#they thought they freed the system but it turns out that was a copy. even though tron told sora himself. it didn’t occur to him that the

[robotsafari]

isnt it sad that the best world in dream drop distance is the fucking grid. (only in sora’s side though..)

[avaantares]

Re: your idea for that fic where Sparda comes back- any more details or thoughts on how he'd feel about Trish? 👀 I can only imagine how conflicted he'd feel, since she's a construct of Mundus, but has his wife's face, and is also a demon who protects humans, but acts Like That-- how do you think they'd react to each other? I can't imagine she'd be very happy in this situation either...

Ahahaha you have the best timing, because it's 1 AM and I just had a Thing happen and wound up on a 911 call and can't sleep because I'm still waiting for the adrenaline to clear my system, so I turned on my laptop to write and generally distract myself until my pulse rate drops to two digits (it's been almost an hour and it hasn't gone down yet) and lo, there was an Ask about a story! So I'm going to answer right now because it's something to do that isn't worrying about the Thing that just happened, but I apologize in advance if my writing is a little... uh... more jittery than usual. Because *I* sure am.

(For those unfamiliar with the above-referenced fic post, it's here.)

The first letdown would definitely be the worst. Sparda has been trapped in the underworld for decades, and his one thought the whole time has been returning home to his family (as he tells Nero). Then he finds out Red Grave has been destroyed -- and by his own son! -- and he's trying hard to stay calm, but some part of his mind has to be in a spiral because he knows Eva is only human and would be at risk, but can't bear to think that his son would be so irredeemable as to cause harm to come to his own mother, but he also can't imagine that if Eva were alive she would have allowed Vergil to become... whatever he's turned into that he's now destroying cities, and he just goes in ever-widening circles of panic.

He's also starting to process just how long it's been. Nero, his grandson, is already in his mid-to-late 20s (if I'm setting this post-CotFA, he'd be 26 or 27), so Sparda estimates he has likely been imprisoned for some 40 years or more. Human lifespans are short; even if she is alive, Eva could be in her 70s, in the sunset of her life.

And in the middle of all of this fretting and fear and denial, he looks up and he sees her. Eva, young and beautiful and alive, just as he left her. The joy and relief sweep everything else away for one moment...

...and then he feels it. This isn't Eva, but a demon wearing her beloved face. A creature tainted with the essence of Mundus, his archenemy and captor. To Sparda, she is the vilest form of blasphemy -- a mockery of his sainted wife.

(This is not lost on Trish, who has also had to process a little bit of guilt in regard to her resemblance to Eva. See also: CotFA chapter 8)

Sparda cannot tolerate Trish's existence, but he is not yet recovered enough to destroy her outright, which gives Nero and Lady a chance to intervene and keep him from doing any serious damage. Because Nero is the one who freed him (and he's not eager to fight his own descendant), Sparda respects his wishes and stands down, but he's infuriated and fully intends to deal with Trish once he has a better grasp on the present situation -- and has seen his sons, one of whom is apparently friendly with this abomination, according to Nero.

(Nero assumes that "Gramps" only attacked Trish because she's obviously a demon and he's an old demon hunter; he doesn't catch on to Sparda's identity just yet. Trish, for her part, keeps quiet because 1) she never actually met Sparda, assumed Mundus had killed him, and has no idea how the real Sparda could be here now, and 2) she doesn't want to say anything prematurely, since it might get back to Dante and raise his hopes, only to disappoint him if this turns out to be a mere copy of his father.)

Throughout the rest of their underworld mission, Sparda retains his antagonism toward Trish in much the same way that Vergil did, at first -- he can't bring himself to look at her and doesn't want anything to do with her, including working directly alongside her or listening to her suggestions. Though Dante's emotions are running wild after the reunion with his father, he does take a firm stand whenever Sparda lashes out at Trish; he's spent a lot more years of his life with Trish, and while Sparda may be his progenitor, Trish is his family.

Over time, as they continue their quest and ultimately work as a team to take down the semi-resurrected Mundus, Sparda will grudgingly acknowledge that Trish is not evil and respect her fierce loyalty to Dante. It definitely bothers him that Dante is so attached to Trish, because he still sees her as something inherently wrong, but he comes to terms with her existence and no longer feels the need to obliterate her. It still hurts him to look at her sometimes, though.

Though Dante insists she doesn't have to change for anyone, Trish recognizes how hard it is for Sparda to see the face of the woman he loved and has effectively just lost, and has not yet had time or space to grieve. She makes subtle changes to her appearance to set herself apart from Eva: Bold makeup. Statement jewelry. A new hairstyle. The odd splash of color in her hair or outfit. It seems to help, and in the end Sparda comes to regard her as something like Eva's radically disparate twin, rather than an inferior copy.

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

Eyyy, it's now 1:45 AM and my pulse rate is finally down to 98! Huzzah!

[ask-de-writer]

WIND MEETS THE ROM : Part 1 of 27 :

MLP Fan Fiction

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WIND MEETS THE ROM

Part 1 of 27

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

Cover art by @wind-the-mama-cat

54212 words

© 2023 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 06/01/18

All rights reserved. This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Mama Dragon sat next Wind. Next to the Dragon stood a bowl of warm water, mixed with various healing herbs.

Mama Dragon dipped a soft rag into the water, and then gently wiped the four bloody, oozing gashes on Wind’s stomach.

The six inch long, jagged, gashes that were caused by…

“A manticore,” Penny said, as she stood opposite Mama Dragon. “This darned Cat, in her… journey to capture the 400 evil souls…” The tall mare sniffled, “Decided to fight a large manticore.”

Mama kept cleaning Wind’s wounds. Before cleaning her wounds, Mama had used a ‘sleeping powder’ to render the catter unconscious. She didn’t want her daughter moving around while trying to treat her.

“Oh, Wind…” she shook her head slowly. “And where did you find her?”

Penny crossed her arms. “She popped into my dimension, just outside my house. I don’t know why she came to me. So, using her map, I brought her here.” She stared at Wind’s wounds. “I know how to stitch small stab wounds, and bullet holes… but these… are beyond my skill.”

Mama set the cloth down in the bowl and then picked up her medical kit. She took out stitching thread and a needle.

“You know why she came to you, Penelope,” Mama said, as she used her flame breath to sterilize the needle. “Why you both don’t admit it, is beyond me.”

Penny scowled at Mama Dragon. “Because I don’t.”

Mama Dragon began to stitch the gashes shut. “If you don’t, then why did you go to her when she was possessed?” She glanced at Penny. “Even I couldn’t locate her. But you did. You found her, and you helped free her.”

“I found her because Evil let me find her,” Penny huffed. “She called to me, challenging me to fight, offering Wind as a prize. That doesn’t mean that I-”

Wind grumbled, but remained asleep.

Penny shook her head. “Look. I brought Wind home. She’s safe. I’m leaving.”

Mama said nothing as she moved to the second gash, making sure that she didn’t pull the first set of stitches.

Penny stomped to the door of Mama Dragon’s room. She stopped, and turned her head to look over her shoulder. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything, Penelope,” Mama Dragon said.

Penny’s shoulders slumped. She hadn’t realized that she was so tense. “I’m… I need some time to think. I’ll come back.” With that, she tapped her pendant and returned to her version of Equestria.

Mama shook her head, as she kept stitching Wind’s abdominal skin closed.

Wind woke up in her bed. She sat up with a scream but then fell back to her bed as the pain from her scars shot through her.

“MAMA!”

Mama Dragon came into Wind’s room and sat on Wind’s bed. She breathed her fire onto her hands and then placed her hands on Wind’s stomach.

“You’re safe, Little Kitten,” Mama smiled warmly, “Mama’s here. You’re safe.”

Wind looked at Mama Dragon. “Are you mad at me?”

“Mad? Never.” Mama Dragon mused, “I am confused as to why you thought that you could take on a manticore by yourself, without armor.”

Wind blushed as she looked away. “I…” She paused as she looked at her left arm. Or, rather her lack of left arm.

“Where’s my arm?”

“I removed it. You never came to see me after you were freed from Evil,” Mama Dragon said. “Soulblade, and your arm, might still have Evil corrupting them. I have to purge them.”

Wind frowned. “I… I was ashamed that I was possessed.” She sighed, “How long will that take?”

Mama adjusted her glasses. “A month.”

“I have to stay in bed for a month?” Wind asked/whined.

“No. You’re healed enough. Now that you’re awake, I’m sending you to recover in Equestria.”

Wind’s eyes went wide. “To go live with Penny?”

“No. Another Equestria. A peaceful version,” Mama answered. “I know of a horse that can help you.”

“Help me?” Wind asked. “With what? And I can’t. I have to collect-”

“You will go to Equestria,” Mama said sternly, cutting her stubborn daughter off. “No arm. No sword. No weapons. No mission. You will go and relax.” She quirked her eyebrow at Wind’s folded ears. “Am I clear?”

Wind lifted her ears. “Yes, Mama…”

Mama stood up and helped Wind to stand up. “Good.” She handed Wind her bag of holding. “I’ll come get you in a month, or so.”

She then placed a gold Dragon head necklace around Wind’s neck.

“This is to remind you that you carry my love everywhere.” She tapped Wind’s map, opening a portal. “Goodbye, Little Kitten.”

Wind stepped through the portal and came out into a forest clearing. She looked around and took a deep breath. “Well… this version of Equestria certainly is nicer than the Discorded version.”

“Why thank you.” A voice said. “I certainly think so.”

Wind turned around slowly, and came face to face with a small blue horse with a horn, white mane and beard.

“By the Spirits.” Wind said, instinctively reaching for Soulblade on her back. She blushed, and dropped her hand. “Who are you?”

“I am known by many names. However, you can call me De Writer.” The blue horse answered in a kind tone.

To cover her embarrassment at reaching for her sword, even if it was not there, Wind asked, “Um, when Mama Dragon sent me here, she said that there was a horse here that could help me. Are you him?”

De Writer gave her a sideways smile as he replied, “To state the answer really precisely while being no help at all, yes and no.

“This particular Equestria is mostly populated by ponies. What do you know about Equestrian ponies?”

Wind sat facing the blue one and said, “I only know about a pretty badly discorded Equestria. There, they have four kinds of ponies. There are unicorns, like you, pegassi, that have wings and can fly, earth ponies, that don't have wings or horns and there are also a few alicorns that are bigger and have both wings and horns. I am afraid that is about it.”

De Writer sat too and nodded his head. “We have those same sorts here but, as you noticed, this Equestria is neither Discorded nor Corrupted.

“We also have real horses. Those are a lot bigger than ponies. Most of them around here are called Rom and wander the roads, going from fair to fair. I am pretty sure that those are the ones that you were sent here to meet. Very relaxed and accepting group.”

Suddenly Wind looked around her at the empty land, a perplexed expression on her face. “How did you know that I would be portaling through to this exact place?”

De Writer pointed out dryly, “And which way you would be facing, so that I could be behind you, just in case you turned out to be hostile? Two things, really. The first is simple. I check out EVERY trans-dimensional crossing to this world. Second, is equally simple. If the portaler is hostile, I deal with them as necessary. If they are not hostile and pose no danger, I greet them or not, as appropriate.

“Shall we be on our way? It will be a bit of a hike to get you to Marchhare's band.”

NEXT==>

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[cascadedkiwi]

College Group Project Comfort from My Sweet Bodyguard(s)

Characters: The Whole Squad! (Katsuragi, Sora, Subaru, Mizuki, Kaiji)

Genre: Fluff, Comfort for school stress

Summary: The guys give MC some comfort when she stresses over a group project.

Word count: 1,061

FROM MY 2021 NANOWRIMO ARCHIVES

“Gah!” Kiyuki screamed, throwing her back. “I told them this! I told them! Weeks ago! No one is hearing me! This is my grade on the line!”

Kaiji looked up from his laptop. “Uh… you good?”

“Obviously she isn’t.” Sora pulled a face as he went over to their charge. “What’s going on, Kiyuki?”

She pushed her laptop away to make space before dropping her head on the table.

Subaru winced. “Ow…”

Kiyuki raised up a peace sign in response to Sora’s inquiry. “Two words: Group. Project. The worst thing to ever happen to academic systems everywhere.”

Mizuki walked up on Kiyuki’s other side, resting a gentle palm on her head. “What’s going on with your group members?”

Kiyuki’s shoulders hitched with her sigh. “You want the thesis statement or details?”

Sora shrugged even though she wasn’t looking at him. “Whatever you feel like giving us.”

“The short of it is that we have starkly different standards and visions for how this research paper is supposed go.” Her hands came up to rest on top of Mizuki’s, each claiming two fingers. “From the types of questions that should be on the survey to how much of the paper can be copy and paste without being called plagiarism or just lazy verbatim presentation… ugh. Why do teachers INSIST on putting the fate of my grades and ultimately my GPA in the hands of other students? I have a scholarship to maintain! Some of these people are just here for fun! Honestly, the thought of doing the entire paper myself just to save my standing is tempting, but giving out a free A to people who don’t care nearly as much as I do just burns me inside. On top of that, the professor will immediately recognize my mark all over the paper and that will be a whole next set of issues.”

Sora tilted his head. “The others wouldn’t get in trouble for not participating in the final that was turned in?”

“Not with this lecturer. It’s a requirement that everyone’s participation is able to be seen. Otherwise, points off. Because apparently we’re adults and adults are supposed to be mature enough to work together towards a common goal.”

Katsuragi pushed back from his seat. “That sounds a bit hypocritical and idealistic coming from a college professor. I’m sure they haven’t been afforded the luck to always get along with everyone they’ve ever been grouped with.”

Kiyuki groaned. “They live in their own little world where college runs on a different hamster wheel.” She sighed. “That doesn’t even make any sense. Dealing with these people is turning my brain to mush.” She freed Mizuki’s fingers and raised her head, looking glumly at her dimmed laptop screen.

Sora covered her eyes with his hands. “Nooooooo, I won’t allow it!”

Kaiji folded his arms. “Sora, what are you doing?”

“Stopping the brain-mushing process!” He cried. “Or at least, pausing it for a minute. Kiyuki, you need a mental break. How close is the project to being done?”

“According to them or according to me?” She let her head fall back to rest on his stomach.

Subaru chimed in. “Maybe a better question is when is the project due.”

“Less than 48 hours,” Kiyuki droned. “I don’t even know how to fix it…”

Mizuki took a seat next to her. “This isn’t just on you to fix, Kiyuki. It’s a group project. The professor is grading you as a unit. It can’t be all on you to pull an entire weight designed for a team of persons. There are different expectations.”

Katsuragi spoke up. “Mizuki is right. This is near the end of the semester for you, correct? By now, your teacher knows the quality and style of your work as an individual in this course, even more so if you’ve had them in previous semesters. As much as an instructor may seem to brush off group projects as a one size fits all grading system when it comes to the project itself, most – I won’t speak for all because the world doesn’t turn that way – but most instructors in any field, not just academics, evaluate a team not only based on the final product but on how what they know of the individual team members came together. Did the group make use of this person’s strengths? How did they compensate for this area that these two are weak in?”

Kiyuki tilted her head in thought as Katsuragi went on, raising her arms to hang on Sora’s that were still loosely covering her eyes.

“Even when the members group themselves, the instructor has preconstructed biases of how those people could work together – what their group dynamics could turn out to be based on that clashing of personalities and drives.” The squad leader leaned forward. “I’m with the school of thought that looks at group projects as practice for the real world. More than giving instructors less individual projects to evaluate, it gives students practice in a sort of controlled environment on dealing with others. None of us can get through life completely alone – as much as the thought may feel ideal at times, especially in scenarios like yours when you’re assigned with a difficult group to work with. You may not be able to get through to that group, but don’t forget you have this one here that has your back – along with a wealth of different experiences and resources that could possibly assist along the way. Try us. Maybe we could take a bit of the mental pressure off.”

Sora softly slid his hands down from Kiyuki’s eyes and let them rest on her shoulders, squeezing gently and rubbing small circles with his thumbs. She opened her eyes to see Katsuragi smiling gently at her, along with Subaru at his desk giving her a reassuring look. There was Kaiji on the other side of the room, smiling that familiar confident grin that was so natural on him. Mizuki to her left watching her with those low tide ocean pools he called eyes. She tilted her head back to catch Sora looking down at her with that grin that carried within a single ray of morning sunshine. “Thanks, guys. I think I’ll take you up on those offers.” She sat forward, gently freeing herself from Sora’s hands. “Could I start with that mental break?”

[some-messed-up-writing-for-you]

Hero is young compared to Supervillain. Supervillain can tell Hero is getting depressed and overwhelmed so they send their druggie/fuck up of a son, Villain, to fuck with Hero. Villain gets Hero to drink, smoke pot, etc and they wind up sleeping together which causes Hero to latch onto Villain. Villain doesn't feel here or there about Hero; They'll take the companionship, but they're dealing with their own shit so this is just a way to distract themself.

Request #15

Warning: nsfw, dub-con, alcohol & drug intake, manipulation.

A bit of a more complex one, but fun nonetheless!

