#‘2 days ago’ and he has his short hair so latest was possibly just before Australia?

[leclercskiesahead]

Carlos seen in Spain (posted recently but date unknown)

[corpse-of-bandersnatch]

That's the whole interview with Jeff by Nicole Iskra, in which they also talked about him shaving of his chest hair. It was published in the Moviestar 05/2001 (the interview, not the chest hair).

I won't translate everything word for word, but if you wish a closer translation of a special topic/question, let me know and I try my best. (Also I apologize for the bad quality of the middle part of the scanned magazine).

PARALLAX – Madness from the Internet

„I was the Incarnation of their worst nightmare!“ - An interview with Jeffrey Combs

Before the interview starts, they introduce the latest movie Jeff was in back then, which is Parallax aka FearDotCom (almost the complete first column describes the Plot). Parts of it where shot in Luxembourg, which is also the Place where the interviewer meets Mr. Combs.

They meet in front of the Inter-Continental Hotel. Mr. Combs is PISSED, because the breakfast in the Hotel was awful (slimy fried egg) and the staff was rude (someone came in his room without knocking or apologizing, while he was sitting on his bed, only wearing a T-Shirt and Shorts).

They walk into the City of Luxembourg and Jeff's wondering about the many colourful life-sized cow sculptures, that you can find everywhere in town (quote: „Is this supposed to be art?!“).

He's searching for a souvenir for his wife, but in in his opinion, all of the dresses are outdated and their colours terrible. The interviewer teaches him the very important rule „Grün und Blau schmückt die Sau“.

They decide to eat in a Burger Restaurant called „Maybe not Bob's“, where he orders chicken wings with french fries and a coke (quote: „like a real American“).

Jeff speaks about the results of his genealogical research: Originally, his family came from Devon in England, but settled 1619 in Jamestown (Virginia) to work for Virginian Tobacco Co.

1. Question: The first question is about the renaming of FearDotCom to Parallax (reason being uncertainty about who owns the name). It follows more describing of the movie��s plot, this time from Mr. Combs himself.

His friend Bill Malone directed Parallax/FDC and offered Jeff the role, because they already worked together in Haunted Hill and Perversions of Science.

2. Question: You got along so well with Peter Jackson while filming The Frighteners. Will you at least get a Cameo in Lord of the Rings, even if it's only as Orc Nr. 260?

JC: That's the one Orc, that survived, right? (laughs). Nah seriously, I didn't get a role, unfortunately. I auditioned, , but the problem was the british accent. I can imitate it, but when you're surrounded by actors like Ian McKellen and Ian Holm, it's really not hard to tell who's a „real  Briton“ and who's not.

3. Question: Did your latest movie before Parallax/FDT – The Attic Expeditions –  had it's premiere in America yet?

JC: No, not yet. The world premiere was a couple of weeks ago here in Luxembourg and it was also shown on Festivals in Edinburgh and Amsterdam. Sadly, they didn't show it on the film festival in Brussel.

I'm really enthused by The attic Expeditions, because it's interesting, not linear, not logical, with few horror elements, but the horror is mostly psychological. It's like a dream in a nightmare on a trip. The longer you watch the movie, the less you know, what's real, it's a really complex movie, especially by american standards.

4. Question: In retrospect, would you call your role as Herbert West a curse?

JC: (sighs) Somehow, it's a curse and a blessing at the same time. Thanks to the role, I was branded as „Horror actor“ in Hollywood. After Deep Space Nine I was branded as „Horror- and Sci Fi- actor“. Movie people love to categorize you. On the other hand, the role of Herbert West opened up a lot of possibilities for me.

5. Question: 10 Years ago you told a funny story at a convention in New York, about sth. that happened while filming From Beyond. Could you maybe tell it again for the Moviestar readers?

JC: You mean the one with the children?

MS: Exactly!

JC: (grins) Well, we were already filming for a month – so I've been in this horrible make-up for 30 days already, with this awful head piece that looked like a red dog dick. I looked worse than Quasimodo! That's why I ate mostly in my dressing room. One day, they shot a commercial with a bunch of 4-year-old children in mushroom costumes on the same soundstage. We met in the hallway and as soon as those poor, innocent children saw me, all hell has broken loose. I was the incarnation of their worst nightmare, they screamed and ran to their mothers, who wanted to lynch me on the spot. So now it was me, who ran away.

But that's how it is, when you have a lot to do with make-up and masks and stuff like this. Not long ago, I was strapped to a cross made out of tubes, my throat was „cut“, there was blood all over me. And sometimes, when you're hanging there long enough, the crew just forgets that you're there, because for them, you just turned into a part of the set. Until you give a signal: „Umm sorry, guys, could you..maybe..“ - „Oh yeah sure, sorry Jeff, sorry..“

6. Question: (you might already know this one from this post): After that scene in From Beyond, in which you get eaten by this worm, your chest is as smooth as that of a baby – did they shave off your chest fur?

Jeff: Yes! (laughs)

MS: Did you do it yourself?

Jeff: Yes and I learnt something very important: Never use a normal razor blade, an electric razor is way better and safer and it doesn’t itch as badly, when the hair grows back. I had to shave my chest for a theater role once as well. I was 26 or so and played an 18-year-old.

7. Question: Do you still play in theatres regulary?

JC: No, not in the past couple of years, though theatre is very dear to my heart. Back in the days, I loved to play in theatres – living like a gypsy, 8 weeks in San Diego, and somewhere else afterwards. But that's not how I want to live today, now that I have a family. I don't like to leave my two little girls for several weeks, plus an engagement in a theatre isn't really helpful financially. I earn the same money in 1 week of shooting a movie as I do in 4-5 months of theatre work.

8. Question: I read that Woody Allen pays every actor 5.000 Dollar, because in his opinion, no one is worth 20 Million Dollar, neither beginner nor Superstar. What do you think about the explosive growth of fees nowadays?

JC: I do think that you should take the money, that the market offers you. But somebody, who earns 20 Millions per movie should share at least a million with their not so lucky co-actors.  No, seriously, it's not that easy to make a living. A friend of mine got a job, where he plays the brother of Kevin Costner. When I asked him, if he gets payed well, he shook his head and said, that he only gets tariff plus 10%. Tariff is the lowest wage possible, that was defined by union. My friend had the choice to either work with Costner or don't. And as an actor you always hope that a movie like this becomes a success and maybe improves your chances in Hollywood.

MS: Thank you for making so much time for us!

[anxiouslyfred]

The Protector

for @dukexietyweek‘s day 1 prompt of Myths/Supernatural

Summary: Remus’s town has a mythical protector, genuinely just spoken about as the Protector, regardless of what the police have tried to say about it. He’s set on meeting them and getting to know them, even if that means latching on to people vulnerable to assault in some vain attempt to help.

Warnings: vague fight descriptions, financial abuse, sexual innuendos and references, assault mentions, all combated though

/\/\

Remus had always been fascinated by their towns protector. Everyone knew about them, and most of the town believed they were nothing more than a myth, a superstition told to keep their town a pleasant place to live. Why else would their authorities claim there was a vigilante attacking people in their homes or in large groups only for witnesses and victims to claim the people attacked were abusers or involved in gang violence?

No, most of the town thought it was probably just various young men stepping in to help and being protected when the police wanted a target for anything aimed towards one of their own. Remus kept on questioning that though.

He knew all the popular stories, and reports dating back centuries. One night he'd even broken into the station to look through the cases relating to the protector and all of them were the same. There would be an officer involved in assault or abuse, and the description given barely varied, going back hundreds of  years: the height, the hair colour, the build. Whomever this Protector was, they were impossibly old and very much against any form of abuse, including abuse of power.

It took a while for Remus to ask about them at his job in the elderly care home, uncertain who there might accept his questions, but eventually he did.

“The Protector has been around as long as my family has lived here. Far longer than that station has existed, since we were one of the founding families here. I've got diaries from my many times great grandmother describing when they became a protector actually.” Thomas explained, leaning back in his chair with a smile. “Of course then they didn't focus so much on abuse or even what happened around the entire settlement. Grandma always wrote about another intervention happening, chasing away the latest possible apprentice to their Warlock.”

“Warlocks?” Remus loved the idea, but magic was only a thing of fairytales. If it ever existed he was sure that science had killed it off entirely by now.

Thomas chuckled. “Oh yes, magic was still known about at that time. There was a village warlock who took apprentices fairly regularly since they seemed to disappear or die off during experiments a lot. Our Protector was the last apprentice to stay with him for more than a day. After the announcement that he'd vanished and the Warlock was seeking a new apprentice, so the diaries say, they returned, not to work for the warlock, but to stop anybody else from doing so.”

His thoughts boggled at the idea, coming up with reason after reason that their Protector might chase people away from working with the Warlock, from a jealous rejected love, to dangerous experiments being forced on the people around the warlock. Nothing that an old diary was likely to include so he swapped focus. “But why fight abuse now? Or for all this time even? If they live so long surely they could travel, explore, find the most amazing creatures and live with them abandoning all humanity.”

“That's a question better asked to them, Care Duke. Come on, I'm late for my pills.” Thomas shook himself out of the story, clapping his hands and glancing towards the clock.

Remus moved automatically through the help Thomas needed before carrying on with his rounds, his mind still focused on the Protector and how he could possibly meet this elusive person.

/RV\

The first time Remus met the Protector it wasn't deliberate.

He and his brother had always stood out at school. They were too extravagant, too emotional to quietly pass under the radar. Roman had used it to excel in theatre, and become a well known name, while Remus used it to rebel.

Roman had recently come out publically and while most of the media had been supportive, Remus could imagine the hatred that would spew forth from the bigots in their perfect little houses. That was why he'd decided to walk his brother home from the theatre, adding a little extra protection for the only person in his family that listened to his ideas.

A bat coming out of nowhere was only just dodged as they passed an alley, but before either of them could fight back it was like the shadows were attacking for them. A dark fist from behind the bin hitting the hand holding the bat enough it was dropped.

“Holy darkness, Ro-ro it's the Protector! Where are you shadow face? Can I see you? Know you? Touch all your sensitive places and worship you?” Remus was rambling as he watched more limbs for and then dissolve, knocking out their attackers as low growling noises came from further back.

Roman had instead backed up against the wall, scrambling for his bag where one of the prop weapons had been given to him. “I – I don't need protecting. I can defend myself. They just – just caught me off guard, see. I'm all armed and ready!”

“Armed and ready to fight nothing.” A cloaked figure finally stepped forwards as the shadow limbs finished dissipating. “Aside from being an actor with no experience in a real fight where you need to make contact with the other person. What exactly did you think a prop in your bag would do?”

“Give me a chance to meet our towns Protector!” Remus insisted, bouncing over to the stranger and leering over their outfit. “Gotta say the outfit is kinda 2 centuries ago. Want me to get you some new clothes? Come find you here once I've got them?”

The Protector frowned at him, “You are far to excited to have just gotten attacked, and I don't need pity. These clothes serve me well and I can sew anything else I need.”

Remus couldn't say anything more as the Protector faded back into the shadows until there was no person with them anymore.

“So that happened. Want to teach me hand to hand or something tomorrow? Get out of the family home?” Roman blinked, tugging Remus onwards when he made no move to carry on.

/rv\

Remus planned his second meeting with the Protector, deciding to at least ask their name and hoping the hoodie he'd found in a similar colour to their cloak would be accepted. He didn't care if nothing could happen with this centuries old person, he wanted to know them better, possibly even stop them being so lonely that rejecting everyone was their instant response.

Remembering how to find or meet the Protector was another thing. It meant Remus had to be a victim in a loud enough way they'd show up, or at the very least be outnumbered while trying to help a victim of some form of abuse.

“Hey shooting stars. You're all looking completely edible tonight and I'm on patrol to locate and take out any cannibals. Can I stick with you for when they get lured in?” Remus knew the line was ridiculous and definitely sounded like a pick up line, but he'd seen them in the club and had already heard a few of the idiots in town making predatory comments.

“Are you literally asking us to be your wing man, or are you just wanting an excuse to get into a fight?” Valerie countered, glancing at him, and probably mistaking him for Roman, given she was friends with his brother.

Remus went with it whichever. “Excuse to fight, plus Roman'll throw a bitch fit if you get harassed at all. I suggested he starts a patrol with that prop sword of his but apparently no matter how sharpened I make it it just isn't up to protecting standards yet, the poncy coward.”

The group of girls just nodded then, letting him stay close but otherwise ignoring his inclusion in their group. Remus didn't mind though. He was more focused on watching out for anyone that seemed likely to try attacking them, and being on guard against it happening. He was going to at least help the Protector this time.

And he did manage to.

It was only Remus and 2 of the girls from the club when some overly entitled block made a grab for one of them and Remus met the reaching hands with his fist. There were four other men with them and while Remus swept his leg in a low kick to knock them to the ground he glimpsed the shadows coming out too.

Just like when he'd been with Roman the fight after that was quickly finished. Shadows were impossible for the men to fight but the girls had already started running to their separate homes. Remus would bet that there'd be thank you cards or something dropped off at the family home for him soon and didn't look forward to the questions that would bring.

“Don't usually have repeat damsel's. Then again, if you want me to actually save you rather than the people you hang out with let me know.” The Protector comments, walking out from the darkest shadows to stand beside Remus.

“Do I get to control you if I know your name? Also should I wear a dress next time if I'm your Damsel? And I thought this hoodie would be softer than that cloak. Well if you still care about that after however long you've been alive.” Remus had stumbled across the name thing when trying to read up on myths outside of the ones just for his town and had been curious about it ever since.

The Protector snorted, shaking their head. “It's Virgil and I could ask you the same thing since you keep asking questions instead of making introductions. If you wanna wear a dress then go ahead. Would suggest something short if you're going to defend yourself in a fight though.” They didn't make a move to take the hoodie until Remus basically forced it into their hands.

“Remus, He/him pronouns thank you very much. Are you just wanting a better view of my merchandise by getting me into short skirts?” He laughed, dodging back from Virgil when they tried to give the hoodie back immediately. “Nope, got that one for you. The one for me got a little stained when remembering just how how your mysterious disappear into the shadows thing was last time we met. So do you just fight with those shadow hands or do you use them more pleasurably too?”

Virgil glanced down at the hoodie, frowning from the second sentence Remus had said. “Pronouns are a thing people talk about now? Beyond just his or hers type things?”

“Yep, kinda wondering where you fall on the gender spectrum too, but I don't care as long as you completely wreck me, whether with your actual hands or those shadow limbs of yours.” Remus quipped, giving voice to the thoughts he'd swallow down usually. It wasn't worth paying extra rent if his family heard he'd made some comment or other and he just wanted out of that thrice damned family home.

No reply came and Remus couldn't even remember Virgil vanishing into his shadows although he'd been looking at the Protector the entire time they spoke.

/vr\

Of course after that meeting Remus was still looking for other people he could help protect, walk home with or just be around in the hopes of seeing Virgil again. Perhaps it had been something of an obsession with a town myth when he first started wanting to meet The Protector, but now he just wanted to know this gorgeous, quick thinking person again, and since they never seemed to be among the people that meant becoming a target for abuse or helping others that might be.

He had gotten a few short skirts to wear too, and would make sure to change into them in back alley's so nothing would get said at home. Spirits knew his parents would just claim that if he had money to spend of frivolous things like skirts then he should be putting more into the family income.

“Jay-Jay! I keep telling you, if ya want to learn how to fight, I'm more than willing to teach you!” Remus had jumped over to one of the college kids that had moved to their town for the semester. He'd practically adopted this kid by now, or would have if not for their refusal.

“And I keep telling you that this is all part of my plan. They don't realise just how much I can get added to their records and by the time they do, it'll be too late and their lives will be ruined forever.” Janus hissed back, shrugging his backpack further up, and glancing back towards the school.

There had always been a bullying issue between the kids that grew up in the town and stayed there for college and the ones that decided to come here from a few towns nearby. Remus didn't think it was something Virgil would try to combat but he was going to try this one on his own.

Or he would have if he'd seen the sports team coming out of school that evening and grabbing his arms just as he was trying to convince Janus to learn how to fight one more time.

“Looks like we've got-” The words were cut off as shadows yanked the one who'd caught Remus sharply back into the wall.

That move had been enough to get Remus throwing punches too, focusing on the guy that had tried to grab Janus although the student had dodged away somehow without turning to see who was close.

“Protector?” Startled whispers fled through the sports team before they were backing away from Remus and warily eyeing the shadows nearby. At least they knew the stories of the town enough to recognise when the towns myth came to meet them.

Janus however was still frowning after them. “What or who the hell is this Protector?” He hissed after a second, only to jump when he saw Virgil upon turning around.

“The Towns Protector. It's kind of a myth come true that everyone knows but most people don't believe in. Looks like you just got some more people to believe in you now, Shadow-Man!” Remus crowed, throwing himself onto Virgil now they'd properly appeared.

“Sure...” Janus took a few steps backwards. “Well then I guess I have even more reason to refuse your fighting lessons so I'm just going to head home and you two can do whatever the fuck this is.”

Remus is cackling as the kid speed walks away, looking for all the world like he was completely relaxed if not for the speed of his steps.

“I'm just going to stick with he/him pronouns for now. It's been too many centuries for me to adjust them, besides it's not like anyone other than you is going to use them.” Virgil murmurs, arms tentatively around Remus where he'd been caught.

