#so next were watching the curse of the blood rubies lol

[april-doodles]

I’m currently rewatching DragonBall with my friends (it’s their first time watching it, my second time watching it) and I am having a lotta fun with it

[fandomzwriterk]

I want to request Yandere Scott Summers x reader. Basically they are in a situation where they get into a situation where they have to fake date, but they are not in an actual relationship but Scott is yandere for the reader. I think adding the yandere into the story add so much more drama into it lol.

A/N: for you Mon Ami, I’ll do it. (Damn it I can’t stop talking like Remy thanks X-Men ‘97)

Warnings: cursing

F.R.I.E.N.D.S

(Yes I listened to Friends by Marshmello while making this… and I might’ve been playing Ghost of Tsushima too…)

“Scott!” You heard from behind you

You turned your head, seeing Jean Grey walking up to you and Scott Summers while you two were out in the town for a little fun break from “work”.

“Jean? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

“No I just… I just wanted to see what you were up to. I see you’re pretty much free so would you like to go out for dinner?”

Jean ignored that you were there, standing right next to Scott, looking at him with a “what the fuck” kind of glance. He was conflicted, but looked Jean up and down before saying anything.

“Not interested Jean.”

“What? But I thought you liked me?”

“Still undecided about it. Now if you don’t mind I’m with another friend at the moment.”

He ushered you away, walking down the sidewalk grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

“Scott this joke… it’s causing a rift between you and Jean.”

Scott stopped, letting your hand go and watching you pull away from him.

“I’ll admit it, it was fun but I can’t keep doing this to Jean. You know we’re not actually in love right? I like Remy remember?”

“Right… Remy. I forgot about that.”

He looked disappointed, most likely disappointed in himself for agreeing to help you and then let it get to his head.

“Remember all I wanted was to make him jealous because he was pining for Rouge? I still want him Scott. We’re just friends, you and I.”

You felt bad, you really did. Scott was a good friend to you all these years and now it felt like you were betraying him and his trust. You could see the hurt behind those ruby glasses, you always could.

“I’m going to head back now. I think I need to clear my head.” Scott spoke bluntly, turning away from you to walk down the alley and into the darkness

You sighed, feeling a sense of worry and dread creep up your skin. But, you still felt true to your heart, knowing you had feelings for Remy despite “dating” Scott. So, you walked along the street to head back to the X-Men Mansion.

“My cherié what are you doing out at this time?” You hear behind you

You spin around, hiding your face by looking down to the ground as you noticed Remy following close behind you.

“Remy! What’re you doing here?”

He shrugged, walking up to you to walk right next to you. His charming smile made your heart beat so fast you thought all your blood was rushing to your face.

“Well I came here lookin for a very fine lady that I can take out to dinner tonight.”

“And you picked me? Why not Rouge?”

“Don’t worry about her my little lady Mister Remy Lebeau has you all to himself tonight.”

You could swear you were dreaming and even if you were, you sure as hell didn’t want to wake up.

“Now come on this way cherié. I’ve got plans at a place Gambit thinks you’ll like.”

And he held his hand out to you, waiting for you to grab it. Shyly, you took it, noticing Remy pulling you closer to him as he started to walk, you keeping pace with him.

“I take it Scott’s never done this before right?”

“Hm? Oh Scott? No we’re just friends. I could never love him that way.”

“Huh. Miss Jean says you and him were together. She’s been trying to get him to pay attention to her, but he’s got his eyes set on something else.”

“Well, I don’t feel the same way. If anything I like-“

And you just shut your mouth before you could say anything else to embarrass yourself. Remy looked to you, his crimson black eyes giving you a mischievous look, his smile was practically a grin that said “I’ve got you right where I want you” and you were trying so hard to not pay any attention to it.

“Go on cherié. Don’t stop now Gambit wants to hear what you were gonna say.” He teased

“Never mind I’ll just-“

Remy pulled you closer, your side right against his as you looked up, staring him in the eye. He knew what he was doing, and maybe he was reading your mind. Oh how you didn’t want him to see the things inside your head.

“Does somebody want to tell me something?”

His behavior had you melting, way harder than your dumb acting with Scott could ever do. Remy made you feel something, something that “dating” Scott can’t give you.

“I want to say a lot of things but I can’t find the words.”

He chuckled, putting a hand to your cheek while the other still held onto your hands. He caressed your face, resting his fingers behind your head and continued to stare into your eyes.

“I love you cherié. More than anything. Yes… more than Rogue and more than myself. You are so perfect to me my dear.”

You used your other hand, pulling Remy down for a kiss, feeling him ease the tension in his body as he held you against himself, feeling your chest against his as you two stared into each others eyes.

“Maybe I’ll take a relaxing night in bed with my cherié over dinner. How does that sound?”

You shook your head, no words coming out as you felt your brain just slowly turn back on. Remy kissed you! He actually did! So, that’s a victory for you isn’t it? Well…

“Y/N!” You heard

And it was Scott, just standing a few feet away almost in the middle of the street. Granted it was night, but he looked like he didn’t give a shit in this moment.

“Get your hands off of her Remy.”

“No chance mon amí. Finders keepers.”

Scott came running, Remy slightly pushing you out of the way as Scott took Remy down to the ground. Scott’s hand was around Remy’s throat, pushing him down hard into the pavement.

“I said she’s mine.”

That line came out of Scott like a feral growl. What was going on with him?

“And you… you don’t listen to a damn thing I say do you? You’re mine you get it? You may not love me but I love you, so you’re mine as long as I’m around.” He growled at you now

Remy looked between the two of you.

“So you used her to get over Jean well congratulations Scotty you did just that. But trust me my friend…”

Remy put a hand on Scott’s shoulder, both men staring each other down like they would kill each other over you. At least Remy would do it to protect you, like right now.

“You ain’t gonna like this when you wake up.”

And Remy sent Scott flying back with a small blast of his kinetic energy, getting up and grabbing your hand to pull you along. You could hear Scott screaming and yelling with anger.

“Bring her back right now Gambit! She’s mine! All mine! Not Jean! Her!” You heard him yell

A/N: continuation? I guess we’ll have to see. I almost made a reference to my Trailblazer X-Men OC and I just went “fuck I haven’t said that yet in my other story”. Anyways I hope you enjoyed!!

[wakeup-wakeup-if-its-all-you-do]

I was trying to imagine what Deku v. Kacchan part 3 would be like and it quickly turned into a whole fic lol! Anyways here it is...

A Hero Distracted

(now on ao3 by pearl_sailboat)

word count: 2,641

tags: manga spoilers, izuku midoriya / katsuki bakugou, angst with happy ending, vigilante deku, deku is going through it, soft bakugou, cursing

summary: takes place right after Deku leaves All-Might and the bento. But he doesn't know that Kacchan will bring him back one way or another.

Deku zipped through the sky, using blackwhip to propel himself forward, so he could put as much distance between himself and his mentor. He didn't look back, he couldn't look back. Whatever scene he'd left behind had to stay behind or else he might lose his nerve and go back to the teacher, the father-figure, who had already given him so much. Deku would not let All-Might give his life too. End of discussion.

He could actually feel the anxiety rolling off the vestiges as they watched him fly across the skyline. They were silent, probably still trying to figure out how to tell him to go back. But it didn't matter what they would eventually say, nothing was going to change Deku's mind. Nothing. 

Deku was so distracted by his resolve to keep moving forward that he didn't notice the three figures floating ahead until they'd launched themselves at him. It didn't matter though, he was no longer the helpless kid he used to be. He'd left behind everyone in his life and that meant that the only one in danger was him. Yes, he thought as blackwhip shot out of him in all directions, let me be the only one who gets hurt. Let me take all the damage, let everyone else stay safe. 

The thought was so all-consuming that his landing was a little rough and he flinched a tiny bit when his legs absorbed the shock. But smooth landings were at the bottom of Deku's priorities… right now he had to incapacitate these three so he could keep moving. He turned to look at his attackers, still entrapped in blackwhip, but… they were already knocked out? And when did they get so many cuts and bruises? Had they been this badly beat up when they first attacked him? Hmpf, maybe they fought over who would get to take me in… Guess there must be a pretty great reward but, still, it's odd…

Before he could finish his thought, he felt a searing pain against the side of his face and the explosion made his ears ring. Dammit, what now? He shot out blackwhip in all directions but before he could even get up, he felt a boot kick him in the shoulder. Hard.

"ARGHHHH," he cried as he moved to grab the leg attached to the boot.

He still couldn't see his new attacker but dammit, it had been a really long day and he was starting to get mad. His hand latched on to the leg and he was about to send his attacker flying over his shoulder when he felt another boot smash down on his wrist. This time he yelled so loud it almost drowned out the sound of his wrist breaking. Who was this person? They were certainly more skilled than the last three...

"You done, nerd? Or am I gonna have to break your legs too?"

That voice… I know that voice… But why? Why is he here? He can't be here… He's still h-

"Dammit, ANSWER ME DEKU!!!" Kacchan yelled behind him as more explosions went off, but this time not aimed at him.

Deku still felt like his wrist was on fire but he made himself get up. He turned around to find Kacchan smiling maniacally, suited up in his hero uniform. No, he's still hurt! He can't be out here! Why did he… oh. All-Might must've sent him. How could he? When he knows-

"Shitty Deku, you never listen, do you? Do. I. Have. To. Break. Your. Legs. Too?" Kacchan said with a small explosion to emphasize each period.

That's when Deku attacked. He didn't want to hurt Kacchan but he knew that the angry blond would never let him go. For some reason, Kacchan had decided that it was his job to protect Deku even if it cost him his own life. Idiot, he thought, not for some reason. He did it because he had too; you were weak so he had to protect you so that All For One wouldn't take the power of One For All. This is your fault. That's why he had to be strong now. That's why he didn't hesitate to connect his fist to Kacchan's face. That's why he didn't hesitate to grab Kacchan's shirt and send him fly- BOOOOM!!!! DAMMIT, how can he still attack when I'm literally throwing him?!?! And the explosion hurt. so. damn. much. Somehow, Kacchan kept firing even when he slammed into the roof's exit door, using his AP shot to blast Deku in the stomach. 

"Is that ALL YOU GOT DEKU??? DON'T TELL ME I CAME ALL THIS WAY FOR YOU TO GO EASY ON ME???" Kacchan cackled. 

He was seriously laughing at a time like this? Deku shook his head, he couldn't afford to get distracted by the Kacchan of it all. He shot out blackwhip again, but Kacchan dodged just like he always had.

"SERIOUSLY, YOU THOUGHT THAT WOULD WORK??? YOU'VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO CATCH ME, NERD!!!" 

Was Kacchan actually… enjoying himself?!?!? Deku wasn't surprised that Kacchan would brag about always winning Catch-a-Kacchan but those memories seemed so far away… No, stop getting distrac- BOOOOMMM!!!!! Kacchan had blasted him again, Deku needed to get his act together and quickly! He took a deep breath and just as he felt Danger Sense activate, he dodged Kacchan's next explosion and launched himself forward. He grabbed Kacchan's hair and yanked him downwards so he couldn't fire. Deku was about to kick him when he felt a pain in his legs. Kacchan hadn't been able to fire at Deku's face so he'd fired at his legs instead! Nothing seemed to be broken yet but, god it really, really hurt.

"HAHA I TOLD YA I WOULD BREAK YOUR LEGS TOO DEK-" Kacchan didn't get to finish that sentence because Deku sucker punched him so hard he went flying into the closest building.

Kacchan coughed up some blood before grinning wide, "NOW WE'RE TALKING!!! OHHHHHH BUT I'M STILL GONNA KICK YOUR ASS NERD!!!!!"

But Deku was frozen. No… No, no, no, no, no, no… I - I punched him right where… right where… I wasn't thinking… He coughed up blood… No, no, no, NO, NOOO!!!! He pressed his hands to the sides of his face, well the sides of his mask, as he sank to his knees. This is why he had left in the first place. He didn't want anyone else to get hurt. The people he cared about always got hurt. It was all his f- BOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Deku's ears were ringing so bad he was pretty sure he would never hear again. The flash of the explosion had blinded him, how long it would last was unclear, but Deku knew he'd been blasted onto his back. He groaned as he registered the shape his body was in, thankful that the adrenaline was keeping him from feeling the full weight of his injuries. He lifted his head as he began to blink away the dark spots in his vision. But immediately his head was pushed back onto the floor of the roof. He heard talking but he still couldn't make out the words so he struggled against the hand. He knew it was useless but struggling was all he could do. So he fought against the hand he still couldn't completely see with everything he had.

"God Deku, give it a rest," he heard when the ringing eventually released his throbbing eardrums.

That's when he noticed that it was Kacchan's hand that held his head down and that Kacchan had him pinned to the ground. Wait, where is my mask? Deku's eyes searched for the mask but before he could find it, Kacchan took it out of his pocket.

"Looking for this? Yeah, you're not getting it back, Deku. This piece of shit lets you lock yourself away and I ain't putting up with it."

Deku rolled his eyes. Why did Kacchan care if he locked himself away? Didn't he realize that if Deku didn't, he'd be too weak to stop All For One? 

"Why won't you say anything, dammit? Never thought I'd miss your nerdy mumbling…"

Why did Kacchan look sad as he said that? Nah, that must've been in Deku's head. He didn't answer that question either though. They didn't have the most traditional friendship, but Kacchan was the only one who stood a chance of bringing Deku back and that terrified him. He knew Kacchan would tear apart anything he said and would use it to convince him to go home. Right now, Kacchan was as dangerous as Shinsou; one word and Deku would lose.

"So you're mute now, is that it?" Kacchan demanded. "Fine then, I'll talk and you better fucking listen, Deku! I don't give a crap about your whole I-need-to-save-everyone routine but I thought you did! Isn't that the whole fucking reason you left in the first place?"

Deku's eyes widened in curiosity. What was Kacchan talking about? His emerald eyes were only met with a ruby glare.

"You didn't even realize, did you? Those three extras you pummeled back there, they looked like they could've used some saving themselves."

What are you talking about? Saving? Saving from who?

"So I was right then," Kacchan sighed and then looked towards the skyline, away from Deku.

When did Kacchan's voice get so quiet? It reminded Deku of how he had been at the sports festival… quiet because he was serious. Why did that tone unnerve Deku so much? Why did those words fill him with… dread?

"Deku, you ran away so you could protect people. You ran away so you could focus on defeating All For One. But were you focused when you landed on this roof? No, you weren't... If you had been focused, you wouldn't have had such a rough landing. If you had been focused, you would've remembered to pay attention to blackwhip even if the landing was rough…" Kacchan paused to look back at Deku.

Kacchan's eyes searched Deku's face, piercing into his soul as if searching for something. Then he sighed again. Why does Kacchan look so sad?

"Didn't you even wonder how they got all beat up?"

What is Kacchan saying? Why does he look so sad? Why is… why is his voice SO QUIET??? I hate this… I don't know what's happening… I hate this… I want him to go back to yelling… I want him to stop looking at me like… LIKE THAT!!!!

