#so i rolled up an old black trunk xD

[rosecoloredtease]

just a little sneak peak bts shoots for later this month ▪️◼️◾⬛

[ahkaraii]

"I'm sorry if it hurts Chi-Chi and Gohan, but please don't try and resurrect me. Besides, Gohan's a lot better person than I was..."

I think about this line a lot. It shows a lot of self awareness from Goku, y'know?

I have a lot of Goku feels, not all of them fandom-friendly. Twitter folks either bash him or defend him unto death, very black and white binary split-like, which makes it difficult to talk about in 140 characters or less. “Good” dad or “Bad” dad is subjective. But I think his actions -- and inactions -- had profound effects on his family and the world beyond, for good and for bad.

Lemme word vomit for a while and see if I can get something coherent out xD

I think he’s a fantastic shonen protagonist -- arguably the template!! -- and I love him as a character that steadfastly drives the story inexhaustibly forward, to stronger and stronger opponents, to ever more fantastic plotlines. But I personally Iike to take a magnifying glass to the small moments, the quiet moments; the breaths in between the panels. And in these moments, I think Goku is a fascinating chimera of a character: a patchwork man he stitched together through mimicry and good intentions and animal impulse.

He acts like a doofus and in many cases its genuine -- he practically self-raised himself in the wild after not just accidentally killing his grandpa, but also after suffering an actually plot-significant brain injury -- but he is no idiot. I think Goku knows he’s different and not just because he’s an alien with a regrowing tail.

Goku isn’t a normal human because he doesn’t connect like a normal human. He loves but it’s because he chooses to love. He’s loyal because he chooses to be loyal. It’s not sociopathy, but it is a kind of almost... autistic spectrum like inability? I hesitate to step on toes here, but I’m basically heavily projecting my own father -- who is himself a man with high functioning autism -- so that’s where I’m drawing my main inspiration.

Goku struggles immensely to understand people who are emotionally volatile. He defaults to humour and acting like he doesn’t get it just to defuse the situation, because otherwise it’s time to Fight and Goku never takes fights lightly, and that often doesn’t end well with squishy humans. He has a moral code but he doesn’t Regret like a normal person does upon causing injury, physical or emotional. He doesn’t empathize like an emotionally adept person can. He reads body language better than tone.

On the vein of being on the spectrum, or just surviving a brain injury, or just being a saiyan, or a combination of all three -- Goku’s special interest is Fighting. And that’s one of the sources of his family’s problems.

Before Raditz, Goku was content fighting in the World Tournament and marrying the world’s strongest woman, and raising a family with her. Farming to make money to support Chichi and Gohan was boring but it was a form of training if he squinted, and he was fine conforming to that. He looked forward to Gohan growing up enough to train him (remember him saying Chichi wouldn’t let him until Gohan got older), and there he’d have another sparing partner. How exciting! He can’t wait. Let’s go fishing, Gohan, I’ll show you how to use your tail just like I used to! Can you catch a bigger fish? I know you can! Isn’t this fun? Haha! I wonder if this is what Grandpa Gohan felt. I miss him. But Gohan’s here with me! Gosh, I can’t wait till I can teach him all I know!

But after Raditz, Goku was introduced to Strength Beyond Earth, and I believe that was the start of the death of Goku’s attachment to his humanity. Because humans had a limit, and the stars did not.

Goku’s not a bad person. He’s not a terrible father. But like a good shonen protagonist, he’s addicted to chasing strength, and the strength beyond even life itself ultimately called him to abandon his mortal coil (which we see culminate in GT’s ending).

It began by wanting to stay dead. He doesn’t want to hurt his family -- he genuinely doesn’t! -- so after surviving Namek’s destruction he preferred to keep them ignorant as he trained on Planet Yardrat, since what good would it do for them to know he lived if he didn’t plan on coming back yet? Then he mastered Instant Transmission!! How amazing! Now he can travel to and from any reaches of the vast universe; he can come home whenever he wants to. Now he doesn’t have to hurt his family AND he can fight whenever and wherever he wants! Wahoo!!

So he comes back to life. Aaaand life’s not the same. Chichi’s not the same -- she mourned his death and she’s still angry he lost her Gohan for a year, and then took him to space, and then he nearly died for it, too -- and Gohan’s not the same. He’s not four years old anymore. He’s not the wide-eyed kid who looked like his father had all the answers. Krillin’s gotten older.  Everyone has changed, even if just a little. Everyone but Goku.

(Except Goku HAS changed. There’s a whole universe to discover. There’s so much strength he can defeat, still. He looks up at the stars at night and feels for Yardrat’s ki. He feels so much ki everywhere up there. He wants to chase it all down. Is it because I’m a Saiyan? Or is it because I’m a bad person? Goku don’t know...but Goku longs for it. He longs for the peace he finds in letting go).

Future Trunk’s message that a heart illness will kill him politely confuses him. Goku doesn’t fear death -- he knows what’s beyond it, now. And there’s fighters there. Even if he dies, there will be people to fight. No worries. But he does worry about this nebulous future where all his loved ones are dead, too, all except Gohan. It sounds like his boy’s gonna have it rough if these android fellas win. Time to beat some androids! :D And hey, this is finally a good excuse to train with Gohan!! So he does that for a couple of years, teaming up with Piccolo. Gohan’s gotten so strong! How exciting!

Chichi’s slowly come ‘round to him again, so that’s nice, too. He doesn’t really get why she’s still so mad but he rolls with it. He responds to violence he can’t fight against with a smile. Her emotions are too hard to follow, and it can get a little tiresome. But he loves her -- he chose to love her, so he does, and he always will. In his own way.

Then the androids come, and then Cell comes, and Goku steals Gohan away for a day and a year inside the Chamber, and he finally, finally realizes -- gosh, Gohan’s not like him at all. Gohan’s what a Real Human should be. What a Real Hero should be. The hero the Earth needs. Because Goku can’t be that hero anymore -- he never could be. He’s not human.

And there’s so many people to fight beyond the stars....

So when Goku choses to die alongside Cell, it was a choice, too. Gohan’s a better person than him, anyway. He’ll make Chichi happy, and he’ll protect the earth, and maybe one day Goku’ll meet him again and they can spar to see their strengths :) He’s so proud of his boy....

So........ is Goku a good father? A bad father? A good person? A bad person?

I think Goku is Goku. So I’ll let you decide :)

(Here’s the canon Goku dialogue from the end of Cell saga: )

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Late Night Runs

Request: GROCERY SHOPPING WITH SCOTT

A/N: Nonnie, I hope you were expecting fluff XD

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple trip to the store. But when is anything simple with Scott?

Pairing: Scott Lang x Black!Reader

Word Count: 917 words

Warnings: Goofy fluff, guys

--

“Scott, I thought this was because we needed to pick up things for Cassie’s science project. Why are we standing in the snack aisle?”

Cassie had managed to forget, again, that she had a science project due this week. Something for the planets and a solar system type of thing. While Scott loved the idea of getting Cassie into science and doing a project like this, he wished there had been more heads-up. Instead, it got several panicked voice mails blowing up Y/N’s phone. He practically dragged her out of bed.

So now, here she was.

In a store.

In her sweatpants and an old college t-shirt.

With her hair a mess and glasses perched on her nose since he wouldn’t let her put her contacts in.

“Cassie and I need snack food if we’re going to pull this off.”

Y/N closed her eyes. He was testing her patience. It was three in the morning. “Scott…Baby, I love you,” she assured him, coming up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, kissing his shoulder blade. He didn’t even look her way, eyes fixated on the different poptarts. There were so many now. “But if you keep me here for too long, I’m leaving you stranded.”

“I – Yeah, I know.” It was a distracted answer. Y/N knew that well. He was lucky he was cute.

Chuckling, Y/N went back to their cart. They had managed to get some cardboard, paint, glue…She glanced down at the list on her phone. It looked like they had everything they needed. Even the Styrofoam. But before Y/N could drag him to check out, this was where they had to go.

“Just buy all of them. You still have one of Tony’s cards.”

His head whipped around. Scott stared at her, brows furrowed. “Do you know what that much sugar would do to her?”

“Probably keep her up long enough to get her project done.” She was teasing. He knew that, but still he rolled his eyes. Y/N chuckled and kissed his shoulder. “I’m joking. Scott, take a breath.” She waited, making sure he did exactly that before she gave him the next step. “You’re an amazing father and I love that about you, but you’re running on fumes. Think – what’s Cassie’s favorite poptart?”

He bit the corner of his lip, shifting his gaze from the gazillion boxes staring at him and instead focusing on the hands tracing his stomach. “S’mores.” Scott nodded. “And blueberry ones.”

“Then let’s grab some of those.”

Y/N watched as he did just that. Except, instead of just grabbing a couple boxes, he grabbed about ten. She rolled her eyes. So much for Cassie’s sugar intake. “Anything else? Or can we go?”

“Um…Coffee. I’m going to need coffee.” A small laugh bubbled up, earning a smile from Scott. He was relieved she wasn’t upset for this little outing. “Thank you.” He kissed her forehead and then her cheek. God, he was lucky to have her in his life. “Okay. Coffee and then…I think we’re good.”

Y/N chuckled and moved to the basket. She looked back at him, bracing her arms against the cool metal. He was pouting, clearly worried that Cassie’s project wouldn’t turn out as good as it could. “Scott,” she murmured. He looked her way and Y/N chuckled. He was such a good dad. How could he not see it? “Hop in. It’ll make you laugh.”

Scott looked from her to the basket and back to her. “Y/N, no – You don’t – “

“Do it. Or I’m making you walk home.”

-

“This is awesome!”

Y/N was racing them through the parking lot. She jumped onto the basket as it rolled against the asphalt. It was a bumpy ride, but Scott’s arms were waving in the air. He was beaming like a kid on his birthday.

Coming to a stop outside Y/N’s car, she jumped down and dug her heels into the asphalt. The cart came to a stuttering halt and Scott leaned back. The parking lot’s pale lights were the only thing keeping them from total darkness, but neither of them were paying attention to that. He was simply looking at her, that small, dazed, completely adoring look on his face. “You’re great, you know that?”

Y/N giggled and kissed his nose. “You’re not so bad yourself, Scotty.”

“So…another lap around the lot?”

Y/N chuckled. Oh, how could she say no to that face? Rolling her eyes, Y/N took the bags from the cart. She quickly tossed them into her trunk. Shutting it, she turned to face him and leaned against the side of his ride. “On one condition.”

He sat up. “You name it.”

“You drive this time.”

-

From inside the store, a couple of cashiers heard an insane amount of laughter. They turned to the windows, sharing a look when they saw a couple flying across the lot using one of their carts. Peter looked at MJ. “Think we should tell them to stop?”

“Why?” She looked back at him, raising a brow. “You and Ned did the same thing last week.”

A bright pink tint covered Peter’s cheeks as he looked back outside. The girl laughed as she was pushed. It seemed her boyfriend didn’t calculate his mistake, crying out and shouting at her to slow down. He was struggling to keep up, stumbling and almost falling on his face.

They were really cute…

Shaking his head, he went back to cleaning his station. Yeah, management didn’t have to know.

[withoneheadlight]

More NSFW thoughts from the same Anon but also like, Steve realising he’s into guys and wanting to try taking it up the ass except it’s Hawkins, there isn’t a place to buy dildos anywhere nearby and he doesn’t wanna risk getting caught so he just gets uh, real creative with the stuff he uses. It started off pretty basic but then when he discovers exactly how much he loves being filled, it starts escalating. From cucumbers to empty beer botttles, and hell even the skinny end of an unused baseball bat. And yeah thoughts are being thunk.

[ n s f w ]

Ntxktxktxktticxr8x Anon!!! Anon!!!! You're killing me and bringing me back to life in the same ask!!! And ohhhh the possibilities, from the handle of his hair brush to so many of his pens, (sometimes taped around together) to his old and not that forgotten anymore flute, the rolling pin that's been hidden in a box under his bed since that first time and-- even tried with a popsicle once.

And now imagine, IMAGINE the day he 'confesses' this to billy, on one of those 'in-the -middle-of-the-night-on-the-heat-of-the-moment' kind of times, when your tongue is all loosened up from maybe two or three more beers than you initially intended, the night dark enough it makes it easier to share your deepest secrets now they're lurking so close to the surface. And Steve would tell him, breath hitched and heart pounding, feeling a little shy and more than a little daring, something hot and thrilling dripping down his chest, pooling under his belly, warming him further (because he wants to tell billy, wants to see the look on his face when he does), taking a long gulp of his beer before saying "I've put the craziest stuff up into my ass", and his cock kicks hard between his legs as billy's eyes widen,  filling up to its fullest in one, two, three long pulses, when billy tilts his head to the side, thick black lashes falling heavy over his moon-blue eyes, and he always, always sounds kind of hungry, but sounds ravenous when he asks "What kind of crazy stuff, babe?" And then Steve tells. him. (about what and when and where he used them, about how weird, how different, how good, how exciting all this diferent thing felt -feel-, how can't help but wonder now, how would that feel when he sees something that could fit inside his ass, how he can't hep but try it) and billy goes silent as steve talks, goes quiet, almost predatory, his breath coming out ragged, eyes shining with fascination when he says “Your bat’s still in the trunk of your car” and Steve nods, slowly, his whole body going tense with anticipation,

 “Yeah. And?”

“I wanna watch”

(or: you know. something like that xD. and! now im in high need of fic where steve fucks himself with his nailed bat just for billy to see annnnddd, then more fic where billy gets so worked up he ends up taking the bat and thrusting it into steve himself, lips against steve's ear "c'mon, baby. talk to me. i wanna know how you want it. wanna know how much you want it" . send it all my way thank you

or: how steve harrington never ever gets around buying a dildo (and billy never gifts one to him)

or: thanks anon! you are the bestest best, feel free and invited to send my way as many of this as you please 💗)

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Eyes on the Road” (Rated M)

Summary: Driving down the highway while on vacation, Kurt notices how tense his husband looks and decides to try something he saw in a movie once to loosen him up. It does the job a little too well ... (1970 words)

Notes: This is a re-write I decided to do for Halloween because I think it's really funny. XD Inspired by the movie 'Parenthood'.

Part 58 of Daddies.

Read on AO3.

“That was the insurance agent,” Sebastian says, putting his jacket around Kurt’s shoulders and rubbing his husband’s arms to keep the chill of the night air away. “They're sending a tow. We're gonna call an Uber to take us to the hotel, but they’ll have a rental for us in the morning.”

“That’s … that’s great,” Kurt grumbles. "Just peachy." 

Sebastian snickers. Kurt's cheeks flame red and he hangs his head. He can’t look Sebastian in the eyes, but he also doesn’t want to see Sebastian’s baby - his Porsche Cayman - wrapped around the trunk of an ancient English Oak.

Kurt isn't angry at his husband. This isn't Sebastian's fault. And for as bad as this night has been, Kurt is more embarrassed than upset.

“Are you alright? Nothing hurts? Nothing broken?” Sebastian asks for the fifth time, and for the fifth time, Kurt answers, “Yeah … sure … great.”

There’s nothing else Kurt can think of to say. Physically, he’s fine. Emotionally, he could live a hundred years and never, ever live this down.

Plus, Sebastian is being such a good sport about this.

That makes this whole situation suck worse.

They’re supposed to be on vacation. They got Thomas excused from school and took one week away to visit Kurt’s dad over Halloween. That way, Burt wouldn't have to travel hours to see his grandson dress in costume and go begging for candy. 

But Kurt and Sebastian had ulterior motives. They planned this trip to Ohio to escape everything: PTA meetings, stress, Sebastian’s ultra-needy clients, and Kurt’s new winter clothing line, coming together slowly, but on time for the Vogue Winter Extravaganza.

They'd been traveling to the city more than normal, and they both agreed that they'd forgotten how crowded and hectic it could be, especially at the start of the holidays. It's just Halloween, but that's the top step of a slide that shoots straight into Thanksgiving, loop-de-loops for a few weeks, then slingshots into Christmas.

Isabelle is pretty good about leaving Kurt be when he needs time away and diverting business calls to his receptionist. But Sebastian’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing, which tends to happen when every client you have thinks they're your only client. He shut the damn thing off, but that didn’t solve the problem. It only delayed it for a while. Once he turned it back on, he found he had a million messages, both text and voice, and in less than a minute, it began to ring again.

Sebastian had to change his ring tone. As much as he loves the song Running Home to You, he got sick of hearing it so much.

He didn't want this vacation to be the catalyst that made him hate it.

Driving down the interstate from the Hummel house to their hotel, Sebastian looked tense, gripping the wheel so tightly, Kurt thought he might tear it off the steering column. Kurt's dad and stepmom had noticed Sebastian on edge, too. They offered to take Thomas for the night, giving Kurt and Sebastian some alone time at their hotel.

But Kurt couldn't wait till they got there.

He had to do something. He’d never seen Sebastian so wound up.

He was afraid that if he didn’t find a way to calm Sebastian down, he’d snap, veer off the highway in a rage, and drive straight into a tree.

Not really, but Kurt had an appreciation for the dramatic.

At most, Sebastian would get back to their room and spend the whole night watching Battlestar Galactica reruns on TV. 

He'd been prescribed medication for a chronic case of stress-related acid reflux and had suffered three major bouts of insomnia since the beginning of the fiscal year. Kurt didn’t want that to happen again, not here, where they had come back to the familiar to get away from it all.

Kurt had an idea, but he didn’t know quite how to execute it. It wasn’t exactly his idea. It came from an old movie his dad had been watching during A&E’s Salute to Steve Martin. Kurt had rolled his eyes when he saw it, thought it immature and uncouth. But looking at Sebastian, a vein throbbing in his neck from the anxiety of phone call avoidance, Kurt thought he would give it a try.

What could it hurt?

Kurt had given Sebastian countless hand jobs while driving before. A blow job couldn’t be much more difficult.

Sebastian was focused on the road, his brain caught in a web of issues that had nothing to do with Lima, Halloween, visiting his in-laws, or even Kurt. He didn’t notice Kurt undo the buckle of his belt, unbutton the fly of his jeans, then sneak underneath his arm to get at his flaccid member. It took Kurt grabbing his husband’s cock and sticking it in his mouth before Sebastian reacted, jumping at the unexpected sensation of hot and wet, then letting out a long gasp as that heat crept under his skin.

“God, Kurt,” Sebastian moaned. “W-what are you doing? You can’t … we shouldn’t … be doing that now.”

"Wow," Kurt mumbled. "That's quite a change of tune for the man who used to accept a b.j. pretty much anywhere."

"True, but I'm older. Wiser. Undecided as to whether or not I want my obituary to mention that this is how I died."

“You don’t think you’re a good enough driver to handle a little distraction?” Kurt looked up from Sebastian’s lap, a half-smile on his moistened lips.

“I didn’t say that.” That, to Kurt, was as good as the go-ahead, and he went back to circling the head of Sebastian’s cock with his tongue. “B-but …” Sebastian interrupted in a shuddering voice, “w-what if a cop notices your head in my lap and we get pulled over?”

