#more than once almost got the nerdy ink ones

[separatist-apologist]

Omg wait why are you a book review blog now LOL I love it! What’s your most loathed book that is very popular? (Mine is crescent city)

Anon said- hey MB cancel yourself.

It's Throne of Glass. The whole series. Every single book, even the two I didn't read.

I could talk about my problems with TOG until I die. It is often touted as SJM's best work and I sometime think if I'd started reading when I was like, 14-15, I would have loved Aelin. But I started as an adult, and so I don't love Aelin.

My issues are numerous- the most egregious is that the first three books are not interesting and the fandom knows it. People are CONSTANTLY telling new readers to push through the first three books before it gets good. And I'm tired of this standard of like, suffer to get to well-written content. If you can't write a good FIRST book, your series is bad. Full stop. The first book is where I should have quit, but I knew too much and I wanted to see it all play out.

Aelin is the BEST assassin, teenager or not. We're told this every few pages (along side how beautiful she is gag me SJM), but when we're shown Aelin in action, she has loss after loss after loss. Is she the best? Because I was banging my head against the book like, where is this famed talent of hers? SJM makes EVERYONE the best and then realizes there is no plot if your heroine can best everyone with her eyes closed so she has to lose, but then its like...okay but why did she eat shit here?

Also, I have suffered through so much "Rhys is abusive" rhetoric and that should make Rowan REALLY nervous. I was really excited to meet him since I'd been spoiled and knew he was the main LI. And he is...I mean, again WHAT DO THEY LIKE ABOUT EACH OTHER? Being in the same room DOESNT COUNT. Oh no, the ancient man is sad, I guess that makes it okay to tell a suicidal teenager she should have died. Definitely okay to hit her in the face. And miss me with "they were both bad" because he is an old ass man and she is deeply traumatized. Like oh no, did the teenager say something mean? Grow up. I hated him all through that book, so the shift where shes like, oh hes my mate and now we're in love was just. Okay. Very SJM though so I don't know what I expected.

I never finished the final book and I didn't read Chaols book either. Say what you want about me, but I am a quitter. I was just bored. You know how the series ends. Not to mention the near blatant LOTR plagerism that no one ever brings up but gets emblazoned on t-shirts, as well as like, the inspiration for her plot in a way that feels very obvious.

Like TOG is done, and maybe in its heyday people were with me on this. Let the past stay buried, that's fine. And if people love it, I'm not saying they're wrong for liking it (or liking the main pairing, so much of the art of Rowan makes me question myself). But for me, reading it all at once, it was not it. I don't like it but I WILL be buying the Dominique Wesson dust jackets for my collection so.

[assortedvillainvault]

Disney Villain Polycule Posts Part 7 - Picking a Plus One

WOO sneaky shenanigans - Hades maybe you shouldn't push your luck with your relatives, eh? Plot things might happen O.O

Under the cut becuase jesus wept this got away from me.

Hades is being forced invited to a shindig on Olympus, and Zeus has been kind enough to allow him to bring a plus one. With four partners however, that's a tad more difficult than it seems…

Hades is in hell.

No, not just literally for once.

Zeus had decided, in all his air-headed glory, to come down personally and invite him to another olympian shindig. Some over-the-top, mouse approved party which he had to attend.

Now, no skin off his nose getting to spend a day or two in the fresh air and good views of Olympus, even though he tends to get stinkeyed straight back off the cloud again but hey, no more pointless conversation to get snubbed from right?! Sigh.

Mouse approved too, so he couldn’t even get smashed and challenge Apollo to a chariot ‘race’ and nosedive into the earth.

He didn’t have a damn clue what this event was for and stopped listening pretty much the second his dear younger brother got past ‘hello’, but now he had a problem.

He had to bring a plus one.

The problem with being a married god was that people expected you to show up with your spouse. Persephone had made it abundantly clear that if she ever had to set foot in an olympian party with her mother present again she would fill every mattress, seat cushion and sofa on the planet with cacti and make for the sea – a notion he completely understood – and so she was a no go.

Besides, she liked getting to sit on his throne while he was out, and he was more than happy to leave the underworld to her steady eye for a bit. She either tended to redecorate or scare the souls shitless with new monstrous plants, and he loved the maniacal laughter he could sometimes hear echoing down the styx that meant she was having a good time.

So no Persephone. That was his one legitimate call, so turning up with anyone else would invite assumptions of cheating and at the very least a bodyslam from Mother Nature herself, and he was in no mood to be backhanded with the weight of a continent. He could just go alone…

...OR he could have fun with it.

Olympus was barred from mortals entering the realm, but, heh, technically HE was the only god controlling of someone’s state of mortality. They don’t call it an Immortal Soul for nothing!

He turns up to the event – seemingly alone. The air next to him was absolutely laced with glamours, and he could feel the long, thin fingers wrapped around his arm squeeze excitedly.

All throughout the event he forced himself to chat to his siblings and extended family. Sometimes all but launching himself into conversation and letting his natural smoke billow as he moved to cover up the tell tale snags of disturbed cloud around him.

If he really focussed he could tell exactly the moment when Facilier was successful in pickpocketing a god or goddess. A tiny hiss of delight and faint whizzing of a shadow under the cloud layer, handiwork completely silent otherwise. Items disappearing into the glamour with almost supernatural speed thanks to the bokor’s light and nimble fingers.

Off to the right, Jafar had slithered, glamoured and disguised further as a normal sized cobra, listening in on godly gossip and exploring the godly homestead with devious intent. Hades hoped he could make it to Athena’s library in time, and shoved the yearning to see Jafar’s face light up like a child whose birthday had come early deep down. He’d get to see it later, as his partner let the more nerdy, scholarly side of himself take over in a flurry of ink spatters and scattered parchment, attempting to replicate the goddess’s work.

He had, unfortunately, been cornered by Demeter, Zeus and Hera when he felt the tingling scrape of a half transformed claw glide across his upper back.

Maleficent was no doubt absolutely delighted at the fact none of the other gods knew she was there and has let the excitement render her a tad more dragon-esque than normal.

She was also probably laughing at the poorly hidden wish to be left alone written all over his face as his family grilled him for Sephy’s absence. Demeter seemed determined to accuse him of locking her down there – a line of thought that illustrated just how truly little she knew her daughter, since Sephy would have broken out and stabbed him by now if he tried that – Zeus was running for the ‘worlds most patronising pep talk’ award (nothing new, but it did reinforce the wish to stuff his beard into a wood-chipper) and Hera-

-Hera wasn’t saying anything. Which was bringing him out in a cold sweat.

The Goddess of Marriage was just, squinting. At him. He frantically resisted the urge to flick his eyes toward where he knew his beaus were causing mischief around the room.

...Maybe it was a bad idea to flaunt a secret poly relationship in a room containing the goddess of love and the goddess of marriage after all huh??? He didn’t even know how the two did their thing, for titans sake woman - could she see something?!

He frantically babbled out a half assed excuse to leave and all but yanked on the connection to his partners to skedaddle. Cut losses while you’re ahead and all that. He needed a drink and nap and to triple the Underworld wards pronto.

Later, on Olympus.

Hera met Aphrodite on a balcony, overlooking a stunning view of the sunset over Greece. The party was over, and the world was leaning into the contemplative quiet that came with onset of night.

The entrance to the underworld could be seen in the far distance. She let the silence simmer for a while. The elder goddess made no move to interrupt it. Hera sighed.

“I think you’re on to something.” She said.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

love letter, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook gets love letters shoved in his mailbox and under his apartment door all the damn time. You, too, get love letters shoved in your mailbox and under your door. All the time. It could be a sweet gesture, but this is the twenty-first century. Love letters aren't all they're cracked up to be. 

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; short graphic descriptions of sex acts; smut (fem reader, a very intense make-out session including some wild tongue and too much saliva, nipple play, a bit of m-receiving oral, cowgirl, handjob); non-idol!BTS – technically university, blond, softsub!Jungkook x working, softdom!reader; slightly desperate and needy JK

yes, yes, it’s MTV Unplugged ‘Telepathy’JK

--

"I'm so tired of people thinking they have a chance with me."

Was the exasperated declaration as you backed up into your apartment, only to turn around and witness Jeon Jungkook dumping a waterfall of colorful envelopes from his giant black backpack onto your hardwood floor. 

"At least remove your shoes before you start flaunting how hot you are," you replied dryly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes as he kicked off his large white sneakers. "Look at this shit! It's relentless! It's annoying! I just want to live my life!"

You vaguely recalled Jungkook being excited about his first love letter upon reaching university, and then the second, the third... and now you were staring at pile number five hundred on your doormat. "I don't know, put a sign on your door? 'Please stop, the answer is no?'"

Jungkook winced. "I can't do that. How many hearts am I going to break?"

"Uh, I dunno, you already broke half the campus by existing in general."

He bonked you on the head lightly with his denim jacket sleeve. "I have not. I've only slept with a couple people and that was supposed to be no strings attached."

You shrugged. "People can't understand that. Especially women."

He puffed his cheeks and stepped over the pile. You noticed the small stickers and nice handwriting on the colorful pastel paper. You almost felt bad, seeing all the effort put into them.

"At least they're cute. I only get torn notebook pages with scribbles."

"Stop lying. You get girls' letters too," Jungkook grumbled. "Can I borrow your computer? One of my professors assigned an online quiz and the internet at my place is down, again."

"You gotta move," you commented, kneeling down to collect the mess Jungkook made. You noticed Jungkook flit his eyes about before throwing up his hands and bending down to help you. 

"I'm trying to get out of the lease, but I have a couple more months left," he complained childishly.

"What about your other friends? Can't you go bother them?"

Jungkook frowned, sticking out his lower lip. The tiny mole underneath winked at you. "You hate me now or something?"

You laughed, standing up with a stacked pile of confessions to Jeon Jungkook. "No, I'm just curious as to why you always come here."

He shoved the rest in your arms, his pile slightly messier than yours. "You live the closest and you're usually home. Plus, you have two computers."

"A laptop and a desktop," you corrected. "Don't you have a laptop?"

"It's easier to borrow yours."

"Lazy."

Jungkook ignored your remark and ticked his silvery-blond head further into the apartment. "Can I borrow it or not?"

You laughed. "Of course. Laptop's on the bed."

He turned and followed the hallway to your bedroom. "Same password?" he yelled, not looking back.

"Obviously."

"Why is it my birth date?" he shouted.

"Because, one, no one will guess it, and, two, you're a dumbass and always forget it."

"I do not!"

"How many times did you ask when the password was Klingon?"

"I don't know your nerdy shit!"

"Do your fucking assignment," you belted down the hall. 

Jungkook stuck his head out of your bedroom door and scrunched his nose to make a hideous face at you, holding your gunmetal-colored laptop. You rolled your eyes as he disappeared again. This crackhead. You let out a sigh, walking past the acrylic painting of a blue sky with pink-purple clouds hanging in your living room, flicking through at all the letters addressed to Jungkook.

Surprisingly, you knew what he felt like. With you, it started with inviting one guy over to your place, sucking his dick, and then suddenly a letter appeared. Well, letter was putting it nicely. Dirty napkin with words scrawled with smeared ballpoint pen shoved under your door, explicitly asking for more. Then another, wanting it. Then another, begging for it. You ignored them. At some point, you invited a girl over, ate her out, and then the colorful envelopes started appearing, with cute stickers and neat handwriting.

Mmmhmm.

Why did Jungkook bring them here anyway? To brag? For you to peruse? You spread them out them on your coffee table and tore one open. Read it. Simple confession of love, no name. You were kind of jealous. Jungkook always got nicer ones than you did. Something about being a sexually uninhibited woman seemed to translate to others that you were down to fuck anyone, anytime, anything. You tossed the letter aside, ripped open a folded card closed with lilac tape. Another, 'I love you, please go out with me', no name. Toss. And you opened another one, reading out loud. 

"I want to cram all one hundred and seventy-nine centimeters of you into me?”

Uh.

Huh.

Still no name.

Cute peach stationery though. 

Was it a euphemism? Symbolic? Thinly veiled code? Hm. In any case, this was more along the lines of shamelessness you encountered yourself. 

By all conventions, Jeon Jungkook was attractive as fuck. Pretty pink lips, big brown eyes, manly sharp jawline. He kept his hair on the longer side, around ear length, now silvery-blond compared to the usual black. You heard he dyed it a couple times, but now it had since faded to the original blond.

Oh, yeah, also he had nice hands and a body to die for. 

You could see why Jungkook got all these love letters. You? Well, similar reasons, except less muscles. Also, yours weren't really love letters. More like vulgar remarks on the backs of grubby receipts. 

Probably just as heartfelt.

The only reason you knew of Jungkook was because you were friends with one of his close friends. Alright, maybe you sucked his friend's dick. More than once. But anyway, not the point. The point was that the topic of love letters came up one night when everyone was hanging out and you voiced your predicament. It was the summer before Jungkook entered university. He had burst out laughing, thinking it was a hilarious situation.

"Haha, that would never happen to me!"

Jokes on you, Jungkook, karma's a bitch. 

You thought about moving, but the location was close to your work and the internet service was great here. At least you always recycled the paper. What were you supposed to do? Keep an album of Starbucks napkins of people asking if your tongue was good or not?

You opened another envelope addressed to 'sweet, adorable Jungkookie'.

Their words, not yours. 

"Shove your dick down my throat and make me gag? Smiley face?"

Well, that's a contrast. 

Jungkook didn't start contacting you on his own until the letters started coming and then they didn’t stop coming, flooding his mailbox and underneath his door, overwhelming and confusing him. He didn't think he would get much attention, although perhaps it might be your fault, since you seemed to have set the precedence for this type of thing at this particular university. There was at least one person in every year that got this treatment, and it all started with one dirty napkin with smeared ink. Rumor caught on and then bam! It became a thing. 

So, yeah. 

Maybe kind of your fault.

You shouldn't have told so many people about that napkin. 

You fished out a pizza receipt from the pile, inspecting it. You couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Then you noticed it had Jungkook's phone number and an order of three pizzas. Not a confession, just trash from Jungkook's backpack. Did he really eat three pizzas? Hopefully not by himself and in one sitting. You noticed the timestamp. Mmm, three in the morning. Okay. Maybe he did eat three pizzas by himself in one sitting. 

You filed through the rest, removing trash from the recyclable paper. Paused when you found a scrap of paper that said, "Put your dick in my ass." You recognized this curvy, narrow handwriting, slightly heavy-handed. Same person wrote you the same note this week. 

This was why you didn't take the messages too seriously.

You saw a particularly thick purple envelope and picked it up, tearing it open. It was several pages, with tiny, crammed handwriting on paper with cute bunnies on it. Several pages detailing straight up porn with Jungkook as the leading role. 

You almost burst out laughing. 

Who the fuck would write this?

And send it to him?

Not you, that's for fucking sure. 

Still, it wasn't the worst thing you've ever read. Had some spelling mistakes and poor grammar. Instant turn-off. Needed a good proofread. You settled onto your brown leather couch, highly entertained as you read it. Then you actually burst out laughing, because said person wanted Jungkook to lift them and fuck them at the same time and that kinda shit just wasn't possible. You would know, because you’ve tried. It sounded good, but in practice, the dick ended up falling out pretty quickly if the pussy was any sort of wet.

If you weren’t wet, then, eh, not sure why you're fucking. 

"What is so fucking funny?" Jungkook grumbled, poking his head around the corner, still holding your laptop. 

You held up the sheets of bunny-printed paper, still laughing. "Someone sent you their written erotica and you're the star!"

Jungkook grimaced. "Oh yeah, that person. They write something new every week. It's weird." He frowned. "I try to take it out so you don't have to read that shit. I must have missed it."

"It's hilarious," you chuckled. "You should publish them into a book."

"You know I can't do that," Jungkook sighed, putting your laptop on the coffee table and snatching the pages from you. "I throw them away like everything else."

"Did you finish your assignment?" you chortled, leaning over to look at the laptop screen. Submission successful. "80%?! When you could easily cheat?"

"I read a question wrong," Jungkook whined, balling up the paper and throwing it down. "Ack."

You looked up at him and he was looking upset at the pile on the table. 

"What's wrong?"

"What if one of them is real?" 

"Huh?"

"I mean... I just throw them away now. But what if one of them is real?" Jungkook wondered out loud. 

You shrugged. "Does it matter? They'll tell you in person if it's that important."

Jungkook tilted his head at you doubtfully. "Will they?"

You sat back into your couch, with your legs wide open. You were wearing sleek black leggings and a cropped pink sweatshirt. Not the most ladylike pose, but you didn't really care. You gestured to the stack of letters on your wooden coffee table. 

"They should. If they actually like you and it's not a joke, then they should tell you in person and accept that they might be rejected."

Jungkook frowned and slumped down next to you. His light-wash denim jacket made a loud floof as his ass hit the brown leather cushions. The wash of his jeans matched his jacket. He wore a white graphic t-shirt under. It looked vintage, but it probably wasn’t. 

"What if they're nervous?" he questioned, twisting his pink lips around.

"So what? Everyone's nervous. We all live in a perpetual state of terror."

Jungkook rolled his eyes. 

You leaned forward and plucked a sky-blue memo note from the table, reading it out loud. "I love you. Marry me." You held it out to him. "See? You get nice ones. I get, ‘choke me like you hate me’ and 'shove your tongue into my asshole, please'. Rarely do I get is that please at the end," you finished with a dry laugh. You looked up to see Jungkook staring back at you. Your laugh died a little seeing his serious expression. 

"Yes."

You blinked at him. "What?"

Jungkook ticked his chin to the note, then shifted his eyes to you.

You pointed to the memo sheet and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't write this."

"I did."

He was so serious that you couldn't laugh. You just blinked at him rapidly and turned your head to look at the sky-blue memo sheet, finally recognizing the clean, block-like handwriting and spotting the bottom right corner. English letters. A J and a K fused together, the way Jungkook usually signed his paintings.

You dropped the note like it was on fire.

Jerked your head up, not to him, but to the painting across from you in the living room, the one with the blue sky and pink-purple clouds, with a tiny JK signature in black at the bottom right corner. The painting you asked Jungkook to make you a while back. 

"You paint, right? I want something calm for my living room. I bought a canvas, so about this size. It's that cool?"

Jungkook had squinted his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I could draw a pretty big dick on it."

"This is for my living room, dumbass. And I said I wanted something calm."

"A flaccid dick then."

You turned your head back to Jungkook of now, who was wringing his hands on his thighs, wiping off his palms. He noticed you watching him and puffed one cheek before letting out a big sigh. 

"I was... gonna leave it on your laptop," Jungkook mumbled, flapping a hand to the sky-blue note. "But I couldn't find it in my backpack, and then I realized one of the pockets was open, the one where I keep receipts... anyway I had put the note there, so I came out to see if it was in the pile... yup, there it is."

He sucked in his cheek and fell back against the leather sofa.

"Was a joke."

Jungkook's voice sounded hollow. Empty. 

"... Ah." You tucked the tip of your tongue in your cheek.

"Not the greatest joke," he added flatly.

“No, it’s not,” you agreed. "Jokes that are insincere are bad jokes."

The black words glared back up at you, contrasting the pale azure paper. You picked up the memo sheet again. Turned to face him, holding it up next to Jungkook's head of silvery-blond hair. He pursed his lips and looked away from you, jaw clenched in nervousness. 

"Just say it."

He puffed one cheek again. "It was a joke."

"Then why are you saying it in past tense?"

His brown orbs shifted from side to side before Jungkook tried to bolt out of his seat, only for you to slam a hand down on his shoulder and throw a leg over him, straddling his lap before pinning the note to his chest. He yelped sharply and looked up at you with huge, shaking irises. 

In all your time knowing him, you never tried to sleep with Jungkook.

Never. 

You jabbed the note into his white shirt and he gave you a terrified squeak in response. 

You scrutinized his face, jaw slack, eyes wide, blond curls framing his chiseled cheekbones. One of your eyebrows raised, your voice calm and unfazed.

"Say it."

"You say it," Jungkook finally shot back, furrowing his brows, biting on his lip and mustering up the most indignant look he could produce at this very second. You didn’t react. He seemed to have forgotten you did, in fact, say it, although perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he meant.

You never tried to fuck Jungkook because he didn’t treat you as anything more than his primary source of internet when his own was down. Ah, and also his outlet for complaining about his love letter problem. And then there was that other little wrinkle, the unwritten societal rule one of sucking a guy's dick you're still friends with - don't suck his friends' dicks. Surefire way to fuck up a friendship, especially if the dude’s ego was fragile.

Jungkook’s friend was dating someone else now though. His ego couldn’t be that fragile.

You leaned forward and Jungkook's annoyed gaze faltered. He gulped and tried to shrink into your brown leather couch, as if he could somehow disappear under you.

"I love you," you stated clearly and firmly. You glanced at the slightly crumpled piece of blue paper before your eyes flickered back to his face. "Marry me."

Hah, the thing about rules with you was...

Fuck 'em.

Not actually. 

Eh, not the point.

"Really?" Jungkook squeaked, voice cracking slightly.

Ah, right, the other reason you never tried to sex up Jungkook because he was a little bit of an idiot around you. But maybe this sky-blue note detailed the reason for it. 

"Say it," you repeated crossly, poking him in the pecs. "Stop avoiding it."

You observed Jungkook swallow hard again, Adam’s apple bobbing. You furrowed your brows, tipping your head down so that your forehead was hovering over his, eyebrow cocked, gazing into trembling brown orbs. Why was he taking so long? He wrote the damn words. Were they really just a joke? Hmph, why were you even trying then?

That’s how everyone was.

Not putting any stock or thought into their fucking words.

You lifted your finger but Jungkook’s right hand, the one with tiny tattoos, suddenly darted in your view, grabbing your hand back and jamming your finger onto his chest again. His heartbeat raced under your fingertip, thud-thud-thud, rapid bass accenting the moment. Electrifying it.

“Don’t.”

Whisper so faint you frowned and closed even more distance between you two, picking up the scent of vanilla fabric softener and lush cotton. A little different than you, who used a blackberry and spiced vanilla perfume.

“I like this,” Jungkook breathed under you, chewing his lip anxiously. You could feel his warm breath tickling your lips and chin with how close you were. You could count his individual eyebrow hairs, even though the eyebrow product he used.

“I… really like this.”

He let go of your hand.

Now you raised both eyebrows.

You slowly uncurled your middle finger, landing it on his chest next to the index. You felt him shiver a little, lips parting. Straightened your ring finger, planting it down. His lashes lowered a little, brown orbs on your face, watching your reaction to him. You could count the moles on his face. The one on his nose. The one on his cheek. The one under his lower lip. The one on his neck. Your pinky slid onto his chest. A wispy moan left his lips, eyelids fluttering, blond strands floating around his head with the little rise and fall of his heavy, tense exhale.

Why is it your birth date?

Take a wild guess, dumbass.

Your fingers abruptly dug into his white t-shirt, crumpling the note and scrunching the graphic up in your fist. He inhaled sharply, head tipping back and lips nearing yours, a whine escaping his throat. You quirked an eyebrow, drawing back slightly, taking in the rich depth of his tan skin, the sensual line of his neck, up to his angular chin and his dangling silver earrings. All of it. His hands immediately came up to grab your wrist and forearm, ensuring you and himself that you wouldn’t let go, the tendons in your flexed wrist right against his large palm.

“Say it, Jungkook,” you demanded. “Say those words with your pretty pink tongue hanging out your mouth for me.”

You watched him obey immediately, tongue sliding out and touching his lower lip, brown eyes framed by his long lashes and hazy with lust.

“I love you,” Jungkook breathed, a little gargled with his tongue out. “Fucking marry me, please.”

Ah, you couldn't help it. 

You smirked.

"What about all your admirers?" you murmured, twisting your fingers in his shirt, digging your nails into his chest. "You'll break all those poor hearts you’re worried about."

Those dark brown eyes told you they didn't give a single fuck. 

"What about you?" he countered, closing his mouth a little to speak more clearly.

"Me?"

The definition of trouble?

Well, if you looked that up in a dictionary, there would definitely be a picture of you. 

Jungkook’s lips parted once more, keen to submit to your wickedness, pink tongue slipping out again, shiny and glistening with saliva. Breathing shallowly, rubbing your wrist with his thumb, encouraging you to keep going. 

Your lips curved into a treacherous smile.

"I'll break all the hearts to get to yours, Jungkook."

And then you licked his tongue. 

A low moan bubbled from Jungkook's chest, his eyes rolling back and his hips bucking up, desperate for friction as the tip of your wet muscle glided over his warm softness, your spit dripping down his throat, listening to his moans turn into messy garbles of your name, begging you, pleading you, more, more, kiss me, please, and you hooked your tongue around his, gently nudging his jaw with your other hand. Knuckle to chin, tilting your head as your lips closed onto Jungkook's. 

It was not a neat kiss.

There was spit running down his chin, dripping onto his neck and your skin, your lips roughly working his, tongues intertwined and making even more of a mess, you sucking forcefully to earn pained, delicious whines. Jungkook was far too turned on to attempt to glamorize it, cries a jumbled mess under your greedy mouth, but none of that mattered. The moment was sensual and dark, bodies speaking to each other through dopamine and adrenaline. Your hand released his shirt, breaking his grip, switching to burrowing your fingers into his soft blond hair and running your nails over his scalp, leaving lines of prickling pain to enhance your kiss. 

"F-Fuck, oh fuck, yes..."

Your teeth caught his tongue, pulling back and forcing his head to follow. Jungkook made a pained noise, trapped in your embrace, whining as you took him to the brink. You released him swiftly and he snapped backward, blinking hard, trying to reorient himself, but it was impossible, your lips crashing down again, thrusting your tongue into his mouth aggressively, one eye open to witness his fucked-out state, pupils unfocused, long lashes quivering, moaning into your mouth and you inhaling it all, literally taking his breath away. 

