#oh boy! i sure do hope i learn how to balance my own needs! pukes everywhere

[ethernetmeep]

everythings fine except the curtains are on fire and oh fuck the house is on fire but its not just the house its me too and im sitting in the kitchen on a chair on fire and. I . Am not having a good time. Holy fuck i havent been having a good time for like two hours

[kyukun]

To the Birthday boy! (OumaSai)

FUCK YES!!!!! might write a smut ending to this too and post it to ao3 hmm

but yes i love this, hope you enjoy!

title: To the Birthday boy!

summary: Shuichi just wanted to throw a nice surprise birthday party for his boyfriend. Instead, he got stuck babysitting drunk idiots. Such luck he has.

word count: 1506

~~ prompt starts after cut! ~~

It was the twenty-first of June, better known as Kokichi Ouma's birthday. Kokichi made everyone and their dog aware that today was his birthday. And if anyone ever called him out on it, he'd just cue those puppy dog eyes and excuse his behavior on the simple fact that it was his birthday. Kokichi loved being spoiled. And now that he was dating Shuichi (the person who spoils him probably the most out of everyone,) and it was his birthday, today was going to be amazing. 

 He just knew it was. 

 Though, Shuichi hadn't really seemed to pick up on his various, and mind you, painfully obvious, attempts at hints for gifts whenever they went out. The detective would typically get sidetracked or just genuinely not get the hint whenever he did say something about it. For example, just last week, Kokichi and Shuichi went on a cute movie date, like couples do, and after the movie had decided to walk around the mall for a bit.

 While walking past a store, Kokichi had noticed a gorgeous matching pair necklaces with initial engravings. He assumed they were wedding gifts but either way, they were cute. He wanted Shuichi to get both of them one as a way to commemorate not only their relationship, but their love for one another. 

 And in this state of mind, he dropped a subtle hint, saying something along the lines of: "Saihara-chan, don't you think my outfit would look better with a necklace? Maybe a necklace… Like this one! There's two, so you and I can match." But even with this not-so subtle hint, he remained oblivious and was a good boyfriend about it. He explained that Kokichi didn't need a necklace to make his outfit better since him wearing anything makes the outfit better immediately. 

 Cheesy. 

 You've won this time, Mister Detective.

 After that, Kokichi kept throwing more and more hints at him but each time he seemed to dodge it. It was very frustrating. 

 Now on the other hand, Shuichi knew. Shuichi knew what he was doing and what those hints meant but played dumb for the sake of surprising him. He thanked god he learned from the best actor he knew, otherwise known as Kokichi himself, or else he wouldn't have been able to pull this off for that long.

 He commended himself for his willpower. Seeing the utter face of pure disappointment pained him more than anything and god, it was so fucking hard not to just burst out with apologies and explain everything sometimes. But he knew it would be worth it in the long run so he powered through it all.

 That being said, the party was today and Kokichi was hanging out with Kiibo and Rantaro as a distraction while the others set up the decorations. 

 Shuichi made some guidelines in order to prevent the party from going haywire.

 "Miu… What are you doing with all of that?"

 "This?" She held up a few packs of alcohol in her hand with a grin. "Oh come on! Shittyhara, you need to loosen up a bit. I'll be sure no one gets drunk."

 Rule one: No alcohol.

 Rule one failed.

 "And how are you going to manage that? Aren't you the one that gets drunk first anyway?"

 She gasped as if she were offended, though, Shuichi knew better than to know that she wasn't. "If anything, I'd say you're the one who gets drunk first! 'Sides what's a little fucking booze gonna do to ya?! Geez."

 "I can handle my liquor. I made it very clear that I didn't want alcohol here. So if you could just—" Before he could finish, Miu cut him off mid-sentence and opened the door for Kaito who had the balloons and other decorations in hand. "Hey y'all! What's popping?" Miu greeted Kaito with the obligatory “bro hug” with a fresh open bottle in hand. 

 “These bottles hopefully! If Pooichi here wasn’t being such a sour puss.” Miu antagonized, sticking out her tongue in a playful manner while Kaito bent down and grabbed a bottle from the box while he set down the balloons and various bags beside the door.

 “Oh come on, Shuichi. It’s just a few bottles.”

 “Guys, I said no. You guys know how Kokichi feels about alcohol.”

 “He’ll get over it.”

 Before he knew it, more and more people had begun showing up and had begun drinking. This lead Shuichi to do the decorations all by himself while everyone else drank their asses off. He couldn’t help but get a little bit angry. This was supposed to be a group effort. But right now, it seemed more like a one man job. While he didn’t mind that others were having fun, it was the fact that he was doing all of the work himself when everyone offered their help initially.

 Shuichi had received a text from Rantaro that they were on their way and that’s when he knew things were not going to go well.

 He mentally cursed himself as he glanced at the clock at the top of his phone. “Shit.” Shuichi set down his phone and ran around their apartment to gather the plethora of empty bottles that had begun gathering around their house. He collected as much as he could hold in his hand while he ran to drop them carefully in the garbage. 

 He did this for what seemed like hours before nudging Miu who was passed out on the couch. “Miu! They’re on their way. Come and help me pick everything up. Kaito, you too.” Kaito jolted awake, a bit of drool leaking from his mouth. Shuichi picked up the last remainder of bottles while Miu and Kaito both attempted to pick up surrounding garbage in their drunken states.

 “Right, right.” Kaito replied, his words slurring a bit. He stumbled as he used his hands to guide himself to the trash. Eventually, he had lost his balance, dragging down the birthday sign that Shuichi had set up along with his fall. And just like that, Shuichi saw all of his efforts go to waste as Miu and everyone who was there slowly messed up everything he had worked so hard to make perfect.

 He heard the door unlock open and in came Kiibo and Rantaro who had Kokichi blindfolded by his own scarf as they guided him into the room. “Guys, what are you all doing?” Kokichi giggled. Rantaro looked around at the growing disaster unfolding around him in pure horror. “What happened?” He mouthed to Shuichi who simply shrugged his shoulders with a sigh. “I don’t know. Blame Miu.” Shuichi mouthed back. Kokichi sat back in silence, increasingly growing restless as the pair exchanged words in secrecy, trying to figure out a plan but before they could, Kokichi took off his scarf.

 “Ok guys, I’m getting bored now. What’s going—Oh…” Kokichi held the scarf in his hand while Kiibo rushed over to help Miu who looked like she was about to puke all over the carpet. “Surprise?” 

 Kokichi was speechless. Multiple empty bottles were piled in one corner while some streamers hung sadly across their walls. A sign was also on the floor that he assumed Miu had written on that said “to the birthday boy!” in sloppy handwriting as well as the typical ‘Happy Birthday’ on top of it. Kokichi stared at Shuichi who seemed almost… embarrassed? 

 He smiled softly and lead his lover to the couch while Rantaro decided it’d be best to just leave the two alone.

 “Hey. This is quite the party you’ve got here Mister Detective.”

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t like alcohol. Miu brought it and she started drinking, then Kaito, then Maki,and I couldn’t stop them—”

“Shumai, it’s okay. It’s fine. Don’t stress about it.” He gently cupped his cheek while his serene smile remained. Seeing that smile made all of his worries melt away into thin air. “Really?”

 “Really. Thank you for this. I love you.”

 He kissed his lips and the latter kissed back. He was so incredibly lucky and unlucky at the same time. Shuichi grinned, “Close your eyes really quick.”

 With a small raise of his brow, he listened while Shuichi shuffled in his pocket. He felt something cold wrap around his neck. Almost metal like. It couldn’t be…

 His eyes shot open as he was greeted with a necklace. Not just any necklace though. The necklace. The same necklace he had been eyeing down for a week. The necklace that he been dropping hints about.

 "Y-you actually listened?"

 "Of course I did. Sorry this party is a huge mess but I tried. I got us that necklace you wanted so now we're matching." He whipped out the necklace from under his shirt and revealed it from its hidden location. He held the chain with his thumb and index finger with a cheesy grin as Kokichi felt his face flash red.  They exchanged a kiss before Kokichi swung out a bottle from beneath him.

 “Now, time to party.”

[androgynousblackbox]

A day on the life of your favourite radio host

You woke up before your alarm did it’s job and then turned it off when it did. After putting on your shoes for home, stand up to open up the window and breath the smell of the beatiful flowers around the house. What a lovely morning! The sun was clear, there wasn’t any bird chirping and you could feel optimistic about today. But then again, when weren’t you a ball of sunshine with that bright smile on your face?

You could have greeted your neighborhood good morning, of course, but there was no one left to greet. The houses both at the sides of your own and in the front were empty, waiting for new owners, but it was so hard on the current economy and so funny for you in particular. How many people have sold their own children for one of those houses? Killed for them? Lied, stole? Oh, who knows! But it was entertaining to think about it as you dressed up.

You wear a white shirt you ironed yourself last night after cleaning it up; the closed vest matching the tone of your pants and your shoes, so pleasantly shiny and clean as if they were new. A wonderful way to start any day as you hummed your way down to the kitchen, preparing some toast and tea. You made a recount of your nocturnal activities and mental notes to keep track off for later. Thank goodness you had such a excelent memory, because the things you needed to remember were not things meant for writing on any common language. After cleaning up everything, you stepped outside and looked at your house with a inevitable sigh of nostalgia. It looked almost exactly the same as when your dear beloved mother was there, even the boarded up window of the attic. To think your own mother didn’t believe you when you said you threw the neighbor’s kid from there. It had been a perfectly honest accident. You just opened up for that small little boy to reach the wooden plane that had landed on your roof and then watched with amusement as he tried to balance out over the inclined surfice, only to finally slip out and meet his bitter end against the ground. You would have never harm a child, that is for sure. A man such as yourself might not have a lot of rules to live by, but that was certainly one of them. But watch them do reckless things without moving a finger to prevent it… well, that was another story, isn’t it? He couldn’t control gravity. And who was he to intervene betwen a boy and his new toy? You walked all the way to the radio station you were working, greeting everyone you knew and even some that didn't; they stared at you with such pathetic little admiration that was hard to resist to aknowledge it. Sat down on your chair, rolled up your sleeve  and waited for the signal indicating you were ready to talk. “Good day, my lovely listeners! Isn’t a espectular day today? Our way of living maybe be crushing under our feet and the hope of ever returning to what is normal seems dimmer with every second we are breathing the poison that is our life, but don’t fret, your good friend radio host will always be here for you! Let’s take a look to the news of the day, shall we?” You grabbed on a newspaper an assistant had handed to you and unfolded it, taking care for not to do it over the microphone. “My, it seems like the rate of suicides is rising once again! It seems that everyone’s salary is not the only thing that is dropping, ha! Oh, and it seems so many kids are currently on the streets right now as their parents sold them for their own sake. Better take care of your garbage, listeners, or you might find one of them looking for their lunch as you are listening and then you will have to clean up that mess! Mmm, I guess you could throw away a couple of scraps for the little lads but, between you and me, my friend, do you really want to? But you all know how children are, and unfortunely  their attempts can’t be avoided until are not able to keep looking anymore. It’s a sad, sad situation, indeedy, but that is why we must appreciate still the few delights we have left on this corrupted world, my friend. Like music! Let us hear some more about that lady that has everyone perking up their ears.” You flicked some buttons and put one one of the newest records on the station as you received a few calls on the meantime. Most of the calls were about people talking about their own sad situation. I had to sell the precious chinese porcelain of my grandmother, I lost all my money thanks to some thief, the bread is so expensive that my family is eating paper and blah blah blah Almost the exact same speech from yesterday, too boring to lose too much time on them, and instead concetrated on the people requesting for a new song or talking about their new misfortunes that your dear listeners haven’t heard of yet. Someone had to actually eat their pet dog and that got their entire family a food poisoning! Ha! Hilarious!  You can make up this, folks! You continued the show until midday and you had to say goodbye for now to give place to the next host. You didn’t have to come back until a couple of hours so you had a chance to grab lunch on some of the few restaurants that remained open. There a lady asked you if you were who she thought you were and you said yes, inviting her to take a seat in front of you and engage on a conversation. There was no wedding ring or the usual bags under the eyes of a mother stressing about what to feed her children, so when the route went about talking for a date, you played along to please her by inviting her to come over your house so you could both have a home meal. She blushed and pretended like it was a hard choice. You played as well, convincing her that it would be fine, just a perfectly decent, not at all attention worthy dinner between a pair of new friends, nothing else to see. After a little of back and forth, she finally promised to be there and stood up to continue with her chores. You made another mental note and kept enjoying your food, that you were almost sure it was actually a cat caught on an alley, but at least tasted good. Back to work, you put music, told a few easy jokes that your mother was so fond of and had a little talk with a carpenter who had his entire business burning just last week, a fire in which all his family died during their sleep. It was highly amusing to ask him about if he still dreamt about their faces so peacefully in the night, as if they were sleeping, but knowing they were never going to wake up again and he was, quite frankly, at least somewhat responsable.

