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nehswritesstuffs · 2 years

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TTOU Big Finish Snippet: Workplace Security

GREETINGS AND SALUTATIONS, THE THICK OF UNIT FANS

A lot’s been going on since I last updated this series. For posterity’s context, I posted chapter fifty-seven almost twenty-one(!) months ago. Since then (while not suffering a relapse in manga brainrot) I’ve been trying to light a fire under the ass of my beta reader to actually get caught up to date so I can start throwing things around. We’re a little over halfway right now. PLUS, there is a certain individual, @fajrbismuth who has been writing me fic, and since I need to get back to writing this anyhow, I feel like gifting some fic is a great way to do it.

1878 words; another audio-only script fic like Inspections and Prototypes was, because I don’t write enough scripts; let us all pretend I would ever know what the inside of the Mecca Wishaw looks like, which will likely never happen even if I lived in Wishaw (oh and there is a bit about how shit of a name it is so yeah); oops sorry new OC just dropped; takes place in some nebulous time in 2016, around chapter 51/52; just kinda ends like the other one does, which is why it’s a snippet lol

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Footsteps in an office building—it’s the general ringing of phones and shuffling of papers and indistinct chatter that only middle-management and pencil-pushers can accurately replicate. A door opens up and SAM chuckles.

SAM: Now what do we have here?

JAMIE: Don’t you say it, Sammy—don’t you fucking say it.

SAM: It’s good to see you haven’t changed.

JAMIE: You wound me… and after I got you in here, gave your lad an opportunity to grow up in a fucking sane environment?

SAM: There are worse places than Aylsham.

JAMIE: You had the commute of a bloody American.

SAM: My uncle’s had worse.

JAMIE: My point proven.

A knock on the door.

JAMIE: Fuck in or fuck off!

The door opens.

JAMIE: Oh, Bismuth, great timing! Nothing in this bloody place is fucking set up right.

BISMUTH: That is… sort of why I’m here. At least you know what Wi-Fi is.

JAMIE: You sound troubled, pet. Who do I need to have a fucking shout at?

A beat.

BISMUTH: I’m… not a… pet…? What…?

SAM sighs, exasperated.

SAM: You don’t have someone like Jamie in your department, do you?

BISMUTH: I’ve been told it’s a blessing.

JAMIE: Ha! I’m sure Malc’s been talking me up like I’m the Third Coming, with him as the Second.

BISMUTH: Actually, no. We are here to secure your new offices, as well as your homes. You are going to be allotted two members of Security and one member of IT. Until we can get your permanent setup, some of us from the Mainframe shall be here to configure everything.

JAMIE: Huh. Sounds like a lot of fucking trouble to go through. Can’t the shits you hire for this joint set it all up?

BISMUTH: You require what I understand to be a “litany” of upgrades that need to be done, and none of them should be done by new hires. It’s no different than needing to inspect Kernow when they integrate new technology.

JAMIE: …and yeh can’t just, I dunno, delegate? Just inspect the job later?

BISMUTH: Protocol is protocol and this is what happens when we set up a new office branch, due to expansion or renovation.

A mobile pings. Keys on the screen are tapped.

SAM: That’s not a good look.

BISMUTH: What’s not a good look?

JAMIE: Your face, pet. Human expressions give away a lot, you know.

BISMUTH sighs.

BISMUTH: What is a Mecca Bingo?

JAMIE: M’neighbor’s only real reason for not offing herself once her husband kicked it. They don’t open for three more hours… though I don’t think you’re gonna get a game in with fancy lads until later in the evening…

BISMUTH: We still have to go there. Now.

JAMIE: And why’s that?

BISMUTH: This is why.

There is a pause, during which both JAMIE and SAM audibly cringe.

JAMIE: Thought I told Malc I had enough of playing Scotsomer Shitesteries for the rest of the decade.

BISMUTH: We don’t get to decide that. Now are you the one in charge here or are you going to let what I’ve heard described as a “circus�� occur?

JAMIE groans.

JAMIE (grumbling): Ah, feck.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The soft rumbling sound of being in a moving car now can be heard. There is also the shuffling around of clutter.

SAM: Don’t worry; it’s not that far now.

BISMUTH: Thank you again for the lift.

SAM: Any time.

She pauses.

SAM: You alright back there?

JAMIE: Why is this your bairn’s fecking garbage dump? I feel like we’re going to get there and I’ll pop out the Toxic Avenger.

SAM: You’re just a big baby. (She puts the turn signal on.) I’ve seen your office, you know.

JAMIE: That’s organized! It makes sense!

SAM: Mmmhmm… oh… shit…

SAM puts the car in park and kills the engine. Soon as the doors open, there is a large commotion of sirens idly warning people to stay back and said people talking. The three shut the doors and make their way through the crowd.

JAMIE: Oi, we need to get through!

OLD WOMAN 1: Keep your fucking shirt on, lad. Not like we can get through.

JAMIE: Except that’s our job. We need to get through.

OLD WOMAN 2: Well, so’s that for us, but it’s not like we’re getting in any time soon.

JAMIE: Aye, you’ll get there; now just let us pass.

BISMUTH: Ma’am, the sooner we can get our jobs done, the sooner you can get to yours.

OLD WOMAN 2: Mmm, right, but you’re not going to get told off because the toilet’s not cleaned.

OLD WOMAN 1: At this rate, we won’t get in there until half-twelve, and…

SAM: Don’t worry! We’ll have it all under control! Our colleagues are taking care of things as we speak!

OLD WOMAN 1: They better!

The three make their way through the crowd. A siren whoops and there is plenty of murmuring.

BISMUTH: Ketja! Think we can get through?

There is now a new voice, deep and masculine and vaguely Slavic.

KETJA: Oh! A pleasant surprise, Director! Oi, look alive; we’ve got Mainframe brass!

The crowd gets fainter as KETJA brings them towards the building.

KETJA: What brings you up this way, ma’am?

BISMUTH: I’m here to set up the new communications hub, but when I got a text from Arwell about the situation…

KETJA: Understood. Are you the new local Communications Director?

SAM: I’m flattered, but…

JAMIE: That’s me; now who are you and what sort of fucking mess am I explaining away?

KETJA: I’m Major Ketja, the military liaison for the Glasburgh Auxiliary. That must mean you are Jamie and you are Sam. Apologies, but I’ve been a bit busy to hang around the base and meet people.

BISMUTH: Ketja has taken over a series of cases from the local authorities, which is why UNIT has responded to the scene.

JAMIE: …and why I gotta be here if all I need is some photos and details passed my way? So that there’s someone on-site to handle the fucking cunts that come sniffing about?

KETJA: It would be nice.

They go through an automatic door, the noise from outside fully being left behind them as they enter the casino. Idle slot machines on the far side of the room chirp cheerfully their wee slogans while UNIT members mill about.

JAMIE: Sweet Mary, what the fuck is that?!

KETJA: It used to be a Silurian who worked on the machines and cleaned overnight. As you can see, can’t really say its such anymore.

JAMIE: That wasn’t the photo you fucking showed me!

BISMUTH: I needed to make sure you’d come.

JAMIE growls in irritation.

SAM: …and you said this is the latest in a series?

KETJA: Correct. Arwell’s been doing a decent job of keeping it under wraps for us, but this is the most public one to-date. I believe you were there at the first one, were you not?

JAMIE: That time Malc stole m’car and took off to fucking Sterling with me still inside? Thought that was a Zygon, not a Silurian.

A beat.

JAMIE: Should that bit be that color?

BISMUTH (deadpan): Yes.

JAMIE: Fuck. I gave up smoking for this?

KETJA clears his throat.

KETJA: Victims have all been non-Human Tripartite, all who were occupying spaces they normally would alone, all having been viciously and repeatedly stabbed and mutilated. Ma’am, I’m going to need you to assist with authorizing and initiating security protocols, as this might require getting the Tripartite fully involved.

BISMUTH: All while MacDonald runs damage control?

KETJA: Precisely.

JAMIE: I’m on it, pet.

BISMUTH: You willingly let him recruit you, knowing he’s like this?

SAM: Pays well and doesn’t treat me like garbage. What can I say?

BISMUTH sighs and we hear her and KETJA walk away, their footfalls heavy with their boots on tile. JAMIE harrumphs.

JAMIE: I thought His Malcness said she was one of the more normal ones. Oh… yeah… that’s right… we can grab a wee bite here when the place opens…

SAM: Focus… we need to figure out what we’re going to tell the paps outside, as well as the Mecca corporates.

JAMIE: As far as they’re concerned, any publicity is good publicity, especially since the poor bloke didn’t die during business hours.

He hums thoughtfully.

JAMIE (shouts): Oi! Was this a bloke?

FORENSICS YUTZ (far off, bored): Signs point to “yes”.

JAMIE: Okay, so, the bloke wasn’t vivisected during business hours, so they won’t give a fuck in the end. They probably wouldn’t even give a fuck if he was, since he looks like he was the overnight caretaker, despite the fact those are some of the ones they need to give a fuck about the most…

SAM: Do you think we can spin this as an anti-immigrant attack if the paperwork’s right? Make it look like some arse got a bit carried away?

JAMIE: For now… bloody fucking Tories wouldn’t blink twice calling it an isolated incident. We can run with that as the prevailing theory. Oi, you; yeah, I’m talking to you, Brown Eyes. You got a report for me to run off?

BROWN EYES: Uh… yeah…

JAMIE: Thanks—you’re a peach.

Papers rustle.

JAMIE: Oh, good; Kate’s lot had him down as being a recent immigrant from Hyderabad with no family. This makes my life a piece of fucking cake. Might even be able to get this out of the news cycle by teatime AND not terrorize the Desis, since they have enough to fucking deal with.

SAM: Shit… yeah… anything else we can pull instead?

JAMIE: That’s what we got—might not be completely ethical, but it’s the best we got to work with. The fact he worked here might keep any nosy fucks from poking around too much.

A pause.

SAM: Okay, you actually lost me this time.

JAMIE: When was the last time you saw a headscarf in a Mecca?

A much longer pause.

SAM: Do we need to go over how many layers of stupid that was?

JAMIE: Well, do yeh?

SAM: It’s got it’s own orogeny named for it, Jamie! There’s striations! Should I go on?

JAMIE: Well, it’s not my fucking fault that the cunts couldn’t name the business for the life of them!

SAM groans loudly.

SAM (quietly): I gave up Broadland for this for fuck’s sake…

JAMIE: You’re playing Motherwell Rules now, mate.

SAM: I bet if we looked up “Motherwell Rules”, there’d be nothing about acting like a knob.

JAMIE: Look at me, Samantha… I’m a wee fucking cunt. If I don’t play the part, then I’ll be considered to be scheming, and that’s at-best. You really think I want to put ideas in their fucking heads?

SAM: Well, what would worst-case be?

JAMIE: That I’ve gone fucking soft. I plan on making this gig where I turn into the fucking bogeyman, and what sort of bogeyman’s softer than a geriatric tit?

SAM: Still, I want you to be careful, because you have the ability to insult hijabi and Irish grans who protect their permanents at the same fucking time. Jesus Christ.

JAMIE (smugly): I’m just that talented—you know that.

SAM (groaning): I guess.

She pats his shoulder.

SAM (strained): Go get ‘em. Yeah.

#fajrbismuth #The Thick of UNIT #The Thick of It #Doctor Who #fan fiction #Jamie MacDonald #Sam Cassidy #Fajr Bismuth #it still blows my mind that someone's using one of my OCs as a username lol #Major Ketja #I literally know nothing about him yet congrats #I also only know Mecca Bingo thanks to a Soothouse bit so congrats on that too #Jamie means well but he's also a feral wee gremlin

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fruitzbat · 2 years

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5 and 7 for the fic ask

5: How many wips do you have? What fandoms/pairings are they for?

I'm prone to fixating on one character and wanting to put them in A Situation, so I often find myself writing stuff about one canon character (or comparatively few of them) and a litany of original ones.

I've got two AO3 accounts, one for my more present work and another for my archived stuff that I might revisit later. My current WIP on my main acct (fruitzbat) would be my post-canon CR fic, The Devil & The Details ("Devilverse") which is all about Kingsley Tealeaf and his ascent to the throne of Darktow.

In it, I ship him with an original character (they have a tag on here, which is "kilogram hours"; I refer to their relationship using the call name of either kilogram or stormleaf, kilogram more frequently when posting/tagging stuff because it's a little less obvious that I am Being Cringe but I think the latter is the more official one) -- there's some Fjorester, too, that I'm pretty proud of, but the central point of the story is about Kingsley and him learning how to navigate relationships outside of the Nein, so that relationship is the main one.

(there's also king of glass, my fic about molly and yasha...mostly molly, if I'm being real with myself, but yasha is also important; I realized after posting the first chapter that the plot I had in mind hinged on molly being a very different person, so maybe I'll revisit that when I'm sufficiently satisfied with devilverse)

The other WIP would be Aegis, which was my historical hetalia fic series that I've been writing on-and-off since 2016 on my alt acct and has been on hiatus since 2021 or so. It's centered around my passion, which is the history of the Mediterranean, chiefly Italy's islands -- starting with the annexation of Malta into the British Empire and slated to end with the conclusion of WWII. Basically the subject of the fourth and final installment (Min jistenna jithenna) is the subject of my current doctoral research, and I realized once I started doing work that wasn't casual that like nearly EVERYTHING I wrote was bullshit in a way that I couldn't condone, so I wouldn't be comfortable revisiting it unless I was going to do a page one rewrite of that entire fourth fic.

Saying that, Aegis is nearly "done" while being the exact same length as my current WIP, which is not yet even halfway finished. So it might not be that much work comparatively -- it just feels daunting as hell, and as a period historian I think I owe it the diligence.

In Aegis, I multishipped out the wazoo, but the action chiefly focused on Frying Pangle, SpAus, and Romano/Sicily (an original character). I have a bit of a thing for ships that feel like they are divorced (or are divorced) that I think REALLY comes through in that series, lol.

7: Post a snippet from a wip.

WOOGH okay I posted a snippet from Aegis earlier so I think it's only fair I do a devilverse one here. Some descriptive writing that I really love from the first book:

The waters that girded Bosa and Scoria Benatar’s keep in Mount Arcade were consistently blitzed with some sort of turbulence, some kind of interlocking system of whirlpools, merrow traps, that meant there was only one consistently safe passage towards it: the channel between the islands of Seri and Edda, one that sailors called the Hag’s Fingers.

It was said by many that the channel was the realm of a coven of sea hags; as a result, even though it was the safest way, it was not uncommon for crews to keep their wits painfully about them for the entire passage. Song upon song existed of pretty young cabin boys on ships passing the Fingers, swept away by a hag in the dead of night – made to suffer for their offending beauty.

It was known that the two islands had once been connected with an isthmus, and their joining was made weak with high sea caves. When a falling god in the Calamity had knocked the two islands apart, the only thing that was left was standing columns that had once been the walls of great caverns. Eroded, over time, into outstretched, withered digits that pocked the shallow water. Like so much else in this region, all that seemed to remain of their prior glorious existence was splinters of stories, words, an unrelenting echo of you should have seen it back then.

In the early morning, the mist crept upwards from the blue-greenish depths, crawled with its slimy fingers up the singular pillars of broken, limpet-caped stone it so meticulously hid throughout the channel to watch the Mollymauk do its best to dodge its way through. Once they passed it – with Melora’s sweet breath and blessing at their sails, unscathed – the Mollymauk would nose into the open mouth of the Bosa Gulf.

Each pole of stone that they narrowly scraped past made Kingsley wonder when the mist would empty out into that bottomless expanse of green water. He looked over at Felaun, leaning next to him – peeling his breakfast with a pocket knife. They felt the mist rattle uneasily in their lungs as they breathed in, out, let it fly back to where it draped across the world around them in flimsy ribbons of moisture.

FANFICTION ASK MEME

#remy's asks #thank you!!

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bbnibini · 3 years

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Hi! I really love your works but it gotten me curious if you also read fanfics? Do you have any fanfic recommendations?

Thank you, anon! That's really kind of you. 🥺💕 I do read fanfics, but not as much anymore. I'm assuming this ask is for Obey Me fics? But if not, I will include some of my absolute favourites in a future post. Fair warning: I gushed. A LOT hahaha. Please support the authors and their works! I included the fics in the hyperlinks~

NSFW fics are marked appropriately, so please click the links at your own discretion (some of them are in my public bookmarks in AO3).

Elle's Obey Me Fic Recommendations

🌸Your Coal by Angrish(LettuceBean)

Truth be told, I belong to the "forgive but don't forget camp" in lieu of what happened in Chapter 16; reading Angrish's YC and how their MC coped with the aftermath(+ how others coped along with them) felt really powerful, raw and so so emotional. It made me think and really think about how I processed the whole thing that happened. While it didn't really change my outlook on how I have forgiven Belphie for what he had done, Angrish shedding light to the unanswered questions and lingering doubts the main story have left most of its readers was done in such a thoughtful and poetic way that I found myself binge reading the whole thing.

Given that I read this whole coping with a lot of stuff as well (and may have contributed with sympathising a lot more to the vindictiveness of the MC), reading what Angrish had written was really cathartic. Their writing style is also beautiful--the way the words string together, simple, elegant, yet impactful really made MC's emotions a lot...tangible, real and sometimes, frustrating (in a good way, mind you). I also liked how they had fleshed out the other characters, especially Belphegor, Satan and the Purgatory Hall members.

🌸You'll Have to Ask Your Dad by DefenestrationProtestration

I remembered clicking on this fic because of the author's punny name, stayed for the pretty writing and reread a few several times for the characterisation and THE WRITING. I'm pretty sure I left a litany of praises and incomprehensible gushing on the comments section because of how much I've devoured this piece of art.

Even as I'm typing this review, I can't seem to organise my thoughts haha. You can tell by the writing style that the author had a lot of fun writing their prose; it permeates through the screeen...my "screen" of imagination at least. I am not joking--the writing is so pretty and vivid that I literally saw it as a movie in my head lol. I chatted with them a bit on the comments and they said the prose is more of something they had written subconsciously; it reminded me of James Joyce and how he had masterfully perfected the same technique. Of course, their writing styles differ a lot from each other, but I can see what they meant.

...as I'm typing this, I didn't realise how I haven't talked about the plot of the fic at all soz. This piece is the author's character study of Lucifer. It talks about how he was before, during and after the fall. He is a bit of an unreliable narrator, which I'm not sure if the author intended, but he has all these presumptions that miss the mark so so much, particularly at how his brothers, Lord Diavolo and the others perceive him--but reading the whole thing would make you understand why he had gotten to that kind of self-perception in the first place. And honestly? It really, really hurt to read. But was it bad? The total opposite of that, in fact! I loved how they had written the angst in this piece. So many things in the fic are "show, rather than tell" and I really really appreciate that.

Most of my brainrot about this fic is better to be explored on your own. Overall, 10/10: a definite, recommended read.

🌸Fairy Tales for the Fallen by indiavolowetrust

I haven't fully devoured all of the stories in the collection yet, but the ones I've read (Her Name Was Thousand Eyes is my favourite) was such a really good spin on dark fairy tales (Obey Me style!). It reminded me of my childhood Little Mermaid picture book for some reason. Probably the writing style(the author's writing reads a lot like a storybook) The one I had was Hans Christian Andersen's (aka the OG) version and the ending was rather...dark for a 5 year old lol. It was a big part of my life though and was probably the precursor for my affinity with sad stories haha.

🌸TieGuanYin by Taciturn

Like tea on a tiring day, Taciturn's writing style feels very homey, cozy and familiar. I love rereading this oneshot when I'm having a shitty day and imagining myself having tea with Barbatos haha. Ever had pieces of art or literature that just...relaxes you when you consume it? This one is one of my, as the youngsters say, "comfort fic" haha.

🌸glass half empty; glass half full by unagis

I love unagis' fics.♡ I also love her Childe fics. The concepts she comes up with, as well as how she delivers it is *chef kiss*. Admittedly, I read this one when I was still a Satan stan, with all the suspicions and doubts about Solomon's intentions still rampant within me. Reading him blush and become flustered is CUTE and aaaaa this whole fic is just really cute.🥺♡

🌸The Eternal Storm by @sondepoch

Sondepoch's Satan oneshot was the very first fic I read in the OM fandom so it has a special place in my heart~ I remembered how awkward it was to skim through the Satan filters, looking for a gen fic/SFW fic because around that time, most OM fics are smut (no shade on smut ofc, I'm just super uncomfortable reading them unless the writing is really pretty or there's something else going on in the story). Finding GEN AND A WELL-WRITTEN CHARACTER STUDY about my (former) favourite OM character was like I hit the jackpot. I remembered that feeling really well haha. My bias with one of my favourite forms of fic (char. study) aside, Sondepoch's writing is easy on the eyes and is definitely a great entry for anyone who wants to be in the OM fandom.

🌸Read Me by GENE515

One of my more recent reads and definitely worth a mention!♡ Read Me was a beautifully written, heartfelt two-shot about Lucifer's love, which he tried his best to express in penned words. Probably because of my own love letter-themed OM series, this one really stuck to me haha. The author is also really sweet. :3

🌸Schrodinger by fickleminder

I read this one around Halloween and it definitely fit the occasion. Schrodinger was such a great thriller/horror fic with how it set its unsettling atmosphere from the very beginning--the way fickleminder's writing just sucks you in and makes you bystand the whole ordeal between Belphegor and MC was just...so suspenseful? Nail biting? Creepy (in a good way ofc)? I won't spoil the ending, but the process and way they tackled it was a lot scarier than what I was initially bracing myself for.

🌸Siberia by @polandspringz

Seeing another Obey Me mystery in AO3 really hyped me up! Polandspringz did a spectacular job in writing this series and I can relate so much with their experiences in writing for mystery. Their writing style is easy on the eyes--I also really liked how they characterised the OM characters I have read on their series so far. There's still quite a lot of stuff left in speculation (from my most recent reading at least), and I really look forward to see how everything unfolds!

🌸Tetris Syndrome by apocketfulofposies (NSFW)

I am very very uncomfortable with smut content, so the smut I've read can be counted on one hand. ;; That is to say, TS is one of the few smut that I really, really enjoyed. First of all, Levi's characterisation is on point. It was really really interesting to get in his head and read about his thought process. What is envy? And how much does the sin of envy really define him?