It started out with a kiss. 

How did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss. 

It was only a kiss. 

You dropped your lower half onto his crotch and Jungkook gasped, breaking the kiss, strings of spit breaking between you two. You smirked wickedly as you felt his hardness trying to escape its clothing jail, his large hands already on your thighs and hips, sinking his fingers into the soft fabric of your leggings, rocking you into him, desperately trying to get some stimulation.

"Please," he croaked, panting for breath, pulling himself up to sitting position, so easy and smooth, fuck, so sexy, and now Jungkook was in your face, pleas on the tip of his tongue pouring out, tempting you, wanting it. 

"Please, wanna be yours so fucking bad, seeing all those fucking letters and notes you get, and it pisses me off, it's me, I want it to be me, I want to be yours and I'm telling you to your face." 

Whisper achingly hot, deep voice soaked with longing, staring into your eyes with those shaking brown orbs, spinning with emotion like an unstable top, barely enough torque holding it in place and all it took was another spin to encourage it or a gust of rejection to topple it over. 

"And you don't even care about mine, you think they're fucking funny, fuck, I can't stand it, let it be me, please..."

His hands running up your sides, grazing against your breasts, and now his hands were in your hair and yours were in his, bringing your face close, the crumpled sky-blue note right between your joined crotches, forgotten, witnessing the agonizing lust wound tightly in this embrace. 

"Let it be me," Jungkook begged.

You licked your lips slowly, scarcely swiping against his. He shuddered, leaning into it, taking whatever crumbs you gave. His long fingers tensed in your hair, yours buried in the dark roots of his. 

"You'll have to skip the marriage bit for now," you teased lightly. "I don't think my parents will appreciate you slapping down papers before you finish school."

Jungkook snickered, tucking his tongue in his cheek roguishly. "Can't they understand I have to snatch this ass as soon as possible to make people back off?"

Your hands slipped down to his jaw, fitting it in your palms, his silvery-blond stands wrapped around your fingertips. "They'll back off my door once they hear you screaming my name." 

You leaned in, but Jungkook stopped you, brown orbs glittering with mischief to get in one more quip. 

"I doubt it," he purred. 

Yeah. 

Jungkook was right. 

Ah, well. 

You seized his face and kissed him again, fuck, such malleable lips just pleading to be bitten by you, gazing up his nose and to his beautiful eyes, his soft skin in your hands, clenching his jaw under your power, letting you have it, letting you control it and him. You felt him scramble and throw his denim jacket off, dumping it onto your couch to cup your cheeks with his hands, sighing in satisfaction as you inhaled him. Your tongue lazily traced the outskirts of his lips, hearing the rattle of his beaded bracelets by your ears, amused, knowing they were his good luck charms. 

"They bring good luck," he had answered when you saw them for the first time.

You remembered tilting your head at the wooden beads on his slim wrists. "You trying to get your dick sucked or something?"

He had broken out in a loud guffaw. Nudged you with his elbow, cheeky smile on his lips. 

"Never gonna say no to getting my dick sucked."

"Mhm, cool, where's my painting of the flaccid dick?"

From then on, you noticed he wore the same wooden, beaded bracelets every time he came to your apartment.

Hmm. 

Now, your hands falling from his face, yanking his shirt from his pants, annoyed it was getting caught, and then Jungkook fitted his hands around your ass and lifted you easily, breaking the kiss, a moment for you to bear witness to his arms flexing – holy fuck, that’s sexy – right one covered in tattoos. Images and script, with one catching your eye, a string of words running up the inside of his upper arm. One you recognized because you had those words written on your bedroom wall, on a canvas hanging above your bed. A canvas you made, background a chaotic mess of varying dark red brushstrokes, the black script in the center, written by your hand. 

The exact black script with your flourishes and ticks, now tattooed on the inside of his right arm. 

Your eyes drifted to Jungkook's face and his naughty smirk, pleased to be found out. Your lips formed the sentence slowly, in awe of his audacity.

"The devil knows my name."

the devil knows my name. 

Hung above your bed, where all manner of marvelous sinful acts were performed. 

Jungkook grinned deviously. "I saw it. I wanted it on me."

Wanted it on him. 

Oh, fuck. 

Did he know? Could he guess?

"Who's the devil?" you whispered, smile widening, matching his. 

Jungkook reached down, yanking his t-shirt out of his jeans and pulling it up and over his head, revealing the body he sculpted himself, tan skin taut over hard muscle, toned and...

"You're the devil, of course," he snickered. 

Yours. 

"Ding dong daeng," you sing-songed.

How many people have been on your bed, head pulled back by your hand, blinking hard, trying to read the words on your wall through waves of forced ecstasy? Gasping them out, ending with a question, inquiring for an answer.

The devil knows my name?

And you, leaning forward, haunting whisper in their ears, yes, she does, before pushing their face down into the sheets.

"All those love letters not good enough for you, Jungkook?" you breathed, running your hands over his bare chest, spreading your fingers, letting your exhale out through your teeth. His eyes on you, torso trembling, hairs raising, feeling your nails dance up, up, raking over his collarbones and neck, leaving little pink lines of intensity.

"They're not you," he whispered. His hands brushing over yours, outlining your fingers, eyes darkening as you pushed him back into your sofa, lowering your head. "You, the one they talk about..." Your lips on his hot skin, kissing softly, tongue so slight that it made him whimper. "You, the one they look for..." His voice, deep and rumbling, vibrating your lips, pitching as you bit and sucked, leaving small hickeys. "You, the one whose bed I sit on, wondering who else has been there, wondering why it's not me, when I make myself available to you, so easy to prey on, but you let me be..." Your lips closing around his dark brown nipple, scraping your teeth against it, making him squirm and look down at you, you and your self-satisfied, ravenous smirk. 

"I let you read them," Jungkook whimpered, blond strands curled around his cheeks, chest shuddering at your nail flicking his other nipple while your mouth worked the other. "Let you see everything they want to do to me and you still didn't know."

You chuckled darkly. "What's there to know?" you mused, sticking your tongue out and pressing it against the now hard pink-tinged nub, receiving small whines of pleasure as your reward. "It's obvious what you wanted. I was right in front of you. All you had to do was say something."

Jungkook frowned as you sat up, tongue in cheek, half-grinning.

"Look at you."

You crossed your arms and pulled your pink cropped sweatshirt up and over your head, dropping it to the floor. Casually running a hand through the top of your hair to pull it away from your face, gazing down at shirtless Jungkook covered in your red bites, cocking your head with a smirk. He raised an eyebrow, eyes roaming over your figure and the curve of your breasts molded to smooth black satin. 

"You look like you eat hearts for breakfast," he murmured, admiration in his tone.

The side of your lips quirked further upwards.

"And yet you wanna love me."

Jungkook grinned. "I don't want to. I already do."

And then he was the one to pull you to him, kissing you hungrily, you immediately turning it into your favor, your pace, his tongue commanded by yours as he unhooked your bra, moaning into your mouth, rubbing your exposed nipples with his palms, unable to do much as you pushed him into the couch again, guiding his tongue down with your teeth and running the tip of yours over his wet muscle once more, trickling saliva into his throat and onto his chin and neck, messy and lewd. 

"The devil knows your name," you sighed into his mouth, feeling him knead your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hard nipples, tendrils of pleasure making your skin tingle. "And now the devil takes what she wants."

You saw the sides of his lips curve upwards as you backed up to strip the rest of your clothes, amused at Jungkook eagerly following suit and unbuttoning his jeans.

"Can't wait to flaunt how hot you are?" you laughed, reaching down to the shelf under the side table where a ceramic R2-D2 cookie jar sat.

"Do you think I'm hot?" Jungkook haughtily accused before gawking at your waist to ass ratio, his hands slowing, pants stopped to his knees in his distraction.

You gently took off the head of R2-D2 and plucked a condom from it. Some guy told you once that you couldn't like Star Trek and Star Wars at the same time and you told him to shut the fuck up as you slapped his nuts. He begged you to do it again. You fondly patted R2-D2's head after you fitted it back.

You straightened to see Jungkook on your couch with his hard dick on display.

You looked him dead in the eye. "You think I'd let you borrow my laptop if I thought you were ugly?"

Jungkook broke out of his trance and shrugged, finally yanking his calves – holy shit, his calves and thighs were muscular as fuck – out of his jeans, underwear and socks gone with them.

"Maybe you pitied my grades."

"I'd just pay for you to go to the library and fuck off, dumbass," you muttered, pushing his hands aside and ripping the condom open, drinking in the delicious sight of his throbbing red cock dripping pre-cum, his balls just waiting for – fuck it, you got down on your knees and wrapped your tongue around his length, Jungkook sputtering and gasping at your suddenness. Fuck, he smelled and tasted fucking good, clean and velvety to your lips enclosing around the head and sliding down, using one hand to scoop up his balls. Made eye contact with him again.

Jungkook breathed your name hesitantly.

Your tongue slid out of your lips and you jammed his cock all the way down your throat, slathering his balls wetly with your whisking tongue, circling around one and then the other, long expansive strokes that went past the girth of his cock, your pink tongue visible to him. Jungkook's pupils blew wide with shock, moans catching in his throat, whole body shivering, trying desperately not to look away even through you could tell he wanted to throw himself into your sofa and fucking lose it.

"Oooooooh, fuck, that's amazing.... Holy shit, your tongue is everything...."

You chuckled and pulled your head back, satisfied with his reaction. He seemed slightly disappointed until you rolled down the condom, cracking your neck.

"I think I've given enough." You stood up, getting back on top of him and his glorious thighs. "Time for you to be taken."

Jungkook smirked.

You smirked wider and more wickedly.

The sky-blue memo was crumpled into a ball, fallen to your hardwood floor.

Held him with two fingers, ugh, the weight of his cock, fuck yes, and those beautiful dark chocolate eyes, Jungkook, you dumbass, cursing that he didn't tell you sooner so that you could watch him groan and throw his head back like he was right now, gasping at your tightness, your name torn from his throat as you took in every centimeter of him, every pulsing vein and contour of his wonderful cock, stupid Jungkook and his attractive self not using his damn words so you could ride him like you were right now, setting up a fast, bruising pace. Your fingers dug into the back of the couch as you bucked your hips into his violently, keeping yourself tight because you were so fucking wet, fuck, so wet for Jeon Jungkook and his idiotic self, asking for internet to do his school assignments and not asking for his dick to be used as your fucking joystick. 

Dumbass.

"Oh fuck," Jungkook gasped. "Oh, fuck, you're so wet and tight, shit, shit, shit..."

"Tell me something I haven't heard before," you chuckled, only half-meaning it, waving your entire body to deliver a particularly hard smack to his crotch, Jungkook whimpering under you, his hands flying to your upper arms and clutching them, trying to hold on to your wildness.

"Holy fuck, you have some hard biceps," he blurted out, startled at the prominent muscle.

Well, you haven't heard that one before.

"Guess that's what happens when you jack off a lot of dick," you mused nonchalantly.

You ticked your head to Jungkook's arms – delicious – and he frowned at you, opening his mouth to protest and you cut him off by shoving two fingers into his lips, pressing them down into the wet warmth, grinning maniacally as you watched him struggle with your fingers rubbing his tongue and his cock getting assaulted by you aggressively slamming your hips down and clamping around his stiffness, tighter, faster, whines of your name in his throat, head falling back onto the couch with a flump. You were careful not to push your fingers too far. 

Getting vomited on wasn't really on your sexual activities bingo card.

Jungkook was, however, drooling down his chin and neck, and you pulled back to grab his shoulder with your wet hand – oh, fuck, his shoulder, what a lovely shape – and Jungkook wheezed for breath, you ignoring it as you focused all your energy on fucking the life out of him, dirty squelches and smacks of hips on hips, staring down at his abs and v-line, all his hard work at the gym on display, his hands still on your upper arms as he raised his hips to meet yours, needily moaning for you to destroy him with your pace.

Damn, maybe you would have sent him a love letter if you had seen him naked at least once.

"A-Ask me to cum for you," Jungkook finally got out, voice hoarse from breathing so hard for so long.

"You're going to anyway," you taunted.

"Want you to ask," he whined, almost pouting. "Tell me to do it."

You gazed into his eyes, into those brown irises overtaken by black pupils, him a top spinning by your hand, your plaything commanded by your body, pussy clenching around his twitching cock, spurred on from his pleading tone, giving him a devious and wicked grin, speaking to his swollen lips, the devil knows your name, Jungkook, and him moaning back, fuck yes she does, so close, so fucking close, unashamedly barreling towards your release, power in your veins and under you, his muscles rippling as he fucked you back, amplifying every thrust.

"Jungkook."

"Y-Yes?"

"Say it."

Brown eyes locked with yours.

"I love you. Marry me."

You smirked.

"Cum for me."

A half-second and then you let go, letting the feeling rush in and envelop you, the moment held back to torture him, and now you felt it all, already at the tipping point, strained moan as your orgasm crashed into you, shudders all over and falling, sitting all the way down in his lap to experience the throbbing ache of your core giving out and spilling onto his cock and balls in rapid bursts, viscous and sweet. The scent of sex mixing with blackberry and spiced vanilla, his length jerking inside you, and only then did you hear Jungkook crying out your name over and over, the roar in your ears fading out to his shivering moans, hands sliding up and down your arms, eyes closing and lost in the pleasure of your pussy squeezing out his cum. His touch travelling down to your waist, pulling you to him.

Messy, soft kisses, your name and curses mixed together.

"It's me, right?"

You smiled into his mouth that was still asking questions.

"Please let it be me. You'll let me love you for real, right?"

Pushing your hair back, his sweaty blond locks sticking to your face.

"Because I already do, can't stop, won't stop–"

"Yeah, Jungkook, funnily enough I figured that from the first kiss already," you chuckled, running your fingers through his ash blond hair and pulling his head back lightly, seeing him pout, the mole underneath his lower lip peeking out.

"But..."

"Hm?"

His voice suddenly small, vulnerable, his semi-hard dick still inside you.

"Do you love me?"

You lifted a brow. "What kind of dumbass question is that?" You grabbed his arm and pressed your nail into his tattoo of your words, drawing a pink scratch under them, making him gasp. "How can I not love you? Fuck, that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, my handwriting tattooed onto you. Yes, I love you, Jungkook."

Jungkook's jaw dropped.

This fool is still shocked after all this?

You reached down and held the condom down as you lifted yourself off, yanking him to his feet, pushing Jungkook to your coffee table, right in front of the pile of letters with his name all over them. You picked up your laptop and pushed it onto his chest, forcing him to hold it, him still confused, mildly stunned, not knowing what the fuck was happening.

Then you made him half-straddle your coffee table and yanked off the condom.

"Um–"

Grabbed his cock and started furiously jacking him off.

"Oh, f-fuck!"'

And then he realized what you were doing, the sheer wrongness of it, getting harder and harder with every second, throbbing in your hand.

"You're just like them," you chuckled through exerted breath.

Faster, rougher, tighter, Jungkook clutching your laptop, his larger frame leaning against yours, head thrown back so far that his blond hair was brushing your shoulder, moaning lustfully as he thrusted his hips into your grip. White pooled onto the purple-red tip of his abused cock, far too sensitive to be jacked off this hard right after orgasm, but Jungkook begged you not to stop, streams of residual cum running down your slicked fingers.

"Always looking for your fix from the addiction that's me," you whispered into his ear, laced with an authoritative growl. 

You saw Jungkook's head lower out of your periphery, eyes opening, staring at the colorful envelopes with his name printed on them, the cute stickers and neat handwriting, panting your name, tendons and veins standing out on his neck, sweat beading on his tan skin. 

A low, dangerous chuckle rising in his throat. 

"There's a difference between them and me."

You felt his cock twitch in your hand, ridiculously hard at what you two were about to do. 

"They're not going to get their fix."

Jungkook shuddered against you, jerking his hips forward, thick white strings splattering all over the pastel paper as you watched, fascinated, the scent of his cum saturating the air and the envelopes, drops soaking and smearing the carefully written ink, time wasted and defiled. 

"I am," he moaned, twisting his body on your arms, leaning down to kiss you hungrily as you squeezed his cock, draining it all out, all over your coffee table and coating your hand, stained with Jeon Jungkook's love letter to you. 

--

masterpost

[rainy-day-gracie]

Ice Cream and Tattoos

This was an adorable request asking what would happen if Spencer had a secret tattoo and this was so fun to play with and write !!

Requests always welcome (i don’t write explicit smut)

MASTERLIST

Enjoy :)

__

When Spencer was shot in the shoulder on a case, no one thought it would bring any sort of good. 

That’s when I saw the ink while the medics were patching him up. “Um, Spencer? What is that?” I pointed to the ink on his shoulder, and he quickly moved his shirt to cover it. 

“Um, it’s nothing-”

“Don’t lie to me Spencer.” I smiled at him. “Do you have a tattoo?”

Spencer huffed a breath and stood, ignoring the medic’s protests. “I don’t have to answer that.”

“Um, yes, you do, or I’ll tell the rest of the team.”

Spencer looked at me, and I could see the hint of a smile in his eyes. “Fine, we can get ice cream when we get back and I’ll tell you about it.” 

I grinned and rested my hand on his good shoulder. “It’s a date.”

__

The entire trip back to Quantico, I tried to even fathom what Spencer’s tattoo could be. A quote? A nerdy picture? Something in another language?

The first thing Spencer and I bonded over when I joined the team was dorkiness. I would gladly watch Doctor Who or Star Trek for hours over doing pretty much anything else. There were nights where one of us got a nightmare, and the nerdy shows would be the first thing we would turn on. 

Spencer and I sought comfort in each other, and that was never going to change. 

“So are you gonna tell me what it is now?” I asked Spencer as he handed me my ice cream cone. 

Spencer smiled hesitantly. “Please, don’t tell the team.”

I made an X over my heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Spencer looked into my eyes, then down at the floor. “It’s the word ‘bright’ in my mother’s handwriting. I got it a few years ago after Gideon left. Almost like a reminder.”

I smiled. “A reminder for what?”

Spencer thought for a moment. “I’ve always been labeled as smart, intelligent, genius. All those words sound so cold and empty, like that’s all I am. ‘Bright’ sounds more… happy and light. It could mean lots of different things all at once. Smart, illuminating, lively. I want to be bright rather than be smart, you understand?”

I nodded immediately. “Of course. You’re one of the brightest people I know, but not just your brains. Your spirit and demeanor is always welcoming and calming, and I think that’s incredibly admirable.”

Spencer smiled, and my heart did a pitter patter. “We should get ice cream more often.”

I blushed. “Like… a date?”

He shrugged. “Preferably yes, but whatever you want to do.”

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I would love to go on a date with you.”

Spencer reached for my hand, his palm warm and comforting. “Do you wanna see my other tattoos?”

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Domestic fluff, with mechanic, silver fox, soft Tony married to professor Peter. Throw in any other trope we're both obsessed with lol

The Way You Hold Me 

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature Notes: Holy. It has been a hot minute since I’ve put fingers to keyboard. I’m so stoked that S’s prompt is the one to pull me out of my slump. I’m a sucker for silver fox Tony & finally couldn’t resist. This is pure, tooth-rotting fluff, so I hope you’re up for some sweetness! Word Count: ~5K Warnings: There’s a bit of smexy in there, but it’s not that detailed. The rest is just indulgence of the love-dovey kind. 

Read on AO3 here

To say that Tony was hooked from the very start would’ve been a huge understatement.

Despite never laying eyes on Professor Peter Parker, Tony found himself completely overwhelmed with that obsessive sort of feeling he got when things sparked his interest. The words in their email exchanges were more than enough to draw him in – he could openly admit that strong character and a whip smart brain totally got him going. If his witty words and bright ideas weren’t enough, a quick Google search put the final nail in the coffin. Big brains and immense beauty – who was he to deny the attractiveness in that situation?

When the opportunity presented itself, Tony navigated his way around NYU’s campus, practically jumping on the chance to finally meet the notorious Professor Parker in person. He made his way leisurely through throngs of students until he found the not so surprisingly crowded lecture hall. If professors were as attractive as Professor Parker during his school days, he might’ve paid a bit more attention. Unlike most classes, each student seemed to be completely entranced by the information – or the man at the front of the room presenting it.

Tony rarely got the chance to observe someone else while working – most people that knew about his shop knew about his impeccable brains and talent; which meant a lot of the spectating happened while he worked. Flipping the norm on its head proved to be incredibly delightful – Peter Parker could hold the entire room’s attention without even trying. And man did he know his shit! He spoke about mechanics and fluid dynamics like they were extended pieces of himself, not convoluted theories riddled with mathematical explanations. If he weren’t already taking giant leaps towards infatuation, the time spent watching the professor lecture surely would send him spiraling in that direction.

For a brief instant toward the end of his lecture, Tony caught Professor Parker looking at him. Their eyes met and held for what felt like eons, the other man’s cocoa colored irises were stunning and seemed to become more so the longer Tony looked. A moment of recognition flashed in those deep eyes before he turned back to the class and continued to talk about fluid pumps like nothing happened.

By the end of the lecture, Tony knew a couple of things with absolute certainty – Peter Parker was the most gorgeous person (in every single way) on the planet, and he would do absolutely anything necessary to find a place for him in his life. Though he was getting ahead of himself, Tony could feel the rightness of the situation down to his very core – there weren’t many people who could spark a reaction in him, let alone one that moved him to action. He forced himself to calm down as a flood of students started to pile out of the room, each one looking at him with a mix of suspicion and appreciation – he forewent the hat that morning, so his longer salt and pepper hair stood proudly on display. Even he knew the appeal of that silver fox look.

A soft throat clearing brought Tony back from his contemplative state – he blinked a few times to orient himself before turning towards the noise.

Bright eyes on him had him once again stopping in his tracks; Peter Parker the man looked totally different than the lecturer standing in front of him only moments before. The owlish, almost nerdy look was replaced with a soft smirk and clear, knowing eyes. “Tony Stark, as I live and breathe. I would’ve happily met you at my office.” Peter didn’t seem to blink as he spoke, those eyes following every one of Tony’s minuet movements.

Tony knew in that instant – he wasn’t the only genius predator in that room.

Running a hand through long strands, Tony shifted his feet just enough to lean against one of the chairs closest to him. “I thought I’d catch you in your natural habitat. Even I know professors are never in their offices,” Tony remarked, his words light and just the slightest bit flirty. “Seeing you in action is much more informative than any meeting in your office would’ve been, anyway.”

Peter’s answer came in the form of a face splitting smile, the whites of his teeth showing through the stretch of soft lips. “You’re an actions speak louder than words guy – I like that.”

Grinning, Tony closed the distance between them, his feet carrying him in a manner that he never experienced before. It was as if the inches that separated them were causing physical pain, like if he didn’t get within touching distance that instant, Tony might actually combust. Now toe to toe, Tony stuck his hand out to shake, a daring look on his face. “Actions are the only thing that count in this muddled world, Professor Parker.”

And just like that, a bond developed between them. Aside from working on the research they cultivated over the past few months, Tony found himself seeking Peter’s company out as much as possible. For a little while, he made up lame work-related excuses – Peter was insanely dedicated to their joint academic pursuits and gladly came whenever Tony posed a question. As time trickled on, the questions and requests became increasingly less academic and much more personal. Instead of meeting at the campus library, Tony brought Peter to the big office he kept in the shop or the sanctuary of his kitchen. Slowly but surely, topics moved from engine parts to hobbies and ambitions. Much like the rebuild of a classic car, their steps towards something else were filled with anticipation and an overall feeling of contentment.

Instead of infatuation, Tony started to recognize the floaty feeling as love – the active process of falling into it much less frightening than he initially figured. Despite what the forty-nine-year-old knew about his previous “loves”, Tony found himself learning something new about the topic on a daily basis. Never before did he find someone’s coffee making ritual as endearing as the repetitional process that Peter went through. For the first time in his life, Tony understood what it meant to love every part of a person, not just a few individual pieces that made up the whole.

When they finally took the step towards realizing their love for each other, Tony jumped in headfirst. Being the ridiculously professional academic that he was, Peter didn’t want to mix any sort of business with pleasure, so they waited what felt like several long months to even think about anything other than friendship. Throughout those months, Tony wore out fantasy after delicious fantasy about what having Peter next to him would be like – how his ink-stained hands would feel on bare skin, how plush lips would press against his own. In all the ways, Tony tried to picture Peter as his.

Yet, nothing he pictured even came close.

The first time Peter kissed him, Tony was utterly unprepared for it. Upon their article being published, Tony and Peter planned to celebrate with a home cooked meal in Tony’s surprisingly well stocked kitchen. Throughout their time together, cooking dinner and hanging around the kitchen’s island with a glass of wine in hand became second nature to them – the whole ritual like a deep breath of fresh air after the long days both men waded through on a constant basis. Yet, this time, Tony could feel a crackle in the air – whether it was wishful thinking or fact, he wasn’t quite sure.

As they moved around each other seamlessly, Tony felt himself relaxing in a way that only happened when Peter was around. Instead of anxiety and a never-ending slew of thoughts, a clear head and empty spaces opened up around him. The comfort in Peter’s presence lulled him into a state that, until meeting the man, Tony didn’t know he could achieve. Which is why he was thrown off guard when a firm hand wrapped around his upper arm. Setting down the knife he’d been masterfully chopping vegetables with, he turned his body in Peter’s direction, the touch on his bare skin producing a sensation that sent tingles down to the very tips of his toes.

“What’s up – “ Tony started to say before the softest lips were pressing against his own. Whatever question he wanted to ask flew from his mind, the pressure of warmth and the delicate feeling of getting what he wanted, finally, overtook him. Leaning into the kiss, Tony tilted his head and returned it to the best of his ability – chances like this didn’t come by often and he sure as hell wasn’t one to let them pass him by. His own hand moved restlessly until it found the curve of Peter’s hip; the fingers there dug into jean and fabric and the slightest hint of what could only be warm, smooth skin.