Kurt climbed up Sebastian’s chest - right hand stroking slowly, the fingers of his left threading into his husband’s hair. “I’ll just tell that nosy officer that I was sitting here beside my sexy husband, getting hard and bothered, and I couldn’t help myself. I just had to have my mouth on him. Then I’d tell him to move along.”

Sebastian smirked. “You’d say that, hmm?”

“You bet your gorgeous ass I would.” And Kurt sank slowly back into his husband’s lap to get his mouth around him again.

“But I wanna be able to properly enjoy it,” Sebastian whined as his husband’s talented tongue began long laps up and down his shaft.

“If you don’t enjoy it,” Kurt purred, “I promise a repeat performance back at the hotel.”

“Mmm, I'm gonna hold you to that.”

“Please do.” Kurt paused a moment to kiss Sebastian gently down the length of his erection – soft little pecks he knew drove his husband wild. “So relax, keep your eyes on the road, and try not to kill us, okay?”

“O-okay,” Sebastian agreed, adjusting his seat as far back as it would go and toeing the pedals to let Kurt work his magic.

Kurt hadn’t meant to make this the best b.j. of Sebastian’s life. He didn't even think that was possible at this point in Sebastian's sexual life. He had hoped to keep his husband at a low boil, relax him but leave him a horny mess so that when they got back to their room, the real fun could begin. But Sebastian sounded like he was enjoying it so much, that he was so desperate to cum, it spurred Kurt on. He found himself doing everything he could to make his husband moan louder, buck up into his mouth, swear like a sailor.

It didn’t take long to get Sebastian to the point where he was shallowly, but rhythmically, snapping his hips. And even though Kurt had intended on torturing him all the way back to their hotel, he was kind of relieved. He had heard Sebastian’s car engine rev twice now. Kurt couldn’t get a good look at the speedometer, but he had a feeling his husband might be exceeding the speed limit.

“Oh, God, Kurt. I’m … I’m cumming, Kurt. I’m …” It was at the moment of his fantastic climax that Sebastian shut his eyes for a split second, opening them when a horn honked too loud and much too close for comfort. Sebastian turned the wheel abruptly, swerving out of the path of oncoming traffic and plowing into a tree. How ever he hit the aged oak, the airbags malfunctioned, which turned out to be a blessing since the force behind one of those deploying might have snapped Kurt’s neck. As it was, Sebastian had managed to slow down enough that, even though the damage to the vehicle looked tremendous, the two shaken men were able to unbuckle their seat belts and exit the car.

Kurt’s mother always said that a separate God looked after fools and children.

Kurt peeks up at the smoking remains of Sebastian’s demolished engine.

Kurt is a thirty-five-year-old man. That definitely makes him a fool.

Flashing lights approach from the slow lane and pull up beside Sebastian’s wrecked Porsche. Kurt knew a highway patrol officer would probably be along any time, but he still didn’t want to have to face up to what happened. Not to a man with a badge and a gun.

The officer doesn’t get out of his patrol car right away, which unnerves Kurt. But he has to remember that the man has things he has to do first: run Sebastian’s plates, check the secret police database to make sure it’s not stolen, that two men fitting their descriptions aren’t wanted by the law. When the officer does leave his car, he has in his possession the brightest flashlight Kurt has ever seen. He shines it almost in their eyes, its beam bouncing from Sebastian, who raises a hand and waves; to Kurt, who nods solemnly and looks down at his shoes; to the once immaculate black car, folded almost in half. Luckily, no one had pulled over with them, either to help them or harass them, so the only two people who know what happened are Kurt and Sebastian.

And Kurt intends on taking this to his grave.

“Good evening,” the officer says. “You gentlemen look like you got yourselves into a bit of trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” Sebastian says. “I’m afraid we did.”

“Are either of you hurt? Do you need medical attention?”

Kurt curls in on himself further, but Sebastian shakes his head, cool and calm, as if his husband isn’t trying to disappear into his own skin like the house at the end of the movie Poltergeist that crumbled inside out before blinking out of existence.

“No,” Sebastian answers. “Luckily, we both came out okay. Not even a scratch.”

“That’s good to hear.” The officer approaches them, wearing a genuine-enough smile. “Do you need a tow truck?”

“No.” Sebastian continues to carry the conversation while Kurt, maintaining a low profile, is quietly impressed by how collected his husband sounds. Maybe that blow job helped a little. Kurt has that to be proud of. It probably wasn’t worth a $60,000 car, though. “I contacted my insurance company. They’re sending a tow.”

“Great. In that case, can either one of you tell me what happened?”

Sebastian glances sideways at his mortified husband, a smile on his lips hiding multiple embarrassing remarks at Kurt’s expense.

“Uh, do you want to tell him what happened, Kurt?” Sebastian asks. “You did say that you’d handle it.”

“No,” Kurt replies quietly, holding himself tighter, thinking that now is not the appropriate time for his husband to be teasing him. Though, if Kurt had stuck to what was appropriate and waited till they got to their hotel room before deep-throating his husband, they might not be in this mess. “No, I do not.”

[op-peccatori]

a little gift | MLQC Lucien (nsfw)

Happy Birthday, Lucien! a tad later than planned, but here’s the promised birthday sex from my invitation XD Let me know what you think!

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Reader/Lucien

Rating: 18+ 

Wordcount: 5200

Summary: It’s Lucien’s birthday and you’ve got a wonderful trip planned for him  – along with an extra gift he isn’t expecting.

Warnings: explicit sex (vaginal & anal), mild masturbation, birthday sex, sex toys, established relationship

author fact: I spent so much time sitting in one place as I wrote this that my butt too, was aching by the end of it. this is the first time I’ve ever written anything involving butts, so please let me know if it’s...right?

a/n: im gonna have to come edit this once i get some sleep. i forgot how to spell laugh. 

A bite of cake and a sip of wine, with a familiar warmth nestled into his side: Lucien is dangerously content. 

Not for the first time, he thinks he will never give this up for anything in the world. He could never let go of the little surges of happiness brought on by the girl holding a forkful of cake up to his lips, and not the deep love flowing in his veins, keeping him alive. 

The second photo album you've ever given him rests beside the cake. The second roll. A collection of your memories. 

He can’t help the way he sneaks a kiss, helpless against your smiles, the way they curve your lips up even as they’re pressed to his. It makes him shudder when he feels your tongue flick against his lip, to tempt and to taste. He’s glad for the booth they’re hidden away in, that gives them enough privacy for him to lose himself for a moment. He lets the greed slip past, eager to take whatever you give it. Before the time comes when you might not get a chance.

He suppresses the heartache at the thought. There's no telling what the future holds. Danger still lurks in shadowed corners, and it's taught him fear. Not for himself, but for the one who holds his very being in her hands.

“You had some frosting there,” you murmur when you pull away, smile coy and eyes bright, fingers tracing a gentle path along his thigh. Never stepping a foot over the line, just toying with it. He wants to step over it with you, to fall over it, to fall into bed and wherever else you can and to taste you, the sweetest dessert, his lovely girl who just wants to give him a special birthday.

And you will, once you go away tomorrow, for the weekend. He remembers the way your face fell when he told you he has important meetings he can’t skip on the day of his birthday; it was subtle, but there is nothing he can miss when it comes to you. You both had to be content with brunch for today, as he would only get home at a late hour. 

“Is it going to be a tiring day for you?” you had asked, concern hiding a hint of something he can't quite identify. It would be just like you to wait up, to give him a goodnight kiss – you do it often since you haven’t had much time to yourselves for weeks. 

“Well, no. I’ll have to sit through a few meetings, review some of my colleagues’ work, but nothing too exhausting,” he had assured you. You haven’t mentioned anything about meeting him when he comes back, but he’s always had endless patience for you and your adorable tricks. He watches you as you eat carefully measured bites of cake, eyes lingering on the way you lick your lips, satisfied with the sugar and his company. He has never felt more thankful for birthdays when you let him feed you small bites with little protest and an endearing blush. It makes him think, makes him want to test boundaries. But he refuses to risk hurting you for the sake of his depraved curiosity. The time to part ways arrives all too soon, and your smile dims a little; for a moment, he seriously considers quitting his job.

“I can barely wait till tomorrow,” you mumble, arms would tight around his waist and forehead pressed into his chest. You stand outside the restaurant, packed cake in hand, waiting for the bus after you declined his offer to drop you home. He nuzzles the crown of your head, breathing in the faint scent of your favourite shampoo, closing his eyes in the face of your affection. “I want you all to myself.” 

Your words feel warm on his skin. “Me neither, darling. And you will. What time is the flight?” 

“8 am,” you answer, and again he senses something...off. Perhaps it’s the prospect of having to get up at 6 in the morning? You're not much of an early bird unless you're coaxed out of bed by the scent of breakfast. He still remembers the first time he stayed over vividly, and not just because of how soundly he slept next to you. You had to get up earlier than usual, for a meeting, and any ideas he'd had about a chirpy morning bird were shattered by the sight of your grumpy expression. It's a memory he likes to revisit when he's feeling dull; he had slipped into unexpected laughter, and you threw a pillow at him. Then he cuddled you until all thoughts of rage-texting Victor faded.

“Want me to come wake you up?” he asks after the brief jaunt down memory lane. He doesn’t bother trying to sound innocent; they both know if he wakes you up, it’ll be with his head between your legs. No danger of a grumpy ___ then. 

“...I’d like that,” you agree readily, smiling up at him. "I'm sure I'll need it. I've been so tired these days..." There's little sign of the shy desire that usually clouds your eyes when he suggests something so improper in public, even though he keeps his voice low. He would be hurt, but instead, there’s a shiver of anticipation running along his spine as you brush your lips against his, dancing away when he leans in. "Happy Birthday, Lu."

Just what is his little butterfly up to? 

The question sits in the back of his mind throughout the day, through each file he reads and every person presenting their research. He doesn’t exactly know where you’re taking him, but he has a few guesses, as you had insisted on packing not only his warmer jackets and thicker shoes, but also his swimming trunks. His thoughts race through ideas, drifting back to last month when he accidentally saw you scrolling through a cute little lingerie website.

'Oh.'

As he flips through the photos you took such care to preserve, he thinks that it's okay that he sees through most of your surprises. It doesn't lessen the delight they bring. He's eager to see what you picked out, what could have caught your fancy, and he hopes he gets to see it tomorrow. 

It will take him some time to admit it, but he didn’t expect what he really found waiting for him in his apartment. 

You look down at your collection, of new and old, with excitement curling along your mouth and a glass of water in hand. There’s some regret, for eating cake so early in the day when you have plans, but it's not like you could have skipped Lucien's birthday cake. Or even cake in general. You resisted where you could, and you think it'll be fine. You take a moment to fantasize about the sinful dessert sitting in your refrigerator before you get to work. It's 4:00 pm, which gives you plenty of time to work, but there's much to be done. 

You're trying really hard to refrain from calling Lucien. Your boyfriend's been getting melancholic again, and you've come up with just the thing to distract him on his birthday.

You shower thoroughly, shave your legs with care, scanning them in the mirror to make sure you haven't missed a spot, applying sweet-scented lotion liberally across the skin. Painful flashbacks of the Brazilian you got for today have you wincing, but you've been determined to live up to the image you painted in your head. Willow, who'd gone to get one too, treated you to ice-cream afterwards, saying it's a must after the first one. After some deliberation, you paint your nails a pearly white and decide to take a nap before you get to blow-drying your hair.

It's 6:00 by the time you scramble out of bed, fixing yourself a light dinner and texting Lucien to make sure he's eaten.

[6:03] Lu: Don't worry. Professor Collins ordered enough for the building. I suspect he feels some guilt for calling me in today.

[6:04] Y/n: I knew there was a reason I liked him! Btw, what time do you think you'll be home?

[6:06] Lu: I'll try to make it home by 12. Don't worry, I'll get up on time ;)

Mouth pursing at the reminder of his horrendous sleeping habits, you go back to your soup with a restless heart. The clock's ticking, and you're quick to finish washing the dishes, finish some last minute packing, and when there's no chore left to do, you head for your bedroom. You connect your phone to the Bluetooth speaker, settling on an upbeat song while you plug in the hairdryer. As you divide your hair into sections, you're nearly giddy with excitement. As far as you could observe, Lucien has no idea what you've got planned, and you're quite proud to have slipped this past him.

You put the device down once each strand of hair is smooth and shiny, warm to the touch. And then you undress, until you're completely bare, running your fingers over lace, giddiness giving way to trepidation. 

You're thankful there's a video on the website because there's no way you could've put on the set by yourself. 

As you tighten the garter belts around your thighs and adjust the lace collar, peering at your reflection in the mirror as you put on simple pearl studs, you decide that it's fine that it's not the most comfortable thing you've ever worn, because you look really good. And you think Lucien will like it. Especially the very convenient holes in the cloth. 

You don’t bother to put on much makeup, keeping it simple with waterproof mascara and lip balm.

You wrap yourself in a simple robe as you hurry to the living room, picking out a pair of black handcuffs, a toy you've only used a few times, all in preparation for today, and a bottle of lube. You put them in a bag along with a towel, a pack of wet wipes and grab your phone. It's 11:30, and you have a text from Lucien saying that he'll be done soon. You put on your flats and exit your apartment quickly, letting it shut behind you as you run over to his front door, tapping in his security code with ease. Before you enter, you pull out a thick white ribbon from your bag, tying it around the handle of the door.

As you slip off your shoes, you realize it's quite strange to be in Lucien's apartment without him there. The lights are off, the curtains drawn to keep the moonlight out. In the past, he's left you dozing in his bed if he has to go to work earlier, but you've never entered the place in his absence. There's no time to ponder the peculiarities of the situation, and you head to his bedroom, your steps timid as if to avoid waking up something slumbering in the shadows.

As you open the door, you peek through the slight crack even though you know he isn't home, stepping in once you're sure it's empty and letting the door close behind you with a click. You're more than familiar with his home, but something in you shies away from invading his privacy. If he knew you were thinking this after several months of dating, he would call you a silly. And get you to stay over more often.

With a resolute nod, you move towards the bed, turning on the lamp next to it. You take out the towel first, spreading it out over his clean sheets and taking a seat on it. You pull up a pillow behind you as you lean back against the headboard, slipping your robe off and folding it, putting it in the bag. You take out your tools, spreading them out in front of you, unsure how to go about this.

The scent of him is subtle, but it's very much present. It soothes your nerves, and the thought of his reaction to your presence gives you strength as you relax your shoulders. You close your eyes, resting them and your mind for a moment, acknowledging the nervousness. Whatever he might be expecting, it's certainly not this, and you can't hold back a smile at that. 

You enjoy catching him off-guard. 

Your fingers brush lightly over the side of your neck, across your collarbone, through the valley of your breasts, thinking about the way he likes to explore your skin with his mouth. As you toy with your breasts, you think about how he likes to start slow, never rushing, always taking his time to draw your pleasure out. He's the biggest tease you've ever met, and you can barely keep up with the games he likes to play, but it's always worth it – he ensures it. He likes to draw out your pleasure, to take it for himself, more and more until you beg for respite.

As you begin circling your clit lightly, you think about the time you tried to wake him up and it resulted in you positioned over him, riding his face as he devoured every drop of pleasure you had in you. How tightly he'd held on to your thighs, refusing to let you move away as he ate you out with only greed and gluttony driving his mouth. When your fingers are glistening and your cheeks are flushed, you leave it there and move to the next step. 

Sitting up, you reach for the bottle of lube, pouring it generously, making sure your index finger is coated well before you turn your focus to the entrance above your sex. You’re on your back now, the soft cotton of the pillow warm from your body heat; your knees are pushed up, your arm reaching down between them. The slight trepidation you had felt the first time, at the feel of your finger dipping into the tightness is all but gone now, leaving behind slightly shaky confidence.

This is something Lucien has wanted to try for a while, but he hasn’t been too direct about it. He’s never gone beyond sliding in a finger, usually, while he’s fucking you, and you decided introducing it on this special day would be perfect. It was a good idea to try it on your own first, to see if it's something you would like, and ease into it. Still, you know Lucien's going to be at least a little difficult about it since you've kept this from him for nearly a month.

You're liberal with the lube as you prepare yourself, adding another finger once you’ve adjusted to the first and you slide them in and out steadily, pressing where it feels pleasing. The flash of your phone distracts you, and you rise onto one elbow to see it's a text from Lucien.

[11:35] Lu: I'll be home in 30 :) 

'He's being strangely cooperative,' you think absently. Once you’ve deemed yourself ready, you pluck out a wet wipe, wiping your hands carefully before reaching for the sleek toy and the bottle of lube. You coat it thoroughly before circling the tip around your entrance, then pushing it in slightly. You try to remain patient as you slide it in slowly, being gentle with your body, letting your tight heat adjust to the plug. 

You have about ten minutes by the time you’ve pushed it in as far as it can go, it’s round ring nestled between your cheeks; you lie there for a minute, breathing heavily, your walls clenching and fluttering. But you're satisfied with the familiarity of it, confident that your idea will be executed smoothly. Your walk to the bathroom is slow, and as you wash your hands you pray he doesn’t get here before you position yourself. Hurrying back into the room, you put everything except for the lube and the handcuffs back in the bag, leaving the bottle on the side table along with your phone once you’ve switched it off, hoping that Lucien will think you're asleep, in case he calls.

And then you try to figure out how he should find you.

This, like everything else, took a lot of thought. Initially, you thought you could just lounge on your front, letting him think you're asleep. But, now is not the time to be lazy. This is the time to make your boyfriend snap and bury himself inside you so deeply he forgets everything else, if just for today. And, preferably, the next three days.

And so you crawl onto the bed, letting your head and chest rest on the firm surface, leaving your rear in the air, presented with absolutely no subtlety. You struggle a little with the handcuffs, but manage to get them on safely, without pulling any muscles. Your arms are stretched over your head, it feels ridiculous, and you’re still giggling into the sheets when you hear the front door open. 

‘The things I do for love.’

You try not to squirm when the bedroom door doesn’t fly open immediately. Knowing the man, he’s probably scanning his living room. Taking his sweet time, knowing you’re in here waiting for him. 

‘This position is very uncomfortable when Lucien’s not there to distract me,’ you muse to yourself, trying to adjust your head comfortably. As if on cue, the door opens. 

You don’t even try to look at him. It won’t be possible, and it’ll only happen when he wants it to - you’ve ensured that by leaving the key on the table. Your heartbeat quickens as you strain your ears, jolting when you hear the door shut. Your back tenses as you pick up on the subtle sounds of him breathing, of light footsteps, of cloth rustling. You wonder what he thinks of the ring standing out between your cheeks, framed by delicate lace, and hope you don’t have to wait too long to find out. 

The bed dips as he takes a seat, and your heart races like a mouse, cornered and trapped, waiting for the cat's paw to fall on it. And then he speaks.

“I have to admit, I was quite disappointed when I didn’t see you outside,” he says casually. The hoarseness in his voice belies his nonchalant attitude, as does the way he clears his throat. You can hear the smile in his tone. You’re thankful he can’t see your face because you’re certain your wide grin would look out of place right now. 

