedroom. Jungkook shuts the door behind you. You take off the sweatshirt you were wearing to wash dishes (one of Jungkook’s), tossing it aside.

“Babe, that’s not neat!” Jungkook insists, but you whirl around and quiet him with a long kiss.

“You didn’t ask me to come here to do our laundry, Jungkookie. You and I both know that.” You tell him. Jungkook bites his lip, looking at your pretty lips.

“I guess that’s true.” He grins, and you grin back.

You wrap your arms around his neck and Jungkook leans down, picking you up into his arms with ease. You wrap your legs around his waist as he bounces you in place slightly, hands cupping your ass softly. You love many things about Jungkook, but you especially love how special he makes you feel each time.

Jungkook lays you down like a newlywed bride, pressing soft kisses on your cheeks, forehead, even your nose.

You giggle at him and he smiles down at you, warm and safe and entirely Jungkook. “I love you.” You whisper, stroking your thumb along his cheekbone, admiring that little scar on his cheek for the millionth time.

“Not as much as I love you.” Jungkook says, laying himself down on top of you and starting to kiss you again, this time with more passion.

“Hhh, Jungkook.” You whimper, tangling a hand in his hair.

When you separate this time, Jungkook sits up to take off his shirt. You run your hand down his sculpted abdomen, over his sweet, pretty waist and his toned stomach. You sit up to kiss along his chest, making him hiss as you make love marks in places his shirt will cover. No one knows, except you two. And you love it like that.

Jungkook tucks his hands under the light tank top you’re wearing, making you gasp at how cold his hands are. Jungkook laughs under his breath at your reaction. “I told you rainy days are bad for me.”

“Well that’s why I’m here to warm you up.” You joke, which makes Jungkook giggle.

“What would I do without you?” He says exaggeratedly, but his eyes tell you he means it. With that, Jungkook begins kissing along your neck as he works your tank top up. Since it’s just the two of you, you seldom wear a bra around the house. You moan as Jungkook pulls the tank top over your head, then in one swift motion presses you down into the bed.

Jungkook slots his thigh between your legs as he starts kissing you lower. He licks and bites gently at your nipples, making you writhe in pleasure. You watch through half-lidded eyes as he makes love marks on the tops of your breasts and around them, kissing down your stomach to your shorts.

He glances up at you for consent, and you nod.

He pulls your shorts and panties off in one clean movement, tossing them to the side despite having just told you to be neater. You grin at Jungkook’s eagerness, but the smile slides off your face when Jungkook wraps his lips around your clit.

Slowly, Jungkook gets you wetter and wetter until your inner thighs are shiny with arousal. Only when you’re whimpering does Jungkook insert his fingers into you, one to ease you and then a second to stretch you. Even after all this time, Jungkook pays special attention to your body.

He’s so slow and gentle today that you actually get a bit needy. “Jungkookie.” You sigh. Jungkook sits up, knowing that you’re already close.

“I know, baby. You’re doing so well.” Jungkook praises, kissing you all over, down your neck and along your collarbone. You watch as Jungkook takes his sweats and underwear off, then grabs a bottle of lube from the bedside drawer. You stopped using condoms when you moved in together (around two years ago) since you’re on birth control. Jungkook always has you ready to take him after some foreplay, but he’s told you he dislikes doing it without lube.

You watch Jungkook lube himself up, then align himself to your entrance. He places one palm on the side of your waist, kissing you quickly on the forehead. “Ready?” He checks with you again. You nod.

You pant quietly as Jungkook enters, both from arousal and his size. It has been years since you did this together for the first time, but Jungkook’s size is always a surprise to you somehow. You like to be stubborn and say you don’t need lube to take him, but you both know you’d need at least a bit for his size.

You pull him in even closer, burying his head in your shoulder. As he bottoms out, you moan his name quietly.

Jungkook smirks, knowing he has you in the palm of his hand. You pull him in for a kiss, this one full of tongue and passion. Jungkook feels your desperation and lets you have control for a moment, just to let you burn off steam. But then, he’s angling his head in and pressing you into the pillow, and you don’t stand a chance under how good he’s making you feel.

“Baby, I need it.” You beg breathlessly. Jungkook smiles faintly at your shyness to say the word “come” in bed, even after all this time.

“Need what, baby?” He teases you, knowing full well you’ll never use dirty talk unless he pushes you to that point. You whine at his teasing. Jungkook kisses your shoulder. “I’m kidding. I know my pretty girl is too shy for words like that.”

“I’m not shy!” You protest shyly. “We-We’re having sex right now! I’m not shy at all!”

Jungkook snorts. “Great observation, genius. Any other amazingly dirty comments?”

You’re starting to squirm under Jungkook’s intense gaze, knowing you always lose at this game. “I want to have a baby!” You announce.

Jungkook laughs. “Give me time to buy a ring at least.”

You’re shocked. “Really?” You ask, eyes wide like someone who Christmas came early for.

Jungkook flicks your nipple with one hand, making you cry out. “Obviously, pretty.” He says confidently, making you think he’s thought about it before. You blush and Jungkook looks at you like you’re an angel he’s captured in his own hands. “Now if you’re done being raunchy and nasty, can we get off? My hips were already sore but having a conversation in this position is even worse than the gym.”

“Baby!” You gasp, scandalized.

Jungkook pretends to look scandalized too. “I said let me buy a ring first!”

You groan into his shoulder, knowing he won again. Jungkook laughs, then starts to pick up the pace of his thrusts.

You let out little strings of moans and pants as Jungkook continues to fill you up and make you feel good. You wrap your arms around Jungkook’s back, holding him close as he fucks into you. You tilt your head back and close your eyes at the pleasure. All you hear are Jungkook’s moans and the rain falling outside your window. At one moment, you wonder if it’s cold out, but then you realize it doesn’t matter. You’re warmer than anything else in Jungkook’s strong arms.

“J-Jungkook--” You feel the pleasure building, about to come.

“I know, baby.” Jungkook says, laying you down all the way again and holding you under his weight as he picks up his pace. Jungkook looks at you, watching your face tighten at every euphoric thrust. “Doing so well baby, almost there. Fuck, my pretty girl.” He showers you in praise and kisses, words falling from his mouth so fast you know he isn’t filtering any of his thoughts at the moment. You love that too, you love everything about him.

Finally, Jungkook’s hips begin to stutter, and he reaches down to rub your clit. You arch your back as you come, Jungkook filling you up shortly after. As you come down from your highs, Jungkook rolls over onto his side, still inside you. He spoons you, tugging the covers on top for a quiet moment.

You find it surprising since Jungkook is quite fussy about cleanliness, wanting to get you in the shower and to air out the room relatively soon after sex. But today he doesn’t even slip his cock out of you, choosing to be nestled deep inside you. It feels warm, but you like it.

“K-Kookie. Why aren’t we getting cleaned up?” You ask.

Jungkook smiles at your tone with his eyes closed. “If you want to get pregnant we have to keep the come inside, don’t we?” He says. You smack his arms which are wrapped around your waist, making him chuckle.

Jungkook cranes his head to make eye contact with you. You look at his sweaty bangs which Jungkook pushed back from his face near the end but fell back onto his forehead messily anyway. It’s the most beautiful sight you know. “Just kidding. I’m just tired today. We’ll shower after resting for a bit, unless you don’t like this.”

You realize now that Jungkook must truly be exhausted from work yesterday. You cup his face, stroking it quietly. “I don’t… hate it.” You admit.

Jungkook’s eyes darken. “Watch your words, pretty girl.” He warns you. “I only have so much self-control and your dad will beat my ass if I get you pregnant without putting a ring on it.”

“Do you really have to go and mention my dad right now?” You whine. “And anyway, no one can beat your ass. You’re 6 feet of solid muscle and have a sleeve tattoo, no one would try.”

Jungkook laughs. “Okay fair, no more mentioning my father-in-law from now on.” He says, making you groan in complaint again. Jungkook smiles fondly at you. “But you know I meant that, right? I want to marry you someday and have kids and all that. I don’t know when, since you and I are so busy, but maybe when things slow down we can. Okay?”

You snort. “Obviously, pretty!"

[ushidoux]

Be My Last - Iwaizumi x  Reader (Pt. 3)

Summary: You have trouble getting over a past relationship and it’s preventing you from moving forward. (~2.5k words)

Warnings: again poor communication!!! angst, no sex in this chapter

A/N: Let me know what you think!

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

---

“Oi, you fucking bastard, you knew!”

Iwa losing his temper over the phone wasn’t exactly atypical, even if it had become a less frequent occurrence, but for once Oikawa was actually genuinely surprised to hear his friend this angry over the phone. Especially given that it was almost 2pm in San Juan, which made it the very early AM in Tokyo, so whatever had worked him up had also kept him up way past his bedtime, given that Iwa was now extremely careful about his sleep hygiene. 

Oikawa took enough time to properly swallow the bite he’d just taken of his choripan before answering.

“What did I know, Iwa-chan?” He finally inquired, setting down his sandwich in the wrapper spread across his lap before leaning back into the park bench on which he was sitting. It was a wonderful sunny day, the type of day where it was a shame you were being yelled at, he mused briefly.

“About ___ and Ushijima.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows furrowed, not that Iwa could see the confusion on his face. There was a short pause which Oikawa broke eventually.

“Am I missing something or…?” His genuinely confused tone didn’t serve in any way to make Iwa less irritated.

“You didn’t say anything!” He hissed loudly enough that Oikawa winced, holding his cellphone a good distance from his ear before answering. “You used to tell me about that motherfucker’s every move, and now that it’s useful information, you have nothing to say?”

Oikawa frowned.

“Why are you blaming me for your communication issues, Iwa-chan?!” He all but whined.

When Iwa’s voice grew silent on the other line, Oikawa grew slightly nervous. But he was right. This was a particularly severe lapse in communication between Iwa and you that he was now projecting onto him, severe because clearly it had ended up being a bigger deal than it should have been in the first place.

As much as Iwa didn’t want to admit it, yesterday evening was evidence that something was very, very wrong in his relationship with you, or at the very least a residual tangled web of feelings to sort out, and it wasn’t exactly something he could easily fix or improve on his own. 

Not that he wouldn’t try. 

“What happened?” Oikawa finally asked, and Iwa retreated.

“Nothing. I’ll… talk to you later.”

The phone cut off on Iwa’s end and Oikawa sighed with mild irritation before returning to his lunch thousands of miles away.

On the other side of the globe, Iwa made his way from the balcony to the bedroom, setting his phone down on the nightstand and taking a glance at you who had appeared to be finally sleeping soundly, but betrayed by the intermittent soft hiccups of someone who had been crying just moments earlier. 

He hadn’t meant to make you cry. In fact, he hadn’t even meant to force another discussion at all, but hours after the last guests had filed out, none the wiser about the fight that had just transpired earlier (even if Hinata had made a single innocent comment about the bruise blooming on Ushijima’s cheek), the elephant in the room had grown entirely too large for him to bear. Unfortunately, the simple demand for clarification had spiraled out of control and ended up with a shouting match which had culminated in you bursting into tears.

It wasn’t a good look for him to behave like this. 

Even so, Iwa couldn’t stop thinking about how the subject of your argument had replied to his grumbled apology with the admission that he probably deserved the hit for all he’d done. Somehow, the persistent remorse in his voice made Iwa consider hitting him a second time for good measure. 

That wouldn’t be the right move either. There wasn’t really a right move, was there? All Iwaizumi could do was hope that everything would blow over. 

You loved him after all; he was sure of it.

---

you knew, didn’t you?

knew what?

You grit your teeth at the quickly returned text message, then set your phone down at your desk letting out a hushed but aggravated sigh, before picking it up again and typing furiously. 

you texted me, ‘how’s everything going?’ right before all that shit happened.

that could mean literally anything??? What???

You didn’t know how much longer your friend was going to feign innocence, but it looked like not very long because once your eyes flitted back to the unfinished project proposal you had been working on, your phone quickly buzzed again. 

By the time you had told her what happened this morning on your morning commute to work, she had grown a little too quiet, interjecting very little as you spoke and not asking any clarifying questions. You had assumed that she had just been being extra considerate, but now that it was early afternoon and there was a lull in your concentration, it occurred to you again just how clearly she must have anticipated the awkward situation.

YOU said you didn’t follow sports anymore + it’s been 3 years. HOW was I supposed to know you were going to overreact?

Overreact?

There was a small pause in which you saw her speech bubble pop up and then down, and then up again.

Not overreacting I guess, but I’m just confused… Don’t you and Iwa talk? How did it become a huge deal?

You decided you didn’t really have an answer to that. All you could do was return a noncommittal idk, letting the conversation die out and returning back to the task at hand.

---

“Mommy, why does he look like that?”

Ushijima glanced for a split second at the small child pointing openly at him, giving a small, understanding nod to the mortified mother trying to quiet her son’s whispers before continuing on his way back to his hotel.

His face didn’t exactly throb anymore, but the bruise he had been gifted with was very noticeable even if he had to be thankful he didn’t have a black eye. Iwa had hit him surprisingly hard, which was good. At the very least, he could count on him to protect you.

Getting hit in the face by your athletic trainer wasn’t ideal but he and Iwaizumi were both professionals. They could put it past them.

Even if they didn’t have a deep friendship, there was a sort of camaraderie since they’d met in California years ago. That relationship didn’t have to sour, he told himself. 

He just needed to give you two a wide berth. 

Even if he didn’t want to, he had to. It was the right, mature thing to do. 

Even if he didn’t miss on the court, he’d missed a crucial set in life. 

He had no right to demand a second chance.

---

You hadn’t traveled home alone in a while, you realized, as you set pace towards your apartment after a long shift. The subway was cramped as usual, but the closeness of the quarters felt more noticeable and uncomfortable now that Iwa’s hand wasn’t holding yours and keeping you close to him. He’d messaged you about an hour before you were about to leave work to give you a heads up that he would be returning late, and for a moment, you wondered if it were really true or if he was still mad at you.

But you knew Iwa well enough to be confident that he didn’t hold grudges, and if he were still uncomfortable he would tell you - he would never actively avoid you. 

Then again, you hadn’t had a conflict like this before.

I don’t love him, I only love you, you’d said to him almost screaming, defensive because Iwa’s voice had sounded hurt when you failed to come up with the words to explain why you were so shaken still.

You’d meant that with your whole heart. So why exactly did you react so poorly? 

Maybe it was the final death rattle of unresolved feelings, rearing their ugly head before being banished to whatever realm past hurts went once they were healed.

When you finally made it to your apartment, you stood for a moment at the entryway after flipping the light switch, taking a couple of seconds to blink away the fact that things didn’t look quite right. 

For a moment, you couldn’t remember exactly when you had replaced your TV - was that before or after Ushijima? Had that couch always been in that position? 

Fatigue even made you wonder where your houseplants had gone, until you remembered you had all but given them all away, telling yourself that those last vestiges of your relationship would have to vanish before you could truly count yourself moved on.

Now that the plants were gone, were you truly over it?

You let out a sigh and set your keys down before shooting a message to Iwa to let him know that you had made it home. That proposal wouldn’t write itself, and you could tackle it anew once you’d treated yourself with a warm bath and a modest glass of wine.

---

Seated in his soon-to-be minimally used office, Iwaizumi leafed through the short stack of papers before him, including prior athletic history and a formal written statement from the team physician. Satisfied, he gathered the documents and gently pushed them across the desk towards the silent, patiently waiting athlete sitting across from him.

“It looks like you’re cleared for practice tomorrow,” he said, offering a measured smile to Ushijima.

“Not that I expected any issues,” Iwa continued, compelled to keep speaking from the lack of response from the man before him. While he didn’t exactly sense hostile energy from Ushijima, it seemed like he was even more difficult to read than usual. 

Then again, Iwa was unsure if he was projecting; he acknowledged that prior to this very moment in time, he had been more standoffish than usual, having avoided unnecessary interaction with Ushijima during the day’s orientation activities.

He took a surreptitious glance at the wall clock above his head. There were only two more members to clear after Ushijima and then he’d be done for the day and could go back home to you, maybe picking up sushi on the way home as a peace offering.

Ushijima didn’t exactly look like he was getting ready to leave, but Iwa hadn’t explicitly dismissed him.

The two sat in an awkward silence and Iwa wondered if he should apologize again to settle the stagnant air between them, not knowing that the man before him was considering the exact same thing. 

What happens now? seemed to be the question du jour.

“How’s your father?” Iwa asked abruptly, shifting in his chair and leaning forward on elbows propped onto the desk, maybe a little too forward, in attempts to keep his mind off the fact that the volleyball player before him had also played with his love’s heart.

“He’s been well. Thank you for asking.”

Another pause ensued and Iwa was running out of ways to tell him politely to get out of his office for his next client, but for once Ushijima was the one to break the silence.

“I want us to have a good working relationship despite everything.”

The statement hung in the air for a second before settling and Iwa could feel irritation start to bubble in the pit of his stomach once again, but instead he forced a pleasant smile.

“Of course.”

---

With feet tucked beneath you, your laptop perched on the glass coffee table and a half-drunk glass of white wine (refilled once) atop the end table next to the couch, the sad truth was that you had only written about five lines in the past 45 minutes. 

Instead, against all the advice you’d ever been given in your life, you had sleuthed your way into your ex’s Instagram and Facebook accounts, gleaning as much information as you could about what had happened after you were two, after you’d blocked him cold turkey on every social media application and vowed never to look back.

As expected, the pictures and life updates he posted were few and far between, but there were still some to learn from, especially when you looked through those snapshots taken by others in his life. You were initially surprised to see old pictures of you together still up if you went back far enough, but clicked past them quickly because the fact that you looked so happy was more irritating than sad at this point of time. 

You took another sip of your wine, feeling a soft warmth in your cheeks and a light pleasant haze fill your head while you kept perusing. Some pictures you recognized from his prior team here, Schweiden Adlers, and then there were other promotional images from a new team, Orzel Warsawa... He had even traveled to Poland without your knowledge, you mused.

You took special note of women he looked all too close to for friendship as you browsed, noting a gorgeous, tall blonde in several pictures he appeared to have dated for a brief stint of a couple of months.

1 short relationship in three years. It was a shame, you thought. They could have had the prettiest kids.

And there, you finally realized your internal monologue was crazy. Why were you doing this again?

You threw back the final bit of wine and switched back to your Word document. Maybe writing while a little tipsy wasn’t the best of ideas but any words on the page were better than none.

…

It didn’t take long for you to doze off and your boyfriend to find you sprawled on your belly on the sofa, your glass empty and precariously placed at the edge of the sofa, and your laptop placed just inches above your head.

Iwa’s smile was immediate as he admired your silly position while setting down dinner, quickly walking over to gather you up for bed.

You murmured slightly as he scooped you into his arms, your face instinctively nuzzling his chest. He couldn’t help but think of how cute you were, kissing your forehead softly before tucking you under the covers. You had been so exhausted lately from work, so he’d let you get some early shuteye rather than disturb your peace.

Leaving the bedroom to eat dinner alone on the couch, he noted your laptop in suboptimal location, moving it to the table before sitting down to avoid a future accident.

It flashed on with the slight movement, revealing a lengthy document with heavy blocks of text, which he saved just in case because autosave failure would bring you to tears. He then clicked out, only to see the results of your cyberstalking session.

His heart may have skipped a beat or two but he closed your laptop instead, leaning back into his chair to finish eating dinner.

The uneasiness that filled his stomach instead had to be related to the raw fish he’d brought home. 

There was simply no other explanation, couldn’t be.

[mephew-j]

okay now I'm curious about all the Pokemon headcanon stuff you got 👀

Oh, dear.

Right. Didn´t think anyone would be interested. Thought this was just another story for myself.

But I´ll gladly tell ya what my brain got up with so far (and what my time allows me to write - I´m not done yet!). =)

Also sorry for taking so long but I have been chipping away each evening after work as I wanted to give a proper answer. But then I received my second Covid-vaccination on Monday and I didn´t take it too well and felt horrible on Tuesday. But I´m good again. =)

Ok, so it´s literally a persona AU in the Pokemon world which doesn´t have a name - yet at least - located in a new region due to me wanting to have Pokemon that don´t all exist in the same region.

So there´s the ME! Persona – a human girl/woman who moved to a more rural part of the region with her mother when she was younger when her parents decided to split up.

There she went to a normal grammar school and made a small amount of friends while her mother found an office job at the local breeder´s facility that provides the professor of this region – Dr. Primrose – with starters. And like literally every other child she was fascinated by Pokemon and dreamt about becoming a Pokemon trainer after school. Really basic stuff this far.

But when her friends and her graduated she found herself doubting to be ripe to becoming a trainer at the age of 10. She simply didn´t feel ready to be on her own yet.

So as her friends left to become trainers she stood behind alone.

Her mother told her not to worry too much and to proceed school instead giving her an advantage over the others her age one day. And so she did.

She attended and finished high school and the idea of becoming a trainer had taken a backseat in her life.

When she was asked what she wanted to do now that school was officially over she found herself quite clueless and decided on taking a few internships – at the local Pokemon store, the post office, etc. but nothing really seemed fitting.

One day her mother asked her whether she´d want to give the Pokemon breeder facility a try. She agreed and took another internship there.

After just a week in it was clear that she would do an apprenticeship there to become a “Pokemon nursing assistant”. In these three years of practical and scholar education she didn´t just learn the profession but also grew as a person and got her driver´s licence.