“Your choice, Wall Creeper. What do you think of the skirt anyway?” He steps away to show off the outfit just for Virgil, enjoying how his gaze drags over him.

Virgil's smirk grows slowly. “Definitely scandalous if you were in the year I became this, but I'm guessing a bit more acceptable now.”

“Or a flashing light to any transphobes to scream 'fight me! I dare you!'” Remus loved that idea. He would stick it to any asshole trying to judge people on who they were.

There was another snort in response. “So you really do just like making yourself a target for abuse. I did wonder.”

“Maybe I'm just trying to get your attention. Gorgeous man, just waiting to play hero and knock out the abusers in my town. How's a guy to resist?” Remus couldn't stop the flirtatious comments. He wanted and lusted for this living myth.

This time Virgil seemed willing to return the flirting though, raising his eyebrow.

Remus didn't realise until he was back in the family home that his Protector had actually stayed talking to him for a lot longer than he'd usually remained.

/rv\

The Protector intervened with abuse and assaults around the town Remus lived in and had done ever since the last warlock in the town died. Everyone who grew up there new the stories and claimed to love or respect all their neighbours because of it.

Remus had never considered anything about his families views of money and earnings would be enough to have Virgil visit his home and after the incident with Janus he was finding the other people around town acted as if he himself was the Protector.

A couple of the shop keepers had actually asked how the title got passed down since they couldn't believe any of Remus's relatives might have filled the role. They'd insisted on giving him a discount and a few people had directed thank you letters or gifts to him over something Virgil had done elsewhere in the town.

That might have been why his genetic donors were now demanding more money and explanations over just what he was doing in town so often.

They had been at least. Now shadow arms had reached from the walls to cover their mouths and wrap around their throats while Remus just looked around, frantically.

“VIRGIL!” The cry was automatic. It looked like his family were going to be suffocated and he knew the only person in town with shadow limbs was his Protector.

No matter what Remus thought of his genetic donors he didn't want their deaths.

“Yes Woodland Ivy? Is there something more you need?” Virgil stepped into the room, sneering at the people he was holding restrained.

“Loving the bondage possibilities of your shadow limbs, but kind of freaked out that you want to use them on these guys.” He stated, recognising the fear in their eyes as well as that Virgil was more annoyed, probably even angry than he'd ever been when they'd encountered each other before.

The words did nothing to get them released though, in fact they were dragged back into the wall by the hands at their throats, now making almost pleading noises.

Virgil looked over them, scowling. “Financial abuse is one that I stopped encountering at least 2 generations ago around here. Women stopped letting men control the bank accounts, even insisted on having their own and suddenly it was so much less likely to happen. Do you recognise what you've been living through, Remus?”

Remus had known his and Roman's family life wasn't good. He'd done everything he could to keep their genetic donors unaware that Roman actually earned money acting until he was already out of the house, but he had never heard that it could be a form of abuse. Looking to Virgil now he knew there was only one person in the room he actually trusted to look after his best interests and it wasn't the people who had raised him.

“Some out dated form of abuse that's far more boring than the stories of castle dungeons I've read about? I always thought it would be that stretchy thing someone went for, claiming I'm too small to have so much to say, well at least if we're looking at ancient torture techniques.” He rambled, wondering if there was a distraction that would get Virgil to let them go.

Letters being brought through from the rest of the house made that doubtful though, especially when Remus realised they were all bank statements, both his and the back currently restrained.

“When I thought there might be a reason Remus kept putting himself in harms way I never expected to find this. In fact I thought perhaps he's just got a family of adrenaline seekers or something. It's plausible after meeting Roman at least.” Virgil was muttering, but any move Remus's parents made had his shadows tightening, or more coming out to hold them even more securely. His attention was definitely not on the statements.

The Protector had never been known to kill in all the stories, reports and rumours about him. People only ever said the Protector would teach abusers fear and get the abused to safety if possible. Remus knew in that moment this wasn't the Protector but just Virgil, the man he'd found through his title and fallen for as they got to know each other. He couldn't predict or use the wild thoughts in his mind to help out now.

“Can I come with you then?” He blurted out. It was the only thing that might get the limbs to stop suffocating family he tried to distance himself from, almost as much as the family home they were all stood in.

Virgil froze at the suggestion, before throwing all but one of the statements away to wrap an arm over Remus's shoulders. “That as blunt as I've heard you be about wanting me around. You want to live with me and date me, Remus or was that all teasing.”

“I want everything you're willing to share with me, especially the dirty, the wild, and a vivid exploration of the pleasure these shadow limbs could bring.” Remus leant into it, revelling when the scared looks momentarily turned disgusted. He could finally show something of himself to these bastards without worrying about being left penniless for the month.

Virgil only gave him a quick kiss before turning back to the people before them. “Since Remus has made that decision then, my concern is what to do with you. Are you going to try and carry this on, bother Roman with claims of poverty if I let you go?” He growled out.

The pair were shaking their heads frantically and probably would have done more if they could move at all.

“Good, because we are staying in touch with him, and we will find out. Now, looking at how much you each earn, how much Remus has been putting into this account and the amount that remains in it, you owe him a hell of a lot of money. By the end of the week you'll see to it that the number written at the bottom of this statement is transferred into Remus's account, or you'll be seeing me again.” Virgil's grin was dark, his voice was low and Remus was shivering at it.

He knew he should be more focused on just how much he was about to get and the financial freedom suddenly coming to him, but was far more interested in the sexual restraints and commands his Protector might soon be giving him. It was a far more interesting thing to think about.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 6 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: A Walk on the Other Side

Summary: Bilbo is a FBI profiler and rather enjoys his desk job when a strange case comes across his desk hinting towards the FBI's most wanted: Smaug. As soon as he makes this connection, he is approached by notorious crime lord, Oakenshield, in an attempt to get him to work for him. Bilbo’s world gets flipped upside down by the suave man, and he may not be a dirty cop, but he does have a personal investment in making sure Smaug is put behind bars.

Bilbo Baggins was not exactly the first person you pictured when you heard the acronym “FBI”. He was a little too short, a little too pudgy, and enjoyed his sweater vests immensely. Yet, he’s been his department’s top analyst for the last fourteen years. He may not be one of the showy field officers (messy, nasty work that), but what Bilbo did was not any less important. In fact, if it wasn’t for analysts like Bilbo, a lot of times the “gunslinging action” wouldn’t take place at all. A rather unpopular opinion but true.

It was shaping into a relatively normal Thursday for Bilbo. They had just finished up a debrief over their latest embezzlement case. He was starting to suspect they were dealing with a serial embezzler. It was different locations, different methods, and different amounts, but there was something about the case that clicked in Bilbo’s mind. He was almost to his desk when he noticed a large manila envelope was draped over his keyboard. He raised an eyebrow as he carefully lifted the sticky note attached to it.

Have a look at these files for me? I know I’m missing something. Call me when you figure it out. -GG

Bilbo plopped into his uncomfortable rolling chair with a sigh. Gandalf was his old AD before he switched departments. And unfortunately, anything with Gandalf’s name on it was usually trouble for Bilbo. He tapped his fingers on the desk and spun back and forth in his chair for a bit when his eyes landed on his mother’s picture on his desk. She was in uniform hugging him at his college graduation. He knew exactly what she would want him to do. Heaving a groan, he pulled the damn envelope towards him and started looking over the files.

Arsons? Those didn’t usually fall under Gandalf’s jurisdiction. His eyes skimmed the reports, not sure exactly what Gandalf was expecting him to do. The evidence was fairly cut and dry. What’s more is the local police caught a suspect that seemed substantially to blame. Case closed. However, if Gandalf thought there was more, he should probably check it twice. It was actually the third time that he caught it. The papers hit his desk as his mind reeled. No...surely it wasn’t? Now he really needed to make sure.

He laid the photos out side by side circling the origin of the fires in each picture. His hand was shaking when he was done. This was big. This was FBI’s most wanted big. He didn’t even bother writing up a report. He immediately got on the server and sent a one-word email to Gandalf.

Smaug.

It was thirty after six when Bilbo finally packed up his work to head back home. His mind had been racing all afternoon, and all he wanted was to be put on the arson case. However, Gandalf never replied to his email, never called, nothing. First thing he was going to do when he got home after feeding Myrtle was grab a beer from the fridge and call the older man. Even if Gandalf wouldn’t let him be part of the team, he deserved to know what happened with that bastard.

Bilbo’s townhouse wasn’t exactly what you would call grand, but he enjoyed it greatly. It had the cosy atmosphere of his childhood cottage while still being rent efficient in a quiet neighborhood. It was a slight commute to work, but well worth it. He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights to the front room as he toed off his shoes and set his messenger bag down. He was just getting ready to move into the kitchen to get some cat food down for Myrtle when he froze. There was a man in his house.

“So you’re Mr. Baggins.” His low voice purred in amusement as he looked him up and down. “You look more like a grocer than an agent.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to scream when the man whipped out a Sig Sauer.

“Don’t.” He ordered calmly. “I only want to talk.”

Bilbo’s eyes hardened as he quickly took in details for a sketch artist. Tall, likely over six foot. Lean, except for he’s slightly broader in the shoulders. Tailored suit. Slicked back dark hair but graying at the sides, hooded blue eyes, well-trimmed beard and mustache. Almost as if he knew exactly what Bilbo was doing, the man smirked before nodding towards the sitting room. Bilbo moved slowly and deliberately as he sank down onto his armchair. The man unbuttoned his jacket before taking the spot on the couch. He set the gun down in front of him on the coffee table. A peace offering, but also a signal that it was within reach if he needed it. Bilbo’s blood was pounding as he forced his dry throat to work.

“What do you want?”

“Gandalf told me you have the information I need.”

Bilbo cocked his head in confusion as his mind raced to process the loaded answer. This man knew Gandalf. He talked to him recently. He knew Smaug.

“What kind of information?” Bilbo played dumb.

“A file came across your desk, and you gave Gandalf a name. I want to know why? What did you see that made you so sure it was him?”

There was almost a maniac gleam in those bright blue eyes. It was something Bilbo related to well. 

“I can show you. I just need to get to my bag.” Bilbo stated, slowly standing up.

The man’s hand twitched towards his gun, but he didn’t pick it up as he nodded his consent. He didn’t take Bilbo as a threat. His mistake. Bilbo grabbed his bag and slid the pistol and cell phone out of the front pocket whirling around on the man. He sighed but put his hands up as he leaned back into the couch. Bilbo’s left hand was shaking as he searched for Gandalf’s number, but his gun hand remained steady and in control. He put the call on speaker so he could watch the man’s face for any slip. However, his expression never changed from slightly bored and exasperated.

“My dear Bilbo, I do hope you haven’t shot our guest yet.”

Bilbo could just kill the AD. He really could. As it was, his posture relaxed just slightly.

“Who is he?” He demanded of Gandalf.

“Someone who has hunted Smaug longer than you.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the dramatics and lack of a real answer which seemed to amuse the other man somewhat. This didn’t feel right. Every instinct in Bilbo’s body said to arrest the man across from him if nothing else than because he was dangerous.

“Do you trust him?” Bilbo finally asked, his voice wavering just slightly.

There was a long pause before Gandalf answered.

“I do.” 

Being of no real use, Bilbo hung up the phone after that. He had two choices before him. He could trust Gandalf’s judgement, or he could go with his instincts. He kept the gun trained on the man for a moment longer before lowering it with a sigh. He flipped the safety back on as he stuck it in his waistband, because he wasn’t a total naive idiot, before picking up his bag like he said he was going to initially. When he looked back over, the man’s gun was gone. Bilbo sat stiffly next to him and pulled out the file Gandalf had sent over earlier.

“It was where these fires originated that tipped me off. Here, what do you notice?” Bilbo questioned.

The man furrowed his eyebrows studying the images before he shrugged with a grunt of irritation.

“Placement.” Bilbo pointed out. “There were no traces of accelerant so how do you start a natural fire? Well, very easily. Gas range stove, covered radiator, electrical outlets, but look. Where the spot is most charred we can assume is the start of the fire. It’s nowhere near anything like that. It couldn’t possibly have started naturally. So what set off the fire? Smaug has a very specific MO. He kills using highly concentrated nitroglycerin tablets, smuggable due to their heart relieving counterparts, that when combined with human stomach acid will cause an explosion. And judging by the shape of the darker burn, it’s not a huge leap to assume that there was a human body there.”

“But all of the owners were alive to file insurance claims.” The man pointed out, looking more curious than anything else.

Forgetting that he was a stranger that had a gun trained on him not even ten minutes ago, Bilbo found himself getting more animated at the chance to finally explain his theories.

“So I looked into that after I sent the email to Gandalf. Somehow, every owner was conveniently out of town before the fire happened, and afterwards were able to afford a building or home way above their pay scale. Which even if you take insurance money into account still shouldn’t be possible. I think Smaug was paying them off for access to conduct his dirty work somewhere he couldn’t be tracked. What’s more, all the buildings being used by the same money laundering cleaning service made an easy target for the police.”

The man raised an eyebrow as he seemed to be appraising Bilbo. He smirked before standing.

“Very well, I’ll talk to Gandalf about getting you transferred.”

Bilbo jumped to his feet.

“Transferred? Where? For what purpose?”

“I want you working for me.”

“Now wait just a minute here!” Bilbo demanded as he stomped back into the entry hall. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I won’t be a dirty cop! And don’t try to convince me anything about what we did was legal. Nobody breaks into an FBI agent’s home and holds a gun on him unless they work outside the law.”

The man shook his head with a snort. “Well aren’t you just perceptive.”

“Hang on!”

Bilbo reached out for the man’s arm at the same time he reached for the doorknob. In less than a second, the man had Bilbo’s arm pinned above his head in the wall out of view of the window with Bilbo’s own gun placed under his chin. Bilbo glared into the ice blue eyes inches away from his own as he tried to keep a cool head in an uncomfortable situation.

“Let’s get a couple of things straight.” The man whispered, his breath hot on Bilbo’s face. “One, I don’t answer to anyone, especially not you. Two, you’ll be whatever I want you to be or you don’t get the revenge you so clearly desire. Yeah, I can see in your eyes how badly you want Smaug. Work for me or get the hell out of my way. I don’t really care one way or the other, but Smaug is mine.”

He gave Bilbo one last smirk before shoving the gun in Bilbo’s pocket and stepping away. Without so much as a ‘good evening’, he was gone in the night. Adrenaline shot, Bilbo slid down the wall until his butt met the floor painfully. He let his head lightly bang into the wall behind him a few times as he just focused on breathing. A ‘meow’ alerted him to his company before Myrtle stepped over his legs to rub her head against his arms and stomach.

“And where have you been?” He croaked.

He didn’t get an answer back aside from another ‘meow’ as she seemed rather insistent on getting her dinner. Bilbo closed his eyes and counted to twenty before getting up to finally go to the kitchen. That beer sounded more prevalent than ever.

***

First thing he did the next day was go straight to Gandalf’s office, slamming the door behind him. The older man looked up and gave the analyst a wide smile. 

“Bilbo! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Who the hell was that last night?!”

“Well…” Gandalf huffed.

“Tell me.” Bilbo seethed. “Or I’ll go straight to the top and tell Saruman everything.”

Gandalf pouted. “No need to get testy. Please have a seat. Do you want some tea? Coffee?”

Bilbo let his face fall into his hands. “What I want…” His muffled voice stressed. “Is some answers. What have I just been exposed to?”

Gandalf sighed. “Very well. I believe you are familiar with Oakenshield?”

Bilbo slowly lifted his head to pierce Gandalf with a baffled glare.

“Oakenshield...the crime family? Oakenshield...who got into it with the Orcs several years back and cut off the hand of their boss? That Oakenshield?” 

“The very one.” Gandalf snapped, pleased. “Well that was Thorin.”

“Thorin? As in the head of Oakenshield, Thorin Durin?!” Bilbo’s voice had risen in pitch at this point.

“Of course.” Gandalf nodded as if Bilbo having a conversation in his living room with a dangerous mob boss was akin to making a friend at preschool.

Bilbo collapsed in the chair across from Gandalf as spots danced in his eyes. He white-knuckle gripped the arms as if physically trying to tether himself to the conscious world. I’m not going to pass out. I’m not going to pass out. Bilbo was an analyst! There was a reason he didn’t go out and meet people...well like that. And Gandalf knew Durin. Even worse, Gandalf leaked FBI intel to him. Slowly he lifted his head.

“Did my mother know?” He demanded hoarsely.

“Did she know what?” Gandalf asked, genuinely baffled.

“Did she know you worked for the mafia?”

“Bilbo…”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, GANDALF!”

The wizened face hardened, reminding Bilbo of the reason why he had yet to retire.

“She suspected...but I never told her, no.”

Bilbo rubbed his jaw as he chuckled on the verge of hysterics.

“She always told me I had to get in your command. Said it was her best days on the force. That you were a good AD. Tell me. What’s your ratio? How many do you let slip off the hook for every one you put behind bars?”

“Now see here, Bilbo Baggins! I will not let you undermine me or my division! Contrary to your belief system, there is more at work here than what you can comprehend.”

“My belief system?” Bilbo scoffed. “You mean THE LAW?”

“Yes.” Gandalf grumped. “The law. The law which can dictate that a pickpocket is guilty but a corporation stealing hours from their underpaid workers is innocent.”