Suddenly Kacchan's eyes hardened and he moved his hands from Deku's wrists to his face. At first Deku was relieved because maybe Kacchan had heard his thoughts and was going back into angry mode but then he spoke. If Deku had thought that tone was awful before, it was unbearable now.

"You didn't mean for the landing to be so rough," it wasn't a question, "even though you were wearing that stupid mask, only an idiot wouldn't have noticed how you flinched in surprise. It was in that moment that you probably forgot all about blackwhip… quirks are like muscles, Deku, you know that. When you flinched, blackwhip flinched too… you slammed -"

But Deku didn't hear the rest of that sentence. It all blurred away as the realization sunk in. He was responsible for the cuts and bruises on his attackers. He had knocked them out without even realizing. Because he had been distracted. What was he even distracted by at the time? What could be so impor- Oh. That's when he started crying. It was all too much; if he wasn't failing at one thing, he was screwing up another. He had been so distracted by his own resolve to distance himself from everyone that he hurt other people. It didn't matter that they were villains, they were still people. How could he call himself a hero? He was the least deserving person of that title!

"Kacch-" Deku was crying so hard that he couldn't finish before erupting into more tears.

But it didn't matter because Kacchan sat up and pulled him into a hug. He lost track of how long they sat there like that, hugging each other tight like their lives depended on it. And it did, at least for Deku. He knew that if he let go or if Kacchan did, he wouldn't survive. He cried and cried but Kacchan never pushed him away. 

"Kacchan, I - I messed up!" he wailed, "I c-couldn't defeat All- All For One. I d-didn't protect my f-friends. A-and I h-hurt those people. I c-can't s-save the world!"

"No, you can't," Kacchan said.

Deku stopped crying, momentarily shocked. Before the weight of those words could settle over him, he felt a slight pain in his side. Kacchan had jabbed him with his finger, but why? Kacchan broke their embrace so he could hold Deku's face in his hands again. God, those eyes were so intense.

"You can't save the world alone. No one can. It's a big fucking world, Deku! So cut the crap and let me help you already!" Kacchan said, those ruby eyes softening just a little.

Deku shook his head, "But you got stabbed last time!"

"'Cuz you kept on fucking going on on your own!" Kacchan said, jabbing his finger in Deku's side again.

"Ouch! That actually hurt Kacchan!"

"Tch! That'll teach you to pull that crap again, nerd!"

"But Kacch-"

"Shut up! Don't you fucking realize that you trying to do this by yourself is what caused this whole fucking mess in the first place? So just. Stop," Kacchan pressed his forehead against Deku's, "And let me help you, you damn nerd."

Maybe it was because he was still in shock from all the explosions, maybe he was a bit delirious from all the crying, or perhaps it was because he was just so goddamn tired of running. Whatever the reason, Deku didn't freak out like he would've thought he would've if someone had told him he'd be this close to Kacchan. It just felt so… so right. For the first time in a very, very long time, Deku felt safe. 

He leaned his own forehead against Kacchan's to return the pressure and said, "Okay."

They had so much more to talk about later but, for now, this one word was enough. It said everything that Deku couldn't yet; it promised that next time he would not be alone. It admitted that he had been wrong to isolate himself from the people he cared about. It accepted that Kacchan was right, that no one could save the world alone. And though Deku didn't yet know it, that one simple word signalled the birth of the partnership that would one day be known around the world as "The Wonder Duo."

"Okay," he said again before leaning his tired head against Kacchan's shoulder and closing his eyes.

Deku fell asleep almost instantly but not before he heard Kacchan's light chuckle. Not before he felt Kacchan lift him up in his strong, steady arms. Not before he felt the faintest of kisses on his forehead. It had been days since he'd gotten to rest so he was completely knocked out when Kacchan carried him off the roof. He slept through the shocked reactions of his classmates when Kacchan appeared at the hospital, carrying Deku in his arms. He slept through it all, but Kacchan would tell him about everything when he woke up. One day, though that day was still very far away, he would tell their children about how he'd lost his way and how Kacchan was the one who saved him. He'd tell them about how they took turns saving each other so they could save the world. One day, Deku would smile as he told their children the story of how he and Kacchan became the greatest heroes ever.

[misslynn99]

Epicenter: Chapter One

Link on AO3: Epicenter

Author: misslynn_99 (Me!)

a/n: I totally forgot that I could post this here to help bring in traffic lol. This is a Pro Hero! Bakugo x Reader insert I've been playing around with. Enjoy!

Red Riot was a regular of yours. His bright smile lit up the atmosphere of the little coffee shop, infectious and spilling over to anyone else in the vicinity. He was friendly, inviting even, as he ordered two coffees- one plain black and another syrupy sweet with cream. He usually turned up a couple times a week up business causal, perfectly content to leisurely chat and sign autographs before inevitably ducking out shyly, laughing that his partner wouldn’t be thrilled with cold coffee. You’d grown to love the visits of the charming hero, finding it easy to get lost in his easy conversation and brilliant ruby eyes. You couldn’t help but wish that maybe one day he’d order just one coffee and stay a while longer to sip it at a table across from you.

Today was not one of those days. Instead, he barreled through the doors, dragging a bedraggled blonde in across his bare shoulders. The harsh muzzle and shredded fabric of his hero costume was a slap in the face, reminding you that he was not just a charming civilian, but instead one of the finest defenders of the city. The café customers had already evacuated, but you had stayed to quickly close up the shop. “Watch him, will ya?” He huffed. “He’s been hurt. I know you’ve got a minor healing quirk, and he’s in no shape to return to the fight. Deku and Uravity are on the scene too. We can handle it from there, but this idiot will get himself killed just to prove that he’s just fine.”

“Okay,” You nodded. “I’ll do my best to patch him up.”

“Thanks, doll.” He prodded at your check playfully. “I owe you one. Blasty here is quite the bear when he’s pissed. Don’t worry, I made sure his blasters were empty before I brought him to you. I couldn’t have him taking out my favorite place. ” Carefully setting the blonde on the coffee bar, Red Riot raced back to the scene, where a villain with a rouge power-type quirk was wreaking havoc.

“What am I going to do with you?” The words absentmindedly left your lips, fingers tracing a tender looking cut along his arm. Sighing, you stripped the gauntlets from his arms and legs, leaving the pro hero in just the Kevlar of his hero costume.

Angry red bruises already dotted his exposed skin. His chest shuttered unevenly with each shallow breath, and his soft blonde hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. “I’ve got to have a first aid kit around here somewhere.”

The scent of alcohol almost overpowered the stench of burnt sugar and gasoline that seemed to seep from the blonde’s every pore. Even barely conscious, he hissed a curse as the disinfectant stung his open wounds “Fuck!”

“Red’ll kill me if you get an infection.” You muttered. “Just sit still. I’ll get you something for the pain here soon.”

“Hands off.” He slurred. “I’m going back.”

“Your ribs are broken.” A gentle hand to his chest was more than enough to stop the hero.  “Let me heal you first.”

Stalling was your best option, but sparks danced along the hero’s palms. He left me with Ground Zero, cheeky little asshole. you thought viciously. The feral black mask and fiery red eyes should have been a dead giveaway but, lost in the moment with Red Riot, you had missed it. Ground Zero looked so vulnerable, even as he struggled to resist your help. Each breath seemed to whistle through his gritted teeth. Rivulets of sweat dripped down his brow and splattered onto the counter, and his entire frame shuddered from pain. Yet his steely frown bit back at you, screaming that he was determined to rejoin the fight with a confidence that his words could not convey.

“And Shitty Hair, Deku, and Cheeks aren’t finishing without me.”

“Just let me handle the ribs, okay?” You pacified. “Broken ribs could mean a punctured lung with another hit, and a punctured lung means you’ll spend the next few weeks in the hospital with a chest tube. Even then, you might not get the lung capacity back. So let me fix it.”

“Fine.” He spat. “I’m waiting.”

You felt the heat of embarrassment on your face. “This is going to hurt. A lot.” You gulped. “I need to touch the injury directly, so shirt off.”

Ground Zero motioned to pull the black and orange tank top over his head, but froze. “Can’t move my shoulder like that.” He growled.

“Should’ve known.” You sighed nervously. “You’ve probably got flail chest close to your sternum. Where ever that thing hit you, I think it broke a bunch of ribs so they’re not attached to the rest of your chest wall now.”

“Just fix it.” Ground Zero snapped. “By any means necessary.”

You nodded, intimidated by the hero’s anger. Praying that no one walked in the shop, you carefully peeled the fabric away, and flinched at the sight of the marred skin. Sickeningly black bruises blossomed from just below his clavicle and you tenderly laid a hand across his pectoral. The bones shifted slightly under your touch. His injuries were more extensive than you had expected, as you felt the puffy skin and sharp edges of displaced fractures through the lean tissue of his torso.

“How do I know this isn’t just an excuse to feel me up, perv?” A bright shade of red flushed his cheeks.

“That’s pretty messed up.” You glowered. “I don’t have to do this, you know. All I’d have to tell Red is that I tried but you blew me off and staggered out the door anyways. I don’t appreciate being accused of groping you while trying to do you a favor, so if you don’t want my help we can just wait here.”

“Fine, just get on with it.”

Cool energy trailed from your fingertips, dancing over his skin and sinking in. “Fuck!” He swore again, writhing against the counter. You could feel yourself sway, energy sapping as the bones knit back together. His chest grew warm beneath your touch, or maybe it was just your icy fingers as cold settled in your core.

“Why don’t I feel tired?” He peered curiously at you, as you slumped forward onto the counter.

“Because it saps my energy, not yours. Why do you think I own a coffee shop instead of being a traveling healer?”

“Blasty!” Red Riot’s voice was music to your ears. “I hope you didn’t give my favorite girl too much trouble now.”

“He,” you wheezed. “Still needs to see a doctor. He needs a chest X ray to make sure everything is in the right place. “

“I think you need to see a doctor.” Red’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, running a hand across your forehead, fingers trembling against the freezing skin beneath. “You’re so cold.”

“If I’m going to a doctor, so is this idiot.” You scowled at Ground Zero’s jeer, getting to his feet as if to prove he was just fine.

“Come on.” The blonde grabbed your arm, pulling you across the bar, and attempted to shoulder your weight across his back.

“Not on my watch.” Red caught you before you could hit the ground. “Didn’t she say that you need to be seen? Something tells me that you’re the one who needs to be carried.”

“I can walk myself!” Ground Zero barked, although his knuckles were white from gripping the counter top and his jaw clenched. Your vision was swimming, but he seemed to sway as he took a few unsteady steps towards the door.

“Sure you can.” Red rolled his eyes with a wink your way. “But you’re not taking this lovely lady on a one-way trip to the floor in the process.

“I’ve got them!” A flash of pink and black ducked around Red’s arms, and suddenly you were weightless. “Nearest hospital is a couple of blocks to the north. Deku is taking the villain down to the station, in the quirk-cancelling cuffs. I moved most of the rubble out of the way, but I’ll come back to help with the clean-up. I just had to see how Bakugo was holding up. “

“I think my girl here has him stable.” Red Riot frowned. “But she’s not doing so hot. Why’s that? I thought Blasty here would be the one drained.”

“Quirk,” You slurred, relaxing in to the weightless embrace of whatever was supporting you. “Drains my energy. ‘S why I’m not a healer. He was hurt, real bad. Flail chest, I think.”

“She needs IV fluids.” You were vaguely aware of moving, unbidden, with Red’s arms no longer warming you against his chest as your consciousness dimmed.

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

A gentle prod to the arm stirred you back into awareness. “Hey.”

“Red Riot.” Your head lolled to the side. The cool, metallic hospital bed chilled your bare skin, shivering against the thin blanket. The smell of antiseptic stung, and the image of Ground Zero’s uneven breaths burned behind your eyelids. The tell-tale stiffness in your arm was a sign of the IV already inserted, surely dulling the ache in your own chest with a steady drip of pain medication. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

“Blasty is doing just fine.” His warm hand splayed across your shoulder comfortingly. You hadn’t noticed before, but as he leaned over your bedside, you could have sworn that you saw a hint of black roots amongst his fiery red hair. Concern creased his face, and his cologne tickled at your throat, smelling of patchouli, leather, and pine. “You gave us all quite the scare there. But Ground Zero is a lucky man. The doctors say that you fixed up his five broken ribs, three of which detached from his chest wall.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s in the operating room. They had to go in and stop some of the internal bleeding, and clear out the pooled blood in his chest so it wouldn’t give him a collapsed lung.”

“Thank you, Red Riot.” A sigh escaped your lips.

“Don’t be so formal. My name is Eijirou Kirishima. Call me Eijirou, or Kiri, or just something that’s not my hero name. It’s not like my real name is a public secret.” He laughed.

Stealing a glance to the side, you smirked. “I could call you Sharky.” His eyes widened, and you chuckled. “But I think I like Kiri.”

A doctor quickly cut the exchange short, her harsh raps on the door breaking the moment. “He’s out of the OR and in recovery.” She directed her attention towards Eijirou. “Do you want to go back and see him?”

“You can go, I’ll be okay.”

“Nah, Bakugo would never let me live it down if I ditched a civilian at the hospital.”

“I want to know how he’s doing.” You nudged his side with your elbow, trying your best to look convincing. “I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”

“I’ll be right back!” The tension in his shoulders eased, sagging in relief. “Don’t leave without me, okay?”

“I’ll hold her discharge paperwork until you return.” The doctor’s lips quirked in a half-smile. “I need to ask her a few questions anyhow, so it is beneficial that you’re out of the room for a little bit.”

Eijirou scurried out, and a pang of affection fluttered in your chest. “He’s such a kind hero.” You sighed.

“He is.” The doctor plucked a pen from the pocket of her white coat and began to add notes to your medical chart. “How are you feeling? Still light headed?”

“I feel much better. Just a bit tired still.”

“Okay, I’m going to release you with orders to take it easy for the next day or so, and if you start feeling poorly, please go either to your general practitioner, or return here for further treatment. I’m going to remove your IV, and then I just need you to sign the discharge paperwork, and wait for your escort to come back.”

“I’m back!” Eijirou grinned as he poked his head in, watching as you signed the papers. “Uraraka is forcibly floating Blasty back to his apartment so he doesn’t wind up passed out on a train somewhere. They’ve got him all sorts of knocked up on pain killers. But I’m ready to take you back to the shop if you’re good to go.”

“I am.” You nodded. “I still need to finish closing up shop, though. I locked up the cash from the register, but the machines need cleaned and the doors need locked before I call it a night.”

Eijirou just smiled sheepishly, his hands ready to steady you as you climbed out of the hospital bed.

“I’m okay.” You whined, batting his arm away playfully. “The press would have a hay day if you held my arm or god forbid carried me anywhere.”

“Oh! Uhh, yeah, you’re right.” He flinched, arms snapping back to his sides, and you instantly regretted even bringing it up as you watched Eijirou school his features to look carefully professional once more, carefully ushering you out the door.

"I think the ladies would be too devastated, if the press made it seem like the most eligible bachelor of the pro heroes was off the dating market.” You joked nervously, trying to ease the tension that had settled between the two of you.

“Obviously.” He rolled his eyes, cracking a slight smirk. “Who else are they going to drool over? No one else is nearly as manly as me.”

