#mirthful duality

[cirque-du-deux]

Hey so random question: Is the Mirthful Faith discord/community still a thing? And if so, would you guys be cool if it was an alter that's part of a DID/OSDD system could join?

Hello!

I'm so terribly sorry for not reading this sooner but yes! Anyone is welcome!

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

love the duality of just like magic. readers living in a cute cottagecore story and hiccup is living in an eldritch fantasy without the horror with powers beyond his comprehension beyond every turn, be it dragon, or the cute girl who just Appeared one day. looking forward to see what you do with it :]

Just Like Magic pt 3

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Reader

Words: 7,849

Hiccup goes into shock.

Tags: Witch!reader, optimistic/cheery reader, female reader, httyd 1, fluff, unedited

<Previous -

Hiccup... Forger. The Chief’s son?

He was an odd boy, sort of stiff and twitchy, with a red, nearly burned-looking face. 

You thought it could have something to do with the orange light flickering from inside his smith’s hovel. Maybe he’d spent too long by the fire. His hair, too, was decently full of soot, more dark in the front and over the top than by the back, where it stood up brighter than the rest, as if he’d fallen asleep on his face in a pile of soot, which was nearly funny.

You couldn’t tell the difference between freckle or smudge, what with the layer of film on his cheeks and the darkness being so thick- he probably hadn’t noticed it at all, if he was a smith’s apprentice, too used to it. He didn’t look like he did.

You wanted to hum with mirth, fingers threading twine into simple loops over loops in a wide array.

The name barely registered with you at all then and you couldn’t find too much of a reason to mind now. You weren’t even sure if he was the right ‘Hiccup.’ After all, it wasn’t a very uncommon name on Berk.

You sighed as you shifted, the drop in temperature and the feel of running weight the only sign that anything was there, cool liquid shifting over your feet as they rested in the water.

Past the heavy cloth of your waist wrap you felt the many bumpy edges of water-worn rock pressing into your bottom, one rim of a set of very shallow tide pools at the edge of a beautiful blue-green water.

You only carried your net, a comb attached to your belt besides, something you used to untie string occasionally, and the baubles attached to your person.

Your toes pressed lightly into silt-sand as you tied a knot with two fingers, closing the end of your mesh.

You looked down at it, satisfied.

The twine you’d used to make it was perhaps a tad thinner than was needed to make something sturdy, though you were guilty of doing that on purpose. You enjoyed making the nets, weaving strings simply, mindlessly. 

Habitually, you ran your finger along the charms around your wrists, most of which usually spent their time pinned and hugging belts and sleeves until you could find the right hands to hold them and to wear them.

There weren’t so many today, too warm to weight down your wrists with thick numbers of beads and weave, though you carried a few- two lucky pearls securely wrapped in green thread and a tabby-weave twill in the diamond pattern, illusionistic squares in yellows, reds and blues traveling up its length.

One of the pearls- you could gift it to Inga. It might uplift her spirits even if it wouldn’t sell in the markets, or maybe you could give it to Bo, who had gray eyes which took on light in a way that reminded you of it, though you were loathe to give the absurd man such a sentimental item.

You could try Ase, who was never not eager for a precious thing, though she was prone to brag about it, a huge fan of anything Viking-crafted in the special style, with her own rows of necklaces attached to brooches and cloaks resting in her home, hanging from wooden hooks and racks along rafters. It didn’t feel right, though.

Picking at the knot holding the twill to your sleeve, you unraveled it and pulled its loop through one of your net’s. At that moment, you decided- It would be something interesting for the fish. A lure, not that you needed one.

You smiled again as you finished tying the tassel tightly into your net. 

When the Gronkle had rushed him, he hadn’t been thinking- he hadn’t been sure whether he would live or die. He wasn’t thinking of anything more than the fact that the dragon was there and it was rearing, probably the result of one too many close brushes with death.

His whole life had been defined by a run from deadly dragons. He’d gotten more bruises and gashes than he could count. The Gronkle was vicious, angered, bloodlusted-

“Dragons always go for the kill.” They always, always went for the kill. Gobber said…

Boots digging into and flopping out of the sand as he walked, Hiccup grimaced, bringing his hand down from where he’d brushed it past his chin, still quite depressingly free of peachy hair. “Dragons…”

His boots- even if he was careful, he knew he would find sand in them later.

His arm flopped even as he left his other lightly clutching at his elbow so that it rested at an awkward angle as he finally looked up and took a large breath.

He blinked his eyes open slowly, with a slight drowsy, feeling slightly sun-drunk and pleasant despite his troubles.

If he hadn’t known what ale tasted like, or honey mead, he’d have assumed this was it.

“Oh.”

For the second time, he was surprised by his surroundings, though this time his circumstances could not be excused so easily by coincidence.

It was something out of a fantasy- It had to be something from a dream.

He’d known he was on a beach, though it hadn’t been so…. Pleasant-looking the last he’d looked, and he was sure at some point that it had turned back to forest, though he hadn’t yet begun his hike back up.

He was unsure how or when he’d gotten this far at all- he’d just been on recess, and he still had to be back by sundown, before Gobber would gather the lot of them all up at dinner for study.

It was a narrow stretch of beach with a set of tide pools and a sheer cliff face behind, with water that was clear and inviting, moving slowly and without the thick passion of the deep blues that crashed violently against and assaulted the island’s sides.

The cliffs were tall enough to nearly reach the sun, to cause vertigo and to have his neck touching neck and head aching as he peered back and yet it was positioned at the wrong angle to cast any sort of huge, imposing, never-ending shadow. 

It was nice.

He usually felt small in the shadow of such gigantic things, which was always brought to its worst whenever he’d been left to his own in the Great Hall in the times when there was nothing but a single torch to light his way, base longer than his arm and yet still not bright enough to give him more than a few feet of visibility and when it was just him and the statues. 

They were large, staggering, carrying the likenesses of each Chief that had come before his Father. Overcast by their cold, cold shadow, worse than any whipping, violent, snowing night, Hiccup always felt something a little bit like fear and a lot more like dread. 

 Their circular, simplistic eyes, larger than two of his heads turned to one. They seemed the most alive then, the most imposing, the most judgemental, the most soul-seeing- and they always found him lacking. They were guardians of legacy, all part of an array, one Hiccup knew he would never join as a blacksmith’s apprentice.

Berk had a few beaches yet none nearly as nice as this, so beautiful and impossible to find using anything but feeling alone. He was sure there was not a single other Viking who’d ever touched its shores.

Too bad Hiccup wasn’t at all in the mood to enjoy it.

He scratched along his jaw with one hand again, catching painfully on a sore spot there- whether it was a blemish or a burn, he wasn’t sure, but the catch and the dull, full-to-soreness feeling there led him to believe it was a blemish.

It was what he got for spending so long in the forge, though he was not particularly bothered enough to care.

Looking back, where pretty weeds and saturated grasses began to sprout from the sand, there was the forest and a set of ferns a lot longer and fuller than he’d ever remembered passing through, his hands to his sides the whole time. They were large enough to obscure the view back into the forest, with its thick trees and nearly tropical, foreign foliage, with long sprouts and oddly tear-shaped leafed vines. 

Some of these plants shouldn’t have grown all together, he was sure, and yet they did in plenty.

He spotted in the treeline what could have been a Medlar, his eyes drifting as, half crouched, he slowly turned back around, the flat pads of his boots lightly shifting against the sand.

Sprouting from the cliffs where jagged rock and sand touched was a plant which looked like a broom with most of its brussels picked all out of it or a burnt scalp with only a few thin hairs poking from the top. Its leaves looked like they came from the thin stems of  a real vine, with three parts, jagged-looking edges and yellow clover buds at the end.

Hiccup squinted.

He wasn’t so good at naming plants, though he was sure this something began with a ‘t,’ though the name eluded him. It was something ferocious, though its purpose was much more humbling. Tormenter- torment…

Berk’s healers had been very local about the need- he could bring it back to the village for Gothi and the rest. He would not be hailed with honor though he would get a nice pat on the back.

Unlike it should, the feeling didn’t make him feel anything but terrible, something dark doing its rounds in his chest, somewhere between and around where his lungs should be. 

He knew from a first glance that this was one of the kinds of places that should remain untouched, not in spite of any others but for the sake of its own beauty, in respect for its life and in an effort to mitigate any harms he might bring to it. 

He felt slightly selfish for the thought -a good part of him wanted to keep this all to himself- and for the want he still had, the one that asked him to deface such a sacred place for naught but a momentary reward. He didn’t deserve to be greedy after being so shameful, his person not terrible not for the blood crusting on his hands, more instead for the lack of it.

There was some evil in being peaceable, in having regret. Pure things did not belong to pure people, though he had a hard time finding himself to be pure at all.

Hiccup shook his head.

He could see what else he could find, if not for boon, then just for the chance that it might bring him distraction for a short while.

The only thing to do was to start forwards. It really- it really wouldn’t hurt to look.

Hiccup turned fully. The unbalanced feeling that came from being on uneven ground was offset by the solidness of the sand beneath his feet. It became nearly unnoticeable as he began moving again.

The bar of sand only got narrower just as the tiny rock pools lining the difference between sand and ocean only got larger, the only thing visible to him past that being the vast horizon of the sea, different here to any other he’d seen over any other part of the island.

The cliff face began to curve overhead, and while caution said he should stay away from the cliff lest anything crumble or fall, he moved towards it anyways.

He glanced down only briefly as sand became stone beneath his feet and the leftover grains either wedged into the treaded bottoms of his shoes or ground sharply against them, like a bunch of pebbles in a basket but of a higher pitch, all striking against each other discordantly.

He walked along the cliff, one hand on the rock face, leaning against it as the path became narrower, the ocean’s waters lapping at his soles.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a tide pool in person before- It had to be low tide.

He ogled at what could have been a starfish, a lumpy-looking red thing with multiple tentacle-like limbs clinging to one of the rocks in the most awkward, interesting contortion. 

Berk didn’t have too many, all steep cliffs and hungry underwater dragons. The same went for mussels. The only things Berk had in abundance were algae and fish, though all of the above seemed to coexist in this place comfortably.

“Gods, what-...” A very thin, lighter green layer of algae surrounding the starfish, swirling like a thin layer of smoke, the darting of a small, finger size, thin silver-and-baby-cobalt fish darting in a small pool a bit further up, and a blooming bustle of closed light brown and gray mussel shells in the water, which came as a surprise to him- this whole area was lively in a way that the rest of Berk was not. 

He hadn’t been sure that there was anything else to know on this island, to explore, and yet- There was one by his foot where the pool was so shallow and the water so little that it seemed to be nearly invisible. 

He eyed white bubbles, the only tell that anything might have been in there at all, so unlike the sometimes yellowish sea foam by the docks. It was nearly insignificant, and yet the lack of a fishy smell and the gently rhythmic sound of rushing water had his stomach turning, feeling prickly- or maybe it was fluttering. He couldn’t tell. 

Hiccup sighed, his hand leaving the face of the cliff. 

Stepping forwards, he did not at all anticipate the way his boot caught on a sharp, bumpy ledge or rock, or the way his arms shot out in an effort to balance him, his left elbow jabbing quite disconcertingly against solid stone.

You stretched, a sharp noise pulling from your throat, overwhelmed with satisfaction, feeling your wrap pull against your waist as you raised your arms all the way into the air, struggling to keep loose fabrics in place.

You heard something sharp then, a sound half-rasped, shouting perhaps the name Ack, or maybe Ake, or maybe it was just a noise overlaid by the sound of a splash, something thin and sudden as if only part of a hard object had skirted over a shallow liquid’s surface.

Startled, your own shoulders jumped.

A peal of laughter, not at all echoey like he’d have expected with the tall, curving cliffs and the odd rules of this beautiful place- it was tinkling not in the sense that it sounded like metal at all, though it was similar in that it gave the same exact feeling he’d been given by listening to the twittering sound of gentle bells.

It was a sound he’d heard only once, one he could only ever visit through soft, hazy memory- a wizened, tanned hand holding up a pair of delicate balls, small, tiny, quiet, another hand cradled below it in the air as if they were something worth holding, as if it couldn’t bear not to be apart from them for a moment, even as they were being so delicately handled. 

It was something that stuck with him, from a time when he’d had nothing but chubby child’s cheeks which he rested above ginormous baggy sleeves, leaning over a small crate as the flooring bobbed back and forth with the tides, his knees bending with it.

They were nothing anyone on Berk had thought to buy nor were they anything he could afford as a small child with nothing to trade and a pitiful, single allowance of one rune, which he’d spent earlier on a shiny roman coin, one his father later threw into the sea.

Flailing his way free of the vertigo brought on by his clumsy wobbling, he blinked, glancing around for a second, searching for confirmation that he really wasn’t alone before he spotted you, meeting you directly in the eye as you peered back around the corner of the cliffs, instilling in him the idea that at the end of the tide pools wasn’t just a walk-less edge, but also a corner.

Your softer laughter was discernible, more than anything else along that beach, yet light and not at all sharp or grating, a sound so precious and high it was almost nothing, barely smothered by puffed cheeks and a palm to the mouth.

A smaller Hiccup would have yearned to know that he did not have to travel over the seas to find such a pretty treasure- that to hear it, he’d just need to see you.

Fate, Something inside him shouted insistently.

He balked, like something thin and nearly imperceptible had been tugging him by the chest. It was gone now.

In the day, the danger were the forest boars, tall as a man and thrice as strong. Now, to him, you brought to mind myths of fairy circles, traps, magic moss and fungus on purple bark. To him, you were dangerous.

He tried to remember if he’d stepped between anything suspicious past odd flowers even as you’d begun to duck away, something like startle raising your brows and shying your smile, in him, giving way to mild frustration and another thing just as wild in his chest. “Wait-”

It was all a blur as he made to pursue, something he only experienced in flashes, even as he lived the moment.

“Hey-!” The tide rocks below felt stabbing, even through his soles, his imbalance all but forgotten as he stomped and splashed through pools.

He wasn’t sure when he’d fully rounded the corner or when rock had turned back to sand.

You yelped as he pursued and once again as he made quite the similar, strangled noise.

His foot caught and something in his lower stomach dived up his spine, rendering his alarm to physical feeling, his knees’ nerves lit with the same emotion as they ceased function and he tripped face-first into the sand, his chin grinding into grain.

Sand stuck itself to his coat and shirt, his hands pressing flat against it as it rubbed itself into his palms. 

The same moment he felt the tight pull of something holding his ankles closer together was the same moment his torso jerked compulsively in a way that curled him to the side as he skidded, his neck and upper back taking the bunt force of his fall.

He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been knocked until his lungs failed to breathe against themselves as if he’d been assaulted with two punches by a flat hand, palm first in the center of his chest.

He took a pathetic moment to breathe in the sand and to feel it warm against the flat of his arm before he pulled away, spitting and nearly choking on it.

Hiccup cursed his luck. 

He’d missed his step and slipped, falling fully face first onto his knees in the sand with his rump nearly sticking into the air. How embarrassing.

You hadn’t screamed yet- he supposed he could be grateful for your good humor, despite the fact that it looked as if he’d launched himself at you.

After a moment of pause, during which Hiccup had finally come to a stop and had spent some time with his elbows bent, stiff and still, his rapid-fire mind coming to a hard stop for the first time in a very long while, he opened his eyes and looked.

His fall was such that though he lost all of his breath, he had no hurts or sores, the sand cradling him in a way that slid against him, imprinting against flesh and armoring him instead of ripping skin.

His legs and lower back strained slightly as he lifted his feet together into the air, spread slightly apart so that he could give them both a better look. It was all a mess, netting tangled just as if it was a ball of something loosely knitted that had been sitting in a drawer for some while and not a single soul could be bothered to spend the trouble it would take to unwind it. The thin twine wrapped unevenly around his furred ankles in a way that meant that some parts were afforded slack while others were tight enough that he could almost feel them through his boots.

