#this book was like peering into my own fucking soul holy fuck

[pocmuzings]

"all i could think about was how i didn't want a friend like me. i have enough of me to go around."

YOLK // MARY HK CHOI

[ushidoux]

Father Dearest - Takashi Utsui x Reader

Summary:  Ushijima makes it clear that he’s not interested in you but you find something better.  (~1.1k words)

Warnings: age gap but consensual adults, sorta vanilla nsfw i guess it’s all about the mind games

A/N: this could be better and smuttier but I have to go to sleep lmfao. This is my first old man smut. Shocking.

---

Being friend-zoned was hard enough after pining as intensely as you did but damn, you had really outdone yourself this time.

For starters, you had only unintentionally meandered your way into Ushijma’s tight circle, a feat that was already remarkable enough on its own. The athlete’s resting facial expression was always intimidating and he kept the number of people he engaged with emotionally low, even if over time you realized he was a lot softer and sweeter than he let on. 

Yours was an odd sort of friendship that had begun after being paired together for a school project. You’d been irritated enough that you were still doing group work in the second half of your junior year of college, and terrified once you realized you’d be doing it with him of all people, but a small camaraderie had bloomed after you’d gotten to know him for what he truly was - a kind, sweet, and unfortunately for you, very attractive soul.

But then you’d gotten too comfortable and furthermore, just a bit too bold, and you made the mistake of developing a crush. Even worse - you had actually told him how you felt.

Polite yet direct as he was, he let you down gently but to you, it was possibly the harshest thing you’d ever heard in your life.

“I’m just not interested in dating right now, and we are certainly better suited as friends.”

You were shocked that you’d managed to not burst in tears, and somehow you’d remained stone-faced. It was even more shocking that in those few words, that was the end of that conversation. In fact, once the words had settled in the air between you, he gave you a sympathetic but un-invested look and immediately thereafter, he’d flipped the page in his textbook in an inadvertently symbolic fashion to return promptly back to his work.

A singular focus - you’d admired that about him, but the rejection was harsh, especially when he acted as though nothing had happened on that day and days afterwards.

But could you really fault him? 

You’d still agreed to meet him at his dorm for another studying session - or rather a tutoring session, since you were the only one who knew what was going on in class at this point and Ushijima wouldn’t risk his athletic scholarship in a million years.

So here you were, making your way through the hallway at the end of which was Ushijima’s suite which you had visited quite a few times but never as the kind of guest you had hoped to be. A frown came to your face as you dwelled on this thought as you waited after a text and a knock on the door.

Maybe after today you’d put some appropriate distance between you just for your mental health, you considered as you rocked on your heels idly. 

He was taking longer than usual to get to the door, you thought, only to hear the door whisk open and reveal someone who was in no way Ushijima, and yet…

“And who do we have here?”

There was now a much older gentleman standing before you, one that looked vaguely like Ushijima, but slightly scaled down and noticeably more approachable. Warm even. His smile was wide and reached his eyes, similar to Ushijima’s own smile, but more accessible.

Ushijima eventually appeared behind his father while you tried to piece two and two together to the realization that they were likely related.

“One of my friends, ___,” he said, with a smile, and your heart ached.

---

But not for long.

And for a reason far beyond what you’d anticipated.

It sounded almost lecherous if you said Takashi Utsui had taken an interest in you, occupying himself with a book in the corner while you tutored the son he’d come to briefly visit from overseas. You’d thought it odd that he had stopped Ushijima from canceling your meetup, peering with a sort of curiosity at you and him ever so often as you worked quietly together. You wondered if he had been gauging his son’s interest during that time, and when he finally decided his son hadn’t staked a claim (if he cared at all), deciding at that moment to proposition you with a night out.

It sounded even worse that you’d sensed the attraction the older man had to you barely twenty minutes into your review time, and had decided you were equally as interested. After all, you wondered just how much Ushijima had taken after his father, and you had missed being wanted.

You hadn’t been expecting humoring an older man for a date would turn out with you breathing heavily and soaking wet: from perspiration, from arousal, from tears of overstimulation from orgasms wrenched out of you by the end of the night.

You remembered briefly that Wakatoshi had told you superficially about his parents’ divorce on a late night snack run, and now all you could think was, Holy shit, Ushijima’s mother had left this?

Thick, veiny cock burrowed into you repeatedly, splitting you, splaying you, and if there was any sound you could focus on, it was the earthy grunt so close to your ear, timed with every thrust. 

The years had clearly treated Takashi well, because you were pleasantly surprised by how firm his body was now pressed against you, and his energy was no joke - in fact, he had already outlasted the other men you had been with and you were already starting to wonder if he was a better fuck than his beast of a son. 

When his angle shifted, and he went from fucking you horizontal to fucking you semi-upright, you knew he had to be better.

Experienced hands played your clit like a violin, and neither your nipples nor the sensitive space behind your ears, nor the soft crook of your neck, were neglected as he continued to piston in and out of you.

But his persistent smile, friendly when you’d first met as the cute friend who hung out with his son, was now arrogant, deepening as he drew moans and mewls out of you. It was almost threatening - here you were, barely able to speak, caged in by your crush’s father, and already you knew your feelings would be hard to manage after this night.

How would you proceed?

When your back arched almost violently in your last orgasm of several, dark spots briefly dotting your vision before settling back into Takashi’s mature face, he held you tightly, waiting for you to settle before rubbing your thighs gently to start much-needed aftercare.

“You know… when my son told me someone had a crush on him I couldn’t imagine he’d be silly enough to rebuff someone as beautiful as you.”

His hands were still rubbing your thigh and you were now resting against him, still as a painting, and heart beating softly despite your slightly restless mind.

Your lips curled into a smile despite your mild exhaustion. Takashi was right. He was silly. 

And just to prove how silly Wakatoshi was, you would go one step further: if he’d put you in the friend zone, you’d put him in the step-parent zone.

And you’d enjoy every second of it.

[needcake]

whumptober2021, day 25: escape

This is Part I

Part II is here

.

.

The oat fields were golden and ripe, swaying gently with the breeze, but there was no living soul in sight to harvest them.

His fellow soldiers carried on, talking amongst themselves, sighing over the weather. England lingered behind and waited until they were far enough away before turning on his heel and walking towards the tall stalks, listening to the birds and crows and the water flowing from the nearby stream.

There was no one. No cows, no sheep and no chickens either.

His feet took him to the closest village. The sun had already begun to set, and it cast golden shadows on the quiet houses, coloring the ground in hues of brown and orange.

There should be people working the fields. There should be children laughing and playing. There should be mothers scolding them. England entered a barn and found it empty where there should have been mountains of freshly picked grain, ready to be shipped, sold and turned into porridge. He entered stables, churches, taverns, found them all quiet, all empty.

Golden light filtered through dusty windows, and all it showed him were broken chairs, glasses and carts. Forgotten pieces of clothing left behind in a hasty escape, wooden toys under a dinner table.

The sky changed color as he went in and out of the houses. Purple-pink with a darker shade of blue on the horizon. One of the smaller houses smelled of spoiled milk and rotten eggs. In the bedroom he found six bodies piled on a small straw bed. Someone had forgotten to set the house on fire after they were done.

England stepped out of the house, looked at the golden field of ripe oats swaying in the distance.

And screamed.

-

“What’s your name, kid?”

He cleaned his nose with the back of his sleeve, peered into the book the bishop had on his desk where he was keeping a record of all crusaders heading to the Holy Land. There were seventy Williams, thirty-three Henrys and fifteen Johns on the list.

“William,” he said, and sniffed, cleaned his nose again. The bishop looked at him with clear disgust and wrote down the name he gave him.

“Any last name? Any family here?”

England thought of the King. Of his cousin, the Empress. Of her 14-year-old son who had just crossed the channel from Normandy with a handful of men to wage war against his uncle. He thought of his own family. The sword Scotland had pierced through his chest, the arrow Wales had shot through his neck.

He sniffed again. “No.”

“Any sins you would like to confess? This is your opportunity to unburden your soul before you step foot on the Holy Land.”

England looked at the bishop. A middle-aged man wearing white robes, impeccable calligraphy, clean nails. England’s twelve years of civil war had not touched him. The blood England had spilled did not taint his hands. This man could not fathom the centuries of war he carried on his back, nor the fact that England had no soul to be saved.

“I killed someone,” he said instead, and cleaned his nose again. The bishop frowned at him, shook his head.

“So young,” he commented, but noted down his sin beside his name. “Be in Dartmouth next month. May God bless you, my child,” he said, making the sign of the cross in the air without looking up at him. “All sins will be absolved after you return from the Holy Quest.”

England sniffed and nodded, turned to leave.

He didn’t care.

He just wanted a way out of this fucking island.

-

The captain of the Norman ship looked him up and down and shook his head. “Oh, Great. We’re taking children to die for the Pope now.”

England kept quiet. The first two captains had turned him down and a third had threatened to throw him into the ocean after he found him sneaking into his ship among the barrels of fresh water. He would go for a fifth if this one sent him away as well.

The man sighed. “If you really wanna die that badly I can just put you out of your misery right here and now, son.”

England looked down at the dirt beneath his shoes, but all he really saw were fields of golden oats.

“I need to get away from the war, sir,” he said quietly. “I’d swim to the continent if I knew how.”

The captain stayed quiet after that. Then he flicked his wrist to allow him into his ship and sighed heavily. “You and me both, kid.”

-

He sat between a Flemish man and a man from Norfolk. Every day the Flemish tried to strike up conversation even though his English was rudimentary at best and the man from Norfolk didn’t speak a word of French. England kept quiet, looking at the wood beneath his feet, seeing fields of gold swaying with the gentle breeze, forced to listen as the man told them about his life in Ghent, about his young niece who had just been betrothed to the Count’s third daughter’s son, about his devotion and will to fight and die to win back the Holy Land from the infidels, about his crops of flax that he hoped to expand once he came back from Jerusalem covered in glory.

England almost considered it divine intervention when their ship hit the first storm and the rocking waves occupied his loud companion with violent retching. The man from Norfolk didn’t look much better if his white-knuckled grip on his knees was anything to go by.

Their ship swerved and the tent stretched above them in the rear of the boat was soaking wet and dripping water over their heads. England braced his elbows on his thighs, took his St. George’s medallion from inside his shirt. Golden fields, purple-pink skies, spoiled milk. If the Lord could should him mercy, all he would ask was for a quick death. Let the ocean swallow him into oblivion, let his misery end.

Someone yelled that there was land in sight.

The man from Norfolk clapped him amicably on the back. “Your prayers worked, mate,” he said and England smiled tightly, hid his medallion back inside his shirt.

-

The port city was bustling with energy when they finally disembarked. A Babel Tower of tongues being spoken all at the same time, men yelling, others pleading. A smart merchant making a small fortune selling cups of water from a barrel and fresh warm bread by the waterfront.

He spotted a member of the clergy trying to reason with their captain, his robes dirtied near the bottom, dusty brown coloring his knees.

As England approached, he understood the confusion: he was trying to talk to them in ecclesiastical Latin.

“He wants you to sail south and meet the King,” he translated, and the captain and his men fell silent. The clergyman smiled at him, nodding repeatedly.

“Tell him we’re on a sacred mission to save the Holy Land,” the captain told him, eying England with suspicion.

He relayed the message. His Latin was a little faulty, faded from the corners of his mind and mostly mingled with French, but the man listened and he replied:

“He said the Pope himself called their war a Crusade. He said freeing Lisbon is the same as freeing Jerusalem.”

Their exchange had gathered a number of men and they all began to murmur, some in acquiescence, some in ambivalence. If it’s all the same to the Pope, who are we to judge; what is one stop to aid a nation in need and make a quick buck. Others were more skeptical. Why should we die for those we don’t know? Can’t these people fight their own battles?

The captain watched them through narrow eyes. “How do I know you’re not lying?” he asked, not to the clergyman but to England.

He felt a hand on his shoulder before he could reply, and looked to his side to find the man from Norfolk.

“I say we go to this other city and meet the King to confirm,” he said, and the men around them stopped to listen, murmuring and nodding quietly, before someone far behind exclaimed loudly that they had signed up to fight for the Holy City, not for some King. Many agreed. England felt the hand on his shoulder tighten.

The captain shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said to the Norfolk man, turning around to address the small crowd. “Alright, everyone settle down.”

He ordered the knights back to the ships for the night and the other captains agreed. They would form a council and make a decision in the morning.

“Should’ve told me you spoke Latin, friend,” the Norfolk man said to him with a smile, shaking England’s shoulders a little. “I studied at the seminary myself.”

England smiled back tightly, watched silently as he and the foreign clergyman exchanged a few words.

He breathed in the clear air and looked up at the blue skies, thinking God had a strange sense of humor.

-

A portion of their initial fleet continued on, sailing south towards the Mediterranean. Distantly, he wondered if he should have gone with them. It certainly would have saved him the long conversations he had to endure between the man from Norfolk and the foreign clergyman.

And to think he thought putting up with the Flemish man had been bad.

He watched the coast as they marched south; letting his mind wander while the other two spoke about their lives. He saw the waves lapping on the distant beaches, the people living their lives. A group of fishermen pulling nets full of fish from the water, women hanging clothes to dry with their babies wrapped around their middle, children running from barking dogs.

England swallowed around the lump in his throat and almost missed being spoken to.

“I’m sorry?”

The Norfolk man eyed him curiously. “I asked where did you learn Latin.”

England looked away. “I was a church boy, not too long ago.”

The man made a thoughtful sound, but the hand he kept on top of the sword on his hip was relaxed and steady. “The bishop said there’s a boy in Lisbon you should meet. Said he is a friend of the King. Must be his squire or his page. But it’ll be good to have someone your age to talk to, right?”

England smiled tightly. The last thing he needed was to be paired up with a 16-year-old whose job was to cater to a King’s every need. “Right.”

It was not too late to go back to the ships and leave for the Holy Land.

-

Notes:

Between 1135 and 1153 England went through a civil war called The Anarchy, in which Stephen of Blois fought Empress Matilda for the throne. After years of intense fighting, including wars against Scotland and Wales, as well as wars between different English cities that ravaged the countryside, the war entered a stalemate in 1147, and many barons chose to answer Pope Eugene III’s call for the Second Crusade instead of keep fighting for the two cousins. Especially after Matilda’s 14-year-old son crossed the channel with a small band of mercenary knights looking for action.

Norman ships carrying the crusaders left Dartmouth in May, but were made to stop in Porto in June due to bad weather, where they were convinced by the Bishop of Porto to meet King Afonso Henriques in Lisbon and participate in the Siege of Lisbon.

[aerialflight]

Fic Recs (mostly Naruto cause I read too many good fics in the fandom and now I'm in hell)

[Naruto]

Spirit-Touched by phooykazooi

Once upon a time, the Haruno clan were priests. It was said that they were spirit-touched, and that they walked among the downtrodden and the poor, and did not bow to royalty.

Or, an AU in which Sakura can see spirits.

Part 1 of The Realms Between

(Really, and I mean REALLY fantastic Shikamaru & Sakura friendship! Fantastic, beautiful writing, and such good worldbuilding, god, and the Haruno family is so badass!! Sakura and everything she does makes me want to scream!! Please read!)

Final Evaluation by Do_the_Cool_Whip

Progress evaluations are one-on-one consultation meetings between academy students and their teacher. Their purpose is to inform academy students of their strengths and weaknesses and guide them down their ideal path to becoming a strong shinobi. Upon graduating the academy and passing their jounin-sensei test, new genin return to the academy for one final consultation. (Or: The story of what happens when Umino Iruka uses his final meetings with his students as way to send them off to become the best shinobi they can possibly be.)

(Iruka! Is! The! Best! Teacher! Ever! End of story!!! Great interpretation of all the characters and their capabilities and I am so so excited for the sequel that will undoubtedly come! XD)

Celestial Bodies by Oceanbreeze7

Sasuke looked at the fire, eyes glowing red as the mutated corrupted seal on his throat. "Amaterasu blessed me. I see things. Like you with two normal eyes and the Hokage. And Sakura with a seal on her forehead. And I run Chidori through Naruto's heart. I keep trying to kill him. Over and over. And that knuckleheaded idiot never gives up.”

(Don't you get it? I saw it. The moon will bleed, the nations will die. The world is going to end.)

Part 1 of Celestial Bodies and Anomalies

(I swear, this fic freaking elevated my expectations on Sasuke-centric fics in general holy hell. Also, read the fucking sequel after this cause EVERYTHING GOES NUTS AND THE PLOT GOES OFF AND I'M HERE FOR THIS SHIT. Fucking Uchihas man. Also, you wouldn't think this series is funny, but it is, and it's amazing.)

A step to the left (and right off the cliff) by weavingBlue

Team Seven starts off on a different foot and Sasuke's canonical journey to get stronger goes off the rails a bit. It all works out though. Probably.

(This fic went in a direction I didn't expect and it's GLORIOUS. SO FUNNY, I honestly was dying while I was reading this. Please give this a chance!!)

promises by BombsAreForBabies

It's her first kiss and Naruto's last. She promises him that she will bring Sasuke home. It's his dying wish, after all.

(Naruto bleeds out faster than the kyuubi can heal him.

Sakura learns that being a ninja is more than fancy jutsu and fun.

Sasuke does not know that he just killed his best friend and turned his most loyal comrade into his worst enemy.)

(Listen LISTEN I know this sounds depressing but the relationship developments and slow healing is EVERYTHING and I think it's absolutely worth it to read this. Sakura's characterization is so good and Kakashi makes me want to hug him. A lot.)

Fang Under Fang by Vroomian

"Are we sure he's really an Inuzuka?"

(The answer is no.)

-

Someone reborn as Inuzuka Kiba not only has to deal with bullshit ninja magic, but soulmates being A Thing.

(Really good self-insert fic and its platonic soulmates, not romantic! I am always here for a good Kiba-centric fic and I won't say who the soulmate is. It's unexpected but so, so good! Trust me!)

Haunt The Lonely by Tht0neGal666

(Series where Sakura can see ghosts and the Things she gets up to due to this ability. The fics are short but man, you can already see the shifting differences in Team 7's dynamics, it's great!)

Perception by Ellie_Enchanted

Naruto can sense auras, which throws everything off it's balance. Because really, with someone as open as Naruto running around and peering into the depths of people's souls, something is bound to change. In other words, sometimes all that's needed is a push. Also, Sasuke apparently glows.

(Naruto the empath changing the plot and making it Better and I am loving it!)

Crossfire by DejaVu22

Following the events of Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke never makes it to Orochimaru's hideout. Instead, he is waylaid by a one-eyed man named Tobi, a man possessing a Sharingan, a terrifying dual personality, a penchant for always being late, and a single-minded mission to stop the Akatsuki in their tracks. When Sasuke runs into Naruto again years later, he must ally with his old teammate in order to protect him from the Akatsuki, while keeping him out of the two man war Tobi and Sasuke have started against the dangerous organization.

(I honest to god can't stop cackling when I read this, the Sasuke & Obito dynamic is so freaking chaotic and Sasuke's characterization is the best thing I've ever read. This boi is a mEsS and I'm fucking rooting for him. He cares so much! There's secret identity shenanigans happening on sasuke's end and it's HILARIOUS! This is the duo I never thought I needed but here it is! *cackles insanely*)

-

[Diamond no Ace]

Echo in His Hands by SportRayne (rayningnight)

Ship: Miyuki/Sawamura

What does it mean, when you remember snapshots of your own future?

Is it your future at all, if you change it?

Would you even want to change it?

(Look I am WEAK for BAMF Eijun and time travel fics and Miyuki being a tanuki bastard, okay? Time travel fic where Eijun gets feelings of people he knew before in the future. Really good so far and am so excited over this fic!)

The path we walk by WindsOfTime

Ship: Miyuki/Sawamura

Eijun goggles at the magazine she just shoved into his hands. "W-Wakana!" "I know!" she says, beaming. "That's my soulmate!!" "I know!!" "My soulmate plays baseball!!"

(Became such an instant fave so fast it's unbelievable. I LOVE THESE IDIOTS SO MUCH! Best soulmate fic in this fandom, hands down!)

-

[One Piece]

switching places by fireflywitch

Zoro is 21 and wakes up in a desert they already saved, on a ship that they burned two years ago, and standing next to a man who is supposed to be dead. Except, that can’t be right, can it?

Zoro is 19 and wakes up on a ship that’s too big, next to a robot wearing a swimsuit, and he’s supposed to fight something called a Kaido. Also, he’s missing an eye, and no one’s even a little worried about it?

(or)

Time travel is a shitshow, and Zoro didn't sign up for this.

(FUCKING HILARIOUS ZORO IS THE BEST PERSON TO SEND BACK IN TIME CAUSE HE'D BE TERRIBLE YET FANTASTIC AT IT I CAN'T MAN FIEWNOPFEW)

No Time To Crank The Sun by VIKAN

He’s surrounded by strangers, but they’re all trying to convince him otherwise. Or, Zoro faces a mysterious and relentless challenge that he just can’t wrap his head around.

(This ripped my heart open, I cried reading this my god. Please read this, the pain is so worth it and Zoro and his relationship with his crew is so good here. This reminded me why I love the Straw Hats so much!)

-

[Fairy Tail]

to learn about a lucy (with a look into the future.) by るる凪 - nagi (arurun)

A watching the future fanfic.

It's currently X781, three years before canon. A group of Fairy Tail mages find themselves in a large building, with no known way out.

They sit down, and they watch the future.

(This is so much more fun than I thought it would be and I'm so happy I found this fic. This fic reignited my old love for this fandom and I hope it does for you too!)

-

[Harry Potter]

sunflowers by Marnie27

One day, a young girl sits on the edge of a well. On this day, she falls in. Then the next, she’s not even a ‘she’ anymore. He’s Peter Pettigrew — doomed to die at the hands of his (betrayed) friend’s son.

Peter is selfish, bitter and brash. He’s not some fairy tale hero, he doesn’t care if everyone around him dies, as long as he lives. The marauders are annoying and childish. Survival is his priority, and he can’t afford to face distractions.

This just makes the fact that soulmates are now apparently a thing all the more godawful.

(And then another day years later he falls into an entirely new impossibility, Remus Lupin in tow, right into the third book of Harry Potter. Smack bang on the other Peter Pettigrew’s grave).

It’s confusing and graceless, and entirely something that would happen to him of all people.

(Self-insert fic where a girl reincarnates into Peter Pettigrew! And there are soulmates! And it's angsty and hilarious and Peter is an Asshole (somewhat unintentionally lol). Always a fan of biased pov fics and characters slowly improving themselves and their mental health! Cause dying! Is! Traumatic! *smiley face* Please read!)

-

[Crossovers]

he's a killer queen, sunflower, guillotine by hoye

Fandoms: Fullmetal Alchemist, Harry Potter

He has to be the weirdest Hufflepuff Harry’s ever seen. Scratch that, he’s the weirdest Hufflepuff Hogwarts has ever seen.

(One thing everyone could agree on: NEVER call Edward Elric short.)

(This is peak Edward Elric and all the best things about him and I'm just having a Good Time. Friendships! Logical solutions! Marauder screentime! And so much More! *bright grin* It's a fun place here!)

[slutsofren]

Danger Days Chapter 6: Look Alive, Sunshine

summary: the three of you find more questions than answers and the start of a whole new fuckin' problem im so so so sorry

warnings: tw for gore, bloodshed, hurt/little comfort, angst, gunfight, etc

word count: 4,166 she’s a big bitch lol

read on ao3 here / masterlist

“Let’s look around,” Ellie said dejectedly.

Joel walked off on his own, giving the three of you some space. Ellie went through a door and walked down the hall to her right, following it.

The halls and rooms here were void of your previous allies, not a single soul seemed to be here but you could still make out traces of equipment and feel a semblance of sentimentality from your memories. Damned memories tickling at the edge of your mind.

You picked up some papers and read them quickly, hearing Ellie somewhere in another room asking if anybody is there and Joel off to your right in some other room shuffling around. There was still quite a bit of medical paperwork on the hopes of a cure, of somebody like Ellie coming by.

Unfortunately the research was only bits and pieces but you could catch an idea of a project involving infected monkeys. Suddenly you were startled as Ellie shouted, “Yoo-hoo! Fireflies! Cure for mankind over here! Anyone?”

Before you could tell her to stop, Joel reprimanded her. “Let’s keep it down until we figure out what’s going on.”

You looked over your shoulder and saw him savenging around, picking up remnants of med kits, gears, even forgotten bullets and tools. Idly you think hJoel has the right idea and go off searching around too, pocketing the rest of the papers to finish reading them later.

The three of you continue looking quietly until coming to the conclusion there’s not much here.

“You sure this is where they’d be,” Joel asks you.

“Positive. That room over there was my uncle’s office,” you pointed towards an open door. “They must have pushed back further into the building.”

Ellie was the first to walk down a hall, finding it leading across to a landing with elevators and stairs. The man stayed behind for a beat, eyeing you. Likely second-guessing your motioves. Eventually he turned and walked away, following the teen. At the center of it all were large black containers and she kneeled in front of an open one and began to read, Joel joining her in flipping through the papers.

“Nothing useful,” Ellie states, throwing the papers down a bit more harshly than necessary.

“Ain’t nothin’ here but a bunch of medical mumbo-jumbo.”

You reach for some of the books and a binder and flip through them quickly too, noting some words about failed specimens and subjects not surviving an experiment until ultimately being harvested. Whatever they were doing wasn’t going well and they seemed to be feeling the weight of morality on their shoulders. There was an entry logged by some Doctor Anderson about feeling conflicted about torturing humans and questioning if it was worth it.

Shutting the binder quickly and throwing it in your backpack to finish reading it later, your mental dialog cut short as Ellie sighed heavily, “I don’t get it.”

“Looks like they all just packed up and left in a hurry, unless you got a better idea?”

Before you could answer, a loud metallic bang hit from the floor above the three of you. Ellie and Joel looked at each other before she said a bit grimly, “Maybe not all of ‘em left.”

“Stay close,” Joel commanded.

The stairs up to the third floor was behind Ellie and she went up first as you finished zipping up your backpack and tossing it on.

The floor above was more or less the same, open to the central garden in the middle of the building, objects in disarray, out of use vending machines that you’re pretty positive you used to pry open to steal sodas from. All this, but no Fireflies.

Joel went through a door on the left, probably scavenging for more things to find whereas you and Ellie went the scenic route on the outside corridor.

“What do you think happened?”

“Considering they had enough time to pack up research,” you pointed at some boxes, “they must have left willingly.” You shuffled through some more papers, looking for a clue. “But the question is, why leave?”

Ellie walked inside a door and followed the path of some wires that lead to an old flood light, “There are no bodies. That’s good, right?”

“If we find out where they went,” came Joel’s voice from behind you two.