Mostly she got educated by the Pokemon working there as it had always been easier for her to work/communicate with them than with other humans. But her human colleagues took great care of her, too, of course:

There was the leader of the facility – an elderly woman in her mid-50s who had once been a trainer herself - her Machamp, Blaziken, Sceptile, Swampert, Kangaskhan, Chansey and a hand-full of employees along with a few other Pokemon that were rather deemed unfit as starters or simply decided to stay, who did a great job at breeding, hatching and raising starters and orphaned Pokemon.

Especially one Treeko had become fond of her and was usually the one who took her by the hand.

Nearly at the end of her apprenticeship the facility leader took her to the side and asked her to consider becoming a trainer after all as she would have “just the right stuff” to be a considerably good one.

Again Me! hesitated for a while until she decided to give it a try this time. She packed her things and when she went to the breeder facility to say Goodbye the previously mentioned Treeko quickly fetched his Pokeball. He stood in front of her waiting for her to kneel. Surprised she followed the invitation and when she had reached his level the Treeko placed the ball into her hands and gave her an asserted look. She reciprocated with a smile and nodded.

The Pokemon:

-Treeko/Grovyle/Sceptile: A male Treeko who was bred and born as one of the first ones in the breeder facility and was later handed to Dr. Primrose along with other starters to be picked by young trainers at the start of their journeys.

Unfortunately, though he was deemed unfit as a starter after several children had called Dr. Primrose shortly after they had chosen him as their partner and told her that they simply couldn´t handle him; he wouldn´t listen to a word they said or that he would be overall renitent.

Dr. Primrose had taken him back every time to give it a new try but decided to send him back to the breeder facility in the end. “No Pokemon can be forced to be a trainer´s Pokemon.”

The facility took him back and let him help there which he did.

Several years passed until one day a young woman showed up and started her internship at the facility. She seemed lost and shy like a Pokemon that had just hatched so the Treeko was quick to take pity on her. The pity then grew into fondness and when it was clear the now graduated trainee would start her own journey he rushed into the warehouse, grabbed his Pokeball and handed it over to her.

He had decided to be her starter.

The Treeko/Grovyle/Sceptile in my AU has a much higher age than a normal starter would have and more knowledge of life. Sometimes his behaviour will come close to that of a parent. His level also had been a little higher due to occasional fun-fights between him and some other Pokemon at the facility. It´s no wonder that he also had been the first one of the team to evolve closely followed by Yamask/Cofagrigus.

- Yamask/Cofagrigus: Me! and Treeko encountered him as they crossed a small deserted and desolate part of the region mostly inhabited by poison and ghost types just a few days from their hometown.

The Yamask seemed to be alone and hid badly behind the little that was there to hide behind as the two travellers took a quick break and meal. As it wasn´t hard to spot the ghost in his concealment Me! prepared a third meal and cautiously shoved it over the hiding Pokemon who took the food gratefully after inspecting it thoroughly.

When the two went on their way the Yamask must have followed them as they spotted him again when they erected their night quarters many hours later and quite far away from the bleak land.

´Weird, especially ghost Pokemon usually act in groups. Why is this one alone?´ Me! thought as she prepared another extra dish for the unusual guest before going to sleep.

In the course of the night Me! woke up again and again only to find the Yamask having come a little closer every time she opened her eyes until he had found his place right next to her and her Treeko on her camping mat by dawn.

So the next morning it had been clear to Me! that they´d have a new team member and as Treeko didn´t seem to mind the the new Pokemon in any negative way either Me! caught the Yamask.

Me! considered the Yamask could have only been a few weeks old as it didn´t act like a ghost type at all – sure every ghost Pokemon had their own personality but they were usually inclined to show certain character traits such as enjoying the one or the other prank or scare on their fellow Pokemon or even trainer – but this one acted more like it had just hatched. She had seen it several times before after all. This assumption had been confirmed in the next Pokemon Centre.

Yamask was a very timid, shy and overall scared Pokemon who would have always hid behind his trainer and would have always searched for shelter and warmth usually sleeping in Me!´s arms and thus in the middle of Me! and Treeko.

Me! never forced him to fight and in the beginning he didn´t seem too keen on doing so anyway. But the more he watched other Pokemon fight the more he seemed to want to try it on his own because one day – a fellow Pokemon trainer had challenged Me! – he simply hopped in front of Treeko and asserted himself. Treeko took a few steps back and gave him the opportunity. Yamask lost the fight horribly and when Treeko took over he evolved.

Spurred on by that event he tried to fight again and again and lost several times. Whenever he went K.O. he´d always watch Grovyle fight and tried to learn from him as best he could.

Until one day he won. From that they on he insisted on fighting all the more and as he actually won his fights now Grovyle barely had to take over.

When he evolved though he was overwhelmed and had a hard time coping with his new form. Other Pokemon – especially smaller ones – suddenly were scared of him and other trainers that had called his prior form “cute” were now frightened as well. He smiled at them but that only made it worse. He was barely able to move around let alone fight and what was he supposed to do with these appendages? He was especially upset that the couldn´t sleep in his trainer’s arms anymore.

The little self-confidence he had been able to built up through fights was blown away.

Me! hit a countless amount of books trying to help her Pokemon and while she could help him with some problems several other were left untouched.

Luckily though the team met another trainer soon after who had a fully grown/asserted Cofagrigus. The trainer and their Cofagrigus gladly helped and things turned better quickly allowing Me!´ Cofagrigus to move around properly and even fight again.

Me!´s Cofagrigus had never been one of the stronger Pokemon but he always tried his best and at some point his high level alone gave him an advantage.

Through all of the story Cofagrigus´ character barely changed; he had always been a timid and friendly Pokemon searching for his trainer´s affection and proximity seeing her as his mother. Though he had grown as a person being more self-confident (especially in fights) and self-aware having learnt that ghost-types were quick on inclining fear on others. The latter he would only “abuse” when things actually got dicey.

He would oftenly search for his trainer´s hand to hold while they were walking.

Me! had the idea to try and learn and teach Cofagrigus sign language as she had seen and read several documentations and articles about people teaching Pokemon this language. And a Pokemon with hands – how handy was that?

Me! sleeps in a sleeping bag on Cofagrigus whenever they are out in the wild with a ghost hand carefully placed on her shoulder. She would never admit that this causes her sacroiliac pain sometimes though.

- Ralts/Kirlia/Gardevoir: Male

- Sizzlipede/Centiskorch: Female

- Darkrai:

- Honedge/Doublade/Aegislash: Male

The other characters:

- (Name) and her Gastly/Haunter/Gengar “Na-na”: (Name) had never had a very close relationship with any of the family members as she had always been the odd one out even as she was little. Her grandmother – she fondly called “Na-na” - was the only exception as she also had been one to fall out the line.

Her grandmother had always used to tell her stories, myths and legends from all around the globe as she had been travelling as a young Pokemon trainer herself. (Name) had always loved these stories and her grandmother´s presence especially as she had always been the one to encourage her on whatever she did.

“I wanna be a Pokemon trainer just like Nana!” she once exclaimed in front of her entire family at a party. Her whole family immediately turned on her grandmother and accused her of planting stupid ideas in the little child´s mind. It wasn´t common to train Pokemon in this family but to get a good graduation and a well-paying job instead.

From that day on she was forbidden to see her grandmother. Though that didn´t stop any of the two to still be in contact; they wrote little messages and attached them onto “Nana”´s Murkrow to deliver the messages, whenever a lesson would have been omitted she would speed to her grandmother´s house to at least see her a few minutes, etc.

One day though no new message had arrived. Nor had any followed the next day.

She kneeled to her parents and pleaded to drive to her grandmother´s house and after a few hours they agreed and drove there. But when no one opened her parent´s started to worry as well and called the police.

…

A few days later was the funeral. (Name) had only been 7 years old and had lost the only person who she truly cared for and she didn´t cope with it well throwing temper tantrums, hitting other children in school, hitting even her parents.

They didn´t know what to do so they sent her to a children-psychologist with little effect.

One night when she had been lying awake again she had decided to go to the graveyard – she needed someone to talk, she needed her grandmother.

When she arrived at her grandmother´s tombstone she couldn´t keep it in any longer and yielded in crying.

Startled by the sound a Gastly flew up from behind the tombstone and paused in mid-air looking at the child below it. (Name) has had raised her eyes by now and looked at the Ghastly with big eyes.

She immediately remembered one of her grandmother´s stories in which a young couple had a baby but the mother died in childbed fever. When the husband and the baby visited the mother´s grave one night a ghost emerged from it and they were together again.

It had only been a legend from another region her grandmother had told her once but for (Name) it had been very real at this moment.

“Na-na” she had whispered and the Ghastly had come closer circling (Name) curiously.

To (Name) that had been an acknowledgement she was seeing her grandmother again.

From that day on she had been visiting the graveyard every night, so very happy to her grandmother again and talk to her and the Ghastly would await her arrival.

The psychologist had been assuming she would have made her grandmother up as some sort of imaginary friend as some children would do. Telling this her parent´s they were very relieved.

Until one morning a Ghastly came hovering down the stairs next to their daughter. The parents immediately panicked and yanked their daughter away from the Pokemon but when (Name) cried out “No! Leave Na-na alone!” they halted and called their daughter´s psychologist.

He advised them to better leave the Pokemon with their daughter as it did her extremely well and they complied unwillingly.

Why- of all Pokemon out there – did it have to be a ghost/poison type, wouldn´t have a Meowth or a Cleffa done too?

Name and Ghastly would have gone everywhere together from now on if others approved of it or not.

When (Name) had been old enough she started her own journey without her parent´s consent yet still they had known they couldn´t have kept her from going – she had been taken too much after her grandmother.

The two have been travelling the region from then on together knowing they can always rely on each other as many situations have already proven.

Of course (Name) has realized Na-na is not her actual grandmother long ago.

Na-na is female.

Institutions:

- The PSO (The Pokemon Safety Orgnaisation)

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - Mother

Part 9

So uh... Marinette's part kind of became too long and I'm going to have to extend it into part 10. Plus the tone of this to the rest is just so different that it seemed necessary to split it. Very Damian centric here. Warning all still apply.

Closed! List (Do y'all mind that I've hit you up four days in a row now?) : @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Before the week ended, the boy approached her once more. This time it was after she had just finished up her Arabic lessons, the first time she'd seen him outside of that room.

"Why did she choose you?"

Marinette lifted her shoulders in a shrug and watched the frustrated twist of his lips as he attempted to stare her down. Her eyes occasionally jumped around the corridor, ensuring their privacy, but still refraining from answering.

"Are you mute?" The child demanded of her, "is that why you're with the language masters all the time? To learn to speak?"

Amusement coursed through her, shining from behind her eyes as she lifted a solitary finger to her lips, letting Damian determine her meaning. He didn't disappoint as an excited look came about him and he pressed further, hushing hus voice and moving in closer as though sharing a secret, which wasn't far off from the truth.

"The others aren't aware you can talk, are they? Of course not, dimwitted as they are," he took a condescending tone.

Letting an airy chuckle pass and offering a small smirk to let the other know he hit the nail on the head, she watched as the kid tried to appear composed while also preening under her obvious agreement with his insight. She couldn't help but wonder if this was his first experience with a willing audience. He couldn't be more than seven years old and yet already so cautious about allowing her to see how he enjoyed her attention.

"Well no matter, if they can't figure it out on their own, I see no need to inform them," Damian reassured her, hiding it as another jab at their peers. And after taking note of her appreciative nod, he disappeared the way he came.

...

Over the next few weeks, he showed up at random, venting out his annoyance with the trainers and masters, always under the guise that she couldn't tell anyone anyways without giving herself away, to which she only offered her quiet affirmations and acceptance.

Sometimes he asked questions, only to cut off and respond to himself that of course his companion couldn't answer, returning to his own conversation. It seemed to ease him that he never need worry over what she might say to him. Once in a blue moon he asked something she could answer without opening her mouth.

"Do you have a life outside of here?"

She tilted her head back and forty in contemplation before shaking a decided no. He seemed pleased with this. No competition for her attention, she supposed.

"How many languages do you actually speak then? Or are learning at least."

She contemplated if league dialect counted and decided it had to and also threw in guardian speak since she had been learning it beforehand, lifting up eight fingers. Damian's surprised look and appreciative hum lasted only a moment before his next barrage of insults to those who thought her mute started up once more. 

While their talks only lasted about ten minutes tops and only every few days, the progress was enough to earn her Talia's praise in private, excited that the boy took to her so quickly. She also inquired as to Marinette's tactics but only received a shrug of her own and the quiet explanation that she simply listened.

…

After a particularly grueling training session where the two ended up switching targets midway through their own battles, taking both trainers off guard and downing them in record time, Talia decided to send them out for an extended mission together. Her reasoning that Jason obviously felt protective over the heir and the two worked well enough in tandem that it offered the perfect environment for furthering Damian's training, having only ever tagged along for small time missions in the past.

Later in the evening, she explained how the joint missions extended their trust and allowed more freedom for bonding to occur. How they could further plan for their escape if they knew how to work together outside of the city limits. Marinette meditated every second she could before the start of their new assignment.

The morning of, she collected Damian from the meeting point Talia gave them and led him into the larger group to make their way out of the caves. The mission went on for five days before they finally tracked down their targets. It took all of one night to end the mission, Marinette taking extra precautions to cover Damian's back at all times, landing killing blows to any that threatened the young life entrusted to her. By the end, the little one only took one life. A young woman who landed a lucky shot on Marinette. The boy's eyes widened in fear and struck blindly, slashing his katana across her torso, opening her up to the world before giving another wild slash to her neck. The second the woman dropped, he ran to her side, pressing on the wound and helping her back towards their hideout as the others cleaned out the last of the building. 

As the sun rose, he helped to patch her up, yammering on about how stupid she was to allow herself to be hit like that. How ashamed she should be. How she should be better. Marinette saw the fear and worry and horror waring in his eyes, in the tense way he held his shoulders and shake in his hands. The guilty glances he tossed her, knowing she was distracted by protecting him. She ruffled his hair and offered a crooked grin at his huff of indignation. Neither slept that night, ready to return in the morning.

Damian refused missions without her after that.

…

After their return from their seventh successful mission, over two months later, Talia stopped showing up in the training room. No longer informed Damian where to meet up for missions, allowing the information to flow from the trainers down instead. She still told Marinette inner details in her rooms, but she could tell the woman cut off the child almost entirely. Knew they only saw one another during meetings with Ras.

Within another two weeks, Talia began to distance herself from Marinette in public even further. She was no longer seen as the pet project, but as a full fledged member who happened to run in this squadron. She stayed quiet on the manner, not willing to question her mentor on what she thought best when seen amongst the League. And with Marinette now understanding and speaking both arabic and league dialect fluently, she could spy on the others and gather information much easier without the silencing presence of their leader, all speaking more freely amongst themselves, still under the impression that she was not only mute but one of them now.

Damian seemed to grow more irritable by the day, sticking to her side like glue, quieter and on edge. Separation anxiety most likely. Talia had always retained a distant aloof relationship with her own kid, but he likely never expected her to quit checking up on him entirely, to no longer keep up with his progress and watch his training. She always let him know she hadn't forgotten him entirely, in her own way. Now, she hardly glanced his direction if they happened to enter the same room.

He lasted three weeks without Talia's watchful eye, before he broke down in his own manner.

Marinette heard a soft knock on her door before it creaked open, one green eye peeking in at her, in a silent question. 

Sitting up in her bed, she tilted her head in consideration before nodding her acceptance. She observed as he slid into the room and shut the door behind him, hesitating only a moment in the doorway before marching over towards her and taking a seat, starting in on his usual tirade of random facts and observations. By now, she recognized this as a coping mechanism, his way of excusing his coming to her without outright stating that he just craved the company. A growing suspicion in the back of her mind told her that once he assured himself she wouldn't leave nor dismiss him, he might take to more quiet quality time. For now, he rambled endlessly. Eventually he tired himself out and left her alone once more.

Every other day, he made a reappearance to rant once more until he couldn't find anymore excuses to stay and left, tail practically tucked between his legs.

…

Two months more passed and Talia showed no sign of returning to Damian's life, Marinette finally decided to confront the woman.

"Oh Jason, surely you know I can't escape with you, right?"

Her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion at the question, before realizing her own stupidity. Why in the world would she train Marinette to take away Damian if she could do so, herself? As shock overtook her, arms wrapped gently around her shoulders, drawing her into the woman's embrace.

"It would put both of you at too high a risk. I need to stay here and throw them off your trail. To control the situation until you're both too far out of my father's reach. He can't know I have any attachment to either of you for this to work. You need to blend in, mean nothing to me so that everyone overlooks you. It doesn't matter if Damian clings to you, as long as no one else looks at you twice, you're still nobody. You'll slip out and everyone will just assume you died on a mission if they even think of you."

"Can't you meet with him in private? Like you do with me?" She pleaded with Talia, heart heavy knowing she would have to eventually leave another mentor behind. Knowing how Damian hurt for his mother.

"No Jason. He's too young. He won't understand. It's best if he comes to the decision to disown me. To no longer care about me, ao it hurts less in the long run. If he barely ever knew me and I simply disappeared, if he never truly knew my love to begin with, there's less to miss. Less of him to hurt in my absence. I know it's terrible and he feels abandoned, but think how much worse it would be if I showed him love now only to kick him out of the league to never be seen again? I can't add on to that pain."

She hated how much sense that made. Whether Damian knew it or not, his mother loved him so much and was willingly sacrificing her right as his mother so he could have a better life without her. That would never make the years of neglect and abuse okay, but at least she was setting him up to move on to something hopefully better. Marinette would do everything in her power to ensure that hope became a reality.

…

Three months into Talia's disappearing act, six since Damian first came to her in the training room all those months ago, he entered her room and sat without a word on the bed next to her, staring down at the floor. She waited patiently for him to find his words, but tensed upon seeing the tears well up in the corner of the child's eyes. She desperately wished to reach out to comfort him, but restrained herself, not sure how he'd take the action. Eventually, he spoke in a trembling lilt.

"Why am I never good enough?"

Sucking in a breath, she swallowed down the last of her reserve and murmured back, voice a gentle lull, if a little deep and gruff around the edges, "You are plenty enough."

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, wide and clear, "You…"

"You are so much more than you know and anyone who can't see that doesn't deserve you."

He hesitated a moment, "Even mother?"

"No one who pays so little attention and offers so little love deserves the title of mother," she stated, hating herself for the words, knowing how much Talia truly did love and care, but aiming to break his connection to her at the woman's own command.

"You've never spoken to me before," he accused.

"You seemed like you needed someone to listen. And you said it yourself, I couldn't very well pose as mute if I answered all of your questions," she eased.

"And when I came here?"

"You hardly gave an opportunity to speak up in the midst of all your ranting. You don't strike me as the type to appreciate being cut off either," she teased, earning a soft blush in return.

He sobered up after a moment, looking back down towards his feet, "So if she doesn't deserve the title of Mother, I have no one."

"How do you mean?"

"Well Ras hardly deserves the title of grandfather by your definition and it's not like I have a father. So I have no one."

"And what am I then, chopped liver?"

He startled up, shooting her a bewildered look, "What?"

"You've become my personal little leech, attending all of my missions, sharing my training with me, coming into my rooms at your leisure, and yet you have no one? That hurts me deep," she attempted a saddened look, not sure how it turned out with her older, masculine features and white lined scars scattering her skin. It startled a tiny laugh out of him, so she'd take it.

"You… you want me? You actually care?"

"Of course I do, Dami. You're the closest thing to family I've got."

"Family," his inquired, tone guarded, a slight twitch in his nose and uptilt in his chin, giving away his hopeful excitement at the word.

"Yours, if you'd have me."

"That would be," he cut himself off here, trying to control himself, to not appear too eager, "acceptable," he settled on.

"Good. You're well spoken for an eight year old."

"I'm seven," he corrected with a smug smile.

"Even more impressive then," she lilted, watching as he took that to be the end of that conversation, moving to leave, only to stop with a hand on the door.

"Jason?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're my family."

[darktypeimagines]

Hi! If you’re taking requests, I was so wondering if you coud do a drabble with Hop and Rival during their battle at the championships? Before the finishing blow, instead of a smile, Hop sees his Rival hesitate and in the verge of tears before making the final move. What would Hop be feeling seeing that? And maybe a scene after? Thank you!!

Obviously not totally canon compliant, and I changed a small thing at the end, but it’s nothing major.  I hope you like it.  I changed the perspective a couple times; I marked those by separating them with a line.

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

It had finally come to this.  You knew all along you would, ideally, have to face him someday, but for some reason, it didn’t hit you until now.

Your eyes adjusted to the lights, which were strong enough for you to feel their heat.  Across the other side of the field, Hop turned to face you, looking more solemn than usual. He spoke first, wear a distant yet… happy? look on his face.  Hop began talking about the start of your journey, all the way to here.  He couldn’t believe you had come so far!  The two of you!

But he was going to win.  He had to fight his brother, after all.

And as the battle started, that familiar rush gripped you.  Fighting Hop was always different than anyone else. Even the gym leaders.  Maybe it was because you were so close, but you worried more about what he’d think of the battle.