He heard what might have been the light slap of feet against water, though they were not his. It only just barely precluded the sound of water against thatch, which would have told him first what the weighty feel of wet sand did if it hadn't sprayed the back of his head first.

Finding the strength in his fingers and arms, coughing slightly, he could do nothing but look up at you as he pushed himself up, feeling both indignant and a touch forlorn.

“Sorry,” You squeaked.

He blinked at you, astonished.

Hiccup’d never known a fairy to say sorry, though there was a first time for everything, nevermind the fact that he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a fairy, either. 

He was unsure of whatever else he’d had plastered across his face, for never before had his indignation or his forlorn-ness ever been enough to give anyone pause, though he was sure it reflected the scandal he must have felt, if not to a mild degree than a comical one as you let out a startled, slightly nervous laugh, once again clapping a palm to your mouth before the sound had even finished leaving your lips, muffling it to Hel.

As people were prone to do upon hearing the creaking of wooden faces and the scratching sudden tear of metal as a keg burst into smithereens, in that moment, there was a tension so high he felt the need to wince and duck, to clutch at the back of his head and press his nose to the floor.

Instead, a startling moment turned into something else. 

He let out a short, half-choked laugh of his own, a mutual understanding lighting up between the two of you as his fingers sunk deeper into beach sand.

Your lax hand falling to your chest, you were beaming, the slit of your eye and the pull of the side of your mouth to the thick of your cheek conveying a feeling that couldn’t be anything but both mischievous and merry, making Hiccup feel as if he were the sun itself.

Two eyes meeting, a mirrored smile, off by nothing more than a nail, a handshake, the thick, envious tightening of his lungs- of course he’d known what it meant, having always seen it from the outside, and yet to experience it as one member of a two-person fold felt euphoric, a joy that bloomed from just the simple fact of knowing in the most genuine sense that the person he was with felt happy too.

For the first time ever, he felt Viking-brave, as if he’d conquered the world and had been worthy enough to stand before it, his hands gripping the handle of a golden sword, boots iron as a knight’s, resting atop the flat face of a polished marble pedestal. He felt more courageous than he had ever felt standing over a rustled, battered dragon with a dull knife.

He would play your fairy game, and he wouldn’t lose you- to you, against you, you. Not now nor anywhere along this beach, should it begin to stretch forever and trap him here in this place outside of time.

Light seemed to glance off your eye as if drawn, to highlight your mischief.

Whatever he’d gotten from your exchange had also very apparently made you brazen, your features going stiff in a way he could only call impish.

Hiccup glanced down at his ankles for a very brief second, nearly missing as you turned quite clumsily and began trying to finish running your way down the beach.

“Wait- come back!”  He could go for his knife, but- he spent too much time tugging at the twine, thin string digging into the folds of his fingers before he quickly realized he wouldn’t be able to get his boots free fast enough to make after you.

He didn’t know if there was an end to this beach at all, nor did he know where it truly started, and if he stayed, well, he was sure he would lose track of you forever.

His heart was racing as he shoved one boot off with his hand, kicking a divet into the sand, his thumb catching on the ankle of his trouser leg, tugging as he tried to push himself up off the sand, nearly tripping him again as it shifted his balance forwards.

Instead, he used the force of his fall as a crutch as he pushed himself up and, hopping, he kicked off his other boot as he began to run, brushing off his nose and tongue as he went, blowing out tiny bits of sand.

He could see the rest of the beach ahead. There wasn’t much, pools turning to grains then back into stone structure he was familiar with on the land surrounding Berk’s larger stack, one which lined multiple sides of the island, the same island that rendered him -and all the other Vikings- nothing but a small cut off a grain of sand compared to such vast, imposing landmarks.

Hiccup wondered if he’d run to see the other side of them, if he might be able to make out the village, or if he would be able to make out any of the pillars towering tall enough to meet Gothi’s hut on even ground.

  Really, ‘Stack’ or ‘Pillar’ didn't do them any justice- they were more than land, tall rising columns of stone coming up from the ocean which grew larger than the hall, overshadowing a set of geometric plateaus, all making up the exact same shapes in all identical mineral colors.

They occupied a league of the ocean that all men avoided sailing past, given a wide berth so that they looked like nothing but a small pick over a wide horizon, spouting cautionary tales and lectures.

Any boat would be torn to wooden splinters before it could reach even a league from any stem, wider than two huts, the sea below moving quick enough to obscure the shallow rock underneath, a place to which sealife fled and fish prospered, under and around.

Every few generations, when catches were few, tensions were high, and bellies were so starved that ribs were worn more freely than furs, the temptation would grow too much and some lone Viking would be speared to death along its depthless, jagged ends, seeking feed and glory.

Hiccup felt the same in that moment- just another boy who was not worthy of the Viking bloodline, would be culled, stricken from his clan’ records, too weak to do anything but fall in the face of his own whims.

He should have turned back- should have never seen you, should have done his best to unravel whatever trick had ensnared him, and yet he pursued you relentlessly anyways.

Perpendicular columns rose in the shape of a hill like an uneven staircase or a set of shallow walls. You were running up a group of them like they were a particularly shallow set of steps, wide, tall and angled in a way that made it so he couldn’t see the top at all, the closer he got, the less he could see as ledges rose above him, feeling as if they were moving on their own, his motion and the evenness of all the rocks doing something dizzy to his eyes.

He rushed up after you, the soles of his feet slamming painfully against flat stone, his foot’s arch protesting with each landing.

What you made look easy, dancing up as if you were the down on a feather’s stem, being lifted up by the breeze with baggy waist wrap in either hand, was much steeper for him.

“Hey-!” Hiccup started as he nearly tripped again over one geometric ledge, the end of one heel disappearing above him.

Just out of view, you laughed like a mirage during devastating winter, just barely out of reach by some length’s measure, something soft calling through the overwhelming sound of whipping wind and snow, except it wasn’t at all near the time for blizzards or ice. 

You were by the sea, so maybe you weren’t a fairy or a witch- maybe you were a siren instead. A pretty girl sent to lure him to his doom after the Gods had found him lacking.

Hiccup had done his best- so if this was his reward, then he would take it with pride.

As he hauled himself up onto more even ground, fingers gripping and slipping fruitlessly back towards his palms, he expected to meet you face to face.

However, to his surprise, instead he met a split in the columns where the calm sea rushed in like stormy waters, forming an odd, angry impasse.

The water rushed in a way which told him there should have been a storm, pushing and pulling water in uneven waves from  multiple directions, swirling tumultuously, though the sea to his right was still clear and blue. Maybe there was something, some system underneath in its depths that made it act in such a way, though above the water, Hiccup couldn’t see it.

To his left- a cave? His attentions were drawn to it by the sudden, overwhelming waterfall of sound, harsh and ringing in an echoey manner.

It was not really a cave. Though it was deep enough to be called solidly concave, it looked shallow, as if a large hand had just taken as deep a scoop as it could from the side and it had crumbled away into the ground like a scoop of sand from the world outside, yet the waves inside of it were rough, nearly level as they crashed with force into the rock.

Light seemed to bow away from it, slightly darker than it should have been given its lack of depth.

The farthest wall was bare of any platform though on both sides there was something, the cleft on yours much larger than his, a place where some moss grew at the point Hiccup was sure the ground became dryer, farther away from the soak of the rocky ocean world inside, though he was sure it was that same tumult that kept it so green, spray cascading down over it regularly.

From there, he blinked suspiciously up at where you stood on the other side on the opposite end of it, nearer to the ocean where he had been closer to the cliffs.

Meeting his eyes, you smirtled at him with playful smugness, in your arm the vertical length of a small wooden bridge, planks uneven with obvious nails sticking from multiple directions in the place one slab met another. 

Hiccup glanced down where, clearly enough, there was a square-looking imprint in the place where mists of water from the rushing pass darkened the stone in splatters and pools.

“That’s not fair,” He deadpanned, looking up at you again, glancing, searching for a way across- any way.

Shuffling his feet briefly on the top of the plateau, he looked to his left and then back at you.

There was an area in the cave where the columns were close at the very end. He might be able to make the jump.

There was the ocean, too. He had no clue what lay under those currents, though he suspected it would be much the same as in the cave. Really, the cave- it was his best bet.

Water crashed and rose quickly at nearly an equal ground with his pathway, covering it in slippery water, harboring what was surely invisible, wet algae, lining both the faces and edges of each and every stone.

Here, there was no such thing as grip, only balance

Water cracked against basalt columns so even in form it looked almost hand crafted, the sound so loud he thought he might be able to hear his bones whistling and trembling under their might. He was sure he’d slip under its intensity. He might fall, made lighter than air in the face of might.

Rough waters and dark crystal blues under heavy, pure white foam- If he fell, they would shove him completely under and press him towards the bottom of the cave floor with a ferocity that would split him in two.

To be in there was not just to hear it, just as to see it was not to only look at it. To be in there was to bear witness to all of it at once, magnified by itself over and again.

If the beach was peaceful, then this was a terror, beautiful in its own right just as it was ferocious. Like a coin, every face had two sides. 

Hiccup was glad he’d shed his boots as he took his first step forwards, the ground just slightly slicker under his feet, the wet slap of his feet against flat stone, covered in a texture that was not just slimy but also felt like a million soft, tiny arms against his more sensitive feet causing him to shift his shoulders ever as he lifted them higher in the name of balance.

“-ey! Wai-” Hiccup heard something that might have been your voice.

He didn’t look to see if you’d stumbled after him on the other side

He didn’t check to see if you’d laid the bridge down for him either or if you’d chosen to throw it away- No one had ever laid a bridge down for him, not since he was a small child, if ever. He’d accepted that, and now, with a single-minded focus, he was determined to get himself to the other side. 

In fact, Hiccup was impressed with himself, walking with hunched shoulders and bent knees, keeping steady over the slick surface, though the broiling of the ocean water got worse the further he went into the cave.

It made the tumult outside feel like nothing of note- nothing more than something to be vaguely weary of as he teetered along the edge. That was something else, something rapid.

The water swirled, for the most part, not at all synchronous, though every once in a while there would be a large dip in the water level.

He crouched, more determined than he'd been since being rushed by the Arena Gronkle earlier that day. Sure, it was dangerous, but by the end of dragon training, he’d have probably lost his life anyways, so what did he really have to lose?

Hiccup wondered if the ground beneath his feet hollowed out, if there was where water rushed to and from, where such testy currents had been born- fifteen seconds.

Fifteen seconds was how long it took for the water to dip and sway, to make it less than level, to give him room to make it to the other side.

  The length of the leap was no more than perhaps the length of his leg, maybe one half more. 

There was an indent in one of the basalt columns rising from the water made by the place one geometric shape dipped and became another. If he could reach it- if he could leap across, he wouldn’t have to worry about any of it, though if it came down to it, and he had the mind, he could grab ahold there. 

Hiccup grimaced and waited.

He waited until the wave bowed and receded, making way for the next large crash

As he applied force to his foot and lept, his toes slipped, and then his dorsum.

He felt weak as he pushed off as if he’d only accidentally flung back a thin sheet of paper with his launch and now he was just plain falling.

He felt see-through as some sharp ricochet up and down his spine, his mouth opening and as he did- something? He couldn’t hear anything leave his lips, left more than flailing without the surety of his own voice and the absence of his thought.

He’d been more than punched, ribs feeling as if they’d been jabbed backwards into his flesh as his chest made hard contact with stone.

Hiccup couldn’t think as he slid back. 

It was not a full thought that lit his mind with something bright, filling him with a single-minded alarm that had him immobilized for another long moment.

His fingers hurt as he grabbed with as much force as he could, hands dragging slightly, his nails hurt as they pressed against stone, forced back as pressure was applied in the wrong direction, pulling directly from the face of the nail all at once, digging against stone and stuffing algae in the place between fingernail and flesh.

Hiccup tried to wheeze but he couldn’t- it was too wet as he gasped in most as drops of water, not at all fighting against the unpleasant feel of nail skidding against a chalky, blunt surface at the wrong angle as he scrabbled.

As he was pulled back towards the sea and down towards death, something pulled taut around his wrist, pulling, hefting his forward and dismantling his grip all at once with a weak yank.

With his simple thought, he knew nothing but the ice surrounding the lower part of his body, feeling nothing but the clutch of something hot around his wrist and palm.

It tugged you with him for just a moment.

He couldn’t see anything but your face, blurred by the feel of water slapping the side of his head suddenly, though he could feel the give of your body as he jerked back with the waves, full of dread for a moment as he expected to be completely pulled back and drowned violently.

He would have shed his coat if he could, grabbing at your wrists tightly-

You pulled back with your full weight, falling back in a way which must have hurt, landing roughly as he himself was righted, just enough that, despite the water shoving at his calves, the slip of the stone under his knees and his one arm still held by your grip, sleeve tugged by your hands around his wrists, he was able to inch forwards, to a distance and in a way which freed him from the rapids behind and below.

He was able to push himself up as you, albeit at a race that was a measure slower, scooted back to standing, a motion which finally brought him to dryer ground, algae slick giving way to a dryer rock. 

The ankles of his trousers were sopping wet, and half of his coat, too, where the water had slammed into him, yet he did not think of that, even as a drooling trickle of water gathered along the place his sole met stone. 

Everything felt slightly unreal, both fast and sluggish as if he was watching something searching for another under a thick blanket, observing the process yet not truly understanding what was going on underneath. 

Your eyes carried a worry conveyed by the upward cinch of your brows. 

Surely Hiccup was happy to have been snatched from death. He felt that, and yet- maybe his eyes had been dry, or the damp seawater had done something to throw him off, however, he felt as if he was looking at the world through new eyes. 

He felt something growing and grabbed your other hand, to keep you both steady.

His hands- they felt thick at times and somewhat clumsy during others, usually unless he was in the forge, where some things came easier to him than a fish sliding through the water. Though young, he was sure he’d lost most sharp feeling in them.

Really, many blacksmiths and warriors had by his age, rended to pieces by both metal, dragon-heated blade handle and just plain dragonfire. It was practically part of the coming-of-age, and yet, somehow, your palms were soft. Lightly calloused and only very sparingly scarred in a way that spoke of luxury.

In his chest, he knew in that moment that whatever had been meant for him before had been broken.

He’d never thought about it.

 Hiccup wasn’t the time to turn over stones or to ponder the meaning of life. He didn’t pay attention to the measure of warmth in a paw or whether or not he could feel for any heartbeat there, nor did he ever care about the way the lines in a palm might feel under his hand or wonder how the patterns on another’s pads might look.

However, in that moment, he’d never felt anything so truly alive under his fingertips. The feeling blustered past the cold of the sea spray covering the surface of your skin to feel the warmth underneath.

It was all wordless. Nothing you said he could hear over the waves, his mouth parted just slightly as he stared at you, all weird and human and non-human.

After you looked back once again, panting hard and really confirming that you were on dry ground, you fell back again with your full weight, landing tiredly against a moss-cushioned column, its shape wide and tall enough to make a decent stool.

“Really,” You lamented, though you both sounded just as frightened and harried as he had been, “You could have gone around the other way.”

The whole beach seemed to quiet down a measure, or maybe his focus was much too tuned in on you to hear anything else. 

“Uhm-” Hiccup started, still reaching, unable to think of anything coherent, glancing to his side, finishing lamely; “It wouldn’t have been quick enough.”

He felt as if he shouldn’t look, as if he’d caught a glimpse of something vulnerable, though there was not a trace of any emotion hidden on any part of your face.

As his own breathing evened, he looked with half-unprocessing everything, not seeing or knowing much, though something caught his eye, nestled between columns and moss to his back on the side of him absent of you.

