#usually i give up halfway but this time i managed to reach the end!!!!

[beescake]

paint a bunch of heads then struggle to fit them all on one canvas

[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

Online Meeting 🖥

Alexia Putellas x Reader

warning : fluffy 💭💗

summary :

Alexia is in the middle of a major online interview when you accidentally walk into the room, having completely forgotten she was busy. Although the camera doesn’t catch you, Alexia’s reaction is caught live.

Alexia was sitting at her desk, her laptop perfectly positioned as she adjusted her headphones one last time. The small study in your shared apartment had been transformed into her mini-interview set, with her Barça trophies and framed jerseys in the background, arranged neatly to give the interview the perfect backdrop. She was poised, as always, every inch the composed professional that everyone expected her to be.

You, on the other hand, had completely forgotten about the interview. It wasn’t until you were halfway through your third cup of coffee, humming to yourself as you cleaned the kitchen, that you realized something seemed… off. There was a lingering quietness that told you Alexia was probably busy. But by the time that thought even crossed your mind, it was already too late. With your usual casualness, you strolled down the hall, lost in your thoughts, and opened the door to the study without knocking.

Alexia had just finished answering a question about her career highlights when her eyes flicked up to meet yours as you stepped into the room. Her reaction was instant, her brown eyes widening slightly, a hint of surprise flashing across her features. Her hand shifted on the desk, almost as if she was trying to keep herself composed. But what gave it away was the tiny, amused smile that tugged at her lips. One she desperately tried to hide as she glanced quickly back at her screen.

You froze, mid-step, realizing your mistake. You had completely forgotten she was in the middle of the live interview, and now you’d just barged in like it was no big deal. Your face flushed instantly, and you mouthed a quick and apologetic, “Sorry!” before backing out of the room as quietly as you could manage.

The camera hadn’t caught you, thankfully, but Alexia’s reaction was all over the screen. Viewers couldn’t see you, but they could see her. And while Alexia was trying her hardest to stay focused on the interviewer’s next question, the damage had already been done. Her usually calm and composed demeanor had cracked, if only for a moment, and her fans weren’t going to miss it.

The next few minutes of the interview went on, but anyone watching could tell Alexia’s mind had wandered. She’d answer the questions with her usual grace, but there was a softness to her expression now, a slight curve to her lips that hadn’t been there before. And, occasionally, she’d glance off-camera for just a second, where she knew you were probably pacing the hall, silently cursing yourself for the interruption.

The interview wrapped up shortly after, and Alexia thanked the interviewer with her usual charm. But as soon as the call ended, she slid off her headphones and called out, “Cariño!”

You appeared in the doorway again, your face flushed, still embarrassed. “I’m so sorry,” you said, rushing over. “I completely forgot! Did I ruin it?”

Alexia chuckled, leaning back in her chair and reaching for your hand to pull you into her lap. “You didn’t ruin anything"

You let a sigh of relief as you leaned into her, resting your head against her shoulder. Alexia kissed your temple softly, clearly amused.

That was a lie, Alexia had noticed the subtle shift in the live chat during the interview. The influx of comments as soon as her reaction was caught on screen. You did definitely ruin the interview, but you didn't need to know or worry your pretty head about it.

*Did anyone else catch that?? Who walked into the room?!*

*OMG Alexia almost broke character. Who was it??*

*She’s so cute when she’s distracted. Someone made her smile, and I need to know who!*

*I've never seen Alexia react like that during an interview. What happened??*

[comicaurora]

I heard you talking on a recent OSPod about Hades, and as someone who very much can get ADHD-yoinked into games, it got me curious, but I'm...not great at video games and have found Dark Souls-y games where you try over and over and keep failing at the same task kind of frustrating. How's your Hades experience been in those regards? (although I'm not sure your general game skill)

Hades feels like it's really carefully designed to circumvent those frustrations.

I also hate the feeling of lost progress, which had me wary about playing a roguelite defined by constantly trying and mostly failing, but by far the most helpful part of the game design is that Zagreus also hates it, so it feels like the game and I are on the same page about it.

It also helps that most of the actual, tangible progress in the game is bound up in advancing the character arcs, which isn't a totally skill-free experience since it involves finding a couple characters out in the underworld, but a lot of it can be done back in the House of Hades, so every time you lose and die you can run around having conversations with everyone, almost all of which will be new and unique and advance your arc with them. If a character doesn't have a new interaction for you, you usually just can't find them on the floor, so there's very little time-wasting.

Speaking of, there's a lot of advancement that can only be done in the House of Hades, and a lot of it involves resources you can actively choose to seek out on runs. I did a couple runs today where my only goal was getting the last of a specific olympian's Boons so I could fill out their Minor Prophecy achievement and reap the rewards, and everything after that was just a bonus. This means the game is passively encouraging the player to develop secondary objectives beyond just making it to the end of the game again. It also helps that making it to the end of the game basically just gives you a weapon-unlocking resource and another small slice of conversation with [EXTREMELY OLD SPOILERS] so while it feels important, and is necessary for advancing towards the true ending of the game, it's not so overwhelmingly rewarding that you feel absolutely crushed when the final boss takes you out halfway through his second healthbar again.

You also benefit very greatly from not playing the game the same way twice - using new weapons or adding new challenge modes is the only way to re-acquire the unique boss rewards for the three main regions of the underworld, instead of the more generic resources that replace the unique ones after you win them for the first time, which means instead of feeling like you need to optimize a winning build and then use it every time, you're encouraged to play with the other weapons that you might find unwieldy or annoying, and if you manage to beat even the first boss with them, you'll be disproportionately rewarded. Also, on every run a random weapon will be empowered to give you bonus resources if you choose to use it, so even if you're a strictly melee-only main you might find yourself willing to figure out how to use the bow in exchange for the extra gems. The Boons you get also dramatically change the strategy you're likely to naturally fall into over the course of fighting your way out - some builds are extremely melee-based, others just boost your ranged abilities to the point that you can mostly just dash around the battlefield while your Casts chew through everyone's healthbar at top speed. So when you reach the final boss, you're not going to be using the same strategies, and even if you lose, it feels less like you had a skill issue and more like you've learned something to look out for or try out next time around. The final boss's strategies and moves don't change either, so you'll know what to expect every time even as your own moveset might be completely different from run to run.

In my personal experience, I have a pretty good feel for when a game is disappointed in my performance. Nothing says "the designers didn't expect you to get stuck here" like endlessly looping dialogue or not-so-subtle hints that you can knock down the difficulty if you need to. Hades has thus far done this to me very little, and only in specific areas - even if I'm no longer getting unique banter with Theseus every time I kick his ass, I'm still having unique conversations with Asterius in the same region and it doesn't feel like I'm anywhere near done with the dialogue back in the House. Zagreus's dialogue when he enters the same three boss arenas will also randomly go from seemingly-interchangeable lines of "yep it's this boss again" to much more unique angles that legitimately change the game from then on. Yesterday, after killing the bone hydra something like a dozen times, he randomly decided to nickname it Lernie, and now he consistently calls it Lernie and every time I kill it the victory banner says "LERNIE VANQUISHED". Today he got Tisiphone to say his name instead of just "murderer" all the time. The game knows you're going to be fighting these guys a lot, and this tells me I haven't outstayed my welcome in the anticipated main timeline of gameplay.

If I have a frustration, it's that I'm not always sure that what I'm doing is advancing the character plotlines, and you can only talk to a character once on any given visit to the House. The game kind of helps you out here, your little information codex will tell you stuff like "Learn more by having X more conversations with this character" or "learn more by deepening your relationship with this character" but it can still be pretty vague and opaque. There's no dialogue trees, Zagreus basically just says what he wants, so when, for instance, Achilles indicates that I should talk to Nyx about maybe getting Orpheus's deal with Hades undone, it's a little frustrating that I can't then go over to Nyx and ask her about that. Or, in fact, ask her about it at all in any of the dozen runs I've done since that nugget got dropped. It's not a game-breaker, but it is a little frustrating. On the other hand, this is clearly intentional, because this means you're tempted to get back into a run as quickly as possible, because then when you die more conversations will have unlocked back at the house - but also, to deincentivize just running out and dying on purpose to get those dialogues going, there are some characters who will only appear in the House if you get far enough into the run to deal with them, and certain characters whose arcs and dialogue only advance if you find and talk to their missing loved ones out on the run. So you'll always have something new back at the House, but you're strongly encouraged to get as far as you can before you die, because the farther you get, the more you'll have to do when you get back.

The game is basically designed to never, ever make you want to sit still. You can quickly exhaust everything there is to do in the house, and that makes you want to go out on a run and see what new things will happen. Then while you're on the run you have the benefit of randomization keeping things interesting and making you make plans for the next time you encounter a given character. It's got a good rhythm to it!

[pedgito]

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 | Javier Pena x fem!reader

summary | your boyfriend delivers the worst news possible on what should be a day filled with love. luckily your coworker is there in wait, not allowing a perfectly good dinner reservation to go to waste. [2.5k]

content warning | this is probably the tamest thing i've ever written, who am i? mostly fluff, vague descriptions of your boyfriend (technically ex-boyfriend/some misogyny (not by javi), small age gap, co-workers, dinner dates and more, unrequited (innocent) crushes, minimal spanish (mostly just pet names), open-ended

author’s note | @pascalispretty happy valentines day!! this is my first time doing one of these and i was your secret valentine, but i hope you enjoy! i haven't written for javi in so long and i was really craving some soft!javi so this was a joy to write. i hope you enjoy!

You hated the stigma around holidays and what they meant, what they entailed, and why people upheld them so highly. But, here you were—tapping your fingers insistently against the desk across from the pool of DEA agents who would throw a file of paperwork on your desk and expect it to magically poof away and, by default, relinquish themself of any responsibility over it in the process.

You couldn’t fault them all—some of them actually managed to follow instructions. A signature here and there, all in order, leaving with little work to do other than file it away. Murphy followed it to a degree that made you think he probably has some time of background outside of here, back in the states. Always uniform, always proper—he’d been a good addition from the start and a perfect match to Javier Pena’s strong personality and unwillingness to give up control.

He also smiled at you every morning and offered a kind greeting, a small acknowledgment of your existence which couldn’t be spared by many others.

As for Javier—he did the work. There was never an issue, but halfway through an expository to a question he asks his attention is drawn elsewhere. Usually to one of the other few in-office secretaries or visitors that just couldn’t resist a bite at the overconfident and suave agent.

You could see the appeal, but that didn’t mean you had to like it—sometimes it impeded your ability to communicate with him and it really, really annoyed you.

Plus, your boyfriend was perfect. Too perfect that it felt unreal at times, but as all things in your life tended to implode on you—you were waiting for the ball to drop.

“Buenos días, señorita.” Javier greets with a smile that shines perfectly under his thick mustache, dressed in his usual pairing of tight jeans and form-fitting button up. This one was pink though, or a deep red. Jesus, how many different ones did he own?

You snort softly, “Morning, Javi.”

And you’re expecting that crisp folder to slide onto your desk but he’s traversing down the steps into the bay of other desks, straight for his. He’s still in eyeline, his and Steve’s shared workspace right in the center.

His eyes flit up briefly, scanning the room before they land on you again and of course you’re staring, but not for the reasons he’s assuming. And there’s a fierceness behind your eyes that he’s seen before, like he’s about to be lectured.

You grab at an empty file on your desk and hold it up lazily, eyebrows raising in expectation. 

“Oh shit,” He curses lowly, but not soft enough for you to miss before he’s reaching in his desk and holding up the paperwork, “Here—I’ve got it.”

You pluck the item from his grip as he approaches, this time lingering. He’s got his fingers spread out wide on your desk and he leans, practically towers as you sift through his work quietly before jotting something down on a separate sticky note and filing it away for the time being.

“Sorry, bonita,” He apologized, some sincerity in his voice, “I stayed late last night and finished it up but you were already gone—I don’t forget, you know that.”

“All good,” You offer a polite smile and he still doesn’t move, nodding kindly to a few women that pass by, seemingly more done-up than usual, “big plans tonight?”

A man like Javier, there was no way he spent Valentine's Day alone.

Javier offers a non-commital shrug and nods his head in your direction, “What about you? You got that boyfriend, right? Kid with the glasses?”

And okay, Javier was a good chunk older than you. Ten years, maybe. But, kid? Please.

“Yes, that kid.” You roll your eyes light-heartedly. “Um, I reserved a table for dinner at that restaurant Steve recommended a couple months ago. The one he took Connie to.”

“Yeah—yeah, I know that place.” Been a few times, it lingers on his tongue. It didn’t matter if he went alone, the food was decent enough. “You made the reservation?”

“Come on, Javi,” You slap at his forearm gently, “It's not that big of a deal—besides I just…need a break. I thought dinner would be nice.”

“You know I can’t judge you for living at this place,” Javier says around a soft chuckle, “I’m guilty of it too.”

Many nights spent stuck in the office with just you and Javier—the occasional appearance of Steve. It led you to learn a few things about the men, even if inadvertently.

When leads were dry, Javier will go through half a pack in a day and Steve would chew at his fingernails almost constantly, tapping and fidgeting nearly nonstop. They both had obvious tells—a more obvious one for Javier being the close-mouthed smile he gave to women he wasn’t interested in but still remained polite to while the other, the unabashed grin was reserved for the women who piqued his interest.

He's given you both, but that was beside the point. 

“Any recommendations?” You ask curiously, fidgeting with the plastic clip on your pen.

Javier considers it briefly, lips pursing together as he taps his pointer finger in thought, “Well, the Pescado Frito they have is pretty good—can’t really go wrong with that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You note, leaning back in your chair as you spot Steve making his way into the office.

“I thought you hated holidays like this?” Javier questions curiously, a sentiment he shared. They seemed pointless outside of the few that offered him a reprieve from work.

You shrug, looking away briefly to avoid his steadfast gaze.

“Well, I don’t think all of us are impervious to stuff—I wanted to do something…nice. I guess?”

Javier isn’t entirely convinced, seeing the uncertainty in your shy smile but he lets it go, slapping the desk lightly before waving a quick goodbye as Steve pulls him aside.

It had to be intel—and good intel at that by the way Javier’s face morphs into sudden interest, thumb and pointer finger brushing over his mustache.

And really, you shouldn’t keep staring at him. Not with that dinner on the forefront of your mind, the one you had so meticulously planned out for you and your boyfriend.

Things had to be perfect. There was no other option.

But, then Javier chances another glance in your direction and something swells in your throat—anxiety, sadness. You can't quite place it, but you swallow it down. Force it away.

Only a few more hours to go.

-

The call comes an hour before you’re due to head home, already packing up your belongings preemptively. And you smile at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice.

It’s been a few months. Good months. Too good.

He was younger, like you—some IT guy in his earlier twenties with a kind heart. Or, so you assumed.

“Hey,” You answer softly, lightly into the phone, “reservations are in a couple hours.”

“About that,” His voice sounds off, distant, “I don’t think I can make it.”

Your heart drops into your stomach and you find yourself chewing at your bottom lip in worry, watching wearily as Javier and Steve hold matching coffees in their grip, marching back to their desks in sync. Javier’s gaze lingers for a moment, a normal motion he did just to check on you.

Nothing more.

But, he spots the change in your emotion.

Still, he continues on.

“What—I—I’ve had these reservations for two weeks,” You reply in a hushed voice, trying to contain your frustration, “what happened—what changed?”

“I just—I don’t really know how to say this,” The dread is immediate, but your mind is filled with anger—rigid, bitter anger that wants to bite, “I think we should break up.”

“Are you fucking serious?” The small outburst catches the attention of you people but you avoid their gaze, even more pointedly Javier, who’s gone from inconspicuously spying to full on gawking now, alongside Steve who had a sudden interest. They’ve never seen you like…this. “Today? This felt like a good thing to tell me today?”

“I’ve been trying—“

“You’re an asshole.” You bite harshly, “You can pick your shit up from my apartment this weekend.”

You don’t let him have the final word, slamming the phone back down into the receiver and ignoring the gathering stares and sparse, hushed whispers.

You could sit and wallow, allow yourself to stew in regret and worry, wondering what you did wrong—but you knew it wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been. All the trying and trying and trying you do, the maximum amount of effort met with little enthusiasm. You were naive to think that things would work,

You’re thankful when the shift nears its end and people file out quietly, albeit with a few side-stares, you find yourself mulling over the idea of canceling the reservation completely. But, then there was perfectly good, hard-earned money going to waste. And you could eat by yourself, but the idea seemed even more miserable as you had specifically booked a table for two, decorations and accommodation to match. It felt ridiculous, in hindsight. 

You pass the stack of paperwork off to your boss as you step into his office, scurrying back to your desk with your head down—already prepared to go home and wallow in your self-pity.

“You alright?” Javier asks suddenly, jumping slightly at his voice as you turn on your heels, hip bumping into your desk in the process, wincing at the pain, “shit—sorry.”

He’s smiling to lighten the mood but it doesn’t help.

“You’re…fine,” You wave him off, leaning into the weight of the desk as he lingers, fingers shoved into the front pockets of his pants, “I’m heading home in a bit.”

“No dinner?” He asks curiously—if he was attempting to be coy he was doing a terrible joy.

It was only minimally amusing, cracking a smug smile at his obvious prying. 

“No dinner,” You confirm, “and he broke up with me, so…”

“Cabrón,” He says under his breath, but it isn’t lost on you, “I’m sorry—that’s…fucked up.”