Of course with enough jokes that the carpenter just sniffed a little bit and was able to contain from crying until the microphone was off. Then the night came and you had to say goodbye until tomorrow. And they better wished them luck, dear listeners, because he was going to have a date tonight with some lovely lady! You returned back home with your usual high spirit, humming the most popular song today, and prepared everything for the big event. When your new friend appeared, the dinner was already done and ready to be served. Some delicious deer meat that he bought from some local hunters that before were just doing it for the hobby, but now they practically only survived on their meat, whenever they could find it. Unfortunately the population of aceptable prey had diminished so much since so many other people had similar ideas, so it was getting quite hard out there. Well, at least people were being more creative now! Didn’t you noticed some “feline grace” on your meal today? Ha! You were kidding of course. Not really. Anyway, as you both finished, you took her hand to accompany you into the basement, where you had your record player and they could listen to some nice music more comfortable. Why do you have a record player on the basement, she aks? Why, it was initially just not to bother your sweet mother since she prefered a silent environment to read her books, but even after her death, it became just a habit to keep it there. Yes, it is smells terrible, you know, you assured her as you secure the grip on her wrist and closetd the door with a key only you had. It was dark, you know, and you were aware the smell was so intense that was going to make your darling guest to puke on her beautiful dress. What is that smell? Oh, nothing extraodinary, just the stench of rotting corpses you had yet to get rid of. Oh, what a enjoyable moment of silence was that. Did she thought you were joking? Did she assume you meant anything else but exactly what you said? On the darker stairs you could see her face changing, the beautiful and slow metamorphosis from a pleasant but confused smile to an actual realization that you were not joking, not at all, and your smile wasn’t because you were laughing at her incredulity but rather, at her whole life. By the time she turned her head to the door, you had already pulled her down stair and kicked her knees out so she would stumble the rest of the way and crash her head against the concret cube you had precisely for those situation. Ah, it was almost magical when their fall was just right and their lives ended with a clear and satisfying crack. The truly fun part is when they didn’t die right away, just knocked out for the time being, with some unimportant brain damage nobody cared about; then you had the chance to help them stay alive a little longer… and they'd regret the fall didn’t kill them. You were so excited when you discovered she was still breathing despite the blood and the weird shape her head had adquired. So you hummed happily as you dragged to the center of your hard learned symbols and grabbed some of the ritual knifes all over the wall. When you were done with her, you cut out some of her bodyparts and put it on a bag, but it didn’t seem heavy enough and added some other parts of the other guests you had the past week. They weren’t actually rotting, of course. You kinda exagerated it just for the shits and giggles, but you had to start getting rid of them again. They were so much useful outside on the garden, feeding the flowers that you were proud to keep alive, colorful and beautiful against an ugly reality. As usual, once the bag was sufficiently heavy enough, all that was left was put in a suitcase and carried to your car; it was to be buried under the same tree where the powers you were so devoted to would have their feast. They were so glotonous those rascals, but it was a small price to pay for all the things you were promised long ago. Even if the time you were going to receive those rewards wasn't exactly clear, and even if it was a tiny bit frustrating, you didn't mind. The show must go on, as they say! The job was entertaining per se and you wouldn’t have minded to continue doing it for as long as necesary. Besides, it’s not like you could actually do anything even if you did had a problem. Which you don’t, for sure, so who cares? When you came back on the morning, you were surprised to see some people coming and going the house on your left, not just as sometimes curious youngsters would do, but carrying stuff from one place to another and not minding seeing enter your home, a bright disposition on your face despite still needing a shower. New neighbors, finally! How long was it since you took out the last one? Not that long, that you could remember. Oh, you so hope they were fun people.  Or miserable ones, which was almost the same thing as far you were concerned. The last thing you needed in your neighborhood was boredom.

[justheretobreakthings]

Remember Me - Chapter 20

(First Chapter) (Previous Chapter)

Word Count: 4,204 (Total Word Count: 79,660) Read on AO3

Story Summary:

It was strange enough for the paladins of Voltron to have found another human this far from home, locked in a Galra prison. But it was stranger still when this human insisted that he knew them, and even that he was the former red paladin of Voltron.

That couldn’t possibly be true, could it? After all, if this Keith was actually a part of the Voltron team, then why does nobody remember him?

Chapter Preview:

“You are mad at me, aren’t you?” said Lance. “What gives?”

Keith crossed his arms and said nothing.

“Oh boy. Look, is it because I called you a drunken idiot this morning? Because, dude, that wasn’t an insult, I was just stating a fact. And I would have called any of the other paladins the same if they had guzzled down as much as you had. Or maybe it would have taken more for the others, your alcohol tolerance is frankly just sad.”

“It has nothing to do with this morning,” Keith growled.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s - it’s last night.”

"...Ah. Right.”

“Well, Keith,” Allura said, setting her breakfast plate down onto the table in front of her as she primly took a seat. “I hope that you’ve learned a valuable lesson about overindulging yourself at parties.”

Keith growled softly as he shot her a glare from under the cold pack he held to his head.

Lance had been the last to show up at breakfast this morning, arriving just in time to hear this scolding and witness a tableau that he was experienced with from his Garrison days: that of a group of people the morning after a party. The Alteans, Allura at the table and Coran busy with something in the sink, were the only ones at their usual wakefulness this morning. Hunk was blinking sluggishly, still half-asleep; Pidge had an annoyed scowl on her face, one of those Pidge-specialty don’t-talk-to-me-or-I’ll-bite-you scowls that indicated she was in need of a nap; Shiro had two empty coffee mugs - rabaga-bean juice mugs, Lance mentally corrected himself - in front of him and was starting on a third.

Out of all of them, though, Keith looked the worst for wear. Last night Lance had finally managed to leave him to sleep, half-draped under his blanket, after he had cleaned up the sick on the carpet and kept up his own end of the conversation for Keith’s sleep-talk babbling. He had hoped that by the time he’d left, Keith had gotten through the worst of his drunkenness. He had all but forgotten about the hangover that was sure to come the morning after.

Keith was looking haggard and exhausted, a tint of green in his cheeks, all of his weight leaning into the deep-blue icepack flopped across half of his head. He was still in his undersuit, not having bothered to get dressed this morning, nor, it seemed, had he so much as run a brush through his hair.

The chair legs squeaked harshly against the ground as Lance took his own seat, and Keith grimaced against the sound and turned his glare onto him. “Must you?” he snarled.

“Must I sit? Yeah, I must,” Lance answered. “How is our favorite drunken idiot on this fine, bright morning?”

Keith grunted and closed his eyes. In the seat to Lance’s right, Pidge let her scowl soften as she let out an amused snort. “Shiro stumbled across him this morning,” she said. “Apparently he had crawled into the communal bathroom and puked up his own weight in nunvil.” She picked her spork lightly into the eggs on her plate. “Nearly wrecked my appetite just hearing about it.”

“What wrecked your appetite,” Shiro said, “Was the fact that you ate enough snacks last night to feed a small country for a month.” He reached his human arm out to Keith in the seat beside him to start rubbing circles on his back.

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t gross,” Pidge said with a shrug. “In any case, guess we all got to learn a new fun fact about Keith: he is the lightest of all lightweights.”

“Yeah…” Shiro said slowly. “We may need to institute a new rule about Keith not being allowed near alcohol without supervision…”

“You guys were all a lot more sympathetic last time I had a headache,” Keith pouted.

“Last time was our fault,” Pidge pointed out. “This one’s all on you.”

“Here you are, lad,” Coran said as he turned around from the counter, a pitcher in his hand. “Drink up all of this, and your hangover will have all but vanished within the hour!”

“All of it?” Keith groaned. He lifted his head to look at the contents, then recoiled, nose wrinkling. Curious, Lance leaned over to take a look for himself. The pitcher was filled nearly to the brim with a sludgy, green-brown substance that even now was slowly bubbling. One large bubble sluggishly popped and emitted a pungent, fish-like smell.

“What the fuck is that?” Lance asked.

“Home remedy,” Coran replied. “My grandpappy swore by it, and it always made me feel better after a long night of painting the town with Alfor as well. Thought Keith here could benefit from it.” He gave Keith a hearty thump on the shoulder. “It looks worse than it tastes. Try to chug it down in one gulp, it works better that way.”

Keith frowned suspiciously at the concoction before raising the pitcher to his lips and taking a small sip. Instantly his eyes blew wide open, and the tinge of green that colored his cheeks deepened as he slapped his hand over his mouth. He slammed the pitcher back down and jumped up from the table, knocking his chair backward onto the floor, and raced to the sink, where he promptly began retching into the basin.

“Well, there goes the remains of my appetite,” Pidge muttered at the sound of Keith’s dry heaves, shoving her plate away and crossing her arms.

“You can’t, uh, go back to the bathroom to do that?” Hunk asked. He was beginning to look rather nauseated himself.

Keith shook his head and managed to gasp out, “Too… far…” before starting to retch again.

“All right, so you don’t like it,” Coran said, picking up the pitcher. “There’s no need to be so dramatic about it.”

“If you don’t like Coran’s remedy,” Allura said, “You’ll have to find some other way to deal with your… state. I still expect you to be present and actively participating in training this afternoon and at the teleconference we have scheduled for this evening.”

Keith grumbled something unintelligible in response, and Allura let out a huff. “You wanted the privilege of being involved in the team. We gave it to you. You need to hold up your end in return.”

“... Yeah,” Keith said after a pause. “I know. Sorry.” With that, he stuck his head back under the sink and turned on the faucet, soaking his head in the water before shaking off and returning to the table. He was still pale and off-balance, but at least the retching had tapered off. For now.

He remained silent through the rest of breakfast, although the rest of the team was less chatty than their usual too. Lance wasn’t sure when exactly the others had returned to the castle, but it had still just been him and Keith around when he had gone to bed, and they had risen before he had - his body knew how much he needed his beauty rest and always did its best to oblige - so at the very least the others were all running on less sleep than him.

Training today was going to be a blast.

The paladins filtered out of the kitchen as they finished their breakfasts, and Lance, the last to start his meal, also ended up the last still eating. Besides himself, the last remaining was Keith, who eventually took his still mostly-full plate to the sink after finally giving up on nibbling his way through it and trying to keep it down.

“In, uh, in all seriousness,” Lance said, breaking the silence in the kitchen as Keith started emptying his plate into the garbage disposal. “You doing all right, man? I know last night was, ah, kinda rough for you.”

Keith paused in the process of scraping off his food before grunting, “I’m fine.”

“Okay. Okay, good, because, I mean, you were seriously drunk off your ass, and after the way you were talking - ”

“Lance,” Keith cut him off. “Could you not right now? My head hurts.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Lance took a bite out of his breakfast before continuing, “You know, I think orange juice is supposed to be really helpful for hangovers. I know we don’t have that here, but we do have some fruits around that are kinda citrus-y, so maybe you should eat one of those?”

Keith side as he dropped his plate into the sink. “No offense, Lance,” he said, “But I am really not in the mood to hear any advice from you this morning, okay?”

Lance froze with the fork halfway to his mouth for another bite and stared as Keith turned to leave. “Huh? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

But Keith was already stomping out of the kitchen without giving him an answer.

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

It wasn’t until after training that Lance was able to try to pick up his conversation with Keith. After breakfast Keith had holed himself up in his room, and Lance wasn’t quite concerned enough with Keith’s current attitude toward him to pursue him there. Keith showed up in the middle of lunch, when all the paladins were already assembled, and didn’t participate in the meal proper, instead just grabbed a couple of energy bars and retreated again, not speaking to anyone.

At first Lance wondered if this meant he was being a grump toward the whole team, not just him, but training that afternoon suggested otherwise. None of the paladins were at peak performance today, Keith especially, but they were all still engaged in the exercises. So there was no reason that Keith should have been avoiding eye contact with Lance at all costs, and he seemed to be in an unusual hurry to pair up with anyone besides him to run partner drills.

It was lucky that Lance had even managed to corner Keith after training, and he bet that he probably had the lingering hangover to thank for the fact that Keith had taken so long to rehydrate himself with water pouches, making him to leave the deck. And Lance was waiting for him.

“What is your deal?” he asked, cutting right to the chase the moment Keith set foot in the hall.

Keith blinked tiredly at him. “My deal?” he repeated. “I don’t have a deal.”

“Yeah, you do,” Lance said. “You’ve been being weird toward me all day. You mad at me or something?”

Keith’s face hardened into a glare. “Lance, I need to go take my shower.”

“Unh-uh,” Lance said, sticking his arm out to block Keith’s path as he made to go around him. “You are mad at me, aren’t you? What gives?”

Keith crossed his arms and said nothing.

“Oh boy. Look, is it because I called you a drunken idiot this morning? Because, dude, that wasn’t an insult, I was just stating a fact. And I would have called any of the other paladins the same if they had guzzled down as much as you had. Or maybe it would have taken more for the others, your alcohol tolerance is frankly just sad.”

