#I feel so bad for my rusty cause they’re only been heard for like less than half a year and already had to deal with witnessing one of his

[ladychandraofthemoone]

Rusty’s my beloved!! They’re my fav (though all the NG are lmao)

[tra-sh]

Paul Lahote x reader (Twilight)

Request from Anon: “Hi, could you maybe do Paul from Twilight where you're friends with the Cullens and Bella makes you meet the wolf pack and Paul imprints? Maybe gets jealous too? Female pronouns please xx" 

Full disclosure, don't hate me, I've never read the books. I saw the first movie when it came out but I' a bit rusty on the characters, so I hope I did them justice! 

Part 2 Here

In the eyes of the world, you were a curious thing.

Well, maybe not the world, but definitely the people around you. After all; not just anyone gets to sit with the Cullen siblings at lunch. Not just anyone can make Rosalie laugh or Edward crack a smile.

There was no doubt that in the eyes of the teenagers of Forks, you were an enigma. There was no shortage of rumors about the strange girl who had wormed her way into the exclusive clique of ethereal beauties. But as frustratingly mysterious as you appeared to be, no one could hate you. You were far too kind and trusting to attract negative attitudes. This is why when Bella made the executive decision to force the Cullen’s into the wolf pack's good graces, she brought you.

Though the Cullen’s weren't allowed in the vicinity, Bella figured that if the wolves could trust you, maybe they could begin to trust your close friends. You were extremely adept at social gatherings and made a point to introduce yourself to everyone in the room. Your general attitude is warm and inviting-- surely this meeting would go smoothly if you were there, Bella hoped. 

Because of this, you found yourself sitting shotgun in Bella's truck as it rattles down the old dirt road. You stole glances at the brunette every so often, noting her tense features. "Relax, Bells," you say after a moment of silence. "I'm sure it'll all be fine." 

You hadn't known her for very long, but any friend of the Cullen's was a friend of yours. The two of you really only spoke when she was at their house looking for Edward or at school. You'd made a point to try to get to know her better over the past few months, to bring her out of her shell ever so slightly.

You watch as her shoulders relax slowly, her eyes never leaving the road. "I'm more worried about Jake's friends," she mumbles. You've never met Sam Uley's gang, but you knew what they were. Or rather, Alice had explained to you what they were.

You hum quietly as you look back out the window at the passing trees. Bella veered off down a slightly overgrown path that barely passed as a road, save for a worn trail of tire marks in the weeds. A wooden house came into view and you could just barely see the glow of a bonfire flickering from the backyard.

You smile to yourself as the truck comes to a halt a few yards away. Bella turns to unbuckle her seatbelt and gives you an anxious smile. "Here's to a good night," she says hopefully. You give her a reassuring grin before turning to exit the vehicle. You couldn't wait to meet everyone. 

You sidle up to Bella as the two of you make your way to the white front door. You take in the peeling paint of the house and garage as you walk. The house is old but gives off a cozy and inviting feeling. The surrounding pine trees almost hide it from view and make you think of a witch's cottage or something from a fairy tale.

You hear the hinges of the door squeak as a tall boy with dark hair and tanned skin greets the two of you. "Hey, you made it!" He looks between the two of you, slightly skeptical of your presence.

You smile and step forward, your hand outstretched.

"Hey, you're Jacob, right? I'm [Name]," you say politely.

Jacob seems pleased and reaches over to shake your hand. "Any friend of Bella is welcome," he says after looking you up and down. He turns away and opens the door wider, allowing the two of you to step inside. 

The house smells of sage and sandalwood and has numerous artifacts lining the walls. You can't help the grin that dances over your lips as you take in your surroundings. Jacob leads you and Bella through the kitchen to the back door.

"Everyone's waiting around the bonfire."

There's a twinkle in his eye when he looks at Bella, and you can't help but wonder if there was something between them at one point. No wonder Edward didn't want to come, you muse. 

As you step outside into the lush backyard you're greeted by a few nonchalant 'hello's and silent nods. You're not sure if they're directed at you or Bella, but you smile all the same.

Five boys are sitting around the bonfire, not paying attention as you walk down the steps. One boy stands next to an older man outside of the circle, with two girls.

"Emily!" Bella passes by you to go greet one of the girls in question.

Jacob stands by your side and points at each member of the pack, listing them by name. "The ones sitting are Jared, Quil, Embry, Seth, and Paul," he begins. "The girl with the permanent frown is Leah, Emily's with Bella, and Sam is with my dad."

You nod as he relays the names and hope you can remember all of them. "Are they all..?" You trail off, unsure of how to ask. "Wolves?" Jacob interjects. Your face flushes lightly and you nod. "Emily isn't," he clarifies.

You suddenly feel like the odd one out all over again, the same way you felt when you'd first met the Cullen’s.

 The boy standing away from the fire, Sam, makes his way over to you. You straighten your posture and try to not look too intimidated. "Hi, are you Sam?" You ask. He nods in response but doesn't make a move to shake your hand.

"Sam Uley. I assume Jacob introduced you to my pack."

Your hand falls limp at your side and you try to pluck up a friendly smile. "More or less. I've yet to actually talk to them," you joke. Sam gives you a curt nod and turns to look at the other boys. "I wanted you here tonight to make sure of something," Sam begins. He turns back to you with a firm stare, and you frown. "What's that?" 

Sam exchanges a look with the boy standing next to you, and you can feel Jacob shift awkwardly under the scrutiny of the stare. "I'm not sure how much you've been told, but our ancestors and the Cullen family have a treaty," Sam states. You nod slowly. You knew the basics of the treaty; they weren't allowed to bite humans or trespass on the wolves' territory unless invited. "We wanted to ensure that treaty hasn't been broken." 

You freeze and stare at the boy before you. Surely, he isn't suggesting what you think he is?

"Are you asking me if I'm still human?"

"Please understand where I'm coming from," Sam says calmly. You study him carefully, before letting out a small sigh. You should have known there was an alternative motive for this meeting.

"The Cullen’s wouldn't harm me, and I can assure you I'm still painfully normal."

Sam seems pleased with this answer and nods to you before turning around and assuming his place by the bonfire. "Sorry about that," Jacob mutters. "We just needed to be sure." You give him a reassuring smile and place your hand on his arm. "It's alright, really," you promise. The boy cracks a small grin and leads you over to the bonfire to properly introduce you to the pack. 

As you approach the bonfire, one of the taller boy's scrunches his face in mock disgust.

"It smells like a leech," he says in a loud tone. The other boys snickered amongst themselves.

You roll your eyes and sit down in a lawn chair as Jacob takes the seat next to you. The boy who made the joke was smirking like the cat that ate the canary until his eyes met yours.

His snarky follow-up comment died on his tongue as he stared at you. Your brows knit together in confusion, wondering why the sudden change of heart. He looked at you like a desert traveler would an oasis. You tear your eyes away from him to look over at Jake. 

"I didn't think I smelled that bad," you joke lightly. 

"Paul didn't mean anything by it," one of the boys speaks up. You think this one is Seth, if you're not mistaken. Another one of them, Quil, nods in agreement. "You smell good!" You snort at his affirmation. "Thank you?" That was certainly one of the stranger compliments you've received.

Paul suddenly growls at Quil who then shies away in fear. The boys fall silent as they stare at Paul, but no one dares to speak. You look over to Jacob, who only shrugs. "So," you begin, drawing their attention once more. "What do you guys usually do around here?" 

"You're looking at it," Embry pipes up, gesturing to the bonfire. You raise a brow and lean forward in your chair. "Sit around a fire and make fun of people?"

Paul seems to shrink back at your comment.

"The mocking is optional," Quil says with a smirk, jutting out his elbow to bump Paul. The taller boy sneers but makes no further comment. "What about you?" Embry asks as they turn to look at you. "I didn't take those bloodsuckers to be the nurturing type."

You purse your lips at him and he smiles apologetically. "They're nice when you get to know them," you say.

Paul scoffs, causing you to look over. "As nice as monsters can be, sure," he mutters. "Excuse me?" You ask, frowning. What was his problem? As far as you knew, the Cullen's hadn't done anything to earn such biting words. Paul avoids your gaze and crosses his arms over his chest. "I think you heard me." 

His words hang in the air and poison the atmosphere, making the yard fall silent. Sam and Mr. Black are glancing your way with disapproving looks. You glance around at the other boys as they shift awkwardly in their seats.

"Right," you mumble under your breath. "I'll leave you alone."

Paul's head snaps up as you stand from the chair. He gives you a kicked puppy look, as if he wants you to stay. You're beginning to get whiplash from his changing moods.

You turn away from the bonfire and make your way over to where Bella and Emily stand, next to the back door of the house. "What did you do to Paul?" Bella asks, brows knit together. You let out a huff and fold your arms over your chest. "I didn't do anything," you say defensively. "He was being rude, so I left. I'm not going to stick around and listen to someone insult me." Emily gives you a knowing smile and peers over your shoulder at the bonfire. "You know what they say about little boys who pull pigtails," Emily begins. "It means they like you." 

You're about to attest her suggestion when you feel a warm hand grab your shoulder. You look over to see Quil standing next to you, offering a small smile. "Hey, sorry about Paul. We really do want to get to know you better," he says. He nods politely to Bella and she gives him a small wave.

You let your arms relax and fall back to your sides as you turn towards the boy next to you. "I'm not mad, Quil. I just didn't feel like he wanted me there." Quil gives you a tight-lipped smile and glances nervously over his shoulder. "Well, that's the thing," Quil starts. "He might want you there a little too much." 

Before you can ask him to explain, a familiar growl echoes through the yard. "Quil!" You feel the hand on your shoulder stiffen as you peer over at the bonfire. "Move your hand or I'll rip it off," Paul seethes.

You clench your fists and move so that you're standing in front of Quil. "What's your problem?" You ask, glaring at the angry boy before you. Paul ignores you, his eyes trained on the boy behind you. "Don't defend me," Quil hisses. "It'll make it worse!" 

Paul takes a step forward and you instinctively reach back, your arm stretched across Quil's chest in a protective fashion. 

Paul did not like this one bit. 

His body shudders and his nostrils flare as he fights the urge to transition. Quil reaches over and grabs you before calling out: "Sam!" 

Sam rushes forward, using a demanding tone to order Paul to calm down. Paul winces, but you can see his muscles rippling still as his anger keeps him teetering on the edge of shifting. Quil pulls you back toward the house with Bella and Emily close behind. 

Paul bares his teeth and roars, sending a shiver down your spine. What was going on? 

Quil shuts the door and turns to you. "You need to leave, now. He's not calming down." He throws nervous looks at the white door as he speaks. Bella paces the kitchen, her brown eyes flitting between you and the backyard. "He didn't, did he?" She asks.

The silence that follows is all she needs as a response. Bella looks at you with newfound shock, and you suddenly feel left out.

"He did what?" You ask. Did they know something you didn't? "What did he do?" You ask again, stepping forward.

Emily stands next to you and places her hand gently on your back, rubbing small circles. "It's hard to explain," she begins. Suddenly, Sam comes barging into the house. "Where is she?" His head whips around until he spots you. "You need to call the Cullen’s and have them pick you up from the reservation line," he demands. His tone gives you no room to argue and you fumble to get your phone from your pocket. 

"What's going on?" You ask, your hands shaking. Why was no one telling you?

 "The pack is keeping him at bay, but we don't have much time. Quil, make sure they get out safely," Sam instructs, ignoring your question. Bella hurries you to the front door as Quil follows. 

You run to the truck and watch in shock when Quil shifts into a large dark grey wolf with brown streaks dappled in his fur. He shakes his head, his ears on high alert.

Bella slams the truck door shut, snapping you out of your trans. You shakily strap yourself in just as a splitting howl echoes through the air. You and Bella both look back at the house anxiously. Quil runs behind the truck, on the lookout for what you could only assume was Paul. 

You nearly forget the phone sitting heavy in your hand as your eyes scan the passing forest. Your heart hammered in your chest as you turn to look at Bella.

"What's going on? Why is Paul so angry?" You ask quietly. You were growing sick of not knowing what was going on.

Bella glances nervously in the rear view mirror, her eyes trained on Quil. "The wolves, they have this thing called imprinting," here she pauses, trying to remember the way Jake had explained it. "It's like finding their soulmate." 

You stare at the brunette, confusion written on your face. "Are you trying to tell me that a man I just met imprinted on me," you pause to gesture wildly at the woods, "And is now on a murder spree because Quil touched my shoulder?"

Bella would have laughed at your word choices if the situation were different.

"Like Emily said, it's hard to explain. Some of them handle it better than others."

You look out of the windshield and stare at the road. The sun is setting and the old truck's headlights do very little to illuminate the coarse dirt ahead of you. Before you can ask her what you're supposed to do with this sudden information, a silver wolf steps out into the road. "Bella, watch out!" You screech, fingers grasping for the handle to the right of your head. Bella slams on the break and the truck shudders to a sudden halt. Dust kicks up around the vehicle, momentarily clouding your view. Your heartbeat pulses in your ears, drowning out all other sounds. Your eyes search the road frantically, trying to spot the wolf.

"That," your throat constricts as you try to speak. "Who was that?" You're afraid to know the answer. 

"Paul," Bella whispers, voice hoarse. 

You see a large form dart out from behind the truck and loud snarls begin to echo from the road before you. "They're fighting!" You say, feeling panic bubble in your chest. Bella doesn't move, but instead fumbles for her phone. "I need to call Edward," she mutters. You stare back at the road as the dust blows away slowly, revealing the dueling animals. You can't sit by idly and watch as they all but destroy each other.

Your fingers tremble as you unbuckle your seatbelt, much to Bella's dismay. Before she can stop you, you're hopping down from the cab of the truck and stumbling towards the hulking wolves before you.

"Paul? Quil?" You ask, your voice betraying your fear.

As you push forward, you get a clearer view of Paul. His fur is a dazzling shade of silver and almost shines from the headlights. You would have been amazed if his teeth weren't digging into Quil's shoulder.

"Paul," you repeat, trying to sound more authoritative. This catches his attention and his head snaps up to look at you. Oh god. Well, you didn't think this through. Quil takes this chance to limp backward, giving the two of you space. 

Paul's eyes are trained on you, calculating your every move. You swallow thickly and step forward, inching closer to him. "Paul?" Your voice is softer this time. His ears twitch as you approach, signaling to you that he was listening. "I'm not sure what all of this means," you continue. "But I'm not going to lie to you. I'm scared," you pause to gauge his reaction. If a wolf could frown, you were sure this is what it looked like. He looks almost upset at your confession, and you quickly backtrack.

"I think it would help if we could talk," you add.

He steps forward, and you do your best to not shrink back in fear. His nose presses against your arm and he snorts lightly. Your hand trembles as you bring it up, resting it on his head. "Good dog," you joke. Paul snorts again, giving you what you can only guess is an unamused look. 

"Can we talk?" You ask gently. He seems hesitant to leave your touch, but after a moment he steps back. You glance over to Quil, who slinks away into the trees. The wolf before you shudders, and the sound of bones popping fills your ears. You cringe at the noise and look away as Paul slowly returns to his human form. Before you turn back, Paul stops you. "Give me a second," he says a bit awkwardly. He shuffles away into the woods before you can respond. Curiously, you glance over to his fleeting form before turning away with wide eyes. He was naked. Very, very naked. And you saw everything. 

You try to shoo the thoughts from your head and focus on the dirt beneath your shoes. You hear soft footsteps and turn back, seeing a now-clothed Paul approaching you nervously. He scratches the back of his head as he makes his way back over to you. "Can we go somewhere private?" He asks in a low tone. You glance over at the truck sitting in the road and nod. "Sure."

You follow the boy down into the woods, stopping at a fallen tree. You note a neat pile of clothes tucked away in a little crook of the log and chuckle lightly. They must leave these around for when they phase.

Paul sits beside you, his eyes darting over to you every so often. He looks like he has so much he wants to say to you, and maybe he does. After everything you just experienced, you could use a bit of an explanation.

"I'm sorry," he mutters finally. "I didn't mean for any of that to happen." His leg bounces nervously as his eyes refuse to meet your gaze. 

"I have anger problems, and I just didn't know how to handle all of this." 

You nod slowly and turn to glance back up at the road. Bella's truck was still in view, and she was no doubt waiting nervously to see if you were alright.

"This is all really sudden," you say quietly.

  "It usually is," Paul says, thinking back to when Sam and Embry first imprinted. He couldn't explain his feelings to you; he couldn't even explain them to himself. All it took was Quil laying a single hand on your body and all rational thought flew out the window. He just wanted-- needed-- you near him. "So, what happens now?" You ask, bringing Paul back from his thoughts. He wanted to hold you, to cradle you in his arms and kiss you. But he knew this was just the imprinting part of his brain talking. The two of you had met less than an hour ago, and he didn't want to scare you off. He settles for a brief, "Whatever you want." 

You hum quietly as you stare at the leaf-covered grass beneath your feet. This definitely was sudden. But there was a sort of calming presence around Paul that pulled you in and left you wanting more. Which was ironic given his lack of control. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing-- the concept of soulmates and all. It would definitely take some time to get used to, but you didn't feel repulsed at the idea.

"We could take this slow," you offer quietly.

Paul's body language oozes relief as he finally looks over to you. "We can?" The hopeful lilt to his tone almost makes you giddy.

“Is that alright?" You wonder, looking up to meet his gaze. His warm brown eyes are captivating and he gives you a boyish grin. "More than alright," he assures you. He inches closer to you and you feel the warmth pooling off him in waves. His fingers brush yours lightly, looking for silent permission.

You lift your hand and allow him to cradle it in his large, calloused one. His touch is hot, but not uncomfortable. It warms you to your core and you can't help but lean into his side. Paul brings your hand up carefully and places a light kiss to the back of your hand. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.

But in this moment with him, you couldn't see yourself anywhere else. 

[hasspartacusdoneanythingwrong]

The Century War of Wyverns, Part 2: Chase the French Soldier

[Previous] [Contents] [Next]

Kat: Our first encounters in a strange new land! It... doesn't go well tbh, but I'm sure the next one will!

Cris: Turns out Spartacus doesn't understand "the back of your blade" very well.

Jeanne: {CWs for violence against humans, death, first-person panic attack}

------

God dammit, how the hell can that mountain of muscle move so fast? We barely got a word in edgewise and he’s already left us in the dust! If we don’t get there in time those soldiers are gonna be a big red smear on the ground. One more hill, and… he’s just… standing there, having a conversation with them? He gestured towards the one in the gaudiest uniform before walking over.

Spartacus: Placet expectare.

Spartacus: Ah master, there you are! I have glorious news! These soldiers are themselves fighting against the oppression of a false king! Of course, a true king is also oppressive in its own way, but still! Their leader even speaks latin! Roughly.

French General: C'est ton géant ?

Kat: <Ooh, ooh! I got this! Time for all that duolingo to do its thing!>

April (Kat): Bonjour, garcon!

I internally rolled my eyes as the soldier blanched.

Cris: <Kat. Garcon means boy. Let’s try something else.>

April (Cris): (Hey, Mash, do you know French? Mine’s a little rusty.)

Mash: (Sorry master, I barely know enough to say hello.)

April (Jeanne): (Well, English is a common lingua franca, might as well try that, right?)

Cris: <Good idea!>

Mash: Wait, that’s-

April (Cris): Sorry about that, tried to be polite, don’t actually know that much French. The big guy’s with us, and we were hoping you… could… Ah, fuck.

The soldiers had already surrounded us. Cries of “L’Anglais!” erupted around us as they pointed their spears in our direction.

Mash: The French are at war with England in this time period!

April (Cris): I gathered, yeah.

Spartacus: So now they seek to oppress us as well?

Mash: What are your orders, master?

April (Cris): Take them down but try not to kill the idiots. Uh… hit them with the back of your blade, or something.

Mash lifted her shield up quizzically.

Mash: And what part of this, exactly, is the blade?

April (Cris): Dammit, just try not to kill them!

Even holding back, it was clear the soldiers were no match for Mash Kyrielight. She ran circles around them, their every attack parried as their weapons shattered against their shield. Even three on one, the soldiers didn’t stand a chance. Meanwhile, Spartacus ha- oh God.

I faltered, stumbled off the road and retched. If Mash had a spotless technique, Spartacus’ was nothing but spots. He simply walked from soldier to soldier and shattered their bodies with his fists. He hadn’t even bothered to draw his sword. The few soldiers Mash pacified were bruised, but relatively unharmed. The ones unlucky enough to face Spartacus weren’t going to get back up.

The forest span <Jeanne?> around me. I know someone was calling our name, but I couldn't <Jeanne!> hear anything beyond the blood rushing to my head. My chest hurt, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't- <JEANNE!>

A sharp sting as my hand slapped my cheek. Cris stopped me from spiraling again. I took a moment to breathe properly.

April (Jeanne): Okay… Okay, I’m good. I think.

I slowly stood up and made it back to the others. The surviving French soldiers had already made their escape. Mash’s spirit origin was shaking. I put my hand on her shoulder as I got closer.

April (Jeanne): Mash, are you alright?

Mash: I should be asking you that, Master. I’m… I can’t believe it, but I’m still not used to this.

April (Jeanne): It’s only been a day or two Mash, you don’t have to force yourself to be okay with this.

Mash: A day? Oh, right.

Spartacus: Mmh. It might be better for you two if you don’t become comfortable in these sorts of things. The two of you are unoppressed by the experience of warfare. Hold that close to you.

Mash: Right. Thank you, Spartacus. So, what’s our next move?

April (Cris): Right, I hate to do this, but… we need to follow the soldiers that ran off.

Spartacus: Ahah, we must finish the fight then?

April (Cris): NO! Nonono. I mean, they’re going to run to the nearest place with people. They’re our only lead right now. Did you see which way they went, Spartacus?

Spartacus: Of course! Follow me!

----

On our way, we got in contact with Dr. Roman again. Turns out our plugsuit comes equipped with a translator- would have come in handy earlier, but fuck it, at least we won’t have to fight literally everyone we come across.

The sky was turning red when we finally saw the smoke clouds over the horizon. We rushed over a hill and finally got a look at the fort. It was in bad shape. Walls crumbled in, with smoke and fire billowing out from several windows. Dark shapes moved through the smoke, obscured in a haze.

Another wall fell over as we descen-

Kat: <Hey, look! Isn’t that one of the soldiers?>

Sure enough, one of the survivors of Spartacus’ rampage was kneeling at the top of the hill.

April (Cris): Hey! Hey you! Don’t fucking run, I’m talking to you!

The soldier had started, but before he made it to his feet we were already surrounding him. He was speaking too fast to translate at first, so I just pressed on.

April (Cris): Look, I get it if you don’t believe us, but we’re not gonna kill you.

April (Jeanne): We have traveled a long way because we heard something very, very bad was happening here. Please, can you tell us what is going on?

French Soldier: Oh, and what are the English going to do about it?! Insult her and run away?