You shrug, “Now I’m debating on canceling and wasting the money I put down to reserve it or looking pathetic if I show up by myself—“

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that.” Javier defends, speaking entirely from personal experience. 

“Javi, it’s Valentine’s Day.” 

“And?”

Suddenly though, you’re struck with an idea. 

“Are you busy?” You ask curiously and Javier raises a curious eyebrow your way and smirks, “No ladies in waiting tonight?”

“Not yet.” Javier jokes lightly, knowing his usual routine of hitting the bar after work would end in one of two ways, and even if he didn’t mind spending his nights alone, it was nice to be in the company of others in whatever capacity.

“Go with me.” You suggest, poking at his bicep. “Since you love the place so much.”

“Come on, hermosa,” Javier chides playfully, “If you wanted to take me on a date, just ask.”

You grin wide, heart fluttering at the flirtatious tone he carried in his voice—it wasn’t something you weren’t used to, but it was never so pointedly directed at you.

“I am,” You tell him, “I just—I’ll need to go home and change first.”

His brow furrows and he looks you over, seeing nothing wrong, “Why? You look fine. You always do.”

It’s something he tells you daily—and maybe he has his own selfish reasons, though you know he does it to most of the women in the office, but the way he’s saying it to you now feels different.

He means it, no humor in his voice.

“My—” You can’t even address him in the moment, rolling your eyes with full force as you rub your fingers over your forehead to will away the lines of stress that form there, “I just—he used to say work clothes never complimented me very well. I already had a dress picked out, I can be quick.”

“Save it. I think you look perfect.” Javier affirms softly, keys jingling in his back pocket as he fishes them out, “I’ll drive us.

“But, my car—”

And hand breaches your shoulder, hot to the touch as his fingers curl around your form.

“Hey,” He’s searching for your eyes, waiting until they lock with his own and he nods, expecting the same motion to make sure you’re with him, “I’ll drive you there and back, you don’t have to change—we can enjoy some good food and forget about your shitty boyfriend, alright?”

You nod quietly, earning a gentle squeeze in response.

–

It wasn’t a date, not in the slightest. But, Javier did his damndest to make you feel like it was.

And maybe it was the guilt over him knowing you just got dumped—that whatever you had spent so much time planning had fell out underneath you, but it didn’t quell the nervous anxiety that you felt as you both sipped on a shared bottle of wine and your separate dinners, watching Javier grimace around the lip of his wine glass.

“Horrible, right?” You laugh softly, watching as he forces the liquid down and nods jerkily.

“Food is great, though—the wine,” Javier makes a face of uneasiness that has you covering a laugh with your palm, “—that’s why I stick with tequila or whiskey.”

“Can’t say I have much of a preference,” You admit, “as long as it does the job.”

Javier nods knowingly, stabbing his fork into a piece of food and chewing thoughtfully, the fingers of his unoccupied hand rubbing together as an idea forms in his head, “You know, if you’re not busy I was going to meet up with Steve and Connie for a drink. Later tonight—if you’re interested?”

You can’t believe how instantly you want to agree, blaming it on your impulsivity. 

“Javi, I don’t know,” You respond quietly, “I don’t—I don’t really go out like that.”

“Well—that dress you were talking about. It wouldn’t go completely to waste if you wanted to wear it out tonight. Plus, you treated me to a nice dinner—let me treat you to a couple drinks.”

It sounds like the perfect idea. Too perfect. Too good to be true.

“Javi,” You tease shyly, “if you’re trying to ask me out on a date just say it.”

Javier chuckles softly and you know it’s only an attempt to make a shitty day not so shitty, but the underlying chase you two have allowed to happen for so long now was unobscured by outside forces and you hated how easy it was for him to distract you from everything that had transpired today.

“Is that a yes?” Javier teases.

You sigh reluctantly, though a subtle grin pulls at your face, eyes soften at the expectant look on Javier’s face, all puppy-eyed and nothing like the man you’re used to seeing in the office. This was a side of him that felt new and you were curious to discover more. You nod.

“Well, hermosa—I guess it’s a date then.”

[cyber333angel]

PART 2 TO: DBF!TOJI

toji “helping” you study for your upcoming exams !

CAUTION ⚠️

This work contains: usage of daddy, exhibition, praise,riding toji (ofc), p!links, size kink, studying, breeding kink (all the good stuff), itty bitty spanking kink

NOTE: this was supposed to be a drabble but once again!! I overwrote 🙄 but ass promised here is you riding toji. I hope u enjoy 😉

after the intense night you had with your dads best friend back at your parents house, in your own bedroom to boot, toji and you still “hung out”. you loved the way he made you feel, and the feeling was mutual . whenever he dropped by your house to fraternize with your father he continued to sneak into your bedroom usually to kiss you, reminisce the feeling of you squirming on his fingers and the taste of your cunt, or of how tight your pussy felt clenching around his cock.

“t-toji, I don’t want my parents to-hmph hear m-me downstairs!” he had you on the edge of your bed with your panties pushed to the side . two thick fingers thrusting in and out rapidly like the first time. “maybe if you stopped squealing you wouldn’t have to worry about that sweetheart.” your moans were inevitable with the pace he was going. you were reminded of the wet sounds your cunny made when you heard a “splurt”. mewling, you see toji stunned at the action your wet hole just made. amused he thrust his fingers again and repeats his abuse on your cunt, wanting to see you squirt again. “i-it feels weird toji! please n-no more please!” you reach your hand out to stop him “move your fuckin hand kid.” you flinch at the sternness and he manages to get you to cum again leaving you twitchy and thoughtless. he slides your panties back to fully cover your cunt and pats it , giving you a kiss on the forehead .

for about a week things like that kept happening until you had to go back to your university, it was only 45 minutes away so you weren’t too sad leaving your parents, opting to visit on the weekend sometimes. toji however, felt different and was going to miss the moments between him and his best friends daughter. as you were walking back to your dorm after finishing a class one day, toji called you, telling you he would pick you up for dinner at 6. excited you put on a cute outfit and met him in the parking lot “im so happy to see you to’!” you jump and hug him and he embraced you back, squeezing the fat of your ass “it’s good to see you too pretty girl” he said smiling . the dinner goes well and you end up back at your dorm, living here by yourself ever since you started college, your roommate having never showing up . you were happy with that space and even more happy to be able to have privacy with toji. visits like this happened often, him showing up unannounced and on the same day you falling asleep in his arms. coming into your room in a very grumpy mood your met with the large man sleeping in your bed, the same way you left him this morning. toji wakes up hearing aggravated mumbling from his little fling, “what happened babydoll? what’s with the grumpy face?” you flash him an annoyed look, taking offense he grabs your hand “it’s polite to answer when someone talks to you. now, what happened?” you look up at him feeling bad for the hostile entrance .

“I have exams coming up and nothing is helping me study. i have asked my professors and tried tutors but nothing works! im really nervous to fail this test toj.. it makes up 50% of my grade!” understanding the problem now, getting an idea he wants to help you out, well.. sort of. “i’ll help you study, sweet girl.” toji says smiling, the two of you were facing each other, he sat on the bed while you stood in front of him your arms crossed over his shoulders. “will you really help me to’?” he nods and your just thrilled to be receiving help from your favorite person.

“how is this s-supposed to help-hngh! me study!?” you were in top of him, straddling his lap and about less than halfway down his cock. he’s watching you try to sink yourself into his cock, and rubbing your cheek, reassuringly “baby i already explained it to you, if i say the terms you have to explain them back to daddy alright?”. your not fully listening to him but you nod. “the definition of a “subatomic particle” is what hm?” feeling to overwhelmed you attempt to answer his question “a subat-tomic particle is ugh!” distracted by a thick rod slivering into your cunt, your unable to answer, bringing his hand back he smacks your ass. making you yelp “your not focusing.” as if you can even think about some dumb chemistry question while you were being stretched open..

“daddy m’sorry but I can’t focus! it can’t fit,its too..too big mph please!”

he grabs your ass, lifting you off his lap. you look at him confused and suddenly he slams you down right on his dick, unable to process what just happened, you were now sitting and taking all of his length feeling more than just “full” , it all snaps back to you when he grinds you back and forth on his pelvis, clit feeling sensitive “oh g-god! i feel it in my tummy, daddy!” toji getting more and more turned on from the comment “shiit.” squelches and wet sounds exude from your cunt making you embarrassed plat-plat-plat, toji thrust his hips upward hitting your cervix , placing tou hand on his chest for balance,you can barely form a thought. he was going so fast and he fucking you too good. “I think im gonna cum..!” hearing this he paces faster and reaches a hand out to rub your overstimulated bud “augh that’s t-too much!” you squirm around his cock and he thrust up into “you gonna come for daddy? oh goood girl, y’re doing such a good job me.”

“y’re too fuckin tight..shit” he pumps his load into you filling you to the brim with a groan, toji scoots up and lets you fall backwards onto the bed . he had tired you out instead of helping you study. you whine at him “I think you made a mess in my tummy daddy..” satisfied, he pulls out making you twitch, he watches the semen drip out your abused cunt. it would be a lie if he said he don’t want to go again but seeing how you already fell asleep he waves away the thought. the next morning you wake up and toji isn’t cuddling you like he usually is, your thighs are all cleaned up and your in a new shirt, probably his, but toji isn’t anywhere to be found. five minutes later he walks through the door with a delicious smelling bag of food. “oh g’morning toj! I couldn’t find you.” you hug him at the door “i js wanted to get you something to eat and something else to help you study with.” puzzled you twist your head while chewing on some bacon “flash cards?” you ask him still chewing “yeah babydoll, flash cards, im gonna help you study.”

[faithfulren]

arcade fun

in a lively arcade filled with neon lights and bustling crowds, you and your competitive boyfriend, katsuki bakugo, embark on a fun-filled date.

----

the neon lights of the arcade flickered in vibrant hues, casting a lively glow over the bustling crowd. the sounds of clinking tokens, cheerful chimes, and triumphant shouts filled the air. you glanced around, feeling a rush of excitement as you took in the sight of various arcade games lined up in rows, each one promising fun and competition.

beside you, katsuki bakugo, your ever-competitive boyfriend, scanned the area with a determined glint in his eyes. "alright, where do we start?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

you grinned, pointing towards a row of claw machines. "how about there? i’ve always wanted one of those stuffed animals."

katsuki's smirk widened. "piece of cake," he said, already heading towards the machines. you followed, feeling a mix of anticipation and amusement. katsuki was always up for a challenge, and you knew he’d put his all into winning something for you.

as you reached the first machine, katsuki inserted a token and grasped the joystick with practiced ease. "watch and learn," he teased, his eyes focused on a cute, plush bear nestled among other toys. He maneuvered the claw with precision, lowering it down towards the bear.

you held your breath as the claw descended, gripping the bear tightly. it lifted the toy halfway before it slipped free, falling back into the pile. katsuki growled in frustration, his competitive nature kicking in.

"don't worry, katsuki. you’ll get it," you said encouragingly, placing a hand on his arm.

he shot you a determined look. "damn right i will." He inserted another token, his focus even sharper this time. after a few more tries and some choice words muttered under his breath, the claw finally grabbed the bear securely, lifting it and dropping it into the prize chute.

katsuki retrieved the bear triumphantly, handing it to you with a proud grin. "told you I'd get it."

you accepted the plush toy, your heart swelling with affection. "thank you, katsuki. it’s perfect."

he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "anything for you," he said softly, his usual gruffness giving way to a rare moment of tenderness.

with the bear safely tucked under your arm, you and katsuki moved on to other games. you challenged each other to a racing game, laughing as you both tried to outmaneuver the other on the virtual track. katsuki’s competitive streak shone through, but he didn’t mind when you managed to win a round or two.

next, you found yourselves at a basketball hoop game. katsuki’s intense focus returned as he aimed for the high score, his muscles flexing with each shot. you cheered him on, your admiration growing with every successful basket.

finally, you ended up at a dance machine. katsuki hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing at the flashing arrows on the screen. "you sure about this?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

you giggled, grabbing his hand and pulling him onto the platform. "come on, it’ll be fun!"

as the music started, you both began to follow the arrows, your feet moving in sync with the rhythm. katsuki stumbled a bit at first, but soon found his groove, his movements becoming more confident. you danced together, laughing and enjoying the moment, the world outside the arcade fading away.

when the game ended, you both caught your breath, katsuki’s competitive spirit still evident in his grin. he pulled you into a quick, strong hug, a rare moment of tenderness for him. "i had fun," he admitted, his voice gruff but sincere.

you smiled back, feeling warmth spread through you. "me too. thanks for coming."

he gave you a quick kiss on the cheek, a gesture that surprised you both. "don’t get used to it," he teased, but there was a hint of fondness in his eyes.

as you left the arcade, walking side by side, you felt content. today had been special, a day filled with laughter and playful competition, a side of katsuki that few got to see.

[barefoothighlander]

spillways - panic

-simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

-warnings: mentions of ptsd, angst, bit ooc!ghost

-word count: 1.5k

-summary: after a year of working loosely alongside the 141, you are deployed on your first ground mission. trying to navigate having to work with a team and your lieutenant who seems set on getting a rise out of you.

next chapter fic masterlist

a/n: alright so I'm planning on making this a slow burn, we'll see how long that lasts, I'm trying so hard to be normal about ghost but at the same time I can't so, here you go. :)

I wonder to myself, 

could life ever be sane again?

You thrust yourself awake, alarm bells ringing in your head, something was wrong, something felt off. Faced with the darkness of your bedroom you shift your weight to glance around, nothing out of place, no noises aside from the occasional car alarm, but the buzzing, the buzzing was loud. Your head filled with the buzzing that seemed to have no end and no beginning, turning over you see the time, 3:44 am, staring back at you with that obnoxious, bright red gleam, sighing to yourself 2 hours of sleep isn’t so bad. 

Raising yourself from the bed you’re met with a cold breeze shit, the window was open, striding towards the wall to close it with a loud thud, you hated this apartment, it was old, nothing worked, and the floors creaked under any sort of movement, it didn’t feel like home. You manage the strength to walk to the kitchen and turn on a lamp, growing accustomed to residing in low light, rarely did you ever have your space fully illuminated. You pour yourself a cup of coffee and begin your day, you didn’t have much to do around the apartment considering the only thing on your agenda was to show up to base for deployment, but you still had 4 hours to kill. You occupied yourself with meaningless tasks, tidying the living space even though it had barely anything in it, you had bought the apartment 3 years ago but spent less than 9 months actually living there, it was simply a means of habitat between deployments. Truthfully you don’t know what to do with yourself if you aren’t off in some desert, or mountain range on a mission.

Finally, the clock read 7:15, you figured you had waited an adequate amount of time pacing around the apartment, so you got dressed in some casual clothes that were appropriate for any form of the tactical situation, grabbed your bag and left for the base. You made the drive often enough that it felt like your brain was on autopilot, muscle memory telling you where to turn and when. But you were right, something was off, the buzzing in your head was persistent, and your thoughts ran rampant, usually, you were halfway decent at getting your mind to quiet down, focusing it on whatever task you were assigned, but without some sort of obstacle, you found anxiety begin to bubble in your stomach. You weren’t nervous, not for a standard op, you had run through missions like this a handful of times, and you knew what to expect, what you needed to do, this was something else. Were you nervous to work directly with the 141? You had been assigned a posting with them for a little over a year now, but you never worked with them, only ever as the eye in the sky, providing aid only when deemed necessary, this time you would be on the ground with them, working with them, surviving with them.

Your thoughts occupied your time, and when you reached the base you felt like you had only been driving for 5 minutes. 7:47, enough time to sneak in, you weren’t close with the team, not like how they were with each other, they often invited you to the local pub after a successful mission but you always declined, giving them some excuse along the lines of you being too tired to stay out, most of the time they wouldn’t argue, but you could always feel a gaze staring daggers at the back of your head when you decided to not spend time with them. They meant well, you could tell, but you weren’t looking for another person to ask about your history, or why you joined the force, and you certainly weren’t looking for any sympathy, reducing yourself to a life of seclusion outside deployment.

You made your way to the briefing room, stunned to see that almost everyone was already there, everyone except one person, the only other person who found any sort of comfort in the shadows alongside you, the Ghost. Price waited another few minutes while the guys entertained themselves, recalling a few drunken stories they found amusing, Soap explaining to Gaz why he’s banned from 6 separate pubs in Manchester alone. At 7:56 you saw the door open, and the unmistakable mask breeze in, he was hard to miss, tall and broad, but quiet, always quiet. He found his place near the back of the room, settling himself to lean against a desk.

Turning your attention to Price, trying to focus on the information he was presenting, something about a cartel, and illegal weapons trading in Mexico. You couldn’t focus, not with the buzzing in your head, you tried your best, Ghost noticing the way you constantly adjusted your stance to try to hear Price better. Finally, the brief ended, and you could barely remember a thing the Captain had said aside from “meet at the heli deck 1600 hours.” Inching forward to grab a folder from the table so you could actually study what the assignment was, you felt a strong hand grab your elbow. Glancing up, Ghost was there, invading your space.

“You alright Sargeant?”

“Fine Leuitenent, why?”

“You seem agitated or something” He releases his grip on your elbow as he feels your muscles tense.

“Just tired, didn’t sleep well”

“I know the feeling, go rest, you have time” is all he says, and then he leaves.

You stop for a minute, fiddling with the edges of the folder in your hands, the buzzing is gone is all you can think, as you turn around to catch a glimpse of him, but he’s gone. 

