#she grabs a character by the throat and repeatedly stabs them while smiling. it's so much lmao

[sapphic-haymaker]

Was talking to a friend about how Limbus Company's designs are so out of place in the Gacha landscape cause they're not so blatantly horny. And that's true at first glance but like....

Project Moon games are horny in the same way that one post describes Dark Souls games as "horny, but for sickos."

Nearly every woman has pants on, almost every character is basically completely covered up. The most revealing thing you're usually getting here is MAYBE some cleavage or bare arms.

Project Moon: "All of our characters are dressed professionally and overall very conservative in their designs."

Also Project Moon almost right after: "... Anyway, here's the mind control/hypno bondage attack where living ribbons slowly take over, envelope, and turn the character's outfit & hair pink. The origin of this attack is a cursed pair of bright pink heels, btw."

and that's not even mentioning the horrifying and detailed unique death animations in Limbus and LCorp. It's all suits and ties and finding ways to put characters through unimaginable suffering.

It's so funny.

[princeescaluswords]

*puts on the funny looking hat of Fandom Logic* Lydia's banshee powers laid dormant so long and for why? Have you stopped to think how in that time, she suspiciously had Stiles obsessing over her? Knowing her measurements? That dastardly druid boy must have been siphoning her Banshee spark for years to try resurrecting his mom. And he never told her what she was! When he is a genius with a 200 IQ and an expert in all things Supernatural.

I look forward to your questions, because they always tend to make me smile.  This particular question demonstrates the same level of imaginative skill and, forgive me, projective paranoia that it took for various BNF to interpret Season 5B’s plot to mean that Scott conspired with Deucalion to trick Theo into murdering Josh and Tracy.  

You see, they can’t point to a single scene where Scott tells Deucalion to kill anyone.  They can’t point to a single scene where Deucalion kills anyone.  They can’t point to a single scene where Deucalion tells Theo to kill anyone.  They ignore the scenes where Deucalion mocks Theo for killing Josh and Tracy.  If you use the logic that Deucalion taught Theo how to take power, which is why Theo kidnapped him, and that makes Deucalion responsible, you still can’t connect that to anything Scott did or said.

You know what the difference is between your far-fetched theory of Stiles suppressing Lydia’s power and their paranoid fantasy that Scott ordered Deucalion to murder just Tracy and Josh, and not Corey or Hayden (with whom Deucalion was alone) or maybe even Theo?  Aside from canon characterization, canon plot, and common sense?  You don’t seriously mean it, and they do.

Oh, and the racism.  

On this post, all the usual suspects came and told me that not only are they not motivated by racism in their hatred of Scott, but they can’t be because Scott isn’t Latino.  Their argument?  Well, no one ever came out and declared that he was word-for-word on the show (though somehow the fact that Derek, Peter, Jennifer, Deucalion, Chris, Noah, Melissa, Stiles and Deaton all said that Scott is a good person and a True Alpha does not make that statement true).   

That’s all you need to see the racism.   Latinos must declare themselves as such, or they’re not.  The idea that to be a minority you must be written a specific way to be identified as a minority is in itself racist.  All you have to do is look and you’ll see the footprints of racism in this fandom, which they can deny and deny and deny, but the double standards are easily found and they show up in their meta and they show up in their fanfiction and their gifsets and their snide-ass comments they put in the #scott mccall tag on Tumblr.  There’s no other explanation for their interpretations but Scott’s not white.

I would love to hear the explanation of why it’s okay for them to write that Scott is responsible for Tracy and Josh’s death, while also writing that Peter cares for his family so much, especially when if you use their own arguments, Peter is responsible for Derek’s temporary death in Smoke & Mirrors (4x12).  Peter was in conspiracy with Kate just as much as Scott was in conspiracy with Deucalion and Chris, so it stands to reason if Theo, who was being manipulated by Deucalion, killed Josh so that makes Scott responsible, then if the Berserker, who was being manipulated by Kate, temporarily killed Derek, so that makes Peter responsible.  

You will most likely never hear this idea anywhere else.  You will most likely never read about Peter’s sheer disdain for his family.  Because while fandom likes to trumpet that it’s about exploring all possible combinations and deep reading, you won’t get this level of critical and accusative analysis about hot white men. 

To them, that’s not racism.  After all, Peter’s a villain!  And Derek and Chris are as well in the first two seasons.  The answer, of course, is to look seriously at the way they treat some hot white male non-villains.  

Let’s look at how these supposedly better white male characters treat women.  Stiles is prepared to make out with Lydia when she’s drugged up to the gills, shouts at her until she dances with him, spends an entire weekend waiting for her in a hospital, buys her a ridiculous amount of gifts for her birthday, among other expressions of romantic attraction.  Isaac, on the other hand, wants to kill Lydia because she turned him down for a date, assaults Allison on Derek’s orders, and becomes sexually attracted and romantically involved with Allison who hunted down his packmates and stabbed him a lot.  But I’ve never seen a single of one of these anti-Scott BNF call Stiles or Isaac ‘sexually obsessed!’  That’s only Scott  who embodies for them the Latin Lover stereotype and who is excoriated in fan fiction and on Tumblr for the singular and unheralded crime of paying attention to his girlfriend.

I don’t know what the difference is, but apparently, it’s not racism.

Or how many of the hundreds (if not thousands) of stories have you read where Stiles shuns, punishes, strips Scott of his wolf with his super-duper magical powers, or literally kills Scott because he demonstrated his disloyalty and unworthiness by not submitting to Derek and/or Peter?  Yet, there may be one or two stories in the nearly 120,000 Teen Wolf fanfictions on AO3 where Stiles reacts at all to Isaac abandoning Derek (and disliking Peter) and joining Scott’s pack.  If  fanfictions are transformative, and it’s only natural that they create stories where Stiles acts as the avenging angel for the poor widdle Hales, there would have to be stories where he avenges them against Isaac.  Wouldn’t there?

I’d bet there are less than five, but apparently, it’s not racism.  

And then there’s the terrible, terrible Neck Grab o’ Doom which is brought up again and again in fiction and commentary, which Fanon Stiles cannot stomach (even though canon Stiles argued for leaving Derek in the hands of his rapist).  To them he must end his friendship with Scott over this dastardly crime, motivated as it was by pure animus (which is what they’re calling the threat of Scott watching Allison’s throat get ripped out).  Scott was working with Gerard under duress, but to Stiles, that’s irrelevant.  They can’t be around each other anymore.  How many stories are there about this, do you think?  Now compare that to the number of stories where Stiles drives Liam from the pack for his beating Scott to the point of death while working with Theo.

I’ve never seen one.  Stiles is far more interested in who Liam is dating, but apparently, it’s not racism.

I can go on and on and on and on, and point out that these aren’t 40-60 splits.  The preponderance of stories where Scott is held reprehensible for actions that white characters take and ignored without comment are incredibly lopsided, overwhelmingly in favor of turning the Latino hero into a monster while Stiles, Liam, and Isaac are “baby” who must be excused for their mistakes.  

But Scott was written so badly!  These BNF cry.  Then where are the fix-its?  If the story was so unsatisfying, and fanfiction exists to give us what canon didn’t, where are the fix-its where the story is written to give us Scott as a hero they can get behind.   

Oh, they exist, but just with stories that approach white character’s misdeeds, they are in the extreme minority.  The vast majority of fix-its aren’t about correcting the mistakes the production made in the presentation of the main character, they are about saving the Hale family or making sure that Derek stays alpha or telling how Stiles dropped his life-long loyalty to his best friend and switched to either of the Hot White Hales, either the middle-aged serial killer or the young adult would-be serial killer, overwhelmingly.   And above all, Scott is put in his place - dead or unimportant or subservient or any combination of the three.

They don’t dislike Scott because he’s Latino, they’ll repeatedly tell you, even though he shares traits with every single white non-villain character on the show, even though the show is focused on his growth and the traits that he doesn’t share with them.  Not at all.  They dislike him because ... they dislike him!   And instead of fixing what they don’t like about him, they’re going to demonstrate how much they don’t like him by repeating again and again just how ... bad he was.  Remember, the transformative nature of fandom is to give us what the show didn’t.

And apparently, this is not motivated by racism. 

[niallloverontheloose]

https://princeescaluswords.tumblr.com/post/647720374839214080/puts-on-the-funny-looking-hat-of-fandom-logic#notes

@russianspacegeckosexparty: Lydia’s banshee powers laid dormant so long and for why? Have you stopped to think how in that time, she suspiciously had Stiles obsessing over her? Knowing her measurements? That dastardly druid boy must have been siphoning her Banshee spark for years to try resurrecting his mom. And he never told her what she was! When he is a genius with a 200 IQ and an expert in all things Supernatural.

@princeescaluswords:

I look forward to your questions, because they always tend to make me smile. This particular question demonstrates the same level of imaginative skill and, forgive me, projective paranoia that it took for various BNF to interpret Season 5B’s plot to mean that Scott conspired with Deucalion to trick Theo into murdering Josh and Tracy.

You see, they can’t point to a single scene where Scott tells Deucalion to kill anyone. They can’t point to a single scene where Deucalion kills anyone. They can’t point to a single scene where Deucalion tells Theo to kill anyone. They ignore the scenes where Deucalion mocks Theo for killing Josh and Tracy. If you use the logic that Deucalion taught Theo how to take power, which is why Theo kidnapped him, and that makes Deucalion responsible, you still can’t connect that to anything Scott did or said.

You know what the difference is between your far-fetched theory of Stiles suppressing Lydia’s power and their paranoid fantasy that Scott ordered Deucalion to murder just Tracy and Josh, and not Corey or Hayden (with whom Deucalion was alone) or maybe even Theo? Aside from canon characterization, canon plot, and common sense? You don’t seriously mean it, and they do.

Oh, and the racism.

On this post, all the usual suspects came and told me that not only are they not motivated by racism in their hatred of Scott, but they can’t be because Scott isn’t Latino. Their argument? Well, no one ever came out and declared that he was word-for-word on the show (though somehow the fact that Derek, Peter, Jennifer, Deucalion, Chris, Noah, Melissa, Stiles and Deaton all said that Scott is a good person and a True Alpha does not make that statement true).

That’s all you need to see the racism. Latinos must declare themselves as such, or they’re not. The idea that to be a minority you must be written a specific way to be identified as a minority is in itself racist. All you have to do is look and you’ll see the footprints of racism in this fandom, which they can deny and deny and deny, but the double standards are easily found and they show up in their meta and they show up in their fanfiction and their gifsets and their snide-ass comments they put in the #scott mccall tag on Tumblr. There’s no other explanation for their interpretations but Scott’s not white.

I would love to hear the explanation of why it’s okay for them to write that Scott is responsible for Tracy and Josh’s death, while also writing that Peter cares for his family so much, especially when if you use their own arguments, Peter is responsible for Derek’s temporary death in Smoke & Mirrors (4x12). Peter was in conspiracy with Kate just as much as Scott was in conspiracy with Deucalion and Chris, so it stands to reason if Theo, who was being manipulated by Deucalion, killed Josh so that makes Scott responsible, then if the Berserker, who was being manipulated by Kate, temporarily killed Derek, so that makes Peter responsible.

You will most likely never hear this idea anywhere else. You will most likely never read about Peter’s sheer disdain for his family. Because while fandom likes to trumpet that it’s about exploring all possible combinations and deep reading, you won’t get this level of critical and accusative analysis about hot white men.

To them, that’s not racism. After all, Peter’s a villain! And Derek and Chris are as well in the first two seasons. The answer, of course, is to look seriously at the way they treat some hot white male non-villains.

Let’s look at how these supposedly better white male characters treat women. Stiles is prepared to make out with Lydia when she’s drugged up to the gills, shouts at her until she dances with him, spends an entire weekend waiting for her in a hospital, buys her a ridiculous amount of gifts for her birthday, among other expressions of romantic attraction. Isaac, on the other hand, wants to kill Lydia because she turned him down for a date, assaults Allison on Derek’s orders, and becomes sexually attracted and romantically involved with Allison who hunted down his packmates and stabbed him a lot. But I’ve never seen a single of one of these anti-Scott BNF call Stiles or Isaac ‘sexually obsessed!’ That’s only Scott who embodies for them the Latin Lover stereotype and who is excoriated in fan fiction and on Tumblr for the singular and unheralded crime of paying attention to his girlfriend.

I don’t know what the difference is, but apparently, it’s not racism.

Or how many of the hundreds (if not thousands) of stories have you read where Stiles shuns, punishes, strips Scott of his wolf with his super-duper magical powers, or literally kills Scott because he demonstrated his disloyalty and unworthiness by not submitting to Derek and/or Peter? Yet, there may be one or two stories in the nearly 120,000 Teen Wolf fanfictions on AO3 where Stiles reacts at all to Isaac abandoning Derek (and disliking Peter) and joining Scott’s pack. If fanfictions are transformative, and it’s only natural that they create stories where Stiles acts as the avenging angel for the poor widdle Hales, there would have to be stories where he avenges them against Isaac. Wouldn’t there?

I’d bet there are less than five, but apparently, it’s not racism.

And then there’s the terrible, terrible Neck Grab o’ Doom which is brought up again and again in fiction and commentary, which Fanon Stiles cannot stomach (even though canon Stiles argued for leaving Derek in the hands of his rapist). To them he must end his friendship with Scott over this dastardly crime, motivated as it was by pure animus (which is what they’re calling the threat of Scott watching Allison’s throat get ripped out). Scott was working with Gerard under duress, but to Stiles, that’s irrelevant. They can’t be around each other anymore. How many stories are there about this, do you think? Now compare that to the number of stories where Stiles drives Liam from the pack for his beating Scott to the point of death while working with Theo.

I’ve never seen one. Stiles is far more interested in who Liam is dating, but apparently, it’s not racism.

I can go on and on and on and on, and point out that these aren’t 40-60 splits. The preponderance of stories where Scott is held reprehensible for actions that white characters take and ignored without comment are incredibly lopsided, overwhelmingly in favor of turning the Latino hero into a monster while Stiles, Liam, and Isaac are “baby” who must be excused for their mistakes.

But Scott was written so badly! These BNF cry. Then where are the fix-its? If the story was so unsatisfying, and fanfiction exists to give us what canon didn’t, where are the fix-its where the story is written to give us Scott as a hero they can get behind.

Oh, they exist, but just with stories that approach white character’s misdeeds, they are in the extreme minority. The vast majority of fix-its aren’t about correcting the mistakes the production made in the presentation of the main character, they are about saving the Hale family or making sure that Derek stays alpha or telling how Stiles dropped his life-long loyalty to his best friend and switched to either of the Hot White Hales, either the middle-aged serial killer or the young adult would-be serial killer, overwhelmingly. And above all, Scott is put in his place - dead or unimportant or subservient or any combination of the three.