"Not even Ground Zero?”

“A close second.” He conceded. “But he really only shows anger and annoyance, which decidedly unmanly. His only downfall.”

The café was in sight again- and mostly still intact. It was nestled between a few other businesses on the strip, quiet and unassuming. You wondered briefly how the heroes had even taken notice, when everything else about the world of heroes seemed so loud and chaotic. The chalkboard outside was  smudged with dust, as were the windows that offered a peak into the cozy shop, but as far as you could see, nothing had been damaged or broken into during your absence.

“I think tomorrow is going to be a long day of cleaning.” You groaned.

“Occupational hazard.” Eijirou laughed. “I think this is where I let you go, though.”

Turning to face him and putting your hand on his shoulder, you looked into his eyes. “Thank you, Eijirou. Thanks for making sure I was okay and that I got home safely. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and what you continue to do for the city.”

“Just doing my job.” He replied sheepishly, his voice half an octave higher than usual. “I think my patrol shift starts here soon, so I’ll catch on the flipside for my usual.”

Eijirou left, and you carefully locked the doors behind him. The silence was deafening. The café usually buzzed with quite murmurs of those working, catching up with friends, or tentatively flirting with a prospective partner. Normally, the café wouldn’t close for a few more hours, but even leaning against the counter seemed to draw from the deepest reserves of strength you could bare, and you wished Eijirou had stayed.

That’s what you get for making the man so uncomfortable. The voice inside your head whispered cruelly. Shouldn’t get hung up on your silly little crush. He’s just a hero looking to maintain a public image, not get to know you or your life or sweep you off of your feet. You should stop this before you embarrass yourself.

“Kiri is a kind man.” You whispered to yourself, as if to silence your own internal monologue, hands deftly cleaning the espresso machines. “He cares about others. I may not be special, but he is genuine.”

The coffee bar was strangely oily, and once again your senses were assaulted with the stench of over-cooked caramel and thick smoke. Ground Zero was an enigma; you knew that his temper was just as explosive as his quirk, frequently berating civilians unfortunate enough to be caught in his way and chasing away reporters with a more than a few sparks. Yet, despite his notoriously low public approval levels, he still managed to rank as the number two hero. His record for take downs and civilian rescues were immaculate, only outranked by Deku. For someone so who was so determined to be the take over the spot for number one hero, he was prickly at best and outright aggressive at worst. He was a confusing contradiction of everything the public believed of pro heroes, and in his own way, stole the media’s attention as they leaned into Ground Zero’s “bad boy” reputation.

You wondered if he appreciated the media’s attempts to make him more likeable, or if it only annoyed him further. Ground Zero certainly didn’t seem appreciative of your help, nor was he thrilled with Eijirou’s attempts to joke about his bad attitude. He was so different from his partner; Red Riot was the media’s sweetheart, sympathetic and caring, and known for his tendency to help civilians even with menial tasks. He was both an unbreakable force for good against the villains plaguing the city and an approachable everyday hero.

Ground Zero didn’t have that luxury, his humanity lost to his pro hero status. It seemed like a lonely existence. With a sigh, you finished your cleaning, and taped a “Closed early” sign to the front door, and wandered back up to your apartment to rest for the evening.

[jj-lives]

Sing to Me: i can hear you open up to breathe

Song is Shake it out by Florence + The Machine if anyone hasn’t heard it. I imagined tempo and acoustic similar to the Glee rendition of the song. Naya Rivera’s voice haunts me in the first verse. Highly suggest this version, don’t be snobs cuz it’s “Glee” lol.  Enjoy. I may have a part 2 or 3 planned.

ao3 link

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The crowd’s booing echoes long after the man trudges off stage. They’re not being fair. She thinks he wasn’t horrible. Maybe not on par with the other talent before him, but not horrid. Drinks flow steadily from behind the bar. Verbal jeers rising as inhibitions drop. Fate would have been kinder to showcase him first, before the crowd became bold with alcohol filled bellies. 

“Poor guy.” Ever the empathetic one, Ruby is quick to applaud, though she’s the only one.

“Don’t encourage that.” Their other friend speaks up from her right. “He was horrible. I saw no breath control, and he was so -pitchy.”

“Not everyone can be classically trained like you!” Ruby shoots back. “Who could control breaths while crying. I swear there were tears in his eyes as he ducked behind the curtain.” 

Their bickering continues, muffled now by the shouts for the next performer to take the stage. The set is early. They don’t care that they chased the last one off ten minutes early. 

Servers hurry to replace empty glasses; tributes to placate the ravenous horde, but their hunger is for entertainment not drink. Yang wonders if their demands now turn for more blood. The one constant ringing true throughout history - men are never sated. Always they want more, and more. Having a taste of viciousness, would anything curb that appetite now?

She spares what little empathy she can for the next performer, wishing it into the universe in hopes to protect them, even but a bit, from what’s to come. Ruby worries for the wrong person, his embarrassment although tragic is now over. 

“Here we are now, entertain us.” It rings over and over, so much so Yang can’t tell which are the true roughened lyrics and which are the reverberations from the rafters.

A girl rushes from side-stage, skidding to a halt a few paces in. It’s obvious from her deer-in-the-headlights look that she’s been rushed, pushed up there, like a lamb to slaughter. A simple acoustic guitar hangs from her white-knuckled left fist. She wears simple clothing, no fancy dress or designer jeans, no blazers or grunge band shirts hang off her frame. There’s nothing to indicate this girl’s trying to make an impression. Nothing saying she wants to be seen. The opposite in fact. She wears simple black jeans, blue converse and a long sleeved grey shirt. No gaudy jewelry or bold make-up marr her skin to grab the audience’s attention. Her hair is pulled back in a simple bun at the back of her head. Fingers tremble as they slide across her temple, tucking a wayward strand of ebony behind her left ear. Higher up, two points flatten as she takes the half a dozen strides to collapse on the stool awaiting her at center stage.

The horde goes silent, staring slack-jawed.

She’s a faunus.

Yang’s muscles all tighten. Only noticing the way her hands grip the table when a splinter wedges underneath a nail bed. She sucks in a breath, releasing her grip on the wood, claw marks a visible indicator of her instant unease. Faunus don’t showcase here and there’s a good reason for that. She searches the crowd for a manager, a bouncer, a goddamn server would do. Someone has to get her off that stage. A sharp tug at her elbow yanks her back into the booth. She doesn’t even remember standing.

“Where are you going?” Weiss glares at her, jaw clenched. 

“Someone has to do something.” Already murmurs are rising up. Scornful, racist slurs whispering all around her. “They’ll slaughter her.”

“No one can stop this.” Weiss’ voice drops, saddened, resigned.

“A manager.” She stands again, determined to do something.

“Who do you think shoved her up there, Yang.” Ruby’s voice is opposite of her friend’s. All scorn and hatred. She’s never heard that tone from her sister before. “She’s a barback. I saw her earlier when I went to get our drinks. She works here.”

Yang falls heavily back into her seat and stares in horror at the uneasy flick of the girl’s ears. Ears that now have the attention of every racist blowhard in the joint. Her obvious nerves will prove her downfall, they aren’t something a drunk, malicious pack will ignore. She’s become their prey, at no fault of her own, or even under her own decision. She’s been forced into an impossible situation against her will. 

Yang growls aloud.

Weiss’ cautious stare flicks from her to Ruby. “We should go.” She says at last. And Yang knows her reasons. She doesn’t want to see what’s coming, doesn’t want them to see what they all know is about to happen. Ruby releases a breath and Yang can see her nod in her periferal. 

“Yang l-”

“I’m staying.”

“But-”

“You can go if you want.” Yang’s eyes haven’t left the stage. She watches as the girl busies her trembling fingers by tuning the instrument in her hands. The pickguard wears many scars and the body is faded where her forearm comes down to rest. Each chord plucked ends with a nod, meeting her approval. 

“Are all faunus this’low?” A man slurs from somewhere off to Yang’s left. “No wonder they can’na keep any good jobs.” A roar of laughter ripples the air.

“Yang, let’s go.” Ruby pleads.

“I’m not leaving.”

“You can’t do anything.” Weiss reasons.

But they’re wrong. “I can stay.” They hover, concern in their eyes. Yang feels it. “Go, I’ll be alright.”

Doubt hangs in the air but it’s not spoken. Finally Weiss pulls Ruby from the bar by the wrist. They weave between the tables at a brisk pace. Yang watches the door swing closed when they leave. 

Then she starts to sing.

“Regrets collect like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moments

I can see no way, I can see no way

And all of the ghouls come out to play”

She starts without accompaniment of her instrument. Voice: soft and fragile but with a haunting strain, she sings the first verse. Yang’s never heard anything like it. For the first time she wishes for different ears -like hers- if only to hear her better.

Her wrist moves, playing softly as her voice strengthens.

“And every demon wants his pound of flesh

But I like to keep some things to myself

I like to keep my issues strong

It’s always darkest before the dawn”

The once rowdy crowd is silenced, hypnotized by her. Eyes glued to her as hers remain on nimble fingers running along the guitar's neck with practiced ease. She doesn’t spare a glance to the patrons and hasn’t since she first took her seat, but the way she keeps returning to worry her bottom lip between piercing teeth relays her fear. 

“And I’ve been a fool and I’ve been blind

I can never leave the past behind

I can see no way, I can see no way

I’m always dragging that horse around

Our love is pastured, such a mournful sound

Tonight I'm going to bury that horse in the ground"

So enraptured Yang is, she doesn’t notice the whispers rise again. All her senses are focused on the beauty on stage. A brow furrows as she sings through the first chorus. Shoulders stiffen as a note is missed. Delicate eye’s slam shut and her voice quavers for the briefest of moments. 

She plays on.

Mutterings of ‘faunus, animal, savage’ finally reach her. Yang curses them all to the deepest pits of hell. This girl’s not a savage or an animal. She’s an angel.

“And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh whoa

And given half the chance would I take any of it back

It’s a final mess but it’s left me so empty

It’s always darkest before the dawn.”

Yang hears laughter off to her left and she’s sure it’s the same table the man hollered from earlier. Dying down to snickers, Yang tears her eyes from the stage with a pain almost physical. There’s a group of men, boys really, goading one of their own. Elbows jab at him teasingly as they whisper into his ears. Yang knows it’s coming, knows it before he sports a determined mask, before he lifts his mug to chug back the rest of the courage it contains. He stands.

“Look boys!” His booming voice carries, “Guess you can teach ‘em beasts a trick o’ two.” 

Yang turns to the stage, hoping -in vain she knows- that he’s remained unheard on stage. A human might have been blessed in ignorance, but not her. Not when she can hear and see so much more than they. Yang watches her flinch, sinking lower on her stool. Her eyes shoot to the side, seeking help they both know won’t come. 

The man continues, emboldened by his mate’s prodding. “They taught’er ta sing. Wonder if she can dance too.” Whistles rise up, taunting. “Give us a jig-” he hiccoughs through his laughter. 

She stops playing, staring at the crowd. Pleading with them. 

Yang turns to grab a server rushing passed. Glares daggers at her until eyes avert with a sad shake of her head. No one is going to help her. They’ll make her dance for their entertainment.  

But she’s proud, or scared, and doesn’t move from her stool. After an eternity she strikes the cords in the same tune. 

Yang prays it’s the end. Even as the same man steps out of the booth, she prays. She urges him to just leave it, to be headed home or even the restroom. His lumbering steps carry him in a wobbled zig-zag to the stage. Her fist throbs as it hits the table. She stands, moving before she processes what her next move will be. He’s intercepted not far from her abandoned table, the alcohol has made him bold, but also slow.

Yang anchors herself in his way. He tries to sidestep her. “I don’t need another drink, honey.” Her hand plants on his chest as he tries again to pass her.

“What you need is to go sit down.” Her voice is low, dangerous, but he misses the warning resting within her words.

“I’m just havin’ fun, she’ll be lucky ta dance with a real man.” He motions with one trunk of an arm to his goal. To her. “This’ll be a treat. After all ‘em savage brutes rutting up on her e’ery night she’ll enjoy-” 

Yang hears a crack and she’s not sure if it’s his nose or one of her knuckles. But she stands where he crumples, unconscious to the beer soaked floor. Adrenalin pumping, Yang spins looking for her next target. Instead she’s met with boisterous laughs. They hoot and holler. And a few close enough pat her shoulder. 

“Taken down by a girl,” they yell. His friends' angry looks are the only thing she contends with as they drag his limp body to the exit. 

Behind her the guitar picks up and the girl begins to sing again, continuing where she left off. Yang stalks to the bar to order another drink, needing to calm her racing heart. Fists clench with a need to punch something or someone else. Whoever served up the faunus buffet is first on her list. A beer is placed before her. She looks up and sees the bartender smiling gratefully at her. “On the house,” he says. His eyes flick to the stage. 

She forces a smile through still gritting teeth and turns, listening again to the girl’s angelic voice. It’s not her guitar she stares at as she sings this time. It’s Yang.

“And I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t

So here’s to drinks in the dark at the end of my road

And I’m ready to suffer and I’m ready to hope

It’s a shot in the dark and right at my throat

‘Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Looking for heaven, for the devil in me

Well what the hell I’m going to let it happen to me

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, ooh whoa”

When the song ends she’s called off stage. It’s the first thing Yang’s grateful for all night. She stays to finish her beer. It’s the reason she tells herself. It would be rude not to finish the offered beverage, but when a cold cloth is placed over the knuckles of her right hand and she looks up Yang knows; she’s waited for her.

“Thank you.” Her voice is soft, careful. Unable to make eye contact with her now that only a bar separates them instead of a crowd. Her eyes dart everywhere except in her direction. She avoids her corner of the bar at all costs. Yang’s just happy to watch her. They don’t speak, but Yang’s gaze follows as she completes her duties. Her beer is replaced when empty, her money refused again. The girl looks up from filling the ice bucket and smiles softly at her boss, witnessing the transaction, or lack thereof. All Yang wants is to be the recipient of that smile, just once. She could die happy.

Hours later as she’s wiping down the bar Yang reaches out to touch her wrist. Her hand is snatched to her body with practiced reflexes. It breaks Yang’s heart. She deserves more than this fear humans instilled in her. Their eyes meet and Yang feels herself smile, genuinely, for the first time all night. 

“When are you off?” Careful to keep her voice low. She doesn’t want to scare her. Yang hates that she’s already been responsible for that telltale constriction of her pupils. 

“Why?” Her voice is just as careful as Yang’s, skeptical of her reasons.

“Do you-” Yang lifts her hand to scratch her nose, flustered by the amber that’s studying her now. “If you’d allow, I’d like to walk you home.”

“I don’t need supervision.” She turns to stack the clean glasses another faunus has brought out in a grey tub.

“I know, but I’d like to.” She watches Yang stretch her right hand, watches the wince Yang can’t completely hold back. No one has ever studied her as hard as the girl across the bar is now. “Just in case.”

“I’m off in an hour.”

“I’ll wait.” Yang nods as if sealing the deal. The girl grabs the empty tub and makes to disappear into the back. “My name’s Yang.” She blurts before she’s out of sight. “Can I please have yours.”