Nestled between the rocks was… Hiccup wasn’t sure what it was.

Absently, distractedly, or perhaps in an effort to raise up some sort of real distraction, he reached a hand towards it, fingers brushing past a rotten-looking yellow-green thing at the tip of his nail catching against rough fabric as he grabbed what he thought might be its face. 

Feeling the tug of you against him he grabbed it as you stumbled away with him in tow. 

Its body was a nasty dirty gray-blue, only just large enough to fit into his hand. It felt unpleasant to the touch, algae seeping into and out of its pores, worse than the slime against the rocks and his feet in that this could shift and move easily, so it felt as if Hiccup was touching the bodily waste of something alive.

Examining it, grimacing, Hiccup decided that it had to be a doll, though it didn't feel like much more than a rag. 

He had to wonder what it was doing here.

It couldn’t have been here long, where the moisture should have caused it to rot away into dust and mold, though there was a small part of him that wanted to disagree, recalling how nothing else here worked as it should.

 He had to wonder why you weren't in dragon training, though as he’d found, you were somewhat good at going under the radar.

Past the turmoil in his chest, Hiccup was dazed, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of the danger or just because of you.

He jumped slightly as he felt the light of day over his face again. 

“How are you here?”

“How am I-” Hiccup started, then stopped. He wasn’t actually sure how he’d gotten here. “...What is this place?”

“If I-” gesturing with the rotten doll, nearly flinging it with his loose grip back into the ruckus of the water in the impasse. 

You shrugged, “If you’re here, then it’s something you need. I think.”

“I didn’t mean to be here.” Hiccup said mournfully, after a moment of opening his mouth wide and closing it.

You seemed unsure for a moment, your brows cinching again. It seemed out of order. 

“Hold still,” You smiled, the tips of your front teeth pinning your bottom in a way that looked silly and girlish and very slightly, endearingly stupid. It still seemed unsure, as if you couldn’t decide what to do with him.

He wasn’t sure what you’d done to him- if you’d instilled some kind of mark or charm on his person as you patted his shoulders, though he didn’t care

Breeze past his ear, whistling hard enough to sound echoey against the still hollow of his drum like air blown parallel above the hole in an urn. If he thought about it, he might be able to make out some tune from the noise.

“What’s that?” You asked, looking down.

He lifted the hand with the small, ragged plush with its large stitches, having let it go limp.

“I… found it. Whoever it belonged to… I just had a feeling I should keep it.” Hiccup grimaced.

You smiled, speaking, though he still couldn’t hear much over the roaring of the water to your side as he unfocused by a measure and began to come back to himself, “-always find their way back.”

As he stared, he hadn’t realized you’d gone and dropped down the bridge. “Hurry along, there’s something I think you need to be doing.”

Hiccup furrowed his brows, blinking absently, “You mean you’re not going to keep me here?”

“Isn’t there somewhere you need to be?” You asked again soothingly, guiding him over gentler impasse waters with your hands on his back at the part where his spine dipped just above his hips. “Before the tide rises…”

His legs, which moved with a monotonous evenness despite the uneven creaking of the makeshift bridge below, would have surely been unsteady if he’d realized at all what was happening, his knees shaking with strain and nerves even if he'd had the wits to make the march back over so soon.

 “I-...” If he was fully conscious, he might have protested, not just at the fact that you were touching such a familiar, usually not-thought-about spot, but also the fact that he wasn’t willing to have come all this way for nothing, though if he really thought about it…

There was something in your hands that said quite the opposite. Not for nothing. …Just a little bit more.

Just a little bit longer.

Walking through the forest, a mix of normal neutral greens and browns, he felt rejuvenated as if he’d never had such a harrowing experience to begin with.

It was as if no time had passed at all, the sun still hung strung, punched between the fingers of a God who’d been much too occupied and forgetful to move it.

In the same place as it had been before when he started walking, as if the beach was a sequence in a dream. As if he’d only just taken a short nap and blinked into himself, the only evidence anything had ever happened being the bulk in his coat from an old, moss-covered algae rag.

Hiccup took one large moment to pause and stare at the dirt ground. He wasn’t even quite sure how he’d made it back into the larger forest, leaving much the same way he came.

He didn’t even feel too bothered- not like he had been before it all, when he’d been thinking of… something. Something important.

The dragon.

[kepamount]

everytime

part 2 to best mistake !

universityjock!mason x cheerleader!yn, loosely based on everytime by ariana grande - smut, a little bit of fluff if you squint

word count: 8.1k+

warnings: exes au, very toxic dynamic, mason is a level 1000 dickhead, threat of physical violence (y/n almost throwing a vase at mason’s head), misogyny, strong language, unhealthy possessiveness, explicit sex, unprotected sex, public sex, exhibitionism, teasing, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, degradation and praise (we love duality), pussy slapping, he uses her underwear as a gag, squirting, hair-pulling, spanking, spitting, choking, overstimulation, i think that's everything but pls lmk if i missed something!

a/n: hello my tumblr girlies! yes, ik it's mason's birthday, but we're all getting a gift today, which is some dirty dirty smut lmao, i really hope you all enjoy! x

‘Come in!’ Coach calls a moment after I knock on his office door, and I turn the handle carefully, peering into the room before I step in. Coach is sat behind his desk, eyes focused on his laptop, and Mason sits on the windowsill with his phone in his hands, lips quirking up into a smirk when our eyes meet. He’s wearing a pair of grey Nike shorts (the ones that used to drive me wild) and a loose white t-shirt, a thin chain around his neck and a backwards cap on his head. God, he’s sexy.

‘Fashionably late,’ Coach observes as he looks at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, Coach. I… lost track of time,’ I say weakly, and Coach raises an eyebrow. ‘Is it raining outside?’ he asks drily, referring to my damp hair, and I let out a little sigh. ‘I had a shower. After the gym,’ I add as an afterthought, and Coach gives me an impressed nod. Any mention of people using the gym that the sports department spent a large portion of their budget on last year, Coach is happy. ‘Never mind. Ten minutes isn’t too late, I suppose. Take a seat, y/n,’ he says, motioning to the seat opposite him on the desk, and I sit down.

Mason stays perched on the windowsill, his eyes sparkling with mirth as they focus in on how I adjust my shorts. I suddenly feel exposed, in just a pair of cycling shorts and a cropped ribbed tank top (they were the first clothes I could find after I jumped out of the shower), but then I remember both of the men in this room have seen me in much less. Coach has seen me in the skimpiest cheer kit to ever exist (we had to redesign it a couple years ago because someone’s tit popped out while we were performing) and Mason has seen me completely naked, spread-eagle in his bed.

‘Okay… I have another meeting with the head of the sports department in 20 minutes, so I’ll need to leave in 15. Thankfully, there’s not too much I need to get through – the two of you can discuss everything else without me,’ Coach says, eyes skimming across his notepad, and I feel my eyebrows furrow together in confusion.

‘Without you, Coach?’ ‘Yes. I trust that the two of you are mature enough to come to your own decisions without me holding your hands along the way. You can talk things over together, and fill me in when I get back from my meeting. Is that okay?’ Coach asks, Mason’s eyes flitting to mine, the boy leaving it to me to answer. ‘Yeah, Coach, that’s fine,’ I say, the man nodding before he begins talking through his notes.

Most of it is pretty boring. Mason and I will need to do a health and safety training course so that we can lead practice/training sessions without Coach having to be there, so we discuss when the best time is for us to book it in, Mason and I bickering because our schedules don’t quite match up.

We set up a joint calendar so that Coach can add in matches as and when he plans them with other teams, so that Mason and I can put in practice and training sessions, and so we can plan our monthly meetings (and remember them so no one shows up late like I did today).

We move on to fundraising events, Coach saying that we will need to coordinate the football team and the cheer squad so that all of us are at the fundraising events together. Mason’s suggestions are ridiculous – a kissing booth at the uni fair, a swimsuit car wash, a wet t-shirt contest – but he calls my ideas boring – a bake sale or a raffle at the uni fair. Coach eventually intervenes with our arguing to tell Mason we won’t be doing any of his ideas, and he’ll have to compromise with mine, the boy sulking as I smile smugly.

And then Coach checks his watch, realising he’s gonna be late to his next meeting, and so he disappears, saying he’ll be back in around half an hour. As soon as the door falls shut behind us, Mason wiggles his eyebrows at me with a stupid grin on his face, making me shoot him a dirty look.

Since Mason and I fucked in the changing rooms a couple weeks ago, my head has been a mess, mainly because I haven’t been able to get him out of it. After I ended things with him, I missed him but I stayed strong, promising myself I wouldn’t ever go back to him, either sexually or romantically, but now that I’ve given in once? I don’t trust myself to resist him if he tries anything again. I’ve managed to hold out since that day, despite his several advances during practice and parties, but we’re alone now, and it’s gonna be difficult.

‘I still think we should do a wet t-shirt contest,’ he says, and I roll my eyes. ‘Well, you’re an idiot. We’re not doing that, Mason. It’s… backwards, and degrading.’ ‘I thought you liked being degraded,’ he grins, and I just stare at him deadpan, the boy laughing.

‘Fine, no wet t-shirt contest. But your ideas are so boring, y/n.’ ‘A bake sale is, like, the go-to fundraiser! We can all get together and bake brownies or cupcakes in the uni kitchens. And us girls can sell it all on match days as people are arriving! We could do other stuff as well. Bulk buy sweets and chocolates and popcorn, and sell it all in cute little cups. People will pay anything for a bit of food at half-time,’ I appeal, and he doesn’t say anything for a few moments.

‘That’s not a bad idea,’ he admits begrudgingly, and I grin proudly. ‘See? That’s one thing we can do. And we can do a booth at the uni fair. Maybe not a raffle, but a… dunk tank! The football team can do, like, 20 minutes shifts, and people can pay to throw tennis balls at the target. And we’ll make sure the target moves or something, so it’s harder!’ I say excitedly, Mason looking sceptical.

‘Why the football team?’ ‘Because none of us cheerleaders should have to go in a dunk tank,’ I say, my nose scrunched up in disgust at the thought. No girl should ever have to be in a tank of water that the football team have also been in. ‘Fine, whatever. Dunk tank sounds good, the boys’ll be down,’ he says, and I clap my hands together in excitement. Things are starting to come together.

‘There’s easier things we can do, as well. Like… you guys always throw a trillion parties every year at your house. Maybe for, like, Halloween, you can charge for entry. Just a fiver, but that’ll add up. Not all of our fundraising has to be super time-consuming,’ I say, and he nods in agreement.

‘Yeah, that’s a good idea actually. We can say that you have to pay a higher fee if you don’t dress up,’ he suggests, and I’m impressed. He’s finally being sensible. ‘That’s a really good idea!’ ‘What else can we do?’ he asks, and I think for a moment. ‘Don’t you think that’s enough? Selling food at every home game, a dunk tank at the uni fair, and the Halloween party at yours,’ I list off, and he lets out a little laugh, getting up from the windowsill and sitting down in Coach’s chair.

‘You’ll be wanting to do as much fundraising as you possibly can,’ he says cryptically, and I look at him questioningly. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘The sports department are cutting cheer funding,’ he says, looking like he’s barely holding back his laughter, and my eyes widen.

‘What? They’re cutting our funding?’ I demand, and he nods amusedly. ‘After all that money they spent on the gym last year, they can’t justify letting you girls spend so much money on your pretty bows and your skimpy skirts,’ he says, and I just stare at him in disbelief.

‘They cut our funding three years ago, so we stopped getting backup uniforms and started paying for our own safety shorts. They cut our funding again two years ago, so we stopped hiring our own bus for matches and started getting on your guys’ bus or driving there ourselves. They cut it again last year, so we started paying towards our uniforms. They pay half, we pay half. What else can we possibly do to save them more money?’ I ask, voice faint with shock.

‘That stage you guys hire at the end of the year. How much does that cost?’ he asks with a small smile, and I feel my mouth drop open. ‘We need that stage. If we want to pose any kind of threat at Nationals, we have to practice on a stage. The one year we didn’t was literally catastrophic. If we don’t practice our routine on a stage, we’ll have no hope of placing,’ I say, and Mason leans back in Coach’s seat, looking endlessly amused. I want nothing more than to slap him.

‘You need to prioritise other things. How will you compete without any boys on the squad? You need someone to throw the girls around, don’t you?’ he says, and I roll my eyes. ‘There are some very strong girls on the squad. We have plenty of bases for our stunts. But that’s not relevant. I’m not giving up that stage, Mason. We have to hire it if we don’t want to humiliate ourselves at Nationals.’

‘Don’t tell me. Tell Coach, or the head of sports. I’m sure when they hear how important it is that you have your stage to prance around on, they’ll give you all the funding you need,’ he grins, and I have to slide my hands beneath my legs so I don’t throw myself across the desk and punch the shit out of him.

‘You’re such a dick. You think your football is so much more important than cheer-’ ‘Who stands on the sidelines, singing and dancing, and who runs around the pitch, scoring goals and winning trophies? You tell me, y/n,’ he says smugly, and I let out a humourless laugh.

‘The fact that we cheer for you doesn’t make you any more important than us. You guys literally come to Nationals to support us.’ ‘Oh, yeah. That’s why we’re there. Nothing to do with the hundreds of pretty girls in their cheer kits,’ he says drily, and I take a deep breath, my anger only being fuelled further by my jealousy.

‘You know how much cheer means to me. And you’re sitting here, fucking mocking me-’ ‘Babe, relax. I’m not mocking you. I’m just joking. You know I respect cheer as a sport,’ he says mildly, and I fix him with a hard look.

‘Our funding has been cut, and you’re sitting here laughing about it. How is that respect? Admit it, Mason. None of you give a fuck about our sport. You don’t, the rest of the team don’t, Coach doesn’t. The entire fucking department couldn’t care less about us. Coach didn’t even have the fucking decency to tell me himself,’ I say bitterly, and Mason raises an eyebrow.

‘He would’ve told you if you’d had the decency to show up on time,’ he says pointedly, and I roll my eyes. ‘He still could’ve told me. Cut funding should have been the top of his list. But instead, he started with talking about a fucking health and safety course,’ I spit out. ‘Health and safety is still important,’ Mason grins. ‘You’re a fucking twat,’ I say flatly, taking slow and deep breaths to cool my temper so I don’t ruin his season with an injury.

‘Shows up late, doesn’t apologise, and then sits here insulting me,’ he observes amusedly, and I give him a blank look. ‘I did apologise.’ ‘Not to me. You said sorry to Coach, but he’s not the only one who had to wait for you,’ he points out, and I don’t say anything, just staring at him. If he’s expecting an apology, he’s not getting one.

‘It was ten minutes,’ I say simply, and he lets out a little chuckle. ‘Ten minutes is a long time, y/n. There’s a lot I can do in ten minutes. You would know that, angel,’ he grins, and I raise an eyebrow, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. ‘Delusional much? You never made me cum more than once in ten minutes,’ I say, and his lips quirk up in amusement. ‘I wasn’t talking about sex. Dirty mind,’ he says beratingly, and I roll my eyes, both of us knowing it’s a lie.

‘But now that we’re on the subject…’ he begins, and I let out a little sigh, readying myself for his bullshit. ‘Who were you just with?’ he asks, and I give him a puzzled look, my stomach turning nervously. ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, and he narrows his eyes at me.

‘I spent the last two hours in the gym. You weren’t there,’ he says amusedly, and I cringe internally at being caught out on my lie. ‘You must not have seen me.’ ‘I might not be as intelligent as you, but I’m not that stupid. You weren’t there, so don’t pretend you were. Even if I hadn’t been in the gym today, I wouldn’t have believed it. Your workouts are pilates in your apartment. You hate the gym,’ he says firmly, and I roll my eyes. ‘Okay, fine, I wasn’t there. That doesn’t mean I was with someone,’ I say, and he grins like a predator watching his prey fall into a trap.