Though it felt like just a second, Tony’s chest was heaving when they finally pulled away from each other. Without much thought, he renewed the grip on Peter’s hip and brought him back in for another kiss, the pressing issue of a lack of oxygen not even registering. Behind closed eyelids, he only saw, felt, and wanted the divine press of lip against lip – if he could live in this singular moment, all would be right in the world.

It was Peter who finally broke away, the redness in his cheeks sending a rush of some unnamed feeling down the length of Tony’s limbs. It felt electric, like shockwaves traveling across the surface of his skin. Sucking in a breath, Tony forced himself to look up and take in the melted chocolate of Peter’s stunning eyes. The black of his pupil practically overran the rich, dark brown, yet the color stood out even more because of that. The compulsion to reach out and touch Peter’s face rushed through him – the thought of more of that warm skin under his hands completely entrancing. Instead, he dug his fingers further into Peter’s hip, the bottom of his shirt riding up with ever clenching gesture.

“I’ve wanted to do that for months. Months, Tony,” Peter mumbled, his words still colored by the slightest pant of breath. The touch of his hand shifted up his arm, those long fingers settling on the naked skin on the back of Tony’s neck like they belonged there (they did). Slight callouses on the palm of Peter’s hand reminded him of the depth of the professor’s knowledge and experience – the roughness there spoke of words written with restless hands and technical brilliance brought about by steady, knowledgeable limbs. Unable to resist, Tony leaned into the touch, his entire being tuned in to the warm caress.

Leaning forward slightly, Tony brushed the tip of his nose against Peter’s, a soft sigh leaving his lips. So many times, he thought about this very moment and the reality of it couldn’t possibly be predicted – everything about Peter seemed like a surprise; every second they spent together another adventure, another excitement added to the list of things to LOVE about Professor Parker. The answering gasp of air against his lips had Tony pressing forward again, their lips meeting in a barely there caress.

“Now you don’t ever have to stop,” Tony finally managed to drag his lips away from Peter’s to mumble. “In fact – I hope you don’t. I really, really, really hope.”

Luckily, Peter hadn’t planned to. For weeks after that night, they flirted through shared time in the kitchen, and teased each other throughout tv show binges and candlelit dinners. No matter what they did, Tony ended the night with a writhing Peter Parker on his lap. With every second spent together, Tony tried to absorb everything he could about the man – how his hands felt gripping around his neck, the way his thighs flexed and clenched with the subtle roll of his hips – hell, even the way the taste in his mouth changed when things went from gentle and tame to overtly arousing. Many times, he wished he were a better writer – the ache Tony felt to document his findings was entirely too overwhelming.

Little by little, they crept towards what could only be considered to be something serious. There was no longer the pretense of academic pursuits to stop them from stepping out into the New York night life together – their dates took on a whole new nature when Tony realized just how well Professor Parker could clean up. It only took one night of Peter’s well-tailored ass dancing against him to know that demanding outings exactly like that one was absolutely necessary for his survival – and ever growing libido

Said libido spent a long time in self-induced isolation and took the magic of Peter Parker to reignite whatever passion seemed to be lacking earlier in his life. Up until the supple curves of his favorite professor sat in the palms of his hands, Tony struggled with the ease of intimacy – his brain ran a mile a minute and couldn’t often slow down enough to thoroughly enjoy the greatness of human contact. Yet, when Peter held him, touched him – something happened; the rest of the world sort of faded away, everything narrowed down to the lightest stroke and talented caress.

And despite the wild flame that seared between them, it still took four months of heavy petting and sleepovers on the couch after too much making out to finally fall into bed together. Tony knew – with every piece of himself – that the second he gave himself to Peter, there was no going back. Whatever addiction he willingly cultivated during their time together teetered on a precarious edge between not enough and too much. Physical intimacy would smash that cliff in half, leaving Tony with an inability to separate himself from the overwhelming feelings Peter made him feel.

Yet, when the moment finally came, every second of it felt righter than Tony thought possible. They didn’t tumble into the room in a tattered state of “can’t wait” and “right now”. Instead, Tony slowly unwrapped the present that a jean-clad Peter Parker presented. His lips mapped the route from a delightfully long neck to cut shoulders, then down from nipple to nipple, and lower – the soft hair leading down to lean hips and a gorgeous cock got more attention than either of them anticipated.

Between the dizzy effect of Peter’s moans and the effort to remember each of Peter’s moans, Tony almost forgot how he found himself two fingers deep in the tightest ass he could recall feeling. His cock, which brushed teasingly against Peter’s thigh, twitched with anticipation with every thrust – the tight clench around them was going to feel spectacular around his incredibly touch starved dick.

Clearing his mind of the more heady thoughts, Tony worked a third finger into Peter’s tight heat – the ability to control himself was slowly crumbling, each second that passed felt like one too many – the need to satiate his overwhelming craving hit him in the chest from one touch to the next.

Long fingers gripped his forearm, forcing his attention away from the pulse and stretch of the warm tightness around him. Tony looked up, his eyes seeking Peter’s without thought.

“I’m ready, Tony. I need you to fuck me. I can’t wait – don’t make me.” Peter’s grip tightened as each word slipped from his lips.

Sucking in much needed air, Tony moved until he could comply – his entire body thrummed with anticipation, his ability to wait seemed to fly out the window in that moment, too. He shifted to pull the bedside table drawer open, but he was stopped again by the hand still clutching his forearm.

“Just you, Tony.”

They locked eyes again, a silent conversation happening between them before Tony nodded, the outstretched hand finding Peter’s hip, instead. With the other, he uncapped the lube and poured a good amount straight on his heat-flushed cock, the cold of it pulling a pulse from him, a small bead of precum forming at the tip. Tony forced himself to take in a deep breath, the touch of his hand as he spread the sticky substance over sensitive skin reminding him how close he actually was. It wouldn’t do to finally be getting what he wanted and not last – he wanted, craved, desired the best of the best for Peter – with him, even.

Another quick shift had him pinning Peter on the bed below him, the forearm of his right arm pressed tightly against Peter’s shoulder – there wasn’t any space between them. When he finally pushed in, Tony let out a noise he never heard before – especially from himself. The moan radiated around the room, wrapping both him and Peter up in the delicacy of pure pleasure and steady connection. “Fuck, Pete – “ Tony couldn’t help but babble, his entire core clenching as he finally, finally bottomed out.

For all the time spent anticipating, Tony didn’t have any sort of word or feeling to describe what being connected to Peter was like. His strong thighs wrapped tightly around Tony’s waist, the muscles squeezing with every thrust – almost like he dreaded the slide out just as much as Tony. The tip of his cock nailed Peter’s prostate with every cleverly angled shift of his hips, the feeling on both ends bringing a new sense of bliss to the situation.

Though he tried to keep his shit together, Tony felt the coil in his stomach spin up uncontrollably, the inevitable end racing towards him without any of his permission. Picking up his pace, Tony untangled their joint limbs just enough to slip his hand between them, his work roughened fingers wrapped tightly around Peter’s cock to time his tight strokes with the movement of his hips.

The wet feeling of Peter’s release splashing against his fingers pulled Tony over the edge, the loud breaths and drawn out moans of the other’s orgasm a tantalizing soundtrack to his overwhelming peak.

He couldn’t remember losing the ability to hold himself up, but moments later, he resurfaced to find his chest pressed tightly against Peter’s with sweaty fingers brushing through his long, graying locks.

“Wow.” Tony whispered after a while, his nose finding its way to the crook of Peter’s neck. He pressed soft kisses and took in long, deep breaths – Peter’s normal scent was something more now, the undertones of it carrying the slightest hint of the cinnamon Tony himself carried around. A slow smile pulled across his lips at the thought – they were both forever changed now, each one another integral piece of the other.

Instead of answering, Peter tightened his grip around Tony, his soft lips pressing kiss after kiss against skin still slicked with sweat.

A while later, they tumbled out of bed and cleaned up in the shower, both men unwilling to put more space between them than necessary after such a powerful experience. Tony reveled in his ability to touch and caress as he washed hot water warmed skin, and then later when Peter crawled into his arms and settled against his chest under the plushness of soft sheets. He let the contentment of it carry him to the cusp of sleep.

Right before he let his eyes close, Tony felt a kiss pressed to the side of his neck and Peter moving impossibly closer. “I love you, Tony,” Peter mumbled against his skin, the sleepiness in his voice making the words sound so fucking special.

Blinking, Tony tightened his hold, his fingers running in smooth patterns up and then back down the length of Peter’s back. “I love you, too. So much.”

----

Eight months later, Tony found himself right back where things started; his eyes took in the entirety of the lecture hall with fond affection. He got to campus a little earlier than usual, his excitement at getting to see Peter too much for him to handle back at the shop. Instead of fretting in the car, he stretched his long legs in a walk across campus. By instinct, or maybe nostalgic intervention, Tony got to Peter’s building without thought – he shook his head at himself, but walked through the doors, anyway. Sucking in the familiar smell that Peter brought back to the apartment every day, Tony kept walking until he was able to take a seat at the back of the overfull amphitheater.

Despite not making any noise as he walked in, Peter glanced up at him, the softest smile slipping across his lips as their eyes connected. A warm feeling sat in the bottom of his stomach – the all too familiar burn of love flaring up inside him at the look.

Never missing a beat, Peter continued through the last part of his lecture like Tony wasn’t even there. Bright whiskey colored eyes watched with fascination, the smile on his face growing with each passing minute. For a long time, Tony’s own intelligence made him feel like a social outcast – there weren’t too many of his peers that could even come close to his level of understanding. Peter, though – his brain worked in a way that Tony not only found interesting, but also wanted to know and explore in the same way he did his own. The rare treat of getting to see it in work made his heart slam in his chest – Peter was damn sexy when flawlessly controlling the classroom.

Unlike most of the students around him, Tony let out the slightest sigh of disappointment at the end of Peter’s presentation – he would’ve gladly skipped their dinner plans to hear Peter wax poetic about diesel; despite the oddity of it, Tony found Peter’s display of knowledge distractingly intriguing.

Tony went against the flow of students leaving the lecture hall to get to his boyfriend at the front of the room, a happy smile on his face as he did. When close enough to reach out and touch, Tony grabbed Peter’s hand, using his leverage to pull him into his arms. Planting a fleeting kiss on soft lips, Tony held Peter tightly to him, his eyes closing from the sensation. He would’ve gotten lost in it if it weren’t for a soft chorus of ‘awes’ that sounded from the back of the room.

“Ms. Pesto, class is over.” Peter leaned back into Tony’s hands on his back to speak to the culprit, a smirk pulling across his face. “Shut the door behind you when you go.”

Grinning, Tony leaned in to press a longer, more intense kiss on already swollen lips. “Have I ever told you how sexy you are when you’re teaching?” The question was broken up by soft kisses to Peter’s lips, cheek, and chin.

Peter shook his head in answer, a slight giggle falling from his lips. “You neglected to share that interesting piece of information.” Then, “what’s your favorite part? The way my brain works, or how good I look in these pants?”

Tony let his hands run more firmly over Peter’s ass at the comment, his pupils dilating with a sudden rush of arousal. “Most definitely all of the above,” Tony whispered, his fingers digging into the meat of a delightfully thick glute. “You’re my favorite part.”

There weren’t any more words shared between them for a few minutes, the solid weight and press of lip against lip the only thing existing in those moments. Peter forced them apart when the door opened again and a colleague started to descend the stairs. Reading the room, Tony forced himself to calm down and grabbed Peter’s bag from the desk, shouldering it before reaching out to grab Peter’s hand.

Throughout the rest of the night, Tony couldn’t stop the thoughts of how right and perfect things were – Peter drove him crazy with want, but even more importantly, love and adoring affection. For the first time in his entire life, Tony understood what it was like looking at the rest of forever. Popping the question entered his mind a few months ago, just the idea of it made him absolutely weak at the knees. Though he hadn’t given much thought to marriage before, Tony could picture it clearly with Peter – they already did so much give and take with each other, the next step just made sense.

He started to seriously think about it a couple of weeks later when Happy, one of his senior mechanics, brought up a jeweler he frequently bought things from for his own wife. “He does the best work,” Happy said, his hands already busy digging into his coveralls to snag a card from his wallet. “Tell him I sent you – he’ll hook you up.”

The card sat in his grease-covered hands reverently, the small piece of cardstock another piece to the next step with his most favorite human.

Horace, who turned out to be a gifted jeweler and a joy to be around, got him settled with a gorgeous damascus steel ring, the contrasting light and dark metals melding together to tangibly personify Tony and Peter. It was strong, yet delicate – the stunning beauty of it mellow and completely overwhelming. Walking out of the store with it made Tony feel fulfilled – with it soon, he hoped to make Peter his for the rest of his life.

Of course, things never went the way Tony initially planned them to go. He carried the black velvet box with him for weeks, waiting for the perfect moment to pop the question. Tony knew, despite the pulsing nerves, that Peter would say yes – they were meant to be, he couldn’t be the only one that felt that way. Not when, only after a little more than a year of being together, Peter felt like home. More than anything else in his entire life, Peter felt right.

After a string of long days in the shop, Tony was finishing up his last car of the day when Peter came storming through the side door. The slightly worrying tone of Peter’s voice when he uttered Tony’s name had him standing up too quickly, the hood he was working under smacking him in the back of the head with a dull thud. A slight whimper left his lips, his anxiousness not enough to stop the slight throb of pain.

“Pete, what’s up?” Tony asked, his voice only a little tight in his attempt to keep his slowly building panic to a minimum. They left the house that morning with a stolen make out session and a slight unwillingness to say goodbye – what could’ve possibly gone wrong between then and now? Rubbing the back of his head, Tony finally straightened himself completely, his attention totally on Peter.

His jaw dropped a second later when Peter thrust the very box he’d been worrying over between them, his eyebrow raised. “Want to tell me about this? I left some research on the passenger seat of my car and when I went to grab it, I found this suspicious black box on the seat. What is it, Tony?”

Peter’s eyes were wide, the look on his face telling Tony that Peter didn’t look, despite knowing exactly what resided within the box without the need to peek. Sucking in a quick breath, Tony snatched the box out of Peter’s hands, his knee hitting the floor a second later. That very instant was as good a time as any, he figured.

Pulling the lid of the box open, Tony used his free hand to grab Peter’s, his fingers gripping tightly. “It’s kind of fitting that I find the perfect moment in one of my fuck ups. You make all of the weird pieces of me feel so normal – like they fit, despite being totally obscure. No one, in my entire life, ever made me feel as complete as you do. I should have known that asking you to be mine forever would be as unconventional as I am. Will you be my husband, Pete? I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Instead of answering, Peter grabbed the grimy edges of his coveralls and pulled him up from the floor. His arms wound tightly around Tony’s neck, the space between their bodies getting narrowed down to nothing, the ring box stuck between them. Their lips met in a fierce kiss, spit-sticky tongues sliding together in an instant. Peter kissed Tony’s breath away, the two only pulling back when the risk of passing out ran too high.

“Yeah, I’ll be your husband,” Peter mumbled breathlessly, the pants of his breath making the words even more impactful.

A face splitting grin lit up Tony’s face, his cheeks straining with the effort. He wordlessly put a bit of distance between them, the space just enough to grab Peter’s left hand and slip the ring down his third finger. The juxtaposition of grease and pale skin and shiny metal stood out as he admired the perfect fit of forever’s promise, both on Peter’s finger and in the bond between them.

Leaning back into his new fiancé, Tony pulled Peter into him, their lips finding each other without fail. The perfectly imperfect thing that existed between them thrummed with new life. As they kissed, Tony succumbed to the pleasant ache of being completely consumed by Peter and all of the feelings that always threatened to overcome him. Peter had his back – and would for the rest of their lives. Their love deserved every overwhelming feeling Peter played muse to.  

[fairymadnessyeah]

Remus’ Dream

Sequel to Roman’s Nightmare

Find it in AO3 too

"Really, Logan? You are a saviour, A hero. Call me if you need anything," Roman says, and is out of the door a second later.

It doesn't really surprise Remus. His twin brother would rather do anything than spend time with him. Which he could understand, he would rather die than spend more time with his twin. They already spent all their childhood together, and that had been more than enough.

Remus didn't need his plastic basic bitch of a brother to have a good time. However, he didn't want to spend it with nerdy wolverine over here. The guy, Logan was it, looked like a strict square and teacher. And no matter how hot he found that, it usually meant he was no fun at all.

"Here, one of our other roommates made these as welcome present," he says and shoves a plate of cookies on his hands.

He follows the nerd to the living room, and the two sit down on the couch in front of the Tv. He munches on the cookies like he always does, gulping them down by the handful while the other stares. Logan waits until he is done with the snack to talk again. "I believe that to be a good host; I should entertain you. What do you find entertaining?" he asks.

"I like to open up bodies with a sharp object and take out the insides," he smiles.

"I see," he hums. "Do you do a downward, horizontal cut from the pectoral area, or is it more efficient to do so below the external oblique at the side of the body?"

"I know, it's disgust- WAIT, did you ask something about it!?" he exclaims surprised. Nobody wanted to hear anything about what he said. Just because he didn't hide about the real world like his brother, Roman. He always preached about unicorns and dragons and happily ever afters. But not him. Remus knew the reality. People were made of meat tissues and squishy organs filled with blood, and they would die eventually.

But people were stupid, and they all prefered the curtain that his brother presented. Well, almost all of them.

"Yes, I wish to know more about you and your interest. I promised Roman I would keep you company. So, do you use a scalpel or some other type of sharp object to open up corpses? Of which I believe you are doing legally," Logan says.

"I-I do... I'm a forensic scientist," he answers, still shocked by Logan's reaction. "And the cutting depends on how the person died. The last time I had to open somebody top to bottom, it turned out the man had been suffocated to death by being made to swallow arcade machine coins," he explains.

"Fascinating! How do you know he was forced to ingest them, and he didn't do it by his own volition?" he asks, interested.

"There were signs of force on his skin," Remus tells him, dazed and with stars in his eyes. He is starting to love the fact that his brother left him with Logan.

The two keep on talking. They went from Remus' job, and somehow ended in a discussion over what chemical would be better for blood removal. As the time went on, Remus started shifting closer and closer to the tie-wearing man. He would get lost in the movement of his lips, and those framed blue eyes. And when he moved close enough that he could touch the other man, his hands gained a mind of their own, and wandered around the nerd, like spiders wander around the rotting corpse of a fly trapped in their web.

He had been flirting and filling the conversation with sexual innuendoes. But it seemed as they had no effect on Logan. The man was either completely clueless over Remuses advances, or uninterested and trying to be polite. Remus was now draped over the other. He had his legs over Logan's lap, his head leaned over his shoulder, and his hand playing with his tie. His voice was low and sensual, and being so close to his neck was so tempting. He just wanted to lean in closer and take a bite.

"Excuse my forwardness, but are you romantically interested in me?" Logan asks, looking down at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Maybe~," he coos, and giggles in a flirty way. "What are you going to do about it?~," he challenges, and sees something flash in his eyes.

"I'll say that I feel flattered, and that your advances are well received. I too find myself very attracted to you," Logan tells him, fixing his tie. "However, I believe we must put a temporarily stop at the moment, before things progress further," Remus opens his mouth to complain, but he is interrupted by Logan before he can get a word out. "Your brother is my roommate, and while he can be infuriating, I don't think it would do any good if he was to find us in this situation. Our house-hold harmony could be broken, and that could lead to problems. I believe our best course of action will be to wait for him and tell him that our relationship will proceed romantically one, rather than platonically," he explains.

"You don't need Roman's permission to date me!" Remus complains. "I am the only one who has the final say on who I fuck! And I think it's time we move further into the bedroom, and you further inside me~," he proposes, and changes his position to be sitting on Logan's lap. He grinds down to drive his point across.

Logan clears his throat before speaking again. "As delectable as that sounds, I must decline your proposition. The house-hold harmony must be maintained," he is about to take Remus off his lap, when the man with facial hair stops him.

"But, what if this is his plan?" he points out, making Logan stop in his tracks.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my brother is hopeless stupid romantic, and a wardrobe malfunction is not going to take him all day. He ditched us here for a reason," Logan hums, taking in what he is saying. "Maybe, he wanted to play match-maker. I'm new in town, and you are single, right?" Logan nods. "It's the perfect plan, don't you think?" he doesn't, for a second, think that Roman would do anything like that for him. But if he can convince Logan, that he might, then they might get down to  business .

"That quite the unusual plan Roman would come up with, but I can see how you might have arrived to such conclusion," he says, rubbing his chin thinking. "How do you suppose we should test this hypothesis you have created?" Remus grins get bigger.

"Well...~" he leans in closer, wrapping his arms around Logan's shoulders. "I might have an idea~," he whispers right above the other's lips, before closing the distance.

Logan both relaxes and tenses when their lips connect. His shoulders goes lax, but he holds onto Remus tighter. They don't synchronize well at first. But once they get a rhythm going, they just fit together. It's like finding the missing puzzle piece you been searching for years. Remus, who has been with his fair share of different partners, had never felt so much from just a kiss. He feels like pins and needles are stabbing him softly on his stomach. Logan's lips are hard but smooth, and he can feel how breathless he is due to the soft kiss.

When they separate to breathe, he can see pink dusting his nerd's cheeks and the dazed stare with which he looks at him. It is in that moment that Remus decides he is going to marry this man. No matter what his brother says, he is going to marry this nerd. Unluckily, his unrested body decided to cockblock him, and he let out a tired yawn.

"Are you tired?" Logan asks.

"Just a little, I been travelling since yesterday," Remus explains. "But it's nothing. We should keep going," he leans back in, but Logan stops him.

"We can continue this when you are better rested," he tells him with a soft smile, that makes Remus feel gushy inside. "Come, I will lend you my room for you to sleep," Logan takes him to the left side of the apartment, and to a blue door that had the name 'LOGAN' written neatly on the front.

"Have a good rest, Remus. I will wake you for dinner if needed," he tells him as he opens the door for him.

"Thanks, but before you go..." he wraps his arms around him, and gives him another kiss. The two get lost in each other's lips, and before he can stop him, he takes a bite out of Logan's neck, and then sucks on the skin. His nerdy wolverine is the most exquisite blood-red colour. He grins at his reaction before going inside the room.

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

When he wakes up, is to the sweet sounds of his twin brother in pain. He steps away from Logan's room, that smells like ink and crofters, and goes to the living room. All the roommates are there. The guy with the bakery is cooking, and the painter is looking down at his brother on the floor. Logan is putting his book back in the library and the hickey he gave him still red and proudly presented on his neck.

"So, now that he knows, can we have that D appointment?" he asks as he wraps his arms around Logan's waist. His brother lets out a pathetic wheeze, and the emo pats his head in comforts.

He's got to admit, moving here was one of the best ideas he ever had.

[ask-the-crimson-king]

Music Shill of the Day: "JUDAS" by Lord of the Lost

PART 1 of 2: "DAMNATION"

Welcome to my Music Shill on the album "Judas" by Lord of the Lost. I think it's the first or second time I've shilled them, and it's honestly due to the fact that I've only found them quite recently. And they just so happened to be releasing a new album. Lucky me.

I will be going through each of the tracks with various ratings, gushing, and general nerdy bullshit on why I like them. Don't expect anything to be really technical, I'm just an average listener. And if you want the theological side of things, ask my friend @hoholupercal-adopts for that. Overall this album is fucking beautiful and is generally fantastic. There are some I like more than others, but please go out and give these songs a listen. And maybe buy the album as well if you vibe with it.

LINKS WILL BE PROVIDED TO THE SONGS MENTIONED. I will also be doing a 1-10 rating system, where this is the scale: 1 - garbage. Horrible. Wow this just sucks. 5 - average. It's decent. It's workable. Not horrible, not great either. 10 - fantastic. An absolute banger. Holy shit. This is so great.

Yes it is entirely subjective. And since this rambling has taken up so much space, I will be putting the actual songs and ratings under the cut, but have a link to the album via Youtube anyway.

ONWARDS, FRIENDS!

1. "Priest" - 10/10

Starting off EXTREMELY STRONG with the song that really got me hyped about the album, we have Priest.

What is there not to love on this album? The drums at the beginning, the ethereal and light singing, and how Chris' vocals pair with them right into those nice, deep "PRIEST." screams. The first verse builds on the opening with that nice riff in the background as intensity builds, and then...

That. Fucking. CHORUS. It sounds so fucking good. I can't accurately state how much I love it actually. Chris' vocals sound wonderful. I love how flowy it is and how much power is within the chorus, I love Pi's backing "We're all at- we're all at - we're all at fault", I love everything about it. I just can't understate it. The fucking sheer intensity this song brings all the way through, then the break for that moment of calm, and then going right into the last chorus...

Perfect. Wonderful. Beautiful. I listened to this song non-stop when it was originally released as a single. It inspired a small piece of writing from me too. It's so good. It's too fucking good. Fantastic opener for the album. What could possibly succeed this amazing fucking track?

2. "For They Know Not What They Do" - 8/10

Another great one. Not as great as Priest, but still a great song overall.

The opening is very interesting but kinda thematic for the album moving forward. It uses a chorus in the opening and closing of the track, which happens to be only 5 people layered over each other many times, and this chorus shows up in several tracks throughout the record. With only the exception of "Viva Vendetta", which had a full chorus of 386 people. That aside, it does sound quite nice. It is indeed a banger.

The lyrics are very repetitive, but it works very well for the song. They don't sound boring or tiring, but the song is more low-key than Priest. Though its chorus is much more reliant on Chris' screams than its predecessor, and the screams do sound great when contrasted by his cleans for the rest of the chorus. The piano melody in the back also sounds beautiful for the entire duration of the song.

A wonderful song, it still slaps immensely. So the album is going pretty strong, but already these two songs were released ahead of the album. What does the first 'new' song of the album have to offer?