I really enjoyed Levi's internalisations, as well as the author's writing style. If you want smut with a brooding, jealous otaku boy, I really recommend this one!

#obey me #obey me fic #fic recommendation

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theskywaslookingback · 4 years

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2020 is almost over and I just wanted to share some of my favorite lines from fics that I’ve worked on this year. No particular order because I’m bad about remembering when I started and finished a piece.

Jon’s flat is cold and musty. It’s obvious from the moment they step inside that it hasn’t been occupied in some time. The curtains are pulled tight over the windows, the light from the street peeking around the edges with a hazy yellow hue. Dishes have been left in the dry rack, a mug on the counter containing something that might have once been tea. It’s stifling in its bareness, empty walls and heavy bookshelves. The only point of warmth comes from two hands clasped together in desperation. - doubt, these are the ways that i love you series

Jon wants to pull him closer, let Martin crawl into the skin of him until they are not two but one and Martin never feels lonely again. - doubt, these are the ways that i love you series

“It’s just Daisy,” Jon says, “she’s not- she won’t hurt us.” The end lilts upward like a question. Light roves under his clothes, the cloth wrapped snugly around his face. All of his eyes flickering back and forth between hunter and lover. Each time they land on her it feels like a blade. It feels like a kiss. - home and safety, apocalypse now series

“Love you,” Gerry breathes, because he can. He’s too full of it to hold it inside of himself anymore. He always has been. - 3AM, visible world series

“If I step on your foot,” Martin says tightly. “I’ll step on yours back, Blackwood.” Laughter crashes out of him like a battering ram and Martin presses closer, pulls Gerry in tighter and lets himself be guided around the kitchen in clumsy circles. - Summer Air, visible world series

“You know, you could just go to a salon.” Jon says, but he’s already standing and reaching for the box. “This is cheaper.” “I know. You can tell.” “Hey--” -6PM, Saturday Night, visible world series

“Jon, no person’s desires are consistent from day to day. You’re always allowed to change your mind.” “But even I don’t always know,” Jon says thickly, “that’s-- you’ll get tired of it. Or Gerry will. And I’ll be--” “Stop that.” Martin says, but it doesn’t feel like an admonishment. Like everything about Martin it sounds kind and measured. “You are so, so hard on yourself, you know that?” Jon knows. “Yes.” “Love is not easy,” Martin says, “especially for people like us. We’ve had to work for this, all three of us, every day of our lives. I’m not going to get tired of you. I’m not going to be upset if boundaries change. I’m just going to learn the new rules, over and over, as many times as are needed.” Martin drops down to press their foreheads together and Jon feels his eyes close involuntarily. “I love you. I choose to love you, and I will continue choosing to love you every day for the rest of my life. Okay?” - Abrupt, visible world series

There is something between Gerry and Martin that Jon doesn’t understand, though not for lack of trying. He can see it now, in the tremble of Martin’s jaw and sudden sober wakefulness on Gerry’s face. He tries not to feel that familiar awkward ache in his chest that reminds him there will always be things about his partners that he doesn’t understand. - Intimacy, visible world series

“Why?” Jon asks. It sounds startled out of him, like the abrupt firing of a gun. The tape crackles in Jon’s hand, growling like an aching, hungry stomach. “I mean, why do you care?” He doesn’t sound accusatory or angry, just curious. ‘ I don’t ,’ is what Tim wants to say. It’s what he means to say. But instead his stomach swoops and the words tumble from his mouth, unwanted and unbidden but true, “You’re all I have left.” Jon’s mouth does something funny, trembling into an ‘o’. He fumbles for words, though nothing comes out but vague stammering noises. Tim snarls and grabs him by the shirt, twisting his hand in the fabric and pulling hard until Jon meets him chest to chest. “Do not do that to me ever again.” “I-I didn’t mean to--” “ Don’t. ” - litany (in which certain things are crossed out)

She’d gone out for lunch an hour ago on her own. It felt like a test, the gnawing hunger in her blood versus her will to make it be still, no one there to hold her accountable except for her own desire to be better. It was alright, fine. She’d gotten a sandwich at the cafe and impulsively ordered a salad to take back to the Institute for Sims. God knew he’d never remember to eat if she didn’t remind him. - Days Before; Unwinding, chaper one

She can feel his mouth against her neck, lips wet as he tries to speak. She holds him tighter, feels his fingers dig into the fabric of her shirt. “Shhh,” she rumbles and feels him sigh. “I know. Be still.” She slides a hand into his hair, rubbing fingers against his scalp the way her mother did for her after nightmares as a child. His breath hitches and she knows he’s crying, silently in a way that makes her wonder when he’d learned to quiet his own sadness. “I’ve got it, I’ve got you.” - Days Before; Unwinding, chapter one

Tim gestures at the piles of research vaguely, almost spilling coffee over his hand. Jon takes his mug. “Is that not why I’m here?” “Is it?” Tim gins, raising an eyebrow. “Sure there’s no other reason? A little Netflix and chill?” He’s joking, of course, he knows Jon has never expressed any interest in him in that way. Just a harmless flirtation, meant only to bring a little bit of heat to Jon’s face and neck. And that it does, the tips of his ears burning a ruddy red at the implication. “Tim-” - Days Before; Unwinding, chapter two

Gerry traces a finger over the constellation of freckles along Martin’s shoulder, up the side of his neck, almost light enough to tickle. He’s named some of the constellations before, called them things like Orpheus or Ariadne, pressing kissing into the bare skin until Martin giggles and presses him gently away. - Lazy Sunday Morning, visible world series

“I’m taking you to the doctor. Is the oven already off?” “Yeah, it– yes.” “Okay, just hang on to my shoulders.” “If you drop me–” “I can carry Martin,” Gerry says, hoisting Jon up from the ground, “you think I’m going to drop you?” Jon grumbles but presses his face into Gerry’s shoulder. - prompts, visible world series

Helen…is. At least it thinks so. Any state of being is complicated, as they were never meant to be a being. Helen was, and then very quickly and unceremoniously and all at once Helen was not. And they were Helen, and Helen was them. So, Helen was, and Helen is. The Archivist is, certainly. He’s pretending not to see, keeping his two front eyes shut in her hallways but all the rest of them creak open with curiosity. He follows her with his eyes closed, his hand outstretched to feel the bend and pulse of the wall. The way it shrinks and expands, undulating like an intestine. She wonders if he knows it is feeding on him. Not much. Not enough. But it is, it does. She does. [...] (The thing they were before was never any of that, because it never had to be. It was twisting lines, curving shadows, spirals and fractals. Being hurt. Becoming hurt. And it had turned that hurt on Michael, who had not always been anger and fear and sharp stark lines. And it would turn that hurt on Helen. But not yet. Not yet.) - prompts

When Jon makes his way back into the sitting room Martin is crouched in front of the radiator and frowning, the sleeves of his button down shirt rolled up to show the light brown skin of his forearm. He has a birthmark on his left arm, nestled next to the crease where his arm bends, a dark spot like a smudge of dirt that Jon wants to press his mouth to. - hands, unfinished

Martin appears a minute later from the bedroom and takes his tea with a grateful little thanks before taking a sip and making a face. “Tea is tea.” Jon mumbles. “I’m not sure this still qualifies.” Martin says but drinks it anyway. - hands, unfinished

Martin’s hands are large and strong and lovely. Jon’s breath catches when Martin’s arm curls around his waist and he’s pulled back against Martin’s chest. He can feel Martin’s heart beating against his back, thudding almost as loud and hard as his own. Martin’s fingers settle over his stomach, splaying out. Jon thinks his hand could almost cover it completely and it sets off another round of shivering in him that has nothing at all to do with the cold. “Alright?” Martin whispers. “Yes.” “You’re shaking.” “I’m-- it’s cold, Martin.” Martin hums thoughtfully and lets go of Jon for just a moment, long enough to pull the duvet up higher around them before settling his hand back against Jon’s stomach. Jon curls his own hands in front of his face and grabs the blanket so hard his knuckles ache. - hands, unfinished

Jon hums in agreement, closing his book without bothering to mark the page. He starts to stand and has a sudden thought, freezing half in place, “Do I— do you want me to—?” He gestures vaguely at the hall, where the single bed lies unmade, and then down at the settee. Last night had been...well, wonderful; but it had mostly been a necessity. Now, with the radiator half-working, warming the bones of the cottage, they could theoretically get through the night alone without freezing half to death. He sits back down on the settee rather heavily and it knocks their legs together, though Martin doesn’t seem to notice. Martin’s brows scrunch together and Jon has to fight the urge to smooth the skin back down with his thumbs. “Do I want what?” Me, Jon thought. He huffed out a sharp breath through his nose. “Do you want— do you want to sleep alone?” - hands, unfinished

“Thank you,” Jon says, his throat and eyes burning with unshed tears, “for having loved me.” Martin’s eyebrows furrow down and his hand comes up to brush Jon’s cheek. His fingers come away wet and Jon knows he’s lost. “Jon?” “It’s okay,” Jon says, even though it’s not. Even though his chest is painfully tight and he no longer knows how to breathe. “It’s okay.” “Jon what- oh. Oh…” Martin’s hands are so lovely and warm and real, one pressed to his face, his chest, his neck. “I did love you,” he says and Jon’s eyes close. There are lips, chapped from the cold and wind, pressed to his forehead. “I did,” Martin murmurs, “I still do.” “How?” Jon breathes out, ragged, his hands reaching for Martin’s wrists with desperate strength. “How could I not?” - hands, unfinished

#my fic #jonmartin #jongerrymartin #these are the ways that i love you #visible world #prompts #((happy 2020 everyone maybe i'll get more done in 2021))

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fencesandfrogs · 4 years

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clan culture inspiration fic master post

a collection of fics/series/w/e i've used for inspiration. ordered by how much i used them

Flightless Dove, Poison Ivy acaciapines

read it, it’s good. it's 100% my main fic inspiration, i love it, it's very good.

the light that shines on you solacefruit

huge inspiration for my riverclan. just. massively where i get a lot of ideas. probably a larger source of material than flightless dove, if i'm being honest.

RIVERCLAN leaders have a litany of names. weather caller, storm seer, spirit walker. a new leader being made is a chance to find another for the list. these names are to honor leaders for the role they play in their lives.

(names. leaders. meaning.)

so you can see where i got that from.

Warriors Redux Deconstruction Dullard on ao3 (not linked)

i've split this into two parts, because there's a lot. i'm a fan of this in terms of world building, but i've been select in what i've used from it. deconstruction is linked highly because it had a lot of key details that shaped my opinions on what wouldn't be. a lot of this i would've changed anyway, but i wanted to list WR because it'd be dishonest to act like this wasn't shaping my thoughts.

anyway, a short list of things that were mentioned in WR:D that i'd already decided on or am now using

behaviors. i mean, i've said "flicked her tail" or "flattened his ears" so much it's getting old, but by god if i am not being true to cats movements. i think WR:D is somewhat conservative on use of purring, but i've also been writing about kits, and a lot of purring is involved with kits, so special case, i suppose. but i'm very cautious with my descriptions. i've tried really hard not to use smile, because cats don't smile. that's the one that gets me the most.

water. this is kind of a specific thing. but. in ctd's fading echoes. the lake is a concern not because the cats need water, but because the prey needs water.

queens and toms. now. i have always been irritated by this. and the lack of female leadership. because toms should know they're kept on the graces of the queens. the sisters got it right. but i can't just kick out half the cast, so i'm forced to keep them. i have, however, kept toms out of the nursery. queens are protective around their kits. it's the best i can do to appease my strong desire to literally just kick every male cat out of the clan. in all of my stories, though, i keep track of who's in the nursery with what kits, because those kits are going to bond to every damn mother. it's super annoying that this isn't kept more clear anywhere. i have to do so much math and check so many allegiances every time.

kits. it's basically impossible to convince me to write this the way the hunters do, so even in ctd, we see kits not walking, not opening their eyes, until real kittens would. does this make the early chapters of growing shadows a pain because dovekit does basically nothing but sit and listen? yes. do i care? yes, it is important to me that dovekit does nothing but sit and listen because she's a baby. bb. need protect.

genetics. usually i correct coat colors for POV cats. because it bothers me. see: tortie dovekit/ivykit in CTD, and the fact that i think in jaywing, jayfeather is going to end up amber like brightheart. i need to do some research to double check, but...i think that's what will happen. (please don't ask about hollykit, ivykit, and lionkit. i don't even know who their parents are. how is crowfeather "dark grey, almost black"? what does that mean. how is leafpool even leafpool. i don't understand anything.)

religion. i'm not fundamentally changing how starclan works, because i'm writing the books where magic is confirmed real, but...i've tried to distance the connections with it. and god, so help me, i'm going to make things a proper religion for w&f. there will be religious things like prayer. god.

cultures, folklore, names. this is getting long so i'm lumping this together. basically, i've got some name stuff sorted out. it's not "traditional" naming, because i'm not going WR on this and renaming really important cats (altho the reason WR has my respect for traditional naming is because they're not afraid to rename cats to fit the scheme), but i have some pretty defined rules. and there will be folklore and stories. this is especially important for dovefeather, when she goes to riverclan.

Sharing Tongues Icej

a series. i don't think i've used much of this directly, but it has shaped a lot of my opinions on clans. it's why thunderclan is militaristic and why windclan is so strict.

it's also shaped my thoughts on a lot of parts of clan life. i'm writing this all out of order, so i'll say, a lot of the inspiration that warriors redux had, is shared in this series. i'm not sure if there's overlap in the interst, but it's got simularities.

especially in terms of relationships. i have a bit of a fascination with story telling as a form of culture, if only because in my personal life, story telling, especially verbal story telling, has always been really important. so i think a lot about it.

anyway, these are a good set of fics, and they're ranked so highly because they're kind of a paradigm i've crafted my thoughts around.

Tell me about your Ancestors Drowsy_Salamander

so this was what got me started, even over flightless dove. it got me thinking about the differences clans would have.

i haven't written "funerals. mourning. prayer." yet, although as you might guess from the fact that i have a title, it is on my mind. i think i'll draw heavily on this for that.

one other very specific line in this that i draw on is

When SkyClan was reformed by Firestar at the gorge, it was reformed in ThunderClan’s image.

now i say that specifically because i didn't want that. i wanted leafstar to find her own tradition. a lot of skyclan's destiny deals with her struggling to adapt the warrior code to her clan. so Ancestors continues by talking about tree's influence, and this is what i got from it:

SKYCLAN once held ceremonies at tilt, when the birds were quiet, but now, they hold most ceremonies at low moon, when the spirits are strongest. ...

apprentices are made at low sun, born from a time when they were not always gathered.

(ceremonies)

and i'm happy with that

Warriors Redux: Ammendment Dullard on ao3, not linked

this is ranked significantly lower than deconstruction because (a) i'm borrowing superificial things at best and (b) i had already come to a lot of these conclusions. still, i'm writing a full list because there are little things i don't think to write whole essays about sometimes. that said, whereas in deconstruction, i could basically say "yes, everything that's said here, i agree with, i'm only tweaking things for personal taste or because of differences in perspective" here it's more like "here are the things i'm using" and the other stuff is just there, but not really anything i want to use

time and date. in one of my generic CTD posts i had a few paragraphs about this. basically, i like the system of time. except for half, because that confuses me. so it's dawn, sunrise, low sun, (sun) tilt, sunhigh, dusk, moonrise, low moon, (moon) tilt, moonhigh, repeat. and kits are aged to apprentices at the beginning or rough midpoint of seasons.

numbers. math. drawing things in the dirt with claws. in short, yes, no, what the...no. just no. cats in my stories can basically count, but they don't really, like, count the way we do? they might say five leaf bares ago, because i am not saying, "the leaf bare before the one with X which was before the one with Y" and that's what a cat is thinking and maybe they have words for this, i don't know, i'm not writing that. four and nine are holy numbers, or the closest cats get. (apprentices are apprenticed at nine moons in the holy sense, because a queen pregnent for a three --- two, but who's counting --- and in the nursery for six. this will never come up in a story unless it's a background note, because it's confusing and hard to explain off the cuff.) i don't have to explain my last point.

names. i have my own rules. i don't intend on changing character names with the exception of the symbolism in jaywing and dovefeather, but i may at some point make some comments on what, based on my rules, i would do. i don't want to change names because it confuses me, but i don't want to say for sure that i won't. definitely not based on WR rules, i have my own form of "traditional naming" for the w&f world.

clan specific notes. you can find it in my writing. there's a lot of influence in it. i don't want to list everything.

come back to you one by one solacefruit

i haven't really used this for anything, i just generally like it. it's definitely given me inspiration for how i use stories, but not any particular thing.

it really is beautiful, though.

alright, that's about it.

#warriors au #warriors worldbuilding #worldbuilding #warriors #warrior cats #jaywing #cloudtail's daughter #dovefeather #mine #txt #28th #February #2021 #February 28th 2021 #1st #March #March 1st 2021 #q

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shyanlibrary · 5 years

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hello!!! what are your favorite fics??

Nonnie, what a question...

Let’s keep it short, top 10 under the cut:

1. The Chain by Lafayette1777

Rated: Not Rated (T) | Chapters: 6/6 | Complete | Word Count: 14,073

Summary: Do you not know how love works?

Shane and Ryan, in transition.

Commentary: Christ almighty, this will forever be my favorite fanfic in the entire world and I mean it. I’m someone who has been in many fandoms for more than 15 years now and let me tell you something, I have never felt so much as I have with this story. Because it’s just so incredible well written and the characters are just what drives everything in it! The imagery, the feeling of it, each dialogue, all of this fic is wonderful and I’m in love with it. PLEASE read it if you haven’t.

2. can’t take you home to mother (that’s what i like about it) by redmaynes

Rated: E | Chapters: 7/8 | Ongoing | Word Count: 20428

Summary: “I still hate you, you know that?” Ryan gasped out after they finally broke for air, and he roughly shoved Shane back on the mattress to make quick work of the button of his jeans, and smirked when he heard Shane curse under his breath when he pulled down the zipper slowly, agonizingly.

“The feeling’s mutual, baby,” Shane said through gritted teeth.

“Don’t call me baby.”

Commentary: Fun fact: this was the first fic I read, and I did because I wanted to read smut and I was looking forward to know how this fandom expressed that kind of intimacy between these two, and I was hit by one of the most interesting scenarios put together for this kind of AU, good plot and great characterization. I adore this fic, I’ll go to hell and back for this fic. It’s wonderful and.. how to explain it? Just plain ol’ good, man.

3. Perfect Fit by moliuoli

Rated: E | One-shot | Complete | Word Count: Unkown

Summary: There’s a legend that says anyone able to take all of statue Shane’s cock will summon the god to the mortal realm. Given the statue’s excessive size, no one has ever succeeded to prove or disprove the story.Until Ryan that is.

Commentary: When it comes to original AUs and situations, this fandom never disappoints. Look at this fic in particular, it’s a fun exploration of college life and loneliness in the most freakin’ horny way and that’s why I loooove it and re-read it pretty often. My favorite from the author, too, and she’s a writer I really like. This fic is work of art, a classic in the fandom, just incredible.

4. Let the Sunshine Burn Your Eyes by YogurtTime

Rated: E | One-shot | Complete | Word Count: 6,577

Summary: An innocent man of taste and leisure, Ricky Goldsworth, just wants to check into his hotel room, but gets into an altercation with the concierge while a mysterious gentleman in expensive-looking clothes watches nearby.

Commentary: The only RG persona fic I like! I’m not ashamed to say I’ve read this fic more times than I have sat down to actually write something in years, lmao. Okay, so-- this masterpiece always puts me in a mood, in that mood that makes you grab a glass of wine, sip, stare into nothing and say “oh my”. I LOVE IT. I know I’m saying this about all fics in this list but lololol, it’s true. The writing in this is magical and transports you to another world, to the world the author wants you to see in this text and it makes you wonder everything about these characters and smile at the end. This, also-- has my favorite ending in a fic like this. Just. Oh my.

5. I would like that by Crimsonflowerz

Rated: T | One-shot | Complete | Word Count: 3,994

Summary: The third person who knew Ryan was trans was the ghost that haunted his apartment.

Commentary: This fic, oh-- I think about this fic and Shane in this fic a lot, actually. I always loved his character in this and I loved how much we knew of Ryan, his life and his feelings in it, because it let us wonder with him about Shane and his spirit, his life before being a ghost, and well-- you have to read to understand, this is one of the best fics in the fandom and it has one of the happiest and most hopeful endings and boy oh boy, am I a lover of happy ending. Read this beauty, I re-read it recently because my main fandom and its company broke my heart and my spirit last December, and this was the only thing that got me to stop crying over the way I was mocked by the male white creators of said main fandom. Life saving story.

6. ready if it happens with you by sarcasticfishes

Rated: E | One-shot | Complete | Word Count:4,319

Summary: It’s not a thing. Ryan’s just a little… touch-starved. Intimacy-starved.

Shane passes behind him when he’s sitting at his desk, idly touches Ryan’s shoulder, thumb brushing the curve of his neck — and goosebumps erupt down the length of Ryan’s arms.

Commentary: A beauty! I said to the author, who is a good friend, that I was really honored this fic has my name as one of the persons it was dedicated to, because my man believe me when I say this is a fucking beauty and it’s one of my favorite smuts and getting together fics in the fandom. I’ve thought of that scene in the dark so many times, of the way it’s written and described, and every and each action is driven by pure feelings and it’s just so gorgeous. You gotta read it.

7. You Are on the Fastest Available Route by InkStainsOnMyHands

Rated: T | One-shot | Complete | Word Count: 2,362

Summary: "It’s in the light.“

[Based on the Local 58 YouTube Series]

Commentary: The night I read this fic, I couldn’t sleep. It made me feel uneasy, made me think of it for days, and I still think of it. Often find myself wanting to re-read it and I wish I could live again that first moment when I read it. Once, when I was in a meeting, I filled a page of my moleskine with the summary of this fic, and kept thinking of Ryan hudding Shane as the light came, of him looking up, of the road in front of them, the hints that something was amiss. What a genius story.