“It has nothing to do with this morning,” Keith growled.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s - it’s last night.”

Lance took a breath. “Ah. Right.” He tilted his head at Keith, who was suddenly making it a point to keep his gaze toward his feet. “Listen, you, uh, you don’t need to worry about me blabbing about all your - all that, um - ” He waved his hand uncertainly. “All the stuff you were saying last night. I know you’re, uh, not really the sharing type, and - and people tend to let their guards down when they’re drunk. So, if you were worried I was going to tease you for crying on me or something, well, don’t worry. I’m a bigger person than that, you know? And, um, and I guess it’s understandable for you to be stressing about those things…”

He cleared his throat. “But, I mean, that’s no reason to be getting mad at me, right? Like, I hadn’t even done anything, so if you just assumed that I was gonna give you a hard time for it, that’s really more on you. And besides, you were the one who started pouring his heart out in the first place, it’s not like I coerced you or anything. It’s not worth getting mad at, you know?”

“That’s not what I’m mad about,” Keith said.

“Okay, well, then what else could you possibly - ?”

Keith finally looked back up, staring Lance dead in the eye with a sudden cold intensity. “Why did you lie to me?”

Lance frowned. “What do you - ?”

“You told me my team was coming back,” Keith growled. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

“... Shit,” Lance said, reaching up a hand to scratch at the back of his neck under the gorget of his armor. “You, uh, you remember that too?”

“Yeah,” Keith grunted.

“I hadn’t, uh, hadn’t thought that - that you would - I mean, you were totally wasted, man, and you were kinda off in your own little world there. I really didn’t think anything I said was gonna stick.”

“Well, apparently I’m better at remembering things than the rest of you,” Keith said. “Think that should be a given, after everything.”

Lance was about to fire back with his usual retort, a reminder that, no, it had nothing to do with the rest of the team not ‘remembering’ things that hadn’t happened, but for once he held his tongue. Now wasn’t the time, and Keith was already pissed at him. No need to fan the flames. “Okay, look, I hadn’t meant to upset you or anything, but in my defense - ”

“No, no, no ‘in my defense’. I’m really not in the mood for excuses right now, Lance.”

Lance scowled. “It’s not an excuse, it’s a reason! You were having a whole breakdown over missing ‘your’ team.” He held up his fingers in air quote marks. “And you were all upset and weepy and, well, I didn’t know how to console you! You’re not exactly the easiest person to figure out, feelings-wise. So, yeah, I lied, but only because it was the only way I could think of to make you feel better. And it worked, by the way. It got you to calm down and go to sleep.”

“It doesn’t matter what sort of state I was in. You had no right to mess with me like that.”

“I wasn’t messing with you, I was helping you!”

“I don’t want that sort of ‘help’,” Keith snarled. “And it didn’t help. All you did was make waking up again in this hell that much worse by letting me think even for a single, stupid moment that I was out of it.”

“Um, excuse me?” Lance said after a brief, stunned pause. “Since when is living with us and being a part of Voltron ‘hell’?”

Keith winced. “That’s not the part that - ”

“Because if I recall correctly, you wanted to stay here with us, and you wanted to be part of the team, and you wanted to spend time with us, and you wanted us to help you. And we’re doing our best for you, okay? We’re going out of the way to accommodate you and your whole fucked-up situation, and we’re trying to help. I’m trying to help, too! That’s why I actually, you know, stuck around and tried to comfort you and calm you down while you were drunk off your ass - which, by the way, was your own doing. So, okay, fine, maybe I didn’t make the right call, but I was still trying. What the hell else do you want from me?”

Keith said nothing for a moment, just stood with his jaw set stiffly and his eyes sharp and embittered. Finally he growled, “I want you to get out of my way so I can shower.”

With a huff, Lance relented and stepped aside. Keith marched past him, and Lance turned to call after him, “Just so you know, it wouldn’t kill you to be nice. I cleaned up your vomit!” Keith didn’t even turn his head, just stuck his middle finger up before he rounded the corner and vanished from Lance’s sight.

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

As was to be expected, the meeting that the paladins had to sit through that evening was dull, dry, and seemingly endless. About two dozen planet and organization leaders had videoed in to the conference room to report on their status and current coalition projects, each followed by a discussion on how other allies could benefit from their efforts and assist in future ones.

It was all numbers and logistics, and Lance had initially tried to pass the time by counting dots on the ceiling until Allura elbowed him enough times to finally bring his gaze back to the screens. He didn’t like looking in that direction; he could always see Keith in the periphery of his vision, scowling stiffly and turning away any time Lance tried to make eye contact.

Even after the conference finally wrapped up and people began signing off, they weren’t dismissed to leave. Kolivan had been present at this particular conference, putting in one of the Blade’s rare appearances to the Coalition’s administrative side, and Allura had insisted he stay on the line after the meeting. So even after the conference was over, the paladins had to stick around too for this mini follow-up meeting with the Blade leader.

“All right, Kolivan,” Allura said, nodding toward his screen when it was the only one remaining. “Have you any updates on the quintessence sample we asked you to look into? Olkarian was able to give us information over a movement ago.”

Kolivan let out a little grunt. “We examined the sample. It is different in structure and composition from the quintessence we’ve managed to intercept from Lotor.”

Allura’s shoulders slumped minutely. “Oh… are you certain? It seems likely that - ”

“I would not pass along information to an ally if I was not certain of it,” Kolivan cut her off. “Do you doubt the scientists in my organization?”

“Wha - no, I do not, nor did I mean to suggest anything of the sort,” Allura said, stiffening as she straightened to full height and lifted her chin toward Kolivan. “I was merely confirming. After all, it shouldn’t have taken the Blade of Marmora this long to simply confirm whether or not two quintessence samples were a match.”

It might have been Lance’s imagination the Kolivan’s omnipresent glower deepened - after all, Kolivan had a tendency to look more or less the same regardless of emotion - but he otherwise took Allura’s tone in stride. “Recall, Princess that we have our own tasks and ongoing projects to deal with, in addition to being spread thinner than ever. You cannot expect Voltron and yourself to be our top priority at all times.”

Allura refused to be cowed. “You could have at least communicated to us that you anticipated a delay,” she said. “I did tell our carriers to request you get in touch with any information you obtained from the sample as soon as possible, and Coran has attempted to contact your base multiple times since last we spoke. It is vital for the Voltron Coalition that lines of communication are kept open for us amongst all our allies if we hope to continue working effectively and efficiently.”

“Again, Princess, our priority is not - ”

“One should not limit their organizations’ efforts only to those matters officially deemed ‘top priority’. Not only do you leave no room for nuance, but you also disregard the fact that you and the Blade are not the ones in charge of deciding what is best for the Voltron Coalition. If you cannot be relied upon to take the coalition’s needs into consideration - ”

“I will be more than willing to do so when the coalition’s needs do not put the security of the Blade in jeopardy,” Kolivan said. “As it stands, I will not risk our security in order to make contact with Voltron or any other members of the coalition unless it is absolutely essential.”

That gave Allura pause. She hesitated before saying, “I beg your pardon? Our communications with you have never created any security problems before.”

“This is true,” Kolivan said. “But the Galra army has been cracking down in measures against the Blade of Marmora as of late.” He took a slow breath. “It is… concerning. We have always, of course, been considered enemies of the Galra, but practically since our organization’s inception, any action they took against us, or attempted to take, has been retaliatory in nature. They fight back against us and try to stop our efforts in progress, but they never spent the resources to preemptively seek us out this way. Part of that, I believe, is no doubt due to the defensive measures we’ve put in place to ensure the secrecy of the Blade and its members. Make it difficult and tedious enough for the Galra to try to dismantle us on our own ground, and they won’t deem us worth the trouble, not while we remain small. The Empire, though ostentatious, is capable of being economical.

“But within the last few phoebs, it seems that the Blade has become a more important target to them. The Empire is coming at us in greater numbers, and despite our own efforts to evade detection, there have been instances of them successfully catching us off guard even when Blade operatives were taking no direct action against them. And this includes them making more active efforts to interrupt our communications and transportation lines. I don’t know whether you are aware, but the courier that you sent our way to deliver your quintessence sample was very nearly gunned down just outside the orbit of Sochorix - a location we had previously thought perfectly secret to Empire forces.”

“That… that is troubling,” Allura said. “I hadn’t been aware that the Blade was running into this difficulty. If you had let us know before now - ”

“You would have attempted to bring in other Coalition members to intervene and offer aid,” Kolivan said. “Provided you were even able to convince them to grant aid to an organization run by Galra, this also would have increased our visibility. We did not need that.”

Allura kept her expression steady. “No,” she said. “We would have offered the services of Voltron to take over missions for which you would have wanted to keep the Blade’s presence unknown. We are capable of more than grandiose displays, Kolivan, as my paladins have demonstrated before, and I know better than to try to overrule your methods on the occasions when we work directly alongside the Blade. We have made great efforts on our end to place trust in your organization and its capabilities; Voltron deserves the same from you.”

There was a lengthy, tense pause, and for a moment Lance was sure he was about to hear Kolivan completely chew Allura out. It was a surprise, then, when Kolivan took a deep breath and said, “You are right. My apologies. With our recent efforts to increase security for the Blade, we are on high alert toward all who are not members of the organization, and even among those who are. But it is true that this is no fault of yours.”

“I - I see,” Allura said, and although she hid it well, Lance could see that her eyes were wider than usual, no doubt in surprise that Kolivan had let himself be lectured by her.

“Speaking of your security uptick,” Shiro spoke up. “Has that coincided with this recent crackdown against the Blade by the Empire’s army? Is that why you started putting this measures in place?”

“Not exactly, no,” Kolivan said. “The attacks on the bases that led to me revamping our security measures were surprising, but confined to stationary locations and not indicative of new patterns of offense against us. The increase in raids and the off-site ambushes were more recent.”

“How much more?”

“As best we can pinpoint, the matter began to escalate shortly before my last video contact with Voltron. At the time I hadn’t brought it to your attention, as we of course could not have known yet that the spike of incidents were not anomalous. Now, though…”

“So,” Allura said slowly, “The Galra army started cracking down on the Blade at around the same time as those prison raids we had helped with?” Around the room, eyes flicked toward Keith.

“Yes,” Kolivan said. “And although we’ve no sign as of yet that the correlation is anything but coincidental…”

“I can’t imagine how it could be anything else,” Shiro said.

“Mm.” Kolivan angled his gaze toward Keith. “I notice your guest has joined us for our conference. I take it you no longer feel the need to exercise discretion about your and your allies’ activity around him?”

Allura hesitated as she glanced toward Keith. “We… have been given reason to trust him.”

“Regardless of whether our prison raids are related to any attacks on the Blade,” Shiro said, “I can assure you that Keith is uninvolved.”

“I see.” Kolivan paused, eyes narrowing slightly, before continuing, “I suppose I did promise to trust Voltron’s decisions. If that must extend to your guest, so be it.” He turned back to Allura. “I will keep your offer of assistance in mind. I or one of my officers will be in contact should we be in need of Voltron’s services.”

“Of course,” Allura said with a nod. “We’re happy to help however you need.”

Kolivan nodded back. “Princess. Paladins,” he said by way of a sign-off.

His screen went dark, and finally, they were able to call it a day.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 160: Grand Theft Auto

Previously on BnHA: Deku knocked Overhaul THE FUCK OUT. Tamaki saved Aizawa and captured Chronostasis. Eri wasn’t able to deactivate her quirk, and for a few moments things didn’t look good for Deku. But the cavalry brought Aizawa to the surface just in time, and he erased Eri’s quirk and she passed out. The heroes called like a dozen fucking ambulances to evacuate all of the wounded. Nighteye was strangely peaceful for someone who just lost an arm and got impaled through the fucking stomach, and he was grateful to Deku for bringing about a future different from the one he had seen. I feel like Deku sensed something was going to happen, because he suddenly started encouraging Nighteye to hang on, and that he had to talk to All Might and make up with him. But Nighteye closed his eye really dramatically, and I’M FEARING THE WORST HERE YOU GUYS. We then cut to the ambulance containing the wounded villains (and their confiscated goods, including the quirk-be-gone bullets and the quirks-come-back serum), and watched as it was intercepted by a trucking carrying none other than SHIGARAKI FUCKING TOMURA. This is easily the most badass villain thing he’s ever done tbh.