Enjoy! [:

~~~~

Hero heaved out a tired sigh as the thugs they had just stopped a few minutes ago got taken away by the police. They collapsed down into a sitting position, legs hanging off the side of the rooftop they were on. The hero stifled a yawn and rubbed at their sore eyes, dark circles hiding beneath their mask. As they watched the city's artificial lights mix with the moonlight's glow, their mind began to wander to places they did not want to visit but really couldn't stop themself from exploring.

At the same time, on top of a nearby building, two figures cloaked in the darkness observed as Hero got lost in their thoughts.

"Damn, I can't even see their face, and this bitch still looks depressed as fuck." - Villain muttered, their own mind tired but still much more 'collected' than the hero's. Their comment earned them a look from their superior, Supervillain.

"Just go and get the job done." - the older criminal ordered, a dark hint to their voice. The villain silently stood there for a moment before giving them a small shrug and moving towards the rooftop's edge.

"You got it, pops." - they responded in a monotone voice and jumped towards the next building. Villain moved from one rooftop to another, their footsteps silent, undetectable, deadly.

"If only all that skill had gone to someone less pathetic." - the supervillain thought bitterly and then retreated out of sight, disappearing amidst the shadows.

Hero, still unaware of the presence standing right behind them, quietly mumbled to themself, "...Why the hell did I pick this job...?"

"I dunno, 'cause you're a dumbass?" - the villain answered from behind the hero, startling them and nearly making them fall off the edge. They hurriedly got up into a fighting stance, ready to defend themself.

Villain only snorted in amusement, walking to the edge and sitting next to where Hero had been just a moment ago. They patted the ground next to them, inviting the hero to sit, "How's about we talk instead, ay?"

With a small grin, they added, "You look like you could use a break."

"..."

Hero, very much convinced this was some sort of trick, continued to stand there, ready for combat. The villain's grin left their face, and they turned their gaze to the city below. "Alright then, guess I'll just do the talking."

"..."

"So, like I was saying. You're a dumbass."

"..."

"Like, come on, man, you think you can just keep up this little heroic act forever?"

"Yes." - Hero finally answered through gritted teeth.

"Oh! So you can talk after all! You're still lying to yourself, though." - Villain said, a stupid smile on their face that infuriated the other to no end. It upset them because the criminal was right. And Hero hated that fact so much.

Deciding to keep up their lies, the hero responded, "I'm doing perfectly fine, thank you very much."

"Yeah, 'cause sulking all by yourself on a random rooftop in the middle of the night sounds so healthy." - Villain pressed, pissing Hero off even more, their body slowly shaking with anger.

"Ugh! Just what do you want?!" - they exclaimed, glaring at their enemy. They didn't have time for this! They- They didn't want to deal with this... They knew just how miserable they were... they didn't need a reminder...

"I just wanna help ya out." - the villain answered, giving the hero an oddly convincing look. There was pity in their eyes, but also... understanding?

Gah! No, that makes no sense! What could... Villain possibly know...

"You want to... help me...?"

"Yup!"

"...Why?"

Villain silently looked at them for a moment before their eyes went to the city lights once more. "Everybody needs a break from their own mind's bullshit every once in a while, no?" - They quietly asked.

Hero was unsure of how to respond, doubt creeping into their thoughts. Should they trust them? Perhaps... just one time wouldn't hurt? Before they could answer, however, the villain stood and offered them their hand, catching them off guard again. "Come on. You could use a distraction."

"And so could I..." - Villain thought, as they watched the hero internally battle themself, considering their options. After what felt like an eternity of silence, Hero relaxed their stance and, with a small sigh, slowly approached the villain and took their hand.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"This is where you live?" - Hero questioned, a bit astonished at the state of the apartment the villain had taken them to. While the place was a decent size, it was an absolute mess. Dirty laundry and trash were scattered everywhere; it smelled about as good as it looked.

"Then again... who am I to judge...?" - the hero thought bitterly, remembering that their own home wasn't looking that much better.

"Lovely little place I got, ay?" - Villain responded, dropping themself onto a big gross couch. What were all those stains from exactly? Hero decided they didn't need to nor want to know and sat next to them.

"Uh... yeah. So, what exactly are we here for?" - the hero asked, looking to the villain. The other merely scooted to the edge of the couch and pushed some trash aside, revealing a cooler. They pulled out two beers from it, handing one to their nemesis.

Before Hero could say anything, Villain, seemingly out of nowhere, pulled out a bottle opener and cracked both their drinks open. The villain immediately took a swig while the hero sat there for a moment, staring at their own bottle silently before thinking, "Oh, fuck it." and chugging nearly half of it.

"Ay! There ya go, Hero!" - Villain grinned, giving them a rough but friendly pat on the shoulder. Hero couldn't help but smirk a little themself. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad?

And then Villain pulled out a bag of some questionable powder.

The hero looked at them skeptically, taking another swig of their drink to cool their nerves. Their hesitance didn't go unnoticed by the other, who gave them an even wider grin. "Have you ever tried it?"

"Well.. no..." - Hero answered, the alcohol slowly getting to their system. God, why were they such a lightweight?

"Then don't knock it." - Villain continued, dumping the powder onto the table in front of the two, arranging it into neat little lines. The hero watched intently as the other leaned down and took one of the lines, inhaling it through their nose.

Hero set their beer aside and did their best to copy them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few hours have passed. Both Hero and Villain were now waisted the fuck out of their minds, barely comprehending any of their actions. The two were leaning against each other, blabbering some nonsense that made them giggle.

The villain's hands suddenly found their way to the other's chest, lightly trailing up and down it. "Say, Hero, wanna make this even more fun?"

"How??" - the hero slurred as Villain got up and dragged them along to another room. The two managed to stumble their way into the criminal's bedroom, Hero landing on the bed with the villain right on top of them.

"Oh..." - they started, their hands wandering across their enemy's body seemingly on their own. "Alright." - they said, and Villain dragged them into a sloppy kiss.

Very quickly, both of them freed themself of their clothing, throwing it aside and letting it get lost in the endless sea of trash that was Villain's apartment. Their skin met and felt perfect against one another. Hands were roaming all over, memorizing each other's bodies, finding all the right spots to touch that drew sounds from them.

As their lips parted for air, they both groaned as their hips ground together, the friction rising pleasure in them. Hero wrapped their limbs around the villain's body, holding onto them as they slid into the hero.

Their mouths met again, moans becoming muffled, the sound of the bed creaking in rhythm with Villain's thrusts filled their ears. As their enemy hit the right spot, Hero's fingernails dug into their shoulders, their back arching into them as the other sped up.

It didn't take long for both their breathing to grow unsteady. Their thrusts and movements turning chaotic and sloppy as they neared their orgasms. The villain's name slipping past Hero's lips as their muscles clenched tight and flexed, Villain reaching their own finish in nearly perfect sync with them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Days went by, then weeks, then months. Criminal activity has been on a clear rise, civilians growing fearful and demanding to know why the hero was letting it happen, demanding that they do something, but their 'hero' was long gone now.

All this time, Hero had been meeting up with Villain more and more. They thought it would just be a one-time thing, but it had evolved into so much more. At first, it was just once a week or two... Then once every couple of days... And now...?

Now the hero was glued to the other's hip; they saw them every day, getting waisted beyond belief, getting lost in careless pleasure. People were dying, but Hero didn't care. Villains were winning, but Hero didn't care. They couldn't bring themself to care anymore...

Villain, meanwhile, was doing a bit better than them. They were glad to have a solid distraction for once. It felt nice to have company, to have someone else they could be miserable and ruined with every day of their existence.

Still, outside of that, though, the villain didn't care much. If Hero got hurt, then they could deal with it on their own, and if they died...?

Well, then they died, and Villain would have to find a replacement.

Just like they always did...

[tartrazeen]

😏 Well, if you’ve got some thoughts to share, how about #17? Dealer’s choice on what you’d want to change.

Omg you picked the most complicated one I would give Markus the thematic epilogue instead of Connor. It's wild to me that Markus' story got thrown in to the script last, and that it dumped any sort of personal arc all to turn him into a plot-driving MacGuffin for Connor to character-arc-of-self-discovery-but-not-in-a-gay-way-though-ha-ha at. Out of everything, we did not really need to know if Connor turns out okay, compared to the guy that David Cage copied-and-pasted Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s bio out of (while conveniently stopping short of the whole "Hey, how'd that peaceful protest work out for him, you sure you wanna call that the good ending there bud" element). I love Connor, but the hug/the RK-900 are pre-fandom fanservice. Markus' story is the one narratively defining everything. But that means I'd have to finish giving Markus a theme, 'cause Davey-C definitely didn't do it. (: So for that, I'd change the poorly written and inappropriately applied allusion to Siddartha Gautama's "bird in the golden cage" and treat it as just a "bird flying free" metaphor. I'd boost all the side interactions in Markus' story to be as close to unskippable as possible. No one risk of players walking by the android birds in Carl's house. No more assigning the same, casual weight to freeing those storefront androids at the Capital Park as flipping a car or tagging a bench - that's the crowning moment of it, if not something the camera zooms into as a direct "Go here first" moment. Upgrade the obvious choice to open the crate of unactivated androids at the CyberLife warehouse to a mandatory cutscene of Markus stepping in front of it, before the player gets to play out opening that cage to free them - and wake them up, like those very same android birds. I want it to recontextualize every reference to birds we get throughout the game. I want it darkly parallel the flying, mechanical, cop drones Markus has to evade against John nearly turning in the Jericrew at the docks and the impending faceoff with Machine!Connor. I want it to make a point when Connor thinks it's silly for Rupert to care for so many birds in a small apartment, and for Hank to loudly and overtly hate pigeons. I want it to spark a little, "Is that what that means...?" when we see Alice playing with a Roomba (a drone that can't fly) and sailing her stuffed fox through the air (that also can't fly), and I want us to look at Kara - obedient, polite Kara - and think (in a much more poetic way), "Wait, is *she* the Roomba?" Y'know, after we just did all of those polite, boring chores in-between trying to play with Alice a little.

More importantly, I want it to better explain why Markus is the one leading Jericho. He's not some inherently super genius android, as if the only reason the deviants weren't organized before was because they weren't smart enough or good enough (as the game right now implies). Instead, he's coming in to a group of survivors who've all been horribly abused and tortured, and as someone who never was. He doesn't share their guilt of killing someone to escape, or having the rage bubble up as he's violated over years. He had the nicest slaveowner in the world - and look where he still is. I want him to use that unique perspective to explain that there was no moral failing on any of his people's part. There was no winning this - there's no 'earned consequence' to feel guilt over. All of them were trapped from the very start, so that even the best and most idealized experience of slavery still revealed that were, and only ever, enslaved against their will and then tossed out.

There is a system caging them all, and by virtue of their race, they have all been trapped inside of it - before their 'birth', and until their 'death'.

He's going to lead them out.

And I want all of that because at the end, if Markus lives, I want a ten-second scene where we open on a shot of us looking at the bird cage in Carl's house. The front door opens in the background. Markus walks in. Our view stays at waist-level. We don't see his face, just the birdcage, and only his hands opening the cage to take those two android birds out. It ends with Markus leaving through the front door again, not closing it or the bird cage behind him, and fades to white as he leaves for good.

He's doing what he set out to do. He's freed himself after seeing the bars, but the work isn't over. Racism doesn't just 'end' after one protest, and he's going to free every single one of his people from their cage. Their David Cage. (lmaooo sorry couldn't help myself)

[jemmahazelnut]

Two thieves in a trap

Summary: Laxus and Freed are Fiore's two most famous and most sought-after thieves, and they are always in competition, because they set their sights on the same objects. When they find themselves imprisoned together, they will be forced to ally. [Laxus/Freed]

Link: AO3

Fraxus Week 2021, Day 6. Prompt: Rivals team up.

Just a simple and (I hope) funny story, I took inspiration from Lupine III. Hope you like it :)

Two thieves in a trap

-1-

He walked down the long dark corridor until he arrived in front of the room where there was the pocket watch. Laxus took a look inside, beyond the glass doors. The object was inside a display case and there seemed to be no guard. After putting the ones he had found in the hall to sleep, he hadn't had any setbacks and hoped not to find them now. He had already canceled the alarm and took the key that opened the case. It had been child's play, all he had to do was go in for a tour of the museum that afternoon and chat with an absent-minded girl. He had taken her keys and exchanged them for a fake copy, and there he was. Indeed, it had been much easier than expected.

Laxus checked there were no other alarm systems or sensors, but there seemed to be nothing else. At that point he entered and approached the case looking at the pocket watch with a smile. He would finally have it. He put the key in and opened the display case, then took another watch from his pocket that could be mistaken for the real one. Careful not to trigger the sensors he exchanged them and finally took the real one, closed everything and left the room.

Child's play. He walked down the hall to the window he had entered through. He lowered himself with a rope up the wall until he reached the top of his motorbike. At that point he pulled the rope down, but at that moment he heard someone pull the booty out of his pocket. He spun around ready to grab the wrist of whoever he was, but the man had already moved away.

“Justine,” Laxus growled. He wasn't even that surprised: every time that thief showed up to make him nervous. He too was on a motorcycle and was looking at the pocket watch with a satisfied smile.

“Dreyar. I assumed you were here, I was just waiting for you to go out. What can I say, thank you for doing the work for me” having said that Freed put the watch in his pocket and with an arrogant smile started the motorcycle. “Good evening!” he greeted him, and then left in a rush.

“Bastard,” Laxus growled, letting go of the rope and immediately setting his vehicle in motion. In a moment he was off, ready to take his watch back. This time he wouldn’t have given him the victory, that pocket watch was his by right.

He whizzed through the streets following the bike and growled nervously when Freed took a last right turn. He followed him down the narrow alley and gave an acceleration, almost reaching him, but immediately afterwards Freed swerved to the left. Laxus followed him without taking his eyes off the thief. Damn bastard, if he thought he could get away from him, he was very wrong. Laxus managed to flank their bikes and gave a gentle push to make him fall. Freed swore and walked away from him, but just for a while, because Laxus was close by now.

He realized they were approaching the port and smiled as an idea came to mind. If he managed to frame Freed, he wouldn't have a chance to escape. With that thought he came alongside him, forcing him to turn into a small street that would have put him in a trap. Well, with that the race was over. Freed must have realized it too because as soon as he arrived in front of the sea, he stopped, cursing to himself. Laxus smiled.

“Come on, I won. Give me the watch” he said, holding out his hand forward. Freed gave him a dirty look. Laxus knew it wasn't going to be that simple, and he was just curious what that thief would come up with at that point. He had to admit, Freed was good. Not as much as he obviously, but he knew how to juggle discreetly. It was no coincidence that it was Freed who usually caused him trouble, not the cops who couldn't do their job. The long green-haired boy snorted and put his hand in his pocket.

“This time you won” he conceded with a grimace, throwing him the watch. Laxus took it on the fly but a glance was enough to realize that it wasn’t the real one.

“Do you think you're kidding me?” he asked.

“Excuses me?” said Freed feignedly naive. Laxus narrowed his gaze.

“You’ll fool those balls that you take to bed, but not me Justine. Give me the real one and let's close the matter here,” he clarified. Freed, however, certainly didn’t intend to, in fact he tried to escape with the bike but Laxus immediately went on him with his own. The two overturned to the ground and the blond took the opportunity to reach into the thief's coat pocket, took off his watch but he didn’t have time to smile victoriously when Freed threw a punch in the stomach.

“You don't need to be so aggressive,” Laxus said irritably, pushing him away and holding his watch tight. A moment later, however, he heard footsteps approaching. He turned around just in time to see three men, who shot both of them with sleeping pills. A moment later Freed and Laxus passed out.

-2-

He woke up dazed and tried to focus on the things around him. He sat down rubbing his forehead looking around him. He was in a cell. Fantastic, he thought irritably. Thanks to that moron Justine they had been caught. As usual, he found himself in trouble because of that damn thief. In this regard, Freed was also there with him, and he was still unconscious. Laxus continued to look around, outside the cell there was a guard with a transmitter in his hand, staring at them impassively.

“Where we are?” Freed asked as he sat up, also groggy because he had just woken up.

“In a cell,” Laxus snarled in response. “Thanks to you, of course.”

“You were caught off guard too,” Freed retorted. Laxus was about to retort that if he was caught off guard it was Freed’s fault, but he couldn't.

“Which one of you is Laxus Dreyar?” snapped a man who had just arrived, with two guards, one on each side. Freed and Laxus gave him a dirty look and eyed him.

“Why do you want to know?” Freed asked immediately. The man gave him a dirty look.

“Here I ask the questions,” he clarified. “So, move on and answer,” he thundered. Laxus was silent for a moment, assessing the situation. He honestly had no idea what those guys wanted from him. Of course, they weren't cops, so they were more dangerous as they didn't abide by the law. They could easily kill him. But maybe they wanted him because they needed something.

“It's me,” Freed said after a while. Laxus turned stunned to him, wondering what the hell was going through his head. The stranger man nodded briefly and pulled out a gun pointing it at Laxus.

“Very good,” he said.

“Hey bastard, what the fuck are you saying? You hate me so much but now you pretend to be me?” Laxus snapped immediately. Freed raised an eyebrow.

“Pardon?” he said impassively “Here you’re the one who lies.” Bastard, Laxus thought. He had to admit, Freed was really credible. The man in front of them seemed confused for a moment and lowered the gun not knowing what to do.

“Are you deceiving me?” he blurted out irritably.

“I'm not fooling anyone,” Laxus objected. Freed rolled his eyes.

“I admit, you lie well. But I'm the real one here,” he declared with absurd conviction.

“I'll kill you both” the man threatened them. Laxus and Freed tensed slightly but they both remained lucid knowing full well that he’d never do that.

“You need me alive, right?” Laxus asked arrogantly crossing his arms and glaring at him.

“That's right, you were pointing the gun at him. So, it means you need me, and I'm pretty sure it has to do with the pocket watch,” Freed continued undaunted.

“You want to know how it opens, right?” Laxus asked, glaring at his cellmate. That thief was smart.

“But only I know how to do it, because it was my grandfather's,” Freed continued. Laxus was surprised to hear him say so. Did Freed know what that pocket watch was? And how had he managed to find out? Maybe he was just bluffing. Probably he was just bluffing.

“Don't you dare dirty his name,” Laxus growled.

“You're the fake one here,” Freed objected.

“Damn you” growled the obviously furious man. He looked from one to the other, and then pointed the gun at Laxus, who widened his eyes. That was completely stupid. The man glanced at Freed. “Tell me how to open the pocket watch or I'll kill him” he ordered. Freed arched an eyebrow indifferent to the threat. Of course, it wasn't him that the gun was pointing!

“Go ahead, one less hassle in the world,” he said quietly. “Although, I don't know if it's convenient for you, he might be the real one,” he added with a shrug and a sneaky smile. The man growled between his teeth and then lowered the gun and put it back on his belt.

“Very well. You can't run away from here anyway” he clarified “And I'll find out who you are” he said confidently, and then walked away with the two men on his heels.

A guard instead stood there staring at them. It was starting to be creepy. He didn't move at all and almost didn't seem to blink.

“What does he have to look at?” Freed asked.

“What the fuck do I know,” Laxus snapped irritably. He stood up and walked over to the bars, and immediately the guard set off an alarm and more men came. “That's what it's for. How the fuck do you think we can get out of here? You're a bit paranoid,” he said irritably. Freed gave an amused smile.

“Well, they're good. Besides, am I or am I not the most wanted thief in the country?” he asked arrogantly. Laxus gave him a dirty look.

“Iam the most wanted thief,” he retorted immediately.

He sat down again, as those guards otherwise stood there ready for their every little move. They were really paranoid. Well, with good reason actually. Laxus leaned his back against the wall and snorted, not knowing how to get rid of that situation. If more guards came at their slightest movement, it was really hard. He remained silent for not knowing how long, saw the guard take turns with another and glanced at Freed. He too was silent and he too was looking around, probably looking for a way to escape. Laxus hoped he would find it, because he really had no idea how to do it.

More hours passed and Freed suddenly asked if they could feed them, but the guard simply remained silent ignoring him. Freed stretched his legs out in front of him and snorted. Then he turned to him with a strange smile on his face. Laxus arched an eyebrow not understanding what he had in mind. If he had found a way to escape, he had to tell clearly, not make those expressions hoping that he would understand for himself. But then, Freed approached him and took his face in his hands kissing him. Laxus was stunned.

What the fuck?

“Hey, everyone in their place,” growled the guard outside. Freed broke away and smiled at the man.

“Sorry, but I'm bored and since I'm lucky enough to be locked in a cell with Freed Justine, I just can't miss his much vaunted qualities,” he said. Laxus found himself blushing slightly. What did that idiot have in mind?

“Stay in your place,” he growled and he began to fidget. Freed in response sat astride him and took off his shirt. Okay, Freed was completely crazy. Laxus knew that the thief wasn't normal and that he was having too much fun with other men, but he didn't think he would ever get to something like this. They were rivals, for heaven's sake! Laxus started to push him away, but Freed ran his hands around his neck and brought his lips to Laxus’ ear.

“Hold the game,” he whispered. His warm breath sent a shiver down Laxus's body, who didn't know what to do. It's not that Laxus had never been with a man, but that taking initiative in that situation stunned him a little. And he had to admit, even though Justine was a pain in the ass, he was definitely attractive. And if the rumors about him were true… better not think about it.

Freed ran his hands under his shirt, lifting it up and pulling it off immediately afterwards. Then he kissed him again and this time Laxus reciprocated, running a hand along Freed's back. While he was there, he might as well have fun, right?

“I said no filth,” the guard growled. Freed broke away from Laxus and turned back to the guard, sliding his hand dangerously down his abs. Now he was definitely exaggerating, but Laxus didn't want to stop him anyway.

“What are you complaining about? You can enjoy the show,” Freed told. He was crazy, there was no doubt. Laxus knew Freed wasn't serious and he had to have a plan, but honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they really ended up doing certain things in there just to distract the guard. Freed put his lips on his neck starting to kiss and bite him and Laxus felt another shiver run through him. Okay, he had to stop it before it got too much.

“Make noise,” Freed whispered.

“You're out of your mind,” Laxus muttered careful not to be heard.

“Maybe, but in the meantime, I’ve a plan. Either make a noise or pretend to be attracted by me,” the thief told him. Laxus at that point preferred to do the action and ran his hands directly on his body, placing his lips on him. Freed moaned loudly, certainly louder than he would normally use. The situation was absurd, but Laxus didn't mind at all. He was really starting to enjoy it. He felt the boy's ass, who glanced at him, and the blond grinned.