The one felt just like all of your previous bouts.  In fact, you even forgot about the tournament.  With focus shielding you from the sounds and spotlights, only the Pokemon and your rival were before you.

And, you truly wanted Hop to put up a good fight.  And he did!  His Dubwool had become a bit of a tank, taking hit after hit.  His Corviknight darted across the field, avoiding most attacks while dishing out its own.  And his Snorlax took out two of your own Pokemon.

But even then… You were still winning considerably.  His was down to his last Pokemon, the second Pokemon he added to his team, and you had three left.  Your starter took the field, for old times’ sake.   Both Dynamaxed, taking up most of the fields on either side. But with the type advantage, Hop’s ace stood little chance.  It took one hit, barely.  The end of the battle was clear.

-----

He tried his best to not break down.  It felt like no matter what he tried he just couldn’t keep up with you. New strategies failed.  Pokemon after Pokemon fell. Before he knew it, he was down to his final team member, and there was little chance to win.

Forcing a smile, he knew he had to at least try to get in one more good blow.  He wasn’t giving in; he owed his Pokemon that much, at least.  He ordered them to use a Max Strike, the most effective move in this situation.  It ended up being a critical hit and the crowd roared as his rival’s Pokemon staggered.

But, Hop’s Pokemon nearly collapsed after the attack.  He urged them to keep going, that they could still win, but he knew this was the perfect opening.  He peered through the settling dust, trying to see his rival.

He knew how much this meant to you.  You were probably overjoyed; he sure would be!  But instead of a smile or any form of excitement, you looked… strained.  Holding back. It was too far to see clearly, but he could’ve sworn you seemed upset.

You should’ve given a command by now. Hop’s Pokemon was even starting to regain their balance, sending vibrations throughout the stadium as they got up.  Even the crowd noticed, quieting down in the suspense.

And then, you gave the order.  With the last Max attack, his Pokemon fell, reverting to normal size. The crowd roared, the music resumed, and the announcer declared you as the winner.

He was devastated, but he couldn’t break down.  Not in front of everyone, and definitely not in front of you. Hop didn’t want to ruin your win; he was just glad he got to share this moment with you.

But as he crossed the distance between you, he noticed you didn’t look as happy as you should have.  You wore a forced smile.  Your eyes betrayed you.  He wasn’t sure what to do; neither of you had microphones on you, but he knew people might read his lips.  Hop gave his congratulations, coming closer to give you a handshake, hoping his own worried expression would tip you off that he realized something was wrong. But you said nothing of it, thanked him, and the two of you separated.  He knew he’d have to meet up with you later, just to make sure you were okay.

He was the one that was supposed to be upset…  He just couldn’t wrap his head around it.

But he’d knew you be busy, preparing for the match, interviews, and a million other things.  He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to catch up with you.

It turned out you were the one to find him.

------

You were beyond exhausted.  Not physically, emotionally.  You wanted Hop to do well; he cared so much about being as good as Leon, and was a light in your life.  But you had your own goals.  Letting him win wouldn’t be fair to either of you.

You were late to get changed out of your uniform.  Reporter after reporter wanted to speak to you and the cutest little fan wanted to shake your hand.  After finally escaping the crowds, you made your way to the locker room, only to see the light was shining from beneath the door.  You were surprised; you didn’t expect anyone to still be here. But even though they might’ve just left the light on, you knocked anyways.

“Who is it?” A voice called out.  Familiar. It sounded like… Leon?  You weren’t sure why he would be here.  You said your name, and you hear the bench creak and footsteps approach the door.  It opened about half a foot.  “Hey, y/n, looking to change?”  You told him yes, and asked why he was here.  He didn’t give you much of a response, only told you to wait a second as he closed the door mostly shut.  After a few moments, Leon opened the door again and let you in.

Hop was hunched over, sitting on a bench near the far wall.  He had not turned to face you.  You gave Leon a concerned look and he returned your expression with a sympathetic nod.  He motioned for you to approach his brother first.

You walked over gingerly and sat down next to him.  He sniffed, not looking at you; your heart dropped.  Not knowing what to say, you asked him how long he had been there.  He said about two hours.

Wrapping an arm around him, you asked if he wanted to head back to the hotel.  It’d be a lot more comfortable than a metal bench. He didn’t respond at first. But then he finally turned to you.

“What happened out there?  Why’d you hesitate!?  You looked so upset.”  He paused.  “I don’t get it.  That was your big moment, everything you’ve been waiting for.  You looked like you were about to cry right after!”  He was noticeably choked up, and on the verge of tears himself.  You could feel him shaking as you held him.

It took you a few moments to respond. You hated seeing him upset and it took everything in you to keep yourself together.  But as you explained, you could feel the emotion come.  

In short, you felt like you ruined everything.  Wasn’t it supposed to be brother versus brother?  It was so hyped, the battle of the decade, they said!  Except it didn’t happen, because you ended up stealing the win. Sure, a trainer battling against the Champion that endorsed them was exciting, but it just wasn’t the same. Not only that, you knew this meant everything to Hop.  Hurting him was the last thing you wanted to do.

----

His eyes widened.  He had no idea you felt this way, but it made perfect sense. And Hop couldn’t help but feel bad; he knew it wasn’t his fault, but he still felt like he ruined your victory.

Leon shifted from behind the pair. Hop had completely forgotten he was there.  “It was a champion match, to be sure.  You should both be proud!” He said, smiling widely. “But I understand where you’re coming from, y/n.  To be honest, I was looking forward to fighting Hop.  But I’m sure no one will be disappointed with the battle we have tomorrow!” He walked over to the pair and sat down, addressing Hop.

“But no matter what happens and what you choose to do next, I know you’ll do the best you can.  There’s always next year if being a Champion is what you really want.”

Hop sighed.  He knew that; it didn’t make it hurt any less.  But he had to admit.  He was so lucky to have the two of you.  Not everyone had this kind of support.

He wiped away a tear that didn’t fall. “Thanks… And y/n?” He turned to you.  “Thank you, too.  For being my friend, and being here for me.”

----

The three stayed in the locker room for about another hour until both Hop and you were calm.  Hop changed the subject to tomorrow’s match, and before you knew it, it was getting dark out! Leon offered to pay for dinner and a taxi home, which the two of you greatly appreciated.  You spent the night in Hop’s room, watching TV and joking around, just like you did before starting your journey.

[glorious-blackout]

Soooo @rock-n-roll-fantasy wanted me to write an essay on my self-indulgent theory that Muse’s ‘Simulation Theory’ and Arctic Monkeys’ ‘Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino’ are set in the same universe, and my brain rather predictably used this as an opportunity to develop a novel-length crossover fic instead. I’m starting to doubt that the full idea will ever get written purely because life has a habit of getting in the way, but here’s a bit of an overlong teaser in place of your essay! 😉🥰

*************************************

The trek from Room 521 to the ballroom is a long, monotonous one. Not that that particularly matters; even if Mark didn’t know every corridor like the back of his hand, he no doubt would have been guided to his destination regardless, simply by following the growing ruckus of banal chatter overlying soft musical notes. His own band won’t be the ones playing tonight – thank Christ seeing as he barely has the energy to hold a mic for two hours let alone sing into it – but the prospect of spending the evening alone in his room had hardly been tempting. He could have arranged to meet one of the lads for a drink, he supposes, but he hadn’t wanted to impose. They all have lives beyond the hotel after all, whereas he remains tied to its walls like an obedient dog on a leash.

High-ceilinged corridors eventually lure him towards a set of heavy oak doors, the only veil remaining between him and a horde of guests who by now are likely enjoying their third glass of champagne. Muffled conversations become crystal clear for a moment as one guest stumbles onto the corridor looking considerably worse for wear, but the noise is quickly silenced by an exaggerated slam. The guest sways on his feet for a moment, narrowed eyes struggling to maintain focus on Mark’s face, before he huffs and takes the first step of what promises to be an arduous journey back to his room. No doubt he’ll have collapsed in a pool of his own vomit before he’s even halfway there, adding one more job to the cleaners’ already overflowing pile in the process. Mark sighs, already regretting his decision to be sociable, and forces himself over the threshold before he can change his mind.

The ballroom does ignite a certain pride within his chest, he must admit. The spacious hall - resting beneath a curved ceiling kept afloat by granite columns - is a stark contrast to the narrow claustrophobic corridors leading up to it, and the size is adequate enough that the space never feels too crowded. Waiters flit back and forth between packed circular tables on the fringes, offering blessed champagne or scotch from a well-stocked bar, and an elevated platform at the far-end of the hall proudly showcases the evening’s entertainment.  

It would appear the choice of dance tonight is a simple waltz. Guests dressed to the nines in elegant frocks and sharp tuxedos glide effortlessly along the polished dancefloor; guided by lilting piano notes as they sway beneath the soft light of a glittering chandelier. As usual, Mark feels no particular inclination to join them. On occasion, he himself will be the one sat by the piano, enticing his guests to dance for him whenever the evening feels a little too stagnant, but it would appear that his influence is not needed tonight. Besides, the only thing enticing him for the moment is the bar.

Despite having to make his way through the masses in order to reach his destination, luck must be on his side for no-one takes the opportunity to disturb him. He must have timed his trip well enough that the drinks are already taking hold, to the point where the hotel owner himself has become an unnoteworthy presence. His short walk to the bar goes entirely without a hitch, so much so that it probably shouldn’t surprise him when he arrives to find that his luck has run dry.

There’s someone sitting in his usual spot. Logically he knows this isn’t an issue; there are plenty of free stools lined up against the horseshoe-shaped counter, but the sight gives him pause nonetheless. For as long as he can remember, that centerfold seat has been his and his alone, and the sight of someone new sitting there has unease coiling in his gut for reasons he cannot explain. If that were the strangest thing about this situation then he could have moved on and settled himself elsewhere without another thought, but what truly makes him gape is the appearance of the man who has seen fit to take his place.

In stark contrast to the stylish formalwear adorning the vast majority of guests, this man seems to have made it his mission to break every rule of fashion there is. The loud red jeans and shiny trainers would no doubt have been bad enough on their own, but in comparison to the gaudy nylon jacket and the lit neon sunglasses which remain fused to his face despite being indoors, the lower half of his body looks positively tame. Intricate circuitry is affixed to the front of the jacket, with wires snaking their way into a large pocket which no doubt houses a switch designed to make the jacket as loud as the sunglasses. Mark can’t help but wonder how this man hasn’t attracted any unwanted attention and has instead been left to cradle his glass of bourbon in relative peace. Perhaps this is the current fashion trend on Earth and someone has simply forgotten to give Mark that particular memo.

Shaking his head once and remembering his mother sternly telling him that staring is rude, Mark clears his throat and gestures to the free stool by his side when a pair of concealed eyes turn in his direction.  

“Mind if I take this seat?” he asks, well aware that he of all people shouldn’t need to ask permission.

A knowing smile graces the man’s thin face and he nods graciously, removing his glasses to reveal surprisingly gentle blue eyes. He appears more normal up close than Mark anticipated, barring a pair of impressively sharp cheekbones and a hairstyle so haphazard he doubts an intense combing session would tame it.

“Be my guest,” the man offers in an accent which turns out to be English, to Mark’s not unpleasant surprise. Besides the lads, he can’t remember the last time he encountered someone from home. “Though I imagine that’s usually your line.”

A surprised laugh escapes Mark at the lame joke, causing the stranger to grin proudly before taking another generous sip of bourbon. Mark considers calling the waiter over – the impressive display of booze resting before him is enough to make his mouth water – but the man in question appears to be preoccupied with an uptight elderly couple nearby, and besides, his curiosity is already threatening to consume him. The booze can wait.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” the man interjects before Mark can ask the question weighing on his mind. The words escape like a bullet, so rapidly that the compliment could easily be dismissed as flippant, but the stranger’s smile seems sincere enough. “You’ve got one hell of a mind, Turner.”

There’s a gravity to his tone that Mark can’t quite comprehend, but he doesn’t dwell on it.  

“How did you get here?” Mark asks, aiming for a conversational tone only to flinch when the words emerge as confrontational instead. In an attempt to save face, he adds, “I don’t remember greeting you at the station, is all.”

‘I would have remembered if I had’ goes unsaid, though the implication doesn’t appear to be lost on his new companion.

“Interdimensional portal,” he replies without missing a beat, bringing his glass to his lips once more as he gazes at Mark with mischief in his eyes and a challenge in his smirk.

The ensuing silence is broken almost immediately as Mark bursts out laughing again; an action which appears to serve as an invitation for the other man to join him. The high-pitched giggle is unexpected, but the sound of it is enough to melt some of Mark’s lingering unease.

“I doubt technology’s reached that stage yet,” Mark teases once he’s recovered his composure. “Not unless they’re keeping secrets from me back home.”  

“I wouldn’t sound so sure if I were you,” the man retaliates, that same challenge resting on his lips and a single brow quirked upwards with mocking intent. “How long has it been since you visited Earth?”

The lightness in Mark’s chest vanishes for a moment and his brows knit together as he ponders the question. Strange. Now that he thinks about it, he honestly can’t recall how long it’s been.

When it becomes clear that no answer is forthcoming, his companion simply shrugs before facing ahead once more, demolishing the rest of his drink with a single gulp. It’s impossible to tell how much he’s had already. His current glass barely seems to have touched him, unless his strange approach to conversation is merely the product of drunken ramblings. He makes no move to relinquish his seat however, nor does he signal to the now-free waiter for a refill, and Mark finds himself facing straight ahead as he contemplates the choice lying before him.

On the one hand, this man is clearly strange. The unease which continues to coil in his gut is proof enough of that, and Mark imagines that walking away now would spare him a world a confusion. His eyelids feel heavy enough as it is without his mind being weighed down as well.  

On the other hand, he honestly can’t remember the last time he had a conversation that was so... spontaneous. He’s grown accustomed to forced chats about hotel business and band rehearsals, to the point where he can’t remember the last time anyone made him laugh in pleasant surprise. Until tonight that is.  

And honestly, what is his alternative? Mingling with the guests and sweeping up compliments about the taqueria, or the pool, or the perfect view of Earth offered by the casino’s transparent ceiling? Having to listen to rich businessmen divulge their recent purchases of eye-wateringly expensive yachts or starships, while wives half their age hang onto their arm and pretend to look interested?

It isn’t really a contest in the end.

Decision made, Mark gestures to the waiter, who approaches with what he suspects is a put-on smile. To the man’s credit, said smile doesn’t falter even when he casts a sideways glance towards his boss’s unconventional choice of companion.

“Sixteen-year-old Lagavulin please, Andrew,” Mark orders with an easy smile of his own. “And one for my friend here as well.”

Andrew hesitates for only a moment before preparing the drinks with practiced ease, applying a crystallised ball of ice to Mark’s glass once both whiskies are poured. At his side, the mysterious stranger eyes Mark with what appears to be surprise at this unprompted display of generosity, but the smile returns soon enough as he takes his drink in hand and thanks Andrew with all the grace of a perfect gent.

“You trying to get me drunk, Turner?” he teases, though if he’s opposed to the idea he doesn’t show it.

“Just hoping for some interesting conversation,” Mark responds with a wry smirk of his own. “Scotch usually helps with that, I’ve found.”

Without further ado, he takes a sip and closes his eyes in satisfaction as the golden liquid instantly works its magic. A pleasant burn trails down his throat until warmth settles in his belly, and any lingering stress drifts away like smoke on a breeze.

“You can call me Mark by the way,” he says, raising his glass as an invitation. “It’s about time we introduced ourselves, don’t you think?”

A flicker of unidentifiable emotion crosses over his companion’s face, just for a second, before he returns Mark’s easy smile and brings their glasses together with a soft clink.

“Matthew,” he says, which strikes Mark as such an ordinary name for one committed to looking so extraordinary. “But you can call me Matt. Everyone else does.”

Mark nods in acknowledgement before returning to his drink, and they wile away the following minutes in companiable silence. The band appear to have moved on from classical waltzes and are now playing a smooth jazz number, the seductive groove of the double-bass soothing Mark into closing his eyes and forgetting the hundreds of guests gathered nearby. The chatter has died down slightly since his arrival, but the odd clink of a glass or drunken laugh is enough to assure him that he’s not entirely alone. Not as alone as he would have been had he remained in his room with only the hotel blueprints and a virtual reality mask for company.

In a few more moments he may even have found himself forgetting Matt’s presence, but it isn’t long before his reverie is broken by a now-familiar voice.

“What do you know of ‘Simulation Theory’?” Matt asks flippantly, as though it’s the most ordinary question in the world. The fact that Mark can only stare dumbly for several seconds is likely a sign that his scotch is already beginning to take hold, but he eventually forces himself to give a resigned shrug.

“Not much,” he admits. The name doesn’t sound familiar in the slightest, though he’ll admit that he isn’t known for scouring scientific journals. “I suspect that’s about to change though.”  

That statement seems to be invitation enough for Matt, who downs the rest of his drink without so much as a flinch before launching into what appears to be a well-practiced spiel.

Mark can only try to keep up between finishing one drink and ordering another, as Matt starts explaining the concept of computers advancing to the point where they can simulate the laws of physics, so much so that the future of interplanetary travel may end up being achieved via the means of simulated reality - unlimited by the demands of the fragile human body - rather than old-fashioned means such as starships or satellites as ancient sci-fi shows had predicted. The whole lecture is delivered in what must be Matt’s typical rapid-fire delivery; Mark would likely have been left with little breathing room even if he had been entirely sober, which he is becoming less and less so as the evening wears on. With his keen enthusiasm and eccentric hand movements, Mark reckons Matt would have made an excellent physics professor in another life if the concepts escaping his mind weren’t so utterly ridiculous.

“Which of course poses the question,” Matt concludes eventually, pausing to stop for breath. A pleasant buzz is coursing through Mark’s veins by this point, and he rests his head on one hand as he studies Matt with an amused smile. “If we conclude that it is feasibly possible for technology to exist which is capable of simulating reality so convincingly, who is to say that it hasn’t already happened? What if we’re all just cogs in a machine, believing our decisions are our own and that everything around us is real, when in actuality we’re being watched and studied and controlled? Like ants under a microscope?”

“Hmm,” Mark ponders the question as best he can, taking another sip despite knowing it won’t help. It strikes him that the whisky has already rendered him soft and sleepy, whereas Matt doesn’t appear to have been affected at all despite the fact that he’s clearly had more. As quick as his delivery is, Mark can’t even recall hearing a slur. “Like characters in a videogame or summat?”

“Something like that I suppose,” Matt concurs, though there’s a tension in his skinny frame that implies Mark has barely scratched the surface. “What do you reckon would happen if a videogame character realised they were trapped in a videogame? That their entire lives were a fiction and that someone else was in control?”

“I imagine they’d spiral into existential dread,” Mark concludes with a dismissive shrug, polishing off what must be his third glass and placing it face-down on the countertop. It would probably be best if he stops now, seeing as Matt appears to be in a philosophical mood. “Good thing they can’t think or feel anything then, isn’t it? They just do as they’re told.”

An amused smirk graces Matt’s face and there’s a glint in those blue eyes that implies he wants to add something, but he keeps his mouth firmly shut. For now at least. Mark uses this window of silence to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes before casting a glance around the ballroom. It’s still relatively busy. The band have given no indication that they’re approaching the end of their set, and so long as the drinks keep flowing, there will always be ample opportunity for dancing and conversation. He loses himself for a moment as he observes the movements of the guests gracing the dancefloor; everyone from beautiful newlyweds to elderly couples celebrating their golden anniversaries locked in intimate embraces, with eyes only for each other. Matt’s musings weave their way through his mind and he finds himself searching for flaws in the system; a hint that what he’s seeing isn’t all it appears to be. He scans the faces of the guests to see if he can find any duplication; eavesdrops on nearby conversations in search of generic, repetitive sentences. He feels the warm cotton of his suit and the cool condensation on his glass and the sticky sweat on the palm of his hand, only to conclude that it all must surely be real. He knows all-too-well what it’s like to wander lucidly through a dream, and this isn’t one.

Still, the possibility is fascinating. Ludicrous, but fascinating.  

“Let’s say you’re right,” he starts, taking a moment to select his next words carefully. He doesn’t usually feel the need to be so cautious in conversation, but Matt’s ability to spout ridiculous theories with the utmost confidence has left him feeling like he’s playing catch-up. “And let’s say that we’re the ones trapped in this game, or simulation, or whatever you want to call it.”

Matt turns to him as though shocked that Mark’s actually giving his ramblings any consideration, and he can’t help but wonder how many times he’s been shot down in the past. He pauses, half-expecting an interruption, but Matt’s only response is a smile followed by an encouraging nod.

“What if there’s a reason behind the fiction?” he proposes, more confidently now. “What if we’ve been trapped in a game because reality is terrible.”

“And therein lies our conundrum!” Matt says, eyes lighting up with childlike glee as he leans back and slams his hand on the counter. Tending to a guest a few seats away, Andrew side-eyes him warily, perhaps wondering if he’ll be forced to escort another drunk from the premises soon, but Mark’s total lack of concern seems to reassure him. “Is it better to exist within a terrible reality or a beautiful lie?”