8. We Went To An Orgy And We Didn’t Have Sex (well…kind of…) by iris_rise

Rated: Not Rated (M) | Chapters: 4/? | Abandoned | Word Count: 11,045

Summary: They met at a bar that afternoon before filming started. Liquid courage, Ryan had called it. “Or a surefire way to a pair o’ whiskey dicks,” Shane quipped back, giving him a playful smile, and Ryan knew he was totally screwed.ORShane and Ryan agree to film a one-off Buzzfeed documentary-type show, ‘We Went To An Orgy and We Didn’t Have Sex’, in which they attend a sex party and try to keep their hands off one another.

Commentary: I know what you guys are thinking about the title of this, but believe me when I say this fic is WONDERFUL. It’s such a gorgeous work with so much soul, and I would never really be reccing an unfinished work that is likely abandoned by now if it wasn’t THAT good. Soooo, let me tell you about the atmosphere this have, it has such a powerful spirit, it makes me cry that I will likely not know how it would have gone. Mother of GOD, this is perfect. Also one of my favorite interpretations of dom!Shane.

9. we are breathing river water by undeadapocalypse

Rated: M | One-shot | Complete | Word Count: 4,503

Summary: Shane thought, through the kisses and the feeling of Ryan’s skin all over his, too much but not enough, I will not.

Between the light ending up off and the clumsy hands in a dark room, the floorboards that hide secrets despite not being theirs, he thought to himself, I will not fall in love with him.

The tabernacle reconstructed.He falls in love with him.or: a fic based off of “litany in which certain things are crossed out”

Commentary: Richard Siken is my favorite poet out there and when I found this fic and saw it was based on my favorite poem, I almost died right there. And to my delight, it was an excellent fic and even now, many reads later, it’s still an amazing fic with a beautiful ending that haunts me in the best of ways. Every part of this fic, the images of it, the parts were you can feel the poem in it, all of it, I love it with all my heart. Read it. It’s beautiful.

10. I live alone in a paradise (that makes me think of two) by Ros_ora_sal

Rated: Not Rated (T) | Chapters: 4/4 | Complete | Word Count: 26,971

Summary: Ryan and Shane get stuck in a haunted house together.

Commentary: Oh, this fic. Oh this fic and its brutal plot filled with mystery, hope and even a few scares. Man, do I love this fic. Something I adore of this fandom is its more dark or weird stories, and this one hit me in the face with how good it was, really a gorgeous addition to our fandom. The story and the way its written has stayed with me ever since I read it, and I promise you it will stay with you too.

#shyan #skeptic believer #buzzfeed unclean #shyan fic #answered #recs #rec list #multiple #au #oneshots #multichapter #personal favorites #personal recs #on ao3 #Anonymous

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comicgeekscomicgeek · 3 years

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Their Hero Academia – Chapter 81: Turning a Corner

Presenting the next installment of my on-going, nextgen, MHA fic! Earlier chapters can be found here

The instant Katsuki had asked to “borrow” Park for a bit, the Shiketsu students had erupted into chaos. Shida looked on the verge of panic, those extra limbs of hers twitching, while Tsuchikawa looked only slightly worried. Shinji looked nervously between him and Park, but ultimately settled into a kind of hard look that mixed protectiveness of his classmate with a trust in Katsuki.

Smart kid. Respectful too. Always used his Sir’s around Katsuki. Exuberant as his old man though, which meant he was best in small doses.

It wasn’t surprising that Tatsuma was the one who had a problem with it. The giant girl stepped between Katsuki and Park protectively. “With all due respect, sensei” she began, in the same way Katsuki had used countless times over the years, where no respect was actually intended, but the performative aspect of it was required, “I’m not sure I should allow you to be alone with my classmate.”

For fuck’s sake, what kind of monster did these kids think he was? And sure, he’d spent more than enough time threatening to blow Villains apart, or shove their heads up their asses, or take out enough of their teeth that they’d be drinking from a straw the rest of their lives, but he wasn’t some psycho who’d explode at the drop of a hat!

Just because he was known for having a temper and this little brat had beat the shit out of his daughter was no reason to think he was going to enact some kind of brutal revenge!

“Sticking by your friend’s a good quality to have,” he said, holding Tatsuma’s gaze and not backing down in the slightest. But neither did he put up any more of aggressive posture than he already was. He was here to build bridges, not burn them. “Your classmates are lucky to have you looking out for them. But I promise you, I’m not here to dish out punishment or anything like that. I just want to talk. We won’t even go far, in case you hear something that makes you want to come running.”

Tatsuma frowned, but dropped her challenging stance. She looked over at Park, her eyes seeming to ask what do you want to do?

And that was the scary thing, wasn’t it? Park hadn’t flinched, hadn’t budged. She’s shown no fear whatsoever. But she hadn’t shown any other kind of reaction either. It was as though she was just resigned to whatever happened to her. What the hell had they done to this girl? Who the hell had done this to this girl? Even with what he’d read in her file, it didn’t all add up to this.

“It will be fine,” Park said. “There’s nothing he can do to me.” That hasn’t already been done was left unsaid, but Katsuki heard it hanging in the air all the same.

He had worked with Heroes who fought traffickers and some of the worst scum the world had to offer, serial killers, rapists, and even cannibals. Some of them managed to find the balance separate themselves from the job and live at least something like a normal life. But some of them saw the worst and lost a part of themselves to it. Something inside them died. You could see it in their eyes.

Park’s eyes were the same.

***

Park followed quietly behind Katsuki, stopping when he did once they got closer to one of the compound’s utility sheds. She remained stoic, almost uncaring, but there was an element of readiness. He’d been on the receiving end of any number of lectures and chewing outs over the years. He knew what it looked like when you knew you were getting one of those. This wasn’t it.

It was the kind of readiness where you were prepared to, at a moment’s notice, either physically defend yourself or hold yourself to a dignity that would not give your attacker satisfaction. He had a brief flashback to being violently restrained and muzzled at his first Sports Festival.

“I am ready, seon seang nhim,” she stated in a neutral tone. She used the Korean phrase for “teacher,” which he vaguely recalled included not using the teacher’s name as it was considered disrespectful to show familiarity.

Katsuki frowned, briefly, but forced himself to keep a more professional expression. As much as part of him wanted to tear into this kid for beating his daughter, that wasn’t something an adult did to a child. It wasn’t something a teacher did either. Katsuki would have to ask the damned hobo how he’d kept himself from killing kids like him.

“Okay,” he said, carefully. His anger rose up in him, like a threating to spill out like a bomb, but he forced it back down. “I’m not going to lie to you. I’m mad as hell. And I’m not saying there wasn’t blame to go around. But I want to hear your side of things first, before anything else.”

“There is nothing to tell,” Park explained plainly. “The arrogant one had us fight each other to demonstrate a lack of practical martial training as some sort of lesson in not becoming arrogant with our quirks. I treated it as I would any fight in the line of duty.” She tilted her head back at where Hokori and the other Shikestsu students still were. “By the instructor’s own logic, I acted accordingly. If anything, I exercised restraint.” She said all this was stone cold logic, but the expression on her face indicated she didn’t expect him to accept that logic.

Park’s description of Boost-Rush as “the arrogant one” nearly had Katsuki laughing. If that wasn’t the truth!

“You get you’re a student, right?” he asked. He was trying not to be sarcastic, but some of that bled through. “There’s giving your all in training and there’s going all out in the field. And even with that, there’s proportionality of a threat.”

His own words came back to haunt him again, ringing in his ears. HE WON’T DIE IF HE DODGES!

That wasn’t who he was anymore. Not most days, anyway. He pushed that particularly unsettling memory down. “Is that how you do your training at Shiketsu?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “No, I learned that by simply surviving in the neighborhood my parents were dumped in when they fled the Humanist bigots back home. They didn’t realize they would be even less welcome here. Some were very explicit in their disdain of our presence.”

She was speaking calmly, but there was the barest hint of a murderous rage in her eyes, simmering and growing steadily, the lid barely holding it back.

Katsuki knew all about rage. His is irrational, a fire that flares up like one of his explosions and takes out everything that’s nearby. It’s a flashfire anger, lashing out at whatever upsets him, whatever perceived wrongs the universe or some specific individual has committed against him. It’s rarely as justified as he’d like to pretend it is.

On his good days, he’s tamed his. He learned to use it, fueling his actions in battle. Outside of that, the worst he usually gets these days is yelling. There’s times, like earlier with Boost-Rush, where he did lose his control, and unleashed his anger on someone through violence. But it’s not like before, not like when he was a child, where would sometimes vent his anger on Izuku for perceived slight of challenging his status as “top dog.”

He hadn’t been a rich kid, like Glasses or Ponytail or IcyHot. But he’d been remarkably well off as a kid. Nice neighborhood, never had to worry about anything. The struggles this kid or others like her had faced, he couldn’t have begun to imagine. And add being an immigrant on top of that…

“You had to fight just to survive,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

She stared at him for a moment, then lifted her shirt slightly above her waist. This revealed the scar of a deep gash.

“That was at the hands of Japanese motorcyclists who objected to a “chon” being in their neighborhood.” She turned and exposed her lower back, which revealed a series of jagged scars. “A Zainichi gang leader ran barbed wire over my back for “drawing the Japanese back on us.”

She then kicked off her shoe, leaned down and took the sock off, revealing her little toe was missing. “And that was some of my own “countrymen,” gangsters who wanted me to join them for “solidarity.” I refused. They beat me, then cut that off as a reminder not to be a “race traitor.” And none of that accounts for the casual racism and hate from the “polite aspects” of society. A police force that doesn’t care unless the public outside knows about it, along with no pros to look after my people when this country offered “sanctuary” to us, so yes, Teacher,” she said in Japanese this time, but without the implication of respect. “I have.”

With great effort, Katsuki kept himself under control as Park went through her litany of injuries and injustices. She was no older than Katsumi or the others, but in terms of life experience, may as well have already been an adult Pro-Hero for all the horrors she had seen. No wonder she was so ready to strike out during simple training exercises. The school of hard knocks had nothing on her.

It made his blood boil. Kids should get to be kids, not have to worry about gangs and their neighbors threatening their lives and bodies. He knew that things had improved some in the last few years, but the Hero Public Safety Commission was still playing a light hand with making inroads to minority neighborhoods. The really good Heroes went wherever they were needed, but they still played it light with actual Agencies. That this shit was still happening and no one was really doing anything about it..!

“You got dealt a shit hand,” he growled. “A kid, no, a woman your age, shouldn’t have had to deal with any of that. But you survived and showed them you’re tougher than anybody who tried to kick you down.”

He gestured around, broadly. “Most of the kids here, they grew up with pretty cushy lives.” He thought of Katsumi, when Eijiro had been beaten within an inch of his life. Of Sato and his kid, when they’d lost his wife. Of Izumi’s infected with a debilitating influence as a means to hurt her grandfather. Of the small, but still somehow too great a number of close calls, when Villains had tried to cross lines and come after their families. Of the myriad others who had to worry about whether or not mom or dad was coming home.

“Not always easy. And not without their own tragedies. But you’re operating from a whole different perspective. Not one they’d understand easily, and not one you’re obligated to explain to them.”

Katsuki continued. “I was an angry kid too. Ready to take on anything and everything that pissed me off. I had legitimate issues that were driving my anger. But I didn’t have real reasons for being angry. I invented them, lies I told myself about why it was okay to be so anger. But you, you have real reasons. And don’t let people tell you otherwise.”

He looked her straight in the eye. “But you’ve got to use that anger. Direct it at the right people. And the people at this camp aren’t it. Everybody’s here to get better. Everybody’s here because they want to be a Hero and help people.” He frowned. “And yeah, my kid was ready to pick a fight with your classmate. Or you. She knows she screwed up.”

It was a good thing he couldn’t share the details of this conversation with Katsumi. She’d have been pissed at him for admitting that, even if it was the truth. Or at least, an approximation of it. She knew it was a bad decision. Whether or not she’d internalized it as a screw up was a different question.

“I can’t change what happened to you, personally, or to your people or neighborhood. My job’s to help put you on the best path to being a Hero. And I can’t do that if you’re treating your fellow students or instructors like they’re the enemy.”

He’d managed to get through that without yelling once. Impressive. Maybe he was getting soft in his old age

She hadn’t gone to put her sock back on. Instead she’d listened to all of what he had to say. It was obvious she’d been expecting a variety of directions for this conversation to go: an angry lecture, threats, self-righteous condemnation, head-in-the-dirt denial, but hadn’t been prepared for acceptance or validation. Especially given his reputation for a short fuse and quick judgements. She’d paid attention to all of it, but had made no movements, nods, or sounds to indicate her stance.

When he finished, Park was quiet for a long time. Unknowingly she had begun to hold her cross in her hand, a thumb rubbing across the metal.

“I..I know, but..it’s so hard.” There was the tiniest of breaks in her voice, but she composed herself. She reached down to put her sock back on, probably distract herself from her conflicting feelings. “I’m used to seeing enemies on all sides.”

“It is,” he agreed. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Walking around with all that anger, even with plenty of therapy, it’s something I deal with every damn day. It’s something I’ve got to constantly be aware of, be on guard against. I find healthy outlets. Or, at least, mostly healthy ones.”

He thought back to some of the conversations he’d had with Eijiro over the years, questioning whether he was a good enough person to deserve love and family. Of long talks with Izuku, about all the wrongs he’d done to him. Of the making amends part of his therapy and the long time he’d spent grappling with realizing he’d been chasing after a goal without ever truly understanding what it meant.

“There’s days I don’t do that good of a job,” he said, finally. “The internet’s full of clips from times I lost it. But I don’t stop trying.”

Park had long since put her sock and shoe back on and was once more listening. She had resumed fiddling with her cross, but not quite as frantically as before.

“Outlets.” She spoke the word with a familiarity that indicated she had heard it multiple times before now. “My parents have tried to find such things for me. A friend of my father’s instructed me in Yongmudo since I was small. Such things have been known to instill discipline, peace of mind, and perhaps even an “outlet.” In truth it just gave me a means to start fighting back. I “want” peace, Teacher, but to strike at those who wronged you...feels very good.” She squeezed the cross, hard enough that he saw her knuckles turn white. She chuckled bitterly. “Probably what drew them to me to begin with.”

“Them?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. Was someone using Park? It only took him a few seconds to connect the dots. He may have been a brawler at heart, but not for nothing did he have an investigative record second only to Tintin’s. “The Commission. Dammit, I thought Hawks had all those programs shut down!”

Park gave him a confused look. “I’m not sure what you mean, but yes, your Hero Commission. I had been rounded up more than once by police for getting in fights with local thugs, but nothing on my record. So I thought anyway. One day a Japanese man in a suit knocks on our door and asks to speak with me. He knows who I am, apparently from the police, and asks me “How would you like to take them down legally?”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Of course I knew these were the bastards who left us without Heroes to protect us. The same ones who unleashed Ignition on Chinese civilians. All the same, they were also the only ones who could arrange Pro protection in the future. I love my family, my community...if it meant working with them, then I would do it. Our neighborhood is poor, purposely nondescript, no way for the big schools to notice. So they arranged for my name to end up on Shiketsu’s radar.”

She shook her head, a rue smile actually crossing her lips. She said some words in Korean, caught herself, then said, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I’ve only ever told my parents and Chie.”

“It must be my winning bedside manner,” he said, putting on a small smile of his own. He was still going to give that bird-brained Deputy Commissioner a piece of his mind, even if the programs didn’t sound quite the same. It was still predatory as hell.

“But that’s a good goal,” he said. “Sounds like you’re doing it for the right reasons.” Maybe a little revenge, but it still sounded to his ears like she wanted to help, to make a difference, more than she wanted to hurt. She was sticking up for people who didn’t have anyone else. Izuku’d like that. “So I’ll cut you a deal… You’ve got my permission to walk away from anything here, anytime you get too mad to function. But in exchange, you’ve got to talk to somebody after, and you’ve got to stop trying to beat the stuffing out of my students.”

Park looked visibly shocked, the first time her usual composure had completely cracked. She was clearly not used to Japanese people in authority being on her side. For the first time since the conversation had started, she finally seemed to show her age.

“Teacher,” she stops, realizing she was using Korean phrasing. “Sanada Sensei in Shiketsu has actually been trying to get me to see their counselor. I have refused every time.” She seemed to think for a moment. “Maybe I should reconsider that.”

At the mention of beating up his students, she closes her eyes. They seem to vibrate a bit, closing them had been a means of hiding intense emotions. A hand squeezed her cross tightly. There was the very smallest hint of wetness to her eyes, but it was brief. Park opened her eyes again.

“I can do that.”

***

Isamu gulped, not for the first time. Aizawa-sensei made him nervous on a good day, when he was just being his usual brooding self at Class 1-A. He made him even more nervous when he was giving him direct attention, like what was happening now. Like several other students, he’d been pulled aside for one-on-one, individualized or small group training.

“You’re getting good with your Quirk,” Aizawa said, flatly. “Your father must have taught you well.” Was it just his imagination or was there a little more warmth in his voice when he said that?

“As best he could, Sensei,” Isamu said quickly. “Though he never got good enough with it for Hero work.” Why would he say that?!

Aizawa gave him a flat look, one eyebrow slightly raised. “You really want to dance around this, kid? I know you know that I know. Maybe not everything, but enough. Your parents were pains in my ass, but they did good work. Especially the Sky Egg.”

This wasn’t a surprise. But it was a surprise to be talking about it so openly. Sure, he was the kid of a couple of Vigilantes, not Heroes like just about everyone else here. And sure, Aizawa had worked with his parents multiple times, as had Midnight. So it wasn’t like he really thought he was hiding anything. At least not from them. Deku had figured it out too. And there were probably more people he hadn’t figured out. But he hadn’t told any of his friends. He trusted them, didn’t think it would come back to bite him in the ass. It was just… something known but not talked about.

“Ah, thank you, Sensei.” That seemed like the proper response. And he didn’t even incur another round of foot in mouth disease. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

Aizawa gave him a look. “You’ll do no such thing.”

Isamu gulped.

“All of which means I’ve got a pretty good idea of what your Quirk’s capable of,” Aizawa went on. “Yours is like his. Almost identical, but subtly different if you know what you’re looking for. I’m surprised Deku didn’t figure it out, honestly. But since you think you’ve got an identical Quirk, you’re limiting yourself. He figured out ways to use his propulsion offensively and even for short bursts to launch himself, but you’ve already mastered all those tricks. I’ve even see you firing repulsion blasts without having to brace yourself. You don’t actually need three points of contact. And I’ve seen you launch yourself during training too and steer yourself once you’re in the air. So I want you to try something.”

There was, perhaps, a slightly maniac look in his teacher’s eyes. “You’re going to fly.”

Isamu gulped yet again and his eyes went wide. “Sensei?” He definitely couldn’t fly. He could use a repulsion burst to launch himself and steer a little in the air, even keep himself from too bad of a landing, but he definitely couldn’t fly. Could he?

Dad has said that he’d been able to slide through the air as a baby. He’d even been able to recover something like it with boosts through the air. But that was really just not falling, not flying. Wasn’t it?

He managed a nod. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try it. What do I need to do?”

“Unfortunately,” Aizawa said, “I’m not allowed to just push you off the roof of the compound. Sink or swim tactics work wonders.”

That was a joke, right? He had to be joking about that! Someone tell him Aizawa was joking!

His teacher’s expression betrayed no hint of emotion. “So instead, what I want you to do is concentrate your power on pushing against the ground under your feet and the air under your hands. You’ll need steady output from all four limbs to control it.”

Right. He could do that. He could do that. He could probably do that. He could possibly do that.

He took a deep breath and concentrated on his Quirk. Just like when he was sliding along. Energy out from his feet, energy out from his hands. Steady, smooth, power.

Nope! Not steady! Too much power flared from his feet and launched him into the air. Cursed laws of physics! Isamu cut his Quirk, but it was like trying to stop a bullet after it had already left the gun. His arms and legs flailed uselessly as he launched skyward, until gravity began to reassert itself and drag him back down. Aizawa wouldn’t just let him go splat, would he?

Boy, was that a stupid question.

So he had to save himself!

He scrunched up his eyes and concentrated on his Quirk again. Steady, consistent, power.

Isamu felt the energy flow from all his limbs again, the pressure fairly equal. Quickly, he realized he wasn’t falling. His eyes snapped open. His was only a few feet off the ground, but he was holding himself up in the air, unsteadily. Trails of blue-white energy from all his limbs filled the air. He kept his hands pointed carefully down, using them for stabilizing bursts while his feet provided the thrust.

“Whoa!” It was extremely unsteady. His head was already beginning to hurt from concentrating so hard. But he was doing it!

And just as easily as it had come about, his concentration wavered and his power faded. He hit the ground with a soft thump, landing on his butt. Isamu looked up to see Aizawa standing over him, offering a hand up, but also smirking knowingly. Isamu took it.

“Good,” Aizawa said. “Keep practicing that. I’ll send Ground Zero over later if you’re still having trouble. His explosive-powered flight is similar.”

He needed to get very good. Immediately.

And he really needed a conversation with his friends.

***

Kimiko was fuming. Lunch had ended and they hadn’t even been able to begin the big shipping operation! Even worse, it was entirely possible they wouldn’t get to do it at all! She hadn’t been able to tell what anyone was saying, but it sure looked like Koda and Aoyama had had a major heart-to-heart. And since it hadn’t ended with any slaps or either of them walking away in tears, it was probably good news!

Which was, in and of itself, a good thing. Koda definitely deserved all the happiness in the world. She was probably the sweetest person that Kimiko knew. And Aoyama was… not exactly a friend, but someone she was definitely friendly with. Even if he didn’t particularly like Takuma, he was good people under the fancy-pants attitude. Plus he loved listening to gossip and always had the best dirt on foreign celebrities. If they got together, it was a good thing!

But she didn’t know! And since she didn’t have her phone, she couldn’t even share her speculation! There was major league gossip going on and not only couldn’t she share it, but she didn’t even know the full story!

What was the world coming to?!