Without turning she answers, “Blake.”

[shirtlesssammy]

5x05: Fallen Idols

Hey all! Welcome to Hate Watch Week! We’ve picked the best of the worst and are recapping them all week. These are our personal choices, and I’m sure they all (*but one*) have redeeming qualities, we just see the bad more than the good. Enjoy our snark  --and join in if you want :) (And if you’re still trying to guess our hiatus theme, this episode doesn’t count.) 

Then:

Angst-a-thon!

Now:

We meet Jimmy and his pal, Cal, both race car enthusiasts. Well, enthusiasts for one sports car: James Dean’s Porsche 550 Spyder. While Jimmy runs to get the camera, Cal sits in the car, ready to start the “Little Bastard”. Only, the air gets frosty and the car radio flickers on. We hear a crash and Jimmy heads back to the garage to find Cal’s head smashed into the jagged edge of the convertible’s windshield. 

Sam and Dean are on the case! Sam wants to know why this case is so important --what with the devil and apocalypse and all. “This is what we’re doing, okay?” Dean insists. Dean highlights that they’ve been away from each other for a while (*Ahem* maybe I don’t like this episode as much because the last two episodes were just Dean and Cas having fun times together? IDK. 5x03 and 5x04 were a wild ride that I watch over and over again.) 

THE HORROR:

They arrive at the local cop shop as FBI agents Bonham and Copeland. The local sheriff shows them the video “evidence” that Cal’s good buddy Jim killed him. The brothers are less than convinced.

The sheriff applied Occam's Razor, and done and done. 

The brothers want to interview Jim anyway. He tells them what he heard from the house: tires squealing, glass breaking. The car killed Cal. It’s cursed. Jim mentions that it was “Little Bastard” that did it, and Dean’s eyes light up like a little boy at Christmas. OoooohhhHHHHooo. Dean and cars and, well, don’t tell me he never had a crush on James Dean. We all have had a crush on James Dean. Sam “I can’t be any more straight” Winchester has no flippin’ clue what’s going on. Dean insists they check out the car. Bby boy. 

They head to the car, and Dean takes a moment. Sam asks for some exposition. Dean explains that after James Dean died, the mechanic bought the wreckage and fixed the car. 

The car fell on him, and death continues to follow the car wherever it goes (Ugh, I just went down a rabbit hole of what happened to the car and am now in a weird spiral of remembering how much I loved James Dean as a teen and how much Rebel Without A Cause meant to me. I’m not 90 years old. What a weird flex for a 1990’s kid to experience. But also not, since Dean’s right there with me, right?) 

Anyway, to really confirm if the car was James Dean’s, they’ve got to match the engine number. Dean heads under the car to confirm, begging the car to not hurt him first. Dean takes his sweet ass time being nervous and writing down the engine number, but he makes it out alive. He tasks Sam with tracking down all the owners.

While Dean hangs at a bar, Sam discovers the car is a fake. 

Meanwhile, a nerdy man reflects on his day at his desk when the air gets frosty and he hears a creaking behind him. He turns and utters, “Oh my god, it’s you. You’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead.” Is it a long lost wife? An old rival? Nope. It’s a growling Abraham Lincoln. He chokes the nerd man until he becomes a victim of the blood cannon. Better angels of our nature, my ass. 

The agents meet the sheriff at the crime scene. They remark that there’s nothing strange about the victim dying of a gunshot wound where there’s no gun, no gunpowder, no bullet. Awkward. The brothers demand a reasonable explanation from the sheriff. He hunkers down and whispers, “Professional killer.” He’s thinking this is a Michael Clayton-type thing. And I love it because that’s the limit of his imagination. Sam and Dean know better but only because they live in the fringe of this world where monsters are real. 

Sam and Dean head to interview the victim’s maid, Consuela Alvarez. She’s very distressed, and can only speak Spanish. 

Sam pulls out his freshman Spanish to save the day. I only remember “Donde esta el baño?” Good job, Sam! The killer was a tall man with a long black coat and a beard. And he wore a hat. A tall hat. Dean cracks the code: A stovepipe hat like Abraham Lincoln. DEAN BEAN, so street smart he doesn’t even realize how book smart he is. Sigh. “Abraham Lincoln killed Mr. Hill,” Consuela confirms. 

The brothers continue to research. Dean watches the car video frame by frame until he finds one frame of a blurred red coated figure ---and INSTANTLY guesses that it’s James Dean ---but like Jim Stark James Dean. It’s not like James Dean wore the damn red coat outside of that movie role, lol. (Sidenote: Fun fact: Fry from Futurama’s coat is modeled after that red coat.) 

Sam realizes that they’re dealing with famous ghosts that are killing their fans. (Sidenote: I hope Misha Collins never dies.) The brothers wonder why these ghosts are haunting Canton, Ohio. They do more research. 

The brothers head to the Canton Wax Museum. They marvel at all the random wax figurines (and Sam is taller than Lincoln? Hmmm. They’re the same height. #Borisisanerd) Dean makes fun of Gandhi and Sam defends him, but uh, nope, Sam, nope. 

The museum curator shows up and the brothers introduce themselves as reporters for Travel Magazine. They’re writing an article on “how totally non-sucky wax museums are.” The curator points out that this place is unique. He points to Lincoln and tells the boys that’s actually Lincoln’s hat. Yep, he’s got real items from all the dead guys. 

He’s going to make wax museums hip again. And OMG Sam’s little thumbs up in response. STOP. 

Later, Sam loads up on salt rounds and walks in on Dean talking to Bobby about him. Dean gets off the phone fast and dismisses Sam’s questioning about the call. Dean’s not 100% with Sam yet. They head out to finish the case. 

At the wax museum Dean starts poking around. Let the tomfoolery begin!

Sam hauls out a metal trash can which they can use to torch all the priceless, one of a kind objects. (History-fan me cringes.) While he’s doing an ultra-close-up examination of Lincoln, the doors slam shut. Suddenly, Gandhi is on him! Gandhi is strong, he’s fast, and he’s out to kill. Dean torches Gandhi's watch and Sam’s attacker winks out. 

The next day, Sam mulls over the case in the motel room. Ghost Gandhi's quick disappearance has him troubled. He didn’t flame out like most ghosts, and he seemed almost zombie hungry. Sam thinks the hunger is uncharacteristic given Gandhi's tendency towards fruitarianism. (WWMGD? What would monster Gandhi do?) Dean dismisses Sam’s concerns, and Sam tells him that hunting together isn’t working. Dean doesn’t trust him. More than that, Dean’s trying to stick to their old patterns with the older brother telling the younger brother what to do. 

“Before didn’t work,” Sam tells him. That old dynamic chased Sam off into Ruby’s arms. “You’re gonna have to let me grow up.”

Dean’s phone rings. It’s the local cops, calling about another terrible incident. 

The Sheriff is…utterly at a loss with this next one. Dean and Sam head into the station to interview two teen girls. They tearfully recount the “horrible” “way horrible” disappearance of their friend who was kidnapped earlier by…Paris Hilton. 

Dean and Sam tick the obvious boxes. Paris Hilton isn’t dead, so they’re not after a ghost. Sam suits up in scrubs to do a detailed autopsy of one of the prior corpses. He pulls out two strange seeds from one of the victim’s stomachs. 

Sam fills Dean in on the excessive blood loss he discovered (something was feeding) and the seeds. The seeds are unusual, and he takes them back to the motel. There, he discovers that the seeds were indigenous to a forest in Europe, and the forest was ruled over by a god, Leshi. Leshi can take on any form and feeds on his followers. Dean hand waves the shapeshifting explanation for the audience by asking, “So how's he doing it? What, he touches James Dean's keychain and then morphs into James Dean?” Thank you, Exposition Dean!

The Winchesters arrive back at the Wax Museum, this time bearing a nice sharp axe. In a creepy closed exhibit they find the victim and…Paris Hilton. She (He?) takes out Dean and Sam quickly. When they wake a little while later, they’re tied to the fake trees in the exhibit. 

Leshi sharpens a blade slowly, excited to do the sacrificial ritual correctly this time. He explains that he’s settled in this town to stuff his face full of worshippers arriving at the wax museum. With the apocalypse nigh, there’s no reason to diet! 

Leshi grouses about the poor quality of worshippers these days. Dean fights whining with snark, and Leshi tells him that he worships somebody - his dad. “Poor little Dean. All you ever wanted was to be loved by your idol.” They fight and Sam breaks free and hacks off Leshi’s head.

The next day, we learn that the victim they rescued is going to recover. And even better? The bumbling Sheriff is putting out an APB on Paris Hilton. 

At the car, Dean admits his own culpability in bringing about the apocalypse, when he broke the first seal. He apologizes for being preoccupied with the wrong things. Sam responds with the hero speech with which we’re so familiar. “We gotta just grab onto whatever's in front of us, kick its ass, and go down fighting.” Dean’s on board. Hell, he’s more than ready to move forward. He hands Sam the keys to Baby and they roll off to the sweet sounds of Jeff Beck's “Superstition." D’awwww.

These Quotes are Hot:

We’re not your typical cops

Death follows this car around like exhaust

Christine is fiction, this is real

I'm gonna make wax museums hip again

Four score and seven years ago, I had a funny hat

You’re not the first god we've met, but you are the nuttiest

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[searchingwardrobes]

Start of Time: 1/?

Happy birthday, @teamhook​ ! You have been a faithful reader of my fics from long before I came over to tumblr, and I appreciate your support so much! As a matter of fact, you were the first one to encourage me to get a tumblr blog. Anyway, I hope you have a marvelous day, my friend.

You told me this Gabrielle Aplin song was one of your favorites that reminded you of CS, so I wanted to incorporate it into a fic. Then, just a few days ago I watched a Hallmark Christmas movie (yes, I’m already watching them, don’t judge) called a Christmas to Remember. It had Elle McKinnon in it, who played young Alice Jones on Once, and the whole thing gave me CS vibes. Then I realized the song really fit the movie’s plot, and this fic was born. Unlike the movie, however, this doesn’t happen at Christmas. I also couldn’t finish it in a one-shot, so here we go, another MC/WIP. It’s worth it for you though, @teamhook​. I hope you enjoy it!

Many thanks to the CSRT discord chat for helping me brainstorm parts of this, especially @shireness-says​ for giving me the idea to make Emma part of a rock band. I was having a very difficult time coming up with a band name that hasn’t been used yet in the fandom, when the name of a band from my college came to mind - Wendy Sews it On. It suddenly hit me what that band name is a reference too, and I was giddy with excitement!

Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is?

Side note: Has anyone else written from the point of view of someone who can’t remember her name? Well it’s hard, ya’ll - lol!

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this fic and both Alice and Henry are both Killian’s adopted children with Milah. Henry isn’t Emma’s. Positive past Millian. No Neal.

Words: about 2,500 in this chapter

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging the usuals::@snowbellewells @kmomof4@jennjenn615 @kday426 @let-it-raines @teamhook@kmomof4 @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree​@whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @winterbaby89​ @distant-rose@shireness-says​ @xhookswenchx​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @branlovestowrite​ @welllpthisishappening​ @stahlop​ @hollyethecurious​

Oh today I’m just a drop of water and I’m running down the mountain side. Come tomorrow I’ll be in the ocean. I’ll be rising with the morning tide.

The road stretched before Emma’s tiny yellow bug, she was sure, for miles upon miles of the thick forests of northern Maine. Yet all she could see out her windshield was about a car’s length in front of her through the thick swirling snow. Her tires kept sliding on the slick roads, and more than once she had trouble keeping the car pointed in the right direction. It didn’t help that she was completely and utterly lost, her GPS losing signal at some point miles back.

Emma cursed rural Maine, cursed the snow, and even cursed Regina for suggesting this week of r&r to begin with. A cabin with all the amenities next to a spa sounded like heaven. Or maybe anything secluded sounded like heaven - a place to get her head on right again, maybe even write a new song.

She just wasn’t sure it would be a love song like Regina and the record label was hoping for. She added Walsh to her list of stuff to curse.

Her headlights, for a brief moment, illuminated a sign up ahead: “Welcome to Storybrooke.” She cursed again as she squinted down at her phone which still mocked her with the little swirling icon and the word “buffering.”

“Come on,” she muttered. She started to type in “Misthaven Resort and Spa” again, glancing from her phone screen to the road and back again. She knew it was dangerous to use her phone while driving, especially in weather like this, but if she didn’t figure out where the hell she was, she might run out of gas and die out here in the snow anyway.

It was a cost benefit analysis, really.

God, she needed to start spending time with people besides Regina and Walsh. She hadn’t even seen her former bandmates since this solo career train had catapulted out of the station.

Anna would have loved that mixed metaphor. It was the kind of line Emma’s red-headed, bubbly, almost little sister would have put into a song. Like the Beatles, every member of Wendy Sewed it On wrote songs for the band. Anna’s were quirky and upbeat, Elsa’s were soaring, epic ballads, Ruby’s were tongue in cheek and driving.

And Emma . . . well, fans said her songs were sad and haunting, but deep. Wendy Sewed it On had their biggest hits with Emma’s songs, even though it was Elsa who belted them out. Being all alone on that stage, laying her soul bare with those lyrics . . .

Emma’s thoughts were cut off and a scream flew out of her mouth as a wolf bounded onto the road in front of her. It was all a blur after that: breaking glass, her continuing screams, pine trees surrounding her on all sides as she plowed off the road and down an embankment of snow.

There’s a ghost upon the moor tonight. Now it’s in our house. When you walked into the room just then it’s like the sun came out.

A severe winter storm warning has been issued for central Aroostook County. Visibility will be extremely low, roads impass-

Killian switched off the radio in his pickup, not wanting to alarm Henry. His windshield wipers were on the highest setting, his lights on bright, and for now, he could still make out the road far enough ahead of them that he was fairly confident they would get home long before the storm reached its peak. Part of him was second guessing bringing a ten year old along on this call, but Henry had been so excited at the prospect of helping deliver the foal at the Nolan farm.

“Dad,” Henry said, picking at the aluminum foil Mary Margaret had used to wrap up a plate of her famous chocolate chip cookies, “why doesn’t Uncle David work with you anymore?”

“Well, he and Mary Margaret had been saving up for years to buy that farm. I always knew horses were his dream, not the animal shelter.” He glanced from the road to grin at his son. “And you’re dying to have one of those cookies, aren’t you?”

Henry’s eyes widened. “How’d you know?”

Killian laughed. “I’ve been a dad for a decade now. I have a sixth sense.”

“So can I have one?”

“No, you have to share with Alice.”

“Aw man,” Henry pouted, but it was short lived. Both of his children were extremely curious and regularly peppered him with questions. “Why couldn’t Uncle David just deliver the foal himself? He knows animals.”

“Because it was breech - that means it was upside down inside the mother horse. David’s not a vet, so he called me.”

Henry arched his brows. “And they pay you in cookies?”

Killian chuckled again. “David and Mary Margaret, yes.”

“They are good cookies,” Henry agreed, taking a big whiff of the plate in his lap. “Maybe Alice wouldn’t mind if we - DAD!”