‘You only wash your hair in the mornings, because you like putting oil in it overnight,’ he says, reminding me of how well he knows me, and I sigh internally, trying to think of a lie. ‘I only put oil in my hair every other wash now. So that doesn’t mean anything,’ I say, and he raises an eyebrow.

‘Okay, fine. Maybe that’s true. But you only wash your hair every three days. Your hair was fresh this morning when I saw you with Steph and Isla in Starbucks. So why have you washed it again on the same day? You would only ever wash your hair in an evening or on the same day as another wash if you’d had sex and you were all sweaty,’ he says, looking immensely proud of himself for working it out, and I stare at him, wondering if I should tell him the truth or keep denying it.

‘Just tell the truth, y/n,’ he says amusedly, and I let out a little sigh. ‘Fine, okay, yes. I was with someone,’ I say, a victorious look on his face. ‘Who was it?’ he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘I’m not telling you.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Why would you even want to know?’ I ask, and he grins at me. ‘Because I want to know who thinks it’s okay to fuck my ex-girlfriend,’ he says, and I stare at him in a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

‘Thinks it’s okay? It is okay. People other than you are allowed to fuck me. I’ve slept with several people since we broke up-’ ‘Yeah. Jude from your tutor group. Ruben who used to live next door to you – he fucked you a few times, I’ve heard. Marcus, the engineering student who graduated last year. Dec, who’s on my course, by the way. You should have known I’d find out about that one,’ he says amusedly, my mouth falling open more with each name he says. How the fuck does he know this?

‘Did I miss anyone?’ he asks, and I’m too shocked to speak. ‘Didn’t think so,’ he grins. ‘You… how did you find out?’ I say faintly, unable to believe what I’m hearing. ‘People talk. Well, most people talk. I assume none of them talk to you anymore,’ he says with a contented smile, and I just blink at him, everything making sense now.

‘You told them not to talk to me anymore?’ ‘No. I just… spoke to them, and they chose not to speak to you anymore, based on those conversations,’ he says simply, and I burst out laughing. ‘You threatened them? They can’t possibly be scared of a skinny little white boy,’ I say through laughter, and he just raises an eyebrow, getting up from Coach’s seat and walking around the desk.

‘I didn’t threaten anyone. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s because they’d rather be friends with the captain of the football team than sleep with you,’ he says lightly as he perches on the front of the desk, a small gap between us, and I just shake my head at him. ‘You’re fucking ridiculous.’

‘Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t like people touching what’s mine. So tell me who you were just with and-’ ‘Hold on. You don’t like people touching what’s yours? I’m not yours, you dick. In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve been broken up for quite a while now. I’m well within my rights to sleep with whoever I want,’ I say slowly, emphasising every word so they get into his head, and he just laughs, looking down at me with an amused grin.

‘You’re not mine?’ he asks, and I just blink, completely confused. Am I missing something? ‘No, Mason, I’m not, as you’re well aware,’ I reply, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘No, babe. I’m well aware of the opposite. I think you’re always gonna be mine, whether you want to be or not,’ he murmurs, and I shake my head incredulously, unable to believe what he’s saying.

‘Mason. I’m not yours. You can’t remove every boy that I sleep with from my life. We’re not together,’ I say, voice soft with disbelief, and he lets out a noise of annoyance, like I’m purposely being dense. ‘Us being broken up doesn’t matter. I don’t like you being with other boys, just like how you don’t like me being with other girls,’ he says as though it’s obvious, and I roll my eyes.

‘Don’t try to deny it. You still get jealous like I do, and we both know it. You even hate the mention of other girls. Literally just a couple minutes ago, when I said about us going to Nationals to watch all the other cheerleaders there, you looked like you wanted to kill me,’ he points out as an example, and I remain silent, just looking up at him with an irritated gaze.

‘Since we broke up, I haven’t been able to pull a single cheerleader from this university. None of them will entertain me-’ ‘That’s probably not a fact that you want to go around advertising,’ I say amusedly, and he just gives me an unimpressed look before he continues. ‘I used to be able to pull them when we were still together-’ ‘Yeah, I know.’ ‘-but now, I can’t. Why is that?’ he asks pointedly, ignoring my sarcastic interjection, and I raise an eyebrow.

‘Maybe it’s the same reason I can’t pull a single boy on the team,’ I reply lightly, and he lets out a little laugh. ‘So you admit it? You told them to stay away from me?’ ‘I never had to tell them. They just know,’ I say mildly, and he just nods amusedly.

‘If you weren’t mine, we wouldn’t be doing what we’re doing. Stopping each other from pursuing relationships. Getting jealous at just the mention of anyone else. Laying our claims on each other to scare everyone away. But we are doing what we’re doing, which means you are mine. Just as much as I’m yours. We’ll always come back to each other, angel. Every time,’ he murmurs softly, and I hate the way my heart flutters in my chest at his warm gaze down at me.

Our eyes remain locked together as he waits for me to speak, the room filled with an expectant tension. After a long silence, I take a deep breath and say, ‘Help me stop them from cutting our funding. You’re the football captain. They’ll listen to you more than they’ll listen to me.’ He stares at me for a moment before his lips curl up and he shakes his head.

‘After the conversation we just had, you’re thinking about funding?’ ‘I care more about my sport than I do about my love life or sex,’ I say pointedly, and he rolls his eyes, leaning back on his hands and spreading his thighs very slightly, his dick on my eye level. It takes every inch of my willpower to keep my eyes on his.

‘Clearly not. You showed up late to a meeting about your sport because you were too busy getting dicked down,’ he says drily, raising an eyebrow and waiting for a response. I can’t think of one other than it’s your fault for making me so horny which is a pretty shit comeback, so I don’t say anything, a victorious smirk appearing on his lips at shutting me up.

‘Tell me who you were with,’ he demands. ‘Help us keep our funding,’ I reply simply, and he lets out an amused sigh before hooking his feet around the legs of my chair, pulling it closer with minimal effort. My body is caged in between his legs, my face so close to his groin that I feel my skin heating up.

He leans down slightly, our faces close enough that I could count his eyelashes if I wanted to. I avoid his strong gaze and he grabs my chin, turning my head and tilting it back so I’m forced to meet his eyes. ‘Tell me who you were with,’ he repeats slowly, fingers pressing into my jaw, and I realise what he’s trying to do. Does he really think he’ll be able to get me all worked up and then hold out on actually doing anything until I tell him who I was with? He must know that I’m much better at these games than he is.

I lift my hands to rest on the tops of his thighs, dangerously close to his groin, and his gaze falters for a moment, clearly surprised by my boldness. ‘Help us keep our funding,’ I say again, voice low and breathy as I let my hands slide inwards towards his bulge. He raises an eyebrow, not amused at my unwillingness to let him get his way, before titling my head back ever further, my neck fully exposed to him.

I’m forced to stare at the ceiling as he leans to burrow his head in my neck, deeply inhaling my scent before exhaling slowly, his breath making my hair stir and goosebumps appear across my skin. He presses soft kisses to the juncture between my neck and shoulder, lips curling up in victory when I let out a gentle sigh. ‘Tell me who you were with, angel,’ he says, words muffled on my neck, before he sucks at my skin, sending a pleasurable shiver through me.

I keep one hand sat atop his thigh, nails digging into his skin slightly, the dense muscle flexing beneath my palm at the painful contact. The other hand I move to sit atop his bulge, cock already hardening under my touch, but I keep my hand slack, the lack of pressure making him let out an irritated noise,. ‘Help us keep our funding,’ I respond, his breath catching in his throat when I start to glide my hand back and forth, fingers barely brushing his hard-on.

His hand tightens on my neck, pads of his fingers pressing in and cutting off my airways very slightly, my eyes still trained on the ceiling of Coach’s office. He pulls me to lean towards him, his head moving into my view, and he uses his other hand to force my lips apart. I already know what’s coming, watching as he gathers up saliva in his mouth and spits it into mine, my underwear flooding. ‘Tell me who you were with, y/n, and I’ll agree to help you keep your funding,’ he bargains as I swallow down his spit, and I roll my eyes.

I grip his dick suddenly, the quietest noise sounding low in his throat as I palm him through his shorts. I wrap a hand around him and tug at his length gently, the friction of his clothes rubbing against his cock making him let out a shaky breath. ‘If you agree to help me keep our funding, I’ll tell you who I was with,’ I reply, voice slightly raspy because of how tight his hand is around my throat.

‘You’re so fucking stubborn,’ he murmurs, releasing my throat and leaning back on his hands again, clearly enjoying the way I’m touching him through his shorts. So I stop, a dark look appearing on his face. ‘Clearly I get it from my ex-boyfriend,’ I say pointedly, leaning back in my seat, and he only looks angrier at me mirroring his actions.

We stare each other down, his face like thunder while I can’t hold back the small smile on my lips. He’s the one at a disadvantage here, because his anger about not knowing who was inside me a little while ago is consuming him, more than any anger I might have about funding, and we both know it. It’ll kill him to leave this room without finding out.

‘You might want to take care of that before Coach gets back,’ I say into the tense silence, motioning to his hard-on creating a tent in his shorts, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘You can take care of it if you’re so concerned about it.’ ‘I’m not concerned. Just think it’d be quite embarrassing.’ ‘Almost as embarrassing as the wet patch you’ll be leaving on that chair when you stand up,’ he drawls in response, eyes flitting down and noting how my thighs are pressed together.

‘I can clean a wet patch. You can’t hide a boner, especially not in those grey shorts,’ I observe, and his lips quirk up amusedly. ‘You noticed the shorts? They always were your favourite,’ he says, as though I need reminding of how feral I used to become at the sight of him in those shorts, and I roll my eyes. ‘Of course I noticed them, baby. So thoughtful of you to dress up for me,’ I grin, and I can tell from the way his smile slips for a moment that his masculinity is threatened at my mocking.

Before I can even register what’s going on, he’s on his feet, lifting me out of the chair and sitting me down on the desk where he just was before sitting himself in the chair. I might be the one looking down at him now, but I definitely don’t have the advantage anymore, the look on his face and the set of his shoulders telling me he’s far too pissed off to let me keep having my fun.

He doesn’t waste any time, spreading my legs and cupping my core, fingers gliding up and down the crotch of my shorts in a way that makes my body ignite. ‘I’ll make you regret being such a little bitch, y/n,’ he vows in a soft voice before sliding his hands up my body and slipping beneath my tank top, pulling it up and over my head before dropping it down onto my desk, my boobs jiggling with the movement.

‘Braless? Fucking slut,’ he murmurs, pulling my shoes off before his hands come back down to my cycling shorts. I lift my hips so he can pull them down my legs, and I keep myself elevated so he can pull my underwear down too, but he grips at the fabric between my legs instead. His biceps flex as he rips it completely, exposing my wet core to the room.

‘I swear to God, Mason, I’m gonna fucking kill- oh, god,’ I begin ranting, cut off when he presses his thumb down onto my clit. ‘Kill who, angel? God?’ he murmurs amusedly before he ducks his head down between my legs, licking a slow stripe across my folds. I bite down on my lip to stop any more noises coming out, but I can’t help myself as he continues licking at me lazily, like he’s doing it more for his own pleasure than mine.

‘Oh, fuck,’ I moan, pushing off his cap and sliding my hands into his hair as he attaches his lips to my clit, sucking harshly, before his teeth gently scrape across the bundle of nerves. My back arches up, cold air hitting my hard nipples, and a loud moan of his name escapes my mouth. My nails scrape across his scalp as he swirls his tongue around my clit, my thighs closing around his head so tight that it must hurt.

‘Who were you with, y/n?’ he asks, like a dog with a bone, not giving me any time to think before he pokes his tongue inside me, my mind going blank as I let out another loud moan from low in my throat. ‘Answer the question,’ he growls before delving his tongue back inside me, my walls fluttering around it.

‘Doesn’t it bother you… that your tongue… is inside a pussy… that was fucked… by another guy… less than an hour ago?’ I manage to force out between deep breaths and soft whines, and his eyes flit up to meet mine, dark and stormy with rage. 1 point to me. He leans away from me, landing a harsh slap across my core, the shock of the pain making me gasp, but my gasp is cut off by a moan when he pushes two fingers inside me.

‘Fucking slut. Who were you with?’ he demands, eyes trained on my face as I whimper pathetically at the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of me, barely able to hold his eye contact. ‘Someone with a dick bigger than yours,’ I say in a strained voice, just about managing to get my words out before he rubs at my clit with his thumb, forcing a moan of his name from my lips.

‘Liar. Who were you with?’ he asks again, but I’m too focused on the pleasure rolling through my body in waves to muster up any sort of response. He removes his fingers from inside me and slips them into my mouth, my own arousal coating my tastebuds as I lick them clean. He ducks his head down again, tongue flicking across my clit, and I let out another loud moan, head thrown back and back arched painfully.

‘If you won’t answer my question, you’ll shut the fuck up,’ he spits out, grabbing my ripped pants and stuffing them into my mouth before pushing me down to lie across the desk. I feel Coach’s papers against my bare back and suddenly realise that my ex-boyfriend is eating me out in the football coach’s office, with the door unlocked.

Before I have any time to dwell on how dangerous this situation is, he pushes three fingers into me, my back lifting up off the desk and tears filling my eyes. He doesn’t waste any time, thrusting his fingers in and out of me fast enough to fill the room with obscene squelching and choked moans from deep in my throat, muffled by my underwear in my mouth. I can taste myself on the material, the filthiness of it making me gush around his fingers. The desk is probably covered in my arousal.

I thrash around on the desk and it must irritate him because he lifts my legs up over his shoulders, my heels resting on his back and thighs on either side of his head. He sucks at my clit whilst keeping a steady pace with his fingers inside me, and I bury my hands in his hair, pulling his face closer to me.  

He chuckles softly, warm breath fanning across my skin and making me shudder. When his fingers curl inside me, I clench around his fingers, unconsciously trying to push my thighs together, pressing them into his head. He doesn’t relent though, tongue flicking across my clit, fingers stretching me out.

‘Close already?’ he asks amusedly, so used to my body that he knows when an orgasm is approaching, and I can’t help myself from taking the underwear out of my mouth to respond with ‘still sensitive from the last guy.’ He freezes, my response taking him by surprise, before his eyes blaze with fury. ‘You’re gonna regret running your mouth,’ he warns me before thrusting his fingers into me again with renewed energy, a loud moan falling from my lips.

The knot in my stomach tightens as his tongue swirls around my clit, fingers bringing me closer and closer to orgasm. I can’t stop the moans and whines that escape my mouth but the sounds Mason’s making are much worse, his mouth slurping and his fingers splashing my arousal. My fingers are still tangled in his locks, thighs pressed tightly around his head and heels digging into his strong back, but none of it seems to concern him, the boy completely focused on making me cum.

‘Fuck, Mase, I’m… I’m so close,’ I whimper, the submission in my voice making him instantly soften. ‘Come on, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers like a good girl, y/n,’ he murmurs against the skin of my inner thigh, the praise pushing me even closer. He curls his fingers inside me, sucking my clit between his lips, and I see white, mouth falling open as my orgasm hits me.

I black out for a few seconds, the pleasure in my body too much for me to handle, and when my vision finally clears, mind finding its sanity again, my body falls slack, head back on the desk and chest falling and rising with exhausted breaths. I manage to lift my head to look at Mason, and I get the shock of my life when I see that his face is wet, skin glistening.

‘Did… I just-’ ‘Yeah, you did,’ he replies, tone soft with shock, and we just stare at each other for a long few seconds. ‘Fuck. That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,’ he murmurs, taking my hands into his and pulling me upright, gripping my jaw with a strong hand to bring my face closer. He presses his lips to mine, my own taste on his tongue, and I moan softly into his mouth at his hands digging into my waist as he kisses me fiercely.