So many of Class 1-A was dating now! Midoriya was dating Sora Iida, Takuma was dating Tensei Iida, Mineta was dating Yoarashi, Shoji had his girlfriend Shiryoku from the Business Course, Kaminari was apparently dating Monoma (What? What was the story there?! Why didn’t she know any details?!), Haimawari was dating Tetsutetsu, Koda and Aoyama were a maybe, and she was dating Kenta!

So that left… Kirishima-Bakugo, Kocho, Tokoyami, and Shinso, right? Todoroki wasn’t interested in romance or sex, her loss, but Kimiko could respect boundaries. Sometimes. And she wasn’t even sure what kind of people Shinso was interested in. He was only about six months younger than most of them, but he sometimes seemed like a kid by comparison.

None of which was relevant to the task in front of her. Namely, personal medical training with the Metabolic Hero: Bioshock!

“Eri, ah, Doc Clock, sent me over files on everything she’s been teaching you,” Bioshock explained. “Including all the scores from your practice tests. She’s definitely proud of you.”

Kimiko felt a smile spread across her face. She’d actually really been applying herself to her medical studies. Schoolwork didn’t come easily to her, but this was definitely worth it.

“So, pop quiz,” Bioshock said. “Best way to treat a broken arm in the field?”

This one was easy. “If there’s bleeding, use a sterile dressing to stop it. If there’s no skin puncture, use my Quirk to assess the extent of the break. After either one, immobilize, construct a splint if possible. Once I’ve gotten them to safety, ice packs can help with the swelling.”

He nodded. “Good. And what’s the most important thing to keep an eye out for when doing search and rescue?”

She knew this one! “Structural stability and my own safety. Don’t want to make a problem worse and I can’t help anyone if I need someone to rescue me!”

Bioshock nodded again. “Good,” he said. “And where in the body would you find a squeedily spooch?”

Panic gripped Kimiko’s heart as she realized she didn’t know the answer to that. Squeedily spooch… squeedily spooch... what the heck was a squeedily spooch?!

She frowned as she realized he was struggling not to laugh. “Hey! That’s not fair!” Her arms waved wildly through the air as she voiced her displeasure. He was a teacher, so she couldn’t actually hit him like she would Kenta or Takuma, but… “There’s no such thing as a squeedily spooch! You can’t just make stuff up like that! What the heck is wrong with you?! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?!”

The Rookie held his composure for a moment longer, before breaking into laughter. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t laugh, but I just wanted to see what you’d do… Which reminds me, actually, I’ve got a theory about your Quirk…”

He was cut off as a shrill alarm cut through the air. Bioshock’s face instantly went serious as he looked around.

“Perimeter breach! Perimeter breach!” An electronic voice sounded in the space between alarms.

“Come with me,” Bioshock said. He was clearly trying not to let his worry show. “I’ll get you to the compound…”

If I can was left unsaid.

***

The second the alarms went off, the Rookies and teachers leapt into action, with a speed that would have impressed just about any Hero, forming a defensive circle around the U.A. students. Uncle Kacchan set off small explosions on his palms, working himself up into the agitated state needed to sweat and use his power to its fullest. Aizawa unraveled his capture cloth and lifted his goggles to cover his eyes. Super-Ball dropped into a fighting stance, lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet, his rubberized features set into grim determination.

Ravenous unleashed several of his Binging Balls, the chomping spheroids floating about him like small planets orbiting the sun. Small puffs of thrust flared from Boost-Rush’s arm pipes. Bezoar dropped to all fours, his canon emerging from his mouth as he swept the tree line. Aunt Mahoro pulled a small metal cylinder from her belt, which expanded into a staff.

Aunt Mahoro looked back, as though wanted to assure them that it was going to be okay. She waved a hand in their direction and the world went a hazy green. She had to have cast some kind of illusion over the twenty-odd students, probably making the training field look like they weren’t there at all. Most of them had been on the main grounds, working on their Quirks. The Shiketsu students, Ojiro, and about a dozen others had been elsewhere on the grounds, receiving their own training.

“We’ll stop or hold off whatever it is,” Toshi heard Aizawa say. Was he imaging it, or was his teacher’s voice shaking? “You’ve all got full permission to use your Quirks to escape or fight off anything that tries to stop that escape. The other Rookies are either on their way or protecting your classmates.

As it was, Toshi felt his heart racing in his chest. A quick glance around revealed a sharp divide in reactions. Some, like Kocho, along with members of Class 1-B like the bat-like Koumori and Kaniyashiki looked worried, but not overly frightened. They probably even wondered if this was just a test or one of Aizawa’s famous “logical ruses.” It was absolutely a reasonable reaction to the presence of danger. But they were all also Hero-students, quickly pushing past it to at least take up basic defensive stances, some of them calling up their Quirks.

The kids who had Hero parents reacted differently. There was fear first. They’d all been told the stories of what had happened during their parents’ first training camp. The injuries. The kidnapping. The fact that the League of Villains had nearly killed so many of them. Would have killed so many of them, if not for a lot of luck. Haimawari too, was reacting similarly. His experiences between the Internship and the incident on I-Island had stirred up a great deal of courage in his friend, but also shown him how bad things could get very quickly.

This was supposed to have been a safe place. The world was supposed to have been a safer place. The worst Villains had been faced and defeated. And yes, it still needed Heroes, still needed people to stand up and say “I am here!” in the fight against evil. But the past was not supposed to repeat like this.

Their parents had fought hard so that their lives would not be as filled with trauma.

Already, the Nomu incident has put a lie to that. Was it becoming even more of one? Some of them had been tested in that, scarred, made afraid. Some of them had been spared, aware of the terror but not a part of it.

The fears of the past rose up to claim them.

But beneath the fear was grim determination. Katsumi was already scowling, putting herself in front of Izumi. Asuka had deployed Frog-Shadow and she and Haimawari had both put themselves around Shota. The Twins looked ready to take off at a moment’s notice. Tetsutetsu had transformed her arms to metal. One by one, everyone was activating their Quirks. Even Kocho was extending her wings.

“I don’t need you to protect me, dammit!” Kaminari snapped, pushing Monoma so that she was standing shoulder to shoulder with him, instead of behind him.

Monoma himself looked very pale. If Toshi didn’t know better, he’d swear the other boy was shaking. He didn’t have any of his support items with him, Toshi realized. “I.. I was just trying to…”

“Look,” Kaminari said. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m a big girl.”

If ever there was a sign of how seriously his classmates were taking this, it was that Mineta did not make a joke about Kaminari’s statement. Even Sero was quiet. This was deadly serious.

“Do you think we are really under attack, Toshi?” Sora asked.

“Quit yapping, all of you!” Katsumi snapped, before he could answer. Toshi recognized her body language. Feet planted, knees slightly bent, arms out, fists clenched. She was spoiling for a fight. That was Katsumi all over. Always spoiling for a fight. After the beating she’d taken, he suspected she was looking for a target even more than usual. He hoped and prayed that she had the good sense to recognize the odds were very good they were outmatched.

“This is bad,” Fukidashi whispered. The animated girl’s face had gone blue and covered with hashlines. “The background music’s getting really scary!”

***

For just a moment, Katsuki was fifteen again. An arrogant, hot-headed kid with too much rage and an inferiority-superiority complex he won’t even begin to really unpack until he’s failed his Provisional License Exam, and won’t have finished unpacking until… Well, it’s a work in progress. But he’s back there, more than twenty-five years ago, thinking that Villains—murderers like Muscular and Dabi, master criminals like Mister Compress, deathrow inmates like Moonfish—don’t stand a chance against his barely trained ass.

He was wrong. So wrong. He was captured, perceived as a Villain, with All Might unable to properly fight because he was there. And then he had to live with the shame of having to be rescued. Of knowing that Izuku would stage a rescue for him, when he definitely wouldn’t have done the same. He’d have let those Villains have the “worthless Deku.”

The knowledge of how much of a shit child he was still fills him with shame.

But here and now, even broken and bowed, he will not allow the same thing to happen to his daughter and her classmates. He’d be cold and dead before he allowed that to happen.

“Just heard from the others,” Mahoro said. “Sandblast and Locksmith are with the Shiketsu students. Petal Princess and Lady Luminous are with the other students, and my brother and his student are hooking up with them. Everyone’s accounted for.”

Boost-Rush tapped the side of his helmet. “Getting data from the security feed…whatever it is, it’s coming up on us. It’s managed to evade or disable our entire security system.”

“Any chance it’s a false alarm?” Fujii asked. The rubberized Hero wasn’t joking. It was a genuine statement. “Nobody should know the students are here.”

“No one was supposed to know the first time either,” Aizawa snapped. “Don’t let your guard down.” Bakugo had to give the hobo credit. Even in his mid-fifties, he still looked more than ready to kick anyone’s ass who trifled with his “kids.”

“Not a chance,” Mahoro said. “Hatsume and Shield designed all of it. But if it’s not an attack on them, it’s an attack on us Rookies.”

Either way, it wasn’t good.

There was a rustling in the grass of the tree line and suddenly, something emerged. At first, he didn’t see anything, until he looked down.

“What the fuck?”

It was a… dog? A Shiba Inu, if he was any judge.

“What the fuck?”

Not just a dog, he realized. A dog wearing clothes. It had on a dog-version of a Shiketsu uniform, complete with a peaked cap that its ears were poking through, and a backpack.

“What the fuck?”

The dog looked around and seemed to smile. There was a strange, human intelligence to his eyes. Eyes that finally fell on Bakugo, the other teachers, and the Rookies.

“Hi!” the dog said. “I’m Hachi Inuzaki from Shiketsu! Sorry I missed the bus! It took me forever to get here!”

Katsuki felt like someone had just punched him in the face. Aizawa, Fujii, and the Rookies were equally dumbfounded.

“What,” he said, “and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck?”

#my hero academia #their hero academia #katsuki bakugo #toshi midoriya #kimiko ojiro #mahoro shimano #katsuma shimano #fan fiction #fan fic #my writing

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sgt-morgan · 4 years

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Lucky Kentucky ch. 2

Chapter 1

Hello there, welcome back to my Rockstar!Bucky x Reader fic. It was heavily inspired by my love of seventies mega rockstars, Almost Famous, Classic Rock, and a little bit of personal whimsy. I hope you enjoy, and read responsibly.

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ : cussing, sexy times, drugs, booze, smoking, objectification, fornication, liberation, and a litany of other sordid topics and traumas.

“HEY! NOBODY FUCKING MOVE!” To say that the last thing you needed was a missing rockstar, was a drastic understatement, and a testament to your unending will.

“Where in the good sweet name of Jesus is that dick head?” You fumed stomping towards the rest of the band.

“Your guess is as good as ours sweetheart, we got nothing. No phone calls, no texts, no nothing.” Shrugged Steve Rodgers, guitarist and all around good guy. “If I knew that all the time, I think I’d be a millionaire.”

You sighed and looked around you at the fleet of your busses and equipment trucks, and you could have sworn that you were ready to kill that asshole with your bare hands. “Well hot stuff? He better show up quickly, or so help me God he will be sleeping in a tour bus with the newest, dweebiest, roadies I can find. Do you know how bad new roadie busses smell? He will if he dosent get his ass here by the time the last piece of your stage equipment is packed.”

“I think you should land his ass there anyway, to give him time to think about what he’s done.” Sam shrugs, Clint vehemently nodding his support as he wrangles one of his two delightful children. “I think his punsishmet should fit his crimes personally.”

“Oh yeah! I think that’s a great idea! Or, he could stay with Laura and I on our bus, I’m sure the whining infant won’t keep him up all night, He’s gonna love it!” Clint nods, “We have a rule, no booze, broads, or bud around the kids! He’ll dry out quick!”

“No Clint, no worries at all. He won’t sleep or get laid on the roadie bus,” you laugh, “he’ll be surrounded by filth, and endless questions, and gawking. He won’t get the back room either, I’ll give him a bunk. Frankie will be on his bus, that way he never gets away with anything. No escape artists on my watch!” You wink, plucking his oldest, Cooper off his back and wrestling him into a head lock.

“Oof, devious as always.” Natasha laughs nodding and throwing her arm around you. “I remember when I got on your bad side, wasn’t worth the never ending week of publicity with no coffee. That was the strictest ban I’ve ever dealt with for sure.”

“Someone start calling his ass.” You laugh pulling away from Tasha and waking towards Peter to get a rundown on the status of loading up.

“Oh captain, my captain!” Peter saluted, about nine or ten roadies following in his lead while the rest just stood gawking as if they had never seen a woman before. “We are about twenty minutes from setting sail, I have my men sorted into busses and vans, Frankies bus has one extra bed open as per request, and, as our lady of perpetual mystery might be interested to hear, we have a new crew of over eager security team members stocked to the brim on Frankies bus, even worse than the roadies. Is everything ship shape?”

“At ease Parker,” you giggle, shoving him out of his stiff rehearsed stance, “indeed we are ship shape, now if only our little diva Jr. would show face, we could be on our way.” Just as you were finishing that sentence, a car pulled up, and out stumbled the man of the hour, James Barnes.

James Buchanan Barnes was drunk. Inibriated, intoxicated, off his ass, pissed, blitzed, sloshed, ranked, hammered, wrecked, out for the count, drunk. He stumbles out of the Uber, bottle in hand, but at least he was dressed. He stumbled over to the rest of the group, he had a duffel bag, wether it was packed with anything useful is up in the air, you’d make sure you’d get your hands on it and ensure that it had what he needed. Wanda could take care of filling in the gaps. You have now decided that there is no escape from Frankie for him. You’d have to put someone on the bus. You don’t know who yet, but someone. Maybe Quill? Whoever it was, needed to get along with Sam and Steve. Thor, he would work nicely. You’d see to it that Frankie had him moved. Now there was the Liquor problem. This was a decision every road manager has to dread. As any good rockstar could tell you, you have to be stone sober or completely fucked to perform a good show, you just had to decide what would or wouldn’t ruin the band... or him. So, sober it was. No use dragging it on any longer.

“JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES!”

—————————————————————————

Any man alive knew that sound was trouble. No woman used the full Government name if you were in good standings. That was just facts. However, drunk thoughts beget sober truths and the truth is, that was incredibly sexy. When he turned hands raised in surrender whiskey bottle and duffle abandoned he was greeted to the glorious sight of her. Kentucky, dressed in leggings and a ripped up old band tee that he could faintly register belonged to Led Zepplin. Her hair piled up on her head shining in the sunlight her curves begging to be expl-

*whack*

Well, that will sober you up quick.

“Hey dickhead, so glad you could make it!” Sam, not looking too thrilled despite his statement of glad tidings gave him a smile he could only describe as cat catching canary. “I think Lucky needs to see you. Loose the doe eyes, it’s getting creepy.”

“Yeah buddy, I can catch on pretty quick.” He fumbled for what to say, and settled on “Bluegrass, doll, you look stunning this fine morning. Care for a swig of Kentucky’s finest?” He slurred, She sauntered up to him and he could swear he felt the magic, until she snatched the bottle and promptly tipped it out onto the ground. “Hey, woah! Easy there Kentucky, that was a bottle of Kentucky’s finest! that was a bottle of Eagle Rare!”

“No James, your looking at Kentucky’s finest, and you should know that I’m better than all the barrels in Frankfort. Buffalo Trace has nothing on me. Now, since you came in all washed up and wandering right smack dab before the deadline, I’m gonna be merciful, but the next time you pull this shit? Theres a bunk in Frankies bus with the minors that has your name on it. Are we clear? Brooklyn?” She had the empty bottle in her fist, her other arm draped under her breasts and she was jabbing him in the chest. He had never been more frightened and turned on in his entire life.

“Reading you loud and clear KY, I got the message.” He nodded backing away slightly.

“Good!” She smiled turning into an entirely different woman. One with sunshine and laughter in her soul, her perverbial horns retracting. She snatched his sunglasses right off of his aching eyes, and placed them on her face. Low blow, but not entirely unexpected. “Now that the princess is here, load up and let’s roll! First pit stop is in Vegas, so we got a lot of ground to cover!” She stuffed his empty bottle and his duffle back into his hands, and headed for her bus, he just caught the conversation as the Barton family began to load up watching her go by.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Lila?” Clint said helping his little girl put her little pink hello kitty duffle under the bus.

“Is Uncle Bucky in trouble?” She asked innocently looking back at Bucky, who gave her a little wave.

Clint turned to face him, chucking as he met his gaze, “Oh yeah honey, lots and lots of it.”

—————————————————————————

You loaded yourself onto the administrative bus, plopping yourself into the little booth right at the front near the head bus driver, Phil Colson.

“Hello Phil!” You smiled, opening your laptop and checking on your hotel reservation. The kind bus driver smiled and started up the bus. Next on we’re your bunk mates, Wanda, Vision, Bruce, and Peter. That left two bunks open for Tony and Pepper for when they joined you on the occasion.

“Well, I can proudly announce that Barnes’ military training has not gone to waste, even sloppy drunk he knows how to pack his essentials!” Wanda’s beautiful soothing voice waltzes its way into your ears as she and Vision loaded themselves onto the bus. “He’s got his tooth brush and everything! It’s a miracle!”

You nodded at that eyes still focused on checking your route’s traffic and totaling how much it would cost you for a late check in if nessicary. “Good, he can be a functioning adult when he wants to be!”

“The widows are settled onto their bus, everyone’s got what they need. Carol said she could do with some more angry Lucky, she missed you apparently” Bruce sighed plopping down next to you silently checking over your figures.

“I’ve got everything packed so that it should only take the lighting crew and I two hours to shore up, which puts my productivity up by 30%” Vision shrugged putting his arm back around his beautiful wife.

“And I can move heavy things and take good photos. Also, I fixed that stage piece you were worried about and it is no longer does the rocky thingy.” Peter grinned giving you finger guns.

“Ugh, I love the sound of efficiency!” You sigh, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you throw your stuff in the bunk closest to the shower. “Thank you all for agreeing to take this on with me, I wanted you because you’re my A-team, and I knew that I couldn’t do this without you... plus I knew it would look fantastic on your resumes.” The crew in your bus gave a here here for that statement.

“So, Barnes. How do you plan to tackle that battle?” Peter said plopping down on top of Wanda and Vision as if they were just two decorative pillows. “He’s gotta strong will and a heady brooding nature, rough shit I tell yah.”

“Not to mention the fact that he’s incredibly handsome,” Wanda said pushing Peter to the floor, “We know you’re a pushover for that type!”

“Well lady and gentlemen, I plan to kick his ass into shape. Good looks and broody behavior be damned!” You huff.

“I may point out, that is not exactly a plan darling.” Vision says sympathetically patting you on the head as he carries his and Wanda’s things to the back of the bus.

“Well Viz, darling I am well aware of that. I have a plan. He’s gonna have to sober up. This behavior isn’t normal for him, his band mates and Tony have made that clear, he’s on the string for some girl that couldn’t have given less of a shit about him, so he’s all fucked in the head. MY job, is going to be reminding him he’s a goddamn rock star, who doesn’t need a bitch like that to make him happy!” You gesticulate as you unpack the supplies you’d need for a shower. “Then, all should be well with the world again, and I can go back to managing tours that don’t make me want to kill myself.”

——————————————————————————

“Say Stevie, that uh, that Kentucky sure is one tough dame right?” Bucky say’s as he charges shirts, “gotta lot of spunk?”

“Yeah Buck, she’s a real hot head when she wants to be, but she’s fantastic at this. I’ve not seen a better organized tour in my life!” He hears his best friend laugh from the front.

“Not to mention,” Sam started from his position on the couch, “she’s one hot mama, veeeeeery fine. You can tell she knows it too. I wonder if she likes dark chocolate, I think I should find out.”

Bucky felt anger deep in his gut at Sam’s teasing, but for the life of him he can’t figure out why. He dosent need another relationship, hell, dosent want one. That only leads to broken hearts and empty bottles... broken hearts and empty bottles... a little cliche but he could make it work. He’d write it down later. Right now, his sole purpose was intel. Gathering as much info on Kentucky as he could.

“Gotta make sure she’s not already tied up Sammy boy!” He laughed, “besides, I think she likes Seargents.” He winked.

“Well if it’s information on the lady Kentucky you want, I’ve got you covered.” The big braun-y security guy Thor chuckled, “she’s single as it comes, bad break up with some hot douche bag in some other band. Wasn’t pretty that breakup, I tell yah. Frankie and I had to beat the guys face in to get him off her door step, she started road managing in order to get away from him, being constantly on the move made her a moving target, it worked better that way.”

“Sheesh, any ideas on that band name? I’d hate to bump into them sometime.” Bucky shook his head, “she sounds like a tough lady.”

“Oh she is,” Thor chuckled, “got some rough and tumble to her, she’s good at what she does. Hydra? I think that’s the name at least.”

“Sheesh,” Steve muttered, “She messes around with hard hitters huh? Hydra is huge on the pop punk charts, they’re not topping out on the hot 100 or anything, but they pull a decent crowd for sure.”

“Yeah, this isn’t the first time I’ve heard stories about them being absolute dicks either,” said Sam, “poor thing. I hate that for her.”

“She’s a good lady, really, she’s always so kind, goes out of her way to learn names and remember important dates, never afraid to pitch in where she’s needed. You guys are lucky to have her for this tour.” Thor nods, putting his things away and laying down in his bunk.

“Yeah, very lucky.” Bucky nods, daydreaming about a woman he just met. This was gonna be a long tour.

——————————————————————————

Their first stop was in Nevada. Los Vegas, baby. The first show of the tour was at the colosseum at Ceaser’s palace. This meant discounted hotel rooms, larger merch sales, and quite a bit of press was involved, but you were ready to take on the challenge. You arrived in Los Vegas around 6am, all of the bands stumbling off their respective busses and making their way towards the resteraunts in the hotel. You and Bruce headed off to snag hotel keys, and settle the bands into place. Wanda, Vis, and Peter, headed with the rest of the crew and the equipment trucks to the Venue for set up.