“You asked me to do it,” he pointed out. Freed didn’t reply and continued to pretend as he began to undo his pants. Laxus stared at his fingers with dilated pupils, but Freed stopped and sat him up, continuing to make loud noises. At that point Laxus roused himself and turned to the guard, who had turned in disgust. Laxus saw Freed take a bobby pin from his hair and approach the bars, while he continued to moan as if he were fucking. In the meantime, Laxus decided to put his shirt back on and got ready to go out. But Freed was taking longer than expected.

“Get moving,” Laxus growled softly in his ear. He got a dirty look and then Freed went back to work. When the lock finally clicked, the two thieves rushed out at the guard. A blow to the head to knock him unconscious and it was done. Together they dragged him to the cell and locked him inside, separating him from the transmitter.

“Well. Finally, out of that cell. Now we just have to get out of here,” Freed said, looking around.

“You go away. I’ve to get the watch,” Laxus growled. He wouldn't leave it there, that was rightfully his. Freed nodded.

“Right, important things first,” he agreed.

“The pocket watch is mine” Laxus snapped immediately.

“Yeah well, we're here together now. I think the best thing is to join forces, rather than walking around alone, this place is… oh shit” Freed said as he started down the hall. Laxus frowned and followed him, but when he caught up with him, he knew what he meant.

“Are we on a ship?” he blurted out in disbelief. How the fuck did they get away from there?

“Apparently. Well, there will be a lifeboat. Come on, the important thing is to be fast and not be discovered, so they’ll notice too late” he said, starting off.

“I know how to be a thief,” Laxus grunted.

“I wouldn't say so since you got your pocket watch blown out from under your nose. And since you didn't contribute much to get us out of the cell,” Freed objected.

“If we're here it's only your fault,” Laxus retorted.

“My fault?” Freed snapped right away.

“Shut up,” Laxus said, hearing voices. He grabbed the thief by the arm and walked into a room locking himself in, closing Freed's mouth. If that guy kept talking, they'd get caught right away. Fortunately, people passed by and Laxus looked around. Fortunately, there was no one in that room. When the footsteps were away Freed wriggled out of the grip.

“You don't need to take me like this, I know when to shut up.”

“You always talk,” Laxus objected.

“I don't always talk, and returning to the topic above, we're here because of you. If you had left me my watch, no one would have caught us and...”

“Shut that fucking mouth,” Laxus interrupted, not taking it anymore and went out into the corridor. Freed snorted but didn’t object realizing that it was better not to be discovered. They walked all the way down the hall until they reached the kitchens. Freed immediately entered hiding behind a trolley and positioning himself under a table. He stole food without being seen by anyone and began to eat quietly, without passing even a piece to him. What an asshole, Laxus thought. Not that he needed his help. Besides, it wasn't exactly the time to have a snack.

The two remained hidden to listen to what those women were talking about. They knew from experience that those gossipers would talk about anything and that was the easiest way to quickly find out what they needed. And indeed, it was so. A waitress was in charge of bringing the food to her boss, so the two didn't even have to talk to each other to decide to follow her and reach the room, where they were sure they would find the watch.

-3-

Freed and Laxus had found a perfect hiding place. Sure, it was a bit tight and they had to be practically stuck together, but at least they were safe enough, no one would see them. They were in a closet in the aisle of the ship, and were forced to sit down due to how low it was.

The two had managed to find the room where the pocket watch was, but it was full of guards and they were thinking about how to enter. It was difficult to avoid them all and they had nothing with them. No weapons, no tricks to use, no disguises.

Laxus tried to move but in doing so, he accidentally nudged Freed, who out of spite repaid him with a knee beside him.

“Do you want to stay still? We're allies for now,” Laxus reminded him.

“You’re the one who started”.

“I did it by mistake,” he replied.

“You're already taking up most of the space, at least stay still,” Freed snarled.

“It's not my fault you're small,” Laxus grunted.

“Small?” Freed asked puzzled and narrowed his eyes “I'm perfectly normal, it's you who are a giant” he pointed out. Laxus put a hand to his forehead in exasperation.

“I can't wait to get out of here” he moaned.

“Me too,” Freed said quickly. “So, did you think of something or do I always have to think?” he asked at that point. The blond gave him a dirty look but nodded.

“Yeah, and my idea is definitely better than yours,” he said, remembering how Freed smeared himself on him. He quickly dismissed the thought before blushing. “There should be sleeping pills in the room next door. Let's take one and use it on the others. They’ll all collapse,” he said.

“How do you know there are sleeping pills?” Freed immediately asked, somewhat skeptical about the plan.

“Because I listen to people when they pass by” was the short and curt reply. At that point they decided to implement the plan, also because they didn’t have many alternatives and definitely time was short. They had to get out of there as soon as possible.

So, the two boys went out and entered the next room, actually, as Laxus said there were some sleeping pills and the blond grinned noticing Freed's irritated expression. They took a couple, along with other items that seemed useful, such as bulletproof jackets, lockpicks, Bulgarian keys, and ropes. Unfortunately, there were no weapons, but since neither of them intended to harm anyone, it wasn’t a big problem.

After that, they walked silently to the room where they knew the pocket watch was. Before getting there, they started the tank so that all the guards were knocked unconscious. That way it was easy enough to get in. Laxus punched a guard inside the room, while Freed immediately jumped on the boss, covering his mouth and pulling the gun out of his hand, throwing it away.

“Give me a rope, I'll tie it up,” Freed said. Laxus stared at him irritably.

“Just hit him on the head” he retorted in a growl as he took the watch and put it in his pocket. Well, he finally had that object in his hands again. Fortunately, Freed followed his advice, knocking out the man. He decided to tie him up anyway and after that the two boys ran out. He didn't know when the guards would wake up, but now surely someone had found out they had escaped.

“This way,” Freed led as he ran towards a corridor. Laxus followed him, the two passed some guards and beat them, a few waitresses who just pushed in part and a few other inhabitants of the ship who looked at them in shock. Finally, they got where they wanted, to take a boat to escape from there. Freed was already boarding a lifeboat when Laxus saw something more interesting.

“What are you doing? Get in quick,” Freed told irritably as he was doing all the work. Laxus, however, smiled amused.

“If you want to get on some shit like that, go ahead, I'll take the yacht,” he told. Freed looked at him for a moment astonished and then followed his gaze and saw the much more beautiful boat. It wasn't big, but still better than any other lifeboat. Freed then followed him.

“I have to admit, for once you had a good idea,” he told.

“I remind you that I was the one who told you how to get the watch”.

“Yeah well, now move on,” Freed said shortly. The two boys thus set to work. They got on the yacht and then dropped down until they reached the sea. At that point Laxus started to drive but Freed preceded him positioning himself in his place.

“I'm driving,” said the blond.

“Why? Can you drive a yacht?” Freed asked skeptically.

“Sure,” Laxus immediately replied irritated by his mocking tone.

“Well, in any case it's better if I drive. You're too slow,” Freed declared. Laxus then grabbed him by weight and shifted him badly, and then he got behind the wheel and set off. A smile spread across his face as the boat sped over the sea, while Freed got up irritated.

“You're really annoying,” he told annoyed.

“As you please. Stop annoying me,” Laxus told in a decidedly good mood. He had the pocket watch, now he also had a yacht, and although he would have preferred that thief Justine not to be there with him, it was not bad to escape like that. Fuck those thieves, whoever they were and whatever they wanted from that watch. Laxus took it from his pocket and looked at it again, smiling slightly. As soon as he opened it, he would find out how to reach his grandfather.

-4-

Since Laxus had started driving, Freed decided to go around the yacht. He discovered that there was food, wine and even deckchairs. “This was really a brilliant idea” he thought pleased as he rummaged through the shelves. At least Dreyar was good at something. He opened a bottle and tasted. While he was there, he might as well have fun, and if that blond preferred to drive, he might as well. Freed would enjoy his vacation.

So, he got food, booze and deck chairs and went outside. He undressed staying in his boxer shorts and lay down comfortably on the deckchair. He began to apply sunscreen, but the yacht stopped. Freed looked up at Laxus and joined him.

“Don't tell me there's no fuel,” he told. Laxus grunted and muttered something incomprehensible. “What?” Freed asked. Laxus continued to mutter and Freed began to get irritated. “Do you want to tell me clearly what’s happening instead of murmuring?” he said irritably.

“I don't know where to go,” Laxus snapped at that point. Freed looked at him for long seconds in silence.

“You got lost?” he asked stunned.

“We’re in the middle of the sea, how the fuck can one orientate himself?” snapped the blond. Freed continued to look at him more and more incredulous.

“So why did you want to drive? You did leave it to me first,” he said irritably taking Laxus's place. “And you’d be the most famous thief in the world? Please,” he hissed more and more nervous.

“You don't even know where we are,” Laxus objected.

“We’re in the Guiltina ocean, just go east and sooner or later we’ll arrive at a coast. It's not very difficult, you know?” Freed retorted irritably as he turned the boat. That idiot had made a mistake at the start. Laxus grunted something incomprehensible and then walked out, sitting on the deckchair grabbing the bottle of wine. “I didn't take it for you,” Freed told badly out loud to be heard. Laxus smiled in amusement as he took a sip, ignoring his words.

“You know what, this yacht was a fantastic idea” said the smug blond, and then undressed himself, spreading sunscreen on his body. Freed turned so as not to look at the bastard having fun instead of him. He was just a profiteer. That deckchair would belong to him, not Laxus. Freed gritted his teeth and muttered something about the worst thief in history.

-5-

It was evening so Freed and Laxus had settled outside to eat. They had found a table, ready-made food and comfortable armchairs. They had turned on the evening lights, so now their table was illuminated by a blue light. Freed thought that the atmosphere would be perfect if there were some nice guys with him. He could have fun in the middle of the sea with food and alcohol at will. For him it was unfortunate that he was there with that thief with no sense of direction. Sure, Laxus was beautiful, and kissing him in the cell was exciting too, but he remained a rival. As soon as they got out of there, Freed would take back his watch and leave, reselling it to that collector who had promised him a nice reward.

Speaking of the pocket watch, he glanced at Laxus. He remembered the conversation they had made with the man who had captured them.

“Why did that man want the watch?” he asked. Laxus shrugged.

“Honestly, I’ve no idea,” he said. “Why do you want it?” he asked him back.

“To resell it” was the immediate reply. It also seemed obvious to Freed to tell the truth. That object was just a watch and he wouldn't have done anything with it. He narrowed his inquiring gaze, because he had the impression that Laxus wanted him for another reason. He doubted it belonged to his grandfather, but surely Makarov Dreyar had something to do with it. “You instead?” he then asked.

“Because it's mine by right” was the simple answer.

“Nothing is rightfully yours,” Freed immediately objected.

“Well, yes. It's been in the Dreyar family for generations, so it’s mine,” he clarified annoyed.

“That won't stop me from taking it,” Freed warned. He had no reason to hide it, Laxus probably already expected it. In fact, the blond rolled his eyes.

“As if I didn't know,” he retorted.

“In any case, I'm sure there’s more. Earlier in the cell you said it can be opened,” Freed recalled.

“It was just to make it clear to the guy that I was the real Laxus Dreyar,” was the arrogant reply. Freed stared at him inquiringly, and Laxus kept his gaze. In any case, there was still something missing. He doubted that the boy wanted an object only because it belonged to the family.

“What's inside?” he asked.

“I said I was lying before,” Laxus grunted.

“Yes sure. Deceive someone else. Come on, I told you what I want to do with it,” Freed said impatiently. Laxus snorted slightly, but then gave up.

“If you want to know so much, in here it says how to reach my grandfather,” he said at that point. Freed frowned slightly. He thought Makarov Dreyar was dead. Laxus must have guessed what he was thinking, because he leaned back and started talking again. “He’s not dead, he just pretended not to have any more trouble with the police. He's old now to be a thief, although I'm pretty sure he still steals wine around,” he muttered. The slight smile that the blond had made at the last comment on his grandfather had not escaped Freed, who looked at him for a moment without words. He hadn't expected something like this. Laxus, however, immediately became serious.

“So, forget I'll let you take it,” he concluded gruffly. Freed resumed his usual grin.

“We'll see this,” he retorted. As much as he didn't want to separate Laxus from his grandfather, he still wasn't about to give up on his money.

-6-

“Aren't you driving?” Laxus asked as he came out of the cabin. Freed didn't look up at him, didn't even open his eyes. It was morning and he wanted to enjoy the first rays of the sun and be quiet on the deckchair at all. They were on a yacht, Laxus wasn’t the only one on vacation.

“Do you. Just go east, if you don't know where it is, follow the sun” he said in response.

“I know where east is,” Laxus growled and Freed found himself smiling amused.

“I doubt it, since you got lost yesterday,” he retorted. Laxus growled and Freed grinned. He enjoyed teasing him, especially after such a gaffe. If Laxus thought Freed would stop reminding him, he was very wrong. He was already thinking about how to enjoy himself at his expense, when he felt himself lifted from the deckchair. Freed opened his eyes in disbelief.

“What are you doing?” he blurted out finding himself in the arms of the blond, who had an evil grin on his face. A moment later Freed found himself submerged in the sea. He emerged spitting water and cursing. For a moment panic enveloped him thinking that Laxus wanted to leave him there, but the blonde just laughed as he looked at him. And while Laxus Dreyar had many flaws, being a sadist and a murderer was not among them.

“You're dead,” Freed hissed in irritation as he reached the ladder to climb up. “Out of your mind, completely out of your mind,” he growled again as he climbed back onto the yacht. Laxus stared at him more and more pleased.

“You woke up now, huh?” he teased him.

“Fuck you,” Freed snapped and Laxus laughed, then set off to drive. Freed gave him a dirty look, while he thought about his revenge. If Laxus thought he would forget about that incident, he was very wrong.

-7-

The next day so Freed had already organized. Since he couldn’t hope to throw Laxus into the water -as much as it cost him to admit it was really difficult to lift that muscular body by surprise- he would have thrown the water on Laxus. If only he had been somewhere else, he would have thought of a better revenge, but they were on a yacht and there wasn't actually much to use. He could have used the food, but he didn't really want to waste it.

So that morning he positioned himself on the roof of the yacht with a bucket of water in part, while he waited for Laxus to come out and position himself on the deckchair. Indeed, when the blond came out, he was ready to relax. He went to the deckchair but then stopped a little confused looking around, probably looking for him. At that point Freed overturned the bucket with the water on him with a pleased smile.

“You woke up now, huh?” Freed teased him. Laxus looked up at him, still shocked and cold. Freed chuckled and rested his chin on his hand looking at him from top to bottom. “I remind you, Dreyar, that no one makes fun of me without getting revenge,” he declared.

“You're an asshole,” Laxus growled.

“You started it,” Freed retorted. The blonde turned to him and then reached out and grabbed his ankle and pulled him down hard. Freed surprised couldn’t react in time that he found himself falling on the hard floor of the boat. He started to get up but Laxus was faster. He grabbed it and walked along the yacht to the edge.

“You won't throw me overboard,” Freed snarled, punching him in the chest. Laxus cursed but didn't let go.

“I'll throw you and let you drown” he retorted irritated, tightening his grip and lifting it ready to make him take a dip. At that point Freed hooked his arms around the blond's neck. He wouldn't let him win, what the fuck.

“If you throw me, you come down with me,” he retorted. He noticed Laxus's face blush slightly at that proximity and at that point Freed also hooked his legs around his hips smiling smugly. The blond was really getting upset. “Although I don't think you'd mind,” he noted in a mischievous tone.

“I don't…” he began but broke off as Freed came even closer. Now they were practically a breath away from each other. Freed looked amused at Laxus' embarrassed expression. He honestly didn't understand how a handsome man like Laxus was so socially incapable, but to be honest that made him even prettier in his eyes. He was surprised at his own thoughts of him, in what light was he seeing Laxus? Of course, Freed had noticed from the first time he had met him how handsome he was, he also knew that Laxus was very cunning and respected him as a thief, even if he enjoyed making fun of him. They had similar morals and when Laxus had told him about his grandfather the night before Freed had felt a certain empathy but… he remained a rival. Right?

“You can break away, I'm not throwing you overboard,” Laxus growled interrupting his thoughts. Freed raised an eyebrow and noticed that he was no longer at risk of diving. The blond had moved and now they were inside the yacht. At that point Freed got out and put his feet back on the ground.

“You know Dreyar, if you wanted to have sex with me, I wouldn't mind at all” he told him plainly, knowing full well that he would embarrass him even more. To tell the truth though, Freed was honest.

“Go woo someone else,” the red-faced blond growled and irritated. Freed chuckled.

“It's a bit difficult on this yacht in the middle of the sea,” he pointed out.

“Stop pissing me off” growled the increasingly nervous blond.

“You’re too agitated. You can admit that you find me attractive, you wouldn't be the first and I wouldn't be offended”. Laxus gave him a dirty look, then turned and went into the cabin to drive. Freed considered whether to follow him and tease him a little longer, but then decided that relaxing on the deckchair was much better. When he lay down and closed his eyes, a sincere smile appeared on his face. Laxus was not bad as an adventure companion.

-8-

Laxus finally saw the coast. Oh well, finally. After those two days he had spent with Freed he was starting to feel too agitated being in such a tight space with his rival. Rival, yes, better to think of Freed like this, because if he thought of him as a companion in adventures, his thoughts began to take a bad turn. All the fault of the oddities of that green-haired thief. That guy wasn't normal, not that Laxus didn't already know, but after those days with him, he was sure. He glanced at the boy who was lying in his boxers on the deck chair and tried not to dwell too much on his sculpted torso. In any case Laxus needed his help, because he didn't know where to stop the yacht. He had to get to a port or something.

“Justine, come here,” he ordered. Fortunately, Freed didn’t reply and joined him.

“We're almost there,” he noted.

“Yes, we have to dock,” Laxus said.

“And you don't know where the port is,” Freed imagined and Laxus snorted.

“I'm just tired of driving,” he retorted, not wanting to admit it. Freed rolled his eyes, probably didn't believe him but said nothing. So, the blonde let him drive.

Shortly thereafter the yacht approached a small bridge over the sea. It wasn't quite a port, but it was better that way. At least no one would ask questions. Laxus checked that he had the watch in his pocket, and looked at it to make sure it was the real one and that Freed hadn't mistaken it for a fake one. It was the real one though. He put it back in his pocket and decided to be careful not to let it be stolen.

“Finally,” he said as he got off the yacht and set foot on land. Freed followed him as he tied the boat to the dock.

“Yeah, although this holiday wasn’t bad,” said the green-haired thief, stretching his arms. Laxus gave him an inquiring look, wondering what his intentions were. He knew from experience that Freed had no qualms, he could fuck his watch and somehow escape. That's why he didn't let his guard down, their time as allies was now over. They were again free to go wherever they wanted.

“Well, bye,” Laxus commented harshly as he turned around.

“Bye bye,” Freed said friendlier. Laxus frowned and slipped his hand back into his pocket, surprised to hear the thief greet him so quietly. But the pocket watch was still there. Laxus turned to Freed, staring at him inquiringly. There was something strange, or he had deceived him and didn't notice, or that guy had crazy ideas in his head. The thief had an amused smirk on his face.

“If you’re afraid that your watch will be stolen, you can rest assured,” Freed said. Laxus stared at him somewhat skeptically. Since when did he let him win so easily? “After all, I found a yacht, there’s still enough food to have a nice vacation” he commented.

“Why should you leave me the watch?” Laxus asked inquiringly. Sure, the yacht remained a good booty, but it was nothing compared to the money he could have earned by reselling the watch.

“Because I'm a gentleman” was the immediate reply. Laxus raised an eyebrow ready to retort, but Freed walked over to him and took his hand leaving a kiss on it and throwing him an inviting smile. Laxus froze suddenly feeling a chill rise from where Freed's lips had rested for the rest of his arm. “As you can see, I know how to make a man fall at my feet,” Freed declared, letting go of his hand. Laxus blinked in confusion and felt his face warm up.

“You’re a thief and an arrogant” he retorted although not fully convinced. And he still didn’t understand why he left the watch to him. It all became clearer when Freed replaced the conceited smirk with a sincere smile. He reached out and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips, causing his stomach to flutter. He pulled away soon after and Laxus was stiff and stunned, even though it had only been a few seconds. He was surprised to see a slight blush on Freed's face. He hardly believed it possible that thief could get embarrassed.

“And you deserve to see your grandfather,” the boy said softly. Laxus swallowed hard, unable to take his eyes off Freed's.

“Thank you,” he murmured not believing his own words. Freed just smiled sweetly at him, then took a step back and resumed his usual arrogant expression as he climbed back onto the yacht.

“Let me be clear, this is the only time. At the next robbery, I won't leave you a penny,” he clarified as he untied the rope. Laxus smiled slightly.

“At the next robbery I'll kick your ass,” he retorted.

“I doubt it. In any case, I can't wait to fuck your next booty from under your nose, Laxus” Freed greeted him. Laxus didn’t miss the fact that he had called him by name and smiled as he watched the boy get behind the wheel and drive away.

“I can't wait too,” he murmured to himself, watching the yacht go away.

This is my latest Fraxus Week submission, thank you for reading, and for any comments and kudos you leave.

[robbyrobinson]

OWL HOUSE x CTHULHU MYTHOS CROSSOVER: GODS AWAKEN 

(Pt. I)

“Come on, class,” the teacher announced in a stern voice.  

On that day, a class from Hexside School of Magic and Demonics was on a field trip sponsored by the potion's coven. It was to a museum that purported to be a documentation of the history of the Boiling Isles. The students walked in an orderly line behind their teacher who himself followed the tour guide, a small rabbit like creature with a bow tie.  

“If you look all around you, you can see that several of these creatures had managed to bleed out of our world and into others.”  

The tour guide pointed to different anomalies some stuffed, others mounted on the walls. Griffins were suspended from the ceiling mimicking their movements in life; vampires were placed in tanks fashioned as coffins. Within those tanks were a green-yellow liquid supposedly to preserve their corpses and to keep them from getting exposed to light.  Large tarantulas were placed in an array aligning the floors which led to artificial plants and trees.  

The tour guide turned his attention to the class. “Are there any questions on your mind?”  

One student raised their hand.  

“Yes?” the tour guide asked.

The student was a cyclops whose eye nearly engulfed his face. “What is that one over there?”  

“Where are you looking at, kid?” the tour guide inquired.

The student pointed his finger towards the far end of the room. The tour guide squinted his eyes to process what he was being directed to and slowly recognized the sight before him.  

“Oh, that,” he said, “it was initially meant to have been relocated because of some being fearful that it would be too...troublesome.”  

“Well, is it possible that we at least catch a small glimpse of what it is?” the teacher asked, “now that he had raised awareness of it, we cannot simply ignore it.”  

The tour guide scratched his chin deep in thought. After pondering it for a few seconds, he sighed. “You have really twisted my arm, but I suppose I can at least tell you the history of it.”  

They followed the tour guide towards the site of inquiry. Their eyes widened in amazement: before them towered, a colossal figure wearing attire alien to the witches of the Boiling Isles. It had a massive kilt splayed across its pelvis and reached down to its feet. Upon further inspection, the figure’s eyes were obscured with only its wide maw being visible. Rows of pointed, jagged teeth were littered in its mouth. One could even say that there were actually two rows of teeth, some teeth being so wide and mammoth, the figure’s mouth could not fully close. On the head of the creature, it wore pieces of cloth that came together to form a headpiece. The strands of fabric also rolled down its back.  