Cris: <Apparently we can do a lot fucking more than your soldiers can.>

April (Jeanne): We have fought worse. Now, who is this “her”?

French Soldier: You’ve fought worse than Jeanne d’Arc? Hah! Unlikely!

Mash: Jeanne d’Arc? She should be dead by this point!

French Soldier: That is the worst part, she is! She was dead for three days, when the Saint of Orleans appeared out of nowhere and started razing all of France to the ground. She’s been tearing around with an Army of monsters for days now! Even King Charles couldn’t stand up to her!

April (Jeanne): Thank you. We will figure out a way to stop this, I promise.

By the time we got closer to the ruined fort, whatever had caused so much damage had long since disappeared. However, I could still make out faint traces of enchantment on some of the bodies scattered around the field.

April (Jeanne): Roman, I'm noticing something off about this corpse. What do you make of it?

Mash: Senpai, we really should get out of the open while there’s still daylight.

April (Jeanne): Give Roman a second, Mash. I'm sure there's something off about it.

Roman: Huh. Good catch, April. This body had been treated for necromancy. Large-scale necromancy is certainly rare, but it’s still possible with or without a holy grail. Either way, it’s good to have an idea of what we’re up against.

We entered the keep. Walking around was a nightmare, it was as if every square inch of space was taken up by the injured. Their groans echoed through the fort. Suddenly, I felt something on the edge of my scanning area. It was faint, but unmistakable. A spirit origin.

April (Jeanne): Mash, do you feel that?

Mash: Barely. There must be a servant outside the castle.

April (Jeanne): No, about thirty feet in that direction. Does anyone catch your eye?

Mash: There’s no one there who could be a servant, Master.

Cris: <This is pointless, let me look.>

Kat: <No way! You got to yell at the guy, lemme look, lemme look!>

Yay, I won! I turned where Jeanne was pointing. The whole place was just beat up soldiers & less beat up soldiers taking care of them. Oh, there’s one! A little girl is going around comforting people as they fall asleep!

April (Kat): What about that little girl? The one dressed in all white? Can she be a servant?

Roman: That’s not likely. Servants are invariably summoned at the “peak” of their myth. It’s possible for child prodigies to be summoned young, but the vast majority will either be young adults when they are most powerful, or at old age when they are most skilled. You guys should get some rest while you can. I’ve detected a leyline a day’s travel from here, you should set out in the morning.

We found a spot near a wall and curled up to sleep. I don’t remember much of my dreams, but when I woke up it was still dark. That girl was still tiptoeing around the soldiers, and every now and then I caught her singing, at barely above a whisper.

That was weird enough, but then something amazing happened! The soldier she was standing next to, his wounds suddenly shrank, until it was like he never got hurt at all! He shifted in his sleep, and she moved on to the next one.

April (Kat): (I knew it!)

I pulled myself out of our pile as slow as possible, and inched closer to her.

April (Kat): Excuse me?

Little Girl: Hello miss. (Please keep your voice down, people are sleeping!)

April (Kat): (Oh, sorry! This might sound weird, but… are you a servant?)

Little Girl: (I am a faithful servant of God, yes. Is something wrong?)

April (Kat): (That’s not exactly what I meant. I mean are you human?)

A strange look crossed the girls face.

Little Girl: (I was. Let’s talk outside.)

She led me by the hand out of the castle. She had such a strong grip, it was kinda awkward! Once we were a bit away, she turned to face me. Suddenly, a spear covered in flags appeared out of nowhere and landed in her hands!

Little Girl: As you have guessed, I am indeed a Servant, Lancer class. My true name is Jeanne d’Arc.

[gwenbrightly]

Redwall Falls Chapter 2

“He’s looking at me...” Brome heard his sister whisper to herself. She was not so inconspicuously watching Martin, one of the Mystery Shack’s teenaged employees, while she cleaned bobbleheads made in the image of their Great Aunt (or Graunt) Polly. The siblings had been put to work helping out around the tourist trap as soon as they’d had some time to settle in.

“Why don’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him?” he suggested with an eye roll. Rose stared at him.

“After what happened last time?” she cringed. Yesterday, when they’d met him (and the handy-squirrel known as Feldoh), the mouse had introduced himself before saying something about a “rosty nose”, which had taken several minutes to decipher. Brome still wasn’t sure what that was about, but it had definitely been awkward.

“Well, he’s proven that he can speak coherently,” Brome observed, nodding his head at the customer Martin was currently ringing up, “so maybe this time you guys can make it through an entire conversation without crashing.”

“I... Don’t be so pushy, Brome. These things take time. And besides-” Rose’s protests were cut off by Graunt Polly’s appearance from the back room.

“All right, all right, look alive, everybeast. I need someone to go hang up these signs in the spooky part of the forest,” the mole announced, displaying several signs that had advertisements with question marks and directions to the Mystery Shack on them. Rose, Brome, Feldoh, and Martin all glanced at each other.

“Not it,” Rose said quickly.

“Not it,” Brome followed suit.

“Also not it. You needed me to switch out the lightbulbs upstairs, remember?” It was Feldoh, this time. Graunt Polly looked annoyed.

“Martin, go hang these signs.” She ordered. “Oh, I would, but it’s so far. And I just realized I never had my lunch break so...”

“I’d fire all of you if I could,” Polly complained, frowning at Martin’s lame excuse. Her statement didn’t seem to have the desired effect, for she looked rather disappointed when no one took the hint and volunteered as tribute.

“Fine, then. Guess we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way,” she said, “let’s make it.. Eanie, meanie, minie… you,” she pointed a paw at Brome. He groaned in dismay.

“What? No. Graunt Polly, there’s something off about these woods… they’re creepy and I always feel like I’m being watched.”

“Noonvale doesn’t have much in the way of real forests, Brome. It’s gonna take some time for you to adjust to, well, the great outdoors,” Polly told him, giving his headfur a ruffle. He looked to Rose for backup, but she didn’t offer anything.

“I’m telling you – there’s something weird going on in this town. Homesickness can’t explain why the mosquito bites on my arm spell out ‘beware’.” Brome pointed out, rolling up his sleeve to show the others. Feldoh made a gagging noise. Rose raised an eyebrow and said,

“It looks more like ‘bewarb’ to me, and that’s really only if you squint.”

“Look, kid, that whole ‘monsters in the woods’ thing is just a local legend drummed up to attract more tourists,” Polly tried to assure him, but Brome wasn’t convinced. He had only been in Gravity falls for a day and he’d already seen bizarre glowing lights, heard strange noises, and been accosted by possibly radioactive mosquitos.

“But...” he protested as Graunt Polly plopped the signs into his reluctantly waiting arms.

“Stop being so paranoid and try to have some fun with this, eh, Brome?”

_______________

“No one believes anything I say,” Brome muttered to himself as he nailed a sign to a tree. It felt like he had been out in the forest for hours. All by himself. With no one to talk (complain) to. Was it even legal to send children out into the forest to perform manual labor without supervision? He’d have to check the local child labor laws once he got access to wifi – yet another thing the Mystery Shack seemed to be lacking in.

“Ugh!” he cried. “Stupid Mystery Shack! Stupid signs!”

Kathunk! Brome kicked the next tree he came to and immediately recoiled. He yelped in pain, then cocked his head. Trees didn’t make weird echoey noises… did they?

“Weird…” he commented, dropping the remaining sign on the ground so he could investigate further. Rapping gently on the tree – he didn’t want to hurt himself – Brome listened to the oddly metallic sound the tree made on impact. Something was definitely off about it. He took the sleeve of his sweatshirt and rubbed away at the trunk. Textured brown paint and a healthy coating of dirt and grime gave way to old metal. Ahah! The entire tree was fake. In full detective mode, now, Brome examined the tree until he spotted a small handle.

With slight apprehension, for there was always a chance his actions would activate an army of laser equipped robots, he grasped the lever with both paws and yanked it down. Nothing happened. No grand reveal. No explosion. Just the sound of birds chirping in the distance.

The young mouse huffed in disappointment and turned to leave, wishing he hadn’t gotten his hopes up. All his Sci-Fi TV shows and books had lied to him. Cool things never happened in real life. The world just didn’t work that way. But then, the creaking of a rusty hatch forcing its way open somewhere nearby caused him to stop in his tracks.

Brome circled the area, searching for the source of the sound. The switch must have done something, after all. He checked every nook and cranny, below each bush and on top of every rock and stump. His query remained elusive. Whatever the lever had opened was clearly well hidden.  Brome took a step backwards, hoping the action would give him a different view of this patch of forest.

In a way, he got exactly what he wanted; the fallen tree he tripped over certainly forced him to see the area from a different angle. But the unexpected fall wasn’t very pleasant and Brome couldn’t help but wonder how badly he’d have to hurt himself before his parents would let him come home. He lay on the ground for a moment, half tempted to sink into the dirt and become one with nature. Thankfully, such drastic actions did not end up being necessary.

It was no wonder Brome hadn’t noticed the bizarre hole the switch had uncovered. Half buried by the log and built from camouflaged materials, he would have missed it completely if not for the fact that he’d practically fallen right on top of it. He sat up, thoughtfully. Whoever had installed this hidden treasure trove obviously hadn’t wanted anyone to find it. How long had it been since someone sat where he now sat? Since somebeast had peered into the hole to examine its secrets? Brome gently removed an object wrapped in old newspapers, bursting into a fit of sneezes at the resulting cloud of dust that had floated into the air.

It was old. Old-old, as in more than just a few years old. The newspapers were from several decades ago. Their edges had curled with age, and some of the lettering was too faded to be legible. Fortunately, Brome had little interest in the newspaper; the item it protected was far more intriguing. A journal. And journals always had juicy secrets written in them – he’d learned that from snooping in Rose’s bedroom (though this journal would inevitably be much more interesting than his sister’s diary).

The journal’s design was simple enough. It was made of thick brown leather with the insignia of a paw print on the front cover. Brome wasn’t sure what kind of creature would have an entire extra toe. He also wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. What if the journal contained something bad? Something he wasn’t supposed to see?

It must have been hidden for a reason, after all. The young mouse sat for a moment, pondering his options. He could, of course, bury the journal and get back to work hanging Graunt Polly’s signs. He could also take his chances and open the book regardless of ancient curses or government Intel. It was a difficult choice.

“Alright, mystery beast. Let’s see what you’ve been hiding,” Brome muttered when his curiosity finally got the better of him. He hummed thoughtfully and flipped through the first few pages. They were covered with sketches of creatures he had never seen before. Detailed notes and memos accompanied many of the sketches.

“It's hard to believe it's been six years since I began studying the strange and wondrous secrets of Gravity Falls,” he read aloud from the page that had the most writing. Six years was a long time to be stuck in this place. The author must have had an awful lot of spare time on their paws to create such an elaborate journal. Flipping through the journal some more, Brome found himself growing more intrigued with each page he read.

Eventually, the writing and sketches grew increasingly erratic and less caretakingly organized. Notes that made no sense lined the margins in some places. One page in particular had the words Trust No One scrawled across its top in large lettering. Brome read the rest of the entry with bated breath, “Unfortunately, my suspicions have been confirmed. I'm being watched. I must hide this book before he finds it. Remember: in Gravity Falls there is no one you can trust." He paused, confused. That seemed… harsh. But if Gravity Falls really did have a dark side-

“Watcha doin?” someone said, sending Brome into a frenzied attempt to hide the journal behind his back. He groaned when he realized who it was. His sister gave him an awkward wave.

“Rose! Thanks for that. I really needed a heart attack today,” he stated flatly.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Rose told him, sitting down on the fallen tree, “Graunt Polly sent me to check on you.”

“Oh,” he said. He felt a little foolish for being so easily shaken. The journal’s tone was clearly getting to him.

“So… what were you reading that you didn’t notice me coming your way?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” Brome said quickly. Rose hummed in response, clearly skeptical.

“Seems like pretty interesting nothingness. You were really invested in it.”

“Well… it’s not nothing nothing,” he admitted, “Just not something I should show you out here where anyone could happen to walk by. Let’s go somewhere more… private.”

“Alright. But now I’m curious. This better not be evidence of aliens, or I’m going to be very insulted that you didn’t show me right away,” Rose teased, ruffling his head fur. Brome winked at her and stood up. He waved the journal at her before taking off in the direction of the Mystery Shack as he said,

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

After all, surely the book journal hadn’t meant sisters when it said trust no one… right?

[jjkpls]

crayons ‘dul’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 3.7k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

>Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> prior

> next

It doesn't take Mr Kim too long to find a way to meet you.

A week or so later, Adrianne is handing you a little post-it where her curvy cursive spells his name, with his phone number and a time. He says he'll bring Jimmy early to school in two days, to contact him if it doesn't work for you and that he cannot wait to talk to you again. This last part you wouldn't bet on the accuracy. Adrianne says he stuttered his way through a mumbo jumbo of English and another language she didn't recognize, apologizing because he didn't know how to express what he meant but from what she could gather, he was excited to have this meeting about Jimmy.

He arrives two days later, right on time. Not a minute early nor late, perfectly on time and if you don't point it out loud, you still notice it with a discreet smile.

They both look perfectly relaxed, smiling for the man and rather calm for the boy. It's funny to see him now. Mr Kim looks pretty much nothing like the first time you saw him, with the worry, the low-key panicked, agitated state he came bursting in your classroom. He looks a few years younger, with an easy grin stretching full rosy lips, dimples digging deep in his roundish honey cheeks -almost the same as his son's, you notice with delight- wearing a straight maroon coat, this time well adjusted, that's making him even taller and more elongated if possible and of which the shade compliments his complexion endearingly so.

"Hi. It's really nice to see you." You end up greeting him first, as warmly as you can.

You've been pondering over this meeting for so long, time feeling like it never ceased to stretch out and felt dreading, dreading, dreading. It was never coming soon enough and you were terrified, even if you had no reason to doubt Mr Kim's honesty, that he'd bail on you for whatever reason.

But here he is, seemingly so open to discuss and after installing Jimmy at his desk with the same tools as last time (a pile of white sheets waiting to be filled and your set of crayons) you join him a few tables away (far enough for Jimmy not to be exposed to the conversation but close enough to keep an eye on him, or more accurately, for him to keep an eye on his guardian), pressing your hands together and against your bosom to try to contain my excitement.

"As I told you last time, Jimmy is a very sweet boy. He's not doing bad with the exercises and activities, it's quite surprising -in a great way!- since from my understanding English is not his first language, right?"

"Yeah, no, it's uh- it's Korean. We just moved from Korea a few months ago, well, right before he started school. But we- my- her mother and I would try to talk to him a bit of English at home to have him pick up on the basis..."

"Oh, that's nice! Children that young do learn languages particularly easily, it's definitely beneficial for him. I can already tell."

Namjoon sends a glance his way, a fond, dad's proud one lingering on his tiny figure hunched over the desk. You can't quite tell from where you sit but it does look like he's started drawing.

"Had you planned moving here for a long time? I mean, was it the plan from the start, that's why you wanted to teach him English?"

"No, not really." The mood feels different. It switches from rather tranquil and cheerful into a very heavy, uneasy silence his deep voice hardly disturbs. There's a glint in his eyes. It's not an easy one to look at and your heart stings as the glint takes over his whole gaze hovering over his son. You understand it's something sad. Probably painful and hard to carry even for such a strong-looking, shoulder-broad grown man.

You don't want to push it. You're curious, as one gets, but too decent and you know yourself to be too soft-hearted and sensitive, for you to be snooping through sad people's luggage. But you think back about Jimmy, whose curious eyes, beautiful but wide with something reflecting like a perfect mirror what you can now find in his dad's, and you're certain that his odd behaviour must come from that.

"Mr Kim, the reason I wanted to see you," You start, voice quieter. He's startled for a second, redirecting his attention back on you, and he looks a bit guilty. As if he highly suspects, if not already know full well, where this is going. "I do meet all the parents of my students, as I told you. But in the case of Jimmy, if I was so insistent, it's that I'm really concerned about him."

His eyes draw downwards, staring at his hands. Long slender fingers fidgeting with one another, pinching and twisting a bit. I wonder if like his son, he might start crying.

"He's lovely but he cannot- he has had a really hard time uh- how could I put it?" You don't want to sound too alarmist. You know parents have the tendency to freak the fuck out for the misinterpretation of one single word. Sometimes an onomatopoeia, misplaced, send them into a raging spiral of anxiety over what terrible condition their kid might be dealing with. Not all parents are insane or simply too quick to jump to conclusions -or plain stupid. Some understand, whatever words you use. The father sitting in front of you seems worried and pained enough you wish you could protect him but you need him to understand that his situation is serious, and how important it is for Jimmy to have the tools to change now, while he still can, before he gets too old and start to take all those unfortunate coping mechanisms as lifelong terrible habits. "He's had a hard time simply being a kid." Namjoon sighs deeply. "He doesn't speak to anyone, not even me. Hardly looks at his classmates, never approaches them. I've noticed also that talking is not the only issue, any form of expression, if not made to do because it's in the course and all the other children are doing it too, he simply won't do." Mr Kim has raised his head enough for you to see him. He's troubled, upset, worried. But he seems to want to show himself more involved and you can tell he is, you can tell he cares as he listens so carefully as you explain in great details the odd incident with the papers and the crayons he refused to play with, even without a soul to watch over his shoulder.

"I feel it's a bit more than simple timidity. Or that at least, there's something significant behind this timidity. I can understand that it might be sensitive to you," You do, his eyes are screaming at you and you can't ignore them. Sort of begging for something, you're not quite sure what, you're not quite sure they, themselves, know either. It's a terrible case of a grown adult, an apparent composed grown man with a mighty balanced life, not a child anymore, actually, a dad, appearing so vulnerable and broken. It's a horrid vision. You've never been able to handle those.

"But it's in Jimmy's interest that I know a bit more. It's quite concerning. He's at an age where he's supposed to develop those skills. If we just let him be, leave him in this... unease, whatever it is, he might adopt it for a very long time until the time comes when it's become an exhausting challenge, almost impossible, to overcome.”

"I understand what you're saying." Mr Kim starts, voice low and tiny I can hardly pick up on the words. "I noticed- I mean, he's not changed that much with me. He's never been a very loud, boisterous boy, you know? But lately, he's been a bit quieter. I can see it at home, he's a bit stoic, less... expressive." You lose the man for a second. He's staring at his son longly and you don't want to abruptly bring him back to the conversation. Eventually, he does come back on his own, clearing his throat and scratching his neck. "That's- ridiculous but I even told myself the other day that I miss his tantrums. He didn't use to throw a lot of fits but sometimes he would, for more candies or something stupid like that. But he hasn't in a while."

You can't count how many times you heard overwhelmed parents jokingly wish that their kid would just turn off, stop causing scenes, stop demanding, screaming and crying out ridiculous tantrums. You remember Adrienne, saying more than once, to chastise the behaviour of one too agitated child to take a look at Jimmy, learn to be more like him, and why can't they be like him.

The thing is, a child is not supposed to be quiet.

A child should be problematic, testing, challenging. Loud and cheerful and agitated because children are like that. They are little humans just starting this whole insane experience that is Life, trying to figure themselves out, trying to figure out the people around them and the whole world along with it. They're meant to be a mess.

They're not meant to be quiet and tranquil, and bathing in a sort of slow, stoic haze. They're certainly not meant to have this expression on their face. The one Jimmy is wearing. Of deep, deep sadness. Like he's been somewhere, he's felt something, he's lost something that has left him misplaced forever. As if he's not really part of this world, this Life, or doesn't care or know why he's in it. Just letting himself float about. Embarrassed and denying all impulse that could potentially shape him and his existence.

He's only five.

"Do you have any inclination as to why his behaviour has turned into this?"

You see the gears going into labour in his head. He looks pensive, lost in a pit of thoughts he doesn't know if he can nor should share. There's a tremble to his lips, to his fingers, a telling frown to his eyebrows as his eyes very obviously decide to avoid you. The question seems to seize him like an earthquake but somehow, it's a good one. A disturbing but potentially lucky one. One that would invite him to experience something hard but liberating, something that he really needs.

Not long after you've asked the question to which you already know half of the answer, he pauses to think it over and then decides to talk. You notice the way his body slump over himself instantly, along with an abyssal years-old sigh and he starts to talk.

"5 months ago, my- his mom passed away." You hate yourself for the way you gasp, eyes wide and already blurry as if it's appropriate, as if you're allowed when you can't even imagine the beginning of their pain. It all starts making sense and you're heartbroken. You wish you didn't show yourself so reckless, sensitive but somehow naive and unhelpful.

You mouth a silent apology and condolence you notice he accepts from the way he nods, not wanting to cut him off. He's already breathless and you wonder how many more words he has in stock before the resources shut down, right before he loses it and breaks the strong persona he has to keep straight and steady for his son. How exhausting it must be. "It was hard already in Korea but I thought -naively- that if we moved here, close to her family, maybe, being around them would ease- everything out a bit. I don't know. It was stupid." He shakes his head from left to right, scoffing to himself, a hand raised to his forehead, hiding his eyes.

"It wasn't, Mr Kim. It's very honorable of you to quit everything for your son." Your words have no effect whatsoever. Unfortunately, it's blatantly obvious, he's made up his mind already. He's guilty, he messed up, and he holds a grudge against himself for this decision and nothing a dumb teacher, sensitive and half-weeping, would say could change that opinion, as destructive and inaccurate as it may be.

"It really was. It's so different here, I thought after some time it would be worth it but I think he hates it. I think he's very confused and I don't know if he's too young to feel like that, I'm not sure, but he looks like he's embarrassed about being a foreigner. Like not speaking properly. I can't even tell if he understands well or if he doesn't get it at all when people speak to him in English since he just- he can't really communicate. Even with his cousins, it's-"

Oh.

"Oh." Now that you hear him say that, it lights a small bulb hidden at the back of your head. It shines upon a whole roof-tall shelf holding all of those awkward, disagreeable memories you tend to forget actively because even reflecting on them decades later still sends a thrill of disgust the length of your spin.

It's those moments of pure embarrassment, of horrid dreading feelings that you used to be overwhelmed with as a child and this until you were not much more of a child anymore, and those memories paired with their emotions simply faded into shadows of scenes that you can only wonder if they ever were real.

You used to be filled with stupid insecurities based on very confused, distant, impossible to decipher pretend truths, sometimes, you would just feel stupid. Completely idiotic, ignorant, and unlovable. In those moments, you just couldn't dare open your mouth to pronounce a word that would give you away. Because if you did, somehow, you would end up messing up and people would laugh and make fun of you and hate you because there are so many reasons to and of course you deserved it.

Images of the little boy, hiding obviously in a corner but longingly observing his peers. Obviously terrified but curious, and most definitely desiring.

Because of course, he'd want to. Talk to them, be with them but how could he when he's not even sure he could speak the way they do.

"Mr Kim, I can tell he wants to. Even if he can't let anyone approach him, I can tell he'd like to be part of the group. That being said his fears or as you said, maybe his insecurities, don't allow him to."