3. "Your Star Has Led You Astray" - 8/10

It has a LOT to offer, actually.

It is more intense and a bit more powerful than For They Know Not What They Do, and I do like this song a bit more. I just don't want to do something like '8.3/10' cause if these songs were on a tierlist they'd be in the same tier.

The organ underlying everything is a very subtle touch, and it's a very welcome one. It lends to this feeling of this being a prayer or a confession within a church, perhaps of someone confiding in some sort of priest. Or someone being scorned by a priest or religious figure.

The choir in the background, which also comes out more prominently towards the end of the song, also lends more to this preacher/church vibe that the song has. The instrumentals outside of that act as almost a sort of contrast, at least with the guitar/bass lines. They feel very heavy, very intense, while the piano, vocals, choir, and organ have a more light and almost somber feel. It blends very well and makes for a wonderful song.

So far, so good. Now, what's next?

4. Born With a Broken Heart - 10/10

ABSOLUTE. BANGER.

And I almost thought this may be a Primal Fear cover when I first saw the track title a few weeks back.

While the two tracks proceeding it were more low-key, with some nice heavier feeling added in, this returns to a more heavy and weighty and intense sound. The verses sound groovy and almost bouncy, with the guitars taking a bit of a backseat when the vocals begin. I think it's a great contrast to the rest of the song itself, where they have that same sort of constant sound that they had in Priest.

The chorus is slower, but still carries all the power and weight of the verses right along with them. The vocals on this track are beautiful and wonderful and I adore the immensely. Once more the organ is a very subtle and great touch. Once more, the choir in the back sounds wonderful, and the singled out solo voice of Scarlet Dorn (I believe that's her) sounds as light and moving as it did in Priest.

Overall, amazing song. Absolutely slaps immensely. Love it.

Already a third of the way through disc 1. What can follow this pattern?

5. "The 13th" - 7/10

It is a good song. It is above average. It isn't entirely my style, but I can see others definitely vibing to it. It's very somber, it's very slow, but it still carries weight to it. Also the tie-in to Born With a Broken Heart is nice.

The organs here take a more prominent role in the song, which is nice. The synths in the back of the song are something that I find to be interesting, but not something that I really vibe with. They almost sort of clash with the overall feel of the song in my opinion.

The chorus is very nice, and feels on the same level of Born with a Broken Heart in terms of emotional intensity. This is most certainly a more somber piece for sure. It's much more sorrowful. The vocals are great, the overall instrumentals are fine, this is a good song. Just not one that I enjoy as much as other entries.

With all that being said, onward to the next song!

6. "In the Field of Blood" - 9/10

Alright. I can see people waving phones and lighters to this song already.

Another slower, somber sounding song. But this one is done better than The 13th in my humble opinion. There isn't the odd synth, the piano returns, there's some nice bits of stringwork done around the verses, and it feels more like a classic metal ballad. The piano in the chorus paired with the vocals sounds very, very nice. I love it.

It picks up a bit in terms of intensity for the bridge, when there is a small key change and the introduction of some screams. It transitions very smoothly into a nice chorus, and then there is a nice, pleasant sounding groove to lead the song out.

Heavy, slow, sad, but wonderful. Remorseful as well. Very well done.

7. "2000 Years a Pyre" - 8/10

A really, really good song. Another slower, heavier piece. But it sounds very nice.

The only thing I don't like is how this is the third track now with a chorus that sounds kinda samey. It's another with a beautiful piano accompaniment to the vocals, and sounds alltogether very sorrowful. Which is a good theme since this is the "damnation" of Judas thus far.

However, the song has a nice vibe and beat to it. The choir backing the chorus sounds great. The ending distortion and the ramping of how heavy it is for a bridge is very cool as well. Not quite an absolute 10/10 banger, but still a very good song.

8. "Death is Just a Kiss Away" - 10/10

I. AM. A. BITCH. FOR. GOOD. STRINGS.

AND THIS SONG DEFINITELY HAS THAT. AND! It has the leitmotif taking a much more central role. It's the tune of the verse, and it comes back several times across the record.

And man do I love how its played in the opening. I love the strings, the organ, the piano, how everything slowly keeps building and building over the course of the song. It doesn't just feel the same sort of somber and sad as some of the other tracks do. It builds and builds and builds, ending with Chris' vocals sounding more powerful and much more confident.

The lyrics sound almost like a conversation or some sort of Shakespearean lament. Okay, sure, the other songs do too, but I still love them nonetheless. I also like how the guitars and most of the heavier elements of LOTL as a band take a break for this piece.

I love this song. Love it to death. The choir at the end is a great touch as well. So good.

9. "The Heart is a Traitor" - 9/10

AH, YES. The 90s metalcore sounding song. Hell yeah.

This song kicks ass. A return to the intensity found to open the album, and a style that is reminscent of Born with a Broken Heart but with more of that heavy metal feeling for the chorus.

Here, the instrumentation of the song relies more on the classic bits of LOTL - guitars, some piano, the drums, and some bass. There is also some synth added in, but of course there is. I was almost nervous cause I didn't like the vibe or feel of the synths used in The 13th, but they work really well here. It follows the guitars really well, and it blends into the overall song wonderfully. Plus it helps out that 90s vibe.

The vocals are wonderful as well, with nice screams mixed among the powerful, gravelly sounding choruses and cleaner verses. Overall, wonderful song.

Almost done. ONWARDS!

10. "Euphoria" - 8/10

It sounds very nice. It is slow, deliberate, it has good pacing. The piano sounds very light, and I get visions of something like A Christmas Carol from the song. It has the late December or just a cold winter's night vibes.

Once more, the heavier elements are absent for a good deal of the song, but they do eventually kick in. The build up is great, it is well done, but not as well as Death is Just a Kiss Away to me. Still, the song is very good. Powerful and soft vocals with a nice slow rhythm on drums and a pleasant piano in the back works wonderfully.

A great song, to be sure.

11. "Be Still and Know" - 9/10

The first instrumental track on the record, and it's got the entire band on display here.

The intro is intense, and it brings back the leitmotif as well. The guitar solo is grand, especially how it ties into the leitmotif towards its end.

The song itself serves as a good almost-midway point for the album. A chance to breathe and feel, a chance to listen and enjoy. Of course, you can get that with the other 10 songs too, but there's just something about an instrumental track acting as a great checkpoint that's very refreshing. Even with one that carries such a heavy and powerful rhythm to it.

A wonderful, beautiful piece. Very, very well done. Very enjoyable.

LAST BUT NOT LEAST...

12. "The Death of All Colours" - 10/10

An acapella piece to see the end of disc 1, and once more the leitmotif is on display through the vocals themselves.

Well, of course they are, there's only the vocals to be heard. But you know what I mean -- last track had them in the instrumentals, this one has them in the vocals.

I love the lyrics here. I find myself singing this song often. It's simply too good not to. This song was already released a few weeks ahead of the album itself, but I hadn't heard it until I heard Priest.

It has power that slowly dwindles as the song ends, and carries with it these sadder and more somber themes. It's a wonderful piece in and of itself. In fact I didn't even realize it was acapella until I saw the "Track by Track" video for it on LOTL's YT channel. It feels whole and complete. A great song. Absolutely fantastic. Great way to end the first half of the dual-album.

Final thoughts will be shared in a separate post, but overall, already there are plenty of really, really solid songs here. I love all of them. Not one do I think is particularly bad or even really just 'meh' thus far. Will this change in disc 2?

FIND OUT IN... About an hour and a half? Maybe? Or maybe just wait for the reblog that'll come at a more reasonable hour.

[ussjellyfish]

sightseeing pt 1 | philinda | AoS | explicit

Forgive me for the first chapter being foreplay...it’s not after this. (whisky help me).

Post-Finale fic, because I wanted one where she finds him.

No longer quite an agent, Phil Coulson went off to see the world. Professor Melinda May knows the kinds of places he likes. The rest isn't quite parasailing, but it's certainly classified.

It's his kind of place. Homey, old, with a scuffed, well worn floor and walls covered in history. Melinda isn't sure if seafood is something this version of Phil enjoys, but he's always been excited by good food and the scallops are divine here. Luckily the seagood is different enough from Tahiti to not dredge up her own longings. She won't be able to sit on a tropical beach without her chest aching but the stones and the Loch are pleasantly different. 

If he doesn't show, she'll get plenty of work done. Her stack of provisional field reports is much smaller than it was when she arrived on the ferry two days ago. She walks along the water in the morning, and does her tai chi between the trees and the shore. The locals are polite, and accustomed enough to tourists that they're neither curious or too chatty. 

The Old Forge pub's lively tonight with a sizeable group at the bar and a group playing something that's not pool. Phil would know what it is, and the rules, though he'd lose his shirt before he'd admit he wasn't that good at it. Maybe now he is. Maybe part of the upgrades are a passing skill with games. She hasn't got to play poker with him yet, but maybe now he finally has game. 

That thought makes her smile, and she sets down her pen. She should correct the papers on her laptop, but it feels wrong to sit in a place with history and type. The pen is Phil's, one of his exquisite collection of fountain pens and every once in awhile she gets ink all over her fingers. It feels like part of the job, so she lets it happen. The stains remind her of him.

Everything does. Phil's in the scent of whisky, men unbuttoning their suit coats before they sit down, blue ties, red ties, and the feel of leather. She hasn't stayed in a hotel without him, not in years, and the little cottage she's rented is designed to be shared, but it's easy enough to ignore the other bathrobe and the other towel. He'll be here.

Or he won't.

She's rarely wrong about him: what he likes, the kinds of places he finds interesting. He'd have a hard time resisting the most remote pub in the UK and he'd sit in the corner table and read his book. 

Melinda finishes her soup and sets the bowl aside. She's drunk half of her beer, and when it's gone she will allow herself one shot of whisky before she retreats to her cottage and the hot tub hidden in the trees.   

She's deep in her work, nearing the end of her pint when he walks in. It's him by the sound of his feet, even in hiking boots instead of derby shoes. Her reading glasses slip and she forces them up the bridge of her nose. Working without them ends in headaches and that's not how she wants tonight to end. 

Not that they--

Of course not. 

Phil orders a drink and searches the pub, his eyes fall on her and she doesn't look up. She can't, she's not ready to look at him, not if--

"Is this seat taken?"

"All yours."

He sits, setting down his pint next to hers. "These are new."

"Getting old."

"Not you," he teases. "Melinda May is an ageless goddess."

"Professor May gets fairly nasty headaches if she reads papers all day without them."

He smiles. "Are you sure that it's not the papers?"

Chuckling, she sets down her pen. His pen. Another him, another lifetime ago. Removing her glasses, she sets them down. "They're not that bad. Apparently it's too much time in a cockpit."

"They suit you." 

"Thanks."

"This suits you." He lifts his glass, taking a sip as he looks over her sweater. "You seem relaxed."

"Nowhere to be."

He takes a longer drink, rolling the ale over his tongue before he swallows. What different parts of it can he taste now? Does his tongue disect the molecules or does he taste it like she does? "How did you know I'd come here?" 

"The most remote pub in Scotland is definitely your thing." 

"I wanted to go to Ireland." The server sets his plate in front of him. Fish and chips. Of course.

She reaches across, stealing a chip. "You wouldn't go without me." 

He raises his eyebrows in mock indigence at her theft. "You already ate."

"You never finish your chips." 

"Because you do." Phil reaches for the vinegar and his fingers brush her wrist. Her heart thuds, too loud and too needy. 

"I missed you."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"No, let me apologize." He holds up a chip as a peace offering. "I wasn't ready."

"You don't have to be."

"I am."

She eats the chip, trying to concentrate on the salt and crispy potato. Pay attention to her body, find the horizon, find her center. She can't slow her heartbeat, but she can ignore it. Pretend she can't taste the need in her chest.

"Ready for?"

"Whatever comes next." He smiles, really smiles, and they could be back at the Academy, studying in the cafeteria, decades ago. "You came all this way."

"It's spring break, I had the time."

"What if I didn't come?"

"You did."

"I did."

He finishes his pint and she tucks her papers into her briefcase. 

"What are we drinking? Islay or Speyside?"

"Not that peated one." 

Phil laughs, shaking his head. "I like that."

"I do too, but not tonight." 

"All right, something sweeter." He stands, heading back to the bar. "Don't eat all my chips."

"I'll leave one." 

She leaves three, just to be kind. 

Phil returns with whiskies, doubles, and slides hers across. Can he get drunk? Is it all about the taste, the ritual? 

"What are we drinking too?"

"A wild spring break?"

She raises an eyebrow. 

"Had to try." Those crinkles around his eyes are perfect, and him. So is the way she's not sure if his eyes are blue, hazel or brown. Must be the lighting.

"Thank you."

"I left you three, you should be grateful."

He eats one of the chips and chuckles. "That you found me?"

"Well, you weren't visiting."

"I--" 

"It's all right."

"It's not. I should have visited, you asked and I- I left you."

"You do that a lot." She didn't mean to say it, it's too harsh, but he nods all the same. 

"Sorry about that."

"Maybe this you sticks around."

"Would be nice."

"Yeah?"

"I'm enjoying it. Seeing the world, sitting in pubs., reading, watching...never had time for most of it. Couldn't take a day and read a book and now I can just flip through them." 

"Must be nice."

"Just say the word and I'll help you with your essays." He reaches out, hand open on the table.

"They're not bad."

"Solidly mediocre?"

"There's promise. Some will be good agents in a few years."

"Some dreadful ones." 

"Always a few."

They lift their glasses, eyes locked. "What are we drinking to?" 

"Seeing the world?"

"Having our feet the ground for once."

"Well, Lola is out back." He clinks his glass against hers. "To seeing it slowly." 

"To taking time."

Phil grins at that, his eyes softening as the little lines around them deepen. "That's not something we do."

"Maybe we start." 

His eyes won't leave her lips. The whisky starts sweet, then warms her throat. The last time he kissed her, he was dying, now death is a thousand years away. 

Phil sets his glass down on the table. "I'm not sure I know how."

"All that time wandering the world, reassessing, and you didn't figure out how to take your time?" Her cheeks flush, and it's not the whisky. His gaze has always been able to do that to her. 

"Never been good at it."

"Maybe it's time to learn some new skills."

He waves over the bartender and she refills their glasses without a word. Amber whisky glows in the weak light of the sunset through the window. 

"You think it's possible to teach new tech new tricks?"

"Isn't that one of the benefits of all your circuits?"

"Perhaps." He drinks without a toast, almost as if he has to fortify himself for what's to come. "I'm sorry, Melinda."

"For what?"

"So many things."

"Dying?"

"Not staying dead."

Shaking her head, she finishes her own whisky, barely tasting it this time. "The world's better with you in it, you know that."

"Even for you?"

"Of course it is, you're my best friend."

"I've been more than that."

She traces the rim of the glass with her finger. "You could be again."

"Is that what you want?"

Want isn't even the right word. Want is too simple. 

"I love you."

"Loved," he corrects her. "He's gone." 

"No, Phil, I love you. This you, the last you, the nerdy you before who used to stop by my cubicle on your coffee break just to make me laugh." 

"It's not--"

She reaches across the table and squeezes his hand, making sure to have all his attention. "It is that easy."

He gulps and stares, dumbfounded. It's pretty cute when he gets like this. "Okay."

"Do you want to wait five minutes and follow me to the cottage or come now?"

Phil smirks. "Is someone following us?"

"Would it matter?"

"Could be fun."

Laughing, she picks up her briefcase, tucking her glasses away. "Maybe for you."

"Fighting off the bad guys isn't foreplay anymore?" He grabs her jacket, opening it up so she can step in. 

Melinda reaches up to fix her hair, but he does, gently letting it fall onto her shoulders. "It's not as fun as it used to be." 

"So you need a new hobby?"

"The vacation might be enough."

"It's not a vacation if you're working." He rests his hand on her back as they leave the pub for the tiny street that goes nowhere.

"I needed to pass the time until you got here."

"So I'm late?"

"Aren't you always?" 

His fake wounded face hasn't changed in decades. "Hey."

"I don't mind waiting."

"Maybe you should." He touches her chin, stopping them in the street. No one's coming, there's nowhere to go. 

"What are you going to do about that?" 

Phil glances down the street, then at his feet. "I guess I'll find some guys to shoot at us, seemed to help last time."

"So romantic." She stands on her tiptoes, reaching up for his shoulder. He leans down, just a little, and they're close. Melinda tilts her head, tugs, and he laughs before they kiss. Her lips tingle from the drink and he tastes like whisky. At first he's tentative, gentle, so she deepens the kiss, opening her mouth, teasing- offering- and he takes.

His fingers slip into her hair, pulling her closer as his tongue tastes her. Does he remember kissing on the beach? Can he know what those weeks were like? Does he only remember the kiss behind the shield?

Does it matter? He's here. They're here. They have now; they've never been good at seizing their moments. Maybe that's something they can reassess together.

[andiandyandee]

Run from What’s Comfortable

Virgil gets his first tattoo, and Logan is not pleased. (Oh and we get some Logan Tragic Backstory)

This is part of my Parental Logince Punk AU! Which exists now lmao.

I’m gonna tag @princemesscharming and @datfearlessfangirl since they seemed very interested in this but if y’all don’t want tagged in future stuff let me know. If anyone wants tagged ALSO let me know :)

He’re the links to other works in this AU

Last Words: Part 1 and Part 2

And here’s the series on Ao3

3321 words

Okay here’s the fic

Virgil and his Papa had their first actual fight when he was fifteen. They had plenty of small, meaningless fights in his life, but this was the first one that didn’t end with an apology, a coffee, and a quiet conversation.

    “What does it even MATTER? I’m fifteen, it’s not like I’m a child anymore. YOU had tattoos when you were fifteen!”

    “Yes, I did, and it was stupid when I DID IT TOO.”

    “So what, I’m stupid then? Just because none of us are as smart as you doesn’t mean we aren’t smart, Logan.” He said the name like it was an insult. There was an anger reflected in the blue eyes the two shared.

    “Excuse me?  I have never once said you, your brother, or your father were anything of the sort. You’re right. You’re fifteen years old, and you need to stop acting like a CHILD. You don’t get to throw a tantrum every time you don’t get your way. And you certainly don’t get to SNEAK OUT and do whatever you want when your father and I tell you NO.”  Logan could feel the dull pounding at the back of his head, indicating this particular conversation was going to give him a migraine. “Go bandage that- whatever it is- and go to your room, Virgil. I am not having this conversation right now. You can speak with Roman when he gets home.”

    Virgil deflated at that. Papa very, very rarely used his actual first name. It was something they had agreed upon when Virgil had turned 13. He wanted a nickname, something that felt less formal and nerdy. Papa hadn’t understood, but agreed anyway, and had called him nothing but ‘Virge’ or ‘Vee’ since. He was too mad to see the way Logan has started to go pale.

    “You know what? No. I won’t go to my room. Either stand here and have this conversation now, or I’m leaving. I’ll go stay with Dee or something.” Logan winced at that.

    “Virge-”

    “NO. Either talk to me or I’ll go! I’ll call him right now.” Logan closed his eyes for a second, then nodded.

    “If you’d rather stay with your cousin than cease the conversation, then by all means, go pack a bag. I’ll make the call and drop you off.” Logan turned to his phone, sitting on the table. He didn’t want Virgil to see the way tears were welling up in his eyes, or the way his hands shook when he dialed the number. Virgil stood there, dumbfounded for a moment, then nodded slowly and went to his room. He grabbed the pile of clothes that were folded on his bed- probably Papa’s doing- and shoved them in his bookbag. He pulled on his boots and grabbed his jacket and hoodie off the door, and stomped back down the stairs. He didn’t look up when he passed Logan, who was still on the phone, and went to sit in the car. When Logan came out, still in his work clothes, his eyes were red. His jaw was set as if he knew if he opened it he would say something he would regret, and he started the car with the only words he said being, “Seat belt. Now.” Virgil complied. Nothing was said for 25 minutes, Virgil staring at his phone, so he was surprised when they pulled up to a tattoo shop. Not the one Virgil had gotten his tattoo at, which was more like someone’s garage, but an actual, proper tattoo shop. Logan got out, went inside, and was talking with the person at the desk, who looked to be in their late twenties, early thirties. Much too young to have been one of Papa’s friends, but possibly Dee’s age. The person behind the counter gave Logan a bag, and Logan handed them some money, and they both laughed at something. Logan’s smile was gone by the time he got back into the car, settling into the stoic, neutral look that Virgil knows is reserved for when he’s trying to avoid any emotions whatsoever.

    Logan dropped the bag and a sheet of paper onto Virgil’s lap. He said nothing, and pulled back out onto the road and drove the rest of the way to Dee’s house in total silence. Virgil didn’t look at the jar until after Logan’s blue sedan pulled out of the driveway. Dee was standing next to Virgil, a hand on his shoulder, and wasn’t saying anything either. The jar said Hustle Butter, but there was also a bottle of the same brand that said hustle bubbles.

    “Dee, what the hell is this stuff?” Virgil asked, finally cutting through the very stiff silence. Dee looked at it, snorting a bit.

    “It’s for your tattoo. There’s probably a care sheet, too. You need to take care of tattoos differently than you would regular skin. That’s a good brand, you shouldn’t have any problems.”

    “Why would he buy these for me? He didn’t want me to get the thing anyway.”

    Dee pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just get you cleaned up and find something to eat, Virge.”

***

    Once Logan got home, he collapsed onto the floor next to the front door. He tucked his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them. He didn’t hear his younger son approach, but he could see the shiny holographic boots that had become a staple of the kid’s fashion for the last decade. “Hello, Patton. Am I in your way?”

    “Papa, what happened?” The teenager asked. Patton, who was 14, spoke much softer than his brother. “Virge isn’t texting me back, Dad sounded really mad when I called him, and you look terrible.” Logan laughed a little at that.

    “Unfortunately, that is my fault, Pat. Virgil came home with a tattoo today, after sneaking out last night to get it, and we may have gotten into a bit of an argument.” Logan sighed. “I lost my temper and yelled at him, and he told me he wanted to go to your cousin’s house, so I dropped him off there. You know Dee has a thing about using cell phones all day, so Virgil’s phone is likely off. Roman is angry with me, not with you.” The front door slammed open, and Roman stood there, looking livid.

    “Damn right I’m angry with you. How could you just LET HIM GO TO DEE’S HOUSE”

    “Dad, I don’t think-”

    “No, Patton, it’s okay, he has a right to be angry”

    “But Papa-”

    “Puffball, can you go to your room? We need to talk about this.”

    “Wait- will you just-”

    “Patton, please just-”

    “WILL YOU LISTEN TO ME?” Patton screeched, much to the surprise of both of his fathers. They nodded. “Virgil needed to be away from the house. While maybe Papa shouldn’t have agreed to it so quickly, Virge was going to end up there one way or another. You both behaved irrationally today, and you can both apologize tomorrow. For now, Papa, you need to go get a shower, take your migraine meds, and change into more comfortable clothes. You look like you’re going to pass out. Dad, you need to put your work stuff down and call Dee, and make sure Virge is alright. And I need to work on homework, so if you could avoid yelling for like, 45 minutes, that’d be very helpful.” Patton smiled at them. “Okay? One-two-three- BREAK!”

***

    “He called me STUPID, Dee. To my FACE”

    “I’m sure that’s exactly what he said, Virge.”

    “He had tattoos when he was my age!”

    “The tattoo that almost cost him his hand, or the one he got covered up three years later? Oh, wait, both of those he got when he was your age. How peculiar that he wouldn’t want you to get them, then.”

    “He did not almost lose his hand because of a tattoo.”

    “Yes, he did. He told me that story when I got my first tattoo. His first tattoo was on his wrist, you’ve seen it, I’m sure. It’s that weird faded grey bit of skin that pokes out from behind his watch that looks a lot like a bunch of scar tissue.  It got infected, because he got it done by some rando in a garage somewhere, and he didn’t tell anyone. By the time Uncle Roman and Dad convinced him to see a doctor, the Staph had basically eaten all of the ink, and it took like, nine rounds of antibiotics before it went away. They were worried the scar tissue would permanently make his left hand impossible to use without pain. He’s very lucky he didn’t die.”  Dee sighed and adjusted his beanie. “I know what it’s like to be a fifteen-year-old and want to rebel, but Uncle Lo was right that this was VERY STUPID. Not that YOU are stupid, but that you did a stupid thing. And I know, that you hate yelling or being talked down to, but I really do think you were in the wrong, here.” Dee sighed.

***

    “Virgil is okay. Dee showed him how to wash his tattoo with the stuff you bought him.” Roman sat down on the bed, next to Logan. “That was a smart thing to do.”

    “My arm still hurts from mine. I wouldn’t want him to go through that if it can be avoided.”

    “Lo-”

    “No, Roman. I was in the wrong. Virgil may not be a child, but he isn’t an adult either, and I treated him unfairly.”

    “You were worried, and you have a temper when people ignore you. Virge knows that, I know that, and Patton knows that.” Logan laughed a little

    “God, Patton today. He’s going to have my temper too, isn’t he? You should have been the one to sire those little monsters.”

    “Remus and I have the same DNA, and he made Dee. You really think if they were biologically mine they’d be any better?” There was a knock on the door, then, and Patton stuck his head in.

    “So, If we’re airing out things we did without permission should I mention I have a belly-button piercing?” Logan slammed his head into his pillow and screamed for a second before mumbling,

    “I absolutely did not hear that.”

    Patton giggled and lifted up his shirt, showing a noticeably non-pierced navel to Roman with a wink, mouthing ‘little monsters’ with an eye-roll. “Papa, do you want a coffee? I’m going to run across the street.

    Get him an iced caramel whatever. Take a long time, will you?” Roman grinned at the teenager who immediately turned red and sprinted out of the room.

    “Great, now you’ve traumatized him.” Logan deadpanned, laying his head on Roman’s shoulder. “Please tell me my fourteen-year-old did not get a back alley piercing.”