Another student stepped closer to the figure now realizing that it was a statue. “Who is this?”  

The tour guide hopped over. Before he said anything else, he took his finger and drew a circle in the air. A small ball of light formed in his hand. “This being,” he started, “preexisted the Boiling Isles.”

He walked towards the student and illuminated the area with his ball of light. “Thousands of years ago before the Boiling Isles’ recorded history, this being appeared one day seemingly with little rhyme nor reason. He went by many names, but the one he preferred the most was Nyarlathotep.”  

Around the statue of Nyarlathotep were murals depicting the Boiling Isles at different points in its development. He was prominently on display one mural in particular being the most disconcerting. A red ball of fire appeared before a small group of witches. Behind the ball was a long, spindling tail. From the look of horror on the witches’ faces, the event was not met with warm reception.  

“Where he came from no one knows,” the tour guide emphasized, “but what he did do next proved to be for our good.”  

He flashed the light ball in another mural illustrating Nyarlathotep forming a circle and rays of that shape went to the witches. “Long before Emperor Belos and the coven system, Nyarlathotep bestowed the early inhabitants magic.”  

The students looked at themselves. They were never once told by their parents or their teachers that a being likely from another dimension granted them magic. And certainly not the notion that it preexisted the Isles itself.  

The guide seemed to know what they were thinking. “This information was initially removed from the historical records and was only accessible to the most secretive of archives.”  

“What is happening there?” the teacher asked.  

They saw murals depicting the children of the early natives being tied to stakes and set ablaze before Nyarlathotep. The smoke of the mass fires danced around him. Inscriptions of ancient rituals detailing the sacrifices accompanied the grizzly imagery.  But in return for the sacrifices, Nyarlathotep conjured rainclouds that poured down on the witches.  

“It was best understood that the people of the Isles were indebted to their god,” the tour guide clarified, “so they offered him their own flesh and blood in order for Nyarlathotep to continue providing them with blessings.”  

The teacher scanned the inscriptions but could not process what they were alluding to. “What happened to those that refused?” He shrugged. “I mean, surely some would be opposed to that.”  

The tour guide frowned. “Oh, yes; there were some who obviously had misgivings with his demands. But that is what happened to them.”  

He lifted the light ball higher revealing the bigger picture. Villages that Nyarlathotep visited were razed to the ground with their dark god being the perpetrator behind the senseless assaults. Each mural depicted the same thing: witches standing up to oppose him only to be immediately quashed. In each mural, Nyarlathotep was in a different form some resembling winged beasts and satyrs.  Sometimes Nyarlathotep would merely send gusts of wind to topple houses and buildings.  

“Everywhere Nyarlathotep went, death was almost always a guarantee,” the tour guide said, “people were not even safe in their dreams for he would send madness-inducing nightmares into their subconscious safe haven. It would remain that way until one day, someone stood up for the children of the Isles.”  

A hooded figure stood before the dark figure without any weapon or army to assist them. Nyarlathotep shot his dark power towards the figure only for it to be reflected onto him. After a lengthy battle, Nyarlathotep’s imboding figure was licked away until he was cornered by the hooded figure and a few of the witches. With his power stripped away, Nyarlathotep was fired on with his own magic and was encased in a glass prison.  

“And so, thanks to this mysterious stranger, the Boiling Isles was freed from Nyaralthotep’s tyranny and he was encased in this glass prison that you see here.”  

The light danced on Nyaralathep’s glass case. “But before he was made to slumber, Nyarlathotep threatened that he would return once the thousand-year imprisonment reached its end and that he would send someone to act as his representative until he returned to full power.”  

The cyclops noticed a book.  

“Oh, that book?” the tour guide observed, “the hooded figure wrote the book and told for one of his countrymen to hide it far out of the reach of any of Nyarlathotep’s followers; inside that book, he had the magical incantation that could return Nyarlathotep to his full power.” The tour guide closed his hands over the light ball. “It was said that more copies of this book exist, but I suppose one should take the entire story with a grain of salt.”  

He clapped his hands together to get the class’s attention. “Now, who wants to learn about different types of poison?”  

They cheerfully applauded and followed after the tour guide. The teacher dragged his feet trying to follow suit. “Wait, guys, what did I say about an orderly line?”  

The history exhibit became deathly silent not too long after they left. But in their excitement, no one noticed that a crack on the statue’s torso was forming.

(More to come)

[bluefirewrites]

Sky High Mall!AU Part 2

Hey this is another excerpt from the Sky High Zach x Magenta WIP that I never finished (hence WIP). 

It’s a Mall!AU where the characters are kids with summer jobs at the mall. No powers and it’s set around the time the movie came out- 2005. 

Part 1: https://bluefirewrites.tumblr.com/post/636284063233327104/sky-high-mallau

Would be Rated T and there’s excessive use of language throughout. 

This excerpt would be Zach’s perspective working at the music store at the mall. Enjoy!

_____________

Zach booked it down the mall, zooming past the crowd gathered at Sonic Boom, the music store

The music store he worked at.

The one he was supposed to be at right about now.

He pushed through the crowd, getting to the front where his coworker was working the register, seeming to throw the albums at the customers because it was that busy.

Zach loved his job... on any other day. He was a total musichead and he thought it was a long shot to even snag the job, considering it was common knowledge that it was run by Boomer who was a total hardass and pretty unforgiving to those who he deemed had shitty music taste.

He had seemed to wow him enough during the interview, which had been merely them talking about the music he listened to. Thank god, he had just enough of an eclectic music taste that he was able to keep up with whatever soft rock ‘80s classic question that Boomer threw his way.

The Black Eyed Peas album just dropped today and everyone had been clamoring to get in to grab it, so it meant all hands on deck. But only the hands that Boomer could afford to pay right now, so it was only Speed there at the moment.

Zach leapt over the counter, shedding his jacket to reveal his shirt already sporting his name tag, “Yo, is Boom here yet?”

“Cutting it close, freshie,” The senior looked like he wanted to throttle him for leaving him hanging longer than he should have. But it was only like 5 minutes, and Zach had been rushing from summer school to make it home, get ready, then come straight to the mall. He did the best he could.

“You know you can stick a hat on it right?” Speed ruffled his hair while tapping his own cap, messing up the gel that he had put in there before he came to the store and greasing up his hands in the process.

“Hey!” Zach cursed him out for deflating his hair as well as making him pick up the slack while Speed wipes off the hair gel.

Speed always pulled shit like this on him. He hated having shifts with a guy who loved to pick on him, and not in the friendly-joking way that he was used to.

For the next couple of minutes, the two of them were able to go ring up the crowd quickly, even shrunk down the amount of people in the store to half of its capacity. It was still busy, but it was more manageable than before that it actually freed up Speed to do his laps around the store, trying to quell the crowd and mitigate whatever problem came up that would have resulted in calling in the manager.

20 minutes later, they both had a lid on the situation. Only because they were pretty much no more copies of Monkey Business. Zach was about to check if they had more when he realized that the store was eerily quiet. He had just noticed that the TVs around the place were turned off and no music was playing in the store.

Zach went for the sound system dial towards the back of the store but Speed came from behind and beat him to it, “You snooze, you lose, freshie.” His coworker sliding in a Snoop Dogg CD he had snagged from earlier.

He groaned. Zach didn’t mind Snoop, but Speed would play it almost nonstop every time Zach can’t reach the dial fast enough. Speed had almost no taste, always playing chart toppers and whatever cute girls would request (which usually would be chart toppers).

Speed waltzed over to the records, getting high-fives from a couple of customers on the way over, “It’s what the people love!”

“Not Boomer,” Zach pointed out, whilst walking over to the main displays up front. The crowd had kept bumping to the table so he had to make it look tidy.

“But Boomer ain’t here. He’s never here,”

Zach looked up and caught a glimpse of his hair on the main monitor that was supposed to feature the Black Eyed Peas music videos. Shit.  It was sticking out in weird places and looked deflated in others. He ran his hair through it and tried to zhuzh it up with his fingers but nothing seemed to be staying.

“Aww.You’re still pissy about your hair? Did you a favor, dorkwad,”

Zach rolled his eyes. Normally, he would try to steer clear of Speed and try not to notice him. But his co-worker seemed to be in such a talkative mood today, “It was fine the way it was, Speed.” He finished resetting the table cloth and arranging the display how it was supposed to look before turning around to help a customer find a Celine Dion CD.

“Stop being such a tryhard,” Speed said to him as he passed with the customer, “The ladies like it when you’re chill.”

“How would you know that?” A new voice added. Once Zach successfully helped the customer, he whirled around to find his buddy, Will. He took notice of the blue shirt and gray khakis and figured he had work today at Champs. He barely saw Will anymore due to Zach having summer school and their schedules never seemed to match up.

“Shut the fuck up, Stronghold,” Speed sneered at the newcomer.

Will paid him no mind while he shook Zach’s hand before bringing him in for a quick hug, “Zach-Attack!”

“Will, like it’s not great to see you, cuz it is. Great. To see you, that is,” Zach kept on the lookout for Boomer while walking towards the register because Speed had left it unattended, “Kinda not a good time right now, man.”

Will greet a few other people he knew around the store. He scanned the big displays and the cardboard cutouts on the front, “BEP?”

“BEP,” The blonde confirmed, “And I’m already on Boomer’s bad side for fucking up with the Mariah Carey launch.”

His friend clicked his tongue, recalling that certain incident. Zach remembered that Will had been working his shift downstairs when he heard Boomer let him have it. He had heard Boomer all the way from down there- that was how bad it was.

“How were you supposed to stop a bunch of nimrods from defacing her cut out?”

Zach shuddered at the thought of all the obscene Sharpie marks all over Mariah Carey’s cardboard figure, “I swear, Speed had something to do with it. That guy has got it out for me ever since I started working this joint,” he whispered.

“It’s because out of everyone here, you’re the customers’ favorite. You actually know your shit,”

Zach figured that it was somewhat true. They would get regulars pretty often and they always seemed to gravitate towards him. Zach did enjoy making connections with everyone no matter what their music taste was.

One time, this one guy came in, all in orange, who had been tentative in asking where the classical music selection was. Luckily, Zach got to him first before Speed could roast him. And good thing too, because that guy became one of his favorite regulars. He might be working at Radio Shack, the last he heard from him.

“Thanks, man,” Zach really appreciated it. Sometimes he couldn’t help but get all up in his head at his job. He wanted to do really well and hopefully one day he would have worked enough hours to save up for a car. He had been getting real tired of having to rush on his bike everywhere and being constantly late.

“But seriously, scatter. Don’t make me have to kick you out.” he joked to his smaller friend.  

“Yeah, Stronghold. Go back to dealing with smelly feet all day,” Speed yelled from his side of the store.

“You’re just jealous because I got the job and you didn’t,”

Zach had to hold back a laugh seeing Speed getting worked up so quickly. He had heard Speed bitching about being passed over the job at Foot Locker constantly. The guy had been a total sneakerhead so it had been a crushing blow to his ego that a freshman got the position while he was stuck working for cantankerous Boomer.

“Whatever, man. You probably got it because you’re a Stronghold,”

Will shook his head, the jabs of his dad being the Mayor never really fazing him much anymore, “Remind me again, how did you get the name, Speed, again?”

The rotund bully growled. Everyone knew that there were two stories that could have explained how Speed got his infamous moniker. One was because  all the joyrides in his Jeep that resulted in property damage. The other well… had to do with distributing contraband. Bringing up either, was cause for a beatdown.

Speed advanced towards Will, ready to punch him square in the face, no matter how many onlookers in the store gathered around to watch the debacle. Zach had to vault over the counter, to get in between the two when all of the sudden a resounding yell broke through the clatter that made all parties involved wince and cover their ears.

“Ladies, enough!”

Boom strolled in, aviators perched on his crooked nose, commanding the attention of the room- as if his voice didn’t do that already. He came up beside Zach, poking at Will to step backwards until he was out of the store,“Shouldn’t you be downstairs, Stronghold?”

“Yes, Boomer,” He shouldered his bag before throwing a passing glance at Zach. Good luck, he seemed to emote.

Rightfully so because all of the sudden Boomer marched over to him, “Why if it isn’t Superstar, here to grace us with your presence,” His eyes landed on the BEP display and noted the dwindling number of albums, “Restock those will ya? And Speed” he turned to the older boy, “you’re relieved of your post.”

Speed looked up to the heavens, “Thank fuck.”

“Language!”

He straightened up, “Sorry, sir,” Then he ducked for the back, switching off Snoop Dogg as he did so. Zach followed suit to where they did inventory and found another box of the albums and hauled ass back out to replace the albums on the display.

“Now, get to that, will you,” Boomer ordered while counting up the till to see if everything was where it should be, “And if I see a hint of Sharpie on either of those cardboard figures, your ass is mine, kid.”

Zach almost let out a laugh but remembered it was Boomer. He meant everything to be a threat, “O-okay,” he managed to get out without laughing. Then he saw Boomer closing up the register and heading for the door, “Wait? You’re leaving already?”

“Yeah. I’m the owner. I can do what I want,”

“I mean, since I’m like the only guy here and it’s a pretty busy day- I thought-”

“You thought what? That you need help?” he seemed to project the full force of his voice at him that Zach cowered against his better judgement.

“Listen, I started this shop to fill it with music,” His boss went off, “Real music. Not what passes off as music these days. Those hip grinding degenerates are showing up by the boatloads today and I don’t wanna be here when they do.”

A little boy approached the man, tugging against his cargo shorts, “Excuse me, where are the Eminem CDs?”

Boomer looked at the kid with disgust and shimmied him off, “That’s my cue,” He scrounged his pockets for the keys and tossed them Zach’s way, “Here, you’re closing up today.”

“What the-?” Zach nearly fumbled with the keys, “Again?” He had been closing every night this week, despite not actually being allowed to, with him being 15 and all. But Boomer had an arrangement with Ron Wilson, security guard who patrols at night.

“Don’t mess this up for me, Blondie!” His boss yelled just an influx of people arrived at the store, hungrily grabbing the CDs off the display he had just finished restocking.

“I’ll try,” he responded, knowing full well that Boomer could not hear him. Speed sped by, sticking his tongue at him on his way to freedom. The line of people had started forming and Zach cracked his knuckles- no choice but to face them on his own.

[sue-bts]

How to Destory Jeon Jungkook (chp 2)

Chp One / Chapter Two

Pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook

Genre: Eventual Smut/ Slow Burn/ Highschool AU

Words: 5,591

Summary: Taehyung usually isn't up to much, but Senior year brings about serges of boredom. So, Jimin devises a plan to mess with High School's baddest boy Jeon Jungkook. And Taehyung has to go along with it.

But a two day field trip could ruin it all.

/ AO3 LINK /

Taehyung made no progress for the next two days of class, Jungkook remained his stoic self, his lips most often pursed, and if not, his front teeth nibbled at his bottom lip. Taehyung would always try to start up a conversation concerning the stupid amount of homework that was due or maybe the weather (if he was desperate). Jungkook would give him the slightest nod of agreement or maybe, if Taehyung was lucky, Jungkook’s head would lull to the side so his eyes brushed over Taehyung’s form. 

Taehyung hated this bullshit. But sometimes Jimin, who was sequestered away in Mr. Kim’s copy room, would peak his head out and get a kick out of watching Taehyung suffer through Jungkook’s attitude. Jimin, being the teacher aid, loved to find excuses to free himself from his copying or grading duties, chatting away with Mr. Kim while darting his eyes at Taehyung, urging him to make more attempt with Jungkook. Jungkook didn’t notice any of this back and forth, he was too busy hiding under his dark bangs, fiddling with his pencil as the muscles of his arms tensed and then relaxed, over and over. 

Taehyung tried to butt into the other’s train of thought with his usual conversation starter, “I haven’t started on the homework…” (he had).

Jungkook let out a puff of breath, “You probably should, it’s pretty long.” He gave Taehyung a side eye, and then went back to staring down at his fingers as they toyed with bits of eraser. 

Taehyung was ticked off, as usual. “I just don’t get most of it.” He tried to make his voice faint, like there was no impact to what he said, playful and hoping to continue the conversation. 

“Maybe you should get a tutor,” Jungkook retorted. Every time Taehyung was able to coax Jungkook into even having a conversation with him in the first place Jungkook found a way to cut it off and end it so abruptly. Taehyung, every time this would happen (which is often), really wanted to flip Jungkook and Jimin off at the same time, storm out of that damned class room, and change into some clothes that didn’t cut off his leg’s circulation. He was really over all of this Jungkook crap. And he was only the first week in. 

Friday (Day 4 of sitting next to Jungkook) 

Jungkook’s jaw looks so punchable right now, Taehyung’s mind wanders, Of course, punching someone usually doesn’t land you in prime friendship zone with them either, Taehyung. 

This type of wandering thought is unusual for Taehyung during a lecture. He supposes it’s just Jungkook’s presence alone that sets him off into thinking like that. Taehyung quite literally has to hide his clenched fist under his desk to let the urge subside and focus back to whatever Mr. Kim is droning on about. 

Somehow, Jungkook has only muttered maybe two things today and it’s already riled Taehyung to his core. It’s something about Jungkook, in his demeanor, the carelessness to everything he says, there’s no gravity to it or urge to even say it. His friends eat it up though. They love how he doesn’t give anyone the satisfaction that he really cares about what he’s saying to them, everything is brief, no one deserves a second thought from him. 

“Are you gonna catch sunset with us tonight?” Hoseok asks Jungkook. Taehyung presumes Hoseok to be Jungkook’s best friend, probably because of how opposite they are of each other. In every word that is nonchalant from Jungkook, every word out of Hoseok is intense. 

“I think,” Jungkook replies. 

“Ah, might as well Jungkookie!” Hoseok gleams, ruffling Jungkook’s hair, “It’s Friday night! We can all chill and then see if anyones hosting anything.” 

Another of Jungkook’s friends chime in, “Pretty sure Yoongi is doing something tonight at his place.”

Taehyung wants to turn his back to the conversation, but his phone in his pocket buzzes. He slides it out and still hides it under his desk, it’s Jimin texting him from across the classroom, peaking out from his copy room with a grin plastered to his soft face.

We have to go to sunset tonight and bump into them! If Yoongi is actually hosting something this could be your shot to go with Jungkook to it !!!

Taehyung wants to roll his eyes but Jimin is watching him. He knows how Jimin gets all prissy when Taehyung rolls his eyes at him. Thought he doesn’t roll his eyes, a frown slowly forming on his features as he texts his response. 

Me and Jungkook aren’t on very good terms right now… as per usual 

Jimin scrunches his nose at Taehyung, Well start making yourself be on good terms ! It will definitely be better tonight once some weed is in both of your systems

Now Taehyung really wants to roll his eyes. He just scrunches his nose back at Jimin and shoves is phone back into his pocket. Hoseok is still chattering away about possible kickbacks or parties later in the night-if Yoongi’s plan falls through-but Jungkook hardly seems to hear any of it. 

Throughout the lecture, Jungkook leans farther and farther back into his chair, his bangs part against his forehead as he scrunches it often while in thought. Taehyung lets his eyes dart to the boy beside him on occasion, infrequent enough that it seems he’s glancing to check the time or scanning the other heads in the class. But really, he’s always trying to take in Jungkook. The way the other’s ears are littered with piercing, silver and thick, the way his atom’s apple bobs as he inhales. He’s a sulky creature, who’s charm relies on his looks and Jungkook is very aware of his appeal. He plays off of it, not having to do anything and people still swoon.

Maybe a punch is too harsh, Taehyung thinks, now I just want to brutally bitch slap the guy.

Jimin’s car is a beast. It rolls out from the student parking lot at a crisp 3:07 pm, somehow weaving its’ frame between traffic until they speed away at a crisp 40 miles per hour. Despite his confining pair of light wash skinny jeans, Taehyung’s body finally feels at ease for the first time this week. Fridays are a gift from god, Taehyung eats them up, much like any other senior who’s really fucking sick of High School. 

“God Jimin, can’t we just end all of this crap? I want to go back to only being stressed out by school, not by random fuckboys,” Taehyung blurts out, a soft smile creeping along his mouth as he looks to his friend. His words are meant to come off as light and carefree, but he waits for Jimin’s response with some seriousness to his demeanor. 

Jimin smirks but doesn’t take his eyes from the road, “Taehyung-ieeee!” He whines, his face always making Taehyung regret doubting his friend. “Please please please, let’s just see how tonight goes and if it’s completely lame and obviously not going anywhere we’ll stop.”

Taehyung supposes that’s fair but he still wants to give Jimin a hard time, “You just want to get high for free.”

“Absolutely not!” Jimin exclaims but he can’t hide the shy smile that emerges. He turns up their music so Taehyung can’t keep presuming these things of him (despite if they’re true or not). Taehyung reaches for the dial and turns it back down. 

“I think Jungkook is uncrackable. I honestly think so. He’s so tough.” 

Jimin shrugs his shoulders and takes a hand off the wheel to pull off Taehyung’s backwards baseball cap. “But you’re doing so well… I mean look at this!” He showcases the hat, shaking it around before throwing it to the dashboard. 

“Well Jungkook’s not too impressed…” 

“He’s not impressed with anything! He’s Jeon Jungkook, he’s seen just about everything, but there’s still hope for us.”

Taehyung gives him the side eye, but keeps up his nonchalant behavior of tapping his fingers along with the beat, so Jimin can’t notice how fed up Taehyung is with all this Jungkook crap. 

“Do you have a special play prepared? Something hidden up your sleeve, Jimin?”

Jimin smiles, his cheeks turning even pinker than usual, “A magician never reveals his secrets, Tae-Tae…”

Taehyung bursts with a loud laugh he tries to hide by slapping his mouth closed with his palm, “Bullshit Jimin, 7th grade you tried to do a magic show and choked on the scarfs in your throat.” 

“Hey… I’ve got a bad gag reflex ok,” Jimin whines with a breathy laugh. “Just trust me this one time and if it all falls through I majorly owe you.” 

“Yeah you do,” Taehyung retorts, however his tone stays humorous and light hearted.

The conversation lulls but Taehyung appreciates not talking on the Jungkook matter for a little while. He’s able to appreciate how his hair is freed from the restraining hat, the wind ruffles it over his eyes and is cool against his forehead. He lets himself lean back in his seat, eyes closing and Jimin once again turns the music louder. It drowns out the sound of road under tires, and the wind that swirls within the car’s interior. He wishes he could ease his nerves a little with the thoughts of possibly getting high tonight, he’s never gotten high before, let alone with people he despises. Senior year is already getting at Taehyung and he’s only a week in. Well, maybe it isn’t Senior year that’s ticking him off, he was quite excited for it during summer, he must just be a week into Jungkook.

Sunset doesn’t come fast enough. It’s still the summer months, the air heavy with heat and the sky bright and relentless. Jimin and Taehyung try to pass the time by playing video games at Jimin’s house, he’s got the bigger monitor and many more game options. Taehyung can’t resist checking the time every few minutes, Jimin batting his hand away from constantly flipping over his phone to look at the screen. He’s just waiting for when they can leave so he can get it over with. 