They don’t dislike Scott because he’s Latino, they’ll repeatedly tell you, even though he shares traits with every single white non-villain character on the show, even though the show is focused on his growth and the traits that he doesn’t share with them. Not at all. They dislike him because … they dislike him! And instead of fixing what they don’t like about him, they’re going to demonstrate how much they don’t like him by repeating again and again just how bad he was. Remember, the transformative nature of fandom is to give us what the show didn’t.

And apparently, this is not motivated by racism

~*~*~

“Stiles is prepared to make out with Lydia when she’s drugged up to the gills, shouts at her until she dances with him”

Isn’t it curious that the rabid Scott/Posey Stans who accuse Teen Wolf fans of painting Scott as a rapist are the very same ones who systematically ignore canon and try to paint Stiles – a canonical neuroatypical character – as a rapist? It doesn’t matter than Stiles respects women (unlike Scott) and never shouted at Lydia until she danced with him, or that Stiles went to visit Lydia because he was worried about her and to investigate on the Alpha with Natalie’s permission, or that Scott is the one who wanted to leave Derek in his rapist’s clutches in canon. Antis will make shit up in order to paint the character they are obsessed with as a rapist to make Scott look “better”.

But let’s take a look at how Scott McCall, this supposedly better male character, treats women in the series, shall we?

• spies on Allison while she’s undressing

• tells his mom that she doesn’t care about her love life and that he’s going to get Allison back

• creeps into Allison’s bedroom without her or her parents’ consent to watch her sleep

• forces Allison to go out with Matt (her stalker) to get Allison’s mom off his back

• yells at Allison in the middle of a crowded club and makes her cry just because she prioritized innocent people’s life above Scott’s jealous fits and temper tantrums

• stares at Allison’s ass at gym class

• calls Allison psychotic for setting boundaries

• creeps on Allison in the showers (guess he was prepared to make out with her, too)

• pushes his tongue down Allison’s throat to convince her to to break up with him because “I know we are gonna be together

• physically assaults Isaac just because he dared to like and interact with his ex girlfriend

• pushes Allison against her bedroom’s door to prove how ‘strong’ and ‘right’ he is

• gets boners whenever he’s in close proximity with Allison

• lies to Kira to control her and then cheats on her with Malia

And these are only a few canon examples at the top of my head – feel free to add to the list if you want

Scott treating girls (and Stiles) like an exclusive property of his and being sexually obsessed with Allison (his password and username is Allison) is NOT a Latino thing: it’s a Scott McCal thing.

As for Scott conspiring with Deucalion behind everyone’s back to kill Josh and Tracy, that’s not a fanon theory. That’s Canon. Deucalion could have easily stopped Theo from killing Josh and Tracy if he wanted; but he didn’t. And we know Scott couldn’t care less about chimera victims, that’s why he patted Deucalion on the back for pushing Theo to kill his own pack.

[flowerfan2]

Part of You Indefinitely - Ch. 6

David x Patrick, 18k so far, M, A03. 

Summary:  An accident sends Patrick to the hospital and terrifies David.  What follows changes their relationship in ways David and Patrick never imagined.  A story of love and its challenges.

Chapter 6

They’re in the car, on their way to physical therapy, when Patrick abruptly turns off the radio.  “I need to tell you something.”

After their too short but still satisfying make-out session earlier this morning David doesn’t think Patrick’s about to ask for a divorce or anything, but it still doesn’t sound good.

“Okay,” he says, glancing over at Patrick, who is looking determinedly out the front window.  “What’s up?”

“I haven’t been going to physical therapy.”

This is patently untrue.  “Um, yes you have, I’ve been driving you there.”

“Yeah, but…” Patrick taps his hand on his knee.  “I haven’t kept the appointments.”

“What, exactly, do you do after I drop you off?”  Patrick has insisted on going inside by himself, and David has been spending the hour systematically trying out every half-decent coffee place in a five-mile radius from the hospital.

“I sit in the cafeteria.”

This is a strange revelation, and David takes a long breath, trying to keep an open mind.   

He slows down and pulls over.  One good thing about living in the sticks, there’s always a place to pull off the road.  He tries to focus on a practical response, while his mind spins.  “Okay, then… there’s not much point to this trip.  It’s certainly not worth going to Elmdale for the coffee.  Should we go home?”

Patrick looks at him.  “You’re not mad?”

David does a quick mental inventory to be sure.  He’s not mad.  He’s confused, and actually a little impressed with Patrick’s out of character refusal to color within the lines, as ridiculous as that is.  “Nope.  Your body, your decision.  Thank you for telling me.”

“Don’t you want to know why?”

David sighs, leaning his head back.  “Of course I do.  I want to know everything.”

“I’m not sure I can really tell you.”

<i>Then why did you ask?</i>  David thinks.  “Mkay.”

Patrick just sighs miserably.

“Ronnie thinks we’re going to break up,” David says, not sure where this comes from – it has been spinning around in his head all morning, but it seems like a non sequitur.

“Because we can’t talk to each other?”  Patrick asks, and yeah, that’s how it fits in.

“Pretty much.”

“Do you think that?”  Patrick asks.  He looks small, and scared, and just as lost as David feels.  

David thinks maybe it’s time to bring up the elephant in the room.  “You know, there’s a thing couples do sometimes, when they’re having…”

“Problems?” Patrick suggests.  

“Challenges.”  

“You think we should go to counseling?”

David has been considering it.  On the one hand, he’s not really interested in sitting on a couch with Patrick while some old white guy picks apart their relationship.  On other hand, he’s really not interested in any universe where he and Patrick no longer sit on the same couch, so giving counseling a try is a risk he’s willing to take.

“Yes.”

Patrick breathes out slowly.  “Okay.  Then take me to PT.  I don’t want to have to tell the counselor that I blew off another physical therapy session.”

*****

David has a feeling that Alexis convinces Dr. Lee to pull some strings, because they get an appointment with a couples’ counselor a few days later.

Margo is young, probably even younger than Patrick, and has several earrings in each ear.  She’s not at all what David expected.  Further, she’s quick and witty, and seems to understand what’s going on with them right from the start.

“Unfortunately, it’s not unusual to go through a period of depression after a trauma,” she says to Patrick, who looks like he’s ready to jump out of his skin.  “Or for situational depression to have a detrimental effect on a relationship, especially where your partner is doing the lion’s share of the caregiving.”  She goes on in this vein for a while until they are both calm enough to hear it, and encourages them to talk to each other after the session about what has been discussed.

But for all that things have been going better between them, they still can’t seem to delve into this stuff outside of Margo’s office.  

At their next session, Margo asks them how their follow-up conversation went.

David tries to stop himself from rolling his eyes, but Margo calls him on it anyway.

“If we had been able to talk about it with each other we wouldn’t be here,” he says, trying to keep his voice light.

“Do you agree, Patrick?”

Patrick’s gaze has been firmly fixed on his hands since they arrived.

“I don’t know if talking about it will help,” he says finally.  “I’m still…”. Patrick waves his hand vaguely at his legs.  “Talking about it won’t change what happened.”

“But would knowing how David is feeling about it, how he’s feeling about you, and sharing your feelings with him, possibly affect your feelings and your mood?”

Patrick glances up at David, who tries to smile at him despite the inner terror he’s feeling.  “I guess.”

David reaches over and grabs Patrick’s hand, trying to figure out the right thing to say.  “I know the situation sucks, but you’re doing better all the time.”  He looks at Margo and then back at Patrick.  It’s awkward as hell, but David’s dealt with awkward before.  “I love you, Patrick.”  

Patrick remains silent.  It makes David feel a little ill, to get no response at all to this.

David turns in towards Patrick, trying to block out his view of Margo.  “Hey,” he whispers.  “What’s going on?  What do you need?”

A tear rolls down Patrick’s cheek, and David just sits there, momentarily paralyzed.  This Patrick is so far away from the Patrick he knows, his confident, competent husband, and it scares him.  David reaches out and puts his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, pressing Patrick’s head against his cheek.  Patrick grabs him and squeezes back, hard, his face against David’s collarbone.  This is good, David thinks, he said he likes it when I hug him.  I can at least do this.  He drops a kiss above Patrick’s ear, right by his scar, and holds on.

“This kind of thing can be hard to articulate,” Margo says.  “Patrick, will you try to think about David’s question?”

Patrick straightens up and nods, wiping his face, and they move on to other topics.  Margo asks David about how they are doing at home, taking the attention off of Patrick for a few minutes.  Patrick chimes in after a while to talk about how he’s figured out how to coordinate with Johnny on the books for the store, doing some of the work himself and showing Johnny how to use his spreadsheets; David doesn’t mention how Patrick curses at the laptop when his hands get tired, or pretends that it’s fine when vendors leave him off their emails to David.

They don’t return to the topic of Patrick’s distress, but Patrick keeps a grip on David’s hand for the rest of the session.  David doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, but at least it seems like Patrick wants him there for it, whatever it might be.

******

“My parents want to come visit,” Patrick announces one night over dinner.  

David finishes his last bite of crab Rangoon.  “When?  I’ll reserve a room at the motel.”

“I didn’t say they were coming,” Patrick answers.

“Okay, that’s fine.”  

Patrick blinks at him.  Apparently he expected an argument.  “You don’t think they should come?”

“Well, they’re your parents.  And god knows I know what it’s like to want a little distance between oneself and one’s parents.”

“My mom keeps emailing me.  She’s worried.  She says she won’t be able to sleep until she sees me in person.”

David stabs his fork into the beef and broccoli.  “You could zoom her.  It might satisfy her for a while.”

Patrick considers this, then picks up his phone and starts typing.  

“Why thank you, David, that’s a great idea,” David says, and Patrick laughs.

******

They’re in the car on their way home after a physical therapy session when Patrick clears his throat and says, “I was afraid it wouldn’t work.”

“Pardon?”

“PT.  It’s supposed to get me back to normal, if it works.  But it might not work, there’s no way to know how much things might improve, or not.  So I didn’t want to go, because if I went and I did what they said and I still couldn’t relearn how to walk, then that’s it, it’s over.  I’m in the chair forever.”

David’s heart stutters in his chest, and he opens his mouth to argue, but Patrick beats him to it.  

“I know that’s not rational, but you deserve to know why I skipped my appointments.  That’s why.”

David is still processing this when he feels his phone buzz repeatedly; Patrick’s does too.

“What’s going on now?”  David wonders, hoping it will be about something less fraught than his husband’s all too understandable fears.

Patrick reads the texts as David focuses on driving.  “Stevie’s stressed because our student intern unpacked a box of lip balms and got them all mixed up.”

David lets out his breath.  This is a problem he can deal with.  “Mixed up with what?”

“With each other.  Apparently there are five or six different kinds listed on the invoice, but they all look the same-”

“Because they’re all-natural and don’t have any artificial coloring.”

“So Stevie can’t tell them apart, and so she can’t label them, and if they aren’t labeled, she can’t sell them.”

“Tell her to sniff them – but don’t take off the cap, then they’ll look used.”

“She says she tried that, but she still can��t tell which is which, and there are hundreds of them.”

David sighs.  “Well that’s clearly an exaggeration, the box holds a gross.”

Patrick types, and then waits for Stevie’s reply.  “She says there are two boxes.”

“Whatever.  I suppose it’s no surprise that she’s hopeless at this.  Tell her I’ll come in tomorrow.  It’s Saturday, we don’t have to go to Elmdale, so I can get to the store early.”

“Maybe I’ll come too.”

It’s all David can do to keep his eyes on the road and not squeal with glee.  He can’t help the smile that tugs at his mouth, though, or chancing a look at Patrick to see that he’s smiling softly too.  Patrick hasn’t been to the store yet since his accident, and here he is volunteering to come in.

“Sure, that’d be nice.  You never know what else Stevie’s messed up that we need to fix.”

The next morning they get up a little earlier than usual, David making sure to get the coffee going before he gets in the shower.  When he comes out, Patrick is in his chair wearing one of his favorite blue button down shirts and his briefs.  His jeans are down around his ankles.

“Don’t laugh,” Patrick says, and David assesses the situation, deciding that this time a joke might not actually lighten the mood.  

“You could wear your sweats,” David says carefully.  “No one would care.”

“This from the man who didn’t want me to wear sneakers to work.”

“I’d like to think we can make an exception to our dress code from time to time.  We can write this one in right after the Stevie Budd flannel shirt amendment.”

Patrick is unconvinced.  He tugs on the waistband of his jeans, but can’t get them up past his knees.  Patrick has gotten much better at moving around, and hardly ever needs David’s help to get from their bed to his chair or vice versa, but this is a task he hasn’t tried yet.  Luckily Patrick doesn’t seem too thrown by the unexpected challenge of putting on his jeans.  “So, are you going to help me or what?”

“Happy to,” David says.  It takes a little wrangling, but between the two of them they have Patrick fully dressed a few minutes later.  David notices that Patrick has chosen not his Levis but a pair of jeans David bought him – designer, but subdued.  They do great things for his ass.  Not that Patrick’s ass is particularly visible from his chair, but still.  David appreciates the effort.

The hair on the side of Patrick’s head is now long enough to cover the red scar over his left ear.  Last week David gave him a trim so that both sides matched.  It would be hard to tell that the left side had ever been shaved, if you didn’t know.  

“You look great, honey,” David says, leaning down to kiss his husband.  “And you smell good, too.  Is that my aftershave?”

“Couldn’t find mine,” Patrick says, a light blush coloring his cheeks.

“Mmm, I like it.”  David loops his arms around Patrick’s neck and breathes him in.

“Let’s go,” Patrick says.

“Okay, but it isn’t even eight o’clock.  Do you want coffee, or something to eat?  I could make French toast-”

“No – let’s just go.”

Patrick’s clearly nervous, but for once his nerves don’t seem to be accompanied by a side of bitchy apprehension.  David will take it.

They park right in front of the store, and David moves as quickly as he can to get Patrick’s wheelchair out and the two of them inside.  He’s pretty sure that no one spots them, although he wouldn’t really mind that much if Twyla came by with some breakfast.  But it’s Patrick’s first time in town in the chair, and David would prefer for it not to be complicated with visits from random busybodies.

David’s been by the store a handful of times in the past few weeks, and he’s pleased to see that nothing looks too terribly out of place.  He has made both Stevie and Jocelyn facetime him so he can supervise whenever they set out a new product, but it’s not the same as seeing it in person.

David can’t help but watch as Patrick wheels slowly around the store.  It’s an odd sight, most of his body hidden from view as he moves past the display tables.  Then Patrick pauses by the register.  He can’t quite fit the wheelchair behind the counter, and even if he could, he’d be too low to work there very easily.  David cringes – he should have thought of this and at least checked to make sure the place was accessible.  He watches Patrick force a neutral expression on to his face, and it hurts to see it.