You followed Ellie down the hall, peering into rooms and broken windows to your left. Suddenly there was another noise coming from behind and when the three of you turned, the very same flood light you’d all passed knocked over, lying prone on the ground.

“Shit,” Joel whispered.

“Um… So it’s probably clickers, right?”

You flashed Ellie a look, “Not the time.”

“Right.”

You all held your breath for a few moments, trying to listen until Joel broke the silence, answering Ellie. “No. Clickers don’t hide.”

He looked at you, giving you a once-over, likely weighing the possibility of you betraying him. You responded in kind expression, silently telling him to give whatever plot he has in mind a try.

Wary old bastard, you thought. As if you’d pull a stunt this far into your mission together, even after he began to act lukewarm to your presence.

You took the lead down a tarp covered hall, not really remembering this area much. They probably did push up to these higher levels judging by all the lab equipment left behind.

Digging in your memory, you recalled everybody keeping to the first and second floors in this building to make bailouts quicker. The militia men were on the rooftops to keep an eye out for any stray hunters or other unfriendlies.

Whatever happened on these floors were not from when you kept around.

Your trio came to a corner room that looked as if it were being used as an x-ray exam area, there were large black television-like screens on the wall that had some mangled imagery on them. Whatever it was put a shudder through you. Along the back wall, Joel found an x-ray abandoned on the counter and picked it up, when you and Ellie looked over his shoulder it looked like a skull with fungal growth on it. Like somebody who was infected for quite some time.

“Gross.” Ellie pretended to gag when she saw the photo.

Joel tucked the x-ray away and went on to look around, you followed by looking in the cabinets for alcohol disinfectant. “They had to have left something behind,” you mumbled to yourself as you began to feel the inklings of irritation slip into your bones.

Joel went to another door, this time leading to some room to the right but as he opened it, a screech came and he jumped, “Jesus!”

You drew your pistol from your hip and pointed it outwards, pushing Ellie behind you until you could hear chittering.

Fuckin’ monkeys , you think as you put your weapon down, faintly seeing three monkeys jump out a window on the opposite side of the room.

Ellie walks next to Joel, peeking into the lab he was stepping into and he leans towards her, “Well, at least it aint clickers.”

“Yeah. No Fireflies either,” she steps into the room. She throws her arms open wide, “Well, maybe in all that research they turned into fucking monkeys.”

You try to stifle a laugh but fail, a light giggle leaves your lips. “At least they’re not flying monkeys.”

“Just keep searching, we'll find something,” Joel says, shooting you a pointed look about your banter with Ellie.

The room looked like it used to be a science lab, naturally. The left and back side of the room were lined with metal cages, likely the ones that originally held the monkeys. Otherwise, there were large black countertop tables around, probably where students listened to their lecture and did hands-on assignments. Joel approached one of the tables in the middle, picking up what looked to be a recorder and pressed play.

A male voice clicked on. There were sounds of shuffling and screeches from the monkeys in the background. “That’s four palettes of lab equipment all packed up and ready to go. Now - big question is what do we do with all you guys. They say the tainted batch needs to be put down. You know what I say? I say screw that. Who made a bigger sacrifice than you, right? If anyone deserves to run free out there it’s-. Hey, easy! Agh. Shit. Oh, no. It bit me. Oh my god,” his breath gets heavy and the recorder stops abruptly.

Holy fuck, they were purposefully infecting animals , you think in horror.

“I’m sure glad we didn’t mess with them monkeys,” Joel says. “Did you know?”

You look at him wide-eyed and slack jawed. “Not a fuckin’ clue. I know my uncle was running blood tests and cell regrowth experiments but nothing like that.”

“He didn’t say where they went,” Ellie said, eyeing the two of you. The tension was minorly palpable, whatever small victory you gained in the camradiery field was now likely gone between Joel and you.

“I know, let’s keep looking,” Joel responded.

You fixed your composure and tried to reassure her, “We’ll find them.”

Your small trio followed the room into another, searching that one but finding nothing of interest in the drawers or on the tables. Not even another research binder. There was another door to the right and Joel approached it, trying to push his way in but there was a green metal object keeping it closed. He looked to you, “Hey, come help me.”

Stepping beside him, the two of you pushed against the door, throwing yourselves against it repeatedly to open it until it gave way. Joel gave you a tense nod, a silent thanks as he walked in first, Ellie close on his heels.

It wasn’t until you entered the room did you see it- the body. It looked to have been dead for quite a while, the bones were very obvious but still held together by the clothes wrapped around them. The person was sitting at a desk, facing the window, where Joel loomed over it as if it didn’t bother him and he picked up what looked to be another recorder.

Click. “If you’re looking for the Fireflies, they’ve all left,” a voice said grimly. You recognized it as the same one from earlier.

Ellie looked up from a binder she was flipping through, “Yeah, no shit.”

“I’m dead,” the man continued, “Or I will be soon. Got me some time to reflect.” Joel fast forwards through the tape, “...been years that felt like we were…”

He fast forwards again, “...fucking thing was a giant waste of ti-...”

And again, “...not gonna do this anymore…”

Ellie sighs while you pace, wishing to listen to the tape in more detail later. “Come on,” Joel grumbles as he fast forwards it yet again.

“...looking for the others, they’ve all returned to Saint Mary’s Hospital in Salt Lake City. You’ll find them there. Still trying to save the world. Good luck with that.”

Ellie sounding mildly hopeful looks to both of you, “Do either of you know where that is?”

“I know the city,” he nods before turning to catch you chewing on your fingernails in thought. “You?”

“I- I remember Marlene mentioning it to Regan on occasion but they talked about it like it was abandoned. I’ve never been there.”

“Is it far,” Ellie asked.

“It ain’t close. I mean on horseback-,” he stops abruptly, something catching his attention out the window.

“What?”

Out of the corner of your eye you see it too. Flashlights peeking through the windows. Just as Ellie asked if they were Fireflies, the light shines on them as they stood by the window and Joel pushed her down, ordering her and you to hit the deck just as whoever was on the other end of that light took a shot at you all, shattering the window.

“Shit,” you shout, ducking down to avoid the coming onslaught of gunfire.

Ellie looked at you, “Who the fuck are these guys?”

He looked at you angrily, “Did you lure them here? Is this some kind of trap?”

“Fuck you, Joel Miller! I didn’t.”

He stared you down. “Fine, It don’t matter,” Joel argued, “We know where to go. Let’s get the hell outta here.” He jerked his chin at you and spit, “Lead the way.”

You wiped the initial shock from your system and went into mission-mode, keeping yourself calm and alert. They followed you out of the room, the three of you crouching to avoid being spotted by the new threat through the windows.

Making your way through the anteroom to the office then through the lab as silently and rapidly as possible while crouching. It wasn’t until you reached the x-ray exam room when you were hit in the chin with something hard, knocking you down, dizzy.

Your mind and vision were in a haze but you managed to catch the vague shape of Joel rush somebody, likely the person who knocked you over, through the newly forming tears in your eyes. Fuck , you thought, your face hurting like a bitch.

Ellie yelled something as she went to help Joel, apparently getting the bright idea to take Joel’s machete from his backpack and swinging it wildly at the stranger.

As they fought the man, you shook your head and rose on your haunches, still dizzy. You could make out the faint shape of a second man running up to attack but through your shifting vision, saw three of him. It didn’t stop you from raising one of your dual guns from your thigh holster, taking aim. Breathing in, slowly breathing out, you took the shot when the three men formed a single one.

The loud bang reverberated through the halls, momentarily distracting you from the brawl happening somewhere to your right but soon that silenced.

“What the fuck was that,” you asked nobody in paricular.

“Don’t look like Fireflies to me,” Joel mumbled in reply, hinting you must have been telling the truth.

Together, you all walked down the tarp covered hall from earlier but saw four shapes run past some red smoke on the only way out of the building, likely trying to cut you all off. “Stay back,” Joel said as he flung one of his makeshift bombs at the intruders. After a moment, it went off and sickly screams were either cut short or continued onto a deadly moan.

Each of you hid behind random turned over tables, guns drawn.

Although six of these strangers were down, it seemed there were more as another came in through the right side, taking a shot at Ellie. Joel responded in kind and shot him square in the neck, the blood splattering a nearby wall.

You followed suit and took aim at somebody ducking below a desk much like you. Your aim was a little off because of that damned kick to the head but you got the guy nonetheless. It was messier than you’d like, the newly forming headache was making things much more difficult.

Together with Joel, you took two more men down until you reached the small lobby where the stairs were only to find another flare emitting red smoke. “What the hell,” you wondered aloud.

“Probably to tell the others how to get to where we were, building is like a maze.”

With that, you and Joel look off, making sure to keep Ellie behind you as your group traversed down the steps, finding another flare. Joel heard them before you and raised his gun. You followed as two more men rounded the corner, both being taken down by the bullets you both expelled into their bodies.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears at the adrenaline rushing through your veins, no matter how much you remained focused at the task at hand. You took a breath in an attempt to ground yourself, following Joel closely behind as he was about to round the same corner, stepping over the two dead bodies when you grabbed Joel, pulling him back as a bullet whizzed by. “Fuckin’ hell,” he gasped.

Taking to the wall you peered out and quickly aimed, letting another bullet rain free. It clashed into the wall behind your target, narrowly missing as the man ducked behind the poor choice of the glass railing. Joel put his hand on your waist, pulling you close as he leaned back around taking his chance on the guy. He must have made it count because soon you heard a soft thud of the body collapsing.

If you weren’t so preoccupied trying to stay alive, you might have noticed Joel kept his large hand on you for a few moments longer than necessary.

Joel left the relative safety of the second floor lobby, nearly running to the exit. You grabbed onto Ellie’s hand as you shoved your nearly empty gun into it’s holster on your thigh, following him. He came to the closed door that led to the next area of classrooms to get you all down to the ground floor but just as he went to open it, it banged open from the inside starling all of you. The force was so strong that it pushed Joel to the glass railing behind him, his body teetering over the edge.

“Joel!”

You dropped Ellie’s hand as you ran to him, trying to get the other man off of him as he choked your companion. By the force and chaos, the rail gave way underneath Joel. As he fell, he pulled the stranger with him.

A scream surely left you as you watched in horror as the two men fell to the ground but it grew louder when you noticed a sickening metal bar poking it’s way through Joel’s stomach, staining red in the sunlight. Beside him, the attacker lay dead in a mangled heap of limbs, his neck at an unnatural angle.

You began to shuffle onto your stomach to drop the distance from the balcony walkway to the ground floor, Ellie close behind you copying your maneuver. Together, you both landed on the ground awkwardly and unbalanced. It was so unbelievably impossible to stay focused as you watched Joel writhe in pain from the impalement as loud banging seemed to invade your senses.

Ellie jumped straight to Joel asking in a rushed panic, “What do you want me to do?”

You couldn’t hear what he said when the double doors burst open, two men with a baseball bat and machete appearing. You grabbed both of your guns, unleashing lead into them with a little more force than necessary.

When you turned back around, you saw Ellie trying to lift Joel. “Don’t!”

You ran to him and dropped to your knees, removing your backpack and began to scrounge around for clean gauze. “You’re only going to create more damage, you old bastard. Stay still.”

With the gauze in hand, you motioned for Ellie to put as much pressure as she could on the frontside of the wound. You tried your best not to jolt him around so much as you tried to assess the entry wound on his back, only to find it was buried in cement beneath him. He groaned, calling out a string of curse words.

“Stop fuckin’ movin’, Joel.”

“Wouldn’t need to if you had good bedside manners. Goddamned brat.”

His small jab at you could have made you cry if you weren’t so invested in keeping the old man alive and with no other alternative to removing the rebar safely from him, you had no choice but to lift him away from it.

You reached into your backpack once more and grabbed a strap of leather you usually kept close by, mostly to fiddle with, and shoved it into his mouth. “To keep you from biting off your own tongue,” you explained while adjusting your position to be directly behind his upper body to prepare and stanche the blood flow from his back. “Although I think we could all use the peace and quiet.”

Whatever comeback he had was cut off as he yelled, muted by the bit. While he was distracted by your words, you had nodded to Ellie to lift Joel straight up. He quickly fell to his knees as he tried to stand, probably ready to pass out from the pain and you padded the entry wound with gauze, holding it tightly.

His words came out weak as he told Ellie, “Just get to the damn horses.”

She looked at you and you nodded, removing one hand to give her a gun. “Do whatever it takes, kiddo.”

She walked in front of you both, her arms held high with the gun in her hand, ready to take on anybody else. She led you both to a classroom and knocked over some wood panels that barely covered a broken window.

“Do you think you can handle it,” you asked him.

He didn’t answer, instead choosing to throw his body over the edge, finding himself on his back once more. “Come on, move,” Ellie demanded of him as you jumped through the window after them. Just as she got him sitting up against a table, another man burst through the door across the classroom, gun ready to fire.

Seeing as you were getting rather low on your own bullets, you reached for Joel’s revolver and threw yourself out from behind the lab table, firing two shots and hitting him in the torso.

“Come on, we gotta get you outta here,” you told him. One look at Ellie and you saw her hands and sweater covered in Joel’s blood, you likely looked the same. Brushing those thoughts away, you and her flanked him on either side, trying to walk him out.

“No, I’m okay,” he moaned. Trying to push you both off him.

“Like shit,” Ellie threw back, “You’re not okay, Joel. Now come on! Fucking walk!”

You kept your free hand up, gun drawn, and Ellie matched your pose to his left. “Down this hall,” you directed, “To the left is the main entrance, we can leave through there.”

Don’t die on me now, Joel Miller , you silently wished, hoped, prayed.

Joel began to sway between you two, his feet were failing beneath him. His body in your arms grew heavier and sluggish with each step making it harder to walk straight. You really tried to keep the gauze at his back secure against the wound but it was hard to do that while also trying to keep him balanced. As you were distracted by assessing the man, he moaned out, “Up.”

You and Ellie looked up the stairs that were against the wall in the lobby and saw two men coming towards you all, “There!”

Ellie raised her gun first, taking shots at random and you did too. It was difficult to do while doing everything possible to not drop Joel but somehow, they too, fell dead along the stairs. On his other side, the teen poked at him out of breath, “I swear to god, I get you out of this, you’re so singing for me.”

You decide to jump in on the joke, trying to lighten the mood, “I think you mean ‘for us’, Ellie.”

Joel coughed a laugh, “You wish.”

Slowly the front entrance inched closer. Ellie left to pry it open and let you two through and Joel let go of you, shoving his body and burst through the secondary doors. He lost his balance and fell down the steps only to see as some other hooded figure with his hands on Whiskey and Callus’ reigns.

Before the straggler could even draw a weapon, you and Ellie took shots at him. Joel’s revolver clicked, notifying it was out, just as the man let go of the horses.

You ran to Joel, lifting him up to his feet. He groaned in pain, “I know, I’m sorry. Just a little longer, alright, cowboy?”

He gave you an odd look as Ellie appeared and she asked him, “Can you get on?”

Whether or not he can is entirely different than if he will, you thought. You were proven right as he jumped up on Whiskey, not even noticing he was getting on the wrong horse.

“Ellie, get on Callus,” you told her as you also swung your leg over Whiskey, saddling in front of Joel. “As for you, don’t bleed all over my goddamn horse. Hold tight.”

A part of you was worried that he didn’t even bother to jab, you kicked Whiskey’s underbelly and Joel’s body slouched against your back, passing out. The fact the warmth that seeped through your body was likely his blood was gnawing against the corners of your mind but you shooed the thoughts away. Together with Ellie, you filed out of the university as fast as you could, not looking back.

[tyrantisterror]

I did a four part series of trivia posts when ATOM Volume 1: Tyrantis Walks Among Us! came out, and that was pretty fun!  You can see that set of trivia posts here if you’d like.  I thought it’d be fun to do another now that ATOM Volume 2: Tyrantis Roams the Earth! is out - just one this time, because a lot of the trivia I talked about with Volume 1 still applies.

I’m gonna divide this into two sections: non-spoiler trivia, for things that really don’t give a lot of plot points away, and spoiler trivia, for things that DO give away major plot points.  I recommend not reading the spoiler trivia until after you’ve read Tyrantis Roams the Earth!, for obvious reasons, and will put the spoiler trivia under a cut.

Ok, let’s go!

- So if you read ATOM Volume 1, you probably noticed that the book is split not only into chapters, but “episodes,” which consist of four chapters a piece.  It’s kind of a nod to how the series owes a great deal of its DNA to various monster of the week shows, with Godzilla: the Series and The Godzilla Power Hour being obvious influences.  It also allowed me to pepper in some illustrations and cheesy b-movie style titles into each volume.

- The first “episode” of Volume 2, Tyrantis in Tokyo, pays explicit homage to the giant monster movies of Japan, perhaps even moreso than the chapters that came before it.  Given how much Japanese media influenced ATOM - from tokusatsu like the Godzilla, Gamera, and Ultraman franchises to anime like Digimon and Evangelion (hell, the title of this episode itself is a tip of the hat to Tenchi Muyo by way of one of its spinoffs) - it kind of felt obligatory that Tyrantis visit Japan and pay his respects.

- Tyrantis in Tokyo also fits in a tribute to another staple of Atomic Age pop culture: Rock and Roll.

- Kutulusca, the giant cephalopod that appears in Tyrantis in Tokyo, is one of the oldest kaiju in this series, dating back to the first iteration of Tyrantis’s story that I put to paper back in 2001 or so.  It’s changed a lot since then, but its fight with Tyrantis goes more or less the way it originally did.

- Old Meg, the giant placoderm/shark, and Nastadyne, the bipedal beetle, both owe their existence directly to Deviantart’s Godzilla fandom.  Old Meg originated as a dunkleosteus monster I submitted to a “create a Godzilla kaiju” contest held by Matt Frank, while Nastadyne is based on a Megalon redesign I made during the “redesign all the Godzilla kaiju” phase of DA’s kaiju fandom.

- The second episode, Tyrantis vs. the Red Menace, gets dark as we visit the USSR, which had enough REAL horror with atomic power in its history to make creature features seem a bit defanged by comparison.  It’s probably the episode with the strongest horror elements - ATOM’s always been influenced by Resident Evil, and this is probably where that influence shows the most strongly.

- It also features the first fully robotic mecha in the series, the mighty Herakoschei!  Its name is a combination of “Heracles” and “Koschei the Deathless,” with the former part being added by its Russian creators to make it seem a bit more international as they offer it to the U.N. in hopes of gaining aid for a very extreme kaiju problem they’ve developed.

- Most of Tyrantis vs. the Red Menace takes place in the Siberian Monster Zone.  Its name is a reference to the Lawless Monster Zone in Ultraman, which is such a cool fucking name I wish that I wish I could go back in time and steal it.

- The next episode, Tyrantis’s Revenge, is... full of spoilers, so we’ll move on for now.

- The penultimate episode, Tyrantis vs. the Martian Monsters, is a love letter to MANY different sci-fi stories that involve life on Mars, though the most prominent of them is of course The War of The Worlds (one of my top 3 favorite books) and its various adaptations.  From its tentacles sapient martians, the tripodal leader of the titular monsters whose name includes the word “ulla” which is uttered by said sapient martians, the plant monster made of red vines, the cylinder-shaped spacecraft the Martian monsters are sent to earth on, the copper-skinned stingray-esque flying martian who shoots lasers from its tail, and the fact that every chapter title in this episode is a quote from the book, the H.G. Wells influence is STRONG.

- The final episode, Invasion from Beyond!, is shamelessly inspired by Destroy All Monsters, although there’s a dash of “To Serve Men,” Godzilla vs. Monster Zero, and The Day the Earth Stood Still mixed in as well.  It’s also sort of a tribute to my first “published” bit of a kaiju fiction - a rewrite of Destroy All Monsters that included EVERY Godzilla monster that had appeared at the time, which my middle school self wrote back in 2002 or so for Kaiju Headquarters, a kaiju fansite I’m not sure exists anymore.  Invasion from Beyond! is just as ambitious (but hopefully better executed) as my DAM Remake, with dozens upon dozens of different kaiju duking it out, earthlings vs. aliens.

- There were three different documents I made to outline the final battle of Invasion from Beyond!  It’s the largest episode of the series so far and more than half of it is that fucking fight.  My inner child is pleased, though, so hopefully you will be too.

Ok, that’s all I can share without spoilers.  READER BEWARE WHAT FOLLOWS BELOW THE CUT!

JUST MAKING SURE you know that SPOILERS will follow from here on out.  Read at your own peril!  YOU WERE WARNED!

(I’m gonna start with lighter ones just in case you scrolled too far and want to turn back)

- There’s a number of explicit Spielberg homages in ATOM Volume 2, from a “we need a bigger boat” joke during a chase with a giant shark to the fact that Invasion from Beyond! opens with a group of people flying to an island of monsters to review whether or not it should get more funding.

- When Tyrantis appears in the first chapter, I snuck in modified lyrics of The Godzilla Power Hour’s theme song.  “Up from the depths”... “several stories high”... “breathing fire”... “its head in the sky”... Tyrantis!  Tyrantis!  Tyrantis!

- The two rock bands in Tyrantis in Tokyo have real life inspirations ala Gwen Valentine, albeit a bit more muddled than hers.  The Cashews are inspired by The Peanuts (see what I did there), while The Thunder Lizards are a mix of The Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Buddy Holly, and the Big Bopper.  I wanted The Thunder Lizards to be more akin to the myth of a famous rock and roll band than the reality - less the real Beatles and more the Yellow Submarine cartoon version of them.

- The song The Thunder Lizards write for Tyrantis was written to fit the tune of “The Godzilla March” from Godzilla vs. Gigan, though ideally if someone made an actual song of it it would be its own song.  I got the idea from Over the Garden Wall, which used the Christmas song “O Holy Night” as a a starting point for “Come Wayward Souls.”

- Perry Martin, UNNO reporter and peer of Henry Robertson, is a nod to Raymond Burr, with his name being a combination of two of Burr’s most famous roles: Perry Mason, and Steve Martin from Godzilla King of the Monsters (1956).

- Dr. Rinko Tsuburaya is a few homages in one.  Her name comes from Rinko Kikuchi (who played Mako Mori in Pacific Rim), while her last name is obviously in homage of Eiji Tsuburaya.  Her being the daughter of an esteemed scientist is inspired by Emiko Yamane from the original Gojira.

- Nastadyne’s Burning Justice mode is named after a similar super mode from various Transformers cartoons, though it’s more directly inspired by the Shining/Burning Finger super move from G Gundam.

- Martians sending kaiju to different planets via shooting them out of cannons (with or without cylinder spaceships around them) is another War of the Worlds shoutout.  So is martians living on Venus after their homeworld was made uninhabitable, actually.

- Kurokame’s vocalizations are described as wails in explicit homage to Gamera.  His name can be translated as either “black tortoise” (a reference to the mythical guardian beast Genbu, which can also be construed as a Gamera reference thanks to Gamera: Advent of Irys implying Gamera and Genbu are one and the same) or a portmanteau of the Japanese words for crocodile and turtle - “crocturtle.”

- Burodon’s name is just a mangling of “burrow down.”  It also sounds vaguely like Baragon, who Burodon is loosely inspired by.  AND, since Burodon is sort of a knockoff/modified Baragon, that kinda makes him a reference to various monsters in Ultraman!

- The final battle of Tyrantis in Tokyo is sort of a hybrid of the finales of Ghidorah the 3 Headed Monster and Destroy All Monsters.  

- The Japanese kaiju teaching Tyrantis the art of throwing rocks at your enemies is both a joke on the prominence of rock throwing in Japanese kaiju fights AND the tired trope of an American hero learning secret martial arts from a Japanese mentor ala Batman, Iron Fist, etc.  In this case, the secret martial art is throwing rocks at people.

- When introduced to Herakoschei and its pilot, we are told that the strain of piloting this early mecha is so intense that many pilots have died in the process, with the current one passing out on more than few occasions.  This is of course a Pacific Rim homage - sadly, no one invents drifting.

- Herakoschei’s design is a loose homage to Robby the Robot and Cherno Alpha, because big boxy robots are cool.

- The Writhing Flesh and ESPECIALLY Pathogen are both hugely influenced by Resident Evil and The Thing.  Giant body horror piles of raw flesh, tendrils, mismatched mouths and limbs may be a bit outside the main era of monster design ATOM homages, but they fit the themes and bring a nice contrast.

- I came up with Pathogen long before Corona but MAN it definitely feels different in 2021 to have a giant monster whose name is a synonym for disease driving other creatures crazy in a quarantine zone than it did when I plotted out the story in 2016.

- The chapter title “Hello, Old Foes” is a riff on “Goodbye, Old Friend”

- Minerva, the kaiju-fied clone of Dr. Lerna, is meant to be an homage to Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, which is a genuinely good giant monster flick.  I am sure many of you will also believe I included her because I’m a pervert whose into tall women, but you’d be wrong!  I included the seven foot tall Russian mecha pilot Ludmilla Portnova because I’m a pervert whose into tall women.  Minerva’s inclusion was just coincidental, I swear!

- Since Promythigor is a play on the archetypal ape kaiju to contrast Tyrantis as a play on the archetypal fire-breathing reptile kaiju, their fight has a lot of nods to King Kong movies.  Promythigor attempts the famous jaw-snap maneuver of Kong (with less success), J.C. Clark paraphrases the “brute force vs. a thinking animal” line from the King Kong vs. Godzilla American cut, and Tyrantis slides down a mountain to knock Promythigor off his feet in a reversal of Kong doing the same in King Kong vs. Godzilla.

- Tyrantis sliding down a mountain on his tail doubles as a Godzilla vs. Megalon homage.

- Though Promythigor is the archetypal Ape and Tyrantis the archetypal Fire-Breathing Reptile, I think it’s fun to note that in some ways, Promythigor is the Godzilla equivalent in their matchup, and Tyrantis the Kong.  Promythigor has a slight size advantage, was scarred by humans performing unethical weapons technology, and is associated with violent explosions.  Tyrantis is a good-at-heart prehistoric beast who humanized in part by his unlikely friendship with a human woman.

- Of course, in the context of the famous quote from the American cut of King Kong vs. Godzilla, they remain in their archetypal lanes.  Promythigor is the more intelligent of the two (though not necessarily wiser), and Tyrantis is in many ways a brute reptile.  Their battle is a rebuttal of sorts to the assertion that Kong is the “better” animal because he is closer to human.  Promythigor’s near human creativity and emotions don’t make him the kinder/more benevolent monster, but instead fuel a very self-centered and destructive attitude that makes him the far more dangerous threat.  On the other hand, Tyrantis, who is less intelligent, limited in communication with others by his reptilian mindset and instincts, and simple in his thoughts and desires, is nonetheless a sweet creature that is easily dealt with when others consider his animal needs and mindset.  There’s a quote from Hellboy I love that probably sums up all of my writing thus far: “To be other than human does not mean the same as being less,” and that’s what the matchup between these two in particular tries to illustrate: the “less” human Tyrantis is nonetheless more benign than the “more” human Promythigor.