"Should I- Should I seek for a therapist? He had one in Korea but I don't think he was ready for it. He just reacts very badly to strangers, especially when they try to, you know, sink into your brain and- now that we're here, I can hardly picture how that would go."

"Well, therapy is never a bad idea. It can only be beneficial for him... for anyone." You're not sure how appropriate it is for you to add this but you owe to say it. Sometimes, parents don't realize, but a child's deepest wounds are born from seeing and feeling their guardians'.

"I'd seen someone already." He explains without needing you to insist further. Seems like you're not as subtle as you thought yourself to be. "I did because- I had to. His mom and I had been separated for a while before her passing, it'd always been complicated between us and I can't lie, I did feel terribly guilty... I thought it might hurt him somehow. Maybe he could feel it and experience it too. I had to for the both of us. It fixed me but not him, so I suppose, it didn't come from that."

"Grief is... It's very complex. It comes along with a plethora of confusing, untamed emotions as an adult but for a child... It must manifest in a way we can't even imagine. I'm sorry, you don't need me to tell you that." You're a mess of stutters. Words are running away from you, the smart ones are even flying, making sure there's no way you'd catch them by the tip of the tail. You just want to ease this father's struggles, somehow. You don't know him much but you know his son, a little, and you, for reasons you don't care much to look into, deeper than simply you having a saviour complex, need to help it all resolve. They don't deserve any of it all. No one does.

It might be silly. But the thought of Jimmy, that sweet, lovely child, sensitive and precious as he is, must have a father quite special himself to have been brought up this way.

"No, it's fine. You're right." A heavy silence settles in between you. In the background, faintly, you can hear the soft rustling of the tip of a crayon against paper. You open your mouth, the fantastic memory of the other day, when he arrived late to pick Jimmy up and something you still, a week later, recalling itself back to you. He opens his at the exact same time and before you're able to utter any word, he's the one starting, "Actually, I really appreciate it. Being able to talk about it like that with someone. Since my therapist, I don't think I was able to. People only have enough tolerance for other's pain. Which I understand, it's just- hard and well, I'm thankful for you."

He stammers saying that, seemingly scrambling with his own words. The compliment is so heartfelt, like a shot from his heart directly into yours. Most of the emotions it rises probably coming from his choice of wording, maybe an error of translation, a lack of exactitude that doesn’t come smoothly. You've never heard anyone said those words to you and somehow, so unprepared for it, you can hardly handle the overwhelming burst of gratitude.

With the greatest pleasure, you jump on the occasion to bring something good to him, what you meant to say when he started first, the story about last time and how confident you are that better days are yet to come.

It brings an evident brush of light to his expression. The youthful sense he gave off when he just walked in, made of warm colours and smiles, is back. As if a weight has been lifted. As if he trusts you with his son, now wearing his hopefulness and trust and appreciation on this soft face of his, and you feel yourself blush in delight.

It’s precisely why you do what you do. Most of the times, those moments come in more subtle, almost dubious manifestations. It’s a drawing made ‘only for you, Miss’ or a kid you haven’t seen in a few years recognising you from across a hallway and beaming all his teeth your way; or maybe a present too nicely picked out and wrapped up too well to be the product of a kid’s, handed to you at the end of the year.

It's a wonderful feeling you're experiencing.

Until it turns sort of awkward. You mean, from a third party, maybe from Jimmy's eyes, it’s definitely awkward. It doesn’t exactly feel this way for you though. You're just kind of staring at each other, grinning obnoxiously. Delighted by the turns of events -even more so with the start of the conversation, which brought difficult painful shocks to an already sensitive soul, the benevolence and mutual understanding feel all the more pleasant.

Conquered by each other in a way you probably won’t be able to express very well with words if any of you tried. You see in him an ally -which is always such a wonderful feeling because as curious as it is, all parents are not always reliable allies to you, teachers- and you think he does too.

It’s just that it lasts for quite a bit. Probably too long. Until finally, the rummage going on outside brings you back to earth and school that is about to start in a few reminds itself to you.

Quickly he thanks me again, in between the bursting in of a loud, chatty-feeling Riley Donovan, and a Charlotte dragging her feet in discontent. He says something about meeting again before he’s rushing to Jimmy, whose calm demeanour has wavered when his classmates starting walking in.

It’s as heartwarming as last time. The way Mr Kim just has to lean forward to wrap his arms around Jimmy to have him melt onto his chest, face burying in his neck and tiny hands squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until the chubby fingers turn white against his dad’s neck. There’s an exchange of secret words and of gazes, special ones that wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, you believe on the moment, until Mr Kim needs to depart and does so.

The gaze Jimmy had for his dad doesn’t disappear right as the later leaves. It remains and is directed solely on you in a very peculiar way, so notable that your heart starts racing when you notice.

Jimmy who usually avoids eye contact, sometimes would look at you, if you're addressing directly to him for example and those looks are systematically made of bewilderment, maybe fear, definite insecurity. Like a prey caught in a predator's radar.

But now those eyes, the round, dark wonders are lingering with something utterly different. A stillness that hits so differently. You're not sure if you are seeing things, if it’s wishful thinking. If it’s you now watching through the lens of someone beyond enchanted, purely content from the newfound trust and confidence and inspiration.

When you free your class for recess, you have confirmation that something has changed. You have no idea how he did it without you noticing but as you turn your back to the door to face your desk -and your chair, which your legs are dreading to have you throw yourself on- you see the perfect tidy pile of your crayons laid carefully on top of it. A few papers are sitting next to it, less than you gave him.

It’s ridiculous, embarrassing to an extent you would never tell that moment out loud but you end up jumping on the balls of your feet, clapping your hands together like a stupid seal, squealing before grabbing the stack of crayons and pressing it to your heart.

A/N : thanks so much for having waited for me so patiently; as always, lots of love send your way, thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoy it :)

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 8

Chapters: 8/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

“We shouldn’t go in,” Jon tells his giggling partners very firmly, but they pay him no mind, and he gets dragged by the hand into the storefront.

The girl working the front desk looks up with a vaguely alarmed look on her face, probably because Gerry and Martin look drunk, despite it being 11 A.M. on a Sunday. They are not, although Jon can understand why someone would think that, as they march right up to the desk, faces flushed, still laughing boisterously.

“Is Melanie in? She’s a good mate of mine.” Gerry tells the receptionist.

“Yes, I’ll check with her if she has a second for you.” And she scuttles off to the back.

“It’s Gerry!” He calls off behind her, before turning to grin at Jon. “Don’t hover in the doorway, babe, Melanie doesn’t bite.”

“Melanie is in fact, perfectly capable of biting,” Jon mutters petulantly, as he moves further into the room to eye the art on the walls. “Especially when you used to date her girlfriend.”

“Oh look, my favorite emo goth boy!” Melanie yells, exploding out the back of the store, all 5 feet of her filled with frenzied energy. Her face immediately sours when she catches sight of Jon, hiding behind Martin. “And my least favourite douche bag.”

“Now, now firecracker, be nice to my boyfriend.” Gerry pulls her into a hug, which leads to a headlock and a swift jab to his ribs.

“I’m very happy to be nice to Martin,” She responds sweetly, blowing him a kiss. “What brings you lot over to darken my doorstep?”

“Piercings,” Gerry tells her with an unnatural amount of glee.

“Jon agreed to let me pierce him?” Melanie asks, perking right up at the idea of causing Jon pain.

“No!” Jon exclaims.

At the same time, Gerry says, “Nah, he’s not interested, but Martin and I were wanting something each.”

“Martin?” Melanie asks dubiously, eyeing up sweet-looking, pink-haired, cardigan-clad Martin.

“Yes,” Martin confirms with false solemnity. “Boyfriends who bleed together stay together.”

“You know,” Melanie remarks, grinning at them, “I have heard about that Pagan ritual.”

Jon has slunk over to a wall of healed artwork and concept designs, managing to avoid Melanie's barbs. As far as he is concerned, the art isn’t as interesting as Gerry’s work. Although, he supposes that what you can make beautiful on a canvas is very different from what you can make beautiful on someone's skin.

“I’ve got a bit of an opening now, what do you want to get?” She asks Gerry.

“Well, you know I’ve been wanting to have my nipples done.” He offers, teal eyes looking slightly wild.

“Yeah?” She grins in triumph, “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

“Yup and Martin has been considering something for his ears.”

“Hmmm,” She wanders over to Martin to examine him. “Open for suggestions?”

“Maybe.”

“They’re a good shape. Double helix?” She looks to Gerry for affirmation.

“Definitely.” He smirks, eyes lighting up with satisfaction.

"Two?" Martin looks slightly dubious.

"If you do them together, the pain is only a tiny bit more, and the healing time is two-for-one," Melanie reassures him, and Jon thinks it's the nicest she's ever sounded. "It's up to you though, of course."

Jon steals himself to brave the fray, going over to take Martin's hand. It's slightly clammy with the nerves that Gerry's enthusiasm has prevented up until this point.

"It won't be so bad, love." He presses a kiss to Martin's cheek, offering his support. "Just a small jab, then it's done."

"Let's do it."

***

There's a brief fuss with consent forms, aftercare instructions, and payment.

"I don't know what you lot," Melanie instructs Gerry firmly, gesturing between them, "get up to in the bedroom, but no twisting, no pulling, no biting, no sucking your nipples for 12 weeks."

Jon blushes, but Gerry and Martin aren't bothered. "Yeah, firecracker, I know the drill. This isn't my first circus."

"Kinky little shit," Jon mutters under his breath, but the goth only winks at him.

Martin's care instructions are less suggestive, and Gerry and Jon both promise to help him with it.

“Martin should go first,” Melanie pronounces, patting the piercing chair as she disinfects her hands and gloves up.

“Me?” Martin asks.

“Yup, yours will be a lot simpler, and I don’t want to traumatise you by making you watch nipple piercings before your turn.”

Martin climbs on the chair, looking a little pale, but resolute. Jon stands on the side not occupied by Melanie, gripping his hand reassuringly. Gerry stands slightly behind the chair, hand on Martin's shoulder.

The ear piercings are almost comically quick and easy. Two quick pinches, less painful than bee stings, and then Martin's ear is pierced and adorned with small hoops.

He sighs with relief and oh's with delight when Gerry hands him a mirror to check them out.

"I love it!" He exclaims, beaming at Jon and Gerry. They smile back at him, each taking a turn to kiss him on the cheek or forehead, their own relief palpable.

"It's just you and me now," Melanie grins at Gerry and gestures for him to strip.

He shucks off his trench coat and black t-shirt, and stands in front of her, completely at ease.

Jon takes a moment to wonder if he has managed to get himself into a relationship with a masochist. Not because of the piercings, but because Gerry seems to genuinely enjoy being friends with Melanie.

The nipple piercings seem to be a much more complicated process, with markings and adjustments, but several rounds of cleaning and disinfecting later, Melanie runs a metal piercing bar through first one nipple and then the other. Gerry hisses with discomfort but stands carefully steady.

She steps back to make sure they look straight and even, before declaring it a success.

"Nice," Gerry says succinctly, looking in the large upright mirror, nodding his head enthusiastically. He and Melanie high five, and she condescends to grip him in a firm hug from the side.

"You sure I can't tempt you, Jon?" Melanie asks him sweetly as she starts to clean up her station, Gerry putting his clothes back on close by.

Knowing she just wants to cause him pain, Jon tells her firmly, "No, thank you."

He is over by the wall again, looking at different art this time, including a picture of a tattoo that catches his focus. It's a playing card amid a complex arm sleeve, an Ace of diamonds, and despite a lifelong disinterest in tattoos, it speaks to him.

"I think you'd look better with a spade, love.” Gerry manages to startle Jon slightly, appearing beside him and wrapping an arm around his waist. Jon marvels at his apparent ability to read his mind.

“You think so?” Jon queries, softly. Gerry hums his affirmation. “It's a bit much though, don't you think?”

"You don't need the whole card, for what you want. Just the A and the spade. Small and bold." He picks up Jon's hand, indicating the spot below his thumb on his wrist.

Gently releasing it, Gerry grabs a pen and scrap of paper and rapidly draws out a solid, simple design.

Jon glances over at Melanie, extremely dubious. "Maybe we can go somewhere else to get it?" He whispers.

Gerry laughs warmly, tapping the small piece of paper. "I could do it for you myself."

Jon blinks at him, rather owlishly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I can give you the tattoo. I'm probably a bit rusty, but I did survive a full tattoo apprenticeship. I’ve done about a million over the years, although I had to give up my machine when I moved to London."

"You did a tattoo apprenticeship?" Martin asks from nearby, tone skeptical.

"Yup, when I was living in Edinburgh. All three years." Gerry tells them casually. "That's where I met Melanie, actually."

Jon and Martin exchange a baffled look, but choose to simply file it under 'Things Gerry tells us out of order.'

“Well, if you can do it...” Jon sounds a bit floaty but he is staring at the design yearningly, which Gerry knows is a good sign.

"Firecracker," Gerry yells over to Melanie, "Can I borrow your machine?"

***

Melanie makes the stencil while Gerry reacquaints himself with the tattoo gun, setting everything up and getting used to the weight of it in his hand again. The rhythm is always the same with tattooing and he feels himself fall into the past a bit.

When everything is ready, he gestures Jon over to sit in the chair, smiling beatifically.

Jon is shaking a little as he slides up onto it, and Gerry presses a reassuring kiss to his hand before he starts the prep.

"You ready?"

Jon gulps. "Yes."

Martin comes over to take Jon's other hand and Melanie hovers nearby, wanting to watch Gerry like a hawk the entire time he's handling her machine. ("It's the true love of her life," Gerry had confessed to Martin earlier. "Don't tell Georgie.")

Gerry follows the same procedure with any tattoo: cleanse, shave, cleanse again. Numbing cream, in this case, to prevent nerve twitches, then alcohol rub down. Eventually, he applies the stencil carefully, making sure to get it straight and in the correct place.

He checks with Jon, making sure that it is where he wants it. Jon confirms, smiling to see the design on his skin for the very first time.

As the buzz of the machine fills the space, Jon and Gerry make eye contact for a moment. Jon's earthy green eyes are wide, and Gerry can almost see where his pulse pounds through his jaguar vein. He stills a moment, really checking Jon's energy.

He's nervous, it's obvious to see, but Gerry can also see the real desire in him, and with a wink, turns to look down at his new canvas. He sets to work, the buzzing of the needle filling the air.

***

"I love it," Jon whispers to Gerry later, lying in the circle of his arms, Martin's warm weight at his back.

"I love it too." Gerry kisses his forehead sweetly, almost asleep. "Martin, what do you think of your ear?"

"I think boyfriends who commit to pain together stay together," Martin mutters drowsily, repeating his sentiment from earlier.

"Ah, yes," Jon mutters, "The great cosmic bond of suffering."

They laugh easily, the hot excitement of the day echoing within them, yet another thread in the colourful tapestry of their relationship.

[yeojaa]

didn’t know me.

pairing.  jhs x reader.  rating.  general!  we are family friendly.  tags.  this is just... cute.  there’s a bit of swearing, teasing, mentions of beer, etc. but nothing bad.  wc.  2k.  beta reader.  my beloved @hobi-gif​ and my wofe @periminkle​!  💖

You’ve always been one to take the things you want, pursuing them with a ferocity your mother calls intense.  You have no qualms about decorum or bashfulness.  To you, if you’re not the first - you’re the last. 

You’d done it all your life.  First, in kindergarten, when you’d taken the orange blocks because they were your favourite colour.  Then, in high school when you’d tried out for three varsity teams and made it onto all of them.  More recently, at work, where you’d demanded (read:  gently requested) a raise after you’d consistently been covering for your less-than-reliable manager. 

If you wanted something, you went for it.  There was seldom anything that could stop you - including your soft-spoken best friend. 

“I’m gonna do it.” 

It being asking the cute guy waiting in line for his number.  It being embarrassing your poor best friend who’s got her face hidden behind your shoulder, soft blonde bangs brushing your cheek as she shakes her head in a poor attempt to deter you. 

“Don’t make it weird,”  she whispers into the collar of your coat, denim rough against your neck. 

“You’re the one making it weird!”  The hiss is quiet, gentle.  More coaxing than reprimand or displeasure.  This is a usual occurrence for the two of you. 

Whereas you were relentless, unrepentant - rays of sunlight on the hottest day of summer - she was the softest breeze, barely a ruffle of leaves.  You complemented and completed each other and had for the better part of your lives.  Exactly why you’d opted to take this trip with her and only her;  she was the one person who didn’t drive you absolutely insane after a certain number of days together.  She filled all the empty spaces of your puzzle, rather than smothered you with her own shape. 

Still, you sometimes had disagreements.  Now was one of those times. 

“What if he doesn’t speak English?”  

She’s being far too realistic, of course, in her patented Ivy way.  You have to admit - she has a point.  The likelihood of this random stranger even understanding you is slim but you figure it doesn’t hurt to ask.  When in Rome Okinawa, right? 

“Then I’ll use Google translate,”  you retort around a mouthful of laughter, the sound buzzing around your teeth.  You’d think they’d stung her by how Ivy recoils, grimacing at you in the same instance you advance a step.  “Wish me luck!”

She doesn’t.  You don’t care.  

A hand reaches out, two fingers poised. 

And then he - the cute fellow customer with jet black hair and expensive sneakers on - faces you, but not because you’ve spoken.  He turns because his companion has caught his attention, jerking his platinum blond head toward you.  At least, you think it’s blond.  You really can’t tell with how his bucket hat is pulled so low over his ears, the bottom half of his face obscured by a plain black mask. 

The words die on your tongue, suddenly stolen by the sheer beauty of cute guy’s face.  He’s disarmingly handsome, with high cheekbones and a perfectly upturned nose.  His mouth splits - heart-shaped around bright white teeth - and you can’t help the little tumble your heart takes when he smiles.  It brushes itself off before falling all over again, nearly launching itself out of your chest and at his feet. 

“Hi?”  There’s something lyrical about his voice, like summertime and riding in the car with the windows down.  It’s also accented - peculiar in a way that’s strangely familiar.  You can’t quite place it. 

“Hi!”  You all but chirp, probably with the dumbest look on your face.  You hope your smile offsets it.  “Could I have your number?” 

Sunshine - because that’s his nickname for now and it feels terribly fitting - blinks at you, head tilting in a way you can only describe as adorable. 

“My number?”  It’s an echo, in less of a what the fuck way and more of a did-I-hear-you-right way. 

You nod once, twice, a hopeful laugh rolling off your tongue.  It slots into the spaces between you and settles, strangely nervous.  You’re not used to the anxiety that’s thrumming through your veins and causing a ruckus in your ears. 

There’s just something about him. 

“Yeah, your number?”  As if to illustrate your point better, you raise your phone and wave it about, tapping against the back of your fluorescent pink case.  “To text you?”

Realisation dawns, passing in pretty rays over his face.  “Oh!”  For a moment, he seems ready to give it, every inch of his expression wide open. 

Then, all at once, it falls - blinds dropping across a window.  He seems deep in thought, his gaze jumping to the blond that’s now made himself comfortable at a table a few feet away, back hunched and attention focused solely on the screen of his Samsung.  Your stare follows, traipsing the narrow ridge of the other’s shoulders before swivelling back to the ball of light before you.  

God, you can’t get over how good looking he is.  It’s almost hard to look at him, yet somehow harder to look away. 

“You want… my number?”  

“If that’s okay,”  you murmur, with your most disarming smile.  You know it’s a solid effort - you’ve won parents and bosses over with it.  Three years of braces had done you good.

He’s seemingly stuck, torn between giving into the strange girl in front of him and something else you have no idea about.  You can practically feel Ivy burning a hole into the back of your skull with each moment that passes.  She’s definitely going to hold this against you for at least an hour. 

“I can have yours?”  A sleek iPhone - no case, to your horror - is fished out of his pocket and offered to you.  You can’t help but admire his hands, the way his knuckles wrap around the slim device.  “I’ll take your, um, number?” 

It’s not what you’d expected.  Truthfully, a part of you wonders whether this means he’ll take it and never use it.  You hope not.  

“Sure,” you agree readily, nodding with a delight that feels a little much for a chance meeting in a random mochi donut shop.  You try not to dwell on it as you enter your contact details, passing the phone back over with two hands. “Don’t forget to use it!”  It’s meant to be flirtatious, friendly without being too forward.  You’re unsure if it’s lost on him.  You think it might be by how he beams at you, offering nothing in return. 

“Gaja.”  

The interruption breaks the stillness between you, spoken so quietly you almost miss it.  It comes low and swift from the blond that’s joined Sunshine’s side, stealing his attention from you.  You try to hide your disappointment, though it’s quickly replaced by wide-eyed wonder. 

You don’t mean to stare - you probably look like a fish out of water - but realisation brings with it unflattering expressions.�� It’s a simple fact of life.  

“Kamsahamnida.”  Your Korean is rusty - clearly without practice and uncomfortable on your tongue. For not the first time, you wish you’d been more receptive to your parents’ insistence that you learn.  

Surprise flips across Sunshine’s face, thrusting his eyebrows to disappear behind his fringe.  Then he grins, so big and unreserved that it really is blinding - like staring directly into the sky on a day without clouds.  He looks on the edge of speaking - as if all the words are balanced right behind his teeth, ready to spill out with the same abandon as his joy - before Blondie repeats himself, this time with more urgency.

You’re holding them up.  Oh god. 

With a swiftness usually reserved for the volleyball court, you sidestep, nearly knocking a lurking best friend over in your haste.  Your head is bowed - a decidedly strange gesture for you - and you glance up through a curtain of swept bangs and thick lashes.  “Mianhaeyo.”  You want to say more but you’re fumbling, trying to find the words you’ve never taken the time to properly study.  “I… um...”  

There’s a hand in yours, squeezing in reassurance. Or maybe frustration.  It isn’t always easy to tell with Ivy.

“It was nice to meet you” is what you settle on. 

“You too,”  Sunshine returns, far too kindly, with that same brilliant smile that has your jaw aching with the intensity of your own.  He’s all but ushered out the door, though he turns at the last minute to wave - a sweet thing that makes you laugh.  “I will call!”

Waiting isn’t something you do well.  As evidenced by your go-getter attitude, your patience tends to run thin.  You want things and you want them now - but it seems that isn’t in your cards.  Shit hand, you think.

So you sit and you wait and well, you’re not really sitting and waiting.  You’re still living your life and enjoying your vacation.  You’ve been to the beach - there’s a neat underground tower Ivy had dragged you to that had you gaping at the fish swimming by at eye level - and you’ve had probably too much taco rice than is strictly speaking necessary.

But you haven’t been able to get him out of your head and it’s driving you more than a little crazy on the third day that you haven’t heard from him.

“Are you listening to me?”  It’s Ivy, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with two intricately woven bracelets held aloft.  They’re both pretty and hardly discernible in their differences.  One’s blue and the other is… a slightly darker shade of blue?