“We can move that,” David says, knowing he’s taking a risk by acknowledging the problem, but the store is Patrick’s baby too, and it’s just wrong that he can’t work the counter, or maneuver his chair into the small office space behind it.

“No, it’s fine,” Patrick says, backing himself out and turning around.  

“We can sort the lip balms over here,” David says, clearing an already mostly empty space on an easier to reach back table.

“Yeah, okay.”

“And I’ll look for a new counter tonight.  More of a table than a dresser.”  Patrick needs to be able to get his legs underneath.

“It’s okay, David,” Patrick says, his voice tight.

“It’s not, actually,” David mutters.  He lets the subject drop, and finds the two boxes of lip balms in the back room. They spread them out and start sorting.

It turns out it’s not quite as easy as David expected.  Their best seller, honey vanilla, is easy to identify, as is the lavender sage.  The apple rosemary is fairly individual as well, with a sweet fresh scent balanced by the deeper aroma of rosemary.  But the last two – pear basil and cucumber thyme – seem to be almost identical.

After about an hour they have finished a first sweep through one box.  The honey vanilla, lavender sage, and apple rosemary are all separated into baskets, ready to be labeled.  But then there’s still a big pile of “not sures.”

“We could label them all cucumber pear,” Patrick suggests.  “Cover all the bases.”

“Putting aside the fact that then we’d have to order new labels, that completely ignores the admittedly not very noticeable notes of basil and thyme.”

“Call them cucumber pear herb, maybe?”

“Why not just go with ‘fruit and/or vegetable’ and call it a day?”  David sighs.  It’s his own fault for letting this vendor get overly creative.

“’English garden’ might work,” Patrick says, smiling.

David laughs.  “Natural beauty.”

“Nature.”  Patrick takes a long sniff of one of the unknowns.  “Just nature.  Here, try it.  It definitely smells like nature.”

“Hey kids, what’s so funny?”

They look up at the same time to find Stevie coming in the front door.  She joins them in the back and examines the piles of lip balms, sniffing at each of them.

“You can’t tell them apart either, can you?”  she asks mildly.

“Of course we can,” David says, at the same time Patrick replies, “Nope.”

Stevie grins and then pushes past David to hug Patrick.  “Good to see you,” she says quietly, and hangs on to him for a long moment, her dark hair falling around Patrick’s face.

“Thanks.”

Stepping back, she surveys the scene.  “Looks like you made some progress.  Wanna take a break?  I stopped by the café, and Twyla’s dying for you to come in.”  She addresses this comment to Patrick, who gives David a panicked look.

Always good at reading a scene, Stevie backs off.  “Or I could go pick us up something and we could eat here?”

“That would be great, Stevie,” David says, laying a hand on Patrick’s shoulder.  “We didn’t have a chance to eat before we left the house, and I’m famished.”

“Shocking,” Patrick says, and David has to hide a grin at Patrick’s inner little shit showing his face at last.

“Just for that, I won’t let you have any of my pancakes.”

[tvdversefanfiction]

Forget Me Not

Chapter 4: Almost Paradise

Warnings: I do not own nor do I claim to own any of the material, characters, or storylines from within the TVDverse. I am not making any profit from this, this is purely a passion project, from one to other fans who are willing to read.

15+: May contain moderate to strong language, sexual innuendos, and sexually charged scenes. Moderate to strong descriptions of violence, gore, torture, and practices of witchcraft.

F/F, F/M, M/M, GEN, + OTHER

Chapter 3 - Father Returns

The thing about memories is over time they can get distorted in so many ways, either you reminisce fondly airbrushing a lot of the bad or you allow pain to take out all the good. When you are the only one with these memories it makes you question its authenticity, how differently others may have seen it or felt in a different way and suddenly when you are beginning to question the percentage of truth behind your own memories you find yourself asking do you allow the truth in even if it distorts said precious memories or do you fight safety in a possible lie? The answer would be simple, truth above all else, but what if friends you loved like family, who you have a past with that you hold so dearly to your heart, what if their memories do not add up to your own? Or what if the only person you ever loved never gave a damn about you? These were the questions keeping me awake at night as I endlessly thought about whether to restore Klaus, Rebekah, and Kol’s memories of me, if they even mattered after all this time, or if it would just wind up causing more trouble than its worth and then I got a knock at my hotel door late one night which changed everything for me. “Rebekah…” I said after answering the door in shock, confused as to why she would be visiting me at all, never mind so late in the night. “My brother Niklaus is not the type to give gratitude to those who are entitled to it so I wanted to thank you in person because I doubt, he ever bloody will,” Rebekah replied to me, as I knew instantly she was lying. “That’s not why you are here,” I responded making her know I knew she was not being truthful to me. “Ok,” Rebekah admitted as she let herself into my hotel room, closing the door behind her afterward. “I know you spent the whole day with my brother Elijah and after several drinks and constant prying he admitted everything to me although Klaus’ paranoia probably played a big part in it you see when my brother starts getting worked up, he starts murdering and Elijah would not want you murdered now would he?” “I cannot tell if you know nothing, and you are here to threaten me or if you know everything is still here to threaten me,” I told her, before going on to say. “Either way you look all worked up and that never ends well for anybody.” “See that’s just bloody weird you clearly know me, in fact, according to Elijah you know all of us, and yet I do not have a single memory of you.” Rebekah snapped, confessing to me that Elijah had told her everything. “For you to be so close to us that Elijah would consider you a son, for you to have a history with us all and for you to be willing to do what you did for us, and yet I cannot remember a thing about your hell I hadn’t even heard of you like the rest of them have.” “I was not the one to take the memories from you Rebekah, but I think I can give you them back if you want them back that is, but I totally understand if you do not especially with the hollow and everything that has happened lately. If I, were you, I’d ignore all this recent information and get back to enjoying your own life maybe even with Marcel?” I suggested, laying the choice onto her hands instead of mine, fearing she would accept while also at the same time fearing she would decline. “I want these bloody memories back right now because there is nothing, I loathe more than being kept in the dark and if these memories do not add up as they do with Elijah, I can just kill you and get it all over with,” Rebekah replied in true Rebekah style, with a sense of strength, sarcasm, and just the right amount of diva. And so, I had no choice really but to restore her memories, and not long after I did, Kol too came to me asking the same before leaving New Orleans to return to his wife, and I obliged to him too. Both of their reactions serving as reminders to myself that the bond we had created was true, that it was not just one-sided, that they really were my friends all those years ago and maybe just maybe they would be again.

Klaus had spent a lot of his time since having the hollow magically removed from him, spending time in Mystic Falls, reuniting with his daughter Hope and getting to know the life she had made for herself in his absence, including her girlfriend Josie Saltzman, someone who somehow managed to be the only person in this world he’d allow his daughter to date, probably because he was once in love with Josie’s mother as I had learned from a drunken night catching up with Rebekah. As I started spending more time reconnecting with Elijah, Kol, and Rebekah, as well as getting to know Freya, Keelin, Hayley, Marcel, and Davina, I found myself loving my time in New Orleans, feeling human again, and having a life I had always dreamed of but always in the back of my mind was the fear that when the day came to restore Klaus’ memories of me, that everything I was building in this city, would burn to the ground by Klaus’ will alone to not have some ex he grew tired of many centuries ago. “Well.” Were the only words I could mumble after restoring Klaus’ memories, the two of us standing alone within the compound, as I feared what he might say next, knowing if he wanted me to leave, I was ready to fight to keep what I had just recently regained, a family. “Well, what?” He asked in reply to my mumbled words. “Do I remember you now? Yes, I do, does it miraculously change anything? No, you were just one of too many who got caught up in my family’s drama the only miraculous thing about it is the fact my siblings have decided to give you the light of day again.” “That is exactly the response I expected from you if any, but I just want to let you know Niklaus that I like it here in New Orleans and I am not going anywhere so you have to either learn to tolerate me or leave again,” I warned him making my stance noticeably clear. “I am not going anywhere!” “Like I said you are of absolutely no significance towards me and I am trying this new thing where I allow my family to be happy so I will not question your presence as long as you continue to play nice but if you are plotting something I will find out and I will kill you whether Elijah considers you a son or not, after all, he had no problem killing my son,” Klaus replied making it absolutely clear I meant nothing to him. But little did I know at the time there was more to that story than Klaus would lead me to believe…

Later that night, completely unbeknownst to me at that time, Klaus confronted Elijah over a matter of secrets he had kept from him, some that even I did not know yet and that is when things really started to get interesting. “I know we have not had a chance to talk since the whole hollow and amnesia thing, but I am glad we’re talking now, and even more glad Josh let us have the place for the night,” Hayley admitted to Elijah, as the two sat at a table within the empty bar of Rousseau’s. “I’ve lived almost a decade without you, and I do not just want to go back to the person I was around you. I’ve really found myself a new pack here, my daughter is happy at Salvatore Boarding School, and I am happy but that does not mean I do not still love you.” “Hayley, you know I’ve only ever wanted the best for you, and I would never want to take any happiness from you, in fact, that is all I ever wanted for you,” Elijah replied to the hybrid he loved with all his heart. “I cannot and will not go back to a place where you put family above all else and by that, I mean putting it above your own conscience. We have all done terrible things just to survive but the hollow is gone now, and this is our chance to start fresh.” Hayley told him, ready to give things a proper shot with the only man she had ever loved, but cautious to let him all the way in again. “I agree,” Elijah responded with a sincere smile, ecstatic to learn Hayley was willing to give them both a fresh slate, another chance to get their love right, and this time he believed with all his heart that they were ready to make things work between them. Before the two lovers had a chance to properly reconcile or talk out more of their previous problems, Klaus sped into the bar with full vampire speed, grabbed a hold of Elijah’s throat, lifted him from his chair, and charged his body into the wall as he tightened his grip on his brother’s throat. “Klaus, what the hell are you doing now?” Hayley screamed at him, as she rose from her chair, then continued to use her vampire speed to run over there and pull Klaus off his brother’s throat. “I am getting real sick of you always trying to kill your siblings when they are the only ones who have always been there for you.” “Have they?” Klaus screamed at Hayley, before turning his attention back to Elijah. “First you ruin any chance I had of being with Aurora before her brain completely went to mush and now, I find out you did it again with Salem. How many times did you plot against me to ensure I would be miserable for all of eternity? How many times did you play the noble brother only to stab me in the back repeatedly?” “Must I remind you Niklaus that the only sibling who stabbed the other was you not I?” Elijah replied while somehow keeping his composure, purposely not rising to Klaus’ anger towards him. “Aurora was vengeance in a split moment after learning you killed our mother…Salem was different, it was not about you, it was about him.” “Elijah…” Hayley said in shock, with a sense of disappointment in her voice. “You convinced me to leave him that I was only putting him in danger that if I truly loved him, I should let him go and you said you would stay behind to keep an eye on him, but you had no plans of ever leaving his life, did you?” Klaus shouted furiously at his older brother. “Why the hell do you get to be the man he admires, and I have to be the one who broke his heart when you knew how much it hurt me to leave him? You knew how I had not let myself love for the longest time after Aurora, you knew how special Salem was to me, and yet you did not care!” “I did care!” Elijah shouted back, finally standing up for himself. “I cared about the innocent young man who was so naïve and willing to love anything even a family of monsters and I continued to care as I watched you turn him into a vampire, how you continued to poison that innocence and you know you damn fine you were making him worse. He was becoming like you, and I could not stand the thought of my son becoming you…I am sorry Niklaus, but the truth is you were poisonous

to everything you touched back then, and I had to save him, he may not be my blood, but he is the closest thing I have ever had to a child. You above all other people must understand that need to protect your child even from your own blood.” “I do!” Klaus admitted in a defeated sigh, not knowing until then that Elijah loved me in a way only a father could, and despite his fury, he knew that he had done the same with Marcel and Rebekah, he had sinned as much as his siblings, and he could not stay angry with his brother for doing the same. “I totally understand trying to protect people from your brother, trust me I do.” Hayley began to say. “But he’s changed since then, he’s a far better man, and I know you love this Salem guy like a son but if Klaus and he had something once before maybe…” “I did not tell Salem anything other than lie I told him all those years ago because deep down I knew you were right, brother,” Klaus admitted to Elijah. “I do not wish to come between you and your son, I know what it's like to lose a son and then get him back and if it were not for you, I may never have had Hope in my life…you deserve that happiness too Elijah.” “Thank you, brother!” Elijah responded with a hug, genuinely touched by Klaus’ words. “If you still have feelings for him, I will not stand in the way because you have become the man, I always wanted you to be.”

Completely oblivious to the happenings of that night I had receded back to the balcony of my hotel room sharing champagne with Rebekah as we both sat on chairs and watched the busy and beautiful city of New Orleans, knowing that this night Rebekah was there for gossip, to which I could not blame her because I too wanted gossip from her about her soap styled dramatic romance with the vampire turned beast Marcel Gerard. “So, what is the deal with yourself and Marcel anyway? I mean you are clearly crazy about the man and from what I’ve heard he’s just as crazy about you and yet you keep pulling yourself away from the only guy your brother would not kill.” I questioned her before she got a chance to question. “I doubt he is the only man in this world Klaus would not kill, speaking of which how did my brother deal with his newly restored memories?” Rebekah responded smugly while drinking her glass of champagne, swerving my question with another question, but like her, I too was no amateur at this game. “Nothing I was not expecting which is more than I can say for you and Marcel. I never know what to expect with you two I mean you’re a woman born to be a bride hence all your trial runs and now you have the chance to have everything you want you just throw it away?” I continued, knowing my words would strike a chord with her. “He loves this city more than he will ever love me and New Orleans may be my home, but I was practically chained to Niklaus for a thousand years, and now that I am finally free to do as I please I do not want to just give it up!” Rebekah admitted as she finished off her champagne. “I am just waiting for you that you have wanted for yourself for as long as I can remember, happiness because nobody deserves happiness more than you!” I reassured her, wanting her to listen to my words, take them in, and finally allow herself to be genuinely happy. But happiness was far from on the agenda that night as Rebekah and I quickly learn when my biological father Van Helsing suddenly vamp sped his way onto the balcony having come from my hotel room. “I guess you are not happy with just being a monster you have to get yourself a whole family of them too.” He said furiously as Rebekah and I jumped up onto our feet, both of us stunned by his presence. “I thought I locked you away for good?” I managed to say out loud, while remaining in complete and utter shock that Van was standing right before me, having believed I had seen the back of him for good. “This my son is why you always go in for the kill!” He replied as he raised his right hand up in the air, in the shape of a fist, unleashing his magic onto both Rebekah and I as we fell to the ground in agonizing pain, the blood vessels in our brains bursting repeatedly by his will until we both passed out. And just like that my short lived happiness had once again be ruined and by the man who had brought more misery into my life than anybody else, as myself and Rebekah quickly found ourselves prisoner to a man who without a doubt plotted to end us both.