For the first time today, your thoughts are clear, no alarm bells, no buzzing, there’s clarity, and you don’t know why. You chalk it up to the difference in humidity, or atmosphere around the base. But even in the clarity, you can’t sleep, you tried, laying down on your cot for nearly an hour, trying to will your body to rest, but it was useless, it’s hard to rest when you’re always in survival mode. Instead, you decide to take your efforts to the gym on base, choosing to put your thoughts to some use and beat the hell out of a punching bag.

Your knuckles are sore, your legs are cramping up, and you can begin to taste iron in your mouth, but none of these stop you. You continue your assault on the oversized bag of sand, forcing every ounce of energy into your punches and kicks.

“Thought I told you to rest” You didn’t hear him come in, but now, standing directly behind you, he’s hard to miss.

You keep facing away from him, centring the bag in front of you. “Couldn’t, thought my time was better spent here”

“You defied a superior's orders then?”

“A suggestion and an order are different Leuitenent”

“You always talk back? Tsk, that’s bad manners love” he asks, raising his arm to settle the bag in front of you, almost commanding your attention.

You turn to face him, finding his body much closer than you thought, you crane your neck to look into his eyes, they’re shrouded in black paint, his face concealed by the skull. 

“You don’t intimidate me, sir”

“Why not, every other bloke on this base is terrified of me,” he says leaning down a little, enough so that you can feel the warmth of his breath over your cheek.

You press your lips to his covered ear, making sure he hears you loud and clear.

“I see right through the mask,” you say, as you pull yourself back to stare into his dark eyes, and for a moment, you swear you see the telltale signs of a smile from the crinkles that form beside his eyes.

“I’ll see you on deck Sargeant” is all he says, striding away from you and down the hallway.

You stand there, breathless, you’ve never spoken to anyone that way, let alone a superior officer, but you won’t let him scare you, at the end of the day he’s just another man, made of flesh and bone, he bleeds the same colour as the rest of them.

You return to your shacks to rinse off whatever sweat you worked up. Stepping out and checking the time, 3:30, shit, how long was I in the shower for. Quickly gathering your necessary equipment for travel you make your way to the deck, only to be greeted by the loud whirring of helicopter blades, and the booming laughter of one Soap Mactavish.

“Ye ready for some fun lass?” Soap asks placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

Before you get the chance to respond Ghost once again appears out of nowhere.

“No time to waste, get packed in”

Soap glances at you but your eyes are set firm on the Leuitenent, while little feelings of anger begin to form in your chest. Removing his hand from your shoulder, Soap steps into the heli and seats himself next to some of the other guys. You situate yourself near the back of the carrier, far enough that no one would attempt to make conversation with you. To your dismay, Ghost plants himself directly next to you, close enough that your knees are forced to touch. You’re willing him to move, and he doesn’t spare a glance in your direction. 

This is gonna be a long ride.

[faestolemythoughts]

More Stardew hcs 🌸💚

Sam/Seb

Slight TW, boys smokin the devils lettuce

-Sam has a tendency to fall asleep literally anywhere. Wether it’s on the floor, outside somehow, or most often.. Seb’s bed.

When I say Seb’s bed though, it’s hardly ever in a normal position. He usually falls asleep mid-game, slumping against the wall or hanging halfway off or (Seb’s absolute favorite) sprawled out across the entire already small bed.

Sebastian never notices until it’s too late. He’s always too focused in whatever video game they’re playing, only looking over when Sam stops replying to whatever he’s saying. Every time it happens he wants to be mad, he really does. He just can’t seem to be irritated when Sam looks like that when he sleeps. He’d die before he ever told Sam that he looks pretty when he sleeps.

It’s always a chore to shove Sam (the heaviest sleeper sebs ever fucking seen) aside so he can lay in his own bed.

They’d both be lying if they said they never ended up against each other.. because it’s warm of course.

Let’s just say Abby’s found them like that countless times. She has the pictures to prove it.

-The first time Sam wants to try smoking with Seb (not cigarettes 🍃) Is after a particularly bad day with his family. They’re around 17-18. Senior year. Kent keeps getting on him about college and other bullshit he wants no part in. His mom won’t stop agreeing with him. He’s sick of it. He needs.. well, weed.

Barging into Sebs room eyes immediately on the dark blue glass piece, Seb can tell something’s wrong.

“I need you to give me that.” Sam huffs. Motioning at the bong.

Sebastian almost laughs. He would’ve if it weren’t for the look on Sam’s face that’s really telling him he really does need to unwind.

“You sure? Don’t wanna talk?”

“Just- pack it or whatever it’s called.”

Sebastian hastily does what he’s told. He’s fighting himself and definitely feels like a horrible influence right now. But Sam’s a grown man and can make his own choices, so he hands the bong to Sam, tucking the bowl pack in his pocket.

they make their way up to the top of the hill, veering right of the spa near the train tunnels, knowing damn well they can’t do this anywhere near the house. As they make the 10 minute or so walk, Sam finally starts talking.

“I really wish my mom would be on my side one time.”

Seb motions for Sam to take the bong out of his jacket where it had been conveniently hidden from anyone’s sight.

“Want me to show you how?”

“I fucking know how.”

Eyebrows raised Seb just sets in the bowl piece and tosses Sam the lighter.

“Okay.”

Sam definitely doesn’t know how. His first try he doesn’t put his mouth right against the glass, not creating a suction therefore getting no smoke. A very familiar bitch face from Seb is accompanied with a tsk noise and an eye roll.

“Let me show you before you waste all my weed.” Seb reaches a hand out, grabbing the glass while still in Sam’s hands, guiding it closer to his mouth. “Put it all the way against your face so air can’t get in.”

He takes the lighter from Sam’s hands, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that their hands are overlapping. He keeps it there though.

“I’m gonna light it for you, you ready?”

Sam nods, making eye contact, a sliver of nervousness and.. something else Seb can’t quite make out on his face. Sebastian flicks the lighter and Sam seemingly knows to start to breathe in. He lets the glass fill up about half way with smoke, then takes the metal piece out, letting Sam breathe it in.

He thinks the kid is just about going to die with how hard he coughs. He lets himself laugh this time, smacking him on the back telling him the burning will pass.

“Fuck- how do you- do that so often?” Sam manages between coughs.

“You get used to it. Promise. Tell me if you don’t feel right. We can go home.”

“I don’t really.. feel anything. When does it like kick in?” He clears his throat, which now feels a little strange.

“Give it a second.” Seb mumbles.

Upon realizing he hadn’t gotten a hit of his own, Sebastian takes the bong from Sam’s hands, taking a long hit of his own, puffing the smoke. Sam watches as the smoke fades away all around them, feeling different than before.

He watches as Sebastian’s face relaxes, a little jealous that it seems to have a sudden affect on him.

“Can I have another one?” He asks.

“Jesus, Sammy. Thought you’d be a lightweight.” Sebastian hands him the bong again. “One more. After that wait a few minutes.”

Sebastian lights it again for him, making sure he doesn’t get way too much smoke. Sam coughs for another minute again.

Sebastian takes another hit himself, gently setting the glass on a flat piece of earth where he hopes it won’t tip.

They sit in silence for a while after that. Just watching the lights of the valley flicker on as the sunlight starts to fade. He almost thinks Sam might be immune to marijuana until he hears little giggles coming from beside him.

“You ever notice how when Kent gets mad that little vein in his neck really pops out.” Sam laughs.

Sebastian can’t help but laugh out loud. Fuck his neck vein really does pop out. Sam is definitely high.

“You feeling good there buddy?” Seb asks, which just makes them both crack right up again.

“I can’t believe you hid this from me this entire time.” Sam huffs, faking dramatics.

“You could’ve just asked, dipshit.”

“I think I might love weed.”

Sebastian makes the critical mistake of looking over at Sam who looks.. so fucking pretty. His puffy red eyes, his slightly strewn hair and his dopey little smile.

Fuck. This is not good. Weed isn’t supposed to make your best friends lips look so.. interesting.. yeah that’s the right word, interesting. Seb rips his eyes from sam, staring at the grass blade he’s picking at.

“You should bring me up here more. The stars are so much brighter than in town.”

God. This kid might actually be the death of Sebastian.

Sam lays back on the cool grass that’s now a little bit damp, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’ll be itchy later but it’s well worth the feeling he has right now. His legs feel like bubbles and he just wants to laugh. Whatever bullshit he was mad over just seems funny now. And god the stars are so damn bright. What if he could just touch them. They look like they’d feel fuzzy… he feels fuzzy.

He turns his head to the right, starting up at Sebastian who’s resting his head on his propped up knee. For some reason he wants to reach out and touch Sebastian, too. His hair looks like it feels so soft. Seb catches him starting but Sam can’t bring himself to feel embarrassed.

Sam really wishes he could put a word to what this feels like and why really really wants to be closer to him. Maybe it’s just the weed, though. Definitely just the weed.

[hsdiaries]

chapter one

3.9k words

First chapter of eight count.

mention of alcoholism, violence via boxing.

"One..."

When a man is down hard, he gets eight counts to get back up.

"Two..."

Eight counts to get his shit back together. Shake off the embarrassing blow to the face that has him on the floor in the first place.

"Three..."

Right before the halfway point, that's when you can usually tell if you're getting back up or not. Right before you hear...

"Four..."

Is when the world will finally start coming too, the dizzy feeling, fading or growing stronger.

"Five..."

Fuck. I wasn't getting up. I was the embarrassing one on the floor, knocked out by a damn check hook. I invented fucking check hooks in this city, always the one to successfully land one; never the one on the receiving end.

"Six..."

At this point, I knew I should just give up, the taste of blood filling my mouth more than I had realized. I tried to divert my eyes to my corner, shaking my head softly when I thought I finally caught Louis' eyes.

"Coach threw the towel, coach threw the towel!" I heard someone yell, the sound of the bell and the crowd bursting into roars for my opponent. It just all went black after that.

I came to eventually, the smell of old beer filling my nostrils only increasing the heavy feeling of nausea that shook my core.

"Hoo, hoo, big boy Styles is finally joining us!" I hear Louis say, his hand smacks my hip bone hard, making me wince. My hand quickly went up to swat him away, only causing more pain to travel everywhere else in my body.

"Fuck off, Tomlinson," I groaned, sitting up slowly, realizing I had been lying down in our usual booth at Birmingham's. I glanced over the table, reaching for Louis' beer and chugging it; not exactly the correct antidote, nor something I ever did but my ego was hurt. Hurt enough for me to do the one thing I never did, drink.

"He knocked you out cold bruv! He clearly watched your fights." Louis chuckled, glancing up at Brad, my trainer then back at me.

"Ha ha ha, it was supposed to be a one round fight, bruv. It never should have even gone to round two. I told you to grab me his tapes, I should have studied his technique," I shot back.

"Harry, you don't have to win every single fight to be the best, you still are. Best of anyone in this goddamn joint," Brad said, my thumb wiping the beer from my lips.

"I just lost to a fucking nobody piece of shit," I heard myself snarl, my head knocking back against the booth.

"Look, just go home, sleep it off, I already talked to the manager, you'll get your rematch and I'll get you his tapes this time," I heard Louis say, but I knew damn well that he wouldn't get me his tapes, I would have to get them myself. That's just how it worked for Louis, managing me just meant setting up the fights, not helping me with the actual work to prepare for the fight. It's why I lost tonight; I didn't have time to look for his tapes, hence, I didn't have enough time to study his fights.

I understood why, as none of this was actually legal. None of this was in any way actually professional. It all went down in the basement of Birmingham's. An old boxing ring setup by the owner's father and a bunch of stupid men thinking this is their first step to professional boxing.

Dumbasses.

All this did was help us get the anger out that was built up from childhood trauma and failed dreams. At least that's what it did for me. I turned eighteen and this seemed to be the only place I could escape all the pressures my drunken dad tried to put on me. It wasn't easy being his only support, it wasn't easy making sure our only home didn't burn down every time I left. None of it was fucking easy, even at fucking 26 it hadn't gotten easier.

This always felt easy though, boxing, fighting, knocking someone out cold. The best part was every winning fight won you a nice handful of cash. It was the only way my rent got paid, my savings grew, the only way I would ever get out of my father's hold.

Shit, I didn't win. I'm not getting fucking paid.

"Louis...I'm going to need a loan until the next fight. Unless you can get me in here tomorrow," I said, finishing off his beer, tugging at my hair.

"Harry...." he said, looking over my face.

"I know, I hate to ask. I know you paid the booking fee....I just didn't save enough. I was counting on this fight...rents due, and pops is going to–..."

"...--I got it. You're good. Just add it to my cut after you beat his ass the next time," Brad said, quickly pulling out his wallet, grabbing a wad of hundreds without counting them out. I knew it was more than what I needed. I also knew that he wouldn't let me pay him back the same amount. Brad, in comparison to Louis and I, was better off. Came from a good family, a lawyer for a father and a stepford wife of a mother. He only came around us as a way of rebelling. He also really did want to train boxers, so the tapes of my fights were his resume, his way of making it one day.

"Thanks man. Alright, Imma go, pops usually begins his first bit of hangover about now. Gotta go clean up some puke," I said, smacking Louis' shoulder as I got up, rolling up the cash and sticking it in my sock to avoid it somehow getting stolen. Chicago wasn't the worst city, but it also wasn't the best, especially at this time of night. I threw my favorite brown jacket over my shoulders, slipping my arms through the familiar sleeves, avoiding the holes so my fingers didn't snag at them making them bigger. It was a habit, more than actually trying to avoid it, just second nature.

It was a chilly spring night, there was a warmth in the air that quickly disappeared once the breeze hit your skin. It was my favorite time of the year, especially during the day. Perfect weather for running, for reading in the park, and enjoying a meal outdoors. I was alone most days, so spending time outdoors helped bring light to my life. Even though I was alone realistically, hypothetically outside, I was surrounded by people.

I walked the few blocks between Birmingham's and our apartment complex, pushing through the glass door as Richard, the lobby security, looked up at me.

"Mr. Styles, good morning," he smiled, analyzing my face that I now realized, probably looked pretty beat.

"Morning Rich, did you happen to check?" I said, tugging at my hair, licking my lips.

"Yes, he was asleep, finished a vodka bottle, but nothing looked hazardous, so I just left him. Don't think he even noticed me there." He chucked as I nodded. I bent down, taking out the cash from my sock, pulling out a hundred and handing it to him.

"I'm short the usual this week, but I'll make it up, I promise," I said, shoving the rest in my back pocket.

"Lost the fight tonight?" He asked, slipping the hundred in his jacket pocket.

"Unfortunately, I didn't make time to study his skill set, Louis didn't get me what I needed," I shrugged, my hands slipping in my jacket pocket, fingers toying with the ripped up lining to calm my nerves. I hated losing, it made my dads drunken words to me feel real, like maybe he had a point.

Bastard child, you'll never amount to anything.

"You know, I heard Percy Maddox is holding in-person tryouts for his management. Looking to pick up new clients to his roster, I think it would do you some good to see how you measure up," Richard said, his eyebrows raised as if challenging me to come up with a good excuse as to why I shouldn't.

"Louis' my manager, I can't do him dirty like that," I said, moving to lean against the wall next to him.

"Louis is just looking out for his twenty percent Harry, and I know you know that," Richard said, a tilt to his head making me laugh slightly.

"And I'm only looking to pay rent, he and I are the same. I would have to join a team that would understand he's included in the package deal. Brad too."

"And that's why you are my boy and I help you out when I can. You understand loyalty, very few do," he smiled at me as I nodded, turning over my shoulder at the ding of the elevator. The five am crowd was starting to make their way to the gym and morning runs, things I seemed to never understand.

"Thanks, Rich. I should go though, he usually starts waking up around this time. Night!" I said, walking backwards before turning around and swinging into the elevator. I pressed four, moving my body to lean against the back, hands gripping at the railing. I couldn't wait to take a long cold shower, my muscles needing it drastically after tonight.

"Hold the elevator! Please!" I heard a voice call out, a small groan built in my chest, squeezing my eyes tighter as I heard the doors start to close, "God please it's going to take twenty years for another to come down," the voice called out again, making me sigh through my nose as I moved to quickly stick my hand between the doors, the sensors sending them back open in the opposite direction.

When I tell you, time stood fucking still, time stood fucking still when she was infront of me. I had seen glimpses of her before. Through the elevator door as it was closing on me, as she ran quickly in and out of her apartment that was right next to mine. Never had it been like this, this close, this almost felt personal. Her chocolate like hair was up in a high ponytail, draped on her golden caramel skin was maroon scrubs underneath a layered white jacket, I never realized before she was probably a nurse, maybe even a doctor. She had simple diamond studs in her ears and though almost gone, a beautiful peach touch to the blush on her cheeks. She smelled like expensive baby power and pear, two smells I never knew to be so delicious in combination.

"Are you just going to stand there or are we going up?" She questioned, snapping me out of my trance making me back into the elevator again, "And what the hell happened to your face?"

She turned to press her floor, realizing we were heading to the same, she gave me a quick once over as all I could do was stare at her face, "Are you concussed? I'm serious, you feeling alright?"

She seemed to have no hesitation as she moved towards me, causing me to move against the back of the elevator, her hand quickly pulling my eye open as she grabbed a tiny flashlight from her jacket pocket, the light flashing in my eyes finally snapping me out of being temporarily mute, "Hey, sorry, sorry, I'm fine." I said gently moving her hand from my face. "Mmm, sorry, just tired. Barely getting in," I swallowed, my hand moving to tug at my hair, swirling the longest parts at the top around my fingers.