Killian saw the figure in the road at the same moment his son did, so before the word even left Henry’s lips, Killian was swerving to avoid the person. The roads were wet and slick enough to send his tires sliding, and if Killian didn’t have so much experience driving in such dangerous conditions, they may have ended up in the ditch. When the truck finally came to a stop, he turned first to Henry.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked him, running a hand nervously over the boy.

“Yeah,” Henry gasped, “I’m good.” The boy twisted around in his seat. “What was that?”

That was a good question. It had looked like a person, but who would be out in this weather? Unless they were in trouble. Killian quickly unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Stay here,” he instructed Henry, giving him a steely look lest his overly curious oldest child be tempted to disobey. Thankfully, Henry nodded, his face a mask of intensity.

After Killian exited the vehicle, he could clearly see a woman stumbling around in the middle of the road. He approached her cautiously, fully aware that a man appearing before the woman in the middle of the forest could be frightening to say the least.

“Are you okay?”

She turned then, and he could tell from the blank expression on her face that she was in shock. She had obviously experienced some sort of trauma, and his heart plummeted at the thought. He walked slowly closer. The woman was now turning in a circle, unsteady on her feet as if she might be inebriated. Her gaze was lifted to the tops of the trees, as if she were trying to make sense of her surroundings. When he was close enough, Killian reached out tentatively to rest his hand on her upper arm. She was wearing a red leather jacket; not the smartest choice of outerwear for snow like this.

“I’d like to help you,” he said in the same gentle voice he used on injured animals. “What are you doing out here?”

She blinked, as if trying to focus on his face. Her skin was almost alabaster, her hair completely coated in a layer of snow, and he wondered how long she’d been out here in the elements. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She looked down at it, almost in confusion. When she did, he noticed the blood matting the top of her head.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered.

“I - am?” she whispered back.

He smiled, relieved to hear her voice finally. “Aye, you have a rather nasty gash on your head there. Were you in an accident?”

“Was I?” her voice sounded thready and far away as she reached a trembling hand up to touch her head. “Ow, that hurts,” she gasped. Yet she kept patting at the wound frantically.

“I’m not surprised, so let’s stop touching it shall we?” he took her slender, ice cold hand in his to still her nervous movements. “What’s your name? Can I call someone for you?”

“I . . . I . . . “ she began to sway as her words turned to incoherent mutterings, then she crumpled against Killian’s chest. He scooped her up in his arms, turning his gaze nervously to the sky as the snow fell in fat, thick flakes. He followed the tail lights back to the truck. He had no choice but to take the mysterious woman home with him before the storm got worse.

**********************************************************

She awoke in a strange bed in a strange room with a strange little girl staring at her. She hurt everywhere, but her head especially throbbed with a sharp, jabbing pain. The sunlight pouring through the window made her wince, and the image of the little girl sitting at the end of the bed went fuzzy.

“This is my room,” the child told her, “but you can use it until you get better.”

She looked around her, evidence of a child everywhere from the dollhouse in the corner to the childish artwork tacked all over the walls. What was she doing here?

“My name is Alice,” the girl continued, bouncing on the bed a bit, making its injured occupant wince. “I’m seven. How old are you?”

“Alice,” another voice gently rebuked from the doorway, “let our patient rest, please.”

“Okay, daddy,” the little girl sighed, but obeyed, skipping out of the room.

A man drew closer to the bed, and her heart thudded wildly in her chest, the urge to flee overwhelming. He lifted both hands, slowing his approach, a gentle look in his eyes. It didn’t help - she didn’t know this man or where she was.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gently.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my family’s home,” he explained, “my name is Killian Jones and my son and I found you wandering in the road. We’re in the midst of a bad storm, so I had no choice but to bring you here.”

She had never been so confused in her life, and she let her head fall back on the pillow. A sharp pain caused her to cry out, and she reached up to find a bandage on the top of her head.

“What happened to me?”

“Well,” Killian told her patiently, “you had a gash on your head and some other cuts and bruises. I bandaged you up.”

“You’re a doctor?”

He smiled, and despite the situation, she found it charming. “A vet, but the principles are largely the same. Nevertheless, I’ve called the town doctor and he’ll be coming out once the roads are cleared.”

“The roads?”

“We’re snowed in.”

She moaned. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and shame washed over her. She couldn’t let this stranger see her cry.

“Listen,” he said softly, “you were hurt and wandering around. Do you remember what happened?”

She lifted both hands to cover her face. “No, I have no idea where I am or how I got here.”

“Well, how about your name? Let’s start there.”

“My name is -” Suddenly, her chest tightened and she couldn’t breathe. The room was spinning. “Oh my God. I don’t know! I don’t know my name!”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Killian soothed, laying a hand tentatively on her shoulder, “you hit your head, so it’s understandable. I’m sure it will all come back to you soon.”

How could he be so damn calm? She didn’t know who she was!

“I . . . I . . . “ she looked down at herself and saw a pajama top covered in pink roses, “I’m in pajamas.”

The man smiled again in that way that made her heart flip like a damn teenager. “And you look good in them, so that’s a win.”

“I hate pink,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose. “And flowery shirts.”

Killian’s eyebrows quirked up. They were quite expressive, she noticed. “Well there you go, you remember that!”

“Wait,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, “how did I get into pajamas?” Surely she wasn’t wandering the road in her pjs.

His eyes grew large and he lifted both hands in a defensive gesture. “It wasn’t me! My friend Mary Margaret did that. She’s a volunteer down at the hospital.”

“I helped!” Alice called out, popping up from the foot of the bed. “Cause I want to be a nurse. Or an artist. Or a pilot.”

“Alice Milah Jones,” her father scolded, “I thought I told you to give our patient some peace and quiet?”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

Killian looked back at her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime? Anything I can get you?”

She bit down on her lip, those damn tears threatening to spill over again. “No. I think I just want to go back to sleep.”

He frowned, the pity on his face clear. She hated pity. How did she know that? And that she hated pink? And flowered shirts? But not her own damn name?

“Okay,” he told her softly, patting her foot gently through the down comforter on the bed. He was handsome too, she noted. Dark hair, a strong jaw covered in nicely trimmed scruff, bright blue eyes tinged with a bit of sadness that somehow made them more piercing. Suddenly, taking him in from head to toe and thinking of quirky but sweet little Alice, she was sure that she was in a safe place. How she knew she wasn’t sure, but it settled deep within her and took root.

Killian left, closing the door silently behind him. She slid beneath the warm blankets as her eyes fluttered closed. She dreamed of snow and blue eyes and strong arms but not of who she was or where she came from.

[wickednerdery]

Title: Parted Love Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Crimson Peak Pairing/character: Sir Thomas Sharpe/Reader Rating: FRM Summary: “The perfect parting gift.” Notes: I THOUGHT this would a be quick follow-up to another one-shot, but I was wrong again...it’s long, lol! Hopefully worth it though, haha! It’s based on this headcanon by @creedslove, though I’ve made some adjustments to suit my desires/needs, lol! This one is dark, the “Reader” is a dark character...it’s smut with a fair amount of angst, mentions of violence, and the Sharpe’s childhood so head’s up on all that and, yup, there’s a “Read More”!

The moment you set foot on the property your travel boots turn red. Not the shade of fresh blood, but blood found in long-dead creatures. With an annoyed breath you unstick yourself from the clotted Earth and carry on towards the house. It looks all the worse for its years, blackened with rot of wood and soul. Whatever light it may have had centuries ago is long gone, it’s just decaying stone now.

“Madame!” The carriage driver goes to get down. “Perhaps I should go with you.”

“Nonsense,” you smile back pleasantly, letting red and black crawl up your dress. “There’s no one alive left to hurt me.”

“But this place, Madame. They say it is -”

“Haunted? Cursed?” You laugh. “Do not fret yourself with the dead, my friend, the danger always lies with the living.”

You leave him with that, carry on into Allerdale Hall. It’s red. Red all over. Sunken in, drowning in its own lifeblood. The black moths have taken over, but you merely bat them away as they greet you like an old friend. You’ve no trust or patience for the elevator - always a temperamental thing, once delivering you and Lucille right into the brutal hands of her father...even he’d struck you more than once on that occasion.

The shattered banister catches your eye, causes a pause as you inspect the dried blood coating spikes of wood. The girl must’ve hit hard; Lucille must’ve cursed that it wasn’t her head that struck. Without further detour you carry yourself up the many stairs, down the creaking halls, to the nursery.

It’d been small when you were a child, it’s smaller still now. You remember how you and Lucille huddled in a corner, giggling as your latest capture struggled to breathe in its jar. Lucille would take your hand as, with morbid fascination, you watched the last moments of another thing’s life. Sometimes she would brush a hand across your ankle or knee, always thinking herself so clever even though it was you who allowed it.

Thomas was also there. Always. Sometimes watching, often times looking away. He would work so hard on his many little projects, presenting them to you two as if the greatest kill on the greatest hunt. You would give him cheek-kisses as reward and he’d be so joyous he’d happily sit with you both just to remain close the rest of the time.

With boots you nudge aside broken jars and wind-up toys. Stained mechanic blueprints and floor boards. All to get to the one new thing in the room...a workman’s table covered in more sketches. Some for toys, some for the house, and many for the machine Thomas described back in America. He made himself an office, a respite. His devotion to his project was whole and genuine. His devotion to the girl must’ve been equally so. No wonder he never made it out alive.

“Oh Thomas...” You sigh, the house groans and bleeds. “Why didn’t you accept my offer, you poor fool?” You know why. You go to her room next.

It’s a massacre. Living creatures feed on dead ones, glass and blood spatter the floor, scorch marks spread towards the bed due to an unattended fireplace. It’s a curse this place didn’t burn to the ground as it sunk.

At Lucille’s mirror you pull pins from your hair, jab them into the frame for safe-keeping. Fingers undo coat, toss it across bed...dust and moths plume at the disturbance, but you attend the high collar of your gown. The house sighs, crimson weeps from the walls, as you spin and tip yourself back onto the bed. It wails and even you give up a cough as the air attempts a choke.

You watch moths skitter on the ceiling, swat flies from their attempt to pester, then sink hands into black and blue sheets. Your eyes slide closed as you fall back on memories. The childhood ones where you all explored and shared each other, finding a tenuous balance between enjoyment and jealousy, pleasure and pain. The more recent ones...the ones in America with just Thomas.

Stale blood and dust fill your nostrils on the inhale, his name falls out on the exhale. You think on his strikingly sad eyes, that quiver of his lips, as he’d begun to fall apart before you. Hand brushes across your neck and chest, remembering his hands. His teeth, his lips, his tongue as it did what even reluctant predators do...lap up the blood. A breeze curls at the hem of your dress, runs gooseflesh up your legs.

He’s there, but you don’t see him. Even if you were to open your eyes, you wouldn’t. Can’t. He doesn’t want you to...for shame, for fear of startling you, for his inability to apologize. He shifts between regret at dismissing your warning, your offer, and pure desire to be in the world of the living with you once more.

Layer by layer you gather skirt up around your hips, exposing yourself to the room. The house. Him. “Thomas...” you sigh, letting fingers burrow into soft curls, just brushing clit. You imagine his fingers teasing you, his hands spreading you as you set legs all the wider apart. There’s a sigh in the house that you swear sounds like him...Him calling to you. “Thomas,” you call back as chilled air caresses you again.

Thomas watches, wishing he could come back to you. For you. To join in the pleasures you indulge in now and ones that will surely come after. He moves closer, watches you shudder as if touched by him. He whispers your name again and this time you arch.

It’s not enough; you shift back, fully on the bed, bend and spread legs like the wings of a butterfly...or a moth. Fingers return to clit, encircle and rub, as your other hand slips past to graze entrance. It catches the first trickle of juices, spreads them up and back down as you increase pressure on that sensitive bundle of nerves buried in public hair.

Memories of your last time together cling to the spirit and, while unable to get aroused as the living do, he still feels it. The tingles of pleasure throughout, that tension of muscles, how he’d overheat in the throes of passion. He feels it all even as his new form lacks the signs of arousal. Thomas reaches out to touch...

You give a cry as pure ice hits your thigh, shocks a flood from your core before you slip two fingers inside. You imagine Thomas’ eager tongue dipping in, swallowing you down, as you direct him by the hair. You can picture him, with focus you can almost sense him in the room - the smell of his cologne, the sound of his panting, even the feel of his soft skin against yours are all there, somewhere, begging to be with you now.

If only he could enjoy the wantoness of you. Fingers working fast, furious, over your clit as others dive into glistening wet cunt. Two fingers, then three as you groan and gasp. Tentatively he moves closer, shifts over you. A black moth lands between your breasts and you bite lip so hard it leaks blood. He whispers your name in your ear and the familiar growl of it seems to reach you.

“Thomas...fu-fu...” Your legs snap close on your own hands like a trap, toes curl, as sheer will drives you past the edge and over it. Your hips lift high, sex brushes freezing air, and you to cry out a string of curses as the orgasm floods hands, thighs, backside, dress, and bed. You land in a puddle of yourself, curl up to the side as the moth flutters off. “Fuck...” you shake out groans, lick bleeding lip, then sigh. “Thomas...fuck....”

He knows it’s as much a curse at him as it is for him. He settles beside you, watches your ribs rapidly rise and fall, hears a single sob of his name. The peace doesn’t last long; you sit up, breathe deep, and then let out a blood-curdling scream of rage. If only he could hold you, tell you it’s okay...That it’ll be okay.

Flying from the bed you smash the mirror to pieces with bare fists before going to the vanity next, tossing it completely. The only thing that stops your rampage is Lucille’s entomology toolbox. Scissors and knives and pins...and women’s hair all braided and wound up. Delicate fingers pluck out a pair of scissors with hairs caught between blades before you shove the rest to crash and splinter on the floor.

No. Don’t. He begs as you spread blades like you did thighs. Dangerously wide. His eyes flash away as you run finger across, leaving a thin line of blood behind. You set a blade to your arm, then close both with a flick of your hand and set point to your chest. Please don’t. Don’t.

You take a deep breath, but change your mind. Death is the easy route. You bury the scissors deep into the wall, then pull out to watch the crimson flow from the wound. You impale again; this time you leave it in. Wet clay oozes around the weapon. Was this what Thomas looked like at Lucille’s hand? An impotent, stunned, slow-bleeding thing?

Thomas sighs with you, looks on as you gather your coat, pin up your hair, and flit out of the room. The only way to keep up with your glide through the house is to dissipate, watch everything at once. Watch you flutter on as gravity carries the remnants of your arousal down into your boots, as moths pester you to stay and scarlet clay slicks everything in attempt to delay your exit.

Once back outside you take a deep breath, gather yourself together and readjust your social mask. A sweet smile is forced on as you approach the carriage. Then something gleams out the corner of your eye and finally earns the house its win over your determination to leave immediately.

Stepping off the bloody path into raw muck you find it. A ruby ring. The Sharpe ring; the one Beatrice Sharpe once wore, then Lucille. The one you heard the girl wore after marrying Thomas only to lose it in battle. Your smile goes genuine as you crouch farther into clotted clay and pluck it from its spot. It looks rotted, black and red, but a wipe of your dress and it proves as stunning as ever.