“I’m not going to sit here and debate...politics with you!” Bilbo laughed. “My job is to arrest people like Thorin Durin and there’s nothing you can say that’s ever going to make me think working with the lunatic is a good idea!”

“Not even if he’s your only chance to take down Smaug?”

Bilbo’s face fell into an emotionless mask, except for his eyes burning holes into Gandalf. Without another word, he stood and left the office. If he slammed the door closed with more force than necessary, well that was no one’s business but his own. Luckily, his black mood seemed to engulf him like a siren warning everyone off. He made it to his desk with no distractions ready to pick up where he left off with the embezzlement cases. Only, he couldn’t move as he stared blankly at the wall of his cubicle.

Understandably, his focus was a little off. He figured he should turn Gandalf in, but for the love of his mother’s memory and nothing more, he deemed it best to leave that stone unturned. His decision was immediately questioned when he got a text twenty minutes later from an unknown number with a time and a location and a charming little warning at the end.

Come alone.

Bilbo snorted as he tossed his phone on his desk. Absolutely not. An hour later, he found himself procrastinating the embezzlement case again to pull up the bureau's database on Smaug, Dracon. It was all information Bilbo had practically memorized at this point. His eyes drifted towards his phone with the text he had already committed to memory before shaking his head and exiting out of his search. Bilbo was an analyst for the FBI. He had his integrity and moral responsibility to ignore psychopathic crime bosses who wanted to use him for a turf war. He wasn’t so single-mindedly driven by revenge regardless of what Gandalf or Oakenshield said. His phone buzzed again.

Belladonna Took’s son was meant for more than sitting behind a desk for the rest of his life. Thorin was impressed. At least hear him out tonight, and if you absolutely feel like you can’t join the team, we won’t bother you ever again.

Bilbo threw his phone with a string of curses that had everyone around him staring with wide eyes. Bilbo dragged his hands down his face. This was such an easy decision. He just had to say no! No, no, no, no. Why couldn’t he say no?

Because you’ve never felt more excited about any case before? Because you trained for months to be a field agent before making an abstaining promise to your father at your mother’s grave? Because you’ve never felt closer to getting your mother’s killer, and that’s a sweet taste that just won’t go away?

Bilbo cursed himself with every swear in the book when the cab pulled up outside the restaurant that was texted to him. His nerves were singing. Everything about this felt wrong and dirty. And yet...he opened the door to let himself in.

[itsapapisongo]

Soul Nemeses! | WINWIN

Starring: Winwin ft. Hendery

Genre: Comedy | Superhero

Concept: Supervillain!Winwin (The Lobe) | Superhero!Hendery (Freakazoid)

Word Count: 2,786

Prompts: “Stop screaming, it’s just me.” + “I don’t think that’s legal, but we can work around it.”

Notes: The following is (1) an absurd short-story for the @ficscafe’s dialogue prompt event and (2) a writing exercise to get into a headspace where I can be as silly as possible. Freak Out! is a story I’m very excited for and this was a way to explore the characters and their dynamic. So, without further ado, I genuinely hope you enjoy this VERY SPECIAL EPISODE of Freak Out!

Taglist: @stayinzencity @mother-hyucker @lebrookestore @doievoir @du0tine @naptaemed

All is well in Way City.

Which is to say it’s really not and something is about to happen to disrupt that all-is-well feeling across town. Because a day can’t go by without some burglar, mad scientist, or supervillain indulging in their burglary, mad science, or super-evil shenanigans.

Thus we turn our attention to a deserted, discolored, and depressing city landmark: The Daebak Fair. Once it used to be the kind of place that burst with laughter and excitement, where money flowed every weekend and kept the owners’ pockets heavy and full. People couldn’t get enough of it until, well, they got enough of it.

So much so that it became free real estate for any villain that felt like using the abandoned fair as their lair. This changed, however, when Winwin decided he didn’t feel like sharing. He bought the place, and officially made it his holiday lair. And it’s here that our story takes place.

What once used to be a house of mirrors is now a workplace where a plethora of patented inventions specifically designed for destruction are built, reserved-engineered, dismantled, and kept out of his rivals’ hands.

With all the bells and whistles removed, the lair is quite spacious. Having decorated the place himself, Winwin has hung stolen paintings all over the walls and set tables for dissection, welding, engineering, and even, if he was ever in the mood, arts and crafts. The whole thing has Mad Scientist meets Bob Ross vibes and it’s both odd and endearing.

Winwin is currently dismantling his latest invention—a large crane-looking thingie fitted on the roof a modified golf-cart—out of boredom and frustration after being foiled once again by that red-wearing, annoying, ne’er-do-well freak of a nemesis.

“I can’t believe him,” Winwin grumbles, shaking his head for the nth time. Seeing as he’s alone, he says this to no one in particular. “I craft the perfect plan and he finds a way to thwart it!”

Who would have thought that Freakazoid would have convinced him that creating a gas capable of turning people into clown zombies to do his bidding would be the stupidest  masterplan ever? Winwin felt like he was failing as a villain, not challenging his nemesis enough. He had wondered then and still wonders now if he’s losing it, if he’s gone soft yet he knows he’s not, knows he hasn’t.

So why does this recent defeat grind his gears? Why has Freakazoid gotten to him? Though Winwin knew not to take their rivalry seriously, he sometimes did. It’s standard hero-villain stuff—to hurl insults and humiliate one another—yet something felt off.

He stops working and thinks back to their encounter.

CUT TO: HOURS AGO, IN A COLD, TALL, AND VAGUELY EUROPEAN MOUNTAIN

“Well, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Freakazoid had said, hanging off the side of a snowy cliff, for their confrontation had taken place in a cold, tall, and vaguely European mountain. With an impressive leap and a landing, he stood in front of Winwin and pointed a finger at him. “That’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard of! People don’t like clowns, dummy! People are terrified of clowns! Ever heard of It?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—’tis a good plan!”

Freakazoid rolled his eyes, scoffing.“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh,” Winwin replied, feeling instant regret for lowering himself to his nemesis’ childish argumentative skills. “It’s a brilliant plan!”

“No, it’s dumb, dumb, dumb!”

And then they debated like adults for a minute or two—

(“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.”)

—until Freakazoid clicked his tongue and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Pack it up, big brain,” he told him, not unkindly but definitely disappointed.

“Why should I? I already have a small zombie army at my disposal.”

“Small clown zombie army at your disposal.”

Winwin groaned in exasperation. “Yes, yes, that.”

“You’re doing this out here in the middle of nowhere. There aren’t even that many people around so I wouldn’t call it an army. I’d call it a small terrifying crowd.”

“Oh.”

Freakazoid nodded and crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side. “Did you even think this through?”

Winwin suddenly found himself speechless. Genuinely and anxiously speechless. He didn’t have an answer other than “I don’t know” and he hated resorting to admitting he didn’t know anything. He was the most brilliant supervillain in all of Way City—the Lobe, some called him—and admitting ignorance was (1) not on brand for him and (2) his worst nightmare.

“I don’t—I’m not sure—I—”

“Alright, you.” Freakazoid shook his head and gently guided him away by his elbow. “Pack it up. Get out of here.”

“But—”

“No butts, not tiddies, not ding-a-lings,” said the hero, his pout a judgemental feature in his face. “I expected a lot more from you. Clown zombies? Aiya.”

“I—” Winwin’s eyes widened and he felt them welling up with tears. “You’re right. I think I’m overdoing it. I might be overtired. It’s the best I could do on such short notice.”

“Turn off the cloud.”

And so he did. Winwin turned to see Freakazoid—lean, clad in red, black domino mask concealing his identity, his insignia that of F and an exclamation point on his chest, his black hair, slicked back as always, haswhite streak in the shape of a bolt across it��grimacing back at him. For a second, Winwin thought he could hear the world’s tiniest violin play a sad tune for himself as he pouted and got on the modified golf-cart he’d driven around the mountain to spread the gas around.

“Hey, big brain,” he heard Freakazoid call after him, the hero’s voice distant. He noticed it had softened somewhat. “It’s a dumb plan but I know you can do better.”

“Thanks, Freakazoid,” Winwin mumbled as his nemesis gave him a thumbs-up.

The moment was ruined the moment the idiot in red opened his mouth again—

“Now, git!”

CUT TO: NOW, BACK TO WINWIN’S LAIR

“Can’t believe I cried in front of him,” Winwin says, cringing.

“Yeah, me neither,” says a familiar voice.

Startled, Winwin squeals then yelps. A wrench flies off his hand as he falls off four feet to the ground and lands squarely on his bottom. He groans, and feels the back of his head throbbing. Opening his eyes, he blinks once, twice, thrice until he makes out the unmistakable silhouette of his nemesis looking down at him. Freakazoid couches and leans in so close, Winwin can feel his breath against his forehead.

“Stop screaming,” the hero says, “it’s just me.”

“Stop scream—are you serious? You nearly gave me a heart attack, you imbecile!”

“I know but that’s no reason to scream your lungs out.” Freakazoid offers his right hand and a half-smile. “Time to go upsies, big brain.”

Winwin glares, refusing the offer for help. “I don’t need your—” he begins but is cut off when he’s lifted off the floor. It’s both rough and gentle, in that he feels he’s taken several tight turns in a roller coaster without whiplash and is suddenly standing upright without imbalance. “Thank you.”

Freakazoid waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t mention it.”

“I won’t.” Winwin scoffs then wags a firm finger in a gesture of warning. “Nor shall you mention that I cried all the way up there in those cold, tall, and vaguely European mountains.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Freakazoid raises a hand, making a gesture that’s supposed to imply his discretion. He frowns then tilts his head with a shrug. “I mean I would dream of it so I might come up. Like, cards on the table, I might tell some of my dream friends about it.”

A beat as Winwin glares, turns to a camera that’s not there, and rolls his eyes.

“Are you quite finished?”

“No, not really—”

Winwin sighs and turns, picking up the wrench he dropped and returning to his work. “Why are you here, Freakazoid?” he asks, his voice laced with despondency.

“Oh,” is all Freakazoid manages to say. Winwin hears him clear his throat and take a step forward. “About that. I came to apologize, big brain. Didn’t mean to be, well, mean to you. It’s just that—” he pauses and the villain can practically see him shrugging. “—I think I’ve been a bit overworked too.”

“Was it your idea to apologize or was it Sgt. Qian’s?”

“That’s neither near or far.”

Winwin groans, doing his best to not roll his eyes or rub his face. “Neither here or there,” he corrects him.

“Exactamundo!”

“Did you come here to aggravate me?”

Freakazoid deflates, looking forlorn for a second before he clears his throat and the usual and insufferable aura of confidence that encompasses his very being returns. He smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck.

“Come on, big brain, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s just that—” Freakazoid groans, throwing his head back like a teeanger not wanting to admit he’s responsible for some wrongdoing. “—it was such a good plan!”

Winwin’s eyes widen as he takes a step forward and squeezes Freakazoid’s shoulders. “Come again?” he queries. “It was a good plan?”

“I mean—duh!—zombies I can handle but clowns? Geez. Ugh. No. Nightmare fuel.”

“So you did like it?”

“Like it? No, bud, I absolutely, definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, love it. Let me tell you, Lobe, it’s—” Freakazoid motions he’s kissing his fingers then wiggles his left hand as if to say mamma mia. “— diabolical.”

Winwin feels warmth spread across his cheeks and immediately clears his throat, looking away to avoid giving Freakazoid any satisfaction or a glimpse at his embarrassment. He laser-focuses on taking apart a component from the machine, cautious not to tinker much with the cylinder that contains the clown zombie gas, and pretends he’s not giddy with excitement and validation.

Then, just as he’s going to turn and give him his thanks, Freakazoid open his mouth and yet again ruins the moment—

“It’s diabolical, but stupid.”

Winwin mutters angrily under his breath, every fiber of his being urging him to reach for that knock-out gas he’d been working on for the past few days—or, perhaps, that disintegrating rifle that has been gathering dust for God knows how long—yet relents when he sees the look of concentration in Freakazoid’s face. The hero looks like he’s seriously considering why he feels Winwin’s plan was, in his words, diabolical but stupid.

And the villain, overwhelmed with both anger and vile curiosity, crosses his arms, taps his foot, and grits his teeth.

“Go on . . .”

“It’s—how to put this lightly?—immensely stupid yet awesomely evil in that you didn’t think it through but it has potential to really ruin my day if done correctly.” Freakazoid throws his arm around Winwin’s shoulder, pulling him close. “See what I mean, old chump?”

“You and I are not chumps.”

Freakazoid gasps and pouts, dramatically putting a hand on his chest. “And here I was thinking you were my nemesis,” he whispers in a low, wheezing voice. “I thought we were soul-nemeses.”

“I mean—” Winwin blushes again and his eyes widen the second he realizes Freakazoid notices his blushing. “We are nemeses, yes, but we are definitely not chumps.”

“Could we ever be chumps?”

Winwin sighs, rolling his eyes. “I believe so.”

“Ah, big brain, I knew you cared!”

“Yes, yes, caring.” The villain nods and pushes his nemesis off himself, “You’ve apologized, insulted me yet again, and tried to be my, as you say, chump. I believe that’s enough banter for a day.”

“Touché.” Freakazoid smiles. “I’ve made plenty of shameless jokes at your expense today.”

“And I’m certain they won’t be the last.”

“You know me,” the hero blinks, pointing a thumb at himself. He glances at the contraption built on the roof of the modified golf-cart and a glint of curiosity and mischief appears in his eyes. Despite wearing a domino mask, Freakazoid could be inexplicably expressive. “Whatcha up to?”

“Dismantling this heap of scrap metal.” Winwin turns so fast that it’s impossible for Freakazoid not to notice the frustration apparent in his face. He smacks the wrench against the roof of the cart and winces when it slips out of his hand. “Damn it.”

“Here, let me help,” Freakazoid offers, guiding Winwin away from the cart. “I need some space.”

Before Winwin can protest, a gust of wind pushes him back. He blinks to see nothing but a blur of motion and a shower of white sparks moving around the golf cart. It’s so fast that he glimpses at Freakazoid’s silhouette twice before the hero stands next to him, wiping his hands with a dirty rag. It reminds Winwin of a mechanic finishing up a check-up on a car in desperate need of maintenance.

“There.” The hero throws the rag over his shoulder. “Doneso.”

“How did you—” Winwin blabbers, flabbergasted at how thorough Freakazoid had been. Every piece is laid on a table that hadn’t previously been there, each component perfectly classified, and all the parts that were supposed to be tossed away neatly put on a trash bag. “How’s that possible?”

“Come on, brainy,” Freakzaoid scoffs, clapping Winwin in the back and making him yelp and glare at him. “We’ve been at this for a while now. If I can think of it, I can do it.”

“That’s not a very reassuring thought.”

For a second, Freakazoid’s smile disappears and a haunted look passes through his eyes. “I know,” he whispers ominously. Then he’s flashing that bright and infuriating smile of his as nothing has happened. “Anyways, I gots to get going.”

That stops Winwin dead on his tracks. Usually, after some crime-spree or being foiled and getting away, Freakazoid would burst in wherever Winwin was currently laying low on, say his cheesy heroic lines, and promptly deliver him to the authorities—which was always, without fail, to Sgt. Qian—and they would call it a night.

Here he is, apologizing, acting like Winwin hadn’t enacted yet another brilliant and evil plan—even though he had deemed it dumb—and being overall far more obnoxious than usual. Yeah, something’s definitely off tonight.

“Whoa, whoa, aren’t you going to take me in?” Winwin protests and instantly groans when he notices his hand on Freakazoid’s forearm, like a lover begging their other half not to leave. He lets go and sheepishly clears his throat. “You might have thwarted me today but I still turned a couple of people into clown zombies. That has to be a crime somewhere.”

“Definitely a crime somewhere, but they’re all good now. All they needed was some fresh-air. No harm, no foul.” Freakazoid shrugs then grimaces. “Although, no, not really. A couple of people were traumatized so there was some harm involved.”

“You see?” Winwin cackles and offers his hand, waiting to be handcuffed. “Take me in!”

“Not tonight, brainy. I’m all tuckered out and Kun invented me out for ice-cream. We can do that tomorrow, though.”

Winwin opens his mouth then closes it, narrowing his eyes in disbelief. “That seems awfully irresponsible.”

“Oh, it is.” Freakazoid snorts, turning to leave. “But I’m getting some ice-cream and Kun’s paying.”

“If you don’t take me in now, Freakazoid, I’ll come up with a worse plan tomorrow and enact it without mercy.” Winwin poses, raising his hands above to display his collection of inventions and devices solely designed for destruction and chaos. “For I live to oppose you. So it is written. So it shall be done.”

The hero blinks, holds his chin, looking pensive for a second, hums, then shrugs with an impassive expression. “I don’t think that’s legal, but we can work around it.”

“I—” Winwin raises and lowers a finger, deflated.

He could reschedule, postpone some things, advance others before he unleashed absolute chaos on the city. He knows can make it work. It would be business as usual.

With a mental note to not start his rampage before dinner time, he slowly and painfully rolls his eyes and huffs, “Fine. We’ll do it tomorrow then.”

“Goodie!” Freakazoid claps, pulling Winwin close for a hug. “Ice cream today. Possible disaster tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Winwin replies through gritted teeth.

“Okey-doke, brainy. See you tomorrow.”