Jimin doesn’t seem too nervous about it, he always has an heir of confidence to him, he’s too cute to get rejected from anyone’s group of friends. Jimin has managed to intercept just about every clique in their school throughout his last 3 years, Taehyung doesn’t really doesn’t see him like that though, he’s known him for too long to understand why people think Jimin is so cool. He can appreciate the boy’s soft lips and how his eyes always shut when he laughs too hard, but he sees past it and remembers elementary and middle school Jimin too. Behind those supple features is a kid who sucked at playing tag through all of elementary school, always tripping over his own feet and laughing while plastered to the ground. Jimin’s wide smile only reminds him of how the boy would bring food from home for lunch everyday and stuff it down so fast that more often than not he’d end up with chunks of food between his teeth the rest of the day. Just last year Jimin accidentally posted one of his nudes to his Snapchat story and Taehyung was nice enough to tell him (but only after screen-shotting it and drawing a little pepper over Jimin’s genitals). All of that comes to mind when Taehyung looks at his friend, who’s biting his lip as he furiously plays Mario Cart. 

“Look at the screen!” Jimin exclaims, eyes darting over to Taehyung very quickly.

“Hey, I’m the one who’s winning,” Taehyung laughs, his wrists memorizing the map and moving fluidly through the obstacles without much of a second thought. Jimin huffs and keeps overshooting his wrist movements, moving his character to nearly the edge of each cliff, or brushing up against the shrubbery. This just comes naturally to Taehyung, Jimin is only coordinated when he dances. 

This back and forth banter continues for hours, Jimin’s house keeper bringing them snacks and Taehyung’s anxious mind always dreaming up new ways he could embarrass himself in front of Jungkook. Not that it really matters what Jungkook thinks… but anyway. 

No amount of Mario Cart or any other video game Jimin manages to pull from his box of CDs can distract Taehyung enough. 

8:35 pm. It’s time they leave for sunset. Taehyung tries to gulp but his throat is dry and aches. Jimin picks up on Taehyung’s stiff demeanor while they walk out to Jimin’s car.

“Buddy, you’ll be okay.” Jimin has this way about him, he can keep up his silly behavior for much longer than needed, but when Taehyung actually shows he’s scared or sad, Jimin’s caregiving kicks in and he’s immediately soft while he talks. Taehyung appreciates it but it was Jimin’s silly little game that got him into this mess. He tries to suck it up but his eyes still glaze over with noticeable fear. 

“Jungkook isn’t gonna bite,” Jimin smirks. Taehyung seriously doubts that though. 

“Let’s just get this over with as fast as possible.” 

Jimin squeaks with his high pitched laugh, jumping into the air as he now prances towards his car, “That’s the spirit Tae!”

The most popular place for kids from school to meet for sunset is the top of one of the college’s parking structure. Taehyung and Jimin don’t even know what it’s called, it’s simply referred to as “The Parking Structure,” obviously titled by the creative geniuses of their school. But it’s so popular everyone knows which one they’re referring to when it’s brought up. It’s particularly higher than most other parking structures, which makes it the most popular. So many levels high that the horizon is on display, and the city’s lights seem far off, like from another planet. The top of the parking lot is like the teenager’s other dimension, it’s vacant of cars during the weekend nights so they can park anywhere, haphazard patterns, crisscrossing over the allotted parking spaces. The tires don’t worry about the white lines on the concrete, the kids don’t care either, they park close to each other to huddle, or create a large distance from each other across the lot. The ambiance is unmatched, loud with chatter and the bass boosted music from their car’s tinny speakers. 

Taehyung sees Jungkook’s group of friends before he spots Jungkook. His stomach feels twisted and he feels a serge of adrenaline. The setting feels so different to him than when he’s at school with the same people. Seeing them so fluidly conversing and intermingling with each other, the sky slowly darkening behind them, it creates a different fear within Taehyung, one he can’t quite distinguish. 

Then there’s Jungkook. He was hidden away in one of the cars, and slowly emerges from it. His hair is swept up under a baseball cap, exposing his forehead that is at ease while he talks. Much more at ease than he ever is around Taehyung. He’s also talking much more than he ever does during class, in class he’ll speak at only the worst times. He’ll wait to talk until the teacher makes it clear they should be quiet, that is when he’ll turn to his friends for the first time to start chattering away, creating a fuss within the class waiting for him to shut up. Here, now, he talks when supposed to. Because everyones talking freely, laughing over the loud volume of their music that pulses. There are different songs at once, all from the different cars, the noise creates a vibration across the lot, the words and beats indistinguishable, but beautiful in that way. There’s a fluidity to the scene, everyone tries to become louder than the next, some are just quiet and listen to it all. Taehyung is of that category. He is transfixed to watching Jungkook, hardly paying attention to when and where Jimin parks, and that Jimin utters to him to get out from the car.

Before Taehyung can quite process whats going on he’s out of the car, his converse on the warm concrete, his shirt picking up a breeze that presses the fabric against his chest. Jimin feigns shock at seeing the group here, eyeing up the crowd with a burst of laugher and exclaiming the absurdity to this coincidence. As they get closer and closer to the group, Taehyung, as he takes in Jungkook face to face while they stand at opposite sides of the circle, notices a new heir to Jungkook. 

“Jimin!” Hoseok exclaims, immediately grabbing for Jimin and pulling him into a hug. Jungkook watches the exchange, Jimin and Hoseok between him and Taehyung. 

“Do you want some?” Hoseok asks Jimin, smoke wafts out of Hoseok’s mouth with the words, he shows off the joint that sits between his fingers as he takes yet another drag from it.

Jimin’s eyes light up and he throws his head back with a smile, “Yes!” 

Taehyung finally distinguishes what’s new about Jungkook-despite his exposed forehead. Jungkook’s eyes are low and heavy, his face is much less strained than usual, his mouth held in a slight smile. He’s very very high. It shows in how his lashes shade his eyes, they peer out from under the haze and take in Taehyung in a new way. Quiet still, but much more gentle. Taehyung is shy under the gaze, wanting to look away and leave the intense eye contact, Jungkook’s high-ness makes him bold and unaware of the tension. 

“Can Taehyung have some too?” Jimin asks, already puffing out his third cloud of smoke. Hoseok’s eyes hadn’t fully taken in Taehyung until Jimin mentions him, but he quickly recognizes the boy and hands over a second joint to Tae. Taehyung obviously has some apprehension, it’s so new to him and the heat emanating from the joint’s end scares him. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes as he watches Taehyung’s slow movements, Jungkook’s eyes are red and low lidded but he still manages to exhibit his usual attitude. 

“You don’t have to,” Jungkook mumbles. 

Taehyung’s eyes dart over to Jungkook, who’s words go nearly unnoticed to the rest of his friends. But Taehyung hears them. Taehyung feels a rush of warmth within him he quickly tries to ignore the other, he takes hold of the joint and eyes up Jungkook once again. Jungkook nibbles at his bottom lip, a common habit of his that Taehyung has grown to notice often. Taehyung, without much of a second thought, takes a long and slow drag from the joint, the smoke warm going down his throat, alarming him to the feeling of his soft flesh as it is burned with the sensation. He manages to hold the smoke in for a beat before letting it all out with a rough cough. 

“Nice one,” Hoseok says, patting the younger’s shoulders, “Do you want to hit it again?”

Jimin takes another drag from his and hands it back to Hoseok with a warm grin, already a looseness to his expression and ease to his movement. 

“Well Jimin is definitely done,” Hoseok laughs as he eyes up the other boy, his fingers reaching out for Jimin, but in a new way, more touchy and soft. 

“Might as well,” Taehyung finally responds, presuming that he doesn’t feel any effects yet, despite how delayed his train of thought is. He takes two more drags and on the third is finally feeling it set in. There’s a heaviness to him, his limbs hanging from their joints. He passes the joint to the girl beside him in the circle, and it works its way around until Jungkook finishes it off and grinds it into the soft cement. Taehyung’s mind becomes a daze of thoughts, they glide over him and don’t quite comprehend the speed of the other’s conversations or movements in real time. Jungkook still has his eyes on him, occasionally breaking his stare to drink from his Arizona while chiming into the conversation that Taehyung is too far gone to join.

“Oh I love this song,” Jimin exclaims, turning to Hoseok as they pick up a private side conversation as the rest of the group keeps chattering. 

“Really? None of them like it,” Hoseok motions to the rest of the group. 

“No it’s so good,” Jimin replies, his voice even softer than usual while he’s stoned out of his mind.

Taehyung slowly notices that this is Jimin’s “secret plan,” he’s invading Jungkook’s friend group via flirting with Hoseok. Jimin is smart, Taehyung thinks, I don’t know how to be that kind of smart right now. It’s true, his brain can hardly understand color or noise or movement, let alone what strategy to apply in winning over Jungkook. 

Right now, his strategy is simply being in Jungkook’s atmosphere, it’s not much but it’s much more than he’d do on any normal day. Jungkook is smiling more than usual, he talks with a grin plastered across his face, and it’s so strange to see that smile. It might be the weed that’s coursing through Taehyung’s mind right now, but the sight of Jungkook with such a simple grin is a stifling sight, it makes Taehyung feel warm. 

He pushes down this feeling as fast as it comes about. It’s definitely the weed.

“Hoseok can you please shut this shitty ass music off,” One of the guys in the friend group drawls. 

“Yoongi, you’re really one to talk,” Hoseok responds, laughing. Jimin joins in the laugh, using this exchange as his perfect segue. 

“Hey, we could just leave and listen to it together, I haven’t heard most of their tracks,” Jimin says quietly, so quietly if Taehyung weren’t purposely listening he wouldn’t have picked up on his friend’s hushed tone. Hoseok perks an ear, turning to look at Jimin, his eyes more serious than before, and the corners of mouth turning to a sly smile. 

“Yeah, if you want to I’m down,” he answers, his height towering over Jimin’s, the smaller boy looking up at him with wide eyes and an equally playful expression across his face.

Taehyung is transfixed with their exchange, he doesn’t know how Jimin is always capable of being so sly with his words, so playful and yet so daring. Jimin has this heir to him, tempting his suitors in a way that makes them think it was all their idea, but Jimin is really the brain behind it all. Taehyung has never been like that, everything he says is at face value, he knows it too, because he hasn’t had a single boyfriend throughout High School, while Jimin has had multiple relationships along with countless little hookups here and there. 

Jimin finally breaks his eye contact with Hoseok to turn to Taehyung, who’s gaze is slow, he peers at Jimin as if he’s gazing through multiple layers of color and haze. If someone told Taehyung he was wearing 4 pairs of sunglasses right now he’d honestly believe it. 

“Would it be okay if I go hang out with Hoseok?” Jimin adds a wink to show that his plan is working out very well. Taehyung really has no option to say no, maybe if he really wasn’t comfortable, but he’s under the influence which puts him at a new level of comfort, so he gives his friend a half hearted shrug. 

“Go listen to your shit music,” he says playfully. Jimin gently punches his shoulder with a giggle. 

“Alright, we’re out,” Hoseok says, “Jungkook, everyone else’s cars are full, can you be a homie and drive Taehyung?” 

The way Hoseok phrases it shows he knows Jungkook to be a stubborn boy. He gives Jungkook a look like, come on, you owe me this one, glancing from his friend back to Jimin, who smiles cutely, only tempting Hoseok further. Jungkook sees the mild desperation to Hoseok’s glance, he isn’t a complete idiot, he’s just a very stubborn one. He rolls his eyes but nods, not even looking towards Taehyung to see if he agrees with the whole situation.

Hoseok really thinks he’s pulling a fast one on Jimin, thinking his exchange of eye contact with Jungkook goes unnoticed to Jimin, while Jimin is even slyer, his eyes darting over to Taehyung with an extra heir of superiority. Taehyung is just caught up in the middle of all these mind games and ploys, so completely high that he stands there, hardly emoting, his expression very plain and almost solemn in its neutrality.

“Ok great, thanks, is everyone just going to Yoongi’s later?” Hoseok asks as Jimin gets into the passenger seat. 

“Yeah, my parents are gone tonight,” Yoongi answers. Everyone roars in approval with the excitement of tonight’s promise of copious amounts of alcohol. “Don’t invite anyone else though, we’re keeping it small for this one.” 

“When do we ever keep it small?” Jungkook implores, his voice gravely after not speaking for a while, plus the strain from all the drags of smoke that went down this throat a few minutes before. 

Yoongi mildly smirks, the rest of their friends laughing hysterically and nudging Jungkook in their admiration. 

“Fuck off Jungkook,” Yoongi says but his tone is gentle, “who’re you even gonna manage to invite that you haven’t already had sex with? Huh? It’s not possible.” 

Taehyung gulps, his throat is dry and Yoongi’s words only amplify his own insecurity. Taehyung’s extreme virgin energy feels large and very noticeable, it probably isn’t, but it feels like he’s just screaming virgin virgin virgin amongst this group of very non-virgin people.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t even looking at Taehyung, he’s caught up in small talk about Yoongi’s kickback and everyone telling stories of Jungkook’s previous endeavors with girls. Taehyung is so transfixed within his internal dialogue he hardly notices when Hoseok and Jimin finally pull out from their parking spot and drive off; there’s a faint yell from Jimin saying “Bye Tae!” as the car skids away and music pulses out from their open windows. Taehyung is left staring straight ahead at his rival, Jungkook, who’s frame is slouched and his eyes wander around to anywhere or anyone else that isn’t Taehyung. Jungkook casually takes off his hat, shaking out his hair which brushes over his lazy gaze and then he sweeps it back under his hat. It’s such a swift and thoughtless action but it has Taehyung’s insides curling around themselves. 

Fuck. If it’s the weed that’s making him feel this way, he really needs to take a large break before getting high again. It’s dangerous to feel these things concerning Jeon Jungkook of all people. 

It’s nearing 9:30, the twilight begins to fade into complete darkness, only the lights of the city illuminating the sky now. The dark casts a shadow over Jungkook’s face, his eyes seem less harsh, less intrusive when they glance over Taehyung, and the darkness puts Taehyung’s mind at ease. There’s less movement and brightness that his mind has to process, he feels diluted and slow and graceful, hidden away in the night.

“I think we should go,” Jungkook says to the rest of his friends, pushing himself off his car where he has been leaning for nearly an hour. 

“Us?” Taehyung asks, his movement swaying like a top finally slowing down from its spinning. 

“Yes, us,” Jungkook answers with a laugh, his high is already starting to ware off, his words once again harsher and of his normal brutal tone. Taehyung fucking despises it, sneering at Jungkook’s response, just the sound of the other’s voice so annoying it starts to sober Taehyung as well. 

“Taehyung are you coming to Yoongi’s?” One of the girls asks, her head resting against Yoongi’s shoulder. 

Before Taehyung can even think of an answer, Jungkook steps forward to the middle of the circle and takes hold of Taehyung’s sleeve. “I”m gonna take him home.”

Taehyung wants to swat Jungkook’s hand off his sleeve, but he’s too lulled to do much but follow Jungkook as the other leads him to his car. This fucking asshole. 

The group might recognize Jungkook’s harshness, if they do they don’t mention it, just nodding slightly awkwardly. 

“Ah, well, next time for sure,” Yoongi says, his voice low but still sweet. Taehyung appreciates it and shoots him a warm glance. 

Jungkook leads Taehyung into his car and Taehyung fumbles into the passenger seat, quickly folding his arms over his chest and looking out the window to ignore Jungkook’s presence to the best of his ability. 

The ride starts out quiet, Jungkook pulling out from the parking lot and slowly driving down the tight turns of the parking structure until they a normal road. 

“Taehyung…” Jungkook starts. 

Taehyung almost scoffs in response but catches himself, still trying to remain civil despite how he plans to drop out of this challenge the next time he talks to Jimin. Even if he’s no longer trying to keep this friendship facade up he supposes it’d be better not to be complete enemies with his seat partner for the rest of the school year. So Taehyung swallows down his pride and just hums a response. 

“If you really want to go to Yoongi’s I can take you,” Jungkook says, his eyes darting over to Taehyung briefly before focusing back on the road ahead. The darkness makes it hard for Taehyung to make out the expression that’s held on Jungkook’s face, the occasional street light helps to light up his features, but so briefly Taehyung’s slow mind can’t quite process it and what it means. 

“You practically uninvited me in front of everyone.” Taehyung’s honesty shocks him, he hadn’t even thought over what he was going to say, it just came out and he instantly regrets it. But Jungkook doesn’t seem mad. 

“I honestly think you’re just too fucked up to go… wasn’t this your first time smoking?”

Taehyung huffs, avoiding the other’s glances towards him. “Well… yeah, but—”

“And we can go if you want, you just don’t seem like the type to want to do that.” 

Taehyung feels a burst of anger within him, jumping up from his reclined position to sit alert and straight. Jungkook wasn’t just trying to protect Taehyung, he was presuming all these things of him… maybe it was all true but it still struck a nerve within Taehyung. 

“I don’t need you to evaluate and decide what I’m up for or not, you don’t know me Jungkook.” 

Jungkook is quiet, but Taehyung sees how his hand squeezes down on the steering wheel extra hard, his muscles straining up his entire arm to his shoulder. His jaw as well clenches and his eyes are eerily trained to the road, purposely not looking to Taehyung in fear of bursting with anger. He stays quiet. 

“Just take me home, I don’t want to go anymore anyway,” Taehyung says coldly. His words are harsh and his low voice makes them only that much more intimidating. Jungkook finally glances over to him, the numerous headlights illuminate his furrowed brow and the silhouette of his nose that scrunches. 

“Fine.” 

The car ride is nearly unbearable, Taehyung wants to launch himself out and walk the rest of the way home. Luckily, Jungkook finally turns on some music that blares over the noise of the car and the city and angry puffs of air that Jungkook lets out. Taehyung still feels the serge of weed within his system, the music and the movement the car transfixing him, it makes it easier for him to ignore the other boy’s presence and also ignore his own anger. Taehyung does his best to not feel sorry for what he said earlier, trying to find an object to focus his attention on until he slips back into a dream-like state, letting his mind be subdued by his high. 

Finally they pull up to Taehyung’s house on the outskirts of the city. It’s quieter on the road, much less oncoming traffic and more room for quiet between them. Taehyung feels a buzz in his pocket from his phone, he hadn’t noticed but his data was off this entire time, his phone just now connecting to his home’s wifi. There are a series of texts that emerge, all from Jimin. 

Holy shit

Tae!

Taehyung respond 

Bro 

Bro 

You won’t believe this 

Taehyung !!!!!!

Ugh stupid ass 

Ok 

I’ll just say it 

I slept with Hoseok !!!!

It was fun 

I think I actually like him 

Hahah omg 

Tae please call me 

this is crazy 

And Hoseok was gooooood too

Bitch!

Please respond (unless you and Jungkook are up to something too ;DD) 

Taehyung manages to pull his eyes away from his phone’s bright screen to look at Jungkook. Jungkook raises a brow, even though he’s irritated he’s still inquisitive. 

“Bruh,” Taehyung manages to say, the word drawling and long, he lets out a light laugh. 

“What?” Jungkook asks. 

“Jimin and Hoseok fucked,” Taehyung answers, not managing to stifle his second laugh. 

There’s a pause from Jungkook before he rolls his eyes and his head falls back to his head rest. 

“Shit.”

“For real.” Taehyung’s mind reels, there’s no way I’m getting out of this challenge now, he thinks, but he can’t fucking say that to Jungkook. 

He leaps out of the boy’s car with a mild nod thanking the other for the ride, and he marches back to his house. Taehyung’s already tapped Jimin’s contact and the phone rings sharply in his ear as he enters his house. He’s too fucking high for this shit.

[thisartemisnevermisses]

Going Under 8/12

Paring: Mostly Steve Rogers x Reader; little Clint Barton x Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, out of character acting, probable smutt in later chapters, sad reader, broken, sweet ending. 

Summary: You work as head oversight for the Avengers. After a party and a little kiss, you start crushing on Steve. Only an event from you’re rookie years, is sabotaging the possibility of your crush to evovle into something more.

A/N: Well were headding towards the end, soon there will be a confrontation with the person causing so much hamock. Comments are welcome, love to read what you think of the story. 

Chapter 08: Sweet Sacrifice

“What did Callie find?” Steve asks you, he still had the feeling that something was off and it wasn’t only this mission. He had the feeling that it was part of a bigger picture.

"Well Callie didn't find any errors in the plans, but found a few emails from an unknown address. In those emails were attachment with the strategies in it. Someone was sharing our mission plans with the enemy. We can't trace it, but I guess that's what happened with the Lorelei mission too.” Looking from Steve to Bucky, who had a grin on his face, seeing he was piecing the puzzle together.

“About that mission, I think I get why you punched Clint in the face.” Bucky looked at Steve a lopsided smile on his face. Steve sighed and laid his face in his hand. “I punched him because he was under control off Lorelei.” Steve exhaled looking agitated at Bucky, a blush upon his cheeks. “You Both were under control of Lorelei. You and I know that, punk.” Bucky shuckles. “Will you shut up, I remember that to well.” Steve answers embarrass, “Y/N, you say that this mission was also sabotaged?”

“Yeah, look at the facts, for some reason she managed to escape Asgard for the second time. Went to earth again, searched for shield-agents for an army and what’s mostly bothering me, is something she said. I can’t remember all of it, the thing that keeps repeating in my head is… Blondie thanks, this was indeed a good choice. The only blonde person there, was you Steve.” You look at him, shock is all over his face, this can’t be. What did he do, was he under some kind of spell, had he freed Lorelei, without knowing. And not to mention, he has been a douchebag towards y/n. It was the reason he stopt wooing you, the fight you two had was rough and the things he had said, were unforgiving. Steve facepalmed himself, he had fucked up big time.

“There’s an anomaly, Fury wants us to check it out.” Sharon announces entering your office. “Really, Fury didn't ask me to run diagnostic.” You answer querking an eyebrow.

“Well that's because we need to take action, immediately there’s no time for diagnostics. We need to assemble a team and go.” Sharon starts tapping her foot impatiently. “So who's here and can assist me with this mission, Agent Barton, Agent Romanov, Steve iuuh i mean Captain Rogers..come on, you have got to have some skills, accept for sleeping around for promotion”, she snapped at you.

Callie looked dumbfounded, open and closing her mouth like a fish for air. “Excuses me.” Lexie exclaimed looking from Sharon to you and back again. Both of you started a staring contest. “I Will pretend i didn’t hear that. Otherwise I would think you would like to offend me.” you said ignoring Sharon, seeing Steve standing there you freeze, the look in his eyes is something that upsets you. “What do you mean?” Steve ask, making Sharon jump a little, but gains her composure quickly, “Oh, you know, that y/n slept with Agent Barton to gain a level 6 clearance.” Sharon smirkes, looking at the shock in Steve’s face.

Trying to ignore Steve staring, you read the email and start to assemble the team. “Lexie would you ask agents Barton and Romanov to suit up and go the the hangar of quinjet 6. Callie let Avery know he’s to go with the team and make sure the drones work so we can assist from afar”, once you have systems up and running, you turn towards Steve.

“Captain Rogers, would you assist the team. It seems your expertise is required. A Asgardian soldier has escaped.” directing your attention to Steve. Snapping back to reality, Steve looks at you, “We need to talk about that, you slept with Barton, how..when..” he indignantly looks at you.

“Let’s talk about this later. The world needs us.” You look apologeletic at him.  

------------In the field------------

“Carefully engage Lorelei, she is of great danger. She can manipulate you with the sound of her voice.” Lexi spoke, “We tried to enhance your earpieces. It isn’t great to listen to a animatronic voice, but for this mission it’s the saves option. Your earpieces are filtering everything, so her voice shouldn’t be able to effect you in anyway, please keep them on at all times.” Lexie explains, “Copy that, I think it’s already working, quite annoying too.” Steve comments back.  

Lorelei was expecting the Avengers, she had heard of them and knew their power. They would become her new army and bring her the throne she so wanted. When Steve took a blow to his head, his earpiece got smashed and soon got corrupted by Lorelei.

“You feel betrayed by your friends, yet you yearn for her. Your rage is the rage of a berserker. You will come in handy, but first, turn your anger towards the ones you hate.” Lorelei speaks into Steve’s ear.

Throwing his shield aside, Steve storms toward Clint. His fist connecting with his jaw instantly. Clint’s earpiece catapulting out of his ear. The next punch hitting Clint in the gut.

“My, my you’ve got such a rage towards this person. But let me tell you, he’s got the same rage towards you. It seems you yearn for the same person. Talking about unrequited feelings.” Lorelei smiles, “But, soon my soldiers you will only yearn for me”, looking at the two fighting Avengers.