- Kraydi the psychic lizard began life as a soft sculpture I made of the Canyon Krayt Dragon from The Wildlife of Star Wars.  The sculpture didn’t look much like the illustration, but I liked how it came out, and so I made it an original monster named Kraydi (see what I did there).  Figuring out an explanation for that name in ATOM’s world was possibly the most difficult kaiju naming task in the series, but it worked out in the end.

- Kraydi and Promythigor having psychic powers is a result of my time on Godzilla fan forums in my middle school years.  Most of the forums had OC kaiju battle tournaments, and SO many of those kaiju had a wide array of beam weapons and psychic powers just to win the tournaments by beam-spamming and mind controlling their foes into oblivion.  There’s a special kind of rage you get when your original creation is beaten by “Fire Godzilla” because he has a genius level intellect and the power of unstoppable telekinesis.  Kraydi began as (and still is I suppose) my attempt to do a psychic kaiju well, while Promythigor’s villainy being tied to psychic powers being forced on him is sort of my passive aggressive commentary on people foisting powers on a monster without any real thematic reason for them.

- Henry Robertson and Dr. Praetorius chewing out the laziness of people giving kaiju completely unaltered names of mythic beasts will probably be seen as a jab at the Monsterverse and/or the numerous writers in the kaiju OC scene who do the same, but it’s ACTUALLY a jab at my past self, who had DOZENS of kaiju whose names were just Greek mythological figures verbatim.  There are dozens of kaiju named Hydra, Scylla, Charybdis, Chimera, etc., past me, try to make the names stand out!  Oh wait you did.  I mean, don’t pat yourself on the back too much, you still went with “Mothmanud” as a canon name and never came up with something better, but, like, good on ya for trying I guess.

- Dr. Praetorius takes his name from the evil mad scientis in Bride of Frankenstein, who basically has all the wicked traits that Universal’s Frankenstein downplayed in their take on Dr. Frankenstein.  Ironically, ATOM’s Dr. Praetorius is a bit less evil than his fellow mad scientists in ATOM.  I really like how his character turned out, he surprised me.

- Isaac Rossum, the pilot of the USA mecha Atomoton, is named for Isaac Aasimov, whose robot stories are to robot fiction what Lord of the Rings is to high fantasy.  His last name is a reference to Rossum’s Universal Robots, which is where the word “robot” came from.

- The unfortunate pilots of MechaTyrantis in ATOM Volumes 1 and 2 are all nods to Jurassic Park.  John Ludlow = John Hammond and Peter Ludlow, Ian Grant = Ian Malcolm and Alan Grant, Dennis Dodgson = Dennis Nedry and Lewis Dodgson.

- A good way to pitch Invasion from Beyond! would be “what if the staff and monsters were able to fight back when the Kilaaks tried to take over Monsterland?”

- Ok, here’s a fun joke that no one will get but me because it requires a very specific chain of logic based on some obscure and loosely connected nerd bullshit.  There’s a rocker in ATOM’s universe named Sebastian Haff, right?  One of his songs, “Darling Let’s Shimmy,” is referenced right before a mothmanud larva emerges from the ground in both ATOM Vol. 1 and 2.  Ok, so, in the Bubba Hotep, an aging Elvis impersonator named Sebastian Haff claims he is actually the real Elvis Presley, having changed places with the real Sebastian Haff as a sort of Prince and the Pauper deal that went wrong.  Got that?  Ok, so, in UFO folklore, a common joke is the theory that Elvis didn’t die, but was rather abducted by aliens (or he actually WAS an alien the whole time - the whole “Elvis didn’t die, he just went home” joke in Men in Black is a good example of this).  Ok?  Ok.  So, in ATOM’s universe, we can surmise that their equivalent of Elvis, whose name is Sebastian Haff, WAS abducted by aliens, and that his song “Darling Let’s Shimmy” is subconsciously influenced by his repressed memories from his time aboard the Beyonder spaceships, which is why it accidentally awoke a Mothmanud larva in Volume 1.  There’s a lot of bullshit jokes I put into ATOM, but this is perhaps the bullshittiest of them all.

- One of the most common bits of feedback on ATOM Volume 1 I got was “I kept waiting for something to eat Brick Rockwell, he’s such an asshole.”  And I had to smile and go, “Oh, yeah, guess he never got his, huh?” the whole time without letting on that he was going to die here all along!

- Dr. Lerna and Brick Rockwell’s nature as foils to each other is probably most apparent in Invasion from Beyond!, where both are given fairly similar situations - a nonhuman approaches them with a solution to a global crisis - and react to it very differently.  I worry that some people may think they both made the same choice and got different results, and that that’s hypocrisy on my part, but I hope I wrote it so you can see how their choices and situations actually differ in key ways, and why their decisions, while similar on the surface, are ultimately very different, and thus result in almost opposite outcomes.

- So, when I planned out this book in 2016, I swear I didn’t know about the Orca from 2019′s Godzilla King of the Monsters.  Having the plot hang around Dr. Lerna deciding whether or not to use a sonic device to rouse all the kaiju to save the earth was not INTENDED to be a Monsterverse reference - it came about from me looking at Pathfinder’s take on kaiju, who are all explicitly influenceable by music, and thinking, “Oh, wow, music and songs DO have a major connection with kaiju in a lot of media, I should do something with that.”  Whem KOTM came out a few days after Volume 1 came out I realized I was kinda fucked here, because the comparison was definitely going to be made, but I’d also set this all up already and you can’t just change suddenly to avoid looking like a copy cat and make a good story, so... I dunno, I leaned into it a bit, but it is what it is.

- While most people will probably think they’re a reference to the Reptoids of UFO folklore, the Reptodites are more inspired by the Dinosapien of speculative evolution fame and, even morso, by the Reptites from Chrono Trigger.  Me wanting to avoid the “lizard people control the government” conspiracy theory trope is one of the main reasons why Reptodites have this non-interference clause with humanity.

- Lieutenant Gray is a bunch of different humanoid aliens rolled into one - a little Hopskinville goblin, a little classic gray, a little this one weird alien with five-fingered zygodactyl hands, etc.

- There’s some Beyonder Mecha in this volume that are basically kaiju-fied versions of the Flatwoods Monster.  The species that built them ALSO engineered the Mothmanuds, because connecting Mothman and the Flatwoods Monster is fun!

- Pleprah is, obviously, a one-eyed one-horned flying purple people eater.

- Tyrantis’s brush with death, in addition to being so very anime, was inspired by my dad outlining how mythic heroes often have to travel to the underworld/land of the dead before they can finish their journey.  It’s one of the plot points that I’ve had planned for this series since middle school.

- I’m sure some will view it as hackneyed and corny, but as a person who’s battled with depression for decades, having Tyrantis’s choice to live be the big heroic turn of the finale was very important to me.  Tyrantis incorporates elements of a lot of imaginary friends I made as a kid, and in many ways he’s kind of the face of my more positive side in my head.  He’s been telling me to choose to live for a while, and while maybe to an outsider it may seem hackneyed, it’s just... very Tyrantis.  He chooses life and kindness in the face of pain and struggle.  That’s Tyrantis.

- Tyrantis’s powered up form is called “Hyper Mode,” which is another Gundam reference.  Originally it was a lot gaudier and involved him turning gold like a fuckin’ Super Saiyan.  I opted for something a little more toned down here.  

- Also, speaking of KOTM references, I decided to make Hyper Mode Tyrantis’s final duel with Pathogen be a sort of foil to Burning Godzilla’s final bout with Ghidorah in KOTM.  Instead of ravaging the city, Hyper Tyrantis’s pulse of energy rejuvenates his fallen allies, and as a result he is “crowned” not out of fear for his supremacy in the wake of killing a powerful enemy, but in gratitude for his kindness.  See?  Leaning into it!

- And now I can finally reveal that Yamaneon is ATOM’s equivalent of The Monolith Monsters - that is, a kaiju that is also a mineral.  I took the “strange continuously growing rock” thing in a very different direction, though, as unlike The Monolith Monsters, Yamaneon is actually alive.

- At various points in the pre-writing process, either Promythigor, MechaTyrantis, or both were going to die fighting Pathogen.  I ultimately decided to let them both live, with MechaTyrantis even getting his flesh and blood body back, because I think it’s more interesting and thematically consistent that way.  They get a chance to heal their wounds by changing their ways.

- The Great Beyonder and Dorazor both almost didn’t make the cut, as I felt they didn’t have the same pull as villains that Pathogen, Promythigor, and MechaTyrantis did.  But then I thought that could actually be the gag - build them up as the final boss, only to have Pathogen take their crown.  I want to explore post-face turn Dorazor a bit more, though.  We’ll have to see about that in a later volume.

- Volumes 1 and 2 make up what I call “The Ballad of Tyrantis Arc” for ATOM.  I call it that because Tyrantis’s storyline in these two volumes was patterend after Chivalric ballads like Yvain the Knight of the Lion.  Tyrantis, a heroic warrior who is kind but dumb of ass, learns of strange goings on outside his home and investigates.  During his journey into the unknown he falls in love with a powerful woman, whose favor he tries to win.  Through happenstance he is separated from his love and, distraught, wanders around fighting various foes to prove his worth, before finally returning to his love a better hero.  Invasion from Beyond! could even be seen as a sort of Morte d’Artur, with Tyrantis and a bunch of other kaiju heroes (including Nastadyne and Kemlasulla, who are built up as Hero Kaiju of Another Story) take part in a huge battle that threatens their idealic kingdom (of monsters).

- Volume 2 isn’t the end of ATOM, but it’s designed to work as an ending if you want to tap out here.  As a reader I feel a definitive ending is important, but as a writer I’m always tempted to revisit my beloved characters, so I feel giving closure while leaving a few doors open for possible future adventures is a good compromise between these positions.  There will be more ATOM stories, some (but not all!) following Tyrantis and Dr. Lerna, but if you want to know that Tyrantis and Dr. Lerna get an ending and the resolution to their arcs such a thing promises, here you go.  An ending, if not THE END.

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 22

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, smut

; Word Count: 6.4k

; Warnings: Brief mention of antidepressant side effects, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, sex toy use, insinuated sex

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: I’ve half proofread this but I hate reading through smut again so...I hope you enjoy it all :) please reblog if you did and leave me feedback in the form of comments, reviews or other asks! I’m always happy to read your thoughts on the Flower couple and their evolving relationship <3

; Flower Masterpost

-

“Okay so...I know it probably doesn’t look like I’ve got you all that much,” You give him a disbelieving stare before eyeing the small pile of books and games he’d already gifted you. “But I got you one more. And I had to hide this because it’s very heavy and I didn’t want you accidentally kicking it and opening it up or anything.”

Watching as he stands up, his cheerfully festive Christmas Simpsons sweats looking very out of place on his tattooed body, he darts off to your bedroom. Frowning, you lean back to try and see what he’s doing, wondering how’d he’d managed to hide something from you in your own room.

He was completely lying because he’d gotten you everything you wanted and more. The new Final Fantasy game, the new Villainous expansion, some of the books you’d been wanting for a while and a few Eeveelution plushies to finish off your set. So what on earth would he have gotten?

It’s even more confusing when he comes back and you see the size of the box in his hands, elegantly wrapped in silver wrapping paper. There’s a pretty fabric bow on top with a tag on it and your brow rises when you see how hard he’s struggling with it.

That brow goes even higher when he sits down with a grunt, the box dropping onto the floor with a heavy thunk. Eyes widening, you stare at it before looking at him in amusement.

“Holy shit Hoseok, what did you do? Kill someone?” He gives you a smirk before cuddling up to you on the floor, gesturing to the wrapped gift with more than a little excitement. You welcome his warmth and idly poke his thigh as you eye the present.

“Nope. You’ll love it though, I promise.” Giving him a suspicious look, you look at the tag first and read it. Much to his amusement. Apparently he wasn’t one of those people who particularly cared about reading the tags, which had horrified you when you found out. Not that you’d written him any sweet notes or anything, but still.

Unsurprisingly, the tag doesn’t have some love filled sonnet on it, just your name and ‘love, Hoseok’. But he’d obviously shown his love through the careful presents he’d bought you, each one something that you loved and adored. 

Smiling, you carefully began to peel away the wrapping paper where it has been folded, tugging at the tape until it came away gently. You feel Hoseok’s laugh vibrate through his body before actually hearing it, causing you to look at him in confusion.

“God, you open presents so neatly. It’s like watching my sister all over again,” His smile stays warm, growing even more affectionate. “She used to open presents like you do, as if afraid that you’ll ruin the wrapping paper or something. I don’t have the patience.”

“Gee...I hadn’t noticed.” Turning your head to stare firmly at the bag of torn wrapping paper next to you both, the remnants of what had remained of what you’d painstakingly wrapped. 

He snorts before poking your side and nodding with his head towards the present that you’d only begun opening. “Okay Miss Sarcastic, please proceed with the present opening before you cut yourself on your wit instead of the paper.”

You do as asked, or instructed rather, and carefully peel back the paper. As soon as you have a glimpse of the box cover though, all care is gone as you gasp loudly and quickly tear the rest off. Staring down at the colourful box, you take in the words ‘Gloomhaven’ along the top before squealing with excitement and bouncing in place.

“Oh my god! Hoseok! Oh my god! What the fuck? This game is so expensive!” You’re beyond happy to get it though, as if your reaction wasn’t obvious and the amusement in Hoseok’s face is more than apparent. But you still feel a little guilty at the fact he’s bought you this alongside everything else so far. The two of you haven’t even been dating a year and you’re already feeling spoilt.

He wraps his arms around your waist before kissing your cheek sweetly, watching as you pull the rest of the paper from beneath the box and toss it to the side. It’s only when you go to lift the box that you let out a deep groan of surprise and effort, turning to look at him with wide eyes.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, holy shit. This thing was 10 fucking kilograms. I feel like I almost died bringing it here. And that’s with the freaking elevator. Open it up, I wanna see what’s in this damn thing.” Laughing, you let him turn the box upside down and use the scissors that had been brought over earlier to slice through the clear stickers that were keeping the lid attached. 

Kasumi was currently playing with a ball of scrunched wrapping paper that Hoseok had thrown to her earlier. She had, obviously, been thoroughly enthralled with it and completely ignored the toys she’d been bought by Hoseok and you for her Christmas presents. He’d been thoroughly amused by that but you’d just shrugged and said this was what cats did.

Between the two of you, you manage to get the lid off the box that feels like it’s been vacuum packed in and sit back to admire the interior contents. Carefully, you lift the map board out and open it up, scanning over the intricate map with interest while Hoseok lets out a low whistle.

“Fuck, there’s a lot of shit in this box.” He pulls out a wirebound book along with a rule book, placing them on his lap before flicking through them with interest. Holding up the wire book, he looks at you with wide eyes. “Dude, this is the scenario book...it has 96 scenarios in it.”

Grinning at him, you peer over his shoulder and take them in before carefully taking the book from his hands and placing it on top of the now folded map.

“Yep. It may be expensive but you get your money’s worth at least, right? And you can’t look at it, it’ll spoil the game for you. It’s like an RPG game for a PC or console. You’re only supposed to find out what’s happening as you’re playing, so don’t go spoiling it. And apparently we can only only look at a certain number of characters and stuff. We unlock those through the scenarios.” Reaching in, you pull out one tiny box with what reminds you of a singularity on the top, opening it carefully and pulling out the tiny figure inside.

“This is one of the starter ones, a spellweaver. I want to be this one.” Hoseok takes it from you and looks over it equally as carefully before shrugging, his expression giving away that he was no idea what you’re on about. Giggling, you kiss his cheek and place it back into the box.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” He glares at you as you begin to place everything carefully inside. It impresses you how well everything fits in, and you already feel some dread at the prospect of trying to fit everything inside after a few scenarios.

“I’ll have you know that I played and loved all the Dark Souls games.” Biting your lip, you try to contain your amusement as you slide the lid back on and simply admire the game with reverence. 

“Oh yeah? Is that because it’s all gothic and hardcore. Did you git gud?” Your teasing of him instantly gets a repercussion as he begins to tickle you furiously, your laughs loud in the apartment and causing Kasumi to pause with her own wide eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah I did git gud. Actually, I got so gud that I finished all of them multiple times. What was it you told me once? That you don’t like those games because they’re too hard for you? So...who’s the one who needs to git gud now?” He says, pausing his fingers from his relentless assault and giving you a smug look. Breathing heavily, you let out a quiet laugh before tracing along one of the tattoos on his arms.

“Me, apparently.” Pausing, you take him in before smiling with happiness, your stomach bubbling with joy. “Thank you. For buying me that, it’s really expensive and I can’t believe you bought me it! I’ve been contemplating it for ages.”

“I know. I’ve seen you look at it online often enough. Got me a little stressed when you almost bought it the other week. But I like playing games with you, I’ve decided. So...I got this one so that we can play it together. It can be our game.” Sitting back up, he reaches out and pulls you up with him as you stare at him with wide eyes.

Logically, you’d known that he’d probably have to play it with you as there was no way that Chungha or Soyeon would be interested in something as in depth and long lasting as Gloomhaven. But hearing him say that he’s spent well over $100 on a board game just to play it with you was something else entirely.

It makes your stomach go funny, just like he always made it, and you feel the fluttering of almost anxiety in your throat, making it a tiny bit harder to breathe. Not because you were upset or anything, but you just didn’t really know how to process the love you’d been blessed with from one Jung Hoseok. It was hard for your head to really comprehend that he genuinely meant every word he said.

“Are you sure? It’s supposed to be intense. And long.” Hoseok smirks at you, moving closer until you’re almost nose to nose. His warm breath, smelling faintly of the mint ice cream he’d eaten for dessert at his parents after Christmas dinner, fanning your face. You should be disgusted, but you’re not.

“I know something that can be intense and long tonight. And I wouldn’t have bought it otherwise.” Rolling your eyes at his obvious innuendo, you try hard to stop the smile that wants to break free at hearing him obviously trying to initiate sex. The two of you had agreed to spend the mornings at your respective parents' houses before meeting up here, opening the presents you’d bought each other and spending Christmas evening together for the first time.

Looking over his elegant features, you can’t help but smile as happiness fills you at the sight of him. He’s not paying attention to you anymore, instead having reached over to take one of the books you’d gifted him earlier. 

Hoseok had begun to read biography and memoir style books lately, enjoying a wide array of topics. As such, you’d gotten him the entire back catalogue of Mick Wall biographies, which meant he had a whole stack of metal and rock n roll band biographies to go through.

At the moment, he was scanning over the back of the Metallica book with his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. The other pile included Lemmy, Guns n Roses and more. You’d be lying if you said that you knew half of the bands or whatever that were in the books but you knew that he’d love them all anyway.

And he had, his face lighting up with excitement when he’d unwrapped each one. It had been a worry that he’d find them boring or something, but instead you’d been given many kisses of thanks. Which had been rather delightful, you would admit.

You’d found it particularly stressful buying him presents for Christmas; panicking that he wouldn’t like whatever you bought or having anxiety that he would already have it. He’d given you a few hints to make it easier for you but you’d struggled over it still. As much as you loved him, and as much time as you spent with him, it was hard to figure out what he’d like.

Hoseok loved his music, but he already had everything he wanted in regards to that. There were no concerts coming up that he didn’t already have tickets to, he bought whatever books he wanted to read and he bought whatever films he wanted. Given he spent so much time at yours, you couldn’t even consider something bigger as he wouldn’t get any use out of it as he spent so much time with you and there wasn’t space in your apartment.

Why was buying presents for men always so much harder? And on top of that, you’d had to dissuade him from buying anything that you’d already bought him. Because he was like a cat whose eyes went wide when he saw something he wanted. That had been the case with the James Bond Blu-Ray collection you’d gotten him as well.

It was limited edition, and he’d spotted it online a week after you’d bought it. It had taken some careful persuasion to make sure he didn’t buy it, along with a lot of internal eye rolling.

“Did you like everything?” You don’t realise that there’s a touch of insecurity in your voice, a hint of uncertainty that you hadn’t done it right. This was the first time you’d ever had a boyfriend over the Christmas period, so you weren’t sure if you’d done it right. 

Looking up at you with wide eyes, he makes a small noise of question before looking back at his pile of gifts. It now looks smaller than yours and you get warm with embarrassment but he gives you such a bright smile. 

“Yes, thank you! Got everything I wanted and stuff I didn’t know I wanted until now.” He leans back against the couch, giving you another smile before reaching out to you and pulling you into him. Besides the books and the Bond collection, the only other thing he’d gotten was a bottle of his cologne, which wasn’t cheap. 

So his pile might not look like much, but it was actually a big chunk of money. It made you feel a little ashamed that your gifts were obviously more expensive, but you reasoned it away to yourself. Hoseok earnt more than you, a lot more than you. You had worked within your means for him while also buying for your friends and family.

“Are you happy with what you’ve got?” Hoseok asks, tilting his head to look at you with expectant brows. You give him a sweet smile of your own before nodding and hugging him even tighter.

There’s a moment of pause before you move your head to kiss him, lips gentle against his for a few seconds. He doesn’t hesitate any further though, moving his hand to cup your cheek and you relax into the kiss, almost sighing into his mouth contentedly. 

You’d shyly admitted to him the other week that you really liked kissing him. He’d thought it was amusing that you’d told him that so sweetly, but you’d been particularly awkward about it because you’d never had makeout sessions as a teenager. And it hadn’t been fantastic in college, but you got the urge to just kiss Hoseok for hours on end like an excitable teenager.

It was pretty easy to guess that Hoseok found it endearing, and you’d found he’d been indulging you more often with kisses and just taking the time to let you feel like a loved up teenager once more. You were positive it was no great hardship on his behalf, but you were surprised that he controlled himself well enough that it rarely resulted in sex. 

He was indulging you right now and you hummed contentedly, enjoying the casual and lazy way he was kissing you. The smell of the Christmas cookie candle you’d started earlier and the gentle twinkling of the lights on the tree you’d decorated with Hoseok at the start of December make it all feel more...homey. Which you don’t want to think about too much right now; you’re too concerned with enjoying your Christmas kisses to care too much.

Finally though, he pulls away slowly and the tiny whine you let out has him laughing against you. “Calm down, you can have plenty more later.” 

Shifting away from him slightly, you push out your lower lip in a pout before giving him big puppy eyes. A year ago, the very idea of acting like this around him, or anyone, would have been beyond humiliating. But you felt comfortable with him, and you felt that this was fast becoming part of the language of your relationship with Hoseok.

He did the same to you when he wanted something. And it worked just as well on you as it did on him.

Hoseok smiles, giving you another quick kiss before gently rubbing his nose against yours. The look in his eyes is no longer sweet and soft, but instead a little more intense. Irises darkening ever so slightly while his pupils widen and you narrow your own at him, recognising that look now.

“Someone’s horny.” You mutter, causing him to smirk. He disentangles himself from you and stands, gesturing to you to stay there before disappearing off into the bedroom. Frowning, you try to see around the couch to get an idea of what he’s getting but when he comes back, whatever it is is hidden firmly behind his back.

“What are you doing?” 

“Well, we bought this and never got round to using it. So...I figure that we can see if it’s worth the money. A little...Christmas orgasm? Ever had one of those?” He smirks at you, brows wiggling as he shows you the glass dildo and bottle of lube.

Almost instantly, you go all hot with embarrassment at the sight of him just waving that around so casually. He’d been disappointed a few weeks back to discover you had no sex toys, apparently they were fun for couples too, and so he’d sat with you and ordered some. You say he ordered some, but it seemed most of them were for you.

Which had confused you as to why he was so determined to use them all on you instead of getting something for himself. But he’d just waved off your questions, telling you that he got pleasure out of seeing you pleasured and there was plenty of time to explore stuff for him in the future.

You also got the idea that he still wasn’t entirely happy with the fact that the successful orgasm ratio was leaning very heavily in his favour. He’d given you plenty through oral and with his fingers, eventually figuring out what made you tick while having sex until he could successfully bring you to the brink if you were in the mood.

And then you’d started the antidepressants, and your sexual libido had plummeted. Not only had you shown no interest in intiating sex, though you were fine if he wanted it, it had become almost impossible to orgasm. Even by yourself you’d struggled, unable to fall over that precipice into the pit of pleasure to the point that you’d cried in frustration over it.

As such, he hadn’t pushed the issue too hard because he knew it was a sore point, but you’d slowly discovered that it was possible to orgasm still. It just required...a lot of work. When you’d shyly discussed this with Hoseok, he’d taken it almost as a challenge. Hence the sex toys.

The dildo he’d set on the table was made of clear glass, a pretty centre of pink and blue that swirled around each other and a flared base that allowed it to stand on its own. You eyed it carefully as he sat next to you, a smirk on his face. It was one that you hadn’t used yet and you found yourself squirming with the knowledge he was going to use that on you.

A thin shaft met a bulbous head, the tip reminding you of a closed flower bud. Reaching out, you ran your fingers down the glass slowly, noting how smooth and firm it felt. Along with being a lot cooler than you’d anticipated.

“You up for it? I figure...I can try this on you, see if I can get you to orgasm.” Lips twisting, you take the bottle of lube from him and place it on the table as well, carefully pushing the gifts away to make space. You were positive he’d noticed this too, but you didn’t want to vocalise it.

“What about you?” Hoseok snorted in amusement, giving you a quick kiss before running his hands down your waist.

“Okay, first of all. I love doing things with you sexually. So if that’s all that happened then I’ll just get acquainted with my hand in the shower later. Otherwise...well...it is Christmas so...” Shifting, you bite your lip before looking down at your hands and then reaching for his.

“I think we can work something out.” Despite how bold the words are, they sound a lot shyer with your soft tone. Especially the way you avoid his eyes and he just laughs, kissing your temple affectionately before playfully tugging at your leggings.

You resist for just a moment before relenting, shifting awkwardly and laughing as you both struggle to peel the tight fabric from your legs. There’s a particular moment where Hoseok accidentally bumps his forehead against yours when he leans forward, trying to tug them from underneath the rounds of your ass. 

“Ow.” He mumbles and you coo to him, trying not to laugh as you gently rub at his forehead. Hoseok finally pulls them off you, taking your socks with him before moving groaning at the fact he hadn’t managed to get your underwear off too.

Now you can’t help but laugh at the way his lips automatically pout, leaning forward to peck at them before wiggling your underwear off yourself. Almost instantly he’s distracted, eyes focused between your legs and you bite your lip in amusement at how easy it is to get his attention when it involves sex or you naked.