“Alright Bruce, you get the Widows settled in their rooms, I’ll take care of the boys. Tell the girls their press is at 10 and their rehearsal will be at noon, they are to be at the venue no later than 9:15. They will arrive and go straight to Wanda, who has outfit options, and makeup. They have a lunch break at 2:00, and they need to be at the venue by 5:00 for their sound check at 5:30, curtain is at 7:30.” You rattled off handing Bruce back stage passes and a few printed copies of tonight’s schedule. “I’ll meet you outside in twenty to send the busses to the venue.” Bruce gave you a tiny salute and you wandered off to find the Commandos. You found them sitting in a resteraunt, a waiter bringing them their drinks. You noticed Bucky had a screwdriver, now that just wouldn’t do. You snatched the glass from him right as the waiter was about to put it in his hand, slamming it back in one go.

“Woohoo! Good morning Kentucky!” Clint laughed clapping with Steve and Sam, who were pointing at a dumb struck Bucky.

“Damn, sugar! I didn’t know you had it in you this early!” Sam laughed.

“We,” you said gesturing between Bucky and yourself, “will take water and a coffee.” You said to the waiter with a wink. “Good morning boys! We’re in for a good one today! Starting off at the colosseum is a great first gig! Now I hate to be a downer, but unfortunately, I gotta lay down the law. This tour will have a no show day drinking policy. Zero tolerance, breaking this rule leads to a prohibition to the breakers caffeine supply, and lands you in a bunk in Frankies bus with the newbies. The only exceptions are exactly one pre show shot and or beer for last minute jitters, or a celebratory toast. Any other hard day drinking will lead to repricutions. Rule number two, I run a right ship, I do not appreciate tardiness. I went easy on you the first day, but here on in, if you are late by more than ten minutes, I will assume you’re dead and send the cops to come find you. Very loud, very messy, and definitely will make the news. So, do I make myself clear?” You looked around and met their gazes everyone seemed to be okay with these rules, except Bucky.

“What the hell lucky? Am I some kinda child or something? No drinking? No tardiness? Am I a high schooler? Jesus, you gotta pair on you if you think that I, a grown ass man would ev-“ your food came about five words into his little tirade, and as soon as the waiter left your food, you shoved a roll in Bucky’s mouth.

“Stuff it Brooklyn, we wouldn’t fuckin NEED these rules if you could get your ass together for five minutes to see what you’re doing! Your drunkenness has made you sloppy, you’re late on your due dates, your waisting Tony’s time and money on your pouty bullshit, and your friends are worried about you. So yes, we’re gonna have rules, they will have consequences, and I’ll beat your ass myself if you show the inability to get it together!” You rant jabbing your finger into his chest to get your point across. “Now, eat your waffles, here’s your schedules, and if you are not showered and decently dressed at the colosseum by 10 am sharp, so help me God I’ll call the cops.” With that you gathered your coffe and your purse and stalked away. Handing Steve they’re schedules, passes, and hotel keys as you went. It was gonna be a long night, you could feel it.

“Did anyone else find that extremely sexy?” Sam asked, and by god Bucky couldn’t help it, he nodded in agreement.

—————————————————————————

Steve and Bucky followed eachother up to their floor of the hotel, crew, secrity, and bands took up the entire fifth floor. Later tonight, when everyone actually got to unload after the show, It would be a real party, people leaving their doors open, coolers of beer, goods and services being exchanged, instruments and duffle bags and food being passed from room to room, it was Bucky’s personal favorite part of the evening.

Right now, it was sad and empty. So, he showered, and he went to sleep. At approximately 10:15 am, Bucky was rudely awakened by a pounding on his door. He looked at the time and he jumped to his feet so fast he almost broke his neck tripping on his sheets. Kentucky was gonna kill him. He just hoped to God whoever was outside his door didn’t drag him out of the hotel in handcuffs.

“Ok Bucky, time to shine!” He muttered to himself and threw open the door. Outside was quite possibly the largest man he’s ever seen, and he was no pipsqueak himself, he towered over bucky by at least a foot, and his biceps were roughly the size of his head. “Hello there, seeing as you’re not in a police uniform, you must be Frankie.” The big man grunted his assent. “Ok then, may we g-“

“Listen here pretty boy, I don’t care if your famous, you hurt Kentucky? I hurt you. Understood?” His voice felt like a blast of attic wind. It made Bucky shiver. Where was this coming from? How would he hurt Kentucky, it’s not like she would ever date him, he couldn’t even get a woman to Mary him, let alone bag an absolute catch like Lucky.

“Yes sir, won’t happen again.” Bucky saluted like he was still in the service then realized what he was doing and always my scratched his head. “Can we?” He pointed at the door, hoping against all odds to escape this absolute shit show of a conversation.

“By the way kid? You’re lucky she didn’t send the cops.”

——————————————————————————

At the colosseum, Y/N was pracitcaply putting a hole in the rug of their dressing rooms, while the various other band mates who bothered to show up on time, sat there bored out of their minds.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you muttered, biting at your bottom lip.

“No your not mama,” Natasha laughed from the couch, “You think he’s sexy, you don’t burn fine art.”

“Dammit, you’re right.” You sighed throwing your hands in the air and plopping dow on top of her and Peggy who were sitting next to eachother looking at dress designs Wanda sent them for SNL next month.

“I like the black one Nat, the red detailing is classy and fun.” You mutter, Peggy nods in agreement.

“I like Wanda’s idea of us all having black dresses with different colors, we could do it 1950’s style and put our hair up? I think it would look really cool. Fits the vibe of our song choice.” Peggy says casually flipping through the designs.

“Carol and I respectfully request to wear suits if that’s ok?” MJ pipes up, “I think two and two will look cool.” She shrugs, I’ll do the regular hair and makeup though.”

“Can I get a broad brim mobster hat?” Carol asks popping up from her place on the floor beside MJ’s chair.

“Yes, I like this idea. SNL will like it too I bet.” Wanda nodded. “If they let Megan and Billie do what they want, I’m guessing your performance will be just as accepted. That and it can be in black and white. Rami Malik is also the perfect host for that. I’ll pitch it to their team.”

“How about you boys, any ideas? You’re the week after.” Wanda said looking towards the Comandos who had already made it.

“I like the Jailhouse rock Idea! I think we sh-” Just then, Frankie walked in holding James by the collar.

“Put him down Frankie,” you sigh “he’s an ass, but we need him.” After Frankie let him go, he brushed himself off and grinned at you sheepishly. “You better have a damn good explanation for this.” You grind out.

“Over slept?”

“Im gonna kill him”

——————————————————————————

All in all, the show went off without a hitch, the bands both sailed through their songs beautifully, and earned themselves an encore. However, on the last encore of the night, Bucky made things a little more interesting.

“This last one, goes out for a little special someone!” When he said that, you could swear he winked at you.

“Hey hey mama said the way you move” when he held out that move? You could feel your soul shake. He was going it slow, taking the opening slow to really get the crowd worked up. It was like he was expressly trying to lock eyes with you, seat his irises into your soul. “Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove.” Then when the first two lines were done and they kicked into tempo, you remembered where you were, what you were doing, and you let the song echo behind you, as you went to help Wanda pack up the dressing room.

What was that look? What game was he playing at? He couldn’t want to mess around with you, you were a nobody. He was James Barnes, lead singer of one of the biggest bands of the decade, he had no interest in you. You were a road manager, a stick in the mud, a hard headed know it all. He dosent know a thing about you and dosent want you. You were just getting caught up in the music right?

#music #musicians #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky au #james barnes #winter solider fanfiction #rockstar!bucky #rockstar!au #steve rodgers #sam willson #wanda maximoff #vision #natasha romanoff #peter parker #avengers

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the-prophet-lemonade · 4 years

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How do you usually come up with titles for your fics?

most of the time i borrow ideas or concepts from my favourite poets and writers!

for example, your name for a capital is an extract from a richard siken poem called “saying your names” (here is a map with your name for a capital), and another lover hits the universe is from a ginsberg quote (another lover hits the universe. the circle is broken. but with death comes rebirth). my fic anaphora in the aftermath (of love and violence) has its title derived from the ocean vuong poem “anaphora as a coping mechanism”, and my fic litany (for the things we said in gold) is derived from both "a primer for the small weird loves" and "litany in which certain things are crossed out" by richard siken.

as your sun sets (i know you in bleary-eyed 3AM) comes from the poem “in faraway places” by naiche lizzette parker (i know you in bleary-eyed 3am, just waking up as your sun sets). after dark is named for one of my favourite murakami novels (also called after dark), which explores the events of one single night in the city, juxtaposed against the surreal story of a woman sleeping all the while. verdant night and unmet people is lifted from an article i read in the new yorker about the follies of being a 20-something (all at once, you have a thrilling sense of nowness, of the sheer potential of a verdant night with all these unmet people in it. for a long time after that, you think you’ll never lose this life, those dreams. but that was, as they say, then).

other times, i play around with known phrases and switch up some of the words to create a meaning or a rhythm that i like because syntax is really important to me when i write. an example of this would be a cold night for good deeds, which is derived from “it’s a cold night for alligators” by roky erickson. the same can be said for some of the chapter titles i used in this fic, e.g. ‘metaphor for the falling sky’ (chapter 4), which is derived from the latin legal phrase “fīat jūstitia ruat cælum“, and ‘excoriation of a man in shifting light’ (chapter 17), which is based on “portrait of a woman on fire” because i love the rhythm of the words there.

whosoever’s is the storm is another example of this, where i tweaked a latin phrase (cuius est solum, eius est usque ad coelum et ad inferos) to make it more poignant and relevant to the story and to have the repeated s-sound act as audible imagery when read aloud. in hindsight, this is why it always takes me weeks to come up with a title for my fics because i put way too much unnecessary effort into their meanings hahahaha

#lucy replies #writing

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ejzah · 4 years

Text

A/N: Here’s the third part of the car crash fic, which originated from a prompt I received and snowballed out of control. Enjoy!

***

“Deeks!” Kensi shouted, nearly losing her balance herself as she tried to run after him. One moment he’d been muttering under his breath behind her and the next she’d heard a loud shout and he was rolling past her. She was too far away to do anything and watched in horror as he rolled all the way to the bottom. He came to a stop after what seemed like an unbearably long amount of time, face down, unmoving.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, moving as fast as she could with mud and wet leaves slipping beneath her feet. When she reached him, she dropped to her knees, carefully turning him over.

He must have hit his head on something, maybe one of the rocks that littered the ground, because one side of his head was coated in blood. She pushed a handful of bloody, mud-coated hair away from the side of his head, revealing a gash just below his hairline.

“Baby?” He was so still, but she could feel the slight movement of his chest moving which reassured her slightly. “C’mon, baby,” she murmured, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. A quick check confirmed he was breathing and his pulse was fairly even. He grimaced, but didn’t open his eyes. It was still a good sign though.

“Baby, open your eyes. C’mon only one of us is allowed to have a concussion at a time.” This time he groaned and his eyes twitched. “Deeks, can you hear me?”

Instead of answering, he rolled to the side and threw up. Kensi quickly move behind him and rubbed his back through spasms, offering comforting words that were mostly nonsense while making sure he didn’t choke. When he finally stopped gagging, he collapsed onto his back,

“Deeks, can you talk?” she asked and he held up a shaking hand, breathing slowly and deeply through his nose. Holding back the torrent of questions and concerns running through her head, she waited for him to gain control. After a few minutes, he slowly opened his eyes, the skin around them pinched in pain.

“I think I’m ok,” he mumbled, reaching clumsily for Kensi’s hand. She squeezed it automatically, her finger brushing his wrist to check his pulse.

“You threw up. That’s not a good sign,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, but at least this time I’m awake.” He managed the barest hint of a smirk and Kensi bent down to kiss his forehead, brushing back his muddy, blood soaked hair. “And, I hope you notice that I didn’t tease you about having amnesia,” he added.

Kensi chuckled wetly and kissed him again. If he was joking, that was always a good sign. Pressing her lips to neck, she whispered,

“You are such an idiot.” Deeks smiled again, his gaze a little distant as he clasped her hand to his chest. They sat for a few minutes, until a soft rain started. At first it was just a few drops, but it quickly increased and Kensi knew they’d be soaked in no time. “Can you sit up?”

“Yeah.” Using her hand for support, he managed to sit up without too much difficulty and then slowly got to his feet. He swayed a little and she wrapped one arm around his back while he settled one of his over her shoulders.

Kensi was reminded of her own injuries as she worked to support both their weights, but didn’t say anything. Even though her head still ached, she didn’t think it was nearly as bad as Deeks’ concussion.

“Remind me where we’re going,” Deeks said, looking down at his feet as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

“That house over there,” she answered, gesturing ahead of them. Deeks looked up and squinted.

“You mean the big, blurry brown thing?” Kensi stopped and glanced up at him.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” He made a face.

“Everything kind of looks like an impressionist paining,” he said, breathing heavily as he fought to remain upright.

“Ok, adding impaired vision to the list of symptoms,” Kensi said with forced lightness.

“And a slight case of vertigo.” She wasn’t sure if Deeks was joking or not this time, but tightened her arm around his waist just in case. The last thing they needed was him falling and hitting his head again.

After another 10 minutes, they finally reached a long gravel driveway which led to the house. They were both soaked and stumbling more than walking when Deeks abruptly let go of Kensi’s hand and gasped out,

“I need to sit down.” He tumbled to the ground, heedless of the gravel and muddy puddles of water. Though at this point, they were so wet and dirty, she supposed it didn’t really matter.

“It’s just a little bit longer, babe,” she told him, crouching down next to him. He had one arm loosely draped across his bent knees and braced his forehead against it.

“Just got dizzy,” he mumbled. Before she could respond, she heard the sound of crunching gravel and stood up quickly, reaching for her gun. A few moments later, a woman appeared around the bend and ran towards them. Deciding she didn’t look particularly dangerous, Kensi tucked her weapon away before she noticed.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” The woman asked. She had a large black umbrella in one hand and wore what looked like hastily donned boots and a raincoat, dark brown hair sticking out of the hood. Her jeans were sticking out of the tops of her boots and the laces weren’t tied. “I saw you climbing down the ravine and then I saw him fall and I rushed over as quickly as I could. What are you doing out here anyway? It safe to hike around here even in good weather.”

“My name’s Kensi and this is my partner, Marty,” Kensi introduced them, gesturing to Deeks who gave a half hearted wave. He looked thoroughly miserable. “We’re with NCIS, it’s a federal agency, and we crashed into a downed pole.”

“Oh my god.” The woman repeated. “I’m Valerie by the way. Valerie Harper.”

“Like the actress?” Deeks asked unexpectedly. “She played Rhoda Morgenstern. I always liked her more than Mary. She was funnier.” Valerie looked puzzled and Kensi said,

“He has a concussion.”

“Oh. Well, you better come with me. You can come inside and get warm and maybe I can patch you up. We have a pretty impressive first aid kit since the closest hospital is pretty far away.”

“That would be great, thanks. And maybe we can borrow your phone. Our cells were damaged in the crash and we need to call our team and get Deeks, Marty, to a hospital,” Kensi said.

“Normally I would say of course, but the storm took our electric out and we never get great cell service down here,” Valerie explained apologetically.

“I know it’s a huge imposition, but could you maybe drive us into town then?” Valerie shook her head, lips pressed together.

“My husband has the truck. He should be home in a couple hours though.”

“Wow, this day just keeps getting better and better,” Deeks muttered, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling again. Valerie rushed to grab his arm and steady him.

“We should get you inside, poor thing,” she said, eyes roving over Deeks’ litany of injuries. “Both of you,” she added, nodding at Kensi. Kensi held back a smirk as Deeks, injured, dazed and covered in mud, still managed to charm Valerie without even trying.

She had a feeling he would be well taken care of. Shaking her head, she jogged a few steps to catch up and looped her hand through Deeks’ other arm.

***

A/N: Chapter four shall be forthcoming.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #the car crash fic #part 3 #drama #whump #ejzah fanfiction

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dust2dust34 · 4 years

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idk if you're taking prompts but i've been really wanting to read something like this: felicity shaving oliver's beard/face bc he broke his hand or idk whatever you want and oliver's really turned on by it. bonus points if its an established relationship/married life. and i wouldn't be opposed to smut so let your muse run wild :) thank you!

King and Queen, Part 2 (Olicity Bratva AU, Mature)

A/N: Sequel to King and Queen (Chapter 4 of my You’ve Gotten Into My Bloodstream fic collection). Prompt from LiteraLi. Written for the Fic for Food Drive I took part in for April.This does not take place directly after the previous installment. A couple years have passed.

Summary: Felicity helps Oliver shave.

(read on AO3)

Oliver Queen cursed.

He struggled to hold the pearled handle of his straight razor with as little pressure on his thumb as possible. His hand started shaking, but he managed to hold it. Angling his head, he pressed the blade’s edge to the lengthy stubble on his jaw. But the second he pressed down, pain spiked through his wrist, sharp and white hot. With a harsh, “Fuck,” he dropped the razor, sending it clattering onto the vanity where it bounced right off the edge. Oliver caught it with his left hand, agilely flipping it with an ease that pissed him off. He thought about trying to shave with that hand again, but it had nearly led to a bald patch on his cheek.

Fucking useless.

Both his hand and him.

“Damn it,” he breathed through gritted teeth. He turned his right hand palm-up and glared at the swelling in his wrist, remembering that bastard Bertinelli slamming a metal door on his arm. Scowling darkly, his fingers curled into a fist at the thought of punching him in the face as hard as he could. But all that did was set his wrist on fire, which only pissed him off more, which made him want to punch Bertinelli’s face and a wall. “Goddamn it-”

“Here.”

Oliver looked up into the bathroom mirror as his wife took the razor from him.

The tension in his muscles drained away and he sighed, moving when she nudged him to make room for her between him and the counter.

She stared up at him with a patient, but annoyed look.

His agitation instantly flared back to life.

“What?” he huffed.

“You’re being stupid,” Felicity Smoak told him. She set the razor down and grabbed the brace he’d tossed aside. “Put this back on.”

“I’m not wearing that-”

“Tonight,” she interrupted sharply. “You’re not wearing it to the dinner tonight, but you are wearing it right now.” Oliver clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring, and he leveled her with a hard look. It was a look that usually had grown men pissing their pants, but not her. She just raised her eyebrows. “Give me your hand, Oliver.”

A war of wills filled the space.

Not that it mattered. They both knew how this was going to end. Even though Oliver wanted to shred that fucking brace and toss the remnants in a fire, he knew he was going to give in as much as she knew she was going to put it on him, and that he was going to be pissed the entire time.

It took a full minute, but Oliver finally growled out a curse and gave her his hand.

“Stop being a baby,” Felicity said as she slipped it on and strapped it in place.

“I’m not being a baby,” Oliver groused, unable to hide his pained winces. He fought to only let out a breathy grunt when she turned his hand over delicately to tighten the brace around his forearm. “I’m pissed I have to play nice to that asshole tonight, as if I didn’t catch him trying to sell more of those goddamn guns to the Mayor.”

“I know,” his wife said softly. “You’ll get him. Well, Arrow-you will get him and then Captain-you will turn his businesses inside out while he rots in jail so this never happens again.”

Oliver just grunted.

Yes, in an ideal world that was exactly what would have happened, but they’d been ready for the Arrow at the docks last night. His nighttime reputation had long ago preceded him and the Families were getting smarter, bringing more firepower, no longer interested in wasting their time trying to kill him, but giving their boss enough time to evade him.

And slamming the Arrow’s goddamn hand in a goddamn door when Oliver Queen had to have dinner and play nice with his “business partner.”

Oliver snarled and tried to flex his hand in the brace.

All it did was make him grimace and scowl and curse.

“Stop it,” Felicity said, smacking his bare chest.

“I need to shave,” he snapped.

“No, you need to lose the attitude,” she bit back. “Now, and not just because you’re talking to me, but because we need to play nice tonight. Got it?”

“I…” He closed his eyes on a ragged sigh. She was right. And just like that the anger receded into a dull ache. He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

Felicity softened. “I know this isn’t easy-”

“It’s just… It’s always something,” he breathed, his voice dropping into an agonized murmur. “First it was the Triad, then it was Kovar, now it’s Bertinelli, and if it’s not something with the Arrow, then it’s this fucking deal Anatoly got us into. I want to spend one night - one night - with my wife and daughter without feeling like the entire fucking world is hanging in the balance, because that… this…” Oliver smoothed his hand over her stomach, but the damn brace got in the way, and he couldn’t feel enough of the bump her silky nightgown hid. With a growl, he shifted so his left hand palmed her growing belly. It was so firm and prominent already, even at this early stage. The doctor had mentioned that was common after the first pregnancy. Frustrated tears burned his eyes and he angrily blinked them away as he clutched her stomach. “I want to be here for this. I missed so much last time, with you and Mia, and all I want is… I want a life where I get to enjoy this, I get to enjoy us. God, but if we… Mia’s only three, and already I’m terrified she’s too close, and if we want them to have anything other than this shitshow of a life… to get them out of it-”

His voice choked off.

“I know. But we chose this,” Felicity reminded him, cupping his cheek. “You and me. For them. We didn’t run so they never have to make a choice like that.”

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut. “I know.”

“And you are here, Oliver. Look at me. Hey, look at me.” When he did, she smiled softly. It was hard not to see the sadness in her eyes, but it had nothing on the certainty he saw there, too. “I get to sleep every night with my husband by my side. And Mia gets to grow up with her father. You are always with us, Oliver. And you remind this one of that every night, too.”

Felicity’s hand covered his over her stomach.

Oliver stared at their hands, at their wedding bands catching the bathroom light, at their fingers tangling together. Hers was so small compared to his, so delicate, so fragile, but it only appeared that way. She was anything but. She was his rock, his foundation, his strength, the guiding light in the darkness he knew he would never escape. She was the voice in his ear, the key to his heart, the anchor steadying his soul. His wife, his partner, the mother of his children. The reason he hadn’t burned the entire world to ash just to get it over with.

“And when you aren’t here,” Felicity continued softly, brushing her other hand over the elaborate tattoo on his left shoulder, “we’re with you.”

Her fingers followed the path she always took. He sighed, savoring her touch, following her mentally as she swept across the rising sun over the open field inked into his flesh. His wife and daughter’s names were etched into the sun rays, and there was plenty of room for more. For their new baby. For any other children they might have.