Today on BnHA: We learn that Jin and Toga called the rest of the squad to let them know where the villain ambulance was headed. What ensues is probably the most badass action sequence this series has ever had. Dabi takes out the ambulance’s police escort with his quirk, but it turns out the car is protected by a pro hero named Snatch. He can manipulate sand and he is fucking awesome. So Tomura fucking leaps at him from the back of a moving truck, and the two of them start to duke it out, but Snatch keeps him at a distance, knowing better than to let Tomura touch him with his bare hands. Enter Compress, who rolls an innocent little marble under the car they’re battling on, and then snaps his fingers and turns the marble back into A GIANT FUCKING BOULDER. The car flips over and crashes into the ambulance; Spinner whips the truck around while shrieking nonsense; Dabi and Compress take care of Snatch; and Tomura goes to confront Overhaul in the crashed ambulance. He takes the bullets and the serum. And then he disintegrates Overhaul’s fucking hands and chops them off at the wrists. And he and the rest of the League just casually walk away. Holy. Fucking. Shit.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 187 now, so any ETAs will reflect that.) 

so basically they figured out that the police would have to transport the villains to the nearest villain hospital, so they went on Google Maps and found the fastest route, and from there it was simply a matter of intercepting them

so Toga’s on the phone with Compress. and she says Jin is the one who told her to contact the others. I like that she gives him credit where due

(ETA: I can’t believe this joke went right over my head earlier, but at the time I had somehow forgotten Compress’s arm status. now that I remember, I can’t fucking get over this bit:

this son of a bitch kidnapped Bakugou. how dare he be so absurdly charming now. praising Toga for her quick thinking and making jokes about his own missing limb. I can’t believe the entire League of Villains are now collectively my favorite character.)

Jin is cradling his head in his hands and trembling :(

oh my god I love how she just gently takes his hand and leads him along. lord help me, why do I ship this so fucking hard, goddamn

also she’s so fucking smart. she watched and waited for a while before she contacted the others. to make sure that’s where the “finished product” was headed, since she knows that’s what Tomura was after, and they weren’t able to get ahold of Eri

and now we’re cutting back to the highway

this poor driver is having himself a hell of a morning

boy, you about to earn that paycheck today

(ETA: yeah I’m pretty sure this guy is dead now. this joke didn’t age so well ffffff rest in peace??)

and he instantly recognizes Tomura and knows him by name. but I suppose he’s just about the most recognizable villain in the business when he’s all done up in full hand gear

(ETA: it’s cute that he feels the need to clarify, as though there was more than one Shigaraki Tomura running around and we needed to know which particular league this one hails from.)

I have to imagine it’s not actually that easy to maintain one’s balance on top of a moving truck. you sure are full of surprises aren’t you Tomura

oh shit Spinner’s here too!

(ETA: is Dabi just being cute here or do you suppose he really does get carsick. are you gonna puke on everyone, Dabi. do you need some dramamine)

haven’t seen you in ages, Spinner. we still don’t know what your quirk is if I recall

(ETA: oh my god, and we still don’t. Horikoshi you are playing a dangerous game, dragging it out for this long. if it doesn’t turn out to be some incredibly badass, plot-twisty thing when it’s finally revealed, you and I are gonna have words. I swear to god if we finally get that dialogue box and all it is is something like “quirk: lizard. does whatever a lizard can!”... I didn’t wait around this whole time for you to be all “LOL HE CAN SMELL STUFF WITH HIS TONGUE”, okay.)

this guy really learned how to drive from video games and Tomura still trusted him to drive this fucking truck while he stands ON TOP OF IT. wow

Spinner is disgruntledly muttering about not being sure whether this is really following Stain’s will

and Tomura can somehow hear him from on top of the truck, and he says this is “a necessary sacrifice”

he’s gotten so good at management. he really has matured a lot

I really want to see this in the anime. mainly because I feel like Tomura’s jacket is going to be whipping around in the wind and it’s going to look cool as fuck

like, if this scene plays out anywhere near like I’m expecting it’s about to, this is basically going to be our confirmation that Tomura has finally graduated from the ranks of “baby villain” to “main villain at large”

(ETA: yeah I think it’s safe to say our boy has got his bachelor of villainy)

ohhhhhhh shit

THIS IS GOING TO LOOK SO FUCKING AMAZING IN THE ANIME YOU GUYS

(ETA: it stands a good chance of surpassing the one in Black Panther to become my new favorite car chase tbh)

jesus christ

that cop car that was in between the villain truck and the ambulance was completely engulfed

oh! or maybe not, because it looks like the car is FIGHTING BACK

I LIKE THIS GUY. WHAT A BADASS. WHY HAVE WE NEVER SEEN HIM BEFORE, THAT’S A DAMN GOOD QUIRK

(ETA: maybe a little too good. that’s probably why this is his one and only appearance)

Tomura’s just annoyed, though, and he’s telling Spinner to slow down

so now Snatch is pumping the truck full of sand, but at the same time Tomura is leaping right at him

Snatch are you about to be disintegrated my dude

oh!!

HE’S NOT GOING DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT

lol what

lmao just because someone is capable of holding you back for more than two seconds doesn’t mean they’re your “natural opposite” Tomura. I’m not quite sure you understand how that works. is he restoring a pile of dust back into its original form like what we all hope will happen in Avengers: Endgame? no? then he’s not your opposite, he’s just a guy with an awesome quirk that you’re having a bit of trouble with

he is fucking amazing, though

he’s absolutely right. Tomura he got your number dude

Dabi and Compress are still in the truck watching this play out

and Compress realizes that Tomura is trying to distract the guy

oh snap

you know, I’m starting to realize Compress’s quirk is quite a bit more badass than I previously thought

ohhhhhhhh shit

(((╹д╹;)))

aaaaaaand the ambulance is crashing

do you see how they did that? making it clear beyond a doubt what happened without actually showing it in horrific excruciating detail? I could have used more of this during the Overhaul arc

(ETA: also this answers a question I had as to whether Tomura had ever actually killed one of the good guys (as opposed to a fellow villain) onscreen. I couldn’t recall for sure. but that’s a definite yep.)

also this is a super epic car crash. this is crazy cinematic, it’s straight out of a movie

LMAO

I LOVE IT

and oh my god it looks like Snatch actually saved the driver just in time. so no one was disintegrated after all!

(ETA: I actually think that’s the driver of the police car that he saved. not the ambulance driver. he ded. correct me if I’m wrong!)

but now Dabi is there >_>

preemptive RIP, Snatch. you were the GOAT for one whole half of a chapter

I’ll take that as a “no I haven’t”

oh snap is he still alive though?

but we can all agree the other guy definitely died. that driver cop guy. rest in peace, friend

(ETA: yeah both drivers are super dead from what I can see)

so now back to the ambulance, where Tomura has retrieved and is talking to Overhaul who is strapped to a bed

TAKE HIS QUIRK!!!

Tomura says he hates Overhaul because he’s arrogant

something is clearly about to go down, so before that happens I’ll just say, I thought Overhaul could disassemble anything he touches. so how come he can’t just do that to the handcuffs. plothoooooooles

anyway

well LOOK WHO GOT HIMSELF A SHINY NEW ROBOT ARM MOTHERFUCKER

THIS MAN DESERVES HIS REVENGE. AND... YOU DESERVE TO DIE

(ETA: any idea what he just compressed, btw? I can’t for the life of me figure it out. this chapter is so cool but there are a handful of little details that I can’t quite get straight)

(ETA 2: many thanks to @baezetsu who pointed out that COMPRESS MOTHERFUCKING STOLE ONE OF OVERHAUL’S ARMS. straight up. you’re absolutely right. Tomura only disintegrates the right hand, and the left arm is already gone in the panel below. so either this is some good old-fashioned “eye for an eye” revenge (but with arms), or Compress is looking to replace that robot arm with something even better. god this chapter gets better and better with every subsequent readthrough holy shiiiiiiiiiit.)

so now Tomura is opening the box of bullets, and thoughtfully saying that he’s not sure which of the two boxes they recovered actually holds the finished product

“ahh well, guess it doesn’t really matter”

oHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SHITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

oH MY GOD!!!!

MOTHERFUCKER!!!! MY JAW DROPPED TO LIKE HERE. HOLY SHIT, THAT WAS THE MOST HARDCORE SHIT I’VE EVER SEEN??!?

HERE I WAS SURE HE WAS GONNA DELETE HIS QUIRK, AND INSTEAD HE JUST DISINTEGRATES AND THEN CHOPS OFF HIS MOTHERFUCKING HANDS

SHIGARAKI TOMURA HAS GAINED +10,000 VILLAIN POINTS!! SHIGARAKI TOMURA IS MAKING A SUDDEN POWER RISE THROUGH MAKESTE’S FAVORITE CHARACTERS LIST

SHIGARAKI TOMURA IS ONE CRAZY BITCH AND I KIND OF FUCKING LOVE IT

THIS IS SO FUCKED UP AND I’M LIVING FOR IT?????

“GOOD LUCK WITH THAT”!!!!!

yo, when Deku and the others hear about this attack later what will their reactions even be. cuz if it was me I’d be like, “oh no... that’s terrible... you know. in principle”

hahaha!!!!

(ETA: gotta love Overhaul screaming in the background. this chapter is so fucked up lmao)

THIS HAD BETTER BE A FUCKING PROMISE TO US LOYAL READERS YOU SON OF A BITCH. NO MORE SIDE VILLAINS. I’VE GOT FIFTY-ODD CHAPTERS LEFT BEFORE I’M ALL CAUGHT UP, AND THOSE FIFTY CHAPTERS HAD BETTER NOT FEATURE ANY OTHER BAD GUYS BUT YOU SONS OF BITCHES

(ETA: he just ignores everything I ever say to him)

oh man. well, that was a grand five chapter binge and I feel satisfied and very exhausted. I’m gonna turn in, and then tomorrow I can hopefully finally read a chapter with my explosive and hot and cold sons at long last

BONUS:

likes: barbeque. is this Horikoshi’s idea of a joke. holy shit

and I guess that confirms whether or not he died, huh. these motherfuckers didn’t leave any survivors apart from the captured villains. that’s so messed up. why do I love them so much. Tomura you are a terrible man. please keep getting more terrible

[thatboomerkid]

Wishing Day

Wishing Day

Pathfinder Fiction by Clinton J. Boomer

Brought to you absolutely free to enjoy, to test & to share – as always – by the fine folks of my Patreon.

Old Wishtwister Shadibriri was having himself a truly lovely day.

The barren sky hung still, sullen and gray like a pool of seething lead, low and dark upon the horizon without a ghost of sunlight behind it. Stinging snow, much of it now clumped into hard, cruel shards of ice, sifted and spattered through the black and leafless trees, filling the forest path with a drifting, bony whiteness, which crunched delightfully underfoot.

A cry of killing wind cut, crackling, through the ice-coated branches, and a smile crept unto the lips of the Wishtwister.

Such good sport, he thought with a quiet laugh. And what a day!

It was a day that promised to be delightful, and productive, and most of all simply a well-fulfilling damned enterprise. After all, he thought: it’s Wishing Day!

Thirty miles south by south-east of Gralton, soiled jewel of the River Kingdoms, the whistling Wishtwister cut through the nameless woods to his destination: a blackened little circle of seven stumps ringing ’round a jut of bloodstained and rune-carved rock dating back to the time of the old Sarkoris Binding-Witches. The creeping grin which began, split the Wishgiver’s face at the thought of those old hags and what had become of them was colder than even the ice-choked wind.

His smile brightened, and his pace quickened. He was, of course, wearing a potent glamour, painted pleasant, bright and ruddy-cheeked as he always did when amongst humans, but the spring in his step was all real. It had simply been too long, by his delighted accounting, since Wishing Day had last come to Gralton.

Has it really been only a year?

Gralton had been a lucky find, all things considered during that winter of 4668 – the year all the wishing started. Once the old aristocracy of Galt had fled from the Red Revolution and settled into their rotting river estates just long enough to hate themselves for cowardice, it had been all too easy to put the right words in the right ears; on the 11th of Kuthona, when all the faithful of Cayden Cailean were gathered by a roaring hearth, spinning tall-tales and raising a tongue-tied toast to their hero’s bold ascension, the bitter and the vengeance-minded were to be found upon a very cold and lonely holiday indeed.

A dozen souls attended that first, inaugural Wishing Day.

This year, for his 42nd anniversary, Shadibriri expected a crowd of near fifty.

In truth, it should be said, there were more profitable opportunities than Gralton scattered around the great, wide world with all its mysteries: the early weeks of Gozran were always exciting, coming as they did in the very shadow of Taxfest. And the endless, aching middle of Calistril invariably saw the burning agony of some youth’s heart in the desperate need of an immediate fulfillment. Strangest of all, perhaps, the last gasps of Lamashan always seemed to writhe around an artist who had lost his muse or a soldier staggering home, sick to their stomach of war. Yes, all twelve months had very special and wonderful reasons to be in the right place at the right time, with sharp ears tuned to the right desires. And when there were no temptations to sow or bargains to make, no words to massage or dull-tongued desires to bring forth into hideous life, there was always killing to be done.

Yes, always killing, and blood and fear and the bursting of hot flesh in one’s sharp, slick hands. And the cries of accusations and sorcerer-burning. And the souls caught up in the shuffle, of course, and carried out into the Abyss. Delightful, all.