The hypothetical weight of the question stumps Mark for a moment. Any thoughts which had previously been running through his mind fragment like shattered glass, leaving only a warm fuzz in their place. He lets himself imagine what it would be like to have an all-powerful, all-seeing creature manipulate his thoughts - moulding them like clay - and despite the room’s pleasant warmth, he finds himself shivering. It’s not that he believes Matt’s theories – far from it – but pondering the question elicits the same uncertainty planted by movies like his beloved Blade Runner; makes him contemplate deep, existential ‘What-ifs’ until sleep eludes him and a shiver creeps up his spine.

When the power of speech finally returns to him, he finds the words spilling forth without having crossed his mind beforehand.

“I think we’re both a little too drunk for philosophical discussions, don’t you agree?” he says blankly, though upon hearing the words even he is left utterly unconvinced. He may already be able to anticipate the crushing headache that morning will bring, but he’s managed to remain somewhat lucid so far. Matt, damn him, doesn’t appear to have been affected by the alcohol at all. Nor does he seem willing to let Mark back down; instead he pointedly says nothing as his lips curl upwards in an unspoken challenge.  

Mark sighs, before forcing himself to answer the question with one of his own.

“If the fiction is so convincing that you could go from birth to death without realising it is a fiction, does it really make a difference?”

“A fair point,” Matt concedes with a shrug, though Mark doesn’t miss the way his expression darkens. A twitch in his jaw implies that his words have struck a nerve, only he can’t possibly see why that would be the case. He expects Matt to elaborate further – to quash his argument with a clever retaliation – but he simply turns back towards the wall of booze and signals to Andrew to bring him another glass of scotch. The temptation to tell him that he’ll need to be carried back to his room on a stretcher if he carries on like this is momentarily overwhelming, but the words remain glued to Mark’s tongue like resin. His mouth feels as dry as sandpaper and the flurry of unease which had been temporarily dispelled returns with a burning vengeance. All he can do is watch as Matt gratefully accepts what must be his fifth glass and gulps half of it down his throat without the slightest hint of hesitation.

Something stirs in the back of Mark’s mind. A distant memory perhaps; a vague flicker of recognition which had lain buried until this moment. He can honestly swear he has never laid eyes on Matt before today, but it strikes him that their camaraderie has been a little too easy tonight. Almost as though he should know Matt from his previous life on Earth.

But he doesn’t. He knows that for a fact, and any treacherous doubts suggesting otherwise are swiftly cast aside with an urgency he can’t explain.

It doesn’t take long for Matt to polish off his glass, setting it down on the counter with a finality which suggests it’ll be his last of the night. Just as well, Mark thinks. He can feel the evening beginning to wind down already, and he can feel fatigue settling into his bones.

Before he can offer to foot the bill, his companion finally decides to pipe up again. Any trace of his earlier bravado appears to have abandoned him, leaving him crouched and visibly exhausted, his voice impossibly small.

“If nothing is real – if everything around us truly is a fiction - then it stands to reason that there’s no underlying purpose to our existence. Our lives are there to serve as meaningless entertainment for something lurking in the shadows and nothing more. So everything we do or say, everyone we love...none of it matters in the end. Not really.”

He looks directly at Mark then, his once gentle blue eyes burning with an intensity that makes him want to shrink back like a frightened child. A silly notion really. Of all the words to describe Matt, ‘threatening’ doesn’t immediately come to mind, but the discomfort lingers regardless. Matt must notice, for he averts his eyes to the floor almost immediately and offers a small, apologetic smile as recompense.

“I just don’t think I could live with that,” he concludes with a certainty that has Mark’s chest tightening. “No matter how beautiful the lie is.”

A beat passes. Then another. Mark becomes all-too aware of his heart pounding in his chest, trying to assure him that he’s okay; that he’s solid and real. It occurs to him that he has forgotten how to breathe, and the discomfort in his chest outweighs the soothing burn the scotch had planted there earlier.  

Matt doesn’t say anything else. Instead he runs a hand through his wayward hair, before ultimately deciding that fidgeting with his discarded sunglasses would be a better use of his time. Against his better judgement, Mark allows the weight of his words to sink in and momentarily imagines an existence in which all of his actions are pre-determined, his thoughts carefully filtered. Where everyone he loves are simply figments of expertly-written code. Where any responsibilities he may have are ultimately unimportant.

A simpler existence perhaps, but a wholly purposeless one.  

“I don’t think I’d want to live like that either,” he admits quietly, so much so that he’s amazed Matt hears him. He must do however, for the words force him to look at Mark again, his expression unreadable besides a hint of sadness in deep blue eyes.  

There doesn’t appear to be anything more to say. Words escape him - even the simple courtesies which usually come so naturally - and yet he cannot bring himself to look away. Matt seems to be in the same predicament. For a moment it’s as though they’re both gazing into a supernova, unwilling to look away despite knowing full well that the sight will blind them.

For the first time all evening he finds himself missing his friends. His Matt would have told him to snap out of it by now and Jamie or Nick would have called him a twat for getting so worked up about meaningless theories, and while Mark may have retaliated with a pointed ‘fuck off’, he no doubt would have felt lighter in their presence.

In the end it’s Matt who breaks the spell first. His eyes are drawn from Mark’s face to something lurking in the background, and a palpable shift overcomes him as thin lips are pulled into a grim line. Beneath soft overhead lights, Matt visibly pales and his pupils dilate with what Mark can only presume is fear, and white fists clench so tightly around his glasses that it’s amazing they don’t shatter. Dread claws into Mark’s chest with no explanation, and before curiosity can swallow him whole, he turns his head to follow Matt’s eyeline.

It only takes a moment to locate what has grabbed his friend’s attention. The new arrivals have barely made an effort to blend in after all. Standing out among the throng of increasingly drunk guests, two men linger at the far end of the hall, eyes obscured by dark sunglasses and twin postures stiff and unyielding. Both are clad in leather jackets which are only slightly less conspicuous than Matt’s own, and once again a treacherous flicker of recognition ignites in Mark’s brain before sputtering into a puff of smoke. The taller man must be pushing six feet, his brown hair cropped short and a 5 o’clock shadow darkening his features as effectively as the scowl on his lips. The smaller man must be around Mark’s height and appears slightly less threatening for it, though from a distance he almost resembles Matt himself with the exception of his dirty-blond hair.  

For a moment Mark wonders if the two men are members of his own security team, seeking out Matt on grounds of a misdemeanor which Mark has been blissfully unaware of all night. Matt doesn’t necessarily look surprised to see them after all, though their presence certainly disturbs him. That thought is cast aside quickly, however. Mark has made an effort to familiarise himself with every member of his workforce, and even if these two are last-minute recruits, their outfits don’t resemble any worn by the rest of his staff.

The not-so-concealed carry lurking on their belts is hardly a feature of his security team either.

Blood freezing as two hidden pairs of eyes settle on the bar and its occupants, Mark turns to Matt in a panic; mouth open with the intention of voicing a warning, or demanding an explanation, or both, but Matt is already one step ahead of him. Those awful neon sunglasses are back on his face, albeit he has the good sense not to activate them this time, and he throws some crumpled notes onto the counter before turning to Mark with what is no doubt supposed to be a reassuring smile. It doesn’t work of course, though he imagines Matt is well-aware of that.  

As a gesture of goodwill, Matt places a firm hand on Mark’s shoulder and offers what sounds like a very final farewell.

“It was good to see you again, Alex.”

And then he’s off, wandering past the quickly emptying dining tables and mixing with the assorted bodies on the dancefloor. Fat lot of good it does; he has about as much chance of blending in here as a giraffe does hiding among a gang of meerkats. Casting a glance towards the mysterious arrivals, Mark spots them making their way towards the dancefloor, the only indication of urgency being the grim determination on their faces. They don’t seem to have any interest in him for the moment, but that prospect brings him little in the way of relief. Instead he simply feels nausea crawling up his throat, and as Matt threatens to escape his eyeline, a new madness takes hold and compels him to follow.  

Keeping Matt in his sights is more difficult than he’d hoped it would be. As much as he stands out among the crowd of dancers, once Mark finds himself trapped within that very crowd, his ability to focus on what’s directly ahead of him falters. The band has gone and a DJ has taken their place, enticing drunk youths to stumble to and fro under the guise of dancing, and Mark finds himself being roughly grabbed more than once by revelers inviting him to join in. One man pointedly tells him to “fuck off” when he manages to free his arm from his tight grip, before swanning off to harass some other poor sod, but Mark forces himself to recover quickly and carries on with his misguided pursuit. Later it will occur to him that he is not usually in the habit of hiring DJs, nor is the ballroom usually so crowded at this late hour as the casino tends to attract the night-owls, but for now all he can focus on is Matt’s retreating back sneaking onto one of the many corridors adjoining the hall.  

Mark follows him seconds later, having escaped the horde with his limbs intact; not daring to look back to check if their assailants have located them. It occurs to him that as hotel owner, he could abuse his status and stand in their way in order to buy time, but he’s not sure he trusts them to resist putting a bullet in his head for insubordination. He may not have the faintest idea of what’s going on, but it feels so much bigger than him somehow. Like he’s been handed solid proof that everything he’s achieved – the hotel, his band, his reputation – is meaningless in the grand scale of the universe.

He stumbles onto the corridor just in time to spot Matt turning right at the far end, and he follows as quickly as he dares. The next turn is a left, then another left, then a right... an endless maze of blinding white walls and hotel room doors, flanked by sprouting monstrosities emerging from intricately painted plant-pots. After a while it seems like Matt has deliberately chosen this route to tease him, and he begins to wonder if this entire evening has been a devilish ploy, but the thought has barely had a chance to take hold when he finally reaches the end of the line.  

There is no turning point at the end of this corridor. Only an unassuming wooden door leading into what appears to be a store cupboard. There aren’t even any hotel rooms remaining in this section; instead the route ahead is lined with marble columns sporting busts with expressionless faces.

Mark only manages one step forward before freezing, as icy fingers of dread crawl up his spine and clutch his heart in a fierce grip.  

No being in the universe knows this hotel better than he does. He knows every room, every corridor, every little nook and cranny as surely as he knows his own name. As well he should; he designed every inch of the place.

And yet, he can say with absolute certainty that he has never laid eyes on this corridor before. Not even in a passing dream.  

Before he can blame the obvious hallucination on the scotch, or even glance back in search of Matt’s pursuers, the silence is shattered by a blinding red light emanating from the cupboard door, illuminating the corridor in time with a sharp, mechanical whine. Mark raises a hand to his eyes as the light pulses in time with his heartbeat - giving untouched walls the appearance of being drenched in blood - and the accompanying noise slams against his eardrums with unrelenting ferocity. Against his better judgement, he presses onward, cowering as the assault on his senses intensifies with every step. No doubt he will be left with nothing but regret as a result of this choice, but he fears the lack of answers will drive him mad if he doesn’t see what lies beyond that door.  

Besides, Matt must be in there. There’s nowhere else he could have gone, and Mark has little desire to leave him for dead.  

The pulsating doesn’t stop until he reaches the door. Body trembling in the quiet aftermath, he takes a moment to recover as the light’s echo persists with every blink of his eyes and a sharp ringing assaults his ears. His breathing sounds painfully uneven in spite of his efforts to remain calm, and he can feel his heart hammering away in an attempt to break free from his chest. He finds himself wishing he could explain away these last ten minutes, but his mind feels numb with uncertainty and the alcohol certainly isn’t helping. Has it even been ten minutes since he’d been sitting at the bar? It simultaneously feels like it’s been mere seconds and several hours since he was enjoying his evening without a care in the world.

The cupboard door remains unopened, the handle a seductive enchantress promising answers he isn’t sure he wants. This new silence doesn’t bode well, and his lack of familiarity with this section of the hotel only increases his chances of running into danger on the way back. There is no doubt in his mind that he’s damned regardless of what he does however; he may as well sate his curiosity in the meantime.  

A cool trickle of sweat slides down his cheek as a trembling hand curls around the door handle, and he pulls sharply before sanity can take hold, expecting resistance but receiving none.  

It seems he will have to settle for not receiving answers either.

The cupboard is empty.

******************************

The details of how he stumbled back to Room 521 and wound up sprawled on his bed are a murky blur. Even as his drunken haze makes way for a pounding headache, he can only recall glimpses of dragging his feet back the way he came; wandering through an almost deserted ballroom followed by similarly empty corridors, before eventually collapsing into bed with a crushing exhaustion. Despite his fears, he never did end up encountering those two assailants on his way back, nor did he glean any further clues as to Matt’s whereabouts. All three men had vanished into the night as mysteriously as they’d appeared, and a numb regret settling over his mind is enough to assure him that he will never see Matt again.

That is, if he even existed in the first place. As the night wears on, he begins to feel more inclined to put the evening’s events down to the drunken hallucinations of a lonely mind. Perhaps if he calls Jamie in the morning, he can put his mind at ease and call him a silly twat, erasing the whole sorry ordeal in the space of one conversation. The urge to pick up the phone now is almost too tempting to resist, but he stays put for now. There’s no need to bother his friend with the drunken ramblings of a madman. Not at this hour anyway.  

Reassurance can wait. For now, he desperately needs sleep which is stubbornly unforthcoming.  

He misses the presence of moonlight. That notion is so strange that a weak rebellious smile tugs at his lips, before the bitter sting of tears replaces it. Homesickness is unlike him – he has never been inclined to hop on a rocket and return home no matter how easy it would be – but right now his yearning for Earth feels suffocating. He misses the moon’s comforting presence in the sky and the wonder it had elicited from him as a child. He misses it hanging overhead as he wandered along silent streets with friends and lovers, singing and kissing and stumbling drunkenly as joyous laughter broke through the relative peace. He misses waking up with his heart in his throat and a new lyric in his head, only to be soothed instantly by luminous streaks of light.  

All he has here is thick, empty darkness which seems intent on crushing him down to dust.

Those memories of home seem so distant now. Unreachable; locked away in a chest sporting a rusted padlock and buried deep beneath the realm of consciousness. Perhaps it would be best if they remained buried. Even if Mark were capable of digging them up and freeing them from their prison, the sheer weight of the memories within would surely drown him in an instant.    

Mark shakes his head and closes his eyes before bitter tears can trail down his cheeks. It would be best not to dwell on such things. His nights are sleepless enough as it is.  

It only occurs to him later, as unblinking eyes linger on the ceiling above, that Matt had casually referred to him as ‘Alex’ and that the thought of questioning it hadn’t even crossed his mind.

[talesfromlordaeron]

Bai’s Apprentice Part 5: The Search

Bai tried to ignore the feeling of panic as she spurred her hawkstrider into a fast sprint, looking for some sign of her missing apprentice. How Zully had managed to disappear so fast was beyond her -- heck, even she didn’t know how to turn invisible yet, surely he couldn’t have done that (right?) -- but she had to catch up with him quickly, wherever he went. Preferably before either of them got into trouble.

She circled the area around the bank and auction house a few times before coming to the conclusion that he wasn’t in the Valley of Strength anymore. “Alright, Bai -- focus,” she whispered to herself. Just before Zully disappeared, she had told him that the mining trainer was in the Valley of Honor. So maybe he had gone in that direction.

It was as good a lead as any. Bai spun hawkstrider around and headed toward the Drag...

As she rode her hawkstrider through the Drag and into the Valley of Honor, Bai continued looking around to see if she could manage to spot Zully. Trolls were notorious for their hunched-over posture, which made them notably hard to spot in a crowd, but she hoped that the less-crowded districts would make it easier for her to spot him and his deep blue mohawk. No such luck, at least on the roads.

The Valley of Honor was, as was normal for late evening, fairly empty. Bai rode up to the Red Canyon Mining, where the trainers were inside chatting with a client. Bai glanced at the adventurer -- a warrior, by the looks of his armor. Another or; definitely not Zully.

“Lok’tar,” the trainer greeted. “Looking to learn some mining?”

The warrior laughed. “Nah, not this mage,” he taunted. “She’s too pretty to pick up a real tool and get herself dirty. Probably doesn’t even know how to swing a real sword.”

Bai glowered at him, but didn’t dignify the insult with a response. “I’m looking for someone,” she told the trainer. “Did you see another mage come in here recently? A troll? Probably would have been looking for your services.”

The warrior let out another guffaw. “Don’t tell me you’re friends with him!”

Bai turned toward him with a raised eyebrow. “He was here?”

“Zully, right? Came in looking for training,” the trainer confirmed. “He left just a few minutes before you arrived.”

“And very nearly dropped his pickaxe on his toe on the way out,” the warrior added. “If he’s a friend of yours, you better go find him before he gouges an eye out!”

“He’s not going to do that!” the trainer snapped back. “You think I’d let that kid out of here if he didn’t know one end of his pickaxe from another?! You insult my teaching!” The two began arguing, completely forgetting about Bai as she slipped out of the shop.

Well, Bai considered, it was at least a start. She may have missed him, but she was on the right track. She mounted her hawkstrider again, trying to figure out where to look next. Leatherworkers, maybe? He’d been interested in skinning...

Bai rode up the Drag, squinting in the shadows as she looked for the leatherworking shop. She found it nearly empty, only the trainers inside. They looked up at her with considerable interest as she entered.

“Another mage, huh? Twice in one day, that’s rare.”

“That’s promising,” Bai said. “I’m looking for one who was coming this way. Young troll, blue skin and blue mohawk hair?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Clumsy as all fuck, dropped his skinning knife twice but at least he didn’t cut himself. Left about five minutes ago.”

Bai slowly blinked. That was twice that she’d missed him. Also twice that someone mentioned him being clumsy -- no wonder he didn’t feel confident in learning a crafting profession. Bai wondered what training him in magic would be like; was that a reason none of the other mages had wanted to train him? “Thank you,” she said, offering a polite bow as she left the shop.

Now what? Bai got back on her hawkstrider, considering her options. Surely he hadn’t gotten eager enough to start gathering his materials to sell that he’d leave the city without her, especially if he’d been wanting her to take him to Dalaran. Unless he’d gotten impatient with her or thought she’d left him, and went in search of a mage to make a portal himself? Surely not -- how would he even pay a mage’s portal fees in the first place yet?

Maybe he went looking for the mage trainers. That was always the first place Bai went when she came into one of the capitals. Zully wouldn’t need their services yet, but perhaps he wanted to find them anyway. Maybe he figured that’s where mages were just supposed to go.

Bai retrieved her map, frowning as she studied the twisting roads. Getting to the Valley of Spirits was always such a pain from here; her own capital of Silvermoon may have been the largest of the Horde’s capitals and a pain to navigate in its own right, but at least the layout of the roads made actual sense. If she remembered correctly, there was a shortcut through the Cleft of Shadows...

She urged her hawkstrider down the narrow passage into the Cleft. If she didn’t catch up to Zully in the Valley of Spirits, then she wasn’t entirely sure where to go from there. Maybe he’d go back to where they last saw each other. Or maybe he’d be wandering around, looking for her?

As descended into the Cleft, she noticed the hunched-over silhouette of a troll emerging from one of the shops. She gave the figure a quick glance, but didn’t register any recognition. Then as she came closer, the troll lifted an arm and waved enthusiastically. “Bai! There you be!”

Bai brought her hawkstrider to an abrupt stop, staring in disbelief. Surely she hadn’t just randomly run into him down here of all places... and it was no wonder she didn’t recognize him at first...

“Where’s your hair?” she blurted out, briefly forgetting herself.

“Zully be needing a haircut before meeting Rhonin.” He ran a hand across his freshly-shaved scalp. “Zully be bald now.”

“O-oh....” Bai wasn’t sure quite what to say. “That was quite a haircut. Was that, uhh... was that intentional? Did they mean to cut it that... off?”

“What you mean?”

Bai buried her face in her hands, completely at a loss for what to even say. Here she’d been frantically searching all over Orgrimmar in a panic, afraid that she’d lost her apprentice before even getting started, and he was completely oblivious to all of that. When had he even gotten shaved? Had she run past him without even realizing it?

She felt her throat tighten and before she could stop herself, a nervous bout of laughter came bubbling up out of her chest.

“Hey, why you be laughing at poor Zully? You no like his new haircut?”

“Oh -- no, no, I’m not laughing at you -- I’m sorry!” Bai struggled to get herself under control, wiping away a few stray tears. “Nervous laughter, I guess. I just... I thought I’d lost you and I’d been looking everywhere for you, and now here you are just...” She sighed, managing a sheepish smile. “You scared me. Please don’t run off like that in a city this big, okay?”

“Oh. Zully be sorry.” He tilted his head to one side and added, “but Zully be okay, see? He like his new haircut. Even though he be bald now.”

Bai grinned and chuckled softly. “For what it’s worth, you do look nice as a bald troll. I’m sorry. You just look very different and it took me by surprise.”

“It be fine, mon.”

“Are you ready to start your training yet?”

Zully shook his head. “Nope. Zully gotta go to da big magic city first and thank Rhonin. Den Zully gotta start his business. Den Zully can start learning magic.”

“Right, that.” Well, there was no avoiding it now. “Listen, Zully, about that...”

“Ya mon?”

Bai sighed, shifting her gaze away. “Zully, I can’t take you to Dalaran. I’m not experienced enough to learn that portal spell. I can’t even survive in Northrend yet.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, I know you wanted to meet Rhonin...”

“Maybe you be asking one of your mage friends to help?”

“I...” Bai paused, considering. There were Kirin Tor mages all over Azeroth, and it wouldn’t be unlikely for a few adventuring mages to find their way to Orgrimmar. But would any of them be willing to help. “I supposed I could try,” she said. “But... just... don’t get your hopes up, alright? I’m not sure if I’ll find anyone willing to portal us.”