You slip it onto your finger...the perfect parting gift. The house seems to shudder, groan, in anger. This ring is not yours to take.

The man you’d loved, the one who loves you still, looks on, forlorn. That ring should’ve been yours from the start, he can only hope it will not curse you to the same life and death as Lucille and himself now.

I LOVED doing with this one as much as the previous one...though this might really be the end now, haha! Still, I thoroughly enjoy writing a darker reader and exploring a sort of darker sexuality that comes with that. Also, haha, ghost smut is a fun new thing to write! :D  I hope all you out there enjoyed it too…and please let me know if you did! Bless @creedslove for inspiring this, hope you like it girly!! (And never be afraid to send more Sir Thomas Sharpe - ghost or otherwise - headcanons to me, lol!)

(Gif found on Google)

Tagging those I think would be/showed interest: @welcome-to-fangirl-hell, @zoesmama2024 @chibiyanai @wadeyourebarelyalive @ktonastya @brightstarmara @rizzo87 @creedslove @kandomeresbitch @carydorse @cheshire-cat-is-my-spirit-animal @littledeadrottinghood @tentacles-and-coffee @tarithenurse @magikat409 @acupofhotlatte @carydorse​

[theolddarkmachine]

12 Days of ODM: Day 4

Dedicated to: @smartcookie727

Prompt: Levy is a bounty hunter, and Gajeel is her next target.

AO3

Gajeel Redfox.

The name was a curse in her thoughts as the loud squelching taunted her every step. This was his fault. If it wasn’t for him, and that enticing reward he managed to get placed on his head, she wouldn’t be out here, ankle deep in what could only be described as a swamp. When she found him...

Well, she didn’t quite know what she would do when she found him, but she knew it would end with him, knocked out, and her, with a very padded bank account.

Five million jewels worth of padding, in fact.

Cookiiiiie! I freaking loved this prompt and I must thank you for giving it to me instead of doing it yourself cuz WOW WAS IT A BLAST. I’m always a slut for prompts that let me make Levy a total bad bitch lol I hope I did your vision justice :) Merry Christmas!

***********************

Mud. There just had to be mud.

Levy growled as she pulled against the suction of the thick sludge, praying for the lost souls of her brand new boots. Not that she hadn’t known they’d eventually get ruined, bought for the sole purpose of traipsing through forests during her jobs, but she had been hoping to at least get a couple hours out of them.

Gajeel Redfox.

The name was a curse in her thoughts as the loud squelching taunted her every step. This was his fault. If it wasn’t for him, and that enticing reward he managed to get placed on his head, she wouldn’t be out here, ankle deep in what could only be described as a swamp. When she found him...

Well, she didn’t quite know what she would do when she found him, but she knew it would end with him, knocked out, and her, with a very padded bank account.

Five million jewels worth of padding, in fact.

Are you sure you aren’t reading that wrong, she’d drawled, certain she’d misheard Makarov when he read the listing for the known thief. There are missions that don’t even have a rewards that high.

Makarov had laughed that laughed that meant his bounty hunters were going to be very, very happy. It sounded a lot like the clanging of gold and jewels.

If you piss off enough rich people, you get a big price tag. And he has pissed off a lot of rich people. Question is, do you think it’s worth it?

The answer? Yes. Yes she did.

At least, she thought she did. Another loud wet sound made her cringe, pulling her from her thoughts as she continued to pick her way through the rain soaked forest. Levy could only imagine how she looked, pulling each begrudging step from the muck and mire of the forestry, wet leaves clinging to her hair, rucksack hanging off one shoulder and grey mud stuck over the leather of her boots. There had been multiple incidences during her hunting that she’d been mistaken for a child lost in the woods in need of saving, warm food and a bath. The first, she abhorred. The latter two, she would gladly take right now.

Levy knew what people thought about her when they finally met the renowned bounty hunter. Their reactions were always the same.

First, there was laughter. The kind of snorting laughter that produced tears.

Second, there was denial. Like I’m supposed to believe someone-- a girl-- so small could be the Great Blue Bounty Hunter.

Third, there was pain. Theirs, usually, when she showed them exactly how she’d managed to make herself the best bounty hunter Fiore had ever known.

The sharp sound of metal against metal broke her free of her thoughts as she stumbled over a root hidden by the mud. Eyes searching for the source of the sound, they finally found the culprit. Standing shirtless in a clearing obviously set up to be a camp, stood the man she was looking for.

Black Steel Gajeel.

The fugitive was sifting through a bag of what she could only assume was filled with gold and jewels from his latest heist, pulling out pieces to test between his teeth before he threw them back into the bag. Each piece tossed back gave a soft clink. She watched as he furtively pushed through the bag before starting to rifle through the rest.

With him standing before her, she couldn’t help but notice that the wanted poster had done him any justice. He was stupidly attractive. The kind of attractive that was accentuated by sharp lines, pointed teeth and muscles that went for days. And days.

And days.

Levy had to snap her mouth shut as she attempted to count the number of abs that ran down his torso. From where she stood, partially hidden behind the bark of an ancient oak tree, she could see the way the muscle rippled beneath tanned skin. In that moment he was the cover to every romance novel she’d ever loved.

Captive Rose. Love Rogue. A Pirate’s Treasure. Dark Whispers.

He was each and every one of them, brought to life before her in the middle of a mud filled forest with five million jewels hanging over his head. Somewhere, fate was laughing at her. As if to further prove that her life was a cosmic joke, a breeze blew his black hair back and a single beam of moonlight sliced through an opening in the leaves above.

It was, for lack of a better term, dismaying.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you that staring was rude?” A voice filled with dark chocolate and gravel cut through her thoughts and landed her back in the middle of the muck. Her heart leapt into her throat, using her tonsil as a punching bag, and nearly gagging her. Gajeel’s crimson eyes sparkled with the light of his fire, the dancing flames casting a glow over his face that only emphasized the sculpted line of his nose and the perfect bow of his lips. His face was devastating, a blow straight to her very core as her insides started to burn like the blaze beside him. In a panic, she said the first thing that came to her mind.

“Solid Script: Bind!”

With a sharp exclamation, Gajeel was pushed backwards, landing onto the ground with a huff as the words wrapped themselves around him like rope, binding together so that he couldn’t move.

“What the hell?” He growled as he shuffled against the rope-like binding, succeeding only in reddening the skin across his chest and grinding his ass further into the mud beneath him.

“Gajeel Redfox, you are now under my custody,” she called as she stepped out from behind the tree, swallowing the sour nerves that coated her tongue. Not nerves, she chided herself as she forced herself to stand a little bit taller. The Great Blue Bounty Hunter doesn’t get nerves. As she stepped out from the shadows, his eyes narrowed, dragging slowly over her body as he sized her up. The right corner of his mouth pulled upwards into a cocky smirk as his gaze snapped back to her own.

“Under normal circumstances, I don’t think I’d mind being tied up by you, Shorty,” he drawled, arching a studded brow and swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. It caused her heart to flip annoyingly in her chest as she watched the triangle of pink draw a slick line over his skin.

“Very funny,” she laughed drily as she continued to make her way towards him, trying her best to smoothly wipe the sweat from her palms against the black fabric of her pants  as she drew closer. Kneeling before him, she gave him what she hoped was a stern look.

“I’m going to search you for weapons now. Don’t do anything that you’ll regret.” His face was filled with humor as he watched her draw closer, placing her hands at the top of his leg and feeling for any hidden weaponry he could use against her. The fire in her blood pinked her cheeks as she patted her hands down the length of his leg, attempting all the while to ignore the way his gaze was cutting straight through her sternum and locking onto the hunk of beating meat behind it.

“Ya got a soft touch there, Blue,” Gajeel said, rolling the words off his tongue like honey. Somewhere in a very far corner of her mind, she imagined herself showing him just how soft her touch could be. It would be so easy to let her palms glide upwards, over the belt that kept his pants snug against his waist. Maybe she would let her fingers dance just over the seam of skin and leather, dipping them just below the band before pushing forward to place a kiss on that ridge of collarbone that taunted her so. Her golden eyes drew a molten line over the plains of his chest, stopping only once they met his ruby gaze. The breath stilled in her throat as she watched him start to lean forward, his movement slow and filled with intent. His eyes dropped down to her lips, sending a thrill down her spine as if he’d run his hands down the skin of her back. She could easily close the minuscule distance that stood between them.

Instead, she gave his thigh a wrenching pinch, not even trying to hide the smile that cracked her mouth wide as he jumped.

“Whoops,” she said, popping the ending like a bubble as she moved to Gajeel’s other leg. Levy continued to pat down the material, praying that the glow on her cheeks was masked by that of the fire.

“So ya have a bit of bite.” She missed the way he leant back in towards her, too distracted by her task to notice the move until she felt the heat of his breath on her ear. “I like that.”

Levy didn’t squeak. She definitely did not push herself away from the warm caress on her earlobe, as a loud, high pitched sound ripped itself from the cage of her teeth as her ass landed with a soft squelch in the mud. It was more of a womanly yelp.

And a graceful sitting.

Gajeel’s laugh was a loud bark that resonated through the night around them as he watched her face flit from shock, to disgust, to anger.

“Solid Script: Gag!” Levy said, flicking her wrist with practice procession, allowing herself a moment to enjoy the way the word wrapped itself around his head and pushed itself between his teeth. A low rumble deep in his chest was his only response as his eyes turned to hard stones.

“Now, listen here, Black Steel,” she threw as much authority into her voice as she could muster, disregarding the slight tremor in her words. Placing a palm against the wet ground beneath her, she pushed herself up onto a knee, using the momentum to land a hard jab of a finger into his sternum.

“I’m cold, my boots are ruined, I’m tired, I’m hungry and you’re worth enough money for me to not work half the year. If you think any of your tricks are going to get out of being dragged to the authorities, you are sorely mistaken. I’m not sure what women you’re used to, but let me confirm that I am not one of them.”

As if to further solidify her point, she jabbed her finger at him with the cadence of her final words. Metal shot upwards toward his hairline as he arched his eyebrow and his lips pulled back from the the word wrenched between his teeth. Something caught between a grimace and smirk, it was lit with the flickering light of the fire beside them. The next sound was a low, bubbling thing, that almost sounded like a purr. It was more disarming than anything he could have said, the soft thunder in his chest instantly deflating the annoyance that had bloated and twisted inside her rib cage.

“So, yeah,” she finished, words fading as she spoke. “Just, just sit there while I make sure you aren’t armed.”

Silence fell over the camp, punctuated by the occasional crackle of the fire and their mingled breathing. It was an oppressive thing, near deafening with the hollowness of the lack of sound now that Gajeel had been silenced. Goosebumps raced up her arms as the quiet sent a thrill of unease over her skin. Gagging him had felt like the obvious solution to the problem that had been his voice. What if he made enough of a fuss to call attention to them? What if he wasn’t actually alone and he could call for help? Ignoring the fact the timbre had unleashed a cage of butterflies with rabies in her stomach each time he spoke, it had been what any other hunter would have done.

Only now, as she dug her hands into the metal rimmed leather of his boots in search of the last open space he had on him to hide weaponry, did she realize it may have been a little excessive. As she looked up to catch his red stare, she blanched inwardly.

Okay, maybe a lot excessive.

“Okay, maybe it was a bit much to hit you with a gag,” Levy said, raising two fingers as she spoke. “I’m going to take it away, but, no funny business. Okay?” Waiting for his curt nod, she tapped her fingers to the word settled between his lips, releasing it of its corporeal form. Gajeel’s teeth snapped a hairsbreadth from her fingers as the word disappeared. She watched the way he dragged his tongue over the dried skin of his lips before they turned upwards into a devil’s smile.

“Damn, Shortstack, I was hoping you were about to make things interesting with that gag,” he chuckled, his voice as dark as the shadows that danced amongst the forest around them. “How about we lose this binding too.”

Though the suggestion was shrouded beneath a carefully placed mocking tone, Levy could see the way his eyes shifted with the same light as a trapped animal. Right now, he looked docile, but he was a wolf with his foot caught in a trap, and he’d do anything to break free.

“Wow, do you really think so little of my intelligence that I would undo that spell?” She bit out the words with enough sarcasm to turn them sour. That and those ropes were her only defense, and even then Gajeel was already working his way through one of those. Dropping his head slightly, he looked up at her through his lashes.

“What if I cut you deal?”

Levy snorted at the absurd suggestion, not even bothering to reply.

“You undo the rope, and I promise to not only go wherever you want me to go,” he said. Intriguing, but not enough. As if sensing her curiosity, he went in for his deathblow. “And I’ll cook you some dinner.”

Then, just because space, time, and her own body had plotted against her, Levy’s stomach gave a long whine at the mere mention of food. A smug look settled over his features as he waited, already knowing that he had won. Growling angrily, she threw her arms over her head, gritting her teeth as she silently cursed at the sky.

“Fine,” she said sharply, throwing the full weight of her bitterness into her voice. “But if you try anything funny, know that I won’t hesitate to take you down.”

Gajeel waggled his eyebrows at her, opening his mouth to say something before quickly shutting it. Good to see he has some restraint, Levy thought as she raised her hands. Taking a single, steadying breath, she released the word that had curled around his body and bit into his skin. Angry red marks stood out across his chest and arms, crisscrossing from where the rope-like word had chaffed and rubbed him raw. She watched him cautiously as he rolled his shoulders, experimenting with the movement before he raised his arms over his head, leaning each way and moaning slightly as she heard his tendons and bones pop.

“I may still have to try something if it means I get to go down,” Gajeel laughed after a moment of silence, only laughing harder as Levy rolled her eyes and scoffed. Pushing herself off the ground, she kept her gaze locked onto his every movement as she moved to the other side of his camp, settling herself onto the log opposite where he sat.

“Don’t make me regret this already, Black Steel.” She gestured towards the fire and made an impatient noise low in her throat. “Let’s see these cooking skills that won you your freedom.”

Fixing her with an inquisitive look, the gears spinning behind the ruby of his eyes, Gajeel let time stretch between them as he studied her. With a barely perceptible shrug, he rolled himself upwards and started to walk around the camp with all the ease of a jungle cat. Watching him the entire time, Levy observed as he gathered material from a bag, cutting and mincing vegetables and tossing them into a skillet that he set halfway into the fire. She watched closely as he threw herbs into the skillet, using a pronged fork to push the vegetables around.

After what felt like hours, he finally handed her a plate filled with the meal. Steam carried the mouth watering aroma of it up towards her nose as she set the wooden tray onto her lap.

“Sorry there isn’t meat, I was a bit too tied up to do any hunting,” Gajeel said, winking at her before he walked back to the other side of the fire and sat on the ground with his own food. Too hungry to retort, Levy started to shovel the food into her mouth, barely tasting it as she swallowed. It was graceless and normally she may have allowed herself to feel some sort of embarrassment.