You’d never thought you’d be someone who drew that kind of distraction in men and it makes you feel simultaneously powerful and shy. But you don’t get a chance to think any further about it when Hoseok lightly tugs on your shirt, raising his brows in silent question. The two of you have been having sex for months now, but he’s still respectful about your lingering insecurities.

Nodding, he pulls off your shirt in one quick movement before kissing you deeply once your head is free, causing you to hum in delight as his hand roams your naked skin. You no longer feel fear or panic at the touch of him against your waist and stomach. Instead, it feels reassuring.

A gasp leaves you when his hands move to cup your breasts, Hoseok smiling into the kiss as he runs his thumb along your soft skin before playing with your nipples. You’d gotten changed as soon as you’d come home from your parents and Hoseok had long gotten used to you going braless. Much to his appreciation.

But he doesn’t waste too long, leaving your lips to kiss down your jaw and suck rosettes of desire into your neck and chest. He deviates from what you presume to be his route momentarily to lavish attention onto your nipples, playing with them for a moment with his tongue and ever so gently his teeth and being careful to give both equal attention.

While he loved your chest, he wasn’t a boob man. No, he was firmly an ass man, which was evident by the way his hands had slipped down your body and were now squeezing and massaging the rounds of your ass in an almost reverent way. It amused you and you lip at your lips, tasting him once more and whining at him.

As much as you enjoyed the foreplay he was willing to give, you preferred it when he spent his time down below. Given your feelings towards your body, you weren’t particularly a fan of foreplay involving the area he was currently enjoying. And he knows this, which is why he presses a kiss to the centre of your chest before shifting backwards.

“Okay, are you okay to lay back? The rug should be okay and I’m gonna put one of these cushions under you.” He grabs the nearest cushion and you almost make a scandalised noise as you realise it’s your Pusheen unicorn cushion, but you don’t get chance to say anything as he’s already trying to move you.

So you relent, letting your back relax onto the soft rug and lifting your hips to let him place the cushion beneath them, lifting your lower body up to a place that was more comfortable for him to reach. Stretching slightly, you let out a slow breath before looking at your boyfriend.

And that breath turns into a low whine when you see the way he’s looking at you hungrily, desire almost a living force in his eyes. Given how ridiculously gorgeous he is, it’s an expression that makes your thighs clench in anticipation and your inner muscles convulse in an ache for him. You’ll never not be surprised that you’re the one to inspire that look in his eyes.

“Fuck,” He whispers, running a hand over his face. “Have I told you today that you’re beautiful? And I love you?” 

You look away from him then, shyness flooding you and you go to hide yourself from his roaming gaze. He loves to make you go shy with his compliments, knowing that you love them despite the way you protest meekly. And he’s not afraid to lavish his words on you, no matter how cheesy they are.

“Anyway, enough of that.” Hoseok mutters and you’re about to query him, but by the time you look back over at him you’re moaning out in pleasure, eyes squeezing shut while your head presses back against the floor. He darted down while you were distracted and all you can feel right now is the heavenly touch of his hot, wet tongue against your pussy.

“Ah fuck.” You gasp, one hand grasping the rug tightly while your other inevitably moves to grasp Hoseok’s hair tightly, the black strands soft between your fingers. The quiet grunt he gives at the pressure of the pull vibrates against your clit as he sucks on it lazily, causing your breath to quiver.

If there was something you’d discovered about yourself during sex with Hoseok, it was that you weren’t a dirty talker. In fact, you weren’t even much of a talker. Instead, you were a babbler. You just mumbled and moaned and whined whatever came to your mind at the time, utterly unaware of the noises you were making.

Hoseok had commented before that he thought it was hot, that the knowledge you couldn’t control your mouth was a turn on. He on the other hand, tended to be either pretty quiet until the end or he’d run his mouth. You’d never thought you’d like dirty talk until you’d heard him whispering utter filth into your ear, his voice strained and hoarse from the effort.

It was surprising, and also not unwanted. 

Now though, he spent the next few minutes with his mouth fully occupied. The tongue piercing that you had grown completely fond of pressed against your clit perfectly when lapped at you slowly, letting every centimetre of his tongue press against as much of you as possible before undulating it against your clit, letting the pressure and friction of the ball rile you up.

Whining, you tug at his hair desperately, feeling the familiar ball of tightened pleasure that is building. And yet it feels just out of reach, as before. Limbs tightening, you begged him to let you orgasm, to bring you over the edge that was so close and yet so far away.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he sits up and licks his lips contentedly, the slickness on them from you and not his own mouth. It’s an attractive sight and you whimper, pussy tightening on nothing at the sight of it. He doesn’t notice though, using his hand to wipe away the rest before looking over to the coffee table and grabbing the lube.

“I’m gonna use this still. You’re pretty wet but I read that you should use plenty, particularly with glass. And I don’t want to hurt you.” You’re almost bemused by the casual way he’s talking now, like he hadn’t just had his tongue buried into your pussy for the last five minutes. In fact, he’s even reading the damn label.

Frustrated, you reach and grasp his hand to attract his attention. “Just fucking put it in me.”

That gets a close lipped smile from him, the expression looking distinctly like he’s trying to stop himself from laughing and you scowl. Yes, you were being abrupt with him. But god dammit, you were lying naked in front of him, desperately horny and needy after being given excellent oral for given minutes and you just wanted to orgasm with your boyfriend once again and not just your own hand.

“Yes ma’am.” Uncapping the bottle, he tilts it up and you jolt slightly at the cool, thick liquid as it hits your swollen clit. He lets a good amount drip onto you before placing it back onto the table, his free hand moving to push the lubrication inside your entrance. For such an intimate motion, Hoseok is showing almost zero interest in having his fingers inside you as his attention is on the glass dildo.

But you moan in relief, tightening around him. He only has the one in you, but your moan attracts his attention back and he grins before adding a second, fingers curling in you and moving easily with the added lube. An almost grateful sigh escapes you and he laughs before pulling his fingers out and grabbing the dildo, wiping the excess onto the head before carefully adding even more.

The head of this dildo is bigger than Hoseok’s dick, and you’re a little nervous as he runs it along your pussy slowly. It’s incredibly cold and firm against you, the temperature causing you to shiver as it presses against the heated bundle of nerves at your centre.

“I’ll go slow, okay? You have to talk to me this time, let me know if it’s hurting or uncomfortable.” Nodding at him, you give him a small smile before your eyes widen as he pushes the tip inside you. It stretches you far more than you’d anticipated and you gasp, fingers grasping the rug tightly as he moves it.

Once it’s past your entrance, the slide is much easier given the shaft’s thinner girth but all you can focus on is how thick the head feels. There’s a brief moment of pause as Hoseok evaluates you before you nod at him and he slowly pulls it out. You grimace as it leaves you, deciding instantly that you do not like the feel of it entering and exiting.

“Don’t pull it out entirely. It...kinda hurts. Like not too bad but, I don’t like it.” You admit, causing him to frown before he nods in acknowledgement. The next few thrusts from him are much gentler as you both experiment with it and you comment on how it feels to him.

The glass is far firmer than anything you’ve had inside you before and you tell him to be careful, knowing that if he moved too hard or rough then it would probably really hurt given the lack of give in it. But you can’t deny that the overly large head is beyond pleasurable as it presses against the squishy patch of nerves on your inner wall, each movement sending sparks of overwhelming feeling through you.

“Move it like...a little down. No, not that way, so the head of it is coming up. Yeah, yeah like tha-ooh my god.” You moan, eyes falling closed as Hoseok does exactly as you suggest. The movement you’ve instructed him to do has the head pressing firmly against those nerves, the pressure intense and you convulse slightly when he moves it again.

“Oh god yes, there. There.” You pant to Hoseok, one hand moving instinctively for something and only stopping when Hoseok grasps it with his free hand, linking your fingers together and giving you something to squeeze. Like the good boyfriend he is, he keeps the dildo in that position as he moves it and you start to beg him to move it faster.

Moaning, you writhe on the floor as pleasure floods through you from the constant pressure and you half recognise the fact that you’re babbling to him to let you cum. But he knows as well as you do that you can’t orgasm from penetration alone, although given how good this feels you’re not entirely sure on that front.

Still, he understands and you almost jump off the floor when you feel the heated pressure of Hoseok’s wet tongue against your clit. A ragged moan leaves you, your free hand grasping his hair once more and tugging tightly as he licks and sucks at your clit almost playfully, enjoying your reactions for him.

You’d curse him out but you can’t quite focus, your entire body and mind centering on your pussy and the tight ball that has once more built up inside you. A small thought wonders whether you’ll not be able to reach it once more but it’s swept away quickly by the feeling of Hoseok’s piercing pressing against your engorged bud, the movement perfected over the months when he could bring you to orgasm.

And then it all combines together and your entire body tightens, loud and ragged moans being ripped from your throat as you shudder almost violently. Your hips move so powerfully that Hoseok can’t even keep movement with you, his mouth leaving you while he still moves the dildo within.

It just adds to the pleasure and you’re struck by the odd sensation of not being able to hear properly for a few seconds, the orgasm so strong that it literally knocks your senses offline. Once the wave has reached its crescendo and begins to soften again, you let out a soft whimper as Hoseok continues to move the dildo, only much slower this time.

It feels good, but almost too good and you push at his hand, telling him silently to stop. You don’t see the look of complete awe on his face when he pulls the dildo out, how he admires the visible signs of your pleasure on the transparent glass as white streaks of your own making coat it.

Instead, you’re just staring at the ceiling as your chest heaves, silent tears slipping from your eyes from just how...overwhelming everything was. The quiet clink lets you know he’s put the dildo on the table and you sniff, feeling particularly pathetic for getting so emotional over an orgasm.

“You came!” Hoseok coos, leaning over and gently resting some of his weight on you. He’s on his elbows, but your raised hips mean that you have the full weight of his own hips against you. Including the very hard erection pressed against you now. “Oh baby, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“I’m not upset or anything, it’s okay. I just...I don’t know,” Muttering, you wipe at the tears in an almost annoyed fashion and Hoseok smiles. “I’m just feeling emotional. Which is silly. It was just an orgasm but…”

Looking at him, your heart swells with emotion for him and even more tears fall, causing him to smile softly before he wipes them away himself and kisses you. You don’t push him away, instead wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him to you so tightly, fingers pressing into his shoulders.

“It’s okay, you’ve been stressed about it for a while now. Cry if you want, I don’t mind,” He pauses, kissing your nose quickly before smiling. “I said it earlier, but I love you.”

Wiping at your eyes again, you sniff and give him a return smile that’s more than a little shaky. Letting go of him, you watch as he sits up onto his knees, looking down at you while he bites his lip. The tent in his pants is now emphasised by the wet patch that’s been caused by the combination of lube and your own excitement and you feel bad, knowing he’s put off his own pleasure.

Sitting up, you push the cushion away before taking a deep breath. You feel a little sluggish from the strength of the orgasm, but you’ll be damned if you leave him high and dry. And on Christmas no less!

“So...how about some sex for you now?” Hoseok grins immediately at your words and you can’t help but laugh at his eagerness.

“Are you sure? Are you okay? Will you be up for it?” Despite his excitement, you appreciate his words of concern and squeeze his hand in response. Giving him a quick kiss, you take a deep breath to give yourself strength before letting go of him and turning around. There’s a pause, before you get on your hands and knees and look back at him.

This was his favourite position and any playfulness has left his face as he stares at the slick mess between your legs. Licking your lips, you push away the shyness before smiling at him.

“I’ll even let you cum on my back.” His jaw drops immediately. You’d discovered Hoseok liked orgasming onto you. He proclaimed he had no real reason for enjoying it but you thought he got turned on at the physical act of ‘marking’ you in a possessive way. At least...that’s why you enjoyed it anyway.

But you don’t offer it often, so it’s not something he gets to indulge in too much.

“Happy fucking Christmas to me.” He mutters under his breath and you can’t help but laugh as he pulls his clothes off at record speed. Happy Christmas to him indeed.

[lesbian-deadpool]

Special Soul-mark

Part One Of Two: Family Matters

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Modern AU, Soulmate AU

Words: 2,398

Warnings: Referenced child-abuse, childhood teasing, detailed injures.

Request: For the Anon who donated to the Australian Bushfires.

Summary: How you finally met your soulmate.

A/N: Just an FYI, I’ve never seen Family Matters lol.

(Not my GIF)

***

“They’re a clumsy one.” You overheard your mother say behind you, to some of her friends, as you, at five-years-old, played in the grass with your own friends.

“Who is, mommy?” You turned around to ask, just as curious as every child, to the world around them.

“Your soulmate, honey.” She pointed to the marks littering your skin.

Looking down your eyes found a small scratch on the inside of your forearm.

You remembered the day you learned about soulmates. You had been in the bath, your mother washing the dirt from your face, after jumping around in muddy puddles with your father. You had been remembering how all the kids teased you at school, for having so many cuts and bruises covering your body. When you asked, “Why do I have these?” You drew your arms out in front of you, as to give your mother a better look at what you were talking about.

But she knew.

Of course, she knew.

She had, after all, been waiting for this moment for a long time.

They’re from your soulmate, Honey.” She tried to have a bright smile covering her face as she told you this. Knowing how confused you were by some of the children's teasing. But they, thankfully, had it all sorted out now, after going to the principle and complaining. “You have a very special “soul-mark” if they get a bruise or scratch. So do you.”

“It’s special?” you asked, voice full of wonder.

“Yes.” She nodded, overexcited for your sake.

It wasn’t special really. Just less common than the others. Most people have tattoos, timers, red strings around their pinkies, some even had the first place their soulmate would ever touch them.

One in one-hundred-thousand had the same soul-marks as you. So, nowhere near ‘special’. Just less likely.

But, you didn’t have to know that now, did you?

Not until you undoubtedly find out in your later years.

Right now? Yeah. You could think it was special.

“Why don’t they hurt?” was your next question.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “No one truly does. I’m sure there’s some scientist’s out there with an explanation to it all. But I like to think that it’s because your soulmate never wants to hurt you.”

“When will I meet them?”

“That I also don’t know,” she said, lifting you out of the dirty water, and rubbing you dry with a soft fluffy towel. “Everbody has their own time. You’ll have yours too, baby.”

“They must be very wobbly on their feet.” She pulled you out of your memories. Since that day, you had been excited to find your soulmate. But you remembered your father's words, that same night as he put you to bed.

“You’ve just got to wait for them. They’ll be worth it when you finally find them.”

So you were patient. And you would be for however long you needed.

“What if they’re not though?” One of her friends whispered, as you passed two of your tiny fingers over the small scratch on the inside of your forearm.

“I don’t want to think about it,” she whispered back. Obviously unknown to the face that you were still listening, “Because if that’s the case, there's nothing I can do to help.”

You didn’t understand what they had been talking about, until years later.

It had stopped a few weeks after that. Much to your parents' joy. But not so much to yours. You liked seeing the marks sometimes. It reminded you that your soulmate was out there, waiting for you, just as you were them.

But you were glad that they were “Being less clumsy and hurting themselves.”

***

It wasn't until years later that something to that extent had happened.

Not to say that your soulmate never got hurt, during that time. Just like you did.

A paper-cut here. Cat scratch there. The random bruise somewhere. Grazed knees, and palms. A bump on the head. The normal injuries that kids tended to inflict on themselves.

You were fourteen, and intently finishing your homework, at the kitchen table. When your father, who sat across from you, started calling out, after randomly glancing up at you.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!"

"What's wrong, honey?" your mom called through from the hallway to your father. As you looked up at him curiously, only to see him pointing directly at your face.

"What?" you asked him confused.

"Your nose."

"My. What?" You were still confused, as you reached your hand up to wipe the side of your forefinger under your nose. Pulling it back to see it covered with blood. Said red liquid pouring down your hand, and dripping profusely onto your homework, that you had been working so hard on.

"Holy shit!" you exclaimed, pushing your chair back and away from your work.

"Language," your mother chided, a smile in her voice, as she walked through the kitchen door, your baby brother in her arms. Before her voice grew scared and frantic, once she had noticed all of the blood now soaking the floor, as your father moved around the table to get a better look at you, "What happened?!"

"Her nose just started bleeding."

You raised your head to peer at your mother.

"Fuck!" It was her turn to exclaim.

Your dad whispering, "Christ." With his hand upon your shoulder.

"What?" you asked almost scared to know the answer.

Raising to your feet you walked through your open plan home, towards the mirror hanging in the living room.

"Mother of God!" you said, finally seeing your appearance.

Blood coated the bottom of your face, very clearly coming from your nose, it still bleeding as it seeped into your, now ruined, white shirt. The bridge of your nose dark grey, with the intensity of the bruise. Eyes black and blue. Right cheek cut open, along with a bruise on your left temple. And to finish it all off, your lips were busted in many places.

And all you could utter at the view of yourself, while your father came up behind you, holding your shoulders comfortingly, was, "What happened to them?"

***

You were sixteen the next time it happened.

You were at school, sitting at the lunch table. Smiling and chatting away, when your friends pointed it out.

You removed your hand from where you were leaning your face against it. Peering down at your knuckles.

They were beat up. Scratched and bruised. Red-raw, and bleeding slightly.

You checked to see if your other hand was the same.

It was.

"Huh," you said, upper body jostling as you did, "They mush have gotten into a fight."

"It looks like they've beaten the shit out of whoever they were fighting."

"Yeah." You smiled. Memories of two years ago flashing in your mind. And you couldn't help but feel immensely proud to see them fighting back. And winning, considering your friends hadn't pointed out any injuries adorning your face. "Hey, if you think this is bad, you should see my feet."

"What?" your friend that sat beside you asked, incredulously.

"Yeah." You nodded. "They're fucked up. Have been for years. I think they do ballet."

"Damn, you're gonna marry a Ballet Dancer one day," a third friend said, his booming laugh coming out, as he continued, "Be careful. They could choke you with the strength of their thighs."

"If I'm lucky." You smirked, as your friends laughed at your joke.

***

"Hey, Y/N/N?"

Looking up, you spotted your six-year-old brother as your door. A plate of Christmas themed cookies held in his small hands.

You smiled at him, as he beamed at you.

"Hey, buddy. What's up?" you asked as he came into your room, haphazardly climbing onto your bed. You moving the plat from where he had set it down on your bed, so that the goodies on top didn't end up everywhere, and was easier for the small boy to find a seat on your bed.

He moved to sit closer to you, almost directly in front of where you lounged on your side, where you were finishing off one of your college assignments. You placed the plate in front of him. So he could help himself to them. Knowing that your parents had probably sent him up with the home-baked cookies, to give to you. But knowing even better, that he definitely wanted some of them.

"Nothing," he finally replied. Picking up a Christmas tree cookie, handing you a Santa one.

You thanked him softly.

Taking a bite out of Ol' St Nicks face, you asked, "Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?"

You could read the kid like an open book. He was your brother, you were his best friend, as he had proclaimed on many occations. And he, of course, was one of yours.

So, you obviously knew when he wanted to talk to you about something.

Hastily shoving the rest of his cookie into his mouth, as you chuckled at the boy's antics. Watching as he pulled up the arm of his sweater. Showing you the scribbles there. Thrusting his arm excitedly in front of your face, almost like you had with your mother, many years ago.

"My soulmate talked to me, for the first time!" he said excitedly, around a mouthful of cookie.

Studying the neat -well, as neat as it could be for a child- handwriting. You read the small conversation of them wishing each other a happy holidays.

"Oh my, God," you said happily, reaching over to squeeze lightly at his shoulder, "That's amazing, bud!"

He smiled excitedly, bouncing up and down lightly where he sat.

"Have you talked to your soulmate yet?"

"Not yet, kiddo." His face fell at your words, obviously wanting you to meet your soulmate just as much as you did. "Don't worry, though. It will happen when it's meant too."

"But how will you know it's them?"

"We'll have the same marks," you assured him, "Or one of us will get hurt in front of the other. Something like that."

He laughed. "That would be funny."

"Yeah, it sure would, kid." You nodded towards the plate, "You want another?" He nodded. "Yeah, well pass me another one while you're at it."

He threw one at your face, it hitting its mark, causing him to burst out in a loud giggle.

"Tell your soulmate I'm sorry."

"Why?" he asked curiously, cocking his head to the side, akin to a small puppy-dog.

"Because I'm gonna tickle their soulmate until they're begging for mercy."

"Wait- No, Y/N! Please!" he squealed. You picking him up and laying him below you, tickling at his sides, and blowing raspberries against his neck.

The sounds of his tortured laughter reverberating to where your parents sat downstairs, in the living room. Bright smiles tugging at their faces.

***

You had moved to New York not long after graduating university. Being lucky enough to have an immediate position at one of Stark Industry's many branches.

Six-months to the date, you've been working there. And in that time you've bonded with your co-workers, managed to get your bosses to love you. And met, and become friendly with Tony Stark, on one of his visits. Being pleasantly surprised by how nice he truly was.

Two weeks ago, he had given you two tickets to some ballet, because you had mentioned that your brother was involved in gymnastics.

It isn't the same thing. But he tried.

And now you got to drag your eleven-year-old brother to a ballet recital, under the false pretence of "If we don't go, my boss will fire me!" Ah... to torture your siblings over a two and a half-hour period.

Even at the expense of your own sanity.

Okay...

So, maybe you were wrong.

The ballet wasn't bad.

At. All.

You both enjoyed it immensely.

Your brother for the story. And you also for the story... amongst other things.

"Y/N's got a crush," your brother sing-songed to you, in a whisper, during the performance.

"Shut the fuck up," you sing-songed back.

He wasn't wrong.

The red-headed star of the show had taken you whole interest. Not only for the way she danced. She was graceful, of course. Talented. You could see how passionate she was, and how long she must have trained for this. But not only that, she was stunning beyond belief. You can't remember ever seeing someone half as gorgeous as her, she was the most beautiful woman you had ever, and were sure you would ever see.

"Oh. No, I was wrong," Will started, smugly, "You're in love with her."

You inhaled deeply through your nose as he smirked beside you, you began whispering to yourself, repeatedly, "If I leave him, my parents will kill me."

"They will."

"I'm gonna leave him."

***

"Isn't your soulmate a Ballerina?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows as you entered your apartment.

"No," you said clearly, throwing your keys onto the coffee table, "They do ballet, has done for years, that's for sure. But that doesn't mean they're a Ballerina."

"But there's a big possibility that they are," Will continued, in that same teasing voice he had before at the ballet.

"And there's a big possibility that they aren't," you counteracted.

"Aww, c'mon, Y/N!" he whined, "You know you were making 'goo-goo' eyes at her."

"That means nothing-"

"Yes, it does!"

"That doesn't mean she's my soulmate," you corrected.

He wiggled his eyebrows at you once again. Being siblings you got to torment them. But, sadly, they also got to torment you, too.

"I should have left you at the ballet." You smiled, turning away from him as he laughed.

"Maybe you should, then I could have met your soulmate before you do."

You groaned flinging your head back.

***

You had seen your brother off two days ago, waving to him as he boarded the plane with your father. And now you were free from torture.

You were at work when Tony had called you into his office, a big smile on his face, as he stood up from his seat, gesturing to the red-headed woman stat before him. Who turned their attention to you, smiling slightly. You instantly recognising them as the Ballerina that had stolen your attention, only a few days ago.

"Y/N Y/L/N," Tony started, "I'd like to introduce you to Natasha Romanoff. You're soulmate."

[keelywolfe]

FIC: That Place Where You Can't Remember and You Can't Forget

Summary: Red is back and things are going swell.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Brotherly Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, More Angst

Warnings:  Implied underage pregnancy. Implied miscarriages. Past Trauma.

~~*~~

Chapter List

What Will Be, Will Be

Something To Say, But Nothing Comes

Can’t Go On, Thinking Nothing’s Wrong

Seldom All They Seem

Voices Are Heard But Nothing Is Seen

Winter Makes You Laugh a Little Slower

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was deep into the Underground nighttime when Rus wandered downstairs to get something to eat. He still felt a little achy and not all of it was from being stuck in the cold the day before.

Waking from his post-dinner nap left Rus restless enough for Blue to notice, teasing him about being a squirmy wormy, but there was no good way to tell his bro that the real problem was he was horny, plain and simple, and could he please get the fuck out for a couple hours so he and Edge could make some squelching noises?

Planning wasn’t exactly Rus’s strong suit; the evidence of that preceded him whenever he walked. So it was lucky that Edge more than made up for it. He owed Edge big time for asking Blue if he couldn’t go over to the Librarby for him in search of a particular puzzle book he’d heard was there. It was pretty good as excuses went; they all knew books were in short supply in Underfell. Blue agreed happily, and if there was a certain knowing gleam in his eye lights when he left, eh, Rus wasn’t much of a planner, but he was pretty good at pretending not to see things he’d rather not. It was a gift.

The moment the door closed behind his bro, Rus was on his feet and headed towards the bedroom at the fastest waddle he could manage. Ungainly as he was, he didn’t exactly feel like much of a seducer; his heavy belly was pretty much front and center, not exactly what he thought of as a turn on.

Somehow, Edge didn’t seem to mind. His hands and mouth were as eager as when they were only fucking around, hell, more so, he seemed happy to worship every part of Rus, from his toes to the very top of his skull, wringing out orgasms until Rus could only lay back weakly, trembling against the sheets. He wasn’t an innocent by any definition of the word, but some of the heated things Edge whispered to him in the darkness of his (their?) bedroom left him blushing and craving even more.

That was hours ago, now, Rus had drowsed off while Edge was gently washing him with a lovely, warm washcloth. Now horniness was taking a backseat to hunger, it was always something, wasn’t it?

Rus squirmed free of Edge’s arms as carefully as he could, slipping on his robe as he crept downstairs. He paused at the door, watching as Edge slept on, his sockets closed, the sharp angles of his face relaxed in sleep.

Seeing him made something unnamed in Rus’s soul stir, squeezing so tightly he could hardly breathe. He turned away, letting it ease. Whatever that was would have to be a problem for Tomorrow Rus, because tonight, all he wanted was something to eat.

It was good that he closed the door when he did, because the baby chose that moment to wake up, too. Rus bit back a groan as the baby shifted around, settling right into his pelvic cradle like it was a damn lounger. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it was uncomfortable and the way the kid was wriggling made it feel like they were going to fall down and dangle somewhere between his knees.

“wish i knew when you were gonna put in an appearance, kid,” Rus muttered. “it’d be nice to stick a pin on a date.” He curved a hand under his belly and gave a hopeful nudge, trying to urge his little skitten to move up a little higher. No dice, the baby only shifted and then settled back in with another demanding squirm, the one that meant on no uncertain terms, ‘feed me!’.

Rus sighed and started down the stairs. “yeah, i’m going.”