But for old Wishtwister Shadibriri, nothing was quite as sweet as today, perhaps because it was his – and his alone. No one else yet had a Wishing Day: ripe with those looks of pure, panicked, docile, tragic, terrified, wasted hope wreathed in angry, spiteful, blood-thrumming need. A crowd, squirming, willing to wrestle and claw and kill for the right to sell their soul short.

No wonder he loved Wishing Day.

A wandering, tuneless hum began to bounce right along with Shadibriri’s mirth, and the old demon turned his thoughts, quite idly, to how he might go about conducting this day’s most unique symphony of wants and promises and weeping betrayals. Would he make his supplicants fight for his favor? Fornicate, perhaps, in ugly couplings? Strip naked and race through the cold woods on frozen feet? Perhaps a wine-drinking competition, full to bursting and puking, or a teeth-pulling challenge, yanking gaping gums bare and bloody, or some other contest of trembling self-mutilation.

Each of those had always been joyous in the past.

And then the wish, of course, was the best part of all.

The old Wishtwister had never been one for plans. Ever the artist, never the engineer. An improviser: for him, a single second’s spark of spontaneity was worth well more than a dull decade’s dusty design; a moment of madness would always out-pace a century of contemplation.

But he did like to wonder.

And then, with a twinkle in his eye and a slick, savage parting of the strings of conjuration which bind the Astral spaces, the Wishtwister arrived at his destination.

There were four dozen there, all told, huddled against the cloying chill that strikes the River Kingdoms with a vengeful howl each winter and refuses to let go. Ice in their beards, hands fisted into numbs clumps at their sides, wet, crimson misery in their eyes; these abandoned and shifting souls were wrapped in finery and peasant’s rags alike. Some had surely rode six days out of Daggermark for this occasion, in sumptuous carriages crafted of darkwood and cold iron; others had no doubt begun the bleak march out of South Gralton’s gray farmland at nightfall wrapped in all they owned. And all were here, balancing dread against obsession.

With a ringing laugh, the Wishtwister leapt up upon the tallest stump of the clearing, and his warm voice carried against the wind: “Welcome, welcome, welcome all! And let our Wishing Day … commence!”

His sparkling smile washed over the crowd, and his gaze picked at their worried faces shining with unknown needs. He made a thousand, thousand guesses, and discarded all of them just as quickly.

Who, today, would leave with their heart’s desire?

He did not know, and the joy was in the learning of it. There was, for a moment, a heat within him so fierce that it was almost overwhelming; a wild mania, a rage to pick each and every one of the gathered throng apart with his bare hands and drink their piping blood down in gasping gulps.

“Hello, hello and hello! I am the old Shadibriri, friends, who hearkens close to those in greatest need, and by the ancient pacts of these old woods I come in this hour to hear your wants and whispers. I am no god, and I seek no prayers; I am no man, and I seek no gold; I am only a spirit of hoping and of wishing and of having, and I come expecting … gifts! Who, then, has brought me a treat, a taste, a tickle or a tithe?”

One woman, all-too-young, barefooted, dressed in rag and pushing forward through the crowd: “I … I bring you fresh milk.”

A grin: “Oh, and indeed I do treasure a drink of sweet milk! Is it warm, may I inquire?”

A look of terrified uncertainty: “I’m afraid … well, the … the cold … ”

“Huh. You did not think to clutch it next to your body, and to keep it warm?”

“I … I tucked it close as I could, against the wind, but … ”

“Oh, no. Then, perhaps next year you will remember to hide it beneath your cloak, against your bare and secret skin.”

The woman blushed, and stammered.

“… I …”

“No matter, young lady! ‘Tis but a bit of teasing from an old man, is all. You are bold, to speak first, and I do admire boldness. You may stay, for your milk is a fine gift. Pour it, now, on the ground, and abide awhile. If I may ask, then, little one, what will you wish for if the wishing be made yours this day?”

A soft gasp against the wind: “The … love of … ”

“Eh? What’s that, my little lamb, my little lark?”

“The love of a certain … certain person.”

“Hm. Oh, but I am afraid that I cannot give you the love of another.”

Red eyes startled, staring, disappointed.

A grin, as the ruined and muddy milk began to freeze upon the ground: “But I can give you this person, rest you assured. This person, their life, their body, their mind, their very heart, still hot, if you wish. All the things which make them, which is better than love. To thee, young lady, I wish the best of luck!”

Her eyes turned downward, humiliated and on the verge of tears.

“Now, who is next with gifts?”

A man stepped forward: “I bring you, master, a brick of solid silver.”

“Hm. And what need has a spirit for silver, lad?”

“… taken from my grandfather’s store without his knowledge.”

“Ah! Then you guess at my nature, boy!”

“I remember you of years past, my master.”

“Quite well, son! Well indeed, and I see your gift and am pleased, and beg of you to stay. If I may ask, my shivering and cunning friend, what shall you wish for today if the wish is made yours?”

“Revenge.”

“Oh, delightful! Come close, and drop your gift at my feet! Now, of these gathered lords and ladies, who else has a thing to offer me?”

A black-cloaked figure pushed forward: “I offer you only death, monster.”

The crowd drew back in time with the unsheathing of a blade.

A delighted gasp: “You offer me … death? So few have ever done so, and in truth I have never had it. And, then, what would your wish be, friend?”

With a scarred and battle-worn voice: “That you face me.”

“Indeed!”

Screams roiled through the crowd, as some few saw, for the briefest moment, the Old Wishtwister for what he truly was. A great and gnarled limb, like the claw of some misshapen crab vomited out of the Lake of Mists and Veils, snapped forward and severed the swordsman in twain. With a gush of steaming blood, his corpse twitched upon the scarlet snows and then lay still.

“There. A wish is granted.”

A mummer of panic roiled through the audience.

“Oh, fear not, friends! His request was a trifling thing, no great difficulty in granting. In truth, he deserved much more than that for which he asked; I could have given him strength beyond the mortal, or a blade more swift than blackness itself, or the insight to know his enemy’s heart and the vision to see foes all around him. A pity, then, that he chose so foolishly. Now, then … who else has brought me a gift?”

And there, as the supplication went on, and trophies piled before him, and the crowd began to turn spiteful and desperate, the Old Wishtwister decided upon the final task which would decide the victor of Wishing Day: the supplicant willing to devour, in gasps, the greatest portion of the fallen swordsman would be granted their dearest wish.

Oh yes, that would be fun. And then, and then, and THEN the very wish itself, and the new horrors dawned from it.

Ah, the joys of Wishing Day!

—

NOTE:

This website uses trademarks and/or copyrights owned by Paizo Inc., which are used under Paizo’s Community Use Policy. We are expressly prohibited from charging you to use or access this content. This website is not published, endorsed, or specifically approved by Paizo Inc. For more information about Paizo’s Community Use Policy, please visit paizo.com/communityuse. For more information about Paizo Inc. and Paizo products, please visit paizo.com.

[the-three-eyed-ravenclaw]

Of Monsters & Men - Pt. 2

Part One  |  Part Two (you are here)

Alright so I finally got around to proofing this. Wow. So. Many. Errors. And half the shit was confusing and unnecessary. I also saw that I had out my own name in where it was supposed to be Y/N like what the fuck? I am sorry for that mess, I have heavily edited this part so if you are going to read the next part I would reread this one. 

Hope you enjoy!

Below are some choreography videos for the two songs that the reader dances to. These are somewhat what I imagined for these scenes. Also Below are links to the songs mentioned in the fic.

Havana

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZUEU-dVUjVQ starting at 2:43

Desperado

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Xyn8Go4frQ

Okay so it’s like 5 in the morning and I have been working on this for 6 hours straight. I am going cross-eyed. This has been very briefly proofed, so if there are any errors, I’ll fix them in the morning! (or really afternoon cuz my ass ain’t waking up till about 2 pm)

Anyways, here is part 2. I hadn’t planned on this part being so long, but it just came out of me as I was writing. This part is gonna be kind of boring because it the readers point of view of part 1 and it also has a lot of back story. so please hang in there. 

As always, feedback and constructive criticism is welcome. If you like this story let me know! I plan on this being a multi-part fic, but if no one likes it then I won’t continue it.

Songs mentioned in the story are

Havana by Camila Cabello

Desperado by Rihanna

Finesse Remix by Bruno Mars

Someone mentioned that the pictures were distracting last time so i left them out this time round. Except the one ben barnes gif. I mean who doesn’t want at least one of those? Especially when its one of him being so sexually aggressive. :)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Length: Almost 7,000 (hot damn)

Warnings: Cussing, sexual situations, innuendos, bad writing and grammar? fucking sue me

Your eyes scan the vivacious dance floor. There was always something you felt that was extremely freeing being a nameless face in the crowd. You could be anyone and no one, but tonight you were someone. Tonight you had a name, Rachel Manafor. Rachel was a young entrepreneur who came out to simply enjoy a night at one of the most popular clubs in New York. Gotta hand it to the case worker who constructed this identity. They had made the cover air tight. If anyone wanted to check up on you, you were covered.

You sighed as you resisted the urge to scratch your scalp. You never were one for wearing wigs. Honestly, I don’t know how Nat handles this. The woman has more missions that she goes undercover for than Kellogg’s has cornflakes. I’ve only had this wig on for three hours and I am ready to strangle something. Your eyes continue scanning the crowd. You clock all the visible exits making sure there aren’t any unforeseen obstacles that could have popped up in the last 10 minutes.

You take note of the Anvil security stationed at the visible exits. Ah, your target must have finally arrived. You look for him on the dance floor and at the bar, but you don’t see him. Since the babysitters are here, he must be close by or on his way. They are probably here to secure the building first. Alright, time for momma to go to work. Get ready boys.

You start making your rounds of the club, checking out the formation of the security and their station points. Dancing your way across the dance floor isn’t easy. The crowd is packed in so tightly that it’s hard to even breathe. You wonder how anyone is able to move in this, but soon realize that the crowd’s dancing is more of a going-with-the-flow-of-shoving-and-pushing-lest-you-get-elbowed-in-the-face rather than actual dancing. However, you are finally able to complete three circuits of the club and feel that you have successfully mapped out the room and the security detail. Only one guard posted at each exit? Whoever’s in charge really underestimates who all is coming for this guy and the power and resources they possess. Well, I’m not gonna complain. Makes my job a helluva lot easier.

With the first step of your mission complete, it was time to start the second step, locate the target.

Speak of the Devil… Aldrich had finally entered the club. It had taken a lot of cashing in IOUs to find where your target would be and when he would be there. You had been saving a lot of those favors for a rainy day, but when SHIELD said jump…

As you watch Aldrich immediately head towards the bar, you couldn’t help but let out a frustrated grumble. The little shit was over two hours later than planned, but you know, spilled milk and all that. Your mission was still on track, and that was all that really mattered. You’ll live. Even with that mentality, you lamented over the date night you had made with your bathtub. So much for me time, and I was so excited about that new bathbomb, too. Mr. Darcy, I hope you’ll wait for me. Box of wine, I’ll miss… who am I kidding? I’ll still smash you when I get home. Dear Lord, I am having full conversations in my head now. Maybe Tony was right. Maybe I do need to see a shrink. With your internal monologue mostly over, you start to plan your next move.

You notice that Aldrich brought an additional entourage of bodyguards, not just the ones stationed at the exits. Well at least the guy in charge wasn’t a total imbecile. You watch the group of men disperse amongst the crowd. However, one man sticks close to the target. Must be close guard tonight. You check the man out. Your eyes appreciating the masterpiece in front of you. No doubt this was the infamous William Russo. So, the gossip was right for once, man he is fucking beautiful. Nat, I’ll never doubt you again.

Russo had been on SHIELD’s radar for a few months now. How could he not be? Some Jarhead fresh out of the military, without a penny to his name, suddenly becomes a multi-millionaire in a few short years? That’s definitely some shady shit right there. Hell, the guy drives a fuckin’ Wraith… in New York…. Like what the actual fuck?  You watch Billy remove his leather jacket, revealing the form fitting sweater he wore underneath and you bite your lip. Have mercy.

You shake your head back and forth trying to refocus. Okay enough about tall, dark and handsome. Time to find out where the other Anvil dicks got off too. You look at the beer that some random dude had bought you on your last circuit of the club. He was no doubt hoping to make you feel like you owed him in some sort of sexual favor. Fucking cunt. With that thought, you chug the remaining liquid and slam it on the nearest table, making your way back onto the dance floor.

While maneuvering your way through the crowd, you spot three additional guards amongst the partiers. Their just-a-little-too-stiff dance moves and their constant glancing over their shoulders singled them out as Billy’s men. Oh, and also because they kept talking into their sleeves every two fucking minutes. Real inconspicuous. You shake your head. “Idiots,” you mumble under your breath. This is almost too easy.

With the all the guards accounted for, you make your way to the exit you planned on using to make a quick escape. As you work your way across the floor, you make it seem as if you are looking for a friend. “Samantha?” You cry out with a slight whine and slur to your voice. You’re sure to put on a little show, stumbling and slightly putting your weight on everyone you pass. They started making a narrow path, wanting to avoid a potential collision or the possibility of puke. “Samantha! Where are you?”