“Are you still disappointed?” Your words are nearly a whisper, hushed and eager. You know he hears them when they prompt him to plant quick kisses across the plump flesh of your rear, a finger trailing across the ring keeping your plug from slipping in. 

“Darling,” he begins, his hands sweeping over your body, feeling the flimsy cloth, tugging at the garter. His touch is delicate, not meant to arouse, but you shiver from it anyway. “I don’t think I could be further from disappointment if I tried. But…”

His hand dips down between your legs, fingers pressing into your slit. You bite back a whimper, surprised that you’re this sensitive. He seems to realise it too, pushing the slender digits in, meeting little to no resistance. Your walls squeeze down, palpitating around it, and you push back immediately. 

“...but, I think I could do with a cup of tea, first. You don’t mind, do you? It was a long day.” A kiss on the back of your head and he’s gone, walking out of the room to get his tea, whistling obnoxiously. You're left staring at pristine sheets, unable to process his abrupt departure and your absolute helplessness in the face of it.

“Lucien!” you cry out, heart beating desperately. There's no space for shame here. “Lucien, please!” There’s no response. But you didn’t expect this to be easy in the first place. “Fuck.” 

And it doesn’t get better. Lucien walks in with a cup of his favourite, steaming beverage, and just stands there at the foot of the bed, sipping it and making casual remarks like he's in a museum. 

“I have to say, you’ve done a wonderful job. Did you buy this set for today?” He toys with the lace on your waist and the straps digging into your skin, his hand sliding up your back as he walks around to stand next to the bed. He, very pointedly, doesn’t mention the new toy. 

You lift your head slightly, tilting it enough to get a good look at him before you nod.  He’s in a skintight turtleneck, slim fit pants, but the dark of his clothes can’t compare to the one in his eyes. The ribbon you left at his door lies next to you. You don't miss the slight bulge at his crotch. He smiles at the sight of your teary eyes, glaring up at him even as you tremble. 

“I guess you don’t like your surprise,” you mumble, trying to fight the pout forming on your lips. The curve of his lips fades as he blinks in surprise before sitting down next to you. 

“Sweetheart, no,” he coos, placing his empty cup on the table. He leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “This is...I don’t think I have the words to describe what I felt when I walked in to see you spread out for me.” 

“Was it good?” you ask softly, trying not to sound smug. You know it was good. You look like you're begging to be fucked – which you are. He chuckles at the cockiness slipping through cracks of faux sincerity. 

“I don’t know how to describe it,” he repeats. He strokes your hair gently, pulling it away from your face. “Shall I show you instead?” 

“Yes. Please.” 

He moves towards the foot of the bed until he kneels behind you, facing your ass, his warm palms a soothing balm to your starved flesh. He caresses your skin gently, squeezing it a few times before you feel his breath on your sex.  The first swipe of his tongue feels like it could ruin you, and the feeling only increases as he continues to lick into you. 

“You’ve got yourself all wet for me, haven’t you? You’re such a good girl.” The first snack of his palm against your ass is unexpected; the second stings terribly and the third painfully welcome. After the seventh one, he pauses to press his mouth to your swollen entrance again, and you’re so wet you can hear the sound of him lapping at you. “But my good girl has been keeping secrets.” 

“I-I wanted to surprise you!” you protest, arching your back further, trying to urge him to move faster. He hums against your slick flesh, his mouth enveloping your swollen clit a second later. It only takes a few sucking motions for you to come with quaking walls and limbs, sobbing in relief at the surprising show of mercy. 

“I know you did. You’ve worked so hard to give me this,” he murmurs, curling a finger around the ring resting between cheeks that flaming red. And then you cry out again when the slender object is pulled out halfway before it’s slid back in, in repetitive, curious motions. “You’re so good to me.” 

“Fuck, Lu-Lucien,” you gasp, struggling for breath. He stills at the sound of his name, a displeased sound leaving his lips. 

“While I adore the view, I do think you’re too uncomfortable like this,” he decides, reaching for the key to your freedom. A part of you suspects he just hates not being able to see your face as he makes you come. You nearly collapse once your hands are freed, and Lucien is quick to gather you in his arms and lay you out on your back.

As your arms slowly reawaken, you put them to good use, pulling him over you to press up into him, nipping at his jaw until he gives in to your silent demand and kisses you deeply. He doesn’t pull away, slipping a questing tongue through your lips, tangling a hand through your hair to keep you there as he plunders your mouth without restraint. He kisses you until you’re putty in his hands, and he whispers his affection into your ears. 

“Please fuck me, Lu,” you plead, just the way he likes it. You place his hand on your breast, arching into his touch; you're deeply aware of the extra addition in your body, pushing against your walls, keeping your feet dipped in a pool of pleasure when you want to drown in it. “Please. It’s all I’ve been thinking about all day.” 

He inhales sharply at your words and moves away to undress slowly, letting your eyes rove across the hard planes of his torso, lean muscle flexing as he moves closer. You watch the way his cock bounces before he wraps a hand around it, giving it a few, sure pumps. He nearly succeeds in distracting you with a kiss, but you still open your mouth demandingly, widening your eyes in the way that never fails. Never one to deny you anything, he climbs over you, kneeling and bending until he can slide the tip of his plump cock into your mouth. You suck at it eagerly, swallowing more and more of him until you choke, until all you can taste is the He slides his swollen shaft out and back in, breathing heavily, groaning at the feel of your wet mouth and zealous tongue. 

You whine when he pulls away, quieting when he climbs down the length of your body to kneel between your legs. He unclasps the straps around your thighs and waist, pulling them off to toss them on the other side of the bed. After a second of consideration, he strips you of the bra as well but leaves the lace collar on. You're left completely exposed and shivering, aching with the need to feel his skin. He locks eyes with you as he wraps his hands around your thighs, pushing them up until you’re spread out, ready to be taken apart. 

“My darling girl, my heart.” His fingers curl over your breasts, tweaking and tugging, his mouth dropping down to suck at a pebbled nipple. You sigh as your fingers slither into his hair, as he rises up to press his cock to your entrance. He slides in all the way and it feels so full you could cry. “God, Lucien. I...it feels so good.” Strange, but you adjust to it. Each drag of his hips, of his skin against yours, feels like it’s setting you on fire. You scramble to catch hold of something, an anchor, before you slip; you pull him down into an urgent kiss as your hips buck up into him. 

He groans into your mouth and leans closer, swallowing your gasps; it’s unbearable, as if you’ll break, and as his thrusts speed up, you push back into him frantically, chasing after the fall, the rise, the destruction – it doesn’t elude you, he doesn’t rip it away but throws you into it instead. He leans back, reaching down for the plug and thrusting it into you, syncing its motions with that of his cock. Before you can comprehend the sudden pressure you’re coming so hard it blinds you, makes you scream, has tears pooling in your eyes.  Lucien works you through it gently, with lips quirked up at the way you babble, kissing you so, so softly your heart floods with how much you feel for this man. With a pounding heart, you watch as he reaches for the drawer, plucking out a condom and grabbing up the lube.

"Are you sure, darling?" Your response is to push your knees further until they're nearly level with your shoulders. He watches you as he lathers his cock with the liquid, using his other hand to pull your plug out. You got used to it, you realize, when it feels so empty. But he doesn't let it remain so, pressing the head of his leaking shaft against your entrance. You're treated to the full depth of his patience, as he dips in and out, getting further in with each propulsion. His eyes spark with every moan, his lips brush your mouth at every discomfited grunt. 

Once he's deep within you, in this new territory, and your head is thrown back, your mouth has fallen open at the feeling – he leans back and begins to thrust. His groans are everything you wanted to hear, and you can't help but smile up at him, unable to tear your eyes away from his bright eyes. There is no sign of the gloom, the sorrow. There's life, there's desire as he tests out all the different ways he can make you moan.

"I love you," you blurt out instead, overcome with the sudden flow of emotion. He slows as you tear up, to your immense embarrassment, and try to throw your arm over your head to cover it up. 'There was nothing sexy about that!' 

And then you nearly choke as, in one swift movement, he wraps your legs around his waist and pulls you up against him. He shudders, clutching you to him as you throw your arms over his shoulders, eyes rolling back into your head when he slips deeper. Your kiss is frenzied, as are his thrusts when they start anew, and then you do cry when he whispers his love, his praise against your lips, over and over again. Your nails dig into his skin, and his teeth sink into yours. You sob harder when he presses you into the bed, drilling into you like a man crazed and sliding his fingers into your throbbing sex. 

His eyes glow as he strikes where it shatters you, and you're blinded by it – completely consumed by the force of it, the way it leaves you in pieces, but even through your quaking limbs and the ringing in your ears, you feel Lucien pull out of you. Through bleary eyes, you watch him rip the condom off hastily before sliding through your oversensitive slit. He chokes out a guttural groan, clinging to you as he falters, the snapping of his hips unsteady as he comes almost violently, pumping himself into you, filling you up past what you can hold. 

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are of you two trying to catch your breath.

“Happy Birthday,” you whisper, pressing a shaky kiss to his cheek. He stays curled over you, staring down at your flushed face, your hair now far from smooth and sticking to your skin. His damp bangs fall haphazardly across his forehead, his lips are kissed red and he's so beautiful you need to look away before you cry again.

His eyes are suspiciously shiny as he kisses your forehead gently. “I love you, my darling girl.” 

As he settles next to you on the bed, you turn over gingerly. You're completely spent, sore and sweaty. Still, you aim for casualness, ignoring the slight tremble in your legs. "Excited for tomorrow?"

“Very,” he answers once you’re curled up into him, and he can play with your hair to his heart's content. “I'm glad we have the whole weekend to ourselves.” 

You gasp in mock outrage. "I do have an itinerary, you know." And you’ve also opened a new door for you both. You have no doubt Lucien will be experimenting on you until he’s familiar with every inch of this new area, and the slight fear you feel is understandable. He can be quite enthusiastic when it comes to figuring out what makes you tick.

"So do I." His smirk is positively feral and you can't help but snort. 

“Think we can shower before bed?” 

“Yes, if you’d like,” he gathers you into his arms gently, then sinks back into the bedding. “...maybe in some time. Are we actually leaving in the morning?“ 

You know your smile is a tad impish when he pinches your cheek. “We’ve got an afternoon flight.” If all goes according to plan, your boyfriend's birthday weekend will have a very pleasant start – with your mouth wrapped around his cock. You just have to make sure you wake up before him.

[draqcnheartstrinq]

Hate That I Want You (Part 2)

Sirius Black x Pure-blood!Slytherin!Reader

Summary: At first it’s hate, then it’s confusion. It grows into a healthy amount of curiosity until it turns into hate once more. But not towards each other, more towards the idea of wanting what you’ve tried to avoid all your life.

Words: 3.3k

Note: This series is a little experiment, let me know if you like it because I’ve got no clue if this is anything good or not XD

HTIWY Masterpost | Part 3

It was a surprisingly hot day at the Hogwarts Grounds as it was mid-October. Usually the sky was covered in grey and a cold wind had everyone shivering every once in a while, but not today.

The birds chirped from the trees, the grass held a beautiful green colour and the water from the lake reflected the bright sun. That’s why the four Gryffindor boys sat outside along with a few other friends like Lily, Marleen, Frank, Mary and Alice.

Nice talk and mindless chattering filled the hot hair. They spoke about everything and at the same time nothing but it didn’t take away from the fun they always seemed to have with each other. Every now and then someone started a new story and not long after everyone else joined in. It was that typical kind of moment every friend group had to have in a while, but only these few friends knew how to do it the absolute right way.

James was leading the conversation at the moment, like he did so many times, and Sirius barked out a laugh at almost every single joke.

The angry word-exchange between Sirius and Frank, from last week, was almost forgotten about, they just both desperately avoided the dangerous topic called ‘you’. It had been easy so far, both weren’t in the mood for another pointless argument, being just as stubborn as the other.

Frank was a nice guy but when he was certain of his point he didn’t back down. Sirius on the other hand was much more hot-headed and didn’t even consider understanding someone else’s view. It was a bad habit, both of the boys knew that, but neither of them changed anything about it. So yes, the argument would be very pointless.

“Lily, tell me please, what’s your favourite candy from Honeydukes?” James suddenly asked after some silence.

“You’ve asked me this about five times this week, James.”

“I’m sorry, forgive me for being so forgetful.”

Marleen liked to joke about the lovebirds and so had to have her say too. “You going to go buy some for her? Trying to ask her out again?”

“Maybe I am”, James said, staring in Lily’s eyes and winking towards her.

“I think I just puked a little”, Sirius interrupted in his very typical way.

“Oh Padfoot, you’re just jealous James isn’t asking you out!”

Everyone laughed, even Sirius himself chuckled along but pretended to roll his eyes at Remus’ statement anyways.

After a lighthearted back and forth between the both of them Frank lost interest in the bickering and let his eyes wander over the grounds. First years were enjoying the games they played, like typical eleven year olds do. It made him think back to the days they were still excited about all the new magic they learned and the essays they had to make. Now, in their seventh and last year, they couldn’t be more happy when they finally had a free hour.

His eyes scanned a bit further towards the lake where he swore he saw some fins splashing above surface every now and then. The water looked beautiful, shimmering and even inviting. Some third and fourth years seemed to think the same as they took off their shoes and paddled their feet through the waves.

Finally Frank’s eyes landed on a girl’s figure. She was sat against the trunk of a tree near the lake, clutching a letter in her hands. Squinting his eyes and taking a better look at the girl he could finally recognise her features.

You were staring at the letter in your hands, reading every word with utter most carefulness. A tiny sad smile planted itself on your lips and just like James’ laugh, your smile was contagious.

But just as quick as the smile came it disappeared again. A frown and a dip in your eyebrows appeared instead.

He had only been staring for merely ten seconds when others started to notice Franks’ silence and obvious interest in something else than the conversation. Alice followed his eyes, finding you sitting there with a very undecipherable expression resting on your face.

She looked back at Frank, he looked at her and they gave each other a short nod in understanding. Frank wasn’t going to go up to you and ask what was wrong, full well knowing that if he did Sirius would be on his back in no time. So Alice was going to take the blow this time. Still they hoped no one else would notice, at least not Sirius.

She whispered something to Marlene, stood up and made her way in your direction.

Of course nothing ever went like it was supposed to.

“Alice, where are you going?” Peter spoke up for everyone to hear.

She abruptly halted her steps, cringing at what she knew was about to unfold before turning towards the group. Frank sighed, a little less subtle than he intended it to be.

“Aren’t you feeling well?” James asked, not having a clue about what was going on.

“No, James, I’m fine there’s just someone else who I think would appreciate a little company right now…”

“We love your company too, though! Why leave?”

“James, this really isn’t the time to-”

At this point both Lily and Marlene understood the situation, call it girl’s intuition, and knew how bad this could turn out. They looked at Alice, for a split second at Frank and then they both went on their mission ‘distract Sirius as best as possible’.

“Lily and I missed Potions class yesterday!”

“Yes! We did! Could somebody tell us what we missed? Like, every possible detail!”

Taking the bait both Sirius and Remus started to explain and this was Alice’s chance to keep on walking, possibly a little faster than she had before. A relieved smile appeared on her lips, the same for Frank who was still seated in the circle.

You, reading the letter clutched in your hands over and over, had no clue of what was going on so when Alice sat herself beside you, you jumped at the movement.

“Oh Merlin, Alice, you scared the living daylights out of me!” No matter how hard the shock, you couldn’t help but laugh at her faux innocent look.

“Sorry for that”, she giggles in response, “I was just wanting to check up on you. Something bothering you?” She nods at the letter still between your fingers and lays a hand on your forearm.

“No, it’s stupid honestly. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not stupid if it leaves that look on your face!”

“What look on my face?” you laugh.

“The ‘I feel like my world is about to shatter but I have to stay positive” kind of look. I’ve seen you use that face quite a lot recently and it worries me, (Y/N). So, come on, tell me what’s happening.”

You sigh, knowing that she won’t let it go. But you’re thankful at the same time. You’ve been wanting to talk to somebody about it, not knowing if things would get better or if they wouldn’t and Alice was ready to listen. To be quite honest, she was always ready to listen if it meant helping you. She was nice, she is nice, she’ll always be nice and even though you didn’t know her as well as you would like to she was still there when needed.

You silently thanked her before starting your story.

“It’s about my grandma…”

“The one you hate or the one you really really like?”

You laugh again: “The one I really really like.”

You both have a little giggle before continuing.

“You know she’s the only family member that understands me, the only one that shares my opinion of how wrong our family treats Muggleborns and just non-Pure-bloods in general. She sends me one letter every week and tells me how she’s holding up, she asks me if I feel okay and if my grades are good and she’s just wonderful like that.”

You look down at the letter holding her handwriting. The punctuation is on point and the language is maybe a tad old-fashioned but that’s how she does it and it brings joy to your days. But this letter contained some bad news.

“Go on, darling.”

“She writes to me that she has fallen ill, badly. She’s in St. Mungo’s Hospital right now and they’re treating her well but… They won’t be able to keep helping her.”

“How come?”

“She doesn’t have the money. And with my family not supporting her because of the opinions she chooses to be loyal to, they won’t be sending her any money either. I wanted to help her, send some money her way myself but I don’t have that kind of money and asking my parents for extra would just make them suspicious, possibly making them stop giving me anything altogether.

They know how much I love her and how much I share her views, they already don’t like me as is. So crossing them like that would be a major mistake.”

Finally looking up from the letter you could see the anger on Alice’s face. She didn’t like the way your family handled things one bit, even almost abandoning their only child just because of different opinions made her boil with rage.

She shook her head, trying to calm herself and comfort you.

“I’m so very sorry to hear that kind of stupidity. It’s so unfair, for your grandma and for you. If there’s anything I can do then please, don’t hesitate to ask!”

“You’ve listened, that’s already so much, thank you Alice.”

“Of course, (Y/N)”, she takes you in for a tight hug and comforting whispered words, “You’re always welcome.”

She smiles at you, now holding you at arm's length before you speak again.

“I should go and write back to grandma, she’ll appreciate that.”

You both stand up, hugging one last time and parting ways after she tells you to take it slow and find her or Frank whenever you need.

You thank her one more time and get on your way.

When Alice makes it back to the group a scowl is plastered on her normally soft features and Sirius can’t help but notice.

“Everything alright, Alice? Didn’t that friend want your company after a-” But Sirius’ smirk gets wiped off his face as soon as he sees the direction Alice came from and the person who was running the opposite direction.

You… Out of all people Alice could have been talking to, it was you. And above all, you had made sure Alice was in a bad mood. Beautiful, cheerful Alice now held the biggest frown on her face. Because of you!

Why did it always have to be you…

“Alice, what did she do to you?” Sirius growled. Everyone's eyes turned to Alice, Frank mumbled something under his breath and Alice herself just got more and more angry with the situation.

“She did absolutely nothing, for once let her be!”

“If she’s bringing my friends in such a fowl mood then no, I’m not going to ‘let her be’.”

By this point everyone could basically see flames burning in Sirius’ pupils. Both James and Remus tried calming him down but to no avail.

Alice went to pull Marlene, Mary and Lily up, pulling them towards the castle and leaving the boys with a threatening silence. After a few seconds Frank stood up too, staring Sirius down and shaking his head.