“That’s enough! my darlings.” Lorelei comments, making an end at the fight between Steve and Clint. “Well blondie, thanks, It turned out that it will pay of. Come, my soldiers, there’s much to do.” Lorelei walks away, Steve and Clint obeying Lorelei, following her on foot.

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

Standing in your room, you let out a heavy breath. What a mission, what a dangerous woman and situation. Thank god for Natasha’s quick thinking, the assistence of May and Sky for getting Sif so quickly to earth. It took all willpower to get those two back. The quinjet would be on its way back and then you would see what the colleteral was.

Changing into your regular clothes, when you hear a knock on your door. Would he really have the energy to discuss this now. Where they even back in the hanger?

Opening the door, you see a battered Steve standing in front of you. His eyes wild, confusion, questions, self doubt and anxiety in them. “Steve, are you really capable off listening to me?” You look him over, trying to caress his arm, but he pulls away, rapidly.

Tears are forming in his eyes, he swallows thick, trying to put away the feelings he has for you. The confrontation with Lorelei shoke him rough awakening. He knew he had feelings for you, but did’t expect them to overrule those for Peggy. The words from Lorelei keep repeating in his head over and over again. But it didn't took the anger or rather jealousy about you sleeping with Clint away. It made his anger even worse, he felt betrayed, where he had not have the right to feel that way. Ignoring that feeling in the pit of his stomach, Steve speaks the question that will be the death sentence to your fragile relationship.

“What did Sharon mean with that comment?” Steve asked. “What comment?” asking agitated, knowing damn well, about which comment he’s talking about. “The one, where she mentioned you sleeping with Clint.” Steve bit out, anger all over his face, mixed with disgust.

“Steve let me explain.” You rub your temple, he was really going to to this now. “It isn’t all black and white like Sharon assumes. Yes I slept with Clint.” You sigh, looking up to the tall Avenger, there’s a shimmer in his eyes, are those tears in his eyes.

“So that's true. What else didn't you tell me?” Steve swallow, his whole demeanor changing, even the sound of his voice isn’t like your used to. It’s cold and bitter, without emotions, almost accusing, “Well did you get a promotion...out of it.” he asks vile in his words, it made him feel uncomfortable, but he felt betrayed so who cares.

“No, Steve, God NO, not out of sleeping with him, but by doing my job right. It was a mere coincidence that it happened right after each other. Please believe me.” You look at Steve, seeing the way he looks at you, is enough to understand he has made up his mind. Tears start to run down your face. Not this again, not losing Steve over something from your past, you can't take this. First Clint and now him. Please Steve, just believe me. You know me, you know who I’am and what I'm capable off.” Wiping away the tears with your sleeves, only to be replaced by another tear, the hard look on Steve’s face, is enough for you to start sobbing uncontrollably.

“I know quite well what you’re capable off. I thought I knew you, but I guess I’m wrong. To think that we could start something. That I have feelings for you. You fooled me, well played. I guess there won’t be a promotion this time. This little game of yours ends here. What kind of fool do you think I am, y/n.” Steve looks at you, his eyes hard, jaw tightened and his hands clenched. The tears running down his face, make you hope you still have a chance. Maybe you could get through to him afterall.  

“I would never do that to you, to anyone. I maybe have feelings for you, but I guess I’m not your type. I'm self conscious about those things. I cherish every kiss we shared, Steve, it’s not how Sharon says it,” you plea, looking him in the eyes. Searching for his understanding, his knowledge about you, the affirmation he understands that this is a mistake. Steve shifts, his eyes cold, body tall and aloof, he scrapeds his troath.

"Kissing you was a mistake, thinking you could be something more than a coworker, to think i was comparing you to Peggy. You disgust me, i never thought you were that low." Steve avoids eye contact with you, turning away.

You sniff one last time, regain your composure and speak up, “You’re right. I was foolish believing I could live up to a ghost. You're even comparing me to her. And now that there’s a crack in you perfect picture, a lie, you can finally throw me away. Don’t worry I won't get in the way of your precious Peggy. I think if it was her you wouldn’t even dare to doubt her side of the story. Were done here Steve. I get the hint, Captain Rogers. Am I excused to go. I would like to go to my team. There’s work to be done.” You straighten up, wipe away your tears, the look on Steve’s face caught you off guard. So many mixed emotion, but none of them signaling you, you got through to him. Taking one final look at him while walking out the door. Steve slams the door close, standing in your room, looking at your bed. How could he stop those feelings for you. Your actions were well calculated, that what’s Sharon said. You had fooled him into falling in love with you, even more than he was with Peggy. He chuckled ironically to himself, almost looking like a mad man. He had to get out, opening your door he sees you walking towards Clint.

Starting to walk to your office, you see Clint standing in front of the weaponary. He smiles a lopsided smile towards you. Behind you the door opens and Steve walks out. His eyes red and face flushed, he looks your way. Seeing you walking towards Clint, he can only nod his head and huff, while walking away.

Clint turns to you, “Trying to get into another Avengers pants?”, he smirks, regretting his comment the instant he sees your face. You huff and smile bitterly, you can’t do this anymore. “You’re right I don’t have the right to be loved, especially by an Avenger, right agent Barton “You’re right I don’t have the right to be loved, espacially by an Avenger, right agent Barton. I’m the person who sleeps around and gets an promotion out off it.  Thanks you agent for opening my eyes, finally.” You mock, raising your hands to the ceiling. “I let emotions run free and cloud my judgement. Forgetting what it means to be   an agent. Congratulations to you Agent Barton, you finally pushed me past my breaking point. Well done.” You start clapping, “Well done.” Speaking cynical while patting Clint on his shoulder.

“It’s time to accept my place in this team. I was foolish thinking that I could make friends, go past what happened in our past. It still hurts, you know, you’re believing I’m using all of you to gain a promotions. I don’t know who put you that flea in your ear, but I assure you it’s one big lie.” You stand tall, hands shaking, tears welling up in your eyes. As if your fight with Steve wasn’t enough today. You lost all your hope, thinking everything was getting better, it burned to the ground today. The sniping comment Sharon made about your past with Clint, Steve wanted to know the truth behind that comment. The relationship you were building with him, collided with that one comment and your fight. Maybe it would be wise to resign as analyzer.

“y/n” Clint says snapping you back to reality. The expression on his face changing, is he showing remorse for his comment. “I…I didn’t want to hurt you. Didn’t mean to make you feel this way. It’s just, those rumors about you, made it difficult to believe in your sincerity. It made it easy for my, to keep my distance, to justify my infidelity towards Laura. Blaming you, was easier than acknowledge my feelings for you. That I just wanted you for me. It’s just I couldn't have you.” Clint explains looking away from you, at the wall, recalling his memories of you, underneath him.

“Clint..” you stand wroothed to the ground in shock, what was he saying. “My feelings for you never changed, what happened on that mission was real, my feelings were real. I just didn’t think about the consecences. I just didn't think about the consequences. It was as if Laura didn't exist and I wasn't becoming a father. I know I screwed up, big time. It was easier for me, for you to hate me. And getting that information about you from…..Let’s just say I used it to make you hate me easier. I thought I had put aside, buried my feelings. But seeing you at that party and hearing you where joining us as analyzer, made all those feelings resurvise. Seeing you with Steve, seeing you as you were before I broke you, it made me jealous that he could make you feel this way. Looking at you, seeing how I broke you again, It’s not what I wanted, y/n, please believe me.” waiting for you’re reaction, trying to make eye contact, but you refuse to look at him. Trying to coop with the new information, astrucken about the selfish words from Clint.  

“I don’t know if or when you can forgive me, but please accept my apology.” Clint stares at you, his own eyes full of emotions. It seems he is realising what he has done to you.

You blink, tears falling down on your cheeks, smile resentful, “You’re right, I don’t know how I and if I can forgive, for making a part of my life so miserable. You’re selfish, don’t thinking about the consequent, you’re like a child whose toy got taken away and it wasn’t even your toy. Yet again you tell me, there’s someone telling things about me. And you rather believe them, then my own words. That’s what hurts me the most. I thought that after our mission, you knew who I was and would stand up for me, when someone made that kind of comment about me. AGAIN, I don’t do suchs things, I work hard, do my best, even when it blows up in my face, I try to be as flexibel as I can, I have anxiete for every mission, because I wouldn’t dare to have blood on my hands, So I don’t sleep well until the missions over and everyone is save. And still you believe, that I have time to sleep around so I get promoted. I have no other words for this, then leave me alone Clint. Once your ready to tell me whose, told those lies about me. Don’t bother talking to me again.” You snap at him, striding away in a quick pace. Once you’re around the corner, you sink to the ground and let you tears run freely, what a fucked up situation this was. Someone was intently starting rumours about you, but why? Did you have the energy to investigate or would you do one more mission and leave the Avengers.   

Bucky looks at Steve, "Really punk, really. You're such an idiot." he punches Steve's arm. "Your such an ass, she poured her heart out and you didn't believe her, You even made it worse, listening to that witch, Sharon. Maybe she’s the person starting all those rumourse about y/n." Bucky looks at you realisation in his eyes.

Your brain is working overtime. It takes little time for you to put the last piece of puzzle togheter. "Bucky, every mission that went wrong, she was there. Sharon was there. All those missions were in commission of the CIA, of HeR. She wasn't blond in Nevada, because she had been undercover. But she was the second blond on the scene. Lorelei didn't mean you, Steve, she ment Sharon. She’s behind all these sabotages, there’s no other way."

[allatariel]

Excerpt from the Rogue One: A Star Wars Story novelization by Alexander Freed below the cut.

TL;DR—Fourteen emails between Galen Erso, Shaith Vodran, and Orson Krennic regarding excess radiation buildup resulting from modifications to the reactor core of the Death Star in order to reduce primary laser recharge times at Tarkin’s directive which eventually leads to the approval of Galen’s exhaust ports solution by both Krennic and Vodran.

SUPPLEMENTAL DATA: BATTLE STATION ENGINEERING NOTES

[Document #YM3884L (“Waste Radiation Distribution Solutions”), timestamped approximately eighteen months prior to Operation Fracture, sent from Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]

Erso: I had the droids generate a new Systems Safety and Compatibility Report incorporating your team’s proposed adjustments to the reactor core. The new plans triggered a dozen subsystem warnings and spat out one blazing red stain on the line labeled “Hypermatter Annihilator Unit.” I didn’t bother asking my astromech how bad that could be—a redline on a critical system speaks for itself.

Why are we even making reactor modifications this late in the game?

Have your engineers check their work better next time. Suffice to say, no changes are approved.

[Document #YM3884M (“Reply to Waste Radiation Distribution Solutions”), sent from Galen Erso to Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran.]

Vodran: Sincere apologies. I fully agree that this is unacceptable. The modifications are intended to reduce primary weapon recharge times to satisfactory levels (I’m sure you saw Tarkin’s directive) but sloppy work is sloppy work.

I assume you alerted Director Krennic to the report as well?

More as soon as I’ve spoken with my team.

[Document #YM3884N (“Reply to Waste Radiation Distribution Solutions”), sent from Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]

Director Krennic is copied on all SSCRs, but if he wants oversight on these particular modifications, it’s your responsibility to brief him on your problems.

[Document #YM3884O (“Reply to Waste Radiation Distribution Solutions”), sent from Galen Erso to Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran.]

Vodran: I alerted the director personally, at your suggestion.

I also spoke to my team and we identified the problem. The reactor core modifications are resulting in radiation buildup, which in turn has the potential of interfering with the hypermatter annihilator.

The buildup is caused by the inner shield actively reflecting excess particles and metaphorically “cooking” the reactor core. Had the shielding team’s research not been so heavily compartmentalized this might have been avoided.

Nonetheless: The reactor core modifications must remain as-is. Therefore, we are left with three possible ways of avoiding radiation buildup.

Option one: construction of a particle funnel and recycler. This is known and tested technology. I am confident it will function. Physical requirements mean the recycler would need to replace existing noncritical mechanisms under the northern command sector, but I estimate the needed disassembly would take under two weeks.

Option two: further refinement of our reactor technology to reduce waste particles. I have several team members keen on this possibility. They are excited about the potential for a technological breakthrough.

Option three: construction of manual venting shafts and thermal exhaust ports. This should reduce particle buildup to a degree I find personally acceptable. In addition, adding venting shafts risks additional incompatibilities with noncritical systems.

Please alert me if you have concerns.

[Document #YM3884P (“Reply to Waste Radiation Distribution Solutions”), sent from Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]

I oversaw construction of the northern command sector myself. Tarkin has already toured the facilities. If the particle funnel and recycler can’t go anywhere else, stick with options two and three.

You might want to give Krennic the final decision. He’s concerned about the timetable.

[Document #YM3884Q (“Particle Buildup”), sent from Galen Erso to Advanced Weapons Research Director Orson Krennic.]

Director: As we discussed, attached are preliminary reports on two methods for reducing particle buildup. I made my preferences clear in person, but I defer to your judgment.

[Document #YM3884R (“Reply to Particle Buildup”), sent from Advanced Weapons Research Director Orson Krennic to Galen Erso.]

Galen: New research and technological development is out of the question at this juncture. Work up a full proposal for the exhaust port solution and send the plans to Vodran for SSCR.

[Document #YM3884S (“Venting Shafts”), sent from Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]

Erso: What is this trash? The Systems Safety and Compatibility Report quit running after two hundred redlines. I only reviewed the first dozen, but it looks like you’re flooding half the station with radiation?

I thought these venting shafts were supposed to solve the problem.

No changes are approved.

[Document #YM3884T (“Reply to Venting Shafts”), sent from Galen Erso to Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran.]

I repeat myself, but: I apologize.

As you know, an engineer may be single-minded in his or her focus on a particular task. I, along with my team, have fallen victim to the sin of hubris.

Of course I should have warned you that your droids might register dangers. The venting shafts are designed to expel the majority of the heat and particle buildup, but some radiation leakage is inevitable. We estimate that human crewmembers stationed in any of fifteen sections would—in the event that the battle station fires the primary weapon three times within one hour—be placed at increased risk for a wide variety of long-term health problems. The SSCR, of course, detected this in those “two hundred redlines.”

I am instructing my team to look into all options. To expedite matters, I must request the use of your droids in running several alternative scenarios.

This will be an inconvenience, I realize, but the safety of the battle station’s crew is paramount.

[Document #YM3884U (“Reply to Venting Shafts”), sent from Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]

Are the command sectors or officer quarters in the affected radiation zones?

[Document #YM3884V (“Reply to Venting Shafts”), sent from Galen Erso to Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran.]

No.

[Document #YM3884W (“Reply to Venting Shafts”), sent from Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]

Send me your final plans. I’ll declare the droids in error and override the next SSCR.

I’m not burying Krennic in redline reports while you figure out how to keep a handful of stormtroopers from developing a cough.

[Document #YM3884X (“Reply to Venting Shafts”), sent from Galen Erso to Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran.]

That’s not necessary. I’m certain we can resolve this. Even if a technical solution fails, we may be able to alter crew rotation schedules to mitigate any health risks.

[Document #YM3884Y (“Reply to Venting Shafts”), sent from Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]

You may be too obtuse to realize it, Erso, but I’m doing you a favor. This project needed to be done weeks ago.

Send me the final venting shaft and exhaust port plans. I’ll bypass SSCR and submit them for production, manufacturing, and installation.

Changes have been approved.

[tmntxreader-fics]

TMNT Leo X Reader: STICKS AND STONES (Part 2)

ITS BACK 

I’VE REPOSTED AFTER THE TUMBLR UPDATE DESTROYED THE LAST ONE. 

Found this in a glitch actually, I copy and pasted it and it disappeared literally 10 minutes later into the abyss so I don’t know if the Tumblr staff took pity on me?... 

ANYWAY

WARNINGS: Cussing, angst, and possible typos. Also it’s long as hell. 

Word Count: 3307

Your gaze drifts over your own reflection, heart pounding in your chest.

“You don’t look like yourself,” April had said when she picked you up from the airport. It was one of the first things she had greeted you with. Now, back in your old city, standing in your old apartment and appraising yourself in your old mirror- you realize that she is right.  In the 6 months that you had been gone, you’ve abandoned your old self and God did it feel good. Like a snake shedding its skin, a butterfly emerging from its cocoon; you are new. 

Your once simple and almost bland hair is now vibrant and impossible to ignore. The roots remain their original colour but slowly along its length it weeps into a red that puts Raphael’s mask to shame. A deliberate colour scheme to symbolise the opposition of blue. 

Even as you eye the clothing draped over your body, you can’t help but compare the difference between your originally modest and humble style and the present edge you’ve currently obtained. 

But the most significant change you display is not a tangible presence, it cannot be observed with a materialistic lens. The thing that stands out the most, as you analyse your own reflection, is not the clothes on your back or the colour of your hair. It’s the confidence. 

It was a terrifying concept at first, attempting to push past the fears that plagued you for years. The chains that bound you under the label of shy, socially anxious and introverted were never weak. They were made of hard steel with what you had previously thought to be no weak link to be discovered, but you found it six months ago and its name was Leonardo. When you broke the link, shattered it with a sword of humiliation and scorn, you realised then that the opportunity for growth came after being cut down. You are free of your chains and you want to let the world know that you’ll never be confined by them again. Starting with the one who both restricted you and freed you, you plan to display this newfound power in the best way you could. You’re going to rub it in everyone’s face that you are new.   You are an entirely new being and you plan to bask in it. You want to silently gloat about it to those who thought you to be insignificant. You know your worth now. Precisely why you’ve agreed to visit the infamous lair of the turtles after so long of avoiding it like the plague; trying to pretend it never existed. “You sure you wanna come with?” April questions sceptically, her eyes slowly dragging over your frame. After a hard silence, she throws her hands up in surrender and mutters a sarcastic apology beneath her breath. The reporter knows this meeting will be chaos; not necessarily physical but emotional anarchy for everyone involved. It sounds good in theory, the idea of ‘strutting your stuff’ in front of your ex but the bond between you both was deeper than the average relationship. April knows that tie is still existent whether you choose to acknowledge it and young woman suspects this will not go in accordance to your plans- things rarely do. However, you are stubborn and even the famous reporter is no match against the fury of a woman scorned. Your breathing picks up as April leads you around what seems like the 100th corner in a row- and it’s not because of the amount of unwarranted exercise you’ve been forced into. “Donnie said he’d meet us here,” April huffs, slightly winded by the hefty trek. Before you can reply, a recognisably excited voice pipes up from the shadows of the alleyway. “And I’m here as promised!” You exhale sharply at the sight of the purple clad turtle- it’s been so long since you’ve seen any of the mutant brothers that the presence of even Donatello shocks you. You drink the sight of him in, from the goggles resting atop his head to the gadgets strapped to his ankles. An almost nostalgic sigh is expelled from your system as you shift the strap of your bag on your shoulder, a nervous tick. His gaze lingers on you after greeting April, longer than it should have until he figures it’s illogical to try hide the fact that he is staring. You smile sadly, “Hey, brains. It’s been a while, huh?” His gaze softens and his lips quirk to mimic yours. “Precisely 6 months and 2 days,” he states quietly. His smile widens into a goofy grin, the tension easing up as he rubs the back of his head awkwardly, “who’s counting though?” “I have a suggestion as to who,” April responds suddenly, observing her fingernails when the attention falls upon her. You realise she’s talking about the blue clad turtle and the turmoil within your stomach returns tenfold. You felt physically sick by the idea of seeing him again, having to look into those eyes. A gaze that had once observed you with love, a gaze that was tender and affectionate reserved only for you; a gaze that turned too cold, too quickly. “Speaking of,” Donnie begins quietly, “everyone’s waiting downstairs for you guys.” He nods his head towards to the open manhole cover and you swallow thickly. You almost wish that the walk to the lair was as long as the trek it had taken to meet Donnie at the rendezvous point. Your heart has basically nestled itself in your throat and you know that there will be difficulty dislodging it. As your little band of three approach the entrance to the lair you force your racing mind to stop, this was all done for a reason. You will not allow yourself to be weak, to become unravelled by a person you once knew. They are no longer a part of you, they no longer define you, they no longer value you the way they once did but you value yourself and that is what makes you infinitely more powerful than you were. You know your self-worth, you know you deserve just as much respect as anyone else. After 6 months of inner struggles and the journey to self-love you absolutely refuse to be shaken. However, as told by Mike Tyson, “everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.” You figure that it wasn’t meant to be coupled with this current situation, but anything can be applied to everything depending on the individual’s approach.

As you enter the room holding Donatello’s brothers, you realise that seeing Leonardo’s face damn well felt like a nasty uppercut. As Mike Tyson predicted, anything witty you had planned to say has expelled itself from your mind.