Zully nodded solemnly. “It be okay. Zully believe in you.”

Bai blushed, turning away. I’m supposed to be the one encouraging him, not the other way around. “Thanks,” she said. Under her breath, she added, “I’m glad one of us does.”

“What you say?”

“Nothing important.” Bai got off her hawkstrider so she could walk alongside Zully -- and hopefully not lose him again this time. “Let’s head back to the Valley of Strength. More people tend to hang out there, so perhaps we’ll get luckier.”

“Okay, mon. Zully stay right beside you so he doesn’t get lost again.”

“Great.” Taking a deep breath, Bai headed toward the main gates. She could only hope when she got there, that she would find someone willing to lend a hand...

[shame-cubed]

sorry it’s not bederia / some crimes can never be forgiven

Me: alright brain let's write. we’ve been making good progress on invitations lately, keep it up My brain: gay love triangle now Me: excuse me? My brain: raihan/piers romcom with unrequited raihan/leon titled “the e-boys are fightinggg” Me: what My brain: do not question it Me: 

Raihan’s been pining for Leon for over 10 years now, but the ex-champion still can’t seem to take a hint. Piers regrettably finds himself the unlikely ear for Raihan’s woes. It all starts with a post.

It’s late night in Galar and that leaves only two gym leaders online. Piers hardly sleeps and Raihan needs attention applied directly to the forehead at every hour including the late ones. He makes a post--well, repost.

“4got how much I love this picture of my torkoal <3” Torkoal is facing opposite of the camera, its body obscured, munching on berries out of its trainer’s palm. Front and center is Raihan in nothing but shorts.

Who else is deep in the midnight scroll but Piers, who winces at the latest on his feed. Raihan’s ego is so large that Piers can feel it exploding out of his screen, sending the shards into his sunken eye sockets with impressive precision. An insomnia-induced rage seizes the singer and he begins to furiously roast Raihan in his comments. 

Raihan does not differentiate between negative and positive attention. He revels in the notification numbers ticking upwards no matter the content. And so he responds to Piers in ways that spur the dark-type trainer further on. This eventually lands the two in each other’s DMs and everything spirals out of control from there.

After some heated back-and-forth, Raihan professes to Piers that he wouldn’t be such an attention whore if Leon’s oblivious ass would just Notice Him. Piers doesn’t exactly know what overcomes him, perhaps it’s his brotherly instincts to care for the obviously inept, but he offers to help. Raihan is surprised to say the least, but is more than willing to take Piers’ advice, and eventually, ropes Piers into some zany scheme where wooing Leon becomes a team effort.

Leon’s already married to the thrill of battle. He takes every compliment in stride, their implications rolling off him like raindrops off his snapback. He is impossible to crack and it’s wearing Piers down; he’s never gonna get Raihan off his ass at this rate. Little does he know he couldn’t possibly, at this point. In the short time he’s spent as Piers' partner in romantic crimes, Raihan begins to get a feel of what he really wants. So, he cops it.

Piers becomes increasingly agitated as Raihan suddenly won’t leave him alone. He’s always messaging him for “advice” and scheduling meet-ups to “practice.” Everything’s under the guise of getting with Leon, but soon all of Piers' well-meaning tips get turned back on him and he hasn’t a clue how to react. They’ve been in each other’s company for long enough that Raihan’s figured out what Piers likes, and he abuses this.

Raihan is getting increasingly aggressive in his pursuit, even frequenting Piers’ shows. The singer hates how much it flusters him, grovelling about his situation to Marnie, who notes that if Raihan’s gotten this far into his head, perhaps her brother might actually want into the dragon-tamer’s pants, as well. Piers decides he’s never asking his sister anything ever again. There’s no way he’d fall for that guy of all people. Right?

To put an end to his suffering, Piers just straight up asks Leon to date Raihan. Leon is considerably perplexed, but agrees on one condition: Piers must join them on their date. At first he refuses, for that’s not a date at all anymore, it’s just bros hanging out. Exactly, Leon points out, for he hasn’t had a cold one with the boys in forever. It’d be fun! Leon practically begs Piers to join, mostly because he hasn’t clued in at all that it’s supposed to be a date of the romantic variety. Even when Piers explains it multiple times.

“Fun” is the opposite of how Piers would describe this date. Disastrous, sure. Why did he set this up? What’s wrong with him? Nothing makes sense anymore. He repeatedly slams his head into the table the three are sitting at. Their party-pitcher of Turfield Amber Ale ripples with each thud, disturbing the foam.

Raihan couldn’t be more pleased. He feels sorta like a superstar, (which he hasn’t in a while, what with the newest additions to the League stealing all his thunder) flanked by his oldest and newest crushes. Does he have to pick? Leon’s got this himbo charm and Piers is so fun to tease. Why can’t he have both? Oh, it’s too greedy... But dragons are known for hoarding, and he decides to flirt indiscriminately, that is until Leon tries to do his Charizard pose at the table and smokes Raihan in the jaw with his fist.

It figures that the only thing able to shut Raihan up would be a direct hit to the mouth, Piers thinks. 

[That’s Enough, I tell myself, hands trembling above the keys]

Has this been done before???

I’ve never even read a single raihan/piers fic so I have no idea where this even came from???? ??????? ? tho i’ve always lowkey appreciated their frenemy potential

Anyway. sling me into the sun

[virgyvandijk]

For that au idea, idk if it meant any ideas or juat your own. But if its any could you do a liverpool x peakyblinders/mafia style one if you don't mind?

this got so long i’m sorry it’s going to have to go under a cut 

virgil’s father is the kingpin of a drugs gang that near enough rules the netherlands. they control what goes in, what goes out, and ron built the empire up from scratch, dating back to long before virgil was born

he was a flaky dad when virgil was a kid, but when he turned twelve, he disappeared completely. just upped and left without a trace, leaving a whole trail of destruction in his wake. eventually he got back in contact and left his number

when virgil got old enough, he realised what his dad actually did. it disgusted him, to be honest. made him feel sick, because he knew what happened down the production lines of drug gangs. he knew about the violence that so many innocent people inevitably faced, and he couldn’t believe his dad was a part of that

people still recognised him though, when he was in the right bars or even just walking on the right streets. they knew who he was and who his father was, and they’d stop him. sometimes it’d be compliments, sometimes anecdotes, and sometimes threats. he hated all of them

when he turned 18, all those people on the streets started asking him when he was going to follow in his dad’s footsteps. then it turned into trying to convince him to join, and it began to feel constant

the day after his 19th birthday, he packed a bag, kissed his mother goodbye, and moved to the uk. he had a friend in liverpool who had somewhere for him to stay and the offer of a job, so he got on the next flight out and started fresh

he set up a life in liverpool – a good one. he had a decent job as the head of security for concerts in the city, and moved into his own little flat, right near the docks. nobody recognised him, and that was absolutely perfect, it was a proper New Start 

he met jordan through a friend of a friend of a friend at a house party and they hit it off straight away. he’d never been so attracted to someone after only speaking for them for a few minutes, and he wasn’t even nervous when he asked jordan if he’d like to go for lunch the next day, because he knew jordan was going to say yes

their dates were more often than not, every other day for the first week and then every day after that. they got on so well, just spent hours talking and laughing and getting to know each other. virgil didn’t think he’d ever met someone quite like jordan

it wasn’t long until they decided to move in together. they were together most of the time anyway, spending time at virgil’s flat away from jordan’s housemates, so it just made sense. they both had decent jobs and put together a considerable amount for a deposit on a house, and they moved in not even a month later

things were good. virgil knew that he’d found his forever and he was happy about it, settled in his own little house with his own little family (jordan and two cats), in a country where nobody knew about his father and what he did for a living

except, of course, things aren’t always that easy.

gini is the only person he still talks to from back home, because he moved to liverpool shortly after virgil did – after virgil told him how happy he was in the city. they’re inseparable by now, and virgil considers him a brother

they go out for dinner every tuesday (jordan leaves them to it, has a night in with the cats and a pizza), somewhere different each week. gini chooses the restaurant, because he’s much more exciting than virgil is, but that’s fine by virgil. he doesn’t need to be exciting, he enjoys his life as it is thank you

one tuesday, virgil parks somewhere in town and walks to the restaurant that gini suggested. he’s never been there before so he’s using google maps, head buried in his phone, and he quite literally bumps into someone heading up paradise street. he looks up, and he swears he recognises the bloke, but he can’t quite place him

before he can ask, the man speaks. his accent is dutch – the same recognisable region as virgil, and he grins, but it’s more evil than kind. says, “i know you – your dad is ron van dijk. expanding his business, are you?” 

virgil tries to walk away, but the man calls him back. he says he’s got some information about his brother, about what he’s been up to. virgil didn’t even fucking know, but the man has some documents on his phone and virgil can’t deny it. his grin grows wider, and virgil wishes he could forget his next words completely

it’s a choice, that’s the thing. it’s a choice and he makes it, but it’s a choice between his brother’s entire life being ruined for a stupid little mistake that he made when he was a kid, or virgil running a few slightly illegal errands for some shady man. it’s a choice, and it’s one he makes willingly. not only is his baby brother’s wellbeing at stake, but also his own. he doesn’t know what he’ll do if hendo finds out about how shady his family is

but it gets out of hand. at first it’s just a few drops of packages that virgil determinedly doesn’t look into, because he knows he won’t like what he finds. he can do that, can just pretend it’s something different, that this stranger doesn’t have all the information in his pocket to ruin so many lives. the packages eventually turn into bigger requests – into violence. virgil has never been a violent person. he might be big, and some people might find his stature imposing, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly

the violence is where he draws the line. he tells the stranger that he’s not going to do it anymore, that he’s done what he asked and he’s done it perfectly, so there’s absolutely no reason for him to carry on

in hindsight, he probably should’ve been a little suspicious about how calm and casual the stranger was when he said that, but he was just so relieved that he didn’t think twice

he forgets about it. well, as much as he can – it still plays on his mind but days pass and turn into weeks, so he doesn’t think about it. it’s over, as far as he’s concerned, and now he wants to make his boyfriend a nice meal and spend quality time with him and the cats

he picks a friday night, when neither of them have got to be up in the morning. buys a nice bottle of wine and cooks jordan’s favourite meal, because he always finishes earlier than jordan does

except jordan doesn’t come home when he’s supposed to. virgil doesn’t hear the familiar crunch of his tires over the gravel in the driveway, or his keyrings clinking against each other. he doesn’t hear the familiar inflection of jordan’s accent shouting virgil’s name or the incomprehensible muttering about virgil leaving his trainers in the middle of the hall

at first he thinks jordan is just caught up at work, but then an hour turns into three, turns into five and the worry is gnawing at his stomach, making him nauseous. it doesn’t help that jordan isn’t answering any of his calls, either – no matter how many times he dials that familiar number 

on the twenty second time he calls, the ringing stops and there’s silence. jordan has finally fucking picked up, and virgil snaps at him, asks him where he’s been and why the fuck isn’t he home, but the voice that answers isn’t jordan. the accent is dutch. familiar. virgil’s heart sinks into his stomach and tears prick at his eyes, because he should have known he wasn’t getting out of it this easily

his chest feels tight, breaths struggling to go in, but the stranger just laughs. tells virgil that he got what he deserved for thinking he’s the one in control here. tells virgil that if he doesn’t do as he’s told, his little boyfriend will die, and it won’t be quick and painless

virgil agrees, says that he’ll do whatever he wants, whatever he needs – as long as he doesn’t hurt jordan. that’s the only thing that matters

the stranger gives him instructions and hangs up. he sounds so smug that it makes fury boil in virgil’s veins and before he even realises what he’s doing, he’s scrolling through his contacts until he finds his father’s number. he’s not even sure why he kept it, but right now he’s glad. the nausea sets in while he listens to it ring, and he bites his tongue when his dad answers

“i fucking hate you,” he spits, means every word of it. “i hate you. i hate what you’ve done to me. you’ve ruined my life, you’ve ruined everything, and i will never, ever forgive you.” 

“okay,” his dad replies, completely unfazed. virgil somehow hates him even more. “is that all you called for?” 

“i’m in liverpool. where does your gang operate?” virgil asks, voice hard. he knows his father will give him an answer, because that’s the least he deserves. “they’ve taken my fucking boyfriend, ron. they’ve taken him and i won’t let them hurt him, so tell me where they’ve set up around here.”

ron does the only decent thing he’s ever done in his life, and tells virgil. he doesn’t even say goodbye before he hangs up and then he’s dialling the number for jordan’s dad. he’s a police officer – virgil needs the back up. he’s rational enough to know that he’s too emotional for this, and he’ll never forgive himself if jordan ends up hurt, or worse, because of him

he stands back and watches as armed police surround the warehouse. it’s nothing out of the ordinary, really – there are hundreds of empty buildings around the docks, and this one is no different. virgil has walked past it dozens of times and he didn’t think twice about it

he’s not really thinking twice about it now, to be honest. he just wants his jordan back, in his arms and in one piece, and his heart is hammering against his ribcage when the armed officers burst through the doors. jordan’s dad stands next to him, an arm around his shoulders, and he’s really surprised that he’s not blaming virgil

it feels like hours, days, but it’s probably only minutes before that familiar stranger is being dragged out. he’s glaring, and if looks could kill then virgil would be six foot under already, but he makes a point of not looking at him. instead, he watches a few other men being dragged out, ones that virgil vaguely recognises from his dad bringing them around when he was a kid 

eventually, jordan is being helped out by an officer, and virgil’s knees almost buckle with relief. he’s got a few cuts and bruises, blood streaked through his hair, but he’s okay. that’s the main thing – he’s okay

he heads straight to virgil, not even blinking at the sight of his dad standing there, and throws his arms around his neck, shuddering out a sigh when virgil tightens his arms around jordan’s waist. it’s only been half a day since he’s had jordan’s skin under his hands but it felt like years, and he buries himself into the older man’s warmth, into his scent

“i’m okay,” jordan whispers, thumb stroking along virgil’s hairline at his temple. virgil still isn’t quite convinced though, and he guides jordan towards the ambulance that’s waiting and makes sure he gets checked over properly

he is okay, to which jordan mutters, i told you so, but still, virgil would rather be safe than sorry. he takes jordan home and then helps him up the stairs and into the shower, hesitating when jordan tells him that he’s okay, that he can manage to wash himself. still, he knows that jordan probably needs some space after what just happened to him, so he heads downstairs and lowers himself into an armchair

what just happened – fucking hell. jordan nearly died, and it was virgil’s fault. dragged him into this and didn’t even give him any warning. he had no idea who virgil’s dad was or what he did. he probably feels like he doesn’t even know who virgil is anymore, if anything he told him was true

he’s probably going to leave.

jordan is taking his time in the shower, and virgil manages to convince himself that he’s in their bedroom, packing a bag and trying to figure out how to tell virgil that he’ll come back for the rest of his stuff later. nothing would surprise him after the fucking mess he’s made of everything 

when jordan comes back down, he’s dressed in a comfy pair of joggers and one of virgil’s hoodies, fingers tangled in the baggy sleeves of it as he pads across the living room. he says something, but virgil doesn’t even hear it, let alone reply

“virgil?” jordan asks, close enough that virgil has to snap out of his thoughts. he doesn’t look up from the floor, can’t bring himself to make eye contact, because he doesn’t deserve that. “i said, do you want a cup of tea?” 

“if you’re going to leave me, can you just – not drag it out?” virgil says quickly, the words choked as they leave his mouth. the thought of it makes his heart beat twice as fast, tongue too big for his mouth, and he quickly wipes the tears away that have spilled over his cheeks.

jordan drops to his knees just as quickly, both hands coming up to frame virgil’s face. he lifts his head, makes him look at him, and whispers, “i’m not going anywhere, virgil.”

virgil blinks. he’s so confused. “even after all the lies? all the pain i’ve put you through? you could have died, jordan. it would have been my fault,” he says.

“no,” jordan says, shaking his head. his thumb traces along virgil’s bottom lip carefully. “i love you, and that means i love all of you. even the parts that have a shitty excuse of a man for a father. even the parts that you haven’t told me about. i love you, and that means i’m all in.”

virgil can’t help it. he bursts into tears, sobs wracking through his entire body. he’s never felt unconditional love like this before, because even his mother was half terrified he’d turn out like his father, but jordan doesn’t see any of that. jordan sees virgil, and nobody else

jordan slides his arms around virgil’s shoulders and pulls him in close, for a tight hug. he lets him cry it out for as long as he needs, shushing him gently, and doesn’t say a word when virgil falls silent

that’s unconditional love. it means more to virgil than he could ever describe.

send me an au and i’ll give you headcanons

[hearts-hunger]

I’m Happy at Home || part four

Look on my masterlist for parts 1-3!

Part Summary: You take a trip down memory lane to spring 1971, when you first got to know your mates’ adorable new bass player.

Pairings: John Deacon x Wife!Reader; dad!deaky

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2k (short again ik sorry)

Warnings: None!

A/N: Ok loves!! Here’s the memory I promised in the last chapter, and I think it’s pretty cute. It just jumps right into the memory and ends still in it, so we’ve left Montreal Deaky for the moment, but he’ll be back in all his glory in the next part. Besides, who can resist ‘71 Deaky with that cute smile and that lovely hair? Not me, that’s who. I hope you like it, and let me know what you think!

You had been Brian’s roommate at the time, both of you attending Imperial College London at various stages of your academic career. As considerate a flatmate as the aspiring astrophysicist was, he’d forgotten to mention to you that he’d invited Queen’s new bassist over first thing in the morning. 

You’d stumbled out of bed when you heard the kettle being filled, the sound of Brian’s early morning tea-making a surer alarm than your own bedside clock since the day you’d moved in. You’d made it down the hall and to the bathroom when you realized that the shower was running already and that the soft humming coming from the kitchen wasn’t in Brian’s familiar voice. Stopped at the bathroom door and peeking around the corner into the kitchen, you bit your lip to keep an obscenity from tumbling out as you leaned back from the corner. 

Nope, that wasn’t Brian at all. You wouldn’t have minded walking out in your “Ringo for President” t-shirt and messy hair if it had just been your roommate - you’d been best friends for so long that he was practically your brother, and you’d long since stopped caring about looking presentable for him. But the new bass player - John Richard Deacon, you didn’t think you’d ever forget that introduction - was heart-stoppingly cute, and you’d wanted to make a good impression on him the next time you saw him. You were just about to make your retreat to your room to actually get dressed when the bathroom door opened; you took one step backwards and bumped into Brian, all dripping hair and lanky limbs and nothing but a towel around his waist.

“Hey,” he’d protested, pushing you forward a bit so you weren’t standing on his foot.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, unblushing at the slightly compromising situation you found yourself in, you with no bra and him with no clothes at all. There was nothing romantic or sexual between the two of you; though you’d nursed a latent crush on him in the early days of your friendship, living with him had made that a thing of the past. Not that you didn’t think Brian was good-looking or sweet or good fun to be around; you just knew that he’d make some other girl quite happy, and his friendship meant the world to you.

“Mind telling me why you’re just standing right at the doorway?” he asked, amused. Then, with a flicker of worry, “Did you need in? Sorry if I was taking too long.”

“No, you’re ok,” you said. “I just... ah, didn’t know we were having company.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he said, realizing. “I meant to tell you last night. We’re going over a few things before the show. I asked him to put on some tea and I told him you had a stash of Jammie Dodgers up in the cabinet.”

You frowned. “You’re not even supposed to know about those.”

Brian smirked. “You want me to go tell John that he can’t have any?”

“No,” you said quickly. “But next time, I’m telling him about your million-year-old brandy hidden behind that vase from your mother that you never use.”

He gave a melodramatic gasp. “That’s not even on the same level as Jammie Dodgers.”

“It’s the principle of the matter, Brimi.”

“Fine, point taken.” He gave you a crooked smile. “You could go say hi, you know, instead of hiding out and arguing with me. He doesn’t bite. Unless you wanted him to, maybe.”

“Brian,” you scolded, feeling your cheeks flush. He only laughed. 

“Besides, I can’t go out there looking like this,” you insisted, your voice a little quieter for fear of John overhearing.

“No?” Brian teased, matching your tone. “Maybe he’s into the all-natural kind of thing.”

“Brian Harold May,” you said, smacking his arm and earning another laugh from him. “You’re horrible, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he said with a grin. “But you should still go say hi.”

He crossed to his bedroom and shut the door behind him; you followed suit, putting a bra on and checking that your hair wasn’t a complete mess. You didn’t want this John Richard Deacon fellow to think that you were avoiding him, but you also didn’t want to be an absolute mess the first time you really talked to him. Satisfied, marginally, with your appearance, you went back out to the hallway and rounded the corner, making your way into the kitchen.

“Hi,” you ventured, giving a shy little wave even though he had his back to you. He turned to face you with the expression of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his smile endearingly nervous. 

“Hi,” he said. “Sorry about - I mean - I couldn’t help but overhear, I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I - ”

“Oh, that’s ok,” you assured him, feeling a little embarrassed. Which parts had he heard? “Brian and I aren’t masters of arguing quietly.”

“All the same, I’m sorry if it was a bit of a shock to see me in your kitchen so early,” he said, bashful. “I asked Brian if you were ok with it, and he said you would be. And that he’d let you know.”