“Huh?”  Your thoughts are a million miles away, focused solely on the memory of a certain Sunshine boy.  

“Which one!”  She’s exasperated, flailing her wrists just enough that one trinket whacks you right between the eyes.  Okay, so you deserved that.

You’re rubbing at the red mark, turning away in the same instant you speak.  “That one.”  

“That one?” 

“The one on the right!”

She grumbles something that sounds awfully like I hate you but you’re too busy checking your phone to really call her on it.  No new messages, save for the three group chats you’re in that absolutely refuse to shut up.  You don’t count those.

“A watched pot never boils,”  she hums from somewhere behind you, before lapsing into stilted Japanese with the kindly old woman behind the counter. 

You know she’s right but that doesn’t change a thing.  You check your phone twelve more times between exiting the small jewellery shop and stepping into the karaoke bar.  It’s not really that often, you tell yourself.  Most millennials sit on their phones for hours!  You’re a step above, truly.

Until Airi’s husband is grilling you, poking fun at the fact that you can’t seem to tear yourself away from the device in your hands.

“Don’t forget you’re out,”  he teases around the rim of his beer, arm slung comfortably across his wife’s shoulders.  “Live in the moment, y’know?”  

If you weren’t so close - if they weren’t hosting you at their apartment for this leg of your trip - you’d probably ignore him.  As it stands, he’s like an annoying older brother and receives a swift kick to his shin.  You grin just as he grimaces, nearly spilling his glass of Sapporo all over his front.

“Hey— you brat!”

“Takes one to know one,”  you retort, tongue out and mischief wrapped into every syllable.  “Don’t know how you’re married.  Didn’t think kids were allowed to.”  

Across from you, Airi stifles a snicker and the rest of your group breaks into laughter.  You’re in the middle of throwing middle fingers at Sunny when a hand clasps your forearm with an aggression you can’t ignore. 

Ivy’s staring at you with eyes the size of saucers, mouth curled into a perfectly shaped ‘O’.  A part of you wants to shove a limp fry into it - until you follow the line of her arm, the length of her finger. 

Because on the screen - serenading your ragtag group of friends in the terrible voice of Airi’s little brother - is cute-guy-from-donuts.  Sunshine. 

What the hell?

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​​

[captain-azoren]

From One Monster to Another

*inspired by @ultranos and their frontier psychiatrist ideas. This scene is part of my Spirit Forged story set during Korra's time. I won't give too much detail for context, but it involves my half animal spirit OC at a crossroads as he tries to find his place in the world and decide his future.*

"Why would I want to go back to being human?" Raiga asked with a violent gesture of his claws. Korra flinched subtly, but enough for the half-spirit to notice. "I'm one of the strongest beings on this planet. Stronger than any bender, maybe even stronger than you. I'm not human, not animal, not spirit... I'm more..."

"It's not about strength, Raiga," Korra replied. "Being the Avatar, having all this power, it's a responsibility, and it's caused me just as much suffering as happiness. How much better is your life now?" Raiga frowned and let out a low growl, his hair and fur bristling. "You might love this power, but it's had a cost, hasn't it? You're lonely."

"I don't care!" Raiga snarled as his tail lashed. "I don't need people, I don't need spirits! I've lived on my own this long, and I can live out the rest of my life the same way." He turned and looked out over the cliff, past the spirit world's horizon. Floating whale-like spirits flew lazily in the distance. "Even when I was human, I was alone. That's what I am. This is what I am, and I'm not changing that. You wouldn't give up bending or being the Avatar just so you could fit in."

Korra winced at his last remark. He was not wrong. "Alright, fair point. I'm not going to try and change you if you don't want to," Korra took a few steps towards the beast-man, his back still turned to her. "That doesn't mean you have to be alone. There are people who will accept you." Raiga let out a bitter laugh.

"Yeah right. Look at me, I'm a monster," Raiga looked at his clawed hands and sighed. "They all think I'm a monster, and they always have..."

"I know a few things about monsters..." Came a voice, brittled by age, and yet giving off a commanding presence. Raiga and Korra both turned to see a small figure emerge from the forest. An old woman dressed in red robes, her snow hair in a tight topknot. Her face was framed by two sleek bangs, her features sharp, and her golden eyes bright behind the wrinkles. She gave them a nod and a sly, subtle smile.

"Master Azula!" Korra exclaimed with shock before quickly giving her firebending sifu a bow. Raiga did not offer the same courtesy, narrowing his eyes at the old woman.

"You..." Raiga whispered.

"Korra, I hope you haven't been slacking off," Azula said as she approached. "You're lucky I was in the neighborhood."

"W-What are you doing here?" Korra asked in bewilderment. She had not seen Azula for over half a decade.

"Just passing through the spirit world on my way home," Azula replied casually. "Thought I would pay my uncle a visit, and he told me what's been going on with your furry friend there." The old master went past the Avatar and stood face to face with Raiga. She was positively tiny compared to him, and yet somehow scarier than the beast-man. "Avatar, would you give us a moment?"

"I... I remember you..." Raiga said. "You're the one with blue fire.

"You're a hard one to forget as well," Azula said. "What with being the lion-tiger man who wrecked my uncle's tea shop."

"Didn't think you'd still be alive."

"Death has tried to claim me many times, and I've always managed to outsmart it," Azula smirked. "Old age is harder to outrun though, unlike you. You've barely changed in decades."

"One of the perks of being a monster," Raiga said grimly as he eyed Azula. "Why are you here?"

"To talk some sense into you," Azula replied curtly as she moved around Raiga. She held her hands behind her back as she looked out over the horizon with them. "How much do you remember, back when you met Aang and my brother, and me?"

"Not much, but enough," Raiga answered. "I remember they didn't trust you. I'd heard bad things." Azula nodded.

"Some of what you heard was true, and they had every right not to trust me," Azula took in a deep breath and sighed. "I thought I was a monster too, once. Some would have agreed."

"You, a monster?" Raiga scoffed. "Don't patronize me. You might have been one of the strongest, scariest, and deadliest firebenders, but you're still human."

"Yes, I am," Azula agreed softly. "But I'm not human just because of how I was born, and just because you grew some fur and a tail doesn't make you less human." Raiga furrowed his brow.

"It's not just my body, it's my mind..." The half-spirit replied. "I don't think like a normal human. Maybe I never have."

"There are all kinds of people," Azula was quick to respond. "You may never meet someone who thinks exactly like you do, but you can't use that as a reason to cut yourself off from everyone. You're afraid."

"I am not-"

"Yes, you are," The firebending master interrupted. "You're doing all this because you're scared of being hurt. You want to escape that pain by driving everyone away, by becoming a monster." Raiga stared at her in stunned silence. Azula gave him a stern yet understanding glance. "I've tried that, to forsake my humanity so I wouldn't have to endure the pain of loneliness and rejection, but it isn't worth it."

"Then what did you do?"

"I got help," Azula answered simply. "From those who didn't give up on me, even when I was ready to give up on myself. I don't know if you've noticed, but Korra and her friends have been trying to help you too."

"They're just trying to control me because I'm dangerous."

"That's what I also used to think," Azula said softly. "It's hard to trust when fear has moved in. I know how difficult it is, but if you really want things to get better, you have to be brave. It's going to hurt sometimes, but you have to keep trying. The pain, the conflict, it proves you're still human, that you still have a heart. Don't throw it away."

Raiga listened to her, taking in Azula's every word. His pointed ear twitched as he contemplated his choices.

"I... I like this form," Raiga said. "I feel like myself, I don't want to give it up."

"I know," Azula said. "That's how I feel about my firebending. Some people wanted to strip me of it, but that power belongs to me. It is me. I'll never let it go, no matter how much it might frighten others. That's their problem. Still, if you're going to keep this power, you had best learn to wield it responsibly."

"Again with responsibility," Raiga huffed. "And what about all this?" He gestured to his face, adorned with rusty stripes on his cheeks.

"I'm afraid I can't offer you much advice when it comes to your appearance, but for what it's worth, you don't look half bad," The old master said with a cheeky smirk. "If someone won't accept you for the way you look, then they aren't worth your time., simple as that. I can guarantee you though, what a few would call beastly..." Azula held her palm open and a little blue flame ignited out of it. "...many more would call beautiful."

"Hmm," Raiga seemed to acquiesce. "What am I supposed to do though? Keep living in the woods? I can't settle down and have some normal human life in the city..."

"No one said you had to be normal. What you need is to find yourself a purpose," Azula began to say. "You're a unique creature, I think you can find an unfilled niche. I heard you've taken down some powerful spirits. That's not something just anyone can do. Even Avatars have difficulty with that." The firebender shot Korra a glance. The Avatar sheepishly looked away.

Of course, Korra was not the only Avatar who had clashed with spirits. Every Avatar before her had dealt with them, often very old and powerful, and always with great struggle. Being part spirit himself, Raiga seemed to be the only person Korra knew who could effectively fight spirits on their own terms without the same drawbacks Kuruk had suffered.

"More and more spirits have come into the physical world," Azula continued. "Many friendly, but many dark and dangerous. I think Korra could use a little help keeping them in check. Also, there will be more like you as humans and spirits cross paths."

"Like me?" Raiga asked with confusion.

"Spirit forged," Azula said with a nod of confirmation. "They may not all be as nice to look at as you, but there have been and will be others transformed by the spirits. Perhaps they could use some guidance, once you've found your own path."

"Maybe..." Raiga said, receding deep into thought. Perhaps he had just been overwhelmed and let himself get carried away. "Thanks for the talk. I think I'm good now."

"My pleasure," Azula said as she turned away and headed back for the path she had come from. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way home. My dum-dum of a husband must be worried sick, bless his sweet heart."

"You can get back to the Fire Nation from here?" Korra asked.

"Hm-hm, I didn't say it was the Fire Nation," Azula gave the Avatar a devilish smirk. "It was nice seeing you again, Korra. Let Zuzu know when you're ready to learn lightning and I'll be in touch."

"It was good to see you as well, Master Azula," Korra gave a bow and a salute, and Azula bowed back. The Avatar frowned as she came to a realization, "Wait, you have a husband?" Korra looked back up, but the firebending master was already gone.

*yes, I am alluding to my other main fic*

[goodluckdetective]

Fic: Letters to Nowhere 1/3

Ship: Destiel, Sam/Eileen

Fandom: SPN

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27829108/chapters/68131141

Warnings: Grief mostly 

Tags: Angst with a happy ending, angst, found families

Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Eileen, others in passing or in clips

Rating: PG-13

Length: 2k this chapter

Summary:

AU Post Inherit the Earth

After God is defeated, Sam decides to text the one person they're still missing with regular updates. Castiel can read them when he gets back. Because they are getting him back. 

This isn’t Chuck’s story anymore. They’ve lost too much to him as it is. They’ve won: it’s time they feel like it. And act like it too.

Author’s Note:

It’s 2012 again, here’s Wonderwall. 

This fanfic is not canon compliant after “Inherit the Earth” cus this is my city now. It’s been a really long time since I watched Supernatural, let alone wrote fic for it, so this is a bit like getting on an old rusty bike for me. I was dragged in with the news like everyone else, and because I am a firm believer of "fix canon yourself" here I am, writing fic for a fandom I only wrote for twice in my teens. 

I wanted a Destiel reunion as much as anyone, but there are a lot of fics about that with the focus so I wanted to do something that also looked at Sam and Cas’ friendship. So this is a ship fic and a found family fic because I have two hands. I wanted this all to be a one shot, but it's 7K already and that's wild, so multi-chapter here we come. I hope to have this complete by the end of the year with an update weekly.

Fic below the cut:

He sends out the first one on the ride home from what should have been the end of the world with a dog in the backseat and the radio set to blast.

His phone has been beeping non-stop since Jack turned the lights back on. Dean’s too, though he can’t answer since he’s driving. Some messages he gets are from hunters he hasn’t heard from in years, folks he thought might have died on the job. He’s shocked they even remember what happened. The rest of the world didn’t. It’s such a departure from the last times they saved the world with nothing but silence and a new crisis to await them. 

Eileen’s text to him causes his breath to catch. It’s a single sentence.

“This is real.”

If Dean notices him tearing up, he doesn’t mention it. He’s all eyes on the road, heading back to the Bunker like this was a regular job. After fifteen minutes of calls and messages, Sam opens his contacts to reach out to the one number he hasn’t heard from. His thumb lingers over “Castiel” about to press down when he remembers.

He looks to Dean, considering saying something, then decides better of it. The jubilation of their win sours in his head, the reminder that one person isn’t here to see it a depressing note on what should be their happy new beginning. They’d asked Jack to bring Cas back too, of course, but apparently his Godhood has limits when it comes to the empty. All he’d been able to provide them with was some leads to opening a portal and a wish of luck. No angel, no promise of resolution. 

“Chuck would love this,” Sam thinks. “We can never have a victory without a loss to ruin it.”

Rage boils in his gut at the thought. This isn’t Chuck’s story anymore. He doesn’t get to dictate their life as an endless repeating tragedy. They’ve lost too much to him as it is. They’ve won: it’s time they feel like it. And act like it too.

He sends off the first message a few minutes later.

***

Hey man, it’s me, Sam.

I know this is kinda stupid: it’s not like you get bars in the Empty or anything. I don’t expect you to get these there. But when you get back, you should still have your phone (Dean said it went with you) and I plan to keep paying the bill so 1. You don’t have to ask someone for payphone quarters and 2. You can easily catch up on what you missed while you wait for us to pick you up.

We won. We are going to get you out of there. Promise. 

***

So we won. Chuck is human now. Score one for Team Free Will 2.0.

But, Jack is gone. Not dead: he sorta became God. It’s a long story. Anyway, apparently Godhood means an anti-interference policy or something, so yeah he’s gone. I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye.

He’s happy though. Which I guess is what matters, right?

We asked him about getting you back before he went hands off. He said he couldn’t grab you himself (something about the Empty being its own thing who knows) but he gave us some leads to start looking. Good leads too. And we’ve done more with less.

***

Eileen is waiting for them when they get back to the Bunker. Sam almost trips over his own feet to pull her into a hug. She laughs and hugs him back, and Sam was so sure he would only hear that laugh again on his voicemail that he starts crying on her nice jacket. She cries on him too, though Sam’s jacket is so covered in dirt and blood that the tears might actually make it cleaner.

Dean doesn’t say a word, just walks past them and mouths to Sam “I’ll be inside, loverboy” with a wink. The dog follows him. As soon as he vanishes behind the bunker door, Sam pulls Eileen into a kiss that is considered impolite to have in front of your sibling. 

After they’ve both calmed down a fraction, Sam fills Eileen in on what she missed, signing as much as he knows. She looks devastated when he tells her about Cas, and Sam remembers that the two of them were starting to become friends. When he tells her about Jack she asks quite a few follow up questions trying to wrap her head around it all. Sam doesn’t blame her: he’s trying to wrap his head around it too.

“So, is it thank Jack now?” She signs, using the hand sign they came up for Jack’s name. 

“I don’t think he’ll care either way.”

She walks towards the bunker, and Sam keeps step with her so she can see his face. “How’s Dean?”

“I don’t know,” Sam signs. “It’s hard to tell with him.” That feels like a massive understatement. Sam is sure he knows Dean the best out of everyone on the planet, but still his brother manages to surprise him. Sam can read through Dean’s bullshit better than most and he’s faster to get a clue when something is up, but figuring out how Dean is doing often feels like decoding a spell. Sam can get the general idea from just looking at it, but for the particulars, he has to put in legwork to decipher exactly what’s on his brother’s mind. All he knows at the moment is that Dean is not okay. The rest is a guessing game until Sam has more clues or Dean spills his guts.

 They walk into the door and head down the stairs. Sam can see the dog, a giant ball of white fur, running around the wooden table in the middle, tail wagging.

 “The dog is a surprise,” he signs. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Castiel and Jack’s names carved into the table and feels a pang of loss. Eileen walks up to the dog.

“Really?”

“I thought he hated them. They have bad history.” History is perhaps an understatement, but Dean’s trauma from Hell is not his to tell. He reaches down to pet the dog behind the ears and they bark happily.  The dog makes a pitiful noise when Sam stops petting them to sign to Eileen. “I’m going to see where he went.”

Eileen nods, bending down to spoil their new furry friend. Sam heads down the hallway towards Dean’s room. When he doesn’t find him there, somehow, he knows where to look. Dean told him where it happened. Past the bookshelves and the door with Cas’ blood on it is Dean, staring at the wall. His palm is against it, head bowed. 

“Dean?” Sam says, voice soft, trying not to startle. Dean keeps his pose for a second then turns around to take in Sam, a fake smile falling across his face. Sam knows it well: it’s too large, too tight at the edges, and it doesn’t reach Dean’s eyes. It’s the kind of smile they put on to talk to civilians on cases, the one to disarm and encourage the feeling that “everything’s alright.” 

Sam has always hated seeing it directed at him. It’s a clue that translates to “something Dean doesn’t think Sam can fix.”

“Sorry, just taking a minute,” Dean says. He walks past Sam before Sam can say another word. “Do you know if Eileen is hungry? I think it’s time for dinner.”

Sam watches him go then turns back to the wall. He knows the significance of this room without being told, just from the sigil on the door and the upturned books. This was where Castiel died. Where the Empty took him. 

“What the hell happened here?” Sam asks the empty space. He doesn’t get a reply but it’s not like he expected one. He knows Cas can’t hear him, but just in case, he closes his eyes and directs the question as a prayer, though the wording is slightly different.

“Cas, what the hell happened to you?”

***

[A photo is attached of a large white dog with floppy ears, lying on a bed next to a sleeping Dean. Both dog and man are drooling, the latter onto his pillow, the former onto Dean’s shirt. A dog bed rests in the corner of the room, unused.]

So Dean has a dog now. Her name is Miracle. She’s been here for two days and she already runs the place. Dean even let her have some of his bacon. I checked to make sure he wasn’t possessed just in case. He didn’t think it was funny.

I was shocked Dean wanted to keep her. You know how he is with dogs. But he insisted. And I guess it’s working out because well...you can see the picture.

Might start calling myself Uncle Sam to get on his nerves. I’ll report back on how that goes should I survive. 

I’m looking into a book Jack told me to start at. There’s a spell in it, one to summon someone who might be able to help us help you. Don’t worry, no deal making required. 

Hope to see you soon.

***

Dean is the one to tell Claire. Sam offers to do it for him, but Dean blows him off, gets in the Impala and drives down to deliver the news in person. He refuses to let Sam come with.

“This isn’t shit you should hear over a phone,” Dean says. “It’s my fault he’s gone. I should at least tell her myself.”

Sam is on edge the entire time he’s gone. When Dean comes back, he looks like absolute crap, and when he falls back in a chair, Miracle is quick to run to his side and place her head in his lap. Sam watches Dean pet her half heartedly behind the ears.

“That bad, huh,” Sam says. Dean reaches to pet Miracle under her chin.

“Kid lost enough. Don’t blame her for lashing out at the dude who cost her more.”

“Dean it’s not your-”

Dean looks up at him and his expression is stone. Sam’s words die on his lips. He knows better than to try to talk to Dean when he’s like this. Not unless he wants it to go badly. 

This is another clue, he thinks. Dean blames himself for whatever happened and not just in his general “the world is my fault” way. Dean confirms it himself the next second he speaks. 

“You don’t know what happened. And it is. Trust me Sam, it is.” He stands up and pats the dog on her head. “And it will be until we get him back. So any leads?”

Sam takes the distraction, but he makes a mental note not to let the conversation go. For now.

***

[Text is from a number belonging to contact “Claire Novak, FBI Cell”]

Fuck you for leaving me too.

***

Went to clean up your room a bit so it doesn’t get too dusty. Found it already in good shape. I think Dean has been keeping the cobwebs away. He really misses you, you know? He’s taking this...hard. I’m worried. I’m always worried but you know what I mean. 

Also, I saw your collection of IDs. Agent Lizzo? Really? Did anyone buy that? 

When you get back, we should make you some ones with some artists who aren’t as conspicuous as a lie. I’m shocked you didn’t get busted. 

The ingredients for this summoning spell are kind of nuts, and they’re going to take time to gather. I’m using Rowena’s stash to make up most of it, but the real problem is making a lyre out of some petrified wood.  We have to steal some from a National Forest Preserve. It’s an easy heist, but it’s kinda weird to be trying to con just some Park Rangers.

Also, do angels know how to play a lyre or is that just a stereotype? I’ve been up for over twenty seven hours reading this thing and I have to know. Tell me when you get back.

Also, what do you know about Orpheus? 

[nuclearbuzz]

Ghoul!Kageyama x Hinata - Don’t waste your breath.

Authors Note: This is my first time writing fanfiction at all tbh, but I completely fell in love with this au. So bare with me if the characterizations feel off, It’ll get better next time. Feel free to send me criticism, head cannons, anything really. Also I know the conclusion is shitty I kinda ran myself into a wall and didn’t know where to go with it. But oh well. 

I also wrote a bad ending for this one, If y’all are interested I’ll post that heathenry too :/

__________________________________________________

Kageyama sighs, the day has inched by so slowly it’s almost unbearable. Maybe it has something to do with the hunger, the feeling nagging at his brain - flooding his body with adrenaline. He’d been putting it off for too long. All day his subconscious whispered.

                                                        eat,

                                                        eat,

                                                        eat.

But he knew it would be fine. He’d made it through the day. He was so close, as soon as he walked home and said his goodbyes to Hinata he could go out and find some(one) to eat. He just had to make it a little while longer.

“You okay?” Snapped Kageyama out of his trance. He turned to look at Hinata beside him as they walked. “Sorry were you saying something? I wasn’t paying attention.” He responded a bit too honestly.  

Hinata looked at him slightly concerned. “-oh um, I was asking if you’re okay. You look tired. Still sick?” Kageyama scratched the back of his head, pretending to be confused. “Just got a lot on my mind with Nationals and all I guess. But I’m fine.” He feels like he should say more - but can’t concentrate enough to think of anything.

“Well I’m just glad you’re back. It’s been boring without you.”Hinata pipes up.  Kageyama rolls his eyes and elbows him teasingly in the ribs. He puts all his effort into not using too much force. But he’s still rusty on the threshhold of human strength. “Did you really miss me or were you just tired of being benched?” He muses.

 Hinata looks insulted for a second. “I haven’t been-” He sighs, “Take a compliment for once. Not that you deserve it.”

“Dumbass” Kageyama mutters, eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. He focuses on putting one foot in front of the other - trying to keep himself from thinking of the hunger pooling low in his stomach.

He doesn’t notice Hinata trip, he just sees him face plant into the sidewalk. Like any good friend, Kageyama’s first reaction is to laugh. “Are you okay?” Comes a second later.