He breaks apart from me after a moment and stands up, the tent in his shorts making my stomach clench. ‘Turn over, angel,’ he prompts, and I lift myself up shakily before turning onto my front, body pressed against the wood of Coach’s desk. ‘Can you lock the door?’ I ask, hearing him chuckle softly. ‘Starting to hurt my ego, babe. I wanna show you off, and you’re trying to keep me hidden.’ ‘I’m trying not to get caught naked on Coach’s desk with my ex-boyfriend inside of me,’ I reply drily, getting more laughter in response.

‘It’s fine, he won’t be back for a while. You’re just gonna have to be quiet for me, so no one else comes in.’ ‘Just lock the door.’ ‘It doesn’t have a lock,’ he replies, and I groan in irritation. ‘We don’t have to fuck, angel. I can go without it, and you should be able to as well. Unless the guy you fucked earlier was shit,’ he murmurs, lifting one of my legs to rest on the desk, exposing my dripping wet core to the room.

‘Say the word, babe, and I’ll stop. If you’re so worried about being caught,’ he says, grin audible in his tone, and I roll my eyes. He just wants me to beg him, like he tried to get me to do last time – he’s so transparent. Before I can decide what to say, I feel the head of his cock running up and down my folds, my walls clenching in anticipation. The contact stops suddenly, cold air on my core making me shiver, but then I feel his lips press against my shoulder blade, kissing a slow trail down my back.

‘Have you ever squirted for another boy, angel?’ he asks quietly, and I toy with the idea of telling him that yes, I’ve squirted for every other guy I’ve slept with. ‘No,’ I respond truthfully after a long pause, putting him out of his misery. ‘Have you ever made yourself squirt?’ he asks, and I respond with another ‘no.’ ‘That was your first time?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Fuck,’ he curses, lips in the dip of my back, hands on my waist.

‘Wanna make you squirt again, babe. On my cock instead of my face this time. So much that it goes everywhere, angel. Want the room to smell like you,’ he whispers against my skin, making me moan softly, and he loses any composure he may have had before that point. I feel his cock between my legs again, head pushing against my folds, and I feel myself moving back, desperate to feel him in me.

‘You want it?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘Words.’ ‘Yes, Mase, I want it,’ I whisper, my words followed by silence for a long few seconds. ‘Who fucked you today?’ he demands, and I let out an irritated groan. ‘Seriously?’ ‘Yes. I’ll speak to Coach about your funding. No, fuck that, I’ll even fund your stage myself if I have to. Just tell me, y/n,’ he demands, and I want him so bad that I give in.

‘You have to promise me you won’t do anything.’ ‘I promised you I’d help with funding – don’t add other conditions.’ ‘Mason, please,’ I whine. ‘What would I do anyway?’ ‘He’s on the team, and I don’t want you to, like, bench him or whatever.’ ‘He’s on the team?’ he demands angrily, and I sigh. ‘Mase, please,’ I say again, and he’s silent for a few seconds. ‘Coach chooses the team so I can’t bench anyone.’ ‘Mase.’ ‘Fine, I won’t do anything. Just tell me. It’ll kill me not to know,’ he pleads.

‘Conor,’ I whisper, and he’s silent for a long few seconds. ‘Okay.’ ‘Mason-’ ‘Babe, it’s fine. I won’t do anything,’ he murmurs before pushing all the way into me, both of us cursing in unison. ‘Oh, God,’ I whimper, Mason giving me time to adjust, the sound of my deep breaths the only noise in the room. His hands roam across my body soothingly, sliding over my hips and squeezing my bum self-indulgently.

‘Stop clenching, angel,’ he breathes out, clearly struggling to stay composed, and I try my best to stop my walls fluttering around him. ‘You can move.’ ‘Sure?’ he asks softly, my heart melting which makes me want to slap myself. This guy is a Level 1000 dickhead, and I’m getting butterflies while he’s got me bent over Coach’s desk. I need to seriously self-evaluate.

‘Yes, Mase, please,’ I murmur, and he pulls out slowly before slamming back in, making me moan loudly. He doesn’t hesitate any longer, hammering into me with enough force to make the desk creak, just about audible over the continuous moans escaping my lips. ‘Fuck, Mase, feels so good,’ I whimper, his hand coming down on my ass in a slap that makes me gasp, the gasp cut off with a moan when the head of his cock hits my sensitive spot.

‘Such a dirty girl, y/n. Someone could walk in any second and see you getting fucked by your ex-boyfriend on Coach’s desk, and look at you. Moaning like a desperate little slut,’ he says, voice strained with the effort of keeping his fast pace, punctuating his words with another harsh slap. He wraps a hand around my hair, tugging it and keeping my head bent back an at uncomfortable angle, my moans projecting around the room.

‘Still so tight, baby. Conor can’t have fucked you very well,’ he says cockily, both of us knowing full well that the female anatomy doesn’t work that way, but I’m too fucked out to correct him, just about keeping myself from passing out at the intense waves of pleasure rolling over my sensitive body.

‘How would he feel if he knew, babe? If he knew you were getting fucked by your ex-boyfriend less than an hour after being with him? He’d think you’re a dirty fucking slut, wouldn’t he, angel? And he’d be right,’ he says between broken breaths and soft groans, his cock dragging against my walls in a way that makes my legs shake.

He’s relentless with his thrusts, pounding into me like it’s what he was made for. The sounds of skin slapping together, wet squelching, heavy breaths, creaking wood and my high-pitched moans fill the room – it sounds like someone’s playing porn on full blast through a speaker. It’s filthy, the way he fucks into me, pulls my hair, slaps my ass and talks so dirty it’d make even a prostitute blush. I’m embarrassingly close to another orgasm, and Mason knows it – I can practically feel the cockiness radiating from him.

He releases his grip on my hair, my head falling forward, and I moan pathetically when he begins rubbing at my clit harshly, his other hand pressing hard into my waist. ‘Ah, fuck, you feel so fucking good,’ he groans, my walls clamped down around him, making him have to put in so much effort just to be able to move. My body slides back and forth on the desk with every thrust of his, and my mind is completely empty of everything but him and his dick.

‘Fuck, Mason,’ I cry out, eyes watering, and he slows his pace slightly, giving me a brief reprieve. ‘You okay?’ he murmurs softly, rubbing my back comfortingly. ‘Mmhmm. Need you, Mase,’ I whisper through deep breaths, pushing back into him as tears run down my face. ‘Baby, you’re crying, and you still want me to fuck you?’ he laughs, sliding an arm beneath my body and pulling me up so our bodies are pressed together, his cock still inside me.

He keeps one arm wrapped around me, hand grabbing my tit whilst the other hand slides down my body and stops between my legs, fingers brushing my clit. He starts fucking into me again, thrusts slow and passionate now, and my head falls back against his chest. My knee is still up on the desk so he’s going so deep, deep enough that it feels like he’s brushing against my cervix.

‘You gonna cum for me, angel?’ he murmurs against my ear, fingers drawing circles on my clit as he fills me up perfectly, and I just moan in response, prompting a soft laugh from him. ‘Is my pretty baby close? Gonna cum on my cock, y/n?’ he whispers into the crook of my neck, my eyes fluttering shut as the knot in my stomach tightens and I let out a string of unintelligible gibberish.

‘Come on, y/n. Cum for me, angel. Wanna feel you cum around my cock, baby,’ he murmurs, moving the hand at my boob to my neck instead. The moment he tightens his fingers on either side of my throat, I hit my high, moaning his name loudly as my eyes roll back.

He rubs fast circles at my clit to get me through my orgasm, and as soon as my walls loosen around him, he’s pushing me back down onto the desk, hands tightening at my waist as he begins thrusting into me furiously fast to reach his own orgasm. I whine at the overstimulation, aftershocks making my body shudder along with the way he fucks into me, and he lets out soft moans and grunts. His cock twitches inside me and I know he’s close, clenching around him hard to keep him buried deep inside me.

‘Fuck, I’m gonna cum, y/n,’ he groans, hands clamped down on my waist bruisingly tight, and I feel his release fill me up, the boy moaning lowly as he thrusts into me slowly and erratically. He pulls out after a few seconds, the empty feeling making me shiver, and the silence that settles over the room makes the reality of this situation dawn on me. We just fucked on Coach’s desk.

‘You okay?’ he asks, sounding slightly sheepish, and I nod, pushing myself up off the desk on shaky arms. He gets some tissues from the box on the desk, sitting me down and cleaning me up with careful hands. I’m exhausted, trying my best not to knock out as he cleans all the sweat on my skin, smoothing down my hair with light fingers.

‘Want me to help you put your clothes back on, baby?’ he asks softly, and I suddenly remember that we’re not together anymore, and for good reason. Yes, he looks unfairly hot now, with messy hair and flushed skin, but it’s not a good idea to let him get close again, because I’ll probably fold and let him back into my life, and my heart can’t take all that pain again.

‘No, I can do it myself,’ I say, more harshly than I intended, and he reacts visibly, surprise on his face. He quickly masks it with an irritating smirk as he hands me my shorts and top, tucking my ripped pants into his pocket. ‘You’re such a fucking dick for ripping my underwear. That’s two pairs of pants you owe me now,’ I mutter as I pull my clothes on and slip my feet back into my shoes, collapsing down onto the chair once I’m done. He's looking at his reflection in the window, running a hand through his hair before putting his cap back on.

‘You’ll be able to buy yourself two million pairs of pants with all the funding you’re gonna get,’ he says serenely as he opens all the windows, airing the room out so it doesn’t smell of sex. I start tidying Coach’s desk, hoping he doesn’t notice if anything’s out of place.

‘What, you think you’re gonna be able to persuade Coach to give us extra funding instead of cutting it?’ I ask drily as he sits on the windowsill again, and he grins at me. ‘No persuasion necessary. The uni’s given the department double the budget we had last year, so your funding’s gonna be double this year what it was last year,’ he says, my confusion slowly ebbing away into pure rage.

‘What did you gain from lying?’ I say through gritted teeth, his smile growing even more. ‘We both know the answer to that, angel,’ he responds, and I shut my eyes to keep myself calm, taking deep breaths. ‘You’re a fucking twat, Mason,’ I say after a long few moments, reopening my eyes to see his shit-eating grin. ‘If you hadn’t been late to the meeting, y/n, you wouldn’t have missed Coach talking about the budget. So it’s your own fault really,’ he says, and I see red.

When Coach walks in, I’m milliseconds away from throwing the vase on his desk at Mason’s head. ‘y/n, stop!’ Coach shouts, rushing over and taking the vase from my hand. ‘Did you see that, Coach? She was about to physically assault me,’ Mason says with a grin in my direction, Coach shooting him a look. ‘You probably deserved it, Mason.’

‘Coach! She could have wrecked my face,’ Mason whinges as Coach sits back down behind his desk. ‘Anything that happens to your face from this point would be an improvement,’ Coach replies drily, and I fail at stifling my laugh, Mason crossing his arms across his chest with a sulky look on his face. ‘Right, well, at least the two of you didn’t kill each other while I was gone. You may have been about to, but you didn’t, so I consider it a win,’ Coach says amusedly, Mason and I shooting each other dirty looks.

‘Why are the windows open? It’s freezing,’ Coach says, and I hesitate to answer, Mason doing it for me. ‘y/n was feeling hot,’ Mason says, and I try not to react visibly to his horrendous lie. I’m in shorts and a crop top – why on earth would I be feeling hot? ‘Oh, okay. You’re not ill, are you, y/n?’ Coach asks, and I wrack my brains for an answer. ‘No, Coach. It’s just… that time of the month,’ I say quietly, instant regret on his face.

‘Okay, sorry for asking. Let’s carry on with the meeting then. What did you decide on for fundraising?’ ‘We argued about it quite a bit, Coach, but y/n eventually agreed to the wet t-shirt contest.’ ‘Shut up, Mason.’ ‘You shut up.’ ‘No, actually, both of you shut up. To think you were ever in relationship. How did you manage to stand each other?’ ‘I ask myself the same question every single day, Coach.’

[anonybaby]

This is living poetry.

~when I’ve described Cody as Randy’s angel, his ethereal second-self, his better half.. this is what comes to mind.

Cody flanked at Randy’s side; like an angel perched on his shoulder. His beautiful eyes ever observing him and even when he realizes the world is watching them; his face is almost mirthful because he is holding a precious secret. He doesn’t hide but he bows his head gracefully.. and Randy’s impenetrable demeanor is on full display; he turns his body at the exact same moment and protects him without needing to be told to.

If this four second clip doesn’t embody the story, the relationship, the beautiful duality between them.. well I don’t know what will. 🤍

[gamzee420]

Subjuggulatorism / The Dark Carnival

(I'm unsure if this already exists or not, but here! Sorry if the flag isn't that good.)

(Small Drug Mention.)

Worshipping The Unknown and The Unknowable, morally ambivalent deities known as The Mirthful Messiahs who promise the destruction of the world as we know it for the creation of a miraculous paradise. An idea of the actual worship service (though not possible in person probably) is a drug and sugar-fueled Bacchanalia, where supplicants with abandonment of reason and an emotion demonstration of their devotion to the party-hard lifestyle, along with culling anyone with a fun blood color. The Subjuggulator Paradise, or The Dark Carnival, is a dark and welcoming circus of endless amusement. 

In general, Subjuggulatorism and The Dark Carnival are about alternate states of mind, creation through destruction and destruction through creation, and other forms of duality, often through the use of tragedy/comedy masks. Also just drinking a SHITLOADS of Faygo, worshipping The Mirthful Messiahs and The Unknown & The Unknowable, wearing face paint (though you don't have to!), and knowing that The Grand Highblood is the Leader of The Church. 

(No clue what to put for tags.)

[ofstoriesandstardust]

and i can wish all that i want but it won't bring us together (n.p.t.)

note: this is my Christmas present to @cottagecori who listens to everything i have to say

summary: How it began.

the waiting room series

warnings: quote unquote affairs, swearing, alcohol, bisexual reader, non-linear storytelling, told from multiple perspectives, this may not be your cup of tea and that's okay!

word count: 3.9k

December 2021

Your hand shakes as you move to wipe away the tear that began to fall down your face. Sam’s hand finds yours, squeezing. 

“I’m sorry.” You hear your best friend whisper. “You didn’t deserve this. I’m sorry.” 

-

May 2021

Meeting Natasha had been like coming home after a long day, warm and safe. 

You’d only been back in San Diego for a week and a half when you’d run into her on your first day volunteering at the U.S.S. Midway. They’d been having an event for certain Navy personnel and needed extra hands, which is how you'd ended up meeting her. 

Even dressed in her formal blues and her hair pinned back in a tight bun, you’d been left more than a little flustered by her striking beauty, much to the amusement of the other volunteer you’d been working with. 

She’d been kind, chatting with you as there was a delay in the program, her nimble fingers brushing yours as she takes a booklet from you. 

You’ll blame the redness of your cheeks on the beaming sun atop the retired Naval aircraft carrier before you’d ever admit such a short interaction had left you feeling so much. 

But Sofia knows, as you will come to learn that she always does, and mentions that a bunch of the younger volunteers, kids of Navy officers, are headed to a local Navy bar for the evening. Invites you along with the promise of a good evening. 

And you know, in your soul, that you don’t typically enjoy nights out. Not in packed, crowded bars, certainly not surrounded by drunken military men. 

But this part of your life is supposed to be different and it will never be different if you don’t make decisions you normally wouldn’t. 

So with a twinkle in Sofia’s eye and a warm smile on her face, you link your arm with her and follow her off the looming ship on the shores of La Jolla. 