“Well, no harm done,” you said, giving him a smile and hoping to ease his guilt. “If there’s one thing to know about Brian, it’s that he’s an absolute genius who would lose his head if it weren’t attached to him. He tends to be very scatterbrained.”

He smiled. “Well, I guess I’ll remember that for next time and ask you myself if it’s ok to come over.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a deep blush rose to his cheeks. “Not that I’m - I mean - sorry, that was - ” He gave a nervous laugh. “Awfully presumptuous of me.”

“No, you’re fine,” you said, endeared to him. “You don’t have to ask to come over here - Roger and Freddie are over here all hours, and now that you’re in the band, our home is your home too.”

“Oh,” he said softly, surprised. “That’s very kind. Thank you.” He looked down at his shoes, a well-loved pair of trainers. “I wouldn’t go giving me any special band privileges yet, though, I’ve only just auditioned.”

Trying to make him feel more at ease, you hopped up on the bar stool at the island, trying to give the impression that this was just a casual conversation and not the Spanish Inquisition. You leaned your elbows on the counter and propped your chin in your hand.

“Oh, I think you’re here to stay,” you said sincerely. “I’m no musical genius like you guys, but it sounded great to me at your audition. And the boys have said they think you’re really good.”

He looked up at you, his brown eyes alight and hopeful. “They have?”

You smiled. He really did have the loveliest features, all brightened and softened by this newfound excitement. You found yourself wondering what it would be like to have him look that way because of you, maybe because you decided to reach up on tiptoes and kiss him...

You blushed, shaking your head to clear it. Geez, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been absolutely doe-eyed over somebody like this, much less after only meeting him one time and then stumbling upon him in your kitchen at seven in the morning. You couldn’t help hiding behind your hands a bit, trying to conceal your deep blush.

“Yeah,” you said, remembering the question. “They really like your style. Roger was impressed that you got ‘Keep Yourself Alive’ right off the bat. That’s one of the ones he auditioned with, and it took him a few run-throughs to get it.”

John’s soft laugh was a little surprised. “Roger was impressed?”

You smiled. “Yeah, he was, and don’t let him get to you. He’s a jackass, but he’s really a sweetheart underneath all that.”

“Well... I’m looking forward to getting to know that side of him,” John said diplomatically, drawing a laugh from you. You couldn’t help but notice the way he smiled when you laughed, and you felt you’d like to make him smile like that all the time.

The kettle began its familiar whistle and John turned to take it off the stove, filling two mugs with hot water before replacing it on the eye.

“Tea’s up in the cabinet to your left,” you said. “Though Brian probably told you that. Help yourself to whatever kind you like - we have kind of an eclectic collection.”

“I’m really plain when it comes to tea,” he admitted. “I usually go for Lady Grey or something equally unexciting.”

“Lady Grey's my favorite, actually,” you said with a smile. “That should be up on top.”

He took two teabags out of the box and fixed your mugs, spooning some sugar into yours at your request and adding milk to both. He handed your mug to you and you cradled it with both hands, letting the warmth seep into your fingers. 

“Thank you for making tea,” you said. “I wouldn’t have made you make tea - I mean, you’re the guest, after all - but my skill for being a hostess has never quite rubbed off on Brian. So I apologize on his behalf.”

“Oh, you don’t need to,” John said, a little embarrassed. “I don’t mind. Did I make yours alright?”

You took a sip. “Perfect,” you told him.

You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of you sipping at your tea, the sunlight growing brighter as it filled your tiny flat. You had the feeling that you would be content to spend every morning like this, sharing tea with John Richard Deacon.

“So, John,” you said. “Can I ask you something?”

He looked up at you and gave you a gentle smile. “Of course.”

You bit your lip. “What do you do in real life?”

You could tell from the sound of his laugh that you’d caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You know, like, not in the band.”

“Oh,” he said, his smile still lingering. “Um, I study electrical engineering at university. Not that exciting.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “You must know lots of fun things. Do you like studying it?”

“Very much, actually,” he said. “It’s always been a hobby of mine since I was a kid, and it’ll suit me just fine for my living. Actually, I’ve been hoping to get a closer look at Brian’s guitar and ask him about how he wired it.”

“Oh, he’ll talk with you about Red Special to your heart’s content,” you said. “And probably past that. Seriously, don’t be afraid to ask him about it. He’ll talk your ear off.”

“Who’ll talk whose ear off?”

Both you and John looked over to the doorway, seeing Brian come in.

“You’re going to talk John’s ear off about the Red Special,” you clarified. “He’s interested in how it’s wired.”

“Are you really?” Brian asked excitedly.

John smiled. “Yeah, I’d love to know how you built it. It’s fantastic, and that sound is so unique.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Brian said, his cheeks pinking a little. He busied himself making himself some tea, John politely moving out of the way of Brian’s gangly limbs. 

“Y/N’s right,” Brian said. “I’ll babble on ‘til you’re begging me to stop. But you’re more than welcome to take a look at her.”

John’s gaze flickered to you. “H-her?”

You blushed and Brian chuckled. “Oh, sorry, I meant Red Special. My one and only. I don’t have any say in who takes a look at Y/N.”

Your flush deepened. “Bri,” you warned. You looked over to John. “Sorry about him, he’s - ”

“Just teasing,” Brian supplied with a grin. “As she knows.” He tugged on a curl that had come loose from your bun. “But enough about you two, you’ve got me started on my guitar, and I’m not going to stop anytime soon. Come on, John, give me your professional electrical engineer opinion.”

John gave you a sweet smile as he made to follow Brian to the living room. “It was lovely having tea with you,” he said.

You returned his smile. “You too, John Richard Deacon.”

He chuckled at the reminder of how he’d introduced himself. “Maybe we could have tea again, before our next show.”

You grinned. “I’d like nothing better.”

Read part 5!

series taglist: @mirkwoodshewolf @caborhapch @in-theyearof39 @someone-get-a-medic @deaky-dandelion @simply-sams-things @jazzman-19 @ixchel-9275 

forever taglist: @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl @hazah @dashlilymark @punkgeekchic @harrisunn @stephydearestxo @luckytrashgooprebel

let me know if you’d like to be added to either! also, let me know if i’ve put you on the wrong one, or if i’ve forgotten to add you!

[broomballkraken]

Title: Excuses, Excuses, Chapter 3: Adrenaline Rush

Fandom: Pokemon Sword/Shield

Pairing: Milo/Nessa

Word count: 2366

Warnings: None

Summary: Excuse #3: Nessa’s Adrenaline Rush. After watching Milo’s matches against two outstanding Gym Challengers, Nessa intends to meet Milo for lunch. When he doesn’t show up, she sets out to find him, but soon finds herself in a rather precarious situation.

With the Gym Challenge well underway, Nessa couldn’t afford to be away from Hulbury for extended periods of time. Eager trainers could come barging into her gym at any time, but that fact could not keep her from making the trip to Turffield to watch Milo’s matches against the new trainers endorsed by the current champion of Galar. She had visited Milo before to watch his matches - and he did the same for hers - but when she heard that these two trainers in particular had finally made it to Turffield, she made sure that her schedule was kept clear so that she could see them in action.

Leon’s brother had won his match rather handily, and his friend had followed suit in the very next challenge. Nessa was excited at the prospect of fighting them herself. She was eager to talk to Milo about the trainers when they met up for lunch, like they always did after his matches...if he would just show up already.

“Ugh, where is he?” Nessa grumbled to herself, checking her phone yet again to see if Milo had responded to her message. Her eyebrows scrunched up as she frowned, her eyes boring into the unread ‘Where are you?’ text she had sent him 20 minutes ago. She was waiting for him outside the entrance to the stadium. Had she really missed him leaving? Or was he still in the locker rooms? She was about to go back inside and ask if someone saw him leave, but she was stopped when someone called her name.

“Hey, Ness! Good to see you!”

Turning around, Nessa smiled when she saw Sonia walking towards her. It had been awhile since they’d seen each other, and she did miss hanging out with her best friend.

“Were you watching the matches too? Those new trainers really are something, aren’t they?” Sonia said when she pulled away after giving Nessa a hug.

“Oh yeah, I can’t wait to battle them myself.”

“I’ll have to make sure to make it to Hulbury to see that match!”

“You better!”

Nessa smirked and crossed her arms over her chest as Sonia giggled, and a curious look suddenly crossed her face.

“So what are you still doing here?” she asked, and Nessa shrugged.

“I’m waiting for Milo. We’re supposed to get lunch, but he’s taking a really long time to get here.” Nessa said, and a sly grin appeared on Sonia’s face.

“Oh? Is this a date?” she asked, and Nessa sputtered, her face heating up considerably.

“W-What? No way! We’re just friends.” Nessa quickly protested, shaking her hands in front of her.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” Sonia said, snickering when Nessa just huffed and looked away.

“S-Shut up…” Nessa grumbled. Sonia rolled her eyes and threw an arm over Nessa’s shoulder.

“I’m just teasing! I’ve gotta get going though. I need to study up a little more on the geoglyph here. Have fun on your not-date!” Sonia said, waving a hand behind her as she walked off. Nessa glowered at her retreating back, before she groaned and slapped a hand to her face. Sonia did always like to tease her about many things, but this was just too much. Milo was just a friend, nothing more. Sure, he was cute, and funny, and a total sweetheart, and hardworking, and-

“Gah, I need to find him!” Nessa exclaimed, her face flushing red as she shook her head, trying to push these weird thoughts from her mind. She mumbled incoherently to herself as she headed in the direction of the farm that Milo’s family owned; maybe something had come up and he had to rush over there?

Turffield was not a large town, so Nessa found herself approaching the Wooloo farm in no time at all. Something seemed odd though; it was too quiet. Normally she’d be hearing Wooloo bleating at her as she approached, but when she looked over at the fence that they’d normally be pressed up against, she saw nothing. Weird.

Nessa suddenly felt the ground shake beneath her feet, and she blinked as she quickly looked around, confused. She turned to see that the herd of Wooloo that were supposed to be greeting her from behind the fence were now barreling towards her at an alarming pace.

Nessa’s eyes widened as she scrambled to get out of the way, but in her haste her foot caught on a rock and she tumbled to the ground. The herd of Wooloo were almost upon her now, so she just cursed under her breath and covered her head with her arms, bracing for impact.

But the impact never came, as Nessa was suddenly hoisted into the air. She yelped in surprise as a pair of strong arms wrapped securely around her, and she pressed her face against a broad chest and wrapped her arms around her savior's neck. The arms tightened around her as they shook with the impact of the Wooloo crashing into them.

“Nessa, are you okay?” Nessa finally looked up to find Milo gazing down at her, his brow furrowed with concern. Sweat beaded his forehead as he panted heavily, and he winced as the last of the Wooloo bounced off of his legs. Nessa’s heart was hammering hard in her chest as the adrenaline from her ordeal started to wear off, and she could only nod in response.

“Whew! That’s a relief!” Milo said, a beaming smile crossing his face as two barking Yamper ran past them, making sure that all of the Wooloo made it back into their enclosure. “I almost thought I wasn’t gonna make it to you in time!”

“Um, thanks Milo…” Nessa finally managed to say, her lips turning up into a small smile. She then realized that his face was very, very close to her own, and her cheeks flushed a bright red.

“You can, ah, put me down now…” Nessa said, averting her gaze.

“Oh!” Milo gasped, quickly lowering Nessa back to her feet as she let go of his neck, “Sorry! I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or anything!” Milo placed his hands on her arms, looking her over to double check for any injuries. Nessa smiled and waved it off.

“It’s cool. And I’m fine.” she said, shaking her head. The smile fell from her face when she caught a flash of red out of the corner of her eye, and she looked down to see that Milo’s right shin was scraped up and oozing blood.

“I should be worrying about you!” Nessa continued, pursing her lips as she knelt down to examine Milo’s injury.

“Huh? Oh, whoops! I didn’t even realize I was bleeding. Guess I was too busy making sure that you were okay.” Milo said, laughing sheepishly as he rubbed at the back of his neck. Nessa sighed and rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling that spread throughout her chest.

“You big dork. Can you walk?”

“Oh yeah! I’m good!” Milo tried to demonstrate by putting pressure on his injured leg, but he suddenly winced and let up as more blood started rolling down his leg.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Nessa pouted as she stood back up, crossing her arms over her chest as Milo scratched at his chin and avoided her heated gaze. “Well, it can’t be helped.” Without giving him time to react, Nessa quickly grabbed Milo’s arm and hoisted him over her shoulders so that she had him in a fireman’s carry.

“N-Ness!” Milo exclaimed, flailing a bit as he gripped at her arm. “You really don’t have to carry me! The house isn’t that far away.”

“You’re gonna bleed too much if you put more pressure on your leg. Just chill for a minute.” Nessa said, shrugging to adjust Milo’s weight as she started walking off towards the house. She wasn’t a strong as he was, but Nessa was no weakling. She spent a good chunk of her free time helping her dad haul his fishing catches to the markets, so she was fairly tough herself.

“U-Um, okay…” Milo mumbled, “I just don’t want you to get hurt-”

“Are you calling me weak?” Nessa glared at Milo out of the corner of her eye, and he blanched.

“No! Never! You’re really strong, I’m just, uh, really bulky and I’d never want to accidentally hurt you and-” Nessa cut him off by laughing.

“I’m just teasing you,” Nessa said, a sly smile crossing her face, “You’re too sweet for your own good sometimes.”

“Ugh, Ness…” Milo grumbled, hiding his reddening face against her arm, “You can be so mean sometimes…”

“Hehe, you still like me, though.”

“Well, yeah!”

Laughter erupted from the both of them as Nessa carried Milo to the house, and she immediately set Milo down on a chair in the kitchen when they were inside. He told her where to find a first-aid kit, and a few minutes later, she had disinfected and wrapped up his shin with a clean bandage.

“There! That should keep you from bleeding out all over the place.” Nessa said as she sat down, and her heart skipped a beat when Milo beamed at her, his eyes sparkling with something that looked like admiration. Nessa tried swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat as she looked away, embarrassed.

“Thanks Ness! You’re the best!” Milo gushed, and Nessa tried to shrug it off, but a smile tugged at her lips anyway.

“It’s no big deal. You got hurt because of me, so it’s only fair that I patched you up.”

“I guess, but I’m still happy that you did so!”

“So, how’d the Wooloo get out this time? I figured something was up when you didn’t meet me right after your match, or respond to my text.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I completely forgot!” Milo said, his eyes widening. He rummaged through his pockets for a moment and sighed, “Shoot, I must have left my phone in the locker room…”

“I got a text from my dad right after the match,” Milo continued, “He and mum were late for the matches, and he must have left the gate open to the Wooloo pen again ‘cause he was in a hurry to get to the stadium.”

“Your dad does that a lot, doesn’t he?” Nessa said, giggling when Milo sighed as he removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair.

“Too much. Usually Otis is there to remember for him, but he walked to the stadium early with me today.”

Nessa nodded, as she understood completely. Otis absolutely adored his older brother, and vise versa. Whenever Nessa came to visit Milo, they were always doing something together, whether it was herding Wooloo, tending to vegetables, or learning the basics of Pokemon training. Nessa thought their relationship was really sweet.

“So, naturally the Wooloo herd got loose, and one of our neighbors called me during my matches and left me a voicemail. I told my parents that I’d take care of it, and I ran off without thinking too much about it. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Milo hung his head, looking guilty.

“It’s fine, Milo.” Nessa said quickly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Really, I’m just glad that everything’s okay.”

“Still...I feel bad about it.” Milo said, smiling as he placed his hand over the one Nessa still had on his shoulder. “Lunch is on me today to make it up to you, and to thank you for patchin’ me up!”

“C’mon, we’re even now.” Nessa said, the warmth of Milo’s hand over hers causing a smile to cross her face, “You did save me from the dreaded Wooloo stampede.”

“I know, but I still want to treat you! You mean a lot to me, Nessa.” Milo said, and when his green eyes met her blue, Nessa’s heartbeat was sent racing again, almost as fast as it had been when she was trapped in the path of a stampede of Wooloo.

“Milo, I...well, you, um, mean a lot to me too…” Nessa mumbled, stumbling over her words. Why was she getting so flustered all of a sudden? It was perfectly normal to tell a friend that she cared for him. Yes...totally just a friend, nothing more...but why was her heart racing so fast? That never happened when she told Sonia or Kabu or Raihan that she cared about them…

“Um! Lunch, yeah! I’m pretty hungry, let’s go get some food!” Nessa suddenly blurted out, shooting out of her chair and causing Milo to jump, startled.

“Uh, right...Are you okay, Ness?” Milo asked, raising an eyebrow as he also stood up, putting a bit of pressure on his injured leg to make sure he could walk okay.

“Oh yeah!” Nessa said, laughing nervously as she threw her arm over his shoulders, “It’s just, uh, all this excitement has really make me work up an appetite. I just might collapse if I don’t get some food in me soon!” Nessa bit her lip and plastered an unconvincing smile on her face. Milo blinked at her for a moment, before laughing and shaking his head.

“Aw geez, I’m sure you’re not gonna starve! But let’s get going, just in case!” Milo said, taking Nessa’s hand and leading her out of the house. Nessa breathed a sigh of relief, which she quickly covered up by clearing her throat.

“Alright. Oh, and you have to tell me your thoughts on your matches with those trainers that Leon endorsed! I’ll be taking them on next, after all.” Nessa said, grinning as Milo turned to look at her.

“Oh yeah! Well, Leon’s brother was a tough one, he started with Wooloo, so I lead with my…” Milo started, and the rest of their day was filled with strategic discussions and great food. However, Nessa’s heartbeat continued to race within her chest, and she could not figure out exactly why. It was probably just leftover adrenaline from her perilous situation earlier in the day, and had absolutely nothing to do with the man sitting across from her, making her laugh with corny jokes and generously giving advice for her upcoming challenges.

[fantasymysticworld]

Dragons A New World: Chapter 1 - Discovery Part 1

Thousands of years ago, dragons used to walk among men as one of their most trustworthy companions. However, their safety was not guaranteed and they had to flee. In present day, Juniper was only known as the dangerous orphan girl ready to attack anyone in her way, when in reality she’s just looking for a friend. Her life flips upside down when a dragon with black scales, large bat wings and eyes as blue as sky saves her in the forest. The two find common ground with each other, and together, discover the mysteries why after all these years dragons have found their way back the human world…the new world.

Unknown

An unknown facility stood in the misty woods. Each tree was the dark colour of a starless night sky, no soul and no happiness. Inside, only to screams of unknown animals that were forced to bond with terrible people. The cutting sound of a whip would force them back into submission if they went out of line again.

A man walked into a large cell area, accompanied by two heavily armed men. Each cage was as large as a studio apartment, except each one had nothing but miserable, brooding creatures that were desperate to be free. The man had black hair, lightly tanned skin, a black beard, soulless wrinkled dark eyes and wore a business suit with a black blazer. The man continued to walk down the dimly lit hall. “How is J15 doing?” he asked, sneering “Any luck?”

“I’m afraid not sir” One of the man replied “He’s still a fighter.”

Both men stood on each side of the cage, not bothering to look in, as they waved up to a couple of people behind a glass window, signalling to bring the cage forward to get a proper look at the beast. The cage zoomed forward and the man walked up to it. His face dropped and his eyes darkened even more. “He’s gone!” he screamed.

The two men on each side of the cage finally woke up from their stone-faced expression and looked in, confirming their boss’ outburst. “Idiots!” he yelled at them “Find him and find him now!”

Outside, in the woods, a creature kept running, running away from that awful place and the people inside. The loud sound of alarms went off, making its ears press flat against its head in order to block out the sound. It then took off, flapping its wings into the air. Then, as quick as it escaped, it disappeared into the misty air.

……..

 Bethesda, Washington DC

The older boy grabbed the freshman’s arm as he shoved him headfirst into the wall of the bike shed, not caring about the damaged he caused to the boy or the shed. “You think that was funny what you did to me yesterday?!” he screamed, twisting the younger boy’s arm. The yard was empty, as everyone was already in class, except for them. For he had dragged the boy behind the shed – the only place without a CCTV security camera - and kept a hand over mouth until everyone was gone, leaving him to torture the poor soul.

“W-what are you t-taking about?” the younger boy began to cry, as he struggled to get away from the stronger and scarier student. The older boy who still continued to give the youthful student pain had ivory skin, sickly green eyes, spiky dark brown hair and one earing in his left ear. He wore a red sweatshirt and looked like that he was at the age of fifteen.

“Don’t play dumb with me!” he shrieked, grinning as the freshman began to writhe underneath his grasp “You meant it! You meant to trip me up into the janitor’s bucket!”

“What!?”

“And everyone was watching! Even her…” he hissed like he had the foulest taste in his mouth “And now you’re going to pay!”

“Trent I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” the boy tried to slid away, each attempt failing “It won’t happen again!”

“Oh I know it won’t!” Trent growled “Because I’m going to break this little arm! Then I’ll break you’re kneecaps with a rock before breaking your legs with my bare hands and I’ll stamp on your feet until every little bone shatters!”

“No!” The boy bawled.

“Hey!” a new voice of a female filled the space before Trent turned around and had a fist colliding with his jaw.

……..