“Why can’t you just understand she’s not who you think she is.”

“Oh, Frank, just leave already. I already know on which side of the argument you stand, no point in having a fit about it.”

The boy left the Marauders to sulk, not wanting to participate in most probably talking smack about you. He didn’t understand how James, Remus and Peter could be putting up with Sirius’ bias but then again…

They were his best friends and best friends don’t leave you for something as simple as a prejudice. They were there to help you out of a wrong opinion, a wrong mindset…

They had been trying for so long, yet Sirius couldn’t cooperate.

Not when it was all about you.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Nearly a week after receiving your grandma’s letter and sharing it with Alice, you sat next to her and Lily in potions class. The Slytherins had potions with the Gryffindors often, probably at least twice every week, and while you enjoyed the girls’ company you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable every time.

It was like you were being watched, like people were tense around you more than they usually were. Gryffindors whispered at each other, Slytherins glanced at you as if you were a secret they couldn’t share…

It felt weird every time, but today was the worst it had ever been.

Concentrating on the potion in front of you was hard when you felt the back of your head burn with eyes boring into it. So far you had persuaded yourself not to look around and find the source... But you could only handle so much.

A quick look wouldn’t be out of place, right?

So you turned, carefully but not slowly, and found the Marauders sitting behind you discussing the ingredients of the potion in front of them.

Only, there was one of them not engaging in the conversation… And you met two grey stormy orbs.

You almost didn’t recognize his eyes at first, because for once they didn’t look at you with pure hatred and anger. They stared you down, trying to get through to you, trying to figure you out. Finally trying to understand you, in a way.

When a few seconds of the both of you locking eyes passed, he averted his attention back to the task at hand and his friends who were still discussing their next steps. You did the same, confused and perplexed.

Noticing the interaction, both Lily and Alice smiled at each other.

Maybe there was hope.

Maybe they finally got him to listen.

*~*~*~*~*~*

But the hope was short lived.

The hour of potions class was over, everyone left the room and spilled into the hallways and no one cared to give you a second glance.

You were used to it, full well knowing that most of the people were too scared to even raise a finger at you and if they weren’t, they usually agreed with your family’s views but not with yours.

Alice and Lily were nice enough to say goodbye, but that was it. Probably the most interaction you had gotten the whole day,  except from that one third year asking you for the eggs this morning.

As everyone left, you felt his eyes again somewhere on the right of the hallway. How weird that you could just sense his stare by now, but after several years of practice you didn’t really expect it to be any different.

Sirius was leaning against a pillar, this time holding the angry look again instead of the ‘I’m actually trying to understand at least something about you’ look. Of course, no surprise there.

You had to be honest, in that single moment you felt intimidated and maybe even a little afraid of what was about to unfold. Thinking back to the marks on your wrist didn’t help with that.

As he strode over to you with determination, you tried to escape his attention by just keeping on walking. But once again, luck wasn’t on your side.

He grabbed you by the arm, tugging your body back to face him. What you noticed, though, was that his grip was softer than expected, almost gentle.

Sirius’ eyes searched yours for a while, still looking angry but not feeling angry as his fingers slowly let go of your arm. Such a contrast from last time he cornered you in the corridor.

“(Y/L/N).”

“Black.”

Funny how both your surnames were something you both hated just as much.

It stayed silent for a few never-ending seconds. Nobody was there to save you or drag Sirius away which made you more nervous with every heartbeat. By this point you could swear you were about to get a heart attack.

“Sorry.”

Wait what? What had just come out of his mouth?

“What did you just say to me?”

He reached up to his face, holding it and heaving a sigh. This was painful for him, more than painful even, but after a little thinking he realised an apology was at its place.

“Don’t make me repeat it, hearing it once is all you’re getting!” he mumbled under his breath.

You were absolutely dumbfounded. Your mouth stood agape, your eyes opened wide, your eyebrows shot up and the thoughts in your mind were going at full speed. What had happened since that day in the corridor where he imprinted his fingernails into your skin, all out of pure anger?

“W-why, if I may ask?”

“Look, (Y/L/N), don’t think that we’re best buds all of a sudden, okay? I still don’t like you, I still don’t agree with what you stand for but if Alice goes out of her way to be friendly with you and defend you against me then I think, maybe, I should attempt to at least tolerate your presence.”

A pang of relief shot through you, but right after there was a wave of hurt.

‘Don’t agree with what you stand for’.

Those words cut deeper than his nails had through your skin. You always knew people thought of you as the pure-blood who hates everything and everyone ‘non-pure’, you knew people had an opinion ready even when they didn’t know sh*t.

But it hurt to actually hear it. It hurt when others talked about you as if they understood what was going on.

“You honestly still believe I stand for what my family stands for?” It wasn’t a question, you already knew the answer.

“Your name speaks for itself, doesn’t it?” He said that as if it was a simple equation. You, plus your surname, equals definite evil.

“Does your surname speak for you?” The anger made your voice tremble, your index-finger pointed right into his chest.

“Does your family’s actions reflect on you? Have you ever considered I could be in the same bloody situation as you are, or is the hate towards Slytherins just so damn huge it doesn’t even matter what my opinions are? You’re just going to keep accusing me of sh*t I’ve never done, or better, never even said!”

“So, you’re just going to deny you share the same views as your family?”

“I never shared their love for our bloodstatus let alone my whole opinion on who’s worthy and who is not! It may be a surprise to you, Black”, you made sure to spit out his surname as if it was a pawn on a chessboard, “but I consider someone worthy as soon as they step foot in this world, from there on it’s up to themselves if they deserve to walk among the others or not.”

Sirius went dead silent. He fixated on you, his chest went up and down with every breath, you could almost see the gears turning inside his head.

“Well, if you don’t agree with them then why do you still go along with your parents’ antics?”

“Some people don’t wish to be disowned and thrown on the streets, Sirius! Of all people I would think you would be the most understanding of that!”

The silence grew thick as Sirius stared you down with a certain confusion glued on his features, but you didn’t miss the hint of recognition shimmering through them for just a second.

“Now, if you could let me get on my way, I need to get to Mr. Flitwick.”

You stepped around him as he didn’t move from his position. He just followed you with his eyes, leaving him standing alone in the abandoned hallway.

Leaving him with more than a few things to be thinking about. Leaving him to think about you.

TAGLIST:

@iamthepenguinwhosearseisonfire @wangmangagavroche @songforhema @fortisfiliae @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot @katies-imagines @the-apple-princess @youlook-likehell @oliviaharddyy @slytherpuffgal @supermassiveblackhope @evolutionofkatep @this-silent-area @madmaiden2890  @simply-hamilton @remusandsiriusxreader

[alltheangstmygifttoyou]

Twins Side By Side

A/N: Part Three to the Prequel to Learn To Be. This one is a little longer and goes further back in time. It’s perspective is a little wonky, it starts off in Jester’s and then goes to Jesse’s but there’s no clear cut line where I could find. Also reading back on this I admit that this is not how children of this age actually talk, but I like it so *shrug* this is why this is not going to be published xD

Word Count: 2625

TW: implied child abuse, bullying

Jester’s tiny hands gripped the rough bark as she stretched her neck to look around the gray-brown cedar tree she hid behind. Her pale lips stretched into a smile that had started to make her cheeks ache but she couldn’t stop. It was already taking all her focus to not make a sound, a task made all the more difficult from how her brother was acting. It was break time in basics school meaning lots of little children were running rampant around a large area of land with trees, playsets, and open space. Jester and her brother had decided on playing a round of hide and seek. Jesse insisted that the last time they had played this game was an entire week ago, and since he had been the one hiding then he ordered Jester to hide this time. Of course the best place to hide was in the cluster of multi-trunked cedars since there were so many thick trunks to kneel behind, and low hanging branches covered in light green leaves that pointed multiple sides. Jester kneeled for the first few minutes of the game, but once her thighs started having the feeling of a thousand needles slowly poking her she stood up and tried to make her body match the curve of the tree. Since the leaves were pointed there were plenty of miniature windows for Jester to watch her wavy haired twin sneak around the playground.

“JJ where are you?” Jesse called out, using the nickname he gave her. His voice had been at an extraordinary high pitch and she could see half of his pout. It was too much for her to take and she let out a giggle. His head whipped around and she curled herself completely behind the trunk when Jesse broke out into a run. Despite the bits of dirt, bark, and the strange, dry, residue of tree moss on her hands she covered her mouth with them to help keep quiet.

“I see you!” Jesse shouted poking his face between the two trees causing Jester to shriek and roll onto the ground. He offered a hand to her with a wide dimpled smile which she accepted. As she stood the wind blew causing the twins to stumble and hold onto each other for support. Once the wind stopped they pulled apart except for their linked hands and began walking up the slope towards the rest of the playground. The majority of the other children ignored their presence as the two went along, a few watched them for a moment before running off in a direction away from them.

“Do you want to hide now or swing?” Jester asked once they were in the center of the playset area. Around them were all sorts of places to play, from jungle gyms to tunnels to merry-go-rounds, but other kids covered those. Jesse looked around for a moment before his eyes settled on the school building. Teachers were beginning to slip outside.

“It’s almost time to go in, let’s swing,” Jesse tugged Jester’s arm signaling to her to get ready before he raced off to the swings. The two could run together as each was well aware of the others limits. Once they were at the mellow yellow swings they finally parted and Jesse took the left most swing and Jester took the one right next to him. Jester pumped her legs back as the swing went back and straightened them as it went forward. The more momentum she gained the more she put the rest of her body into the motions until she practically laid flat as her body flew up into the air.

Next to her though, Jesse put little effort into his motions, only swinging back and forth a few inches. His eyes flickered back and forth between his sisters laughing from and the other kids running around playing together. They would have officially been going to school for three weeks tomorrow and it wasn't living up to everything their mother had told him. Mother told him that he would make lots of new friends, that kids would run up to him and ask him to join their games, and at first they did. However, Jesse always brought Jester with him, and soon the kids stopped coming. It was clear they didn’t like his sister, but he didn’t understand why. She wasn’t ugly, she wore nice clothes, and was willing to play any game. In fact, when it came to games she was often on the winning team, the others should want her! However she was always picked last. These thoughts stayed with Jesse as he got off the swing and watched as Jester flew overhead and landing on the ground in a roll. They never left him even when she took his hand and led him back to class.

Throughout the the lesson on how to write all the letters of the alphabet his work was sloppy, and when Ms. Tucker called on him to answer which letter came next she had to repeat herself, because he had been too busy trying to figure the conundrum out. His sister wasn’t stupid, looking at her work it was much neater than his, if a little big. It was better than most of the other kids in class by far. She knew the ABC’s by heart and could even say them backwards when she tried. But still, they sat at a table with seats for four and only the two of them were there.

By the time mother was there to pick them up Jesse hadn’t spoken for an hour, a worrying achievement for a five year old. Jester kept looking at him, her lips pulled into a small frown but she didn’t ask him about it. Instead when mother began her normal line of questioning, asking them the same questions she had for the last few days, Jester began to answer.

“So how was school today?” Jesse normally answered these sorts of questions while Jester added little input. Mother liked it more when Jesse answered.

“It was fun, we played hide and seek and swung on the swings!” Jester’s reply ignored the fact that both of them had spent the end of the day in uncomfortable silence. Jester was much better at lying than Jesse, she was able to convince anyone of anything it seemed sometimes, but she normally used this skill to help Jesse, not herself.

“That’s nice Jester, what did you do Jesse dearest?” Mother pressed on and Jesse sunk a little in his seat. He didn’t want to talk right now. Jester’s hand snaked into his own and when he looked at her she gave him a small smile before facing the rear view mirror.

“He was the one who seeked!” Jester answered once again. Jesse felt a mix of emotions spinning around in his stomach. On one hand, he felt comforted and happy that his sister knew him so well that she could tell he didn’t want to talk, and that she was willing to get in trouble for him. Yet, on the other hand, he felt guilty that she was going to get in trouble for him once again.

“I didn’t ask you Jester, I asked Jesse,” their mother snapped before clearing her throat. “Did you learn anything new Jesse?”

“We just went over the alphabet again,” Jester went on and Jesse tightened his grip on her hand just a bit.

“Jester, let your brother speak!” Mother shouted, Jesse could see her hands were gripping the steering wheel harder as more veins popped out.

“But that’s all we did. We sat by ourselves at a table and wrote the whole alphabet on a piece of paper,” Jester went on, her voice gave the impression she was bored but her grip on Jesse’s hand kept tightening and lightening up in a steady rhythm. Jesse noticed that Jester would do that often if she was touching him while lying.

“Jester don’t make me tell you again, it is Jesse’s turn to talk,” Mother was no longer shouting but her voice was low and Jesse knew that if Jester continued to push that yelling wasn’t going to be the punishment. He wanted to open his mouth to speak, to protect her like she did for him, but there were too many feelings overwhelming him and only a high whine came from his throat. When Mother looked back Jester’s mouth was open again.

“But there’s nothing left for him to tell you. We played, we learned, and that’s all. We do everything together, so why does it matter which one of us tells you?” Jester’s voice was a loud whisper, her squeezing became quicker and less steady, and Jesse stared at her wide eyed, because she had broken an unspoken rule: don’t question Mother. Mother always went to Jesse first, Mother always wanted Jesse to talk, and Mother always took Jesse for ice cream and left Jester with Father, and she hated being asked why, especially by Jester. Mother’s shoulders were hunched up to her ears practically and her skin had grown practically white by how tense every part of her was, except her face, which was bright red.

“Jester I am done with this back talk, when your father gets home he is going to hear about how awful you’ve been to me today,” the rest of the car ride was spent in silence. Jester’s grip on Jesse’s hand squeezed tightly and did not let go, but Jesse didn’t complain. He felt nauseous from the trouble he had gotten his sister into. Despite all of it though, when he looked at Jester she still managed to give him a watery smile. At the very least, Mother was no longer asking questions.

Once inside the comfort of their own home and having taken off their dirty tennis shoes and light jackets Jesse dragged Jester to her room. He would have gone to his own but it was closer to their parent’s and he wanted as much time with Jester as possible before Father came home. Jester’s room was very different than his own. There was only one smaller window that for some strange reason their Father had painted black on the inside. A black ceiling fan provided light for the room along with a lamp with a purple cover that changed the color of the light shining from it. Her floor had a rough purple carpet and the walls were painted a dark purple while the trim was dark green. Father had taken all of her stuffies last year along with her baby blanket so her bed was only adorned with a purple comforter, green sheets, and two black pillows. Most of her toys had been taken away by Father as well only leaving a bookshelf filled with notebooks, coloring books, and children's chapter books. Her room also had a desk that had neatly organized crayons, markers, and colored pencils. Father had been kind enough to allow Jester to keep her cork board though, it was covered in photos of their family, although most of the pictures were center on Jesse and Jester together. Hanging up as well was some of the drawings they had done, like the stick figure drawing of Mother and Father hugging Jester that Jesse had drawn last week. Jesse liked seeing and remembering all the good times that the two had gone through, he was very relieved when Jester first told him Father had let her keep the board. However he couldn’t waste time looking at any pictures, he had to get his thoughts in the open.

“Jester, I’m sorry you got in trouble because of me,” Jesse began, not able to look her in the eye. Jester closed her door and hopped onto the bed patting the spot beside her. Jesse sat down next to her with a bit of effort and crossed his legs. He picked at the fuzz on his white socks instead of looking at her face to see her reaction.

“You didn’t make me keep talking. Besides, I’d rather be in trouble than you,” Jester’s voice was soft and genuine. She watched him pick off another piece of fuzz before staring at his cheek. “Why have you been not talking?” Her eyes made his face burn so he turned to look at her. Her irises started out as a light green burst around the pupil but was a darker green the rest of the way around with specks of green that was practically black sprinkled around. Jesse could see his round face reflected in her eyes, he saw his lip tremble just as he felt it.

“I don’t understand; you’re so nice,” Jesse started but a hiccup forced him to stop. He rubbed his eyes with the inside of his wrists to stop the tears. Jester didn’t say anything, and Jesse’s now blurry vision couldn’t make out her expression, but he was determined to keep going. “But none of the others will play with you, and they won’t group with us, and I don’t get why!” Jesse explained, his arms waved in the air as he spoke. Jester sat still and watched him as he spoke, her face had fallen into a neutral expression and her eyes traveled around him starting with his face and finally resting on his right thumb. Jesse rubbed at his eyes once again as he waited for her to respond, he knew she was thinking about what to say, but Jester always thought for a long time when she had something important she wanted to tell him. He would have blamed that on why other kids didn’t like her, but with anyone else she thought quickly and would almost answer immediately every time. Jesse didn’t understand what about him made it harder for her to think, and it grinded his nerves every time it happened.  

“I know the other kids don’t like me, and I’m not sure why, but I don’t care either.” Jester finally responded, although she had looked away from his thumb and stared resolutely at her lap. Jesse felt a bonfire light up in his stomach.

“But it’s not fair! You’re nice and pretty and smart and-and everything Mother says a child needs to be to get friends,” Jesse explained to her further, trying to prove to Jester that this truly was a great injustice against her. Jester hadn’t gotten the friend talk from Mother, so she must not have known the same rules as Jesse.

“Life isn’t fair,” Jester responded, practically monotone, as she repeated a phrase their Father said often. She shook her head before continuing. “Besides, I don’t need anyone else besides you Jes.” Jester smiled at him, but despite her words and actions, something about her still screamed sad to Jesse, so he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her close to him. She wrapped her arms around him as well and rested her chin on his shoulder. She was warmer than he was, it was like hugging a blanket. Out of everyone in the world, his sister gave the best hugs, but Jesse would never say that out loud since Mother would get jealous. He would have continued the embrace longer, but Jester tore herself out of his arms when the sound of the front door slamming closed reverberated around the house.

“See you tomorrow Jes,” Jester whispered as she walked him out of her room. He waved when she closed the door and ran as quietly as he could to his own room. He was only inside long enough to take a deep breath before Mother was calling for him.

“Jesse dear, let’s go out for some ice cream before dinner!”

[burtlederp]

Writing Blurb 8

This is not my best piece of writing, but I’ve been itching for a couple days now to post something else. This is also pt 1 of the third draft of this friggin writing blurb I’ve written, I just wanted to get validation for it now. XD Enjoy, and welcome a new character (well, recycled old character), Damien!

TW: blood, gore, burns

“Oh, gods, I’m so sick…” Damien muttered to himself, relying heavily on the slippery railing to ascend the icy steps to his apartment door. He took some time to retrieve his keys from one of many pockets, and even more time to get the key into the lock, fingers so numb that he might as well have been drunk--which, honestly, would be preferable. The door to his dark, lonely apartment swung open, and he quickly closed it behind himself. He pulled his bag off his shoulder and hung it on the coat rack, except that he missed, it fell to the hardwood floor beneath. But he didn’t notice, stumbling into the living room. He knelt, or rather fell, in front of the cold fireplace, shivering as he pulled off his gloves.