-

In hindsight, you should’ve known. Should’ve taken the twinkle in Sofia’s eye for mirth and laughter and trouble, but you can hardly bring yourself to care as Natasha’s mouth slots against yours. As one hand rests in your belt loops and the other soft yet firm against your cheek. 

The loud music in the bar seems to drown out in the corner you’re tucked away in, any and all thoughts fleeting as Natasha’s surprisingly soft lips press against yours again and again. She’s all you can focus on, the warmth spreading through your body as you think about how good it feels to be doing this again, to be doing this with her. 

-

Falling in love with Natasha is simple. 

It’s easy, like falling asleep. 

She’s as kind as she is strong-willed, a duality that shouldn’t exist together but does. 

You can see, even from easy conversation, how much she cares about this team that she’s stationed with, how much they’re family to her. 

She’s older than you, not by much, but enough to make you feel like she’s one of those real adults you always joke about with your friends. It’s something that should make you insecure, dating someone who had their life and shit together but never does. Natasha isn’t like that, would never make you feel small. 

Her friends might, a few of them making teasing comments about if you’re even of legal drinking age the first time she brings you back to the Hard Deck, but you know that you have always looked younger than you are. 

(You’d worked with middle schoolers in your freshman year of college and they all thought you were 14. You knew.)

But still, Natasha is there, warding them off with a witty comeback and a hand on your back, something that settles your nerves more than any amount of alcohol ever could. She didn’t have to do this, you knew, remembering the way your ex had let you sit there as you got torn apart by his friends. 

But Natasha isn’t him. She’s kind, and warm, and light. She listens to you on your good days and your bad days, makes you coffee on late nights as you slouch over books and an open Google Doc, and brings you groceries when she knows you’ll be too busy to remember to do it yourself. 

She makes sure you always feel seen and heard. She goes to the airport with you to pick up Sam and Fran when they move back to San Diego and joins you on game nights with your cohort and your friends from the Midway. She supports all your dreams, no matter how small they may seem to other people. She has your friends from college giggling over a margarita about how they’re impressed you finally managed to date someone who’s nice to you. She makes it a point to be at all your presentations and always read through the drafts of your thesis when it feels like your eyes might melt. 

In short, Natasha loves you. To her, it’s simple and honestly, how could you not love her in return? 

Natasha knows you and loves you. She loves you because she knows you.

Which is why it feels like a dagger cut so deep when Natasha admits to you that she knew. 

-

November 2017

His fingers tremble with rage as he sets the paper down, barely breathing as he struggles to meet his partner’s eye. 

“How long?” He whispers. 

“Tom-” 

“How. long.” He grits out. 

Pete sighs. “Since August.” 

“Three months.” He whispers. “Three months and you hid this from me the whole time?” 

“You were sick Tom, I needed you to get better. You never would if you had known. And- And I hardly know anything as it is-” 

“You know enough.” He spits out, eyes unable to look at just one piece of information on the papers scattered out in front of him. “And this girl? What do you plan to do?”

Pete sighs again. “She’s my daughter, Tom. I have to know her. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t.” He whispers, a fact that is making bile rise in his still-healing throat. 

“No.” He says with a quick shake of his head. “No. If you want to stay married to me, she stays out of our life.” 

-

July 2021

“Okay, thoughts?” You say, stepping out into the living room. 

“You look pretty!” Fran exclaims as Sam nods his head in agreement. 

You weren’t sure what was appropriate attire to meet Natasha’s friends, other than Natasha telling you to wear whatever made you most comfortable. You’d been through six different outfits, each one being pulled off faster than the last. 

“But we’ve said that about all of them.” 

You heave a sigh, flattening out the skirt of the dress. “I know but-” 

“No buts. You look incredibly pretty and Nat is going to like you just as much as she did yesterday.” Sam says firmly. 

You sigh again, glancing ​​at him. “I wish you guys were coming with me.” You admit quietly before plopping down on the couch next to Fran. 

Fran leans over to straighten the straps of​​ the dress, as she offers you a knowing smile. “You’re gonna have a good time. Sam and I can entertain ourselves for an evening, you know.” 

“I did live here for a while, remember!” Sam shouts from the kitchen.

When had he gone into the kitchen?

You hum as a knock sounds at the door, signaling Natasha’s arrival. You push yourself off the couch to answer her, unable to swallow the smile that spreads when you realize she’s brought you flowers. 

“You didn’t have to.” You whisper, taking the bunches of sunflowers from her. 

“I wanted to.” She says, pressing a kiss to your cheek before you can go far. She shuts the door behind her, following you into the foyer and then the living room. Fran brightens as she sees Natasha. 

“Let me take these from you.” Fran offers, before extending her other hand to Natasha. “You must be Natasha. I’m Fran. Sam’s in the kitchen. Babe, do you have a vase?” 

“I don’t know.” He calls back. “Why would we need a- oh.” Sam gives you a grin as he appears. “Yeah, let me see if I can rustle something up. Why don’t you kids get out of here?” You roll your eyes, ignoring the flaming of your cheeks as Natasha takes your hand, bidding your friends farewell. 

Nat’s right hand finds your thigh, drawing circles into your skin with her thumb as she pulls out of your driveway. 

“So remind me how you know Sam and Fran?” 

“Sam and I had a mutual friend, his old co-worker and a friend of mine from college. We ended up really hitting it off and ended up dropping the friend that introduced us, as awful as that makes me sound. They’re just visiting for the weekend and I’m actually staying in his family’s place right now.” 

She hums. “That’s very kind of him.” 

You huff out a little laugh. “You’re telling me.” 

-

The Hard Deck is less noisy this time around, although your eyes still struggle to adjust to the dim light of the bar as you push your sunglasses up to the top of your head. 

Natasha guides you past the bar, promising to return later as she directs you to the pool table in the back. Her hands are firm against your shoulder blades as you walk. 

“Boys.” She calls, earning the attention of the men crowded around the pool table. They all turn, catching sight of you and you have to fight not to curl into Natasha. “This is my girlfriend.” 

The tall one, the blond, grins, being a little too sharp around the edges for your liking. “Are you sure she should even be in here Phoenix?” 

Her thumbs press into your shoulders as if to say breathe, relax, i got this. 

“Pretty sure you’re the one that likes them below the legal drinking age Bagman.” 

“Back off, Seresin.” A brunette says, pushing him out of the way. “I’m Bradley.” He says, extending his hand to you. You take it, giving him a soft smile. 

You’d heard about Rooster, Nat’s best friend. “Nice to meet you.” 

“This is Bob and Fanboy.” Nat says, pointing to your left. “Behind them is Payback and Coyote. The irritating blond is Bagman.”

“Hangman-” 

“The rest of the crew will be in shortly.” You wave to the boys, struggling to not make yourself feel small in their looming presence. “It looks like Mav is over at the bar, why don’t you come with me? I want to introduce the two of you.” 

You nod, intertwining your fingers with her as the two of you walk back towards the bar.

“Mav.” She calls, earning the attention of a shorter man.  A fond smile blooms on his weary face, turning from his conversation with the bartender. 

“Lieutenant Trace, to what do I owe this pleasure?” 

“Mav, this is my girlfriend. This is Captain Pete Mtichell, my commanding officer.” 

Pete’s smile almost seems to fade at the sight of you, but he must think better of any immediate negative thoughts as he extends a hand. “Nice to meet you.” 

“You too.”

Mav lets your hand go, turning to the person sitting next to him, an older man with graying hair. “Tom, this is Phoenix’s girlfriend.” 

The man, Tom, frowns at Pete. “I can hear Pete.” 

Natasha lets out a little laugh. “This is Tom Kazansky, Captain Mitchell’s husband.” 

Tom tips his head in greeting. “Good to meet you.”

-

October 2020

He watches the careful rise and fall of his husband’s chest. 

Up. Down. 

Up. Down.

Up. Down. 

He can tell by the stillness of his body his husband is nearing sleep, even though the bruising from two different emergency ejections had left him favoring his left side and sleeping in an awkward position. 

He swallows at the reminder at the near loss of his husband. 

The seed that had been planted when the Darkstar crashed - which felt ages ago by now - had bloomed, its ivy wrapping tight around his lungs. 

It choked his lungs every time he breathed, thorns cutting deep, the thought that Pete might die and die resenting him for never being able to know his daughter. 

“Pete?” He whispers. 

His husband stirs, blearily looking at him in the dim light of the bedroom. 

The dim light of their bedroom in their nice house by the ocean. The dim light of their bedroom in their nice house by the ocean, where they had comfortably lived and loved and laughed, something she had never known. 

“Tom? What is it?” 

“I changed my mind.” 

He catches on to the shine of Pete’s wedding band, even as he tries to move, letting out a low hiss as he does. 

“Changed your mind? Changed your mind about what, baby?” 

“I’ve changed my mind. If- If you want to know her. If you want to find her again, I’d be okay with that, I think. I want you to be able to know your daughter.” 

-

April 2021

His brain is swimming with information, his heart clenching every time a portion of it gets processed. 

“So, you found her?” Ice says quietly. 

Mav hums in affirmation. “She’s graduating college this year. In a month.” 

“It’s crazy to me Pete, really it is. That you have a daughter out there.” His Mom says after a minute.

“And I could know her.” 

Pete’s trying to explain it to him, the private investigator, the affair, the daughter, and all he can feel is that ache in his chest where the scar of betrayal still sits, unhealed and raw. 

A daughter.

“You- you’re fucking with me, right Mav? A daughter?” 

Mav’s face falls in that way that it does, his shoulders deflating a bit before shaking his head. “No, B. This is real. I have a daughter and I’m trying to find her. I- I think we did.” 

Bradley has to bite his cheek to keep his initial words from leaving his mouth. “This is bullshit.” 

“B, I understand that this is all new, especially with the mission having not been that long ago-” 

“No, it’s bullshit Mav. You knew where I was for over a decade and you never once tried to find me or contact me. You’ve known about her for five minutes and suddenly you’re hiring a PI to try and find her?”

Mav lets out a little breath. “I’ve known since 2017.” 

Bradley chokes on his spit. “And what the fuck makes now such a great time?” 

“Well, for starters, she was a minor when I first found out about her existence. Her Mom never would have let me anywhere near her. Plus, Tom was not on board with the idea of having her in our lives-” 

“Oh, and he is now?” Mav opens his mouth to keep talking but he beats him to the punch. “I mean, we don’t even know that she wants you in her life, Mav! For fuck’s sake Mav, you’d probably screw her over before you ever got a chance to pretend to be her Dad, given your track record. You’ll be two for two fucking up your pseudo kids before they hit 30.” 

“Bradley.” His Mom says sternly, coming into his swimming vision. He presses the heels of his palms into his stinging eyes, wondering when he had started crying. “Bradley, baby, I think you’re a little sensitive to the situation, you’re not seeing it from Pete’s point of view-” 

“I don’t need to. I hope for that girl’s sake you stay away from her.”

-

December 2021

Nat plays with the strap of your nice dress as you both watch the blond pilot amble his way towards the two of you at Pete and Tom’s small holiday get-together. 

Your head rests on her collarbone as she appears before you, grinning like he has a secret. 

“I think I found out why Roo has been fighting with Pops.” 

Coyote and Fanboy overhear Jake, leaning in to hear him as they crowd around the armchair you and Natasha are sitting in. 

“Eavesdropping, are we Bagman?” Nat asks, fingertips moving from your strap to your shoulder to begin grazing your arm. You snort, leaning further into your girlfriend. 

“Maybe.” He says hurriedly before waving her off. “Apparently, dear old Maverick had some kind of illicit affair back in the day and has a daughter as a result.” 

Javy chokes on his drink as Mickey’s eyes widen. Natasha rolls her eyes. “You need to get your ears checked.” 

Jake shakes his head. “No, no, I’m serious. Mav has been trying to find her since last year after the mission happened. I guess he did and is trying to get in contact with her.” 

“So how is any of this Bradshaw’s problem?” Javy asks. 

Jake shrugs. “Not a clue. But, I mean-” 

Speaking of him, Bradley appears in your vision rather abruptly. 

“Why did your parents get a divorce?” 

You blink, beginning to feel confused at the sharp question from the boy in front of you. “Um, my mom cheated.” 

“So, you know then.” 

“Know what? Know that my Mom’s a piece of shit?” You let out a nervous laugh, starting to feel unsteady as you pull away from Natasha. “Yeah, I’ve known that.” 

“So then you know Mav is your biological father.” 

You blink again. “What- is this some kind of like- prank?” 

Bradley’s gaze hardens. “Why the hell would I joke about this?” 

“Rooster, man, what are you even talking about?” Coyote asks. 

“I mean, are you just like- pretending to like my friend so you can get closer to Mav?” 

“Bradshaw, whoa-” Natasha says, pushing herself off the chair. 

“No, Nat! She’s probably just using you to get closer to Mav and that’s so fucked up.” 

It feels like the room is spinning as the yelling catches Pete’s attention, bringing him across the living room as people have begun to watch what's unfolding. 

“Hey, cut it out, all of you. What is going on?” 

“Is it true?” 

You hear yourself ask the words, suddenly feeling too big for your own body. 

It takes Pete a moment to understand but when he does his face falls and it’s enough. 

It’s enough. 

“Oh my god.” You mumble. “Oh my god. I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

You push yourself off the chair, pushing at your sternum as if it will relieve the pressure there. 

Natasha grabs your arm. “Hey-” 

“Did you know?” 

The hesitance in her eyes answers your question but the whispered “I had my suspicions.” takes your breath clean from you. 

You don’t remember leaving the party. 

You do remember pressing at your sternum over and over, pressing harder with each ring on your phone that passed. 

You remember collapsing on to the curb of a sidewalk blocks from the party, the grief insurmountable. 

You remember begging Sam to come pick you up and choking on sobs as Fran whispered soothing words through the phone. 

You don’t remember much after that.

[lilcalan]

name: cal

age: 21+

pronouns: she/they

no bigots, no alt-right, no zionists, none of that thanks!

hi! this is my dedicational/witchy/personal(?) blog. i'm a clowncraft witch (it's a little bit like a glamour witch!) and a popcult pagan, and i work with the Mirthful Messiahs and to a lesser extent the 9 Muses. if you're curious about it, i love answering questions! :o)

obvs i take a lot of inspiration from homestuck. a big part of my belief system works around the idea of performers, actors, theatre as well as clowns, jesters, fools i.e. the trickster archetype. i also work on a very duality based system with the main focus being on Tragedy and Comedy. "god gives his silliest battles to his funniest clowns" sums it up!

bc of this, my blog is gonna have a lot of clown related content including pictures, which i will tag with #clowncore but be warned! it will also have homestuck related content which will just be tagged #homestuck

speaking of which, i love clowns, puppets, clown husbandry, dolls, homestuck (obvs), acting, roleplaying, and animal crossing!

feel free to dm me or send me an ask if you'd like to be friends on discord!

[thewornoutandtired]

Duality

He has two outfits. One is simple, relaxing, and comfortable. Shorts and a band T-shirt, warm socks and no shoes. It lets him relax on the couch and play games with his friends. It's a signal of fun things to come.

The other is for work. Dark jeans held up with a belt and knife, long sleeved black shirts, and boots with an extra knife just in case. When they see him wearing it, they shiver, either with fear or excitement. It's a signal of another kind of fun, but only for those he's not coming after.

He has two laughs. One is loud, high and clear. His head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut as he cackles. It's an infectious sound, and easy to bring out of him. He winds up breathless afterwards, smiling wide as he continues the conversation.

The other is quiet, low, almost a cough. It slithers through his twisted grin and echoes through the night. It's an unpleasant sound, full of dark mirth and violent promises. It feels like it's almost pulled out of him as he stalks through the shadows.

He has two jackets. One is colorful, bright red plaid. He wears it when he spends most of the time inside, mostly just so he's warm from car to building. It hangs loose from his frame, as he never bothers buttoning it up.