One second, Freakazoid is there. The other, he’s gone in a blinding flash of light and a gust of wind that vaguely smells of chocolate. Winwin is left alone, despondent, and secretly impressed. He sighs and rubs the back of his head, feeling the area bruised and sensitive to touch.

Giving his lair the once-over, he slumps on a chair and pops his lips.

“This is my most humiliating defeat,” he grumbles.

A minute later, he decides to call it a night.

And, for the first time this week, all remains well in Way City.

itspapisongo | © 2020-2021 | All Rights Reserved

Freakazoid! is a Warner Bros. property, all rights reserved to them and the show's creators (Paul Dini & Bruce Timm).

[thatmultifandomhoe]

Knitting You a Home - 5

Pairing: Wolf Hybrid Namjoon and Human Reader

Word Count: 2,745

Genre/Rating: Hybrid AU - Established Relationship - Angst - Fluff - Smut - PG-13

Overview: Things have changed for you and Namjoon. It’s been a year since the two of you got together, and despite a rocky start, it was impossible to deny the bond and love you shared for each other. But ever since Hoseok had been separated from his Mate, Namjoon has been withdrawing himself from you and doesn’t come home until late at night.

With questions far larger than either of you imagined, you can’t help but wonder if he’s let his past and old fears come back to haunt him. You had shown him that it was possible to have a home and be loved once before, but will you be able to do it again?

Warning: None

Playlist:

Main Master List:

Knitting You a Home Master List:

Mated Love is Never Easy Series Master List:

Sneak Peak - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - ?

©thatmultifandomhoe Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

The outside world faded away from Namjoon as he sat in his studio, scratching out lines that he’d previously written, trying to find another way that explained the way he was feeling that flowed with the song.

He had been like this for the last several hours, biding his time as Yoongi and him waited for the artist to arrive and listen to the tracks they had prepared, and to give them the input they needed on that one song.

“You know, as nice and passionate as he seems to be about his music,” Yoongi murmured, scrolling through his phone like he had been for the last few hours. “I really hate it when people are late and don’t bother to call and give a heads up.”

Namjoon hummed in agreement, not even bothering to check the time. Instead, he chewed on his bottom lip, sighing as he once again drew a harsh black line. The page had slowly filled in with more crossed out lyrics than when he started rewriting it this morning.

He had felt bad leaving you in bed this morning, again. Like clockwork, he’d leave the house by seven thirty to guarantee he’d make it to the bus stop to get to work ten minutes before eight, but this morning had been different. Those few moments you shared when he did crawl into bed hadn’t happened this time, and it left him feeling off centered. You had ended your day not knowing if he came home, and were going to start it off waking up and wondering if he had come home.

Then he ended up not being able to go visit you during his lunch break, because by a stroke of luck, Yoongi had called him over to Genius Studio to go over an idea he had on the unspeakable song. They had nicknamed it that when the rapper turned down another version that they had for it this morning.

It was only a quick and short text that he was able to send to you before going over to Yoongi’s studio, feeling even guiltier. If his math was correct, then you hadn’t seen him since yesterday at lunch. Which was one thing if the two of you lived in separate houses and were only dating, but you lived with each other, shared the same bed, your paths should have crossed more than once.

Not hearing a reply from Namjoon, Yoongi lifted his head, shifting on the couch to see that his friend was still leaned back in his chair. His feet were propped up on the drawer of his desk with the notebook against his legs.

Yoongi’s tail lightly thumped against the couch – not even Namjoon’s ears flicked in his direction – and he glanced at the time. It wasn’t late like yesterday, only eight, but just like the other day he wanted Namjoon to go home. He was concerned about his friend and thought that he needed to get away from the studio and spend some time with you.

Maybe by being with you, Namjoon would realize that it didn’t matter whether there was a ring on your finger, or a Mate Mark on your neck, you were the love of his life and he was yours, and that was all that mattered.

“Mixtape?” He finally asked, curious as to which project Namjoon was working on.

Namjoon nodded, finally turning to the next clean page to write out what he had. Maybe if it wasn’t surrounded by scribbles and cross outs, he’d be able to figure out the next few lines before the chorus.

Namjoon reached out and tapped on his phone out of habit, curious if you had messaged him. The lock screen photo made him smile, taking a moment to admire it before going to his messages. It was from the morning after one of his heats and naturally, he had woken up before you. Sunlight had streamed through the curtains, highlighting your body in an otherworldly glow as you slept. The only adjustment he had made was when he brushed your hair off your neck, revealing the – at the time – Mate Mark that was only a couple days old.

It was a picture that relaxed and sent a wave of pride through him. While the day that you officially adopted him was one of the happiest days of his life, this particular moment in time was forever ingrained in his heart. He had found the one person meant for him.

When he finally pulled up his messages, he smiled as he saw an unread text from you.

From Angel:

Don’t worry about it Joonie! I have some news to tell you when you come home, so I’ll see you tonight. Love you!

He hoped you hadn’t gone overboard with dinner, but knowing you, you probably dug out the cookbooks and decided to try a new recipe. Without a doubt there’d be a plate fixed up for him waiting in the fridge for him when he came home. The gesture was sweet and while he was thankful for you thinking of him, it only made him want to come home at a normal time to eat it with you, when it was done cooking.

A knocking at the door captured his attention, forcing him to slide his notebook closed with the flyer for the underground rap battle serving as a bookmark back into the drawer when Yoongi opened the door. Namjoon hid his surprise when not only the rapper entered the room – apologizing for being so late – but a woman entered with him, her hand clasped in his own.

One inhale and Namjoon was gripping the arm of his chair, feeling like he had gotten run over when the scent of her overbearing perfume hit him, along with the rapper’s scent coming from her as well.

In some shape or form, these two were together, and they hadn’t been late due to dinner as he was telling Yoongi.

“Well,” Namjoon spoke, clearing his throat as he shook hands with the artist and then his, friend. “Why don’t we get started.”

As everyone got comfortable, Namjoon glanced at Yoongi over their heads, raising an eyebrow at his older friend.

Yoongi simply scrunched up his nose, tail flickering in agitation at the humans overpowering scents.

It was going to be a long night.

“Knit one, pearl two,” you softly murmured, reading over the knitting pattern. Dinner had long since been put away and the dishes cleaned up, a plate already made up and set aside in the fridge for Namjoon for when he came home.

Since you were officially on vacation, you were sitting on the couch with a pattern you had printed out God knows how long ago. It was for a baby blanket, and as you had been rifling through your binder of patterns, you couldn’t help but linger on this particular one. It was too soon to assume – with Hoseok leaving for a year at the end of the month it certainly wasn’t going to happen – but you couldn’t help but think that Sarah would need it. If not now then she would one day for sure. Something told you that her and Hoseok weren’t going to have only one child.

And if not, it’ll make a beautiful display for the shop, you thought, writing a check mark in your notebook next to row one, continuing on to the next one. Right now, it just looked like a long section of yellow yarn. Give it a few days and it would look like the picture, a baby blanket with a seashell design big enough to wrap the baby up in or to put in the crib.

Sighing, you glanced at the clock on the wall, not surprised that Namjoon wasn’t home. It was only nine, too early for him to even consider leaving work.

It hadn’t always been like this. He used to come home at a normal time, or the latest at least eight pm. That had been when he first started working for the music company. With Yoongi by his side guiding him, Namjoon had managed to work his way up and was able to produce music alongside with Yoongi. The promotion had surprised even you, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was that Namjoon was doing a job that he loved, and from the stories he told you with bright smiles, the hours he spent at the studio were worth all the late nights.

Of course, you missed him. You missed teasing him as he tried to help prepare dinner, and curling up on the couch when the dishes were done. Tender moments of when the two of you were in separate worlds, him lost in a story or new book of poetry and you knitting up a new project, but always connected as he pulled your legs over his lap and would run his palm along your bare skin. Those were the sweetest memories that you missed.

Tonight, was nearly identical to those precious moments. The TV was on low, your legs stretched out on the couch as the knitting needles clicked together. The only thing that was missing, was Namjoon.

Namjoon pressed down on the back of his neck, groaning as he entered the house. The night had gone exactly as he had thought, and they were still left with the unspeakable song to do. Every idea and suggestion ended up crumpled up and thrown in the trashcan.

By the time the artist and his girlfriend left, both him and Yoongi reeked  of the perfume she wore, and Namjoon was growling in irritability because his studio no longer had his scent. He had spent the last hour trying to rid the room of hers, but it was no use. The only female scent that belonged in there was yours, and he was debating on having you come by one day to help restore order. Until he got a shower and smelled like himself again, scenting his studio was absolutely pointless.

He stopped short in the living room however, his thoughts hitting pause as he walked around the couch to see you asleep. The basket that held your knitting was placed on the floor next to the end table, the throw blanket that was usually over your chair half haphazardly covered your body.

The sight of you sleeping eased some of his distress, but it only raised a new worry now. Crouching down, he gently brushed back the hair that had fallen, a soft smile appearing on his face as he gazed at you. There was probably a good reason you were out here instead of in bed, but like a quick fire, guilt plagued him at the thought that you had been waiting for him. He remembered that you had wanted to tell him something, but he didn’t think it was serious enough for you to camp out on the couch.

“Angel,” he softly called out, running his knuckles against your temple. “Wake up sweetheart, it’s time for bed.”

A soft groan came from your lips, making him chuckle, but he continued on. “Come on, you know an angel like you isn’t meant to sleep on a couch.”

You tiredly smiled before opening your eyes, relishing at the sight of Namjoon. “The only angel I see here is you.” You stretched a hand out to cup his cheek, sighing at the content sound of his growl.

Namjoon ducked his head down, chuckling as he gazed lovingly at you. A wave of deja view had him taking a trip down memory lane, recalling another time when he had come home to find you sleeping on the couch in an attempt to wait up for him.

“Why weren’t you sleeping in your bed?” He hoarsely asked, watching you unfold the towel and settle it on his hair, all while being mindful of his ears. He hadn’t expected the rain and he was soaked as a result of the sudden storm.

You didn’t answer for a few moments. Instead you were focused on drying his hair and gathering your thoughts. “I was waiting for you to come home,” you finally answered, moving the towel off his head. His wolf ears lifted up, bringing a soft smile to your face despite the serious situation at hand, and began to carefully dry them as well.

His eyes burned with tears and despite biting his lip and trying to think of anything else, he couldn’t. Never before had a place been a home for Namjoon. The feeling was foreign and it scared him. The idea of there being a place where he felt safe, cared about, and loved terrified him, so he ran.

He ran until he realized there was no-where he wanted to be than with you, that the only person he wanted was you. He loved the things that you knitted him, he enjoyed starting his weekend off with you on the couch drinking coffee and watching those wedding shows.

He loved the way your house always smelled like something was being baked, and he sincerely appreciated that after he woke up from a nightmare, you were there to coax him out into the kitchen where you prepared to make tea or coffee and a late-night snack to take his mind off of his memories. You never forced him to, but he knew that you’d listen if he wanted to talk about it.

Without a second thought, he wrapped his arms around your hips, pulling you closer so he was able to rest his forehead against your stomach.

The tears slid down his cheeks as he sobbed, his grip tightening the slightest when he felt you move. But it was only to set the towel on the table as you wrapped your own arms around his shoulders, gently rubbing your hands in circles on his back.

“It’s okay Namjoon,” you softly spoke. “You’re home now. It’s gonna be okay.”

Shaking his head, he gently slid an arm underneath you to help you sit up right. “Are you awake enough to tell me about that news?” He teasingly asked.

You frowned up at him but realization dawned on your features, resulting in him chuckling as you nodded. Holding your hands out, Namjoon took them in his as he pulled you up, immediately leading you to the bedroom.

“Well as of today, Grandma has declared that I’m on vacation,” you told him. He slid his arm around your waist and you leaned into him, your nose scrunching up at the citrus smell on his shirt.

“She finally got tired of you?” He joked, not noticing the way your face fell.

Licking your lips, you frowned as a headache began to form behind your eyes at the scent. “She says that we work too much and don’t spend enough time together.”

“Was there the mention of us having kids?”

“That we should be in a certain room in our house more than we are.”

Namjoon snorted, watching as you sat down on the bed before going to his dresser and pulling out a new pair of boxers. “I need a quick shower but I shouldn’t be long.” He smiled as he walked back towards you, kissing your lips briefly before heading to the bathroom.

The water was heard instantly. You were staring at the doorway, wondering if he had known. He had to know that he reeked of another woman’s perfume, his own sense of smell was heightened incredibly compared to yours but yet, he didn’t say anything. There was no explanation for why he smelled like that.

Reaching up to touch the side of your neck, you shakily inhaled as you forced yourself to dress for bed, curling up under the blankets on your side.

It was the first time that he was home before midnight. The first time in so damn long that the two of you were going to bed at the same time, and he smelled of another woman. While you figured there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, your heart seemed to hang in your chest.

By the time he crawled in behind you, burying his face in your neck and softly kissing the skin, you couldn’t erase the venomous thought that there was no other reason for why he was staying so late at the studio anymore.

Before you had wondered if…now you were wondering just who wore that disgusting perfume. 

[bomberqueen17]

misc

1) I am hanging in there largely due to the lovely replies and comments here, on my latest AO3 things, and (astonishingly) at Facebook. Also my immediate-family groupchat is kind of hilarious today. It’s hard, though; I was the one who scrolled down and found the thread that didn’t have Dad on it to send the first reply to, because I knew his phone blowing up would just upset Mom. 😭 But we’re all on that thread now. (It was so great when dad got his own phone after years of Mom having the smartphone for the two of them. He could be relied on for one good zinger per major conversation. 😭)

1a) family groupchat highlights include M-L defending herself about letting Mom shovel the roof, me discussing being middle-aged and needing a new roof, two of my sisters simultaneously declaring that i needed a thatched roof for the middle ages, and M-L telling a story about her cat possibly being possessed by a demon but actually just being a snob. Farmsister said she was “on tenterhooks” to hear the end and Mom asked if we all knew what tenterhooks are but we are her children so of course we all did.

2) I am also hanging in because my coworkers brought me a tray of sushi for dinner, which was super sweet of them and, as I think I started to mention before, I am sure they thought of that specifically because the one dude is of Jewish extraction and feeding mourners is one of the many, many things about which the Jews are 1000% Correct, it made my day.

3) I was completely unable to account for the passage of time today, and had real trouble completing thoughts, but I did manage to haul myself down to the basement and once down there I actually did a lot of fairly fast reasonable-quality work, and I made a series of furoshiki in which to wrap my Christmas gifts. I still have to make one more, and finish a small impromptu bag I made for a bottle gift. I already had one completed, a pieced one I’d made entirely by hand using the pojagi technique so both front and back are usable sides-- and I’d done it in contrasting thread. I’d made it for myself to wear as a hair scarf but honestly I only wear hair scarves on slaughter day so it’s too nice for that, so instead I’m going to wrap one of M-I-L’s gifts in it because I know she will notice and appreciate the sheer time it took me to make it. I had made it while stuck on a long car ride, I think, though-- I don’t entirely remember. I know it’s the kind of handsewing I do while bored, though, as it’s fairly mindless.

4) My Christmas gift for Farmsister, which I ordered the first week of December and which was supposed to arrive a week and a half ago, arrived while I was sewing, so it got a wrapper made for it and is already wrapped up. Huzzah!

5) While answering comments on AO3 it suddenly struck me that the scenario in which Aiden wears a crop top, which my mind has for some reason been chewing over for quite some time, is definitely firmly set in a modern A/U crackfic and involves him wearing a shirt that belonged to young-teenage Ciri and is completely inappropriate for him, for trolling purposes / to make a point. So, maybe someday I’ll write that. (It’s related to the one I was trying to finish for Halloween, so.)  (There are also Inappropriate Booty Shorts, because I love you all very much.)  Also, I was describing Aiden there to a commenter and hit upon the realization that he is sort of like a cross between a gazelle and a moose, because he is quite beautiful, extremely dangerous, and incredibly awkward. I might simplify that to Sexy Moose. Like, you like to look at him, sure, but probably from quite a distance if you want to live.

6) I thank everyone for their contributions on my post about using Facebook Messenger, and I have to actually get the spoons to like. Give it serious contemplation. Yeargh.

[acciocriativity]

The First Meeting ||Harry Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x You

Summary: Your life takes a 360º turn when you discover that you are a witch and that you are going to study and live in a world completely different from yours. In the midst of so much change, you meet a boy who is feeling the same. 

 

Word Count: 2.4k

N / A: This is the first fanfic that I am posting on Tumblr, so it would be very important to me if you leave your opinion here and also English it's not my first language, if I made a mistake, I'll like to know and correct it.

 The day started rainy, which is not surprising considering that I am in England, more specifically in the city of London. However, I, as an immigrant from hot lands, consider rainy days bad luck, because something always happens wrong. 

And to my despair, today was supposed to be perfect. 

It was only a month ago that I discovered to be a witch and for my happiness, it has nothing to do with pointy noses and pure evil. Apparently the only similarity is the hats, since in the two moments I was around real wizards, I saw several people wearing them.

 My family, for the most part, being a completely devout Catholic, did not accept my new reality so well, not to say it was hell on Earth. In short, if I went, I wouldn't be able to set foot in the house again, as they weren't going to house a sinful witch. 

That bearded gentleman was kind enough to help me find another place to stay, while my parents would think better of it. Although I was unable to thank him or at least speak after being expelled from my home, or old home.