“Another damn sprite… Why… Why’d it have to be now? In th’dead of winter? In fuckin’... Alaska…” He muttered darkly as he pulled logs off the stack by the hearth and heaped them in the ash from that morning’s fire. He paused, trying to remember what came next, and reached for the box of matches. He paused again. “No, I need… Alcohol, then matches…” He held his freezing, shaking hands over the logs, palms down, and tried to summon to mind the chemical formula for ethyl alcohol. And yet, though it was a substance he knew through and through how to create spontaneously from his hands, he could not, for the life of him, remember its chemical make-up. He sat there in his empty apartment, cold, hungry, sick, and tired, hands held out over the wood uselessly. 

He drew his hands back close to himself, shuddering, then keeled over as his stomach suddenly cramped painfully, gasping. He curled up tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Something was in him, twisting his stomach and yanking at his intestines and pulling on his organs like harp strings, and it was awful. He had no way to stop it, he just had to stay still and hope it passed quickly.

Luckily, it didn’t last too long, soon leaving him feeling even weaker and colder than before, his brain feeling like mush. He unsteadily rose back onto his knees, wearily looking down at the still cold, unlit logs, wishing fire would just appear there, and he could be warm. Summoning the energy from somewhere inside himself, he once again held his hands over the hearth, and tried to think, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath.

“C-c...two…” He said to himself. It starts with carbon, right? “H… He? No, no, H...five. H-five. O… No, no! N! N… th-three?” His teeth were chattering, arms aching from the cold. “Fuck it, it’s got hydrogen in it, it’s gotta be flammable…” He growled, and a clear, pungent liquid dribbled from his hands, spattering atop the logs. Tired and desperate for the fire, he didn’t really register that the fluid didn’t smell much like alcohol, and put what he thought was a satisfactory amount on the wood, shaking the last of it from his hands as he reached for the matches. Excited for fire, he quickly pulled out a couple matchsticks, knowing it was going to take a couple to light anyways. He lit one and brought it down to the log.

The damn fireplace exploded. His slow, foggy mind didn’t register the initial reaction, instead he was only aware that one second he was kneeling in front of the supposedly-alcohol-laden logs, freezing his ass off, and the next, he had been thrown across the room into the wall, ears ringing, and he was burning. Flames seemed to have covered the room in an instant, and panic, as fierce as the explosion had been, rose in his throat. He rolled, putting out the flames that danced on his clothes, and got to his feet, thrusting forth his hands as jets of water spouted from his palms. The fire hissed and went out, quickly extinguished by the heavy dousing the whole apartment received. 

Soon, no fire remained, the water stopped. Damien, shakily, looked at his hands with wide eyes, then fell to his knees, screaming. He had been burned, badly, he could feel it on his face, certain spots on his singed clothes where the heat had penetrated and cooked the flesh beneath, and his back and head ached from being thrown back so far--but it all paled in comparison to his poor, crippled hands. The skin covering his hands, and some of his knees, was a patchwork of white and black char, huge pieces of flesh actively beginning to snap as they cooled and curl back. 

He felt sick. He felt light-headed. He couldn’t think, only stare at his mutilated hands, his gasps more like pained, choked cries. He couldn’t draw enough air into his lungs, his mind whirling, but only a single thought present: What the fuck had he lit?

He didn’t have time to ponder it, his eyes rolling up into his head as he collapsed sideways.

--- 

Hovering above him was a gloopy, oozing mass of angry purple slime, large eyeballs and goop inexplicably, unceasingly generating at its top and rolling down, dripping, but nothing ever landed on Damien’s face directly beneath it. Behind it, a large aura of pitch black, with bright white rays glowing out from it in a very simplistic flower pattern. Damien met those constantly rolling, constantly shrinking eyes with his own bored, somewhat exasperated expression. It didn’t really look terribly proud of him. He sighed, resting his arm over his face.

“What the hell did I light?” He groaned.

“C2H5N3, otherwise known as ethyl azide, or azidoethane. It is incredibly explosive and dangerous. And you produced almost a liter of it and lit it point-blank.” The creature replied with a deep, rumbling voice that had no discernible origin. “Damien, how the fuck did you forget the chemical formula for alcohol? Where did you get nitrogen from?!”

“Oh shut up! There’s a new asshole who’s been bouncing around my body all day, fucking up my insides, and you know that!” Damien hissed, sitting up and getting to his feet. “Where is the bitch, anyways?” 

“I don’t know, it’s your mind.” The floating ball of goop responded shortly.

“And you live here, Atom.” Damien snapped, walking away, the creature, ‘Atom,’ following him. 

Damien was no longer within his apartment. Well, he was, his body still lay on the soaked, charred carpets, but his mind did not rest anymore when he had fled the waking world. He spent most of his unconscious hours wandering his mindscape, trying to keep the many residents of his body under control. Some days it was easy, some days it was hard, and some days, there was somebody new.

“Damien, Damien!” A high-pitched voice called, quiet and far away, and Damien looked down to see a mouse carrying a spool of red thread, a needle in its other hand, its giant ears perked towards him. “It’s at the hollow!”

“Thanks, Des,” Damien leaned down, holding out his hand, and the mouse named Despereaux hopped on, skittering up his arm. He moved fast through his own mind, the world warping around him as he ran towards the hollow. 

The hollow was not just a general hollow one would find in any woods--it was a particular one, a place that Damien knew very well in the world outside his skull. Many a summer day and even a few wintry ones he had spent in that lush, well-forested spot, where the earth fell down into a flat clearing of moss and soft grasses, shaded generously by a thick canopy high above. He and friends who had long forgotten him had spent the days when they were free from school here in this place, climbing trees, weaving around the tightly-spaced trunks, gorging themselves on the wild berries that grew in abundance just outside its thick walls of wood. It was, subconsciously, a kind of home for Damien, a comforting memory. A time when life had been so sweet, and not so bitter as it was now. 

He slowed as he approached the trunks that formed the outer rim of the hollow. His eyes scanned the undergrowth for any movement, any sign of something that wasn’t supposed to be there. He was tense, waiting, fists clenched.

“Damien, there--!” Despereaux squeaked suddenly, Damien’s head snapping around just in time to see it, but not in time to react. A huge, golden lion bore down on him, slamming him into the dirt. He was dazed, and it sunk its teeth into his neck, tearing his throat free from him. Damien didn’t scream, he couldn’t, choking on blood as he kicked the monster off himself. The lion flew back, hitting a tree and falling to the ground. It rose to its paws, hissing and baring its huge fangs as Damien got to his feet, hand clutching his throat, from which blood poured. He glared at the lion, and realized it was not one, not entirely. Rising from its two-color mane was a proud set of antlers, on its back a huge pair of blue and green feathers with gold spots, a matching plume on the end of its long tail, and a dappled pattern of various shades of gold covering its flank. It was, in short, a very fancy lion, but Damien didn’t care. 

He scowled, leaning on a tree, looking down at his blood-covered hand, the wound starting to stretch itself back over the empty space where his windpipe was supposed to be, healing rapidly. “This isn’t my first time doing this kind of thing, you bitch,” He rasped, his voice slurred as he gargled blood, throwing himself towards the monster, his own teeth bared. The creature ran at him as well, trying to swipe with one large paw, but he ducked. A sword materialized in his hand and he slashed the monster across the chest. It yowled, dodging his next attack, and snapped at his middle, though its jaws closed on air. 

Atom and Despereaux stood on the sidelines, watching as Damien took a harsh blow to the torso. They did not step in to help Damien: they couldn’t, not really. Damien had made it clear in the past that he did not want their help. This wasn’t their body, nor their mind, it was Damien’s, so it was his fight alone, he insisted. They didn’t need to help anyways, not with this one, as was soon apparent as Damien dropped the sword in favor of clasping his hands together and smashing the lion’s jaw shut so hard that the end of its forked tongue was cut clean off. As it staggered backwards, trying to keep its footing, Damien stepped forwards, took hold of one of its great antlers, and yanked, snapping it in half. The lion reeled away, and took off into the undergrowth.

“This ain’t over!” He screeched after it, his voice hoarse, leaning heavily on a tree, blood still trickling from his throat. He lowered his head, gingerly feeling his neck, that familiar, terribly unpleasant exhaustion that he could only get from wounds he sustained here creeping into himself.

“Are you alright?” Atom asked gently. 

“Yeah… I’m fine…” Damien wheezed. “Gods, I’m going to be so sick when I wake up…”

“Yes, about that,” Atom floated into his view, that odd dark aura obscuring the forest behind him. Distantly, an alarm was ringing, the ground beneath his feet vibrating. “You probably ought to do that now.”

[ikiyou]

WIP Week, Sept 29, Most Popular WIP

Well, I don’t have anything on A03 yet, but the most popular snippet prior to this week (which unfortunately means its not an entirely new snippet) seemed to be from my Child!Chuuya fic, Bungou Stray Dogs.  Chuuya was hit by an Ability and turned into a 5 year old child, but he retains all his Mafia memories.  Unfortunately, he now has very poor control over his Ability, so he’s been sent to live with Dazai until it can be reversed.  This snippet is actually fluffy, compared the week of mostly angst!  XD.  

Chuuya sat on his futon, huddled under his blanket, looking out at the dim living room.  Shadows stretched out from the couch and cast everything beyond it in darkness.  The small gap underneath the couch was an impenetrable black tear in space.  His eyes darted to the left.  Through the dark forest of table legs and high backed chairs was the blackness of the kitchen, beyond the island.  Chuuya pulled his little feet up closer to his body. It was completely silent.  Even the fridge’s regular mechanical cycling had stilled for the night.  Chuuya’s gaze wandered back out toward the living room.  He could imagine that deep in the shadows, things were waiting for him to let down his guard.  

Clatter.

Chuuya jerked his head to the left.  He caught his breath and stared through the dark forest, eyes flicking from dark trunk to dark trunk.  The darkness beyond almost seem to grow in anticipation, as if something was waiting just inside.  He blinked a few times, eyes stinging from keeping them open wide.  A sudden flicker from the living room caught his attention and he swung his head back around.  Was that….something moving in the shadows?  Something low, along the ground, crawling?  

Chuuya threw his blanket over his head, breathing hard.  This was ridiculous.  There was no way he was going to be afraid of some silly shadows.  He wasn’t a kid, damn it!  Well, not really.  Just because he had a nightmare last night, that was no reason to be scared of the dark. He was a grown man!  In the Mafia no less!  Eighty percent of his work was in the shadows, and there was nothing in them to scare him.  

He slowly peaked through his covers to Dazai’s room, resolutely refusing to look at the sofa in the living room.  The door to the bedroom was open, but beyond gaped a hazy gloom, details obfuscated and merging into a black mass that writhed and mocked.  Chuuya could see the edge of Dazai’s bed, and could barely make out the figure on it, sleeping.  From his vantage point on the floor, the space underneath the bed yawned wide like the maw of a black hole, certainly big enough to swallow him whole.  How could Dazai sleep above that?!  

A shudder, and Chuuya felt his attention drawn back to the couch, where the murkiness was trying to claw its way out from underneath.  Chuuya scooted backward on his futon until he hit the radiator pipes behind him.  

Clang.

A hollow knocking right behind him made him stiffen.  And then it was gone.  Chuuya started to slump forward a little and relax but there it was again.  

Clang.  CLANG.

His breathing picked up. It was just air trapped in the pipes, this was normal, there was nothing to be afraid of, it wasn’t some evil poltergeist banging on the pipes right behind his head, trying to get out, creating a cacophonous din…

CLANG

With a barely suppressed shout, Chuuya leapt to his feet and pounded across the floor to the bedroom, the distance mocking his short legs, blanked wrapped around him so the shadows wouldn’t see him.  The cavern under the bed opened its mouth wide and Chuuya closed his eyes and jumped.

He landed on the bed with a thump!  Dazai blinked his eyes open and slowly rolled over to look at Chuuya.

Chuuya opened and closed his mouth a few times before,

“The floor is lava!” He immediately flushed after saying those words.  But he couldn’t let Dazai know he’d actually been scared.  He was a Mafia Executive, damn it!  Not a frightened little child!

Dazai blinked a few more times with a blank expression.  “Well, then,” he started, slowly inching closer to Chuuya, “we’d better make sure Chuuya doesn’t fall in it!”  And with that, he grabbed up Chuuya and leaned him upside down over the side of the bed, head barely above the floor, holding him with one arm and ruthlessly tickling his stomach with the other hand.  Chuuya squealed.  “Nooohooooo! Dazahhahaaaaiii!  Lehehet meeehehee uuup!”  He could barely breath, he was laughing so hard.  He thrashed and squirmed fruitlessly.  Finally, after one last skitter of fingers across Chuuya’s soft tummy, Dazai pulled him up.

Chuuya whapped Dazai across the head with a pillow.  “Jerk!”

“Well, if you want, I could hang you over the side again…”

“NO!”

Dazai started at Chuuya. Chuuya glared at Dazai.  Dazai leaned toward Chuuya and motioned him to lean in.  “Chuuya,” he whispered.  “I have bad news.  The bed….is sinking into the lava.”  Chuuya stared at Dazai’s serious expression, the face he only makes when the situation is dire.  

“Dazai….what do we do??  What’s the plan?”

Dazai leaned back and threw his arms out dramatically.  “This isn’t the way I thought I’d go, with such a short little beauty, but I suppose I have no choice!”  He gathered Chuuya up in his arms again and held him tight against his chest.  “A lovers’ suicide!  Although you are a little young to be my lover, but beggars can’t be choosers.  Embrace death, Chuuya!  Embrace it! As the lava rushes up the sides of the bed, the heat will be unbearable.  And the burning!  Oh, the scalding hot agony!  As your flesh begins to melt and your hair bursts into flame!  But it pales in comparison to the flames of my love for you, my dear, sweet little-”

“NO!!” Chuuya screeched and clawed his way out of Dazai’s death grip, stepping on his face as he clung to the headboard.  “I’m not dying with you, you pervert!”

[sansfangirl4life-blog]

Silent Siren Chapter 1

Alright...so...uhh…..how do I explain myself? I just got the idea after seeing a lot of lamia pics ok? Now, Lost isn’t 100% accurate to what lamia’s are, but if you don’t change it up sometimes those things can get dull. So here it is! @zwagyzonk was an inspiration for this btw XD

Also a fair warning right now. There is some dubcon/noncom here. A friend told me she felt it was noncom, even if I do not, so I will put the warning here regardless. I have no idea how long this story will turn out, but I hope some of you enjoy this bout of weirdness!

GHorrorFell Bros belong to @zwagyzonk

Chapter 1

Ugh.....there's still nothing in these traps. G thought with a scowl on his face. His red eye lights flickered in the dark, filled with annoyance as he shut yet another large cage. Where is that damned thing hiding? He stood up and grumbled, leaning against a tree trunk. He pulled out a cigarette and let out a soft, puff of smoke. "This is just annoying." He adjusted his oversized coat slightly as he slid towards the leaf covered ground, the autumn air rich with the scent of rain. He stretched his right leg out, his left leg still bent at the knee as his arm draped across it. "Lamia's are just trouble."

G had known for awhile now that a Lamia had been spotted in the area. They usually kept to their nests, far away from monsters and humans, but this one had grown bold and had started taking food from the traps he had placed out. He looked at the new trap he had set, perfect for a full grown Lamia. A large steel cage, disguised by an old fallen log and brown leaves with a freshly killed deer inside. "It has to be hungry to come so far, given the amount of animal carcasses I've been finding...unless we got another mad monster out here."

He took another long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke surround his skull as he scratched at the edges of the large gap on the right side of his head. "Damn...this is just annoying. Why can't it be stupid for once?" As rare as Lamia's were, catching one was very beneficial for him and his brother. Ever since its large drag tracks had been found, the whole town had been abuzz with catching it. Lamia's were often hunted for their tails, specifically for the meat it provides. "It'd feed me and Paps for months..." He sighed, closing his eyes.

A sudden, loud snap sounded nearby and he could here loud, frantic splashing nearby. The lake? Did some fish finally swim in? He got up and made his way up a long, dirt path until he reached the top. The trees parted, revealing a large, still lake glowing orange in the setting sunlight. "Damn, never gettin' over this view." The splashing grew even more frantic and he rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright." He began to walk over and stopped short at what he saw.

A large, deep blue tail with red patterns thrashed violently as the upper half was submerged. He grinned and continued to walk over. "Looks like it wanted to go fishing too, eh?" He walked over, careful of the swinging tail and yanked the whole cage out of the water. "Whoo....you're full grown eh? Well-" He was cut off as the Lamia turned to look at him. "I'll be fucked....you're a rare sight." The Lamia's upper half was that of a young, white skinned young man, messy black, white tipped locks stuck to his head. He wore a simple, white t-shirt, his red and blue eyes surrounded by black. "Man, you're really young, hmm?"

The Lamia began to struggle more, his tail lashing out and trying to escape. His tail began slam harder and harder against the cage, a dead fish in his mouth. Sharp teeth sunk further into its body, making it twitch as he glared at G. "Yeesh..." He held his hand out, and magic flowed from his hand. The Lamia's eyes widened before they dimmed and it slumped, passing out from the spell. "Too wild for me to be honest." He opened the cage up and dragged the Lamia out as his brother walked up. "Perfect timing Paps."

"L...La...mia?"

"Yup. We bagged it." He moved so Papyrus could grab the cage. "Looks like we're gonna eat pretty good tonight, huh bro?"

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Eyes slowly fluttered open as his mind slowly stirred. Ngh....wh....what...happened? He slowly pushed himself up, shivering as he glanced around. Dark.....where am I? His entire body felt sore as he tried to move his tail around. Not broken...that's good. He heard the soft, metallic clanking of chains and looked to see a large, black cuff around his neck. What the hell?! He hissed and tried to tear it off, grabbing the chain and clawing at it. He took it into his teeth and snapped hard on it when a light from above filled the room around him.

He was on a filthy red rug, the rest of the floor was old cracked cement. Boxes and other tools were around him, and the air had a thick, slight coppery scent to it that made him want to gag. This place is nasty! I want out!

"Ah, awake hmm? Dunno if that's a good thing or a bad thing." A light came on, making the young Lamia hiss and bury himself behind his massive tail. "Aww, no need to be shy. Or are you just not accustomed to the light? I know your types have a tendency to lean towards dawn to dusk hours."

"Hsss..." The Lamia hissed angrily, the tip of his tail waving in fury.

"Get used to it." The tall skeleton tugged at the edges of his cracked skull, a massive grin on his face. "The name's G, and if it weren't for my brother, ya wouldn't be breathing right now." He walked over to a large, metal table and placed a few fish on it, still flopping around. "So here's the thing, little Lamia. Around here, your tail is highly desirable. Lots of good, fatty meat in there." His voice seemed to be filled with hunger and the Lamia curled up even tighter. "But luckily for you, my bro's got quite the soft spot for humans...and you're upper half is human.

The Lamia scowled and hid further behind his coils. "Now I suggested just cutting you cleanly in half so he could 'take care' of the human half of you, but it turns out he wants you alive." He slammed a large butcher's knife down on their heads, cutting them cleanly. The young Lamia flinched at the echoing, metal sound and he couldn't stop the whimpering sound from rising in his throat. "He gave ya that blue hoodie ya got on. Said you looked naked without it."