He kneels down to check if Hinata’s alright and regrets it immediately. Hinata sits up and cups his face with an odd grimace. “I think-“ He says wincing, Hinata looks at his hand - covered in blood. “Yeah I’m fine, my nose is bleeding but it’s not broken or anything.”

Kageyama stood up a bit too fast, he knows his reaction is cold, and uncaring - It’s not unusual. But this time he needs to put space between them. Even if he doesn't want to. If anything it’s for Hinata’s sake. “You good to walk?” Kageyama says deadpan, trying to change the conversation. He just wants to get home - for this to be over. He feels a twinge of guilt, he hates how good Hinata’s blood smells, how it makes him salivate.

Hinata nods and stands up again, Kageyama doesn’t say anything else as they start back on their way. He’s trying to push the feeling away - trying to ignore all the intrusive thoughts swimming through his mind. Before, that was possible. He could erase that familiar scent of human life that clings to Hinata’s skin from his memory. But now that was marinated in blood and seasoned in hunger. He doesn’t know if he’ll make it all the way back.

He closes his eyes and tries to tune out everything - he breathes in sharply, regaining his senses. “You should get some ice on that.” Kageyama says, trying to cut through the silence he’s created.

Hinata just nods again, tilting his head back. Kageyama is almost relieved that he’s more pressed about stopping the bleeding than continuing their conversation. Honestly he’s impressed that this is what gets Hinata to shut up for once. But at the same time he wonders if Hinata is just upset at him for getting away so fast.

Maybe Kageyama should have helped him back onto his feet. He was too scared that if he’d grabbed Hinata - he’d never let go. But regardless of cause. The resulting silence doesn’t bother him. He can focus on anything other than Hinata for now.

But it’s his subconscious rearing its head again muttering food, food, food like a mantra.

Though now they’re farther apart - Kageyama can imagine how good Hinata’s flesh would taste in his mouth. How easy it would be to scrape away at his skin.

Instead Kageyama bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. Teammates are friends, not food. He reminds himself. - a terrible old joke he’d made years ago.

 But - Hinata is not food.

Food

He doesn’t do anything but keep moving forward. Kageyama wants to run away and apologize later. Maybe that would be for the best. But he doesn’t. Instead, he allows himself to side eye Hinata from time to time. Glancing greedily at his best friend.

Kageyama can hear his heartbeat pulsing in his ears. He shuts his eyes tight - feeling the familiar frigid blackness spreading across his eyes. Not now, anytime but now.

Kageyama forces his eyes back to a normal state - taking a lot of effort to do so. “Are you doing alright?” Hinata asks again, Kageyama just nods bitterly. He doesn’t have the energy to say anything. And he doesn’t want Hinata to know how much he loathes the fact that even now, he’s still asking if he’s okay. Kageyama isn’t the one who’s hurt but Hinata is still worried for him.

But he’s hungry, oh so hungry. It clouds his brain, throws rationality out a window and dims the human side of him. He doesn’t remember how much time has passed and his stomach has been growling and moaning for the past few weeks and he doesn’t need pitying glances from his cattle, his food, his —

Food

It’s just bad luck that their crossroads meet on an alleyway.

“So I guess I’ll see you to-“ Hinata starts. He doesn’t get a chance to finish that sentence. Kageyama moves quickly grabbing the collar of his shirt and roughly shoves him against a wall with a sickening thud.

He barely hears Hinata scream.

“What the hell-“

Kageyama pins him by the neck. Choking Hinata out. Maybe that was him unconsciously being less cruel - he barely processes the fear painted on Hinata’s face as he struggles against his grasp. Struggling to breath, yet he stutters out

“Kage-”

But all that goes over Kageyama’s head. He’s starved and drooling. Hinata has never looked so appetizing, and there was something so satisfying in seeing him like this. So helpless and unable to escape.

And he wants to tear him apart, he wants to feel skin and rivulets of blood fall easily under his teeth - torn asunder by molars which grin mercilessly. He wants to choke out Hinata’s last breath and feel broken bones beneath his fingertips. Scoop out his innards in a frantic haze.

He wants, he wants, he wants- nothing else to matter.

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

                                      But then he’d lose Hinata.

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

It’s selfish, he knows and it’s too late. Kageyama looks as him and feels sick, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He didn’t want Hinata, of all people, to see him as a monster.

He backs away, as far as he can pressing his back to the other wall. - hands shaking - letting Hinata down. His stomach churns and He knows he fucked up and he knows it’s too late, And Kageyama still wants to—

But he knows very well he cannot do it.

                                             He cannot kill him

Kageyama stands petrified, his breath hitches in his chest. He wants to run away, he wants to pretend that what happened, hasn’t. He wants to say something, he wants to disappear.

                                     He wants, he wants, he wants.

“I” - Kageyama stammers. Watching Hinata lean against the wall, holding his sore neck and still catching his breath. Kageyama tries to choke out an apology, it doesn’t even matter, he just needs to say something. But the words get caught in his throat. Maybe just to taunt him with that suffocating feeling - the same one that he’d forced on Hinata.

“Kageyama” Hinata starts, his voice hoarse. Kageyama doesn’t want to look at him, he heard enough in his inflection. “What was that.” He sounds more mad than anything and Kageyama doesn’t blame him.

It takes him another moment to fully process what happened. Hinata inhales sharply. “You’re a, - you’re a ghoul.”

“I’m sorry-“ Kageyama finally manages. He can’t look him in the eyes. He freezes, inner turmoil enough. He wants to disappear. “I never wanted to hurt you and, and I’m sorry.” He feels like a broken record. “I wasn’t thinking, and you were bleeding - it’s been months since I.” He laughs bitterly, if only to keep himself from crying.

“You - you were going to kill me.”

“You’re going to eat me.” Hinata mutters, his voice cracks in his throat.

His words feel like a punch in the gut. Kageyama wants to promise he would never- but he almost just did, he knows that whatever he could say would sound hollow. Kageyama looks down at Hinata, he tries to pretend he doesn’t see how he’s shaking. He doesn’t know what would be the right thing to say. He doesn’t have the right to say something that will make everything okay - because it isn’t.

“Why are you still here?” He says finally, honestly he isn’t sure why Hinata hasn’t run away by now. “If it still means something to you, I don’t plan on doing anything.” His eyes start to sting. “I don’t think I could live with myself if I-“ Kageyama stops just short of finishing but the unspoken words hang in the air between them.

                                                 If I hurt you

“So why did you-“ Hinata can’t finish speaking either, and even if he doesn’t say it Kageyama knows it’s out of fear. He sighs, regret rushing through his veins. Time isn’t just going to rewind for his sake - Kageyama knows that he’ll forever be a monster in Hinata’s mind. He can’t take that back.

“I didn’t mean to, I never wanted you to see me like...like this” Kageyama doesn’t want to continue, but he feels like at the least Hinata deserves the full truth. This might be the last time Kageyama gets to speak to him. His voice comes off hoarse. “I just was, am - so hungry it’s been..longer than usual.” The words sound heavy and awkward to his ears.

“It wasn’t meant to be you.“ Kageyama hopes that sounds comforting in some sense. He doesn’t say that it was meant to be someone else, but the message is understood nonetheless.

                   He knows what you do, he knows that you kill people.

Kageyama closes his eyes. “You were just standing right next to me and you’re bleeding” He sighs. “I’m just - ugh” he fumbles over his words in frustration. “-and you just seemed like an easy target for a second.” Kageyama feels a wave of guilt wash over him. He wants to take the word target back. Target feels final and apathetic. It feels viscerally wrong.

“Oh...” is all Hinata says.

“So what are you gonna do?” Kageyama asks, but it’s bitter. Hinata seems confused by the question - but Kageyama doesn’t give him time to respond.

“You’re going to report me, right? Right?” He stares at Hinata, tone getting progressively louder. “To the CCG?”

Kageyama can’t help but notice how terrified Hinata looks in that moment. He feels like that expression is going to kill him.

                                      Maybe he was just as scared.

                                   He felt sick, he didn’t want to die,

                                 He didn’t want to leave Miwa alone,

                                       Just like their parents had.

                              But still, he’s leaving his fate up to Hinata.

“N-No, I won’t” Hinata says finally, cutting through the heavy silence.

He’s stuck, not really sure what to make of that answer. Of all things, Kageyama doesn’t want acceptance (Forgiveness?) - he knows doesn’t deserve it. Not from Hinata, not from the world. “What are you t-“

“It’s...its okay, Kageyama. I won’t report you. I won’t tell anyone.”

Kageyama feels his eyes burn with stupid tears. No way, no way. There was no way he was going to make a safe break from this. There was no way Hinata still wanted him around after this. Kageyama feels the anger rising in his chest.

“Dumbass.” He says finally.  For a second, It’s all he can muster. Hinata makes a motion to move forward. “Don’t.” Kageyama warns, and for once Hinata stops. “You’re such an Idiot.” He continues. “Just leave me -” 

Again, he moves without thinking. Running out of that alley, away from what just happened. Away from Hinata. He barely registers the scenery passing by. He barely hears the “Can we talk about this?” coming from behind him.

[fireteam-dauntless]

A Tale of Two Guardians IX

Part 1 of the Destined Series. Chapter 9 : Evacuation masterlist

word count : 1.8k tag list : @mail-me-a-snail @basically-nacl send me an ask or a pm to be added to the tag list!

There was radio silence for the next 20 minutes.  We were waiting on Skinner to finish his scouting mission.  I was on one knee by the Legionaries that were transporting our Guardians, checking ammunition and trying to keep my focus off of the dead bodies of my friends that were next to me.  I kept my sniper perched on my leg and I could see Maverick was casting a glance my way every now and then.  Then the comms light up, and the two of us opened up the channel so Skinner could come through.

“So I’ve got two routes for you,” Skinner said through the Taken static.

“Alright let’s hear ‘em,”  Maverick responds.

“You’ve got the most direct route but there’s a lot of Taken there with a couple rifts.”

“Alright, what about option two?”

“It’s completely out of the way but there’s no rifts and very little Taken.”

“So a bloodbath or a long diversion.”

Maverick turned to the Cabal’s leader. “What do you think we should do?”

“How long is the long way?”  The Bracus asked.

“Skinner?” 

“About 15 to 20 min if it stays quiet,”  Skinner responds.  Maverick relayed the information.

“And the short way?”  He asked again.

“Straight through the cafe and a 5 minute run down the hallway,”  the Hunter reported.

“So I vote safe, Zahn?”  Maverick turned to the Bracus.

“I’m with the short way.”

“Genesis?”

I paused before responding.  Maverick was leaving the vote to me.  While taking the short way was the fastest way out of here, it was too risky.  We could all die if we got overwhelmed. “Take the long way,” I said.  “I’ll cover you if anything comes up behind us.”

Zahn cuts in. “I could send some of my men down the short path as a diversion.”

“That’s suicide Zahn,”  Maverick protested.

“They understand that without sacrifice there can be no victory,” Zahn reaffirmed.

“As much as I don’t like it, they’re your men.”  Maverick turned to all of us in the room.  “Alright, then that’s the plan.  Let’s get moving people, let's not waste time. Skinner, you get to the air strip ahead of us and watch the Taken’s movements and radio if they start to catch on to our plan.”

“You’ve got it, o’ great leader,”  Skinner responded spitefully, then the channel cut off.

I stood and readied my sniper.  “Maverick,” I said, and he turned to me.  “I’ll cover you and watch for snipers.  Lead the way forward.”

Before we leave Zahn commands half of his Legionaries down to the hallway.  I nodded to all of them as they passed me.  They were ready to die in order to get us out.  All I could think of was Gilly.  He was ready to die in order to get us out, but I was the only one who made it.

“They’re probably not going to make it, you know that right?”  Maverick said to Zahn.

“I know and so do they, but I have taken their names so their sacrifice will be remembered.”

“Skinner are you in position?”  Maverick said over the channel.

“Yup, waiting on you people.”

“Alright let’s get moving people.”

As we all leave the armory Zahn motions for the Legionaries for the distraction toward the main door. 

Zahn gave his men a speech to boost their moral.  My Cabal was rusty, but it sounded like he was telling them this was for our escape, so not to falter. 

The rest of us head to the other way.  I stayed behind with a new legion that was transporting the dead.  A few Phalanxes and a Colossus followed behind me.

The comms light up again, and Skinner comes back through, speaking more to Maverick than me. “I still get to throw my knife at you back at the Tower right?”  He asked

“If we make out of here you can throw all the knives you want,”  Maverick sighed.

He laughed maniacally and cut the channel.

Our procession down the hallway was quiet, minus the sound of footsteps.  I kept glancing behind us, just to be sure we weren’t being followed. 

“Skinner your intel is solid, not a rift in sight.” Maverick said over the comms.

“You’re fucking right my intel’s solid,” Skinner said sarcastically.  “But the Taken are headed to the other door no doubt to help beat those Legionaries.”

“Good, less resistance for us.” As we’re moving forward, Maverick turns around and shouts the rest of us. “Alright Zahn, your men bought us a window let’s make sure we don’t waste it!”

“How's it looking out there?” Maverick asked Skinner.

“Quiet, most of the Taken went to the hallway. Good call on taking the long way.”

“Are there any snipers out there?”

“None that I can see, it's pretty clear, but there are rifts out here so we better make this quick ‘cause it will get ugly out here fast.”

“Well, we’re at the doors, is the coast clear?”

“For now, but with your fat ass I doubt it will stay that way for long,”  the Hunter snickers, and I couldn’t help but give a little bit of a sigh myself.

“Children,” I chided over the comms, “behave.”

“Alright, ass,” Maverick responded to Skinner, then cut out of the channel.  “Zahn, you and I should go out first and secure the ships.”

“Good idea, Light Warrior,”  Zahn responded, and commanded his men, splitting them up and telling them where to go.  I couldn’t help but keep glancing down the hallway behind us.  I started to get a bad feeling about this, it was way too quiet.  Before I could even bring it up to Maverick, though, I heard him tell Zahn to open the door, and they were gone.  I hurried over to the door and knelt down, glancing down scope.  I watched the airstrip as they ran, watching for trouble, waiting for this feeling in my gut to go away.  I moved my scope off from them once they reached the ships and scanned the runway.  

“Okay, Genesis,”  Maverick said over comms.  “It’s all clear, come to the ships.”

I thought I caught some movement down the other end, but it was gone in an instant.  “I don’t know, Mav,” I said as I lowered my sniper and stood.  “I’m picking up some movement from the other end of the airstrip.”  Even still, I motioned for the team of Cabal with me to follow, and we started to move.  My gut started to wrench, like something was about to happen, so I motioned for the team to go ahead of me.  I kept following them, but I stopped every five steps or so to look behind us and down the runway.  And just like that, when we were halfway to the ship, every portal came to life and Taken started to pour onto the airstrip.  

“Fuck!” Maverick shouted.  “It’s an ambush! Skinner, start taking them out, if you get compromised, come to me!  Zahn, tell your men with Genesis to protect them at all costs!”

The Cabal and I formed a body barrier around the ones who were carrying the dead.  I took out any snipers I could see from afar.  The first wave of enemies was brushed off with ease.  I quickly scanned the airstrip, and of course, back the way we came, I saw way too many Taken start to pour out of the hallway.  

“Move, move, move!” I shouted, waving for the Cabal to start running down the strip, and I brought up the rear.  “Mav, we’re about to have a lot of Taken behind us.”

“Copy that,” he responded.  

I paused for a half second to take out a couple more Taken snipers that appeared, it couldn’t have been longer than that, but a Blight started to form in the small distance that was between the Cabal and I.  I lowered my gun and backed away from it, and a gigantic Taken Knight spawned right in front of me

Why is it always me?  I thought spitefully to myself.  “Keep going!” I shouted to the Cabal, then pulled out my Sol Edge sword just in time to block it’s melee attack, but the pure force of it sent me backwards several feet.  I quickly caught my footing, but before I could even go in for an attack, I heard the distinct clang of a hammer, and I looked up in awe as Maverick slammed a Sunbreaker’s hammer into the Knight’s leg, causing it to fall back, and started hammering it’s face into the ground.

Maverick was screaming and shouting a long string of curses.  There was so much anger and rage in his voice it was barely recognizable. 

When the hammer finally faded from his hand, he stood, though his body was still surrounded by an aura of Solar energy.  He turned to me.  “Let’s go!” He shouted.  “Before I have to pound another Knight into the ground.”

I could only nod and I ran past him, catching back up to the team.  I escorted them the rest of the way to the Harvester without another problem, as most of the Taken had fallen back after Mav’s display of power.  The Cabal started loading them onto the ship and I stood by the ramp, scanning the runway.

“Skinner,” Maverick shouted once he caught back up with us.  “Come down here and watch her.  I still have to escort Zahn and his men to their ship. And Genesis,” he turned to me, “please try not to get killed.”

I held up my hands. “Hey, it’s not my fault everything has a hard on for me.”

He shook his head, but I could hear him chuckling to himself as he walked away.  Skinner appeared beside me, and he watched the entrance while I went inside to make sure everyone was secured for the ride home.  I knelt down next to my team members again, saying a small right of passing so they could have safe passage to the afterlife.  Whatever that was.

I stayed inside with them until I saw Maverick coming back from Zahn.  I joined Skinner back down on the ramp, and when he was within earshot, I said, “Alright Mav, everyone’s loaded on the ship, we’re just waiting on you.”

“Good,” he replies.  “I’m flying the Harvester. You, my Ghost and Skinner will be flying escorts. You’ll be behind me. Skinner and Ghost you’ll be to my sides. Alright now call your ships.”

“Aww, but wanted to strap you to the front of my ship,”  Skinner whines.  I rolled my eyes.  But of course, Maverick just had to indulge him.

“That’s a pretty fucking dumb idea, Skinner,” Mav responded.

“Yeah just as dumb as you coming here ALONE!” 

“Fuck off, I would have been fine.”

“NO you wouldn’t have.”

While they were arguing, I saw movement all the way back down the airstrip.  They were coming back for more, now that the Cabal were gone.

“GUYS!” I yelled.  “Taken!  Let’s GO!” 

“Can I throw Mav to them?”  Skinner asked.

“NO YOU CAN’T NOW LETS GO!” I snapped, then pulled out my Ghost and teleported back into my ship.

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Learning Curve

Presenting the next chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!  

Earlier chapters can be found here

Old habits died hard. Since he was a teenager, Katsuki has almost always risen at 0500.  Sure, there were a few times, like after his first Sports Festival or after some more grievous injuries and hospital stays, where he slept later than that, but it was a discipline he’d engrained in himself for ages.  He’d rise, change, go for a run or engage in other intensive exercise, and still be back in plenty of time to shower, change again, and get breakfast started before Shitty Hair and the kids had even woken up.

He couldn’t go for the run anymore.  He was only a few weeks out from his… injury.  They’d been able to fit him for and fabricate a standard prosthetic in record time, the perks of being the Number Four Hero.  He should have refused the expedited process, done it fair like everyone else.  He felt guilty for it, but Eijiro had convinced him to accept.

“You’ve spent your life helping other people, Katsuki,” Eijiro had said.  “Let somebody help you for once.”

So he still woke up at the asscrack of dawn and there was nothing he could do about it.  Eijiro’s sleeping bulk next to him wouldn’t stir for at least another hour at best.  How he could love someone who snored like a rusty chainsaw, he didn’t know.

With nothing to do for it, he swung himself up into a sitting position, needing more effort than usual to maintain his balance as he slid his foot to the floor.   He can still barely bring himself to look at his… stump.  Katsuki has heard about phantom limb before.  There was little doubt in his mind now that it existed.  There were times he was certain his leg was still there.

But it was not.  The Nomu had broken him.  A fucking robot broke him in ways that all the Villains he’d put away over the years never had.  There were so many enemies he’d made over the years who would have killed to have hurt him this badly, and it had been a damn robot that had done it. Sure, the robot mad obviously been part of some bigger scheme, but he got the feeling he wasn’t the target. Just collateral damage.

Once upon a time, that would have been a big enough blow to his pride that he would have flown into a rage, angry that some crackpot Villain didn’t consider him the world’s biggest threat.

He’d had a lot of therapy since he was a shit-for-brains teenager.  It still hurt, still made him angry, but not in the way it would have once upon a time.

His prosthetic leg stood next to the bed, a reminder of everything he’d lost.  It took the work of several long minutes to put it on. First, he fit the liner around his stump.  It was some kind of high tech interface material, printed circuits on the inside and out, but with a soft texture to prevent chafing and other issues.  Then he fit the socket of the prosthetic on top of that.  Because of the nature of his injury, it wasn’t a clean cut, taking nerves and other muscle fibers with it.  The major of what would be his “knee” was worked into the prosthetic.  Finally, he made sure the prosthetic itself was locked into place and pressed the small button on the side.  

There was a small electric hum as the leg came to life and a warm feeling circulated through his stump.  If he wasn’t too active, he could make this circuitry liner last the better part of three days.  The time was significantly less if he was.  Even though his Quirk was concentrated in his hands, all his sweat had a level of nitroglycerin to it that would eventually cause the circuitry to degrade.  He had plenty of spares, of course, but it was one more reason why he was out of the game for now.

It was almost like having a leg again.  Emphasis on almost.

Eijiro would tell him that he should rest while he could.  Melissa Togata and Mei Hatsume were hard at work on developing a prosthetic that will hold up to his Quirk.  But that would take time.  It was time he didn’t know how to fill.  He’d never been an idle person before.  He wasn’t sure he could survive as one.

He looked over at his husband’s sleeping form and smiled.  He still didn’t think he deserved anyone as understanding and patient as Eijiro.  

The time on the clock said 0515.  Katsuki had let his thoughts wander long enough.  It was time to start the day.

***

“You sure you don’t want any help, Bakubabe?”

“I told you, I’ve got this!”

Eijiro’s question was meant to be helpful, a simple domestic request.  But Katsuki couldn’t help but wonder if Eijiro didn’t think he could cut it. Those were negative thoughts and he had to constantly remind himself that every offer of help was not pity, was not shameful.

Besides, he enjoyed cooking. And there was no way in hell he was letting Eijiro cook.  The last time his husband had tried making breakfast, he’d somehow set the cereal on fire.

Katsuki was making breakfast, his attention was occupied by the stove, but he spared a moment to cast his eyes to the kitchen table, where Eijiro, Katsumi, and Tai were sitting.  Tai was eagerly telling Katsumi about everything she’d missed while at U.A. and Katsumi was listening attentively, her little brother bringing out a softer side in her she’d probably have murdered somebody if they had seen.  

He knew that it would be brief, that Katsumi would be gone all too quickly, first on vacation, then to the U.A. training camp, and then back to U.A., but it made him happy to have all his family back under one roof for a while.

His happy musings were interrupted by the doorbell ringing.  It was a little after 0800.  He wondered who the hell it could be.  They didn’t get a lot of company most of the time, though Pikachu and Lobes and Raccoon Eyes and Soy Sauce Face and all the rest had been coming around more lately.  Eijiro claimed it was because “they’re your friends and they care about you.”