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, "Did you get jumped or something?" She crossed her arms in front of her chest, finally backing away slightly.

"Felt like it," I chuckled, shaking my head and looking down at my shoes, the small holes at the top making me suddenly feel self conscience about my appearance. Even in her work uniform, probably after a 12 hour shift, she looked more well put together than I ever could, "But uh, no, just fell at work, knocked down some shit. I'm clumsy sometimes."

When my eyes moved back up to meet her, I saw the look of utter disbelief in my words, but the sound of the elevator doors opening as we reached our floor seemed to save me from further explanation. I pressed my lips together into a tight smile, pushing off the back wall and past her into the hall. I reached into my pockets, trying quickly to grab my keys and make my way inside my apartment before she asked anything further. I got to my door, hand on the handle when she spoke again, my eyes closing tight.

"Hey! Wait!" she called, her footsteps letting me know when she was finally right next to me, "I can treat it, clean it up and bandage it. Your eyebrow is split a bit, I can fix it, no questions asked. I just...my conscience won't let me sleep tonight if I don't help you out," her words so soft, I inhaled deeply, placing my ear to my door. My father was clearly still not awake, and my eyebrow did bloody hurt. I shifted my body towards her, biting my lip and nodding.

"Perfect, come on." She pointed her chin forward to her door, both of our bodies moving together towards it. I allowed her the space to grab her keys, starting to unlock her door, when she stopped, chuckling to herself before turning to look over at me, her deep brown eyes soft, "I'm Emilia, by the way. Figured you should know before I invite you in."

I chuckled, nodding, "Harry. Nice to meet you." I smiled to one side, before she bit her lip and led us into her apartment. It was so different from mine, neater. All the furniture matched, no burn stains or tears covered the couches. Her carpet was so white, I instantly moved to remove my shoes, her head tilting at my actions.

"You don't have to do that," she said softly, placing down her bag on the kitchen counter, slipping out of her white jacket.

"No, trust me, it's probably best I do," I placed my beat up Nikes against the wall, padding my way over to her.

"Let's move to the bathroom, the lighting is better in there." I followed her in the bathroom, finally getting a good look at myself in the mirror. My eyebrow was split like she said, blood dried up around it and my eye. My lips had minor cuts, which were the only things I was actually aware of, feeling the sting anytime I touched them, the blood taste lingering in my mouth since the fight. I sat on the closed toilet, swallowing, trying to avoid pulling at my hair again; but my nerves instantly tugged at the strands. Even her bathroom was fucking prestine, making me realize we never were going to get our security deposit back if we ever moved. She moved around her bathroom, pulling out supplies from different drawers and cabinets, finally washing her hands before moving over to me.

She grabbed a small white square package, tearing it open and pulling out a wipe, her eyes landing on mine softly, "It's probably going to sting, especially cause the bloods pretty dried up now."

Nodding at her, she moved to begin cleaning up my face, it truly did fucking hurt, my fingers pinching at my thighs to avoid me wincing like a fucking baby. I tried my best to divert my eyes from her as she worked, but it was so hard from how close she was to me. Her hands were soft against my face, her eyes so concentrated on the task at hand. I took her in, section by section. The perfectly defined cupid's bow, that made the perfect top to a heart, the hooded eyes that seemed to carry a sweet mystery, a nose that finally made me understand why they were often compared to buttons. Her eyes landed on mine as I took her in, both of us shyly looking away.

I cleared my throat, moving my gaze back down, "So are you a doctor?" I asked as she prepared the butterfly shaped bandage.

"Mm, nurse. Though sometimes I feel like I could be a doctor," she smirked a bit, a passive thought seemed to run through her mind before she shook it away.

"And you?" She said softly, grabbing the bandage, pinching my eyebrow softly as she began to apply it.

"You said no questions asked," I said softly, our eyes meeting again, earning me a gentle giggle and shake of the head.

"Touché. Well, you're all done. Try to keep it dry, don't rub on it too hard. I'll check it again later this week." She smiled, stepping back and starting to clean up.

As I opened my mouth to speak, loud thuds could be heard coming from next door. Glass shattered in the distance before a door could be heard slamming shut a few minutes later.

Good morning daddy Styles.

I rolled my eyes, realizing just how much she could hear from the thin walls of this place. I wondered how many times she heard us yell. Heard the way he insulted me constantly, my nerves making it so I tugged my hair so hard you would think I was going to go bald.

"I hear that often. Got a frisky cat?" She said, almost as if obvious to my tension.

"Yeah, Thomas the fat frisky cat," I rolled my eyes, shaking my head a bit, "I should um, probably go tend to Thomas, I think it's feeding time."

"Can't have a starved cat, never a good choice," she said, throwing away everything before quickly washing her hands again. She led me down the hall to the door, I grabbed my shoes standing up straight and glancing at her.

"Thanks again, um, Emilia," I smiled tight, watching her shrug.

"I'll need a light bulb changed or something at some point. Just, don't forget to stop by in a day or two, just so I can see if you're going to need stitches or not," she said gently and I nodded, reluctantly opening the door and walking out to quiet byes being exchanged.

I looked over my shoulder one more time at her as she closed the door, before dragging my feet to my apartment. I unlocked the door, pushing my way in, taking in the mess he had made today. Food wrappers were everywhere, cans covering what felt like every furniture piece that could hold them. I inhaled the smell of stale beer, breathing out as I heard my dads pained groans as he threw up.

"Pops, you alright?" I called out, throwing my shoes on the floor, taking off my jacket as I made my way over to the bathroom. I opened it, a painful sight as always waiting for me. He was wrapped around the disgusting toilet, his puke making it to more areas than just the bowl.

"God, pops, why do you do this?" I sighed, grabbing gloves and towels from the cabinets, starting to clean him up.

"Harrrrry I'm sory, I'mmm a meess," he slurred, my eyes rolling as if I didn't already know.

"It's fine, pops. Come on, let's get you in the shower, yeah?" I said, bracing my lower back as I brought him to his stumbling feet. I dragged him into the shower, turning the water on him, he exclaimed as the cold water hit him before it warmed. Curses seemed to be his only vocabulary. Eventually, he stood still, letting the water hit him and wash off the throw up before I pulled off his wet clothes.

"I got it," he said swatting me away, "I fucking got it!" He shoved me, my fists curling tight as I remembered his current condition. I walked out, heading into my room and stripping myself clean of all the dirty clothes on my body, covered in sweat blood and now my father's mess. I laid back on my bed, eyes close, the sheets feeling good against my bare skin, the backs of my lids playing out a vision of Emilia on them.

She smiled at me, pulling me in her apartment, arms wrapping around my neck as she pulled me into a kiss. Her fingers tangled into my hair, pulling me tighter on her lips, her tongue running against mine. I felt the damn blood rushing to my prick, my stomach knotting up as she invaded my thoughts further; imagining what her skin would feel like pressed against mine.

My hand began to crawl down my stomach, over the shaft of my cock, wrapping my fingers around myself. That's as far as I got before I heard the loud thump on the floor snapping me out of my dirty mind.

"Fuck!" I yelled out. I yelled out because I hated that I just met her and my mind was already in such a dirty place with her. I yelled out because I was tired of this fucking life I was living. I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around my waist tightly, making my way over to see my dad stumbling out of the bathroom, pushing past me. He walked into his room, stumbled onto his bed naked and was out the moment his body hit the bed.

I sighed, shaking my head and making my way to the bathroom, finishing my clean up before getting in the shower. I felt the water hit along my body as I washed up, planning out what tomorrow would be like when I finally woke up. What bills I had to make sure got paid before I could buy groceries to last the week. I needed to find tapes on this guy's previous fights, study them until I knew he's footwork like a dance.

I needed to not let my mind wander to dirty places with Emilia.

I carefully washed my hair and face, not wetting my bandage before finally getting out and drying up, changing into clean clothes. My stomach growled as I made my way through the living room, picking up the mess I knew would just be back tomorrow. I was starved, but unfortunately when I opened the fridge, there was nothing inside. I sighed, closing my eyes and deciding that I would just have to sleep it off.

A knock came from the door, my eyes narrowing as we never had visitors and all my packages were delivered to Brad's. I walked over, opening the door slightly seeing no one around. As I moved to close the door, I noticed a foil wrapped container on the floor, my eyebrow raising slightly. I opened the door, bending down to pick it up, a small note taped to the top. Closing the door with my hip, I opened up the note, writing with tiny letters and big swoops read:

"Made too much mac and cheese for just one person, hope you can eat cheese."

— E

My lips pursed, trying to stop the smile that began in my cheeks, aching from the need to let my lips spread. It was something so simple, so sweet, but I hated that it made me feel pitied. I quickly shook the thought, grabbing one of the two good forks that we had and settling on the couch. I took a forkful in my mouth, my eyes closing at the cheesy goodness. My stomach thanked me for not making it suffer through the night.

I finished, feeling so thankful for the nurse next door and her beautiful kindness tonight.

[pianocat939]

Unjust Punishment: Prologue

I love 2nd person, and no one can do anything about it-

Summary: Art block is a bitch, and your dumb self went out to the woods to paint a few landscapes. But of course, some crazy things happen *ahem* feral horse *ahem*, and you end up nowhere near where you were.

Tw: implied attempted murder, attempted beheading, MC gets so tired they're a bit delirious

Word Count: 1.1 K

Taglist: @dewdropthesimp @msvanillabean (Inbox or comment if you want to be added-)

This mountain fucking sucks. You aren't at all an active person, but this is just pure torture; scaling up the path while your ankles are halfway dead. At least you could see the top now, maybe another 15 more minutes of pain.

Finally, after reaching the top, there's a feeling of relaxation. No more coughing and wheezing like someone with Tuberculosis. You turn to admire the view before you: every tree top, every bird, and every bush. It simply maybe was worth your struggle. The sight is wonderful and gives great inspiration to your clouded mind.

Being an avid landscape painter, you had a fair share of going on different trips to paint the view. But this time around, a block had been in your way, and you haven't been able to wave the brush like you usually could. So what better than to spend a few days on the mountain, and paint whatever you see? It's a truly great method to pull you out of the entangles of no creativity.

You settle your luggage somewhere, only taking your easel and canvas. After setting up the items, you dig around for your paints, finding them shoved into the bottom bag. Vermilion, Prussian Blue, that ugly bastard yellow that no one likes but is also crucial for shadows...You have them all.

You take out a pencil and do a rough sketch of the landforms of the scenery before taking a light blue and painting over the entire canvas as the initial background. Soon, you start filling in each leaf and blade of grass, making dots and sharp strokes. Your mind turns blank, as concentration fills your head in a heavy, but empty void.

——————————————————

Once the sun sets, you set up your sleeping site in a rush. You were so concentrated on your painting you forgot you're in the fucking woods with a bunch of feral creatures lurking around. Fortunately, you actually practiced once or twice getting everything ready and managed to finish in record time.

By the time it's nightfall, you're still not quite ready to sleep, so you laze around on your phone, scrolling through your latest interests. You oddly felt calm, despite being in an unfamiliar place, alone. The isolation didn't feel foreign, if anything, it was nice compared to your hectic life.

That is until you hear a neigh. You know your animal sounds. That was a horse. Confused more than ever, you glanced out the makeshift, plastic window. There was in fact a horse. You could only see its hooves, but you could tell it was a gigantic horse. Its black legs and honed clipper-clapper hooves are a bit intimidating.

Then, the horse started to dash, at full speed.

In sudden panic, you took your phone and ran, out the exit. You didn't want to be squashed by a feral horse! After reaching the outside, you head for the nearby path, carefully skidding on the downhill parts. The horse was still running after you, and it freaked you out. Equinophobia was so real. As soon as the path was flat, you turned your direction into a zig-zag formation, trying to confuse the horse.

When you passed a tall pine tree, an object came flying at you, barely missing your head. You felt your heart stop, and your mind go blank for a split second. It was an axe. A fucking axe. First the feral horse, and now flying axes? Your night just went from peaceful to an absolute murder chase. You were basically running on adrenaline and nothing else as you dashed.

The moon illuminated the surface, bright and shining in a silvery colour. If it weren't for the fact you're trying not to collapse and freak out, you would have found the moon another lovely view to paint. Now that your frazzled mind leads back to awareness, exhaustion is really kicking in. You can't even hear the clapping of the horse's hooves anymore. In a desperate attempt at security, you leave the route, sitting on the nearby grass within the shadow of the trees.

You're already witnessing some stereotypical horror story not even five hours in. At least you didn't have to call the emergency number. Maybe in an hour, you can wander back to your settlement and go back home. You missed your bed; your wonderful bed.

"Hey...Are you ok?" A distant voice called, bringing you out of your thoughts.

You blinked and glanced behind your shoulder, deciding whether the voice was a threat, or not. It didn't sound hostile in fact, it felt familiar. Like someone you knew. You stood up, the slight ache in your knees more prominent than ever.

"Are you lost? Hurt?"

You slowly climbed the hill, eyes wide in curiosity as you approached to the source of the voice. You weren't lost or hurt, but something strange and eerie about the calling made you want to see the person behind it. You heaved yourself up the hill, using your abilities to your best. You aren't an athlete, nor an athletic person. You're a painter for fucks sake.

After a few moments, you call out, responding to the message, "Hello? Is someone up here?" You don't know exactly what you were doing, but you hoped for the best. The scare you had earlier made your heart crave comfort. This stranger probably just had a similar voice to someone you knew, but in a way, your body automatically wanted to go towards it. You notice a figure through the thin silhouettes of the trees. Your pace picked up a bit as you waddled through the grass.

The person turned their head, making a lovely smile. They were in a perfect pose, sitting on a spacious boulder underneath the moonlight. The sight was almost like a perfect shot from a movie. Your eyes picked up the shade of Rouge painted across their lips. The deep red highlighted their features nicely.

But in a flash, the person disappeared. Before you could even utter a word, your body tumbles back down the hill; bumping into every rock and twig in sight. It was painful at every impact. Your spine and head pounding terribly. What had happened? You couldn't muster any thoughts. All you could remember was the image of the lipstick.

You landed on the flat ground not long after. You're too exhausted, too out of it to bother sitting up. You just mindlessly stare at the sky, a few twinkling stars laughing upon your pitiful state. Wow, the phrase "Karma is a bitch" has never been more apparent than ever in your life. You should have listened to your close ones about not going out to the wilderness alone. Well, what could you do? You hoped no serial killer would hunt you down. You're tired. You need sleep. Getting murdered can happen another day for you.

You close your eyes...

——————————————————

WOWWW I ACTUALLY GOT SOMETHING DONE FOR ONCE-

Literally this is probably more confusing and disorganized than it is logical, but hey- my little brain tried lmao

Originally, I was gonna make this a much longer part, (as in including Mikey's introduction) but because of how busy my weekend turned out I had to cut it short.

Fun fact: all the weird shit that goes on in this part is a foreshadowing of the upcoming weirdos haha- I'm so smart /sarc

Well- that's all I got for now. Goodbye world as I turn dead for a whole week and come back to life later-

- Celina

[littlemissaddict]

Backfired - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: As she avoids Eddie as she fears she's ruined their friendship, Eddie begins to worry that she's just like everyone else - ashamed to be seen with him. Follow on from Psycho.

Word Count: 2883

"Dustin" she tried to keep her voice from shaking as she approached the younger boy at his locker, Eddie's checked shirt from the night before folded neatly in her hands, a tightly folded apology note tucked into the chest pocket that the curly haired boy didn't need to know about.

He smiled happily as he turned to face her, closing his locker in the process. Clearly given the look on his face he hadn't heard yet about what went down last night because he would definitely be asking her about it right now. "Can you give this to Eddie for me and tell him that I'm sorry" she asked quickly, thrusting the shirt into his hands and while he was distracted by looking down at the shirt, she made her escape to avoid the impending questions he was bound to ask.

She was halfway down the hallway when she heard him shout her name but she didn't look back, instead pressed forward quicker to get to her first class and she slid into her seat just as the late bell rang.

By the time lunch came she was exhausted after having carefully planned routes to get to class in hopes of avoiding Eddie and more so Jason after her display the night before, and after successfully being the last one in and first one out of class she had managed to do so. Sighing in relief as she settled herself in the back corner of the library, feeling like she could breathe for the first time today because there was no way anyone would come looking for her in there but it also meant she was free from whispered rumours and judgemental looks from peers, most of which hadn't even been there and yet were still sprouting lies about her.

Lunch for Eddie was a very different matter entirely, he hadn't even been able to walk through the doors of the cafeteria before Jason and his goons were on him. The hateful nonsense about him he could handle but the names they were calling her were downright disgusting and none of which was true, so to say he was relieved when he reached the sanctuary of the Hellfire table was an understatement.

Or it was until Dustin arrived, practically throwing the checked fabric across the table to him with a look that said 'what did you do' that Eddie's breath faltered, she'd spoken to Dustin and avoided him all day so it couldn't be good. “You fucker, what did you do?” Dustin said, rather too loudly for the cafeteria and drew even more attention to their table than usual.

“You don’t know?” Mike asked from his usual seat beside the curly haired boy and when Dustin shook his head in response the whole table stared at him as though he had two heads, which was a look he was accustomed too but not from his friends.

“So you haven’t heard the rumours” Jeff asked, again Dustin shook his head no.

“So what the fuck do you know” Eddie huffed, he was getting agitated now because the girl he’d had a crush on had kissed him and then ran off and now here he was getting his shirt returned by a know it all freshman who normally he was quite fond of but now was pissed at.