You keep moving along until you finally make it to the far side of the dance floor. In your earlier assessment, you took note that the side exit is right by the bathrooms. You thank the gods for your luck. You knew with the packed dance floor and the number of utter buffoons posing as bodyguards, you would have to get Aldrich somewhere private and secluded.

You finally reach the hallway that leads to your preferred exit. You see the guard standing stiffly to the right of the door, arms crossed and a stern scowl on his face. He looked to be in his mid-forties with a bit of gray hair at his temples. He was doing an excellent job of exuding the Don’t Fuck Me Me vibe. You keep up your show of being a drunk girl looking for her friend. You stumble and giggle your way towards him.

“’Scuse me, have you seen S’mantha? Can’t find her anywhere.”

Knock off Jason Statham doesn’t respond just gives you a stern look. You stumble closer to him, hugging the wall for balance.

“D’you hear me? I SAID ‘M LOOKIN’ FOR MY FRIEND S’MANTHAAAA.” You say a little too loudly and with an annoying whine for added effect.

“Look Ma’am, I don’t know who Samantha is, but you’re not supposed to be back here.” He uncrossed his arms as he answered your question, holding them out slightly as if he was about to stop you from coming any closer.

You’re almost close enough to him now that if you were to stumble you would fall right in to his chest, and that is exactly what you do. You let out a surprised gasp as he steadies you. You look up at him and smile.

“Aw thank you! You’re my hero.” You say a little breathlessly as you grasp his biceps. “Oh WOW you’re so strong!” You say with a little awe in your voice.

Your charms don’t seem to be working on the man though. He just looks down at you unfazed.

“Ma’am you can’t be back here.” He repeats.

“Oh, alright you fuddy duddy!” You say as you smack his chest. “I’ll leave, jeez! But if you see S’mantha, tell her that Ray-shul‘s lookin’ for ‘er!” You turn around to leave and take a step forward to leave but stop suddenly.

“Hey sir?”

You hear him sigh and you can tell whatever he says next will have an exasperated tone to it. “Wha-“

You turn around swiftly, delivering a round house kick to his temple, immediately knocking the him out.

“You need to learn to loosen up a little.” You say flatly to his unconscious body.

The next few minutes pass quickly as you secure his hands and feet with some zip ties you hid in your bra. Not much room for a utility bely in this get-up. You drag his body in to some random supply closet and kick off the door knob, effectively locking him in. When you’re done, you straighten your pink form fitting skirt and readjust your bralette making sure none of the goodies were showing. Sometimes it sucks being a woman.

Alright. Phase one complete. Phase two here I come. You make your way back into the mass of bodies. If I never see another club after this mission, it will be too soon. I have had enough of this hot, sweaty mob. You see Aldrich and Russo are at the bar still, so ou make your way to the bar area and hover at the edge dance floor. You take position to make sure you’re seen by the men. Camila Cabello’s Havana starts playing and you start moving to the beat. This next part wouldn’t be hard. Dancing was something you loved, despite your bad memories that were often tied to dancing.

Flashback

You breathe heavily as you wipe the sweat from your forehead. All you can hear are the raps of the cane against the floor as your ballet instructor calls out moves.

 “Pirouette!”

“Arabesque penchée!”

“Grand Jeté!”

America would never admit to being envious of their long-term rivals, but they couldn’t deny that Russia produced two of the best things the world has ever seen: ballets and spies. You were currently practicing for Swan Lake as the Black Swan. Something you never would had thought you would ever do in your life. Being an orphan that had bounced from Foster Home to Foster home since you were 4, your future never seemed too bright. But all of that changed when you were taken in by the White Rose Initiative.

When the SSR caught wind of the Red Room back in the 40s, they were appalled, and rightly so. The fought for years to put an end to the program and rescue those little girls. And for the most part, they succeeded. However, all it took was for one person to have one awful idea under the pretenses that although it may be awful, if it was for the right cause, the ends could justify the means. So, with that thought process, the CIA formed an American equivalent of the Red Room and it was called the White Rose Initiative.

The WRI took in orphaned girls and trained them torturously in the ways of espionage. While they didn’t chain the girls to the bed, they used other means of imprisonment. A decade of mental and emotional abuse did quite a number on someone.

You had been taken in at the ripe, young age of 8. Your body was trained in multiple martial arts and became specialized in dozens of weapons. Your mind was expanded by professors of the highest caliber, mastering all subjects as well as conquering no less than 12 different languages. You were cultured by learning multiple different musical instruments and training your vocal cords to perform even the most difficult operatic arrangements. You built endurance and strength through ballet and dance classes from the highest trained professionals. Needless to say, your body and mind were finely honed weapons, forged to serve the U.S. Government in any way possible. 

During your time with WRI, you endured many different forms of torture. Their goal was to desensitize you so that if you were ever captured, you would not break. Electrocution, waterboarding, extended isolation periods, all seemed like nothing compared to the mental and emotional abuse you suffered under their tutelage. Growing up without love is one thing, but learning to love only one thing in the entire world, and watching it be ripped away from you, knowing there was nothing you could do about it, was too much to bear.

Being inducted to the WRI, doesn’t entail much. You pledge yourself to the United States in a formal deceleration and are you assigned a partner. This partner is with you every moment of every day. Your sparring partner, your roommate, but most importantly, your best friend. Being able to spend your free time with only one person for years on end can only lead to you becoming close. You and  Y/BF/N hit it off right off the bat. You were both around the same age with Y/BF/N only being a few months older than you.

Y/BF/N was all you had. The only person who knew you better than you knew yourself, and you knew her too. This is exactly what the WRI wanted. How else were they supposed to keep their weapons in line? They invested all this time and money making you into a shell of a person who couldn’t break under the most gruesome of tortures even if you wanted to. That is why they gave you only one weakness, and one that they could control and exploit. If you ever misbehaved even in the slightest, failed in training or in education, the person they punished wasn’t you. It was your person that they tortured.

You were always stronger than Y/BF/N. Always just a little faster, a little smarter, a little more determined. You were determined that you would never be the cause of her pain. Y/BF/N, try as she might, was never good at controlling her outburst of rebellion. You both hated the WRI, but you knew that there was no escape from your fate. Y/BF/N however, always held out hope that you all would be rescued from the cruelty. This caused you to “punished” almost daily.

Y/BF/N would always be devastated when you returned to your dormitory with electrical burns or with your finger nails removed, or some other marks that were left from gruesome torturing techniques. You would always console her and tell her you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Y/BF/N, I don’t know what I would do if you ever changed who you were or your beliefs just to spare me pain. You wouldn’t be you and that would hurt worse than any torture they could put me through.” 

You both would spend hours at night, after lights out, dreaming of the day when you both would be free and able to live your own lives. You both had made pacts that you would never do any missions for your torturers. As soon as you two graduated you would run, never to be seen again. It was something that you planned together, mapping out every single detail until every possible outcome had been predicted and appropriately planned for.

However, what they didn’t tell you was that to “graduate”, you would be put in a fight to the death with the person you had come to know as a sister. It made sense. Why would they spend all this time making you unbreakable only to send you out into the world and have one thing that would make you break in a millisecond? It was smart. You have to give them that. Living it though, was a completely different story.

That fated day was fast approaching, and when it came, you and Y/BF/N were called into the training arena. You could see various weapons littered across the room. You also saw a team of people in the middle of the floor cleaning a large amount of blood off the mats. You and Y/BF/N shared a brief look, both reading each other minds. What the hell is going on? You were the first to see your martial arts instructor emerge from the shadows. When he told you what was to come next, you couldn’t believe what you heard. I have to fight Y/BF/N to the death? You couldn’t get the thought to process. Y/BF/N didn’t seem to phased, which threw you for a loop. She almost looked resigned.

You had always had been opinionated, but you always had a tight reign over your tongue. You feared it would fall back on Y/BF/N. You didn’t even really speak much other than when you were with Y/BF/N in private. So when you aggressively responded to your instructor that you wouldn’t be going along with this sick game. Your instructor was taken aback.

“You can’t seriously believe that I would fucking fight Y/BF/N, My. Best. Friend. to the death.” You say in a low and deadly tone.

Your instructor looked at you in disbelief. He couldn’t believe you, his prized pupil, would speak to him like this. He went to open his mouth, no doubt to reprimand you, but before he could say anything, you feel a punch to the gut. You look up to see who would have the audacity to hit you, and you couldn’t believe what you saw.

Y/BF/N had fucking sucker punched you in the gut. You wheeze as you try to get some air back into your lungs.

“Y/BF/N, what the fuck are you doing?”

“You fucking idiot. I am trying to kill you. Are you that much of a dumb bitch?”

With those harshly spoken words, she moved to send an upper cut to your jaw. You duck easily, but your brain felt like it was short circuiting. All you could process is that Y/BF/N is not pulling any punches. She was going full out. She’s really trying to kill me.

Looking back on it, you can only remember bits and pieces, but your body must have gone into fight or flight mode because the next thing you know you have a Kukri, your preferred blade, in your hand. You’re not sure how or when it got there, but the only thing you can think about is how deeply it is embedded in Y/BF/N’s gut. You let out a heartbreaking wail as your brain fully registers what you have done.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!”

Y/BF/N’s body is leaning heavily against yours. It’s as if she doesn’t have the energy to stand on her own anymore. She looks at you and smiles, blood staining her teeth Your heart shattered into a million pieces in that moment. A moment that dragged on for what felt like a life time, and all you can think is, Oh God, what have I done.

“No.” You whisper. A faint, broken echo of your wail earlier. Y/BF/N coughed but the cough didn’t seem to alleviate any of her pain as lets out a sickly gurgle. That’s not good. Logically in your brain, you could see the signs that her life was nearing its end, but your heart couldn’t accept it. Her body went slack and started to slip down your body. You kneel down with her and prop her head in your lap.

“Y/BF/N, please stay with me. Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me. Not you. Not now. We’re so close. What about that island, huh? We were going to go and flirt with all of the local guys, drink mojitos and do absolutely nothing all day, every day. You can’t leave me. You can’t…” Your voice breaks. “You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.” You repeat the mantra barely above a whisper.

“Y/N.” Y/BF/N draws your attention away from your grief. “You’re free. Don’t make my sacrifice for nothing. Resist. You may have to work for them until you can get out, but… you have to… you have t-” You can see that talking is draining what little energy she had left. Every world is a battle to get out. Every breath more labored than the last.

“Shhhh. Save your energy please. I can’t lose you.”

“No, you… have to… remember… they don’t…. they don’t own you Y/N. Remember. Remember… who… you… ar..” Her last word left her mouth like a sigh as her breathing stopped. Despite what your heart was telling you to do, you didn’t rage and scream. You sat there with her until your instructor came over and put a hand on your shoulder. Numb, you just looked up at him and he offered you a pained smile.

“Congratulations, you’ve officially graduated. Go back to your dormitory and pack up. You ship out at 0800.”

It’s like you were a zombie, you nodded and stood. You neatly folded Y/BF/N’s hands on her chest. She looked so peaceful. With one last look at her face, trying to memorize every feature, you turned and walked away and didn’t look back. It was torture being back in your room, seeing little signs of her everywhere. You could see where she had left her brush on the night stand and her bed unmade, a small defiance to the Initiative. You moved towards bathroom to wash her blood off of your body.

After you had dried off, changed and packed, you looked around your room. It never had been so quiet before. Even when you both were asleep, the quiet was broken with Y/BF/N’s soft snores, something she would deny she did until she was blue in the face. You eye her bed and lay down on it. As you stretch yourself out, you run your hand under the pillow only to come into contact with a hardback book. You pull it out and read the cover. “Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.” It was her favorite book. She read a little bit of it every night before she went to sleep.

You opened to the bookmarked page. Your eyes scanning the page’s contents only coming to land on the section she had underlined. “There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” You smirked as you read the passage. Then you noticed the little note she had written in the margins. “If this ain’t us, I don’t know what is…” And like that, the dam burst. You let out a sob before you could contain it. You rolled over and shoved your face into the pillow. You let out a blood curdling scream. You could feel tears and snot soaking the pillow. While it felt good to express some emotion finally, when you had cried the last tear, you just felt empty. You got up and put the book in your pack. At least I’ll something of hers.

And thus began your time as the empty shell that you swore to Y/BF/N that they would never make you. For years, you didn’t care if the world lived or died. You didn’t speak to anyone other than reporting to your superiors. You had soon made a name for yourself, and not in a good way. You were good at what you did. You were stealthy and deadly and you never failed a mission. People started calling you Echo after the nymph in Greek Mythology. Hera deprived her of speech, except for the ability to repeat the last words of another.

End Flashback

You come out of your reverie when a new song started playing. The deep thumps of the bass reverberating in your chest. You really shouldn’t be getting this fucking distracted on a mission. However, Your traitorous brain turns back to the past. 