“Somebody going to get that?” he asked.

“I’ll get it!” Tai said cheerfully, jumping up from his chair.  Before Katsuki could even blink, he was already running off.

“I’ll get it,” Eijiro said, getting up and pushing back from the table.  “Before Tai,” he added, hastily.  They lived in a gated community and had a very good security system, so the odds of it being anyone with ill intention towards them were minimal, but they still didn’t allow Tai to open the door without first checking who it was.  A door-cam would let Eijiro know if it was someone who shouldn’t be allowed inside, like a Villain, Monoma, or his mother.  Though for some reason Eijiro actually liked his mother and kept letting her inside.

Still, he listened in as he heard his husband and son answer the door.  “Oh, hi, Mister All Might!”

What?

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it,” Katsumi said quickly.

***

All Might was sitting at his breakfast table.  He’d begged off any actual food, but had accepted the cup of coffee Katsuki had forced upon him.  Because he was a damn good host.  Katsuki took a minute to eat a few bites of his own food before he started talking.

“You do know Deku lives next door, right, old man?” he asked.  “You didn’t get lost, did you?”

It was ruder than he should have been, he knew.  Especially to someone he’d looked up to pretty much all his life.  But he had a damn morning routine and didn’t take well to having it disrupted.  Well, more disrupted than his current circumstances already had.  But he should really have been setting a better example for Tai.  

All Might laughed and shook his head.  “No,” he said.  “I’m in the right place.  I have matters I wish to speak to you on.  But perhaps it would be better in private?”

Katsuki exchanged a quick look with Eijiro and then another with Katsumi.  Over the years, they’d mastered the art of silent communication. He trusted Katsumi to know if she needed to get Tai out of the room.

“Anything you’ve got to say to me, you can say in front of my family,” he said instead.

All Might nodded and sipped his coffee.  “As you wish,” he said.  “But first, may I ask, how is your recovery going?”

The genuine concern in All Might’s eyes and in his voice spoke volumes.  Katsuki was privy to the old man’s secrets and the secrets Deku carried. He knew about how badly the old man had been injured ages ago and how he’d fought on regardless.  He knew about how All Might had held himself together with spit and bailing wire and kept on.  His own injuries weren’t anywhere near as bad as All Might’s had been, but unlike most offers of it, he actually appreciated the sympathy here.  

The unspoken message was clear.  You don’t have to put on a brave face for me. I’ve been where you are.  There’s no shame here.

And for once, Katsuki believed that.

“It’s going,” he admitted. “Still doing plenty of physical therapy. Haven’t fallen in a while.  I can do stairs now.”

“Daddy had to sleep in the guest room when he came home!” Tai volunteered.  “But I stayed with him so he wouldn’t be lonely!”

“Quiet the heroic act, Young Tai,” All Might said, giving Tai a smile.   That practically had his son glowing, though thankfully not the kind he did before he exploded.

All Might hesitated for a moment before he asked a second question.  “And your Agency?”

Katsuki winced at that and an apologetic look flitted across All Might’s face.  “It’s all right,” Katsuki said finally.  “Sidekicks are running things.  Got plenty of them after all.  They still send me some case files and I weigh in and give orders.”

“He won’t take a real leave of absence,” Eijiro said, the traitor.  “No matter how much I ask him to.”

“Brain still works, even if the rest of me doesn’t,” he snapped.  “I’ve still got work to do.  And speaking of, don’t you have to go in today?”

Eijiro looked at the clock and his eyes went wide.  “Oh, man! You’re right!  I totally forgot!”  He got up from his seat and kissed Katsuki on the cheek, ruffled Katsumi’s hair (to her indignant cries and swats), and gave Tai a hug.  “Nice to see you, All Might!” he said, running out the door.

Katsuki just shook his head. “What would he do without me?” he muttered.

“Anyway,” All Might said, “as I’m sure your daughter told you, I’m leaving my teaching position to become U.A.’s new principal.”

Katsuki fixed Katsumi with the same kind of look he used to get confessions out of Villains.  “I’m sure she did,” he said.

Katsumi shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

“You’re gonna be the principal?” Tai asked, eyes wide.  “But who’s going to do your old job?”

“You said you were looking into a candidate,” Katsumi said.  She tapped a finger against her cheek and her mouth opened slightly and closed just as quickly.  If he hadn’t been watching, he would have missed it entirely.  But something in her posture changed and she sat up just a little straighter.

“I did,’ All Might said. “Good memory, Young Lady.   In truth, there was only one candidate we were considering…”

He turned and faced Katsuki. He didn’t even have to say it. Katsuki could put two and two together.

“What,” he said, “the fuck?”

“Daddy said a bad word!”

***

“Are you out of your da—are you out of your mind, old man?” Katsuki demanded, having forced All Might from the kitchen to his private study, putting him on small couch there that Eijiro or the kids crashed on when keeping him company.  The walls were filled with awards and newspaper articles, many of which had been clipped and saved by his overly-sappy husband.  He hadn’t been in here in a while.  Too much of a reminder of what he’d lost and what he might not have ever again.

Katsuki remained on his feet.  It almost put him and All Might at eye level.  All the better to glower and try to control this conversation.   Katsumi had taken Tai upstairs, but he was still aware that, with how loud he could get, his young and impressionable son might still overhear and repeat things he said.  And he’d had enough conversations with Tai’s teacher about that already.

“What,” he goes on, “in our history together, makes you think I’m possibly capable of being a teacher?”

“You’ve mentored any number of Sidekicks,” All Might said, calmly.  “And yes, there were those who complained you were a harsh taskmaster, but every single Sidekick who served under you and who went on to a solo career is a top one hundred Hero.  Even those Sidekicks that left your service to work for someone else are noted to have picked up many skills from you.”

“Well, duh,” he snapped. “Gotta bring up the quality of the dumba—of the people I’ve got working for me.  Can’t have them making me look bad!”

All Might chuckled at that. “And, of course, Young Shinso speaks very highly of your mentorship of him.”

Fuck.

“Shinso,” Katsuki said quietly.  With everything that had been going on, he hadn’t had much time to spare a thought for the kid.  He immediately felt guilty about that.  The kid had been right there when it had all gone down.  He knew Shinso had been feeling guilty about it, but he thought he’d patched things up with their little talk at the hospital.  That was how that worked, right?  Big speech, change the world.  Just like All Might.  

The better part of a decade and a half of parenting told him that was not how anything worked.

“How is he?  I haven’t seen him since…”

“He’s getting better every day,” All Might told him kindly.  “Not quite back to his usual self, even now, but a far cry from where he was back then.  Terrible business…”

All Might’s face had gone quite grim, and Bakugo could understand.  The Nomu were the legacy of his greatest enemy.  Even if it was only someone using those tools, the former Number One could only have been thinking about how if he’d been more certain All for One was in the grave, none of it would have happened.

“But Deku and the others are working on discovering the Villains behind it.  I’m sure we’ll see justice done.”

An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment, until Katsuki broke it.  Because he could connect the dots on this easily enough. “I’m not taking some kind of pity job,” he said.  “Just because I can’t go in the field right now doesn’t mean I’m not gonna leap right back in as soon as the eggheads get it figured out.”

Katsuki grunted.  His stump was beginning to ache.  He’d been on his feet too long, but he’d be damned if he’d give All Might the satisfaction of seeing him need to sit down. It would just prove his point.

“I won’t lie to you, Katsuki,” All Might said, his hands folded.  The Symbol of Peace, in his study, wearing one of those stupid mustard yellow pinstripe suits of his.  How Aunt Inko had never managed to get him to buy better clothes, he didn’t know.  “It was a factor.”

“I ought to throw you out of my house,” he growled, taking a menacing step forward.  He winced again.   “Dammit,” he hissed under his breath.  He really didn’t need to be looking weak now.  With as much dignity as he could muster, and trying to project that it was his choice, he sat down in his desk chair.  It was larger than was really needed to be to be functional, plush and comfortable, not fitting the business-like design of the rest of the study, and just big enough that Tai could sit with him in it.

“Can I ask you to hear me out first?” All Might asked, pleading with him.  

“You’ve got five minutes.”

All Might drew in a breath. “You forget, lad, I’ve seen you grow from an angry young man who threatened to kill his classmates on a regular basis to a responsible young adult who reigned in his behavior enough to get his license to one of the greatest Heroes in the country.  You’ve already had a career that would put many current and even veteran Heroes to shame.  And you really do have a lot of offer.  You’ve got plenty of natural talent, but you paired that with more hard work than anyone I’ve ever seen, other than Izuku.”

Katsuki tried very hard not to react to being compared to Deku like that.  They might have buried the hatchet years ago, but again, old habits died hard.

“More than that though,” All Might went on, “I know what it’s like to be struck down, to have people tell you that you should just give up.  I know what it’s like to have a bright future and...”

The silence that followed for the next several seconds was choking.  But Katsuki understood well what it meant.  All Might was more than lucky to still be among the living.  The different factors that had contributed to his still being alive were nothing short of a minor miracle.

Katsuki was down, but not out.  Injured, but still moving forward.  Still strong in the parts of him that were whole, not some skeleton running on fumes.

And yet the comparison was apt.  He’d been the Number Four Hero with eyes on the Number One slot, and even at forty-one, still had plenty of years left in him.

Had being the operative word.  As much as hated to think about it, the question of “what do I do now?” still weighed upon him.  Because if the eggheads couldn’t fix him…

All Might continued, “Though it was originally meant to simply be a cover for my search for a successor, I found I did love teaching.”  He smiled, ruefully.  “Even if I wasn’t very good at it at first.”

Katsuki had to laugh at that.  “That’s putting it mildly.”

“But the fact of the matter is, teaching helped me re-center myself, after I had spent the last vestiges of my power.  I got better at it.  Or at least I think I did.”

He chuckled again. “Yeah, you were all right.”

All Might shared in the chuckle.  “Such a ringing endorsement.  But the fact remains, Katsuki, U.A. was there for me when I needed it.  Let it be here for you.”

Katsuki looked at the clock. “Your five minutes are up.”

***

“So what did All Might want?” Eijiro asked that night at dinner.  Katsuki had cooked again.  It was something he could still do, so he insisted on doing it whenever possible. Because he pulled his own damn weight. He was nobody’s burden.

“Had to be something big,” Katsumi said.  “Dad sent me and the Squirt upstairs.  Heard him yelling at one point.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Katsuki said automatically.  Dad-instincts had gone to war with his objections to her spilling the beans and had ultimately won.

“That’s your objection here?” Katsumi asked.   But after he gave her a look, she followed up with, “Yes, sir.”

Eijiro was still awaiting an answer to his question.  He should have just said All Might was checking in on him, but he wasn’t and would never be a liar.  He would fully admit to having a fairly selective understanding of reality in the past, but he wasn’t a liar.   Besides, Katsumi and Tai would know that wasn���t true, even if they hadn’t heard what was going on.  And Katsumi was more than smart enough to have to put it together.  The clues hadn’t been hard to follow.

“He had a job offer for me,” he said, finally.

“Oh?” Eijiro asked, water bottle halfway to his mouth.  “Ah, doing what?”

“Teaching,” Katsuki replied.  He frowned. Might as well go for it. “He’s succeeding Nezu as principal and wants me to be the new first year Heroics teacher.”

“I thought that’s what it was,” Katsumi said, “but I didn’t believe it…”

“Believe it,” he said.

“Daddy’s gonna be a teacher?” Tai asked, eyes wide.

“Maybe,” Katsuki said. “I told him I’d think about it.”

“Oh,” Eijiro said.  He took a drink.  

Katsuki sighed.  Eijiro had on his “thinking” face.  The one he got when he wasn’t really sure what to say. Most of the time, it was pretty adorable.  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said.

“Well,” Eijiro said, “it’s just, I know you’re itching to get back into action… just as soon as… you’re able…”   He trailed off, as though not quite sure how to finish that sentence.  “How’s that going to work?”

Yeah.  That was the goal.  “As soon as he was able.”   Whatever that meant.  And the timeline didn’t really seem good.  They all knew it.  No one said it, but they all knew it.  Well, Tai probably didn’t know it.  But they’d all been content to hold onto the fiction that it was just a matter of time until their lives were all back to normal.

He wasn’t a liar, but he was certainly good at burying things he didn’t want to think about.

“Might not be forever,” he said instead.  “But it’d get me out of the house.”

“He’s right about one thing,” Eijiro said, now that they were on slightly steadier ground.  “You’d be a great teacher.”

“I’m trying not to be insulting here, but…” Katsumi said.  She shrugged helplessly when they looked at her.

“No, really!” Eijiro insisted.  “Your dad’s the reason I passed all my regular classes!  Mina and Denki too!”

“Couldn’t have a bunch of dummies drag me down,” Katsuki said, his mind flashing back to long and yelling-filled study sessions.  He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be allowed to come up with insulting nicknames for his students or launch into profanity-laced tirades about how they wouldn’t know the quadratic equation from their own asses.

Katsumi, meanwhile, had pushed her plate away and was holding her head in her hands.  “I don’t believe this…”

That did give him a moment’s pause.  He hadn’t thought through this angle when he’d been talking to All Might.  “Look, if you don’t want me too…”

She pulled her head up. “I’ll live, Dad.  You would be good at it.   Who else did I get all my moves from?

“And besides,” she went on, “you’d be less embarrassing than Papa.”

“Katsumi!” Eijiro shrieked.  “I’m not embarrassing!  I’m the cool dad!”

“No, you’re not,” Katsumi and Katsuki said at the same time.  They stared for a moment, then laughed.

“Um,” Tai said, “if you’re gonna be a teacher, are we gonna have to move?”

“That’s something Papa and I would have to talk about,” Bakugo said.  Thoughts of no longer living within shouting distance of Deku, Pickahu, that Copycat Bastard, and Eijiro’s dumber half-brother danced through his mind, before remembering that Itsuka Tetsutetsu was already a U.A. teacher, splitting her time between living on campus and their home across the street from him, though they had the advantage of only having the one child.

“We’d probably move though,” he said.  “Or else I wouldn’t get to see you as much.  And nobody’d like that.”

Tai nodded.  “I’d miss you!  And if Papa had to do all the cooking, we’d starve!”

Eijiro crossed his arms and harrumphed.  “Everybody’s a critic.”

“You know he’s right, Papa,” Katsumi said.

Still…

“It’s your choice, Bakubabe,” Eijiro said after a moment.  “You know me.  I’ll follow you anywhere.  If you want this… if you need this, then we’ll do it.”

“Yeah,” Katsumi said. “As long as you promise not to embarrass me…”

“Daddy’s gonna be a teacher!” Tai said, helpfully.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Maybe I am…”

***

Later, Katsuki climbed into bed with Eijiro, the thoughts of the day still running through his head. He had been an easy sleeper, but ever since the Nomu, it took him longer and longer to fall asleep.  There were too many intrusive thoughts these days trying to undermine his confidence and sense of self.  He’d had nights like that before, like when his children had been born and he’d been worried as fuck about how he could be a good father.  But this, this was more like when he’d blamed himself for All Might’s last stand.

The thought that he would never be good enough again kept pounding against his the inside of his skull. The question of whether accepting this teaching job was giving up or being realistic asked itself a thousand times, in a thousand different ways.

“What do you really think, Eijiro?” he asked.  There wasn’t much need to be more specific than that.

Ejiro put a bookmark in his book, set it aside, and took off his reading glasses.  “Do you actually want my opinion, or is this one of those times where you’ve already made up your mind and are just looking for permission?”

Dammit, Eijiro was more perceptive than he gave him credit for.

“I want your opinion, Shitty Hair,” he said.  “I do this, it’s not just my life that’s affected.  It’s you, it’s Katsumi, it’s Tai.”

“Tai’s five,” Eijiro said. “Plus, he can adapt to anything. Worst thing for him will be if he doesn’t get to see Mako and Takeru as much.”

“And Katsumi?  Can’t imagine she wants her old man around every day.”

“Kana manages it with her mom,” Eijiro reminded him.  “Besides… after we thought we might lose you, I think she’d appreciate seeing you a little more often.”

“And what about you?” Katsuki demanded.  “Stop putting everybody else’s needs first and tell me what you think, Shitty Hair.”

Eijiro reached over and took his hand in his own.  He gave it a squeeze.  “Bakubabe. You’re my home.  Wherever you go, I go.  We’ll find a way to make it work.  You need this.  So if you want to do this, I’m behind you, one hundred percent.   We said for better or for worse. It’s the Manly thing to do.”

It sure seemed like a lot of worse right now.  But he didn’t back down from a fight.  

Katsuki nodded and gave Eijiro’s hand a squeeze in return.  “I’m not giving up, understand?  Just a temporary leave of absence to focus on my recovery and pass on a little wisdom.  That’s it. That’s what this is.”

Eijiro gave him a smile. One of his “I’m agreeing with you to allow you to save face, even though we both know you’re bluffing to cover up how afraid you are” smiles.  Eijiro had had a lot of practice with that one over the years.   He knew that if Eijiro truly thought he needed to, he’d call him on the bullshit.  

“Of course, Bakubabe. As long as you think you can do it, I’m with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!  Of course I can do it!  Why wouldn’t I be able to do it?!  If All Might or that hobo Aizawa can teach…”

He stopped and gave Eijiro a swat upside the head with his free hand.  “I see what you did there, Shitty Hair.”

There are times, like now, where Katsuki wondered what he did to deserve someone like Eijiro in his life. Questioning that tended to lead down dark paths.  So for now, he was just going to welcome the support.

Him.  A teacher.  It was almost unthinkable.  And yet everyone kept saying he had it in him.  All Might, Eijiro, they all believed in him.

He used to believe in himself.  There were times in his life where he had believed in himself too much, believed in himself to the point of believing he was the center of the universe.  At least that wasn’t the case anymore.

But maybe, just maybe, he could get a little of that belief back.

[meat-husband]

Can we get a part two for the realistic bubba ask? Like if he comes around or their next encounter, sumthin like that if you’re up for it?

Okay, I really love how this turned out, except the end is a little eh cause I have no idea when or how to stop writing lol

Edit: Parts One and Three

You haven’t seen any of the Sawyers in months. That wasn’t too unusual, they weren’t much for socializing, but you had a good trade going up until three months ago. You didn’t have much, and they had even less, but both sides had always come out with enough to get by on. There wasn’t a way to survive out here without relying on neighbors for help or trade, which made it all the stranger that Drayton hadn’t come around again. No one else had seen him either, outside of stops at the station, after he had gone around town bartering stacks of dried meat like it was cash. You had since found out that the amount he had brought over to you was only a fraction of what he had taken around town, which made you think there was no way it had been stolen from the slaughterhouse. That amount of meat gone missing would have been noticed, regardless of how they would have managed to get it out without being seen. Something was definitely going on with the reclusive family, and although you didn’t want to get mixed up in whatever it was, you were about to do just that anyways.

It had taken you almost two months to get together enough scrap to fix up your old generator, although usually you wouldn’t have bothered. It was loud and old, and you had a newer one already hooked up to the house, so it was mostly kept around for spare parts. But you hadn’t repaired it for yourself. Things like that were always needed around here, where most people didn’t have connections to the city lines, and you knew Drayton wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to pick one up. Besides, it was too big and clunky for you to move on your own, so he’d have to bring help, which is just what you were hoping for. 

You were out just after dawn, trying to beat the summer heat even though it was already well into the 80s. The old generator had been halfway pulled towards the barn doors, but you couldn’t get it much farther than that. Even that had sweat pouring down your face, and you were in the middle of trying to cool down when the rattling of an old truck came from outside. Quickly, you straighten your clothes and run a hand through your sweaty hair, hoping you don’t look too bad, before stepping out to greet them. 

You’re surprised to see that Drayton isn’t the one behind the wheel, but rather his scrawny younger brother. The other sibling is there as well, the big one you had been hoping to see in the first place, but you’re a little concerned to see that Drayton isn’t here. 

“How’re you doin’ today?”

The brother gives you a wild eyed look, a big grin on his face. It’s an off putting expression on his already strange face, but you smile back politely. 

“W-we’re good!”

The answer is loud and enthusiastic, and you’re just a little bit baffled at how high spirited he seems already. 

“Well… Alright.”

The truck door pops open with a rusty squeak and he steps out, glancing around your yard. 

“Barn’s over here,” you say, pointing towards the run down shed. “Generator is already half out, I just couldn’t get it the rest of the way. You need any help getting it-“

He shakes his head, waving long, stringy hair around his face. 

“Gotta look, uh, l-look at it first.”

You watch him wander into the barn, a frown on your face. He’s definitely… stranger than you remembered, it was no wonder the Sawyers had been some of the first to get laid off at the slaughterhouse. You couldn’t imagine working in a place like that with him running around. 

You leave him to look the old machine over, though you don’t see the point. It’s a piece of junk barely holding together, but it works, and that’s all that matters. Drayton had offered you a stubbornly small amount of credit at the station in return for it, and usually you would have argued over it, but it probably wasn’t worth what he was giving you anyways. 

His brother is lingering in the truck, door still closed and seemingly hiding behind it. His shoulders are hunched and he’s looking down at his lap, a mop of dark curls in his eyes. The sight brings a grin to your face, and you step up to the truck. He hears you coming, his quick glance up showing you a worried expression. 

“Hey, there,” you say with a smile, leaning on the truck door and propping yourself up on the open window. “You ain’t been around here in awhile, huh.”

You get a nervous titter in response, seeing the hands gripping his knees turning white. He had always been a shy one, avoiding your attempts at conversation and hiding behind Drayton. A quick look over your shoulder confirms that the scrawny brother is still in the barn, fussing over something from the sound of it. 

“You’re name’s Bubba, isn’t it?” 

You already know the answer, but you ask it anyways, watching him give you a hesitant nod. You give him your name, reaching a hand through for a shake, but he doesn’t take it. His eyes dart from his lap to your hand, looking a little bit afraid, so you withdraw it, not wanting to be rude. 

“I like your tie,” you say after a moment of silence, watching his fingers twitch up towards it before settling back in his lap. “It’s real cute, you know.”

He mumbles something, and you’re not sure what the words are, but they sound almost flustered, the corner of his mouth tipping up just slightly. Your smile gets bigger, leaning in through the window a bit. 

“You’re cute, too.”

He chokes, looking at you from the corners of his eyes with a red face, fingers twisting together. His mouth twitches up, then back down, then up again, as if he’s not sure how to react. 

“Hey!”

The sudden shout makes you jump, turning to find the brother just a few feet behind you. You aren’t sure how he’d managed to sneak up on you so quickly, but you take a few steps back to put some distance between the two of you. 

“C’mon, Bubba,” he says, reaching forward to pull the door open. “G-get it in the truck!”

Bubba is quick to do as he’s told, lumbering towards the barn with heavy strides. He seems even more nervous to be out of the truck, so you don’t follow when he goes through the doors, standing at the side of the truck with his brother.  

“You, you sh-shouldn’t bother my brother like that.”