[doggonneit]

Honey Eyes and Bloody Lips

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing/Characters: Kuroo/Tsukishima

Rating: T for Teen

Warnings: Swearing, piercings, tattoos, blood

A.N. This is for @its-love-u-asshole for the @hqvalentineexchange. I hope you enjoy!

[Read on AO3]

Kuroo should’ve guessed from the name Karasuno that there would be a crow theme to the studio. The front was nothing spectacular to look at, all the dirty grey of concrete with a few crow silhouettes spray-painted onto its surface. Whoever had been tasked with that job had taken liberties with the amount of paint they used, as each bird had black trails trickling down like blood.

It was morbid.

Kuroo thought it was adorable.

Akaashi had recommended the studio since one of his friends worked there, and he gave a ringing endorsement to their piercing services which was impressive because praise that like didn’t come lightly from someone like him. A quick Google search further cemented Karasuno’s reputation-- they’d only been open for six months but already garnered over one hundred reviews raving about their excellent standards of service and friendly staff.

That was all Kuroo needed before he grabbed his keys and drove down to the studio.

Given its macabre exterior, it wasn’t surprising to see the same theme running in its interior-- more of the same dripping birds gliding along the walls and resting on silhouettes of tree branches that curled around the polaroids of ironically happy customers with their new piercings.

A blond man sat behind the front counter, so concentrated on adjusting jewellery in a velvet case while humming to the music coming from the portable speaker next to him that he didn’t notice Kuroo’s presence till he leaned over and put his elbows on the surface.

“Oh.” The man’s golden gaze flitted upwards and his mouth formed a perfect o. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Kuroo gaped and his elbows slipped out from under him. He smacked his forehead on the counter with the loudest crack and in that moment he wished through the haze of pain for instant death to save him from the humiliation of looking like a complete moron in front of the most gorgeous man to walk the earth.

“Shit.” The man leaned closer to him and that was not good for his heart . “Are you all right?”

“Fine!” Kuroo sprang back a safe distance and pretended he couldn't the heat blazing across his cheeks like a wildfire. He usually wasn’t this inept, and he cursed the little black crows on the walls for his dismal state. “Sorry, clumsy. Super clumsy.”

“Yeah, that looks like it’ll bruise.”

“The only thing bruised is my pride,” Kuroo weakly joked. “Nothing important.”

The man gave a small huff of laughter and Kuroo’s pride swelled back to its usual inflated proportions. How many people could boast they had literally heard happiness from an angel? It was the most beautiful sound, the kind that was meant to be curled up on the couch next to him laughing late into the night about their hopes and dreams.

“Well then, welcome to Karasuno. My name’s Tsukishima and I’m here for all your piercing needs. What can I do for you today?”

It took Kuroo a moment to remember why he even came here in the first place.

“I’m thinking of getting pierced,” Kuroo said, then gave himself the biggest mental slap. He was in a piercing studio, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t like he walked in here looking for rainbows and unicorns. “So, uh, you take walk-ins?”

“Yeah, absolutely. What did you want done?”

Kuroo paused. He’d wanted to get a third set done in his ears for a while now, but all the client photos showcasing a variety of piercings in a variety of places wavered his intentions and a good, long look at Tsukishima changed them completely.

Tsukishima was naturally stunning, and the jewellery that adorned him made him a complete work of art. The most striking piece was a barbell that went straight through the middle of his bottom lip and moved with every word like a hypnotic dance. Kuroo had never seen jewellery so perfect for someone and he wanted something like that for himself.

Tsukishima’s golden eyes followed Kuroo’s gaze and ran his tongue over the piercing, far too slow to be anything but deliberate. “You like the labret?”

Say something cool, say something cool, say something cool.

“It’s cool,” Kuroo said, and wished he could melt through the floor. That had to be the lamest response ever. Why was he being such a thirteen year old boy trying to impress his crush? He ignored the fact that it wasn’t too far from his current reality. “I don’t have the guts to take a needle through the lip though. I’m squeamish.”

That’ll make the devastatingly handsome man swoon. Good job, dumbass.

Tsukishima raised one pierced eyebrow. “Squeamish,” he repeated, looking pointedly at Kuroo’s arms. “That makes so much sense.”

“Oh, these.” Kuroo touched his tattooed sleeves with an abashed chuckle. He liked his ink and it was nothing to call it an addiction, not since he got his first taste on his nineteenth birthday when Akaashi tattooed a little black cat sitting on the side of his neck and showed him the wonders of body art.

The needle hooked him and never let go. Kuroo turned to Akaashi for his every tattooing need: a love poem in cursive Spanish across his ribs, the vivid blues of a stormy ocean crashing down his right arm and the livid greens of a snarling dragon spiralling its way down his left arm.

“You must have a stomach for needles if you can sit through hours of being repeatedly stabbed and injected with ink,” Tsukishima said.

“The needle’s not as big,” Kuroo protested, and if he didn't feel like a child before then he certainly did now. But hey, this was pure survival instincts speaking-- it was perfectly natural to be wary of sharp objects that could punch a hole through your body. “It makes sense from an evolutionary perspective.”

“Fair enough,” Tsukishima agreed. “So, no labret for you today?”

Kuroo was about to say no, but he just couldn’t peel his eyes away from Tsukishima’s mouth and how amazing they looked with the silver ball ends seated perfectly above and below his bottom lip. He wanted to know what that felt like on his lips, whether it be through a kiss or a needle.

You romantic, you.

“I want it,” Kuroo quickly said.

Tsukishima frowned, noticing Kuroo’s snap decision and clearly wanting him to take a step back and think it through. “If you’re unsure, it may be best to postpone--”

“No, I want it,” Kuroo said again, this time slower and with greater conviction. “I want the labret.”

Tsukishima fell silent and he held out for what felt like an eternity, no doubt testing Kuroo’s resolution. But Kuroo didn’t budge-- he was going to stick with the big, scary needle going through his whole lip because his mama may have raised a fool but she didn’t raise no quitter.

“If you’re sure--”

“Oh, I am.”

“--we have a selection of colours available you can see over there. Take your time picking one and I’ll go get my equipment ready.”

They parted from the counter, Kuroo ducking his head as soon as it was polite and burying his face in his hands. If he rubbed hard enough, maybe he’d scourge the redness from his cheeks by completely sanding off his skin. It’d been years since his awkward teenage years and here he was reliving every single one of those horror stories again.

At least he didn’t have acne anymore.

Kuroo took a deep breath and faced the display cabinet-- nope, he wasn’t going to let himself spiral down that particular path right now, not when there was a chance he could make an even bigger fool of himself. He focused on the jewellery gleaming under the little lights and where was he even supposed to start? Colour? Stone? Ends? Kuroo just blinked and stared-- he’d made too big a decision in getting a labret and now his decision-making skills had deserted him in his hour of need.

“What are you thinking?”

Kuroo yelped and jumped straight into the cabinet. The jewellery inside rattled loose like beads all over their shelves and Tsukishima grabbed onto his arms to steady him.

“Whoa, sorry.” Tsukishima smoothed down his shirt and gave it a pat. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Oh my god, he touched my chest, not a drill, not a drill!

“No, I was just supised-- surpised-- surp--surp--”

“Surprised?” Tsukishima offered.

“Surprised.” Kuroo’s voice came out embarrassingly high-pitched and now he was even squeaking like he was thirteen again. He cleared his throat and said in a much deeper and sexier voice, “Surprised. Yes. Sorry about the, uh, mess in the cabinet.”

“No need,” Tsukishima said with a shrug. “I’ve been meaning to rearrange it anyway.”

“Oh,” Kuroo said. “Good.”

Silence.

“So,” Tsukishima prompted. “Jewellery?”

“Right!” Kuroo gave a nervous laugh. “Uh, I’m not too sure what’ll look best on me, so I don’t know?”

Fantastic, men love indecision.

Tsukishima considered his answer. “If you’re not sure then you can never go wrong with simplicity. How about silver, with ball ends?”

“Like yours?”

“Like mine.”

Kuroo’s heart did a weird flop. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that’s good.”

Tsukishima smiled and this is how men go blind and led him into one of the back rooms where a small stool and a tray of various equipment were set out. Kuroo tried not to look at them because his imagination conjured visuals far worse than reality could ever be.

“Take a seat there. You’ve been pierced before, and this process is no different.” Tsukishima snapped on a pair of purple latex gloves and cleaned Kuroo’s lip with an antibacterial wipe and used a black marker to make a small dot beneath the swell of his bottom lip. “How does that look?”

Kuroo glanced into the mirror on the wall and nodded. “Good.”

“Okay, I’m going to use this,” Tsukishima picked up a giant pair of glistening forceps, “to hold your lip in position.”

Kuroo’s eyes bugged out at the contraption and he began to sweat. “Tha-- that’s huge,” he managed.

“It doesn’t hurt or anything,” Tsukishima assured him. “It just steadies your lip so the needle doesn’t go in crooked.”

“The needle--”

“It looks like this.” Tsukishima picked it up. “It’s not as bad as you thought, right?”

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t as thick or threatening as Kuroo had envisioned but it still was going to punch a hole through his lip and he might just faint if he saw it coming towards him.

“Can I keep my eyes shut?” he asked.

“Of course.”

Kuroo did just that and he felt Tsukishima pull his lip out and hold onto it with the forceps. He was okay, he was doing okay, he was going to be okay…

“Take a deep breath,” Tsukishima said.

Kuroo obeyed, then a sharp sting went through his lip and he couldn’t help but open his eyes and see the needle sticking out of his lip. And what was that? The warmth dripping from his lip and down to his chin?

“Oh ny god,” he said through motionless lips. “Oh ny god… the glood…”

“Hey,” Tsukishima said. “Hey. Look at me.”

Kuroo tore his gaze upwards and looked straight into honey eyes and began to drown in their warmth and beauty. If he was going to bleed to death, this was surely the way to go. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” Tsukishima whispered back. "Keep your eyes on me, okay?"

That wasn't a difficult request-- in fact, Kuroo would gladly just sit there all day long and admire the sharp planes of Tsukishima's cheekbones, his milky smooth skin and how long and fluttery hiseyelashes were. If karma was indeed a thing, then Tsukishima had to have done something amazing in his past lives to be an angel walking on this earth today.

You are such a goner, you sap.

Tsukishima’s hands never stopped working and far too soon he stepped back with a small smile. “That’s it. All done.”

“That quick?”

Tsukishima gestured to the mirror. “Take a look.”

Kuroo turned and hot damn . He turned this way and that way, admiring how much more badass he looked now. He couldn’t have asked for a better piercer-- Tsukishima knew his stuff and even better, he was art and he made other people art too.

“How’s that?” Tsukishima asked. “We match.”

“We match,” Kuroo happily said.

“You like it?”

"Yeah," Kuroo said. He gave a wide grin which, to his surprise, made Tsukishima wince. "Is something wrong?"

"Not... wrong, per se," Tsukishima said. He made a vague gesture to his mouth. "You, uh, have blood on your teeth. It looks rather threatening."

"Shit, ha." Kuroo wiped the smile from his face and adopted a glare instead with his teeth bared. "How do I look now? Badass?"

"Badass," Tsukishima confirmed, setting his equipment straight again and beckoning. "Come out front. I'll ring you up and book you in for a follow-up appointment."

They made their way back to the front of the studio where Kuroo paid for his new piercing and zoned out of the spiel on how to take care of it. He'd gone through the routines before and this was hardly any different so he played with his barbell instead-- poking at it with the tip of his tongue and mouthing at it between his lips. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would and he was so engrossed that he didn't notice Tsukishima frowning at him till it was too late.

Oops. Can't ignore the calls of an angel.

"Sorry, I just really like it," Kuroo said.

"Keep doing that and it won't heal straight," Tsukishima warned. "You want a crooked piercing?"

The thought of the perfectly placed barbell growing slanted made Kuroo's eye twitch and he vowed not to touch it again, at least until it healed, otherwise it'd be a waste of Tsukishima's skills.

"I've booked you in for the same time in two weeks," Tsukishima said. He took a business card from the counter and scrawled the appointment details on the back, ending it with an elegant flick of his wrist and pressing the card into Kuroo's hand. His skin was warm and his touch lingered against Kuroo's.

I'm absolutely besotted, help.

Kuroo wanted to say more and prolong his visit but Tsukishima had already turned away and busied himself with another jewellery display. Kuroo didn't want to call his attention, not when he'd so clearly been dismissed, so he bade a silent farewell and stepped outside to a bustling street filled with noisy pedestrians and blaring traffic. It was such a contrast from the interior of the quiet studio that it took Kuroo by surprise.

He leaned on one of the concrete walls next to a little black crow that looked like it was shitting black paint on his shoulder, and was about to slip the card into his phone case when he noticed something extra written on the back.

Call me. 03-XXXX-XXXX

Kuroo stared at the words with his jaw wide open and almost swallowed a fly. He choked on his spit and whipped around to look through the glass door but Tsukishima had already disappeared.

Oh my god oh my god ohmygod ohmygodohmygod!

Kuroo couldn't control the gigantic grin that broke out over his face and he probably still had blood in his teeth judging by some of the horrified stares he got but who cared about them when he got the number of the most gorgeous man to exist on this plane? Kuroo hurriedly opened up his camera and gave the most terrifying grin and holy hell did he look demonic with his hair spiking up in a hundred different directions and his mouth filled with blood. He took a picture, posted it to Karasuno's page and began writing another five star review to add to their collection.  

10/10 would recommend, should've taken a polaroid like this. Thanks, Tsukishima!

[mcgrillzdumpinc]

Lost to Mistrust - Chapter 14.5 of “It Will Heal”

wow, okay, so it’s definitely been over half a year since I last posted an update... i doubt anyone wants to hear my excuses, but I at least wanna promise to y’all that I never lost interest in this fic, it’s just that i lost the strength to do much of anything except exist for a good while.

The chapter number is 14.5 because I decided to cut the entire chapter in half.  When the other half is done, I’ll combine the halves into one big old chapter 14.

Summary of characters

ao3 link

           “It’s not your fault,” Garou swore.  “No matter what you think, this was not your fault.”

           The warmth Garou had offered at the news of Jeong’s death was gone.  As soon as Jae-ha had exhausted himself of screams and tears, Garou had released him, letting the boy fall to the ground.  His head ached from where it collided with the floor, but his stomach hurt more.  These sensations were all that kept him tethered to reality, that kept his mind from escaping into the emptiness that had devoured the rest of his body.  His eyes focused on Garou’s arm as he stretched out his hand, grabbed something, and then covered Jae-ha’s head with the blanket Jeong had gifted him.  It was the same thing Garou would do years and years ago, when Jae-ha was just a small child who wouldn’t calm down from nightmares until something was covering his head.