Oliver bit the tip of his tongue hard enough to draw blood as the struggle he always faced rose inside him - between growing his family with the woman he loved, and wanting to spare any and every innocent being from the shadowed world they lived in.

The only way he survived any of it was because of her.

“Today was a setback… on top of about fifty other setbacks,” she admitted, “but we’ll handle it. Like we always do.”

“Like we always do,” he repeated.

“Like we always will.”

Oliver pulled her into his chest. He pressed a kiss to her temple, her name a soft litany on his lips. Her arms snaked around him, gripping him just as tight. He buried one hand in her hair, his other slipping over her back, underneath the strap of her nightgown…

He found the scar on the back of her shoulder.

He had spent so much time touching it that the previously raised flesh was nothing more than thin, pink lines now.

The mark - his family crest, seared into her flesh, a physical seal of the promise of her family to his, payment in the form of their daughter for the debts her father had incurred with the Bratva - was always a reminder when he needed it. When the world crumbled around him. When the weight of what they battled became too much. When the reality that this would bleed onto their children if they didn’t dismantle it as much as possible smacked him in the face again, and again. The very last thing he wanted was his kids to endure what they had. And they would, if they didn’t succeed.

Oliver rubbed rough circles over her scar like a worry stone and Felicity hugged him tighter.

It wasn’t a miracle that they had fallen in love. It was in spite of their circumstances, their arranged marriage, their contractual obligation to procreate, their dues to the Family to keep the legacy going, to grow it. It was only after surviving months of horror and blood and pain and almost losing their first baby that they managed to scrape away enough of the walls they’d built around themselves to plant the beginning seeds of what they were now.

All of it could have gone up in flames, so many times. But it hadn’t.

They hadn’t.

“Together,” she whispered, pulling back to look at him. “Right?”

“Right.” Oliver’s forehead fell against hers. “How did you get to be so strong?”

“I take my lead from you.”

He shook his head, because there was no way that could possibly be true.

“C’mere.” Felicity stepped back just enough to hop up onto the counter and tugged him between her spread legs. She picked up the razor, pursing her lips as she sized up his beard. And then her face fell. “You aren’t going to make me shave everything, are you?”

Oliver chuckled. It felt so good that he leaned into the feeling, letting it turn into a deep laugh.

Their lives were so complicated, perpetually stuck between a rock and a hard place, and yet they still had simple moments like his wife reminding him how much she disliked him clean-shaven.

She was right. This life wasn’t what they could have, but it was more than either of them had expected, more than they ever thought they would get.

And it was more than enough.

“No,” he told her, settling his hands on her thighs. “Just a trim. Bertinelli got close last night.”

“Ah.” Felicity tugged on the longer hair on his chin. “This goatee thing caught up to you, huh?” He snorted. “What? It’s not exactly inconspicuous, Oliver.”

“It gets the job done,” he said, a little too defensively if the way she bit her bottom lip to stem a smile was any indication. He rolled his eyes and she huffed out a giggle before cupping his face. As she moved his head back and forth, he felt the rest of the tension slipping away. “I thought you liked it.”

“I liked it when it was a casual beard,” she replied, slicing the length off his chin. “Then it started becoming this thing-”

“It’s not a thing-”

“Hush,” Felicity interrupted. In quick, efficient motions, she had the hair trimmed back on his chin and then she moved up his jaw line, angling his head where she wanted it as she went. “The last thing we want to do is cancel this dinner because you wanted to argue about the virtues of goatees and I end up cutting you.”

“I wouldn’t complain.”

“Yeah, well, making you bleed isn’t on my itinerary today, and I really don’t want blood all over my bathroom. So no, that’s not happening. Now stop talking. And stop grinning like that. Just don’t move.”

He couldn’t hide one last smirk and Felicity sat back to glare at him. With a quiet, “Sorry,” he did as his wife told him.

Oliver closed his eyes as the seconds passed in peaceful silence. The only sounds were their steady breaths and the gentle rasp of the razor as she trimmed his jaw, then his cheeks, then the extra growth on his top lip. She mumbled something under her breath about pornstaches that had him chuckling, and she immediately smacked his cheekbone with the flat end of the razor. He stopped, but he still had to fight a smile as she continued.

It would never cease to amaze him how easily she brought him back from the edge of darkness.

Or how much he had grown to trust her, to love her. How important she had become to him in every way possible.

He knew from experience what people thought when they first saw her. A slip of a woman who could not possibly yell at a dog much less pose any actual threat. But underneath that diminutive frame was a backbone of pure steel. It wasn’t his growing up in the life, or learning the family business under his father’s tutelage, or the hellish years he’d spent on that goddamn island that made him the leader he was in the Bratva. It was her. She was the voice of reason, the logic, the definitive force that led the Family more than any other person. She guided him at night when he was under the hood, and she was by his side when he stood before the Bratva. And as if that weren’t enough, she did it all with a flawless grace and strength that took his breath away.

She commanded the Bratva, the Arrow, the Family.

And him.

Oliver hummed, swaying closer to her.

“Stop. Moving.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a tick of a smile, never opening his eyes.

Slowly but surely the burdens of their life fell to the wayside, and he became more and more aware of his wife.

The hint of shea butter lingered on her skin, but underneath that was the clean scent that was all her, reminding him she hadn’t showered yet. Gentle waves of heat radiated off her, warming his fingertips where they still rested on her bare thighs. She cradled his jaw with ease, and all it took was the tiniest nudge for him to turn to wherever she wanted him. It was that more than anything that had him yearning closer to her as she scraped the razor over his most tender areas. Anyone else in the world would use this as an opportunity to remove him from the equation. But not her. Never her.

Felicity huffed out a little laugh.

“Hmm?” Oliver asked as the corner of his lips ticked up. He loved that sound.

“I see you’re enjoying this.”

He furrowed his brow, and then opened his eyes in time to see his wife’s gaze drop. He looked down to find his sweatpants tented. His growing erection twitched at the attention.

“What can I say…” Oliver’s smile turned salacious as he slid his hands up her legs and underneath her nightgown. Smooth skin caressed his roughened fingertips, and for the first time he was glad for the brace because the silky edge of the gown caught on it, exposing so much more of her heated flesh to him. “I like being at your mercy.”

A secret smile that was all for him curled her lips.

Oliver slid his hands around to her ass where he stopped on a playful gasp. “You’re not wearing underwear.”

“No,” Felicity agreed, lifting her legs up, her knees grazing the band of his sweats. “I’m not.”

Oliver pushed his hands up to her hips, lifting her nightgown out of the way completely as he pressed his growing hardness to the soft heat waiting for him between her thighs. Her breath caught, but he wasn’t nearly close enough. He didn’t yank her across the counter like he wanted to, knowing that wouldn’t feel good on her bare skin, so he pushed up onto his toes, looming over her and getting the proper leverage to rub against her core.

“Ah ah, I’m not done.” Felicity pushed him back and he pouted. “Keep it in your pants.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Too bad,” she countered. “Stand still.”

His pout didn’t go away, but he did as she told him to. Well, part of him did. His arousal jerked under his sweats, a painfully vivid mixture of eager anticipation and disappointment.

And then there were his hands still under her nightgown.

Oliver was careful not to distract her too much, but he couldn’t stop touching her. And she didn’t stop him. He dragged his fingers over her hips, up her sides, featherlight, creating gooseflesh as he went. He ventured up even higher, as high as the silk would allow him. He avoided her ribs, not wanting to tickle her, but instead moved to her front, ghosting over the underside of her breasts. He watched his hands moving under the silk before glancing at her face, craving her reactions. Her concentration was sound, save for the parting of her lips, the color warming her cheeks, the growing shakiness in her breaths. He kept watching her from under heavy lids as he moved back down, down… down…

“Oliver.”

“What?” he asked with a teasing lilt.

“Get your hands away from there.”

Oliver bit his lips together and removed his fingers from the soft tuft of hair covering her mound.

She took a deep breath and then focused back on his jaw…

He didn’t give her the chance.

Oliver pressed his left hand to her sex and slid his fingers down her cleft. She was already damp with arousal. He knew her inner walls would be even slicker and that they would only get wetter when he buried himself there. The thought had his erection straining against his sweats.

Felicity froze, her eyes slipping shut, and he didn’t wait to tease her. Oliver pressed the tips of his fingers against her entrance and moved them in tight, little circles.

“Oo…h,” she moaned on a shudder. “Oh…!”

“I’ll take that,” he whispered, removing the razor from her hand and dropping it on the counter.

“But I’m not done,” Felicity said. The last word came out on another moan as he pushed his fingers inside her. Her hands flew to his shoulders, her eyes fluttering shut when his thumb found the little pearl at the top of her folds. She arched her hips up, opening herself to him, to the pleasure he could give her. Would give her. That didn’t stop her from arguing with him. “Oliver, I’m not done-”

“Finish later,” he offered, pressing his fingers in further.

She was all needy whimpers as she told him, “You look ridiculous.”

Oliver didn’t bother glancing in the mirror because he didn’t care. Not right now. Not with his wife in his arms, melting further into him even more with each passing second, her sex sucking his fingers in deeper, her growing wetness making each pass over her clit more and more slick. Her nails dug into his shoulders. His hand with the goddamn brace wound around her back and he picked her up, just enough to set her on the edge of the counter where he pressed his thickening hardness against her supple inner thigh.

“You…” she managed, opening her eyes to look at his jaw. “Let me just…”

“Finish later,” he repeated. He buried his face into her hair, breathing her in. He swept his thumb over her clit and started thrusting his fingers in and out. Her inner walls clenched around him and he pushed in a third finger, earning a delicious groan from deep inside her as he stretched her wide.

“But…”

“Please.”

That got her. It was such a simple word, but it was so loaded after everything they’d been through, meaning more than either of them could possibly put into words.

A rapid nod was her response and then she grabbed his face, her lips finding his.

Oliver’s fingers left heaven to grasp her under one thigh as he gripped her waist with his braced hand. And then he was picking her up and spinning them around. Felicity barely got out, “Oliver, your hand!” before he pulled her into another kiss. She kept talking against his lips, but then they were at their unmade bed, and he was falling back on it and she was moving to straddle him fully. She wasn’t done - “Why can’t you do things the easy way?” - but all he did was huff out a laugh as they both pushed his sweats out of the way, freeing his erection. She grasped him tight, making him groan. Her other hand found his jaw and she forced him to meet her gaze as she pushed the slick head of his cock to her entrance. “We are so talking about this when we’re done.”

“Yes,” he started just as she thrust down, taking him deep inside her, leaving only a strangled, “honey,” to fall from his lips.

“And,” Felicity added breathlessly, “the fact that you only have half a mustache right now.”

He chuckled, but it quickly turned into full-blown laughter when she sat back to look at him and a wild grin covered her face as she snorted at the sight he must have made.

The giggles followed them as they made love.

It was the absolute opposite of everything else in their lives, proving how much they were each other’s harbor in the storm. Their love fueled them, giving them the strength they needed to live the double lives they led, to keep going, to keep building the future they wanted for their children. That future was still years off, and neither of them were stupid enough to think it was going to get any easier, but as long as they had each other?

They could survive anything.

And they would.

(They proved this later - much later, after she helped him fix his unfortunate facial hair issue - when they were at dinner, and all Oliver wanted to do was ram his fist in Bertinelli’s face until he was a mulchy pulp. But he didn’t, and not just because of his hand, or because it could potentially open the door to connecting him to the Arrow. But because she asked him not to. And if it was her asking? Anything.)

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it - reviews literally feed the soul and muse.

#olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #olicity fanfiction #arrow fic #oliver queen #felicity smoak #arrow #fanfiction #my fics #my fics: au #king & queen #dust2dust34

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nikkzwrites · 4 years

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Yesterday Once More | Dark Fix-It Fic Series | Chapter 8

A/N: This fic is one that I started with my OC because honestly, I personally didn’t like how season 3 ended. So I am rewriting all of Dark with my OC Annalise Dahlheim. I hope you all like it. Some things will be expanded more on just for more depth to Dark that season 3 kinda skipped over so…. yeah.

CW: Canon Typical Triggers: Smoking, Sex, Language, Drugs, Drinking, Death, Violence, Suicide Mentions, Cutting, Violence.

Word Count: 5.5k

[First Chapter] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

Helge rode his bike home from school. The small boy heard the police siren and waited for a young Egon to drive past. The small boy followed the car to the build site where they had found two boys’ bodies there dead in the dirt pile. As Egon turned, Helge noticed he was going to be spotted. He turned and started to head home once more in 1953.

Back in 1986, the older Jonas walked into Tannhaus’ shop. Tannhaus looked up and commented, “On time, like a clockwork.” Jonas walked and sat in the waiting chair for him. The clockmaker then asked, “Where were we?”

“The Einstein-Rosen Bridge,” Jonas said as if he had done this a million times before.

Tannhaus nodded, “A passage between a black hole, the entry, and a white hole, the exit, which connects time and space. To pass through it, is to travel through time.”

In 2019, Ulrich tried to follow the older man, who was repeating ‘Tick-Tock’, down the tunnel. He slowly followed the path. Hesitant to be misled, Ulrich took it one step at a time.

Tannhaus continued, “Our thinking is shaped by dualism. Entrance, exit. Black, white. Good, evil. Everything appears as opposite pairs. But that’s wrong.” The man drew a symbol on a piece of paper and showed it to Jonas, “Have you ever heard of the triquetra?”

“The trinity knot,” Jonas confirmed seeing the picture.

Tannhaus smiled, “Nothing is complete without a third dimension. There isn’t only up and down. There’s a center, too. I think Einstein and Rosen overlooked something. A wormhole connects not just two, but three different dimensions. Future, present, and the past.”

Ulrich, having reached the crossing, crawled inside. It tried to push him out. Like he didn’t belong there.

Just outside that connection in the cave, Helge just got home. He opened the door to his home to have his mother come down the stairs to berate him about being dirty. The timid boy tried to explain himself to no avail. She just ordered the boy to remove his clothes so that she could have it washed. Helge shrunk into his jacket as if he were a turtle trying to hide.

His mother pulled on his ear, “I told you to take off your clothes.”

Helge winced then started to strip out of his dirty clothes dropping them carelessly to the floor. He stood in front of her embarrassed to be seen in such a sight. His clothes felt like armor. Now there he was, without it.

His mother angrily huffed before demanding, “Stay here.” She turned and stormed up the stairs.

Bernd walked into his house to see his shy son standing in the entrance hall in just his underwear. He coughed and took off his hat to let Helge know he was behind him. Once his son turned to look at him, Bernd caressed Helge’s face, “Hello, my boy. What have you been getting into?”

Helge smiled happily at his father. He explained, “I was at the construction sight!”

“Oh that’s good,” the man said laughing.

Helge nodded, “They found something there.”

“What did they find,” Bernd asked, trying to ignore his cruel wife.

Greta stood annoyed, “He’s been creeping around again.”

Bernd ignored the comment with disdain and asked his son again, “Tell me, what did they find?”

“There were police everywhere at the construction site,” Helge started to explain again.

“Police,” Bernd asked.

Helge shook his head and clarified, “Two dead bodies. In the middle of the construction site.”

“What are you talking about,” Greta asked.

“They looked like kids,” Helge looked to both of his parents.

Bernd leaned down and whispered, “What? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Helge confirmed.

Bernd looked up at his wife pleadingly hoping she would understand. He grabbed his hat and hurried out the door once more.

Once the door closed behind her soft hearted husband, Greta asked, “Are you lying?”

Helge shook his head scared. He trembled as his mother gave him new shorts to put on. She scolded him, “You’re late. The coins for Claudia are on the table.”

Ulrich emerged from the cave in 1953. He looked around confused. THe forest was so different. He ran trying to go find the old man he had been trying to follow.

“One, two, three,” Helge practiced as he rode his bike to their family’s small cabin out in the woods. His eyes were closed every time he counted, “One, two, three, four, five…” Once there, he grabbed a large stick and started to pretend that it was a rifle. Then he spotted it, the bunker. He walked over to it and opened the heavy door. It screeched having been lost to time with no oil. He walked inside and started to pretend he was making his rounds. He grabbed a pine cone off the shelf that he had carefully placed and threw it pretending it was a grenade. After tossing it, the boy ran for cover and hid behind the shelf in the fetal position. He spent a lot of time playing in the bunker. He looked to the side to see dates written in chalk on the walls.

“You write about Nietzsche’s eternal recurrence,” The older Jonas brought up to Tanhauss in 1986, “A universe that expands then collapses again. A universe that repeats itself endlessly.” Jonas placed the book on his desk.

Tannhaus smiled, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that.” He grabbed the book and started to look through it, “There were only 500 copies in total.”

Jonas continued to question, “You write about the lunar-solar cycle, in which everything repeats itself every 33 years.”

Tannhaus nodded, “From a cosmic point of view, yes. Every 33 years, the cycle of the mood is synchronized with that of the sun. But the 33 is more than that. We encounter it everywhere. Jesus performed 33 miracles. There are 33 litanies of angels. Dante’s 33 cantos in purgatory, and 33 in paradise.”

“And it is the age at which the Antichrist begins his rule,” Jonas concurred.

In 1953, Noah stood outside the church. A sixteen year old boy walked towards him. “Noah,” he called.

Noah turned to the boy, he smiled, “David, where are you heading this fine morning?”

David shrugged, “Adam told me to come check up on you. Then I can do generally whatever I want. I’m leaving soon anyway.”

Noah nodded. He watched as the boy walked away, “Oh, David?”

David stopped, “Yeah?” He turned to the man. He looked at him with a small tilt in his head. Noah couldn’t help it but to laugh a bit. So much of David reminded him of his once friend. He was so natiive and quiet. Yet, he was like the sunrise in the morning. He filled the world with so much light and hope. Noah guessed he couldn’t help it though. David was practically raised by Adam since he was small. There were very few people he had seen Adam treat with sentimentality, David was one of that few. The aforementioned man had even given the boy his name when the young boy couldn’t remember it 12 years ago. All he could remember was his last name, Dahlheim.

Noah chuckled, “Can you go get us some bread? I think we will be expecting a visitor soon. Also, don’t forget how important your part in all of this is.”

David rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everything is connected and I have to make sure I do my part.” He sighed seeing Noah’s upset face at David’s dismissive attitude about everything, “Sure, I’ll go get us the bread. I have nothing better to do unless Adam suddenly decides he now wants me to do something here.” He forced his hands into his pockets and walked away with a light and airy whistling tune.

Noah watched the teenager walk away again. He knew that he couldn’t say much to reprimand the boy. He needed to have this rebellious streak in him so when they sent him to America to complete his part, he would be more charming to the girl he eventually were to marry there.

The file of the dead boys splayed across Egon’s desk as he stood there smoking. He wondered to his captain what made people want to kill and hurt others. No matter how much he had been through and seen, he still didn’t understand such cruelty.

“Why someone becomes a murderer,” Daniel asked to make sure he had understood Egon right.

Egon nodded, “Yes. Are they born one or do you become one?”

“It would certainly make our work easier if we knew ahead of time,” David chuckled as he started to put out his cigar, “Lock them up while they’re still little. Before they get on the wrong track.” He laughed, “Why does someone become a murderer?” He walked out of Egon’s office to leave the man alone to contemplate.

Helge was just leaving the cabin when two older boys confronted him.

“Hey weirdo,” One of them called out to him. He threw a rock towards his direction, “Why the big hurry?”

“Buying silk stockings for mommy,” the other one tormented. He commanded the other boy who had just then grabbed Helge, “See if there’s anything in his pockets.”

The large boy pushed Helge down easily and sat on him to hold him beneath him.

“Leave me alone,” Helge yelled.

The boy on top of him laughed, “Scream, no one will hear you.” He grabbed the money from his pockets then slapped the boy across the face. He stood up and backed away to allow the smaller older boy to stand in front of him.

“Don’t piss your pants,” he teased as he undid his fly, “Your old man’s got dough coming out of his ears.” He started to urinate on the poor little boy for a split second before being tackled down.

David, who had been passing through the woods right at that second, saw the two older boys tormenting Helge. His blood boiled. He howled in anger as he dove in head first into the other boy and just started to wail on him with his fists. “Pick on someone who can fight back, asshole,” He yelled as he hit. All of his anger and hatred of what happened to his family, his people, bubbled to the surface as an animalistic rage took over him. He didn’t even care that his clothes and fists were becoming bloodied and that his knuckles were going to scab over due to the scraps and force he was putting on them. His teeth barred. He was an unstoppable force for a while. No one could get to him through his anger.

Hearing another stick break, the bigger one of the bullies turned. “Someone else is coming,” He warned, punching David off so that the 16-year-old landed next to Helge and pulling the other boy away. David stayed on the ground only realizing how tired and hurt his arms actually were from his encounter. The adrenaline started to subside and bleed out of the boy as his red blood dripped onto the brown dirt below him.

The smaller boy looked to see Ulrich in the distance, “Let’s get out of here!” He ran assuming that Ulrich was either a guard for Helge or maybe even David’s dad. Hearing the commotion, Ulrich turned to see two boys on the ground as two larger boys ran away. He looked devastated at the two lying on the ground. He started to jog over to them as David helped the young boy up and started to help with the bike.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Ulrich called to them. David stopped and turned to look at the strange man. He started to study him. Helge put his bag back on his bike and looked up at Ulrich as well. With both of the boys attention he asked, “Did someone just come by here? An old man in pajamas?”

Both boys shook their heads at him confused. Blood dripped from David’s nose, mouth, and knuckles causing Ulrich to wince. He looked at poor Helge and could smell what must have happened. The two boys reminded him of himself and Mads when they were younger and alive. He turned to Helge and told him, “You have to defend yourself, or they’ll never stop.”

“But they’re stronger than me,” Helge complained.

Ulrich walked closer and whispered, “Then just bite them next time. You can’t always rely on your brother to save you. You have to be able to do that yourself.”

As Ulrich walked away, David shook his head, “I’m not his brother. Just someone passing by!” He gave up trying to talk to the strange man in costume and turned to Helge, “He is right though. What’s your name, kid?”

“Helge,” The boy replied, holding out a hand for David to shake, “Helge Doppler.”