“This is the third time this month Mr Simmons” Principal Jones paced behind his desk. His bald head shining against the sun as his brown eyes started sadly down at the man sitting at the other side of his desk. “If Juniper keeps this up, we’re going to have to suspend her from this school.”

“I know” The man sighed. He had light-coffee shaded skin with a brittle short boxed beard growing into place, brown eyes and a large afro with thousands of curls springing into place. He looked to be in his early to mid-thirties and wasn’t half bad looking for his age. In fact, he was quite the looker. He wore a white doctor’s coat due to the fact that he was pulled from his work in the hospital in order to hear about the situation at hand. “What about Trent?”

“Trent is facing a two week suspension and will be coming in for detention on those weekends.” Principal Jones answered “However I will need Juniper to come in for detention on Monday afternoon after the weekend.”

“I know sir” said the man, rubbing his face and sighing “Juniper is going through a pretty rough time at school right now due to Trent’s behaviour.”

“I understand Rafael” Principal Jones replied calmly “Just make sure you talk to her when you get home. Violence will not be tolerated here.”

The door to the office suddenly burst open and in walked a woman, wearing a grey dress and blazer, holding Trent by the arm with her pasty face plastered with red. “This is the third time this month and you’re still letting my son get punched in the face!” she squawked.

“Mrs Hunter, your son shouldn’t even be hitting students in the first place” Principal Jones countered, his face still in its neutral position.

“Oh please, that boy is fine! That girl on the other hand could learn a manner or two.” The woman recoiled.

Rafael laughed under his breathe, only to have to said woman gawk at him in the most offended manner. “How dare you?!” She bellowed “Are you the father?!”

The muscles in Principal Jones’ face twitched. “Mrs Hunter” he muttered in a low warning tone.

“I’m just asking!” She shouted “It wouldn’t be surprised on where she gets those violent tendencies from!”

Rafael jaw dropped “Excuse me?”

Fuming, Principal Jones shot out of his seat and slammed his hands onto the table. “Mrs Hunter!” He roared.

“What is that supposed to mean?!” Rafael questioned her, using all of his might to not slam her against the wall.

“Mrs Hunter that is enough!” Principal Jones thundered with Mrs Hunter slowly turning her head, every inch of her body tense, to face him. If looks could kill, both men would be in heaven right about now. “Your son was violating against the school policy and you should be thankful that we’re not giving him a permanent suspension! Now maybe take what I said into consideration and teach your son some manners!”

Mrs Hunter’s whole face turned Crimson, as her breathing became heavier and her brows furrowed, nearly touching the bridge of her nose. “How dare you tell me how to parent!” she howled “And what about that girl?-”

“I understand you’re angry about Juniper hitting your son, but you must understand that it was for the defence of a younger student!” he bellowed, his knuckles turning white “You’re lucky that the parents of that young boy didn’t press charges!”

The woman gawked again, her grip tightening on Trent’s arm and it began to turn purple. “This is unbelievable” she snarled “My son gets a two week suspension and that girl gets nothing!”

Principal Jones noticed that if this carried on, he was certain that the office would end up in flames not too soon. He literally swore flames in that mad woman’s eyes. “Mrs Hunter, maybe its best you leave and cool off” Principal Jones replied coolly.

Mrs Hunter huffed, her grip easing up on Trent as she flipped her hair and began to walk out of the office, but not before turning to Rafael and sending him the most life threating glare that he had ever seen.  “If this happens again, you’ll be hearing from our lawyers” she hissed and stormed out.

Principal Jones had heard this, as he let out another “Mrs Hunter!” before she finally walked out, her heels thundering against the floor.

……..

Outside the office, a young girl hung her head low, making sure that no one could see her face.  She was about the same age of Trent, with long dark blonde hair, pale skin dusted with freckles, and deep sea-blue eyes that were glued to the ground. She wore a denim blue jacket over an indigo blouse that was sewn onto a long skater skirt of the same colour that reached down to her knees that was made out of a stretchy yet smooth material. And to finish off the look, she wore black leggings with black trainers. On her left bruised hand were specks of green and blue that had dried into her skin, she ran her other hand over them as she tried hard to forget that awful thing that she did today. She knew he deserved, but that didn’t get rid of that gut-wrenching feeling of guilt that built up inside her.

The door of the principal’s office flew open, before slamming with an ear-bleeding shut, and Juniper glued her eyes to the ground. She felt the harsh glare of Mrs Hunter’s eyes firing holes into the top of her head. If she had to think irrationally, she was definitely sure she would let her son kill Juniper in her sleep. As she heard the clicking of her heels leave the room, she felt something tumble into her hands. She then noticed the piece of crumpled paper in her hands, before she looked up, her eyes wide, noticing Trent menacing smirk as he left with his mother.  She opened up the small ball, reading the words that were scribbled onto it. Her eyes then began to sting as she crumpled it back up again.

She then heard Rafael speak a few final words to Principal Jones before gently closing then door and made his way over to Juniper. It wasn’t long before he discovered the piece of paper in her hands and crouched down to her level and gently placed a hand on hers. “What’s that?” he asked quietly, but loud enough to now make it a whisper. Juniper said nothing. “Juniper” his tone was more authoritative this time. Knowing that he needed an answer, she held out the crumpled paper and he carefully took it from her hands. What he read next made his heart shatter.

Orphan freak!

He stood up and walked back into the office as Juniper stared at him with the same wide-eyed expression. He exited it again and beckoned her to stand. “Come on” he said with a smile “Let’s go.” 

In the car, Juniper was silent the whole time, doing nothing put trace her hand down the car window as little rain drops stopped to fall down the glass. Rafael didn’t want to say anything in case a fight broke out between them and would both end up in an accident. Ever since Juniper joined the school in January, Trent and his goons proceeded to give her a terrible time. From putting gum in her hair, to tripping her up, spitting on her, threats of violence and telling everyone that she had a violent nature. While she was never violent and repeated the same behaviour to defend herself from Trent, Juniper did have the tendency to start a fight with Trent when he was hurting other students. Maybe it was because she would try to protect other children in her previous foster homes if they got hurt, but it still didn’t help with the rumours that the students in that school would spread.

Rafael pulled up into the driveway of their home and helped Juniper out of the car. As they made their way into the house and hung up their jackets, he suddenly heard small sniffles behind him and turned around to see Juniper in tears. “I’m sorry!” she croaked “I shouldn’t have hit him, I’m so sorry!”

“Hey it’s okay!” said Rafael, as he went over to embrace her. He led her to the couch where he let her cry more into his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, don’t worry” he soothed.

“He was hurting someone else!” she sobbed “I tried to take your advice, try to stay out of it but I couldn’t help it, he was threatening to hurt him!”

“I know” said Rafael “It sucks to have those kinds of people in school. And to be honest, the world would be so much better if they were like that. But they do and I’m glad you stood up for that boy.”

“No you’re not” Juniper sniffed.

“Yes I am” said Rafael “I’m might be might that you hit Trent but I am so glad you weren’t a bystander.”

Juniper sniffed again and rubbed her blood shot eyes as she stared up at him. “Really?”

“Yeah” said Rafael “When I was in high school, there were these boys who wouldn’t stop bothering this girl. Each day she came into school became worse and worse until one day, she didn’t show up. We kept waiting for her to but she never came. We even began to suspect the worst. The only people who were happy about it were the people who pestered her. I wish I could’ve done something but I didn’t. Which is why I’m so glad you stand up for people who can’t stand up for themselves. You’re amazing Juniper, never let them take that away from you.”

Juniper nodded and hugged Rafael one more time before asking “Does this mean you’re not sending me back into the system.”

Rafael’s heart dropped as he stared at the young girl in front of him with disbelief. “Why would you think that?” he asked back.

Juniper sighed sadly and began to explain. “This happened in one of my previous foster homes. I kept beating up kids who were hurting other people and no one told me what I was doing was wrong so I kept doing it. Until one day, out of nowhere, they began to scream at me about how I was some priceless orphan that they could send back into the system. And they did…they sent me back.” She rubbed her eyes again. “I’m sorry; you probably didn’t need to hear that…”

Rafael then engulfed her into a big bear hug and rubbed her back slowly. “I’m not sending you back into the system just because of some little fight” he soothed “You’re here and here to stay until you say otherwise.”

Juniper chuckled and gently pulled herself out of the hug. “Thanks Raf” she smiled, before grabbing her bag and heading up the stairs. “I just have to finish some paintings before I go to support group!”

“Okay” said Rafael, as he smiled “It’s fish for dinner, is that fine?”

“Yeah that’s fine!” Juniper replied at the top of the stairs before shutting her bedroom door.

Rafael smiled before heading into the kitchen. Before he stared cooking, he took a white half of a Ying and Yang necklace from his shirt. He didn’t have the other half, but he held onto the white half, half of the piece that the tormented girl from his youth gave him. It had his initials carved into the white wood with golden writing. A tear of his own then fell down his cheek as he gripped the counter. “I’m so sorry” he whispered, before gathering himself up and began to prepare dinner for himself and his foster daughter.

……..

After she finished her dinner, Juniper headed back upstairs to finish her paintings. She sat on her stool painting on her canvas, wearing a light blue paint stained blouse with rolled up sleeves and shorts that came down to her knees covered with specks of colour. After she finished, she quickly put somewhere in her room to dry and quickly changed back into her normal clothes. Although she quickly packed the blouse and shorts into her bag as she knew that she’d be heading out to the workshop after support group. Rafael’s friend Sam always let them come every Friday night after support group to let Juniper tinker while Rafael got the chance to sit down and have coffee or a cup of tea after a long week.

Juniper loved everything that had to do with creating. Whether if it was to paint over a scratch on a cup, or building something completely new, she would always take up the chance to do it. Besides, it was kind of stress relief for her and she was really close with Sam.

“Are you ready Juniper?!” Rafael called from downstairs.

“Yes, I’m coming!” Juniper hollered back. She scampered down the stairs and walked out the door to the car.

This car ride was much better than the drive home from school. This time, Juniper was just relaxing while listening to the music on her phone. It was times like this where Rafael was thrilled that he decided to foster her, she was just really sweet and made him feel relieved that she could be a real teenager while not needing to worry about getting hurt. A lot of people from work often asked if he was going to adopt her or not. Although he always said that he would think about, his mind always swayed to say yes to those questions. He really, really wanted to adopt her.

They pulled outside the church, Rafael pulled out the car keys while Juniper began packing up her phone before exiting the car and making their way into church. Once they were inside, they went down a small flight of stairs and opened the door of the basement. A woman in her mid-twenties, a brown bob and olive eyes turned her head to their direction and shot them a sweet smile. “Hi Juniper” her voice was quiet, as if she didn’t want to intimidate the kids who came here “So glad you could join us.”

“Hi Natalie” Juniper returned her smile and turned her gaze to the four other teenagers who sat in plastic chairs in a circle. There was Gigi, Megan, Ben and Michael. Rafael put a hand on Juniper’s shoulder and she looked up at him. “I’ll pick you up in an hour, okay?” he asked, although not needing an answer.

“Okay” Juniper smiled and went to grab a chair of her own. She began to feel nervous as soon as Rafael left, but tried to ignore it as she sat in the circle.

“I know we do this every time” Natalie began “But we’re going to start off with saying our names and saying why we’re here.”

“My name is Gigi and I’m here because people would make fun of me because I brag.” The first girl mumbled. Gigi has medium length red hair, green eyes and freckles that dusted over her ivory skinned nose. She wore a plain white shirt and old denim jeans and a green jacket mad out of some type of waterproof material even when it wasn’t raining.

“You don’t brag Gigi” Natalie informed her calmly “People were jealous of you doing so many sports that they tried to make you quit by bringing down your confidence.” Gigi looked at her blankly, not believing a word she was saying and crossed her arms as she sank in her chairs. Gigi was the local tomboy at the school who was talented in the sports department, especially at swimming. Trent began to grow jealous and played mind games with her, making her believe that her confidence was her bragging that she was better than everyone else. Soon she began failing at her sports due to the lack of confidence and was eventually kicked out of the team of her favourite sport.

“My name is Megan and um…” The second girl immediately shut her mouth, scared to keep speaking. Megan has coffee dark skin with brown eyes and large hair that fell into dozens of ringlets. She was very bony as if she hardly ate a thing. She wore a white long-sleeved shirt that was covered by a pink velvet overall dress that reached to her knees. Megan hated speaking about why she came here, as she hated being reminded of what happened to her. Trent and his goons would make terrible comments about her race and took advantage of her kindness by making her do his homework for him, threatening her with violence if she didn’t do it right.

“My name is Ben and I’m here because I was made fun of ‘being too smart’.” Ben had warm beige skin, black hair and grey eyes. He was the tallest out of all of them and sat, stood and even slouched with a straight posture. As if it would kill him if he ever slouched. He wore a dark blue blouse tucked into the waist of his denim jeans, not a single crinkle in sight.  Ben was one of the smartest boys in school and even began tutoring students, even Megan – he even had a bit of a crush on her at the time - they were like two big soft teddy bears when they were near one another. Unfortunately, Trent ‘warned’ him about how this was taking away his masculinity and punished him by spreading rumours about how he only did it for the money and lied about terrible comments that Ben never truly said. Worst of all, he broke Megan’s heart and the two never spoke since.

“My name is Michael and I’m here because people wouldn’t address me with the correct pronouns.” Michael had honey coloured skin, warm brown eyes and black hair that curled at the top. He wore a red checked blouse with two buttons open at the top to reveal a white shirt and black jeans. Ever since he started high school, he hid the fact that he was female at birth. But in his mind, he had always been a boy. Eventually, word got out to Trent and he began to mis-gender and turn everyone against Michael.  That was how Juniper gave Trent his first nosebleed.

Every head turned to Juniper, who suddenly jumped as she remembered why everyone else was there in the first place. “My name is Juniper and I’m here because Trent would mock me because I’m an orphan.” She fiddled with her fingers.

“Thank you Juniper” Natalie smiled and continued.

Halfway through, Juniper continued to become more nervous. Was it the guilt of punching Trent earlier, was it coming back to eat her up? Suddenly she couldn’t keep it in any longer and cried “I punched him!”

All four teens, excluding Juniper, and Natalie turned their heads into her direction. They all had a confused looks mixed with concern on their faces, with Natalie’s having more concern. “What do you mean Juniper?” she asked, her voice like silk.

Great she thought they all think you’re crazy, well done Juniper, you’re now making your rumours become real. “I-I punched Trent again today” she stammered nervously “He was threating to beat up another kid and my instincts took over.”

Juniper opened and closed her fists. Her left one felt difficult to move. “I don’t know why I’m still like this” said Juniper “I don’t feel bothered when he insults me, but when he does it to someone else I just become so…mad.”

Natalie’s lips formed a straight line, before smiling with sad eyes. “It’s okay to defend people who can’t defend themselves” she said “But sometimes, we have to do it in a way that doesn’t affect us or the people we want to protect. And the reason you feel angry towards Trent for hurting others and not you is because you care. And that’s what makes people good. You’re okay Juniper. You’re a good person.”

Juniper returned the smile with her own sad one, taking a deep breath and leaning softly into her chair as Natalie continued with the session.

……..   

As soon as support group ended, Juniper ran out and rushed into the car, excitement bubbling inside her. “Hurry up Raf!” she called to her foster father.

Rafael chuckled and shook his head as he sat into the driver’s seat and started the car. “So I’m guessing therapy was alright?” he asked.

“It was great!” Juniper beamed.

Thank god! Rafael thought to himself. When he first told Juniper that she had been signed up for support group, she had a panic attack thinking that Rafael thought something was wrong with her. All was resolved after her first night and she came out with a fresh perspective, it was quite clear that she had never been to support group before and got the attention that she not only deserved, but definitely needed. 

After a small drive, they finally arrived at Sam’s workshop, where he greeted the teen with open arms. Apart from the teasing from school, if you told the Juniper a few months ago that she would feel at home with Rafael and the people he knew, she would tell you to go away and to stop playing games with her. But now, she was close to trusting the people that Rafael called his family and would feel obliged to do the same herself. Then she would tell herself that she was thinking ahead and had to slow down for reality to catch up with her.

Sam ran a local store that sold a bunch of animal essentials; including horse gear like saddles, reins and all that other stuff. During his spare time however, he would help Juniper with her creative mind and let her help him with making the saddles and other gadgets that she would come up with. He had short light brown hair, ivory skin and green orbs for eyes. He wore a white shirt and old jeans and trainers whenever he and Juniper would build something together. He even gave Juniper a spare key to the workshop if she wanted to work on something without him.

He sat with her at the wooden bench in his workshop while Rafael went into his built-on kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He trusted his best friend with the young girl so he felt safe while roaming around his cupboards. However one of the problems with Sam’s house was “Ow!” Rafael cried out and pouted when he saw the tiny fleck of wood sticking out of his finger. “Stupid splinters.”

“Sorry Raf!” Sam called from the workshop while Juniper sketched out another gadget she wanted to make one day.

“What about a mug that can heat up on its own?” Juniper pondered out loud to Sam, tapping the rubber end of her pencil against her cheek as she looked up to the ceiling “Y’know, in case your drink gets cold and you could heat it back up and vice versa?”

“What about an invention that can remove splinter-OW!” Rafael called from the kitchen as he tried to prod the splinter out with a needle on the counter – Sam often got splinters of his own in his kitchen.

“Seriously though” said Juniper “You’re going to need to get your kitchen fixed up.”

“I know” Sam sighed “But I keep coming up with ideas to work with you my little protégé!” He teased her and ruffled her hair.

“Hey!” Juniper exclaimed with a grin “I’m not that short! I’m average height! It’s cause I keep hanging out with you two tall dorks.”

“Agree to disagree” said Rafael, who had successfully taken the splinter out and relaxed into a chair at the other side of the workshop “You are rather short.”

Juniper mumbled a groan “At least I can kick Trent’s butt any time I want.”

“You shouldn’t” said Rafael in a warning tone.

“I know I shouldn’t” said Juniper, a grin creeping onto her face “I’m just saying I could.”

Rafael shrugged in agreement and sipped his tea. An idea then suddenly came to mind and he spoke up “Hey Juniper?” the girl turned round to face him “I’m going up to a nature reserve tomorrow for a girl scouts camp to perform a lobotomy on a frog and you would like to come and get some inspiration for your art?”

“Will we be staying in a cabin for a full weekend?” she asked.

“Yeah” Rafael replied.

“That depends” she said coolly, until her face shone and a smile spread across her face “Will Naomi be there too?”

Rafael chuckled. Out of all the people that Rafael introduced her to; somehow Naomi was Juniper’s favourite. The woman had blonde hair that spilled over her shoulder, deep brown eyes that you could get lost in, baby pink lips and beautiful smooth Snow White skin. She wore no make-up but everyone who worked with her thought she was beautiful, and Rafael had to agree. “Yes, she will be there” he smiled.

Juniper fist pumped, nearly falling off the bench if it wasn’t for Sam catching her and she continued with her drawing.

……..

“Bye Sam!” she called before climbing into the car. The car ride was very quiet, but they were both used to that now.

Once they arrived home, Juniper packed her bags for the nature reserve and started getting ready for bed. This included a small hot shower, brushing her teeth and finally putting her long hair in a braid before putting on her pyjamas and hopping into bed. As she stared up at the moonlit ceiling, she eyes started to droop and she fell asleep with a smile on her face. Who knew a bad start to the day would lead to a peaceful night? 

……..

At the crack of dawn, Juniper was already awake and in the shower, scrubbing herself clean and brushing her teeth. She calmed down a bit while she was getting dressed into her normal clothes and remained that way while making breakfast. She watched Rafael gawk at her speed before sitting down and eating with her too.

She managed to remain patient while Rafael was getting ready, but grabbed him by the hand the minute he came downstairs with his suitcase and were already in the vehicle and heading down the road.

When they arrived, Juniper was finally calm and her natural smile remained on her face as calmness settled into her body. As they were unloading the car, they perked up when a familiar blonde was walking towards them. “Hang on” she smiled with a confused expression “Are those my two favourite people?”

“Naomi!” Juniper grinned back as Naomi walked over to her and gave her a hug “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too” said Naomi, pulling away from the hug before frowning “Are people still calling you short?”

Juniper pouted and nodded with an “Mmhmm” as Naomi giggled sweetly, like a soft song and her eyes twinkled in the sunlight.

Rafael could only look on at the two girls with bliss. Why did Naomi have to be so damn cute all the time? Was she really trying to kill him with cuteness? His thoughts were interrupted when Naomi went up to hug him. She was so frail in his arms. When she was standing on her own, she stood tall and confident, but whenever she hugged him she always gave off the impression of being fragile and breakable. Yet every day, she was always prepared to dig around the insides of a new person in surgery. “How are you doing Raf?” she asked during their hug.

“Good” he replied “You?”

“Eh, you know” she answered; he could feel her gesturing with her hands “Been there done that. Kind of been bored for the last few days but hey what can you expect from a boring person?”

“Oh you are anything but boring” he replied, not meaning to smell the faint aroma of coconut from her hair.

Juniper stood there awkwardly, but not wanting them to break on the ongoing hug. That went away a minute later and it just became only awkward for her just standing there doing nothing. She let out a cough and the two broke apart, fumbling with their words.

“S-sorry, I um…Yeah I’m just going to head back to my cabin for the evening” she stammered.