           “I’m not a kid anymore,” Jae-ha grumbled.

           “You’re eight.  Still a kid,” Garou grumbled back.

           Jae-ha pulled his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his shins.  There was an unfamiliar scent attached to the cloth.  The scent of his mother, he guessed.  It was the closest thing he would ever have to her.  He would probably have to ask Garou to burn it next time they built a fire.  He didn’t see the point in holding onto that which hurt him.  He wasn’t like Garou, who never used his power to put down the people who tortured him so.

           Then, there was a punch.  Hard, heavy, dizzying.  Punch after punch after punch.  Stomach, head, chest.  Strong at first, yet gradually losing power.  There was no specific destination for these fists, just a singular goal: to let their owner lose himself to brief insanity.

           (Pitiful.)

           Garou was screaming.  Jae-ha was twelve years old and both accustomed to Garou’s fits of madness and pained by the reality of a man who had lived too long.  It hurt, like a fresh burn, restless and searing.  And that burn kept being renewed again, again, again.

           “Damn you!” Garou shouted, repeatedly, as though those were the only words he knew.  Something cracked.  Jae-ha wasn’t sure what.  He just held his breath, and waited.  Even when a knuckle landed on his eye, another on his lip, another on his ribs, another on his chin, another on his stomach — he wouldn’t cry.  If he waited, it would stop.

           And so it did.

           Garou looked like he wanted to cry.  From guilt.  The damned dragon blood told Jae-ha as much.

           “…Have you finished?”

           “Have you finished?”

           Jae-ha opened his eyes.  He wasn’t in the hut.  Nothing was holding him to a wall.  Garou wasn’t there.  Jae-ha closed his eyes again, searching for his predecessor.

           One white light.  Hakuryuu was far away, but he was where he always was, somewhere in the east.

           One blue light.  Seiryuu had moved.  He was so distant that his light just barely registered in Jae-ha’s mind.

           One yellow light.  Near.  Jae-ha couldn’t tell just how close the Ouryuu was, he just knew that he could probably hunt down Ouryuu if he wanted to.

           No green light.  Jae-ha was all alone.

           “Captain!  Someone’s selling boar meat!  We have to have some!”

           Oh, right.

           Jae-ha sat up.  He had been dreaming, taken on an unwelcomed trip into particularly difficult memories.

           “When will you finally get out of my head?” he mumbled, to a being he could only hope was at last enjoying freedom.

           He sighed.  No use thinking about it.  There were more pressing matters at hand.  Such as the way his stomach swirled, nauseous, from how terribly empty it was.  He planted his right hand on the ground and slowly brought himself to his feet.  The noise outside his door was enough to deter him from going on, but hunger pulled him forward.

           Gigan’s house was packed with brawny men, most of whom Jae-ha recognized from the fisherman crew.  Byung-ho was at the front of the crowd, eyes wide and pleading. For some reason, he was shirtless (not that Jae-ha minded).

           “C’mon, Captain, let us see him.  We’re worried,” Byung-ho explained.  The men behind him chimed in agreement.  “How about this?  I go buy some boar meat and you let me in.  ‘m sure Jae-ha’s starvin’ by now.”

           “I’ll help you clean up!” another man offered from somewhere in the crowd.

           “I can do some information gathering for you!” yet another man offered.

           Soon enough, the proposals were too numerous to keep track of, fishermen shouting over each other.  Jae-ha wasn’t sure what to think of the scene before him.  So many people were there just to see him, the brat who had only been with them for no more than a few weeks.  But the sight of these grown men arguing, all begging their exasperated captain, was nothing short of amusing.  Before he knew it, Jae-ha was laughing softly.

           And, boy, did he regret it pretty quickly.  He wasn’t sure who it was that heard him, but soon everyone was looking at him, varying degrees of shock present in their eyes. Even Gigan appeared surprised. But then Byung-ho broke into a smile and the entire crowd was stumbling over themselves to run towards him. Jae-ha yelped and stepped back into his room, slamming the door shut in the face of the excited mob.

           “Hey!  C’mon, open the door!  We miss you!” Byung-ho shouted from the other side.  “We were super worried when you passed out like that!”

           “I’ll just pass out again if you act like that!” Jae-ha retorted.  “Calm down!” He was way too hungry for this.

           Over the rumble of various voices, Gigan’s suddenly rang out.  Jae-ha couldn’t quite tell what she was saying, but soon enough the excited air dissipated.  He opened the door just a crack and peeked.  Soon enough, the number of bodies in front of his room lessened until there were none left, except for Gigan.  She was frowning, obviously annoyed.

           “Damn kids, the lot of them,” she mumbled, with barely a trace of venom in her voice.  Gigan turned her attention to Jae-ha.  “How are you doing?”

           “Hungry,” Jae-ha answered immediately.

           A small smirk reached Gigan’s lips.  “I’ll have the porridge ready soon.  Go sit.”

           Jae-ha opened the door and took a step towards the kitchen area.  But Gigan was quick to issue a warning noise and tell him to go sit on his futon. Jae-ha saw no point in arguing, so he did as told.

           His shoulder was burning.  It didn’t hurt as much as it had previously, but the discomfort was as pervasive as ever.  Luckily, he didn’t have to focus on it for too long, as Gigan returned with a bowl of piping hot porridge.  The smell was fantastic.

           “Stop drooling,” Gigan admonished, a lick of humor in her words.

           Jae-ha wiped his mouth with his sleeve. A quick glance revealed it was dry.  “Hey!  I wasn’t drooling.”

           Gigan snickered.  She scooped up a bit of porridge and blew on it, cooling it all too slowly for Jae-ha’s poor stomach.  “You look like you’re about to,” she replied when she finally held the spoon out to him.

           Jae-ha took the food in his mouth without a second thought.  “This is the best thing I have ever eaten,” he said, words muffled by the mush on his tongue.

           “No talking while eating,” Gigan scolded as she spooned up another serving.  “Besides hungry, though, how are you feeling?”

           Jae-ha took her next offering of food and swallowed quickly so he could answer.  “Better, I guess.  My shoulder doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

           “That’s to be expected.”  Gigan held out a spoonful of porridge again and Jae-ha clamped his mouth over it.  “You were passed out for two days straight.”

           If he wasn’t starving, Jae-ha would’ve spit out the porridge.  “T-two days?!” he shouted instead.

           She nodded.  “We even managed to stitch up your shoulder wound while you were out and you barely stirred.  You sure know how to sleep.”

           Jae-ha swallowed his food.  He really didn’t like the idea of his skin being penetrated by needle and thread while he was unconscious.  He had already been through stitches while awake, and he certainly preferred that over what Gigan had done.  He could know what would be done with his body that way.

           “Stop glaring,” Gigan admonished.  “Just be glad you still have use of that arm.”

           (Eh…?)

           “We got a doctor after your wound re-opened,” Gigan began to explain.  “She told us that if Chan-mi had stabbed you just a smidgen lower, you would’ve lost total use of your arm.  And since we hadn’t stitched you up the first time, you got an infection, so you’re stuck here taking medicine until she gives us the clear.”  Gigan rubbed the bridge of her nose.  There was a familiar sadness in her eyes.  Jae-ha looked away.  “I should’ve had you treated the first time,” she mumbled.  “Guess I’m too used to runaways dying or disappearing.”

           Jae-ha’s throat ached with words he didn’t have the courage to say.  Instead he took the bowl of porridge from Gigan and settled it in his lap.  He could feed himself.

           The front door opened suddenly (though, for once, Jae-ha welcomed such an abrupt intrusion) and Byung-ho’s voice rang out. “I bought the boar meat, Captain!”

           “Calm down!” Gigan shouted back.

           Byung-ho strode into Jae-ha’s room with a proud grin and a bundle.  “The guy even cut it up for me,” he said, voice at a more acceptable level.  “Ain’t that nice?”  He sat, cross-legged, across from Jae-ha.  “‘ey buddy, how’re you feeling?”

           Like shit.  “Could be better,” Jae-ha answered.  He spooned up some porridge and tried his best to eat.  But his hand was shaking violently, as though his bones were slowly falling apart.

           “That a side effect of the doc’s medicine?” Byung-ho asked.

           “She mentioned it might happen…” Gigan muttered. She took back the bowl of porridge and fed Jae-ha again.

           His tongue was burning from the still-hot food, but it was worth it.  “What medicine?” he questioned after swallowing.

           “Doctor was worried you’d wake up in a lot of pain from the stitches, so she administered some heavy painkillers,” Gigan replied. “When you have more food in your stomach, we’ve got some more medicine for keeping off infections.”

           “…I’d rather not eat, then,” Jae-ha said, grimacing at the mere idea of more medicine and what the side-effects could be.

           “The shaking in your hand won’t stop if you don’t eat,” Gigan quickly retorted.  She blew on another spoonful of porridge and held it out for him.  “You haven’t eaten in two days, brat.  Take care of yourself.”

           Jae-ha looked at Byung-ho.  The expression on his face was one of total worry and confusion. After a bit of consideration, Jae-ha relented and ate.

           “Uh… anywaaaaaaaaaayy,” Byung-ho interjected. “Let’s eat!”  He held up the bundle in his hands.

           Without pausing in her spoon-feeding ministrations, Gigan looked at Byung-ho with something akin to a glare.  “Why was he selling boar meat anyway?  He should be keeping it for his family to eat.”

           Byung-ho shrugged.  “He apparently got lucky and caught two grown boars at once.  Didn’t want the meat to go bad, so he sold some.”

           The two adults soon engaged in a series of questions and answers about how the seller went about his business.  How did he catch the boars?  Net trap.  How did he put the boars out of their misery?  Jae-ha didn’t understand Byung-ho’s answer, not that he wanted to, because the explaining motions Byung-ho made with his hands were enough to evoke some sickening images.  Gigan asked a few more questions about the meat — something about curing it came up — but most of Byung-ho’s answers consisted in a shrug of his shoulders until, eventually, Gigan gave up.  By then, the bowl of porridge was almost empty.

           “Fine,” Gigan consented, “go get the plates.”

           Excited, he hurried to the kitchen and returned with plates and chopsticks in almost no time at all.  “You’re gonna love this,” Byung-ho promised as he divided the entire bundle of meat between the three of them.

           Jae-ha stared at the resulting piles of meat. “I can’t eat all that…”

           Byung-ho guffawed.  “Nonsense!  You’re a growing boy!”

           “Aren’t you going to save any for your family?” Gigan asked, obviously put-off by Byung-ho’s eagerness.

           Byung-ho’s huge smile shrunk, his eyes widening at the same time.  He was at a loss.  If it weren’t for how little energy he had, Jae-ha would’ve laughed.  Instead, he watched as Gigan directed Byung-ho to empty her plate and to return half of Byung-ho’s share into the bundle.  Jae-ha would be sharing the last plate with Gigan.

           “Where would I be without you?” Byung-ho asked, smiling again.

           “In a lot of trouble,” Gigan answered curtly.

           Again, Gigan fed him.  The meat was good.  More flavor than fish could ever offer, with juice that swamped his mouth with every bite.  It was difficult to chew all the way through, but that just left more to enjoy.

           Byung-ho snorted.  “You should see the look on your face, Jae-ha!  It’s hilarious!”

           “I’ll admit, it’s pretty new,” Gigan added, a small smile gracing her features.

           “Shut up!” Jae-ha shouted through a full mouth. “The food’s really good!”

           The jovial mood continued through the rest of the meal.  Jae-ha almost wished the rest of the crew were with them, crowding the tiny space of his room, filling the air with their antics.  But he was pleased with Byung-ho’s rambunctiousness and Gigan’s light-hearted scolding.  Even when the food was gone and Gigan was making Jae-ha drink some vile medicine, there was a contentment that surrounded him.  As Gigan made him lie down, he knew he was smiling.

           “So, what’s the update on Chan-mi?” Byung-ho asked as he poured some saké for him and Gigan to share.

           “Still not talking,” Gigan grumbled, holding the saucer of saké to her lips but not drinking.  “Seems like she’s got one hell of a grudge.”

           “Against who?  You?” Byung-ho inquired, dumbfounded.

           “Either me or Awa,” Gigan said.

           Byung-ho scoffed.  “Who could have a grudge against you?”

           Gigan didn’t answer.

           “…Can I try?” Jae-ha offered.

           “Stop whispering, I can’t hear you,” Gigan chided.

           “He wants to try interrogating Chan-mi,” Byung-ho supplied.

           “Not in your current state,” Gigan said to Jae-ha.

           “…But she told me a lot when it was just us,” Jae-ha argued.

           Gigan was silent for a long moment before replying. “If she still isn’t talking by the time you’re better, then fine.”  Gigan sighed, long and low.  “I’m sorry I got you so involved in this.”

           As if he would’ve let her hold him down. “Too late to care about that.”

           True to her word, Gigan kept Jae-ha on bedrest. A doctor by the name of Hei-ran visited every day, poking and prodding and sniffing the lesion upon his shoulder.  She would clean the stitches and make quick, nigh-incomprehensible comments about his recovery.  Luckily, Gigan was always there whenever Hei-ran visited, keeping off the worst of his nerves.  But nothing could assuage his embarrassment when Hei-ran would inspect his wrists—mainly white with vestiges of pink, nearly healed over—and would survey the scars that were strewn about his upper body.  She never said anything about them except for a solemn, “You’ve been through a lot, huh?”

           When neither Hei-ran nor Gigan were there, someone else usually was.  In the early morning hours, Areum was there.  Her cooking skills had yet to improve, but Jae-ha always looked forward to the breakfast she offered.  She never stayed to eat with him, but just exchanging pleasantries was fine.  In the time between breakfast and midday, Jae-ha would read.  Tales of Ryokuryuu, the book Jae-ha had bought on his thirteenth birthday.  It had been gathering dust in the corner of his room, untouched since the day he had foolishly ran away for an entire month.  Much to his displeasure, he still had a lot of trouble reading it.  Not because the subject matter was difficult, but because the words were so damn complicated.  Every evening he had to ask Gigan to decipher what he couldn’t figure out on his own.

           (“Some of this is really basic stuff, Jae-ha. Tell me, do you at least know how to write?” Gigan asked him one night, frowning when he shook his head.)

           By midday, Jae-ha usually had visitors. Fishermen, people from Gigan’s information network, and sometimes people from shops Gigan frequented.  They always came in groups, carrying food or the occasional board game.  With the exception of the strangers (who never stayed for long, thank the gods), Jae-ha found himself welcoming their presence.  It was strange, having so many people willing to keep him company.  He was practically trapped in the walls of his room, kept in place not by fear of his existence but by the worry of others for his health.  Yet he was not left lonely, with only a single, gruff caretaker to talk to. Rather, there were people who wanted to feed him, wanted to make him laugh, wanted to be by his side.  Save for the occasional unwarranted, dizzying touch, it was pleasant.