...I was. He thought and frowned. I can't find my scarf either.... He watched as G placed a large piece of it on a plate and set it on the ground. Huh?

"Eat up." The Lamia peeked out from behind his tail and stretched it out slowly. It coiled around the plate and as he brought it closer, the scent made his stomach grumble. He grabbed it with his hands and held it close to his mouth, sinking into it with his sharp fangs. He quickly began to devour it, blood staining his white face and hands. "Savage little beastie, aren't ya?" He watched as the Lamia pushed the plate back, still wary of him. He placed another fish on it and just as his tail reached out, he summoned a large bone and pierced the Lamia's tail.

He let out a loud, wailing hiss as he tried desperately to free his tail, but the chain around his neck prevented him from reaching it. The large appendage twitched as G ran a bony hand along the scales, his left eye glowing dangerously. "Mmmhmm....nice and plump...looks excellent..." He grinned and bent down slowly, dragging his tongue along the scales. The Lamia flinched from the contact as a heat seemed to build in his chest.

No....no not now!

"Ya see...I also know that you're young...and clearly you haven't been claimed yet." G continued, licking his fangs and kissing the spot he had licked. "Ya can be claimed by anyone that takes ya....is that right little Lamia?" He shook his head violently as another shiver coursed through his body, this one more of pleasure than fear or pain.

I don't want this...no! Get away from me!

"So tell me Lamia. Do you want to live?" He whimpered as another bone pierced the middle of his tail, making him let out a loud scream. "Or do you want to die?" He sniffled as he stared at G, his eyes filled with tears and a hint of need. "If you agree, I promise to treat you really good~..." The Lamia whimpered, looking away as a hand gently lifted his chin. "It'll be good.....and you won't have to worry about anyone coming to kill you. You will be safe here with us. Fair deal, hmm~?" The Lamia trembled under the gentle caresses as fingers slowly glided along his sensitive underside, making a strangled whimper leave his throat.

I...I don't have a choice....I don't wanna die.... Filled with shame, he nodded slowly, turning his gaze away from G. But I'll never say his name. I will never give in  to him!

"I'm glad to see we've reached a mutual agreement." G grinned wickedly. He began pressing against his tail, making the Lamia shudder under the sudden pressure. "So...got a name?" The Lamia shook his head, rubbing at his throat. "What, lost yer voice? Or just stubborn?" He could feel the Lamia's eyes burning into his skull and he laughed. "Well I can't just call ya 'Lamia'....so..." He grinned and grabbed his face, looking in his eyes. "....Lost. That'll be yer name. It suits ya...lost yer voice, ya were lost in the woods....and now?" He moved in closer, straddling his waist as he bore into the frightened Lamia's eyes. "Yer freedom is lost now too."

Fangs pressed hard against Lost's lips and he briefly struggled to get away, but the sudden rush of magic made his body weak and he felt himself giving into it. "Mmm..." G moaned in the kiss, all but shoving his tongue into Lost's mouth. The young Lamia whimpered as his tail twitched, still unable to move it. "Tsk tsk....ya wanna move that tail? Yer gunna have ta wait until I'm done..." Lost hissed and struggled, trying to bite down on his tongue when a hand shot out and began squeezing his throat. "Nah uh uh.....you made a deal."

Please....please don't do that... He thought, eyes pleading. G seemed to catch on and backed away before grinding his clothed hips against Lost's waist. "Nnnnmh..." He began to pant slightly, feeling his tail get warmer and warmer. N...no....please....I don't....

"That's it~...c'mon now little Lamia..." His hands trailed down the Lamia's chest, sliding under his worn shirt and massaging his body. "Heh...rather well built under all that, eh?" Lost growled lowly but it cut off when a finger slid into the slit that had opened in his tail. He gasped and let out a half whine and half moan. "Yer gettin' off on this, hmm? Masochistic?"

"Hssss!!!!!" Lost hissed at him but his entire body jolted when a finger was shoved further in and he whimpered. His mouth let out soft moans as he shook his head. I don't like this...I don't...I....don't.... His mind was beginning to fog over as G's magic seemed to almost engulf it. But it....it feels...good....so good.....

"That's right Lost....enjoy the feeling." G grinned as Lost's eyes grew hazy with lust. He whined and reached up, tugging at the waistband of G's jeans. "Eager for my cock already? You Lamia's are so impatient..." He worked his jeans off slowly and Lost looked down at the glowing, golden, erect member in front of him. "Like what ya see? Good." He chuckled lowly and grabbed one of Lost's fingers, nibbling on it slightly. A brief, sharp pain went through him as he bit down, drawing blood. G wrapped his tongue around the bleeding appendage, sucking on it as he moved closer to Lost's slit. "Yer gonna see it a lot in the future..."

He slowly moved and shoved his member inside. He could feel Lost's tail jerk violently, and he allowed the bone magic to vanish. Lost's tail curled slightly, the tip almost petting G's spine as he thrusted in and out of Lost's open slit. "Hngh....yer a little tight aren't ya? So I was right that ya weren't claimed yet."  He pushed himself in even further, feeling Lost's slit clamp around his member tightly. Lost's hands gripped at the carpet, his head shaking as his body willingly accepted the magic G had begun pumping into his body. G moaned as he came inside Lost's body, his magic tying to the Lamia's.

Lost went limp as G withdrew himself, a satisfied grin on his face. He kneeled in close to Lost's neck, undoing the cuff and pressing a soft kiss to the exhausted Lamia's pale skin. "Yer mine now....and I'm gonna make sure you and everyone else remembers it..." He let out a loud snarl before biting down hard on his neck. Lost began to flails and screech, trying hard to push G off of him. He bit down harder, tears filling Lost's eyes as he was unable to remove the monster from his flesh. He lay there panting as G finally released his neck, licking the punctured flesh languidly. The blood, filled with magic, sent a surge into G's body as he moaned. "Best be careful there Lost...yer gonna turn me on again..."

Lost let out a tiny, weak whimper as G climbed off of him. Holding a hand over the bite mark, he healed it and watched as the marks became dark scars on his skin. "There we are...was that really so bad?" Lost glared at him and flicked his injured tail slightly before pulling it close. "Dunno why you're not talking....but you I know you didn't have your tongue cut out...it tasted rather good by the way." Lost's face turned red with a blush and G laughed. "I gotta go now, little Lamia. Do try and behave yourself." With a flick of his wrist the cuff was back around Lost's neck, however the chain was a little longer now. "I expect you to eat when my brother brings you your next meal, alright? Until then...rest well." He started to head upstairs, flicking the light switch off as he went. He closed the door behind him, leaving Lost alone in the darkness.

Wh...what....did I agree to? Lost thought as he curled up tightly on the rug, his underside sore and raw. I don't wanna die. I don't, but... As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the realization of what had happened to him slowly began to sink in and he curled up even tighter. The only sounds in the basement were of his near silent sobbing, the shifting of his tail and the clanking sound of his chains. I didn't want to be claimed yet. Especially not by the likes of someone like him! He looked at the large cuts on his tail and whimpered. ...Like anyone would have claimed you otherwise. He even gave me a name, as stupid as it is. He shifted more until he was finally comfortable, closing his eyes. I...I'm scared... He yawned and felt his mind fading slowly. But....I'm safe...right?

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

'I cannot believe you did that brother!' Papyrus angrily scribbled on a note.

"Yeah well, he wasn't gonna comply otherwise." G shrugged. "Besides, he was-" Papyrus held his large hand up, a scowl on his face. "Brother, he's a Lamia."

'He feels pain and happiness just like humans and monsters!' Papyrus argued. 'And you could have broken any hope of us gaining his trust!'

"He isn't some damned pet Paps! He's a fucking Lamia! Something we eat every chance we get! Or something humans capture and experiment with! We don't keep them as house pets!!!" Papyrus simply huffed and crossed his arms. "Look Paps, ya want 'im as a pet, fine. But ya gotta understand somethin'. He's not a monster like us, nor a human. He's a Lamia. They don't live by the same rules we do."

"Hngh...." Papyrus growled slightly and G rolled his eyes. He grabbed his notebook again and began to write. 'So you would rather us treat him like an animal? We are not Lamia's, brother! We're monsters. Can we not try to treat him with a little more civility?'

"Tsk, you really don't get it." G sighed. "Paps, that's how Lamia's work. They find one who is stronger to defend them. If anything, I did him a favor. Whether he accepts it or not is up to him." Papyrus watched his brother walk away and he sighed softly. He took the small plate of cookies he had and went down into the basement, stopping when he heard a soft humming.

Oh? He sat and listened as the Lamia hummed some more, the song gentle and making his Soul warm. It's so lovely....brother said he didn't speak...I wonder if he can write? He turned the light on and the humming stopped in an instant. Lost looked at him and hissed slightly, curling up and baring his fangs. He held a hand up, showing the other hand holding the plate. "C...coo....kies..." Lost tilted his head slightly and watched as the lanky skeleton squatted slightly before nudging the plate close. Once again, the shaken Lamia reached out and scooted the plate closer to himself, not once removing his sight from Papyrus.

Papyrus took his notebook and began to write in it. 'Can you read this?' Lost eyed the note as he gingerly took a cookie. As he slid it into his mouth, he gave a soft nod. 'Good. It is difficult for me to speak. And you? Brother said you could not, or that you would not. So have this!' He scooted a red notebook over along with a blue pen. Lost took it and examined it a bit before tilting his head. "W...write.....in it..." Lost slowly opened it and began to write, occasionally reaching down and grabbing a cookie.

'These cookies are good. Thank you.' Lost smiled a little as he ate another one. 'And he's right. I can't speak.' 

'Are all Lamia's like that?' Lost shook his head and looked down sadly at his hands.

'No. Just me. My mother told me it was because of my birth.....it's like a defect. All I can do is sing.' He let out a quiet sigh. 'I am uncertain of how to properly speak. She suggested it may have to do with giving my Soul. But I will not give it to that monster!' The word was written harshly, the blue staining the page slightly. Papyrus sighed and stood up slowly.

'I will try to make your room more accommodating tomorrow.' Papyrus reached out slowly, the Lamia flinching as his large hand pat his head. "Sl...eep.....well...Lost." Papyrus turned the light off, but left the basement door cracked. He sighed and rubbed his head. At least he is communicating with me. It seems he knows I mean no harm. He looked at the living room, seeing his brother sleeping on the couch. Brother...what to do?

[phantomwarrior12]

And Then There Were Two

This one is for the RVB Angst War ( @rvbficwars ). I was prompted by the lovely @alphachurchiisms, thank you so much for this prompt! I enjoyed writing it! (Also, thank you for helping me figure out my ask box, I was noobing bad. XD) The prompt was: How did the mercenary trio break up? Put your own spin on it.

Summary: “He has a family, Felix. Let him go.” Isaac survives the fall from the Communication’s Tower and recalls their final mission with Mason.

The untold tale of the termination of the mercenary trio.

Warnings: Canon-style of swearing. Angst, cause that’s kinda the point.

Story will also be posted on AO3 under PhantomWarrior99.

Enjoy!

Saudade Masterlist

Part 2.5

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

It's a time he never wanted to remember, a time when everything was simpler, when he had a family, or, something resembling a family.

He could see the memories whenever he closed his eyes. Late night recon missions, witty exchanges over bottles of beer, even dinner with Mason and his family. A soft smile spread across Isaac's lips, quietly remembering Sam's first encounter with Mason's oldest daughter, Melody.

She couldn't have been more than three, an energetic, curious child who shared Mason's midnight black hair and her mother's emerald eyes. She'd wandered up to Sam, hoisting herself into his lap. Isaac would envision the look of discomfort on Sam's face, eyes widened in surprise, expression reduced to complete and utter confusion as the girl began the braid his hair.

He could remember Megan Wu's quiet chiding of the child and Mason's outburst of laughter. Sam had simply remained motionless, too stunned to react and unwilling to disrupt the child's efforts.

"Can I get you anything else?"

The sudden reappearance of the bartender thrust him from his thoughts. He slowly glanced up from his third bottle of beer, drained blue eyes dragging themselves away from the deep brown bottle to the concerned gaze above him.

He shook his head, struggling for balance as he fumbled for his wallet in his back pocket. His fingers clumsily slipping the bills out of the leather folds, lazily tossing them onto the bar, before snatching his drink up and heading towards the door.

"Uh, sir? You forgot your change--"

Isaac waved his hand dismissively over his shoulder as he stumbled out of the bar and started the short trek back to the abandoned apartment.

He was tired, so very tired of it all. The fighting, the nightmares, the bitter reminders that his best friend, the man he'd so cautiously named his brother, had betrayed him. Chorus had been a hell all its own, an agonizing reminder of the war he'd thought they'd left behind.

They. No, he was alone. Again. It wasn't they. It was him. It would always be him.

First, Mason had left. He could still hear Sam defending him, "Damn it, Felix, he has a family-"

"--and what about us? We're not good enough for him? We're not his family?"

"I don't expect you to understand. Just--let him go. His duty is to his wife and children."

He'd been wrong, of course. Mason had a responsibility. It wasn't just to Megan and his kids, it was to him and Sam too. Hadn't they been a family all their own before Mason met his wife?

First Mason, now Sam. Now--now he was all alone. Hell, hadn't been the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. 

He stumbled his way up the stairs, discarding the now-empty beer bottle into the lobby. He crashed through the aged door, shuffling along until he'd collapsed onto the worn mattress, until his heavy head met firm cushion, until his eyes drooped shut, begging sleep to overtake him.

Until his mind sent him back to that fateful day. Their final mission.

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

"Can we please just shoot him?"

"We don't get paid if he's dead, Felix." Sam returned shortly.

Isaac sagged against his seat, arms folded across his chest, irritation etched into his features.

"We're almost there anyway. It would be a waste of ammo at this point." Mason remarked, eyes drifting from the slim mercenary in the passenger seat back to the road.

"It'd be more satisfying." Isaac grumbled, scowling ahead.

"You're only saying that because he mocked you." Mason returned, a hint of humor gracing his tone as he turned into the police station.

"Unless you have a better idea to cover equipment costs, I suggest you keep your weapon pointed away from him." Sam supplied, climbing out of the car to retrieve their captive.

Isaac waved his hands sarcastically, mimicking his partner's comment with an eye roll. Mason smirked slightly, nudging his shoulder before climbing out of the car to assist Sam.

The process had been surprisingly quick. Their captive, a man convicted of multiple homicides, had been worth a large amount of money. It wasn’t until they reached the docking bay that the silence was broken.

"So, last mission was a unanimous success, huh?" Mason slung the massive duffle bag over his shoulder, avoiding their eyes, looking anywhere but his partners.

Sam nodded his silent agreement, checking the equipment in his bag, ensuring the weaponry was secured for travel.

"We'll find another one soon enough." Isaac returned, oblivious to Mason's hesitance, "I caught wind of a company looking for some mercs--something about a planet and alien technology--"

Mason slammed the trunk shut, catching the slim mercenary's attention, "You all right, Wu?"

His fingers tightened around the strap slung across his shoulder, eyes darting to Sam for help. The solemn expression etched into Sam's features mixed with a quiet nod provided little assurance, yet communicated just enough to urge him to speak. He redirected his gaze back to Isaac, "There's not going to be another job, Gates."

Isaac arched an eyebrow, arching an eyebrow, leaning against the door of the car, arms crossed expectantly across his chest, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm retiring. Megan's got another kid on the way, and--she needs me." Mason returned quietly, grey eyes darting to the cold cement beneath him.

Isaac's eyes darted to Sam, who met his gaze coolly, all emotion drained from his eyes, nothing more than a solemn stare. "You knew about this?"

"We've discussed it." Sam returned evenly, voice unflinching.

Isaac stiffened, surprise quickly replaced with rage, "And you didn't tell me. We're partners. We. Fucking. Communicate."

"Gates--Isaac, we didn't want to--" Mason began.

Isaac cut him off, "What the hell, Wu? How long ago was this decided?" His gaze flickered between his partners, his brothers, the only family he'd known in years.

Mason scratched the back of his head, eyes diverted to the cement, "A couple months--"

"A couple of months...that's fucking fantastic!" He paced away a few feet, turning suddenly to shatter the car window with a fury-induced blow, "Dammit!" He spun back to the face the two mercenaries, dismissing the dull throbbing in his hand, "We're partners. I don't care if it's minuscule details, we communicate! You're the one who taught us that, Wu, you said that partners communicate and what did you do? Oh, wait," Isaac allowed a callous laugh, cold, echoing in the quiet parking lot, "you communicated. You told Ortez over there, but not me. What? You don't trust me?"

"Gates--" Mason managed one word before Sam jumped in, thoroughly fed up. He stepped past Mason, hands gripping the v-neck of Isaacs dress shirt, tugging him close, "We didn't tell you because we knew this is how you would react. You're selfish. You're stubborn. We needed you to be willing to do your job, if you had known, you would have fought us the entire mission. We would have never caught that murderer because you wouldn't have wanted to let Siris go."

He shoved the stunned mercenary away, his back meeting the car after a few short, stumbling steps. "It was information that was on a need-to-know basis, and you didn't need to know until now." Sam's voice dropped, a sharp echo in the night.

Isaac started to respond, "I wouldn't have--"

"Wouldn't have what? Wouldn't have pushed Siris to stay? Wouldn't have altered the events of this mission? Wouldn't have fought this?"

Isaac fell silent, eyes directed to the ground, unwilling to meet either man's gaze. Sam watched him sternly for a moment before turning to face Mason.

"Take the ship. Felix and I will find another means of transport." His voice was cold, if Mason didn't know any better, he'd dare suggest tired or resigned.

"You sure?" Mason's question sounded almost tentative, gaze flickering past Sam to Isaac's defeated form.

Sam gave a quiet nod of confirmation, "Go." He held out his hand, giving Mason's hand a solitary shake, a wordless goodbye.

Mason cast one final glance towards Isaac, managing a quiet phrase, "See you around, Gates."

He was met with only silence and a cold shoulder.

Isaac sunk to the ground, glaring at the cement silently as he listened to the retreating boots on pavement. He sat in silence as Sam turned to face him, snatching his bag from the backseat and tossing it to the lean mercenary on the ground.

"Grab your gear. We're leaving." Sam commented shortly, lugging his own bag onto his shoulders by the strap.

Isaac remained motionless, stiff as he fumbled with the strap of his back, silent fury burning in his chest.

"Felix." Sam's tone was sharp, unrelenting, stern. "Get up."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, jaw set as he lifted himself off the ground, slinging the bag across his shoulders, gaze focused on their old ship lifting off and shooting skyward.

"Let's go." Sam started towards another platform, expecting Isaac to follow. Isaac started after him, allowing a few feet of space between them. He waited until they'd secured another ship, until they'd loaded their gear inside, until Sam seated himself in the pilot's seat, until they were roaring out of the space port before he spoke.

"Don't ever do that again."

Isaac's sharp remark caught Sam's attention, he noted the quiet, yet aggravated tone. He arched a questioning eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"Don't ever hold information back. Next time it could get us killed. Next time--if you ever do it again, I'm out. You'll be on your own."