“I know that she was meant to play with you guys last night and now this morning she looked like all she wanted to do was cry so I’ll ask again what the fuck did you do?” Dustin uttered, his frustration seeping into every word as his eyes narrowed on Eddie.

“That’s the thing he didn’t do anything” Gareth urged, jumping to Eddie’s defence as Dustin muttered what sounded like bullshit. “Seriously she got up on stage, she sounded amazing and then at the end she kissed him before running away, we didn't even know she was going to do it” he continued, sparing an apologetic glance towards Eddie for making him relive it again.

“You must have been a really bad kisser then to make her wanna cry” Dustin deadpanned before groaning as Mike’s elbow digged painfully into his ribs, although he wasn’t surprised to find out that she had kissed Eddie, to him it was clear to see that each of them had fallen for the other.

The sound of Eddie’s hands slapping the table drew their attention, “You don’t get it do you? I’m The Freak she’s probably upset because she regrets ever associating herself with me and the whole kiss thing I bet that was only to get back at Jason because let's face it a girl like that is never going to like a guy like me” he ranted, pushing himself away from the table and stalking off out of the cafeteria with his lunch box in one hand and shirt in the other.

Principal Higgins calls out to him as he makes his way to the exit but Eddie doesn’t stop, doesn’t even acknowledge him and he knows come tomorrow he’ll have detention but he doesn’t care, he just wants the day to be over with. He only breathes a sigh of relief when he’s climbing into the van, throwing everything onto the seat next to him apart from the shirt which is clutched tightly in his hand still and before he can stop himself he’s burying his face into the worn material, tears pricking at his eyes when he gets a whiff of her perfume that seems to be woven into the fabric after just one wear. Why did his life have to be like this? Everyone always left him, was ashamed of him and he just wanted her to be different. Well she was different but she proved to be just like everyone else in the end.

He couldn’t do this anymore, sick of feeling sorry for himself he threw the material into the back of the van, he’d deal with it later and probably burn it as he couldn’t stand the sight of it anymore. Starting the van he turned the radio up as loud as it would go, hoping the heavy metal would drown out his thoughts as he put the van into gear and sped out the parking lot as fast as he could, almost hitting a couple of sophomores on the way.

It was Tuesday again, a week had passed and Eddie hadn’t seen or thought about her in that time in an attempt to block out the pain that came with the memory or the sight of her. They had just completed another set at The Hideout, this one considerably less packed than the last one and as Jeff and Gareth were piling their equipment in the back of his van, they came across the shirt that Eddie had tossed the week prior and never got around to dealing with.

“Hey man, have you seen this” Jeff asked, holding the shirt up but in the dim light Eddie couldn’t see that his friend had caught sight of something in the pocket.

“Yeah I put it there” he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes and hauling the last amp into the van.

“You put a note in the pocket?” Jeff replied, confused as he pulled out a small square of paper.

“Note? What the fuck are you talking about, there is no note” Eddie scoffed pulling back only to see that Jeff wasn’t lying. “Whatever it’s probably just a fake apology anyway, you can just throw it away” he said with a shake of his head, slamming the back doors closed and trying to control his breathing as he walked around to the drivers side.

“I don’t think it’s fake man, you gotta read this” Gareth spoke as soon as Eddie pulled the door open, open note in hand that he clearly snatched Jeff and nosied his way through in the short amount of time it took Eddie to walk around the van.

“I told you I really don’t care what it has to say” Eddie tried to protest but Gareth cut him off.

Eddie snatches the note from Gareth's hands as soon as he's finished speaking, partly because he doesn’t believe it’s actually from her. He’s so sure that it’s part of an elaborate scheme the two of them have come up with just to get him to try and talk to her because they’re certain that she’s in love with him and that he’s stupid for denying it. Although one look at the writing on the page is enough to confirm that it is from her, the writing is definitely hers and far too neat to be the boys’ attempt at a forgery.

“So what are you going to do?” Jeff’s voice breaks the silence that seems to have fallen over them all as they watch Eddie read and reread the note over again, his fingertips softly tracing over each word until he’s practically got it memorised word for word.

“I have to speak to her, let her know how much of an idiot she’s been for not seeing that I like her too” he says, his tone filled with resolve as he feels the invisible weight lift off of his shoulders now he knows how she feels.

The next morning Eddie’s at school early for once as he makes it his mission to find her, although it seems that he’s not the only one looking for her as he finds a crowd of people around her locker and at the centre is her and Jason. He feels his hands clench into fists by his sides at the thought of Jason tormenting her but as he gets closer he can’t help but listen to what's being said.

“You know you’ve been a slippery one this week, been hard to find you” Jason taunts, malice evident in his voice as he speaks.

“Why would you care, I’m not yours anymore, you don’t need to keep tabs on me” she sighs, books held tight to her chest in what looks like an effort to keep some distance between herself and the boy in front of her and Eddie doesn’t blame her, Jason’s put her through enough and all she wants is for him to leave her alone.

“So are you his then, Munson’s?” Jason challenges with a smirk on his face as he already knows the answer and it only grows when her face falls and she shakes her head, “Even the freak didn’t want you, guess no one ever will” he mocks with fake sympathy and that’s all Eddie can stomach to listen to as he pushes his way through the crowd, smiling at her when he sees her eyes widen at the sight of him.

He makes his way straight for her, ignoring Jason when he asks what he thinks he’s doing, instead he reaches for her, pulling her body into his so that her books are pressed between their torsos before he cups her reddening cheeks in his hands and leans in. When he kisses her she can’t help but feel a sense of relief to have his lips on hers again, even more so because he’s initiated it but he pulls back before the panic can set in about why he’s kissing her. She’s still a little dazed from the kiss but she doesn’t miss the way Eddie turns back to Jason without letting go of her and with the uttermost confidence in himself throws a curveball that the other boy wasn’t expecting.

“Of course she’s mine, Carver. Why? You jealous?” he mocks, raising an eyebrow in question to the dumbfounded boy.

Seemingly to have remembered there’s a crowd around them he collects himself, his usually cocky smile finding its way back onto his face. “Whatever freak, she’s not all that” he scoffs, turning on his heel and stalking off, clearly stating that that’s the end of the conversation and she feels Eddie’s hold on her tighten at Jason’s words as he tries to keep himself from following him and getting into a fight.

“We need to talk” he says, once the crowd disperses and the way he says it leaves no room for arguments but she knew he was right as she nodded letting him lead her away.

They end up in the library and thankfully it’s practically empty considering how early it is but that doesn’t stop him from leading her towards the back wall, clearly he doesn’t want anything or anyone to interrupt them. He finally comes to a stop by the encyclopaedias and she can’t help the way her brain commends his choice because you can guarantee these are the books that get checked out the least and when she turns back to Eddie his expression is serious which is something that is rarely seen and it makes her worry.

“You are an idiot” he deadpans, his face giving nothing away and she bites her lip in anticipation of what’s to come, “do you know how much it hurt when you gave Dustin my shirt, I thought it was your way of telling me you didn’t want me anymore and that fucking note, I would never have found it if Jeff hadn’t been nosy enough to go through my shit” he huffs, the frustration and anger of the past week coming out before he could even stop it as his hands tugged roughly on his curls.

“I’m sorry” her voice is small as she speaks, eyes wide and pleading with him to believe that she means it. “I just I know Jason gives you a lot of shit already but then I kissed you and you didn’t respond so I thought I’d messed everything up and well I was worried Jason would treat you even worse if he knew I’d moved on because despite what he says, he’s trying to get me back” she reveals and he softens straight away. He hadn’t even thought about why she’d done what she had, he’d been too focused on believing that she was ashamed to be with him.

“We’re both idiots” he sighs, a hand rubbing over his face before he meets her eyes again and then they’re both laughing, doubled over in the back of the library and they try to come back to their senses before they have the old librarian come to tell them off.

“We are” she smiles as their laughter subsides, “but I really am sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, never wanna hurt you” she utters, vulnerability creeping back in as she goes all shy on him.

“I know sweetheart, I know” he reassures her, pulling her in again as she buries her face into his shirt and he can’t help but smile at how adorable she is. Leaning down to press a chaste kiss to the crown of her head and as he pulls away, she pulls back enough just to look at him. “You know I was serious earlier when I said you were mine, I want you to be, I wasn’t just saying it to piss off Jason though it was worth it to see the look on his face” he chuckles and he swears her smile gets even bigger.

“That’s good because I want to be yours too, if it wasn’t already obvious” she teases, fluttering her eyes innocently at him as she does so.

He shakes his head as he rolls his eyes at her but his love for her is clear on his face even if he hasn’t told her yet and he contemplates saying it but the bell goes leaving no time for anything else. As he walks her to her first class he can’t help but ask her to join the Hellfire table for lunch again, “You know Dustin blames me for all this, he’s completely convinced and won’t listen to reason” he tells her and she laughs at that.

“I knew there was a reason I liked the kid,” she says, nudging him with her shoulder as she bites back a smile as they come to a stop outside her history class.

“Yeah well maybe he’ll stop glaring daggers at me if he knows that we’re good” he adds, still hesitant to call her his girlfriend even though they’ve talked it out and she even told him that she wants to be his. As if sensing his sudden awkwardness, she pushes up on her toes as she snakes a hand around the back of his neck to gently tilt his head down before she kisses his lips softly enough that his lips tingle when she pulls away but it’s enough confirmation for now that she wants this. “I’ll see you at lunch”

“You will my love” she giggles at his dumbfounded face because of the pet name she called him as she enters the class leaving him out in the hall until the late bell rings and she watches from her seat as he snaps out of whatever daze he’s in and rushes towards his class with an adorable red flush on his cheeks.

Maybe taking the chance to kiss him was one of the best things she’s ever done, well a close second as breaking up with Jason Carver would always top the list.

[minecraftbookshelf]

Gone Fishing

Mr. InTheLittleWood I know you’re in your tags on here, walk away from this one.

(No, this isn't Marriage of State, that is still with my beta, this is something i started writing for Mermay and then semi-abandoned until these past couple of weeks.)

Mildly Dark Comedy Urban Fantasy Adventures featuring Sleep Deprived Martyn, Selkie!Scott, and Swan Maiden!Cleo and Pearl.

AO3

Rating: T on AO3

Wordcount: ~4k

Characters: Martyn InTheLittleWood, Scott Smajor, ZombieCleo, PearlescentMoon, bonus appearances by JoeHills (with accompanying breaking of the fourth wall) and Rendog.

Relationships: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss + Martyn (its not quite Divorcee Quartet imo) Background Martyn?Ren and Referenced Past Flower Husbands

Warnings: Off-screen murder and on-screen blood spatter, kidnapping, selkie tropes and the adjacent concepts

-

This is directly inspired by that one tumblr post (I'll link it if i ever successfully find it again) that starts out "swan maidens would be hella built and down for violence, actually" and ends with "a swan maiden and a selkie team up and do violence"

-

3AM calls directly after the full moon are officially Martyn's nemesis. Nonetheless, he listens to the flustered emergency dispatcher stammer through a semi-explanation of the situation. (Murder. Kidnapped mythicals. The usual. He's not even on call this week; how and why is he the only Hunter in the area?) He hauls himself out of bed, knocks on Ren's door on the way out to let him know he is leaving and grabs his keys. He pauses, halfway out the front door and texts Ren because there is no way he'll remember given that he probably didn't even wake up when Martyn knocked, deep asleep and dead to the world in a way only exhausted werewolves can manage.

It's a bit of a drive; some fancy, palace-like mansion outside town on the far side. About as far away as it can get while still being in Martyn's district.

He gets two more calls on the way over, one from the same dispatcher, one from the police on the scene, practically begging him to hurry up with all the usual frantic desperation of humans who've never encountered magic before.

He stops for coffee.

It's a right mess by the time he does arrive; multiple police complete with flashing lights. The press (complete with their own version of flashing lights) a coroners van, at least five ambulances, and an arch-fey lurking by the tree-sized bush sculpted into a pegasus.

Oh no.

Joe Hills gives a jaunty wave that Martyn returns on autopilot.

There's only one reason Joe Hills ever leaves Tennessee.

One cup of coffee is not enough to deal with Cleo.

Much less what they usually drag with them.

Maybe-if Martyn is really, really lucky-Cleo was flying solo when they got mixed up in whatever the hell this is. (Even if they tend a bit more towards arson than murder.) Maybe its just them and not any of the rest of their crew.

He slips through the frazzled crowd of medical and law enforcement personnel, taking note of the battered and sickly looking people sitting in the backs of the ambulances, all of them visibly Not Exactly Human. He recognizes the vampire in the nearest one. Her missing persons case has been sitting on Jimmy's desk at Guild HQ for almost six months now with no new leads. She's sipping on a blood packet while a nervous paramedic hovers just out of her immediate reach.

Now he just has to find someone who knows what's going on-

"Hiyaa!"

Oh no.

Scott Smajor is sitting in the entryway of the stupidly fancy house, wrapped in a shock blanket, practically beaming at Martyn around the paramedic who is very clearly just trying to do their job and is not being paid enough for this.

Martyn can relate.

Scott's smile is wide and bright, his eyes are glassy and feverish, and he's visibly shaking. There is blood spattered on his clothes. And that is just what Martyn can see around the blanket.

He should revisit that offer from the Syndicate. He's pretty sure their annual salary is double what the Guild pays. More than enough to make up for not being a strictly legal operation. Half the stuff Ren brings into their apartment would get them both imprisoned in a pocket dimension somewhere for centuries anyway, might as well go all in.

With a resigned sigh he sucks it up, sticks his hands in his pockets, and strolls up to the front steps.

"Well if it isn't our favorite friendly neighborhood black widow," he says, dry as summer in purgatory. Already piecing together the picture to form something of a complete answer to the question of 'what happened.' "Fancy meeting you here."

Scott actually has the audacity to look offended. "Excuuse you. Most of my husbands are still alive."

Based off the amount of blood spatter on his clothes and the presence of the coroners van, Martyn is going to assume that the most recent one isn't.

'Clothes' is a bit of a generous term. Scott is wearing what most people would consider appropriate-if a bit risque- for clubbing, and what Martyn recognizes as what Scott wears when he's hunting. Most strongly indicated not by what he is wearing but by one very specific and important thing he isn't. This kind of scenario usually ends in at least a week of headaches and several different levels of bureaucratic hell for Martyn that he has to deal with all on his own because Jimmy and Scott are apparently fighting or something and Jimmy reuses to touch anything to do with this nonsense with a fifty foot pole. That could also just be Jimmy deciding to be smart for once and growing a backbone at a time extremely inconvenient for Martyn in particular.

Every day, Martyn regrets getting mixed up in mythical society. If he'd known it outstripped even the smallest of small towns on the 'everyone knows everyone' front he would have run so fast in the other direction. No matter what Grian had to offer. And now he's stuck here.

"Speaking of husbands," Scott purrs, craning to look around the paramedic, ostensibly at Martyn but he's really not as subtle as he thinks in the way he scans the driveway around Martyn's car. "Where is your partner?" He's hiding it well, but his jaw is tense and his eyes pinched. It's probably been hours since he was Separated.

"So what kind of trouble did you get yourself into this time?" Martyn ignores his question and brushes past it, offering an alternate distraction he is actually willing to play along with. He does not have the energy to deal with the drama surrounding his partner and said partner's ex(?)-husband, especially when Jimmy isn't here to give a hard time over it. It already gets brought up way too much every time Scott pops up yet again, dancing merrily back and forth across the line between victim and perpetrator in yet another one of their cases.

"Are you the Guild agent?" A loud voice demands from behind him.

Martyn whirls on his heel, far more ready to trust Scott at his back than some random police. (Not that he would ever admit it.) "I am!" he responds brightly, deliberately irritating in the way he knows best. "What happened here, Officer?"

The policeman, clearly someone important by the lack of wear and tear on his...everything, pulls himself pompously up to his full, rail-thin height and peers down at Martyn over his nose. "Aren't you lot supposed to keep your rabble in check?"

Oh, its going to be like that, is it?

Martyn fixes a blandly polite smile on his face and slips his voice into something a little bit more professional. "That still doesn't answer my question. What happened here?" Behind the officer he can see Joe Hills, still lingering amongst the topiary, eyes fixed on the officer's back. Suddenly it is a lot more reassuring, knowing there is an exit strategy for the people without the protection of a government employee ID. Even if that exit strategy is one of the most dangerously unpredictable beings Martyn is aware of. Which really is saying something.

"That," The officer (Hughes, his nameplate says) jabs a finger over Martyn's shoulder, presumably at Scott. "Has murdered an upstanding citizen and has the audacity to claim immunity!"

Martyn cocks his head to the side. "From where I'm standing, you're pointing the finger at a selkie missing his skin, so yeah, there is probably immunity involved."

"Well first of all," Cleo announces their presence as they emerge from the depths of the house, trailed by a very nervous looking police officer.

They stop in the doorway to drop a bundle on Scott's head, the dark mass makes contact with his bright blue hair and unfolds to drape over him. By the time Scott has discarded the shock blanket to wrap himself in his pelt instead, Cleo has stepped past him to stand shoulder to shoulder with Martyn. They're taller than Officer Hughes, which a very petty part of Martyn appreciates. The crisp white feathers of their own skin tickle his arms as they cross their arms. There is blood spatter on their feathers.

"He didn't kill the asshole," they continue without so much as looking at Martyn. "He physically couldn't. I did. And I'd do it again."