 

I've been staying at the Leaky Cauldron ever since, but because of the latest events in my life, I just went out to buy the materials. Being a witch had cost me a lot and I wasn't ready to face that until yesterday. It took me a long time to decide whether to go to Hogwarts or not, but now the certainty that I made the right choice was growing in my chest. 

 Right after having breakfast at one of the bar tables, I waited seated by the person in charge who would accompany me to Kings Cross station, where I was supposed to catch a train. I knew about it the same day that I discovered the magical world but only today I was anxious for that. I must admit that I imagined that we would fly, obviously all the stories lied to all the non-magical children on Earth.  

A few minutes later, a man in a turban appeared through the door and walked towards me, his expression showing no particular emotion when entering or even seeing me sitting, but what scared me was the fragility and fear in his voice.

- Miss Garcia, good morning, are you ready to leave? - He leaned on one leg while looking around worriedly. 

- Yes sir .. is everything ok ?? The bathroom is on that side - I knew it was inconvenient but I couldn't hold my curiosity as I watched his expression change.

- It will be a short trip but we must go now, to not risk losing the train, let's go - his posture was suddenly rigid and his face looked shaken but this time, I kept my thoughts to myself.

 At least he was kind enough to help me with the two suitcases, which were quite heavy due to the amount of books that were inside, I got some History of Magic extra books to learn more about that world. 

And he was not wrong, the path was fast despite the light rain and wet streets. We didn't talk beyond the formalities, I just found out that he is one of my teachers that year, Professor Quirrel and nothing else.

As soon as my feet took a step into the station, the man said goodbye with a nod and left to go his own way with a weird expression, but I didn't care about that for more than 2 seconds. 

I took a deep breath and started to walk following the small crowd of people who would possibly go to work in another city, since I didn't know the way to the platforms. Honestly, I didn't think it would work until I saw the license plate numbers, and I quickly hurried on, because mine was ahead. 

- 7 ... 8 ... 9 ... 10 ?? - I stopped walking at the same moment I realized that mistake, there was nothing between 9 and 10 - I don't believe it ... 

 I stood leaning against a wall looking around as if looking for someone, but in fact I wanted to find a miracle or at least an angel who could tell me what to do in that situation. 

Millions of thoughts crossed my mind within 2 minutes, most of them negative, until something drew attention out of my despair, or rather, someone. A red hair had just gone through the wall, it was so fast I could hardly believe my own eyes. 

Two more people did the same before I managed to close my mouth and walk over there, in shaky, uncertain steps. They hadn't noticed me and I thanked them mentally for it, because I wouldn't be able to pronounce a single right word. The good news is that they were certainly wizards, by the way they dressed and the most logical conclusion is that they would know the right way. 

 I waited for everyone to cross to get closer to that wall, I couldn't hear the conversation but I noticed that the right way to enter is to run. Again I took a deep breath and looked around to see if anyone was noticing me, with the station full, my answer came as a quick no. 

 I closed my eyes and ran about three short steps until I felt a sensation unlike anything I had felt so far. The stone wall seemed to have turned into a wind wall and I easily managed to get to the other side. I immediately opened my eyes after hearing the sound of a train and when looking to the side, there he was. The Hogwarts Express was written right in front of the locomotive.  

 It only took me 10 seconds to notice the difference, the clothes were definitely different and there was an absurd amount of children and teenagers, as I was walking closer to the train entrance, more people were showing up, in a way I didn't know how to explain.  

 The trip was smooth to Hogwarts, I found an empty car as soon as I arrived but soon the seats were being filled and I ended up sharing my cabin with two more girls, I soon noticed that they were sisters and that was the initial topic of our conversation. They were nice and helped me get into the current context of the wizarding world, explaining the basics about Hogwarts as well. 

- And he's here, the boy who defeated you-know-who's going to study with us! - the oldest of the brunettes spoke excitedly with a huge smile on her face. 

- One of my friends told me earlier that she met him in the hall, what is he like? - the youngest asked even knowing that none of us would know the answer. 

 This topic remained for a while, until they decided to take a walk on the train while I read, enjoying some quiet time. Honestly, I wouldn't like to be in this boy's shoes, not only because of the tragedies in his life, but also because of the amount of attention, comments and theories about him.

But I cannot deny it, I would like to meet him, who would not be curious after everything that was being commented on? 

 People got in and out of the car where I was sitting and I tried to have a decent conversation with everyone, but then when two older students came to tell us that we should change clothes, as we were arriving. I preferred to wait because a hurried crowd of students wanted to go first, so I ended up being one of the last to get dressed, but one of the first to leave the train. 

 All the way the view had been impressive but nothing had prepared me for the vision I had when I approached the lake, where we were supposed to go. It was dark and it wasn't raining, the moonlight reflected on the water of the Black Lake like a mirror and I was almost sad to see that we were going to cross by boat, because that image would be blurry. 

I could only see the outline of the huge castle on the other side, but it was enough to see all the splendor of that place and for a few seconds I was paralyzed absorbing the beauty of everything around me, until a voice brought me to reality. 

- Only 4 people on each boat, kids! - I glanced at the giant man, who was talking animatedly to some students, before I sat down in an empty space.

 As soon as we reached the other side, we gathered in a small group on the castle entrance stairs to hear one of the teachers. I remained behind and silent as I was paying attention, until I saw someone passing by and right after I felt a foot stepping on top of mine for several seconds. 

- Hey! Can't you see I'm here ?? - I said indignantly but as low as possible looking at the red-haired boy beside me.

- I ... I'm sorry, I didn't see you - he replied without even looking at me, his face turning as red as the color of his hair.

 I thought about replying but as the teacher was still talking, I just preferred to nod, accepting the apology. Only then did I realize that I caught the attention of two more students, a curly haired girl who cast a disapproving look at the redhead but smiled at me gently and at another dark haired boy, who noticed my gaze and shifted his look to the other side immediately. 

 It didn't take more than 15 minutes before we were inside that incredible hall, instead of a concrete ceiling just like outside, above my head was the most beautiful starry sky I have ever had the pleasure of seeing, with floating candles to complete the view. To my relief, it didn't seem like a common thing for most first year students, who talked quietly among themselves so I didn't look like an idiot admiring alone. 

We were instructed to stay in a queue, I had no idea what was going to happen so I was distracted looking at the stars, which never seemed so achievable until that moment. I wish I could go up there and take at least one, but it would be impossible. 

 We walked slowly until we stopped in front of the other students, who were spread out over 4 tables, my eyes never left the illuminated sky and as a result, I didn't notice that I was too close to the boy in front of me.

I got my first embarrassing moment of the year in less than 10 minutes, because I stepped on the cover of the boy in front of me. All the consequences of that went by very quickly before my eyes. In a second I was out of balance and fell, but that's not the worst part. I accidentally pulled his cloak back, the boy fell out of balance and fell with me, his back to me. It hurts, too much. No more than the weight of my humiliation and shame, but it still hurts.

 My face took on a pinkish tinge as I silently prayed that no one noticed, but that's not what happened. Today was definitely not my lucky day. I could hear half the room laughing and half whispering, so I knew for sure that I had made a big impression on people and a bigger one on the Hogwarts floor. 

- Sorry ... I was distracted - I spoke as quietly as possible looking at the ceiling and again at him.

 He didn't look at me for more than 2 seconds before looking away in that same direction and back to me again. His nod was minimal but noticeable and he soon stood up, which I had forgotten to do in those few seconds.

 What surprised me more than anything in the last month was his hand extended to help me, it didn't take me long to accept the help and so I got up and straightened my clothes trying not to show shock. This was an act of kindness that I couldn't expect from my brothers, considering how angry they would be in a situation like this, but other than shame, I couldn't see a hint of anger in his green eyes. 

- I'm really sorry ... - I said again, loud enough that only he could hear me. 

 The director had called everyone's attention, so most had stopped laughing although that redhead from before just stopped after the mini punch that the brunette gave him. 

- It's okay, it will just be another reason for people to talk about me behind my back - he gave me another small smile on the side but his tone was not the happiest. 

- And why?? I don't know who you are - I was curious because I had not met anyone important in the magical world until then.

 I could see a flash of surprise in his expression but before he could answer me, the names started to be called and little by little the children walked to the stool, where the hat was placed on their heads. After that he didn't answer me, no one else had the courage to say a word because they were very anxious to get their turn and also curious, like me, to know which house the famous Harry Potter would go to. 

- Potter, Harry - called the teacher with a serious but serene expression and a different look in her eyes. 

 From then on, the students' not-so-low whispers started again and I, who was already at the Hufflepuff table, could only be surprised to notice that the boy I dragged to my shame was actually Harry Potter himself. I didn't have the courage to look at him for more than 5 seconds, because again the embarrassment consumed me but this time harder. I only looked at him again when the Gryffindor table radiated in cheers and laughter as soon as he was drawn there and then our eyes met for the last time that night.

Harry Potter Masterlist

[simp-for-mha-men]

𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕤: 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖 (𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕜𝕚 𝕜𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕣𝕚 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣)

A/N: My first piece of writing! I hope that all of you enjoy it. I LOVE IT! (also a Denki stan, so ya know) I totally believe Denki is the kinda person to create friends only AND in person. Without further ado, here ya go.

Genre: fluffy fluff with mutual pining 💞

Word count: 2.3k

♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥

itzElectric has joined the chat

itzElectric: HEAR YE! HEAR YE! I SUMMON MY COMPANION @IceStorm TO CURE MY BOREDOM!

Denki Kaminari was once again on his phone, searching for the person who he began talking to only months ago in a future-hero chatroom. He remembered he slid into IceStorm’s DMs with a cheesy pick-up line: Do you know how much a polar bear weighs? Enough to break the ice. A classic one-liner he hoped wouldn’t scare the person on the other side of the screen away.

IceStorm ended up responding to the DM almost immediately, commenting on how the Titanic wouldn’t appreciate that opener. Denki knew from that simple reply that he and IceStorm were going to get along just fine.

IceStorm, whose name he later found out was (y/n), was an all around perfect human being. Seriously, they were. Denki swore to the Bakusquad that if you looked up the definition of perfect in the dictionary, (y/n)’s tag would be next to it.

Their quirk related to the online name they chose for themselves. The fact that they could not only produce ice from their body but also turn any bodies of water, like clouds or lakes, into ice was fascinating to the electric boy. He, in turn, shared his quirk with (y/n). He even sent a video of himself in full “Dumb Denki” mode, to which he received an audio clip of them laughing hysterically as a reply.

The two online friends shared everything with each other. When (y/n) broke up with their first boyfriend, they talked with Denki the entire night over voice chat. When Denki started doubting himself and his placement in UA’s hero course, the future ice hero immediately gave him a million reasons on why he was going to become a great hero.

It took Chargebolt only 3 months to realize that he had developed feelings for his online friend after sending that fateful DM. He couldn’t tell (y/n) though. No way. If he did, they would probably block him, maybe even delete their account and create a new one just to get away from him for good.

How did this happen you might ask? Well, it began when (y/n) and Denki found out they were the same age. They also both wanted to become pro-heroes, obviously. Plus, all of their interests lined up with each other. It was as if fate pulled them both together through an internet connection and an obsession with Tik Tok memes.

Snapping out of his trance, Denki realized he had been zoning out for a few minutes to recount how he met his current crush. He was so head-over-heels for a person he had only ever heard and not seen that he didn’t even check if IceStorm was online.

Doing just what his brain thought of, he clicked IceStorm’s profile in his friends list and saw what he wished to see the most. Next to a green dot read the words Status: Online, making Denki’s heart rate speed up just a bit.

Instead of waiting for more time to pass, and considering it was almost 2 AM on a Friday night, he DMed the ice maker.

itzElectric: hey.....you lowkey left me hangin in the main chat 😔

He hoped, prayed, and wished that (y/n) would respond. He wanted his partner in crime. His meme expert. His muse. He wanted another audio clip of them singing songs horribly off-key or laughing at another ridiculously stupid Tik Tok. He wanted his heart to flutter in his chest just a bit more. He wanted to feel them in person. He wanted...no, needed to video chat with (y/n).

They had known each other for a total of 8 months, and graduation was coming up for the both of them. If he could video chat with (y/n), maybe he could work up the courage and ask to meet them at the café near U.A. It had the best pastries, something that he knew they would love.

itzElectric: something up? you know you can tell me anything 

Very rarely did it take you more than a couple of seconds to respond to the blonde. It worried him. What if something had happened? What if you were doubting yourself? What if you had gotten injured? What if you were--

Suddenly, his phone vibrated. He never had picked it up faster in his life. As he looked down at the message he had just sent, he felt his face heat up slightly when he read your response.

IceStorm: nah nothing’s wrong. was someone worried about me? lol 🥴

He was so happy you couldn’t see his blushing face. However, little did he know the reason you didn’t meet him in the chat room was because you were thinking about what to say. Also, you were blushing as well.

Going to Shiketsu was a big deal, and you never wanted to get distracted. When you met itzElectric online, everything changed. You began developing feelings. It was an issue, but it was a very, very good issue. You had never seen his face. All you wanted to do was video chat with him. If you could video chat with Denki, maybe you could work up the courage and ask to meet him at the café near U.A. It had the best frappes, something that you knew he would love.

You felt your heart rate pick up when Denki responded to your previous message.

itzElectric: obviously. if you died or something, who would make me feel better about myself? 👉🏻👈🏻����

Denki began questioning his latest reply. It sounded clingy, he thought. He might as well have just dug his own grave. Who would say something like that?

IceStorm: awwww is my bb giving me a compliment ��

Your heart soared with emotion. This man, separated by a screen, was your world. You could never have him, though. If you did, he would get freaked out. Besides, you knew he was a flirt with how many pick-up lines he got your opinion on. 

itzElectric: well.....since your online, i wanted to ask you something kinda important

Denki knew he shouldn’t be typing anything to them. He knew that this could make or break their entire relationship. In a couple minutes, he might be blasting The One That Got Away by Katy Perry and crying. Despite this, he waited for (y/n)’s reply.

IceStorm: sure. what’s up?

itzElectric: i feel like we have a pretty strong connection....so can we maybe see each other

You might as well have gone into cardiac arrest. This man, the man you’ve had a crush for 4 months, just asked you to meet him. Or was it a video chat request? Maybe just pictures? You needed clarification before you freaked out even more.

IceStorm: what do you mean? like in person or....?

Denki froze. In person? YOU wanted to meet HIM in person? That did not catch him off guard. No, totally not. It punched, kicked, and threw him off guard. That wasn’t suppose to happen. He wanted to video chat then meet up with you. Could this happen out of order?

IceStorm: yo....pika? gonna answer me? 

The electric boy typed before his brain could tell him to stop what he was doing.

itzElectric: can you video chat right now?

He wanted exactly what you wanted. The months of banter over chat and stupid voice memos led up to this, but you couldn’t believe it. The two of you could never be together. Denki had to have a girlfriend or boyfriend. There’s no way a catch like him would still be single. Still, you typed your response out immediately.

IceStorm: yes

Your phone began vibrating profusely due to the incoming call. In the moment, you forgot to turn on any lights. Leaping out of your bed, you scrambled to turn on the lamp that was on your desk. You then turned on the one next to the bed. Then, you did the unthinkable: you answered the call.

When the phone stopped ringing, Denki saw you. Oh my All Might.....why didn’t he do this sooner? He was floored by your looks. You were even better than perfect. Your face held a soft expression that made him turn almost as red as a tomato. Your hair complemented the irises of your eyes beautifully. It was as if you weren’t even human. You were just an angel visiting him for a brief moment.

You were seeing him in the same light. His blonde hair and bright yellow eyes made a fire ignite in your heart. He held a goofy grin, one you had imagined many nights before falling asleep. However, you were very far off. His entire persona was fixated in that grin. It was absolutely phenomenal.

“Hi,” you started, letting out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

“Hey,” he responded.

Denki was speechless. You were enamored. This was everything you both wanted.

“So,” you began, “should I call you Denki or itzElectric?”

“Whatever you want.”

Denki wasn’t using his brain anymore. It was as if he short-circuited himself without using his quirk. He was responding to everything you said from his heart. It was all out of love for you.

You giggled a bit, bringing the electricity user back to his senses.

“Why all of this suddenly?” you questioned.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Really?”

“No. I,” Denki paused and inhaled, “I needed to see you. To hear you. To just be with you.”

Your face became flushed as if you had been training for the past 5 hours. The guy you had fallen so hard for needed to see you? He wasn’t acting flirty or overly comedic. He was peaceful and had a glint in his eye. Could it be--?

“D-dude! You can’t just s-say things like that,” you stammered in the best voice possible.

Denki was whipped for you. He glanced at the clock and realized it was 2:18. He needed to be up at 7 for a morning run with Kirishima. He’s run on no sleep before from talking to you all night, but tomorrow was going to be a strenuous training day. He had to get everything off of his chest.

“Listen,” Denki said, “(y/n), I really--”

“N-no. Just w-wait a minute,” you cut in.

Two very different emotions coursed through you both. You felt a sense of purpose, bordering on the edge of extreme shyness. Denki felt nervous, bile already threatening his throat.

“I like you,” you stated.

His eyes grew the size of dinner plates. You did not just say that. He just had too much caffeine before bed. Wait, he didn’t have anything with caffeine before bed. 