David nodded and grasped the boy’s hand to give him a firm handshake, “David. David Dahlheim.” He smiled and asked, “Need an escort? I’ve got nowhere I got to be.”

Helge nodded and walked with the boy to Claudia’s. Helge listened as David told Helge the most amazing and awe inspiring stories. Helge watched as David told the stories with such skill and passion. His eyes lit up while talking. It made the younger boy feel safe and understood.

Tannhaus explained to Jonas in 1986, “Imagine you’re standing in an infinitely large, dark room, shining a light to the left. The beam should continue in the same direction forever. There’s no reason to assume that it could come back at you from the right. But a wormhole changes the topology of space-time. Bends it. Nothing is where it belongs anymore.”

Ulrich, in 1953, jogged trying to find the older Helge in vain. He looked around confused as a woman pulled her car up next to him. Agnes walked out of the car and walked up to him, “Hello, can you help me?” She explained, “Excuse me. We’re not from around here. I’m looking for Killinger Strasse 61.”

“That’s where I live,” Ulrich replied automatically, “It’s down the road and then to the right.”

Agnes smiled and asked, “Are you Egon Tiedemann?”

Insulted, Ulrich replied, “No.”

Agnes shook her head, “How rude of me. My name is Agnes Nielsen.” She walked over to her grandson and held out a hand to him, “And this is my son Tronte. We’re new in Winden.”

Ulrich’s face contorted in confusion. He squinted and looked towards the car.

“Tronte,” The boy’s mother called to him, “Come and say hello to the nice man.”

Ulrich took a step back as he saw Tronte and heard the boy greet him. This must have been a mistake and he was more injured going through the caves than he thought. He asked, “You’re Tronte Nielsen?”

Tronte nodded.

Ulrich continued, “And you are Agnes Nielsen?”

“Yes,” the woman replied simply.

Ulrich looked at the book he had taken from the older Helge’s room and decided that would probably be the best place to stop next.

Tannhaus continued to explain to the older Jonas, “Imagine traveling back in time and meeting your father. Before he had you. Would you have already changed things with this encounter? And is it even possible to change things? Or is time an eternal beast that can’t be defeated?”

“What do you think,” the older Jonas asked, “Can we change the course of events?” He was desperate. He needed to know if he could fix this.

Tannhaus shook his head, “Any scientist would tell you no. Causal determinism forbids it. But it is human nature to believe that we play a role in our own lives. That our actions can change things. All my life, I’ve dreamed of traveling through time to see what was and what will be.”

Jonas shook his head, “You don’t dream that anymore?”

“Dreams change,” Tannhaus answered, “Other things become more important. My place is not in the yesterday or tomorrow. Rather, it’s right here and now.”

Ulrich walked into the younger Tannhaus’s shop. The younger man walked to see Ulrich there and asked, “Can I help you? Are you looking for a watch?”

Ulrich looked down at the book then looked up to ask, “Are you H.G. Tannhaus?”

Younger Tannhaus nodded while taking a step back.

Ulrich then held out the book and asked, “This H.G. Tannhaus?”

He shook his head in response seeing the older picture of himself, “No, not the same guy then, right?”

Ulrich looked at him seriously and asked, “What year is it?”

“1953,” Tannhaus responded, “Stalin is dead. England has a Queen and Nanga Parbat has been conquered. 1953 as it lives and breathes, yes.”

Ulrich shook his head, “It’s not possible. Impossible.”

“The number 33,” Stranger Jonas in 1986 commented, “you write that it could be the time difference between the planes of a three dimensional wormhole.”

“That’s just a theory,” The man mumbled as he continued working, “But perhaps it could be the crux of the matter.”

Claudia played with her dog until she heard the doorbell. There at her door stood Helge with a handsome boy she had never properly met before. She looked down at Helge and said, “You’re late. I told you before to be on time.” She held out her hand for her payment

Helge lied, “Claudia, I forgot the money at home. I’ll bring it over later.”

Claudia sighed as she held her dog close, “Fine. Come in then after you introduce me to this fine gentleman.” She watched as David had turned to walk away putting on his cap.

“David,” Helge told the older boy, “I think she wants to meet you.”

David turned just enough to see her and turned back to Helge, “Well you’ve told her my name now, huh Bud? No reason I need to scare a cute girl like that with my messed up face and hands.”

“I can handle it,” Claudia pouted and stomped over to the boy. She turned him around to see a big coy smile on David’s face.

“Well then,” He took off his cap and playfully bowed, “David Dahlheim. It’s nice to meet you…” He trailed off waiting for her.

Claudia rolled her eyes. She did not like this boy’s attitude as if everyone loved him. She decided she had to be polite enough since she was the one who started this conversation in the first place, “Claudia Tiedermann. Nevermind about you. You get out of here before I tell my dad that you were the one who beats up poor Helge.”

David chuckled and waved, “See you later Helge. Stay strong pal!” He turned and walked to the bread store whistling his happy tune knowing full well he was probably going to be stopped by some concerned mother.

A little later, Claudia and Helge sat at the table while he tried to do some math problems. Helge had such a hard time with school that it practically bored Claudia to death. Soon there were two people at the door. Doris smiled as Claudia came in. She introduced her daughter to the new tenants that were going to be living with them.

The Tannhaus in 1953 offered Ulrich some water and asked if Ulrich would like him to call a doctor. The man shook his head. Soon his store bells started to ring again. He turned to see Ines and Jana walk in. He shook his head. Those two were inseparable weren’t they?

“I’m here to pick up my Dad’s watch. Is it ready,” Ines asked.

Tannhaus pulled out his orders and started to look through them trying to find the one labeled Kahnwald. He smiled, “Here you go, Ines. Purrs like a kitten again.”

Ines leaned over the counter and asked, “Did you hear what the police found this morning?”

“No,” Tannhaus replied, “But, I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

Ines started to gossip, “Jana heard it in the teachers’ room. They found two dead bodies on Doppler’s construction site.”

Upon hearing his mother’s name, Ulrich leaned forward and whispered to himself. He continued to listen in now. He really felt as though his was vindication.

“Two little boys. They were abducted by aliens,” Ines continued, “For experiments.”

Ulrich hurried to the girl and turned her around to face him, “What did you just say?”

Ines stared at him terrified, “About the aliens?”

“No, about the boys,” Ulrich grit his teeth.

“The police found two dead boys this morning,” She explained.

Ulrich looked at the rest of the people before running out. He left his coat in Tannhaus’s Shop.

Tronte and Claudia walked through the woods together with Helge trailing behind. Part of the young boy wished that he had asked David to stay with him or something so that he could have someone to talk to while Claudia doe eyed at the new boy who just moved in. When they got to the caves, Tronte stopped and stared at it as if something was calling to him.

“These are our caves,” Claudia explained, “We’re not allowed to go in very far. But sometimes we do it anyway. As a dare, you know?”

Tronte asked, “A dare? Sure.”

Claudia turned to see Helge standing near them, “Shouldn’t you be heading home by now? And you still owe me a mark.” She watched as he nodded then ushered Tronte to walk with her, “Come on. Let’s keep going.” She wrapped her arm around his and whispered just loud enough for Helge to hear, “We’re rid of him.”

Helge became angry. He looked at the dog Gretchen and tossed a stick for her to go fetch into the caves. He stood there for a moment waiting for the small poodle to come back out of the cave, but it did not. Instead, Helge ran from responsibility as Claudia tried to call for her dog.

Ulrich argued with the officers inside of the station. He was just trying to find his son, he tried to plead with the other officers. Egon walked back into the station and asked, “What’s going on here?”

“The two boys you found this morning, what did they look like,” Ulrich asked the man, “Did one have brown hair? 11 years old?”

Egon asked, “Why do you want to know?”

“My son…” Ulrich explained, “My son disappeared. All I want to know is if one of the dead kids is mine.” He started to break down, “His name is Mikkel. He’s 11 years old. Brown hair. Blue eyes. He’s about this tall,” Ulrich gestured, “I have a picture.” He reached to grab it out of his jacket when he realised he had left his coat at the shop.

Egon dismissed the other two officers and replied, “No. One’s pretty dark, brown eyes. Foreign. The other a bit taller, bright red hair.”

“You’re sure there wasn’t a third,” Ulrich asked.

“Have you reported your son missing,” Egon asked.

Ulrich walked back to Egon and asked, “Do you know someone by the name Helge Doppler?”

“Bernd Doppler’s son?”

“No. Old, about 70.”

“The only old one is Bernd Doppler.”

Ulrich started to back up. He started to put all the pieces together. He ran downstairs trying to find Helge.

“But you…” The older Tannhaus talked to the bearded Jonas, “Why are you so fascinated with time?”

Jonas answered honestly, “I want to understand if I can change it. If everything has a purpose, and if so… who decides about this purpose? Coincidence? God? Or is it us? Are we actually free in our actions? Or is it all created anew, in an eternally recurring cycle? And we can only obey the laws of nature and are nothing but slaves of space and time.”

Egon walked into his house, finally off of his shift. Doris greeted him at the door and helped him strip out of his over coat. She whispered to him about the new tenants being there in their house. Doris brought him over to meet Agnes himself.

“Your wife has told me many things about you,” She smiled at Doris and looked back at the man, “You have a very nice home.”

“Thank you,” Doris blushed.

Egon studied Agnes and asked, “Did you arrive today?” When Agnes nodded, Egon then asked, “May I ask why you came to Winden of all places?”

Doris tried to scold him, “Stop questioning her!” She turned to the other woman and explained, “My husband is a policeman. He can’t help being curious.” Doris laughed.

“My grandmother is from Winden,” Agnes told him, “She always gushed about this town.”

Egon nodded, “May I ask what your grandmother’s name was?”

Right as if on cue, Claudia ran in exasperated, “Gretchen is gone! In the woods.” She doubled over panting with the leash in her hands, “She was there and then she was gone.”

Egon strolled over to his daughter, “Calm down and tell me what happened.”

Claudia took in a deep breath, “I was showing Tronte the woods, the path down into town. Gretchen was with us the whole time then she disappeared.”

As Claudia spoke, Doris started to look around worried. She felt as if something was off. “And where’s Helge,” she asked?

Claudia started to put together some pieces, “Maybe Gretchen is with Helge.”

Doris nodded, “Yes.”

Egon nodded, “That must be it.”

Doris gently touched his arm and asked, “Can you go and find out?”

Egon made a face then said, “I was going to see the Dopplers anyway.”

Doris stopped him before he left and said, “I invited Agnes and Tronte to dinner. Don’t be late again, Okay?”

Egon nodded and walked out of the house to go and try to find Gretchen for his beloved daughter.

“Time loops have a significant impact on the principle of causality,” Tannhaus lectured Jonas, “On the relationship of cause and effect. As long as a wormhole exists, there is a closed time loop. Inside it, everything is mutually dependent. The past doesn’t just influence the future. The future also influences the past. It’s like the question of the chicken or the egg. We can no longer say which of the two came first. Everything is interconnected.”

Ulrich snuck around the back of the Doppler house looking for the boy. Helge sat on a little stone monument in the backyard. He was admiring his collection of dead birds he had started collecting. Ulrich climbed down to meet with Helge.

The man asked the boy, “You’re Helge Doppler, aren’t you?”

Helge looked up at him, “Yeah, why?”

Ulrich pulled out the coin necklace and handed it to Helge, “Look at this.” Helge took it into his hand to study it. Ulrich sat down next to the boy and asked, “Have you ever seen that before?”

Helge shook his head, “No.” Ulrich swallowed hard. Was he really going to do what he thought he needed to do? Would he really go that far to save his own child? Helge looked up and asked him, “Did you find the man you’re looking for?”

“Yes,” Ulrich said, staring straight into the boy as if he was a predator that just trapped it’s prey. Yet he still held remorse.

“You look sad,” Helge stated.

“What’s in your box,” Ulrich asked the boy. Helge grabbed the box, opened it, and showed it to Ulrich. The man winced then asked, “Did you kill them?” When Helge didn’t respond, he asked again, “Hey. I asked if you killed them.”

Helge shook his head then looked up at the sky, “They just fall from the sky. They just plop down. I just collect them. They’re so beautiful when they’re dead.”

Ulrich looked down at his hands trying to figure out how to phrase what he was thinking. He looked up and said, “But you will kill something. The two boys at the construction site. My brother. My son. Not now, but in the future.” Ulrich started to play with his hands. He mumbled to himself, “But I can change it, you know. I can change the past.” Getting scared, Helge started to try to get up to run back into his house. Ulrich quickly grabbed him. “If you don’t exist, all of this won’t happen.” He carried the boy back.

Helge bit Ulrich’s hand just like he had taught him and tried to scramble away from the large man, but Ulrich was quicker and grabbed his ankle. Helge then kicked him in the face and started to run out towards the bunker. Ulrich closed on his tail. The boy had just made it to the door when Ulrich grabbed him and threw him down. Helge tried to grab a rock to defend himself, but Ulrich quickly took it from him. The man’s face wrinkled in agony at what he was going to do. His stomach churned as he held the rock up and started to bring it down straight on the side of Helge’s head.

Upset with what he had done, he dropped the rock and stared at the lifeless boy. He stood up and looked around. That was when he spotted the perfect place to put him. The bunker.

Egon waited for Greta down in the entrance way. When she came down, they discussed the matter at hand about his family’s missing dog. Greta was insistent that the dog was not in her house because animals were not allowed inside. Egon left without too much arguing knowing that he really didn’t want to be on that side of Greta’s wrath.

After this encounter though, Greta walked out calling for her son. He didn’t respond quickly which was a bit uncommon for the boy. Then she saw it. The box of dead birds.

Ulrich dragged the limb boy’s body down into the bunker and closed it up.

There was a new feeling in Winden. As if everything was just starting in their tiny home town.

Years later, the bunker was actually converted into the make believe bunker Helge had once pretended it to be. The old woman stared at all the connected pictures of the major players in Winden. Their pictures all next to each other to show how they had ages and connected like a web all together. She stared, hoping to figure out Adam’s moves and how to get herself out of this Apocalypse and knot.

“All our lives are connected,” Tannhaus told Jonas, “One fate bound to another. Every one of our deeds is merely a response to a previous deed. Cause and effect. Nothing but an endless dance. Everything is connected to everything else.” The man unfolded his arms, “But that’s just a theory. I can’t shake the feeling that you’re actually here about something else.”

Jonas chuckled, “What if I told you that everything in your book was true? That time travel is possible. Your theory on the formation of wormholes through gravitational impulses is not just theory. There is such a hole. Here in Winden.” Jonas paused before continuing, “I come from the future.” He walked to his bag and started to open it to give the man his time machine. “I traveled through the wormhole to 1986,” He explained. He opened up his time machine and showed it to Tannhaus.

The man responded, “Where...Where did you get that?”

“It’s broken,” Jonas responded, “You have to fix it.”

Tannhaus laughed, “I can’t do that.”

Jonas pointed to his initials, “Aren’t those your initials? You built it.”

“This device,” Tannhaus asked, “enables you to travel through time and space? It can create a wormhole?”

Jonas stated to clear up Tannhaus’s questions, “It opens a portal through which one can travel 33 years into the past and 33 years into the future.”

“And the wormhole you traveled through,” he asked, “Did that device create it?”

Jonas shook his head, “No. A few months ago an incident at the nuclear power plant released a blast of energy. But the device is able to repeat the same process.”

“And you want to create another wormhole,” Tannhaus asked.

Jonas shook his head again, “No, I want to destroy the one that exists.”

Tannhaus pointed to the door. “I want you to leave now,” he said.

Jonas stared at him confused, “This town is like a festering wound. And we’re all a part of it. But I can change it. Your device can change it.”

“Leave,” Tannhaus demanded, “Leave now.”

Jonas closed his suitcase, grabbed his bag, and started to respectfully leave. He turned to give the man one last message, “I’ve seen the future. I know what will happen. I have to set things right again and you have to help me.”

Tannhaus sighed after the man walked out. He slowly went to his own secret project and pulled it out. He stared at it. Remembering just when he first started to work on it.

The young Tannhaus walked to Ulrich’s jacket and picked it up. He placed it on his coat rack. He then checked it, finding a cellphone, a device completely new to him and this time. The man studied it carefully before getting startled by the noise and dropping it to reveal the picture of the Nielsen’s and Annalise there on his background.

Ulrich sat distressed in front of the bunker having no idea the repercussions his actions were going to have.

#yesterday once more fanfic #dark fanfic #dark netflix #dark netflix fanfic #dark (netflix)#dark (netflix) fanfiction

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gideonthefirst · 5 years

Note

Naddpod fic suggestion: what no one tells you about saving the world

So this has turned into a three chapter exploration, the first chapter of which is now up here! Here it is, featuring Ulfgar and Hardwon:

They emerge from Hell triumphant. But it doesn’t feel triumphant, is the thing. Ulfgar Trueaxe walks with a limp, Thiala too spent to fully heal the leg that leaves bloody footsteps behind them, and he and Alanis are supporting her between them. He can feel Thiala’s hands shaking as she clutches onto both of their shoulders. They need to rest. Moradin above, they need to rest, but they’ve been in hell so long that Ulfgar’s lost track of the days and the sudden impact of sunlight is so startling that they stop moving, for a second, and look up into it.

“Pelor’s still watching us,” Alanis says, turning her head to Thiala, and Thiala lets out a noncommittal sigh, barely a response. She’s tired. It makes sense.

(read on AO3)

They keep walking until they find a cave by a lake so large Ulfgar can’t see the other side. Alanis can, probably, but he doesn’t ask. The cave will protect their backs and the lake will protect their fronts and Alanis doesn’t sleep these days, anyway, and Ulfgar and Thiala awaken to the slightest of sounds. Not that Ulfgar would ever admit it, but if this is what being a legendary hero is, he doesn’t fucking want it.

Alanis and Ulfgar lay Thiala down as gently as they can on the ground of the cave, but Ulfgar’s leg gives out as he bends down and he falls to his knee, barely able to support her. There’s something necrotic in the wound, and it hurts more than anything he’s ever felt. He notices Alanis looking at him, brow furrowed in concern, and shakes his head. Thiala’s got it worse, used all of her healing on him and Alanis and none on herself.

Thiala falls asleep almost immediately, and Ulfgar and Alanis retreat to the back of the cave, light a fire, heat up the last of their rations. They don’t speak more than necessary. They’ve both got two levels of exhaustion, at least, and making too much noise would mean they couldn’t hear Thiala’s quiet, quiet breathing as it stops, coughs, starts again, repeats. Eight hours. She just has to make it eight hours and then she can Heal the fuck out of all of them and Alanis can Teleport them home and he can just hang around and be useless, he guesses. There’s nothing he can do outside of a fight, and if he ever sees another fight again it’ll be an eternity too soon.

They eat. He sleeps, in the back of the cave where it’s darkest, and Alanis trances, towards the mouth where she can hear the rhythm of the lake lapping against its shores. When they awaken, it’s dark.

Thiala is still unsteady, but she Greater Restorations, Heals, Cures Wounds. Alanis sets up wards, and Ulfgar doesn’t know shit about magic, has never had any interest in learning, but he knows that you don’t ward a cave in the middle of nowhere that you’re planning on Teleporting away from.

“What are you doing?” he asks, as Alanis walks back towards him and Thiala, and Alanis blows a puff of smoke into the air, looking for all the world like it’s just another day. She’s always been the strongest of them, but Ulfgar knows walls when he sees them.

“What do you mean?”

“The…magic shit. Wards.”

“If this is going to be our base while we recover, it’s gotta be well protected. Woulda done it last night if I’d had anything more than a cantrip.”

Thiala looks up from her seat on the ground, leaning against a stalagmite. “Thanks, Alanis.” She sounds like she knows what Alanis is talking about.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We did it. We killed Asmodeus. We’re done. Let’s just go home. No one will ever know.” It was true.They’d killed Asmodeus, and they’d all made it out alive, which was more than could be said for anyone who’d come before them.

“Ilsed’s still down there,” Thiala says, and Ulfgar can’t tell if the strain in her voice is from pain or from anger. He goes to glance at her amulet for reassurance, as he always does, and doesn’t see it. Must be under her shirt or something. Whatever. Not the important thing right now.

“And someone else can deal with Ilsed! We made it out alive. Thiala barely made it out alive. Why is it our responsibility again?” Thiala pushes herself up into a sitting-up position, and Ulfgar lets out a harsh laugh. “Look at her! She’s blown most of her higher-level spells already this morning, and still can barely sit up. We’re in no shape to do anything!”

“I’ll be fine,” Thiala responds, but even Alanis looks skeptical.

“We’re the heroes, Ulfgar.” But Alanis has stopped her ritual casting, which is a win in his book. “Who’s going to do it if not us?”

“Someone else,” he says, and his leg gives out again, even though Thiala’s done all she can to heal it. From the ground, again – “Someone else.”

Hardwon Surefoot doesn’t give a shit about saving the world. It’s never been particularly kind to him, and it’s never treated anyone he cares about well, either. He knows this is ridiculous. He knows that, technically, the people he cares about are part of the world, but he doesn’t see why he can’t just save them, and not the rest of it. His mother, dead. His father, dead and probably a piece of shit. The only girl he’d ever loved, dead. His childhood hero, mind-controlled for years. It’s a litany of suffering that seems to target everyone around him. And –

He watches Moonshine trance, on the other side of the one big bed, Bev in between them and Balnor snoring on his chair. He knows he should sleep, but he’s still not used to his new body, to the way it feels when it’s dark and quiet and there’s nothing else to focus on. Bev is curled up next to him, one tiny hand on his chest, and Moonshine looks much more tired than she ever does when they’re awake. Her lips are pursed tight together and he can see the way her brow furrows, the way her shoulders tense. When they’re awake, she’s full of love and energy, always laughing, talking, flirting. Hardwon thinks his walls are strong, but he’s got nothing on Moonshine.

A strand of hair jumps up and down over her mouth as she breathes in and out, and Hardwon can’t help himself, he reaches out, careful not to wake Bev, and tucks it behind her ear as gently as he can. Before he can pull away again, Moonshine grabs his hand tight and presses it to her chest, her shoulders relaxing for a second before she releases it.