Cleo is hardly new to scenes like this, neither are they squeamish. The combined records of the entirety of their little squad speak to that. But something about this one clearly has them rattled and angry. At least Officer Hughes is here to take the brunt instead of them turning it on Martyn.

"Chapter four of the Magical Coexistence Treaties, Section B, Paragraph 13; 'Should the autonomy of any selkie, swan maiden, or similar being be violated, any and all members of their pod/flock can take whatever measures they deem necessary to right and/or avenge the wrong and secure the freedom of the violated party or, should the victim have perished, obtain were-guild from the one who harmed them.'"  Cleo rattles off the sentences that Martyn knows by heart at this point, from the frequency he's encountered them in more or less this exact context with this exact cast.

They point at Scott. "Selkie." They point to themself. "Swan." They gesture back and forth between the both of them. "Pod, flock, whatever you want to call it. And given I just retrieved his skin from the asshole's locked personal office I think his autonomy was violated enough." Their voice is deeply sarcastic in the way that only Cleo can be. Martyn is half-surprised Officer Hughes isn't on the ground bleeding from it.

"And all that was before we found the dungeon in the basement." They turn to Martyn, brushing Hughes off with as much concern as if he were a fly. "He was a collector, apparently. And he'd been at it awhile."

Martyn looks around the assembled ambulances and their occupants with a new, more critical eye. A starved and weakened vampire, a silver-collared werewolf, two nervous and twitch sirens (wrapped in damp blankets as a paramedic with a lock-picking kit fiddles with the muzzles fitted around their faces. Martyn makes a mental note; someone with flexible skills set like that might work out at the Guild. And they can always use more medical personnel.) an emaciated naga. As he turns back two more paramedics emerge behind them, carefully wheeling out a criminally (literally) small tank containing brackish water and an insensate mer.

Oh this is going to be so much paperwork.

Martyn is very glad the guy is dead. At least that means he won't have to work on a prosecution on top of everything else.

"There's more inside," Scott says behind them. Martyn glances over his shoulder and is glad to see him looking a lot less feverish and pained than before with the return of his pelt. "I got a grand tour. He's got a dragon-hide hanging on the wall in the library and a whole hall of displayed...parts."

So much paperwork.

Jimmy had better enjoy that vacation. They'll still probably be sorting this all out when he gets back.

"He was going to put me in a concrete enclosure, Martyn, he showed me. It's so ugly. Almost as bad as the rest of his house."

Of course that is equally offensive to Scott's sensibilities as his entire free will being stolen. That tracks.

There is still an elephant in the room that Martyn hasn't sen hide nor feather of at all.

"Pearl?" He asks Cleo, almost dreading the answer.

"Left already."

Suspicious, but at least it means he only has to deal with Gaslight and Gatekeep here. Or whatever they call themselves.

This time.

Because this is not the first time The Terrible Honeypot Trio, as they are unofficially referred to at Guild headquarters, have used this exact legal loophole to go after a creep or two. The murder is outside the norm, admittedly. Usually they limit themselves to theft and arson. It's a very lucrative racket for them and they have it down to a science. Dress Scott (its usually Scott; Cleo is scary and Pearl has a stab first ask questions later policy) up, flaunt his selkie status, and dangle him in front of a bunch of rich guys and see who takes the bait.

And every angle of it is legal.

Multiple Guild members are of the opinion that, whatever their (financial) motivations they are also providing a valuable public service. Their trail of victims is also a trail of overall shitty and predatory people that the Guild can make sure get nailed for something else, whether mythical or mundane in nature.

Ultimately, given that all someone has to do to not end up as a target of 'The Three Gs' is, you know, not abduct someone, they've never had a very convincing entrapment case leveled against them. Though a few of their victims have tried.

This one likely won't be, given that his blood is currently smeared all over Scott's clothes and Cleo's face.

Hmmmmm.

Martyn squints thoughtfully at the spatter on Cleo. It's hard to tell, since they've clearly been doing things, he's not going to think too hard about what, and its been smeared quite a bit...but that doesn't look like murder spatter. That looks like adjacent to murder spatter.

Which means, given that Scott couldn't, Pearl was probably the one who actually killed the asshole.

Honestly, that tracks.

Cleo and Hughes are in some kind of stare down now, Martyn would wish the officer luck but honestly, he hopes Cleo eats him alive. He ignores the two of them and turns back to Scott, who's still sitting on the front step, leaning against the door-frame. He looks tired and is shivering a little, but winks at Martyn when he notices his attention. Getting his pelt back has cleared away most of the lingering discomfort or shakiness and as annoying as it is how unruffled he seems after having just witnessed a murder at what was very clearly close proximity, it is reassuring to have him back to his usual demeanor. Despite having made a career out of it, playing the victim really does not suit Scott at all.

"See something you like?"

Martyn snorts a laugh and nudges the discarded shock blanket with the toe of his boot. "You should probably take this back."

"Awww," Scott coos at him, head cocked to the side. "You do care!"

"It's like, 6° out and you're wearing fishnets," Martyn says, somewhat proud of his deadpan and also for resisting making a joke about how fishnets seem a bit on the nose. "It's making me cold just to look at you."

Scott rolls his eyes, but concedes enough to drag the shock blanket over his lap. "You realize I don't really get cold, right? It's like, a whole selkie thing."

"Yeah, when you're in seal form, which you're very clearly not, at the moment."

"It doesn't just go away," Scott grumbles, but tucks the blanket more securely under his knees anyway.

Martyn is going to blame his fussing on still being in post-full moon mode. He'd been throwing blankets and pillows and soup at Ren all afternoon and is going to have to pick right back up where he left off when he gets back home. Ren is notoriously terrible at self-care after a transformation.

"Right," Cleo is suddenly there, looming threateningly over Martyn's shoulder. "Martyn, can you tell this idiot that he's not going to be able to arrest us so we can get on with it all."

God, Martyn hates inter-departmental politics. He leans back to peer around Cleo's shoulder at Hughes. "They're in my custody, you can't have them."

He ignores Hughes' subsequent blustering to give Scott and Cleo his full attention. "Is there anything else either of you needs, or can we get out of here?"

The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon. Martyn has spent the past several days taking care of a worn-out and antsy werewolf he is supposed to be dead asleep right now. He will send a preliminary report into HQ (text his boss a two sentence summary) and then he is done. This can be someone else's problem until he's had a minimum of twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. The murder part has already been done anyway, what's left sounds like it is much more in Research & Preservation's jurisdiction. And Medical. He'll be sure to add a whole extra sentence to that effect.

Scott and Cleo exchange a glance and shake their heads. "Didn't bring anything," Cleo says with a shrug. "I got what I came for."

Scott kicks at their ankle but also looks kind of touched. For a second and only a second, because those two don't do sappy emotions. He then kicks the shock blanket back off and begins hauling himself to his feet. Cleo gives him a hand up and he wobbles on his high-heeled boots but stays standing. Given how shaky he still looks, Martyn is counting that as a win.

He's starting to think Scott might have been separated from his skin for more than just a few hours this time. He's usually completely shaken off the effects by the time Martyn shows up. He's never seen this level of severity.

The two mythicals wander over, Scott still holding onto Cleo's arm, pacing carefully to try and hide the way he is leaning on them for support. Cleo, being Cleo, blatantly ignores the entire situation but still slows their usually brisk stride to accommodate.

"You'll have to give us a ride."

"What?" Visions of his bed vanish before Martyn's eyes at Cleo's declaration.

"You heard me," Cleo repeats, heading towards the edge of the crime scene, Scott only staggering a little bit as he keeps up. "Now where did you park, I'm ready to be rid of this place."

Martyn opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, "Excuse me?" He looks back at the topiary Joe Hills had been standing by. 'Had been' turns out to be the important part of that sentence. "What happened to-"

"He had to go pick his kid up from school, keep up, Martyn." Cleo yells over their shoulder without looking back. "He has a schedule to keep and you took too long. HE was just here to take down the wards."

"Wards?" Martyn rushes to catch up to them. "This is the first you've said about wards. What kind of wards?"

"The kind that keep people like us out," Cleo snaps back, not slowing down at all. "What kind do you think?"

They beeline directly for Martyn's car, pull open the passenger door, and push Scott into the seat. The entire time Martyn has known Cleo, they have never given up the front seat for anyone.

Martyn wonders just how close their luck came to running out this time.

Cleo closes the back seat door behind themself  and then the two of them are looking at Martyn impatiently through the windows, as if he is the one acting weird.

There are not enough braincells in Sleep-Deprived Martyn's head to untangle all of this. He gets in the car.

He gives both Scott and Cleo a onceover while starting it. Now tthat they are out of sight of the masses, Scott is slumped against the door, face pale and eyes closed. Cleo is being very deliberately casual in a very Cleo way, and their face is pinched and the line that shows up on their forehead when they are stressed is definitely line-ing. The hand they have held up, pretending to pick dried blood out from under their nails, is shaking.

"Can we get chicken nuggies?" Pearl asks, her face very suddenly right in Martyn's.

Martyn does not yell or flail. Just for the record. And he certainly doesn't scream or jump.

Pearl just stares at him, eyes eerily blank behind her usual 'thrilled with violence' sparkle. She must have been laying down in his back seat. She's sitting in the middle now, next to Cleo, spattered with even more blood than the other two, in a way that bears out Martyn's theory on who actually killed the homeowner.

Her expression turns wheedling and she leans forward even more, propping her chin on the back of Scott's seat. "Nuggies?"

How is this Martyn's life.

"Fine," he sighs as he pulls out of the fancy big circle drive, leaving the oversized house and all its horrors behind them. "We can get chicken nuggies."

-

Ren wakes up, for a given definition of "wakes up" at...some point. Checking the clock would require opening his eyes and, between the sandy sensation and general lingering exhaustion, he doesn't really want to do that.

He can feel the sun through the curtains and his window face west. So afternoon sometime.

His stomach rumbles.

Perchance he should investigate the kitchen.

A moment of consideration and he decides it still isn't worth opening his eyes. He wraps his comforter over his head and around his shoulders as if it were a winter cape and stumbles towards the door. It takes a few moments of groping around but he manages to find the doorknob and free himself from his confines.

He can smell coffee.

Coffee and people and fast food and...blood?

Instantly set on edge, the clinging territorial instincts from the moon reaction to unexpected intruders in the home, Ren finally cracks one eye open.

Half of the sofa is taken up by a blurry white mass that, after a few blinks, solidifies into a swan sleeping on a pile of messy blankets, head tucked under one wing. A very familiar swan that is awakened enough by Ren's racket to raise their head and give him a displeased hiss, before going back to sleep, settling deeper into their impromptu nest.

His attention is pulled away from Cleo by a shuffling from the kitchen.

Pearl Moon waves at him from where she is sitting on the floor, leaning up against the partition between kitchen and sitting room, halfway through a tub of Ren's ice cream. Ren blinks back at her.

Major is sitting at the kitchen table across from Martyn, who has his face down on the surface of said table and is giving off the general smell he does anytime his emotions are best summarized as "I don't want to be here anymore."

Major looks back over his shoulder and beams at Ren, "Oh good, you're up! Come take a look at these!"

Ren shuffles closer until he can see what exactly it is the selkie has spread all over the table.

It's quite the variety, all placed carefully on Ren's good tea towels. Several trinkets of questionable origin, a cursed box of some kind that smells of fae magic, some mundane jewelry, and a small collection of potion vials. Major taps one of the un-enchanted necklaces proudly. "How would you price this lot?"

Martyn groans against the table top. "Could you at least not conduct your illegal sales in my kitchen when I'm here?"

Ren pats him on the shoulder and does his best to wake up enough to give the haul a more critical look. "Hard to say without a close examination but at least a couple thousand."

Behind him, Pearl makes a disparaging noise. "Only a couple thousand?" She says around a mouthful of ice cream. "Wow, that's cheap."

She shakes something that makes a jingling sound. "Now come look at mine!"

Martyn groans again and shoves his chair away from the table. "I'm going to go get food, if this is what you are doing now." He heads for the door.

Ren takes his chair as Pearl scrambles to her feet and joins them at the table, pulling things willy-nilly out of the pockets of her bright red jacket. He certainly wasn't planning on business on a day off when he hadn't even opened the shop, but Cleo and friends were always a good source of dubiously obtained items.

Martyn closes the front door behind him and Ren can hear him grumbling his way down the stairwell.

He can smell cheap chicken nuggets and his stomach rumbles. Hopefully Martyn brings some of those back with him.

[amazingmsme]

You're The Mouse

AN: I was having a hard time wondering just what I wanted to do for the chase prompt, and then I met Distortion Michael & the rest is history! This was an absolute blast of a fic to write, definitely one of the longer ones you'll see this month. I already miss Tim a lot so he gets a nice lil spotlight too. Posting this at 2am because I'm excited & the one time I did that it blew up. Hope y'all enjoy day 6!

It had been a long, tiring day with some rather harrowing statements he had to hear and record himself. His back ached from hunching over the desk for hours without a good break, and he felt tired down to his bones. Even his eyes felt tired, burning from the strain of staring at small font and lack of blinking. He couldn't wait to get home and crash in the couch. It was only Wednesday, which for him didn't bode well for the rest of the week.

He should've noticed the static. That fuzzy ringing in his ears that started out quiet, only to grow in intensity. If his mind wasn't so frazzled, he would've noticed that's not his usual office door.

A chill ran down his spine when he stepped through the doorway and found himself deep in the tunnels.

"Oh God," he muttered to himself, backing up and turning to run, but it was too late. The door was gone, and he ran straight into Michael's arms. Though he didn't remain there for long.

He screamed and started trashing, managing to elbow him in the stomach and stomp on his foot. Temporarily hurt, he recoiled enough for his grip to slip so Jon could free himself. He whipped around to face him once he felt there was a suitable distance between them. Although with Michael, he wasn't sure there even was such a thing.

"What the hell do you want now?" he growled, hands gripping the strap of his messenger bag tightly. Michael let out an echoing, disorienting chuckle.

"Oh archivist, I simply want some fun."

That was quite possible one of the worst things he could've said, at least in Jon's opinion. Because when Michael had fun, people usually ended up dead or insane, or in a cruel twist of fate, both.

"Maybe you should pick up a hobby, like drawing or golfing, or literally anything that involves leaving all of us alone," he suggested, though it felt more like a plea once it left his tongue. Michael let out a shrill giggle.

"You just don't get it, do you?" he asked with a tilt of his head. His wide smile was unnerving. "You're my favorite little toy."

Jonathan's face scrunched up in disgust as he looked him up and down, clearly not amused by his statement.

"Oh get your mind out of the gutter archivist, I didn't mean it like that," he scolded. "It's more like... when you were a child and you'd build fantastic cities out of blocks just so you could watch their destruction at your own hands." He took a step closer. "I'm just looking for a bit of fun amidst the chaos."

His held his hand out in front of him, reaching for Jon. His eyes widened in fear, stumbling backwards. Michael's hand distorted and stretched before his very eyes, long fingers growing in the darkness of the tunnels. Jon was already halfway down the hall.

Michael loved the thrill of the chase. He loved hearing the rapid thud of a racing heart, the panicked gasps for air as they ran for an escape. They were all the same, really, if he thought about it. Just a mindless chase through endless, winding halls that always ended victoriously. (For him, at least.)

Jon was frantic. Why now, of all days? He was so ready to walk through his front door, kick off his shoes and enjoy a nice hot frozen meal on his couch. It really was the least he could ask for, and yet, he couldn't even have that. The only saving grace was the fact that he was in the archive tunnels instead of whatever weird pocket dimension the Distortion liked to trap people in. His lungs ached as his feet pounded against the hard, dirt floor, eyes searching through the dark for something, anything to register with him and give him a clue as to his whereabouts, but it all looked the same.

"Joooon, come out come out wherever you are!" the voice was shrill and empty, the words hollowed out and stuffed to the brim with static. It echoed through the tunnels, and Jon couldn't tell where it came from, but the echo made it sound so fucking close and that sent him into a panic.

He ran ahead, ducking in a small alcove to catch his breath. He felt like he'd put a sufficient distance between them to be safe enough to do so. He gulped down air until the burn in his lungs subsided. He raised two fingers to his neck, checking his racing pulse and willed himself to calm down. Every reaction was just giving Michael exactly what he wants.

He needed to conserve his energy, move slower to remain quiet and keep his wits about him. He was pretty sure he had his bearings now, which was a plus. But if he really was where he thought he was, then they were deep in the underground maze. It took the better part of 30 minutes to even get to this point in the tunnels!

At least he knew where he was, he told himself, forcing himself to focus on the bright side of things. He walked at a brisk pace, a borderline jog really. He wanted to get out of here quickly, but he didn't want to give Michael the satisfaction of causing him to panic.

"Believe it or not, I don't want to hurt you, archivist. I simply want to have some simple, haaarmless funnn together, ehehehehehe!" His voice went shrill and warbly and distorted towards the end of his unnerving giggle so much that it became almost inaudible. And fuck, if it didn't make Jon run.

Could you blame him though? There was no way that- that thing actually meant what it said. It was absolutely going to hurt him. And it was probably going to do so in the most terrible ways imaginable.

Jon hated the deep, guttural scream that ripped from his throat when he rounded a corner and came face to face with the blonde monster.

His feet scrambled on the packed dirt and he was already turning around, but arms that were too long wrapped around him from behind, dragging him back as they retracted to a more normal length. He was screaming and kicking the air, arms fighting to free themselves.