“L-like as m-more than a friend. You’re really cool, and I want to see you,” you ended.

When you realized he hadn’t said anything, you panicked. Trying to cover up your embarrassment, you just started spewing out word vomit.

“You know what? Forget I said anything. It’s clear that you are totally not ready to talk about that. I mean you probably have someone else in mind, right? I’m not the best looking. My jokes are subpar. I mean, I’m not even that confi--”

“In person?”

“Wait...what?”

“Do you want to see me in person?” Denki asked.

He was floored. The person, who he had feelings for, liked him back. For the first time in his life, the pick-up lines and corny jokes worked. He was truly himself and still got the prize: love.

“Yes,” you replied. “I really, really want to see you in person.”

“You can on one condition.”

You tilted your head, clearly confused by his statement. He chuckled at this and continued talking.

“You have to let me hold your hand.”

“What?”

“I like you too, IceStorm.”

Your online username coming out of his mouth made you smile so wide. It also could’ve been the fact that the guy you fell so hard for reciprocated your feelings.

“Want to meet at the café near your school on Sunday? At around 1?” you blurted, hoping that wouldn’t be too soon for him.

“Absolutely. Speaking of which,” he began, “I need to test out my newest pick-up line.”

You rolled your eyes, faking distaste, but on the inside, you wanted nothing more than to hear it. After all, he felt the same way about you. It was bound to make your heart soar even more now.

“Do you like coffee?” he smirked. “Because I like you a latte.”

You couldn’t help bursting out in laughter and blushing profusely. He, in turn, laughed with you and felt butterflies in his stomach. This continued for a couple of minutes before both of you could catch your breaths and refocus yourselves on the conversation.

You were ecstatic. He was elated. You actually did it. You admitted your feelings to the one guy you never thought you could have. You were everything to him. He would electrocute the whole world just for you to smile if necessary. It was as if fate had finally done its job.

Forgetting about his morning run with Kirishima, Denki started a new conversation about the latest Tik Tok he saw. You replied with your usual sarcasm to which he pretended to be mortified by your opinion.

It went on for hours. The two of you were genuinely happy. Hopefully, Denki would ask you on a date soon. Maybe, you might have to, but who knows.

Suddenly, in the midst of talking about plans after high school, a knock sounded on Denki’s door. He glanced at the clock and realized it was Kirishima.

“Be out in few!” he yelled, jumping out of bed.

He threw his phone down, which still had the call going, and got dressed at lightning speed. Once you had calmed down from laughing at his urgency, he picked up the phone and said something you’ll never forget.

“I’ll see you soon, my wonderful snowflake. Zapping out!”

[lnarizakis]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ COACHES DON’T PLAY

MONTHLY NEWSLETTER #3 ; DAILY BULLETIN

HOT OFF THE PRESS ! Thanks for reading our online daily bulletin! Here you can read everything that has happened this past week, along with anything going on today. Not what you’re looking for? Please view the masterlist [here]! 

EXTRA ! miya osamu x fem! reader. 1.1k words. original characters.

HOT TOPIC ! Yesterday, (L/N) (Y/N) published her monthly advice column for “Dating-san Helps Inarizaki High!” The lucky recipient is none other than Miya Atsumu, whose letter was sent on behalf of Miya Osamu. Uh oh! What’s the quieter one to say about this?

“What is this…?” 

Osamu shoved the newspaper into Atsumu’s face. The blond comically mumbled, trying to get words out and explaining his reasoning behind sending a letter to (Y/N). Osamu drew the newspaper away from his brother, and all of Atsumu’s classmates watched in amusement at the sight in front of them. 

He stood tall in front of Atsumu, sitting at his desk and waiting for class to start. Osamu was doing the same, just a few minutes ago in his own classroom, until Suna told him to read the newspaper column that their entire classroom was buzzing about. When he did, flushed-face Osamu rushed out of the classroom and into the one next door to shout at Atsumu for God-knows-what. Osamu’s looming figure intimidated everyone around them but the blond stayed smug, with a smirk plastered on his face as he stared menacingly up into his brother’s eyes. There was some sort of staring contest going on as Osamu tried with everything he had in him to maintain his composure before he would [REDACTED]. 

The grey-haired twin sighed, admitting defeat that his secret was out for the entire school to read about. Glancing at the clock, he left the classroom. On the way out, he heard whispers and mentions of Asai’s name, taunting him as he walked away. He entered his classroom again, sighing as he sat down next to (Y/N), who was mindlessly scrolling through something on her phone. The girl turned to him, a little bit flustered as she knew of the recent events that took place just seconds before he sat down. 

“I wish I could have rejected the letter,” she stated. Osamu turned to her, so that they made eye contact. Though he didn’t outrightly show it, there was a glint of embarrassment in his eyes. (Y/N) frowned, and turned back to her phone. “Asai-senpai won’t allow me to reject letters, so--”

“The advice helped,” Osamu said, interrupting (Y/N). Her hands grew clammy around her phone, so she gently set it down and subtly wiped her hands on her skirt. She asked him for confirmation and he gave her a nod with a small smile on his face. Osamu motioned to the floor, where his book bag and two neatly wrapped bentos lay beside one another. 

“I’m going to confess to her today,” Osamu started, “It’s so that all the attention’ll be off of me.” He spoke quietly, hoping that he wouldn’t draw more attention to himself. (Y/N) swallowed. She could feel her hands grow clammy again, so she clasped her hands into fists, and began playing with her fingers. With a disheartened smile on her face, she nodded, and wished him luck. A few seconds later, the bell rang and the two of them faced forward for class to start. 

✫’ﾟ･:*:･˙

The bell rang again, signalling the end of the school day. In his seat, Osamu stretched out his arms, groaning as he did so. (Y/N) watched him, slightly smirking at his comical expression. The smirk slowly disappeared, though, as her eyes trailed down towards the floor, where the two bento boxes lay side by side. Her heart dropped in her chest, knowing that in less than an hour Osamu would either possibly be dating her editor or have his heart broken. Fixing her hair a little bit, she turned towards Osamu to give him a few last words of encouragement. The two made eye contact, and he smiled. 

“Are you ready?” was all she could ask him. He gave her a single nod as he fixed his tie. Osamu then crouched down to place the two bentos on his desk, brushing off any non-existent dust or crumbs off of the cloth. 

“I think so,” he said some moments later, after an awkward silence sprang up between the two of them. (Y/N) nodded, and their short conversation (if one could even call that a conversation) ended as soon as she got up to leave the classroom. She fixed her skirt, picked up her book bag leaning against her desk, and headed for the door. 

(Y/N) was still a fair distance away from the door before Osamu called out to her, thanking her again for the advice, even if he didn’t really ask for it. She turned around, and gave him a prompt “you’re welcome.” (Y/N) then turned away and walked out of the classroom, leaving Osamu alone to mentally prepare himself for what was to come. 

Osamu thought he was readier than he’d ever been. He brushed his gray hair back with his fingers, picking at it to make sure he had no stray hairs. He would have tied then re-tied the cloth knots of the bentos, but that would prove to him he was more nervous for confession and the fear of getting rejected than he was spontaneously shoving his feelings away. Which he was―Osamu was shoving his feelings away for the sole reason of putting volleyball first in his high school career. He didn’t really mind doing so, as he figured he should make the most of playing volleyball before quitting after his third year.

He grabbed his bag and the two bentos on his desk and made his way out of the classroom. Earlier today he had written a letter for Asai that he placed in her shoe locker. In the letter, he wanted her to meet him by the small, secluded garden of the campus. The garden’s scenery dripped with the need to be used as the number-one confession spot of the school, and every student utilized it. When Asai had read the letter (and let’s not forget how she shared it with her editor friends in the club room before school started), she visibly cringed as she imagined how cliche and how cheesy the entire confession would go. 

HOT TOPIC ! Thanks for picking up the latest issue of the weekly newsletter! These newsletters include information on everything you’ve missed this past week. We’ve got some great things in store for you to read today, and that includes the follow-up letter from the one-and-only Miya Osamu (2-1)! If you didn’t know, his twin brother Miya Atsumu (2-2) sent a letter to the Dating-san Helps Inarizaki High! column to stop Osamu from his mind wandering and getting distracted during practice.

Dear Dating-san,

My name is Miya Osamu and I am your classmate. Apparently I’m supposed to write a follow-up letter to you after a week of receiving your advice. She accepted my confession and now we are dating. Thanks for helping me out.

From, Miya Osamu of Class 2-1.

taglist: send an ask to be added ! [ @lcaita @reogou @alienvarmint @annalyn-annalyn @kunimwuah @akaarin @wansseul @anime-simp @dorkyama ]

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part six Word count: ±3400 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part six summary: Sam goes back to Zoë’s hotel to pick up his lost phone, but the state he finds her in is both shocking and familiar. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​ and @deanwanddamons​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     Preparing himself for a rant, Sam knocks on the door of room 17. He’s standing in the corridor of the Hampton Inn after the receptionist allowed him upstairs, recognizing him from the night before and believing his story when he gave her an excuse. It takes a while before someone grants him access to the suite, but when he’s about to knock for the second time, the door opens.      “Sam...” Zoë grunts, sounding like a sixty year old whiskey drinker who smokes at least a pack a day. 

     As he enters the room, he notices the gun in her right hand, which she held behind the door in case she had bad company. The music playlist from last night is still playing, 2+2= by Bob Seger currently on. Zoë adjusts her PJ shorts, the Nirvana shirt hanging from one shoulder and her wavy hair a bird’s nest; she looks like she’s experiencing the worst hangover ever.      “Are you alright?” Sam checks, carefully.      “Yeah, just a bad night,” she mutters.      “You were fine when I left,” he recalls, surprised by her state.      She doesn’t respond and drags her feet to the bathroom. Sam hears the water falling down in the sink. She’s probably attempting to freshen up a little.      “I left my phone here somewhere,” Sam informs, before Zoë asks about his visit.      No answer, not even a smart comment. Somewhat worried, Sam peeks around the corner. Zoë is leaning on the sink with one hand, pressuring her other palm against her forehead. She has her eyes firmly shut, every muscle in her body tenses; she’s in pain.      “You’re not alright,” Sam notices and walks in to support her, but she shrugs him off.      “It’s nothing, just leave me alone,” the huntress snaps.

     Without granting Sam another second of her attention, Zoë saunters into the room and turns down the music, annoyed by the sound of the guitar that only amplifies the throbbing inside her skull. Instead, she switches on the TV while rubbing her face, steadying herself against the back of the sofa. 

     As Sam observes her, the gears in his head start to turn. She seems ill, feverish almost, as if she’s fighting off an infection. Something about her conditions is familiar. Unable to catch a breath, clammy skin, dizziness. The feeling of being run over by a sixteen wheeler, a bass drum pounding through one’s head, as if they were inches from an amplifier at a concert all night long. Then it clicks. 

     “You had a vision.”

     Startled, Zoë looks aside. Shit. How the hell did he pick up on that? Surely she’s a mess, but Sam must have the exact same symptoms in order for him to figure it out this fast. She cannot let him know, though, and so she recovers quickly.      “No, I didn’t. It's migraines.” She shrugs it off and looks back at the television.      Sam keeps reading her while the local TV station brings them the latest news. She tries to concentrate on the screen, but feels Sam’s burning eyes. Then she snaps at him.      “Stop trying to find things that aren’t there, Sam.”      “You’re lying.” Sam knows.      She sighs with an eye roll and turns up the volume.      “No, I’m not. Now drop it.”      “I’m not gonna drop it.” He steps between her and the TV, blocking her view. “You were dying to know about my visions from the moment you learned I have them.”      “I’m watching that,” she voices, annoyed with his intrusion.      “And I’m talking to you,” Sam returns with an attitude.

     She gives him a look that could kill and steps around him to have a clear view of the screen again, trying her best to ignore the hunter and not blow up on the guy. He better not push her, because he has no idea what would be coming for him.      “Headaches, black spots, nausea right after you wake up,” Sam sums up. “You have them.”      “Would you shut the fuck up for one second?!” Zoë hushes him violently.

     It’s just now that the news on the TV catches Sam’s attention. She’s not just agitated with him because she doesn’t want to talk about the paranormal powers they have in common; there’s actually something on the local news that’s worth their attention.

“In Paragould, the body of a man has been discovered. This morning, Bill Van Dyke was found deceased in his own home, and the Paragould Police Department are considering his death to be suspicious. Local authorities claim that the family were home during the time of death.”

     “Shit,” Zoë spats.      “What is it?” Sam glances aside.      She sighs, still watching the screen as another reporter at the scene gives more information about the incident. “He died the same way Robert Shire did.”      “The girl’s father?��� Sam checks, remembering the surname of ‘Shire’ engraved on Laura’s tombstone.      Zoë nods in confirmation as the reporter in the studio takes over again.

“Bill Van Dyke, the principal of Woodrow Wilson Elementary in Paragould, was a pillar of  support to the local community--”

     Zoë doesn’t hear the rest of the report, the sound fading out as her gaze locks on the school building, which is shown on the screen. She recognizes that building.      “It’s her,” she knows.      “That can’t be. You salted and burned her bones,” Sam brings to mind.      “I’m aware of that, Sam. I dug her up myself,” she hisses, as she opens her closet and takes out her suit, her actions hasty and on the edge of aggressive. “Something is keeping her here, an object maybe. Fuck!”      “Guess you’re staying in town a bit longer than expected,” he concludes.      “Guess so, but I don’t have time for this shit.” Zoë mutters and takes off her shirt, putting on a white blouse as if she’s alone in the room.      Sam averts his eyes, awkwardly, but the huntress isn't bothered.      “Nothing you haven't seen, Sam,” she comments, perky.      Nevertheless he turns away from her, uneasily staring out the window. For a second he considers offering their help on this job, but he’s quite sure she will reject anyway. Besides, they have their own case to deal with.

     Rushing, Zoë gets into her dress pants, which she just pulled out of dry cleaner plastic a moment ago.      “How can you be so sure it’s Laura?” Sam wonders.      “Laura was a 4th grader at Woodrow Wilson Elementary” she explains.      He shrugs. “So? What did Van Dyke ever do to her?”      “Her gym teacher knew about the abuse. My guess is that the principal knew too and didn’t do anything,” Zoë presumes, pulling a thin leather belt through the loops.      “How do you even know that her teacher was aware? You couldn’t have seen her already, not in his short amount of time. Admit it; you see things,” Sam’s pushes.

     Zoë huffs, half shaking her head and well aware that Sam will not buy the bullshit. She wasn't planning on telling him, but the younger Winchester brother might be the one person she can trust when it comes to her abilities. He’s special, just like she is, and neither of them have a clue what is going on. He’s in the dark, just like her. Telling him would involve certain risks, though. Afterall, he is a hunter, one who she just met.      “Zo, start talking,” Sam coerces.      “Alright! I see things! There, I said it. Happy now?” she cries out.

     The confession is as much as a surprise to Sam as it is to Zoë; did she just say that out loud? Shocked, Sam stares at her, but he’s not sure if he’s so stunned by the information of the statement itself or because of the fact that Zoë just told him the truth. Disoriented, his eyes wander off as it slowly starts to sink in what this means; he’s not alone.

     “You have visions, just like me?” he recaps.      “Not entirely,” Zoë says as she buttons her jacket. “You dream about the future, I dream about the past.”      “Like flashbacks?” Sam questions.      “Something like that, yeah. But there’s no possible way I could know these things, you know? Most of the time I don’t even know the people who are involved,” she explains, frustration evident in her voice.      “Tell me ‘bout it,” Sam replies with a chuckle.

     A glint of a smile pulls at Zoë’s lips as she looks up. A feeling she hasn’t experienced in quite a while comes to her. Relief, recognition, as if a weight just fell off her shoulders now that she finally told someone about the secret she has been carrying around for so long. She wishes she could just get it all out of her system, tell him about the other issues that she’s involved in, but she can’t. Besides, there’s little time and still a lot to do. 

     Zoë slips into her pumps, takes her FBI identification out of her duffel and puts it in her inside pocket.      “That’s how you pick your cases, isn’t it?” Sam now understands how Zoë can get to a scene with not much visual evidence, at least not visible to outsiders.      “First I didn’t, because I didn’t understand what was happening to me. But then I thought: Hey, I’m having these flashbacks for a reason, I might as well check it out,” she elaborates before she steps into the bathroom and starts applying makeup.      Sam nods at that, agreeing. “Good point.” Maybe he should start seeing the dreams as clues, too. If he had listened to the visions in the first place, Jessica might still be alive right now. 

     He watches how the woman of many faces basically shapeshifts, going from the groggy, hungover girl in PJ’s to an autorical, tough as nails federal agent. Zoë ties her hair back into a tight ponytail, the look really sending the message that she will take absolutely no bullshit. But under that facade, the role she takes on and hides behind, Sam sees something else; she is nervous, restless, anxious even.      “What’s going on, Zo?” Sam confronts her, his tone supportive, however.

     For a moment she stops fixing her hair and places her hands on her hips. The huntress takes a breath as she searches for words, deciding what she can tell him without giving him too much information.      “I’m on a bit of a time schedule,” she admits. “I need to finish this case before tonight.”      Sam narrows his eyes, concerned, trying to read her. “What kind of time schedule?”      “It’s personal,” she cuts off, immediately.