           Until Seok-hee came to visit.

           Somehow, he managed to come alone.  No other people, no gifts or food, nothing accompanied him.  He was just there, a deceptively pleasant smile on his face.  Thinking about it, Jae-ha realized Seok-hee must have somehow left work early.

           “I hope I did not come here at a bad time,” he greeted.  His eye twitched, as it only ever did around Jae-ha.  “How are you feeling?”

           Jae-ha knew he could throw him out.  Seok-hee was annoying and obviously didn’t like Jae-ha, but he always obeyed the wishes of others.  All Jae-ha had to do was make an excuse.  He might even be able to convince Seok-hee to only visit when he had other people with him.

           But that wouldn’t accomplish anything. Seok-hee wouldn’t have come alone if there wasn’t something private to talk about.  He would corner Jae-ha one way or another.  What an irritating thought.

           “…Better, I guess.  Doctor says I’ll be free to do what I want soon,” Jae-ha answered.

           An emotion indiscernible passed along Seok-hee’s face.  His shoulders noticeably tensed.  “That’s good, that’s good,” he said.  What a fake.

           Jae-ha sighed.  Bastards who tried to hide their true intentions were such a hassle. “Seok-hee, I know you don’t like me,” Jae-ha grumbled.  “Drop the act.  What do you want?”

           In a moment, Seok-hee changed.  Kind to cruel.  Much like how Garou did, but different.  The damned dragon blood had made sure Jae-ha knew every detail of the unwillingness that followed Garou through every mood swing, every snap decision, every self-imposed isolation.  Seok-hee’s change was through choice.  That annoyingly courteous smile of his dropped into a grin just as fake but much more distressing.  In that moment, Jae-ha immediately understood how Seok-hee could have become such a notorious thief in Awa.

           “I was that obvious?” Seok-hee asked, laughing as he sat down beside the door. “I’ve always been bad at keeping a straight face when someone makes me nervous.”

           Nervous, huh?  “I’m not a threat,” Jae-ha muttered, not really sure if he could back up that claim.  “I’m a kid. You know Captain wouldn’t have let me stay if I was dangerous.”

           “Captain is the sentimental type,” Seok-hee calmly replied.  “We all saw you fall from the sky.  And when we dried you off, had to remove your clothes, we all saw that leg of yours. We tried our best not to think of what kind of horrible place you must’ve come from, where people skinned a lizard and stitched the scales onto a kid’s leg.  But something didn’t add up.”

           Jae-ha gulped.  Of course the rest of the crew had seen him on the fateful day.  Why did he ever fool himself into thinking it wouldn’t come back to haunt him?

           Seok-hee continued on.  “First, there was where you fell.  We were nowhere near a cliff where someone could’ve thrown or pushed you off.  You would have had to been dropped mid-air.  No bird out there is big enough to carry a person.  Second—” as he numbered his points, Seok-hee lifted a corresponding finger, “—there’s your hair.  Not only is it a rare color, but it perfectly matches those scales. Third…” Seok-hee’s eye twitched, “there’s what happened between you and Chan-mi.  When we found you, you had been stabbed but…” Seok-hee took in a deep breath and exhaled a rippling, suffering sigh, “…the wall near you had almost caved in. Only a strong man with a sledgehammer and a decent amount of stamina could have done that sort of damage. Moreover, when we captured Chan-mi, Nuri noticed that she has several broken ribs and a massive bruise on her back. Strangest of all, though, was the bruising on her stomach.  It almost looked like a foot.

           “It is mere speculation, but I believe Chan-mi was thrown into that wall, hard enough to make it almost cave in. Finally… there was the day we confronted Chan-mi and the fight broke out.  I saw you fly, Jae-ha.”

           It was happening again.  This safe haven was being taken away from him again.  All because of his snap decisions, all in the name of ‘protecting’ that which was never his.  (Idiot.)  Jae-ha wanted to scream.  He wanted to beg Seok-hee not to tell anyone, please, let him stay here.  He wanted to deny it all, make a fool of himself if it meant he could stay for just a little longer, maybe even let himself entertain all those sad what ifs’ and wonder if Garou would have been just as happy in Awa as Jae-ha was.  The back of his throat ached.  He couldn’t speak, even if he wanted to.

           Seok-hee stared at him, perhaps awaiting a reaction. All Jae-ha could do was grasp the blanket that covered his legs, bottom lip between his teeth.  Several long moments passed between them, and when Jae-ha still could not respond, Seok-hee sighed, heavy, as if ruining Jae-ha’s life was such a burden.

           “You are not human, are you, Jae-ha?”

           “He’s plenty human.”

           It was Min-ki.  He stood behind Seok-hee, dulcet brown eyes glaring daggers at his crewmate.

           “You should know by now that he’s just a kid,” Min-ki said, scowling all the while.

           Seok-hee stood up.  As he did, Byung-ho appeared from behind Min-ki and slid past him to kneel in front of Jae-ha.

           “You should also know by now that he’s not human,” Seok-hee rebuked.

           At the same time, Byung-ho lifted his hands, fingers hovering close to Jae-ha’s cheeks.  “Gods above…” Byung-ho whispered.  His eyes were wide, and his breath was hot against Jae-ha’s skin. But then, suddenly, Byung-ho was glaring, his shoulders were tense, and he was screaming, hand balled into a fist that landed square on Seok-hee’s nose.

           “You bastard!” Byung-ho screeched to the fallen Seok-hee.  His fist turned into a pointing finger, directed at Jae-ha.  “You made the kid cry!”

           Jae-ha put a hand to his cheek.  Ah, so he had been crying.

           “You think I’m happy about that?!” Seok-hee asked, holding his bleeding nose.  “I didn’t hurt him!  I only came here for confirmation about what he is!”

           Min-ki leaned down and pulled Seok-hee up by the shirt.  “He’s one of us,” Min-ki hissed.  (Liar.) “He is our comrade, understood?”

           Seok-hee wrenched himself away from Min-ki and used the fabric of his shirt to soak up the blood from his nose.  “Which is why I believe we have the right to know what he is.”

           “Gods, you just don’t know how to listen, do ya?” Min-ki grumbled.  “We know what you are, too.  A dirty thief without the courage to start over somewhere else.”

           “My family’s here,” Seok-hee sputtered.  “Besides, I never wanted to be a thief.  It was the only way I could survive.”

           “You think I want to be like this?!” Jae-ha finally screamed.  “You think I wanted to be born a monster?!” He stood, fire burning in his gut, deranged and vengeful.  “I was put in chains my entire life!  I only managed to escape because my predecessor sacrificed himself for me!  I never wanted to be like this!”  The fire spread into Jae-ha’s heart, swelling with every hurried breath he took. Before he knew it, his feet were rushing him forward, his hand in a fist, and an oh-so-unsatisfying punch landed on Seok-hee, followed by another and another and another, just an aimless flurry of blows for the man who made him suffer.

           (So, this is how Garou had felt.)

           (It disgusted Jae-ha to his very core.)

           He stopped himself.  Took several steps back.  Tried his best not to look at the man he had hurt.  He breathed in deep, exhaled slowly.  He wasn’t going to be like Garou, he had sworn that to himself so many times.  An apology bubbled up in his throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to utter it. Instead, he told his audience the truth. “I am the Ryokuryuu.  Ever since Hiryuu’s time, the blood of the dragons has been passed from generation to generation, waiting for Hiryuu to return. But Hiryuu died long ago.  Our mere existence is pointless.”

           One of the three men whispered his name.  He decided not to attempt a response. Instead, he sat on his knees and bowed his head, as he had seen Garou do one too many times to appease the village elder.  “Please, don’t take this away from me.  I promise I won’t spread my curse here.  When the time is right, I’ll leave.”

           Jae-ha raised his head, studying the three men before him.  Min-ki and Byung-ho shared an expression of pure pity.  He was sure there were even tears in Byung-ho’s eyes.  Seok-hee, meanwhile, refused to look at Jae-ha. Even still, Jae-ha could see the knot between Seok-hee’s eyebrows and the frown that screamed regret.  Served him right.

           Jae-ha walked past the men, out of his room and Gigan’s house.  The crow’s nest could serve plenty well as a place to sleep that night.

Author’s note: Thank you all for waiting so long for me.  I will do my best to update within the month.  As always, comments and critiques are super welcomed.

[thatothercosplayer]

Ikura rolled her neck. It was time to head in. “Alright, ladies. Let’s do this.”

The four pushed their way inside, and quickly found themselves surrounded by....well, AKB48 stuff. The wall with all the portraits of the current members was closeby, as was the front desk.

“Place sure looks spiffy,” Keiko noted, rather impressed. The oak and velvet carpets was....surprising, honestly. She was expecting more...pastels. 

They could hear someone performing from where they were standing. They all exchanged glances, and nodded.

Going over to the doors that led to the theater, they stopped.

Up on stage was a young woman- probably no older than Hikaru- who had chestnut brown hair. Her eyes were pretty distinctly black, and she yellow lipstick on. It matched the rest of her outfit, which was a gold akin to honey. She was wearing fake bee wings that looked....pretty realistic, all things considered.

“That’s her?” Yuna asked. “From the name I was expecting someone a bit, uh....older.” 

“Whatever! She is perverting music for her own selfish gains! I can’t allow that!” Hikaru huffed. “Hey, lady!” She shouted.

Vesper stopped on stage, and looked at Hikaru. All the entranced civilians also looked back. “Did you seriously just interrupt my performance? I just can’t bee-lieve it!” 

Keiko groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose at that pun.

Hikaru ran up front, going up onto stage. “I don’t appreciate what you’re doing!”

“And what would that bee, huh?” Vesper asked. 

“You know exactly what it is!” Hikaru retorted, resting her hands on her hips. “Forcing your music onto others, not giving people a chance to form their own thoughts about it.....unforgivable! Music is expression! It’s not some agenda you can just push onto people!” 

Vesper laughed. “Okay? What are you going to do about it?” 

Hikaru stuck her lower lip out, puffing her cheeks. She held up her left arm, which held a bracelet with a small gem in it. She pressed upon the inlaid jewel. Her image shimmered and rippled before shattering like glass, revealing her true Raptoroid form. 

Immediately, she threw herself at Vesper, who gracefully sidestepped, looking fabulous at the same time. 

“You’ll never bee on the same level as me, honey. Fighting is for brutes!” 

Hikaru rested her talons on her hips. “Really, now? Well, in that case...” She turned to the others, who had just been kind of....watching. “Hey! Everyone! Let’s show her what we can do!” 

Tapping the bracelet on her wrist, Hikaru returned to her human form and joined up with the others again. She counted everyone, then frowned. “We’re....short a person. Who are we going to pick....?” 

Suddenly, a voice called out from one of the balconies in the theater! 

“That would be me!” A spotlight focused on where the voice had come from, revealing a masked woman with mid-length brown hair. She was wearing a Sailor Senshi cosplay, but...it wasn’t of any of the actual characters, as her uniform was pink. She had on a matching mask. “Do not worry! Sailor K is here!” 

Who was this?

Sailor K leapt down onto the stage, joining the rest of the Secret Base Cafe Crew. “With me you have enough people to do the routine you want to do, Hikaru!” She smiled. 

Hikaru, while a bit confused, nodded, smiling back. “Yuna! Can you lead the dance for us?” She asked.

“Yeah!” Yuna nodded, directing everyone into formation. 

Ikura smirked. “DJ, if you would so kindly~” She clapped her hands twice, and music began to play.

Hikaru sang, and the rest followed Yuna’s lead. Ikura and Sailor K, despite not seeming it, were rather professional, arguably having the best timing out of the five.

As the song continued, something began to happen. Energy began to crackle through the air.

“W-what?! What’s happening?!” Vesper shouted out, looking around frantically.

Hikaru couldn’t but smirk at this. 

Mic Check One Two! Kono koe ga Mic Check One Two! Kikoeteru ka Mic Check One Two!

Kotae ga YES nara sakenjatte! 

Mic Check One Two! Kareru made Mic Check One Two! Dashi tsuku shite Mic Check One Two!

Kotae wa YES desho? Wakattenda

The audience, while at first entranced by Vesper’s magic, began to awaken, and catching onto what was going on and grabbing glowsticks and wotaing pretty hard. 

“What?! No! They’re my audience! Mine!” Vesper was beginning to throw a fit as the Secret Base Cafe Crew (plus Sailor K) began dancing Akibahara to freedom.

When the song finished, some pyrotechnics fired off, throwing glitter everywhere, as well and causing a small explosion behind them.

Sailor K twirled away from the group, grabbing onto a weight off the side of the stage. “My work here is done! But, before I go....”  Withdrawing a rose, she tossed it to Ikura, who caught it. “Until next time, ladies! I believe in you!” She slashed the  weight and rode the rope up into the rafters, disappearing. 

Vesper was in the middle of a break down. “No, no, no, no, no! My music is the best! No one is allowed to be better than me! NO ONE! I’m the Queen Bee! Not you! ME!” She stomped repeatedly. 

“Don’t you understand, now, Miss Vesper?” Hikaru inquired. “There’s no point in music if you don’t put your heart into it! That’s why you lost!” She declared, pointing dramatically. The audience cheered in agreement with the beautiful lady on stage. 

Vesper clenched her fist. “Grrr....why....you!!! That’s it! I’ve had enough of this!”

She began twitching, limbs snapping here and there as various insect parts burst through her skin. 

Compound eyes had formed on her forehead, above her ‘human’ ones. Mandibles were hanging off either side of her mouth. Two extra arms had come out of her. A bee’s abdomen had burst out from her lower back, hanging out right above her butt. She was beginning to look like she had jumped out of Monster Musume, or something.

“I’m gonna kill all four of you! There can only be one queen, and that’s ME!” 

“Everyone, scatter!” Ikura shouted, and the four dived out of the way as Vesper began flying at them. 

They got up, and quite suddenly, they were in a rock quarry with no forseeable explanation.

Ikura fixed her hair, then pointed at Vesper, who was looking around in confusion. How had this happened? 

“You! Hikaru already said it, but music is an expression of one’s soul! Perverting it for your own selfish gains.....that’s unforgivable! Everyone, let’s go!” 

“Yeah!” Cried out the other three. 

Ikura crosses her arms, then thrusts them outwards. “Chou kenzoku henka!”

And, just like that, the Armored Avenger has appeared! In .0384 seconds, the Japanium armor has covered Ikura, transforming her into the cool hero that fights evil in the name of love! 

The transformation was so fast, however, we didn’t see what happened. Let’s take a closer look.

Ikura crosses her arms and then thrusts them outwards. “Chou kenzoku henka!”