"Shh shh shhhh, would you relax? What part of I don't want to hurt you did you not understand?" he chastised, holding a single finger to Jon's lips to quiet him. He went silent out of shock more than actual compliance.

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. Now what do you really want?" Jon demanded, mustering enough confidence to glare him down. Michael just laughed.

"Like I said, I'm just looking for some fun. You humans aren't the only ones who get bored you know," he said condescendingly. Jon remained silent.

"I tend to- peak in, from time to time, just to see how my favorite sheeple are holding up," he mused, causing Jon to visibly cringe and roll his eyes.

"Good to know there's actual reason behind always feeling like I'm being watched," he grumbled.

"Oh no, I'm not the only one, but trust me, I'm your favorite."

"Quite the opposite."

"Well, I will be your favorite," he winked and giggled to himself. "But last week, I noticed you playing with your friends. You looked soooo happy then... I'd like to make you happy like that too, Jon."

What a nice sentiment from such a not nice entity, not to mention he had no clue what he was talking about. "Bullshit, you don't want to make me happy, you want to ruin my life!" he snapped, still continuing his struggle.

"Oh, but can't I do both? Life ruining is such a long process, and I'd really like to hear that laugh in person."

Realization dawned on him the same time terror wracked his body, body going stiff and eyes bugging out. Michael cocked his head, that unnaturally large smile forming into a curious pout.

"Why archivist, if I didn't know better I'd say you look frightened," he cooed. "There's no need for that. You didn't have that look when Martin snuck up on you in the break room," he pointed out.

"You keep his name out your fucking mouth," Jon growled, and in a moment he was pressing into the Distortion's space. He had grabbed him by the shirt collar and jerked him so hard his neck snapped at the momentum, their noses almost touching. A few flecks of spit even landed on Michael's cheek from the force of Jon's rage. It genuinely took him aback before a wicked grin took over.

"Your boy toy's off limits, lesson learned."

"He's not my-" Jon cut himself off, seeing no use in arguing with him. His eyes were closed and he pressed a free hand to his temple. "Look. You said you wanted your sick fun, but all you've done since capturing me is talk. I'm a smart man, I know I can't escape this. But I'm fucking tired, and I just wanna go home, so the sooner you shut up and get on with it, the better."

There was a beat of silence, and then a shit eating grin followed by, "If you wanted me to tickle you already, you could've just said so."

"No, I want to go home you assho-" Jon cut off his own rambling mid sentence as Michael started fluttering his fingers over his sides, prompting him to clamp his mouth shut. He rolled his eyes.

"I'm doing this so I can hear that cute, funny laugh of yours archivist! The longer you hold out the longer I have to tickle tickle tickle you!" his taunt echoed off the walls. Jon flushed and hid his face in his hands.

"Y-you're sohoho fucking weheheird!" His voice pitched higher towards the end of his sentence when Michael tweaked his sides before drilling in his thumb. He tossed his head back with a discordant cackle of his own, seemingly amused by the response.

"Is that really the best insult you can come up with? How adorably pathetic!" he cooed, reaching around with his other hand to knead his belly. Jon writhed in his grip, snickering and squealing with no way to escape.

"Shut up or Ihihi'll- nohoho wahahait!" the threat died on his tongue, melting into frantic giggles. He kicked his feet in the air and gently shoved at the offending tickly hands, but to no avail. He slumped in his hold, leaning back over his arm and covered his face with his hands.

"Oh? And what exactly am I waiting for?" Michael asked, cocking his head. The way he was so calm while picking Jon apart made it all the more maddening. Those long, spindly fingers were able to work their way into every tickle spot they could find, and it was perhaps the most horrendous thing he's ever felt in his life.

"I-Ihihi dohon't knohohow!" he whined, yelping when Michael pinched and prodded at his soft tummy. "Just shuhut up!"

"Hm, I don't think I will. Especially if it gets you all worked up like that," he taunted. Ironically, he started tracing a large spiral over his stomach, closing in on his bellybutton. Jon snorted, covering his face with one hand while trying to push Michael away with the other.

"Ohoho you've gotta behehe johoking," Jon groaned through his giddy laughter, rolling his eyes.

"What? It's my signature, I simply have to," he said casually, closing in on the center of his stomach. Jon's deep chuckles morphed until they were high pitched and bubbly. He was blushing like a fool behind his hand, shrieking and wiggling in Michael's arms all the while.

~~~

Tim had the worst luck. He had been halfway home when he realized he'd not only left his wallet, but his keys as well, at the institute. He backtracked, grumbling to himself the whole time.

He hated nothing more than being alone in the archives. It was bad enough being there during the day surrounded by people, but at night when those endless halls and rooms were empty? It might as well be straight out of a horror game.

He was trying to get to his office as fast as possible, but slowed as he neared Jon's office. The light was off, and he couldn't hear talking, sure, but the door was left open. Jon never left his door open.  The sight filled Tim with dread.

"Boss? You still here?" he called out, but received no answer. He walked to the door and peeked inside, greeted only by a dark and empty room.

Maybe he just forgot to shut the door when he left, he tried to reason with himself. But none of them were that lucky, especially not Jon. Still, he went back to retrieve his things and be on his way.

Execpt that's when he heard it.

Muffled screaming. Coming from below.

Tim froze, unsure if what he was hearing was true. He bent down, putting his ear to the floor and listened.

He could just make it out.

"Please, no, have mercyyyyy!"

That was someone pleading for their life. That was Jon pleading for his life... He raced to the trapped doors.

He had the sickening feeling that he'd walk in on Elias standing over Jon's body, having killed him deep within the tunnels just as he did Gertrude. Well not today.

He descended into the tunnels, pausing when he heard frantic, hysterical screams echoing down the halls, but he could swear it sounded like... laughter. And now that he was within the tunnels, he could hear that it was undeniably Jon's.

Just what the hell was going on?

~~~

Jon knew he was going to die here, in these godforsaken tunnels. He had no way of stopping this, and Michael proved to be just as relentless now as he's ever been. And those long fucking fingers of his were absolute torture. Just one hand was big enough to vibrate over his entire stomach and still wrap around to dig  into his sides and scribble at the base of his spine. Jon was effectively in hysterics, shrieking and giggling with no end in sight.

He should hate this. Should hate that it was Michael of all people doing this to him, but an overwhelming part of him was relieved that he wasn't subjected to legitimate torture. A more foolish part of him thought that maybe Michael was warming up to them: that maybe he wasn't so downright malicious after all.

And then he felt sharp nails scratching behind both his ears, and that thought was gone as soon as it had arrived. If he hadn't been cackling so loud, perhaps they would've heard Tim calling out for Jon, telling him to just hold on, he'll be right there.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

If Jon hadn't been so preoccupied, he'd have jumped and shrieked in fright, though he was shrieking for an entirely different reason at the moment. Michael on the other hand, did startle, having been caught red handed. He almost seemed embarrassed, and dropped him like a sack of potatoes. Jon landed flat on his back, the breath being knocked out of his already breathless lungs. Tim was frozen in place, taking in the scene. He was knocked out of his daze when he saw Jon hit the ground, and he immediately rushed over to help him up.

Jon was gasping and wheezing, face red and hair messy, but he still had that rare, genuine smile on his face.

"Sorry you had to see that, I had thought the archives was empty," Michael said in lieu of an explanation.

"Yeah, it was. Good thing I had to come back," Tim snapped. Michael rolled his eyes.

"Oh please, he's perfectly fine. I didn't harm a single hair on his head."

"You fucking dropped me!"

Michael let out a shrill chuckle. "And that was a complete accident! But you can't really blame me for wanting to have my own fun with you. Especially after everyone else made it look like so much fun."

"Hey, you stay away from him! Only we're allowed to torture Jon like that!" Tim scolded weakly, but it was all he could think to say. Which just made him feel stupid when Michael continued to laugh at them.

"Oh, so you're the only ones who can toy with the archivist, is that it?" he asked tauntingly, cocking his head. Tim opens his mouth to answer, but stops short. Jon is sitting curled in a ball, hiding his face in his knees.

"No, you've got it wrong. We do it because we care about him, and want him to be happy, even if it's short lived. You do it for your own sick kicks!" Tim accused. Jon's head snapped up when he admitted their reasoning for why they always seem to tickle him out of the blue. It brought a shy smile to his face as he recovered from the ordeal.

"... Well that's a rude assumption. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

Tim snorted, "My point exactly." They were all quiet, the three of them engaged in a bit of a stalemate. "Aren't you going to show yourself the door?" he boldly prompted. Jon choked on his own spit in shock.

Michael's smile widened. "You know, I wasn't quite finished yet. And I'd hate for you to feel left out," he playfully threatened, and his limbs stretched ever so slightly as he spoke. Tim took a step back, eyes wide. Jon was just now making to stand, and pointed at him sternly.

"No." He stood up and dusted himself off, glasses askew on his face. He straightened them and cleared his throat. "Haven't you had enough? You leave him, and everyone else alone." And just because he knows better than to trust Michael, added, "That includes me too."

"I'll think about it. It'd be easier if you weren't so fun to tickle. Isn't that right Tim?" Michael asked, even winking at the pair. Jon blushed and turned away, and Tim failed to fight back a smile.

"Heh. Right." He shook himself out of it, glaring at Michael as he stood by Jon protectively. "B-but you just mind your business."

"Ha! Unlikely, diet archivist."

"Hey!" Tim snapped at the insulted and Jon stifled an amused  snicker. He was just about to give him a piece of his mind when Michael opened a door that hadn't been there a second ago, standing in the doorway.

"Until we meet again," he waved at them, closing the door behind him, leaving them stunned and alone.

Now that Michael was gone, Tim turned to Jon with a teasing smirk. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'll be fine. I'm honestly... more confused than anything." Tim barked out a laugh and patted his shoulder.

"You and me both."

They began their trek out of the tunnels, walking side by side quietly until Tim broke the silence.

"So, what's it like being tickled senseless by the Distortion?" he asked in a teasing tone. Jon flushed and shot a glare his way, but he had that happy, sheepish grin plastered on his fast, just like every other time they wrecked him.

"Oh, should I have let you find out for yourself?" Jon quipped to mask his own embarrassment.

Tim looked down with a faint blush. "Fair point." A beat, and then, "You know we have to tell the others, right?"

Jon choked on his own spit, and Tim stopped walking to give him a moment. He looked at him expectantly, while Jon looked at him with a floored look.

"Are you joking?" he asked.

"As much as I wish I were, no." The shit eating grin on his face said otherwise. "You heard what that thing said. We're all fair game in his eyes." Jon gave a noncommittal hum. "They deserve a bit of a warning, don't you think?" It was true, but he didn't have to be so damn smug about it.

"Yes," Jon begrudgingly agreed through a growl.

"Think it might be best if you made a statement. You know, so we have an accurate account for the record."

Jon groaned and hid behind his hair. "I would literally rather die." Tim barked out a laugh and threw an arm over his shoulders.

"Always with the dramatics! So you're saying you'd rather tell them in person? Look them in the eyes and admit how I saved you-"

"Don't-"

"From the big bad ti-"

Jon didn't think he'd ever been so embarrassed. "Stop!"

"The big bad tickle monster named Michael!" Tim rushed out in one breath, laughing at the flustered squeak he made as he marched ahead. It took him no time at all to catch up, thanks to his long legs. "Oh come on, you know it's funny!"

Jon huffed, unable to hide his lingering smile. "Only because it wasn't you, asshole."

They continued their playful banter back and forth, unaware of the tape recorder that had appeared in Jon's pocket the moment he entered the tunnels, listening in and capturing every word.

~~~

Tim was relieved when he made it back home, slipping his key in the door and stepping inside. Strange, how he didn't seem to notice the change from handle to doorknob.

His eyes flew open when he was met with the sight of an endless, shifting corridor. He felt sick. A chill ran down his spine, his ears were ringing, his head filled with static and he stumbled in an attempt to get his bearings. There was a sinking feeling in his gut, and he felt so trapped.

Michael walked out from the nothingness, grin much too wide for his face. Tim hugged his arms to his body and stepped back, fighting an involuntary smile tugging at his lips.

"Y-you stay back! I'll fuck you up!" Tim cried, bravely putting his hands up, balled into fists and ready to swing. Michael laughed, and it was a sound that unsettled Tim to his very core. He held his hands up, and Tim couldn't help but flinch at the movement.

"Believe it or not, I'm not here to torture you. I'll save that for a rainy day," he added, chuckling at his own joke. Tim lowered his arms, staring at him skeptically.

"Okaaaay. So what the hell are you doing in my home?"

"But I brought you to my home," he corrected, and that wide grin turned just a tad condescending. Tim narrowed his eyes and set his jaw.

"Yeah, through my front door!" he argued before sighing in defeat, pinching the bride of his nose. "So what do you want?"

"I wanted to give you something." Tim perked up, looking at him in shock. He jumped and yelped when Michael was standing right in front of him. He held out the tape recorder.

"A little... souvenir from earlier. I doubt Sasha and Martin will believe you without proof." He placed the tape in Tim's hand, leaving him dumbstruck. "And I really have a hard time believing Jon will corroborate your story, don't you?"

Tim didn't know what to say. "Um... thank you?"

Michael winked at him. "You're welcome." And because he couldn't help himself, he skittered his fingers over his belly. Tim jerked back with a surprised laugh, a blush and a growing look of fear on his face.

"Relax. Like I said, rainy day."

He gave him a small wave and opened a door off to the side and left. Everything melted into his flat, and he was safe in the middle of his living room.

~~~

Jon walked into work the next day as if it were any other, eager to forget the events of last night. He went to the break room for a cup of coffee to start the day and walked in to see Sasha, Martin, and of course, Tim, huddled around a tape recorder. They all wore a look of concern. Well, except for Tim.

"What're you listening to?" he asked. Sasha and Martin jumped out of their skin when they heard his voice, whipping around to meet him. They looked rather guilty, but more concerning, they looked worried.

The next thing he knew, Martin was hugging him.

"I'm sorry, what's-" A voice on the tape interrupts him.

"Joooon, come out come out wherever you are!"

"I-I'm so sorry, we left you here alone, and Tim said Michael got you and-"

"Did he now?" he asked, cocking his head.

"Now Jon, is that any way to speak to your knight in shining armor?"

"Oh please, you're not my bloody knight." He spoke over the sound of his own erratic breathing and feet pounding against hard packed dirt.

"Were you even gonna tell us Michael attacked you?" Sasha asked, brows furrowed with worry. "Because I really doubt it."

Jon floundered for an answer, face going red. "Um- it- look, it really wasn't as serious as Tim undoubtedly made it seem." He glanced up at his smiling face and said, "Would he really be grinning like that if it was?"

Of course, as soon as they looked at him, he schooled his features into a serious expression, but they each caught a glimpse of a fading smirk.

"Okay what's... what's happening right now?" Martin asked, looking between the two.

"You wanna tell them yourself Jon? Or uh, let the tape do the talking for you?" he asked, holding up the tape.

"Shh shh shhhh, would you relax? What part of I don't want to hurt you did you not understand?"

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. Now what do you really want?"

Jon refused to meet his friends' gaze as he spoke over his previous conversation. "Look, I'm fine. He didn't hurt me, didn't psychologically scar me, the only thing damaged was my pride."

The tape played on in the background as Jon tried to explain himself. Michael's endless talk of having fun did nothing to calm Sasha and Martin's nerves for past-Jon. "I-I don't really know why he t- uuh, did what he did, but he seemed almost... friendly isn't exactly the word I'd use, maybe tame? Toned down?" That was about the time Michael mentioned the rest of them, and how they all "played" with Jon. A hesitant smile ghosted over Sasha's lips as she thought she knew what he was hinting at, and judging by Jon's reaction, she might be right, but there was just no way... Was there?

"Jon, did Michael-"

"Yes," he cut her off before she could finish the sentence. "Yeah, he uh, said you all made it look like fun, so he decided to try it out," he said, staring at the faded break room carpet.

"Wait, so it's our fault?" Martin asked, and Jon immediately felt guilty for saying it like that.

"No! God no, you guys are just trying to make me loosen up. Michael's just... morbidly curious."

"Right," Tim agreed, suddenly more serious. "He uh, told me he was waiting for a rainy day. So obviously, he has his sights set on all of us. Which is... unnerving to say the least." He locked eyes with Jon, a soft smile on his face. "So I'm not just doing this to fuck with you. But that is an excellent perk!" Jon couldn't help but chuckle. "But I thought everyone deserved a bit of a heads up. And maybe ease some worry while I'm at it." "Where'd you even get this?" Jon asked, pointing at the recorder just as his own bubbly giggles  started pouring out.

"Michael gave it to me."

"Very funny." When Tim's expression didn't change, his jaw dropped, "You're serious."

"Where else would I have gotten it from?"

"Fair point."

A loud shriek followed by shrill cackling and snorts emitted from the tape. All heads snapped over to look at him with amused grins and fond expressions.

"Right. Well, I lived through this once already. No need to stick around for a second time," he said, cheeks burning from embarrassment. He paused in the door. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this, am I?"

"Not likely."

"Nope!"

"Absolutely not."

He gave a curt nod, lips pursed together. "Thought so."

[z-shalltear]

Hoiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Shalls hehe

Can I request tiny drabble of a darling falling asleep on Knox's shoulder while hanging out? They were super excited so didn't sleep much and then the moment they sit down next to him... 😴

I dont remember how I did my formatting so im winging it forgot halfway mc was supposed to fall asleep on their shoulder oops

A small nudge on your shoulder makes you jolt. Trying to blink away the exhaustion that clouded your head, you look up at Knox who laid next to you. His hair laid loose on his shoulders and part of you wanted to reach out and run your hand through it. The two of you sat cuddled up next to eachother, watching your favorite movie he insisted on you picking out.