“What?”

The look on his face is still just as strange, but his eager grin has turned into a frown, wide eyes watching you. It’s hard to tell from his unusual demeanor, but there’s something threatening about the way he grits his teeth at you, lips curled back. 

“Teasin’ h-him,” he says, waving his hands in jerky motions towards the barn. “He don’t, don’t know when people a-are jokin’ with him.”

It takes you a few seconds to catch on to what he’s saying, but once you do, you let out a laugh. It sounds like you’ve just been given the Sawyer version of a warning off, like a father trying to scare away his daughter’s suitor. 

“Oh, no, you ain’t gettin’ it either, huh,” you say with a smile, remembering Drayton’s confusion. “I ain’t teasin’ him, or being mean. I’m flirting.”

He looks just as surprised as his brother was, his whole body going still and the short, jerky twitches of his fingers stopping. He’s silent, and you would bet this is the most quiet anyone’s ever gotten out of him before, looking like he’s frozen in place. 

“You, uh, might wanna see if he needs any help with that thing.”

You don’t doubt that Bubba can lift the thing on his own, but he hasn’t come out yet. His brother shuffles in place for a moment, jerking his head around before giving you another grin and running off. You can’t help but feel a bit more positively about the guy now, having heard the sharp edge to his voice when he told you off. They’re weirdos, but it was nice to see him being protective of his little brother. 

The bang of the barn doors being thrown open draws your attention, turning to see the brother scurrying back over with a manic look on his face. After a few seconds, Bubba steps out with the old generator held up to his chest, seemingly not affected by the weight at all. You’d have taken a second to admire how much strength that had to take, but his brother beats him to the truck. 

“Y-you oughta come over, f-for dinner!”

You raise your eyebrows at the offer, hands on your hips as you watch him open the flatbed of the truck. 

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, a little suspicious of this sudden friendly offer. “Don’t think Drayton would like that much.”

“He don’t t-tell us what to do!” He sidesteps around Bubba as the machine is dropped into the back of the truck, rattling the whole thing on its wheels. “Ain’t t-that right, Bubba?”

His brother looks much more hesitant, but gives a slow, unsure nod of agreement, eyes on the ground. His face is bright pink, either from the heavy lifting or your previous conversation - and judging by the way his fingers reach up to tug at his tie, you can make a guess at which one it is. 

“Alright,” you say slowly, turning over the idea in your mind. “I guess that’d be okay, I got some free time comin’ up next week. Run it by your brother first though, don’t want him blowin’ up at me when I show up.”

You hear a cackle, watching as the scrawny brother digs a hand into his dirty pocket. Bubba is shifting nervously behind him, and although he’s been on edge ever since they showed up, this time it gives you an unsettling feeling. That feeling proves right when a filthy pocket knife is swung in your face, barely missing your nose as you step back. 

“What the fuck?”

“Y-you’re comin’ with us,” he laughs, stepping around to trap you in between him and the truck. “Can’t leave B-Bubba’s little, little friend behind!”

You glance at the knife in his hand, big enough to do some serious damage if you get stuck with it, and you’re not sure if you’re fast enough to get past him without that happening. He jabs it towards you in a mocking way, laughing when you jump away from the blade. Stuck between the knife and the truck, you know you’re not going to be able to get out of this one.

Well, shit, you think.

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot “Consequences” (Rated NC17)

Summary: At a formal dinner thrown by a good friend, Kurt encounters a man he'd rather forget existed. He handles the situation with his signature cool, but his pet might not be quite so disciplined. (2529 words)

Notes: Okay, so, right off the bat, there are a few things I will admit are slightly problematic about the way Kurt and Blaine handle things here, but I know people like Kevin personally, and sometimes, a good old-fashioned revenge fic can make your day xD Plus, before anyone comes at me about hating switches, that isn't what this fic is about. I love switches. I know tons of them. But I also know people in the kink community who's behavior give switches a bad name. Kevin happens to be one of those. Dom Kurt, sub Blaine

Part 69 of Taking a Journey Together

Read on AO3.

“Why, if it isn’t Kurt Hummel!”

Those words slide unappetizingly through several sour notes of a single rusty octave range, volleying towards their target (in this case, the back of Kurt’s head) and striking with the messy precision of a hot mustard sandwich.

“Well, well, well …” The distastefully tipsy voice becomes louder as its owner slinks closer “… look who the cat dragged in! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Blaine, holding his Master’s drink with eyes trained on the floor, feels Kurt sigh through every fiber of his being from four feet away.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Captain Cliché. God save us all,” Kurt mutters under his breath. He reaches for his drink - a half filled glass of champagne – which Blaine obediently hands over, and knocks it back in one gulp.

Blaine takes the empty glass, prepared to hand it off to the next serving slave that passes by. He keeps his eyes lowered, disallowed to lift them as a submissive, but he doesn’t need to see this man to know who he is, though they’ve never been introduced.

Kevin Dale.

Not Kurt’s only ex, but the dreaded ex.

Blaine knows all about him. He’s the only sub Kurt had who doesn’t gush over him the way his other subs do. Worse, he does anything he can to cut Kurt down behind his back. He identifies as a switch, and is more than likely painting himself as a Dom for this particular occasion, which is why he can approach Kurt like they’re equals. He’s an egotistical ass who is more into fetish than BDSM, but he’s also an attention whore - a difficult thing with Kurt by your side. It’s one of the reasons Blaine can travel in BDSM circles with his Master and not worry too much about being noticed for who he is in real life.

On Broadway, Blaine’s the star, but in this arena, all eyes are on Kurt.

And even if they weren’t, they should be, because Blaine’s Master looks stunning.

They’re attending the first formal dinner they’ve been able to go to since Blaine started his new show. The dress code is evening gowns and tuxedos for the Dominants, clean-cut and slightly more casual attire for the subs - anything from the grey dress slacks and eggplant cashmere sweater Blaine has on to completely nude and collared applies. Blaine doesn’t have permission to look in the faces of the Dominants around him, but there’s two things he can tell about Kevin off the bat without looking:

The man is leering at his Master like a cat staring at a plump pigeon perched too high out of his reach.

And he’s drunk as a skunk.

Which leaves Blaine with a lot of questions, first on his list being where did their host go? It stated quite clearly in the invitation that it was against the rules to get drunk at this function. Inebriation was grounds for immediate removal.

Someone should have carted Kevin out of here a bottle of champagne ago.

“Oh, Kevin,” Kurt says, frustration embedded in his tone. “And just when I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Looks like today’s your lucky day!” Kevin slurs, but his attention wanes quickly when he sets eyes on Blaine. “And look who we have here!”

Blaine can’t see when the man’s eyes find him, but he knows his gaze lingers. He feels it like oily fingers trailing down his skin. He shivers in disgust.

“I heard you had a beautiful new boy, but I didn’t realize he was that beautiful.”

“Yes, he is. I’m incredibly lucky. And before you ask, no. I don’t share.”

“I wouldn’t even think of it,” Kevin replies, but to Blaine’s ears, he sounds disappointed. “I’d have no way to reciprocate.”

“So, you’re still unattached?” Kurt asks. To the outside observer, it would sound like small talk, but Blaine knows his Master took a dig.

“Sadly, yes. I’m far too busy to deal with anyone these days – Master or sub.”

“Pity,” Kurt grumbles, grabbing another glass of champagne when a tray passes by. “And yet you managed to find time in your schedule to show up here. To what do we owe the honor?”

“What’s the good of being part of the kink community if you don’t mingle from time to time? And being single is, uh … a great time to mingle.”

Kurt takes a possessive step in front of Blaine, a sign that Kevin must have given Blaine another lecherous once over. But Kurt changing positions draws Blaine’s gaze to his right, to his Master’s hip and Kevin’s hands gesticulating in and out of his line of sight. That’s when he sees it – a gold chain on Kevin’s wrist holding a complicated silver key. Blaine has seen those kinds of keys before. He knows what they’re for.

Kevin having one doesn’t make sense.

Kurt notices it, too, when Kevin dramatically reaches for his own glass of champagne, flashing it before Kurt’s eyes, waiting for Kurt to mention it. “So, you’re a key holder now?”

“Yup.”

“But I thought you said you didn’t have time for anyone.”

“I don’t.”

“So … whose is it?” Kurt sounds downright exhausted when he asks, but Blaine knows why he does. Not because Kurt cares who Kevin’s seeing, but because he wants to make sure that any soul who turns themselves over to Kevin’s quote-unquote care, even casually, knows what they’re getting themselves into.

“My own.”

Kurt’s breathing stops short in a shocked way that makes Blaine want to laugh, but he holds himself together.

“Come again?”

“I couldn’t find anyone worthy of being my key holder so I’m doing it myself.”

“O-kay.” As a masochist himself, Kurt can’t judge. He has a cage of his own. Several, if he’s being honest. There are many things he does to himself that stricter purist Dominants would consider crossing a line into submission. And Kevin’s a switch. Different rules apply. Still, what Kevin does, he does mostly for show, so Kurt would face palm himself if it were socially acceptable. “Whatever floats your boat.”

“Yup. I bought the heaviest, most restrictive cage I could find. Expensive, too,” he exposits even though no one asks, grabbing himself in the crassest way possible to emphasize his point. “It’s special made to my specifications, one of a kind, with only the one key.” He holds up his wrist, dangling the key in front of Kurt’s face like some sort of enticement. “I’d have to go see a locksmith if I lost it. Maybe even the ER.”

“You don’t say.” Kurt grabs another flute of champagne when another tray goes by out of habit now, sounding less interested in this conversation than he would talking about the average velocity of snot traveling through space. “You’d better pray it doesn’t go astray then.”

“The only way someone’s going to get ahold of this baby is to cut off my hand.” Kevin growls, sounding excited that someone might actually fight him over that key. Maybe he’s hoping Kurt will just so he has an excuse to mess with him again.

The assumption that he could sets Blaine’s back teeth on edge.

Kurt sighs. Blaine knows that sigh. It’s Kurt’s beyond done sigh. “Well, as exciting as this has been, I’m afraid it’s about time that my pet and I run along.”

“Ooo,” Kevin coos, stepping purposefully in Blaine’s way as they begin to walk off causing Blaine to run into him. “Feel like moving this party somewhere else, then? Somewhere more intimate?”

“Not in the slightest.” Kurt takes Blaine’s elbow and maneuvers him around the swaying bastard grinning in front of them. “You stay here, Kevin. Here ...” He thrusts his untouched glass of champagne in the man’s hand “… have a drink. I’m going to find Adam and confer with him about the caliber of his guest list. Have a lovely rest of your evening.”

“You as well, mon ami,” Kevin says with a clumsy wave, watching Blaine’s ass in particular as the two men leave, hand lewdly reaching for his caged cock again.

***

“Jesus Christ! That was the longest, dullest dinner Adam has ever thrown!” Kurt laments, shoving Blaine against the first wall he can find the second they walk through their hotel suite door. “I don’t know why he chose to change party planners, but they had no clue what they were doing!”

Blaine doesn’t get a word in before Kurt claims his mouth and kisses him hard, smacking the back of his head against the drywall. Not that he would have said anything … or had permission to speak. None of that matters anyway because he enjoys this – enjoys Kurt’s control, a control he doesn’t even have to surrender to. One only needs to surrender control when they have it, and as Blaine’s control is limited, there’s nothing to surrender. He just gets to be and that’s all he really wants.

“You know, I thought our evening was shot when that asshole Kevin showed up, but with you there …” Kurt breathes his pet in deep, letting the clean smell of Blaine’s skin fill his nose and mouth “… you make it all bearable.” He grins against his pet’s lips, crowding him further against the wall even when there’s no more room, pressing the whole of his body against him. “You were such a good boy tonight, pet.” Kurt giggles, reaching for the buckle to Blaine’s slacks. “Such an obedient boy. I think that deserves a reward. Don’t you?”

“I …” Blaine squeaks. God! Now is so not a good time to speak up, but he has to! If his Master finds out he was keeping something from him after receiving a reward, Blaine won’t see another one until the year’s out. And it’s only February. “Sir, I have a confession to make. An important one.”

“Oh?” Kurt steps back, annoyed at the interruption, but mostly at the idea that his pet may have disobeyed him behind his back. “And what’s that, pet? Tell me now.”

But Blaine doesn’t say another word. He reaches into his pocket and slowly pulls out a gold chain. He holds it up in front of Kurt’s face, gulping down air with a dry throat, aware that this might have serious consequences. Kurt’s eyes spring open wide.

The gold chain twists in front of his eyes from the weight of a single silver key.

A complicated key.

A familiar looking key.

“What the …?” Kurt stares at Blaine, surprise mixed with confusion swirling within his gaze. “When did you …?”

“I … I didn’t, Sir. Not intentionally. When Kevin bumped into me on the way out, the clasp must have caught on to my sweater and broke. It was stuck to my sleeve. I didn’t notice until we were in the parking lot. I suppose I could have told you in enough time to return it, but I ...” Blaine’s bottom jaw snaps shut, and with it, Kurt’s already wide eyes open further.

“But what, pet? Finish.”

“But I …” Blaine inhales in and exhales out, mentally preparing to end this night taking whatever punishment his Master sees fit to give him. “I don’t like Kevin. I don’t like the way he talked to you. I don’t like the way he talks about you. I don’t like the fact that he disrespects you. You’ve told me how he acted when the two of you were together – how he insulted you, manipulated you. Obviously, he hasn’t changed. I know that those concerns shouldn’t be mine, and that I should just obey. You give me rules, and I should follow them without question. But I wanted to get back at him. And this seemed like a fitting way.”

Kurt grabs the chain from Blaine’s hand and examines the clasp, not because he doubts his pet’s version of events, but so he can grasp the extent of what happened. He holds the chain closer to his eyes and sure enough, the clasp has snapped, rendering it permanently open. Kurt muses over this turn of events, contemplating what he should do, how he should handle Blaine. Considering the condition of the chain, it’s not really Blaine’s fault.

And yes, Blaine shouldn’t carry those concerns. They’re for Kurt to bear. But Kurt can’t punish Blaine for his loyalty. That would be like setting him up to fail. Kurt confided in him to begin with. Did he expect his loyal pet, this man who loves him unconditionally, to be able to push those things aside without any opinion on them whatsoever?

Kurt isn’t able to. Blaine has confided in Kurt, too, about demon exes from his past. Kurt hasn’t set any of that information aside. On the contrary, he’s created a hit list of sorts. On occasion, he takes it out, Googles a name, looks at a picture, memorizes information, dreams about the kinds of punishments he’d dish out if the two ever crossed paths …

Blaine shouldn’t disrespect a Dom by keeping his key from him. Losing keys are anxiety fuel for Kurt. But no one they know really considers Kevin a Dom worthy of respect anyhow.

Very few people consider him a Dom at all.

According to Adam, the man wasn’t invited to his soiree tonight. He finagled himself inside by taking advantage of his overwhelmed party planners – another point against him.

But regardless of feelings and people’s opinions, in the end, Kevin should have opted for a sturdier chain to carry his super important key.

The irony of Kurt finding himself unexpectedly becoming Kevin’s key holder makes a grin burn from cheek to cheek.

“You know, I should probably be upset at you for this,” Kurt says, unable to keep the snicker out of his voice. “And you’re right. The responsible thing would have been to tell me about this earlier, when I could have done something about it.”

“I know, Sir,” Blaine says, pressing his chin to his chest to hide the smile that won’t go away, relieved when he hears his Master’s playful tone. However Kurt decides to punish him over this, Blaine will deserve it.

But for the moment, he feels fucking great.

“Stay here, pet, while I take care of … this,” Kurt says, sneering at the key, thoughts of having to see the distasteful man again sullying his mood.

“Yes, Sir.” Blaine assumes Kurt will put the key safely away and text Kevin about it, letting him know when and where he can pick it up. After all, that’s the responsible thing to do. Kurt crosses the room to the bathroom and disappears behind the door. The next sound Blaine hears is the toilet flushing. Kurt comes out, brushing his hands together, the chain and key nowhere to be seen.

“Master?” Blaine says, raising an eyebrow.

“You know nothing, and neither do I, pet,” Kurt declares, returning to the matter of Blaine’s belt buckle. “Are we clear?”

“Crystal, Sir,” Blaine says, biting his lower lip the second Kurt slips his hands downs his pants.

“So,” Kurt hums, vibrating with satisfaction, “where were we …?”

[staticscreenwriting]

the same sunset  - chapter three

Chapter three - trashed

Masterlist : add /tsmstorymasterlist after my URL

The music sounding from Carol’s house can be heard all the way to the other end of the street where Billy parks his car in the driveway that leads to nowhere. It seems there has once been a house there but now it’s just a deserted spot being used by teenager to park their cars whenever Carol decides it’s time to throw another rager.

Walking down the street towards the party, Billy can’t help but admire the confidence Cleo seems to emmit. It’s different to his. His is fake and take all the effort in the world to uphold. Hers seems to come natural. No effort at all.

“ You know “ she speaks up as they’re just a few houses away from Carol’s “ you can go in first if you want. They’re gonna talk if they see us arrive together. And I’ll have you know, as hard as it is to believe, I am not the most popular person. So if you don’t wanna ruin that cool brooding bad boy persona you have going on, I understand. They don’t need to see us together. “

“ Don’t make a big deal of it, then they won’t “ Billy replies. Back in California he was a different person. People there had known him since childhood and with them he didn’t ever really have to think about any image he wanted to uphold. He was just Billy. His mullet, the camaro, the music and the jeans. Those were just things that belonged to him as much as Max’ red hair belonged to her. They mean different things now.

In California he was Billy first, all the other things came with him.

Here they saw the car first, the outfits, the attitude. The loud music and the constant unbothered look etched onto his face. And from that they made up their own image of who he was. And it worked in his favor really. He’s adored by the girls and admired by most boys. And if that means he has to pretend not to be bothered by shit than so be it. Seeming numb is easy. He’s gotten a lot of practice at home.

“ Oh boy, you’re so not a small town boy. “ Cleo says and skips ahead of him a few steps, giving Billy a perfect view of her ass in jeans that are fitting like a god-damn glove. He can’t suppress a smirk, thinking back to Pete’s disapproving look back at the diner.

There’s a red solo cup pushed into his hand as soon as Billy enters the house. That awful “I Ran” song is blasting through the stereo and Billy remembers the reason he usually gets shitfaced at Carol’s parties. The music sucks.

Cleo walks further into the room and is swallowed by the crowd before Billy can figure out where she’s going. Only a mess of blonde hair visible as she squeezes herself between the dancing teenagers.

“ You know, when you asked me about her I just thought you were curious. Didn’t think you were into her “.

Of course it’s Tommy who hands Billy the drink, he’s probably been sitting by the door waiting for him to show up. It’s a little sad really, Tommy’s been following Billy around like a lost puppy from day one. But then again, no matter how annoying or clingy he is, Tommy is not a bad guy. He’s just not the brightest crayon in the box but Billy can deal with that. Also he’s Billy’s walking encyclopedia on all things Hawkins High and always knows when and where the parties are happening.  

“ Shut up, man. It’s not like that. I uh — I work at her dad’s diner. We were just carpooling here. That’s it”.

“ You have a job ? “ Tommy asks dumbfounded. His eyebrows are raised in question and for a moment it makes Billy angry.

“ We don’t all have a dad who blows money up our ass and buys everything for us, Tommy “

It’s a little harsh, Billy admits that, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Tommy’s dad is the owner of some big ass lumber yards all over Indiana, dispensing wood to all kinds of high class furniture stores to make fancy sofas for fancy people, like Tommy’s dad.

Billy’s met him a few times and he seems to have zero backbone and the personality of a sponge but his wallet is wide open. Probably to make him feel better about not giving a proper shit about his son. As long as Tommy doesn’t get too out of line, his dad doesn’t really pay him any attention. He’s supposed to take over the business someday in the future. That’s the end game. Everything until then doesn’t really matter.

“ Hey sorry, man. That’s not what I meant. I think it’s cool you’re working. Do you think you can get us a discount if we come around ? “

Billy only shakes his head, a smirk finding a way onto his lips again. Tommy’s a fucking nuisance most of the time, like everything and everyone in this place. But he’s honest and Billy can appreciate that a whole lot.

“ Dunno. “

As he takes a drink from the cup, Billy immediately regrets his decision. It tastes like Cranberry juice and disappointment. Whatever vodka concoction they’ve mixed together, it fucking blows. Like a prom punch spiked by some over enthusiastic junior.  

“ Thomas, show me where the beers are and we can see about that discount “ Billy says and throws his arm around Tommy’s shoulder. If he was gonna enjoy this party, bad music and shitty drinks and all, he needs beer. Lots of it.

- OOO -

Billy’s hands softly trail down the path of Erika Kapelsky’s curves. There’s some Bon Jovi song playing over the speakers and she seems to go wild on that stuff. Her ass has been rubbing his crotch for the last 5 minutes. At this point he is 99.9% sure he’s gonna score big time. He’s heard she gives great head. That she’s flexible too.

“ I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick. Take me home when I come back ? Parents are on a business trip “ she murmures into his ear and softly bites his lobe as she pulls away.

That’s the good thing about rich kids, Billy thinks. Their parents are always on some uber important trips for work. It’s like they’re preaching abstinence and safe sex and then do everything in their power to make sure their kids get laid as much as possible. Like leaving them alone in a big ass mansion.

“ Sure “ he agrees and watches her walk away, hips swaying dramatically. She knows how to put on a show.

“ Erica huh ? Nice one, dude “ it’s like as soon as he is alone Tommy gravitates back towards Billy. Sometimes it makes him feel like he has an actual friend. Other times it’s just annoying.

“ Yeah “ as Billy looks towards the door Erica has just disappeared through, his eyes catch movement coming from the hallway next to it.

The big mess of blonde curls on Cleo’s head is bobbing up and down as Cleo hurries down the hallway. There’s stains of what Billy assumes is the shitty prom punch all over her shirt and she’s … crying ?

He doesn’t know for sure but she’s angry that’s obvious. Her lips are pulled into a scowl and her eyebrows are furrowed. She squeezes her way through the crowd and towards the door.

For a moment Billy wants to follow. Wants to figure out what happened, if she’s crying and why. He doesn’t though.

Not his mess. Not his problem.

That’s something his dad always says. It’s a motto that’s been drilled into Billy’s head ever since he was a kid.

He remembers when he was just a little boy, maybe 5 years old. Back in California when his mom was still alive. They didn’t have shit back then but a tiny house and a rusty old car. His mom was working at a beach hut in the mornings, selling overpriced postcards and plastic seashell necklaces to tourists. Dad was constantly between jobs, saying that he just hadn’t found the right one yet. Truth is, no one wants to hire a raging alcoholic.

They didn’t have much back then but Billy liked the house, liked the neighbourhood, because there were kids there. One of them was Gracie Tempers. She lived across the street and she came over to Billy’s house a lot because her mom was working late and Billy’s mom was home in the afternoon to have an eye on the kids.