Sitting by a fire eating the meal her target had cooked wasn’t normal, though, so she let herself slide. After several minutes, and a second helping, she finally dropped her plate onto the log beside her and sighed loudly into the night, allowing herself to relax a little. She could feel Gajeel’s gaze dragging lines over her body as she stared up at the trees, reveling in the fullness in her belly and the forest fires raging over her skin from his stare. He was most likely plotting all the different ways he could make his escape while she was fully sated by that meal. Levy was in the middle of contemplating if she would care at that point when his words cut through the din of her thoughts.

“So what’s your story?”

It was a simple question, one she’d heard more times than she’d cared to admit. She could read between the lines well enough.

What’s a pretty, little thing like you doing in a job like this?

The answer?

“Do I need one?” Levy asked, not bothering to look at her company as she spoke. “I like what I do. That’s all there really is. People expect a tragic backstory. Something that went wrong to drive me to become a bounty hunter. But I don’t. Grew up with a loving family, have a lot of friends, I’m not trying to make up for abandonment issues.”

She flipped her head forward, her blue hair creating a veil over half her face with the momentum. Shrugging as she pushed a hand through it, she continued.

“Saw a wanted poster in town one day, happened to come across the guy later on. Knew enough magic to get him incapacitated. Really liked the amount of money I got for a couple of hours and two small spells. The rest is history.”

All too often people assumed there was some catalyst as to why Levy did what she did. Most days she went with it, spinning tales of such tragedy that would lead her to living the life of a bounty hunter. They were so over-the-top that they were believable, for who would lie about such things? Sitting on that log, fire reflected back at her through the ruby of Gajeel’s eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to lie.

Something told her he wouldn’t believe her even if she did.

Nodding as if he understood all too well, Gajeel just smiled, letting the conversation drop, only to pick up when Levy decided she wanted to continue it.

“What about you?” She said after a pause to pick her words carefully. Admittedly, it shouldn’t matter why he did what he did. The man had stolen for almost every member of the royal family, most barely getting away with their lives as the stories went. He was supposed to be a ruthless animal, so his story shouldn’t make any difference.

That didn’t stop her curiosity from getting the better of her as those three small words fell from her tongue.

The line of of his shoulders tightened at her question, a small muscle in his jaw jumping as he bit down on his answer. As he picked through his tale, choosing the bits and pieces he deemed she was worthy to hear, Levy traced the lines of his body, returning the quizzical gaze she’d felt on her own skin just minutes before. He hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on, either uncaring if the company he kept saw the scars that turned his flesh into a map, or unaware of the way said company was studying them like a cartographer.

Levy wondered if she followed the long, puckered line of white scar tissue that ran over his ribs, she’d find her way home.

“My people died because of them,” he said simply, voice bare of any further explanation or emotion. The them was implied to be all the royalty that had made up the long list of Black Steel victims.

“An entire town, gone because of the people who were leading it bleeding them dry until there was nothing left.” Gajeel’s lips pulled over his teeth in a snarl as he stared into the fire, seeing something other than the flames that stood between them.

“First they starved. Then they got sick. Every single one of them,” his voice faltered as his hands curled into fists over his knees. Levy’s heart stuttered as she saw the pain etch itself into the lines of his face, aging him slightly as he breathed heavily, eyes never once leaving the fire. It shouldn’t matter, that doesn’t put him above the law, a small voice reminded her as her palms prickled, wanting nothing more than to reach out and console him. It shouldn’t matter.

But it does.

“I’m not going to lie and say it didn’t start as revenge. But I realized I could do some good. Help other towns so they don’t become like mine.” Gajeel’s bottom lip pulled into his mouth as he worried it between his teeth, lost in the vast sea of his own thoughts and memories. For just a moment, he looked lost. Fear, sadness, anger, it all swirled over his expression, twitching the corners of his mouth downward and furrowing his brows. The man that sat before her wasn’t fearsome, or even flirtatious as he had been earlier. Before her sat a man that had lost everything, and was fighting against all else to save just one person from losing it all too. Her heart banged itself wildly into her ribcage as the sharp burn of tears stung her eyes.

Then, almost as soon as the emotion had settled across his face, it was gone, the clouds in his stare clearing as he looked up to see Levy wipe away a single tear that had rolled its way down her cheek.

“Something wrong, Shrimp?” He asked, fixing her with a curious gaze from the other side of the fire. His tone was serious, as if he didn’t really know. Black Steel Gajeel, the most feared thief, targeting the rich during their travels and taking everything they had. The infamous man that had never been able to be taken down, not by royal guards, nor knights, nor mages. Gajeel, who was rumored to have have no heart and blood made of shadow and iron, stole to provide for the villages that had been forgotten by their leaders. Everything was wrong. Everything she’d been told, and thought, it had all been a fabrication made by the very rich that would sooner let their people starve than part with a handful of gold. Slowly shaking her head, she looked up through her long lashed, focusing on the dancing tendrils of flame instead of the crimson that stared through them.

“You let them all believe you’re nothing but a petty thief, stealing for your own gain. But you do so much,” her words started to wobble with her emotion. Biting down on her tongue, she breathed in through her nose in an attempt to steady herself. After a moment’s pause, she asked only one thing.

“Why?”

A cloud of confusion rolled over his features as he tilted his head, wordlessly asking for her to elaborate.

“Why don’t you tell anyone you’re good?” She spoke around a stone that was burying itself deep into her throat. Her eyes never left him as he ruminated on her words, dragging a hand through his hair and looking upwards towards what little sky peeked from the openings in the leaves. It was as if he was trying to pull his answers from the handful of stars that sparkled amongst the branches.

“‘s not why I do it, ya know?” Gajeel finally said, not bothering to return his gaze back to Levy as he spoke to the heavens. “I don’t want glory, or protection, and I don’t need any thanks. Just hate the guys that take their money and get fat while they starve, I guess.”

The reasoning was flat, his previous honesty hidden behind the gusto of thin bravado. It was too late to take it back, Levy had already seen past his defenses.

“Well, I think it’s very noble of you,” she said lowly. The statement earned her a sharpened smile that cut straight through her ribcage and landed just below her heart.

“Ya really think so, Shrimp?”

Levy more than thought so. She admired him. Wasn’t there a heroism in letting yourself be the villain in order to save everyone else? Gajeel was the antithesis of the people she was supposed to bring in. They were all supposed to be ne’er-do-wells and scoundrels. Vagrants and no good drifters. They were supposed to be like Levy, without a good cause.

They weren’t supposed to be like Gajeel.

Without knowing how exactly to put that all into words, she settled for an easy nod. After a moment’s contemplation, his eyes reading her face for answers only he seemed to know to look for, he stood. Four long strides carried him over the expanse of ground that had separated them before he dropped himself down onto the log beside her.

“Maybe I’m just saying that to get on your good side,” Gajeel winked, flashing her another unforgiving smile that played her heartstrings like a master violinist.

“I doubt you’d do anything to get on anyone’s good side,” she said, unable to look away from his shining eyes. Heat crept up her neck, painting her skin a faded shade of pink as it went.

“Maybe I want to get tied up again.”

Levy rolled her eyes in an attempt to hide the way her pulse ricocheted within her at the suggestion.

“Very funny, Gajeel,” she said, swatting a hand at his arm. His name was a whole new language on her tongue, both foreign and familiar as her lips wrapped around it. If she was allowed, she’d keep saying it again and again just to memorize the way it fit between her teeth.

“I’m serious, Shorty,” he said, eyes sparkling. “You make a man consider getting caught.”

Lines of electricity started to snap and pop between them, their sharp touches raising goosebumps over Levy’s arms as her eyes dragged down to the fullness of his lips. They looked as if they’d taste of honey and nighttime.

“Where were you planning to go next?” She heard herself say, her voice breathy as if the air had been stolen from her lungs. Gajeel’s arm bounced into her shoulder as he laughed.

“I said ‘consider.’ You think I’m going to tell you, now that I know you want my bounty?” His laughter died as he shook his head slowly, eyes still glinting as he stared at her. “I’m not sure, Blue. I just follow where the road takes me, ya know?”

Levy did know. It was one of her favorite parts of her job, even if it meant the end of her brand new shoes.

“I think I do,” she smiled. As her words were carried away with the wind, another silence fell over the camp, only this time it was comfortable. It was the type of quiet that didn’t need to be filled with chatter. The kind that came with the complete ease of knowing someone. The feel of its warm weight on her shoulders only made what was left to say that much harder to say.

“You should get out of here,” she said lowly, biting her bottom lip to stop herself from saying what she really felt. Maybe you should stay. “I’ll tell them I couldn’t find you out here.”

Gajeel’s studded brow raised, full of questioning as he looked down at her.

“What about all that time off?”

“I think I’ll manage.” Looking away, she waved a hand towards the forest behind them. “Go. I’ll point who I can in the opposite direction.”

Knuckles brushed over the crest of her cheekbone, flipping so that Gajeel’s fingertips dragged upwards towards her hairline, his thumb stroking over her flushed skin as she turned back towards him. The air had grown denser, the thickness of it laying heavily in her lungs as his thumb continued to rake fire over her cheek. Slowly, as if drawn towards her by gravity, Gajeel leant in, his breath dancing over her hips before his own pressed against them. Lava filled her veins as she pushed into the contact, the shock of the touch pulling her lips apart and letting a small gasp escape. Swallowing the sound, he swiped his tongue across the back of her teeth. It was a single, solitary kiss. Not one written about in the stories Levy read, but enough to steal the breath from her lungs and shatter the earth around her. She would gladly let the ground swallow them whole if it meant she could relive that first kiss again, and again.

All too soon, he pulled away, knocking his forehead lightly against hers as his chest heaved.

“Thanks, Shrimp,” his whispered, his gratitude swiping a brush of warmth over her lips. Levy felt the small smile tug his mouth upwards before he pressed forward into another chaste kiss before he pulled away. Standing from where they sat, he grabbed the shirt that sat with his things and quickly pulled it over his head. Then he grabbed the bags, slinging them over his shoulder and filling the clearing with the sound of clinking gold as it hit the expanse of his back.

“Next time, I won’t be so kind,” Levy said, trying to mask the sadness that was tinging the edges of her words as she watched him start to walk towards the line of trees. Gajeel raised a hand in a small wave, throwing a smile over his shoulder.

“I look forward to it,” he said as he crossed over the threshold that marked the end of the clearing and the beginning of the forest.

Levy watched as the wild black of his hair melted into the inky shadows of the forest, the darkness swallowing him completely. A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth as she perched her elbow on her knee and dropped her chin into her open palm. If she kept staring into the darkened woods, she could almost pretend she still saw the fugitive with the bags of gold and jewels slung over his shoulders.

She wondered if he knew that nestled within those treasures, was her heart.

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[juminsswife]

Some simple RFA headcanons

Jumin: -loves when his s/o wears red lipstick-not nearly as kinky as people think he is -has no idea what curly fries are -fave animal after cats are fish, which is why he has them in his house -when he’s super stressed you may catch him standing there staring at the fish with a dead look in his eyes -knows the sesame street theme song by heart (this one is kinda canon lol) -was deathly afraid of the character big bird as a toddler and would cry when he saw him, but grew out of it quickly -got teary eyed at mc and V’s wedding -once asked jaehee to bring him a popular flavor of donut so he could try it. when she put the glazed donut in his hand, he stared at it for about 20 seconds as it started to melt on his fingers before looking up at her and saying blankly, “It’s gross.” -but he secretly ate it later anyway out of pure curiosity  -doesn’t care much for TV but has somehow seen the fullmetal alchemist series and he actually really enjoyed it, but nobody knows this -Was once offered a laffy taffy at work, to which he replied, “No thank you. I must not laugh at work.” -he said this with an impassive face in attempt to make a joke. -it did not make his employee laugh. -likes pizza but has only tried the fancy, healthy gourmet version his chef makes for him -gets along surprisingly well with young children

Zen: -Loves playing with his s/o’s hair idly. like he’ll be turning a random lock of her hair in his fingers when they’re next to each other even though his own hair is long enough to do that  -is used to getting compliments so they don’t surprise him EXCEPT when his s/o compliments him, it still makes him blush because he knows she’s not saying it to suck up to him, it’s an honest compliment -has never been to the beach or seen the ocean in real life, but he thinks it would be a really romantic setting for a date -cried when his first child was born -is okay at cooking but TERRIBLE at baking even in a toaster oven he somehow always burns it -last one in the RFA to get married -he describes his eye color as “bright ruby” -loves watching plays as much as he loves acting in them, and has written drafts of plays of various genres and themes -loves Mexican food -has been cutting his own hair for 4 years now to save money -a big fan of Beyonce  -has seen Phantom of the Opera 7 times already and owns it on VHS

Jihyun: -can’t sleep in complete darkness, so he actually uses a night light -he used to visit the aquarium with jumin when they were kids -not too keen on PDA but he does have a habit of kissing mc’s hand in public and often holds her hand -doesn’t care for horror movies, but they don’t scare him either -loves rock music, and piano paired with electric guitar -is terrible at playing instruments -doesn’t like bell peppers -eats cheerios bc he thinks they really do help with cholesterol  -its really difficult to make him angry, and when he does get angry it can be hard to tell because his face will be really calm and he still might even be smiling -jumps a lil when he hears someone curse in public (LOL) -loves the desert and uses it as inspiration for his paintings a lot -can speak the most english out of everyone in the RFA except for Saeyoung, who knows 18 languages -was never called by his name (Jihyun) by anyone except MC, including Rika. -doesn’t know much about memes but he likes Kermit the frog -grows a lot of flowers, herb, and vegetables in a backyard garden, where he spends a lot of time in with a giant sun hat like a really cute old man -has that super beautiful, charming Chris Traeger-esque smile that can convince anyone to say agree with him, but this doesn’t work on the RFA since all the talking is done in chatrooms or the phone and they know him too well

Saeyoung: -scared of butterflies -Elizabeth 3rd actually REALLY likes him and Jumin lowkey hates it so much -tried to hold a seance for the internet famous cat Tama, a calico cat who worked as a station master at the Kishi station railroad in Japan before passing away -really good at diy, he and mc do a lot of random and possibly crazy science experiments in their house  -once pranked mc by acting upset and then telling her he was pregnant and she was the father, mc actually believed him for a solid 9 seconds -current password for his front door has to be spoken in an accent like Shrek -can dance perfectly the entire song “Catallena” by orange caramel -he and mc rarely fight but when they do disagree on something he’ll talk to her in another language just to get on her nerves. it makes her laugh but also stuns her bc it reminds her of how freaking smart he is bc he knows 18 diff languages -on the other hand when she’s mad at him she won’t call him Saeyoung, she’ll call him Luciel, and on the rare occasion where she’s really pissed at him, “Seven Zero Seven.” -Loves the song Rocketman by Elton John -forgets to take down holiday/seasonal decorations for months after the holiday has passed

Yoosung: -is actually really good at coming up with lyrics on the spot and rapping them to a beat -has a really tiny sneeze -has the prettiest eyes in the RFA -quit LOLOL for the most part, only plays it here and there when he has free time now -likes kpop, specifically 2ne1, and was disappointed when they were disbanded -he forgets that he’s not naturally blonde a lot -loves couple items and having matching clothes/items with his s/o. he really wants to do a whole matching coord one day -Took full responsibility for Rika after she was finally placed in a center to take care of her mental health, is really supportive and visits her whenever he can so she knows she’s not alone -somehow always manages to win at carnival games no matter how rigged they appear to be -Favorite superhero is Nightwing -wants to buy his s/o an engagement ring from Tiffany and Co. and is saving money for it -wanted to be a pilot as a child but gave up that dream when he was older because he was afraid of heights -has written a 42 chapter long fanfiction based on the world of LOLOL. His penname is not his real name, so no one knows he wrote it except for Seven, who never mentioned it out of kindness. The fanfic has over 2000 reviews and is known famously in the LOLOL fanbase for how well it was written -can’t handle the taste of coffee no matter how sweetened it is, it always still tastes bitter to him

Jaehee: -loves sushi -sometimes forgets that she doesn’t actually need glasses to see -the walls of her house are covered in post-it notes with reminders of stuff she needs to do, whether its for work or for personal -likes growing her hair out but it gets tangled really easily and has to be combed through at least once every day so she’s always cutting it a bit here and there -designed the uniform for her cafe herself -has low blood pressure -owns a lot of watches bc people constantly gift them to her -wears really low heel shoes bc she’s terrible at walking in them -Has a habit of sticking her pens behind her ear and then forgetting they’re there -doesn’t like pet names -Was never really good at art or very creative as a child and it effected her self-esteem -can’t draw anything more complicated than stick figures, but somehow is pretty good at latte art -the number one thing on her wish list is an ebook reader, and to have enough free time to read a book on it -played the flute well in high school but never really liked it -has seven alarms set up in her phone that go off everyday for different reasons -is the most fearless at catching bugs or spiders than anyone else in the RFA -doesn’t have a pet bc she’s afraid she wouldn’t have the time to care properly for it, but if she could have one she would like a snake, turtle or small reptile

[theolddarkmachine]

Kingdom- Chapter Four

Gajeel has had the dream about dying for the blue haired girl for as long as he can remember. Which is weird, since he’s never met anyone with blue hair in his life.