It’s hard for you to think back on your time after WRI. Especially since it was against the dying wish of your best friend. You aren’t proud to say that you lived that way for a long time. You only came out of your zombie like state when the aliens attacked New York.

Flashback

You were walking along the sidewalk with your head down and earphones in listening to some rap music as you made your way to HQ to get your new mission debriefing. Through the loud music in your ears you start to hear screaming. You look up to see a horde of aliens flying about wreaking havoc on the city. You see the innocent people fleeing and fearing for their lives.

As your eyes scan your surroundings to plan your first mode of attack, your eyes land on a mother clutching her son to her chest, who was obviously dead. He had been impaled with a Chitauri staff. The kid couldn’t have been older than 10. Watching her grieve reminded you of yourself with Y/BF/N. And in that moment, you decided that as long as there were evil dickwads out there preying on the innocent, you were going to do anything you could to protect them. You couldn’t help but think that Y/BF/N would be proud of you. No doubt giving you an ear full about it taking so long first though. And with that thought in mind, you began killing as many of those sons of bitches as you could. There was a never-ending stream of them flying around on those damn hover crafts though and you soon became exhausted. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold out.

You pause after decapitating a Chitauri with a loose piece of metal paneling when you hear loud bellows off in the distance. What the hell is that? Next thing you know, you see the Hulk leaping from building to building. You follow his path with your eyes. And as he gets closer, you can hear his roars louder than ever and you fight the instinct to cover your ears to protect them from the sear volume of the noise. You realize he is headed directly towards you. Why is he coming at me, man? What did I do? You see that he passes right over your head though and you turn your head to see where he is heading and you see that you are a few yards from Stark Tower. Oh.

You watch as he swings his body on to the roof and you wonder what’s going on up there, but your thought process is rudely interrupted when a particularly large Chitauri knocks you on your ass. You get up and quickly dispose of him and four others. You then hear what sounds like a jet engine coming right at you. You look up to see Iron Man carrying a nuke on his back.

“What the actual fuck is going on? Did I take LSD without knowing and this is just a bad trip?”

You see him fly into the portal you noticed the Chitauri coming out of earlier and deliver the pay load. You let out a thunderous whoop as did many of the people around you. You hear the nuke exploding in the portal and all of the remaining Chitauri collapse at once. They don’t get back up. 

You look back up into the sky to see the portal beginning to close. You can’t explain it, but when that portal closed, some unknown force knocked you back… like about 30 feet… and slammed you into a brick wall with what felt like the force of a semi-truck going 80 mph. It was a hit that should of killed you. Or at least hospitalized you for months, but before you passed out, you felt a warmth take you’re your body and somehow, you knew you would be alright. The next thing you remember was coming to in a pile of debris.

You look up to the sky again to see if there is still any more action going on, only to see Ironman free falling at an alarming rate. As he draws to close to the ground for comfort, the Hulk swoops in and catches him. They land on the ground not far from you, and you see that Tony isn’t moving. All of the Avengers have gathered around now, and it looks like they have lost hope of him being alive. All of a sudden, the Hulk lets out an ear-splitting roar and Tony jerks awake.

After a heartwarming reunion, the team collects themselves and take in the wreckage that is New York. You are looking at them when Steve makes eye contact with you. He gives you a curious look. You just smirk at him and give him a little wave. He directs the team’s attention towards you and they all start making their way over to you. You hear Hawkeye say, “She take all them aliens out by herself?” And you can’t help but to respond.

“No. Not all of them, about 80% though. The rest are courtesy of the big guy.” You nod towards Hulk and he gives everyone a self-satisfied smirk with a grunt of acknowledgement. “Hulk smash.” He said under his breath in a proud tone.

Tony, who looks worse for wear, looks at the number of dead aliens around you. “Yeaaaah, you got spunk kid. What’s your name?”

“Name’s Y/N, but everyone calls me Echo.”

Nat perks up at this. “Wait. THE Echo? 147 confirmed kills? The silent death dealer of the White Rose Initiative?”

Steve speaks up. “Nat, you know this woman?”

“Know her? I’ve been trying to track her for years. SHIELD has her listed as a potential threat and a potential asset.”

“Hah! Well what do you know! Y/N, why don’t you join the Avengers? I’m sure I can get ole Cyclops to agree. Don’t you think Nat? You know I’m his favorite anyways. He can’t say no to me.”

“Tony, shut up for a second, will you? Y/N, what do you say? I know that Fury would jump at the opportunity to have you be a part of the team, especially after this fiasco. We’re gonna need all the helo we can get.”

“Oh, I dunno man, I mean do I have to wear dumb ass costumes?” You say as you eye up Thor. “I mean a cape, dude? Really?”

You can hear Tony mumble “I like her already,” to Nat and you can hear her chuckle.

Thor, looking offended, responds with, “I’ll have you know that capes are essential for… flying and aerodynamics and… things.”

“Mmm-hmm… Look guys I don’t know. Being an Avenger is this whole thing and I dunno… I’m not into being in the spotlight. I am looking to be on the right side of things though. Got a whole lot of shit to make up for.” Nat nods in understanding. “Widow, think Director Grumpy Mother Fucker will let me join SHIELD?”

The group let out a small laugh at that. Except Cap. He looks a little uncomfortable. Guess his delicate sensitivities doesn’t like cursing. Pussy. “I’ll be sure and let him know! Look we got to get going and report in or said director will have our heads on a platter. We will keep in touch though. You know where to find us.” She says as she gestures towards Stark Tower. You nod in acknowledgement. Well, Y/BF/N, I don’t really remember who you knew me as, but I know who I am going to try to be. I hope it’s someone you would be proud of.

End Flashback

And that’s how you came to be here, in this bar, on this mission. You listen to the song again. The lyrics flowing through you to move your body in a sensual manner.

Desperado Sittin’ in an old Monte Carlo A man whose heart is hollow Mhm, take it easy I’m not tryna go against yuh Actually, I’m goin’ witcha

You close your eyes and feel the music move your soul. Getting lost in music and dance was always an escape for you at your time in the WRI.

Gotta get up out of here And yuh ain’t leavin’ me behind I know you won’t cause we share common interests You need me, there ain’t no leaving me behind Never, no, no, I just want outta here, yeah Once I’m gone, ain’t no going back

You open your eyes and look over to where Russo and Aldrich were stationed. It looks like Aldrich got another round of drinks. Good. The drunker the better. You’re mid-turn in a dance move when you see from the corner of your eyes Aldrich looking in your direction. You smirk to yourself. Off to a good start. You close your eyes again and bite your lip as you let the music take you over again.

If you want, we can be runaways Running from any sight of love Yeah, yeah, there ain’t nothin’ There ain’t nothin’ here for me There ain’t nothin’ here for me anymore But I don’t wanna be alone

You open your eyes and look directly at your target. He seems to be admiring the view. Got ‘em hook, line and sinker. You crook your finger at him with a sultry smirk. He looks over to Russo and says something. They share a short conversation before Aldrich looks back over to you. You make the same motion and let out a small laugh, hoping it would encourage him to come over. He gestures as if to say, “Who me?” You nod and laugh again.

He eagerly makes his way to you.

“Well, hello there beautiful.”

“Hi Handsome. I saw you watching me and wanted to know if you wanted to dance.”

He doesn’t respond. Bruno Mars’ Finesse remix comes on. It’s a little more upbeat, but Aldrich moves to closer to you so that his right leg is in-between yours. If you move, you will be basically dry humping his leg. As you both begin to move to the beat, you hear him ask for your name.

“Rachel.”

“That’s a pretty name. Name’s Chad. Chad Aldrich.” He says very matter of fact tone. He was clearly expecting you to know who he was from his last name alone.

You give him a blank stare.

“You know the Aldrich’s? They are a branch of the Rockefeller family tree. I’m a very important person.”

Man, this guy is a dick and I’ve only been talking to him for two seconds. You lean up to whisper in his ear. “Oh, I am sure you are. Very. Important.” You lick into his hear on the last word and Chad is speechless. Thank God for that.

You two dance to the upbeat song for a bit more before it bleeds into the next. This new one slow and sensual. Definitely a bump and grind song. You move to turn around and press your back to his front. You start to move to the beat and Chad wraps his arms around you, putting his head next to yours.

You dance like this for a couple more songs and you can feel that Chad is getting a little excited. You lean your head back on his shoulder and press your rear more firmly to his groin. He lets out a groan, that is impossible to hear in the loudness of the music, but you can feel it coming from his chest. You turn your head slightly to whisper in his ear.

“I want you to fuck me hard in the bathroom.”

“Oh, someone’s kinky.”

“Tell me about it daddy.”

With those last words he looks at you excitedly and nods an okay. You turn to pull him away. You can feel him signaling to Russo and making some gestures behind you, but you choose to ignore them. As you make your way to the bathroom, you can feel Chad getting more and more handsy. He impatiently grips your hips and pulls himself close to you. He runs his hands across your stomach and squeezes one of your breasts.

You finally make it to the bathroom, but before you can enter the door, Chad turns you around and forcefully molds his mouth to yours. He seriously lacks finesse. You chuckle internally at your pun from thinking back to the earlier song. God I am corny. You tolerate the kiss for a few moments before you break it off and pull him into the bathroom. You quickly shoo out any other guys. Man, the bro code must be strong if the guys just willingly leave in the face of a possible quickie for their fellow dude.

Chad grips your shoulders and roughly pushes you against the wall. You two make out for a minute before a guy in a plaid shirt enters the bathroom. He doesn’t seem as accommodating as the other guys. He grumbles, “Get a room, fucking horn dogs.”

You start to shove Chad into a stall. Alright here comes the fun part. You forcefully push him down on to the toilet and straddle his lap. He makes a satisfied sound and that’s the last thing you hear from him as you pinch the pressure point in his trapezoid and he quickly passes out.

You move quickly to remove your skirt and pull out your finger printing kit that had been disassembled and strapped to your inner thigh. You deactivate the photostatic leggings you had on and they turn back to their original black color. You would have to thank Nat for getting them for you. You checked the photostatic veil you had on too. It was still intact and fully functional. Perfect. Everything is going smoothly.

You make quick work of getting his prints and a strand of hair for DNA. With that done, you whip out your phone and open the app that Peter had developed for Tony that allows you to basically have a portable eye mapper. This is ingenious when you need to get retinal scans. Good job Spiderling. You quickly level the camera lens at his eye that you prop open. You watch the load bar as it slowly progresses. I have about 10 minutes before I have to get the heck out of dodge. You think over your checklist.

You hit a stroke of luck when the guy came into the bathroom. He was wearing a perfect change of clothes. It would definitely be beneficial to your mission if you could quickly change your appearance.

You see that the app has completed its mapping and you make your way out of the stall. You see the guy that came in has finished his business and is currently washing his hands. He makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You smile ruefully at him.

“Can you believe he passed out? What a fuckin’ light weight am I right?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

He turns to get a paper towel to dry his hands. Using his distraction, you pinch the same nerve in his traps as you did to Chad. The guy collapses on the floor. You turn to throw away the skirt you had on and you remove the sheer shirt and toss it in the trash too. You make your way back to the guy and you strip him of his flannel shirt and white t-shirt underneath. You rip the bottom half of the t-shirt and part of the sleeves. You slip the shirt over your bralette and tie it to where it fits firmly across your chest. Next you roll up what was left of the sleeves to make them a bit more feminine looking. Then you take his flannel shirt and tie it around your waist.

You look over to the guy on the ground and decide to put him in the stall with Chad so that he doesn’t cause problems for you. You grunt as you drag him to lie face down on Chad’s lap. You laugh out loud. When they both come to, they will be very surprised at the situation they find themselves in. You take the bits of t-shirt you ripped off and tie their hand to the back of the commode.

With the majority of the job done, you exit the stall and go to remove your wig. Fucking finally. When all of a sudden you see the door to the bathroom slowly creek open and you see a gun stick through the crack. You watch as the person holding the gun finally enters the room fully and the door swings shut behind him.

He looks at you as you look at him. Fucking Russo with his fucking perfect face and hair has to ruin fucking everything. Fuck. You can see him trying to piece together what he is seeing. You fully remove the wig and your Y/H/C falls down and you almost let out a sigh of relief.

You see him taking in your appearance and you can see it in his eyes when all of the pieces come together. You almost sarcastically congratulate him on how fucking slow he was. You don’t though. You just look at him for a second more before you narrow your eyes and take up a fighting stance. You throw a smirk at him. You needed to get that gun away from him ASAP. Lucky for you, it seems he forgot he was even holding one.

Before he can think of what to do next, you charge at him. Bring it on pretty boy. Let’s see who has more balls the ballerina or the marine.