A satellite dish on top of the Secret Base Cafe fires out a beam that’s reflected up into the atmosphere, which is then reflected off another satellite before it hits Ikura, sending out a small shockwave as she is enveloped in energy. The armor forms, the tech across it lighting up as different parts whir and settle into place, letting out firm ‘kachunks’ when they lock in.

“Armored Avenger…Kyusha!” 

Keiko dug her feet into the ground, clasping her hands together before splitting them, raising one skywards while she brought the other one closer to the ground.

Moving them in diagonally then clasping her hands together again so her hands invoked the image of a lightning bolt, Keiko’s eyes briefly flashed.

“Kurakunaru!”

In an instant, a ring of violet flames developed around her, towering higher and higher before converging on her. A bolt of lightning struck her, and the flames turned monochrome before exploding outwards. Intricate patterns swirled as the area behind her darkened, flames kicking up as the eyes on the helmet lit up to become their signature piercing crimson. “ I am the spirit of vengeance! Dark Paladin!”

Yuna withdrew her katana, unsheathing it and drawing a circle above her head. The Soul Metal armor flew out, latching onto her and transforming her into the Knight of the Lilacs, YUGO.

Hikaru just did what she had done earlier and revealed her true alien form.

Kyusha threw a hand up in the air. 

“Shining in the heavens are four stars!”

The four lined up, kicking upwards and posing. “Secret Base Cafe Offensive Squadron!” 

Colored explosions go off behind them, colored red, violet, black, and gold respectively. 

Vesper scoffs. “Lame! Go get them, my loyal fans!”

Quite suddenly, the Wotajaegers appeared, brandishing their neon weapons and chanting their usual chants. “Cyber! Fire! Tiger! Wotagei, wotagei, wotagei!” 

Kyusha withdrew Starcrusher from one of the slots on her shoulders, Dark Paladin withdrew Hellfang from her spine, and YUGO merely readied her broadsword. Hikaru raised her talons, ready to fight.

The four charged into the crowd of grunts, beginning the battle.

Kyusha roundhoused one Wotajaeger, turning and slashing another across the chest twice. One grabbed her from behind, and she grappled with it before tossing it into another one. “Neurevolver!” She called. A slot on the side of her right leg opened, and she swapped Starcrusher to her left hand. The blaster fired out, and she caught it, kneeling and using the laser blade as a steady for her aim as she fired at several grunts, who were tossed backwards as the shots hit them, sparks raining everywhere.

Meanwhile, Dark Paladin was beating her way through the grunts. She snatched one by the throat, slamming it into the ground. Another grunt tried to sneak up behind her, but she reversed Hellfang and impaled it through the waist without looking. Withdrawing the weapon, she raised a hand and fired out electrical energy from it, shocking multiple grunts. 

YUGO was busy with her own crowd of grunts. She parried the neon blade of one, slicing it down the middle before turning and disarming another one after a blade lock. She kicked it away, stabbing the tip of the blade into the gut of another grunt and hoisting it over head before tossing it at a group of Wotajaegers, bowling them all over. 

Finally, she made one, large circular slash, finishing all of hers off in one blow.

Hikaru swooped down, grabbing a grunt with her feet and tearing at them with her talons. She dropped them, dumping them into a horde of other grunts who got crushed under its weight. She made a pass at them, flying low and slashing each one she passed, tossing them out of the way. Coming back down, she did a bicycle kick on another grunt, before grabbing their head in between her ankles and ripping it off. 

She landed right as the horde of grunts all fell over and exploded in unison.

“W-what!? You defeated them?!” Vesper called out.

“Fine! I’ll just...take care of you myself!” She began to twist and snap even more this time, shedding all resemblance of being human and turning into a horrible, giant bee monster!

Nah, just kidding. It looks like this.

“Oh, fuck this!” Ikura is noping out so hard. “Change Gamma!” 

In a flash of energy, the crimson armor of Kyusha had shifted to a slimmer, lightly armored form. This was Mode Gamma, which Ikura was swapping to because holyshititsagiantfuckingbeethingohmygod

Dark Paladin looks over and completely agrees with this sentiment. Keeping out Hellfang, she shoves a hand into her chest (approximately where her heart is) and begins withdrawing a second sword- the Dark Kaiser. At the same time, violet flames begin engulfing her, twisting the armor even further into the Hell Knight.

YUGO and Hikaru just kind of shrug.

Vesper roars and charges at the group, knocking them over on her first pass. She raises her sharp legs, meaning to slash everyone on the second go, and hones in on Hikaru in particular.

Hikaru isn’t having any of that, so she takes to the sky, leading to massive chase. Vesper begins firing hordes of stingers out at the Raptoroid, which begin honing in on her. The stingers spiral around in the air, leaving behind trails as they intricately weave their way towards Hikaru. She begins deftly dodging them, recklessly flying through them and forcing the stingers to crash into each other.

“Hey, you know what an Itano Circus is?” Kyusha asks, looking up.

“Yeah. First time I’ve ever seen one, though,” Hell Knight retorts. 

Hikaru angles back towards the ground and joins the others again, skidding to a halt. 

“You done hogging all the attention yet?” Hell Knight snarked.

“Well, you know, you could have done something other than, I dunno, stood there and watched!” Hikaru shouted.

“Right, right. Let’s get her!” Kyusha declared, speeding off and kicking off the ground. She lands atop Vesper’s head and grabs her antennae, riding her like a bucking bull. “Come on, you ugly bitch! Let’s go to the rodeo!” 

Hell Knight shakes her head, taking several steps forwards. This fight has gotten kind of easy. The whole ‘hulking out into an oversized monster form’ thing was something they’d fought against before.

Crossing Hellfang and Dark Kaiser, she fired an arc of energy into the forehead gem on Vesper, which lit her up like Tokyo at night. Kyusha leaped off, 

YUGO charged forwards, leaping up into the air and stabbing her broadsword into it, hitting the giant enemy bee’s weak point for massive damage. 

“Hikaru!” Kyusha shouted. “Let’s do a combo attack!” 

Hikaru nodded. “Okay!” 

Kyusha leapt up into the air, Hikaru flying up around her in a spiral. Kyusha caught Hikaru with one arm, whirling her about several times before tossing her at Vesper at high velocity. Hikaru began doing lots and lots of Aileron Rolls, before curling her wings up and holding her arms out so she formed a massive drill. 

“Green Gold Combination!” They both cried out. “Hurricane Overdrive!” 

She rocketed forwards, tearing through Vesper and snatching YUGO’s sword while she was at it.

She went in through the head, tearing through Vesper’s body before emerging out of the abdomen, arcing upwards and unfurling her wings dramatically, the sun reflect off her metallic wings in juuuust the right way to give her a bit of an angelic image. 

“RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAUAUUUUUGH!” Screeched out Vesper, who exploded, leaving nothing behind. 

The extermination was complete. 

-----

Returning to the theater, everyone saw that, thankfully, the people who had been hypnotized had fully recovered at this point. While initially confused at where they were, they recognized the Secret Base Cafe Crew when they saw them and began cheering and clapping.

Yuna and Hikaru bowed, smiling, while Keiko just waved. 

Ikura....Ikura was busy staring at the rose she’d gotten from Sailor K. Just who was she? How did she know all their names? Why give her the rose?

These questions would have to wait- at least for now. Akibahara was safe again.

Well, at least until the next monster decided to show up.

[newlovewontletyougetaway-blog]

Chapter Four

The beams of morning sunshine that streamed through the window and onto the pillow stirred Olivia from her sleep. Olivia slowly peeled her eyes open to find that she had forgotten to close the curtains before going to bed. She groaned in dismay as she squeezed her eyes closed again.

As Olivia drifted between sleep and wakefulness, her expression softened as she remembered the night before. Her heart fluttered comfortably as she envisioned Seth. Olivia smiled as she remembered his voice and the sound of his laughter. She purred blissfully as she remembered the way Seth’s lips had felt against hers and the way he had tasted as they kissed.

Olivia was amazed at just how vivid the memories were as she suddenly felt a pair of lips kissing hers. She moaned lightly and willingly began to kiss back. But wait a minute… This couldn’t possibly be something that was just happening in her imagination. It felt too real. But it didn’t feel like Seth and it certainly didn’t taste like him. Olivia pulled back as her eyes flew open.

“Jacob!” she exclaimed in shock while groggily trying to blink away the sleep in her eyes.

“Morning, baby,” Jacob smiled widely as he began to climb into Olivia’s bed.

“It’s you!” she gasped.

“Of course, Livia!” he stated before kissing her again.

Olivia kept her eyes open as she kissed him back while he placed himself on top of her.

“Did you expect somebody else?” Jacob questioned jokingly.

When Olivia looked into Jacob’s piercing blue eyes it felt like someone had stabbed her heart with a knife. Jacob smiled lovingly at her as he had no suspicions whatsoever that Olivia might have kissed another man just a few hours before.

“No. Of course not,” Olivia lied. “I’m just surprised to see you.”

Jacob giggled and rested his entire weight on Olivia as he kissed her again. After a little while of kissing him back, Olivia tenderly pushed Jacob’s head back to end the kiss and to look him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jake,” she said, “But I’m a little confused. Aren’t you supposed to be filming today?”

“Yes, but I went to the director and I told him how much I missed my girlfriend,” Jacob staunchly explained. “And I threatened that if he didn’t allow me some time off to visit her in California, then I would walk off that film set and never return!”

Olivia narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she looked at Jacob.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” he said, “I’m telling you the truth!”

“Really?” Olivia questioned as she raised her eyebrows in humored disbelief.

“Well, I mean,” Jacob smirked, “It is possible that the filming had to be delayed for a few days because of the weather. And the crew might have told me to ‘get the hell out’ of their way for the weekend.”

Olivia laughed genuinely and pulled Jacob back down to kiss him. He moved his lips from her mouth to her neck. Jacob kissed a spot repeatedly before he began sucking on it.

“Jacob!” Olivia shrieked before giggling, “Stop it!”

Jacob giggled slightly and shook his head while continuing to suck on the same spot.

“But Jacob, a hickey is so childish!” she answered.

Jacob stopped sucking and smiled at Olivia.

“I don’t care,” he stated before he briefly admired his work and gave it a small kiss.

Jacob’s hands moved and began to roughly massage Olivia’s breasts while kissing her neck.

“Wait a minute, Jacob,” Olivia said as she pushed him away, “How did you even get into my house?”

“Willow let me in as she was leaving to go to visit Ashley,” he stated and tried to kiss her lips again.

“She left already?” Olivia asked.

Jacob nodded as he abandoned his attempt to kiss her mouth and let his lips move down to her chest.

“What a bitch!” she exclaimed. “How could she leave without saying something? She’s going to be at Ashley’s house for the rest of the weekend! It would have been nice to say, ‘Oh, hey! I’m leaving now, Olivia. Thank you for letting me stay at your house’, wouldn’t it? I mean, who does she think sh-.”

“Olivia!” Jacob cut her off. “I’m sorry, babe. But I really don’t want to talk about Willow while I’m trying to have sex with my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Olivia sighed disappointedly, “Fine.”

Olivia shifted uncomfortably beneath Jacob as he went back to kissing her neck.

^^^^^^^^^^

Olivia squirmed awkwardly in her seat, by her dressing table, as she braided her hair. Sex with Jacob had always been great and one of the best parts of their relationship. But lately Olivia had been unable to enjoy it. It only made her feel unsatisfied and she tried to avoid it whenever she could. Once he had finished this morning, Jacob had gone out to buy breakfast for them while Olivia took a bath.

Olivia closed her eyes and enjoyed the silence of being alone in the house for the first time in weeks. She sighed as the sound of the phone ringing did nothing to ease the headache her hangover was causing her.

“Hello?” she answered with an unmistakable aggravation in her voice.

“You didn’t seem to mind being in the company of such a sick human being.”

“What do you want, Nicholas?” Olivia demanded.

“Was he as vainglorious as you said he would be, Liv?” Nicholas questioned teasingly.

“What are you talking about?” she retorted.

“The extremely rich guy from last night,” he stated confidently.

“Nicholas, I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Olivia whined.

“I’m talking about Seth MacFarlane, Liv,” Nicholas clarified.

“Seth? Seth MacFarlane?” she questioned nervously. “How do you know about Seth?”

“Please, I’ve seen the photos of you leaving the party with him last night,” he answered.

“Oh,” Olivia said quietly.

“Now tell me,” Nicholas demanded jokingly, “Was he as vainglorious as you said he would be?”

“How could I have said that? I didn’t ev-,” she began.

“Don’t you know who the guy is?” he questioned and Olivia knew that he was smirking, even though she couldn’t see him.

“I know that he’s Seth and now you’ve told me that his last name is MacFarlane. But I don-,” Olivia rambled before being interrupted by Nicholas’ mocking laughter.

“Seth MacFarlane is the sick human being that created Family Guy,” he explained.

“He couldn’t be,” she replied.

“Oh, yes. He could be, and he is. Not to mention the fact that he voices most of the characters himself,” Nicholas smiled. “Seth MacFarlane is Family Guy.”

“What? No, that’s not possible,” she protested weakly.

“Why? Because he is a nice and normal guy?” Nicholas questioned.

“No, I… I…” Olivia stuttered, “I just don’t kno-.”

”He’s incredibly attractive, isn’t he?” he interrupted.

Olivia blushed and smiled to herself. But stopped when she suddenly was overcome with the fear that Nicholas somehow would find out what had happened between her and Seth the night before.

“Yes, I suppose that he is,” Olivia admitted sheepishly.

“I think we can both agree that you judged the guy unfairly prior to meeting him,” Nicholas stated.

“You’re probably right,” she replied.

“I am right. One of these days you might even pull your head out of your ass and realize that Family Guy is an amazing television show,” he teased.

“Yes, maybe,” Olivia answered quietly.

“’Yes, maybe?’ Are you ill, Olivia? You never give up that easily,” Nicholas asked, genuinely worried, before adding jokingly, “You’re not in love with the guy, are you?”

Olivia blushed as she got butterflies in her stomach. Was she in love with Seth? No. She couldn’t be. She didn’t even know him. But if she wasn’t, then why did the mention of his name make her feel so strange inside? What was she supposed to answer?

“Babe, I’m back! Let’s watch TV,” Jacob shouted as he walked back into the house.

“I’ve got to go, Nicholas. Take care,” Olivia hurriedly said and hung up the phone before he could answer her.

Olivia released a sigh of relief and stood up to hop on her left leg towards the living room.

“Oh, baby! Let me help you,” Jacob smiled when he saw her coming.

He hurried over and picked her up from the ground. Jacob swiftly threw Olivia over his shoulder and carried her to the couch.

“Thanks,” Olivia giggled and looked at the table in front of her, where Jacob had placed their breakfast.

“You’re welcome, babe,” he smiled as he sat down next to her and turned on the television.

Olivia reached for a bagel on the table and nibbled on it as she leaned back into the couch.