Levy has always loved myths and legends. So much so, in fact, that she was currently getting her master’s in mythological studies.

What neither of them realized was that they were living a legend all their own.

AKA the one with a knight, a princess, and a curse that keeps bringing them together just to pull them apart.

GOOD MORNING Y’ALL! YAY CHAPTER FOUR! Almost right on schedule? The big ol’ italicized portion is Levy reading the story from the book. Yeah. Anyway, not much too say about this one lol The whole beginning is probably one of my favorite things I’ve written, so needless to say, I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT! THANK YOU GUYS AS ALWAYS FOR READING!

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The cup of coffee tucked comfortably in her hands warmed her palms as she stared down into the swirling foam that formed a minuscule milky way in the brown liquid. Sitting against her arm was the aged book of myths, the feel of the solid tome against her skin giving her some comfort. Levy wasn’t normally one to need something to ground her but sitting across from her wild haired, crimson eyed savior, she felt light enough to float away. As soon as he’d agreed to going to the coffee shop with her as a thanks for saving her life, a bubble of elation had drifted upwards into her chest. The buoyant feeling had fizzled through her body, invading her limbs and her senses until her nerves crackled and popped with it. Gajeel being there was as sudden and jarring as the accident he had prevented. Just ten minutes prior she hadn’t even known who he was, and now it felt as if everything around her was touched by his very existence. His presence alone was enough to leave jagged lines of familiar fascination etched across her skin much like the inevitable scars she would have received if she’d been hit by that delivery truck. A phantom memory danced just outside her grasp, taunting her as it filled her with deep yearning as if her body knew the man sitting confidently across from her. She couldn’t even manage to look up at his garnet colored gaze without feeling as if she was being burnt from the inside by heated desire.

It was, for lack of a better term, annoying.

Levy didn’t like not knowing things, and in that moment she really didn’t know why she felt the desperate need to reach across the two and a half feet of coffee shop table and stroke the handsome man’s face. The pleasant hum of his voice as he answered what he did for a living caressed her sense of sound as she continued to stare into the coffee as if it would bring her the answers she needed. No matter how hard she willed for them to come, they never did. Figures. She lifted the cup to her lips to take a sip, effectively disbanding the foamy galaxy that had decorated her coffee.

“So do you come here often?” Gajeel asked, breaking her concentration. He stifled a laugh as she spluttered into her cup, pink coloring her cheeks and making the golden hazel of her eyes stand out. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

“It depends, if I say yes will you think I have a caffeine dependency?” Levy fixed him with her molten gold stare. If he didn’t know better, Gajeel would have sworn she stared straight through to his heart that was beating wildly against his ribcage.

“Not at all, just curious.” An underlying tone colored his voice, almost as if it were an inside joke that she wasn’t a part of. She watched as he dragged his finger along the Kiwi Tree Cafe logo on his cup with a small smile touching the corners of his lips. A small part of Gajeel wondered where Lily was on this day. A larger part didn’t care.

“Well then I’d have to tell you you’re a bad judge of character, because I do have a bit of a caffeine problem,” she laughed as she took another drag from her own cup. It sounded more like a nervous laugh to her, but if her companion noticed, he didn’t seem to pay it any mind. “You need one to apply to graduate school.” The joke elicited a barking laugh from the man on the opposite end of the table, which caused her pop rock nerves to crackle all over again. With his head thrown back in raucous laughter, she couldn’t help but noticed the way the tan of his skin popped against the grey of the henley he’d revealed when he’d taken his leather jacket off. Her eyes traced the line of his Adam’s apple thoughtfully, drinking him in before his crimson stare landed on her again and burnt down to her bones. The feeling of annoyance continued to combat the feeling of desire that was making a home low in her gut.

They’re conversation continued, bouncing back and forth between them much like a verbal tennis match. When one didn’t think the other was looking, they’d steal glances of them like thieves, only lingering long enough to take what they wanted.

“So ya mentioned graduate school, what’re you studying?” Levy was taken aback by the question. She’d just been in the middle of asking him about his family when he’d shot out the question instead of giving her an answer. A beat passed by as she considered how to answer his question. Most people didn’t care to hear about her major, and when they did ask what it was, they normally didn’t care enough to continue listening about it. Not that it was a boring topic by any means, it’s just that most people had lost their love for the words that Levy held so dear.

“Mythological studies,” she fired back, sitting taller in her seat as she switched into her academic mindset. Gajeel quirked an eyebrow, inviting her to continue her explanation. “I have a theory that myths and legends are all true, they’ve just been twisted in the way their original storytellers were able to explain the things they’d seen.” Levy couldn’t help the excitement that started to creep into her voice. If there was anything that got her blood pumping, it was talking about her studies.

“I’m not sure I follow.” His eyebrows were knit together as he tried to keep up with her enthusiastic chatter.

“Like disease and how it could be explained away as magic,” she said matter-of-factly. “Or,” she paused as she looked down at the book next to her, a spark dancing in her eyes. “Can I show you the subject of my next paper?” All he needed to do was nod for her to grab the book and start leafing through it in search of the tale.

Gajeel marveled at the excitement that was written across Levy’s face as her delicate hands flipped through the pages of the leather bound book she had with her. Pictures flashed by as the pages fell one-by-one as she searched for the myth she wished to show him, some of landscapes, others of animals, one of a particularly familiar black suit of armor. He shook his head to push the image of the armor from this morning out of his mind. Finally, she stopped once she’d found what she’d been looking for, eyes practically glowing as she stared down at the words scrawled across the yellowing paper. A smile parted her lips as she started to speak, reading the words aloud for him to hear. Levy’s voice carried the words like a song he could listen to on repeat.

There once was a fearsome dragon made of iron that was said to wreak havoc on towns bordering the kingdom and killing all that opposed him. It was said his scales were made of black, twisted metal and his eyes were fiery rubies that could paralyze a man with a single glare. There was also once a lonely prince who wanted nothing more than to find a friend that wasn’t blinded but what he could offer as the future king.

The lonely prince was known for disappearing from his kingdom to explore the land, wanting nothing more than to escape the world of responsibility he’d been born into. He told his father it was his duty as the future ruler to know more about the lands that would once be his, but really he had hoped he would meet someone who would befriend him for who he was, and not who he would eventually be.

One rainy day, as luck would have it, he met the iron dragon.

It came as a shock for the prince to find that the cruel iron dragon was nothing but kind as he offered him shelter in his cave away from the storm. The hulking creature wasn’t covered in sickeningly twisted iron like the stories had said, but black steel scales that glittered like the night sky. As the prince entered the cave, the dragon created a small fire for him so that he may dry off and stay warm. Though the dragon kept to himself, the prince felt a kindred spirit within the creature. Once the rain had let up, the prince left with a small thank you and a promise to visit again.

He returned the next day to find the dragon still there, a small fire already burning for him. They sat together in silence again, the prince enjoying the company that the dragon had to offer. As time past, they continued the ritual. Everyday the prince would come to visit, and each day the dragon would wait faithfully with a fire already burning. He would listen as the prince told him of his fears of becoming his father, a man who ruled with fear and anger. Though he never said anything after that first day when he’d invited the prince in from the rain, the iron dragon never gave the prince any cause to fear him or feel as if he passed any judgement on him.

Then one day as the prince was visiting, a band of thieves came upon the cave in search of a treasure that they’d heard the dragon had been hiding. Upon recognizing the prince, they attacked him.

“Imagine how much we could get for the crown prince,” one of the thieves mused as he had rushed towards the young man. Blinded by his lust for riches, the thief didn’t see as the iron dragon launched an attack of his, not noticing until he’d already been enclosed within the dragon’s mouth. As he protected the prince, the young man looked on in awe. It was the only time he’d truly seen the iron dragon live up to the stories, and yet he was not scared. Even with blood staining his shimmering scales, he still saw nothing but his friend. While his friend continued his attack, neither noticed as one of the thieves slipped away and ran to the nearest town.

Once at the town, the thief wove the grandest lie of them all and told the inhabitants that the iron dragon had taken the crown prince. It wasn’t long before the townspeople gathered up weapons and took towards the forest, heading for the dragon’s cave. There they were met with the gore from the thieves attack, and the sight of the prince with blood on his hands as he tried to wipe the muck from the dragon’s scales. The townspeople descended on them, the prince’s cries to stop falling on deaf ears as they overcame the dragon and his friend. Their spears pierced the dragon’s scales, cut deep beneath the protective armor, causing his cries of pain to echo through the cave.

It wasn’t until the dragon lay motionless on the ground that they finally stopped their attack. The prince lashed out, pushing the townspeople away as he ran to his friend. His hand brushed against the dragon’s head, his eyes shut to the world as he laid in his own blood. A fury rose within him unlike any emotion he’d ever felt. The prince flew into a rage, his cry more animal than human as he grabbed a spear that had fallen to the ground before turning his anger towards the villagers. Fear filled cries erupted from the group as he he came down upon them, the light of his madness glowing in his eyes. To them, he looked like a demon; the true personification of death itself.

“My dear friend,” the deep rumbling voice of the dragon echoed through the cave, halting the prince’s assault on the townspeople. It was the first time the dragon had spoken to him since that fateful day.

“Do not punish these people for fearing the unknown.” His breathing came in rasps as he struggled to get air into his lungs. Tears welled up within the prince’s eyes as he approached the dying dragon and placed a trembling hand against his head. “Do not let their prejudices and your anger defeat you. You will be a great king, my dear friend.”

It was the last the iron dragon spoke. With a deep, shuddering breath, his friend died. The villagers watched as the prince cried over the dragon, unsure of how to react to his grief. It wasn’t until the king showed up that the prince stopped, allowing himself to be silently taken back home.

Time passed, and the throne was passed to the prince after his father’s death. Though no one mentioned the iron dragon to the now king again, he carried his friend’s memory with him. The prince became known as a just king and was loved by all in his kingdom, yet he never did find another friend like the iron dragon.

Many years later, the king decided to visit the cave he had spent so much time in with his friend. It looked very much the same, if a bit overgrown with earth and moss. As he stood outside the cave, a glint from inside caught his eye. Very carefully, his picked his way through the vines and moss that had stretched across the opening.

There, within the cave, the king found a sleeping, iron dragon.

Gajeel had let himself become lost in the tale of the iron dragon and the prince. Something in the way Levy’s voice had wrapped around the words had drawn him in. As she had spoken, he could see the very forest the prince had been in when he’d met the dragon in the cave. He could smell the bark on the trees, and could feel the warmth of the burning fire that the prince had felt. Gajeel could even feel the pain of the dragon he had been attacked for protecting his friend. As the story had come to a close, the vivid imagery was replaced by the vision of his other self and the black armor he’d worn. Something about the dragon etched into the armor seemed so befitting of the tale.

Levy shut the book with a light pat to the cover, the sound causing him to jump slightly in his seat. A triumphant smile pulled the corner of her mouth up as she took in the look of awe that was etched across his face.

“You’re very good at story telling.” The compliment won him another smile, this one brighter as she kept the book within her hands.

“I get it from my mother,” she replied simply, her voice soft as she stared lovingly down at the leather cover of the tome. A beat passed between them as he waited for her to speak again.

“So, my theory,” her voice brightened as she changed the subject. “Is that the iron dragon wasn’t a dragon at all, but a person.” She continued as she pushed the book to the side, returning it to its home nestled against her arm.

“It would be so easy for his alias of ‘Iron Dragon’ to be miscommunicated as an iron dragon. Do you know how much could be learned about forgotten history if we could just prove that myths and legends were true stories that had been told incorrectly?”

Without anything in her hands to occupy them, Levy started gesticulating excitedly. Gajeel propped his elbow onto the table and balanced his chin on the palm of his hand as he listened to her wax poetic about mythology and the topic for her paper. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone so passionate about anything before, except maybe Lily over kiwis and coffee. To be honest, he wasn’t sure it was really the same. The air around her practically vibrated with her excitement, and she glowed with the very exuberance that ran through her veins. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch that light. A dull ache settled deep within his bones as he continued to listen to the excited hum of her words.

It wasn’t until the sun sat low in the sky, casting shadows across their long forgotten coffee cups through the large window of the shop, that either of them realized how long they’d been sitting in the cafe. Time had slipped away from them as they had been wrapped up within the easiness of the conversation and the strange familiarity that tugged at both of them. Silence settled over them as the words dried up and they were left appraising each other. A spark of electricity popped between them as their eyes met in a duel of honey and ruby.

“Well, I should probably get going.” Levy broke the eye contact as she tucked her blue hair behind her ear. “Thank you. For saving me.” Her breath hitched as he unleashed his dangerous smile on her.

“It was my pleasure,” he rumbled as he watched her pull her jacket on and wind her scarf around her neck. His heart sank as she stood and picked the book. A small voice in the back of his head screamed at him to keep her there, if only for a moment longer. He pushed the voice down as she smiled at him in response before walking away.

As Levy left, book in hand and scarf pooled around her neck to batter the chill in the outside air, she didn’t notice the way Gajeel’s eyes followed her until she disappeared past the window’s view. As he sat at the table, fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of his cup, he didn’t notice the purple eyes that watched him from the back of the coffee shop.