    “He didn’t. I’m guessing that was his revenge for you ignoring him.” Logan groaned and laid down, his head in Roman’s lap. “Lo, you know Virge loves you, right? This isn’t going to change anything.”

    “I.. don’t want to be like them. Like.. my parents were.” Logan admitted quietly. “I never want our kids to resent me like my brother and I resented them.”

    “Woah Woah Woah. You got in ONE fight with Virgil. He’ll stomp around Dee’s house for the weekend, and when he gets home, you will drink coffee and apologize, and he will too, and you will both be fine. This isn’t the same, Lo. You aren’t like them.”

    “I hope not,” Logan mumbled. Finally letting himself cry. “I miss him, Ro. I know I shouldn’t have let Virgil go. But the whole thing was just like-”

    “I know, starlight. This isn’t going to end like that, though.”

    “Okay.” Logan’s voice was small and scared. “Can you go get Patton? I don't like him being out of the house.”

    “Of course. I’ll be back soon.”

***

    Virgil was playing music loudly in Dee’s basement, pretending like he was justified in his anger. He was in a ratty old misfits shirt, one he had probably stolen from Dee years ago, and a pair of basketball shorts, and was about 45 minutes into a workout that he knew would leave him aching and too tired to be angry when it was over. He kicked the bag again, singing along to the Dead Kennedys song and pretending like it wasn’t something Papa had shown him. He went to swing at the bag for what was nearly the hundredth time when someone snickered from the stairs. Virgil missed the bag completely, throwing himself forward and landing face forward on the mat. The person on the stairs howled, and Virgil turned to glare at them. Standing on the bottom step was Remus, who had a book under one arm and a towel in his hand.

    “Okay kid, time to stop the workout. We’re having a chat .” Virgil rolled his eyes and was promptly hit in the face with the towel.

    “What do you want? I know, Papa was just trying to protect me from doing the same dumb shit he did. I don’t care.”

    “Yeah, I know you don’t care. Hence, the chat.” Remus said with a sigh. “Come sit down, you goddamn emo nightmare.”

    “I’m taking that as a compliment.” Virgil did as he was told. Remus opened the book he was holding, which Virgil now recognized as a photo album. “Why are we reminiscing? I already know the story about the stupid tattoo he got.”

    “No, you don’t. And that doesn’t matter, really. But actually, I wanted to show you them first.” Remus turned to a dog eared page towards the middle, and suddenly, staring back at Virgil was a punk kid with his exact face, save for this kid had a black eye, and a garbage bag taped around his wrist. The kid had a smirk Virgil would recognize anywhere. This was unmistakably Logan, at fifteen years old. He was wearing a social distortion tour t-shirt with the sleeves torn off, black jeans, and what looked like the most worn-out pair of Doc Martens Virgil had ever seen. The picture below it was of the tattoo itself, crudely done with poor linework and blown-out lines everywhere. It said ‘Do better’. That was it. Virgil raised an eyebrow at his uncle, who had a small smile on his face. “He was so pleased with himself when he got that stupid tattoo done. He wanted a reminder to not be like your grandparents.” Remus nodded, to himself obviously, and turned the page. There were seven photos on the spread, the first being Logan flipping the camera off from a hospital bed, pale and looking like he was about to keel over. The second was Logan with his shirt off, and some guy tattooing his shoulder. The pictures didn’t look like they were taken very far apart.

    “He got another tattoo after almost dying from the first one?” Virgil asked incredulously, looking at his uncle for confirmation. Remus snorted.

    “As a celebration for not dying from the first one. He took much better care of that one, to be fair.” The tattoo was of what looked like a bird, probably a crow, but it was hard to tell.

    “He doesn’t have a bird tattoo there. Isn’t that where he has the tree?”

    “Ro and I paid for him to get it covered up for his 18th birthday. He took good care of it but it still looked like a flaming bag of garbage.” Remus laughed

    “Why are you showing me these, anyway. I know he doesn't like his parents and I know he picked a shitty artist and got sick. That doesn’t change that he literally just let me leave because he didn’t want to deal with me. It didn't change that he called me stupid.” Virgil crossed his arms.

    “I’m getting there, kid.” Remus bumped his shoulder into Virgil’s and turned a few pages forward in the book. There was Logan again, now in a misfits t-shirt and what looks like the same jeans as before. Sporting a gnarly bruise on his jaw and a split lip. He had a grin and a backpack slung over one shoulder, and from the way he was holding his arms apart, Virge could see the scarring on his wrist, meaning this was taken after the tattoo incident. Virgil looked at the t-shirt he was wearing. It was almost certainly the same one, with the same bleach stain on the left sleeve. “This picture was taken about an hour after Logan ran away from home,” Remus said quietly. “For the first time, anyway.”

    “Did he do that a lot?” Virgil asked with an eyebrow raise

    “No. He only ran away three times, the last time he left home was because they kicked him out.” Remus shrugged. “But this time was important because he left after having the same argument with his dad that you just had with him. Well, kind of. Logan’s dad somehow didn’t know about the tattoos until he walked into Lo’s room while Logan was changing. Pretty hard to hide a big ink stain when you’re topless.” Remus shrugged. “His old man told him it was irresponsible, he was too young, blah blah blah. You know the drill. Of course, Logan was an asshole as a teenager, so he argued that he wasn’t a kid, that he was old enough to make those decisions, whatever. His dad told him he wasn’t going to have this conversation, that he could take it up with his mother- you’ve met her, she was definitely the worse of the two. Logan told him off, and when his dad still wouldn’t talk, he left. He stayed with us for probably three weeks before he got the call that his brother-”

    “Papa has a brother?”

    “Had. He had a brother. He was older, and had the same sort of temper you and your Papa share.” Remus sighed. “When he had found out why Logan had left, he got pissed and went to go pick Logan up from our place. He wrapped his car around a tree, and never made it out of the O.R. Logan went home after that.”

    “Oh god, did his parents blame him?”

    “No, no, of course not. Your grandparents weren’t good people, Virge, but they knew that argument was as much their fault as it was Logan’s. But Logan blamed himself, and that was enough.” Remus sighed. “I know it doesn’t excuse his actions, but I think, maybe, that the argument you two got into probably brought up a lot of difficult and angry feelings. Logan isn’t a robot. And when he gets upset, he says things that he doesn't mean, and the things he says don't always come out the way he intends them.”

    “Yeah, okay, I get it. I acted like a jerk and I need to apologize.”

    “Nah. You acted like a teenager. You DO need to apologize though. But not tonight. Tonight, we’re watching all of the Saw movies and eating way too much pizza.”

***

    Eventually, Virgil went home, and apologized, and pretended to not notice how puffy Logan’s eyes were, despite the fact that it had been two days, and made him and Papa coffee. Logan apologized too, and told Virgil the tattoo did look cool, even if he should have waited another 9 months to get it done professionally, and they talked about what Virgil had done with Dee, and Logan pretended to not notice the way Virgil kept glancing at the scar on his wrist that was for the first time in years not covered up by his watch. And when Virgil hugged him and whispered. ‘You are better, Papa.’ Logan most definitely did not cry, and Virgil did not cry, and Roman did not give Patton the $15 he now owed the kid, and Patton did not snap a picture to add to his own photo album.

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 5 - or did i snag you on my sharper edges

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AO3

Masterlist

(TW: some negative thinking and graphic(ish) imagery)

(The title for this chapter comes from "Secrets" by Lola Ridge.)

The rain came down in torrents, drenching everything in sight—including Roman. The serpent was silent, deliberating his words. Roman fidgeted in the snake's hold, simply wanting the ordeal to be over. He paused. What was going to happen once the deal was made? They'd sit a talk for the rest of the night? What about after that? Simply being told how to break the curse didn't mean he'd have any way readily available to do it. How long would it take? Would he still have to fight the demon every night until he figured it out?

Roman began to shiver with cold. The slick, metal-like scales wrapping around him weren't helping either. The demon didn't radiate any heat, in fact, it seemed to be seeping what little warmth Roman's body had been clinging to with every passing second.

"Very well," it hissed, releasing him. Roman collapsed to his knees from both relief and exhaustion, mud and water soaking through his clothes. Being terrified took a lot out of a person, he found. Looking up, he pushed his wet hair up and out of his eyes, watching as the serpent coiled in on itself, forming a tight ball. A hair-raising crack split the air, and for a moment Roman thought lightning had struck, but there was no flash of light.

The snake was gone.

Roman blinked a few times, wondering if the darkness was simply playing tricks on his eyes. He thought he saw...

"Haven't been in this body for... at least a few centuries. How do you all stand it? So restrictive," a new voice tutted from the direction the demon had once been. A figure cloaked in shadow approached Roman, footsteps squishing through the muddy grass. A quick snap, and an orb of golden light erupted into being. Roman gasped, and shielded his eyes. The sudden light startled him, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. Blinking, he saw a man standing before him, glowing sphere of amber light bobbing above his outstretched right hand, illuminating only half of his face. He wore a fancy suit and caplet about his shoulders that looked perfectly dry despite the torrential downpour around them. Atop his head sat a bowler hat as black as the night around it, and thin yellow gloves covered his hands.

"Where did... who are...?" he muttered, still trying to wrap his foggy head around what had just happened.

The man approached him and, crouching down, brought the light to his chest. Roman gasped as the rest of his face came into view.

He smirked and tipped his hat. "You may call me Dorian. Now, let's make this deal, shall we?"

                                           * * * * * * * * * *

Roman held his hands out to a sputtering fire, sitting in tense silence across from the stranger who had once been a demon. Firelight flickered across the strange scales plating the left half of his face. His outfit was odd as well. Roman hadn't seen anything like it anywhere... in modern times at least. He didn't know the last time he—it? Dorian?—had interacted with the outside world.

"Are you sufficiently warmed?" Dorian asked, looking him over with that terrifying eye that only reminded Roman of what this apparent human once was. What he really was.

He nodded.

"Don't lie to me," Dorian chided, "I will not be making a deal with a child halfway to the grave with hypothermia."

"I'm n-not a child," Roman said, wishing his teeth hadn't chattered as he did. Truth be told, his clothes were still soaked, and the fire only did so much for the front half of him. The wind whipping through the cave still drew heat from his back. Sighing, Dorian flourished a hand his direction, and Roman shrieked, in a very manly way, as warm air suddenly buffeted him from all sides, drying him instantly.

"Better?"

"...Yes," Roman said, even managing a small noise that somewhat resembled "thank you."

"Very well, if that's all in order," the demon said as if he were arranging important papers on a desk, "Let us discuss the terms of this contract. First, my side of the bargain: I do hereby swear to reveal all knowledge regarding the dissolving of said party's current magical restraints—what's wrong? Am I going to fast?"

"What? No, it's just..." Roman grappled with what he was trying to say without getting himself killed. "This isn't how these things usually go."

Dorian cocked an eyebrow. "And how many magical contract signings have you been a part of, pray tell?"

Roman's ears grew red and he stammered, "Well... one, but it wasn't—I mean, I guess they don't all have to be the same, I just assumed that it would—that you'd do it like Ursula with the whole blood ritual... thingy."

The demon's face twitched with an emotion that Roman couldn't have named if you'd put a gun to his head. Maybe it was a magical demon thing? Regardless, Dorian shook his head ever so slightly and took a breath.

"No. This contract will not contain any blood rituals. Just parchment and ink—and a little magic for binding purposes, of course." Another wave of his hand, and a scroll of yellow paper that Roman would have sooner seen in a museum than in someone's hand and a bottle of ink with a large black feather sticking out of it appeared on the ground next to him. He picked the scroll up and unfurled it. "Now, back to what I was saying. Where was I? Ah, yes..." he rambled on, explaining the contract with a bunch of strange magic-jargon, and Roman hadn't the slightest clue as to their meaning. He could have Roman agreeing to pull out all of his teeth and make them into a necklace for all he knew. Dorian paused once more, looking down his nose at Roman with exasperation.

"What is it now?"

"I have no idea what you just said," he admitted.

The man sighed and set the scroll down. "Okay, listen. I will tell you everything you need to know to break this curse, and how to keep it from happening to anyone else, but in return I need you to kill the immortal witch-traitor Ursula."

Roman paled. "You're joking."

Dorian rolled his eyes, "While I doubt a truth-telling spell necessary, if you insist..." He held out his left arm and the sleeve of his suit pulled up, revealing more scales like those on his face.

"What are you talking about?"

Dorian scoffed, "What am I—what are you talking about? Are you really going to keep up this charade even now? Honestly, I thought it was insulting earlier, but really... wait you're serious? You don't know about your powers?" He looked genuinely taken aback.

Roman laughed. "Yeah, because if I had powers, I'd definitely not use them while fighting a giant snake-demon."

Dorian's previous unintelligible expression degraded into udder disbelief. "You're telling me she didn't even tell you?"

"Obviously not."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Okay... okay, okay, okay, this is fine. I can work with his. An heir with no knowledge of his power. This is.... this is a disaster."

"Your vote of confidence is overwhelming," Roman grumbled.

Dorian stood, and Roman felt his fear return. He'd almost forgotten who he was talking to. It was easier when he looked semi-human.

"This dawn is almost here. Return home, little prince, and tomorrow, we'll finish this conversation... We've got a long way to go."

                                           * * * * * * * * * *

"Blackbird singin' in the dead of night," Patton sung softly to himself as he waltzed around the kitchen looking for a spatula. Pancakes rose tall and fluffy on the griddle and if Patton didn't hurry, they'd get a little more brown than golden. He located the plastic utensil after a few seconds of looking, finding it in the wrong drawer. Virgil must have emptied the dishwasher, the little angel. Patton found it more endearing than annoying. At least he'd tried to help, right? Glancing at the clock on the oven face as he flipped the pancakes, he found it was nearly eight o'clock. Roman would be out of the shower soon, and Logan would be—

That's right, Patton thought with a soft smile, stealing a look at the figure passed out on the couch. Fallen asleep studying again. Honestly, what was the point of having a bedroom if Logan was going to stay up into the unearthly hours of the night and just sleep on the couch? Truthfully, however, Patton found it just a smidgen adorable, but he wouldn't tell Logan that. He was sure Logan would sooner eat his fork than be told he snored like a kitten. He looked out the kitchen window, and sighed. It was raining—he suspected it had been through the night given how flooded their garden was. He hoped it wouldn't affect his herbs too much; he was planning on making spaghetti tonight and if he only had wilted oregano, what was the point?

"Take these broken wings and learn to fly..." The pancakes were done. Time to figure out where Virgil had left the syrup. "All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to ar—Roman!" Patton squeaked and nearly dropped the powdered sugar container, finding him leaning against the bottom of the banister, a strange look on his face. "I didn't hear you come down," he chuckled, a little embarrassed.

"What song was that?"

"...You don't know Blackbird? It's pretty popular, or, I guess, it was. I'm not too up-to-date on my music, kiddo."

Roman considered for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I've definitely heard it before, I guess it just sounds different when you sing it." He walked over and pulled out a stool, still lost in thought. Patton watched him with a hint of concern as he plated and served the pancakes.

"Will you do me a favor, Ro, and go wake Logan up? He's just over there on the couch."

"He's on the—oh, for crying out loud," he groaned, standing and sauntering over. He leaned forward and flicked the tip of Logan's nose. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Nerdy." Logan jerked awake, cracking his forehead against Roman's. They both curled in on themselves, hissing and blinking tears from their eyes.

"You did that on purpose," Roman grumbled, stumbling back to the counter.

Logan squinted at him, "You're home."

"Yes, of course I'm home, Logan. Where else would I be?" he snapped, in a little too much pain for patience at the moment.

"Logan, if you don't start going to bed at a reasonable hour in your own room, I'm going to have to ground you," Patton said with a smile.

Logan sat up, rubbing his head. "You do know you're not actually my father, Patton. Right? I'm a year older than you."

"Don't you go talking back to me, young man." Patton waved the spatula Logan's direction, and couldn't help but notice the small smile gracing his face at his words.

Roman speared a piece of pancake and ate it viciously. "I can't believe you stayed up again."

"Oh, that's figuratively rich, coming from you," Logan retorted.

"Hey, hey, what's going on, guys?" Patton said, unplugging the griddle and setting out Logan and Virgil's plates. The latter had yet to show face this morning, but Patton figured he'd be down any minute. "Did something happen between you two?"

Roman snorted, "You could say that."

"It's nothing to concern yourself with, Patton. Thank you for your concern, but we can deal with it on our own."

"...Okay," he said, a little put out. He understood that it really wasn't much of his business whatever they were arguing about, but he couldn't help wanting to assist in some way. Otherwise, he felt sorta useless. It wasn't like he did much else around here other than cook and clean and work with his mom at the nursing home. There, it was his job to help people with their problems, or talk things out with them, or keep them company. There, he was needed.

The backdoor opened suddenly and a sopping wet Virgil stepped over he threshold, trembling like a leaf.

"Virgil!" Patton cried, rushing forward. "Oh my—why were you outside? How long have you been—" he stammered.

He numbly tried to pull away from Patton's worried hands. "I'm f-fine, Pat. I'm fine, I just—let go!" he barked, and Patton jerked away, shocked.

"I... I'm sorry, Virge. I was only trying to help," he said, his voice small and quiet. Why was everyone so angry all of a sudden? Was it something he'd done? Virgil looked immediately regretful, his expression softening.

"I know, Patton, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled, it's just... I lost something really important to me last night."

Do you wanna talk about it? Patton wanted so desperately to ask, but didn't. He simply nodded, took Virgil's wet jacket from him and watched as he retreated upstairs to his room. Patton took a breath, put on a smile, and turned back to his other two roommates, who were having a silent conversation with their eyes. Swallowing, he placed Virgil's jacket in the laundry room to dry, then returned to the kitchen and ate his breakfast in silence.

                                           * * * * * * * * * *

Virgil didn't want to come back downstairs to eat after what had happened, even if he was ravenous. He'd spent the rest of the night searching with no results. He knew what he had to do, but dread sprouted in the pit of his stomach even thinking about it... and then he had to go and snap at Patton like that. He groaned and ran a hand down his face as he tossed his sopping clothes into his hamper and pulled on some clean, dry ones.

What am I going to do? he thought to himself, standing frozen with his hand on his doorknob. He'd have to go downstairs eventually, but what would he say? What could he say?

Reluctantly, Virgil exited his room and padded down the stairs in his socks. Logan was gone, presumably for work. The school year hadn't officially started yet, but all of the teachers were expected to come in and begin setting up their rooms and submitting their curriculum for review—something Logan found very tedious, and would talk any one of the roommate's ears off about. Roman sat alone at the kitchen, a bowl of cereal milk sitting in front of him with a few stray pieces of cereal evading his spoon.

Patton was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Ro," Virgil said, approaching. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm fine. Why do you ask?" he replied, his smile just a little too perfect. Virgil wouldn't have been able to see through it, however, if he didn't already know what was really going on. It was strange, though. Roman usually had this hollow look in his eye, the hopelessness Virgil had only seen in those on their way to the gallows. Now... it was different. Still tired—tired beyond belief—but somehow...

"No reason," he said around the lump in his throat, forcing a small smile. Roman's brow knit together ever so slightly. Virgil swallowed and continued, "Where, uh... where's Patton?"

Roman's expression relaxed, as if he'd figured it all out. He jerked a thumb toward the back door. "His sitting out back."

Virgil nodded, expressing his thanks, and made his way outside. The breeze was in that in-between stage, where one could tell it had once been stifling and hot outside but the rain had cooled it like a burn under cold water. Patton sat on the end of the porch, his legs crossed and a mug of steaming tea cradled in both hands. Virgil closed the door as quietly as he possibly could, and stood in the doorway awkwardly, not knowing how, or really wanting to, break the silence.

Patton sighed, and tapped the space next to him with a hand. Virgil felt his throat close up, and briefly considered bolting back inside before steeling himself and taking the few steps forward and sitting next to his friend.

"Patt, listen, I'm really sorry about what happened this morning. I was really stressed, and I know that isn't an excuse for being mean, but I just—"

"It's all right, Virge," he said, gazing into his mug of tea with an expression that Virgil doubted meant: it's all right, Virge. But what could he do? He doubted there was really anything at this point that he could do besides keep talking and digging himself a little deeper into the hole he'd begun this morning. He wasn't good at words. Well, he had been quite the smooth-talker all those years ago, but ever since...

No. You promised not to think about that again, he scolded himself, tugging his jacket even tighter around him. That wasn't what he needed right now. Right now, he needed to make things up to Patton, and find what had been stolen from him.

He had to find his button.

                                           * * * * * * * * * *

Everyone but Virgil was gone. Patton had gone to work after a few more minutes of sitting in silence and pondering, and Roman had expressed a need to "clear his head" and had taken his truck out nearly thirty minutes ago. Finally with the privacy he so desperately needed, Virgil rummaged through the cupboards and drawers in the kitchen. Where did Patton keep all the herbs? He could never figure out where anything was in this blasted place. Eventually, he found it:

Rosemary. Or, as many from the Witchlands referred to it, Queensleaf; it was named after the first Witch Queen herself. Roman absolutely despised the smell, claiming it made his nose itch. Virgil found this quite ironic, but kept the comments to himself.

Dumping a pinch or two into the palm of his hand, Virgil replaced the lid, put it back in the cupboard, and headed outside to the backyard. Normally, he wouldn't take such precautions, but without his button, who knows what could happen? Sure, it was just a simple tracking spell, but one could never be too cautious... right? Biting the inside of his mouth—a habit he'd yet to shake, unfortunately—he approached the old pine tree and scattered the small sprigs around the dirt he'd hastily refilled last night before heading out on his frantic search. Hopefully, that would do the trick. Using Queensleaf during spell-making was considered paranoid and somewhat superstitious, but Virgil had seen things that would make even the most stoic witch stuff rosemary up their nose at the slightest hint of magic.

"Bid the earth till its ground, thus what's been lost soon is found," Virgil muttered, feeling the magic flow out of him in a sort of jerky, detached way. He withheld a shudder. He really needed his button back, and soon. Regardless, the Queensleaf seemed to do its job and the spell came out just as it should. The air around him stilled and everything went silent, as if he'd stepped into the shadow realm. His gaze was drawn downward by an unseen force and he watched as the imprints of a pair of feet made their way across the grass from around the side of the house. They stopped in the middle of the yard, turning around a few times. The top half of the right footprint disappeared and reappeared rapidly, as if the owner had been tapping their foot. A pause, then the footprints made a beeline for Virgil. He stepped to the side and watched with growing distaste as the footprints stopped right above the spot where they box, with his button, had been buried.

A small indentation appeared in the dirt next to the prints, and the thin lines of invisible fingers digging into the soil began scoring the ground. The thief had dropped something in the dirt before digging. Virgil stepped over the prints and squatted down to inspect the small disturbance more. Perhaps he could discover what it was they'd dropped? Unfortunately, the dirt hadn't acquired anything close to a clear imprint, and the pine needles scattered everywhere didn't help. From the looks of it, the object was about the size of a quarter, give or take a little, of course.

The faint click of the metal box's latch being undone snapped Virgil out of his thoughts. In the air, hovered the now empty metal box he'd reburied. Unknown hands hefted it, shaking it a little, then slowly opened the lid. Virgil watched, not having to imagine too hard to realize that this was the moment his button had been taken. The subsequent tossing of the box back into the hole and the sloppy foot shoving the dirt back on top then tamping it down for good measure didn't help his mood much, either. The prints did a little dance, then jerked to a stop. The ghosts of fingers frantically dusted away pine needles and pinched something up out of the dirt. A small puff of dust appeared in the air.

Virgil nearly shook with rage. They'd dropped his button in the dirt, and blown the dust off like it was some—some measly piece of plastic. As if it was just that, and not an important talisman literally tying all but the most basic of his magical abilities to his body.

Lips pressed together in barely contained frustration, Virgil followed the now obviously gleeful footprints across the lawn and around the house. It wasn't until he reached the edge of the front lawn, that he realized a major problem.

Footprints didn't exactly show up on cement and asphalt.

"Charge me now to seek the thief, let light shine forth and seal their grief," he muttered. Again, the magic came out halting and shuddering, but came out all the same. No one would be able to see the spell but him, so he wasn't too concerned about following a pair of now glowing footprints making their happy way down the street.

Virgil followed the trail in circles around town, ignoring the strange looks he got from the fellow townspeople going about their day. A few times, he almost got hit by a car when he became too focused and the path veered suddenly into the road. Was this thief drunk, or something? Surely, they'd stolen his button for a reason other than to prance around town with it. He still couldn't be sure Ursula was behind it, though. While she'd seem pleased at his misfortune, he couldn't prove it was more than that. Besides, while she seemed the most likely to do something like this, she was the least probable suspect. She was halfway across the world, for crying out loud.  

But who else could possibly know about it?

Actually, he thought sourly, there are quite a few people that come to mind. A witch, a hobgoblin, a few sprites... The list grew quite extensive the more Virgil thought about it, so he conveniently stopped thinking about it and focused on the task at hand. The prints wandered down the alley behind the Chinese restaurant, illuminating the otherwise dim surroundings. Virgil's nose wrinkled at the rancid smell of rotting food and watched with disgust as the glowing footprints—and now hand-prints—rummaged through the trash for, he assumed, something to eat.

The invisible hands picked up a styrofoam takeout box and...and took a bite out of the box itself.

Virgil's temper didn't boil over. No, rather, it simmered, and reduced down into a thick syrup of pure, white-hot rage. Fists clenched, he turned his back on the alley, and ended the spell with a furious wave of his hand.

"...Remus."

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 23

Like...here, I can’t do this anymore, I’ve been sitting on the first part of this for forever.  Please, join me in...whatever this is.  