Seriously, the most frustrating thing about this was dealing with all the unknowns. Undyne did the best she could, but she didn’t know much about skeleton pregnancies. Everything she had she was pulling from old medical journals, but it was looking like they were a little incomplete. For one, she hadn’t known the souling descending would hurt. It didn’t for other Monsters, but then, other Monsters were different. The cost of magic was a lot higher for a skeleton pregnancy, they didn’t have a uterus laying around waiting to get used. On the other hand, they did have the added perk that any skeleton could have a kid since they went with ‘bring your own’ when it came to a body.

Thinking about it made the niggling memories at the back of his mind perk up a little. Undyne hadn’t known it would hurt, sure, but Red had. Red knew an awful lot about soulings and how they descended and--

Before that thought could connect, Rus’s slipper caught on the last stair, tripping him. Even as he started to fall, he flung out his arms to catch himself, split-second thoughts of ‘fuck’ and ‘no’ and ‘not after everything’ swamping him.

But the rush of the hard floor to meet him stopped abruptly, blue magic engulfing his soul, cradling him gentler than he thought possible.

“careful there, mama.”

“red?” Damned creature of the night. It was like Rus thinking about him summoned him up from whatever hole Red crawled into. The living room was dark, but Rus could see the faint gleam of bluish light from the sofa, coming from a darkened lump sprawled across the well-worn cushions, buried in the blanket Rus left there for emergency naps.

“who else?” Red made a hoarse, chuffing sound that might pass as a laugh. “no one else is gonna get past the spells my bro put on your door locks.”

Wasn’t that the truth. He and Blue were both shocked at the layers of protection that Edge insisted on weaving into the door locks, warnings, shieldings, the works. But neither of them protested it; hey, if a little extra protection made Edge feel better about sleeping over, Rus was all for it. Looked like stopping shortcuts wasn’t included in the package, deliberately or not.

The floor was still a couple of inches from his dangling slippers and his soul was starting to get that faint achiness from being gripped for so long. Rus waggled his feet, but Red didn’t seem to get the hint. Heck, he wasn’t even sure how Red managed to catch him before he could fall, anyway.

“hey, unless you’re gonna carry me around like a living backpack, you can let me down,” Rus called. Red made a low sound that seemed to be agreement, because the light pressure on his soul faded, renewed gravity easing him to his feet. The kitchen beckoned, all the delicious leftovers from the enchiladas that Edge and Blue made last night calling to him, but Rus still hesitated.

Something didn’t seem right about the local gargoyle.

Rus made his way over to the light switch and turned it on to the dimmest setting. Even so, a pained hiss came from the sofa, Red slinging an arm over his sockets. Like bare bone was gonna work as a mask? Closer to the sofa, there was a familiar green stink in the air, one that Rus knew very well, indeed.

Okay, yeah, if he had a guess, he was gonna say Red was stoned out of his melon.

“where’ve you been?” Rus asked, amused. The crumpled paper bag on the coffee table offered a clue, even if there were nothing but crumbs inside. “over at muffet’s? please tell me you behaved.”

Red offered another laugh, his arm sliding down to let him peer lazily out. “relax, mama, boss would have my ass if i caused trouble over here in your pretty lil’ world.”

If Edge could pin him down long enough to talk to him, maybe.

But that was a problem those two were gonna have to fix on their own. “didn’t happen to bum a smoke off bunno while you were there, did you?”

That sharky grin of Red’s widened. “mebbe. that a problem, mama?”

Yeaaasssh. A while back, Rus helped Bunno rig the hydroponics for his weed farm and every one of those little plants was babied into maturity. Even half a blunt usually put Rus down for the count and Bunno could be pretty damned generous with his stash.

Ignoring the ‘mama’ thing seemed easier than trying to argue about while Red was blazing trails. “you hungry?”

Sockets slit open, reddish eye lights rolling in his direction, “you offerin’?”

“yeah. let me go warm it up. don’t run off now.” If he was even half as messed up as Rus usually got from it, he probably couldn’t even get his feet facing the same direction if he wanted to.

Red seemed like he knew it, too. That sharky grin of his tipped higher and he closed his sockets again. “do my best.”

The enchiladas were neatly put away in the fridge, just like he’d known they would be. Blue always made a little extra for dinners these days; there was no telling how many might be at the table, plus leaving plenty of leftovers for growing skittens.

Rus was never gonna earn a chef’s hat, but he could manage warming up the goods and dishing it out. The smell was making him drool and the baby was doing a tango up his spine by the time he brought the plates out. He plopped Red’s on the coffee table with a thump and sat on the sofa with his own, ready to dig in. His belly made for a decent tv tray if he kept a hand on the plate. He was still mourning the loss of an entire bowl of oatmeal from an enthusiastic kick sending it flying.

Blue thought it was funny as hell and even Rus bursting into stupid tears hadn’t stopped him from laughing. It was pretty hilarious now and little embarrassing, but at the time, losing that oatmeal had seemed like a devastating blow to his hunger.

He refused to let his enchiladas suffer the same fate.

The blanket was stirring, Red slowly emerging like a creature from the deep. Rus couldn’t hold back a groan of pleasure as he scooped up his first bite, holy shit, when Blue and Edge combined their culinary powers, they made some damned good eats. Red seemed to be in agreement if the way he started chowing down meant anything, slurping down noisy mouthfuls.

The kid probably liked their secondhand version of it, too, given the way they were squirming. Rus winced, rubbing at his roiling belly. Seriously, it was weird watching it. He’d seen other preggers Monsters a time or two and they always seemed to have cute, round little tummies brimming with baby. Meanwhile, Rus’s always looked sort of lumpy depending on what side the baby was leaning on, and seeing it from the outside when a little hand or foot decided to push out was like watching some creepy B movie about alien infestations. Wasn’t exactly comfortable, either.

Through a mouthful of tasty, tasty enchilada, Rus mumbled, “i tell you what, when this kid makes its exit, i got a whole bucket list of things to do. whenever they decide to stop loitering, anyway.”

He wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the lack of scolding brothers. Red was shoveling in the food, wiping his mouth against his shirt as he chewed thoughtfully. “been about twelve weeks now altogether, yeah?”

“yeah.” His thoughts were sort of tired and jangly lately, but that was a date he could calculate to the minute.

Red only nodded, grunting out, “shouldn’t be much longer, then.”

Again, that confident knowledge. Rus wasn’t sure what to do about it, past trusting that Red was right. He tugged up his shirt, pulling it overtop the bump. The bright orange of the ectoflesh was opaque, hiding the little babybones curled up inside.

Those tiny bones getting solid and strong, using up all the tasty magic the food generated as they got ready to come out to the world. Would they look like him or Edge? A combination of the two? They were both tall, so the kid had that going for them, but maybe the kiddo would have crimson eye lights and wee little sharp teeth, all ready to gnaw at the table legs when they started crawling. Maybe they would smile with all the delight Edge struggle to show. Maybe, maybe…

Rus couldn’t wait to meet them.

He stroked a hand over the swollen curve of his tummy contemplatively, “if it’s soon, guess we should start thinking about names.” Edge hadn’t even mentioned names yet, they pretty much stuck with skitten or baby when they talked about them.

Red only snorted, “don’t bother.”

That made Rus raise some mental eyebrows. “why, you have a suggestion?”

“heh, nah,” Red licked his plate clean, something that would have gotten him a sharp knock on the skull if Edge saw him do it. “skeleton babies are born knowing their names. makes it kinda weird that we all go by nicknames now.” His mouth twisted sourly. “well, most of us. but if you run a check, i'm still sans. can call me whatever you want, it’ll always show me as sans. my soul knows what it wants to be called.”

Red rolled his head in Rus’s direction. His eye lights were hazy, diffused, crimson muddied with flecks of green, and Rus wondered again how much he’d had to smoke. “y’can usually do a check on their soul, see what the kiddo’s name is. might be able to do it by now.”

Okay, that was some seriously unexpected news, every damn word of it. Rus didn’t really remember his own childhood much, it was weirdly blurred and by the time his mental film got back on track, Blue was a toddler, already fully cooked and walking on his own. Rus didn’t remember ever checking him to see his name. His bun was still baking in the oven, but here was Red telling him he could check the baby. He hadn’t even thought to try it.

It was tempting, so tempting, but.

Edge was upstairs sleeping with no idea that Rus was down here getting maternity tips from his stoned brother, and Rus could only imagine how hurt he’d be if Rus did it without him. He’d been freaked out at the beginning, but these days Edge was all over the baby, whispering secrets to the little bump that Rus strained to hear, resting gentle hands on the roundness of his belly in the hopes of feeling a kick. The first few times Edge asked, always so stiffly polite cause he didn’t want to presume, and it was so damned precious that Rus finally gave him blanket permission for belly fondling.

So long as he threw in plenty of foot rubs, Rus was on board.

Might be the hardest thing Rus ever did, but he regretfully set that new knowledge aside for sharing time. With any luck, he could catch Edge before he headed off to patrol, give him something to glow about while he was over in Underhell.

Thinking of which...“where’ve you been, anyway? you missed napstatton.”

His needling backfired unexpectedly as Red chuckled darkly, “was here earlier but you and the boss already went to bed. sounded a little busy, so i decided to take in the sights outside.”

Well, that wasn’t horribly embarrassing or anything. Rus could feel his cheek bones warming. “sorry about that.”

Red only shrugged. He sank back against the sofa cushions, propping one sock-covered foot up on the coffee table, his toes curling over the edge. “eh, it’s part of the deal. your magic is all out of whack, making you horny as a moldsmal in pollen season. may as well enjoy it while you can, ain’t gonna be doing much once the kid is here.” He laced his hands over his middle, tipping his skull back, eye lights examining the ceiling. “went to see my alphys today. me and ol’ al go way back. thought she might like a chat.”

That...sounded weirdly ominous.

“yeah?” Rus said, cautiously. He’d never met any of the other residents of Underfell, wasn’t even allowed outside to smoke whenever he’d been there. He knew they were more like their alternates in Undertale than here, in that Undyne was Captain and Alphys a scientist. Given what he knew of Underfell, Rus was pretty sure that’s where the similarities ended. He didn’t know why Red felt the need to talk with his Alphys or why he was bringing it up now. Could be that his pot-swirly skull was just yammering. Sure. Could be. But that wasn’t a bet Rus would put a G against.

Those crimson eye lights slid his way, sharper despite that lingering haze, “you stay out of underfell, you hear me? ain’t no time for picnics or movie nights or whatever shit you all think up.”

Um, yeah. Not a problem. Even if he wanted to take a trip through the void, which he really didn’t, Underfell wasn’t exactly his fave vacation spot; he’d barely ever been there even before the baby bump. Red was still glaring at him, looking for all the world like he was about to drag Rus upstairs and lock him up like some new bald version of Rapunzel.

Hastily, Rus nodded, adding for good measure. “yeah, of course. we’ll keep any picnics local.”

That seemed to be enough. Red relaxed back, his sockets sinking closed again and Rus made a mental note to ask Blue and Edge to maybe not mention his recent storm chasing. He didn’t really want Red to take his bodyguard tendencies to the next level.

Protecting.

“soulings are fragile until they descend.”

“it’s like getting touched with happiness.”

“my baby grew up just fine. little stupid, sometimes.”

Almost-memories churning through his mind, finding each other and connecting. Maybe in the light of day, Rus wouldn’t ask. But here in the deepest part of night, with Red pliable next to him, questions were easy to offer.

"red?" Rus asked, very softly. "how old are you?"

He didn’t open his sockets. “you already know that. same age as you."

"yeah. about fifteen years older than edge, give or take."

That got him a low chuckle. “afraid you're too old for him? don’t worry, he’s older than he should be and you didn’t age past twelve.”

“my sense of humor is my fountain of youth.” Rus hesitated, searching for words that weren’t land mines, "i was still in stripes when blue was born."

"i expect so."

"so were you, weren't you. when edge came." There. Now it was out there, the words hanging between them like glass ornaments and just as delicate. He didn’t know what he expected to happen, anything from Red shortcutting away to him screaming out abuse, offering his own words, these ones designed to cut deeply, damaging not the body but the soul.

He expected that and anything in between. But Red didn’t move, didn’t shout. His expression, smoothed by the best weed Underswap had to offer, didn’t so much as twitch. The only reason Rus even knew he heard was when Red finally spoke, low and gruff.

"papyrus," Red said, deliberately. "don't. let it go."

"'kay," Rus agreed, softly. That was as far as he was willing to pry, anyway. All things considered, he was getting off pretty light. But then Red shifted restlessly, sharpened fingertips scratching at the sofa arm in long, agitated strokes.

“’s why i was so mad, you know.” So softly, Rus straining to hear that raspy whisper. “that he got you knocked up and all. thought he might be like his old man, after all, got some sick fucking need ta spread his seed or some bullshit, and don’t care who it hurts.” His voice thickened, that familiar Hotland accent of his fading back, “the doc tried so many times, so many little soulings that sputtered out, didn’t even get a chance to descend. then there were the other ones, ones that made it further. not far enough, nothing but little bones left to dust. paps was the only one who came out okay.”

For one sickening second, Rus didn’t understand, trying to put those words together in his head in a way that made sense. Having it come into focus didn’t help; his imagination stalled, trying not to picture what Red was telling him. and all he could do was stare at Red in silent horror.

Red only chuckled hoarsely. His jacket was cast off on the floor by the door, a wilted, empty shell, and without it Red seemed smaller, frailer, his thin t-shirt offering little protection. “heh, don’t need to look like that. it wasn't that bad. doc couldn’t do it the old-fashioned way. barely wanted to touch me at all, much less fuck me.” He shook his head, a wobbly roll of his skull atop his neck, “fun fact, you don’t actually need to have sex to make a souling. it’s the buildup of magic you need, some energy to work as baby batter, lots of it. sex is a good way to build it up, is all.”

“that fact isn’t very fun,” Rus said, thinly. He shivered, curling his arms around his belly where his baby rested, still safe inside. His soul felt cold, colder than it had out in the woods.

How Red found another laugh, Rus couldn’t begin to guess, “guess not. anyway, the doc had his own method. and who was i, anyway? stupid kid, that’s who, believing a bunch of bullshit promises cause i wanted off the streets. ended up right back where i started, only with a special toy surprise inside.” Red’s smile softened, his gaze distant, “kid was a pain in the ass. used to get so angry over nothing, scream until he was red in the face if he even got his fucking hands dirty. but he was mine.”

His voice was fierceness itself, tempered with bitter nostalgia. “called him brother. it was easier that way. plenty of orphans on the streets, but me with a baby of my own was gonna raise some questions as to who was knocking up the stripers. brothers were better. safer. doc was gone by then, anyway.” Red tipped his head, slanting an unreadable look Rus’s way and he was a fucking Judge, he could read any expression. “you gonna tell him?”

It took a moment for that question to even register. Rus’s head was busy trying to wrap itself around Red having a baby, having Edge, still in stripes while he lugged around a belly like Rus’s, only without anyone making enchiladas or wrapping him up in cozy blankets to nap, or even having a roof over his head. Red on the streets with his baby, calling him brother until it was believed, until that was the only truth out there.

Tell Edge? Tell him that his fa—brother had been lying to him his entire life. Like Red deserved another weight to shoulder, burdened with possible hate from the one he cared for most for being a scared kid making the choice he thought was best, a choice he never should’ve had to make? Not a fucking chance.

“no,” Rus said at last, “no, i won’t say a thing.”

A flicker of relief crossed Red’s face, his sockets drifting shut again. “thanks.” He laughed again, a low slur of sound, “you know, for a long time, thought you all might be the same with your bros. couldn’t be sure without askin’. guess not, pretty sure by now you’ve never done this before.”

Rus tried on a laugh of his own, weak and watery, but it was there. “nope, this is my first go-around, probably my last, too.”

“heh. yeah. one skitten is good enough for anyone.”

They both fell silent at that, Rus still trying to absorb that unexpected info glut. He didn’t know if confession was good for the soul, but it sure was exhausting and soon enough Red’s skull was drooping to the side, his breathing going slow and even.

Rus didn’t quite dare try to move him to a more comfortable position. Instead, he carefully shook out the blanket and let it drift down over him. In his sleep, Red twitched, burrowing into the soft folds with a drowsy grunt.

Good enough.

He left their plates where they were, ready to beg forgiveness from his bro for the mess rather than risk waking Red by shuffling around too much. He went back upstairs to his room, careful to avoid the creaky stair.

A quick peek showed Edge was still in bed. He’d moved into Rus’s spot, close to the wall and rolled on his side to face it. Rus stripped off his robe and slipped beneath the sheets in his bare bones and belly to curl up behind him. But the expected comfort did not come. Those strong, scarred bones were cooler than to be expected from someone curled up cozy beneath the covers. His breathing was maybe a little too even, playing false.

Fuck.

Very quietly, Rus murmured, “you shouldn’t listen at keyholes. might not like what you hear.”

His soul sank as Edge shifted, proving Rus’s suspicions. He sighed heavily, still facing the wall as he said, evenly, “That is true. Or you may simply hear things you already know.”

Getting rendered speechless was a new trend that Rus couldn’t say he was enjoying.

Whatever Edge thought of his silence, he finally rolled over, his eye lights bright in the darkened room as he studied Rus’s face. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. You didn’t sign on to be our secret keeper.”

“no,” Rus blurted, “no, it’s okay, it’s…it’s okay.” It’d be even more okay if he did ask, that was a promise Rus would be more than happy to give. So many secrets and all of them burdened with old hurts. But Edge only nodded slowly, his eye lights drifting down, resting on Rus’s belly.

He reached out, the bed creaking as he shifted, and his hand paused in mid-air, “Would it be all right if I—"

Rus didn’t wait for him to finish, already nodding along as he blurted, “yes.” He wasn’t sure what Edge wanted, but he was good for it. Anything to help settle the ache in his chest; he didn’t want to think of Edge as a child and couldn’t stop. A little baby bones crying over dirty hands while a too-young Red tried to soothe him however he could.

Edge moved closer, curling the lanky length of his body around Rus so that his skull rested on his belly. Like always, the baby seemed to sense Edge was close, wriggling happily as Edge lightly petted the taut ectoflesh, crooning out soft reassurances until the baby settled, calming.

They could probably sleep like that, they’d done it before. Except, maybe they needed something else. Something better, a distraction of goodness. Rus swallowed hard and managed to say, “red said that if we might be able to check the baby by now and...and if we did, we could see their name.”

Edge stilled, his startled gaze flying up to meet Rus’s. “Did you want to—”

“you do it,” Rus said, softly. Edge nodded jerkily, his gaze refocusing on Rus’s belly. When the feeling of being checked came it was distant, a brush-by instead of ticklish focus. Edge made a low, choked sound, and Rus couldn’t take it anymore, bursting out, “well?”

“Lucida,” Edge said. The soft wonder in his voice made Rus’s soul clench and just because he didn’t want to name that emotion didn’t mean he didn’t know what it was. “Her name is Lucida.”

The baby kicked hard as if responding to the name.

Her name. Her.

Their skitten was a her. Rus let out a laugh, uncaring that it nearly sounded like a sob, tasting his own tears as he whispered, “our baby’s name is lucy.”

“Lucy,” Edge agreed, and Rus barely noticed him moving until his mouth was pressed to Rus’s, a fierce kiss tempered by unbearable gentleness and broken only when Edge began scattering those soft kisses over his face.

Their baby, theirs. And she was gonna have daddies and papas and uncles, everything Rus could possibly offer to her, she was gonna have. All of it, safe and warm and loved.

That was a promise.

tbc

[corancoranthemagicalman]

Prompt: Crowley overhears Aziraphale threaten someone/something on his behalf

Anon, holy shit. Were you like blessed with great ideas?? Where do I sign up to have those??

         -------------

The last time Crowley could remember walking up to Aziraphale’s bookshop and spotting Gabriel there, he had flowers and chocolates in his hands that Aziraphale would never see. That was one of the few days throughout his millennia on Earth that he could remember with clarity. One of the first modern threats of losing Aziraphale, as it were.

This time Crowley had not been expecting it. He had not been expecting it the first time, of course. But this time he fully had put it in the hands of the book girl’s great-something-or-another that Gabriel was but a distant figure in the Bentley’s rearview mirror. As it was, spotting Gabriel standing there in his stupid suit with his even more stupid face had sharp teeth pricking at Crowley’s slowly sneering lip. He doubted a faux talk with a coat could get Azirpahale out of whatever trouble he was in now.

Like the snake he was, he poised himself carefully before striking. He waited, nearly swaying as neither Gabriel nor Aziraphale spotted him. It always sent something like a pang through his corporeal heart that Aziraphale’s little bookshop reeked so heavily of demon that there was no sensing Crowley’s arrival.

He held his unnecessary breath as he crawled closer to the window. He strained to listen, not daring to perform a miracle to allow himself in. Even Gabriel would be able to smell the sulphuric entrance. Crowley hissed at himself, berating his insatiable urge to provide Aziraphale’s batting eyes with whatever he so wished as he clutched the bag full of fresh baked goods.

“So, really, it’s all for the best if you come back with me.” Gabriel gave that smarmy grin of his, purple eyes a deadly strike of sugilite against a smaller crystal. But Crowley’s angel was no smaller crystal. He was the Bearer of Her Flaming Sword for Someone’s Sake.

“I believe we’ve made it very clear that we’re on the side of Humanity,” Aziraphale’s prim voice rang out. That Crowley could hear over any distance without strain. His being so attuned to his angel’s own as it was.

Gabriel’s laughter was not like a ringing bell unless that bell was tolling something horrid. “And I believe I’ve made it very clear what will happen to that little... boyfriend... of yours if you don’t come with us.”

Something shifted, even outside of the bookshop. The air took on the smell of electricity. Something unnatural charged, lifting the hairs of Crowley’s corporation on end. He instinctually licked at the air, tasting and smelling that charge he could recognize from a small airbase in Tadfield as Aziraphale wielded his sword, his words, against Crowley to move him into action.

“And I believe I told you exactly what would happen if Crowley so much as senses you in his vicinity.” Aziraphale’s eyes took on that ethereal glow as Crowley peered through the window. A near blinding light as the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, the Principality Aziraphale, flashed his true form. All of his eyes stared Gabriel the fucking Archangel down. Crowley swore he saw some illusion of that flaming sword at his side.

And it must be something, that this once Principality of Heaven would stare down an archangel in a small bookshop in Soho. It must be something, that Crowley watched frozen to his spot as Gabriel flinched at the unexpected show of force.

Gabriel sneered, shaking his corporeal head. “You’re a fool. You could have had everything.”

Aziraphale’s face, true beauty and grace, the only show that perhaps Her Work did have something precious. Truly precious. He smiled primly, head held high. “I have everything I need.” That small Soho book clerk, that great warrior angel, that creature that had held Crowley’s minuscule and shriveled heart, or soul, or whatever the bloody equivalent for an occult being, for millennia, that clerk held out his arm and showed Gabriel the fucking Archangel of Heaven the door. “Have a lovely day.”

There was no argument. Just Gabriel’s face turning nearly as purple as his eyes as he deprived his corporation of air. The archangel must have still held that fear from Aziraphale’s trial to not make a move against that great show of force. Aziraphale politely smiled. It reminded Crowley of what face he had put on during Aziraphale’s trial. Gabriel’s face had been just as contrite. He was like a child being denied a sweet. Crowley’s idly wandering mind left to an estate and an American family and the wrong child until he returned to Gabriel’s pouting leave.

Crowley stayed in his natural shadow until Gabriel had turned the corner. He dusted himself off, brushing at his knees and sauntering into the bookshop. The bell rang, this one. familiar toll. Crowley smirked as he spotted Aziraphale righting several books that Gabriel must have displaced.

“Oh! Crowley!” Aziraphale brightened. “How are you today?” The angel’s eyes wandered to the bag in Crowley’s hand. “What’s-”

“Nothing,” Crowley said abruptly, throwing the bag to Aziraphale. “Just spotted a small shop that piqued my interest.”

Aziraphale opened the bag, the smell of hot and fresh sweets permeating through Gabriel’s sour presence and filling the bookshop with something much more welcome. “Oh,” Aziraphale’s voice came softly. “Thank you, my dear.”

Crowley swaggered over to the couch, falling on to it with as much grace as a demon who vaguely sauntered downward could. “Ngk, don’t mention it.” He turned away from his angel, not allowing his corporation’s cheeks to flood.

He could hear his angel shake his head as he moved closer to the back. “Well, regardless,” Aziraphale smiled softly, like a treasured secret. “Thank you.”

“Fine.” Crowley allowed the thanks and the four-letter word. “I saw Gabriel as I was leaving.” He brushed his words across their conversation as he grabbed the wine that Aziraphale had set out. The bastard acted as if he didn’t know Crowley was coming, as if Crowley hadn’t been here as long as Aziraphale had accepted him.

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale took out the napkins and treat that Crowley had brought. “Thought he could convince me to rejoin the Force, I suppose.”

“And the offering wasn’t up to your standards, eh?” Crowley smirked without smirking, raised an eyebrow without his face ever moving. Always speaking with his body without moving.

Aziraphale paused, turning to Crowley fully. A quiet conversation that had slowly been building throughout all their millennia took place between Aziraphale’s glowing eyes and Crowley’s shielded ones. Crowley knew the answer to his posed question, and yet...

“I quite like the prospects of Earth and Humanity,” he started, “our side.” Crowley smiled at his words, hiding the gesture behind a sip of the wine he had poured some time during their silent passing of words.

...and yet Crowley would always ask. He was known for his curiosity, for asking questions. And Aziraphale would answer.

[tarithenurse]

On my Mind, in my Soul - 2

Pairing: Loki x burglar!Reader Contents: Cussing, a bit of violence, some angsting and pining, lemons...and lots of them. Consider yourself warned if you’re underage. A/N: Didn’t plan for the first part to actually be a first part. I’d planned it as a one-shot based on @maladaptive-ninja-returns‘s 3 “prompts”...but then it was nicely recieved and I chatted with them again and we had some fun ideas...so here’s part 2. This time the 3 things have been provided with a sister (who was rather confused as to why I was asking...but it did result in us watching the Bridge of Death sequence from Monty Python and the Holy Grail). Anyhoodles, the things were Earrings. Green. And the song “Put your Records on” by CB Rae. Lyric bits are marked as block quotes.

Challenge

Music’s playing in your ears as you make your way slowly through the museum, keeping the perfect distance to make it seem to the tour guide as though you’re part of the group while to them (a class of history students and their teacher) you’re just some random guest that happens to be going at the same pace. The map of the place in your hand is filled with thin lines by now, indicating camera angles and “alternative” routes.

“And over here we have a temporary collection on loan from London…” the voice of the guide announces through a lull in the song.

He’s beaming proudly as the class oohs and aahs at the glittery reflection of the ornate Crown Jewels. Amateurs. Sure, the lineup of necklaces and crowns looks impressive, but the main items are merely very good replicas made to satisfy the curiosity of people who can’t make it to the Tower of London – the real deal’s safely stored there, only to be removed on special occasions when the queen and her family actually uses it.