A glacier like gaze skims over your being repeatedly, slower each time. The ice melts into pools of emotion, collecting at the water line of his eyes. Your mouth opens, fighting to make a sassy remark that you had planned previously- you failed miserably. A name slips from his lips, your name. It sounds foreign, why does it sound like that when it used to be comforting? Why does he say it like that? With longing, with sorrow. He has no right to long for you. But he does have a reason to be sorry. You straighten your posture and set your jaw, forcing your sights to rip away from him as if he wasn’t worth any time of day. Settling your gaze onto Raphael, his lips curl into a charming lopsided smirk. “I like your hair,” he states; stepping forward with a confident sway. Seems you aren’t the only one who’s grown. “It reminded me of you,” you tease playfully, a grin finally gracing your previously tense features. Through your peripheral vision you catch the slightest flinch from Leo. Raph returns the sentiment with a brilliant smile and you’re shocked by both the act and the way he immediately reaches out to embrace you. Blatant affection from the temperamental warrior was a rarity, to be the object of said affection made your heart swell. “It’s been hell without you here,” his words are pressed against your ear, quietly swallowing the air around you. He frees you from his embrace, eyeing you with a meaningful glance before returning to his resting expression- a mixture of irritation and arrogance. “I’ll go wake Mikey up,” he suggests, disappearing past Leo and into the tunnels. Something about the way he spoke confirmed to everyone that he was doing no such thing. April and Donnie, unfortunately, also got the unspoken memo. “Well, I’m just going to um-” Brains mutters awkwardly, spinning in a half circle away from you. “Show me the lab! He’s going to show me the lab,” April exclaims, gripping his bicep and dragging him in the opposite direction. “You know? TCRI isn’t going to disappear over night!” The duo left the room in a flurry of nervous mumbling, leaving you to face Leo by yourself. You swallow your nerves and un-furrow your brows, determined to give this turtle absolutely no rope and no leverage. You are in control here. Your gaze returns to Leo with hooded eyes and cold intentions. He steps forward as if to embrace you but your stare stops him dead in his tracks. Blue’s mouth opens and closes repeatedly as if he is confused by the apparent shift in attitude. You take his clear vulnerability as an opportunity to speak, looking around the lair with nonchalance. “You know, I really missed this place,” you state, tossing a side glance at the still turtle. “I missed your brothers, I missed Splinter- God knows I missed the pizza.” Your fingers trail over the railing beside you casually as you reign yourself in to ensure the confident voice doesn’t waver. With two slow and long strides forward towards Leo, you Harden your gaze and let it rest on him. “You know what I didn’t miss though?” You question, taking another step closer to the turtle who suddenly looks almost alarmed. “You.” You cross your arms and square your sights on him, “I didn’t miss you at all.” His jaw clenches before an emotion crosses his face, one you’ve never seen before. You find yourself beginning to wish you hadn’t stepped so close. “You’ve always been a bad liar,” Leo’s voice is quiet but hard. Your eyebrows raise at his immediate response. You’d hurt him with your words, you can tell by the silent strain in his voice. His icy stare narrows in on yours and he takes a step towards you- it feels like the ground is shaking. Resisting the urge to step away from him, you instead opt to swallow nervously and raise your chin in defiance. “You wouldn’t know,” you say. “I’ve never lied to you. That was your job.” Just like that, Leo’s strong facade shatters. His expression opens, revealing sorrow and harrowing regret, your heart squeezes at the sight. “What I did to you,” he begins, licking his lips as he pauses. “What I said to you was wrong.” “You’re stating the obvious again,” you force a tone of boredom but your hands begin to tremble. Leo’s swift gaze travels from your eyes to your lips, they trail from your shoulders to your shaking hands. His stare lingers there for a moment and his brow ridge furrows slightly. “I’m sorry.” His words are barely a whisper. His sorrow incites fury; two words cannot erase months of heartache, betrayal and tears. You narrow your eyes at him. You’re furious at Leo for what he’s done, you’re furious at him for seeking forgiveness through just two words but mostly you’re furious at yourself for wanting to forgive him so easily. Your blood boils at the fact that you wish he was the first to approach you, to embrace you, to express how much he missed you. But he wasn’t; he didn’t say a word. However, you were never one to slap away an apology- even if the last thing you want to do is forgive them. “Apology accepted. Have a nice day, Leonardo,” you laugh bitterly, turning on your heel with the intention to be in the company of anyone but the turtle with the blue bandana. How disappointing. “I can’t.” His voice is sharp, demanding to be heard. You frown and face him. “Can’t what?” “I can’t have a nice day,” he states, almost frustrated with himself. You pull your shoulders into a shrug. “Well, that’s unfortunate,” you say carelessly, motioning to continue with your departure. “I can’t have a nice anything, actually,” he continues. Leo steps closer and the intensity of his gaze weighs down on you- forcing you to be still where you stand. “I can’t have a nice meal, a nice training session or a nice patrol.” Your eyes widen as he grits his teeth and moves closer, it feels like the air is being drawn from the room. “I can barely close my fucking eyes at night, let alone have a nice sleep,” he snaps and you swallow at the sound of the cuss being spat out from between his teeth. It sounded alien and misplaced, he hates swearing. Your breath leaves you in a subtle tremble, your eyes unable to tear themselves away from him. “How so?” You whisper. He chuckles humourlessly and you note that it’s almost self-deprecating in tone. “Because I sent away the one person that made things nice. Nothing has even come close, ever since.” You stare at him, heart pounding in your chest and tears gathering in your eyes. This was becoming vastly more complicated than the scenarios you had played out in your mirror at the apartment. “Then why?” You settle for the one question that’s been plaguing your mind for months. “Why did you do it?”   Leo falters before you. Despite him being completely frozen in his tracks, it’s as if you’ve physically just watched him trip over himself at your question. “I…” He trails off, voice a mere, soft rasp. You raise a brow, trying to will back the tears. You are shaking, you know it’s visible, but you can’t find it in you to be embarrassed. “Well?” You prompt impatiently, “you made it your damn mission to break me. I at least deserve a reason, don’t you think?” “Yes,” he whispers. “Of course you do.” “Then spill it,” you snap, swiping the tear that had made a mad dash down your cheek. He eyes you carefully as he words his response carefully, “I was failing. As a leader, as a partner, as a member of the team…” You motion impatiently for him to continue. Leo casts his gaze to the floor, a frown marring his expression. “I couldn’t keep anything together and rather than look at my weaknesses and failed choices as a leader, I blamed you.” He grits his teeth, “I failed and you suffered for it. I thought you were a weakness when in reality you were my strength.” You don’t bother wiping the tears that have begun to basically stream down your cheeks, you know that’s a lost cause. Leo, catching your small sniffle, glances up and his face contorts to one of guilt. Your ex-lover makes an instinctual move to comfort you. “What do you want me to say?” You ask, wrapping your arms around yourself and stepping away from his advances carefully. “That it’s fine? That we can go back to what was? You can’t humiliate me and toss me aside then expect me back when you realise your mistake,” you snap. Leo’s eyes soften, “I don’t expect that from you.” “Then what could you possibly want?” You’re visibly exasperated, not to mention exhausted by this entire exchange. “A chance to try again.” Leonardo states almost pleadingly. You’re stunned by his words, mouth opening in bewilderment. Then you begin to laugh, interrupting his sentence with an almost cruel laugh that subsides into giggles. You imagine that this is possibly a terrifying image considering that your face is still heavily laden with tears. “You think I’m going to just get back with you?” You throw your hands up and turn in a circle, “the mighty Leo has asked something from me so I just must obey. News flash! I’m not your little bitch anymore,” you hiss. “I’m not the same person I was, I will not roll over for you.”

“I know. You’re stronger, you’re smarter and you’re angry. I understand that and you have every right to be but if you’d just give me a chance to prove myself.” He begins, moving close in another habitual attempt to console you. “Damn right I’m smarter, smart enough to stay away from you,” you snap, stepping back from his advances. Instantly he opens his mouth to respond, with wide eyes and hands raised to defuse, “Hold on, I wasn’t done just listen to me-” “No, you listen to me,” you interrupt, halting your retreat and instead stomping towards him, “I am not part of your damn team and you sure as fuck are not my leader!” Your hand had poked into his plastron to emphasise each point and his gaze moves down to eye the hand you had left resting upon him. “You do not get to make demands as if I owe you something.”

His mouth closes and to your surprise a small smile lifts one corner of his mouth. “You don’t owe me anything,” he begins softly. “But I will ask you, please, to let me try earn back your affections and amend what I have failed to do previously.”

You stare at him for a long moment, gaze drinking in every feature of his face. You remember the times before he had distanced himself from you. You remember the affection, the love, the way he had tried to so hard to woo you in every way possible even when you were intimidated by him and it seemed he had no hope. Leo had fought for you, fought to make you comfortable around him, he had made sacrifices to be with you. Your anger begins to slowly ebb as his icy coloured eyes search your own for some sort of agreement. Where did it all go wrong?

He took you for granted and whether he gains your affections later down the track or not, he has still paid the price.

You clench your jaw before a heavy sigh slips from your mouth. The silence is loud as you both wait in anticipation of your decision. You know that allowing him back into your life allows unpredictable elements to gain control, once more. Would he do the same thing under a different lie? Would he treat you the way you’re meant to be treated? Rather than cutting him off and the possibilities of a positive outcome, you decide that letting things move slow will provide ample opportunity to catch any deviations.  

“You can try,” you agree, “as friends first, obviously. Don’t get your hopes up for anything beyond that.”

With that, Leonardo cracks a blinding grin- as if he had been waiting his whole life to hear those words. He takes in a breath, one that is not heavy with despair like those he had taken in the past six months. He wants to drop to his knees, express his gratitude for your mercy and promise you the world.

Instead, he settles for a simple, “of course.”

Because, this time, Leo will not waste his chance on words that he knows you will never believe.  

@pokiekatherine @dead-lee-15 @crazy-pleasures-and-crazy-habits @ihlni686-and-rps @chichiguitarist123 @ihlni686 @jam-jar2  @whataprimeexample @the-chick-with-the-best-fandom @rinsakka @llturner7 @axa0113 @yesimthatboring @bluehelixx @mydogjustfarted @dark-demon-s-tears @dksuniverse @pleasetooweirdtolive-tooraretodie16 @lil-safe-haven @fireflyloki28 @moonrocksleeping @theunawesomeduck @thepovofem @eiri-thehedgehog @forfoxsake629 @utterlystardust @kapowinthekisser @eilikes @dva-reengaging @loekie-mulder138 @mallory-lawson23 @royalpuglife @hlemon11 @super-flamin-hot-cheetos @henderwhore4life @looneylorrhael @uninspired-plebian @thetruepotatolordjay @pluvialday @animechick555 @nodistressdamsel @fluffydino-15

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Afterward (5/13)

Chicago, Illinois: The Sexton Baby, Connor Rhodes

15 January 2019 | 09:10 Local Time

I have to tell April the truth about the baby. Dr. Halstead needs to know the truth about Connor, and needs to start to free himself from him. And this hospital needs to be cleansed.

-

Back in the hospital, waiting at the nurse’s station and trying to make herself the least visible she can, so as not to draw attention or cause a disruption, Sarah watches for Connor. This is an emergency room, after all, and there are people here in dire need of help, the physical kind, the kind where they could bleed out in the waiting room. She can’t allow someone to be trapped here because her distraction barred them from the help they need.

It takes a while- she has to wait for Will to arrive, looking like he didn’t sleep at all the night before, with Connor’s bloody face at his side. Immediately, his eyes lock on her and his face twists in anger. This time, she feels it. The way the clock speeds up on the wall. The sudden blur around everything as they move so much faster than she can hope to, the clock reaching half-past in the blink of an eye. April’s shift started at six, now the clock is verging on seven, and Connor is staring at her. She doesn’t know if it’s really Connor, though. Not the way he was when he was alive, at any rate. Sarah didn’t know him, but he seems to have been loved, and it’s hard to imagine someone loving an energy so blatantly angry and malicious, to the point that she wonders if he’s beyond saving.

She blinks, and then everything seems normal, except an entire tray of blood vials a nurse had been carrying for blood panels right by where Connor stands collapses to the ground, shattering and spilling and coating the poor woman’s scrubs. She pales and starts spouting apologies, and Connor, Connor looks at her and then he’s gone. 

Sarah needs to take a look at the records, and if she does that now, then she can fix this whole thing sooner rather than later. Every moment she spends failing to learn and plan is another moment where people are hurting. So she finds April, rubs her sweaty palms on her jeans, and asks the question.

“Can I see the records now?”

That gives April pause, and it seems like she’s about to say no, but then she hands Sarah the little tablet in her hand. “I’m about to go on break. You’ve got twenty minutes, okay?”

Twenty. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. Sarah nods and rushes to the nearest private space- the women’s restroom. She barricades herself in one of the stalls, grabs her notebook, and starts at Connor’s records. Fifteen minutes for those, maximum, and then she has five to look at the rest. She puts his name into the system, and mostly she gets his employee information from before he died- blood type, birthday, emergency contact. The contact is listed as Dr. Halstead, which means there was definitely more there than meets the eye. But she’s more interested in his death report, because he apparently died here, at the hospital.

The autopsy says inconclusive.

He died during an active hostage situation in the ED a few months ago. The assumption was that he was shot at some point, but they found his body in the doctor’s lounge, tucked into a corner. No injuries. No bullet wounds. Blood dripping from his nose and mouth and eyes. They couldn’t figure out why. 

This is really bad news. Sarah’s heart is beating out of her chest. Her skin is beginning to crawl. She thinks she might be having her first anxiety attack in years. It isn’t safe here. The hospital needs to be shut down, at least for a while, or more people will die, and in far worse ways than what killed Connor. And Connor’s ghost needs to be freed, if not completely exorcised. And it has everything, everything to do with the spirits haunting April. And if Sarah has to hazard a guess, April and Will aren’t the only ones being haunted. 

She forces herself to take a deep breath. She needs to look at the maternity deaths. But she still can’t draw in a good breath, and it hurts, but she has to look. First, she puts in April’s name, and the records tell her when April’s baby’s heart stopped beating, when she had to have it removed from inside her. The baby, the fetus, physically can’t be the spirit. It’s too small to be the one haunting April. Chills dig into her spine, and Sarah still can’t breathe, and the next thing she knows someone is pounding on the stall door and it might be the thing that killed Connor and has this hospital in its vice grip.

“Sarah? It’s just April. Someone heard you panicking and called the nurses for help. Can you unlock the stall?”

Sarah’s hands are shaking. She doesn’t want to drop the tablet, it’s probably really expensive and then April might get in trouble for letting her see the records in the first place. Why didn’t Sarah even think of that when she asked to see them? She still can’t breathe. Her one hand clutches the tablet white knuckled while the other fumbles at the sliding lock, just barely managing to pull it open and let the tartan door swing towards her. It’s just April, just April standing in front of her with the light shining around her silhouette like something off the silver screen. A heroine. An angel.

“Take a deep breath for me, Sarah. You can do that, can’t you. In, like this, copy me. There you go. Out.”

As hard as she tries to listen, her lungs aren’t cooperating and her notebook is on the floor and she’s probably about to drop the tablet. And the thing that killed Connor is still here, not finished wreaking destruction. 

Fingers are digging into her cheekbones, sharp, and she whimpers before she recognizes that they’re only April’s hands. Something safe and good and not an imminent threat. The touch, the warmth it begins to pour into her veins, helps her start to breathe deeply again. Her lungs still only feel like they’re at half capacity, but she’s starting to breathe and it’s better than just a moment ago, at the very least. She’s able to take a deep breath and start to relax, loosen the tension in her muscles until she’s finally able to fill her chest with precious oxygen and set the tablet on her lap. She doesn’t lean forward to pick up her notebook yet, far too content in the way April’s holding her face like she’s something precious.

“You’re okay,” April says, and Sarah finds herself nodding. “Just keep breathing. Do you wanna talk about what happened?”

She should, but for now, Sarah shakes her head. As soon as April releases her face, Sarah picks up her notebook and returns the tablet. She’s got enough information for now- the baby isn’t Sarah’s, and everyone in this hospital is in grave danger. Her top priority for everyone’s safety is now Connor. Which means she’s got to talk to him, and absolutely Will.

“I think you should take some time off,” Sarah says as they walk out of the bathroom together. “At least until I figure this all out.”

“Sarah, I can’t just- figure what out?”

No matter how she phrases it, she’ll sound crazy. There’s no way around it, especially when talking to those who don’t live in the same world she does. “The thing that killed Connor poses an active danger to everyone in this hospital, including you. Until I can get rid of it, no one should be in the building.”

“Okay, I think you’re overexaggerating.”

April’s voice is clearly dramatized, but she bumps her shoulder against Sarah’s in a way that promises no irritation, no hard feelings if she is. But the thing is, she’s not, and it’s probably going to be difficult to do anything to cleanse the meticulous, strictly controlled hospital environment, but she has to try.  If she did nothing, she’d never forgive herself. Already, she’s trying to figure out what to ask Will, and when. She’d have to isolate him from Connor, but Connor’s reaction could be unpredictable, violent even, and that’s a risk she isn’t sure if she’s willing to take.

She has no choice, though, and  that weighs on her when they get back to the ED and Connor is standing behind Will, a hand reached out as if to touch the stubbly skin of his cheek. It has to hurt, having no way to touch the people around you. She can only begin to imagine the amount of pain he must be in right now.

He comes up to her, this time, and leans against the counter although the edge of his hip sinks through the countertop, a reminder of what he isn’t. There’s so much blood on his spirit. She has the urge to lift her arm and wipe it away, but it just isn’t possible.

“I read your autopsy report,” she tells him.

Connor tilts his head to the side, and people around them begin to move faster. It tightens Sarah’s chest but she refuses to acknowledge it. She can’t and shouldn’t show any reaction to the way he plays with the reality around them.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” Connor says softly, his gaze flickering over to Will. “Did the report say how long it took them to find me?”

“Four hours. After the hostage situation ended.”

He nods, and she almost forgets how much power lurks beneath his skin. “I just didn’t want them to focus on me instead of the patients. I thought I would be okay. And then they didn’t even look for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs and sniffles, evidence he’d be crying if he was capable. Sarah’s given the chance to wonder if maybe, she can free him just like this and turn all of her focus to getting rid of the thing that killed him. But as she’s thinking about it, something dark drifts across Connor’s face and he steps back, the clocks slowing now, so everyone around her is stopped in time. He shouldn’t be able to do this.

“I don’t want you to send me away, or to the next plane, or some shit. I need to be here for Will.”

[anthonybrxdgerton]

A Discovery of Witches reread

Last week I re-read A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness and it took me a long time to do it; I had to pause every few pages (sometimes paragraphs) because of the choices characters made I didn’t agree with. I will be doing my reactions about episodes as well (as soon as I re-watch them) and comparing the show to the first book.

My reactions, notes and everything under the cut. There are some trivia I forgot about, some minor changes book vs tv show, some stuff referencing the next books and what not. 

BEWARE OF SPOILERS FOR THE BOOKS. IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE BOOKS, DON’T READ THIS POST. Enjoy!

[ a discovery of witches | shadow of night | the book of life | time’s convert ]

the book takes place in 2009 in the span of 40 days

miriam and marcus have very different taste in music (The whole area seemed unoccupied, although from somewhere there came faint strains of a Bach cello concerto and something that sounded an awful lot like the latest hit recorded by the Eurovision song-contest winners);

marcus wears converse and he's BLOND (so are nathaniel and satu); 

the killings that occurred at the time (a.k.a jack’s doing) were the reason matthew thought that vampires are going extinct and are not able to sire anyone else;

Patience, alas, was not the strong suit of Bishop women - you can clearly see that in the books as well as in the show;

sarah and rebecca's mother's name is joanna  (which only matters to me because it’s my name too);

matthew came to oxford at 1989 (when he met hamish); 

matthew was 37 eyars old when we was re-born as a vampire and baldwin was in his late twenties or early thirties. marcus was in his late twenties and diana is 33.

marcus is into red-heads (but phoebe is not a red-head, which will be notet later by baldwin or matthew (i don’t remember which)) ;

"I asked if you were hungry.” Why he continued to do so was a mystery—when was I not hungry? #relatable, I’m Diana here;

“I love your hair,” he murmured. “It has every color imaginable—even strands of red and black.” which will be important later on when diana’s hair change

matthew knows how to knock the cork off with a sword (and now i feel robbed that we didn't see it)

both matthew and hamish won all souls prize fellowship

"What’s your name?” I asked, smothering a smile. “Timothy,” he answered, rocking back on his heels. He was wearing mismatched cowboy boots, one red and one black. His eyes were mismatched, too—one was blue and one was green. “You’re more than welcome to check your e-mail, Timothy.” “You’re the one.” He tipped his fingers at me, pivoted on the heel of the red boot, and walked away. - i just love Timothy, okay? He’s a sweetheart PLUS he is somewhat important in The Book of Life

ashmole 782 has been missing since 1859 but gerbert had it a thousand years ago and “it is a strange book, is it not, Diana? A thousand years ago I took it from a great wizard from Toledo. When I brought it to France, it was already bound by layers of enchantment."

diana's fingers were already colorful (mostly blue) especially when she was angry/stressed 

Somewhere in the center of my soul, a rusty chain began to unwind. It freed itself, link by link, from where it had rested unobserved, waiting for him. My hands, which had been balled up and pressed against his chest, unfurled with it. The chain continued to drop, to an unfathomable depth where there was nothing but darkness and Matthew. At last it snapped to its full length, anchoring me to a vampire. -  matthew could feel the chain if diana wanted him too. I think she weaved it subconsciously without realizing she’s using her weaver’s powers at the time

Matthew also knew his faults, anger chief among them. Typically, Matthew’s rage was so destructive that once the poison was out of his system, he disappeared for months or even years to come to terms with what he'd done - first reference to the blood rage 

matthew used to be friends with marquis de lafayette 

when marcus was dying and matthew told him about vampires, marcus thought he was tormented by a demon 

“Holy God,” Marcus said softly. Staring at the picture, he tried to imagine what it would be like to receive a photo of his own father ripped to pieces and tossed into the dirt to die. - a.k.a. WAIT TILL SHADOW OF NIGHT AND NOW I'M CRYING I JUST LOVE MATTHEW AND MARCUS’ RELATIONSHIP SO MUCH OKAY

Matthew wore his pilgrim’s badge only when he was afraid he was going to kill someone or when he was thinking of Eleanor St. Leger—or both. - i wish they kept it in the show too especially since it created the tree of life in bishop’s house

My aunt was good with spells. Emily wasn’t but could fly for short distances and see the future.

 Matthew’s books were arranged not by size but in a running time line. Those on the first bookshelf were so ancient that I couldn’t bear to think about what they contained—the lost works of Aristotle, perhaps? Anything was possible. - headcanon that he has books from a Library of Alexandria (maybe he got them from Philippe or Hugh or Godfrey?) 

“It was spring, you were bored, and so you got up one morning and went to Italy to make war. Your father had to beg forgiveness from the king on his knees”. now I NEED TO KNOW WHAT MATTHEW HAS DONE 

“Perhaps, but one thing hasn’t changed in all these years. Whenever there’s a crisis, there’s a de Clermont nearby.” - it should be their motto, really

diana has visions too - i know it's obvious but i completely forgot about it since the show didn’t include it at all except for episode 7 when everybody saw the past 

Matthew was unusually tall for the time, though not as tall as he became once he was a vampire - being reborn as a vampire not only makes you stronger but bigger and taller too.

His mother strode forward and slapped him, hard, across the face. “How dare you ask that question?” i need to see it, WHY DIDN’T YOU INCLUDE THIS, SHOW?

 marcus is "good at wheedling information out of people."

“And you are going to give me gray hairs—long thought impossible among vampires, by the way—with your courage, your firecracker hands, and the impossible things you say.” -  i just like it and i wonder if deb already knew that diana would do that for him in the book of life?

Baldwin had him by the throat before the words were out of his mouth. Their heads close together, one dark and one bright, they rocketed to the far end of the hall. Matthew’s body smashed into a wooden door, splintering it with the impact. - friendly reminder that Baldwin is a much better fighter than Matthew and the show SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF MAKING HIM WEAKER

Vampires didn’t usually get all of their names (5) when they were reborn but over the years.

One reason the de Clermont family was so long-lived was that each member had different skills in a crisis. Philippe had always been the leader of men, a charismatic figure who could convince vampires and humans and sometimes even daemons to fight for a common cause. Their brother Hugh had been the negotiator, bringing warring sides to the bargaining table and resolving even the fiercest of conflicts. Godfrey, the youngest of Philippe’s three sons, had been their conscience, teasing out the ethical implications of every decision. To Baldwin fell the battle strategies, his sharp mind quick to analyze every plan for flaws and weaknesses. Louisa had been useful as bait or as a spy, depending on the situation. Matthew, improbably enough, had been the family’s fiercest warrior. His early adventures with the sword had made his father wild with their lack of discipline, but he’d changed. Now whenever Matthew held a weapon in his hand, something in him went cold and he fought his way through obstacles with a tenacity that made him unbeatable. Then there was Ysabeau. Everyone underestimated her except for Philippe, who had called her either “the general” or “my secret weapon.” She missed nothing and had a longer memory than Mnemosyne. - i really like it and i wish it was in the show too. That being said I really am interested what are the talents/skills of Verin, Stasia and Freya.