Ao3

00000

Four thirty-seven in the morning is not time to wake up, but Astrid doesn’t have much of a choice after Hiccup’s side of his bed goes cold and the wheels in her mind start spinning, skating across the last twelve and twenty-four and thirty-six hours. Hiccup exhausted beyond sanity at the hospital, Hiccup sleeping with his head on her lap. Hiccup with damp hair and wide eyes, laying her back on his desk. Hiccup laughing at a joke that could only be funny in the first hours of the morning, sleepy hands holding her close.

“I don’t want it to be tomorrow,” he’d whispered in her ear, voice hoarse and comfortable as he pressed a tired kiss to her jaw, pulling her leg over his hip like if he just arranged their limbs carefully enough, they could feasibly meld into a single person. “Tomorrow’s just going to be more hospitals and decisions and not enough…” He trailed off, palm dragging up the curve of her waist.

“It already is tomorrow, technically,” she’d looked at the clock until he dragged her face back to his, soft thumb on her chin.

“Well sure, if you’re still a stickler for a linear definition of time,” he smiled, bringing her back to her apartment hallway where she couldn’t help but notice he was charming and handsome under the stupid hat. “But cyclically, it’s not really morning until we sleep, is it?”

“We already slept,” she reminded him, difficult just so that he’d narrow his eyes in a cute, shrewd way and kiss her. He went further than that, rolling her onto her back and holding the sheets dramatically above his head before disappearing under them, breath ticklish on her navel as his hands made room for himself between her knees.

“No more of that then,” he’d laughed, kissing her hip, “no sleeping, no tomorrow. It’s a deal.”

The only thing more shocking than how quickly Astrid trusted Hiccup is how quickly she got used to him.  As electric as his presence has become, it’s comfortable too, a secondary North her internal compass passively tracks when he’s in range to keep herself in alignment.

She bites her lip and sighs, staring at the ceiling for a ten count before giving up and rolling out of bed.

His closet isn’t a walk-in, but it’s larger than hers, and she finds a soft sweatshirt that smells like him hanging at the back of it. She pulls it on and pauses to touch the cold side of the bed, taking in the silence, as temporary as it is. He was right, there’s a whole day of hospitals and adult arrangements ahead of her, but after how easy and good last night was, nothing seems insurmountable.

She brushes her teeth with her finger again, looking around the bathroom at the old bathmat and Hiccup’s shirt from yesterday balled up in a corner. There’s a trimmer on the counter and auburn stubble in the sink and she finally starts to come around to the idea that sometimes when things seem too good to be true, it might just be because they are that good.

Hiccup wasn’t exaggerating how empty the kitchen is, but she manages to find a glass in one of the old walnut cupboards and get some water. She didn’t have much of a chance to look around yesterday, given she had better things to acquaint herself with, but since Hiccup isn’t back yet she starts scoping out the living room.

It’s a bachelor pad, obviously, old comfortable furniture without a decorative pillow in sight, video game controllers on the end tables and an empty beer bottle next to the remote. The rug is soft though and there are thankfully no Patriots posters on the wall, only two framed diplomas by the front door, both from the Berk Police Department. One is three years old and says ‘Snotlout G. Jorgenson’ in crisp black ink on thick white paper and the other was folded at some point and is starting to yellow around the edges, the name ‘Stoick Haddock’ handwritten in careful cursive script.

The frame of the older diploma is dusty and Astrid tucks her hand back into Hiccup’s sweatshirt sleeve to clean it off, and as soon as she does, it reflects the heavy deadbolt on the old door behind her turning. If months of living at a bona fide murder site honed her reflexes, last night’s uneven sleep dulled them because she freezes, holding her breath and watching the reflection of the door slowly swing open.

A single footfall heavier than any Hiccup would be capable of producing crosses the threshold and her heart sinks as she turns to face whatever she’s being dragged into next.

“Can you take any longer to open a door?” Snotlout’s improbable voice cuts through the sudden silence and he stumbles into the living room.

“The plan was for me to sweep the place,” Eretson follows him, teeth clipping the consonants as frustration pours around the dulled corners.

“Sweep the place? It’s my apartment, what are you expecting to find?” Snotlout throws his arm up and looks around for evidence that Eretson’s concern is unnecessary, but his eyes land solidly on Astrid.  

He raises an eyebrow and she jumps, coming back to life all at once and dropping her glass of water on the way to yank down the hem of Hiccup’s sweatshirt.

Eretson doesn’t flinch at the sound so much as he condenses, pulling his gun from the holster on his hip and cocking it with a cold steely click. Then he sees what, or who, he’s aiming at and his grip goes slack, barrel of the gun pointing towards the slowly spreading puddle on the floor as his jaw works soundlessly, eyes wide.

“Good morning,” Snotlout says, slow blooming grin spreading across his pasty, stubbled face as he takes in her bedhead. She almost wishes his eyes would dip lower because if he were being pointedly creepy, she’d have a reason to yell and maybe regain her grip on the situation, but instead she’s wedged under the weight of his obviously amused observation.

“Why aren’t you in the hospital?” The question comes out shrill and she jumps back from the water starting to pool between her toes. The sweatshirt is far too small for current company and she yanks it down again, fisting the fabric beside her thigh and holding it there. Eretson is still frozen, wrist slack and eyes wide and she snaps. “Never mind, I don’t care, can you put the gun away?”

“Apologies.” Eretson directs his startled gaze to the floor and stands up straight, thankfully re-holstering his weapon.

Well, thankfully until the lack of weaponry renders the situation impossibly more awkward.

And cold. Drafty even.

“And shut the door!” Astrid orders, even though she has no authority, and Eretson looks at Snotlout for corroboration.

“Just got shot,” Snotlout looks pointedly at his arm and Eretson sighs, bright red as he resigns himself to shutting and locking the door, clearly weighing the consequences of being on the other side and wishing his lot in life were different.

Something truly awful must lurk outside the door for Eretson to choose to be in this living room right now and Astrid wishes she knew what it was so that she could make her own educated decision.

“Good morning,” Snotlout repeats and Astrid glares, holding the fabric tight around her thighs.

“We already did that.” She steps sideways out of the puddle, daring either of the men in front of her to say something about her state of dress. For once in her life, it’s a fight she wishes she hadn’t picked because everything in Snotlout’s slight grin says ‘good game, Champ’.

“Where’s Hiccup?” Snotlout asks, looking around for another target to embarrass.

“He went to get breakfast.” Astrid does her best to frame the sentence as an insult but Snotlout is unfazed. No, unfazed would be better, he’s a delighted audience.

“That’s my boy.”   He’s more than delighted, he’s disconcertingly, disruptively proud and Astrid wishes she could hitch a ride on Eretson’s shoulders as he attempts to sink into the floor.  

Her clothes are in Hiccup’s office, where they were enthusiastically abandoned the night before, which she can’t think about with Hiccup’s nearly mortally wounded cousin grinning at her like a proud coach.

They aren’t even her clothes, they’re Tuffnut’s clothes.

She wishes she could ask Hiccup where he is, but of course, no phone. Eretson is so absolutely mortally embarrassed that she half thinks she could ask to borrow his phone to call Hiccup, but she doesn’t have his number memorized. Snotlout probably does, but asking him probably involves details requested in the name of ‘bro’.

“I’m going to go get dressed,” she announces, trying for something official and feeling like an inadequate cat herder.  

It’s impossible to set her shoulders and stalk to Hiccup’s office while keeping her ass covered, but she tries anyway, eyes locked dead ahead to give her periphery a chance to reorient. Snotlout follows, lurking in the doorway as she confronts the mess on the office floor.

Or no, not mess. Her clothes and Hiccup’s towel.

Snotlout whistles under his breath.

“Damn, on the desk by all his special books?” He laughs, “that’s like nerdy hot, I’d give you a wedgie if I thought you were wearing underwear.”

“Oh my god!” Astrid snaps, “if I didn’t think you’d bleed out, I’d—“

“Those are your clothes, from the hospital, does that mean Hiccup was in the towel?”

“Snotlout,” she hisses his name, “why the hell aren’t you in the hospital?”

“I’m proud of you two, really.” He nods, more encouraging coach than the creepy opportunist she knows how to deal with. She half expects him to clap her on the ass and tell her ‘good game’. “At the rate you were going, I thought you had another year of hand holding before anything happened. But then you fu—“

“Can you give me a minute?” She grits her teeth and he nods, hand held up in half surrender as he backs into the living room and shuts the door.

She takes a minute to breathe, leaning back against the desk and pressing her knuckles to her eyelids until she sees static.

“Where’s your mop?” Eretson asks, voice muffled through the door.

“What? My floor isn’t clean enough for you? Sorry, I was pretty busy being shot and almost dying, I should have mopped first though, I guess.”

“Just trying to make myself useful.”

She gets dressed with both eyes locked on the door, even though it seems like Snotlout is more likely to interrupt to congratulate her than to catch a glimpse of something he shouldn’t. She briefly thinks that she might not be cut out to be his ‘bro’ if this is the kind of involvement she can expect, but that’s not a train of thought she has time to catch right now, so she pushes it aside.

Last night felt like she and Hiccup were potentially the only two people in the world, or at least the only two that mattered.  The only two she had to think about.  But now it feels like the rest of humanity is butting its way back into her mind by way of one recently shot idiot and chasing any dregs of that peaceful feeling away.

When she opens the door, Snotlout is sitting on the couch, pouring over his phone. Eretson is lurking by the front door with one shoe on, obviously debating over taking the other off. Astrid’s shoes are next to the couch, vaguely under Snotlout’s legs, approximately where she abandoned them the day before as Hiccup left to shower.

She clears her throat and he doesn’t look up. Eretson doesn’t look away from his mismatched feet.  

Snotlout doesn’t look good, that’s the obvious place to start.  His face is nearly gray under patchy hospital stay stubble and the circles under his eyes look like bruises.  She doesn’t know much about almost bleeding to death, but she’d assume a person should sleep more and move less afterwards and it looks like he’s been doing the exact opposite.  He’s wearing sweatpants and a suit jacket that’s so oversized that its sleeve is cuffed above his wrist and his other arm is hidden inside of it, presumably in a sling or something to restrict him from ripping his stitches.

“What are you wearing?”  She frowns, trying to place the jacket.  It’s familiar somehow but she’s not used to it looking so absurd.

“When is it my turn to ask the questions?” He grumbles and she sighs.

“I don’t think I’m going to answer any of your questions,” she raises her eyebrows at his suit jacket, “and I didn’t realize harassing me required business casual.”

“Shit,” he looks down like he’s only now realizing his outfit might be out of the norm, “I fucking told you I was going to forget to give your fucking jacket back, this is not my fault.” He points a shaky, accusatory finger at Eretson who flushes over an absolutely stoic expression, rolling his sleeves up his forearms.

“You can keep it,” Eretson says, looking somehow larger and also more uncouth without his suit jacket as he decides to put his discarded shoe back on, apparently not planning on staying.

“Who said I want it? It’s itchy as hell,” Snotlout huffs, settling further into the couch and making no move to take the jacket off. “Oh, maybe I’ll need it when I have to sit on someone’s shoulders to pretend to be as freakishly tall as you are.”

“Or for when stripping doesn’t work out and you decide to become a flasher,” Astrid offers, folding Hiccup’s sweatshirt over her arm and pacing slowly, glancing at the door and wondering where Hiccup is. The handle of Eretson’s gun glints darkly and she pauses, turning her glare on him, “and why’d you point a gun at me? What could you possibly have been sweeping the place for, actually?”

“Grisly,” he says dumbly, a kid caught dually red handed next to a broken cookie jar.

“Why would Grisly be here?” She knows the broadest form of the answer even if the specifics are hazy.

Grisly would be here to do awful, nefarious things, and she swallows hard, waiting to be proven right.

“Because he shot Jorgenson.” Eretson squares his shoulders, bracing for an argument even as Astrid’s knees threaten to bobble.

She wishes she were shocked, then she could claim credibility instead of facing the fact that she half believed what Grisly was capable of just because Hiccup said it.

“He remembered?” She nods quietly to herself and Eretson relaxes, glad to not have to convince her.

“He is right here,” Snotlout grumbles, “and he didn’t have to because the idiot informed me that he came to the hospital to ‘finish me off’.” He rolls his eyes like he didn’t just tell her that someone connected with the police tried to kill him twice, “like he learned English from shitty mob movies or something. If Ruffnut hadn’t shown up when she did—”

“Oh my God,” Astrid cradles her head in her hands, staring at the floor and thinking of the day before, staring silent at a closed bathroom door and coaching Ruffnut through trying to do the right thing.  If she’d stayed on the phone a second longer or if Ruffnut had turned around in the lobby like she’d threatened, Snotlout would be dead. Hiccup would hate her for making him leave the hospital.  

Hiccup would be planning a funeral in his office instead of trying to get breakfast.

Hiccup.

“Where’s Grisly now?” She asks, dread creeping up her spine.

“Have you heard anything strange?” Eretson asks, back in detective mode, and Astrid shakes her head.

“No, but I can’t say I was listening for Grisly.”

“Yeah, you were too busy banging Hiccup on his desk.” Snotlout snorts, still not creepy. Still alive even though someone wanted the opposite. Thrilled to embarrass her, definitely, and so disconcertingly unconcerned with his own mortality that she feels coerced to protect him.

But Hiccup is out there alone, and if there’s even a chance he was right about Grisly, she doesn’t know how she’ll ever forgive herself for not going with him.

“Hiccup—he didn’t have any proof,” Astrid’s brain fills in ‘at the time’ as her eyes flick to the clock yet again. “But umm, he has a hunch that Grisly was connected to…what we talked about the other night. All of it, I mean.”

Eretson’s phone rings and Astrid jumps at the sound, wishing she’d been clearer or that she hadn’t talked at all. She won’t know which until he picks up and the way he’s looking at the caller ID makes her wary.

“This better be important.” He says, curt and responsible, and Astrid wants to snatch the phone away from him and put it on speaker. “A development? Explain to me how there can be a development on my case when I’m not working it.”

Astrid used to be the queen of ‘this better be important.’

For a while, in her teens, it seemed like a magic phrase. A filter that made people rethink before they added their petty issues to her already overfull plate. It felt like one of the only things she could say to make people hear her, to think twice about how many actually important things she must be dealing with to deny their request. And maybe it made her feel important too, to place herself in a position to rate other people’s problems on a scale she got to set.

Then she learned what it’s like when people rightfully push past it.

Important never means good. Important is never better.

“Who is it?” Snotlout asks, tensing on the couch until Astrid offers him a silent hand to help him up. He’s heavy in an amorphous, exhausted way that scares her, like all his weight has shifted to the wrong ends of his bones.

Eretson’s face falls under the weight of the importance he’s about to communicate, his eyes flicking between Astrid’s expression in limbo and Snotlout’s growing frustration, “when? No, take him to my office—it’s still my bloody case—that’s your job then, Johnson—Well, I’m on my way in now, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

He hangs up, exhaling one sharp breath and not so much puffing out his chest as making the most of the space he knows he takes up. It’s comforting, like a doctor trained to deliver bad news, and Astrid glares at him, willing him to spit out whatever it is so that she can shoulder her part of it.

People who hoard information inevitably drown in it and thinking of Hiccup’s books in the next room makes it hard to breathe.

“Is everything ok?” Astrid asks the general question, hoping against hope that it’ll keep the specific at bay. “Is Hiccup ok?” She tries the words on for size along with the lump of heavy concern in her chest that she can’t quite remember deciding to take on.

She did, of course, a long time ago.

It was there in the hospital when Hiccup looked at her for stability while his world spun out of control. It was there when he was too frazzled to function, when he needed to see the city for what it is and not what he wants it to be. It grew from a little seed of trust planted when she followed him into an alley, unsure of what she’d find but willing to take the risk.

Then, it didn’t feel like a risk at all.

“Grisly brought Hiccup down to the station on murder charges,” he says simply, and again, Astrid wishes she were surprised.

For months, she’s been reminding herself that if anything had gone differently, she could have ended up like that poor woman who trusted the wrong man in a dark alley, but because of Hiccup, that reality wasn’t ever really on the table for her. This one was.

“Murder charges.” It’s not a question, it’s another unfortunate sentence to try on, feeling out the edges of yet another situation happening to her without her input. “Who died?” Astrid asks because she doesn’t know what else to do. At this point, she doesn’t expect an answer, but the question was doing nothing useful overflowing inside her head.

It’s not doing anything useful in the open either. It flops on the floor like it’s dead itself and she starts planning for the worst, just in case.

“And all those morons just believe him?” Snotlout huffs, trying to inflate himself but leaking out of a painful, obvious hole.

“Says he caught him in the act.” Eretson looks like he’s lost many races training to win this one and the enemy is pulling ahead in the final sprint. “I’m heading in, it sounds like Grisly has my boss half-convinced to hand the case over to the NWF.”

“Those idiots couldn’t find the big bad wolf if he blew their house down or, I don’t know, shot another cop!” Snotlout gestures at his shoulder, “and yeah, I just called them pigs, indirectly, but I meant it.”

“Which is why I’m going to go deal with this,” Eretson crosses the room and almost gingerly helps Snotlout out of the suit jacket, sliding it back on like it’s bulletproof and he thinks he’s going to need it. Underneath, Snotlout is wearing a scrub shirt with a thankfully dry blotch of red-brown blood on the shoulder above a square of thick gauze taped to the wound.  “Get that shoulder re-bandaged at least.”

“No! I’m just going to bleed out on the floor to spite you, specifically.” Snotlout does his best to take the sweatshirt Astrid’s holding but his face goes even paler when he yanks. “I’m coming with you.”

“Jorgenson,” Eretson’s tone would be patient if it were wrapping around any other word, but now it’s ill fitting, chafing at the seams.

“Hiccup didn’t kill anyone, you know he didn’t, I know he didn’t, and I don’t give a shit what that creepy fucker says—”

“He already tried to kill you once, don’t be stupid enough to give him another chance.”

“He already proved his aim sucks once, you mean,” Snotlout is giving up the fight though, clammy sweat blooming across his forehead as he leans back against the arm of the chair, catching his breath. “Oh fuck off, you don’t have to be so smug about it.”

“You shouldn’t stay here,” Eretson checks his jacket pockets and pulls out a Ziploc bag with a handful of white pills in it and hands it to Snotlout who takes it, reluctantly grateful. “Either of you.”

“Oh we can’t stay here? You can’t kick me out of my own place, it doesn’t work like that,” Snotlout swallows one of the pills dry and winces as it sticks in his throat. It must be dry, like Astrid’s, like her automatic functions are on pause, waiting for permission to start working again. “And last time I checked, you still aren’t my commanding officer, so I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” he says so that no one can say he didn’t.

“He can’t be anywhere on file,” Eretson tells Astrid, obviously done with the pointless argument, and she stands up straighter, glad for even the suggestion of something useful she can do. “Grisly might check there, especially now that he confessed his intentions, Snotlout is a liability.”

“I’ve always been a liability, thanks.” Snotlout rolls his eyes and Eretson’s jaw flexes at the comment. “Maybe we should go stay with Ruffnut, Grisly was scared of her for some reason.”

“No, the twins were suspects too, they gave information at the station,” Astrid thinks, tapping her finger on her chin and trying not to think about Hiccup’s developing penchant for touching her there. “Wait! I’ve got somewhere. Fishlegs didn’t give you his home address, did he?”

“No, would he have a record of any kind?”

“Absolutely not.” The first relief Astrid’s felt all day sweeps away just enough frantic anxiety to make room for dread, and Astrid doesn’t know any antidote for that but action. “Should I come to the station with you?”

“And leave me out?” Snotlout starts trying to stand up again but Eretson responds before he can put too much effort into it.

“You should stay out of it for now.”

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” The idea of backing off, of having less power in this already powerless situation, makes her want to scream. “He was with me last night, there’s no reason I couldn’t go down to the station and say so. I’ve been his alibi before, I am his alibi now. Someone has to listen that Grisly is behind this.”

“Last time you were his alibi, you ended up looking guilty by association,” Eretson reminds her.

“But—”

“And I got suspended and then shot,” Snotlout adds, forever helpful.

“Ok, but—”

“You need an alibi,” Eretson rubs his chin, “there’s no way Grisly won’t ask about you, you’ve been involved from the beginning.”

“She was with me,” Snotlout shrugs one shoulder, deflating a little against the chair, “no alibi like a cop alibi, right?”

“But I wasn’t.” Astrid is surprised to sound panicked, like even saying last night didn’t happen could take it from her somehow. Like lying could take the feeling that Hiccup’s apartment inexplicably feels like home away. That hasn’t faded, if anything it’s stronger, like being surrounded by his space is keeping her sane through the latest insane moment.

“That’s not bad,” Eretson halfway compliments, checking for his gun one more time, “that gives you a reason to leave the hospital too.”

“But I wasn’t with you last night,” Astrid shakes her head, “especially as a ‘reason for you to leave the hospital’ four days after you were shot—"

“Yeah, you were,” Snotlout starts texting someone, “it was super hot, I’ll tell people it was hot.”

“No, you won’t.” She tries to take his phone and he winces when he tries to hold it out of her reach.

“Too late,” he grins, “already told Ruffnut.”

“She won’t believe you!”

“She doesn’t have to, she just has to lie, and she’ll know that since she helped me sign out of the hospital.” He looks seriously at her, “the last thing Hiccup needs is you looking like an accomplice again and linking whatever Grisly says he caught him doing back to three other murders.”

“Never thought I’d say this,” Eretson clears his throat and looks purposefully at Snotlout, “but you’re right. Get somewhere safe, I’ll call when I can.”

“Ok, but before you go can you tell me I’m right again?” Snotlout asks as Eretson opens the door, “and maybe add in that I’m tall and muscular, because flattery is the best medicine.”

“You mean laughter,” Eretson deadpans, expression chiseled in stone as he shuts the door and leaves them in silence.

Astrid steps forward and locks it, trying to weigh whether she feels overwhelmed or entirely disconnected from everything that just happened. Maybe it’s both and that’s worse, and she lets out a breath that feels shaky but sounds slow.

“I’ll be right back,” Snotlout announces before disappearing to the bathroom, the sink turning on as soon as he shuts the door.

She lets herself think, for a second, what the morning would have been like if Hiccup hadn’t left. No less awkward with Eretson showing up here, of course. Then again, Eretson didn’t see Hiccup at the hospital, chances are seeing Snotlout out of it would have reactivated his Mother Hen Protocol and he would have been out of bed fussing, nudity be damned.

Snotlout would probably be furious at Hiccup acting like the wrong ratio of “sexy” and “nurse” while he wanted to be invasively congratulatory. Eretson might have actually combusted from awkwardness.

Grisly wouldn’t have been able to frame him. Or Grisly would have come here next, after wherever he found Hiccup. There’s too many variables missing, the tight setup she familiarized herself with in Eretson’s office sprouting roots and propagating itself into any number of possible outcomes.

The sink is still running in the bathroom and she can hear Snotlout splashing occasionally so she decides that the chances of him bleeding out in there are low, at least until she hears him hit the floor. The utter helplessness of being without her phone or the ability to search for anything on the internet gets the best of her and she grabs the remote off of the coffee table, turning on the TV and fiddling with inputs until she finds cable. Patriots re-runs, of course, and she mutes it before Snotlout can come out and decide it’s time for another of their great bonding marathons.

Like last night, apparently, which she can’t think about without thinking about Hiccup. Hiccup warm and safe, no part of him too far away for her to touch, their bedhead tangled together.

No, that won’t help anything. Getting somewhere safe might help Snotlout, but she doesn’t have Fishlegs’s number memorized or any way to call him. He must be working this morning though, since she isn’t.

If a few missed shifts get between her and safe harbor, she doesn’t know what she’ll do.  

She’s looking for the news when she comes across a local channel, pausing when she recognizes Heather in an interview close up on a repeat of some Sunday night in-depth expose on the Grimborn murders.

“…course there’s something really compelling about looking at history through a modern lens, and I’m glad to see this unfortunate string of events connect people to the city’s past,” she says pleasantly while the camera pans up to show the Ripped Tavern’s pre-renovation grimy walls and a rack of Grimborn tee-shirts.

“I understand that the Berk PD has hired you as a Grimborn Expert to consult on the ongoing case?” A reporter that Astrid vaguely recognizes asks and Heather can’t seem to help but look a little smug.

Astrid’s thumb hovers over the channel button, her jaw twitching when she thinks about how happy Hiccup is to teach and learn and how imperious he isn’t, and she’s glad enough to have a distraction deflecting worry for frustration that she doesn’t change it.

“…really discuss that, given that the case is ongoing,” Heather continues with an almost flirtatious grin, like she’s getting a real kick out of keeping secrets only because she knows she’ll get to reveal them later, “but I think at this point in the investigation, the connection is inevitable. Obviously, whoever is committing these murders has not only a big Grimborn knowledge base but also a personal connection that they find motivating, for some reason.”

She thinks of Hiccup, motivated by seeing the city as something capable of surviving trauma and her stomach turns with the contrast to where he is right now.

“Given advances in modern forensics and the assumption that this ongoing string of murders will be solved, what do you think the chances are that it will provide insight into the original Grimborn murders?”

“The chances?” Heather snorts, “I can’t say anything about the chances, but whoever’s doing this really knows their stuff. I’m half tempted to visit their eventual cell and run a few of my pet theories by them.”

The bathroom door opens and Snotlout steps out, a fresh square of white gauze taped to his shoulder as he dries his face with the scrub shirt, pausing on the way to his closed bedroom door to frown at the TV, “Heather?”

“She’s talking about being hired to help with the case.”

“You can’t watch something normal for five minutes while I get change?” He mumbles on the way into his room, struggling with the knob for a second before getting it open and disappearing inside. “Nerd.”

“…paper recently mentioned the Admiral Haddock theory, do you think there’s any present connection to the Haddocks?”