“Oh, look!” Jacob exclaimed, “Family Guy is on!”

Olivia’s eyes widened and she quickly turned to look at the television.

“Oh, man!” he smiled, “Seth MacFarlane must the coolest dude in the universe, I tell you.”

“I… Uh…” Olivia cleared her throat. “I met him at Jared’s party last night.”

“What? Baby, that’s awesome! What was he like?” Jacob questioned.

“Uh… He was very nice. He was actually the one who gave me a ride home,” she replied.

“You’ve been in Seth MacFarlane’s car?” he smiled excitedly.

Olivia nodded and fiddled with the bagel in her hand.

“Alright, baby!” Jacob exclaimed happily. “So, did you like him?”

Olivia looked up at Jacob and swallowed the lump in her throat. For a split second she considered admitting what had happened the night before. Olivia ultimately decided against it and instead just nodded her head again.

“Yes. Yes, I did like him,” Olivia replied truthfully as she placed her unfinished bagel back on the table.

“That’s so great,” Jacob smiled and turned back to watch the television.

“Yeah…” Olivia replied and looked down into her lap.

Olivia blushed as she could clearly hear Seth’s voice coming from the television. She was certain that she had never felt this ashamed before in her life. Olivia looked at Jacob and ran her left hand through his blond hair as she studied his chiseled facial features. He turned to look at her and smiled widely.

“Can we please watch something else?” she asked shyly.

“Sure, baby,” Jacob replied and grabbed her hand to kiss the back of it quickly. “Anything you want.”

Olivia reached for the remote control and started to flip through the channels.

“I love you,” Jacob stated, out of the blue.

Olivia immediately stopped what she was doing and turned to look at Jacob who was smiling tenderly at her. He pulled her close and held her as she burst into tears.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he questioned.

“I don’t know,” Olivia lied as she threw her arms around his neck.

“Please, don’t cry,” Jacob said quietly.

“I love you,” Olivia stated honestly.

Jacob smiled and tightened his hold on her.

[motleymoose]

Woad to Ruin

Challenge: @mamaredd123 ‘s Mama’s 1K/Birthday Challenge

Prompt: King Arthur (2004), King Arthur soundtrack by Hans Zimmer

Characters: Reader, Donna Hanscum (Guinevere), Dean Winchester (Arthur), Sam Winchester (Gawain), Charlie Bradbury (Tristran), Bobby Singer (Merlin), Crowley (Cerdic) (did I miss anybody?)

Words: 2,400+

Warnings: ANGST, GORE & BLOOD & DEATH, language, slight taste of fluff

Summary: Y/N and Dean’s knights fight the Saxons.

A/N: This happened to be one of my favorite movies back when it came out. This is a recreation of the siege at Hadrian’s Wall. Feedback is always appreciated!

*gif not mine

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thick, oily smoke rolled lazily over the wet greenness of the open field. A single line of warhorses with armored riders stood in front of waving banners as the great gates of Hadrian’s Wall were pulled open, allowing a swarm of Saxon invaders through.

Dean looked to Charlie, who shifted in her saddle and let loose an arrow from her longbow. It flew silently, cutting through the heavy air with ease. A breath later, they heard a muffled thwok and a grunt as the arrow met a target.

“Signal a volley from the woads,” Dean ordered.

Charlie held up a fist and whistled, and the sky turned dark with bolts. An uproar followed as the arrows hit their marks.

A humorless smile spread across Sam’s face as he shifted forward in the saddle. “Let’s go take care of the rest, shall we?”

……………….

Atop the hill, hidden among the trees with the rest of her clan, Y/N watched as the Roman knights charged into the dense smoke. Even with her keen eyesight, she was finding it difficult to locate Charlie in the black fog. She was so focused on finding the redheaded knight that she didn’t hear Donna approach.

“Do not worry, sister. You too will have your fill of Saxon blood.”

“I do not think there is enough of it to quench my thirst,” Y/N replied with a grim smirk. Invaders from the North had left her orphaned at a young age, and it was proving to be impossible to fight the berserker blood that flowed in her veins. The flames wanted to consume her, to unleash her fury upon the Northmen and avenge her family’s murders. Her hands were itching to cleave an axe through her enemies skulls, and her tongue yearned for the taste of Saxon blood. The berserker rage was pulling her deeper and deeper into its embrace, slowly eating away at the walls she had built to control it.

Donna lightly touched Y/N’s shoulder, giving her a worried glance before unsheathing her daggers. “The battle will soon be upon us.”

The small band of riders broke through the thinning smokescreen, the success of the first attack evident in their postures. Dean split from the group and rode to confer with Bobby while the others fell into formation, awaiting for the next stage of battle. Their horses were chomping their bits, tossing sod as they pawed violently at the earth. Blood and gore splattered their chests and sides, and their eyes were white with excitement. The knights themselves seemed calm and collected. There was a strange quietness hanging between them, though, and all of the joviality and exhilaration had dissipated.

In the distance, a marching cadence had started. All along the edge of the forest, the warriors nocked arrows and drew weapons. Y/N could feel the flames of her berserker rage expanding greedily within her chest as red edged her vision.

“Not long now,” Donna whispered.

.............................

Y/N lost one of her short battle axes when she joined the fray. The crush of bodies made it all but impossible to get a good swing, so she left it buried in a Northman’s chest in exchange for his short sword. Another fur-clad warrior was upon her in a heartbeat, and she had just yanked the sword free from his neck when she saw Donna collapse.

“Donna!” she shrieked, darting through the bedlam towards her sister, felling anyone who crossed her path. A red haze all but consumed her vision as she fought to get outside of the chaos, her axe and short sword a blur of sharp steel and death.

………………………..

The Saxon stood over Donna triumphantly as he raised his broadsword to deal a final blow. Donna dragged herself backwards, lips curled as she growled menacingly, her hands blindly searching for anything she could use to defend herself. Her fingertips grazed the head of a crossbow bolt, and she desperately palmed it as she pulled herself into a crouch.

The Norseman laughed and took a step closer. “Filthy woad scum! We will rid this la-oof!”

From out of nowhere, Y/N tackled the Saxon soldier, driving her shoulder solidly into the middle of his back. Almost at the exact same instant, Donna had flung herself at him, stabbing at his neck with the bolt while clawing at his eyes with her free hand.

Roaring curses at the two warriors, the man stumbled, landing heavily on his face with Y/N and Donna striking his head and neck.

“Y/N, that’s enough!” Donna shouted as she backed away from the dead Northman.

Y/N was beginning to froth at the mouth, her eyes wide with madness as the rage overtook her. Her vision completely washed in crimson, Y/N’s only instinct was to kill, to destroy the man that lay under her. She ignored the ache in her shoulders and chest as she repeatedly stabbed at the enemy with her dagger.

Kill them… kill them all….

“Enough!” With what little strength she could muster, Donna grabbed Y/N by the shoulders and hauled her off of the body. Y/N hissed, diving back towards the dead man. Enraged, Donna caught her by her hair, using the momentum to slam her to the ground.

Gasping, Y/N stared at her sister in shock. The anger began to ebb, and her eyes cleared somewhat. Trembling with exhaustion, she glanced to what was left of the Saxon and swallowed back bile. Very little of what was left of him was recognizable. Slowly, she picked herself up and sighed in relief. “Thank you, sister.”

“It’s what I do,” Donna coughed, leaning gratefully upon Y/N’s outstretched hand as she rose from her knees.

Handing her sister the short sword, she nodded as she quickly surveyed the battle. Not far from where they stood, she spotted Charlie and Sam back to back, fending off a dozen armed enemy soldiers. “Are you good?”

“I’ll survive.” Donna followed her gaze to the knights. “Go, they need you.”

Squeezing Donna’s hand in farewell, Y/N threw herself back into the chaos, her axe claiming as much blood as it could.

…………………………...

Y/N never made it to Charlie and Sam.

As soon as she re-entered the melee, she was set upon by two Saxons. One jabbed his pike at her gut while the other swung at her with a short sword. She was able dodge the sword and knock the pike aside, but not before the head of it grazed her hip, leaving a long, violent gash.

Y/N snarled and then laughed as the berserk rage came roaring to the surface, drowning out the pain.

Fueled by bloodlust, she spun, gripping the swordsman’s outstretched arm and tumbling him into his partner. She yanked the pike from the other Northman and took him out at the knees with the shaft before driving the head home into his stomach. Blood bubbled from this mouth as his hands automatically gripped the shaft of the pike. Y/N immediately whirled from him, blocking another attack from the swordsman as she pulled a hunting knife from her belt.

“Bitch!” he spat, lunging at her.

Y/N leapt aside at the last moment, sending him headfirst to the earth. Snarling, the Saxon sprung to his feet and froze, the large hunting knife burying itself into his chest. Gasping, he fell to his knees, mouth agape as Y/N approached. She took a fistful of his long hair, forcing his head back until he was staring up at the gray sky.

“Please,” he rasped, blood staining his teeth.

“My pleasure,” she sneered. Yanking the knife from his chest, she drew it swiftly across his throat. The Northman gave one last gurgle before falling backwards.

Laughing triumphantly, Y/N reclaimed her single short axe and the Saxon sword. Flourishing it to test the balance, she smiled menacingly at the Briton warrior standing in awe beside her, his own foe still writhing on the turf. “Come, brother. Let’s finish this.”

The clansman crouched low, his twin rapiers at the ready. Y/N followed suit, her back to his, as she beckoned to an enemy soldier bearing a mace.

“Want to play?”

……………………….

Four Northmen later, Y/N had lost sight of Charlie. She darted to and fro, helping out where she was needed. The Saxon numbers were dwindling, but they still had an army larger than Bobby’s own. For every woad they killed, two Northmen would join them. It was now a contest to see which side could survive the longest.

She was in the midst of a fight with Crowley, the leader of the Saxons, when an arrow came from out of nowhere, embedding itself in her leg. Another hissed after it, slicing her ear as it zipped by. Shrieking in pain and outrage, Y/N fell to one knee as she tried to keep her sword on guard and assess the damage.

Crowley cocked his head, watching Y/N with vulture-like intent. Y/N eyed him warily as she prodded the area around the leg wound, biting back cries when she found a tender spot.

“I am in no hurry to kill you,” Crowley drawled as he tapped the toe of his boot with the flat of his broadsword. “You’ve proven to be a fine warrior.”

Struggling to stand upright, Y/N faced the Saxon chief. Blood slowly oozed from around the arrow in her thigh, staining her leather trousers. She gripped her sword and gritted her teeth, ready to spring at the first sign of movement. “You’re awfully full of yourself.”

Crowley smiled benignly, his own broadsword now resting casually against his leg. “Did you really think your little band of tree-dwellers had much of chance against me?”

Spitting a gob of blood, Y/N returned the smirk. “Did you really think you could take our homes so easily?”

Furrowing his brows, the Saxon leader took a step forward, gesturing lazily with his sword. “This land, it is nothing to us. We just enjoy killing everything in our path.”

Y/N quivered angrily. Eyes locked on Crowley, she bellowed in fury, wildly swinging at him with her sword. He easily dodged her attack, smacking the blade from her grasp as his elbow slammed into her face. Falling to one knee, Y/N could feel doubt and fear at the edges of her berserker rage as the weariness and the pain hit her. She wiped at her bloodied face with a hand, eyes searching hopelessly for a weapon.

Taking a few ambling steps to her left, Crowley picked up her lost sword, appraising it. With a shrug, he tossed it in front of her and waited.

Befuddled for a moment, Y/N quirked an eyebrow at Crowley. She didn’t trust him any farther than she could throw him, but something about the way he was patiently awaiting for her to decide her fate seemed true. Gritting her teeth, Y/N broke off the arrow’s shaft as close to the skin as she could. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she slowly reached forward, snagging the hilt of the sword with her fingertips. She bit back a scream as she pulled it to her and used it to lever herself to her feet.

“Let’s finish this,” she growled. Her arms trembled as she raised the sword. Willing herself to move, Y/N stumbled sideways as she tested her legs. The arrowhead still deep within her thigh shifted slightly, causing searing pain to explode behind her eyes. A dark corona was overtaking her vision as she fought to stay upright and conscious.

Smirking mirthlessly, Crowley circled with her, keeping in step and watching her like a hawk. He noted the way she was swaying and how her blade dipped every time she took a step. There was little pleasure for him to kill someone who couldn’t fight back, but he could see there was still a spark of life in her.

Y/N cringed once more as she placed her foot wrong, jarring the arrowhead. She needed to act quickly, or Crowley would surely claim the upper hand. Inhaling deeply, Y/N steeled herself for the final assault.

Roaring her clan’s battle cry, Y/N launched herself at Crowley, the sword cleaving downward in a desperate attempt to disarm him.

Mildly shocked at her ferocity, Crowley swung his blade up to meet hers. Shoving forward, he forced her sword down, locking them together. He elbowed her hard in the sternum. Y/N grunted, dropping her sword as she staggered back. She was worn to her bones, and it was a miracle she was still was on her feet.

It would be so easy to give up, to let the bastard end it….

Suddenly, the berserker fury flared, giving Y/N renewed energy. Bellowing thunderously, she plowed into him and sent him sprawling on the muddy earth. As Crowley floundered, Y/N picked up his broadsword, weighing it expertly in her hands.

“Such a fine blade, maybe I should keep it” she mused.

Crowley mutely watched her as she limped closer, her eyes burning with an otherworldly flame.

Resting the point of it on his heart, she cocked her head. “Oh, but I’m sure you want it back.”

…………….

Most of the smoke had cleared by the time the battle ended. Two of the Roman knights had fallen during the siege, and their remaining brothers had prepared their bodies for burial. Charlie was among them, saying her last respects to the knights she considered family.

Y/N watched the small procession as she sat underneath a towering elm, a jug of mulled wine resting against her uninjured leg. She quietly waited for the ceremony to end, taking a pull every now and then from the jug. There was a muffled crunch behind her, and Donna emerged from the forest, a warm smile tugging at her lips.

“Sister, I hoped I would find you up here.”

“I thought I would bid my farewells before rejoining Father. I hear most of the knights are returning to their homelands in a fortnight?” Y/N lifted the jug to her lips again, letting the warm liquid flow over her tongue.

Arching an eyebrow, Donna nudged her sister’s shoulder. “I know you aren’t here just for that.” She winked mischievously. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you and Charlie pine for one another.”

Shaking her head, Y/N laughed in disbelief. “Charlie? No, she can’t be.”

“I’ve heard talk between Dean and Sam. She definitely is interested.”

Y/N blushed, trying to fight back a grin. Peering at the small group surrounding the graves, she caught a glimpse of Charlie’s red hair shining brightly in the high sun. A warm, fluttery feeling spread through her belly and chest, and she sighed. “Maybe… maybe I’ll stay for a little while longer.”