However, some of the less impressive items are not fakes. Taking a place before a display case, your eyes fall upon a comparatively drab pair of earrings. Fat, pinkish pearls dangle from golden drops and ovals with a multitude of tiny, white gemstones. Yuck. There are tastier ways of showing off wealth in your opinion, but you also understand that sometimes it’s not about having style per se, rather about flaunting that you can have anything. What in your eyes might be ugly (or at the best of cases kitsch) is probably a blatant show of power because deep down humans are simple creatures that understand a simple language: rarity equals wealth and wealth in turn equals power. And those earrings are rare, no one in their right mind would make more than a single pair.

So why those? Simple. You got a job and the buyer was smart enough to wrap it in a dare, claiming no one could get their hands on that set of pearls. To top the whole deal off, the guy’s willing to do wire transfer but a cash bonus if the job’s completed within a month.

You have to hide a smile as you tug the map and pencil into your purse, slipping your phone out for a moment to skip a tune in the hopes of the shuffle finding something more celebratory for the way out of the museum.

It takes a few tries before you succeed, meaning you’re already back in the grand room by the time you return the device to safety and your fingers brush against something unexpected, causing you to pause in your tracks and glance around, but no one stands out in the crowd of tourists and other visitors. One peek into the depths of the purse’s enough to grant a view of an envelope made of special paper. Or parchment? A cold shudder runs down your spine upon realisation that someone must have gotten close enough to slip it in there although you always keep the damn bag close to your body, even tugged under the arm. Whoever it is…they are good. Too good. It’s as if every camera’s trained on you, like each and every single person’s watching even the smallest movement you make, sending prickly waves of tension to the back of your legs while every hair stands on end.

Forcing yourself to move slowly, you leave the museum. Following the most crowded routes home, you only check for followers a million times. Discreetly, of course, despite the increasing frustration of spotting no one in pursuit or out of place (as much as anyone can look that in New York) not even when walking five times around the block before finally letting yourself into your little flat.

It almost feels safe as the deadbolt clicks into place and you allow yourself to slide onto the floor. Deep breaths tasting of curry from last night’s dinner and book dust helps ground you enough to stop your hands from shaking by the time they pull out the envelope. Turning it around and around, you have to admire the cottonlike quality of the paper and the clearly manually cut edges that shout craftmanship to the heavens. The sender is loaded or makes his own paper.

By the table under the glaring light of a lamp, it’s obvious that the person hasn’t left any other clues on the outside of the envelope, forcing you to open it after a careful examination to avoid any hidden nuisances. You’re holding your breath as you peer into the folds, spotting a photograph which you shake out. What the…?

Trying to pretend that the image’s taken months ago is futile, but still you hurry to the kitchen and slam down on your knees by the cabinet under the sink so hard that you bounce painfully on the linoleum. It doesn’t delay you. Eyes sting with pain as you pull the contents out, scattering the bucket with cleaning agents across the floor. You slam a fist onto a loose board to tip it up, revealing the front of a safe nestled among insulation and rubble. Five beeps and a fingerprint are all it takes for your worry to be proven right.

“Fucking! Alien! Pissflap!” Each exclamation’s punctuated by punches to the cabinet door.

At first glance, the contents could appear to be exactly the way you left them this morning…but the Tiger’s Eye Pendant’s missing.

Maybe sometimes we got it wrong, but it's all right The more things seems to change, the more they stay the same

…

Making the right call can be hard in the heat of the moment, but you managed. More than a week since you’ve been burgled and your thoughts stray all too often to the future and the plans it holds to right the wrong, the only consolation being that the job you have to finish first will be a means to that very end.

Hanging upside down from the skylight, each movement has to be perfectly controlled to stay out of the camera’s view until you’ve reached it and slipped the screen before it. It had taken several tries to get the image just right, but the result was close to perfection. Close enough to get me some minutes. That’s all you need.

Moments later, you’re on the floor. Harness and rope still attached for a quick escape as you work through the hollow pedestal because gods know you’ll be screwed if you disturb the glass encasing the exhibition. Each movement tugs at the restraining tether and gnaws at your skin. You reach carefully through wires for the sensors and lights, the Stark “knife” tugged gingerly away in the palm with nothing but a rubber sleeve to prevent bloodshed. Gloves? Of course you wear them, not only preventing fingerprints but granting a safe grip. Without them your hands would have been slippery with sweat and even now there are a few drops running down your spine before they get soaked up in the top. There. You breathe in deeply a couple of times before unsheathing the knife and cutting through the plate where the loot’s resting. No normal knife would be able to do it and getting this tool had been expensive…but so worth it!

A few more breaths, then you can pack away the fugly earrings and your gear. Just in time, too, as you already can hear the night guard approaching. It’s with a minimal thought of remorse that you ascend, the gears whirring softly as you speed towards the fresh night air.

…

There’s a market for everything whether it’s illegally obtained tools or perfectly made replicas. Studying the simile glinting in the hand, you know that even Loki will have to look carefully to detect the fraud…especially after you’ve added the finishing touch on the back of the pendant.

Part of the bonus has been spent on that piece of work while the rest has gone into setting up your safehouse for a longer stay. You still come and go from your usual apartment, ensuring the façade of a student living there, but everything important has slowly been moved to the other side of upper Manhattan and after the last security measures the place’s close to impenetrable. And impossible to find.

Crouched by the coffee table, you go through the last plans. The private guards’ rounds must have been shuffled, of course, and will take a couple of stake outs to learn. Next, you’re certain that the Asgardian snob must have improved the locks on windows and doors as a pure minimum, leaving a reduced list of access points for a human to use. Question is if he’s considered something like a drone.

…

Girl, put your records on, tell me your favorite song You go ahead, let your hair down Sapphire and faded jeans I hope you get your dreams

The cool air dries the tip of your tongue, but you’re too engrossed in navigating the toy through the chimney to care. Each foot of the descend brings it closer to the smoldering ashes and the thing can only handle a certain amount of heat what with all the plastic components, so as soon as it slips out from the fireplace, you heave a sigh of relief. Now comes the hard part. Orienting yourself through the little screen, the drone whirrs along corridors and through grand rooms in search of a safe entryway fitting a woman. Patiently, you ignore the shingles of the roof radiating cold into your muscles as the minutes tick by until you strike gold in the form of a bathroom window. It’s narrow but not impossibly so and you can’t help but laugh quietly to yourself as you use the flying robot to unlatch it and push it open wide.

Slipping in is simple enough, you only hesitate as you land on the marble floor because you hadn’t expected the dampness of the air. Every hard, cool surface’s laced with a fine condensation, but running a hand over the faucets gives a sense of relief that whoever has showered or bathed must have done this a while ago. It’s disconcerting though. Loki supposedly has a private bathroom en suite with his bedroom, so who would use this? There’s no hamper with laundry, no dirty towels or soaps that have been used. Nothing personal. Perhaps he’s got visitors? It’d surprise you. In fact, you’re almost willing to bet that an employee’s taken the liberty of using the facilities but either way, it doesn’t change the plan.

Silently slipping through the door, you know where to go and within minutes have the display in view from a position in a shadowy corner. There’s still a guard lingering, seemingly taking an interest in a set of blueish daggers. Move…come on…you want to finish the round and get some coffee. Silently willing him on results in absolutely nothing and you can feel anxiousness prickle your back and force you shoulders upwards and forwards. Tomorrow, you’ll need to find a massage therapist to knead the tensions away.

Finally, after agonizing minutes, the guy leaves, whistling a soft tune as if he’s proud of a job well done. At least it might hint of extra time if he lingers in other rooms too.

You’re about to work through the case the normal way when you notice the fault in the glass’s positioning and a brief examination leads to a broad smile stretching your cheeks as you place the glove covered hands on either side of the housing and lift it off – no alarms or boobytraps triggered. The exchange’s quick. A glance on your watch, and then you shuffle over to the nearby shelf with the peculiar knives. Stuck tip-down into a relatively common utensil holder it’s almost as though the eccentric collector only has them for show because he knows visitors might be awed while he himself doesn’t consider them of any specific worth although the blue flaring through the gunmetal-dark material is out of this world. Maybe literally.

It’s when you reach out for one that it shimmers out of existence in a familiar golden haze causing your heart to skip a beat. Cursing inwardly for wasting time, you turn to hightail it out of the mansion but nearly collide with the very same blade you were admiring, the tip now resting delicately on your chest.

“My little thief.” Finally looking past the weapon, your eyes meet Loki’s. “I had almost given up hope that you would come.”

Returning the smirk he grants you, it’s still a careful shrug rolling through your shoulder. “Been busy…but I guess you know that.”

It’s impossible to ignore the quick sweep his tongue makes along the lower lip as he looks you over, the widening of his pupils that sends a flutter through your stomach in anticipation. Never again, you’d promised yourself and still you find the memories begin to team up with the view of the tall figure before you. He’s in command of the situation unless you manage to escape. How? He’s the one with a weapon, its tip felt through the fabric like a pin-prick on the slope of your breast – the tiniest movement and it will be more than just a prick. How?

Looking up at him, you smile innocently to prevent any sudden reactions as you reach out for his free hand. He lets you take it, entwining fingers delicately for a moment before leading it to your face. A tender kiss in his palm, the thin cool skin of his wrist before you let his hand rest on your shoulder, allowing you to reach for him and gently nudge the knife-wielding hand aside though never letting go of the arm. You fingers trace the slender limb lazily, half-forgotten as lips brush along his jaw.

Banzai. Loki’s fingers lock into your hair, folding around the base of your skull to steer you, both your lips onto his but also your body trailing after him as he backs towards the centre of the room. If memory serves you right, there’s some kind of puffy bench or other which means that you only have until you reach that to incapacitate him. Why? I could just go along. Sweet temptation makes your heart flutter against your ribs and a heat pools low in you belly. It’s a dangerous game to play with someone like him and you had promised yourself last time that it would never happen again…just like you had sworn never to return to this place.

A quick glance verifies that you have about four steps before he’ll have you locked beneath him. Grinding against his groin with your hip, the reaction comes immediately in form of a groan and you pray that he’s distracted enough for a few seconds. With a swift snatch you manage to tear the dagger from his grip, brandishing it between your bodies with the tip pointed at his growing cock.

Breathing heavily, Loki’s aware enough of what’s going on to stop moving, his eyes filling with cold fury as he glances towards the alternative hostage situation. “What’s this? Complaints?” Somehow, he still manages to patronize you.

“Consider it a refusal.”

“You didn’t say no last time, my pet.”

He’s right, but you’re not about to give in again and let him get more power over you. “It served it’s purpose. No more.”

“Ouch.” Thin lips curl in a snarl. “It hurts my feelings….especially when you lie that badly.”

It won’t help to discuss past events with him (especially when you don’t want to admit the truth yourself), so you change focus to the situation at hand by ordering the Asgardian to let go of you. Something he only begrudgingly does when you add more pressure with the knife and it slips through the fabric of his trousers with a soft rippling sound as each thread is severed.

You should’ve seen it coming. The moment you step back, creating distance between the god and the weapon, he moves. A sharp pain races up from wrist to shoulder as the metal clatters across the floor, but you don’t have time to register where it lands because your aching arm is twisted behind your back and used as leverage to force you onto the floor with your face smushed into the green velvet of the seat. It smells of sawdust and a hint of camphor, but mostly it just grates against your skin.

A glint of light reflecting of metal captivates you, ensuring that Loki can use less power to hold you still as you stare at the dark grey-blue tip less than an inch from your eye. Shit. You can’t breathe. Can’t move or think. Only one other sentence keeps circling in your mind – unfortunately it’s full of self-deprecation rather than any useful ideas. Shit.

“Don’t mistake my indulgence for weakness,” the cold hiss explains, “letting you go last time was not a show of defeat as you very well know.”

The dagger moves out of sight, leaving you to stare one-eyed at a shade of green you’ll never forget anymore. Then you feel the prick at the nape of your skull. The cocky alien’s in control now even as he lets go of you and this time there’s nothing playful about the current predicament like the previous encounters had been. Sweat’s breaking out all over your body and you have to swallow hard to simply be able to breathe.

“So what now?” Your sneer’s partially muffled by the plush piece of furniture. “Gonna rape me, you sick bastard?”

He hits you so hard that you skid across the polished floor. Black spots dance before your eyes even after you manage to crack the jaw back in place. You’ve been hit before. Hell, it’s one of the reasons you became such a good burglar, but this tops it all and calls forth hot tears that spill down your face. You don’t care. You especially don’t care when he yanks your face skywards by grabbing hold of the messy hair and the freezing length of a by now familiar blade lands on your throat.

“Look. At. Me.” A spark within you wants to resist, but you can’t and your view fills with the emerald irises that burn with hate. “I may be harsh and cruel, but I would never do something like that to you.” He seems to realize what he’s said and adds quickly, “to anyone.”

Just more than I could take Pity for pity's sake Some nights kept me awake I thought that I was stronger

…

The world’s fuzzy and soft in the night by the time you attempt to open your eyes. It takes a moment to get your bearing and another one before the memories return and you sit up with a gasp. You’re back in your little apartment, but you have no recollection of how you got there. The last you do recall are Loki’s green eyes before a sensation of falling.

What did he do? Padding yourself down, it’s with some disbelief that you accept that you not only are wearing exactly the same as when you set out the night before, but there are no other injuries than a few bruises…excluding the deep gash in your pride. No trace of unwarranted contact despite the fact that you must have been completely at Loki’s mercy. Knowing that, you should be relieved. Not afraid. Not shameful. Not…filling with regret as if you had been the one to make advances only to be turned down by him. Messed up. Too messed up. Is it possible to get addicted to a person?

Frustrated, you push off the bed and begin pacing hectically through the small apartment, a scathing, internal monologue running on repeat to remind you of why it’s good you got away from Loki’s mansion without anything else happening.

…

Turning in your bed, you’re vaguely aware that the light has changed to soft grey tones - you must have managed to fall asleep after all. Tugging at the oversized t-shirt to get comfortable again, the feeling of the pendant against your chest solicits a drowsy smile.

…

You near a state of wakefulness in protest of the chill stealing through your limbs. Presuming in the sleepy state that you must have pushed the covers aside, you grope for it. Not covers. The observation flashes through your head and startles you to move quickly for the crevice between mattress and headboard for a knife you keep tugged away there, but cold fingers wrap round your wrists.

“Not so fast.”

Blinking blearily, you stare up into Loki’s face. The glint in his gorgeous, green eyes is mischievous, not unlike the curling smile that broadens as he takes in your exposed form because no, a faded t-shirt and a pair of panties doesn’t count as cover when he’s the one blatantly studying each curve. You see how his eyes darken, hear the shortness of both your breaths, and memories come flooding back followed by a strong heat in your womanhood.

Your attempt at speaking’s a helpless croak until you clear the throat. “Ch-changed your mind?”

The gaze alone could hold you in place as he refocuses on your mouth. Unbiddenly, you wet your lips that suddenly have gone dry.

“I do not deny that I appreciate your body immensely, but that’s not why I’m here.” Loki changes the hold on your wrist with ease, freeing a hand to caress your neck, your throat, before pulling out the pendant from under the cotton. “No…this is why.” Faint embers are reflected onto his cold irises. “I must congratulate you, my dear…your plan was not bad and had I been a mere human, then I would probably not have noticed the exchange.”

The weight of the necklace returns onto your chest, now cold from his fingers that begin straightening the chain. Each stroke ghosts across sensitive skin, sending goosebumps racing over your body and a soft ache warns you how your nipples are initiating a slow uprising against the t-shirt.

“Why d’you want it back? You let me leave with it!”

Your challenge’s meant to distract him from what he’s doing, but he merely glances before beginning to smoothen the fabric. “I knew you’d come back for it.”

“What?” The word pops out hard and mocking. “You think it’s more than financial value to me?” It doesn’t…does it? You’d meant to sell it originally, but then changed your mind and blew of the potential buyers without remorse.

“Pet…don’t pretend we don’t think alike, you and I.” Leaning down, Loki’s lips brush gently against your earlobe and his hair tickles against your chin, its scent of frost and camphor setting off a new shiver that heads straight for your aching core. “You’d come because of your pride. For the challenge. And deep down…because you yearn for something more.”

The Asgardian tugs playfully at your ear with his teeth, hands sliding along your arm and side before reverting and you feel your body betray your mind as it arches into his touch. Cupping your face in a large hand his lips meet yours gently before he pulls back, letting go completely although he doesn’t get off the bed.

“Please…” broken-voiced, you try to formulate what you need.

Light fingertips on your thigh stokes the burning need. “Tell me what you want, kitten. Last time you denied me my fun…what will it be now?”

“I want…I…” Loki stays within reach of your grabbing hands but doesn’t move towards you either. “I want you…need…please?”

“Are you certain?” His grip on your hip’s still soft. Too soft. “I’d like to reward you for the skill it took to swap the pendant, but you have to want it.”

“Just shut up and fuck me!”

Gentleness is obliterated by a bruising urgency as Loki takes over your body. Every inch’s kissed, bitten, licked, or explored with cool hands that booth bruise and soothe the burning traces. Every time you gasp for breath, his lips find yours to swallow each moan that the pressure of his thigh between your legs elicit. Not enough. He’s gotten you to the brink of bliss, but like a mirage it keeps eluding you and the feverish need for more’s burning you from the inside, leaving a hollow sensation that can be filled if only… A whine escapes your lips, warning the god as you reach for the belt buckle in desperation only to feel them snared and forced above your head.

He positions himself between your legs, nudging the knees apart. “So eager…” the growl’s guttural, nearly muffling the words, “longing for more…”

The golden shimmer’s visible even with half-closed eyes, but although you can feel his skin against your legs and arms as Loki repositions himself, your soaked panties still form a barrier between the cockhead as it pushes against your folds, and the old t-shirt insulates you from the chill of his chest.

“Loki…pleeaase!”

Arching against him, you feel the tremble passing through his body and for the briefest of moments it’s as though his eyes are red, but you’re distracted by his skin changing hue and the man, the alien, growing ever so slightly that his physique becomes impressively dimensioned. A scratching like claws diverts your eyes to the now blueish hands where darker talons have replaced the nails. I should be terrified. The logic’s clear yet simultaneously completely irrelevant as icy lips find the tender skin on your throat where they suck, marking a path spot by spot to your clavicle…then past…and as the V of the cotton obstructs the proceedings, Loki shreds it and tosses the scraps onto the floor without taking his burning gaze off your body now exposed beneath him.

“Little pet…if I hurt you…” He forces his gaze to your face, concern simmering in the darkness of lust. “If I hurt you or you want me to stop…say Laufey.”

The request itself is not unfamiliar unlike the word so you nod. “Mighty confident talking wh–“

You don’t get further because he kisses you again, forcefully, hungrily, biting your bottom lip as his fingers slip past the hem of the panties and delve between your soaking folds to the delighted groans of both of you. Perfect strokes mix with circles around the clit and entrance, often with added pressure onto the former that has you crying out Loki’s name like a prayer. Still, he’s got your wrists in an iron grip even if it clearly frustrates him.

“Belt,” you gasp, causing him to pause, “will get…get your h-hand…free.”

The curling smile bares gleaming, pointed teeth. “What a delightfully filthy idea.”

Not only does he use the belt to restrain your hands. No. The god also takes the opportunity to turn you around onto elbows and knees, allowing him to take place behind you. Claws trail your spine all the way to the elastic of the remaining clothes and you can feel it give way, sliding under the curve of your ass and exposing the glistening heat of your cunt. Then they too are torn apart. Cold hands slam onto the butt cheeks, forming an anchor for Loki as he begins to lab up your arousal, his nose nudging at your core with every movement.

Heat and tension builds within you, has you pleading for your god to fill you or let you cum on his tongue and fingers. Again and again, the bastard denies you release. Each time, he chuckles darkly as he has you watch past your own body how the strong hand pumps a nervewrecking huge cock languidly. The tip a dark purple with the exception of the milky pre-cum leaking out each time his fist passes ridges similar to those on the rest of his body. And all you can think of is how badly you want him inside you, to feel the ridges against the smooth walls, and you pout and curse when he returns to the ministrations that has his face glistening.

Balancing on the edge, you nearly scream as he pulls away once more, but this time his strong hands brings your legs together with his knees on the outside, and you gasp from anticipation and the thundering need at the feeling of the cool cockhead tracing your folds, each pass nudging further in until his manhood’s fully covered in your juices and he’s perfectly aligned.

“Don’t hold back, kitten.”

And with that Loki slides into your tight core, stretching you to the very limits which causes a sweet, stinging pain to heighten the sensation of each ridge that delves in and makes you shout with pleasure on contact with your g-spot. Gold shimmers, freeing your wrists so you can brace yourself.

“That’s it,” he growls, “ let me hear you.”

The rhythm’s slow at first, allowing some semblance of adaptation before increasing the intensity. And you let him hear exactly how you feel. Praises and curses mingle with your gasping breath, turning into groans, then shouts until he has you cumming with his name tearing from your throat in a wild scream as you plunge into the darkness of the abyss to drown in ecstasy. Every muscle seizes in your body, leaving it to Loki to hold you in position…and he does as he rams into you haphazardly before reaching his own peak and unloading like an icy flood inside you, stealing the last air from your lungs.

He doesn’t bother with pulling out, rather he tips the both of you, tugging you tightly to his chest as his form reverts to normal. Gasping for air, none of you speak.

Eventually, though, the peaceful silence ends, and Loki abandons you in the bed in favour of cleaning up and getting dressed the same way as when first you’d had sex. Pausing by the door, he looks back. It’s almost a déjà vu.

“I trust we will see each other again, my pet?” The lazy smile negates the questioning tone.

[odderancyart]

Welcome Home

I presenteth to thee, a Hogwarts AU, because why the fuck not?

On AO3

No warnings

Word count: 4186

You can find the Hat’s song here

Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home

Edge gazed out the window, placing his fingertips against the cold glass. Their father stood outside, wearing the elegant suit that unnerved Edge so much. It was a casual suit, so normal, and Dr Gaster never wore that kind of clothes unless they were going to London. Like now. He looked just like the other parents, except for the two cracks on his face and glowing red eyelights. It was odd. Far away from his usual domain, inconspicuous. Edge wasn’t sure whether he preferred this or the usual. This gives a sense of normalcy. A normalcy they’d never had, and it was a constant reminder of that they never would. There were no traces of the man who’d come home from work the same they were going to buy school supplies, blood splattered over his face.

Not his blood, of course. It never was.

Dr Gaster nodded at him as he caught his gaze, and Edge nodded back before sitting back down, tearing his eyes from the colourful platform. Platform 9 ¾. Feelings he couldn’t name coiled inside him. They were leaving home to go to a boarding school – a magical boarding school – and in all honesty, it was hard to swallow the guilt over how relieved he was over it. Their father was a good parent and had always done his best, but growing up in the middle of a gang war wasn’t easy. Particularly not when your parent was incredibly involved in it.

He ran his fingers over the carvings he’d found beneath the table between the seats. Four names. James, Sirius, Remus, Peter. And two words. Marauders Forever. Who they were, he had no idea, but they must’ve been friends. Friends going to magic school together. Edge glanced at his brother. Red lounged in the opposite, leaning against the wall with his nose in one of his physics-books. Another book laid on the table: The Wisdom of Stars: a ground course in astrology. Bullshit, of course. Astrology wasn’t a thing, everyone with a teaspoon of sense knew that. Why the fuck they taught in in a school, he didn’t know.

Oh Angel, magic school. When, on their eleventh birthday, that lady had shown up and claimed that all the weird shit happening around them was because they were wizards, Red had slammed the door in her face. But since father had insisted they hear her out, they had. He smiled faintly, pulling out the wand he’d bought two weeks ago from his backpack. Hornbeam with a dragon heartstring core, whatever that meant. Thank the Angel they had listened.

In all honesty, until now he’d been expecting to wake up and find it all to be a dream. But now, as the old train puffed and pulled away from the station, it actually felt real.

“Fuck,” he said, pulling at his leather jacket. “This is happening.” Red grunted noncommittally. The only time he had looked up since he pulled out his book was to growl at whoever tried to enter the compartment.

His biggest issue with this all, though, was that there was a school uniform. And those wizard robes were a far cry from the clothes he and his brother had always worn. Back in their town, there were basically two choices: suits or leather. And he was not comfortable surrendering his leatherjacket for that weird-ass uniform.

But it wasn’t like they lacked money. Maybe he could bribe the headmistress into letting them keep their own clothes.

He looked up as the door to their compartment slid open, revealing three older girls. The one at the front had blue skin and the reddest hair he’d ever seen. Behind her stood a lizard and a brown-haired human. Red looked up from his book, glaring at them and letting out a growl Usually, it made people retreat but the redhead only raised an eyebrow.

“First-years?” she asked. Her voice was dark and laced with amusement.

“What’s that to ya?” Red grunted. Edge could hear the defensiveness in his voice, though he doubted anyone else could.

“This is our compartment, punk. But since you’re first-years I’ll give you some slack. You didn’t know. Now get out of here.”

Stiffening in his seat, Edge glared at her. “No.”

“No?”

“No. We were here first, asshole. And we don’t take orders from anybody.” His soul pounded in his chest as he met her gaze unflinchingly. She was obviously older, and so likely knew magic already. And despite his knowledge about fighting, he couldn’t battle magic. Yet. But he’d never taken orders by anyone other than his father in his life, and he wasn’t about to start with some random teenager.

The girl guffawed. “I like your spirit, punk,” she exclaimed, seating herself next to him. Her friends stepped in after her. The human was smiling while the lizard’s eyes flickered between Edge and his brother. She held out her hand, and cautiously, he shook it. “I don’t usually talk with kids, but I’ll make an exception for you. I’m Undyne. They’re Alphys and Frisk.”

“How generous.” Edge’s voice dripped with sarcasm, even though he smiled. “I’m Edge. This is my brother Red.”

“Cool names!”

Was she sincere or mocking them? He narrowed his eyes. It was fifty/fifty. Edge quite liked his name, but many found them amusing. Particularly in combination with their edgy style and red magic. But there were no signs of mockery on her face. “Thank you,” he replied cautiously.

Undyne grinned sharply. “Any thoughts on which house you’re gonna be in, punk? Personally, I’m in the coolest of all the houses: Gryffindor!”

Edge shrugged. “No idea. I don’t know anything about them.”

“Oh, muggleborn, are you?”

In the corner of his eye, he could see Red peek up, glancing suspiciously on her. The witch lady had warned them there still were a few people who looked down upon ‘muggleborns’ even though they apparently were much fewer after the Second War – and Edge hadn’t the faintest idea what this war was.