     Her eyes bore into his, warning him not to ask another question. It’s clear as day that she is not going to give him an inch on this. Intimidated by her gaze, he decides not to dig further.      “What happens if you can’t put her spirit to rest in time?”      “I’ll make it,” Zoë responds, sure of herself.      “You don't know that,” he argues.      “I’ll have to leave town, case closed or not,” she adds simply, walking around the bed to pick up her phone from her nightstand.      “What?! You’re just gonna give up a case?” Sam disapproves.      “I’ve seen hunters do it before,” she says with a tone, straightening her back and standing a little taller.      “So? Then they suck!” Sam exclaims.      Zoë snorts, not disagreeing with him there, but the young Winchester isn’t finished yet.      “Laura will keep haunting this town and every one who might have the slightest connection to her death. Do you have any idea how many could end up dead?” Sam tries to make her see.      “I don’t. Have. A choice,” she states, pronouncing her words slowly and loud, as if Sam suffers hearing loss.      “You do,” Sam corrects. “You always have a choice.”      “You should have a poster made with those words, Gandhi,” Zoë responds sassy. 

     She has gathered her keys and her motorcycle helmet now, ready to head out. Sam doesn’t seize his plea, though.      “Let us help you,” he offers.      After halting abruptly, the huntress slowly turns her head and stares at him for a brief moment, then she laughs out loud.

     “No way in hell,” she chuckles, apparently finding the proposition ridiculous.      “Why not?” Sam wants to know.      “Because I don’t team up with others. The moment you depend on someone other than yourself, you’re vulnerable. You start to trust people you shouldn’t trust and when it all goes wrong, people die,”  she states.      “What about covering each other’s backs? Looking out for your partner?” Sam brings up the bright side of cooperation.      “Apparently that isn’t for me, and believe me; I’ve experienced it,” Zoë comments, a speck of pain edging her voice.

     Sam is not sure what the young huntress means by that, but he can read from her eyes that whatever happened, it still hurts her. He keeps quiet for a moment, but then continues with a calm tone.      “Hear me out. We can take over the case completely and you can go wherever you need to go. We’re in the same hunting fields, so why shoot at each other in order to get rid of the competition when we can split up. Dean and I can handle this,” Sam ensures.      “I believe you can, but I’m not the type who lets someone else do the dirty jobs. I got this one, I just need to make good time,” Zoë assures as she heads for the door. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have a crime scene to investigate.”

     She holds the door for Sam, her piercing eyes telling him without words to get out of her suite. The younger Winchester lets a sigh slip from his lips as he looks up at the ceiling for a moment. There’s absolutely no way to get through to that woman, he thinks to himself as he walks outside before she locks the door. The sharp thumps of her heels echo through the lobby, when she hastily parades to the parking lot while taking out her shades. Just before she walks out, Sam stops her by laying her hand on her shoulder.

     “Zoë…”      She spins around, not keen on the physical contact.      “If you need help, call me,” he insists.      “You know I won’t, Sammy,” she reacts, pushing the sunglasses onto her nose.      “Don’t - don’t call me Sammy,” he mumbles under his breath, watching her stride away to her Harley Davidson.      After putting on her helmet, she starts the engine and rides off, not even bothering to say goodbye. 

     Defeated, Sam turns to the Impala, which is parked on one of the taxi spots. A thin layer of dust covers the black car, which seems to boil in the early morning sun. It’s awfully quiet. No ear blasting rock tunes from the radio, no Dean jamming on his air guitar. Sam peeks through the window of the passenger’s side and finds his brother fast asleep. He can’t see Dean’s eyes because of the sunglasses he’s wearing to cut out the light his hungover brain cannot tolerate, but his head rests half against the window, tilted slightly backwards. Sam’s thoughts go back to the day before yesterday, when they parked the car in front of the pharmacy and Dean scared the shit out of him by slamming his fist against the window. Of course, Sam can’t resist doing the same thing and hits the window right on the spot where Dean’s leaning against on the other side.

     “Kelly Clarkson!” Dean cries out spooked, as he bumps his head up against the hardtop of the car.      With a big smirk on his face, Sam walks around the car just as victoriously as his brother did the other day, and settles in the driver's seat. When he sees his brother’s confused expression, he can’t help but laugh.      “Man, that’s so not cool,” Dean mutters with a raspy voice as he rubs his face.

     “Got what I came for.” Sam holds up his Blackberry.      “Did you have to wake me up for that?” Dean takes off his shades and narrows his eyes against the bright sun.      “No, that was just for fun,” Sam grins.      “Bitch,” Dean grumbles.      “Jerk,” Sam returns with a smile. “I have another update by the way.”      “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Dean wonders, carelessly, resting his head against the cool glass again.      “We’re staying in town for a couple more days,”  Sam informs.

     He got Dean’s attention with that notification, all right. His older brother looks up at him and although he can barely keep his eyes open, Sam can tell that he’s curious for more info.      “What? Werewolf turned out to be a coyote?” Dean assumes.      “Not really, but there’s still a case here,” Sam begins to explain, while taking the car keys from his pocket.      “So? It’s Sullivan’s case, I ain’t touching that with a ten foot pole,” Dean makes clear.      “Aren’t you happy you can hang out with Denise?” Sam persuades, hoping to change his mind.      “Oh, no. I know what you’re doing.” Dean sits up straight and smirks, on to his little brother’s persuasiveness. “You’re trying to make this seem brochure perfect, but this isn’t about Denise. Spill it.”

     Sam sighs. Damn, there goes his master plan. Although he gets the impression that Dean can't stand the female hunter, Sam decides to tell the truth.      “I think Zoë needs help,” he admits.      “The last time you thought that I ended up in a bridal suite with a shapeshifter and you got dumped in a septic tank with our damsel in distress,” Dean recalls. “Did she ask for your help?”      “No, not re--”      “- Did she accept your offer?” Dean asks again.      “No, but --”      “- Then we ain’t helping her,” Dean decides.

     “Come on, Dean. We can’t leave her like that,” Sam tries.      “She’s a big girl, Sam. And a damn good hunter too. She’ll be fine,” Dean assures.      “I don’t know, man. Something doesn’t seem right,” Sam ponders. “She told me she’s on some sort of time schedule or something.”      “Yeah, her period. Guessing it’s coming up to that time of the month,” Dean grumbles, sarcastically.      He has lost interest in the conversation and crosses his arms in front of his chest, tugging deeper into the seat.

     “She’s gonna leave town tonight, case closed or not,” Sam clarifies.      Dean opens his eyes and looks aside. “You really think she would leave a job unfinished?” Dean wonders.      Sam shrugs. “Apparently.”      “That deadline must be pretty damn important,” the oldest brother concludes. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt if we stay until tonight, see if she manages to wrap up the case in time. But after that, we’re off to Texas. I was looking forward to that wolf hunt.”

     Satisfied with that compromise, Sam starts the engine. Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Looking Out My Back Door sounds from the radio of the classic car, built around the same time that this song was hitting the charts.      By the time the Chevrolet leaves the parking lot, Dean has looked up Denise’s number and is on the phone with her. Fuck the appropriate time to wait until reaching out. This is a booty call; the regular rules of dating don’t apply.

     “Hey… No, you didn’t forget anything. I just couldn’t wait to call you…. Yeah, I’d love to get together again. I’ll probably have to leave town in a few days, so… tonight? Alright, sounds great.” Dean gives Sam an exaggerated wink.      “At her place,” Sam half mouths, half whispers, making sure Denise doesn’t pick up on his words.      “One sec, sweetheart.” Dean presses his hand on the microphone and looks aside. “Having plans for tonight, Romeo?”      Sam glares at him and Dean returns his attention back to Denise, who started talking to him again.      “Your place, you say? At eight? Cool, I’ll see you tonight then… looking forward to it, too… Alright, bye.” They both hang up and Dean smirks satisfied.      “You are unbelievable, you know that?” Sam comments while shaking his head.      "Oh, I'm unbelievably irresistible,” his brother replies, victoriously.

     Just as Sam decides to turn right, a weird soft roar sounds from inside the car.      “What the hell was that?” Sam looks around.      “My GPS is telling you to make a left,” Dean explains.      The youngest of the two looks aside at his brother who’s pressing his hand on his hungry stomach. Now Sam looks over to the left and spots the yellow zigzag arrow above an In-N-Out restaurant. He laughs, he should have known.      “I see,” he grins and makes the turn. “Drive thru?”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page). 

Read chapter seven here  

[silvorr]

Lila’s Best Friend; Ladybug

In the words of miraculous-of-salt: ‘Another person comes in and teams up with Lila by claiming to everyone they are ladybug. Adrien immediately starts dating her and such while she and Lila work together playing the ‘best friends thing’

Felinette prompt’

I would also like to clear up two things before you start reading:

1. Felix knows Marinette is Ladybug

2.Marinette knows Adrien is Chat Noir

That’s all. Enjoy!

-

Lila could feel the curious but frustrated gaze on her as she silently smirked down at her phone. Everyone in class was busy completing the assignment that the teacher had handed out, everyone excluding Marinette and Lila. Lila knew that Marinette already had her suspicions that something was about to happen, and Lila couldn’t wait for the party to start.

-

When Lila came to school the next day, she came arm in arm with a girl that a lot of students had never seen before. The girl had black hair that shined blue in the light and pretty bluebell eyes that only highlighted her pretty looks. Lila’s smirk only widened when she spotted Alya and Marinette at the base of the school steps, Alya too busy showing Marinette something on her phone for the girls to notice the brunette and her friend approach.

Alya only looked up when Lila cleared her throat and said, “Oh hey Alya! Whatcha up to?”

Alya smiled, “Hey girl. I was just showing Marinette my latest post on the Ladyblog. Who’s your friend?”

If it was possible, Lila’s smile just got wider, “This is my friend Dalia!” Lila then looked around, as if afraid that someone would overhear their conversation. Marinette simply rolled her eyes at this and gave Lila an unimpressed stare as Lila then whispered, “You might know her as Ladybug.”

Marinette’s eyes widened in surprise as Alya let out a soft ‘what’. Alya looked at ‘Dalia’ as the latter shyly waved at them and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“That’s not Ladybug!”

All eyes were suddenly on Marinette. Marinette was scowling fiercely at both Dalia and Lila as Alya winced, “Mari-“

“That is not Ladybug. Alya, you’ve met Ladybug and that is not her! Besides, Ladybug’s number one rule is to never reveal her identity!”

Lila was getting ready to burst out the waterworks just as Alya tried to interrupt, but Marinette wasn’t done yet. “I don’t know what you’re up to Lila but I swear-“

“Marinette!”

“What?!”

“You’re being extremely rude right now girl!”

Marinette looked at Alya in surprise, “Me? I’m being rude? I’m only telling the truth!”

“A truth that has no evidence to support it! You know Lila is best friends with Ladybug and you know that she’s nice enough to introduce us to her! I don’t know what’s gotten into you girl but you need to slow down and give Lila a chance.”

It was at this moment that Lila decided it was finally time to speak up, “I-I don’t know what I’ve done to offend you Marinette but please, you have to believe me when I say I didn’t mean to get on your bad side.”

Marinette could only spare her a furious glance, “You’ve done enough.

Dalia could only look at everyone with nervous eyes as Alya decided that frankly enough was enough, “If you don’t want part in this conversation, Marinette, you’re welcome to leave.”

Marinette hissed, “Fine then. Have it your way.”

None of the three girls noticed the tears in Marinette’s eyes as she turned her backs to them and walked up the school steps to class.

-

Naturally, things only got worse from there. The news spread through school like wildfire and no matter where Marinette turned, someone or another was talking about the same thing;

“Do you really think that’s Ladybug?”

A lot of people in school hadn’t been convicted of the validity of Lila’s claim of being Ladybug’s best friends, but now when they saw a girl who looked exactly like the real deal, well... no one could really blame them for having their doubts. That didn’t mean that the whole thing didn’t piss Marinette off a great deal, but it did mean that Felix got to hear all about the ongoing drama.

“I can’t believe them! They’re actually buying this! They actually think that Dalia is Ladybug!”

Felix sat on the chaise in Marinette’s room and watched her pace around. “Well-“

“Haven’t I always made it clear? Haven’t I always stressed professionalism? Don’t they realise that I would never ever reveal my identity just like that?!”

“She does look exactly like you.”

Marinette threw her arms up in frustration, “That does not excuse their behaviour!”

“True.”

“I just- UGH.” Marinette ran a hand through her hair and let out a heavy sigh as she collapsed into her desk chair.

“I’ve tried so many times to warn them about Lila’s lies Felix.” Her voice had gotten smaller, defeated.

Marinette looked so tired and sad that Felix couldn’t help himself when he got up and crossed the room to her. “Come here.”

Marinette got up and folded herself into a hug, content to continue her ramble even if she was just mumbling into Felix’s collarbone. “I really wish they would see sense Felix. I don’t want them getting hurt. I just-“

“-want to be listened to. They’re fools if they don’t.”

He allowed her to pull back just enough so that he could meet her eyes, “They don’t deserve your care if your ‘friends’ choose to actively avoid your advise. Sad to say, you’d be the fool if you kept on trying.”

Marinette sighed sadly, “I know.” She knew he was right, and for that she couldn’t meet his eyes, “But it’s impossible to just- stop caring.”

Felix pulled her into him again and let his chin rest on her head, “I know.”

-

Felix considered himself to be a simple and practical person. So naturally, when he saw others causing harm to the one he cared for, his reaction was to retaliate back. Or at least, it would have been, if Marinette hadn’t stopped him.

Felix had quickly realise that Marinette was not a person of conflict. She did her best to actively avoid it, which was sometimes harmful as some confrontations would always be necessary. The only reason Felix hadn’t gone and collected evidence against Lila was because Marinette told him not to do it. And the main reason Marinette had told him not to, was Adrien.

Pushover Agreste with his high road and ‘kindness’ approach, the guy who couldn’t even stand up for himself, let alone anybody else. Felix was a little appalled to learn that Marinette had been crushing on the guy for quite some time, but with Lila taking center stage as main villain, that crush had died down almost completely. Not to mention, finding out that Adrien was Chat Noir only furthered the deterioration her crush, because Chat Noir was…. well, Chat Noir.

Not that Felix would complain. What he would complain about though, was the situation that Marinette had found herself in. Specifically, the ‘Dalia’ situation.

Marinette wasn’t the only one who believed that Lila had gone too far this time around. There was certain limits you did not cross, and this was one of them.

Enough was enough. And if Marinette wouldn’t do anything about it, well, Felix wasn’t Marinette, now was he?

That was what found him outside the girl’s washroom and leaning on the wall beside the open door, phone camera in hand and tilted just so to capture two laughing girls inside.

“I know I’ve said this before but honestly Lila, your classmates are so fucking dumb!”

Lila smiled at her reflection in the mirror, “They do seem to lack in common sense, don’t they?”

“Like, how stupid do you have to believe some random stranger claiming to be Ladybug?! Like seriously, use your brain a little? I mean, when you first suggested this whole plan I thought ‘No way are we going to pull this off’, but they didn’t even question it! Not one bit!”

“I told you it would work.”

Dalia huffed and shook her head, “Seriously though. I didn’t think people could be that stupid.”

Felix watched as Lila dug through her purse and pulled out some lip gloss before popping it open and applying some to her lips. He took that his cue to leave. No doubt the girls would be done any minute, and he didn’t want them catching on to his plan before he had a chance to set it in motion. He strode purposefully through the school halls, hoping that Marinette didn’t think too much of his absence, and that they still had time to go out to that cafe she had been wanting to go to for quite a while now.

-

Marinette and Felix could have in no way predicted what happened next. They walked into their classroom, back from a lovely lunch in a quaint little cafe that Marinette had only discovered a few days ago and had just taken their seats when Adrien walked into the room, followed by a smiling Dalia and smirking Lila. Dalia gave Adrien a meaningful look and Adrien smiled at her, before clearing his throat to get the attention of his classmates.

“Everyone!”

Slowly, the clamour died down until all eyes were on the blonde. Adrien gulped audibly, and you could hear the shake in his voice, “As you all know, I’ve been in love with Ladybug ever since she first saved Paris from Stone Heart.”

This set off a clamour of whispering as a few students sent Adrien encouraging smiles. Marinette, meanwhile, sat frozen in her seat and she could feel Alya’s sympathetic gaze all the way from the front of the classroom. Felix narrowed his eyes at the blonde, as if daring him to continue.

Lila broke up the whispering by saying, “Come on guys, let the guy speak.”

Adrien acknowledged Lila with a shaky nod, “Well, I’ll keep this short because I don’t have the courage to say more than a few words, but Ladybug- she’s finally returned my feelings.”

Dalia smiled at the class and stepped forward to take Adrien’s hand, “Adrien and I are officially a couple form this day forward.”

Pandemonium ensued. People were shouting and speaking over one another while numerous students came down to congratulate the new couple. Chloe sat pouting in her seat while Sabrina comforted her and behind them Alix rolled her eyes, muttering something about ‘gross’ and ‘couples, ugh’.

In all the commotion, no one saw Marinette and then Felix slip out of the room.

That is, no one except Alya.

-

It had been a few days since Dalia had first joined their class and a lot had changed since then. Alya had been extremely disappointed when Marinette hadn’t been able to look past her dislike of Lila and had ended up projecting it on Dalia. Alya got that you couldn’t have a good impression of everyone you met, but forcing that impression on a stranger you were just introduced to? Marinette was much better than that and Alya knew it.