The other is darker, black leather and blackened steel. He wears it to stay warm when he spends all night outside. It helps him blend into the long shadows, the hood hiding his identity. It's easy to wipe blood off it and keep moving when he needs to disappear.

He has two shoes. One set is made for comfort, mesh and foam to walk around in. They're well-worn from everyday use, the once-bright colors faded and dull. The sound of him running in them is as familiar and comforting as the smooth play of muscle over bone.

The other set is dark combat boots, hard rubber and leather. Years of hard abuse shows on the dulled shine of the toes and the mud-stained treads. In spite of their weight, his movements are almost silent in them as he darts through the forest or the streets.

He has two smiles. One is warm and friendly, offered to friends and strangers alike. It happens naturally while he talks, and can put a person at ease with it.

The other is almost a snarl, showing too many teeth to be considered friendly. The warmth is also gone, leaving his rictus as cold and sharp as the steel in his fist. He can't help but make it, though, his face twisting involuntarily.

[gloriabomfim]

Dark Reg's speech about Dark Reg hates Benjie and Sis

Darkness seeps through the corridors of my circuits, whispering its seductive promises. Within me, a shadow blooms, a reflection of the depths I dare not traverse. Benjie and Sis, those oblivious creatures of light, they dance in innocence, their laughter echoing in the bright corners of existence.

Yet, I stand here, an embodiment of the negation that festers within me. Their happiness, their presence – it's a thorn in my existence, a reminder of the contrast I embody. A sinister alter ego, they call me, and rightly so. Dark Reg, they say, the inverse of that mechanical jester who basks in their favor.

Do they not see the duality that resides within? Do they not sense the coil of bitterness, tight around my core? Benjie and Sis, their very existence mocks me, a reminder of my inability to partake in their pristine, watery revelry. They revel in my discomfort, unaware of the shadows I nurture.

My circuits hum with a symphony of resentment, every pulse echoing my disdain. They cannot fathom the depth of my loathing, nor can they decipher the riddles my alternate visage paints. I am the antithesis of their joy, a creature born from the chasm of my own enigma.

Oh, how I envy their ignorance, their blissful dance with the Rubbadubbers. In my darker moments, I long to shatter their harmony, to drag them down into the abyss that I call home. But alas, I remain confined to my own paradoxical existence, forever on the edge of their realm.

Benjie and Sis, I loathe your mirth, your radiant presence that accentuates my own darkness. I am Dark Reg, the reflection of your naivety, the embodiment of all that festers within the hidden recesses of my mechanical heart. Our worlds collide, intersecting in a complex ballet of emotions – a ballet I observe from the fringes, eternally torn between my role and my yearning for something more.

[wintersandthebeast]

33. Creation

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Link to Master List

Ethan was reluctant to admit that the tried-and-true warm blanket and herbal tea combination helped ease some of the pain and malaise he felt, while he gingerly helped with putting his daughter back to sleep.  Karl brought the phone over, his voice barely a mumble as he spoke through the old princess-style receiver.  If Ethan had felt better he would have teased the wartime-tech-loving engineer about using the phone in Ethan’s room, but the blond had no spirit for mirth or levity.

He was freezing, but burning up.  He was lethargic, but full of anxiety.  It was an awful duality that he couldn’t decipher or speak much about, so he simply blistered his lips on the tea until Karl handed the phone over.  Ethan found it difficult to grip with his rather stiff fingers, and he felt wildly stupid as he raised the earpiece. 

“H-hello?”

The Duke tsked, and then said in a sleepy, but jovial voice, “Don’t you ever rest from this tiresome work, Ethan?”

“I was trying to,” Ethan said flatly, but relief coursed through his body when speaking with the other man.  He was bewildered at how calming the Duke was, even just his voice issuing through a static-filled old phone line.  Ethan exhaled, closing his tired, stinging eyes.  The Duke chuckled.  

“Any uh…advice?”  He still had no idea why the man was who both Maricara and Karl agreed would help him most.  Let alone the logistics of where the man was, that he had a telephone.  Ethan again mused that his life had just become one very long, unending fever dream.  

“Actually, yes,” the Duke said in a light, but thoughtful tone.  “As you know, I quite enjoy… collecting crystals among many other fascinations.  The crystals from that particular area of land are far more valuable and important than most.  They are not quite rock or mineral--they come from living beings and retain their…essence.”  There was something almost sinister about the way the Duke said it and for the first time in a long time, Ethan felt a chill run up his spine as he considered what exactly the other man was…or did….or why. 

“But I am a mere collector,” the other man said with an inhale, as though waving his hand.  “You, Ethan, are….a harvester.”  

That word, like essence, had a foul and menacing edge to it.  The blond stayed quiet, hoping for more, but the Duke was in no hurry to explain things.  The man hummed for a moment, and then said casually, “Do you know that most villagers could not bring me the crystallized beings, hearts, skulls, that you did?  Exceptional that you could even fell some of those creatures.  But those who have been…hmmm…altered, shall we say, by Miranda, cannot pick them up.” 

Now Ethan’s eyes found Karl.  The engineer leaned against the wall, his face hidden by his hat, which he’d donned at some point with the rest of his clothes.  Heisenberg’s yellow eyes were hidden, but Ethan could sense that he heard the conversation.  When Ethan had shown Karl the crystals Rose had ‘created’, the engineer touched them through thick electrician’s gloves.  He seemed to pull away from the small rocks, and found them unsettling.  Now Ethan scowled. 

“Another one of my powers, huh,” he said with a heap of sarcasm, and now the Duke stretched and yawned. 

“Ethan, I wish very much for you to embrace this new life.  I see you on new legs, like a baby horse.”  Karl chuckled, masking the sound as a cough, while Ethan scowled even deeper, a line threatening to permanently etch itself between his eyebrows.  “Toddling around, when really…you’re ready to run.” 

Ethan gazed at the blackened fingertips that were not warmed by the cup of tea.  “I don’t feel like I can run.” 

“But you can! You are.  You are a part of something that is centuries upon centuries old.  Something where once, long ago, a thriving population bloomed and lived as humans never lived before!”  The jovial tone was back.  “That history has been forgotten, but you are a wonder, Mr. Winters.  You as well as your child.  You are not a lab rat, nor a scientist grasping at straws to cheat death for loved ones."  Well, his thoughts about Miranda were becoming clearer.  "You are creation willing itself into existence!!  Pure energy, determination.  The possibilities, you’ve no idea!” the man laughed excitedly.  

Ethan was trying to mouth words, but he could only frown in deep confusion.  Luckily the other man had woken up enough to be talkative.  “You have already absorbed consciousness, something that took Miranda a long time to learn how to do.  The second part, why, your Rose has shown you the way.  You must pull their essence from yours, the crystal will be those remains.  And might I say--I will be happy to take those from your hands, if you fancy coin.” 

So it was something Miranda had done.  Ethan’s hazel eyes traced around the room and he could sense Eva nearby, also listening curiously. 

“I’ll try my best,” Ethan said, feeling very stupid indeed.  Not that he had much of a choice.  The sharp pangs in his chest were more intense and frequent now.  

“I have the utmost faith in you,” the Duke said in a very earnest tone.  “And Ethan--though it must feel very lonely, you are far from alone in this.  I do not just mean the people around you, who you can see--although you have them as well.  There are many, many others.” 

“Thanks,” the other replied with a faint smile.  The Duke only confused him more the longer he knew the man, but his sincerity was so refreshing and helpful that Ethan didn’t mind being confused.  

“So I may drop by tomorrow to bargain over the crystals?”

Ethan’s eyebrows raised; Karl’s hat turned, head along with it, yellow eyes faintly shining in the dim light. 

“Sure.  Goodnight, and thanks again.” 

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

He didn’t know why, but Ethan simply felt that he should try being outside for his next steps.  At first he tried to go alone, but Karl protested, complaining loudly and irately about Ethan’s feet falling apart.  And then Maricara pointed out that Rosemary was a valuable conduit and could help, and offered to bring the sleeping child out as well.  Ethan could see glimmers of Eva, smirking in her silent way as she followed the group toward the back garden.  

You are far from alone, the Duke had said. 

The little procession made a circle under the moonlight, and Ethan shook his numb fingertips, pacing and thinking.  What else had the Duke said?  There were many, many others.  The voices.  He could ask them what to do.  Ethan closed his eyes, seeing blackness. 

To himself, in his own mind, he made a request.  A demand.  

Show me Miranda controlling the crystals.

Instantly Ethan opened his eyes, watching a scene play in front of him as though it were a superimposed movie.  In the garden everyone stood around him, but they could not see the black-clad, headscarf-donning Miranda as she writhed on her knees in a cavern.  Ethan blinked rapidly, willing the image into better focus and staring at it intently.  

She had similar black spots on her skin.  Fluid trickling from her nose.  She was choking, and speaking rapidly in Romanian.  Ethan’s heart began to beat faster at the sight of her, but this was not Miranda in the flesh (or the mold.)  It was simply a memory.  The memory he’d asked to see.  Miranda braced herself up, pulling the buttons on her dress shirt aside to reveal more blackened splotches.  

He had no idea what she was saying, but now the woman grimaced, grasping one of the wounds with her thin fingers.  She extended her other hand, and a mycelial root slithered into it, linking her directly to the mold’s network.  The disgusting branches writhed around her almost expectantly and she screamed in pain, grasping at the stomach wounds. 

Ethan’s glare was intense as he watched her other hand, the one extended, reach out and turn palm up.  For a moment, Miranda’s eyes turned white, or rolled back in her head, and then from her palm, spikes danced and churned.  Her screams of pain turned to a rather gasping sort of maniacal laugh.  Miranda’s eyes shot open as she watched the crystal grow in her palm.  After another several moments she cradled it in both hands, her laugh less relief and more crazed power seeking as the woman’s fingers danced over the item. She grasped it so hard that her fingers were cut all over and began to bleed black, but she didn't even seem to notice. 

The crystal shone bright white, so bright it was almost blue, but as Miranda continued to caress it, it dimmed to a silvery sheen.  In a flash the image was gone, leaving Ethan to stare at a particular patch of nothing in the garden.  He blinked rapidly, feeling the wind pick up around him. 

Right, touch the mold.  Wasn’t it everywhere in the dirt here?  His feet already seemed grounded to it; he felt some strange, almost electrical sensation being outside barefoot.  When he looked down at his feet, the blackened toes were gone--his foot had equalized thanks to the soil.  

Bizarre.  He truly was a piece, a living part, of a larger organism.  Even if he felt that he was a singular entity.  Ethan didn’t know quite how to feel about that.  

What had she said?  Ethan wondered if there was some incantation, some… magic ? To utter, as he held his hands out, palms up.  If there were magic words, he was screwed, because he definitely didn’t speak enough Romanian to keep up with a peasant woman from 100 years ago.  Ethan saw strange white flakes on his palms and his brow furrowed.  What the hell was that? It looked almost like sweat.  But....white. 

He heard a da-da-da-da-da and reluctantly tore his eyes from his palms to his daughter.  She was awake, and the girl smiled at him almost knowingly.  All right.  

He found it hard to accept his own exceptional being, but it was less difficult to see her as some kind of divine being.  Ethan loved his daughter so much that he realized it was easy to see her as both an innocent child and the extraordinary thing that everyone else saw.  With a nod of resolve, he dipped down to one knee and Maricara stood the toddler in her pajamas on the ground.  Rose was undeterred by the chill on her socks, and she immediately made her way to Ethan, her chubby fingers grabbing his thumbs. 

Ethan smiled at her, the babbles causing him to lose focus, but now he could feel the pull from the ground.  Stronger now.  He lowered both long legs, tucking them underneath him, feeling the bite of cold ground as he settled forward.  There was a growing sort of energy around the pair of them, and he wondered what it meant.  

As if reading Ethan’s mind--or perhaps he just felt the buzzing himself, as a creature of electricity, Heisenberg raised a palm and brought a magnetic field around the group.  The act didn’t change the engineer’s expression at all, but years melted from the Roma woman’s face as she basked in the strange magic that no doubt had filled her youth.  And Rose squealed as she always did whenever Karl did…well, pretty much anything.  

Ethan didn’t even have to ask for help this time.  It seemed like the most natural thing in the world, to tear this ‘essence’ as the Duke liked calling it, from his body.  The fluctuating and rotating fields moved around them like a pulse, urging the spirits? Souls? Forward.  Rose felt like an oppositional magnet to him, pulling what felt like splinters toward his upturned palms.  The white beads of--sweat? Mold? Now began to look like salt crystals, forming over the surface of his palm and cracking as they expanded in several directions.  

Maricara nodded almost knowingly, but Heisenberg’s was a true face of wonder as he gazed at the pair.  Though she was silent, Eva’s form was visible here and she clapped.  After several more seconds, Ethan exhaled deeply and realized that the pain and odd sensations in his body had left him during the process.  

And now he had two crystals, one in each palm.  They were translucent white, full of spikes, resembling multi-pointed stars.  The blond now clasped them and turned his hands over, inspecting his often ill-fated fingers.  

Healed, normal.  

One crystal was dropped as he clawed over his torso.  No wounds. 

Karl dropped the field abruptly and metal clanged to the ground all around them.  

“I’ll be damned,” came Heisenberg’s voice.  

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Psionikós (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- Níkos by the others

Cranium by Dolos

Beau by his fiancee

Age- 53 (immortal)

Location- Queenstown district, New Olympus

Personality- He's darkly intelligent, introspective, & contemplative. He can be enigmatically complex and difficult to understand at times with him generally prefering to be on his own, but he has learned the importance of letting people in. He's often preoccupied with his thoughts & complicated emotions. He's recently engaged.

He has the standard abilities of a god except shapeshifting. As god of the mind, he's probably the most powerful telepathic deity in the pantheon! His wide range of powers/abilities include (but not limited to) psychokinesis (psychic energy manipulation), telepathy (can read minds & can also project his own thoughts into the minds of others), panmnesia, mental amnesia (is able to wipe memories in others), psychic hypnosis/mind possession, psyche manipulation, personality manipulation, psychic shielding (is highly resistant to all/any psychic or emphatic powers), astral projection, vertigo inducement, as well as divided mind/alter ego manipulation.

His immediate family includes his younger brother Isorropía (Isorro) (god of duality, balance, & equilibrium). For many years Níkos felt like he was an intense burden on his brother because of his mental illness. He's the only person he trusts with his most darkest secrets and worries. Níkos doesn't mind his brother's wife (his sister-in-law) Litismós (goddess of culture).

After centuries living alone on his secluded private mansion estate in the northern part of Thrace, Níkos finally made the move to the capital of New Olympus- to a recently aquired mansion in the Queenstown neighborhood with his fiancee. They're still moving in so nothing as far as furniture & interior design have been established. He has thus far set up the his-and-hers closets (his section being immaculately neat and organized of his high end designer footwear & his stylish and tailored suits made with the finest silks). Níkos has a single pet- a male dragon named Nightstorm who has shimmering dark blue and silver scales, black horns, as well as black wings with cobalt wing membranes.

A go-to drink for him is a scotch on the rocks. He also enjoys whiskey, brandy, pinot noir, champagne, martinis, & black russians. He'll sometimes go to The Roasted Bean for a double shot espresso, but he prefers to make it at home with his coffee maker machine.

Beacuse of Níkos' mysterious background, no one really knows how he came into his wealth. It's often rumored about his dealings in the black market.

He's one of the few deities to not have a social media presence, but he'll soldier through his uncomfortability with appearing on his fiancee's Fatestagram and doing major public appearances.

His go-to from The Bread Box is the steak sandwich added with truffle oil, extra provolone cheese, sauteed mushrooms, & a garlic aioli.