She threw her arm over his shoulders, grinning down at him. “No worries, edgy lil’ pal. Aunt Undyne is gonna tell you everything you need to know.”

…

When the train arrived at the end stop, Edge had made a deal with himself regarding his uniform. The girls left for a while to let him and Red get changed before they afforded them the same courtesy, and now when he stepped off the train it was with the cape-like thing still stuffed into his bag and his leatherjacket over the rest of the black robes. Red had done the same. Neither of them was willing to give up either the pure aesthetics of it nor the safety the symbol on their jackets, the Delta Rune, had always granted them at home. No one at home would hurt a child wearing the Rune unless they wished for a painful death. Edge had never left their apartment without it.

The activity on the platform was frantic as students flooded out of the train. At least their stuff was still on the train: Frisk had said to leave it. Though the thought made him slightly nervous, he had listened. Except his backpack – he had the black leather bag slung over one of his shoulders. He wasn’t leaving his most precious belongings for some stranger to take.

Undyne grinned sharply at him as someone yelled from behind the crowd, “First-years over here! First-years!”

“Go over there, punk. I’ll be waiting after the Sorting ceremony. Can’t wait to have ya in my house.” Gryffindor, as earlier mentioned. Frisk was a Hufflepuff – “The only cool one in that bunch,” Undyne had said and then received hard poke that made her grin – and Alphys a Ravenclaw. According to Undyne, it went, Gryffindor – the cool house for the brave and daring ones, Hufflepuff – “They say they’re hard-working, but they don’t seem to do much, sorry Frisk but it’s true,” Ravenclaw – for the weird nerds, and Slytherin – the stuck-up kids. Edge had a feeling she was biased.

Nonetheless, he really hoped he’d go to Gryffindor like her. He’d only known her for a couple hours, but he really wanted to make her proud. It kind of worried him, that he already liked her so much. After all, he didn’t know her.

But Red grabbed his wrist before he could continue pondering and pulled him toward the crowd of their peers that had gathered around a man in a huge green witch hat with flowers in the hatband. He beamed at them. “Welcome to Hogwarts, children. I am the groundskeeper, Asgore Swapp – call me Asgore – and I am going to bring you to the castle. Come with me, please.”

Edge regarded the other new students as he and Red did as asked, following the crowd away from the platform. Surprisingly, there were quite a few skeletons in the group. Of course, they weren’t an uncommon species, but he still had never seen that many in the same place. The group was otherwise very mixed between monsters and humans.

“-older brother is starting second grade!” one of the skeletons said, and Edge listened intently, trying to gather what kind of people he would be attending school with. Hopefully, they weren’t like his old classmates. Especially since he would have to live with them. “He says the Sorting is super cool, though not as cool as me, of course!”

“-I’ve got no idea what house I’m going to be in-”

“-can’t wait! I’ve been looking forward to this all my life-”

“-I miss my baby sister already. What if she forgets me-”

As they stepped away from the lights of the platform, Red gasped. When he turned around, he found his brother staring up at the sky, eyelights glittering. Edge followed his gaze, and his eyes widened. Stars. Thousands of them, or millions. Twinkling up there, bright and gorgeous. His mouth fell open. He’d never seen anything like it.

“Holy shit,” Red whispered, awe shining on his face. Edge smiled. The view was beautiful, but he’d never heard his brother so enchanted before. It was nice.

Then a lake appeared in front of them, the stars glittering on its calm, dark surface, and Asgore started directing them into small boats with a single light in the front. And on the other side of the lake, a castle towered. Edge’s soul skipped a beat in his chest. Wow. It was enormous, lights shining in every window and tower, and the full moon was rising behind it.

He wasn’t certain how he ended up in a boat sitting next to Red, but somehow, he did. Two other students sat in the same boat: a skeleton who was even taller than him who beamed at them, and a human with blonde hair. The skeleton held out his hand, offering it to Red. He didn’t even seem to notice, too entranced by the stars. Shrugging, the skeleton gave it to Edge instead, who shook it.

“Hi!” he said, smiling widely. “I’m Papyrus Gaster! Who are you?”

“Edge Griffin.” He hesitated before giving the other a smile in return, regarding him. This skeleton looked very different from every skeleton he’d ever met. Softer. His teeth were even and his shapes round. How strange. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too! Any thoughts on which house you’re going to be in? My brother is in Ravenclaw, because he’s a huge nerd for the stars, and he says I’m probably a Hufflepuff because I’m so nice. Dad agrees.” The words were thrown at him so fast Edge almost couldn’t comprehend them at first.

He blinked. “No, I haven’t. I didn’t even know what the houses meant before I got them explained on the train.”

“Oh!” Papyrus leaned forward, grinning widely. “Well, Gryffindor is for the courageous and chivalrous, Hufflepuff is for the fair and loyal, Ravenclaw is for creative and passionate people, and Slytherin is for the shrewd and ambitious! Personally, I think I’d fit right into any of them!”

Edge couldn’t help but return his grin. “I’m sure. Well, Ravenclaw doesn’t really fit me then. I don’t claim to be particularly creative or passionate.” Except when it comes to fighting, maybe. His Krav Maga-teacher said he was quite creative. He didn’t tell the other that though. Didn’t know him anywhere near well enough to reveal that he was a trained fighter – he’d started classes at six.

“Well you’ll surely be placed in the house that’s perfect for you! Say have you ever played Quidditch?”

Obviously, he had not. But as he listened to Papyrus explain while regarding the castle, which grew bigger and bigger, he couldn’t help but smile. He had a good feeling about this.

…

The entrance hall of the castle was enormous. The ceiling was so high the crystal chandeliers almost looked tiny, and the staircase at its end was in marble, Edge could see that. On its lower steps, a yellow wyvern lady in a huge brown hat waited, smiling at them. “Welcome to Hogwarts,” she said as they all crowded in front of her. “I am Professor Dunbar, the deputy headmistress of this school. I will bring you to the Great Hall for the Sorting ceremony. Come with me.”

The walk through the castle never seemed to end. Papyrus was still by his side, chatting about various subjects, and Edge did listen but there was so much to look at.

“I remember my first time coming here,” Papyrus said, startling him. The other was grinning at him, something knowing in his eyes. “I was nine, and dad was doing a guest lecture in Potions, and since he couldn’t find anyone to look after me and my brother we got to come too. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Edge only nodded. It really was.

Abruptly, the group stopped. His soul jumped up in his throat as he stopped, almost running straight into the student in front of him. Professor Dunbar gestured toward the huge door in front of them. In the back of his mind, Edge wondered if everything wizardly would be that enormous. Was he destined to feel small, despite his unusual height for his age, during the next seven years?

“On the other side of this door, we’ll find the Great Hall. This is where the Sorting ceremony will take place. There are four houses in this school: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. They will function as your family during the schoolyear, so do your best to get off with a good start. Now, let’s proceed.”

The doors opened, revealing yet another hall with supremely high ceiling. Candles floated mid-air, and even Red gawked at that. Four long tables filled with students were in there, two on each side of the pathway in the middle, and at a platform yet another table stood. Adults sat there – likely the teachers. In front of the table, there was a single stool with a huge, frayed hat on and-

“Red,” he whispered, blinking rapidly. “Is the hat singing?”

“One thousand years ago this story starts

There were four sorcerers with strong and wise hearts,” the hat sang.

“Fucking hell it is.” Shock was painted on Red’s face as they made their way along the path, up to the platform.

Papyrus giggled. “Yeah, that’s not that cool. Wait until you see what we’re doing in class!”

“Bold Gryffindor from wild moor

Fair Ravenclaw from glen

Sweet Hufflepuff from valley broad

Shrewd Slytherin from fen.

They had a dream to teach all that they knew

Witches and wizards came far and it grew

‘Til a castle stood tall by the shore of a lake

And a thousand years later, the magic remains.”

Once more, they all stopped, gathering into a crowd. Professor Dunbar stepped up by the stool, holding up the hat and a parchment. “When I call your name, you will come up here and the Sorting Hat will sort you into your houses.” Many of the students nodded. “Julia Clarke.”

The blonde kid who had been in the boat with them climbed the platform, sitting down on the chair. She hadn’t said a word during the entire trip. The Hat didn’t even have time to sit down completely on her head before it yelled, “RAVENCLAW!”

Edge twitches, staring at the Hat. His mouth fell open, and Papyrus giggled again. An applause broke out at one of the tables, and she walked over to them, sitting down.

“Papyrus Gaster.”

He squealed in excitement before half-running up to the stool, sitting down. The Hat’s face, because it had a face, turned contemplative. A few moments passed. A drop of wax fell from one of the candles, down on the small staircase before the platform. “SLYTHERIN!”

Papyrus’ mouth formed an O before he shrugged, beaming as he bounced over to the applauding table on the far left of the hall. He waved at his new housemates.

“Edge Griffin.”

He swallowed before straightening his back, marching up on the platform. He put a cocky grin onto his face, sweeping his gaze over the audience as he sat down. As he did, he swept a hand over the well-worn leather of his jacket, feeling his soul calm somewhat. The deputy headmistress eyed it but didn’t comment as she put the Hat down on his head.

“Oh, interesting.”

Edge twitched, breath hitching. What the hell?

“Language.” The voice sounded amused, and Edge’s eyes widened unnoticeably as he realized it must be the Hat. It was talking to him. Inside his head.

“Indeed I am.” It chuckled. “Now where to put you? You’re right that you’re not a Ravenclaw. The other three houses, though… you could fit into all of them. You’re as valiant and courageous as a true Gryffindor, but…” It hesitated. “No, maybe not. You’re either a Slytherin or a Hufflepuff. You’re cunning and ambitious, no denying that. Resourceful as well. But those aren’t your defining traits, no. Despite the hardships you’ve lived through already, the horrors you’ve seen, you’re kind at soul. Loyal almost to a fault. Hard-working and dedicated, for sure. And fair as well as patient, yes. Yes, I think I know where you belong, young warrior.”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

The table where everyone wore sunshine-yellow and black ties broke out in loud applauses, cheering as he slid off the stool and made his way over to them. He glanced toward the red table, anxiety coiling in his stomach as he searched for a certain redhead. Undyne looked surprised as she met his gaze but gave him the thumbs up and something loosened inside him as he slid into a seat next to a teenager. He smiled at him, offering his hand. A goat-monster with white fluffy fur. Edge took it.

“Hello, I’m Asriel Dreemurr, one of the prefects.” His voice and smile were gentle. “We’re so happy to have you here and if you ever need help, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you.” Edge nodded. Just then, his brother’s name was called, and he twisted around to get a good look. Red sauntered up to the stool, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

The Hat didn’t stay on his head for more than a second before it shouted, “SLYTHERIN!”

Grinning, Red went over to the Slytherin-table, sitting down next to Papyrus. Papyrus beamed at him.

Edge bit down on his tongue, balling the hand he had in his lap into a fist. His stomach squeezed. Oh Angel. Not being in the same house as his twin would be difficult. They’d never been away from each other for any longer while before.

The Sorting continued, and they were joined by more students, among others two more skeletons. One who, almost whispering, revealed his name as Slim Serif, and another who smiled lazily and said, “Rus Shacklebolt, as you heard. Yes, I’m related to Kingsley Shacklebolt, he’s my second cousin.” Edge immediately disliked him. He slouched worse than Red and anyone who introduced themselves that way was bound to be insufferable.

Once everyone was sorted, the headmistress, Professor Greengrass, told them, “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. And an extra welcome to our new students. I am certain you will feel at home in no time at all. I will waste no more time – bon appetite everyone!”

He stayed quiet most of the dinner, listening to the others and trying to gather what sort of company he’d ended up in. Everyone seemed to nice – well, except from Rus that is – and it was freaking him out a little. How the fuck did anyone dare to be so openly friendly, didn’t they know that was dangerous? Then again, so had Undyne. Neither Slim nor Rus spoke a lot either, though when Rus did speak, it was with a confidence that seemed almost exaggerated. It grated on Edge’s nerves, to say the least.

Frisk waved at him from down the table, smiling brightly.

Supper was delicious, he had to say that. He’d always eaten very well, seeing how his father was one of the more influential people at home, but never anything like this. There were roasted beef and chicken, and roasted potatoes and boiled potatoes and lamb and bacon and more food than Edge even knew the name off. And all of it was marvellous – except the roasted turnips. He’d always hated turnip.

Eventually, the dinner had to end, though. Asriel was showing them to the common room as they passed by a group of Gryffindors, among them Undyne. She grinned at him, and that anxiety returned as he freed himself from the group.

“Hufflepuff, eh, punk?” she said, eyeing him up and down. “Wouldn’t have pegged you like one.”

“Yes,” he replied. “So it seems.” Discomfort crept up his spine as he watched her, searching for a hint of disapproval. She seemed to think Hufflepuffs were kind or boring, even if she was friends with Frisk. Maybe she would think he was boring too now?

She guffawed, slapping his back. “Well I guess that bunch of duffers needs someone to spice things up a little! Seems that’s your job now. You’ll do great.”

Relief flooded him, though he hid it behind a smirk. “Of course. I always do.”

Snorting, she nodded. “Keep that attitude, punk.” She nodded toward the group who had stayed a distance away. “Don’t keep them waiting, or they might get tired of it. No one but the Puffs know how the hell to get into your common room, so you better not let that happen. It’s Hogwarts’ most well-guarded secret.” She tilted her head. “But maybe you’ll let me know, eh?”

“Hardly,” he snorted. If it was a secret, he wouldn’t reveal it. But he nodded, grinning as he made his way back to them. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was very happy she still seemed to be his friend. He didn’t have a lot of those – or any, if he was honest. Alliances, yes, but not friends. Asriel smiled at him as they made their way down, down in the castle, until they reached what Edge must assume to be the lowest level possible over the basement itself.

Asriel waved them closer as they gathered around a pile of barrels. He looked around to ensure no one else was there before he placed his hand over one of the barrels – the second from the floor, middle of the second row. “To open Hufflepuff basement,” he murmured, voice hushed so Edge had to lean forward to hear properly, “tap the rhythm of Helga Hufflepuff on this barrel. If you forget which barrel it is, just wait for someone else to come. If you do it on the wrong one, you’ll get doused in vinegar, and that’s not fun.”

Edge couldn’t help but get the impression he was speaking from experience.

He demonstrated, and a secret passageway was revealed, much to the delight of multiple students. Even Edge watched in intrigue as they entered it. The passageway was sloping and earthy, and at its end, a warm light appeared.

When they stepped into the common room, multiple students were already there, lounging in the many light-yellow couches. The walls were made of dark yellow bricks, though honey-coloured wood made up a meter-high lath from the wooden floor of the same colour. A fire crackled in a fireplace on the opposite side of the circular room, and a portrait of a brown-haired woman in a yellow dress hung above it. She toasted them with the golden goblet she was holding, and Edge didn’t even twitch this time. It wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d seen today. Why the hell not have living paintings too?

“That’s our founder, Helga Hufflepuff,” Asriel let them know. “She’s amazing if you want help with homework or just talk with someone who isn’t a student or teacher.”

Plants filled the shelves and hung from the ceiling, and light washed in from the circular windows just beneath it. In all honesty, it was beautiful.

As Asriel let them know where the dormitories were, Edge couldn’t help but smile at the sunny room.

He thought he’d like it here.

[alanakusumas]

The Bittersweet Epilogue (Sweet Treats Pt.3)

Fandom: Endless Summer Pairing: Michelle x Quinn, Jake x F!MC Word Count: 2119 Summary: Since the intense end of their La Huerta trip, the gang is still as close as they were two years ago. Their trauma is a weird thing to bond over, but the original Girl Talk™️ group cope with their losses through personal achievements, falling in love, and welcoming their fellow honorary traumatized member.

Author’s Note: Thanks for constantly pushing me to finish this series. It’s been a wild year, and I can’t believe Endless Summer is ending already! I’m so attached to this trilogy that started off as a prompt request, and I managed to birth a new part for each book. I can’t believe we have to bid our farewells to these characters already, but when I think about it, it’s been a solid year and a half. Let’s hope they make appearances in other books!

Previously on Sweet Treats, Now Gimme the Deets... Part 1 // Part 2

The soft rumble of car wheels gliding across flat pavement flowed in one ear and out the other. Driving down empty freeways never failed to soothe her. There’s such an exhilarating feeling that exerts out of her soul when she flies down the road, watching the city and bridges around her zip past her vision faster than she can make sense of it. A sigh escaped her lips as she lost herself in a scenery of purple sunsets and deep green forestry. There could be so many things wrong with the world, but in this moment it seemed like it was perfect. The world was perfect, her life was perfect. Her life was finally perfect for once.

How could she have gotten so lucky, to win an all inclusive trip to La Huerta? Certainly she went through a hellstorm, but without that adventure she never would have met friends for a lifetime, rediscover what she finds important, and finally understand what it’s like to fall head over heels in love for someone.

Speaking of that someone, she snapped out of her trance and glanced down at her hands intertwined with theirs. She gave it a gentle squeeze. “I love you,” She mumbled under her breath just loud enough for them to hear.

“I love you too, Meech.” Quinn raised their hands and pressed hers into a soft kiss. “What made you think of that?”

“I’m going down a path of nostalgia again. So much has happened in the past two years, I’m just really thankful to have you.” Embarrassed, she rolled her eyes. “Not to be super cheesy or anything, but I wouldn’t wish for it to be any other way.”

There used to be a time where Michelle would kill to be in Sean’s arms again, but even though their love for one another would never disperse, the time they spent together seemed to have brought them nowhere. There was no growth - just routine, and although things didn’t end the way either of them wanted it to, upon reflection she was happy it happened.

Quinn’s eyes glistened with adoration. “Me too.” She peered ahead of the road, eyes shifting from the speed limit signs to the streets that were open for exit. “How much longer until we reach the airport?”

“We’re almost there, give or take fifteen minutes. I can see the terminal signs coming up right about now.” Quinn nods in response and let out a sigh.

This car ride has been awfully tense; Michelle thinks it’s because she and her girlfriend had a mutual understanding that this day was going to be rough, if anything. The drive to the airport was the only break they had today to drift off into their own worlds before they had to face the bittersweet reality that was their bi-annual reunion.

It was MC’s wish - that they’d always remember and cherish one another after she merged back with Vaanu – and there was no way they could break that promise. She sacrificed her life to let them fulfill theirs; Michelle has been ever so grateful for that. She recalled the time she told MC her aspirations of taking medical residency in New York.

After she returned to Hartfeld, she worked twice as hard as before to ensure that MC’s sacrifice was worth something to her. Since moving to New York after her acceptance into neurosurgery residency, Michelle has had the thrill of diagnosing patients, and in return she got their gratitude. That was more than enough for her. Finally confessing her crush on Quinn last year and moving in with her was just the cherry on top.

It wasn’t a reunion unless everyone was there – and that’s where Michelle and Quinn were heading to pick Jake up. It was their turn to host the reunion - and as MC’s maid of honor, Michelle only felt it was right to greet him there. “Not gonna lie, I’m excited but also nervous to see Jake again,” she confessed as they pulled up to the pick-up area, “Do you think it’ll be a l’il awkward like the last few times?”

“I doubt it; he’s making progress each time we see him. And,” Quinn added, “Judging by what Rebecca shares on her Snapchat, she seems to be spending a lot of time with him to keep him from going into a lonely, soul-sucking deep end. Remember that video of him tripping over a tree branch when they went hiking last weekend?” Michelle tried to fake a chuckle, yet she couldn’t help but let the nerves get to her. She had one hand gripped to the wheel, and the other still clutching onto Quinn’s tightly when tears began to well up in her eyes.

“I don’t know how he does it, I miss her so much.” She felt Quinn squeeze her hand.

“Me too,” Quinn leaned in so Michelle could rest her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder; she felt her trace small circles on her back. It was comforting to finally let someone in her life besides Sean; she felt peace for the first time, in a long -

A sudden jerk of the back door handle jolted them out of their somber nuzzling, becoming fully aware of their pilot friend welcoming himself into Michelle’s car. He tossed his duffel bag on one end of the car before plopping himself on the other end.

“Alrighty gal pals, as much as I like seeing people being affectionate in public, let’s try to keep this car ride PG, shall we?”

Michelle let out a loud groan, contrary to her girlfriend’s lighthearted giggle. “Welcome to New York, I guess.” 

-- -- --

The ride back to the city wasn’t as awks as Michelle assumed it would be. Right away Quinn asked Jake what he’s been up to, and the conversation picked up from there.

“I don’t know, I’m still in between jobs, I guess.” He began, “A part of me wants to get into personal training; stay on the ground for a bit. But Reb insists that I try to do some community college – which is stupid, I hate the idea of going back to school. But, I kinda want to do it, for her sake.” He glanced down as he let out a hearty chuckle. “I’m also considering joining the police academy –“

“Oh my god, yes.” The words stumbled out of Michelle’s mouth before she could even catch herself. “Sorry,” She blushed, “I just think that would make great poetic justice. Plus, you have the right attitude and physique for it.”

The left corner of Jake’s mouth lifts up into a smirk. “Physique, eh?”

“Shut your trap.”

“Gotta say, Meech, awfully bold of you to be checking Jake out while I’m right here.”

“Oh, now you guys are teaming up on me? That’s a first!”

-- -- --

“Say, you girls think anyone’s pregnant this time around?”

“If anything, my money’s on Grace and Aleister!”

“Nuh uh. No way in hell am I letting Grace get pregnant this early into her career.”

-- -- --

“Meech, do you always have your hair in a ponytail nowadays?”

“Yeah, why not? I need to keep it up as a doctor. Plus, I look good regardless.”

Jake scoffed. “Cocky.”

“Cock.”

“Language, guys.”

“Babe, first of all, you’re twenty-three and –”

“Second of all, who cares? There are no kids in the car.”

“That’s what you think.”

Michelle’s eyes bulged out of their sockets before she screamed. “Whoa, what the fuck! Don’t make jokes like that!”

“I can’t even get pregnant. We both have vaginas, Michelle.”

“Fuck you, sperm donors exist.”

“Holy shit, Quinn, this ain’t even my relationship or kid, and that stressed me out for a sec.”

“Oh my god, fine. Cuss to your heart’s desire.”

-- -- --

Serene silence took over the vehicle as Michelle pulled into the parking garage of her apartment and turned her car off. Finally relieved to have completed the road trip, she inhaled, and then exhaled through her glossy lips while leaning back on her driver’s seat.

To her right, was her beautiful girlfriend who drifted off to sleep while leaning against her seat-belt; she could tell from the faint whistle coming from her nose.

And behind her – she glanced up at her driver’s mirror – was one of her best friends’ husband, fiddling with the one dog tag he had left on his chain, since he gifted the other to MC before she transcended away. Catching her looking, he stares back into her reflection with sincerity. “I miss her,” He muttered, bold and firm.

She sighed. “Me too.”

Groggily, Quinn stirred awake, “Yeah,” She whispered.

Besides maintaining the dedication of their friendship, the only other reason the entire gang meets up twice a year was a tribute to MC. The three of them hope that she’s somewhere out in the universe, knowing that they’re still thinking of her.

-- -- --

“Excuse me, waiter! One more round of shots please! One more round on me, guys.”

“For Christ’s sake, Raj. We aren’t college fools anymore. I can’t drink this much.”

“I’ll happily take your shot for you, Big Al.”

Roaring laughter and chitchat filled the leather booth that Quinn rented out at their favourite local bar. Michelle was elated to see them in New York with her. Just like how Quinn constantly made her feel, she realized that it wasn’t the city that made a place home.

…Okay, maybe the city had a bit to do with that. But at the end of the day, it’s the people who surround her that keep her at peace. And right now, that meant her family. Her La Huerta family.

“Helllooooooo, Meech? Meech!” She blinked once, twice, snapping out of her trance to see Craig snapping in front of her face, hair still as spikey as it was in the college years.

“What?”

“Anything new happen in the past six months?” His eyes glistened with anticipation every time he saw her. It was nice to know that he’s still got her back after all these years, despite the cheating allegations the sorority had against her.

“Nope,” She said disappointingly, “Just working and studying. The occasional date with Quinn.”

Her girlfriend shook her head in dismay, ready to counter that statement. “It’s not just any occasional date. She took me to the planetarium a few weekends ago! We watched the evolution of the Milky Way; it was gorgeous!”

“Damn,” Sean beamed at the two, and Michelle beamed back in appreciation. “Name a better date in your early twenties, I’ll wait.” Michelle shook her head and bit her lip to hold a laugh in, getting secondhand embarrassment from the outdated joke her ex just made.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed a server approach the booth with a platter of chocolate-coated strawberries. “Enjoy,” She said bleakly.

“Oh, we didn’t order these.”

“These are complementary from the chef.”

Michelle raised an eyebrow at the server. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Y’all are locals, right? Maybe he saw how happy you and your partner are with your friends right now, and wanted to make the night even better.”

“Well, if Michelle won’t eat them, I will,” Zahra began to lean over the table and pluck a strawberry off the platter, and everybody else began to dig in following her.

Michelle side-eyed Quinn - whose lips began to lift into a grin, and then glanced over at Jake – who is very clearly holding his breath in shock. Chocolate coated strawberries? There’s no way this was just a coincidence. Their eyes began to well up with tears again, reminiscing the first time MC, Quinn, and Michelle shared their first moment of sisterhood.

What a bittersweet feeling it is, to believe that MC’s still here with them.

Even though it was as little silly, and she might not even hear anything, Michelle thought it was worth the shot to talk to her. She hated to admit it, but she does that every so often. She liked to believe that MC can hear her, and understood her.

Hey, MC.

If you can hear our thoughts, we miss you so much. Thank you so much for letting us all pursue our dreams. I can never thank you enough. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to fall in love with Quinn; we hope you’re okay.

She turned to see Jake, still gripping onto his dog tag, deep in thought.

Jake really misses you. He’s constantly twiddling with his dog tag, which means that he’s thinking of the other half. His other half. He’s really happy with his sister right now, so you don’t have to worry; your husband’s in good hands. You’ve really changed him, I don’t think he ever wants to fly a plane again without a partner-in-crime.

The most important thing, is that he loves you. He knows you’re his forever soulmate, no matter where you are, or what you are.

She looked over at her gorgeous girlfriend, biting into a strawberry with the brightest grin on her face. And someday, I hope I’ll feel the way he does for you, with Quinn.

Oh, by the way, those strawberries the ‘chef’ sent were amaaaazing.

-- -- --

“Oh!” Grace grabbed onto her boyfriend’s arm. “Aleister and I have some news to share with you all!”

Jake and Michelle immediately exchange an alarmed look with one another. Please don’t be pregnant, please don’t be pregnant.

“Grace and I have been talking about it, and we finally decided that…we’re going to move in together.”

Oh, Jesus Christ, thank the fucking Lord.         