[13reasonswhyobsessed]

Clay/Tony

A/N: So if you recognize this story, it's because my best friend posted this under BCJ1997 on AO3. As she doesn't have Tumblr, she has asked me to transfer her stories over here. THIS IS NOT MY WORK. I wish it was, but I can't take credit for it lol. So here you guys go! I also take requests on here, so send me an ask if you want me to write something for you :) Prompt 101: “Are you okay?” Pairing: Tony/Clay Warnings: Explicit language, underage drinking. The usual. Clay is drunk. Very drunk. He's laying down on a bench in the park, laughing and singing to himself rather loudly. There's half a bottle of vodka that he swiped from his parents on the ground. He knows he's in deep shit when his parents get home. He doesn't care. It's been three months since Hannah died and things haven't gotten much easier. The pain is still very much present, reminding him of what he's lost, and the guilt he feels is still just as overwhelming as it was before. So how the hell can everyone else move on but him? “Oh, I know,” he answers himself with a laugh. “‘Cause I loved her and they didn't.” “Clay?” He knows that voice anywhere. “Tonyyyy!” He says happily, sitting up. The movement causes the world to spin around him. His head feels heavy and he's tired, but he already tried to get up once and couldn't do it. Tony frowns, coming around the bench to stand next to Clay. He puts a hand on his friend's shoulder and asks, “you good?” It's the funniest thing he’s heard in a while. “M’fine,” he slurs. Then he pauses. “No, I'm not.” “Are you drunk?” “I think so!” Clay reaches down and picks up the bottle, wiggling it in front of Tony’s face before taking another swig. Tony snatches the bottle away from him. “Hey!” Clay protests, reaching both arms out quickly to take the bottle back and nearly falling off the bench in the process. “I think you've had enough,” his friend says gently but firmly. Clay shakes his head, trying to clear away some of the fog. “Jus’ gimme the bottle back and go away, Tony. Wah you even doin’ here?” The other man doesn't seem fazed. “Brad and I were driving and I saw your bike. Didn't see you, though.” There's a bit of amusement in his eyes. Clay scoffs loudly and unattractively. “Fuck Brad.” Tony can't help but let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, well, Brad is your ride home now, so I would be careful about what you say if I were you. I don't want him throwing you out of his car in your condition.” “Bike.” Clay points. “What?” Fuck, he can't even form sentences right now. Luckily, Tony seems to know what he means. “We’ll throw your bike in the back. There's room. But no fucking way am I letting you ride it home when you're this shitfaced.” “Not shitfaced,” Clay grumbles. He looks up him with tired and unfocused eyes. Tony snorts and sets the bottle down before moving to help Clay up. The boy waves him off and stumbles to his feet, holding onto the bench for support. “I got it,” he slurs. But his head is spinning and he's having serious trouble with his legs right now. He only makes it four steps before he tumbles forward. Tony, who had been walking backwards in front of him in case something like this happened, caught him in his arms before Clay could fall on his face. “Yeah, buddy, you got it,” he says sarcastically, one arm wrapped around him awkwardly. Clay groans and buries his face in Tony’s shirt. His stomach is starting to churn and he's starting to regret his decision to get drunk. “Fuck,” he moans, and feels Tony’s chest shake with silent laughter. “That's what happens when you get wasted. I thought you would have learned your lesson the first time.” “Fuck off.” It comes out muffled due to his face being pressed against Tony’s shirt, and his friend let's out snort of laughter again. He somehow manages to lift his head back so he can look at Tony and tell him off, but then something happens. He's not sure what it is. Maybe it's the alcohol coursing through him, but he's suddenly noticing just how beautiful Tony is. Muscled body, strong jaw and lips that look soft. How the hell has he not noticed this before? Tony cocks his head to the side and gives him a quizzical look, clearly trying to figure out why Clay is staring at him oddly. “Something wrong with my face?” Fuck no. “I just...yer beautiful.” The words leave his mouth before he can stop them, but the confidence the alcohol gave him prevents him from feeling embarrassed. Tony raises his eyebrows. “Uh, thanks, Clay.” “No, seriously.” He breaks away from Tony, nearly falling backwards as he does so but manages to get his balance back before his friend can step in. “Yer, like...really fuckin’ pretty, dude.” “Yeah, you've definitely had enough. Come on.” Tony braces himself under Clay’s arm, his own sliding around Clay’s waist. He's not very heavy, so it's not too difficult for Tony to help him make it to the car. It's just little stumbles here and there. Brad gets out once he sees them and silently walks around the side of the car to open the backseat door, no questions asked. Though, looking at the state Clay’s in, questions aren't necessary. “Thanks,” Tony nods to him, then says to Clay, “in you go, bud.” As carefully as possible, he helps Clay get in the car. The boy groans again and immediately slumps to the side, resting his head on the seat. “Is he gonna throw up all over the car?” Brad asks, looking slightly annoyed. Tony gives him a look. “We’ll pull over if we have to.” His boyfriend rolls his eyes but says nothing. Surprisingly, he goes over to where Clay’s bike is and grabs it before carrying it back over to the car. “You have to move him so I can put it in.” Tony does, and Brad doesn't say another word to him. The drive to Clay’s house is uncomfortably silent. But this always seems to happen when Brad is around Clay. He doesn't offer a hand when Tony struggles to get the passed out teen out of the car, and stiffens when he hears Tony say, “I got you, Clay.” I’ve always got you, Clay. “Are you staying with him?” Brad asks in a hard voice. Tony sighs. He could really do without fighting with his boyfriend tonight, but he wants to stay with Clay and make sure the kid is alright, seeing as how his parents clearly aren't home. There's another reason he wants to stay with Clay, but he can't think of that. “I should help him up to his room,” he tells Brad. “I won't ask you to wait.” He's pretty sure it's the wrong thing to say, but Brad keeps his face composed. “I'll wait. I'll even get his bike out of the car so you don't have to do it.” Tony opens his mouth to answer, but at that moment, Clay doubles over and pukes. On the side of Brad’s car. “Shit, Clay!” Tony puts one hand on his back and the other on his shoulder. “I'm good,” Clay gasps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He throws up one more time. Tony can't bring himself to see the look on Brad’s face. He likes the feel of Tony’s body against his as they make their way inside the house. Tony smells like leather and cologne. But now he's starting to slightly sober up a bit and he knows that he shouldn't be thinking about Tony this way. He knows he shouldn't look at him the way he did tonight, or call him beautiful. He shouldn't like the way Tony feels against him. He's fucking Tony. Tony is his best friend, his confident. Tony also has a boyfriend. And then there's him, who has never looked at another man like that and isn't even sure if it's the alcohol fucking with him or not. Clay has always seen himself as straight until tonight. “Think you can make it up the stairs?” Tony asks him suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. Clay nods, trying to resist throwing up again. “Yeah.” “Let me know if you need to sit for a minute.” They make it up the stairs without incident. Of course Clay trips a couple of times, but that's just his life. It's a huge relief when they make it to his bedroom, and he immediately stumbles over to his bed and drops down on it. Tony takes his shoes off for him and helps him get under the covers. “You want some water, Clay?” He asks after. Clay, barely conscious, shakes his head. He just wants to get some sleep. “Stay,” he murmurs without realizing it. Tony doesn't answer for a moment. Then he says, “always.” When Clay is asleep, Tony waits a few minutes before he takes out his phone and starts to send a message to Brad. Clay wakes up a few hours later with a splitting headache. He feels nauseous, but he doesn't think he's going to throw up again so he closes his eyes and tries to go back to sleep. Wait a second...where's Tony? Shit. He almost forgot. His friend probably went home, but he gets himself out of bed anyway and heads out of his room. He's about to go downstairs when he hears voices. “Thank you for keeping Clay company while we were gone,” he hears his mother say. “No problem, Mrs. Jensen,” Tony says. “Tell Clay I said I hope he feels better." There's amusement in his voice that only Clay understands. “I will. Goodnight, Tony.” “Night, Tony,” Clay’s father says way too cheerfully, clapping a hand on Tony’s shoulder. Is dad drunk? Clay thinks, not being able to keep the small grin of amazement off his face. Tony doesn't seem bothered. “Night, Mr. Jensen.” Clay hears the door open and close. He doesn't know what it is, but something is urging him to go after his friend. He can remember everything he's said and done tonight--for the most part. Some things are still pretty foggy. But he needs to talk to Tony about it. Apologize. Making up his mind, he runs down the stairs. “Clay?” His mother frowns when she sees him. “Honey, what are you doing up?” “Hey, champ!” His father adds loudly before letting out a hiccup. “I have to go talk to Tony real quick,” Clay says quickly before flinging open the door and running outside with only his socks on. Tony is only a few houses away, thank God. Clay doesn't know if he could handle running all the way down the street right now. “Tony!” He calls out. The darker skinned boy turns around and stops. “Hey, Clay,” he greets. “Up already?” He looks down. "And where are your shoes?" Clay stops when he's in front of him. “Where are you going?” Tony raises an eyebrow and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I'm going home.” “You're walking home?” “That was the idea, yeah.” “Tony, you live on the other side of town. Let my mom give you a ride home.” Tony lets out a snort and nods towards Clay’s house. “I think she's got her hands full already with your dad.” Clay rolls his eyes. “Then call a cab.” “I'm fine, Clay. I like walking.” “What happened to Brad?” Tony sighs, looks down at his feet. “He left. I don't think he and I are gonna see each other anymore.” And boy, does that make Clay feel like shit. “I'm sorry,” he says sincerely. “Is it...is it because of me?” Tony doesn't answer. His silence is enough of an answer for Clay. “Shit, man, I'm sorry.” Fuck, what the hell is wrong with him? After all Tony’s done for him, and he repays him by breaking him and his boyfriend up. It may not have been intentional, but Clay knew that Brad was jealous and he still kept calling Tony for help whenever he needed it. Why can’t he deal with things on his own? “It's not your fault,” Tony protests, which makes Clay feel worse. “This was coming for a while. Brad’s just...he’s too jealous. I guess a part of me can't blame him, because I have been spending more time with you than him. But...I don't know.” He shakes his head. Clay isn't sure what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything. It's silent for a moment before Tony finally raises his head and looks Clay in the eyes. “Did you mean what you said when you called me beautiful?” He asks, half-teasing and half-serious. Clay’s heart begins to race. This is it. He can either tell the truth or lie. But what is the truth? Does he honestly see his best friend that way, or is he just...confused? Christ, Hannah’s only been dead for a few months. He's still not completely over her. He doesn't know when he’ll be. Even if he does feel something for Tony, would it be fair to do that to him? But what if he’s exactly what I need? Tony, who knows Clay better than most people. Tony, who has never let Clay down even if it had felt like it at the time. Tony, who has done more for him than anyone else has. Tony, who let Clay push him in the garage without lifting a finger, and tear him down verbally multiple times because he understood what Clay was going through. Tony, who notices how silent Clay is right now and quickly tries to backtrack. “Never mind. I shouldn't have asked. I, uh...I’ll see you in school Monday, Clay.” He turns to walk away, but Clay grabs his arm and stops him. Tony does, but refuses to look at him. He thinks I'm going to reject him. So Clay makes the first move. He leans in, slowly and carefully until his lips are right in front of Tony’s. His friend’s eyes widen and his breaking picks up, but Clay doesn't stop. He leans in and closes the distance. It's a soft kiss, very soft. Lips barely touching, but it's still sweet. It only lasts for six seconds before Tony kisses him back hard. Clay groans and grips Tony’s shirt in his hands, pulling him even closer. His lips part around Tony’s, whose breath is hot and ragged. And how long has Tony been waiting for this? How many years has he been fantasizing about this moment? He savors every second of it, his head spinning as he wraps one arm around Clay’s waist and places his hand on the back of his head, deepening the kiss. All too soon, it’s over. Clay pulls back with wide eyes, which makes Tony nervous as hell for a moment. “We should stop before one of my neighbors see,” Clay says breathlessly. Tony wants to say fuck them and continue, but he doesn't want to push this. Just because he's comfortable with the fact that he's gay doesn't mean Clay is automatically going to be comfortable with what just happened. “Yeah, you're probably right,” he mutters with a nod. Clay gives him a small smile and presses his forehead against Tony’s, making the man feel better immediately. He nudges Clay’s head with his own, making the taller boy chuckle. “You can stay the night, if you want,” Clay offers. “My parents won't care.” “Yeah. Okay,” he smiles back. “Listen, Tony, I...I have no idea what this means. I'm brand freaking new to this, but...I know that I already let Hannah get away. I don't want to make that mistake twice.” Tony gives him a sympathetic look and grabs one of his hands, lacing their fingers together. “So we’ll figure it out,” he says. “We’ll take it day by day. Okay?” Clay let's out a breath of relief and nods. “Hey, Tony?” “Yeah?” “Are you...Are you okay?” He's not asking if he's okay now. Tony knows that. “I will be,” he answers, squeezing Clay’s hand gently before dropping it. “I have you, don't I?” Clay can't stop the stupid grin that spread across his face. “Always,” he promises, leaning in to kiss Tony one last time.