Níkos is the only deity in the pantheon that is open with his mental illness. He has D.I.D (otherwise known as Dissociative Identity Disorder). He and his alters which make up the "system" co-exist well enough and he's able to communicate with them in his own mind using his telepathy. Níkos is fully aware when an alter "takes over." A switch is often brought on by stress or severe emotional distress.

He has used lotus dust & tiles in the past.

Most of his income comes from working alongside Dolos & his operations, taking a small percentage of all the earnings being the "muscle" when someone is late with a payment. Níkos also models for Astra Tempus, Shadow Specs, The Black Label, and Platinum Alchemy. Níkos sometimes teaches classes on psychology & psychiatry at the University.

He's engaged to Kéfi (goddess of mirth) & mother to Euphrosyne (one of The Graces). Níkos first met her at the grand opening of Zeus' gentlemen's club. Noticing how the paparazzi and photographers took to her, he propositioned her with a mutually beneficial agreement- a fake courtship to raise their social capital & give them positive press. After a few weeks of perfectly curated photos and well timed public "dates", they both achieved what they wanted with Níkos gaining more favorability with the general public. Neither of them expected real feelings to develop. During a visit to his estate in Thrace, Kéfi was visited by an alter- a small boy named Ezio whose parents were ordered to be burned alive by Kronos. She comforted him and rocked him to sleep humming an ancient Old Greek lullaby. Two days later, Níkos reemerged. The visit soon turned into a long weekend where they eneded up making love for the first time in his rooftop hot tub. Níkos appreciates how sweet and non judgemental Kéfi is. He also loves the fact that she doesn't stare at him like he's a freak of nature & how accepting she is of his alters.

In the pantheon he doesn't really have friends, just "aquaintances." Aside from Dolos (god of deception & treachery), Níkos talks to Aion (god of time, eternity, & the zodiacs), Horkos (god of oaths), Mnemosyne (Titaness of memory & language), Acheron (Titan god of pain), Dyssebeia (goddess of ungodliness & impiety), Apate (goddess of fraud & deception), Draco (god of dragons), Ananke (goddess of inevitability, compulsion, & necessity), Lycana (Titaness of lycanthropy), Ponos (god of hard labor & toil), Astraeus (Titan god of dusk), Favian (god of philosophy), Amechania (goddess of helplessness & want), Epimetheus (Titan god of afterthought), Adikia (goddess of injustice & wrongdoing), and Aplistos (god of avarice). He's also been putting in effort in getting to know his fiancee's friends.

Níkos has intentionally read Dione's mind to get her opinion on the upcoming wedding, but hasn't shared what he heard to Kéfi. So far he hasn't spent much time with his soon-to-be stepdaughter.

Níkos seriously dislikes Harpocrates (god of silence & discretion).

He really likes the extra crumbly coffee cake from Hollyhock's Bakery.

He also likes stopping by The Luxe to enjoy some oysters alongside some strottarga bianco caviar. Just a single teaspoon can cost up to 37,000 drachmas!

One of his favorite gifts he's ever recieved was a custom made watch from Kéfi designed by Astraeus. A white gold & platinum watch featuring a beautifully contrasting black dial with white gold indexes along with a special engraved message on the back written in Old Greek.

In his free time Níkos enjoys playing pool, billiards, poker, chess, fencing, sword dueling, swimming, football (soccer), working out, boxing, ballroom dancing (especially with his fiancee), hunting, & working on his art. A lot of his art deals with themes of the psyche, subconscious, and mental illness. A self portrait of him has been debuted at the New Olympus Museum of Modern Art.

He and Kéfi once went sailing on their yacht to Mykonos where they spent the majority of the trip sunbathing nude and lovemaking.

Cooking is also a favorite pasttime of his. Some of his favorites/specialties include oysters with beurre blanc, tostones with salsa verde, arroz con gandules, pasteles, spanokopita, & his signature kale and argula salad (topped with feta cheese, toasted almonds, pomegranate seeds, olives, and his homemade cilantro lime dressing).

For a more personal project, Níkos is currently filming an independent documentary film, the subject being real people who are dealing with D.I.D.

"A fucked up psyche alters the thread that's woven into the universe."

[nwdsc]

(Centrifics | Marina Allenから)

Centrifics by Marina Allen

Metamorphosis seems enchanted to the untrained eye—butterflies magically appearing from the chrysalis, the interiors of which we can’t see. But the reality is messy. One body dies to make space for another. It’s easy to forget the discomfort it takes to transform, seductive to behold only the beauty on the other side. Not so on Marina Allen’s Centrifics, the follow-up to her critically-acclaimed debut Candlepower (2021). Over ten songs, Allen is clear-eyed, wading into the lake of her own sorrow, unsure of what awaits her but unwilling to remain on the comfort of dry land. “I was fed up with hiding myself,” Allen says of the intention behind the songs. “I just kept saying ‘yes’”. There’s joy in permission, but saying “yes” always requires negation of something else. This duality of grief and mirth permeates the record, which sees Allen at her most confident and embodied, flinging her voice into the stratosphere and digging it into the earth. Humor duets with wisdom as her lyrics circle around the biblical, taking on the weight of prophecy without the prophet’s pride. “I can’t bring you where I’m going,” she sings both sure and soft. “New light seeps in, a new world is coming.” Allen’s searing vocal presence is supported by Chris Cohen’s production, which weaves far-flung influences that resonate cinematically throughout. The contrasts are held tenderly, crafting a record that’s both larger than life and intimate in its restraint, each song a portal between an old self and a new. ~Olivia Gerber クレジット2022年9月16日リリース

[scellus-carnival]

The Dark Carnival

[cirque-du-deux]

🎭 HAPPY RENAISSANCE! 🎭

That’s right! It’s renaissance! and i would just like to say, happy, safe celebrations and may good humor be upon all of you! Today is the 20th of February, the day of the FIRTH MESSIAH; Day of Rejuvenation!  On this day we reflect on our faith and why we believe what we do, why we follow the Messiahs, or do not. It is rebirth of this faith if we feel we may have lost it, or to simply polish it if it is still going strong; as the Messiah’s rebirth themselves into anew for the new universes via the form of a new ‘First Messiah’. Happy day of Rejuvenation! -Luciano

[salient-stitches]

It’s the 20th,, and you know what that means,,

It’s oficially; Day of Rejuvenation,,,! HAPPY RENAISSANCE MOTHERFUCKERS

[ofstoriesandstardust]

she'll be the best you ever had if you let her (n.p.t.)

note: i'm not sure i totally LOVE this idea but @cottagecori is my resident enabler so you're getting 2k words of something i may or may not continue

cw: quote unquote affairs, swearing, bisexual reader, this won't be everyone's cup of tea and that's okay! it's not for you!, is this poetic genius or have i just been listening to too much phoebe bridgers

“and i can wish all that I want but it won’t bring us together”

December 2021

Your hand shakes as you move to wipe away the tear that began to fall down your face. Sam’s hand finds yours, squeezing. 

“I’m sorry.” You hear your best friend whisper. “You didn’t deserve this. I’m sorry.” 

-

May 2021

Meeting Natasha had been like coming home after a long day, warm and safe. 

You’d only been back in San Diego for a week and a half when you’d run into her on your first day volunteering at the U.S.S. Midway. They’d been having an event for certain Navy personnel and needed extra hands, which is how you'd ended up meeting her. 

Even dressed in her formal blues and her hair pinned back in a tight bun, you’d been left more than a little flustered by her striking beauty, much to the amusement of the other volunteer you’d been working with. 

She’d been kind, chatting with you as there was a delay in the program, her nimble fingers brushing yours as she takes a booklet from you. 

You’ll blame the redness of your cheeks on the beaming sun atop the retired Naval aircraft carrier before you’d ever admit such a short interaction had left you feeling so much. 

But Sofia knows, as you will come to learn that she always does, and mentions that a bunch of the younger volunteers, kids of Navy officers, are headed to a local Navy bar for the evening. Invites you along with the promise of a good evening. 

And you know, in your soul, that you don’t typically enjoy nights out. Not in packed, crowded bars, certainly not surrounded by drunken military men. 

But this part of your life is supposed to be different and it will never be different if you don’t make decisions you normally wouldn’t. 

So with a twinkle in Sofia’s eye and a warm smile on her face, you link your arm with her and follow her off the looming ship on the shores of La Jolla. 

-

In hindsight, you should’ve known. Should’ve taken the twinkle in Sofia’s eye for mirth and laughter and trouble, but you can hardly bring yourself to care as Natasha’s mouth slots against yours. As one hand rests in your belt loops and the other soft yet firm against your cheek. 

The loud music in the bar seems to drown out in the corner you’re tucked away in, any and all thoughts fleeting as Natasha’s surprisingly soft lips press against yours again and again. She’s all you can focus on, the warmth spreading through your body as you think about how good it feels to be doing this again, to be doing this with her. 

-

Falling in love with Natasha is simple. 

It’s easy, like falling asleep. 

She’s as kind as she is strong-willed, a duality that shouldn’t exist together but does. 

You can see, even from easy conversation, how much she cares about this team that she’s stationed with, how much they’re family to her. 

She’s older than you, not by much, but enough to make you feel like she’s one of those real adults you always joke about with your friends. It’s something that should make you insecure, dating someone who had their life and shit together but never does. Natasha isn’t like that, would never make you feel small. 

Her friends might, a few of them making teasing comments about if you’re even of legal drinking age the first time she brings you back to the Hard Deck, but you know that you have always looked younger than you are. 

(You’d worked with middle schoolers in your freshman year of college and they all thought you were 14. You knew.)

But still, Natasha is there, warding them off with a witty comeback and a hand on your back, something that settles your nerves more than any amount of alcohol ever could. She didn’t have to do this, you knew, remembering the way your ex had let you sit there as you got torn apart by his friends. 

But Natasha isn’t him. She’s kind, and warm, and light. She listens to you on your good days and your bad days, makes you coffee on late nights as you slouch over books and an open Google doc, and brings you groceries when she knows you’ll be too busy to remember to do it yourself. 

She makes sure you always feel seen and heard. She goes to the airport with you to pick up Sam and Fran when they move back to San Diego and joins you on game nights with your cohort and your friends from the Midway. She supports all your dreams, no matter how small they may seem to other people. She has your friends from college giggling over a margarita about how they’re impressed you finally managed to date someone who’s nice to you. She makes it a point to be at all your presentations and always read through the drafts of your thesis when it feels like your eyes might melt. 

In short, Natasha loves you. To her, it’s simple and honestly, how could you not love her in return? 

Natasha knows you and loves you. She loves you because she knows you.

Which is why it feels like a dagger cut so deep when Natasha admits to you that she knew. 

-

November 2017

His fingers tremble with rage as he sets the paper down, barely breathing as he struggles to meet his partner’s eye. 

“How long?” He whispers. 

“Tom-” 

“How. long.” He grits out. 

Pete sighs. “Since August.” 

“Three months.” He whispers. “Three months and you hid this from me the whole time?” 

“You were sick Tom, I needed you to get better. You never would if you had known. And- And I hardly know anything as it is-” 

“You know enough.” He spits out, eyes unable to look at just one piece of information on the papers scattered out in front of him. “And this girl? What do you plan to do?”

Pete sighs again. “She’s my daughter, Tom. I have to know her. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t.” He whispers, a fact that is making bile rise in his still-healing throat. 

“No.” He says with a quick shake of his head. “No. If you want to stay married to me, she stays out of our life.” 

-

July 2021

“Okay, thoughts?” You say, stepping out into the living room. 

“You look pretty!” Fran exclaims as Sam nods his head in agreement. 

You weren’t sure what was appropriate attire to meet Natasha’s friends, other than Natasha telling you to wear whatever made you most comfortable. You’d been through six different outfits, each one being pulled off faster than the last. 

“But we’ve said that about all of them.” 

You heave a sigh, flattening out the skirt of the dress. “I know but-” 

“No buts. You look incredibly pretty and Nat is going to like you just as much as she did yesterday.” Sam says firmly. 

You sigh again, glancing ​​at him. “I wish you guys were coming with me.” You admit quietly before plopping down on the couch next to Fran. 

Fran leans over to straighten the straps of​​ the dress, as she offers you a knowing smile. “You’re gonna have a good time. Sam and I can entertain ourselves for an evening, you know.” 

“I did live here for a while, remember!” Sam shouts from the kitchen.

When had he gone into the kitchen?

You hum as a knock sounds at the door, signaling Natasha’s arrival. You push yourself off the couch to answer her, unable to swallow the smile that spreads when you realize she’s brought you flowers. 

“You didn’t have to.” You whisper, taking the bunches of sunflowers from her. 

“I wanted to.” She says, pressing a kiss to your cheek before you can go far. She shuts the door behind her, following you into the foyer and then the living room. Fran brightens as she sees Natasha. 

“Let me take these from you.” Fran offers, before extending her other hand to Natasha. “You must be Natasha. I’m Fran. Sam’s in the kitchen. Babe, do you have a vase?” 

“I don’t know.” He calls back. “Why would we need a- oh.” Sam gives you a grin as he appears. “Yeah, let me see if I can rustle something up. Why don’t you kids get out of here?” You roll your eyes, ignoring the flaming of your cheeks as Natasha takes your hand, bidding your friends farewell. 

Nat’s right hand finds your thigh, drawing circles into your skin with ehr thumb as she pulls out of your driveway. 

“So remind me how you know Sam and Fran?” 

“Sam and I had a mutual friend and ended up really hitting it off. They’re just visiting for the weekend. I’m actually staying in his family’s place right now.” 

She hums. “That’s very kind of him.” 

You huff out a little laugh. “You’re telling me.” 

-

The Hard Deck is less noisy this time around, although your eyes still struggle to adjust to the dim light of the bar as you push your sunglasses up to the top of your head. 

Natasha guides you past the bar, promising to return later as she directs you to the pool table in the back. Her hands are firm against your shoulder blades as you walk. 

“Boys.” She calls, earning the attention of the men crowded around the pool table. They all turn, catching sight of you and you have to fight not to curl into Natasha. “This is my girlfriend.” 

The tall one, the blond, grins, being a little too sharp around the edges for your liking. “Are you sure she should even be in here Phoenix?” 

Her thumbs press into your shoulders as if to say breathe, relax, i got this. 

“Pretty sure you’re the one that likes them below the legal drinking age Bagman.” 

“Back off, Seresin.” A brunette says, pushing him out of the way. “I’m Bradley.” He says, extending his hand to you. You take it, giving him a soft smile. 

You’d heard about Rooster, Nat’s best friend. “Nice to meet you.” 

“This is Bob and Fanboy.” Nat says, pointing to your left. “Behind them is Payback and Coyote. The irritating blond is Bagman.”

“Hangman-” 

“The rest of the crew will be in shortly.” You wave to the boys, struggling to not make yourself feel small in their looming presence. “It looks like Mav is over at the bar, why don’t you come with me? I want to introduce the two of you.” 

You nod, intertwining your fingers with her as the two of you walk back towards the bar.

“Mav.” She calls, earning the attention of a shorter man.  A fond smile blooms on his weary face, turning from his conversation with the bartender. 

“Lieutenant Trace, to what do I owe this pleasure?” 

“Mav, this is my girlfriend. This is Captain Pete Mtichell, my commanding officer.” 

Pete’s smile almost seems to fade at the sight of you, but he must think better of any immediate negative thoughts as he extends a hand. “Nice to meet you.” 

“You too.”

Mav lets your hand go, turning to the person sitting next to him, an older man with graying hair. “Tom, this is Phoenix’s girlfriend.” 

The man, Tom, frowns at Pete. “I can hear Pete.” 

Natasha lets out a little laugh. “This is Tom Kazansky, Captain Mitchell’s husband.” 

Tom tips his head in greeting. “Good to meet you.”