Gracie’s mom would always come and pick her up, never her dad. And she always had a cup of coffee with Billy’s mom. She was crying a lot but back then little Billy had no idea what was going on. She had a lot of black eyes too.

One night Billy couldn’t sleep so he snuck towards the kitchen, hoping to find his mother still awake so he could ask for a warm milk with some honey, his mom’s special.

Instead he found mom and dad arguing, again. When he heard Mrs. Tempers’ name he decided to hide behind the door and listen. They were yelling. Actually it was mostly his dad. Actually it was only his dad. His mom was talking in a quiet hushed voice. So timid. So scared. She wanted to help Mrs. Tempers. Wanted to “ call the cops “ Billy didn’t know what was going on then and he didn’t know if that was a good thing. Mom always said the police was someone you could go to whenever you needed help. Dad called them corrupt pigs.

Anyway. She wanted to call the cops and “get her away from him”. Billy didn’t know who “he” was either.

But no matter how hard she was pleading, how reasonable she was explaining. Dad’s booming voice kept repeating “ This is not your mess, Rebecca ! Not your problem ! “.

Cleo isn’t’ his mess either. Isn’t his problem.

So instead of going after her, Billy turns back towards the door waiting for Erica to be done so he can take her home and create a whole different kind of mess.

- OOO -

The cold air nips at Cleo’s nose as she walks down the street of this seemingly perfect suburban hell.

She should’ve known better. That’s the bottom line of it all. Should’ve known that showing up with Billy Hargrove would cause unwanted attention. Negative attention. That people would take it as some kind of threat to their social status.

Tina has always been a mean person. Someone that doesn’t lash out but observes. She schemes and calculates and figures out where to hit people so it hurts the most and leaves the most damage.

And whether she does it just out of pure spite or because she has some deep rooted insecurities that she wants to hide behind her malice, Cleo doesn’t know. In the end, it doesn’t matter anyway.

What matters is that Cleo should’ve known better. Billy is all Tina wanted since the moment he stepped foot onto the grounds of Hawkins High. And when Tina feels even a little threatened in getting what she wants, she knows exactly how to retaliate.

Cleo roughly wipes away the tears still rolling down her cheeks. Tina’s opinion shouldn’t matter. Her words shouldn’t matter. And really, they don’t. That doesn’t mean they don’t hurt.

And it’s not even the stuff about Cleo that hurt. It’s the stuff she said about her mom. Those things cut deep. Those things, Tina really doesn’t know shit about. But the worst thing ? Carol stood there and she said nothing and she did nothing. Just turned away as if she hadn’t held Cleo’s hand at her mother’s grave. As if she didn’t take care of her when she had a panic attack the night before the funeral.

As if she hadn’t been an important part of her life for so long. For the good times, but especially the bad times.

Sure they aren’t friends anymore, fair enough. But does that mean all that once was is erased and means nothing anymore ?

The air stings against Cleo’s bare arms, clings to the wet patches on her shirt. This night is a complete and utter mess and she should’ve known better.

There’s a light still burning on the porch and one in the living room. No matter how easy going her dad always pretends to be, he’s still a dad. A dad who acts like he got caught up watching old football games but really deliberately stays up to make sure his girl is getting home okay.

On one hand, Cleo is eternally grateful for the wonderful dad she has. On the other hand, it makes hiding stuff so much harder. Like tear stained cheeks. And punch soaked shirts. And anger. And sadness.

“ Hey kid, I — Cleo ? “ the smile on her dad’s face immediately falls as he takes note of her obvious misery.

“ It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m okay, can we — can we not talk about it ?”

Ever since Cleo was a kid, mom was responsible for the emotional stuff. The long talks and the cheering up. For the rough stuff. The sad stuff.

Dad was the goof who went and bought entirely too much ice cream and put on her favorite movie even though they’d all seen it a million times before.

Ever since her mom was dead, that kind of shifted. Dad had to be both, the goof and the emotional support system. And it is weird for everyone involved. Neither Cleo nor her dad are particularly good at talking about their feelings so after a while they put a system in place that seems to work for them both.

If one doesn’t talk about it on their own accord, no questions are being asked. It’s easier that way. Or maybe they just pretend it’s easier. Either way, Cleo is grateful about that system right now. Because how would she even begin to explain that it all starts and ends with that fact that her mother would still be alive if it wasn’t for her ?

“ Uh — yeah sure. Sure. “

“ Cool, thanks “ she nods and walks towards the stairs. As she is about to round the corner, her dad’s voice echoes through the halls, calling out to her.

“ Cleo ? “

“ Huh ? “

“ There’s some mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer. Just — just if you need it. “

And for the first time since running into Tina, a small smile finds its way onto Cleo’s face.

- OOO -

Billy’s head feels like exploding. Like he’s in a comic and a big ass anvil has been dropped down on him.

The morning sun is shining brightly but the air is cold as he climbs out of Erika’s bedroom window and walks down the street lined by identical houses with identical white fences. There’s perfectly cut lawns, even in the winter, and the frost clings onto the grass making it glimmer in the sun.

The mailboxes are pridefully displaying the names of the families, some of which Billy recognizes from school. Of course people would want others to know they live here. These houses are massive.

He wonders if the people here are genuinely happy or if they have to play pretend, just like he does. He wonders if things were different would his family live in one of these houses. If Neil wasn’t such a fuck up and actually had a proper job that could provide the family with a better living situation, would he be less angry? Would Billy be ?

After a few minutes of passing big ass houses and pristine lawns and picket fences and artsy mailboxes, he arrives at his car.

There’s noticeably less cars here now than there were last night. Next to his Camaro is Tommy’s car which means he’s probably stayed over at Carol’s last night. Whatever those two have, Billy thinks, is a big old mess. They’re constantly at each other’s throats. Either fighting or making out. It’s exhausting for him, and he’s only watching from the sidelines.

Billy slumps down into the driver’s seat of his beloved Camaro. It smells like leather and cigarettes and honestly, it’s a smell that’s become incredibly comforting to him. His car is so much more than just a status symbol. It’s his way out. His escape. When things at home get too bad he can always get in his car and drive around. Aways from the yelling. Away from his father’s anger.

Away from home.

He turns towards the passenger side of his car, itching for a cigarette and hoping to find on in the glove compartment. Instead he’s faced with Cleo’s denim jacket discarded on his passenger seat.

He wants to ignore it. Pretend it isn’t there and just wait for her to come and get it. That’s another thing you learn in the Hargrove household. Don’t let your shit lying around or it’s gone. Neil never had any respect for any of Billy’s things so if he wasn’t being careful with it, Neil would just throw it in the trash.

He wants to ignore Cleo’s jacket so badly. But he can’t. He doesn’t.

- OOO -

The Finch’s two story home is painted a pale blue color. There’s paint chipping from the doorframes and the windows. The front yard looks clean enough but it’s not even close to the front yards he’s seen in Carol’s neighbourhood.

Their little white mailbox says “Finch” in what seems to be the handwriting of a young child. There’s 4 handprints. One big one that he bets belongs to Pete. A bright red one that he can only imagine belongs to a slightly younger version of Cleo. There’s a teeny tiny one that he’s sure is Charlie’s. Then there’s another one. It’s smaller than Pete’s but only slightly bigger than Cleo’s.

His heart drops a little at the realization of who’s handprint it is.

He wonder how she does it. How she lives through losing her mother and doesn’t end up resenting the whole world for it, like he does. He wonders if things would be different if Neil wasn’t such a piece of shit and actually gave a damn about Billy and his grief and this perpetual feeling of anger and bitterness. If he had someone like Pete in his life, would things be — ok ?

His mind drifts back to Cleo’s words from that time in the diner when she made them grilled cheese “Things are rough all over”. Maybe they are. Maybe they’re rougher for some though.

Denim jacket grasped tightly on one hand, Billy walks up the porch steps towards the door with the chipped white paint and rings the doorbell. He doesn’t know what to say to Cleo when she answers, if she answers. It’s not like he cares about her particularly much or about the fact that she was klutzy enough to leave her jacket, in the middle of November no less.

He’s not sure why he’s here in the first place. Maybe because her crying face has sneaked it’s way into the back of his mind every one in a while since last night.

Or maybe because he feels guilty for not bringing her home safe as he had told Pete he would.

Or maybe because he was curious about what happened.

Or maybe all of the above.

Though it’s not Cleo that opens the door. It’s a wild mop of bright red hair and a smile missing one tooth.

“ Billy ? “ Charlie asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“ Hey. ‘s Cleo home ? “

“ No. Why ? “

He hated being questioned. There’s hardly any privacy at home. Every part of his life seems to be considered public property to Neil. Secrets are dangerous. So when you are asked, you either answer or you face the consequences.

“ She left her jacket in my car. Hey where is she ? “

“ What does it matter ? “

“ I wanna give it back “

“ You can just leave it here. She’ll be back home eventually. “

Charlie seemed nice enough for a kid that one time he met her, but Billy can’t deny that right now she’s seriously testing his patience.

“ I know I can but I want to give it to her personally. If that’s okay with you of course. “ he snaps at her and immediately feels bad as he sees the sliver of uncertainty and — fear in her eyes.

“ Look — “ he starts and pinches the bridge of his nose “ — I let her leave the party alone last night and I feel bad about it, okay ? So just tell me where she is and I’ll give this thing back and say sorry and then we can go back to seeing each other at work and that’s it .”

Charlie bites her lip in uncertainty. Billy can see her considering all options. Finally settling on the thought that her sister deserves an apology if Billy is willing to give one, Charlie grants him a small smile and replies “ you know where the old junk yard is ? “

- OOO -

The november sun stands high up in the sky when Billy arrives at the junkyard. There’s a lot of shit lying around. Mostly tires and bottles, pieces of wood, half gutted cars and a variety of metal signs that seem like the used to decorate the shop fronts of Hawkin’s downtown once upon a time.

He spots Cleo the moment he steps out of his car. She’s in a pair of ripped jeans and a gray sweater that looks 2 sizes too big for her and falls off of one shoulder. Her blond curls are pulled into a messy ponytail but a few strands have escaped and frame the side of her face.

The thing that makes him wonder though, is the baseball bat clutched rightly in her hand.

He can her Black Sabbath playing loudly from small radio propped up on an old oil drum.

The pebbles are crunching beneath his boots as he approaches her and when she lifts her head, Billy can see nothing but annoyance in her eyes.

“ The hell are you doing here ? “ she asks, her voice rid of all her usually bubbliness.

“ You left your jacket in my car. You know, where I come from girls do that to make boy call them back. “ he says and smirks. He knows that wasn’t her intention but if there’s an opportunity to tease, Billy sure as hell isn’t gonna let it go.

“ Well here it just means that I forgot my jacket. Sorry to hurt your ego. “

“ Oh it doesn’t. Trust me. “

His gaze moves from her towards the baseball bat, then back to her. “ What the hell are you even doing with that thing ? “

Billy can see the smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. It’s tiny and barely there but he can notice it anyway.

“ Break stuff. “

She accompanies her words with a swing of the bat , slamming it into one of the rusting cars. There’s the crashing of metal and glass and the music all mixing together to create a melody of absolute chaos.

Cleo pulls back again and places another hit against the vehicle. Then another. And a fourth before she blows one of the stray curly away from her face and glances at Billy through the corner of her eye “ you wanna try ? “

He shrugs and takes the bat from her hand. “ You gotta make it count though. “

“ The hit ? “

“ Mmh “ Cleo nods then hoists herself up on the hood of another car.

And Billy makes it count. Not the first time. But when Cleo calls out to him to “ think of something that makes you really fucking angry “ he puts his all in the hit.

He thinks of his mother dying. His friends who don’t bother calling. His dad. All of it. Everything. 

It’s like with every time the bat descends onto the metal, his shoulders feel a little lighter. Like he gets to let go of his anger for a moment there and channel it all into the task of destroying the damn car. It’s what it feels like whenever he gets into fights only without the stupid consequences.

“ Feels good ? “ Cleo asks, sipping on a bottle of what he assumes is beer.

And when he looks up at her he can’t help but smile. Genuinely smile “ feels awesome! “

- OOO -

The two teens are lounging on the hood of an old Cadillac from the 50s sipping on their beers and watching the sun slowly set behind the trees. The junkyard sits atop a hill and you can just make out the outskirts of Hawkins from up here.

“ Why’d you come ? You could’ve just left the jacket at my place and leave. “ Cleo asks, eyes trained on the horizon.

“ What do I know. Thought I owed you this much. “

“ Why would you owe me ? “ she still doesn’t look at him but as Billy glances at her, he can see her pull her eyebrows together in confusion.

“ I saw you crying and I — ugh I don’t know okay ? Just wanted to see if you’re alright. Don’t make a big deal of it. “

She doesn’t. It makes her smile anyway.

“ Well thanks “

“ Whatever. “

For a moment it’s silent then Billy speaks up again.

“ What was that about anyway ? The whole crying thing ? “

“ They talked shit about my mom “ Cleo says and takes the last sip from the bottle before throwing it against the mount of trash making it break into little pieces.

“ That sucks. She’s dead right ? “ It might sound heartless and brash to some but Billy hates it when people sugarcoat stuff to him for no reason and something tells her Cleo isn’t that different when it comes down to it.

“ Yup. Yours too, huh ? “

Billy nods “ Yeah “

“ What happened ? “

“ Cancer. Yours ? “

“ Car accident. “

“ Fuck. “

“ Yes. Fuck. “

Billy turns his head to the side so he’s facing her and Cleo follows suit soon after.

“ That why you come here to break shit ? “ he questions, taking his last sip of beer then following Cleo’s earlier action of breaking the bottle against the pile of trash.

“ I was — so frustrated. With everything. I knew Tina was gonna talk smack when she sees me showing up with you but deliberately bringing up my dead mother to hurt me ? That’s low. “

“ That’s fucked up. “

“ That’s a highschool girl who feels threatened “

Billy lets out a humourless laugh “ It’s not fair though. She doesn’t know what the hell it feels like to lose your mom. You shouldn’t have to deal with her using that to hurt you just because she thinks her pussy is some kind of otherworldly experience that gives her the power to rule this trash pile of a town. For the record, it’s not. “

Cleo snickers and Billy thinks she looks fucking cute when she does it.

“ Can I ask you something ? “ Billy wonders, looking at Cleo expectandly.

“ I guess. “

“ Are you angry ? Because I — I don’t think I have felt anything but anger in so long. I’m so mad at god or the universe of whatever. Whatever is responsible for taking my mom away. My dad — Neil, he’s an absolute asshole. Always has been but mom — mom was good. So why did it happen to her ? It makes no sense and it drives me insane to think about it. It makes me so so furious. “

“ What makes you think I’m not angry ? “

“ You don’t seem angry. “

“ Well I am. I just — life needs to go on, you know. I gotta help dad with the diner and make sure Charlie is happy and healthy. I am angry I just literally do not have the time to dwell on that feeling. “

It makes sense, he think. Back in California life was shit too but he had friends there and stuff to do to take his mind off of things. Hawkins is quiet and empty and boring and his mind gets all the time in the world to think about the sad stuff. The shit that makes him angry.

“ Well look at us sharing sob stories like some kind of dead-moms-club. “ he scoffs but allows a little smile to tug at the corner of his lips which grants him a smile from Cleo in return.

“ Oh shut up, Billy “

And as her laughter echoes through the air and he looks up towards the November sky, he doesn’t feel so angry anymore, at least not for that moment. He’s not happy either but he’s content. And maybe that’s all he can ever ask for. To not feel angry all the time. To get a single moment of relieve. Of lightness. Of ease. Of laughter.

[veliseraptor]

Hi! I just reread Life in Reverse, it’s one of my all time favorite fics! I love your writing. I know you finished it a while ago, but do you still write extra scenes for it? No pressure if you don’t want to get back into an old project or if you’re busy, but if you do, I would love to read Steve or Tony's POV on chapter 35 when they break Loki out of prison. Again, no pressure, just thought I'd ask. I really appreciate all the work you do making awesome content for this fandom, thanks so much!

well I’ve had this one sitting in my drafts for a while and finally kicked it off and ended up writing a whole thing for it in one go, because fact is I still really love this verse and alternate POVs are just. so much fun. 

also this reminds me I really need to get around to posting these alternate POVs for Life in Reverse to AO3. I’d apologize for the blatant Leverage reference but it was too good to pass up.

Steve stared down at his phone, frowning.

It was the fourth time he’d tried to call Luke’s phone to no response. Maybe he was on mission, or ignoring Steve for some other unknown reason, but there was an uneasy feeling in Steve’s stomach that said that wasn’t it. That it wasn’t that simple.

That something else was going on.

He pressed his lips together and called the number Agent Coulson had given him. He did pick up.

“Captain,” he said, sounding surprised. “What is it?”

“Do you know where Luke is?” Steve asked bluntly.

“I do,” Coulson said, “but that’s classified information. Why?”

“I’ve been trying to get in touch and he wasn’t responding.” Steve looked at his bookshelf, still mostly empty.

“I can assure you there’s nothing to worry about,” Coulson said.

“Thanks,” Steve said after a moment. “I appreciate it.”

He hung up. There was nothing he could point to, but his instinct said Coulson was lying. About something. He wasn’t certain what, but something. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Overly suspicious.

But he couldn’t quite convince himself of that.

Steve stood up and paced the length of his small apartment. What was he supposed to do about it, though? Burst into SHIELD headquarters and demand they tell him what was going on? That didn’t seem likely to get him anywhere. He needed help, of some kind.

He picked up his phone, then set it down and went to put on his coat.

**

Luke had worked with Tony Stark. He remembered that, vaguely; had heard it from some SHIELD agent or another. Tony Stark was Howard’s son, and while Steve had no real reason to trust him - his impression of the man based on the frequent news items about him wasn’t positive - he was smart, and about the only person Steve could think of who knew Luke and wasn’t connected to SHIELD.

The receptionist at the front desk of Stark Tower (who named a building after themself) let him up with wide eyes. Steve smiled uncomfortably at her and took the elevator to the 20th floor, where he stood awkwardly in the middle of a waiting room with leather couches, a fish-tank, and a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the city below.

“Captain America,” he heard, and turned. “Wow. I’m honored.” He didn’t sound it. Howard’s son didn’t look much like him except for around the eyes, though Tony’s were sharper, and while he was smiling Steve could feel the hostility in it.

“Call me Steve,” he said, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Uh huh,” Tony said, but he took Steve’s hand for a brief shake before walking past him, hands in his pockets. “Feel like I already have. My dad talked about you all the time.”

Steve wanted to wince. “I was sorry to hear he’d passed. He was a good man. A good friend.”

“It’s been a few decades.” Tony had his back to Steve, looking out the windows. “That why you’re here? Cause of my old man?”

“No,” Steve said after a moment. “I’m here because I need some help, and you’re the only person I could think of I might be able to ask.”

“The great Captain America needs my help?” Tony said, turning around, eyebrows raised, and Steve hadn’t been wrong about that hostility. “Well, sure. Guess it’s my patriotic duty, isn’t it?”

Steve kept his temper down. “It’s not like that. It’s about a - friend.”

“What friend,” Tony said.

“His name’s Luke,” Steve said. “Luke Silver. He works with SHIELD–”

“You know Luke?” Tony said, sounding honestly surprised, though also substantially less unfriendly. “Huh. I wouldn’t’ve thought...what’d he get into this time?”

This time? Steve thought, but he decided not to ask. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I just have a...bad feeling. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him for a few days and - nothing.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Could be ghosting you.” Steve looked at him blankly, and Tony said, “right, old person. Ignoring you.”

Steve shook his head slowly. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“Cause you have a bad feeling.” Steve stiffened.

“I’ve had a lot of times when I had nothing to go off but my instincts,” he said. “They were usually good.”

Tony made a sort of “hm” noise and then stepped back, turning around. “Okay. Come with me.”

Steve blinked. “What?”

“I said, ‘okay,’” Tony said, loudly, like Steve was hard-of-hearing. “My money’s on SHIELD.”

“On SHIELD what?” Steve said, following him out, a little taken aback by what felt like a sudden about face.

“SHIELD doing something to him,” Tony said. “I don’t trust those guys as far as I could throw their whole building. Secret government organizations? Not really my thing.”

“That doesn’t mean they did something. Luke’s their agent.”

“Mm,” Tony said. “Also kind of a loose cannon, as far as I can tell. Not great at orders. Super powerful - did you know that? Like, ‘leveled a building once’ powerful. SHIELD decides he’s too dangerous…or, what, do you think the government’s above that?”

“No,” Steve said after a brief pause. He didn’t want to believe it. But hadn’t he had his own suspicions about what Coulson had said? He knew the US government could fail its people. And had, many times.

Some part of him wanted to believe that SHIELD was better. It was the evolution of the SSR.

But it had been seventy years.

“Great,” Tony said. “Glad we’re on the same page. Let’s see what we can find.”

**

Tony was remarkably efficient. Steve tried to ask what he was doing only to be told to shut up. That rule didn’t seem to apply to Tony himself, though, who didn’t seem capable of shutting his mouth.

“Aha,” he said suddenly. “Found it.”

Steve strode over to look over his shoulder. “Found what?”

“Sub-basement,” Tony said. “Not on the plans. Steel walls a foot and a half thick. Dual security doors. I can’t look inside - no cameras, which in a surveillance happy organization is a little disconcerting. There’s a lot of power going into it, too. What do you bet that’s where they’re keeping him?”

Steve clenched his jaw and shook his head. “Couldn’t it just be some kind of vault?” He said reluctantly. “For securing dangerous objects, weapons–”

“People,” Tony said. “Seriously, Rogers. You look at those specs and tell me that something funny isn’t going on there. You said you have an instinct something’s wrong. I’m telling you I have an instinct SHIELD’s decided Luke’s a security risk and locked him down.”

Steve took a deep breath. There was no reason, he told himself, to believe what Tony was suggesting. No real reason to think that SHIELD had actually done anything to Luke, that he wasn’t just incommunicado for some other reason, some innocent reason.

“Say you’re right,” he said. “What do we do about it?”

Tony gave him an odd look. “Go in and get him out,” he said. “Obviously.”

Well, Steve thought. He wasn’t sure what else he’d been planning. If SHIELD really was holding Luke in a locked room with no cameras…

Steve couldn’t, in good conscience, leave him there.

“All right,” Steve said. “I’m going to need your help. My 21st century hacking is rusty.”

Tony stared at him like he’d never seen him before, and then shook himself. “Really,” he said. And then, “I kind of figured you were going to say we should go to SHIELD and talk about it.”

Steve smiled a little grimly. “I asked about Luke and Agent Coulson lied to me,” he said. “I’m pretty sure if I tried without concrete proof they’d just keep lying. If you’re right...I’d rather ask forgiveness than permission.”

“Right, then,” Tony said after a beat. “Let’s go steal a SHIELD agent.”