Astrid didn’t know there was more than one. She didn’t know it was a family with a legacy aside from Hiccup and the freshly dusted diploma on the wall. It’s another link of the chain that Hiccup is somehow in the middle of as the noose tightens and she swallows hard, trying to focus on Heather’s words.

If a news channel is showing this as a rerun, that means there can’t be any news.

Except there’s so much that can’t be reported yet, and it’s not the first time recently she’s wished she knew less about the system that has her lying about whereabouts she’d never take back. She wishes she weren’t confronted with this reality, where Hiccup is in trouble and she has to contemplate what her life would look like without him in it.

“That theory is a joke,” Heather’s laugh is a little sharper, willing to lash out at the idea of feeling unheard, “it was the…the flat earth conspiracy of the day.”

“Can you explain what you mean by that?”

“It was…sensationalist and sensationalist on purpose, there’s no way that the Admiral could have had anything to gain from the murders.”

“So, you think whoever is committing the murders now has something to gain from it?” The reporter asks with a little too much interest and Heather is obviously reminded of something by an ear piece she’s not good at hiding.

“I really can’t discuss the current case.”

“Well, the bleeding stopped at some point,” Snotlout comes back out of his bedroom in a baggy black tee shirt that’s stretched at the neck like he struggled getting into it. The color makes him look paler and she almost advises him to change, but if Fishlegs is mad at her for missing work, a little pity might be on their side.

She thinks about asking Snotlout to use his phone to call a cab, like it’s nineteen ninety eight and people get their information from the news, but there are enough holes in this plan already that it shouldn’t matter if they get an Uber to the archives. The driver looks at Snotlout like Astrid is trying to use the first dregs of a zombie apocalypse to her advantage and she attempts to distract them with small talk, wondering how Ruffnut gets drivers to wait outside with a shovel.

It has been the longest few months of her life, and every city block dilates further. It feels like it takes hours to locate the service elevator down to the archives, but all of the lost time recondenses when she’s standing in front of Fishlegs’s desk, a half-dead Snotlout leaning on her shoulder and no miraculous news from Eretson propping her up.

She clears her throat, trying to remember if she’s ever missed a shift of another job and of course, coming up dry, “Hey, Fish.”

“Astrid?” He looks up, taking his one headphone out and jumping to his feet, “where have you been? I must have sent a hundred texts—”

“Sorry, I don’t have my phone, I know I missed…I don’t know how many shifts I missed but that’s not like me, I promise it’s not.”

“Seems like you’ve been doing a lot that’s ‘not like you’ since you started here.” Fishlegs crosses his arms just long enough for Astrid to freeze up. He looks mad, sure, but worried too and she holds out a placating hand.

“I can explain.”

“No, sorry,” he deflates, patting her shoulder apologetically and seemingly noticing Snotlout for the first time, eyes widening. “I was just so worried, with hearing how it went with the detective and knowing that I told him about Hiccup and the copier and—”

“It’s ok,” she cuts him off, shifting from foot to foot and debating whether she should offer Snotlout a chair or not. If she does, she’s half worried he won’t get back to his feet again, and he’s heavier than he looks, even after the blood loss. “I should explain, before I ask this favor, actually.”

“No, you don’t need to explain,” Snotlout insists, holding out his hand. His left hand, because his right is hanging lame at his side, “Snotlout.”

“Fishlegs.” He frowns at Astrid, “is it drugs?”

“See? He won’t help you if you explain. Do you want some?” Snotlout takes the bag out of his sweatpants pocket and holds it up. “Because if that’s what it takes—”

“Put those away,” Astrid hisses, helping Snotlout sit down in her office chair, “it’s not drugs, it’s—well, he has drugs because he just got shot, but—well, I need your help.”

“Back up, he just got shot?” Fishlegs sits on the edge of his desk, “who is he, again?”

“I just told you, I’m Snotlout.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“He’s a cop,” Astrid tries and Snotlout shushes her.

“Don’t lead with that, a lot of people don’t like cops—”

“We think Hiccup’s getting framed for murder, and we need to lay low, is your spare room still available?” She asks simply and Fishlegs narrows his eyes in his standard ‘more information required’ thinking face.

She tells him everything. Snotlout interjects with details she didn’t know, some of them he must have learned last night when he was evidently helping Eretson with the case. Fishlegs doesn’t ask much, and by the time she gets to this morning, her voice catching over describing how they learned that Grisly has Hiccup at the station for questioning, his frown is set in to the point that she worries she misjudged.

She was forced to trust Snotlout and Eretson and even Hiccup, in a way, if she didn’t want to go through all the hassle of making a formal harassment complaint. From the beginning, she chose to trust Fishlegs and if he throws that back on her now, she’s worried it would snap something tenuous deep inside her. An instinct that could be strong if it just has time to grow.

“Let me summarize. Instead of just taking me up on my offer to stay in my spare room before your apartment became the newest target of a Grimborn copycat serial killer,” Fishlegs pauses to swallow, “who you think is in league with the police, you got even more entrenched in the mystery, and now you’re asking me to essentially harbor two possible fugitives, one of whom was shot four days ago and might still have the well-connected murderer after him.”

Astrid squares her shoulders, “Yes. Please.” One please is just polite, but two is begging and she pauses, hoping she won’t have to and hating that she would.

“I’ll do it,” he nods, “I was just making sure I’m not biting off more than I can chew.”

“You must have a gigantic mouth, dude—”

“Thank you,” Astrid throws her arms around Fishlegs shoulders, effectively cutting Snotlout’s surely very complimentary statement off. “Seriously, thank you.”

“Hey, you’re welcome, no one would come up with a lie that elaborate for missing two shifts,” he pats her shoulder and she sighs, finally able to take an actual deep breath now that someone is sharing at least some of the weight on her shoulders.

“You haven’t met Hiccup,” Snotlout snickers and Fishlegs looks like he’s going to join in on the joke until he catches Astrid’s fallen expression and stops himself.

“I think I need a drink if I’m going to do this,” Fishlegs looks around at the stacks, the dust layers on the books separating stories that ended when they ended and those still growing with everyone who still picks them up. “I’ve never harbored fugitives before, but I think I can justify closing the archives for a day to learn the ropes.”

“That…sounds like the best plan I haven’t pulled out of my ass today,” Astrid laughs but gestures to the clock on the wall, “it is seven in the morning though.”

“Oh!” Snotlout perks up slightly, “I bet I know a place within our budget that’s probably open.”

[ragesingoddess]

Every version of you

Adam is packing his things.

He is fucking packing his goddamned things to move to another city, to another state, and Ronan is staying behind.

Adam is leaving tommorow and Ronan refuses to think what that really means.

He knows that he should have expected this. He has known that Adam's plans involved leaving Henrietta and everything in for a long time but the problem is that Ronan is afraid that maybe he is laying somewhere among those.

The part of him, the not so selfish one, the one that has watched Adam struggling in this town for months, for years, the one that has seen Adam killing himself to be able to ensure a different future, a possibility of a different future, is incredibly proud and really, Adam being happy is everything Ronan has ever wished for.

But there is a piece of his heart that is already longing, a piece of his heart that he knows will be stolen away by Adam the moment he closes the door of his old and crappy car.

The thing is that by now he should have been used to longing for the boy with the high cheekbones and the magnetically beautiful hands. He should be an expert.

He had to hide his feelings for so long, try to conceal them behind stares full of want, behind accidental brushes of hands, behind fake sharp words and cold shoulders.

He is way too familiar with the feeling of wanting something so much that it consumes you, wanting it so much that is the only thing you can think about, wanting something more so much but not being able to do anything about it for you do not want to lose what you already have.

Really, he knows what longing for Adam Parrish feels like.

It is just that now, now that he knows what being able to have him feels like, he is not sure he can survive going back.

He watches as Adam puts the last of his things that had been left wandering around the Barns for the last year neatly into his large suitcase, he watches as he checks once, twice, for anything forgotten inside the drawers, he watches as he takes one small sized photograph (the one that Gansey took of them last summer, Chainsaw sitting lightly on one of Adam's shoulders, while Adam is whispering something in Ronan's ears and Ronan's cheeks are bright with colour) from the wall above the bed where it was hunging along with a handful of others and places it carefully inside his backpack.

He feels like there are so much to be said and he doesn't know where to start.

He wants to cry and scream and shout and beg for Adam to stay with him but most of all he wants Adam to be happy and if that means that  he can't be a part of his happiness anymore he will have to fucking deal with it.

When Adam finally zips up the last one of his bags and places it in the corner of the door of Ronan's bedroom, he looks up, his soft gaze meeting Ronan's one and tries a half smile.

"I think I'm done."

Don't leave me, Ronan wants to say but he doesn't.

He knows better.

"Fuck yeah you are, Parrish. Ready for your Harvard fucking welcome party all the other nerdy fuckers are going to host for you."

Please

Adam smile turns a bit more genuine and a little more pained at the same time. Ronan knows that by now he can see through his words that try to fake indifference, through his cold gaze trained not to show a bit of the emotions that are burning inside his heart.

He moves a step closer to Ronan.

He opens his mouth slightly, as if to say something, closes it again, frowns a bit.

Ronan just watches from where he is leaning to the doorframe, not trusting himself to speak, to say anything that will not sound too much like come back.

Adam makes another step forward and frowns again and Ronan tries his best to fake a smirk, a smirk that has formed between his lips thousands of times before so faking it for once should be easy. It isn't.

"Cat got your tongue, Parrish?" God. He is not even fooling himself.

He doesn't have time to think about it further because Adam breaks first.

"You fucker," Adam chokes out and then his hands are wrapping themselves around Ronan's back, his nose hiding perfectly beneath his neck, his whole body coming onto Ronan with such a force that he is fully pressed against the door.

Ronan doesn't even think twice before he reciprocates, clinging onto Adam desperately, his hands locking strongly just above his waist and almost his whole face burried inside of Adam's curles.

"I'll miss you," Adam says after a moment and Ronan doesn't remember if he even has the time to say it back before he is pressing his lips against Adam's like life depends on it.

Adam responds hungrily his one palm leaving Ronan's back in order to rest on the back of his neck like it belongs there, fingers digging through soft skin, making Ronan leave a moan that he doesn't even want to try and hide.

Ronan guides them to the bed, to the bed that had been their bed for so long, and then one leg is pressed between Adam's, breaths coming out rugged and unsteady, quiet moans filling out the whole room and it's Adam, Adam, Adam and nothing else and for a moment Ronan lets himself forget that he will have to say goodbye to this, to him, for months.

They lay there for a long while after, limbs tangled together, nose against nose, not being able to tell where the one stops and the other starts, and if Adam notices that Ronan's eyes are begging to turn water he doesn't say a thing.

It feels too fragile of a situation, too intimate and Ronan is afraid that a single blink of his eyes, a too loud breath can break the spell, destroy the pure perfection of this moment, this moment where it is just him and Adam and nothing in between them, them and nothing more.

He brings one of his thumbs to trace softly the outline of Adam's eyebrow and Adam's eyes close in contentment, his quiet and even breathing hitching a tiny bit then.

Adam brings Ronan's hand out of his face and enterwhines their fingers together, bringing his torso closer to Ronan in order to press a promise of a kiss just in the corner of Ronan's mouth.

Holy fuck , Ronan thinks, holy fuck I'm far too gone.

Ronan follows his example, putting one free palm to Adam's neck right beneath his ear to bring him closer and bites softly his bottom lip.

I love you

The stay just like that for a little while more, exchanging nothing but glances. They don't speak, they don't need to.

But Ronan can sense that Adam thoughts are rising, he can recognize all to well the little frown on his forehead, the way he keeps his eyes closed a second longer after he blinks, the way his smile turnes from genuine to unsure.

"Hmm?" he asks, because he needs to know what Adam is thinking, now probably more than ever and because he wants the careless, the repulsive version of Adam for as long as they have left.

"Do you--Is there--"

Adam doesn't finish. He just closes his eyes furiously, thinks a bit more and then skakes his head.

"No," he says then, "I can't ask you of this. I'm sorry."

Ronan brings Adam's head up so that their eyes are locked with the helps of his fingers.

"Anything, Adam." he tells him, because it's true.

Adam's voice when he speaks is barely even a whisper,

"Is there any version of you that could come to Cambridge with me?"

Ronan melts. This is what he needed to hear. There is no other sentence in the world that could break down all the insecurity, all the pain that had been hunting him for the past few days, no other sentence that could possibly make it so clear in the air that Adam wants him too, he will miss him, he wants Ronan threre with him.

Yes, he wants to say, of course there is.

He wants to kiss Adam again, to confirm that he would come to Cambridge right now if he wants him to, that he would leave his old life in a second for him, that there is no life in the first place if they are not together.

He wants to seal Adam's fears with promises, to act like there was not ever another choice but this.

But Ronan is not a liar.

And he knows that while Adam craves for change Ronan has built his life half in the comfort of the known and the other half in dreams.

Ronan has spent half his life living a perfect life and the other half trying to get back to it.

Adam though, Adam has spent probably the whole number of his living days fighting with everyone and everything around him, fighting with himself most of all, to able to change, to grow, to find something better that what he already had.

Adam has spent his whole life fighting for a future where he could start living instead of surviving.

Adam needs change. Ronan is not sure he has learned how to accept it.

But he will try because he has to. Because if what he needs to do to keep Adam Parrish in his life is changing he sure as hell will try.

He can't promise Adam that he will he able to follow him everywhere but he is able to promise that he will always be there when he decides to come back.

Is there any version of you that could come to Cambridge with me?

"Maybe," he says instead, pressing his body even closer to Adam's so that his head is resting on his chest, his mouth already finding its way somewhere along his neck. "Maybe."

Adam nods, then nods again and a soft, a tiny, barely-there smile is playing on his lips and his heartbeat is steady and comforting under Ronan's ear, and his hands are making circles, tracing the ink on his bare back, and his eyes are closed but Ronan can still see the setting sun reflecting on them.

Maybe, Ronan thinks, is good enough for them both.

~

(Posting this here too for everyone who prefers tumblr reading. This was inspired by one of the lovely posts of @adamparrush. Thank you so much for this idea!)

[itsanerdlife]

Mistakes Made 10/30

Pairing: Peter  Parker x Reader

Warning: Self doubt. Violence. Anger. Back stabbing. Lying. Arguing. Separation. Blood. Law breaking. Cat Fights. Stalking. A lot of anger. Team fighting. Feelings of being pathetic. Sneaking around. Betrayal.

“When one path is cut off, it’s the world’s way of telling you what you want isn’t what you need.” Steve Rogers is your best friend and you’re harboring the worst, most pathetic crush for him. But when Steve’s no longer got the time for you. When Steve starts dating the horrible and sketchy Agent Holly Smith. You’re left heart broken and in a slump. You got your heart broken in one go. The man you wanted and your best friend. Peter Parker steps in, picking up all your broken pieces. He makes you laugh, makes your heart flutter, and he knows exactly what you are. You’re falling head over heels for Peter. But the team isn’t whole with you and Steve on the outs. A drunk text and misunderstanding, everything you had comes crashing down around you. Assassins are trained to lie, kill and never be trusted. You’ve got nothing left to lose now. Where will you and Peter end up? Is there really such thing as a happy ending in this life? Or is there someone pull the threads to your happiness and life?

Tag List Is Open!!!

You and Peter had been together a for months, it was good. You made it a regular mission to avoid Steve unless it was mission related. Peter put up with a lot from you, so you’d decided to do something as a thank you for him. You skip down the hall coming into the kitchen with a giddy little grin on your lips.

“What did you do?” Tony grins at you as you come to a stop, wiggling from side to side.

“Dirty things.” You wink at him. Peter pauses his cup inches away from his mouth as he looks at you, a brow lifts.

“Really?” He takes a drink.

“Joking.” Your head tips. “Kind of.” You shrug. “Don’t check your phone around anyone else.” You grin at him.

“So hot.” Nat nods a proud smile on her lips.

“Actually I have a surprise for you?” You grin, as Peter comes around the island towards you.

“The phone thing wasn’t the surprise?” Sam grins.

“What did you do?” Peter chuckles. “Hey, you were gone before I woke up.” He leans in kissing you.

“I had to get up early for the surprise.” You bounce on your toes.

“Adventure sexting?” Nat smirks over her cup.

“Not today.” You wink at her. Peter chuckles, shaking his head.

“Do I get to know the surprise or is it like my phone?” He lifts a brow at you.

“Here look.” You pull the folded up papers from your back pocket, handing them to him. He quickly unfolds them, scanning the ink printed on them.

“Wait for tonight?” Peter’s face lights up.

“Floor seats.” You nod eagerly, grinning with him.

“I fucking love you.” He wraps his arms around your waist lifting you up, hugging you excitedly. “This is so amazing.” He grins setting you do. You run a hand through your hair.

“Well I know they’re your favorite.” You shrug.

“How did you get these?” He looks back at the papers.

“What are they?” Nat looks curious.

“Tickets to see The 1975 in concert.” He grins at her.

“You got them?” Tony asks. “The seats you wanted?” He nods.

“I did.” You grin. “Thank you.” Peter looks between the two of you.

“Wait, you knew?” Peter looks at Tony.

“About the tickets? Yes. I sent her to a guy who owes me a few favors.” Tony smiles.

“Nat help me find something to wear?” You kiss Peter’s cheek, before you head for the hallway.

“Do I get to know what you sent Peter?” She looks back at you. You spin on your toes turning to face her.

“If you play your card right, I’ll show you.” You blow her a kiss, your fingers pulling the bottom of your T-shirt up slowly, before you drop it. Laughing as you walk backwards.

“Y/N!” Peter laughs.

“Love you!” You call as Nat laughs following you.

“Romanov is going to steal your girl if you’re not careful.” Sam smirks picking up his glass of orange juice.

“She’ll give her back.” Peter snorts, shaking his head.

--------

Dating Peter, was flawless. Even when you got super annoyed with him, it was more work to stay mad than to just get over it. He made it too easy to be happy, comfortable and well you were sure slightly annoying. Time spent with Peter seemed to go by faster than normal time, the days seemed a lot shorter and morning always seem to come so much sooner than you were ready for. You fell in love with Peter Parker, like it was the most natural thing to do, like breathing. And god did you love breathing, like you loved Peter.

You were sassing Peter as you stepped off the elevator, a team meeting was called, something about an update with Fury. You move past a few agents chatting away together, you take notice Holly is among them. She has a snide sneer on her lips as she leans in whispering. Her eyes never straying from you and Peter.

“Ignore them.” Peter pulls you into his side.

“What is this high school?” You mutter.

“Some girls never grow up.” He reminds you.

“And some girls go missing.” You remind him. He chuckles.

“Play nice.” His lips press a kiss into the top of your head before you enter the meeting room.

“I don’t know what is going on with you and I don’t care.” Fury looks around the room. When his eye lands on you, you don’t back down, staring back at him. When he moves to Steve, he doesn’t look up at Fury.

“You don’t know?” Clint’s brow pulls down.

“I don’t care, Barton. Whatever this issue is, it better not affect your work.” He looks around the table once more. You scuff, Peter shoots you a look, Fury is staring at you.

“Agent you have something you need to say?” He almost smirks at you.

“A fuck ton. But nothing for you.” You bite back.

“So maybe you won’t be harming your own team, next mission?” Fury’s brow slips up.

“Don’t hold your breath.” You roll your eyes. Shoving your chair back you stand leaving the room.

-----

“Does someone want to explain to me what her problem is?” Fury looks around the table, he stops on Steve. “Any reason she hit you with your own shield, Rogers?”

“A difference of opinions. That’s all, Sir.” Steve nods. The room scuffs, shifting.

“Parker.” Fury looks at him. “Keep her in line.” He warns him.

“I don’t see anything wrong in her actions.” Peter shrugs, his eyes cut to Steve who was glaring at him. The room erupts into commotion.

“Hey! Oh!” Buck jumps up.

“Shit!” Clint’s out of his chair. Peter looks over, Y/N and Holly crash into a desk, rolling over it and on to the floor.

“Y/N!” He yells, what the hell happened now?

“Mouthy bitch!” Y/N’s hand slams down into Holly’s face.

“Agents!” Fury’s voice booms in the hallway. “Pull them apart.” Fury waves his hand at the team. Buck wraps an arm around Y/N’s middle, pulling her back.

“Doll, come on.” He tugs her back.

“She hit me!” Holly cries as soon as Steve pulls her to her feet, shoving her finger at Y/N.

“Sleep with one eye open, bitch.” Y/N smirks, her hair rumbled, a split in her lip, she has a cold look in her eyes.

“Hey!” He snaps his fingers in front of her face. She looks up, looking up at him. She shrugs, sucking in her bottom lip.

“My office now.” Fury sighs.

Everything Peaches 2/6/19: @xmtd5 @mo320 @courtmr   @all1e23 @izzy--lee @irepeldirt @dumblani @nishanki1 @crist1216 @alyssaj23 @allyp1023 @joannie95 @kolakube9 @rileyloves5 @sarahp879 @sea040561 @sexyvixen7 @pcterpvrker @pigwidgexn @doctoranon @abschaffer2 @nickimarie94 @teller258316 @wandressfox @amandab-ftw @henrietteoaks @nea90sweetie @circusofchaos @itsagalaxystar @bettercallsabs @miraclesoflove @lucifersnipnips @queenkrissy11 @sadyoungadult @destiel-artemis @paintballkid711 @iwillbeinmynest @sweet-honey15 @chanelmadrid13 @mellxander1993 @killerbumblebee @spookygrantaire @geeksareunique @supernatural508 @sammysgirl1997 @itzmegaaaaaaan @booksbeforebois @mariekoukie6661 @pure-princess-97 @capsheadquaters @samanthasmileys @youclickedthislink @futuremrsb-r-main @lovemarvelousfics @notyourtypicalrose @petersunderoos96 @loving-life-my-way @booktvmoviefangirl @supernatural-girl97 @fanfictionjunkie1112 @abbypalmer14-blog @meganlikesfandoms @awkwardfangirl2014 @supernaturaldean67 @xqueenofthecraziesx   @queenoftheunderdark @writingaworldofmyown @supernaturallover2002 @daughterofthenight117 @sprinklesandsugarcubes @whothehellisbucky-1930 @verymuchclosetedfangirl @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @ocaptain-mycaptainmorgan @wonderlandfandomkingdom @crazy-little-thing-called-buck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @stupendoussciencenaturepanda @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety

Marvel Tag List 2/6/19: @lumelgy   @dottirose   @jcc04220 @rockagurl @a--1--1--3 @mizzzpink   @jade-taillia @coley0823 @widowsfics @bookluver01 @thelostallycat @shield-agent78 @dtftheavengers   @ilovetvshowsblog @capsheadquaters   @iamwarrenspeace @thefridgeismybestie @whenallsaidanddone @deanwinchestersrifle @fandomsstolemylife00   @daughterofthenight117 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect  

Peter Parker: @ml7010 @ariminiria @dkpink123   @boltsgirl919 @quokkatrash @everthenerd @ms-rogers06 @crayonwriting @baebeepeach @bellamouse16 @honey-bee-holly @kiss-the-stars-goodbye

Mistakes Made: @gabile18 @lakamaa12 @mottergirl99 @callie-bear15 @thejupiterkiller @ibookishqueen @mus1cal-barnes @sherlokiantheatrenerd @nerdy-bookworm-1998

[gooneygull]

a little letter to my past self.

it gets better.

i guess all of the best letters start off like that.

today, you’re probably be contemplating something bad. you’re battling your addiction. you’re probably trying to tie yourself up in another person to try to make yourself more appealing to them. you’re losing who you are for the sake of others.

i understand you, and i understand why you did it, but i’m here to tell you you’re wrong. 

it’s taken me three years since that incident to begin healing and rediscovering who i am. it’s taken one year from our last relapse for me to finally begin moving away from our addiction. it’s taken me eight years to finally feel at peace, to feel as though i have a family again.

it gets better. it took us a long ass time, but it gets better.

today i got notebooks to start writing notes and keeping my biology notes organized for easy reference. believe it or not, you won’t fail out of high school. you’ll barely graduate, but you’ll end up on honor roll in college, and be double majoring in biology and marine bio. you’ll be somehow balancing work and school with almost no stress at all. you’re going to decide to teach, and you’re going to apply to be a tutor once you transfer. you’ll fall in love with universities, and you’ll fall in love with learning again.

you will come out. not everyone will accept you, but it’s okay. you’ll end up learning that there are some people who matter, and some who don’t. i’ll let you figure out who is who for yourself.

you’ll start learning who you are again. today i realized i’m basically twilight sparkle. it’s horrible, but it’s hilarious and true. you’ll end up loving education and learning more than most things. i have turned documentary watching into my favorite form of stress relief (unfortunately, your personality will end up being summarized as “nerdy.” if you truly want to know how bad it is, i think i cried at a library once because they had a limited edition antique textbook on seashells for sale). you’ll definitely be sacrificing your dignity, and you’ll never hear the end of it-

-but you’ll be happy. you’ll be content in a way you never dreamed of. you’ll absolutely destroy your friend’s patience by going on and on about paper sizes and types of ink. you will laugh and then falter and then laugh at your faltering. you will make a mistake, facepalm, then proceed to laugh hysterically at yourself, because why would you do that, you utter buffoon? you’ll learn it’s fun to make those mistakes, even if you can’t take them back. life isn’t worth wasting away at silly mistakes.

you won’t get urges anymore. you’ll think about it, from time to time, but only in a completely detached way. you’ll heal, you’ll move on, and you’ll have a friend’s shoulder to scream into instead. 

you’ll end up playing the violin. it’s going to be utter chaos, and this is why you shouldn’t ask the discordian what instrument you should play, because she will lead you down the most chaotic path (it’ll be good for you, and your self-esteem, but not for your shoulders). you’ll suck horrifically at playing the violin at first, but then you’ll learn. and you’ll be able to sight-read half a page of music with ease. it works out, in my opinion.

you’ll publish some papers anonymously. you’ll stand up for what you believe in. you’ll gain a spine and a bit more of a voice and you’ll be able to scream. you will learn what it means to fight.

you'll be working non-stop. it certainly feels like it, at least. stopping will make you feel anxious, but please learn to pause. learn to take a break and knit a scarf and write yourself a letter. read a dissertation on cephalopods. accidentally make a deadly chemical in your bathroom again. but take a break. it’s okay to rest.

may this find your way to you, somehow. and may this find its way to someone who may need to hear it. 

i love you, endlessly, without hesitation or doubt. 

i’ll see you when the sun rises once again.