Sam stole a glance at his partner, the tension in his jaw, the solemn expression he knew was masking his rage, the way he stared straight ahead with a fury-laced glint in his eye.

Sam waited a moment before he spoke, "Understood."

"He shouldn't have left." Isaac murmured,  picking up the data pad, pulling up information about Charon Industries.

"Damn it, Felix, he has a family-"

"--and what about us? We're not good enough for him? We're not his family?"

"I don't expect you to understand. Just--let him go. His duty is to his wife and children." Sam settled back into his seat, hands carefully maneuvering the ship into slip space.

Isaac dared a glimpse of his partner, detecting the pain in his partner's eyes, the pain he no doubt took painstaking precautions to hide. He could never hide the emotion in his eyes, every other part of his body could be relaxed, but his eyes bled sheer agony.

After all their time together, Isaac could read him like a book, or, at least he thought he could.

After a long moment, Isaac turned back to his data pad, skimming over the information and gauging the profit.

He brushed aside the knot in his chest, the aching regret and forced his voice to its usual sarcastic, nonchalant tone before he spoke.

"So, how do you feel about genocide?"

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

Part 2.5

[damijon-supersons]

I may have submitted this fic request before but the fic would be about the anniversary of Damian's death coming up and jon is there to make him feel better.

Oh man, this was hard. Damian isn’t exactly good with his emotions so making a dramatic dialogue for him was…tough… XD

Anyway I hope you enjoy this.

Also, sorry if I take like, ages to do prompts. I cant bring myself to write them unless I can think of a cool thing to make it pop.

Superboy and Robin were just about done patrolling from the rooftops when Damian’s voice stopped Jon in his tracks.

“Hey, Jon…”

Jon turned to look at Damian. His friend never called him by his nickname unless something serious came up…or if Damian was teasing him. But Damian didn’t seem like he was in a joking mood.

“Hey, what’s up?” Jon asked cautiously.

“Go on patrol without me tomorrow,” Damian said, a hint of melancholy in his tone. “I have business to attend to.”

“What business?” Jon asked again.

“Damian business,” Damian emphasized with a bit of irritation.

“I thought we agreed that Damian business is also my business?” Jon complained.

“Not this time,” Damian said firmly. He fired his grapnel and leaped off the roof’s ledge, leaving Jon behind.

***

The air was still, save for the soft pitter-patter of raindrops on Jon’s umbrella. The clouds were a murky gray, almost as if the sky was giving off one huge sad sigh. Water seeped in through Jon’s red sneakers, and he remembered a book he’d read where the thirteen-year old detective protagonist said that the feeling of walking with wet socks was the worst. Jon agreed with him.

He walked up the stone steps and searched for the right footpath. All around him, headstones jutted out of the grass like rows of very depressing teeth. It didn’t take long for Jon to find the right place. It was just a simple patch of grass with a seven-foot-tall obelisk as a headstone. He’d have thought that Bruce Wayne, of all people, would have a fancy mausoleum or something built for his family, and not just another square patch of soil like everyone else in Gotham. It wasn’t exactly the most cheerful thing to ask Batman.

In front of the obelisk, just as Jon had expected, was Damian. He was wearing a simple black shirt and track pants, as if he were just another jogger who just happened to detour into a depressing graveyard. He stared intently at the obelisk, whose inscription looked so faded that there were barely any letters left.

Jon rolled his eyes. Damian didn’t have an umbrella and his usually well-groomed hair was wet and plastered to his forehead. Typical, Jon thought. There’s no better way to look miserable than to visit a graveyard on a rainy day without an umbrella. He approached the boy, but Damian didn’t pay him any attention. Jon put the umbrella over them both.

“Hey,” Jon called out cautiously.

“Hmm,” Damian grunted.

“You’ll catch a cold,” Jon chided.

“How did you find me?” Damian asked without lifting his head.

“You have three brothers and a super awesome butler that I could ask. It wasn’t hard.” Jon hoped that Damian would smile. Damian still looked disinterested.

“Hrrn,” Damian grunted again.

“Soooo,” Jon began, unsure what to say, “That’s where…you were…uh…”

“This was my grave, yes,” Damian said in a monotone. “I was buried here when I…died.” Damian sounded like he almost choked. “Today’s the third year since that day.”

Jon bit his lip as Damian trailed off and went silent. Finally, he couldn’t stand it.

“Come on, let’s get out of the rain.” He grabbed Damian’s hand and dragged him out of the graveyard, ignoring the latter’s indignant protests.

***

Jon’s first thought was to try a café, but he didn’t think Damian would feel like talking if there were any other people around. He needed a place where they could be alone and relaxed. He thought of the quietest, most serene place he could think of. That’s how he ended up flying Damian all the way to his family’s former farm in Hamilton County. Damian didn’t even complain when Jon carried him in his arms, much to Jon’s surprise.

The city gave way to vast plains blanketed by yellows and oranges. The rain hadn’t reached the county, and the autumn breeze swirled with the scent of leaves and hay. Jon set Damian down under the shade of a huge oak tree—his favorite spot on the farm. Damian remained silent as he leaned on the massive trunk. Jon settled beside him and kicked off his sneakers. The texture of the papery grass between his toes always gave him a comforting sensation, a vague memory of home and warmth.

“So, do you always sulk alone on your death anniversary?” Jon asked, trying to sound light-hearted.

“It’s not the kind of thing you forget easily,” Damian said.

Both boys looked at each other when they realized the same thing.

“You sound like Jason!” Jon giggled.

“Now I feel even worse,” Damian said, but he sounded like he was trying to stifle a laugh. The air between them felt lighter.

“Dick told me, you know,” Jon began, “about how it happened. How everyone mourned. How your dad punched Darkseid in the nose to bring you back to life, which was way awesome, by the way.”

“I don’t think that’s exactly how it went down,” Damian smirked. Then, he adopted a more serious expression. “I was immature. I believed myself unbeatable, I went out of my way to find trouble and fight, to prove myself the best. My hubris got me killed.”

“You don’t need to be so philosophical about it,” Jon said offhandedly.

“No,” Damian said casually. “It was actually literal, in a way. I was killed by my own adult clone, one that still held on to its beliefs of superiority and other nonsense from my mother and the League of Assassins.

“I’ve gotten better,” he continued. “Now I know that it’s useless to die trying to prove you’re better than anyone. You should die for something worth fighting for.”

“Idiot,” Jon chided. “Have you tried not dying at all? Maya and Starfire both told me you were practically suicidal, going off trying to sacrifice yourself to anything every chance you get!”

“I’m not afraid to die,” Damian declared.

Jon sighed and stared off into the distance. He watched a flock of birds flying to the west, and the breeze kicked up a few leaves that settled on Jon’s hair.

“Back then, before either of us was born, my dad died, too. He was fighting Doomsday for the first time.” Jon sounded anxious, as if he was glad he wasn’t alive when it happened.

“My mom took it hard. So did everyone who knew my dad. His friends, relatives, and everyone in the world ever saved by Superman.”

“What’s your point?” Damian asked.

“My dad told me that while he was fighting, he was scared. He was terrified.”  Jon said quietly.

“Superman was scared?” Damian repeated, as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah. He told me that no great warrior ever goes into battle without being scared. He was scared what would happen if he didn’t fight, or if he lost. He fought because he was scared he’d lose his family to Doomsday. He needed to stay alive to protect us, he didn’t want to die. But in the end, he did.”

“You are not very good at cheering people up,” Damian mused.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Jon said adamantly, “it’s okay to be scared to die. You should be, and you should try your hardest to stay alive for the people that love you.” He gave Damian a meaningful look.

Damian considered his words before he replied. “My life is forfeit to my father’s cause. I’m his heir.”

Jon shook his head. “You’re not your dad. Your life is yours. Have you even talked to your dad for longer than ten seconds? He’s not obvious about it, but he just wants what’s best for you. I bet, if you told him you didn’t want to be Robin anymore, he wouldn’t mind, and he’d even help you find a school and stuff!”

At the mention of ‘school’, Damian’s face wrinkled. “You presume too much, Jon. Besides, outside of being Robin, I have nothing.”

“Sure you do!” Jon huffed. “You have brothers, friends, family…you have me.”

Damian looked Jon in the eye, his expression a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

“Why do you care so much? What am I to you?”

Damian’s gaze was so intense that Jon had to look away. He started picking the grass.

“You’re someone that I’d protect no matter what,” Jon said softly. “I’d fight even if my hands go numb until you get it in that thick head of yours to stop throwing away your life like it’s your answer to everything—until you learn just how important your life is to people who care about you.”

“And if I did?” Damian asked quietly. His shoulders relaxed and his hands fell to his sides.

“Then…” Jon gulped. The sheer honesty of the moment made his heart pound in his chest. “I wouldn’t have to be so scared anymore.”

Damian felt Jon’s hand on top of his own. He held it and gently squeezed.  His friend’s words echoed in his mind: the greatest warriors fight because they’re scared to lose the ones they love.

The two boys spent a few minutes just listening to the oak’s branches rustling in the breeze.

“Don’t tell Jason,” Damian finally said. He sounded much more cheerful.

“That you were getting touchy about dying even more than he does?” Jon asked with a grin. “Maybe for a double scoop of triple chocolate ice cream, I will.”

Damian rolled his eyes. He was smiling.

“Deal.” 

[abundantchewtoys]

Homestuck^2 re: Chapter 1 “Clown Logistics” (p57-95)

So, I would like to see the persecuting crew, but I wonder what the Clown Logistics'd apply to in that context.

It might also apply to getting rid of Gamzee's dead body - if Vriska ML fears Jane might come after her and (Vriska).

Though I would like it to apply to something more innocent, like John talking to Harry Anderson and harlequins somehow making their way into the subject matter.

---

Page 57

Oooooh, so THAT is what Vriska ML looks like! The text hadn't described her that much in detail, so this is a pleasant surprise!

She's a goth, hahah. It's ironic - in a way, dressing this way isn't rebellious at all, if that's what she was aiming for, since both her moms are themselves quite gothic too. Didn't expect the short hair, but it stands to reason a child raised by Kanaya and Rose wouldn't have long hair where her mothers don't!

Cool outfit all around.

So, it's also a nice juxtaposition to (Vriska) from the Game Over timeline. She went more the punk route under influence of Meenah.

And post-retcon (Vriska) is still looking quite burned and bloodied from her escapades on the battlefield in the Furthest Ring. Though it's notable that her chest isn't pierced, I thought a piece of broken spacetime hit her there

Hahah, she's claiming John's phone. Stickyfingers Serket.

So this means that when Jake says he didn't know where John went to... He was here just now, talking to Rose! So this takes place before John went to talk to Roxy and Harry Anderson. Oh boy, so we might be in for seeing that heartwrenching father-son conversation after all.

Say, the way Vriska ML holds her arms, with her sleeves like that... It kind of reminds me of Kanaya. I wonder if there are other mannerisms we'll see her having taken over from her mothers.

---

Page 58

Oooooh, hah. That's actually so true to her nature. (Vriska) staying obsure, not as relevant as the real deal? Nope.

This actually feels like something where the suggestion box could have opened up again.

Then again, we might just be shown a list of fake options on the next page.

Though I wonder if this is where people chose Vriska ML, the term used in the recap page. Vriskers is a fan favorite for the original flavour.

Hmm, Rosemary? It's just accurate but left-field enough it might work. :P And it's 8 letters, come to think of it!

---

Page 59

... Where did that eyepatch come from?! Was she really that hurt in the fight? Hah, she drew an 8/infinity symbol on it.

Ooooooh. Vrissy, huh? Okay, it's kind of a cute nickname. Sounds kind of like Vriska+sissy, though. Although, she IS kind of a sister to Vriska.

She seems to enjoy it though! But, uh, to me, it's still a bit confusing to read, since the first four letters of their name is still the same, and their text colour is all the same. :P We need Vrissy to change to red text colour, stat! :P

Anyway, they want to dispose of the body - not turn their back on it - and Vrissy wants to call some people.; So that's bound to be Tavros and Harry Anderson, right?

Though it's a bit strange she'd call her kismesis and matesprit at the same time, especially as said people are currently under close scrutiny by Jane, you'd think.

What's Vriska's reaction going to be to Vrissy calling a Tavros, though? :P

---

Page 60

Huh, that's less of an antagonistic interaction between them. Maybe "kismesis" is a loose term.

"Roll with it", pffffff.

So, Tavros is very much going to highjack one of Jane's smaller ships, right? Maybe this is what Jake referred to, his son and his kismesis being out.

Hah, namedrop! Now to see Vriska's response. Jawdrop?

Blaperile thinks Tavros might come in a car. That could work too, stuffing Gamzee's body in the trunk. And going on a roadtrip.

---

Page 61

XD, yeah, actually, a cringe reaction fits too. Then again, it was only a few hours ago she saw Tavros' ghost, so it wouldn't be THAT big a blast from the past... Wait, was she expecting GCATavrosprite or something??

Hah, so Vrissy thinks Tavros will get a kick out of seeing Gamzee dead. I don't think he'll be estatic, but he'll certainly won't mind. I'm dying to see how he looks though, Jade and John's biological brother!

---

Page 62

... That looks like a flying Smart from this angle.

Lol. Yeah, seems like a Vris thing, oggling Tavros car and being miffed it isn't hers.

---

Page 63

oooooooh. Yup, this looks what a Jane/Jake child with a bit of Gamzee peppering would end up looking like! Cool sidebangs.

The purple text and suit does beg explanation though, since Gamzee's such a shitty rolemodel. Maybe he doesn't really have a say in his clothing. :/

He does remind me of one of the kids on the Sburb fan album this way, though.

I love him.

---

Page 64

... Pfffff, and there's him keeping up the Tavros name in the unwilling clumsiness. Heheehh.

Vrissy did do a good job explaining the situation.

And it seems like this boy might have inherited some of John and Jake's panache at dramatic entrances!

---

Page 65

D: Poor, poor dude.

Ding dong, the clown is dead.

---

Page 66

(Still not seeing the kismesitude, though I LOVE Vrissy's attempt at being supportive.)

Vriska's also being rather uncharacteristically hospitable. Also, isn't she weirded out by the idea of attracting OTHER people, after having known the same 20-odd faces for so long?

---

Page 68

He's on the brink of adventure. He's heard the note desolation plays.

Tavros' life is on the brink of changing, is what I'm saying.

I wonder, is he bare underneath the sweater? Oh righ, he had that shirt with the bowtie.

---

Page 69

Hey, suspenders! ... They're just as orange as Vrissy's phone! Huh, I thought it might have been a compression issue, that Vrissy's phone was Crockertech (since it's presumably the foremost prelavent tech), but now I wonder.

... Wait, does Dirk have tech company? Orange and such. But suspenders don't strike me as his thing. :P

---

Page 71

Wait what?

... Is THIS Harry Anderson??????????

I thought the kid had glasses too, and black hair like John!

Dang, okay, those are some STRONG Lalonde genes. Coooooool.

John's son is a coolkid. My mind is blown.

---

Page 72

LOLLLLLLL.

So his personality is a delightful cross between Roxy and John's. He's only working off the assumption Vrissy's pranking him. Thinking he's the pranking MASTER.

Well, that coolkid facade is gonna be cracked real soon. Though I take his word for it he'll still know where to stash the thing. Even though he's all slick, I think the kid has inherited Roxy's IQ.

---

Page 75

Hahah, Harry Anderson didn't play truant for his last hour of school.

And Vriska's references to Alternia are going to keep weirding the other teens out.

This clown business does INDEED bring a lot of logistics with it.

Heehee, yeah, Vriska notes as well that Vrissy's rather chummy with her kismesis. I wonder if she, Tavros and Harry Anderson are in a state of flux in their quadrants. When she's chummy with one, she antagonizes the other.

Oooh, time for the first real point of disagreement between the two Vris'!

Blaperile has a good point - Tavros is going to end up with the rebels somehow. Well, I suppose him being seen with Vrissy is going to be enough to start a rumour, but he might indeed end up in the rebel camp proper, in the Troll Kingdom.

---

Page 76

Awww. Okay, so it's just a very low-energy kismesitude. His dorkiness vs her bossiness. And it just works, a better adjusted version of Nitram and Vriska's relation. It's even tamer than John and Terezi's bickering, is what I'm saying. At least for now.

---

Page 77

Pfff, so he actually went 'Right-o' and still followed Vriska out the door. Cool move for a kismesis, for sure.

N'aww, she hates-likes him.

Why did no-one captchalogue the corpse, though?

---

Page 79

So, are they gonna get caught? I'm not that worried about the honk. I mean, at this point, Gamzee reviving? I'm not really seeing it. But his body, even at rest, is full of the honkiest squeaks, that I believe.

If they let him drop now, which might happen since the aquabloods aren't stopping... It'll cause a ruckus.

---

Page 81

Pfffff. Vriska's efficiency level is at such a low level. It's hilarious.

Tavros has a good intuition, it seems, he felt she would be counting to 8.

---

Page 83

Ahhh, this is such a wacky hijinx adventure, I never expected...

Wait.

Hold the fuck up.

We're now in the Weekend at Bernie’s zone. Holy shit.

---

Page 85

Pffff, they actually managed to set the sprinklers off with so much as smoke? My god.

Yeah, they have to run for cover now, leaving the dead clown behind.

---

Page 86

Welp. WELP. They're caught. Hilarious BLUH panel though.

Okay, now, I can see how this story will get blown up, and Jane assumes the rebels kidnapped Tavros. ... Wait.

Chances are high that all the teens are just going to end up somewhere else entirely, not even at the rebel camp at all. Ah, yes, a misunderstanding pile-up causing the war to escalate is just something I can see happening here. Bonus points for it being a bunch of dumb teens covering up a dumb clown murder.

---

Page 87

Ooooooh. Five-letter names! Well, it fits Harry Anderson. And emoji's! :O We're in a new decennium now, that's for sure.

Yeah this is going viral.

I wonder if these people's names are, like, coming from Patreon backers. Or old Kickstarter backers from higher tiers.

(Yeah yeah, it's probably the writers themselves having named these folks, I'm making a federal issue from it.)

---

Page 88

Cool perspective

---

Page 89

Pfffff, Vriska's having the time of her life. She's just having fun, since she doesn't really concern herself with consequences.

Vrissy has a better handle of the impact of what just happened.

---

Page 90

... Yup, that's about the jumping to conclusions I was expecting.

Yeesh, Jane is actually as dense as Jake in a lot of critical ways. She's very good at convincing herself of the truth of something. Like here, how she still loved Gamzee, and how Tavros loved him too.

It seems like the conflict on Earth C pivots around Jane's policies. But I don't see how she can be made aware of all her shortsightedness and prejudice, at this point.

---

Page 91

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF. Okay I wasn't expecting this to happen.

But it's an actual freaking callback to the beginnings of the story, and Act 6 Act 1, hahah.

---

Page 92

... Harry is sitting on the bleachers.

Hah, he thinks this is the prank the other teens were pulling on him, just setting off the fire alarm. Thinks he has it all figured out.