[lies-unfurl]

13.19 coda: the last star of mo(u)rning

not-quite-there yet d/c; 1200 words: Dean and Cas talk about Billie's prophecy and about Heaven, while leaving the most important subjects untouched. “Cat got your tongue?” Dean asks, tossing Cas a beer and slipping into the chair across from him.

Cas catches the can just in time, not looking up from the book he’s been buried in for at least an hour, since he healed up him and Sam. Dean kinda wants to sleep, but he’s mostly just happy to be home, since Sam's insistence that they stop at a motel to get patched up had cost them a good twelve hours.

“We should get a cat,” Cas murmurs, setting the beer on the table and not looking up from the book. “At least a cat would talk to me.”

That came out of nowhere. “What?”

Cas looks up just long enough to glare angel blades at him, then goes back to his book.

Dean kicks him under the table. “Why’re you in such a shitty mood?”

“I don’t know,” Cas snaps. “Why did Sam have to be the one to tell me that you’re going to die soon?”

Oh.

“Billie didn’t say she was killing me. Just that we’d be seeing each other.” He shrugs. It had been unsettling, but it’s not the first ominous statement that a being with cosmic powers has thrown his way.

“She’s Death. She can only see ahead so far as death is concerned. She wouldn’t know she’d be seeing you if you weren’t about to die. You tell me not to 'get dead'” and the air quotes aren't even funny this time, "but you can't follow your own advice!"

Dean reaches across the table and shuts Cas’s book. “Hey. Lookit me.”

When Cas finally does, something is glittering in his eyes. Dean refuses to think about that.

“I technically ‘died’ the last time I saw Billie. Didn’t stay dead, did I? It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It doesn’t – of course it means something, Dean!” His fingernails dig into the top of the table, deep enough that it’d probably be pretty painful, if he could feel it. “It means I won’t be able to protect you! My family will die, again, and it’ll be my fault, again, and–”

“Hey!” Cas’s hands feel cold and rough, and they don’t relax at all at his touch. “Even if I do die, which I won’t, it wouldn’t be your fault. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself. Okay?”

Cas stares down where his hands are covered by Dean’s, and doesn’t say anything.

“Okay?”

Cas shakes his head, mute. He pulls his hands out from under Dean’s and covers his eyes, leaning forward so he’s balancing on his elbows, head in hands.

“Hey. Cas, buddy, what’s wrong?” He stands up, the taste of beer sour in his mouth, and walks behind his friend, laying his hands on trembling shoulders.

“Is this about what happened in Heaven?” Which Cas hasn’t talked about, just saying that the other angels won’t help. “Cas, you know they’re a bunch of dicks. Whatever they said, it wasn’t true.”

“There are twelve of us left. Maybe less.”

“Huh?” His grip on Cas’s shoulders tightens. “What’re you talking about?”

“Angels. There are twelve, eleven of us left in all of Creation. Lucifer included. There could be others hiding, but – they wouldn’t. They would have felt Heaven’s need before now. They would have returned. The rest are dead.”

“…holy shit.”

“Heaven is… …is failing. It needs angels to run. There are eight up there; it’s not enough. When they weaken, which they will, all the souls in Heaven will come crashing down to Earth. It’ll be complete chaos, everyone who has ever been worthy tossed out of Paradise, confused and upset. And it’ll be my fault.”

“Hey.” Cas has said too much for Dean to process, but he hears that last sentence loud and clear. “None of this is your fault. We’ll find a way to fix it. Like we always do.“

“We can’t. We can’t make more angels. All my siblings, Dean, I knew all of their names; we fought together for most of Time; I killed over a hundred of them while with the Leviathans alone. I can’t even remember how many, or who, I killed.”

Cas’s voice breaks on the last sentence. The angle’s shitty, with him standing and Cas in the chair, but he wraps an arm around Cas all the same. Pressed against him like this, he can feel how Cas’s chest shakes with aborted sobs, with keeping in the sound of his crying.

“I’m sorry. I… I can’t imagine, Cas. I know you weren’t always close to them, but. Family’s family.”

Cas nods, not taking his head from his hands.

“That doesn’t make it your fault. It’s not. You only ever killed when you had to, or when someone else was controlling you. And you’ve always tried to help Heaven. Don’t blame yourself.”

Cas doesn’t respond, so Dean tries a different tactic. “Hey. You know we could use you here, fighting against the freaks from that other world. But if you want to go to Heaven. Work with them, I mean. Help them. We’d understand.”

“I don’t,” Cas says, almost before Dean has finished his last sentence. “I can’t. Not after what she did to me.”

“What? Who?”

Cas stiffens. Dean reluctantly lets go of him, giving him some space.

“Naomi,” Cas finally says. “Metatron didn’t kill her, as I’d believed.”

“Naomi? The bitch who tortured you?” Cas has never talked at length about her, but Dean can still remember the haunted, horrified look in his eyes in the split second down in the crypts between when Cas was beating him and when he healed him. “Fuck, I’ll kill her myself.”

“You can’t. There are eight angels in Heaven, and she’s one of them. If she died, that might be enough to upset the balance. And I should be up there, supporting Heaven, but I can’t, not if it means working with her.” There’s an edge of panic (trauma something in his mind whispers) in Cas's tone, and Dean knows he’s being deadly serious.

“You don’t have to. I wouldn’t even had suggested it, if I’d known. And like I said, having you on our side is great." He swallows down what he actually wants to say and adds, "We need you.”

If that is, perhaps, an incomplete version of the truth, of why he doesn’t want Cas flitting back from Heaven, leaving them, leaving him – well, it doesn’t much matter.

Cas sits up straight. Dean chances to peer down at him; his eyes are red and watery, but he isn’t actively crying. Which, good. He doesn’t know if he could take actually seeing Cas cry.

“We’ll figure something out,” he says firmly, clapping Castiel’s shoulder. “If it means finding Chuck and dragging him away from whatever beach he’s sipping margaritas on, we’ll do it.”

“Of course.” Cas just stares down at the cover of the book he was reading – On the Genesis of Angels. “You should rest,” he says, not looking up. “You’ve had a long week.”

“So have you.” But Cas sleeps when he wants to, not when he needs to (and sometimes he does need to, no matter how often he insists that angels don’t sleep, Dean).

“Yes.” He keeps staring down, and then: “I don’t want to be the last of my kind, Dean.”

His throat thickens, but he forces out, “I know. It won’t come to that, Cas.”

Cas doesn’t say anything – because of course he knows Dean’s making a promise he can’t keep – and so Dean just stands there, hand on Cas’s shoulder, as if that could make any of this better.

[auskultu]

Leonard Cohen: Beautiful Creep

Richard Goldstein, The Village Voice, 28 December 1967

And the child on whose shoulders I stand 
 whose longing I purged 
with public, kingly discipline 
today I bring him back 
 to languish forever, 
not in confession or biography, 
 but where he flourished 
 growing sly and hairy 
 — Leonard Cohen (‘The Spice Box of Earth’)

AN ELEVATOR man with hairy hands grumbles “shit,” as he takes me up. It is a massive mid-town hotel, in steep decline. The corridors are long and lit occasionally, like a cardboard coal mine. Humid ladies in black lace seem to peer from every transom, and old men with their backs turned lurk in every shadowy corner. There is a smell of stale cigars, or is it piss? I knock politely on a wafer-thin door, and wait.

Finally it opens, and Leonard Cohen, Canada’s most acclaimed young poet and novelist, offers a seat and some coffee. He has been listening to a tape of the half-completed album on which he will soon make his debut as a pop star (a year ago that would have given even me pause, but not today, when Leonard Bernstein picks the hits and the Partisan Review talks about “Learning from the Beatles”). His verse—collected in slim volumes perfect for pressing roses—so unabashedly romantic that it sits among my New Directions paperbacks like some later day Ossian from the North.

With Annie gone 
 whose eyes to compare 
 with the morning sun.
 Not that I did compare, 
but I do 
 now that she’s gone. 
— ‘For Annie’

No wonder Allen Ginsberg huffed out of a meeting with Leonard Cohen muttering, “This place looks like a ballet set.” There is a sinewy quality to those muscular images as they stretch across a page. There is a shameless agility to those leaps and conceits, which seems ethereal next to the boog-a-loo of modern verse.

But Leonard Cohen is a Visceral Romantic and he can hit you unawares because his emotions are recollected with anything but tranquility. He suffers gloriously in every couplet. Even his moments of ecstasy seem predicated on hours of refined despair. Leonard does not rant: he whispers hell and you must strain to hear his agony.

The fact is, I’m turning to gold, turning to gold. 
It’s a long process, they say it happens in stages. 
 This is to inform you that I’ve already turned to clay.
 — ‘The Cuckold’s Song’

Today, he faces me across a hotel room with the sun shining second hand in the windows down the block. The drapes are as florid as his verse. In fact, the room could be the set for most of his poems. The bedspread is faded, and you can hear the toilet. Atop the bureau is a seashell ashtray, embossed with Miami palm trees. To this pasteboard Chappaqua, Leonard Cohen has added only a Madonna decal for the mirror, and a terrible cold.

His front pockets bulge with tissues and Sucrets. The cold seems appropriate; his nose aches to be filled anyway. It is a huge nose, etched by some melancholy woodcarver into the hollows of his cheeks. He wipes it and wheezes gently as we hear a tape of his song, ‘Teachers’.

Though he claims he has always written with a typewriter for a guitar (“I sometimes see myself in the Court of Ferdinand, singing my songs to girls over a lute”), Leonard Cohen has been spending this past year or so creating lyrics with real melodies. He made his pop debut recently as Judy Collins’ beautiful person. Her choice was inspired; Leonard Cohen has written her best material—songs of love and torment powerful enough to be fairy tales.

And just when you mean to tell her
 That you have no love to give her
 Then she gets you on her wave length
 And she lets the river answer
 That you’ve always been her lover.
 And you want to travel with her
 And you want to travel blind 
And you know that she will trust you 
For you’ve touched her perfect body with your mind.
 — ‘Suzanne’

“I think my album is going to be very spotty and undistinguished,” he says in greeting. His eyes sag like two worn breasts. “I blame this on my total unfamiliarity with the recording studio. They tried to make my songs into music. I got put down all the time.” He sits back on his bed, folds his hands in his lap, and lets his voice fade into an echo of itself: “It was a continual struggle… continual… they wanted to put me in bags. I thought I was going to… crack up.”

He is modestly addicted to cracking up. References to breakdowns past and future dot his conversation. He seems to judge periods in his life by his failure to cope with them. His favorite words—or those he uses most frequently—are “wiped out” and “bewildered.”

“When you get wiped out—and it does happen in one’s life—that’s the moment… the REAL moment. Around 30 or 35 is the traditional age for the suicide of the poet, did you know that?” (You look around for razors, pills, sharp edges, or easy plunges.) “That’s the age when you finally understand that the universe does not succumb to your command.”

That moment magnified into theme, is the chief concern of his major novel, Beautiful Losers. It is a multisexual love story, ecstatically, lyric like his poems, but deeply committed as prose to expressing its theme through an accumulation of detail. Its protagonist, a petty researcher, is victimized by the love of his wife and of his best friend. They control his life: soothe him, fuck him, teach him, cuckold him, and ultimately destroy him. Their triangle, joined on all sides, is further complicated by Catherine Tekakwitha, an Indian saint who fixes herself in the protagonist’s consciousness as an extension of his wife (also an Indian) and his own suffering. Martyred by the suicides of both his lover-tormentors, our hero is left to ponder the moral of Catherine’s life: suffering is madness, but it is also the sacred ground where Man encounters God. Somehow, we are all fated to walk that ground, is Leonard Cohen’s message. To embrace that agony of communion is to live with grace.

It begins with your family But soon it comes round to your soul.
 Well, I’ve been where you’re hanging 
I think I can see where you’re pinned
 When you’re not feeling holy
 Your loneliness says that you’ve sinned.
 — ‘Sisters of Mercy’

He was born in Montreal, to a wealthy Jewish family. “I had a very Messianic childhood,” he recalls. “I was told I was a descendent of Aaron, the high priest. My parents actually thought we were Cohenim—the real thing. I was expected to grow into manhood leading other men.”

He led himself through McGill, where he studied literature with Oxonian aplomb. A professor published a volume of his poetry on the University press, and Leonard Cohen became a writer. It was, he insists, “as accidental as that.” Because if he had had a choice, he would have become a revolutionary. But he approached radicalism with a bad cold, and a thorough knowledge of the Tonette. Though the Montreal Communists fascinated him with their paranoia and their certainty, he was less than embraced by his chosen confreres. “They saw me as a symbol of the decline of the enemy,” he recalls. “I never had that heroic revolutionary look. There was a certain openshirted quality I could never duplicate, I always looked different, maybe because my folks owned a clothing factory.”

Today, he wears poet’s gray, and a soft worker’s hat hangs on his closet door. He is getting old; the trousers of his cuffs are automatically rolled. He watches you jot that down in the middle of a point about politics and you wonder if he knows you plan to use it.

“I’m not a writer coming to music in the twilight of his youth,” he says suddenly. You look up. He begins to discuss the rock scene, then and now. Once, he thought Elvis Presley the first American singer of genius. Once, he played a Ray Charles record till it warped in the sun. Once, he thought of himself as Bob Dylan’s ancestor. “It wasn’t his originality which first impressed me, but his familiarity. He was like a person out of my books, singing to the real guitar. Dylan was what I’d always meant by the poet—someone about whom the word was never used.”

Until a short time ago, Leonard Cohen had never heard Dylan. He has spent much of the past seven years in a cottage on Hydra, Greece. He still returns there regularly for replenishment, the way F. Scott Fitzgerald’s heroes should have gone back to the Midwest. It keeps him from making too many scenes outside himself; that seems to be the scene he can make best.

Anyhow, you fed her five MacKewan Ales 
 took her to your room, put the right records on, 
 and in an hour or two it was done. 
 I know all about passion and honor 
but unfortunately, this had really nothing to do with either: 
 Oh, there was passion I’m only too sure 
 And even a little honor 
but the important thing was to cuckold Leonard Cohen 
I like that line because it’s got my name in it.
 — ‘The Cuckold’s Song’

“I wrote ‘Beautiful Losers’ on Hydra, when I’d thought of myself as a loser, financially, morally, as a lover, and a man. I was wiped out; I didn’t like my life. I vowed I would just fill the pages with black or kill myself. After the book was over, I fasted for ten days and flipped out completely. It was my wildest trip. I hallucinated for a week. They took me to a hospital in Hydra. One afternoon, the whole sky was black with storks. They alighted on all the churches and left in the morning… and I was better. Then, I decided to go to Nashville and become a song writer.”

He came to New York instead, thanks to a lady who is now his manager. And here he is—slaving over the songs he calls “Eastern Country laments,” trying to make them sound the way they read. Things are happening for Leonard Cohen. ‘Suzanne’, his best known lyric, made the charts on a vacuous cover version by Noel Harrison. Two recent compositions appear on the latest Judy Collins album. And Buffy Sainte Marie will include selections from Beautiful Losers on her next LP. Sometimes the two visit Saint Patrick’s, where there is a bas relief of St. Catherine on one of the Cathedral doors. Buffy puts daisies in the statue’s hair. “She sees the suffering in Catherine,” he explains. “She feels the thumping on the sky.”

If his forthcoming album is a good one, Leonard Cohen may well become one of history’s odder choices for pop stardom. But the men we deem to worship are never ordinary; that is the one passion they must guard against. If the time is ripe for a guru with a cold in the ego, Leonard Cohen’s modest agony will stand him in good stead.

“My songs are strangely romantic,” he admits, “but so are the kids. I somehow feel that I have always waited for this generation.” He pulls out a letter from a young girl who wonders over his unremitting despair. He frightens her because she senses that he has achieved an understanding of life, but he is sad despite it. She prays that the comprehension she seeks will not bring her such misery. She prays for him, and for herself, that he is really blind. And she ends by calling Leonard Cohen a “beautiful creep.”

Real tears form in the corners of his eyes, but modestly, they do not flow. He sighs for real. “That’s what I am—a beautiful creep.” He excuses himself and you grab for the letter when he is gone. That too is real.

Beautiful creep! You can’t help hearing him in the toilet; he pisses in quick panting spurts. You want to put him to bed with hot milk and butter, turn up the vaporizer, and kiss him good night.

And you want to travel with him 
 And you want to travel blind 
 And you think maybe you’ll trust him 
For he’s touched your perfect body with his mind.
 — ‘Suzanne’

[pabotofus]

A Long and Screamy Rant

So this is a rant dedicated to @apvrrish's fic (aknightley on AO3) 'calling me to come back', a gem of a fic and a sincerely gorgeous work. (If you haven't read it yet, go do it here and now!! Seriously, you won't regret it)

I was originally going to make this only about how I felt, but she writes so well I have to put something about her writing style there

Spoilers for the fic under the cut!!

1. Her worldbuilding

Literally once the fic started, I had such a good idea of what the shop looked like. Even if it may not have matched her mental image, it was so clear in my head (which is extremely rare for me). Apvrrish also does amazing descriptions, and it's like I'm actually living in the moment. It's so awesome!!!

2. Characterization

She nailed it. Completely and actually nailed it; bullseye after bullseye; on point. Shiro and Keith's relationship, later on Keith and Lance's relationship, Pidge (idk why I really liked the mental image of Pidge with a bun. I just did) staying up really late to help Keith, the way pIDGE CAN USE HER MAGIC THROUGH ELECTRONICS HDKCKSKCKFD

3. Lotor and Honerva/Hagar

Honestly, I was going to make this a side note on characterization, but this is so good it deserves its own topic. Honerva is so extra and I love it? I mean obviously it's not cool that she literally tried to kill Lance so that Lotor could go to a school. But that is something that she would totally do, and I can't really express my love for the all of this.

I also love the way aknightley wrote (or rather, mentioned) Lotor. Here's a beautiful beautiful quote: "Lotor was evidently interested in genetic science, something that Alfor specialized in, but Alfor was also specialized in avoiding people he didn’t care for, something Keith found enviable."

So maybe that quote doesn't focus on Lotor specifically, but it's such a GOOD SENTENCE. It wasn't the type of funny that would make me burst out into laughter, but the kind of brilliant genius that made me stare at my laptop screen and re-read that sentence five times, because it's that good.

4. While we're on this topic, QUOTES.

"Scrolling to a number that’s only labeled with a small bird emoji and a poop emoji, he texts, Can you do some research for me?" It isn't really the quote itself that I liked, per se, but the idea that Pidge's contact name is a bird and a poop emoji. That is perfect?? And I love it so much???

“Am I wrong, Sunshine?” Lance asks, tilting his head and smiling slyly." Lance calls Keith Sunshine. LANCE CALLS KEITH SUNSHINE OH MY GOD I CANT??? !!!!!!!

"You don’t need it to look pretty, Keith thinks, unbidden." Do I even need to explain here? Seriously, look me in the eye and ask my why I love this quote so much, I dare you. KEITH ADMIRING LANCE'S BEAUTY IS MY GODDAMN JAM

"“Sure, kiddo,” Shiro says, taking a sip of coffee with raised eyebrows." This. THIS!! The amount of pure goodness in this line is enough to make me cry. Shiro knows. Shiro knows!!!

"“Besides the obvious reasons,” Shiro says, raising his eyebrows. Keith gives in to pettiness and uses his magic to fling the pieces of cereal still on the counter at his face, grinning when they nail him directly in the nose." THIS IS THE GOOD BROGANES CONTENT THAT I LIVE FOR DID YOU KNOW??? Again, with characterization,, such perfection.

"“A customer,” Pidge says, doing air quotes. “A customer you dream about and who makes you go super smiley when he calls you on the phone.”" PIDGE KNOWS. SHIRO KNOWS. THEY ALL KNOW AND STILL KEITH REFUSES TO ACKNOWLEDGE IT. A GOOD TROPE. I VERY MUCH APPROVE.

"“So I guess I should -- um -- take this off?” He pulls lightly at the material over his chest and Keith feels his own face heat up." FLUSTERED KLANCE IS BEST KLANCE. NO, I DONT ACCEPT OTHER ANSWERS. THIS IS LAW.

"Lance leaned in close so he can peer into Keith’s face.

Across the room, a cedar branch catches fire." AGAIN. FLUSTERED KLANCE IS BEST KLANCE. NEED THERE BE ANY MORE PROOF? (Also, I hope all these quotes convey the immense love I have for aknightley and her writing)

“I’m going to have to buy her something very sparkly,” Keith murmurs to himself, smiling at the little heart she’s drawn next to her name.

Just,, sparkles!! ✨✨give Allura all the sparkly things 2Kforever please and thank you :)

“I’m good, Sunshine,” Lance says, stretching a little. “In fact, I kind of feel lucky right now.”

OHHHHHH BOY. THIS IS THE CLICHE BUT WONDERFUL TYPE OF THING THAT A HERO GENERALLY SAYS BEFORE THE BIG SHOWDOWN AND I LOVE IT A LOT??? ITS BEAUTIFULLLLLLL GIVE ME EVERY AND ALL THE CLICHE TROPES

5. Keith taking off his protections so that he could talk with Lance in his dreams

I'm probably reading way too much into this, but Keith literally let Lance inside all of his defenses. This is his how much he likes Lance. He stripped down all his protection that he's had for like, forever and let himself be vulnerable ALL FOR LANCE. I CANNOT BELIEVE,, THE SHEER EMOTION AND TRUST SHOWN IN THIS SCENE,,, UGH MY HEART

6. Similarly, the garden scene

This is Keith's private place. This is where he goes to remember his parents, and he let Lance come with him. Again, probably reading way to much into this, but Keith is actually letting Lance in? I mean it's never stated explicitly in the fic but I don't think Keith really goes around sharing the garden with people... wHICH MAKES THIS SO MUCH MORE SPECIAL HDJCKDKSKC I WAS LITERALLY CLUTCHING MY CHEST I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS

7. Keith giving Lance his mom's jacket

Keith didn't even let Shiro, his own brother, keep some of his parents' books from him. Granted, it was a different situation, but still. Keith is incredibly protective of anything and everything related to his parents, so the fact that he let Lance wear and KEEP his mom's jacket?? Is like the equivalent of other people literally ripping out their heart for someone else. The Klance here is absolutely wonderful.

8. The 'fuck your emotions' scene

WELL DAMN, APVRRISH, FUCK WITH MY EMOTIONS WONT YOU?? THEYRE BOTH SO GODDAMN SELF SACRIFICIAL??? LIKE LANCE I GET IT YOU LOVE HIM AND DONT WANT HIM TO GET HURT BUT DONT PUSH HIM AWAY LIKE THIS PLEASE,, ON ONE HAND THIS SHOWS HOW MUCH LANCE CARES FOR KEITH AND WANTS HIM TO BE SAFE BUT ON THE OTHER HAND 'FUCK YOUR EMOTIONS' LANCE QUOTES LIKE ITS NO BIG DEAL... stop taking both mine and Keith's hearts and stomping them into bits you HEARTBREAKER

9. "The bell, when it rings above Lance's head, still cruelly sounds like laughter."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. CATCH ME SCREAMING INTO THE VOID BECAUSE DAMNNNNNNNN. THE HOLY UNION OF BEAUTIFUL WRITING AND ALL OF THE FEELS IN THE WORLD. My eyes do not deserve to see the glory that is this sentence,, I had to give it a separate topic from Quotes because it was just. So good,,, Even now I feel like I'm not doing it justice, but it's so MIND BLOWINGLY AWESOME that I just can't. 👏🏻👏🏻 you did good, apvrrish.

10. Keith realizing he loves Lance

Need I say any more? Literally ALL I could dare to ask for. It's beautiful and I love it a lot. I also like how you didn't make it this big panicky moment for Keith, because honestly? Finding out that you're in love with someone isn't supposed to be all 'oH MY GOD WHAT DO I DO THIS IS BAD'. If realizing that you're in love with someone is bad, well, why are you in love with that person in the first place?

I kinda went off on a tangent there but anyways!! My main point- I really REALLY liked you portrayal of this scene and the way you wrote it. *swallows down the screams of the damned my emotional heart*

11. The dandelion

They're soul bound. They're soul bound, and Keith used a love spell thingy to track down Lance because he loves him and holy hell they're SOUL BOUND. I mean, the whole soulmate thing is low key overdone, not just in this fandom but everywhere. Yet apvrrish manages to put her own unique spin on the whole thing, incorporating magic and the idea of 'marriage bonds', which is really unique.

12. The idea of modern magic

Okay so I've been trying to go in chronological order but as I keep reading I just find this world so so cool. Most times there's a magical AU, the characters are somehow in the past, or it's a different world. But this, this is a combination of modern tech and somehow also these awesome magical abilities. There are potions with real life ingredients (certain types of wood, flowers, stones or minerals, etc.) and for realistic purposes. This is so realistic that I can actually imagine it happening, which is GREAT because it shows just how good of a writer that apvrrish is, but at the same time, makes me wish so so hard that I could be part of this world. Modern magic,, hdjckskc stab me in the heart with everything I've ever wanted, won't you?

13. “True love or some shit, I think,” Lance says cheerfully, and waves his hand.

Another quote too good for the Quotes section. He says this so nonchalantly?? It fits Lance's character SO WELL and so was really funny (idrk why it just made me smile a lot). Also, they're in LOVEEEEEEEEEEEEE~

14. Red!!

Beautiful cat child is cute and deserves all the love. I ADORE witch familiars, and Red helping Keith out with the exorcism thing was really pleasing to read. Also,, Red and Lance interactions. The pLaYFuL bAnTEr between Keith and Lance. Hhhhhhhhhhhhh I love this so muchhhh

15. The ending

tHE ENDING, OH MY GOD THE ENDING. THEY LITERALLY RODE INTO THE SUNSET ON A MOTORCYCLE. IM CRYING ITS SO CLICHE BUT BEAUTIFUL??? ME, SOBBING? ITS MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK BECAUSE THIS IS A GORGEOUS CONCLUSION.

Also! "“Why not?” he says quietly, leaning back against Lance’s chest. “We’ve got time.”"

That. THAT. I've already said this in a comment on the fic itself, but this is so good it needs to be said again. This entire story has kind of a recurring theme of how Keith doesn't have enough time with his loved ones (his parents and Lance because of the curse). But now that he broke the curse, he finally had time to be all cutesy and happy with Lance because they have time. Lance is no longer in danger of dying, and so they can take the long way and enjoy life just because now, they can. Catch me screaming into the void again because THIS IS BEAUTIFUL.

A last note- I found a song that kinda fits for this fic. The lyrics match the best, but in general the song is also super pretty!! So if you have time give it a listen because it's,, so good (jUST LIKE THIS FIC).

I still feel like all this ranting isn't enough to do this work of art and perfection justice, but anyways!! Apvrrish, continue being the awesomely amazing writer you are.

~Paladin