[donotdisturbmysleepingdragon]

KiddxLaw Modern!AU

Traffy x Kidd Modern!AU 

~///~

It was a fairly normal day in the city. Traffic sucked, people were yelling at each other for no reason, and crime was still high despite the high police presence from the corrupt government that abused their authority.

Trafalgar D. Water Law was enjoying a calm day off from the hectic ER where he worked in the city’s main hospital. Despite his age, he was a very well respected and coveted doctor. He had seen his fair share of injuries, from stab wounds to odd objects lodged into places this didn’t belong. So he was glad that his one day off allowed him some time to decompress from all the chaos of the ER.

His day had been going quite well. He had gotten a decent amount of sleep (for him anyway), a full meal, and was able to dress comfortably. He was currently sitting at a table outside his favorite local coffee shop with his best friend and dog, Bepo. The White Tibetan Mastiff was laying at Law’s feet, a bowl of water next to him. The weather was cool, so the thick-furred dog was quite content.

Law was enjoying a medical textbook and a relaxing cup of tea. It was late evening, and the city was alive with post-work rush. He was just planning on leaving when a body dropped into the seat across from him. Bepo’s head popped up and swiveled to the interloper. Law’s eyes slowly dragged from the text to the person before him.

A full face mask surrounded by long spiky blond hair was what greeted his gaze.

“Killer-ya.” he greeted dully. 

The blond nodded back cordially.“Hello Law. Enjoying your day off?” he enquired. Law sighed and softly shut his book. 

“I was. What do you want?” Killer chuckled and sat back. His relaxed demeanor was betrayed only by his tense shoulders. 

“I require your assistance.” Law’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.  Killer was a known associate of Eustass Kidd, an up and coming gang leader who had a reputation for being hot-headed and ruthless. Law, Kidd, and Killer all went to Grand Line High together, so he was familiar with Killer’s boss and best friend.

 Law raised an eyebrow at the masked male before him. Bepo had long since lost interest, and had gone back to napping by his owner’s feet. Killer sighed.

“I need your medical expertise. My boss is in need of … assistance, and has requested you specifically. I was hoping we could do this amicably, but I’ve been ordered to bring you by whatever means necessary.” Law contemplated for a moment before sighing again and packing away his book. Bepo perked up as Law stood, and shuffled out from under the table.

 Killer stood as well and motioned for Law to follow him. The two males and one dog walked in silence down the street. Killer turned into an alley, stopping just past the threshold.

“I’ve brought him, Boss.” Law looked over the blond’s shoulder. Leaning against the dirty wall was a beaten and bloody Eustass Kidd.

The fiery haired gang leader looked up, giving Law a chance to assess the damage. His face hadn’t taken much damage, just some minor scrapes and a bruised jaw. Probably punched in the face for being an asshole. His eyes traveled lower, and finally saw why he was asked over. Taking in the -always- exposed chest, there was blood coming from in between his fingers as he tried to staunch the flow.

“What happened, Eustass-ya?” The brash idiot smirked up at Law and Killer.

“Heyya Law, I just need a quick patch job But let’s just say that hospitals and I don’t get along to well, ya feel?” The rough voice was exactly how Law remembered from school.“You didn’t answer my question, Eustass-ya” He dead-panned. Killer sighed and turned to the towering doctor behind him.

“He challenged one of Red-Hair’s crew members and got shanked.” Law sighed in resignation.

“I don’t have my medical bag with me, so I’ll have to go grab it.” He turned to leave, but was stopped by a strong grip around his bicep. Kidd chuckled.

“Ah, yeah that’s not gonna happen, pal. We don’t need you callin the pigs on us or anything. You understand, right?” Law glanced down at the hand on his arm, then turned to Killer, who had stopped him.

“Then what do you suggest, Eustass-ya?” His eyes slid over to the seemingly unconcerned bleeding male.

“Take us to your bag, of course,” was the blasé response. Law’s face dropped into a glare as his brain processed the demand. Kidd and Killer, whilst his old classmates, were also known criminals. Did her really want them knowing where he lived? It sounded like a terrible idea.  He didn’t need any gang members knocking down his door, for any reason. 

On the other hand, they wouldn’t be disturbed, as his building held a no-questions-asked policy. And it would give him the home field advantage.

Law fully turned back to face Kidd. He nodded once, which prompted Killer to release his arm. Both males moved forward and grabbed an arm to hoist Kidd up and onto their shoulders. Law internally mourned the loss of his jacket and shirt, but moved to the front of the alley where Bepo was sitting dutifully keeping watch. The Large mastiff sniffed at Killer and Kidd, growling at the latter, before turning and heading down the street.

The three males managed to make it to Law’s building with little more than an odd look or two as they stumbled through the streets. As they made their way to the elevator inside, Law pulled away and headed towards the stairs.

“Hey, where ya going, Law?” Kidd ased, almost condescendingly. Law turned, with Bepo at his heels, and looked at the bloody duo.

“Well, Eustass-ya, I need to prepare my equipment if I’m going to stitch you up. Besides, Bepo doesn’t like the elevator” Kidd snarled in response.

“Well who cares what the flea-bag feels. We stick together.” Law glared and Bepo growled. Killer, ever the mediator, held out a placating hand.

“How about I take Bepo up the stairs and prep your equipment for you?” Law turned his steely gaze to the level-headed blond. He thought about it for a moment, then sighed and acquiesced.

A few minutes, and explicit instructions later, Killer led Bepo up the stairs, Law’s keys in hand, and Law was holding up Kidd as the elevator ascended the seven floors. Kidd was staring at Law.

Despite his best effort, Law could not ignore the intense gaze bore into the side of his face. He slid his steel grey eyes over to meet carmine irises. Kidd’s eyes roamed Law’s face before settling back on his eyes and he smirked.

“How ya been, Traffy? I ain’t seen ya since graduation.” Law turned away, not dignifying the unwanted nickname usage with a response. Kidd waited all of thirty seconds for an answer. “Aww come on Law, don’t be like that. I’m just tryin’ ta make conversation.” Law kept his eyes forward, hoping that the elevator would just reach his floor already.

“You are essentially forcing me to help you out of a mess that you made, so I’ll be however I want, Eustass-ya.” he intoned as the doors finally opened. He quickly dragged the still bleeding male through the quiet hallway and to his opened door, where Bepo was sitting just indie watching Killer as he finished covering the table with plastic.

His tools were laid out neatly, and he could smell the antiseptic and sterile metal. Killer looked up and the mastiff boofed in greeting to his owner, and hurried over to help move his boss to the coffee table.

Once Kidd was settled, Law stepped away and shrugged off his jacket. He tossed it into the trash bag that Killer had so kindly provided. He then stripped off his Black turtle-neck long-sleeve shirt and tossed that as well. His fit and inked torso was exposed, but he thought nothing of it as he walked down the small hallway into his room to pull on a new clean shirt and wash his hands.

 When he returned to the living room, Kidd was holding his nose, which was bleeding. Killer sat on the couch next to him, with a hand to his masked face, shaking his head. Law raised an eyebrow.

“Why is he bleeding?” Killer shook his head again.

“Because he’s an idiot,” Law forward and began prepping.

“I didn’t know that idiocy caused people to just start spontaneously bleeding from their nose.” He snarked as he pulled on gloves and grabbed Kidd’s other hand away from the still bleeding stab wound.

“I think it’s a new phenomenon.” was Killer’s only response as he stood up to leave. “Call me when he’s fit to leave. I left my number on you fridge. I should also change, and let the boys know what happened.

“Aren’t you worried I may kill him?” Law asked as he started to clean the wound, assessing how deep it was.

“No. I believe he is in good hands. Best of luck ‘Surgeon of Death’,” Law froze for only a moment before continuing his work.

~///~

Kidd was a confident guy. He had every reason to be. He was tough, strong, and well respected by his gang, not to mention the name he had made for himself in the criminal world. But his confidence was what had landed his in this situation, he wasn’t too proud to admit that. Lay, half-naked on a plastic covered coffee table, a dog glaring at him from it’s bed across the room, and a very fit docotor cleaning his wound.

 For some reason, Eustass Kidd was at a loss for what to do. He hadn’t expected Law to just strip right in front of him so suddenly, and now he was holrny as fuck, because damn if Law wasn’t the most attractive doctor Eustass ever had.

 The muscles alone would have been enough, but paired with the many tattoos swirling across his torso, down his arms, and onto his hands, Kidd’s blood rushed to his face so fast that he got a nosebleed. A nosebleed! Him! Like some nerdy virgin middle school boy! He knew he was going to get crap for it later from Killer based on the sigh and head shake.

Now, however, Kidd was focused on a different problem. He just couldn’t stop staring at Law’s face as the man concentrated on stitching up the now cleaned stab wound. His steely eyes were laser focused on his work, and it made Kidd feel extremely exposed, which was impressive considering his general state of dress, or lack of dress. So, in order to hide his growing … attraction to his ex-classmate, he decided to make conversation again.

“Hey Law. What's with the creepy nickname, huh?” ‘Surgeon of Death’ doesn’t sound like someone a soccer mom would let operate on her kid, ya know?” Law paused in his sewing and spared a glance at Kidd

.“Unless you want a scar, Eustass-ya, don’t talk. You’ll move your abdomen too much and then I won’t be able to sew straight.” He waited a moment before going back to work. After a few minutes he responded. “I got the title a few years ago when I was doing off the record treatments and surgeries for criminals and runaways. Anyone who couldn't pay my price or threatened me ended up ‘dead’ and in police custody.”

Kidd would never admit it, but rather than terrified, or shocked, he was only thinking about how ruthless, and hot, that was. He cleared his throat and tried very hard not to shift beneath those steady and tattooed hands.

 Law finished up his final stitch and swiped an antiseptic wipe across it to remove any lingering blood before placing a bandage across it. Once it was secure, he snapped off his gloves and threw them in the trash bag that held his bloody clothes. The large dog hopped up from it’s bed and trotted over to his owner, who was moving over towards the kitchen.

 Kidd moved to sit up, and was promptly hit with a massive dizzy spell. Law, from the kitchen, spoke loud enough for his dulcet tones to carry.

“Don’t move yet, Eustass-ya. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and will need to replenish your fluids so your body and start to make more blood. I’m grabbing you some juice to get your sugar levels back up as well. Do you happen to know your blood type?” Kidd scoffed and managed to sit up straight, perching himself on the edge of the table.

“F.” Law snorted, and Kidd heard a door open and close. It was silent for a moment before Kidd heard it open and close again. Law came back into the room orange juice in one hand and … an iv and blood bag? “Hey hey, what’s this shit?” Law set the juice down on Kidd’s lap, shoving it between his thighs so it wouldn’t fall over. He then moved to set up the IV stand with the bag of blood.

“You lost too much blood, remember? This will help. Now lay down on the couch, Eustass-ya.” As he explained,  Law positioned himself to stick the needle into Eustass’ arm. He swiped it with another wipe, and pushed in the needle with no warning or pause. The smooth motion was followed by him taping the needle in place, and a hand gesturing to the couch.

Eustass flushed a bit, a scowl appearing on his face to try and hide his embarrassment. He moved carefully over to the couch. Law, despite complaints, heled Kidd lie back, and even moved a pillow behind his head so he would be more comfortable.

“Drink your juice, Eustass-ya” was the order given before Law turned back and headed into the kitchen once more. Kidd was sure his face was as bright as his hair, and he could almost feel another nosebleed coming. He quickly grabbed the orange juice and tried to chug it, but was caught off guard when his ecarmine eyes caught sight of the pitch black ones of Law’s dog, who was staring at him from across the room. He choked  bit, and pulled the juice away to hack out what little got into his lungs.

“Don’t chug the juice, Eustass-ya. Sip it. Otherwise you’ll vomit, and I don’t feel like cleaning up any more of your messes tonight.” Law’s voice carried from the kitchen,a s well as the sounds of meal prep. The dog continued to stare at him as he followed Law’s directions.

“Hey Law, your damn dog is staring at me again.”

“That’s because he doesn't trust you. Once food it ready he’ll stop.”

 A while later, and two empty juice glasses later, food was ready, and Kidd was sitting up on the couch feeling more like himself. When Law came out wearing a “Kiss the Cook and I’ll Kick Your Ass” apron, all his previous hirniness returned. Law set down a plate before Kidd, then settled on the floor across from him. As soon as he was seated, the dog moved from his vigil position and layed down behind Law. The inked doctor leaned back onto it, and tossed a scrap of food his way.

As the meal progressed in silence, Eustass thought back to what Law had said earlier.“So, uh, about this payment.” Law’s eyes slowly moved up to meet Kidd’s own. “What exactly do you want in return?” Law, still chewing, processed the question.

“Depends on what of value you have. Normally I ask for money, the amount for supplies used [laus time and effort. But, I am flexible if you have something of use and value to me.” Kidd’s mind worked to try and figure out what he had that could work as payment to the reclusive doctor. 

“Well, Traffy, I ain’t exactly liquid right now. So, how about I give you a down payment, and then have Killer bring the rest when he comes to get me?” Law hummed into his drink (water) and set the glass down. “You’ll need to stay the night for observation, so he won’t be able to come and get you til morning.” Kidd blanched and flushed. Stay the night!? “What did you have in mind for the down payment?”

End?

This is my gift for @generaldevi who is my “secret santa” for the discord gift exchange. Hope you enjoy~!

Rose

[artificialqueens]

perfect places (craquaria): chapter four - melody

Summary: Enrolled on a boarding school, Aquaria, Brianna and all their friends try survive until they graduate. But some of them like Aquaria and her friends really don’t care about the rules, survivint on their own way. Brianna and her friends otherwise, are the neat model students who does everything right according to the rules. In a chaotic way, Aquaria has a crush on Brianna and in the middle of clandestine parties, cigarette and alcohol, she has to find out how to deal with it besides dealing with the horrible pressure of Charles Academy.

Chapter summary: Brianna goes to a student council meeting - good thing she brought doughnuts with her. read on ao3 / writing blog / main blog

A/N: Sorry for taking so long for writing this chapter, I was just without inspiration, but yeet I wrote something!! It’s updated!! Hope you like it <3 @artificialmeggie is the best beta in the world spread the word!!! 

Worried. That was what Brianna was at that moment. Dazzled, confused, worried, very worried. Finding out about the secret parties should be the biggest achievement of her seventeen year old life, but she couldn’t do anything about it. Aquaria Needles - in all her glory, and hypnotic red plump lips - blackmailed her, and then not even Aquaria’s deadly beauty could make Brianna less worried, less pissed off at her. She helped her for God’s sake, and that was how she thanked her? But she would still keep her promise to look out for Aquaria; she remembered clearly the moment she made it, and how she wouldn’t break that one.

Being late was already a burden to her, Brianna Cracker could never be late to class. She knew her mom wouldn’t be very happy, and Brianna would blame herself for a lifetime. All that confusion made the blonde walk in quick steps, with a box of doughnuts in her hands almost bumping into annoyed students. Brianna’s presence always caused a mix between admiration, fear, and disapproval in the students - depending on who they were.

In one hand, she could snitch on the secret parties and end that. It would be great for her academic life, and she would make the school a better place for everyone. She was fighting against it for so long, it would be paradise to end the parties, and fire that damn security. But on the other hand Aquaria would be disappointed… No. Aquaria blackmailed her, she would show the video and Brianna could lose her position, or be kicked of the student council. That damn video, that damn song, Brianna scolded herself for being just another teenager lost in the music.

A thing came into her mind: she couldn’t snitch on the troublemakers. The blackmailing was way too serious, she knew Aquaria wasn’t the kind of girl who’d do this, and her friends were behind this. Brianna believed Aquaria had something good inside her, but she couldn’t say the same about her friends. It was like all her hard work and dedication was fading away from her hands. The rooms, of course it was the rooms, they were way too distant from the rest of the academy. Brianna really needed to suggest that room change, but would it work? Ending the parties would work, but for her own sake, she couldn’t.

All Brianna could do was to go to her dorm, tie her hair in a bun, adjust the student council president pin on her blazer, and grab a cup of coffee and a box of doughnuts. The coffee was because Brianna couldn’t work without it - it was her weakness; she knew it was an addiction but she couldn’t stop it, otherwise she would be a sleepy incoherent mess - and the doughnuts… Well, the student council president has to make the other members happy, and Brianna took that duty seriously.

The student council room smelled like coffee, cleaning products, and ink; it reminded Brianna of home. Weirdly, one of her safe places was that room. Not when it was crowded, and with her being the perfect leader she was raised to be, but it was home when she was alone. Brianna had the keys, and it wasn’t an infraction so she could come there any time she wanted to. She loved to sit there, and read a book with her cup of coffee - that kind of thing made her feel like herself once in a while.

It didn’t take long for somebody to be very happy with the box she brought in her hands:

‘’Oh my god Brianna you’re the best, you brought doughnuts!’’ Courtney ran to her. ‘’Duh, literally, you’re the best since you’re boss lady.’’

It was surprisingly early for Courtney Act - their pretty popular Australian exchange student - to arrive. Courtney was one of the rich kids who studied there, a very known one, and it would be stupid to put one of them on her team - since they were all snobby and carefree - but Courtney caught her attention. Brianna needed people to vote on her team back in student council elections, but the people she picked were efficient, but not popular: Eureka was known for being as nerdy as Brianna was; Vixen was dislikedby a lot of people because of her aggressive ways; Sasha was a weirdo; and Brooke and Kameron were the reserved kind. Courtney was an average student, but even if she was a little bit dorky sometimes, she had people in the palm of her hands with her bright Australian smile.

‘’Hi Courtney, wow that’s early. I’m impressed.’’

‘’I arrived earlier than you.’’ She stuck her tongue out. ‘’I heard people saying you arrived late in French, ugh, that’s off.’’

One thing Brianna didn’t like about Courtney: she didn’t respect Brianna like everyone else. It was literally the only thing about the blonde that got her on her nerves, but she let it pass since she arrived early. Brianna was a fair leader.

‘’Personal problems, nothing you should worry about.’’

‘’Good morning,’’ Sasha and Vixen mumbled together, entering the door.

‘’Good morning, you two. Bri brought doughnuts.’’ Courtney grabbed the box and waved it in the air. God, did she knew it would ruin the doughnuts? It made Brianna very annoyed.

‘’Courtney, sweetheart, I brought doughnuts but you shouldn’t wave them in the air…’’

‘’And she doesn’t like being called Bri! It’s Brianna!’’

And it was Eureka. Brianna wasn’t friends or enemies with anyone at student council, but she could say she despised Eureka. They always competed in everything, and it was a surprise when Brianna asked her to be her vice-president. The blonde wasn’t dumb, she knew Eureka would make it work more than anyone else. She was so… Loud. Brianna concluded that she didn’t really like people, but had to put a smile on her face every single morning.

‘’And I could’ve said it myself.’’

A silence was installed in the room.

‘’Delicate like a petal,’’ Sasha joked. ‘’That’s inappropriate, Sasha.’’

Brianna swore she could cut the ginger with her eyes. She saw Sasha gulp: fear was a common expression in the eyes of her student council mates - it was better than disrespecting her, and she knew they secretly knew it was for their own good.

Finally, Kameron and Brooke arrived, so they could start their meeting. They took their seats quietly, mumbled a ‘’good morning,’’ and grabbed their notes - as secretaries, they had to do many.

Somehow they all worked well together: Brianna was the president, the head girl; Eureka was the vice-president, the lock to Brianna’s key, even if they despised each other a little bit, their brains together were too powerful; Courtney was the social representative, she would bring what was happening and what people wanted in school, besides doing polls and promoting things; Vixen was the sports representative, she took care that their school was valued by body, mind, and soul. Even if she was aggressive, she knew how to handle things, Brianna admired that; Sasha was the art representative, she took care of all the art events and matters; Kameron and Brooke were secretaries. They did the paperwork - and did that wonderfully, they were excellent in their execution.

Brianna remembered election time fondly. It was when she saw the announcement , one year ago, she remembered the joy in her eyes: in one year studying at Charles Academy, she heard a lot about the student council - that was her goal since she got in - and now it was time for another election: her time to shine.

She remembered how she had to leave her rivalry with Eureka behind, and how well they worked together. Courtney helped to promote their campaign so fast, they found the perfect sports representative - Vixen was captain of the girls’ basketball team, and very popular between them - Sasha had so many avant-garde ideas perfect for art, and Brooke and Kameron literally did all the bureaucracy with a smile on their faces.

The other team was a blur for her, and for everyone. Brianna’s team won the majority of votes, she heard rumors that even the other boy who were running for president voted for her. They were the dream team, and even if Brianna acknowledged how brilliant she was, she knew she would be nothing without them. She worked so hard to get there, she remembered all the tours with new students - in which she meet Aquaria - all the muffins she helped Courtney to distribute, all nights without sleep till the day the principal called her name in the school’s auditorium…

‘’Should we start?’’ Brianna asked politely, taking her president chair.

They all nod silently, Brianna grabbed her cup of coffee. ‘’First, Vixen, there’s a basketball championship coming, what’s on the matter for that?’’

And the meeting proceeded perfectly as usual. They discussed sports, and then the talent show - where Sasha got very upset for the disinterest of students on art, and Courtney was assigned to promote it. Brooke and Kameron showed her the last grades they got from the teachers - a success, Courtney babbled non-stop about the social issues in their school, even if her rich friends were the ones who bullied the scholarship students, but Brianna had to swallow that - Courtney was helpful in a lot of things, she was just… A little bit ignorant.

The topic suddenly became the troublemakers. It was a well discussed topic in their meetings, the troublemakers weren’t a chill thing - it needed to be discussed . Brianna talked about the room change, and gulped hard when Eureka asked her why.

‘’They all are very close, if we put them apart…’’

‘’And put them with good people that have nothing to do with them?’’ Eureka cocked one eyebrow. ‘’Not very smart of you, Brianna, we keep them isolated from the rest because they need to be.’’

Jesus, Brianna wanted her to choke - but she would never say it out loud; it was impolite.

Brianna tried to change the topic, but it came back to the troublemakers, the secret party thing was on her throat daring to come out.

‘’There’s that Aquaria Noodles, she’s evil.’’ Courtney pouted, with her accent that made everything she said dorkier.

‘’Aquaria Needles,’’ Brianna corrected, but the name gave her chills. ‘’And I think there’s more than evil to her to be honest’’

‘’Are you protecting that whore?’’ Vixen slammed the table.

Brianna gave her a cold look, she knew it was enough to stop Vixen’s random anger attacks.

‘’Sorry, Brianna, she keeps coming to the female team games and… Distracting my players, it would be terrible damage to the team. They have to follow the rules you know they can’t fuck her-’’

‘’Acceptable, but language, Vixen, always.’’

‘’And there’s Adore Delano too. I don’t know even how she didn’t got expelled. The number of warnings she got, every time I see one more in the system, it’s just a normal day to me.’’ Kameron addressed something, a rare event.

‘’Her dad is a famous musician, duh.’’ Courtney rolled her eyes. ‘’To be honest, she is kinda hot…’’

And Brianna thought her messy thoughts for Aquaria were unacceptable , Courtney literally said that out loud with zero worrying. Brianna frowned in disgust. At least she kept them on her mind, Courtney was so oblivious.

‘’What? I’m human!’’

“Well darling, to be in the student council you have to sell your soul and lose your humanity’’, Brianna thought, and laughed to herself.

‘’What about the secret parties, Brianna?’’

Damn Eureka. Brianna could feel how red her cheeks got, but how could Eureka know? She knew Aquaria’s friends didn’t share the video, they made a deal - more like blackmailing, but it was a deal.

‘’They are a real trouble, and guaranteed I’m working on it. Brooke, I need you to write a request to the principal to more random stakeouts and-’’

‘’It doesn’t seem like you are…’’

‘’What do you mean?’’ She gulped, but Eureka couldn’t know, right?

Eureka smirked with an evil look. If Brianna ever dared to swear, she would have said, ‘’Fuck.’’

‘’I got some material about the secret parties, let me just find it.’’ Eureka grabbed a laptop and clicked on some video, Brianna hoped it was some anonymous video from the party, or something else.

But it was her, dancing and feeling the music, feeling herself. A reminder she could never be herself, right in front of everyone. The shame consumed her face, tears wanted to come out, but all she let go was a sigh - even if she was dying inside.

Eureka paused the video, smiling. ‘’How can you explain this?’’

For the first time, Brianna Cracker didn’t know what to say. Everyone was shook, silence remained in the room - just as it was before anyone arrived, as they were ghosts, too shook for saying anything.

‘’I am asking for a trial,’’ Eureka announced. ‘’As vice-president I have the right to until the day you are out. Depending on what they decide, maybe you’re never will step in this room again.’’

Brianna couldn’t even believe it.

‘’Look, you could have snitched them, and instead you danced? You were out of bed on curfew? I’m sure you drank, what a shame! This school needs somebody who takes things seriously.

Who gave you the right to speak this way to me? Brianna thought ‘Fucking cunt, fuck fuck fuck fuck. Well, her mind could swear.

‘’…For today, dismissed,’’ Brianna used all the strength that lasted in her body to say that.

‘’Don’t worry Bri, it’s the last time you will say that.’’

Now she was alone, at ‘’home’’ that never would be her home again: falling into pieces on the floor, she knew she would never have peace anymore.