---

Page 94

Best reaction image. Ever. Hahahahah.

He was like:

8) |8) :o

---

Page 95

Hah! And even a carapacian expression! (Alternatively, Pickle Inspector.) He's inherited that one from his mother's side, no doubt.

---

Shenanigans. Best shenanigans.

So, where does this take place in regard with John's make-up conversation with Roxy, anyway? My gut says before, but my brain is thinking: how would that even work. Harry'd have to be a karma Houdini. Which would actually be fitting, since magic / sleight of hand runs on both sides of his family.

I'm in love with all of these walking teenage disasters already.

[citrusdragon]

I want to know how Theo got his scars! Please tell us XD

Bless u omg

The first scar Theo got is the light one across his stomach.  It’s a little over a year old.

Theo was walking around town with a group of friends one day.  They were crossing a street, and a car coming towards them slowed to stop at the red light.  But the rain caused the vehicle to hydroplane...  The driver swerved and struck something on the sidewalk which caused the back end of the car to swing around towards the kids like a club.  Theo, frozen by fear, got hit by the side of the trunk, getting nailed right in his stomach and sent rolling across the ground.  Luckily his head didn’t bash into the street, but it felt as though he’d been gutted, so the poor kid was sure he was about to die right before he blacked out.  After getting rushed to a hospital, surgeons had to cut him open to stop the massive internal bleeding before he really did die.  So that scar is from the surgery.

The second scar is the smaller one.  It’s only around 2, maybe 3 months old.

Blake gathered Theo and Klover together and made a point to punish Theo for standing up to him in defense of Klover a few days prior.  He made Theo break Klover’s glasses, threatened to hurt Fae or his family, took a personal object from Theo, etc.  Theo got fed up when Blake demanded he punch Klover, so he threatened to turn him into the police, not knowing that Blake is part of a mafia family.  At the threat, Blake became furious and beat the crap out of Theo - bashing his head into walls, throwing him to the ground, stomping on his chest, etc.  Blake is so large and powerful, Theo couldn’t defend himself, and eventually he couldn’t bring himself to even stand up.  But once Blake then turned his cruelty onto Klover, telling him he caused this and should kill himself, Theo got up again and told Blake off.  Angered by this, Blake took his knife and shoved it into Theo’s abdomen, leaving Klover to get Theo emergency help.[comic of this scene HERE!!]

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot - “Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night” (Rated PG)

Kurt goes roaming through the woods on the outskirts of Dalton, trying to clear his head. He gets lost, and while he's alone, he runs into a feathery confidante who listens to him gripe about his love life ... or lack thereof. (3645 words)

Notes: This is a re-write, but I think I might like this one a little bit better. It's literally 180 degrees different from the story it's based off of. Please let me know what you all think. :) Also I know you guys are all going to get the twist in the first few paragraphs. You don't need to tell me xD

Read on AO3.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night … take these broken wings and learn to fly … all your life … you were only waiting for this moment to arise …

Kurt had started singing to punctuate the quiet as he walked the grounds of Dalton Academy, but the more he focuses on the words, on what they mean to him, the more they bring tears to his eyes.

How is it that, by taking a step forward, he’d managed to take so many steps backward?

He’d come to Dalton to escape the bullying he’d been enduring, unchecked, for years at his old high school.

And it worked.

But it came at a price, larger than the hefty one his father had to pay to enroll him here.

Behind Dalton’s red brick walls, where he’s free to be his true and authentic self, he feels more confused than ever. Wasn’t coming out supposed to be the difficult part? But he’d gone through that with flying colors (aside from the roided up jock who’d threatened to kill him). He had the support of his father and his closest friends. And to top it off, he’d found his new sanctuary - a school where he could walk down the hallways with his head held high, and absolutely no fear of being tossed into a dumpster or shoved into a locker.

He should feel complete. Fulfilled.

But he’s not quite there yet.

There’s something missing.

Being accepted for who he is was only half of the dream.

Finding love with someone like him was the other half.

How often had he lamented the fact that he couldn’t walk the halls of McKinley with a boy, or take a boy to prom?

He still can’t, but at Dalton, theoretically, he can.

And when he’d imagined his mythical boyfriend, he didn’t have anyone in mind.

But now, he does.

For all intents and purposes, he’s in love.

And as far as he can tell, the boy in question loves him back …

… as a friend.

Kurt thought he could handle that, thought he could be the supportive bestie while his crush explored his options, and the boundaries of his sexuality, but it’s harder than he thought it would be.

It’s kind of breaking his heart.

Whoever said better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all can go die in a fire because this – this ache in his chest that gets worse every time Kurt sees him, that keeps him awake at night, that grows thorns and pierces his heart with every breath – sucks.

Kurt stops singing but keeps walking, his feet carrying him past the lacrosse field towards a tree line at the edge of the grounds that he’s never explored before. He knows it’s part of Dalton since the outermost limits of the property are surrounded by a high stone fence that you have to drive through when you arrive on campus. Every inch of the grounds are patrolled by security day and night so, technically, it should be safe.

Still, it looks like the kind of place a lone protagonist might get murdered by a masked man with a chainsaw, even at four in the afternoon.

But Kurt can’t help himself. He keeps walking. He has to make it there. Those trees – looming tall, each topped by a thick crown of green leaves blotting out the sky - seem to be calling him, as if they know of his confusion and have the answers he seeks.

Kurt sighs. He knows he must be lonely – or going insane – if he’s about to consult with trees. Too bad he didn’t bring his phone. He could have called Rachel. Or Mercedes. They’d drive over in a snap bearing popcorn, chocolate, and a stack of old musicals to help him through this crisis.

The only reason he didn’t?

He’s embarrassed.

Leaving McKinley for Dalton, leaving New Directions for The Warblers, was supposed to solve all of his problems.

He doesn’t feel like admitting it didn’t.

He’d feel silly and shallow telling them why.

He walks deeper into the woods (if he can call it that), far enough that he can’t see the towers of Dalton when he turns around. Far enough that he can’t see anything but trees behind him … and that’s when he realizes his mistake. Having turned a full circle twice, he no longer remembers in which direction he came. He’s not a Boy Scout. Kurt Hummel doesn’t do the outdoors. He doesn’t hike.

He has no clue why he chose to start now, alone, and without a link to civilization.

Great. Just great. He came out here to the solitude of nature to find a solution to his problems, and he created a bigger one.

He’s going to die.

In retrospect, that might solve a few of his problems. Plus, it would be poetic. And what else could he ask for in a death (other than it happen in a hundred years instead of today)?

Calm down, he tells himself. You’re not going to die. If he just stays where he is, security is sure to happen by eventually. Or another student. He can’t be the only person who’s ever decided to go walking through these trees.

Kurt turns another circle, squinting through the cluster of trunks, trying to pinpoint a navy blue jacket, or a security officer’s uniform.

Or one of those red cloaked monsters from the movie The Village.

Those vibrant red cloaks remind Kurt of the letterman jackets worn by the jocks at McKinley, how he would jump out of his skin whenever he saw a hint of one turning a corner, or passing by the choir room when he was alone inside, and his blood turns to ice. He holds his breath, listening for the sound of footsteps in the dried leaves, the snapping of twigs, overcome by the feeling that he’s not alone.

That he is, in fact, being watched.

He swallows hard, his heart a lump so heavy, it almost drags him to the ground. He considers calling out: “Hello? Is there anyone there?” when he hears a scream – loud and piercing, coming from nearby. He freezes, the sound just about stopping his heart. He grabs his messenger bag, slung around his shoulder, and hugs it to his chest, since it’s the only thing he has with him that can be used as a weapon. He mentally inventories the items inside: two pencils, his spiral bound notebook, his calculus text book, some sheet music - hardly anything he could use to fend off an ax murderer. The calculus book weighs about ten pounds, so if he threw it hard enough, that might slow down his attacker. The pencils are his best bet, but they, unfortunately, are a close quarters sort of weapon.

The sheet music is entirely useless, unless he finds himself pursued by a homicidal maniac with a penchant for show tunes.

Kurt remains still as solid stone, waiting to see if that scream will happen again, even though he knows it would probably be a wiser decision to run. He may not know which direction the dorms are, but anywhere but here seems like a good direction to go. As his feet come close to acting on that decision, he hears the screech again - closer this time.

It doesn’t sound human. That’s a positive, he guesses.

But it does sound like it’s coming from directly above him, and that’s a definite negative.

Kurt rolls his eyes up, his body shaking as he visualizes the kind of creature that might make that sound poised in the branches above him, waiting for him to notice it so it can pounce on him monster movie style. But it’s not above him. It’s in the tree beside him, up and to the left, on a branch growing perpendicularly out from the trunk and stretching its woody fingers over his head.

It’s not a monster. It’s a raven, peering down at him with what seems to be a curious expression on its feathery, black face.

The two consider one another in silence. Then, unexpectedly, the bird opens its beak and emits the same, guttural screech. Kurt yelps in surprise.

“Oh, Jesus Christmas! Do you have to do that?” he snaps. He hasn’t seen a real live raven before so he never knew they sounded like that – like an old man choking on toast. But there is a sense of gravitas to this moment. From the little he knows about ornithology, ravens are rare in Ohio. If he had his phone with him, he’d be taking a ton of pictures right now.

Maybe he could show them to Mr. Phelps, his life science teacher, and bring up his grade.

He makes a note to never forget his phone on any outing he takes ever again.

He steps back to get a better look at the black smudge of an animal inclining questioningly at him. It caws, head bobbing left and right, watching him with keen interest.

“What am I doing here?” Kurt asks, assuming that’s the only question this bird might have for him, seeing as Kurt has been asking himself that same question for the past several minutes. Why the heck is he in this forest? What did he think he was going to find in here?

The raven caws.

“I’m just … going for a walk,” Kurt explains. “Clearing my head. Trying to get my thoughts in order. I’m … actually struggling through some things. Relationship sort of issues … or the lack thereof.” Kurt blinks at the raven staring down at him and frowns. “And … you’re a raven. You don’t understand a word I’m saying.”

The raven recites a series of mimicked word segments that sound unsettlingly like an answer. Then it sits on its branch and tilts its head – its default position for waiting for Kurt’s response.

But Kurt knows it’s not. He knows rationally that a raven, as intelligent as they are, is not asking him questions, nor waiting for an answer. But Kurt is tired – emotionally beat. He has things he needs to get off his chest, but he has been hard pressed to find a non-invested third party ear anywhere.

He had originally intended on commiserating with the trees. He’s in no position to be picky.

Besides, he just needs to vent. He doesn’t necessarily want someone to solve his problems, just to listen.

Considering his limited options, bird it is.

Alright, he thinks. Here goes nothing.

“If you want to know, then here it is.” Kurt sighs, and for all of the ridiculous this is, it seems the raven takes a step closer and leans a hair in. “I transferred to Dalton expecting everything in my life to change for the better. And it has, for the most part. I feel free – free to be me for the first time in my life. With a few minor exceptions, Dalton is everything I could have asked for and more … except for one thing.” The raven takes a step closer, tilts its head in the opposite direction, and continues to stare, patiently waiting. Kurt stares back at it, expecting it to tire of him and fly away just to prove his point, but it jerks its head up as if encouraging him to continue. “You see, Mr. Bird … can I call you Mr. Bird?” The raven clucks. Kurt takes that as a yes. “There’s this guy. His name is Blaine. He’s my best friend, and I would never, ever want to lose his friendship, but …” He cringes at how clingy he sounds. How whiny. “I don’t want to sound reductive. I don’t want my life to be about needing a boyfriend, because it’s not. My life is about me. Me, me, me. I know that. I really do, but … it feels so good having him around - having someone standing in my corner, cheering me on, holding my hand when things get rough. Someone who isn’t my dad, or my friends from Glee. Someone who looks at me and sees the things that have been so hard for me to see my whole life.” Kurt puts up a defensive hand, as if afraid the raven is going to butt in before he gets the chance to finish. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve always known that I’m better than Ohio, better than McKinley, better than the bullies and the drama. I don’t necessarily need him to point that out to me. I can stand on my own two feet.” Kurt shakes his head. “But it’s nice, you know? I don’t need a boyfriend. But I’d like one. I’ve never had a boyfriend before, and I’d like it to be him.”

The raven ruffles it wings, clucks softly, and Kurt can’t help the crazy feeling that the thing honestly seems interested.

“I’m sure you know,” Kurt jokes to get over the awkwardness that he’s pouring his heart out to a bird. “Flying all over, you must stumble upon people falling in love from time to time? An impromptu proposal in the park, or friends skating on the Auglaize River in winter, discovering for the first time together just how much they love one another? Or maybe I’m just a silly romantic, and I should get my head out of the clouds. I want a chance with him so badly. But, if it was meant to happen, shouldn’t it have happened by now? I mean, we have coffee together every day, we sing flirty duets together …” Kurt shoots a nervous glance around on the off-chance other ears are overhearing this part of the conversation. There aren’t any. It’s just him, the raven, and the trees. “I thought … all of that meant something. But I think I just made it all up in my head? Didn’t I? I mean, what did I expect? For him to show up at my bedroom door with a red rose and say, ‘I’ve been waiting for you my entire life. Please go out with me?’?”

The raven hops down a few branches closer to him.

“It’s not just that he’s handsome,” Kurt muses with a far off look. “He’s talented, kind, charming ... I’ve never met anyone like him. I look up to him. He’s confident, and so damned sure of himself. Sometimes it’s almost like he’s not human or something. Or … you know … too good to be true.” Kurt leans back on an obliging tree and exhales. “And you know what they say – if something’s too good to be true, it usually is.” Kurt picks at a sliver of loose bark, working it away from the trunk as he talks. “I wish I was better at the casual flirting thing, you know?” He asks the question, expecting an answer. When he doesn’t get one, he makes a face for being stupid, but feels compelled to continue. “I wish I had some kind of sign, that I knew for certain he and I are on the same wavelength. That he’s not just that way with everybody. That he’s interested in me … as more than a friend.”

Clouds pass overhead, and the sky suddenly darkens. From what Kurt can see of their grey silhouettes, it looks like it might rain. The raven twists to look over its shoulder, at the sunlight barely breaking through the cover, then back at Kurt, giving him an apologetic sounding caw, and Kurt knows that their conversation has come to an end.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Go on.” Kurt waves the bird away. “I know you’ve got … raven things to do. Thanks for the ear. I’d better get going, too … if I can find my way out of this place.”

The raven hops up to a higher branch, ready to launch, but before it spreads its wings, it gestures ahead with an emphatic nod. Kurt looks in that direction, and with a hint of understanding, points.

“That way?” he says, feeling the stupidest he has since this began. But considering he’s lost, he’s not about to look a potential gift horse in the mouth. “Dalton is that way?”

The raven caws. It sounds affirmative.  

“Well, thank you very much, Mr. Bird. I’ll be seeing you … I guess.”

The bird nods again and takes off. It circles once overhead, then flies away. Kurt watches the raven go, swiftly climbing higher, disappearing above the leaves. Kurt wishes he could fly away, too. Not from Dalton, per se, but from himself for a while. Take a break from his hectic life and his confusing feelings so he can come up with an answer to this. Pluck up the courage to do what he wants to do and ask Blaine out. Birds have long been thought of as messengers of the natural world, right? Maybe this raven, appearing out of nowhere in a place where it shouldn’t logically be and listening to his woes, is the sign Kurt was looking for.

But a sign of what exactly?

Only Kurt can answer that question. No mystical bird can make that decision for him.

And he can’t expect the universe to lend him a hand twice in one day.

***

It’s around eight o’clock in the evening when a knock on the door of Kurt’s room lures him out his ear buds and the super angsty playlist he’d compiled earlier just for the occasion. It was a combination of show tunes he’d been narrowing down for an upcoming audition, along with some standard ballads, and a few top 40 tunes he thought Blaine would appreciate.

Songs they could be listening to if they were in his room together, lying side by side on his bed, sharing his ear buds, and enjoying the rain that had been falling steadily for the last few hours. Kurt always thought of rain as romantic, but right now, it only seemed to emphasize how lonely he felt.

“Who is it?” Kurt calls, puzzled because he’s not expecting anyone.

The halls have been quiet since before dinner time. It’s Friday night, and a large majority of the boys in his dorm head home over the weekend … including Blaine. He would be, too, except he has a huge project due in lit class on Monday. Besides, Finn would be spending the weekend attached to Rachel’s hip, and he wasn’t in the mood to act as third wheel. When no one answers, he says, “I’m coming,” and gets up to open the door. He fully expects to find the hallway empty, himself the victim of a good-natured practical joke, probably by Jeff or Nick. They’d been hounding him lately to tell them what’s up. They always seem to be the first to notice when something is bothering anyone. But instead, he comes face to face with Blaine, standing somewhat strangely with one arm tucked behind his back. Kurt’s face lights up.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Blaine says, a guilty look on his face. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late, but I waited till the dorm emptied out because I wanted to get you alone.”

“No, no, no. That’s okay.” Kurt steals a quick glance at Blaine’s outfit. He’s out of uniform, and a bit less casually dressed than usual in pale yellow slacks and a short-sleeved white button down, with a black-and-white checkered sweater vest over that. His hair is slicked down, as per usual, but it looks more meticulously styled.

Like he’s going on a date.

Which brings Kurt’s attention to the state of his own clothes - half dressed in his uniform, blazer gone, tie loosened, top button unbuttoned. He’s barefoot, and his slacks have to be wrinkled to the high heavens. He’s not sure that his room is Blaine’s last stop, but he feels like he should excuse himself for a moment to change.

“Shoot,” Kurt says, crossing his arms over his chest self-consciously. “What’s so important that you waited until now to talk to me?”

“Uh … you are, actually.” Blaine pulls his hand from behind his back, and with it, a single red rose. It’s positively exquisite – the single most beautiful rose Kurt has ever seen. “Because I’ve begun to realize that maybe I’ve been a tad too subtle when it comes to my feelings towards you. I’m not good at romance, Kurt. I know how to act it out in song ...”

“You’ve told me that before,” Kurt interrupts, his eyes leaving the rose to focus on Blaine’s face.

“I know. But what I want to re-iterate is the I don’t want to screw this up part. Because I think there’s a chance that I have been. I’ve been stumbling through a mess of new feelings, most of them for you, and I haven’t been handling them well. And for that, I apologize.” He takes Kurt’s hand, raises it, and slips the rose between his fingers. Then he leans forward and whispers: “I’ve been waiting for you my entire life, Kurt. Please … go out with me?”

Kurt looks at Blaine, and his beautiful rose, in awe. How had he gone from hoping for exactly this to it showing up at his doorstep in one day? Kurt had no idea. He wasn’t that lucky. “How did you know …?” Kurt shakes his head, disbelieving, unable to complete that question. Because Kurt can only come up with one answer, and it’s too impossible to believe.

That raven wasn’t necessarily a sign, he tells himself.

Maybe his luck is simply changing.

Falling in love with your best friend? It happened every day, didn’t it? Why shouldn’t it happen to him?

“Call it intuition.” Blaine shrugs, smiling as Kurt puts the rose to his nose and sniffs. “Or … we can say a little birdy told me.”