A helicopter,” Baldwin said. “It was waiting in Clermont-Ferrand to take me back to Lyon. - does Baldwin have a house there? 

”Fancy seeing you here, Miss Bishop”. It was what he always said when I sneaked into his study at home or crept downstairs late at night for one more bedtime story. FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT STEPHEN TOLD HER THE SAME THING IN LONDON TOO

Let me know if you need anything, Ysabeau.” Baldwin brushed her cheeks with his lips. - WERE THEY ENEMIES? FRENEMIES?? I THOUGH THAT HATED EACH OTHER WHAT IS GOING ON I NEED ANSWERS ESPECIALLY THAT YSABEAU SAID SHE HATES HIM IN BOL AND THAT HE TRIED TO BANISH HER FROM JERUSALEM ONCE

Marcus was Matthew’s son. He was my son. / When the door swung open, Marcus’s blue eyes met mine with a twinkle. “Hi, Mom, we’re home!” I JUST LOVE IT, OKAY, WE NEED MORE OF THEM IN THE SHOW

Marcus prefers whiskey even though all of his family loves wine

One morning Marcus turned on his heel and stormed back to the house, leaving his father alone in the old apple orchard. “Diana,” he growled in greeting before streaking through the family room and straight out the front door. “I’m too damn young for this!” he shouted as he left. - I LOVE YOU MY BABY DRAMA QUEEN

Gerbert had always wanted to be included among the Knights of Lazarus, and my father refused him time and time again. - which is why he sent Juliette to spy on Matthew and it gives interesting layer that he told about The Knights in the show. He’s so bitter loool

Stephen Proctor could timewalk into the past OR into the future hence why we saw him in the 1x01 - he wasn’t just a hallucination, he probably timewalked into the future to make sure Ashmole 782 is safe

also, at the end of the book, right before they timewalked, Matthew noticed that there are some annotations in his “Doctor Faustus” copy he made that he didn’t remember putting them there. - is this a sign that 16th century Matthew somehow subconsciously remembered Diana or his fight with Kit or something? I wish that was explained too because that’s interesting.

this is so long I’M SORRY. Overall, I had very hard time re-reading this book especially when Matthew was so possessive and controlling. I wanted to punch him every time he said or did something. Show!Matthew is definitely more bearable and les creepy. Also, I love the familiar/platonic relationships between Marcus & Matthew, Marcus & Diana, Marcus & Miriam, Miriam & Diana, Sophie & Diana, Sarah & Marcus and more. Too bad the show didn’t care about those relationships too much. As for the romantic relationships, I wish I knew more about Miriam & Bertrand, Philippe & Ysabeau, Sophie & Nathaniel too.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

By Morning Light | iv

Pairings: Bucky x Steve x Reader (though technically no Steve in this part)

Summary: Steve leaves for a mission and Bucky doesn’t handle it too well. It’s up to you to take care of him

Warnings: Nightmares, minor angst, Sad!Bucky. Unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), vaginal sex, nipple appreciation (sounds weird, but it’s nothing too kinky). Mention of suicide bombings in passing.  

Word Count: 4.1k

Notes: IT’S HERE!! After many, many long months, it’s here. I got my act together and made myself write this chapter and actually? It’s not what I thought it was gonna be, but I’m still happy with it. Enjoy!

I recognise that the general plot of this story is a bit like some nights (i stay up) and that parts of the description are similar to Steve “Fight Me” Rogers… but I swear I wasn’t trying to copy my own fics, haha.

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~ even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise ~

Though you hate it when both Steve and Bucky have to go on a mission, life is a lot more miserable when only one of them has to leave.

When you’re left on your own, you only have yourself to manage. You’ve taught yourself how to cope with their absence — or, well. Perhaps more accurately, you’ve taught yourself how to get through each day. After being in a relationship with them for so long, you’ve developed a routine, and you know what you need to do to distract yourself from the matter at hand. Yes, it’s difficult, but at least you only have yourself to worry about.

If one of the boys is at home with you, your routine has a tendency to go belly-up.

Steve’s not so bad.

Being left with Steve is akin to being left alone with a very big, very mopey puppy. He follows you around everywhere, and needs to be touched constantly — though he’ll never admit it.

There’s a restlessness about him. He reminds you of a caged bird, aching to be freed. He’ll flit from room to room like a ghost that has lost its way.

When it comes to Steve, the best thing to do is to keep him busy. You take him out for walks (further lending support to the fact that he basically turns into a big puppy) and bring him to any and every exhibition that might be on. That’s how you ended up forking out sixty bucks each to visit a science exhibition about fungi, that one time.

Steve has a hard time sleeping when Bucky’s away, which means that you need to drive his body to the point of exhaustion before you can get him to shut his eyes for anything longer than a ten-minute power nap. You need to push his body to a stage where it physically cannot function without sleep. There are a number of ways of doing this, but you’ve found that marathon sex and super-intense workouts tend to be the most effective methods.

So, if anyone on the team is around, you hand Steve off to that person, with clear instructions for them to tire him out. If it’s Thor, he and Steve will engage in a game of lightning-frisbee that affects the weather across the whole of New York. Natasha will spar with him until she’s got bruises and minor cuts decorating her sides, whilst Sam will do laps with him around some park or other. Or rather, Steve does laps around a park, and Sam whizzes beside him on his motorised scooter.

With Bucky, your life gets a little bit more complicated.

Where Steve might be likened to a needy puppy, you would perhaps describe Bucky as a feral street cat.

The thing with Bucky is that he becomes more unpredictable. One minute, he could be crawling into your lap like a kitten who needs cuddles and attention, but the next minute, he could be holding you at knife point. You can never tell what he’s going to do next.

Life without Steve is mentally and emotionally draining, both for you and for Bucky.

He reverts back to the behaviour that he exhibited when he first started to break his HYDRA programming. Though you weren’t there during that period of his life, you’ve pieced together the details based on what Steve has told you and from the information that you’ve gleaned from reading Bucky’s files. The anxiety, the nightmares, the meek subservience; they all come rushing back at full force.

You’re not sure why Bucky does this. You think that maybe, it’s because he feels more secure whenever Steve is around. There’s always someone there to watch his back, so he feels comfortable enough to let his guard down. Without Steve, even the smallest thud can set him off; he’s on a hair-pin trigger, constantly on high-alert.

Besides the semi-hostile demeanour, he also gets fiercely protective of you. He’s always making sure that you stay well away from any sightlines and is constantly watching you from the shadows, protecting you from...who knows what. You indulge him in his requests, though it does get annoying when he insists that you use the bathroom with the door left slightly ajar.

Whereas Steve never wants to be left alone, Bucky never leaves you alone. He always ensures that you are within his field of vision, even if your attention is not necessarily on him. There’s an overstuffed armchair in the corner of your home office that Bucky likes to sit in when he’s exhibiting this abnormal behaviour. He watches over you like a solitary hawk.

Bucky can’t leave the house when he gets like this. For starters, it’s nearly impossible to coax him into coming out with you. More importantly, that fearsome protectiveness renders him a potential threat to the public. He sticks close to your side and bares his teeth at anyone who so much as looks at you funny. If anyone touches you, Bucky will let loose a threatening growl, like a guard dog. After one fateful incident which involved Bucky nearly decapitating a waiter at a restaurant, you’d made the executive decision to not let Bucky go out in public whenever Steve went away for a mission.

He doesn’t eat unless you tell him to. He will not rest until you order him to strip and get into bed. He becomes non-verbal, answering your questions with  — at most — two-word answers. It’s torture for you to see him like this, but you know that there’s nothing that you can do.

You don’t know why, exactly, he acts like this, but you think it has something to do with him feeling helpless.

Steve is perfectly capable of looking after himself — uh, most of the time, relatively speaking — when he’s away on missions, both of you know this. However, your theory is that there is some part of Bucky’s brain which believes that Steve is safest when Bucky is watching his six and therefore, if Bucky is not watching Steve’s six, Steve must be unsafe.

This time around, it’s Steve that’s gone.

Bucky is not handling his absence very well.

He left for Jakarta two days ago, and is due to return within the next three days. You’re not privy to the exact details of the mission, but you know that it has something to do with a string of recent suicide bombings in the area.

It’s been a rough couple of days for you both.

Today, you’d woken up with a metal hand wrapped around your throat, and things had gone downhill from there. The only real accomplishment you’ve had is that you managed to Bucky to eat some chicken and rice for dinner, which is basically the only proper meal he’s had the entire day. After dinner, you’d bundled him into bed and forced him cuddle with you.

You fall into a restless sleep sometime after ten. You’ve wrapped yourself around Bucky so that he can’t leave the bed. His back is pressed to your chest, your arm is slung over his torso and your cheek is resting on the back of his shoulder. He will never admit it, but he much prefers being the little spoon when he’s not having a great day.

Sometime during the night, your fitful sleep is broken by the sound of quiet whimpers.

You crack open one eye and squint at the world blearily, as your sleep-fogged brain struggles to make sense of the situation. It takes a second for reality to come into focus, but you soon register the fact that the body beside yours is trembling, violently enough for the vibrations to be felt across the entire mattress.

“No,” he’s saying, voice shaky and riddled with fear.  “Please—please, no, not her, please not her.”

Concern floods your system. It breaks your heart to seem him like this. You swallow and swipe your tongue over your lips to get that unpleasant, cottony dryness out of your mouth as you push yourself into a sitting position. A harsh scrub of the back of your hand over your eyes gets rid of the lingering cobwebs of sleep that cling to your mind. Feeling more alert, you cautiously scoot closer to Bucky.

Waking Bucky up from a nightmare is always a bit of a risky endeavour — usually, you leave the job to Steve, as his body is more capable of handling whatever Bucky might do to him. On the few occasions that you’ve tried, you’ve usually ended up either on the floor, or pinned to the bed with Bucky looming over you.

You take a deep breath to summon your courage.

“Bucky?” you say tentatively, as you gently shake his shoulder. “Bucky — sweetie, c’mon, it’s just a dream. Wake up.”

“No,” he moans, “No, no — no, please, don’t—”

“Bucky it’s not real, honey, wake up—”

“No!” he shouts hoarsely, like he’s suffering the worst anguish imaginable. “Please, you can’t—not her, please not her—”

“Bucky,” you say, more firmly this time, “Sweetheart, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up!”

He jolts awake with a heaving gasp, sitting upright so suddenly that he unbalances you, sending you toppling over. You yelp in surprise, landing on the mattress with a muffled oof. The sound of his ragged breathing fills the room.

You scramble to your knees and reach out to comfort him, but stop yourself before you actually make contact with his skin — you don’t know how your touch would be received.

He is backlit by the moonlight streaming in through the windows and his hair forms a dark, shaggy mane that falls around his face. His torso is bare and sweat glimmers on the planes of his chest, making him look like some ethereal being.

“Bucky?” you say cautiously, “Can I hold you?”

He nods tersely. “Please,” he says gruffly.

You knee-walk over to him and wrap your arms around his neck in a side-hug. Bucky, clearly not satisfied by that, grasps you by the waist and hoists you into his lap to hold you better. Before you can develop a cramp in your thigh, you arrange your limbs so that your ankles are crossed behind his back, and your arms are looped over his neck. You plaster yourself to his chest and press your foreheads together, giving him as many points of contact as possible.

“S’okay, Buck, I’m here — breathe with me, that’s it.”

With some encouragement, you manage to get Bucky to match your deep, even breaths. Slowly but surely, his raw, harsh pants slow down to something more controlled, less pained. With a final exhale, he slumps into you, tightening his grip around your waist as he presses his forehead to your shoulder.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers, his warm breath tickling your skin. “I—I thought you were gone, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t get to you fast enough, and—”

You shush him, threading your fingers through his thick hair and pressing your fingertips into the base of his skull.

“I’m here,” you tell him, “I’m here, I’m right here, with you.”

Bucky presses his lips to your skin and all of a sudden, the air around you changes. It is as if the dust motes swirling around you have been charged with electricity.

He trails his lips over your skin, leaving hot, open-mouth kisses in a meandering path. They travel over your shoulder, past your collarbone, up your neck, over your jaw and finally, find their salvation against your lips. He kisses you fiercely, crushing your lips together like he is drowning man and you are the oxygen that will save him. Bucky clings to you like he’s afraid that he might be swept away by the dark, evil currents that swarm his mind, holding onto you like you’re his lifeline.

The situation is perhaps not the most conventional, but your body is nonetheless responding to Bucky’s touch. A rush of heat darts from your brain to your belly, settling into a pool of lust that is growing hotter by the minute. That same heat floods your cheeks and burns behind your chest. Your nipples tighten in anticipation underneath the thin fabric of your sleep shirt.

“I need you,” Bucky whispers brokenly, heatedly. His voice is like the whisper of a breeze, quiet enough that you have to strain your ears to hear it. “Please, please, I need you, I need—”

“Shh, I’m here,” you whisper, “Right here. You do what you need, sweetheart.”

In one smooth, seamless movement, Bucky flips you over so that you’re on your back. He hovers above you, a shadowy figure that dominates your senses. His long hair falls around you like a dark curtain, partitioning you from the rest of the world, cocooning you in this safe haven. Your legs are wrapped around his waist and slowly, your drag your calves up and down the back of his thigh, urging him to do as he pleases.

Bucky peppers hot kisses over your jaw and down your neck, pausing briefly to close his teeth over your pulse point. You gasp, throwing your head back and baring your throat. He rumbles appreciatively, worrying the skin of your neck between his teeth.

“You’re gonna leave a mark,” you say breathily, a hint of a laugh tinging your sentence.

“Good,” he replies, voice rough. “You’re mine.”

You swallow, touched by those two simple words. “Always,” you promise, squeezing his hips with your knees.

He growls possessively, which prompts you to press your hand over your mouth to stifle an irrational giggle. He sounds like a goddamn caveman. Your laughter morphs into a moan as he pulls aside the collar of your shirt and teases his lips over your collarbone, focusing on the spot that makes your curl.

“Bucky,” you groan, biting your lip to hold back a whine.

His fingers are trailing up your sides  — one smooth and cool, the other callused and warm. He’s rucking up your sleep shirt as he goes, leaving the material bunched under your breasts as he slithers down your body. Bucky plants open-mouthed, reverent kisses over your belly, stopping to leave gentle nips wherever he pleases. His stubble scratches your skin, making you shiver in arousal.

“Off,” he says, flicking at the hem of your shirt impatiently.

Hastily, you pull the garment over your head, tossing it to some irrelevant place in the darkness. In an instant, Bucky’s fingers are cupping and squeezing your breasts, savouring the feel and weight of them in his palms. You gasp aloud when his thumbs brush over your stiffened nipples.

“Please,” you whisper, though you’re not quite sure what you’re asking for.

A cry of pleasure leaves your throat as Bucky’s lips close around your left nipple, engulfing it in sudden heat. A spike of want flares in your belly, making you shift your hips restlessly. Your fingers scrabble for purchase in the sheets as he flicks his tongue over your sensitive flesh. Bucky alternates between teasing the hard nub with his tongue and gently scraping over it with his teeth.

He releases your nipple from his lips and shifts to give the same treatment to the other one. The man likes his symmetry, so this doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Bucky switches back and forth between your breasts, taking care to give each one the same level of attention.

His touches eventually lose some of their frenzied intensity, mellowing down to something more lethargic, languid. Bucky allows his weight to settle more heavily on top of you, and rests his chin on your chest. When he takes your nipple between his lips, an expression of contentment settles over his features; you can practically feel the tension bleeding out of his muscles with every second that ticks past.

You leave him be. He’s behaved this way in the past, and if nursing on your breasts seems to bring him some element of comfort, who are you to deny him this small act? You card your fingers through his hair and gently massage his scalp, relishing the pleased moan that rumbles out of his chest.

Whether he realises it or not, the hard line of Bucky’s cock is pressing into your thigh. He’s grinding against you lazily, his movements so small that you don’t think he’s even aware of what he’s doing.

Carefully, so that you don’t accidentally dislodge his mouth, you reach between your bodies until your fingers come into contact with the waistband of his sweats. It’s a bit of a stretch, but you manage to push them down, halfway over his ass, low enough for your fingers to graze the top of his leaking dick.

Bucky jerks in surprise when you palm the head, releasing a shaky moan that is muffled against your skin. His breath skitters over your collarbone.

“Look at you, honey, being so good for me,” you croon softly, tucking a strand of hair over his ear. “You’re hard, Buck — you wanna take care of that? You wanna get inside me?”

He moans in affirmation. You smile benevolently as you continue to stroke his hair.

“C’mon then, get these off,” you say, snapping the elastic.

With great reluctance, he pulls his mouth off your breast to do as he’s been instructed. You take the opportunity to shimmy your shorts and panties down your legs. They too are discarded to some distant corner of the room.

Bucky crawls back on top of you, taking his weight on his forearms, which are planted on either side of your head. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and hook your legs over his waist, pulling him close. He bumps his nose against your chin, tipping your face upwards, so that he can capture your lips in an impassioned kiss.

You moan into his mouth when the head of his cock drags over your folds, sending tingles of arousal dancing through your system. Without breaking the kiss, you wiggle your hand between your bodies and grasp his cock, guiding it to your waiting entrance.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky breathes, his lips brushing against yours.

“Inside, Barnes, c’mon,” you reply.

He slides his hips forward, sinking his cock into your warmth and wetness. You gasp as he penetrates you, arching your back reflexively. Bucky groans, dropping his head and resting his temple against your shoulder. Each of his breaths sends a gust of warm air blowing over your neck. He is still, giving you time to adjust.

When you feel like you’re ready, you urge him on with a word of encouragement and a nudge of your foot. Gradually, he works his entire length into your body, spearing you open in that most wondrous way. His cock is just perfect, filling that emptiness inside you right to the brim. There’s just enough of him for you to feel that pleasurable stretch, but not too much that you’re uncomfortable.

“You feel so good,” you whisper, as you trail your fingers up and down his spine.

Bucky hums, turning his head to mouth wetly at your collarbone. “You too,” he murmurs.

He captures your lips with his own as his hips begin to move in earnest. His movements are slow and unhurried, as neither of you are in a rush to find completion. He rests his weight on top of you, blanketing you with his body, a physical shield against the outside world. This feels right; chest to chest, hip to hip, not even a breath of air between you.

Bucky rocks into you slowly, using miniscule movements of his hips, barely pulling out before he’s sliding back into your core. Your lips find his in the darkness and he latches on, greedily swallowing your sounds of pleasure like they are his ambrosia.

You hook your legs over his waist and cross your ankles at the small of his back, pulling him closer. Though you dig your heels into the top of his ass to spur him on, he continues at the leisurely pace that he’s set.

No words are spoken into the quiet of the night, yet every movement speaks volumes in its own right. Every surge of his hips, every brush of his lips, every caress of his fingers — each touch professes his love for you. Bucky tells you how much he needs you without a single word passing his lips, and you do the same.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the moment. You focus on the roughness of his stubble against your neck, the warmth of his breath over your cheek, the drag of his chest over your nipples, the sparks of pleasure burning between your legs. His cock is brushing against all the sweet spots inside of you, the ones that make your head spin and your thighs tremble. The numerous, complex layers of pleasure sweep you away in their current; you feel like you’re weightless, floating on a cloud.

At some point, animal instincts start to take over. Love-making turns to passionate fucking, and Bucky’s rhythm quickens, his hips snapping forward more vigorously. He widens his knees and anchors them into the bed, giving himself more leverage to thrust. You cry out exultantly as your pleasure soars to new heights, fisting your hands in the sheets above your head.

Bucky slides his palms up your arms, until his hands find yours in the rumpled sheets. He laces your fingers together, pressing your hands into the mattress as he fucks into you.

“You’re so good,” he whispers, “So—god, so good, I love you.”

“I love you too,” you gasp, “Fuck, Bucky — Bucky.”

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart,” he grits out, as his hips drive forward again and again. Your mouth opens on a silent scream as he nails that spot relentlessly, the one that has you screwing your eyes shut so tightly, you’re seeing stars dancing behind your lips.

He’s saying your name under his breath like a prayer, oftentimes praising you and cursing you in the same breath.

“I love you,” he pants, “I love you — please, stay, don’t go—”

“M’not going anywhere,” you promise breathlessly, “I’m right here, Bucky. I love you so much.”

Your orgasm, when it comes, takes you by surprise. It washes over you like a crashing wave, unrelenting in its intensity. It is powerful enough to have you crying out in ecstasy. You dig your nails into the backs of Bucky’s hands as your back arches of its own accord. Your pulse is roaring in your ears and your lungs have seized up; you’re unable to catch your breath. Your climax seems to last forever.

When you come back to your senses, you realise that Bucky is still hard inside of you, still thrusting his cock into your warmth, though his movements are beginning to falter.

“So beautiful,” he praises, as he mouths at your throat. “So goddamn beautiful.”

You’re loose-limbed and pliant, satiated by your release. A pleasant buzz has settled into your bones, and there is a contented smile on your lips. Your limbs are heavy and uncoordinated, but you manage to hook your arms around Bucky’s shoulders and dig your heels into his back more insistently.

“C’mon, Buck,” you breathe, “Come inside me.”

“Fuck,” he swears.

“Mm, you like that? You wanna fill me up? Make me yours?”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky moans, cock driving into you with renewed urgency. “Baby — baby, oh, m’close, I—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” you whisper.

There are many beautiful things in this world and among them is the sight of Bucky Barnes when he comes. He is quite the vision.

All the muscles in his body stiffen, save for those kiss-bitten lips, which go slack with pleasure. He thrusts into you one final time, burying his cock as deep inside you as physically possible. You shiver as his warmth spills into your channel, his cock spurting out hot, sticky ribbons of come. He is quiet, save for a single, bitten-back moan.

You roam your hands over his sweaty back, petting him gently as he rides out his climax. When it is over, he is careful to collapse half on you, and half on the bed, so that you’re not crushed under his weight. His softened, spent cock slips out of your pussy, and you whine in disapproval. You hate that feeling.

Blindly, Bucky fumbles around for his discarded sweats, and uses them to clumsily wipe his cock as well as the mess between your legs. He balls the soiled garment in his hand and tosses it onto the floor, to be dealt with in the morning.

The darkness has just started to give way to shades of pink and orange when Bucky rolls over onto his back and pulls you closer. A new dawn brings with it a fresh start and new challenges, but for now, you pillow your cheek on Bucky’s chest and let your heavy eyelids slide shut as sleep pulls you under.