In the morning, before they head out, he and Bev do their squats. Hardwon does his best not to think about how different his body feels, and claps Bev on the back, says, “You’re getting there, kid!” The grin that splits Bev’s face in response seems almost improbable. After, when they’re sweaty and worn out (not that Hardwon would admit it), they sit side by side and Bev pulls out Ulfgar Goes Punch. Hardwon has it memorized by now, but he doesn’t say anything.

“This is an A, remember?” Bev says. “It sounds like ahh.”

Hardwon traces it with his finger absentmindedly as he looks across the tent at Moonshine listening in and Balnor packing the bag. “And this one?” he asks, even though he knows he’s asked a thousand times. Bev doesn’t get frustrated.

“That’s an H. The first letter of Hardwon.” Right. He knows that one. He knows that one.

“What about this?”

“That’s an E. The first letter of Elias.” Bev is so small leaning against him, patiently trying to teach him something he should have learned decades ago, and the acknowledgement of both of his names is so small, so unimportant, but who else has ever done that, besides these three? Who else has ever bothered to acknowledge him for long enough to learn one of his names, let alone two?

So, yeah, Hardwon Surefoot doesn’t give a shit about saving the world. But if that’s what they want to do, he’ll do it. Because he will die the death of a forgotten hero before he allows himself to let them down.

#naddpod #not another d&d podcast #not another dnd podcast #beverly toegold v #moonshine cybin #hardwon surefoot #thiala #alanis #Ulfgar trueaxe #my writing #naddpod fic #naddpod spoilers #asks #anonymous

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veridium · 5 years

Text

shot at the night

Good morning and happy Sunday, folks!

Time for a College AU Update to end the suffering of that beautiful cliff-hanger @bitchesofostwick set up for us last week. Hope you enjoy the highs and lows of college soccer!

fic master post // last chapter

One minute they are having a great time, even though it’s freezing and the Beam isn’t helping nearly as much as she hoped it would. The crowd is lively and drenched in school sweaters, beanies, and scarves -- Ellinor being a perfect example. It’s overwhelming. But only one moment pushes her over the edge: seeing a crowd of jerseys around the goal, the same goal Cassandra volleyed around that night after practice. The same one she was laying in front of, back on the grass and leg curled up against her.

An unbearable ringing in her ear. Ellinor’s voice from her standing position next to her. The cheez-its all over them and their feet. The crowd isn’t noisy anymore. She wishes it was.

“...Liv! Liv, hey…” she hears Ellinor as she sits down, shaking Liv’s thigh. She feels her, she hears her say her name, but she can’t follow. She’s consumed in the sight of Cassandra’s face straining with pain: biting her lip, opening and closing her eyes harshly while her chest rises and falls rigidly against her knee.

Olivia’s heart beats faster than she can count, like a hummingbird’s hopped up on a red bull.

Ellinor’s hand switches from her thigh to her shoulder, shaking again. “Liv!”

Olivia shakes her head. “Ellinor…”

“Liv, it’s okay, they’re gonna--”

“What happened? What did they do?”

“I don’t know!” she says, aggravated. She seems distracted, and she probably is. A couple yards away Cullen looks like a Bull preparing to charge at the man in bright blue, and the players are mean-mugging the other team. There’s cursing, and shouting, so loud the stilled crowd can hear them from the bleachers.

“What happened?!” she repeats, as if now she’ll know. As if she saw something Liv didn’t see, even though they were sitting together in the same spot at the same time.

“I think...I think a player did Cassandra dirty,” Maryden offers.

Ellinor stands up again, probably to see it all better. Olivia doesn’t need to. She can’t bear to take her eyes off of Cassandra still on the ground. One of her teammates crouches beside her and is talking to her. But are they saying the right things? What are they saying? Are they being nice to her?

Olivia’s panic heightens. “Someone...s-someone did this on purpose?”

“That player would get a yellow card, I think. It’s a big foul to play aggressively like that, especially with a goalie.”

Ellinor puts her hands on her hips. “Red card, they have to! That was a red card!” She must be reading Cullen’s lips. She is an expert on the subject of his lips, after all.

“What are they saying?!” Olivia asks, hands tugging at the knee-cap rips in her jeans.

“They’re….they...shit, the ref is being an idiot,” Ellinor replies. “He’s arguing with Cullen...fuck, and now Lys is walking over…”

“W-why is he arguing? Isn’t it a fault--”

“A foul…”

“A foul, yes, thank you Maryden,” Olivia tries her best to maintain diplomacy, but it’s falling fast. Before she can think to say anything else, however, the crowd erupts in boos and groans. Their side of the crowd, that is. The players start to disburse from the area, all except for a few of the who remain near Cassandra. A couple guys in navy blue jumpsuits with a medic bag jog over -- what took them so long?

Then, the Knights side of the audience starts booing even louder than before.

“Fuck that! Fuck you, Ref!” Ellinor shouts, hands cupped around her mouth.

Olivia’s ear ringing intensifies as Ellinor sits back down in a huff. “Wait...w-wait, what?” she looks at her.

“The ref is yellow-carding the player.”

“Normal people words, Ellinor!”

“It means they won’t take them off the field! Just a warning. Cullen was right, they’re gonna play like devils.”

Olivia’s brows lift so high they stand to broach the stratosphere. The ref is indeed walking with a small yellow card above his head, whistling so that both sides see. The ringing in her mind turns to Kill Bill sirens. Hearing ‘stern warning,’ it’s yellow-jumpsuit-and-sword time. She slowly turns her head and sees the Warden’s side, where one player is being talked to more than most. It’s someone pretty with a long, brown ponytail and a hairband. Someone whispers something, and they smile. Laugh, even. Their teammate pats them on the shoulder. It’s all congratulations disguised as comfort. No respect, no remorse.

Oh, hell no.

Olivia slides her jacket off of her shoulders. Cold? Fuck cold. She takes out one stud earring. While working on the other, she catches Ellinor’s attention.

“Uh, Liv...what are you--”

“Hold these.” Liv shoves her jewelry in Ellinor’s lap without a damn to give. Ellinor acts like the cheez-its have been spilled all over again.

“Liv, no.”

“Yes.”

“No, don’t--”

“Be right back.”

“No!”

She laces her fingers to crack her knuckles. As if entranced by seeing red, she rises and side-steps to the stairs, pushing past a nice older couple. Her nose and mouth are crinkling, hot air fuming out her nostrils as she races down.

“Liv!” Ellinor screams again.

Feeling like she is being followed -- which she most likely is -- Olivia only hastens. Down the fence aisle, boots hitting the concrete as she nears the opening to the field. Then, hands grab her right arm.

“Olivia Berenice, do not even think--!”

Liv’s mouth arrives before her body does, and she turns toward the Warden’s side of the field. With her free hand she punches against the fence; a loud hissing sound reverberates and further concerns the masses. If they weren’t already, surely what followed would be the cherry on top:

“YOU WANT TO BRING THAT SMILE OVER HERE, YOU SON OF A BITCH? I’LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO SMILE ABOUT! NUMBER 14! YEAH, YOU! HOW ABOUT YOU TAKE THAT TACKY-ASS HAIRBAND AND SHOVE IT DOWN YOUR THROAT! THAT’S RIGHT! CHOKE YOU RANK, ABHORRENT BASTARD!”

Maryden, with Ellinor’s help -- or someone, Olivia can’t really tell in the moment -- hoist Olivia up over their shoulder. That does nothing to break her focus, especially considering the player has noticed her rancor and is staring worriedly at the bleachers where some bouncy goth blonde is frothing at the mouth. Their teammates see, too, and their faces are even more grim. The sick glee has gone.

While she clamors and nearly knees the person who’s carrying her in the gut several times, she gets one last promise in: “THERE IS NOT A CHAIN OR LOCK OR WALL THAT IS STRONG ENOUGH TO KEEP ME FROM SHOVING MY FOOT SO FAR UP YOUR ASS YOU’LL BE FLOSSING WITH MY SHOELACES!”

The crowd is nervously observing her when she is returned to their seats. Turns out it was Maryden, the taller of the three, carrying her while Ellinor was reinforcement and likely smiling at everyone to save face.

“AND FUCK YOU, WARDENS!! FUCK YOU AND YOUR GRIMEY ASSES!”

Apparently that is a much more popular sentiment. The crowds start applauding voraciously, as if they’re front row for a Boxing match. They could be, if only her friends wouldn’t be such killjoys and let justice be brought down.

“Liv, contain yourself, dammit!” Ellinor lands next to her, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. More shaking.

Growling, Olivia frees herself from her grip, spitting her own hair out of the side of her mouth. “Kindly kiss my ass Ellinor, you’d be melting the fence down to get to her if it was Cullen!”

Ellinor opens her mouth, finger pointed, but she stops. Slouching a bit, she looks away and concedes quietly.

“Still, you could have caused a penalty,” Maryden warns over Ellinor’s shoulder, all cool and collected as if she was just picking daises somewhere, and not man-handling a 5’2” enraged queer girl like a disgruntled shih tzu.

“I hope I do. Maybe then the Ref will recognize one when they see it!”

Unfortunately, in her fury Olivia has lost track of the most important thing -- the most important person -- and she races to catch up. Cassandra is not only standing, but walking. Limping heavily, she has her arm around Cullen. Is that Cullen? Curly blonde, red face...yes, that’s Cullen. The crowd applauds with relief and encouragement.

“See, Liv? She’s up!”

Olivia, far from satisfied: “Yes, that’s just her natural swaggering gait.”

“Well…”

Maryden clears her throat. “Cassandra is very fit and capable. I’m sure she’ll bounce back super fast!”

Olivia scowls, still watching as Cass is escorted off the field. The medic is on her like bees on honey. Meanwhile, she seems more concerned with talking to Cullen, who’s listening intently like he’s being told a litany of life-altering secrets. Perhaps that there’s writing on the back of the Declaration of Independence. Cassandra, though, Cassandra still seems focused. She can barely put any weight on her foot; despite that, it’s as if it hardly matters to her. Maryden is right.

Though her knuckles turn white from clamping on the bench edge, Olivia remembers a lick of sense enough to do as Ellinor wishes. She even feels a bit ashamed, like waking up from a fever dream having made lunatic choices all night long. Ellinor’s mounting agitation provides a distraction.

“Shit…”

Olivia blinks. “What?”

Ellinor watched like a hawk, nose tipped toward the sky. “I think Cullen is working as Captain now.”

Olivia follows her stare and sees the two teams congregating back to their respective formations. Cullen is back to his spot, talking to two other players, pointing and gesturing towards them like he’s calling some shots. Maybe Ellinor is right. It would make sense, with their bromance and Cullen’s experience, that Cassandra would default to him. Olivia glances to the sideline one more time to see that the medics are still tending to Cassandra and her leg, all three looking much calmer.

With a deep breath, she curls her arm around Ellinor, who stops bobbing her anxious leg up and down. “Well then, we’re in good hands.” And so they were.

Continuing to keep calm as best she can, Olivia pays more attention to the game. The Knights, having lost their leader unjustly, are reinvigorated. The replacement goalie looks younger but is ready for business. And Cullen? Cullen goes from Golden Retriever to German Shepherd. For the bulk of the second half the Wardens try time and time again to make it past the Knights’ defense, to no avail. With each advance Ellinor nearly skyrockets into the air watching out for him. When the time outs hit, Cullen is the one talking the team through the huddle, and he does so with considerable fortitude.

It’s getting to be final few minutes in the game -- or so Maryden and Ellinor promise after it goes longer than the promised 90. Time making up for all the penalties, they say. Well, to Olivia it’s just time preventing her from finding out if Cass is okay. During the last 15-20 minutes of the game, she was taken off the field. It looked like the ankle was causing more pain, too much to just be taped up on the bench. But no one can know for sure. It’s a little harder to breathe without her there.

With all this said, the moment the whistles finally sound off, and their half of the crowd leaps to their feet, it’s a good moment. Good because the team deserves it, and even better because Ellinor loses her damn mind.

“AHHH DID YOU SEE HIM! DID YOU SEE HIM THAT LAST TIME? THAT SLIDE TO BLOCK?!” Ellinor yells as she hops up and down. Maryden is dancing with her, which is a God-send, because all Olivia can do is stand up and clap. That, and a sweet, sweet smile that is dual-purpose for showing her teeth as the Wardens slip off the field. To no one’s surprise, the hand-shakes between the two teams is kept brief to avoid further injury.

The team is also going wild on the field, tackling and running around each other like excited kids. One or two get a water bottle sprayed in their face. Laughter, smiles, and joy. When the trophy gets handed off -- yes, a trophy, a real trophy -- Cullen is the rightful receiver. The players hoist him up onto their shoulders, up and down with fists up in the air. He’s smiling modestly but sincerely as he holds the hunk of metal above his head. Ellinor is almost crying as she pulls the collar of her sweater up over her mouth and holds it there.

It kinda aches to watch, knowing how much Cassandra worked to lead them here. However, Olivia notices Cullen gaze down at everyone supporting him. Though she can’t hear what he says, by the shape of his lips he seems to say something like “for Cassandra, guys.”

Then, smiling feels easier to do.

Ellinor takes hold of her hand, pulling her along with Maryden down to the steps. The majority of the audience is doing the same to get down to the grass and join in. “Come on!” she says, “let’s go see them!”

Olivia follows along until they make it to the field, where she can better see the nearby locker rooms. She pulls back, and Ellinor turns. Olivia slows to a halt and eyes the lockers. Without having to utter a word, Ellinor gets the message. A brief respite in her wide smile.

“Liv, she’s going to be okay. Don’t worry!”

“What if she isn’t?”

From across the field, Cullen’s champion voice calls Ellinor’s name. Then, several others repeat it, like she’s the First Lady of Soccer. Ellinor waves a hand at them, as if they’re interrupting some private conference, but Olivia quickly stops her.

“Hey, go! Go see him!” she encourages, “I’m just gonna hang back and see if she can answer my texts.”

Ellinor eyes her, but when the boys call after her a second time, she gives in. She gives Olivia a one-armed hug before running off toward her Knight-in-shining-jersey and his comrades. It’s all rather romantic, what she sees of it. Olivia follows the boundary sideline and keeps her distance; luckily for the Wardens, they decide to clear out rather expediently.

Watching the players and their loved ones congregate, Olivia pulls out her phone. No messages, no calls, no nothing. She wonders if Cassandra would even have phone access, or think of using it. Wouldn’t this be a time to call family, anyways?

She sends along a message just as a shot in the dark:

-- Hey, you okay?

Her eyes light up when the message is almost immediately read, as if Cass had their messages pulled up already. The typing symbol appears. Then, a response:

Cassandra: Was just about to text

Cassandra: Is the game still going?

-- No, the Knights won!

Cassandra doesn’t reply. Olivia’s ear ringing sets off again. She twitches her freezing fingers, teetering on how to act. The boundaries of what is too much and what is too little seem so incoherent. She hadn’t exactly read the part in the new budding romance manual titled “What To Do If Your Girlfriend Falls in Sport Combat.”

-- You need help? I’m out here if you need me.

Cassandra: I’m okay. Medic says I should think about hospital.

-- Really? I can drive you

Cassandra: It’s probably just a sprain, I’ll be fine

-- Do you need a ride? I can give you one! It’s fine!

As she hits send, the grass in front of Olivia becomes vastly overshadowed. Looking up, she sees part of the party has come to her. Cullen, with Ellinor under his arm and the trophy in his free hand, along with several others: Rylen, Lys, Krem and Maryden, and a still more. They’re all looking at her expectantly, and it feels like the field lights all hone on her. A day ago, she would have said they all thought her too bizarre or scary to do this. How things change.

“Hey, Liv,” Cullen says first, face glistening with sweat and likely Powerade, “any news?”

Wait...they all just expect that I know? She scans from right to left. Their previous expressions of raw, unadulterated joy have become sorrier. She folds her arms against herself, phone tucked.

“She says she’s good. They said to go to the hospital, but she disagrees.”

“Fuck yeah, she’s a tank,” Rylen remarked. “That asshole had a red card coming!”

They sound off in groans and growls of agreement. Olivia silently sighs and tucks hair behind her ear.

Cullen frowns. “If she needs to, she should go. She knows we won, right? I should go check on her--”

“Yeah, she--”

“Yeah, I know!”

They all turn on a dime toward the commanding voice behind them. Olivia is the last to see through all their broad figures, but she really doesn’t need to. She knows that voice. What’s harder to take is the sight that comes with it: crutches, right lower leg wrapped in ice and tape, and brow just as sweaty as her team’s are. Still in her uniform but with a down jacket over it.

While they rush over to her, doing everything short of tackling her to the ground, Cullen, Ellinor, and Olivia hang back. Ellinor watches Olivia as she tries her best not to shrivel up and die, mortified with her own over-sentimentality. She gives her a caring look, one of those ‘it’s okay, dude, don’t beat yourself up’ looks.

Cullen has his own matter to settle. Breaking from Ellinor’s hold, he joins the group and faces his friend and roommate who’s everyone’s talking at with exuberance and concern at the same time.

“Hey, Cass,” he says, the trophy in both hands. “Look, I, uh, if anyone deserves this, it’s you.”

He holds it out to her, which is a bit charmingly clumsy considering both Cassandra’s hands are occupied with crutches. Several others murmur in affirmation, things like “yeah, Captain,” “Oh Captain, my Captain!” and “Boss Lady.” A few whistles. Cassandra locks eyes with him and smiles as she straightens up as much as possible. She glances at either side of her before shaking her head.

She gently pushes the trophy gently back towards him. “You brought it home, Cullen. The honor is yours. And all of you! You have made me the proudest Captain this side of the continent.”

The happy mob’s affirmations grow louder. Some claps, even. Cullen chuckles heartily and, unable to help himself, hands off the trophy to Lysette and pulls Cassandra into a hug. She almost loses her crutches, but no matter. Her one capable arm reaching back around Cullen’s shoulders, patting him with as much strength as she can, says the embrace is anything but unwelcome.

Olivia bites back a sigh of relief, one Ellinor notices of course.

“Hey,” she says out the side of her mouth, “you good?”

Olivia slides her phone into her back pocket. Guess I won’t be needing this anymore. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“You sure?”

“I just...”

Rylen’s rallying voice cuts through the merriment, just as it all seems concluded. “Hey! If anyone needs a trophy, it’s ‘Livia!”

Olivia freezes as she looks back to the group, who is once again all turning to look at her. Cullen and Cass are the last to, but when they do, Cassandra’s eyes land directly on her.

“Yeah, man,” Krem laughs, “scared the shit out of the offense, you hear that?” he asks Cassandra, who doesn’t so much as sniff in his direction. She’s still staring, hard to read as ever. Suddenly the infamy feels more like an embarrassing tattle-tale, and Olivia can feel her cheeks growing red from something other than Whiskey during a November night. More players chime in with their version of the sordid event:

“Yeah, see that? The--”

“--she had what, three people holding her back? Chr--”

“Yeah, we should have had her on the field to back up Rylen!”

“Shit, no kidding--”

“Hate it if that was what was waiting for me on the side-line”

“--that shoelaces line? Man--”

“Hey, hey, everyone,” Cullen intervenes, hands out and dad voice on full blast. He’s tuned into Olivia’s embarrassment like the nightly news. “Give her a break, okay?”

They all go solemnly silent, which makes it even worse. Olivia’s finally brave enough to lock eyes with Cassandra, who still hasn’t flinched. Dammit, if only she knew how she was taking all this. It’s not like she meant to go back on her WWE ways tonight. Dammit, lowkey, Olivia. We’re supposed to be lowkey. This is not lowkey! This is like the opposite of lowkey! High-key! Mt. Everest Key!

A nudge from Ellinor knocks her out of her mental death spiral enough to realize they’re all expecting her to see what she has to say for herself.

“I, uh…” she says to Cassandra, not daring to move.

A sudden, uneven grin. One could almost say cocky. Regardless, it’s a grin, and it’s on Cassandra’s face as she speaks her first words to her:

“Let this be a lesson, then, everyone: don’t cross my girlfriend.”

Blush? No, not blush. Lava, molten to the core, floods Olivia’s cheeks. Her heart nearly stops dead after so much racing. ‘Oohs’ and ‘aahs’ surround them, not nearly as rambunctious as before, but then someone wolf-whistles. Olivia wants to simultaneously jump her bones and roar about how much she scared the living shit out of her.

She said it. Loud and clear.

“Olivia?” Cassandra then asks, amidst the reactions.

“Uh...u-uh...yeah,” she mutters, taking one last look at Ellinor before coming forward. Step by step, until she’s as close as she can be while still being respectable. Then, a halt.

The others go even quieter. Cassandra smirks a bit. “I have a favor to ask.”

Olivia’s brows lift sincerely. “Yes?”

A pause, wherein Cassandra takes a stiff breath. Her throat catches on something that sounds like pain under good, honest humor.

“Could you please take me to the hospital so that I can get this son-of-a-bitch x-rayed and some ibuprofen?”

She waits until there’s just a hint of doubt in Cassandra’s face. So much so the “audience” of sorts shuts up again to hang on her word. When it’s just the right moment, she comes even closer.

“...get in my car, Pentaghast,” she commands, slipping her keys out of her coat pocket and twirling them around on her finger.

As if the moment wasn’t momentous enough, either the adrenaline or savvy romance of it proves inspiring. Cassandra smiles even wider, reaching just enough to snag the edge of Olivia’s coat and pull her in. In return, Olivia takes hold of the neck of her jersey, just enough for the drama without pulling her off her already-precarious balance. It’s the fourth time they ever share a kiss on a soccer field.

Everyone erupts in laughter, more clapping, and whistling. Olivia and Cassandra end their kiss in order for a proper congratulatory hug.

Rylen, again, proves the most dedicated to capping off the moment: “I told you, Krem! Pay up!”

“I didn’t bet no, dude!”

“Yeah but you bet maybe! $5 or three fireball shots at the afterparty!”

From farther away, Ellinor’s voice squeaks with a bit of shivering: “Did you say ‘fireball’?”

#day & age #college AU #ellinor trevelyan #olivia sinclair #college!Olivia #modern!olivia #THE HIGHS AND LOWS OF COLLEGE INTRAMURAL SOCCER

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