“Y-yeah” Rafael shyly agreed, rubbing the back of his head.

“Don’t want to appear like a zombie in front of the kids tomorrow!” she laughed nervously.

Rafael laughed back too in the same manner before Naomi walked away after waving goodbye. “Sorry” Juniper mumbled, not meaning for it to become more awkward. She was just trying to make them aware…maybe not aware enough. “Are you going to tell her you like her or not?” she grinned.

“What?” Rafael chuckled “Naomi’s just a really good friend.”

Oh my god Juniper thought He’s obliviously stubborn isn’t he?

“Come on” said Rafael “The car isn’t going to unload itself!”

Lord help me with these blind idiots she grumbled internally one more time before helping Rafael with the luggage.

……..

The next morning, Juniper was loaded with her drawing pad, her pencils and rubbers, her bag which contained her phone, and a camera provided by Rafael. Although when she woke up, she was mildly nervous going out into the forest on her own due to the fact of the untamed animals out there. But Rafael reassured her by saying that he had asked a ranger and was explained to him that the animals were moved to another forest – apart from birds – for guests who wanted to roam the woodland scenery.    

As soon as those fears were put to rest, she bided Rafael goodbye and ventured off into the forest.

While she was away, Rafael had a good time of his own with Naomi. Who couldn’t help but laugh giddily whenever the children cooed while they performed their lobotomy. Each doctor that was there was given a group of children; there were four groups in total, so it would be easier to view the lobotomy.

Although he was keeping an eye on his work, Rafael couldn’t help but notice the looks that the male grown-ups would give Naomi. He saw her uncomfortable shudders whenever one of the men stared down intensely at her. However, he felt a nerve twitch when he saw one of them lick his bottom lip. That simply crossed the line for him. “You doing okay there Naomi?” he asked, and all the males pulled away their gazes.

“I’m fine” she smiled, but her eyes gave him a sad yet thankful look before continuing her work.

He couldn’t help for felt terrible for her. At work in the hospital, the other members of male staff would not stop pestering her to agree for a night out. Although she would give them their just desserts, it did not stop her from maintaining a hurt look throughout the day. He wanted to do more but she always told him that she could handle it. But how much longer could she take? That was the question he always asked himself. 

……..

As Juniper continued on the path, she couldn’t help but always stop to take a deep breath. It was just so beautiful out here. The ambience of birds tweeting set the atmosphere just perfectly. She raised the camera up towards the canopy of the trees, with the bright sun glistening through and took a picture. The picture slid out of the bottom of the camera, before Juniper gently took it out and waved it to dry before putting it in her notepad.

That was when she heard a twig break. She froze on spot and her stomach twisted and pulled into knots. Gripping her camera tightly, she whipped round and nearly screamed when she saw none other than…“Trent?” she breathed, although the very thing was starting to become quite hard to do.

The boy’s lips twisted into a smirk as he leaned against the tree. “That’s me.”

All Juniper wanted to do was scream. She wanted to do nothing more than screech until her throat stung and there were people were there to help her out. But help her out with what? If she did that, she would be seen as overreacting and getting this wretched boy into trouble for no reason. “W-wh-why” why was she finding it hard to talk? And why did she suddenly start sweating? It wasn’t that hot. “Why are you here?”

“My mother took me up here” he replied “To get away from the stress of school.”

 Stress? HE’S STRESSED?! Why this ignorant little!-

“You know what that’s like” he sneered “Right orphan?”

It took all her willpower to grip her jaw tight shut than not to growl and make a fool out of herself. “Of course” she replied dryly “Whatever floats your boat.”

“You wouldn’t mind me being here” he grinned, a bit of green showing between his gums “Right orphan?”

Juniper inhaled sharply “Of course not” she said through gritted teeth. So much for making a fool out of herself. She turned round and resumed to taking pictures, trying to get rid of the fear that settled in the pit of her stomach.

What she didn’t hear was Trent removing himself from the tree, walking over to her until he stood behind her silent air flaring from his nostrils. Then with brute strength, he grabbed a hold of her wrist, making her drop everything and forced her to face him. “How dare you for doing that to me you snake” he hissed at her “Making me look like a fool by getting taken out by a stupid orphan freak!”

She tried to punch him with her other fist but he grabbed it before it collided with his skin and pushed it down. “Do you want to know what happens to people who think they can take me out?” he growled, his nails digging deeply into her skin.

“Trent stop you’re hurting me!” she yelled.

“Oh you stupid orphan” he chuckled darkly, before all emotion drained from his face “What I do to those people is much worse than having nails being dug into wrists.”

In a moment of panic, she used his knee to kick him in his sensitive area and spat right in his face before taking off. She ran on the path for a little while, before tripping and falling down a slope into a part of the forest where she wasn’t supposed to go. But she had no choice as she knew that Trent would be hot on her heels.

Fearing for the worst, she stood up and ran. She didn’t know where she was going and she didn’t care, she just had to find a place to hide or keep running until either she or Trent are forced to stop. She tried to think of a plan, maybe a trap that could fool her attacker. But she was too panicked and too busy thinking of the worst that it clouded her mind. She could feel her heart racing, her lungs burning, the blood thundering in her ears and her ankles were starting to ache. She felt like she was going to give out any minute.

A growl. That’s what made her stop in her tracks. This wasn’t a growl of a wolf or any other wild animals. No. This growl was unearthly, unnatural, and not normal in the slightest.

A great force hit her on the side of the head during her distraction and she fell to the ground. She touched where she was hit and saw the blood on her fingers. A heavy weight kept her hands and legs trapped as she desperately fought for freedom, but was given a slap to the face for those attempts. Trent then bent down until they were nose to nose and she held her breath. She growled and kept wriggling, not caring about the stinging on the right side of her cheek. The scrape of a knife was heard and her eyes widened with fear as Trent’s lips brushed her ear. “This is what happens when you try to take me out” he whispered, before giving her a deafening screech with the word “Understood!”

A cloud of black invaded her vision and the weight was taken off her. She then sat up as quick as she could, and what she saw made her heart skip a beat. In front of her, a creature had Trent pinned to the ground while he let out screams of fear to be let go. The creature was covered with black yet shiny scales, had large wings that resembled those of a bat, two cat-like ears with two smaller nubs as thin as twigs on the insides of its ears and one on each side if its head. She also could make out the blue from the corners of its eyes. Wasting no time, she picked herself from the ground and began to run again.

She continued to run with no idea where to go, until she heard an earth shattering roar that made her trip over a rock, skidding her leg against the rough surface before tumbling down another slope and down through some kind of rock tunnel until she made the edge of a puddle of water. She looked up and so no puddle, but a large pond inside some kind of large, circular ravine enclosed with rock walls.

She heard the roar again and tried to get up, only to be stopped by a sharp pain that shot through her leg. She let out a yell and rolled up her legging, only to be met with a bleeding scar. Hearing the roar again, she limped over to a large rock and hid behind it. This was a bad and dumb idea, but it was the best one she had. She heard large footsteps enter the area and warbles of an unknown animal. It was definitely the one she saw earlier. She could hear the footsteps increase in sound and felt the soft thuds coming towards her. This is it; this is where Rafael, Naomi and all those innocent girl scouts would find her dead body. She could hear sniffing from behind the rock; no doubt it was coming from the creature.

But in a moment of blind curiosity, she could feel her head turning slightly. The creature was only sniffing her; it wasn’t blasting her to pieces. What was she thinking, wanting to face the creature that probably blew Trent to smithereens and would no doubt do the same to her! But unfortunately, curiosity killed the cat and she turned round slowly. She then met face to face with the creature as it stared at her with large blue eyes and large pupils that almost dilated to the size of moons.

Juniper let out a gasp and fell onto her backside, trying breathing in and out slowly, but to no avail.  The creature then made its way towards her, its pupils slitting slightly as it stared at the girl with curiosity, its hot breath puffing in her face. Juniper squeezed her eyes shut and began to prepare herself for a quick yet painless death. But instead of what she expected, she found the creature was sniffing her face. She opened her eyes and saw the creature making its way up to sniff her hair. Why would it wait to kill her to stop and smell her hair? Maybe it was because of the shampoo and conditioner she used, she could always smell a faint aroma of caramel and vanilla floating around her head. She would also be lying is she didn’t say that, with its big blue eyes, the creature looked really adorable, yet so was lion but you don’t see anyone stopping to pet it.

Now that she had a closer look of the creature, she knew now she couldn’t keep calling it ‘the creature’. Due to its size and resemblance, Juniper had no trouble knowing that what stood in front of her…was a dragon.

The dragon then stopped sniffing her hair when it saw the fresh wound on Juniper’s leg and let out a small whine. It then made its way over to the edge of the pond before looking back at Juniper. Juniper raised an eyebrow in confusion. What was the dragon up to? The dragon then motioned its head towards the pond as a low grumble gargled in its throat. That’s when Juniper caught on; the dragon wanted her to wash her wound in the pond water. With great strength, she picked herself up and limped towards the pond as the dragon eyed her carefully. She sat herself back down again and scooped up handfuls of water and washed the blood of her leg. She didn’t want to get the pond water dirty in case it was the only place where the dragon could stay hydrated.

After fully washing the blood of, she quickly took her denim jacket off and pressed it against the wound. The dragon then motioned its head again as if to lift the jacket from her leg.  She didn’t know if it was the smart choice to take advice from a dragon, but the wound did sting…a lot.  She carefully removed her jacket and the dragon licked over her leg. Juniper gasped in surprise and recoiled, tumbling onto her back. The dragon warbled in surprise and made its way over to her. Juniper started to prepare herself again for death, until she felt the stinging slowly fade away. She sat up again and noticed the wound had stopped bleeding. The saliva must’ve had something to do with it if the pain stopped so suddenly. With a nod, she let the dragon continue.

After a few revolting licks on her leg, the dragon stopped and stared at her again. Juniper took her jacket and fastened it around her leg, tying it tight so it wouldn’t fall off. The dragon made some sort of happy noise without moving its lips and walked off, not too far from Juniper, and blew some fire onto the ground. It stomped on it for a little bit and laid down. Juniper was about to stand up to leave, until the fear of Trent settled back into her system. If she left now, there was a good chance that he might still be looking for her. That is if the dragon didn’t eat him. Wait a minute, if the dragon ate Trent alive, then why did it waste its timing helping her with her wound rather than gobbling her up right this second?

It didn’t make sense.

But Juniper didn’t want to question it any further and made what was probably the most stupid and reckless decision that she has ever made in her entire life…she was going to stay with the dragon for a while. She was about to reach for her sketchpad and camera when she realised that she had left them in the woods! Damn it! She couldn’t go back though, just in case Trent was still there. Biting her lip in a nervous state, she curled up onto the ground and closed her eyes. Maybe a nap would help clear her mind. She let out a breath and dozed up. 

……..

A little while later, she woke up and stretched her limbs. She looked over to look at the dragon…only for the scaly beast to be gone. Had she just dreamt the whole thing? She couldn’t have, her jacket was still there as well as the smell of dragon spit. Where could it have gone? She went into her bag and dug out her phone, only to be met with an armada of texts from both Naomi and Rafael.

 Where are you?!

 Are you okay?!

 Trent just appeared from the woods, screaming that you were both attacked by a dragon!

 Juniper please text me back!

Juniper gulped, thinking of the conversation she would have with the two adults. Hi Naomi, Hi Raf! Sorry I couldn’t text you back because Trent tried to attack me and a huge dragon attacked him back and helped me with a huge scar on my leg with magical spit!

She grumbled and stood up and walked to the exit of the ravine, noticing that the sharp pain on her leg had now fully disappeared. Her breath caught in her throat as she climbed out. She noticed that the pale yellow from the bright sun had faded into an orange colour with a hint of pink sky. How long was she asleep for? No wonder Naomi and Rafael were bombarding her with texts!

After finding the path again, making sure Trent was truly gone, picking up her stuff – including a broken camera – she found the exit of the forest. The police were there, as well as an ambulance, Trent with his mother squeezing him and Rafael and Naomi tightening their grips on each other’s hands. Rafael looked up and let out a cry of relief as he ran up to Juniper and gave her a bone-crushing hug. “Where have you been?” he cried “There was a search party in the forest and they said they couldn’t find you?!”

“I’m so sorry Raf!” Juniper cried back “I got lost and I hurt my leg!”

Naomi ran up and joined the hug, Juniper could feel her shaking, or was that her? “Trent says that you were attacked in the woods by a dragon!” Naomi exclaimed “Is that true?”

“Well not really attacked” said a police officer as he walked up to him “Doctor’s said that he wasn’t injured but he did look like he was in shock.”

What could Juniper say? The dragon certainly didn’t hurt Trent, and he had no injuries. Plus the dragon did help her. Did the dragon really just scare Trent in order to get him to leave Juniper alone? Juniper gulped, it was now or never.

“There was no dragon” she answered “But Trent did try to attack me in the woods with a pocket knife, he had me pinned down and I couldn’t move. Luckily I fought him off and found refuge. Unfortunately it was in a different part in the woods.”

The officer eyed her leg with the bloody jacket and held up a plastic bag containing the pocket knife. “Is this it?” he asked. Juniper nodded.

“My son would do no such thing!” Trent’s mother screeched.

“Ma’am this knife has your son’s fingerprints on it” the police officer explained “And the girl came back from the woods with an injury.”

“Actually I tripped but Trent still attacked me” Juniper mumbled. It wasn’t a complete lie but she didn’t want to fully push Trent under the bus.

“See!” His mother screamed “You have no proof!”

“Ma’am” said the officer “The knife is all we need to know that your son attacked this girl and was making up the dragon story. We’re going to need a few questions with you young man.”

“This is outrageous; my son is a good kid!” She yelled as the officer led him away “My lawyers will hear about this, did you hear me?!”

Juniper sighed, though she didn’t know why. Was it relief, fear or just stress? She didn’t know. Naomi led her over to the ambulance and sat her down before removing her jacket. There, on her leg, was the scar all fully healed.

“Woah” Naomi breathed “You got this today?”

“Weird” said Rafael, walking up to the girls “Her leg wasn’t injured yesterday, how did it heal so fast?”

Juniper bit her lip and her stomach flipped and danced around. She gave them a confused shrug while Naomi checked her over and spotted the dried cut on her head from where Trent hit her. Rafael told her that they would be going home that night, saying that her own bed would help her with what happened today. Although Juniper nodded in true agreement, a little part of her curiosity wanted to stay and search for the scaly beast that slept in the unsearched part of the woods.

Feel free to leave critisism, I’m aware that this is terrible.

[samsonet]

It was a' for our rightful king

Leon always gives Chairman Rose what he wants.

Title from the Robert Burns poem of the same name.

~

Leon hasn’t been so excited for a match in forever.

He had endorsed the kid because they were Hop’s friend, that much was true, but the way they powered through the gym challenge was entirely because of their talent. This kid might actually be able to defeat him. The thought makes his heart race.

For now, though, their main priority is dinner.

Or it would be, if Oleana hadn’t shown up and told him the Chairman wanted to see him.

It’ll be quick, she said.

Fifteen minutes at most, she said.

It takes fifteen minutes just to get through the monorail.

Rose is waiting in the lift. “Thank you for coming, Leon.”

“Anything for the Chairman of the League.” Leon puts on his best fake smile, the one that drives the audience wild. “But I don’t have much time. I’ve gotta meet up with my brother soon…”

Rose dismisses it with a wave of his hand. “You’ll have plenty of time. Now, I have something of utmost importance to discuss with you. Do you remember what we discussed a short while ago, about the Darkest Day?”

Internally, Leon groans. He hoped this would be one of the chairman’s whims, whole-heartedly acted on one day and forgotten the next. But it seems that Rose wants to take this further.

“I remember. But I don’t understand why this is such a big deal. If the crisis won’t come around for a thousand years, what’s the point of doing something so dramatic now? Especially with my championship match tomorrow. After all, don’t we have plenty of time?”

If Rose picks up on the mocking echo, he doesn’t show it. “Unfortunately, we do not. I am moving up the timeline; it will be happening tomorrow. Now, as you know…”

Rose goes back to the start of his plan, something about Wishing Stars and an ancient Pokemon. Leon tunes it out. He’s heard it a hundred times before, and it never makes any more sense. The chairman has a wild idea and is sure he knows What Must Be Done, because he’s the chairman and he’s… rich?

But that could just be Leon’s biases in play. His own background is very humble compared to the chairman’s.

When Leon was ten -- when he was a brand new trainer and the world seemed so friendly and bright -- he was introduced to Rose at a celebration. Rose seemed so friendly and strong and trustworthy. He asked Leon a lot of questions, and Leon answered all of them. He told about his strategies. He told about his journey. He told about his baby brother, only a few years old then. He had never thought about what kind of information was supposed to stay personal.

When Leon was twelve, Rose gave him a present for Hop. The Championship kept everyone busy, was the excuse, and shouldn’t your baby brother be rewarded for being so patient about not seeing you for so long?

And that was fine, but then —

“So this is what I need from you,” Rose says. “Your Dynamax band, first. And second, for you to help contain the Pokémon we are going to summon.”

“I — I can help you contain the Pokémon, of course. But my Dynamax band? Chairman, the championship match is tomorrow. I’m going to need it then.”

“We need it now,” Rose says.

“To solve something in a thousand years!”

Leon immediately regrets raising his voice. Rose gives him the look, that expression of condescending sadness, the you couldn’t possibly understand look.

“Don’t you remember my calculations? The future is coming more quickly than you think. We…”

He launches into yet another ramble that Leon chooses to ignore.

(How have they been here for hours? It is so not a champion time.)

When Leon was fourteen, there was this gym challenger. She was a cheerful girl from Motostoke, and she had a Pangoro for a partner. For a time, it seemed like they could actually make it to the finals and face him. And that was fine, but then…

But then Rose talked to Leon, alone, and asked him to have a friendly match with this trainer and “discourage her from continuing the challenge.”

“Discourage her.” A phrase that he made clear meant “break her Pangoro’s fricking legs.”

Leon refused. He battled the challenger, beat her, gave her some encouragement, and back to Wyndon.

The next day, his mother called him in a panic. Hop had been attacked a wild Garbodor. (“Wild.” What a joke.) Luckily, Chairman Rose had been there at the right time to bring him to the hospital. Who knew what could have happened otherwise?

Hop was awake now and calling for his big brother, their mom had said. She knew being champion meant he was busy, but could Leon come right away?

It was the fastest he and Charizard had ever flown.

There he found Rose sitting by Hop’s bedside, a Gengar waiting for his prey.

“Perhaps you were right,” Rose said. “You do not seem to have the cunning necessary to protect the region. I will not ask you to do something like this again.”

He bent down and kissed Hop on the forehead. Leon’s stomach rolled.

Rose smiled. “In the future, however, I ask that you give my requests some more consideration.”

“Y-yes,” Leon said.

“Thank you. See you later, Champion.” Rose stood to leave. “Oh — I almost forgot. That challenger you battled yesterday? Unfortunately, she will be withdrawing from the competition. It seems her Pangoro was injured soon after her battle with you.”

“I — I see.”

And that was fine.

But now...

It’s been hours since the time he was supposed to meet Hop and Gloria for dinner. The Chairman won’t let him go, and the lift won’t work anyway if Rose doesn’t want it to.

Leon takes out Charizard’s ball, a contingency plan. If all else failed, he could call him and simply fly away. He could.

“I’ll take your request into consideration,” he says, interrupting. “But now I really have to go.”

“Yes. Your meeting with your brother, correct? You have no need to worry. I’ve sent some employees to take him in. They’ll protect him until we’re done here.”

Leon puts the pokeball away.

He wishes Rose would just make the threat explicit: hand over your Dynamax band and help me, or I’ll hurt your brother.

(Hurt. Not kill. Rose can’t let the champion’s little brother die right before the championship match, right? He hopes.)

But Rose seems to be oblivious to the idea of a threat at all. He repeats himself, over and over, as though Leon will come to his way of thinking if he only hears the logic enough.

He’s tired. He’s hungry. He’s not in the mood for debating Galar’s energy future.

(Did they let Hop have dinner, at least? They better have.)

He’s almost ready to just give Rose the band and come up with an excuse for its absence tomorrow, but then —

The ground shakes.

Somewhere below them, there’s a battle going on.

Leon finds himself hoping it’s Gloria. That maybe she realized something was wrong when neither Hop nor Leon showed up, and she’s coming to rescue them both. He imagines her, a knight in a grey-wool sweater, ascending the tower to rescue the kidnapped princes.

To his surprise, it’s Hop who steps out of the lift.

Gloria is right behind him, but Leon only notices her in an afterthought. There’s his baby brother, safe and sound and not being dragged in by Rose’s henchmen.

Hop is safe. Hop is safe. Hop is safe.

Leon wants to be relieved. But there’s still the Copperajah in the room.

He half-expects Rose to take them all prisoners, to keep them confined to the tower until he brings about his grand plan. If it comes to that, Charizard can take Hop somewhere safe, and then Leon and Gloria can fight their way out. Rose only has power in the shadows, where he can coerce and manipulate. If they can get outside, into the lights, the enchantment will break.

Leon gets ready --

But Rose lets them go.

He gives some comment about how adults can’t always see eye to eye. Leon snorts.

(I was just a kid. I didn’t know any better.)

On the lift down, he pulls Hop in for a hug and doesn’t let go.