"Y'alright?" His scarred hand reaches out to brush against your cheek. You lean into his touch without another thought, happy that they weren’t covered with the usual leather gloves he preferred to wear.

"We can stop here if ya feel too tired." He glances around for the remote.

“No-no, I’m alright. Promise!” You insist, shaking your head. You didn't want to waste the day- moreso night, the two of you finally had together.

Knox's schedule had been hectic for the past week. Taking up various odd jobs that ended up dragging into various days, making him practically unavailable for the week. After managing to find a day you two would be able to spend time together, you were determined to make the most of it. Knox gives you a long look, pulling you closer to have you lay on his chest. The new position was a welcomed changed, happy to be closer to Knox but part of you wondered if you would be able to fight away sleep while laying on his comfortable chest.

Rather than his usual rough outfit, he had swapped them in exchange for a pair of sweatpants and a soft black tank top. "If you insist." He hums, hand resting on the curve of your back. His other hand adjusts the blanket, pulling it over you and enveloping you in a cozy warmth from both sides. He draws small circles on your back as the both of you return to watching the movie.

For a portion of the movie, you were able to fight off the exhaustion hitting you as you relaxed in his arms. But as it began nearing its end, you began to drift off to your very much needed slumber.

You were snoozing away in Knox's arms before you knew it. Slipping away into a deep slumber, you feel something soft press against your head for a brief moment.

~

Knox smiled down at your sleeping form, pressing a kiss atop your head.

💛

[gumnut-logic]

Because it is that time of the year again, I just can't help myself :D

-o-o-o-

Looking back, it really could have happened to any of them. Hell, now it had happened once, it was even more likely it could happen to any of the rest of them, but of course it had to be Virgil and, of course, it had to happen a week before Christmas.

Fortunately, not only Gordon and Alan, but also John was aboard Thunderbird Two when her pilot folded in half with a groan. The great green behemoth responded to his touch and for a second there, the whole ship tipped sideways.

Alan lost his hard-earned sandwich, and Gordon, who had been half asleep in the co-pilot’s chair, despite the coffee he had consumed not five minutes ago, received an adrenalin spike that was well used in the next half an hour or so.

It had been a hard week. Australia was on fire. Every year the drought dried continent suffered and every year International Rescue did all it could to help. Brains had even designed some specialised equipment, deployed through Tracy Industries to help dampen the eucalypt fuel load, but the change of climate over the last hundred odd years had done its damage and the ecosystem suffered for it.

It was painful to watch.

And tiring to fight.

John had taken to coming down not only for Christmas, but for the fires. He had developed a communications network, tied into TB5, to help coordinate the fire services of the country and pin point the hot spots. At the end of the last outbreak, Gordon had been gobsmacked to find his usually reclusive brother sprawled in a chair beside the Australian Fire Defense Network chief, beer in hand, swapping stories.

It had helped that the chief was the middle of five himself and a communications specialist pushed into management. There was much commiseration.

But none of the past really foretold this little hiccup.

Later when Gordon referred to said incident as a ‘hiccup’, Virgil’s eyebrows had frowned so much, they’d physically climbed off his head and slapped Gordon around his.

Or it could have been Virgil’s hand. Gordon was too busy ducking to really identify the body parts his brother was using.

So, with three brothers aboard, Virgil had plenty of back up.

Gordon was fully awake and stabilising Two before he had even had a chance to draw in a breath. They were halfway across the Tasman Sea, finally on the way home for a well-deserved break.

“Virgil?” John was out of his seat and moving towards the pilot.

“Uh, I’m okay.” The man straightened, still in his silver firefighting suit, minus the helmet. A quick look in his brother’s direction and Gordon could see it was all a lie. Even through the soot on Virgil’s face, his brother’s complexion was pale, almost green. “Just a stitch.”

“Doesn’t look like one from here, bro.” Gordon frowned as John gently nudged Virgil back in his seat. The pilot closed his eyes and lay back, his shoulders dropping just a little. John reached over to the console and flicked a couple of switches. Virgil’s vitals sprang up in all their holographic glory.

Even Gordon could see something was seriously wrong. “You have a fever. What the hell, Virg?”

His brother stared at his stats and frowned. “Just thought I was hot.”

No surprise considering the conditions they were working in.

John sighed. “Your suit has active refrigeration, Virgil, you know that. You should be the coolest of all of us.”

If it had been a different situation, Gordon would have then started a ‘discussion’ on who exactly was the coolest or the hottest of the brothers. As it was, another groan from his engineer brother killed all conversation other than medical concern.

“What is it?” John disengaged Virgil’s seat from the dash, pulling it back and giving him access to his older brother.

“My side.” Virgil’s eyes were squeezed shut.

His lower right side.

Five minutes later and Gordon was beelining Two to the nearest hospital, which turned out to be Auckland near the northern tip of New Zealand.

Less than an hour later, Virgil had his very angry appendix removed.

Of all things.

For the past three days, it had been a mixture of firefly pod and fire exo-suit. His brother had been tossing about massive hoses, shifting huge amounts of timber, excavating firebreaks and water bombing from Two.

Apparently, all while suffering from appendicitis.

When Scott arrived on scene, he was a walking facepalm.

When Virgil woke up, it was all kind words for the first hour or so while he recovered from the anaesthetic, but after that, the tongue lashing Scott delivered was enough to strip the paint off the walls of Virgil’s hospital room.

Grandma ended up dragging the man from the room.

Everyone was quiet after that.

No one liked it when Scott got scared.

Least of all Scott.

But even Gordon had to agree that his eldest brother had a point. Appendicitis wasn’t something that didn’t come with symptoms. Virgil admitted that he had noted some pain, but he had been busy. There had been more important things.

Scott’s response to that was only suitable for mature audiences.

Gordon couldn’t help but agree after having to watch his brother writhe in pain on one of his own hover stretchers while they had been on approach to Auckland.

But it had happened when it had happened and everyone was safe, Virgil included. There were much worse scenarios available considering their occupations and the entire family was grateful it had turned out best it could.

Scott was still livid, though, likely because the man was exhausted. They were all exhausted.

Grandma eyed all of them in turn, cornering each of them in their hotel rooms. It didn’t take her more than half a day to conclude that International Rescue needed a well-earned break. Virgil’s illness made a great excuse and her meeting with Scott was short, sharp and to the point.

The Commander of International Rescue contacted the GDF not long after, advising their aunt that their organisation would not be available for the next week. Eos was tasked with redirecting emergency calls after Grandma grabbed John by the scruff of his neck and with an equally sharp word in his ear, grounded the spaceman beside his brothers.

Virgil received a few glares, but the tired man just rolled over awkwardly and went back to sleep. Apparently, he agreed with Grandma.

Always did, the big Grandma softie.

Except perhaps with her cooking, but that led Virgil to being the biggest victim in that department because despite his incapacity to lie, he would do anything for the woman.

Virgil was released from the hospital a day after his surgery and they helped him back to their hotel rooms and set him up with the holoprojector and an appropriate stash of snacks and engineering journals. Kayo even bought him a sketchbook and an array of art materials.

For two days, the brothers hung out with him or darted out to the shops for convenience’s sake. Copious amounts of takeout were consumed, a treat they were often denied on the Island. But ultimately five usually very active men got very bored very quickly.

They couldn’t go home, because Virgil wasn’t allowed to fly. His operation excluded air travel for at least seven days, which meant, to add insult to injury, they would be stuck on the mainland for Christmas Day.

Their first Christmas off in who knew how many years, and they couldn’t even share it at home.

John distracted himself by linking in with Eos and helping out with emergency calls...until Grandma discovered him and rounded on both him and Eos with the ire Scott had managed to inherit.

Both father and daughter behaved after that, Eos a little stunned at the power of the eldest Tracy.

Alan dove into his computer games and hermitized. Gordon could only swim so much, so resorted to pranking Alan, which ended up in the brawl of the century and half the penthouse draped in toilet paper.

Scott turned to Tracy Industries and began phone calls that lasted hours. Virgil sent Gordon to chase him down.

Scott quite frankly ignored him, which led to Virgil hauling himself off the couch and doing the chasing himself.

That led to a screaming match that ended with both men pale when Virgil twisted angrily and groaned as he pulled at his stitches.

The atmosphere plummeted after that and the whole penthouse floor deteriorated into a sullen gloom.

It was shaping up to be an ass of a Christmas.

Until Gordon had an idea.

-o-o-o-

We'll be Home For Christmas

[chaotic-super]

The Sweater Curse

Here's a little SuperCat fic as part of the Mods' collection of example fics for the Supergirl May-hem event!

AO3 Link!

-

Kara closes her eyes, letting the relaxing clicks of her knitting needles lull her into a state of pure relaxation, her muscle memory taking over so she doesn’t have to fight her droopy eyes.

She’s almost halfway through the sweater. A lovely blue that she’s sure Cat will love. She spent hours scouring the internet for a pattern befitting of the Queen of all Media. She spent longer looking for a pattern than she’s going to spend on the damn sweater. After all, she can’t make a sweater for Cat that Cat will call “so last year”. That would be a crime. At least, Cat would declare her a criminal. Though, if it means handcuffs— no.

Letting the rhythm continue until she reaches the end of her row, she looks down at the sweater and sighs before giving up on the slow pace she set. Cat will be home in an hour or so and she doesn’t want to gift her a half-made sweater.

Speeding up and using a moderate amount of her superspeed so she doesn’t accidentally rip her working yarn or the stitches, she speeds her way through it, finishing the front and back in no time and starting on the sleeves right away, already dreading the end where she has to stitch them all together. That’s always her least favourite part. Cat is worth it though.

If there’s one thing Cat loves talking about when they’re having a relaxing day at home, it’s the new pieces she’s managed to snag online or from fashion shows. She’s always hearing the descriptor ‘one-of-a-kind’ thrown around, so Kara figures that if she makes a sweater for Cat, it’ll definitely be a one-of-a-kind piece. She should love it.

Laying out all the pieces in front of her, she looks them over with a careful eye, searching for imperfections so she can fix them before she puts them all together. Upon deciding that it’s good enough for her girlfriend, who hates being called that because it “doesn’t sound like something you should be calling a woman of my age. I’m your partner”, Kara starts the process of finally stitching it together, hating every moment of it but enjoying the feeling of making something for Cat.

Finally, she holds it in her arms, finished and carefully looked over one last time for imperfections. There are none. She’s going to love it. She thinks about wrapping it too. Cat has always loved a gift, but her phone rings, breaking her out of her train of thought.

“Hey, Alex.”

“Hey, will you be free tomorrow for a movie night?”

“Yeah, why? Is something wrong?”

Alex snorts down the line. “Nothing has to be wrong to make me want to spend time with you, you know that.”

“Yeah, but usually you plan a week in advance, not the night before.”

“Ok, I might have eaten all the chips in my apartment and would rather raid yours than go and buy my own.”

Kara flops back on the couch, one way too expensive for flopping onto, and cradles the sweater to her chest. “So the truth comes out, huh? You don’t actually want to see me. You just want to use me for snacks.”

“Hey, I prefer you over the store. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“Yeah, that you’re an ass.”

Alex cackles down the line, and Kara rolls her eyes, grateful that Alex can’t see her smile. “I’m making you watch a musical with me.”

“Anything but that.”

“Two musicals.”

Alex chuckles. “Whatever you want. Now, what are you doing? I’m bored and Sam doesn’t get home for another two hours. She and Lena are caught up at L-Corp.”

Kara hums. “Yeah, Lena texted me earlier to say that she’s got to cancel brunch on Saturday because of work. It sucks that things are so hectic over there. I’m just waiting for Cat to get home. I made her a sweater because she’s so obsessed with owning one-of-a-kind pieces. I think she’ll like it.”

“You knitted it?”

“Uh-huh. Just like Eliza showed me.”

“Oof.”

Kara frowns, her lips turning down in time with her furrowing brows, crinkle on full display. “What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t heard of the curse?”

That doesn’t help her confusion at all. “What in the actual hell are you talking about? Have you been drinking?”

“No, it’s a real thing a lot of knitters believe in. It’s why Mom never knit anything for Dad other than scarves. Apparently, if you hand-knit a sweater for your partner, it dooms your relationship.”

“Alex!” Kara sits up straight, her eyes wide and her fingers clawing at the material. “Why did you have to tell me that? I can’t give it to her now!”

For a moment, she thinks she can actually hear Alex’s eyes rolling back into her skull. “Don’t be a dummy. It’s just a superstition; she’ll probably love it.”

“Alex.” Kara whines. “I don’t think I can.”

“Don’t be a baby. If your relationship is strong, then a damn sweater won’t get in the way.”

“I hate you for telling me that.”

Alex snorts. “Love you too. I’ll text you tomorrow when I know what time I’ll be coming over.”

“You’re just going to leave me now?”

“Sure am. Later Kid.”

Kara goes to shout at her sister again, but upon looking at the phone, she sees that the call has ended. Alex can be a real ass sometimes.

Standing up, Kara holds the sweater between her hands forlornly. She stomps to the kitchen, her pink, bunny-shaped slippers slapping angrily into the tile. Her foot slams down onto the pedal of the trashcan just as the door opens, revealing Cat wandering in from the hallway outside the penthouse.

“Please tell me we have wine hidden somewhere. We can’t have finished the last one yesterday.”

“No, we have another bottle,” Kara says, quickly hiding the sweater behind her back and taking her foot off the pedal, wincing as the lid slams down with a crash.

Cat eyes her curiously, dropping her purse onto the nearest barstool beside the island before pulling out her phone. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Kara answers quickly. Too quickly.

Cat stalks over to her, and despite being significantly shorter, Kara backs away from her, ending up in the living room. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.” Kara tries to double down.

“What were you doing with the trash?”

“Just…tossing some paper I didn’t need anymore.”

Cat folds her arms over her chest, her lips pressing into a thin line as a single eyebrow raises in challenge. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

“No?”

Cat’s glare intensifies.

“No. Definitely not.” Kara tries to sound more confident.

“What’s behind your back?”

Kara curses inwardly. Of course, it’s easy to see when someone is hiding something behind their back when both hands are holding it there.

“Show me.”

Kara shakes her head.

Cat sighs, unamused. “Kara, I’m not mad. Just show me what it is. If it’s a puppy, I’m going to be madder that you were about to hide it in a trash can than I am about you adopting it.”

Kara perks up at that. “I can get a puppy?”

Cat shakes her head quickly. “That’s not what I said at all.”

“I’m going to go to the shelter tomorrow.”

Running a hand over her brow tiredly, Cat sighs. “Just don’t bring back anything with fleas.”

“Yes!” Kara throws her hands in the air in triumph, noting her mistake immediately as the sweater dangles above her head. “Oh, snap.”

Now, Cat just looks befuddled. “Is that mine or yours?”

“Uh…”

“Why were you throwing it out?”

“Uh…”

“Kara.” Cat deadpans, striding over to her and taking it from her hands. “It looks brand new.”

Kara goes to take it back, but Cat just steps away from her and bats her hands away. “Where’s the tag?”

“There isn’t one.” Kara offers up nervously, her hands falling to her waist, wringing nervously. “I made it.”

“What?” Cat looks a little impressed, warming Kara’s heart, but she can’t let her have it.

“I was just tossing it out.”

Cat holds it to her chest, protecting it. “Why?”

“I was making it for you but I didn’t know about the curse. You can’t have it now.”

Cat’s shoulders sag, and she heads for the kitchen. “I need wine for this, I can already tell. Explain it to me.”

“Alex told me that there’s a curse that means that you can’t knit a sweater for your partner or else your relationship is doomed, so you can’t have it. I didn’t know when I made it.”

Cat throws the sweater over her shoulder. “Well, I’m not throwing it out. That’s a dumb curse and I’d like to see the statistics of relationship breakdown over mittens rather than sweaters.”

Kara looks nervous, sitting down on a stool, her knees bouncing rapidly. “What if it comes true?”

“Then we can tell everyone that our perfectly stable and loving relationship has ended over a sweater, not you adopting a puppy behind my back.”

“It won’t be behind your back now.” Kara points out.

“So we won’t break up. Now be a dear and find me that wine.” Cat pulls her glasses off her face and drops them onto the counter. “I just want to have dinner, a couple of glasses of wine and a bubble bath with my partner before trying on this very comfortable-looking sweater. Can we do that and agree that it’s just a terrible superstition?

Kara doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t know.”

“Kara, we always dump my shopping bags on the counter, and you’re not meant to put new shoes on the counter. Nothing bad has ever happened from that. What makes you think that we’ll be affected by this one?”

Kara’s eyes widen. “That’s a real thing?”

Cat ignores the question. “Kara, darling. You’re an alien. What makes you think Earth superstitions would even have an effect on you anyway.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Kara makes her mind up. “Can you try it on?”

Cat smiles. “You sure?”

Kara nods. “I want to see if I got the size right.”

Slipping off her jacket, Cat pulls the sweater over her head before casually strolling across the room to the nearest mirror.

“I love it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Cat smiles softly, genuinely surprised that it’s not a lie. “It’s one-of-a-kind and definitely next year’s fashion.”

Kara’s grin is so wide and dopey that Cat can’t help but turn around, grab her by the collar and pull her down into a kiss.

“Thank you.”

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