Alya had never understood Marinette’s deep hate for Lila but it was something she tried to keep away from, excepting it for what it was. After all, it was what Marinette had always done when it came to Alya disliking a person for no discernible reason. But what Marinette had said to Lila and Dalia that day had been unacceptable, and Alya was hoping that if she just gave Marinette some space the girl would eventually see sense in her own time.

Unfortunately, that was yet to happen. But right now, Alya had more important things to deal with. She needed to fulfil her job as Marinette’s best friend, disagreement or no. Alya was probably the only person who knew of the true extent of Marinette’s crush on Adrien, which meant she also knew how much it would have hurt Marinette to see Adrien announce his relationship to the whole class. Maybe they hadn’t talked about the blonde in a long time, and maybe things between the two girls were a little shaky at best but damnit, they were best friends and best friends were always there for each other, no matter what.

She needed to find that girl, and fast.

Alya skidded around another corner and booked it down another hallway, desperately searching through classrooms as she ran past. She almost missed the two figures standing by the window in one of the unused rooms, and would have continued running had their voices not caught her attention. She doubled back and peered inside to find that indeed, the two figures were Felix and Marinette engaged in a conversation spoken in whispers. Alya could barely make out the words as she pressed herself against the wall beside the classroom door.

“-trusted him to make smarter decisions! To realise the truth! And this- this isn’t even the first time that this has happened Felix! Can you believe that?! I’ve given him chance after chance after chance-“

Felix interrupted her by softly pulling her into a hug just as Marinette broke down sobbing. Alya watched with wide eyes as Felix let the petite girl in his arms cry her eyes out on his shoulder while lovingly stroking her hair. Alya almost couldn’t believe it when he tilted his head and kissed her forehead and continued to comfort the crying girl. Marinette was a blubbering mess in his arms and Felix was that calm in her storm. Anyone with two eyes could see that the two had something special in between them.

Alya slowly backed away from that classroom, mind running a mile per minute. She had so many unanswered questions to ask and yet some part of her knew that now wasn’t the time to ask them.

At least she could be sure that she was leaving Marinette in good hands.

-

It was another few days before disaster truly struck. If Marinette thought that her situation had been bad before, then what would happen next was hell on Earth.

Marinette had been ignoring Chat Noir’s requests for patrol ever since Adrien had started dated Dalia. They insisted on being the overly affectionate and touchy-feely couple that people got tired of real quick. Funny thing was, if an outsider were to look at the situation, they wouldn’t have been able to tell if Adrien’s girlfriend was Dalia…. Or Lila. Both girls were seen constantly latched on to Adrien’s arms. It seemed that Dalia had insisted that her ‘best friend’ come everywhere with her, even on her and Adrien’s dates. Both girls looked quite content to share their ‘loot’, whether he liked it or not.

Marinette, frankly, was sick of it, even more so than Felix (which Felix would insist was impossible). She had mostly gotten over losing Adrien, because that was exactly what this was. He had finally slipped out of her reach and reason. Far too many times had her ‘trusty’ partner failed her, both on and off the battle field. There was only so much a person could take, only so many chances a person could give before they reached the limit of their patience. And Marinette, who had prided herself in having no exhaustion point, realised that everyone had their limits, and that this was hers.

That is why nothing could have prepared her for what was to come.

 The school day was turning out to be the rare few peaceful days they got, until it wasn’t. The only thing that registered in Marinette’s mind was a scream and the shattering of glass until an akuma was standing in their class. The akuma glared at them with menacing eyes before his gaze stopped on one girl in particular.

“There you are, Ladybug.”

In two quick strides the akuma had walked over to the front desk where Dalia was seated next to Adrien. She tried to hide behind the blonde but it wasn’t of any use as the akuma grabbed onto her arm and pulled her up and out of her seat. She screamed just as Chloe suddenly broke out of her shock and snarled, pulling back her arm and aiming a punch straight at the akuma. The akuma jerked back and Chloe ended up hitting Dalia straight on her cheek, causing the girl to stagger back in pain.

“Ow! What the hell!”

The akuma snarled, “You’re coming with me, Spots.”

The akuma grabbed her and escaped from the room, until only Dalia’s screams were audible, becoming fainter by the second. The next second Adrien bolted out of the door followed closely by Marinette, but not before she heard Mylene mutter:

“Brown. Her eyes were… brown?”

Marinette had no time to worry about what Mylene had said before she was calling on her transformation phrase and speeding out of school building, trying to follow the sounds of destruction that the akuma left in his wake. She swung over her parent’s bakery and caught sight of the akuma, until a figure barrelled straight into her and knocked them both into an alleyway. Ladybug staggered to her feet with an uneasy groan.

“Ladybug? Ladybug! I knew you could take care of yourself! I’m so glad-”

“Chat Noir! Do you realise what you’ve done?!”

Chat tilted his head in confusion, “Dalia? Wh-what’s wrong?”

Ladybug groaned in frustration, “That’s just it! I’m not Dalia! I don’t go to your school, and I’m certainly not in love with you!”

But it seemed as if Chat still hadn’t caught on yet when he laughed nervously and walked closer to her, “What are you talking about, m’lady? Of course-“

He was interrupted when Ladybug’s yo-yo beeped. She opened the screen and immediately a message started playing, a message that was being delivered live to the whole of Paris. The video showed the akuma who had just struck at Francis Dupont on the top of the Eiffel Tower with a hostage in his arms. The camera zoomed to get a closer look at the hostage’s face, and Chat Noir felt the blood leave his face as he stared at the terrified expression of his ‘girlfriend’.

“Citizens of Paris! I have a message for your beloved superheroes!” the akuma chuckled ruefully, “Or should I say, superhero, as in singular. If Chat Noir fails to deliver his miraculous in the next five minutes, you can all watch your precious Ladybug fall to her death from the very tower she first made her stand on. I’m not joking around here Cat, if I don’t get your miraculous, I will make sure your Lady meets her demise.” The screen went blank before switching to Nadja as she continued her news story.

There was a spot of silence before Chat Noir stumbled away from the yo-yo with wide eyes, “I-I no. It- It can’t be- it can’t. I told her who I was- I-“

“You did what?”

Chat flinched and looked up to meet furious bluebell eyes. “I’m- I’m sorry m’lady! It’s- It’s just a misunderstanding! I promise we can fix this; I swear on all my nine lives!”

Chat watched the fury melt in Ladybugs eyes. It lit a hopeful fire in his chest when she sighed sadly and stepped towards him before opening her arms in invitation. “You’re right Chat Noir. This isn’t your fault. How could it be when you were tricked? Come here kitty, its obvious you’ve been through a lot.”

Chat Noir fell into the warmth of Ladybug’s arms for one last time before suddenly she was jerking away from him and his transformation was falling away.

“M- m’lady?”

Gone was the false warmth she had shown moments ago, instead replaced by a cold cold fury. “You do not deserve this ring Chat Noir. As Guardian in Training, I hereby revoke you of the miraculous of Destruction. You are no longer its user, and it shall never happen by your hands ever again.”

Just like that she was gone, leaving a deep shadow in her wake as Chat Noir collapsed to his knees.

-

Ladybug quickly made her way to where she knew she would find Felix. She wasn’t disappointed when she caught sight of a shadow lurking in the alleyway beside the school. She quickly swung down to meet the figure.

“You came back for me.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes, though there was a indisputable sadness in her playful smile, “Don’t be a drama queen.” She rolled the ring over in her palm before tossing it to him. Felix caught it in his hand and looked at her with a raised brow, “You sure?”

Ladybug grinned, “How could I not be?”

-

The akuma was taken down in no time at all. It was one of the heroes’ fastest victories yet, though people liked to say it was because there was a new Cat in town. He called himself Roi des Ombres or King for short (which a lot of people though was kinda egotistical but oh well, as long as he got the job done). When interviewers asked why the sudden change, Ladybug looked straight at the camera and replied, “Chat Noir broke the most basic and most important rule that superheroes have, and that is you should never ever reveal your secret identity to someone, not even if you think you can trust them.” She said it as if she was addressing certain people, but no one was wiser as to just who the message might be meant for.

After a public denunciation and an official statement from Ladybug herself, Dalia’s parents soon decided that it was best if they left the country all together.

When Lila Rossi got to school the next day she was subjected to multiple hate filled glares and people openly scowling at her, It wasn’t long until she found out that someone at anonymously posted a video of her and Dalia, one which showed them making fun of the school for falling for their trick. Lila’s classmates refused to talk to her and eventually, after a week of hateful glares and horrible messages found in her locker, her mother finally decided to pull her out of school when her daughter came home crying one day.

Alya gave an apology that was long due to Marinette and Marinette forgave her, albeit saying that it would take time to mend their friendship. Alya was happy just being allowed near the girl that she didn’t argue, and said she would do everything in her power to win back Marinette’s trust.

Adrien continued to attend school but it was clear to see that something was wrong with him and his mental health, until his father had finally had enough with his moping and decided to pull him out of school for the time it would take Adrien to get back on his feet again.

All things considered, everything turned out to be fine in the end, and it was an ending that Marinette would settle for any day.

[authoressofdarkness]

Guide Me Safely To Shore (Chapter 2)

A hostage, then. Not how he’d expected this game to be played, exactly. He always thought he’d just be killed, although that was before what happened on the roof, however long ago it was. Before…. no. He scrambles to untangle his hand from the blankets covering him, rolling up the too-long sleeve draping his arm and staring at the word that now looked to be inked in black on his wrist.

Notes: Let me know if anyone wants to be added to the taglist for this! 

Part 1 here. 

Peter is having a terrible dream. 

It starts off well. He’s flying -- or, well, as close as he comes to it, swinging through the streets of Queens. The adrenaline is pumping, strong and steady, through his veins, fresh out of a fight with the latest jerk he’d come across. It’s exhilarating… at least it is until the web he’s swinging by snaps, and the ground surges up to meet him. 

He’s sure he doesn’t land on his head, though the fall is a blur, but somehow when he comes to, it’s his neck that hurts. It doesn’t add up… until he realizes exactly what was wrong with his dream, and the memories come surging back as his eyes fly open. 

He gasps awake and shoots bolt upright in the bed, adrenaline still flowing just as quick and powerful as he remembered it being in his dream. The memories slam into him, hard and fast: patrol, his spider sense telling him that someone was coming, parking himself on a nearby roof, the most neutral spot he could get to on short notice, and waiting until the Iron Man showed up behind him. 

Iron Man. Also known as Tony Stark. A man who pretended to be a hero, and used his power to take over the city -- probably planning on the world, if he gets the chance. 

Peter knows he alone isn’t powerful enough to stop him. A little orphan boy from Queens who just happened to get some freaky powers by random chance on a school field trip gone wrong? No. Not likely, not against the sheer mass of technology and genius that is Tony Stark. It’s been a few years, now; long enough he’s about got the hang of them, but it still wouldn’t be enough. He just hopes by doing what he can, he continues to keep him from becoming too much more powerful, until someone can finally take him out or make the masses see sense. Maybe if he gets him to respond in some particularly crazy way, it’ll get through to someone with the power to interfere. 

It hasn’t worked yet, but maybe it’d get there, eventually. 

Perhaps. But now, it just looks like he’s done enough to just piss him off and make him come after him for real. Which he’d honestly expected, eventually, though he’d never dreamed it would go like this. That it would lead to him not dead, but waking up in a hospital bed in an unfamiliar place that he could only assume was owned by none other than Tony Stark himself. 

A hostage, then. Not how he’d expected this game to be played, exactly. He always thought he’d just be killed, although that was before what happened on the roof, however long ago it was. 

Before…. no. 

He scrambles to untangle his hand from the blankets covering him, rolling up the too-long sleeve draping his arm and staring at the word that now looked to be inked in black on his wrist. 

Peter. 

His soulword. Only a single word, and simple. It's his own name — something he’d been forced to deal with and hear every day his entire life. Every new person he introduced himself to, he had to brace himself for the possible impact of his life being changed forever if they only repeated his name back to him in just the right way. 

He’d been terrified about finding his soulmate his entire life, but in a mostly good, excited way. He’d never imagined it would be like this.

He’s still staring at it, heart thumping wildly, when a voice chimes from in front of him.

“It’s not going to change because you stopped staring at it, you know.”

Peter jumps, unable to help himself, head snapping up at the voice. He’d been so engrossed in his staring that he’d completely tuned out his surroundings. He hadn’t even heard Stark come in. That, and, you know. Maybe some instinctual fear played a part in it. He’d only been running from and pestering him for years, and he always knew that he was dangerous. He can’t help the fact that he instinctively goes into fight or flight mode at the mere sight or sound of him. The adrenaline that was just starting to fade comes rushing back.

Stark must be able to see it, because he puts his hands up in what’s probably supposed to be a placating gesture, except it only makes Peter flinch. The classic “I surrender, I’m unarmed,” sign, except it’s not reassuring on Stark. Not when Peter knows that his second best weapons are his hands, and that he could call his suit to form around them at any time and take him out before he could blink. 

Perceptive as he is, he sees that, too, and he lets out a little sigh before dropping his hands. “I know how this looks, but it’s not whatever you’re thinking hard enough about to scare yourself with. I’m not going to hurt you, Peter-“

At his name, Peter jolts a little, eyes traveling back to his wrist. Stark stops, frowning a little. “What?”

“It… tingled,” Peter murmurs, eyes wide, and blushing slightly at his own reaction, unable to help himself. 

Stark raises an eyebrow, looking surprised. “Your soulword?” He moves to step toward him, then hesitates, seeming to think better of it. “I… may I see it?” 

In another circumstance, it might be funny, the way he so obviously had to stop himself from just doing it without asking, the real concentration the words seem to take. He’s tempted to say no, not only to see the reaction but because he genuinely doesn’t want Tony Stark that close to him. And yet… when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out, and he finds himself nodding instead, extending his arm as if to let him see but still keep him as far away as possible.

Stark paces towards him, slowly, and Peter has the fleeting thought that the slow, controlled movements are probably supposed to be reassuring, but instead it just makes him look more predatory than he even normally does, like he’s stalking him like a wounded animal he’s preparing to attack instead of soothe, movements deceptively slow and gentle until the claws sink in. 

He braces himself as if for a strike when he reaches out to grab his wrist, and still jumps a little when he feels the fingers close around it. Stark is quite obviously not wearing the suit -- he’s been in just sweatpants and a tee shirt since he came in, with no signs of calling it to him -- yet he still half-expected the cool feeling of its metal against his skin. He doesn’t expect the warmth of Stark’s finger’s, long and calloused, wrapping around his wrist and cradling it with all the gentleness of a lover and none of the strength that he can feel and just knows is lurking beneath the surface. 

He certainly doesn’t expect it to be soothing, or to enjoy the way, for a split second, his skin tingles again under his touch. His fingers brush just lightly over the word on his wrist, and he inhales sharply at the feeling. 

That’s his second mistake. Their suits are made to contain their scents, meaning that breath is the first time he catches a whiff of Stark’s scent, and fuck -- it’s heady. He gets the scent of motor oil and grease first, which almost throws him for a second, but then it’s followed by something metallic, ashy, and something musky that he can’t put a finger on, something distinctly just Tony and alpha and-

He’s started to lean forward unconsciously, getting close enough that Stark looks up, brow furrowed, and the thoughtful expression on his face is replaced with surprise as he blinks at how close their faces are. “Peter?” 

His voice, so often associated with fear and pain, with the word again and the feeling it induces, is enough to get through to him and snap him out of the haze of thoughts and something dangerously close to lust. He jerks his arm back and goes to scramble out of the bed, only making it as far as the closest wall before he meets resistance. His eyes drop to the source of it and fury and fear war in his chest as he spots the little chain disappearing up the inside of his pant leg and trailing back to the leg of the bed. 

Stark heaves a sigh, shoving his hands through his hair. “Peter, please come sit back down.”

Despite the please, the words ring like an order, and he grits his teeth as he fights against every instinct that tells him to obey. “Why? What was the point in putting me on a leash if I’m not allowed to even go to the end of it?”

“You’re not- it’s not like that,” he protests. “I was afraid that you’d try to run before we could have a proper conversation, so yes, I chained you. I’ll make it go away if you just sit back down.” 

Something in his chest physically hurts at the mix of pleading and command in the words. The omega in him aches to listen, to do whatever it takes to please his alpha, even if it’s just as simple as talking. But the stubborn part of him -- and the part that has spent so long resisting that he can’t help fearing the outcome of doing so, of letting his guard down and finding any hint of kindness to be an awful trick -- forces him to hold his ground. 

He was raised with the idea, as most are, that to hurt one’s own soulmate is tantamount to committing the worst kind of crime you could think of, and for most, especially depending on how strong the bond is at that particular point, it was literally as painful as hurting yourself. Only a true monster would consider such a thing, but if there was a time to do it, it was while the link was fresh, before a real bond could set in and form between the two. It would hurt the least, then, in just about every way, and deniability was the most plausible then. 

So, yeah, forgive him for half-expecting something horrible to happen. But this was Tony Stark he was thinking about, that he somehow had ended up bonded to. He’d killed a man who had practically raised him and kept his company from falling into bad hands until he was ready to take over without blinking in pursuit of power. And, while maybe a bit more rightful, some of the details of what he’d done to the terrorists that kidnapped him so long ago could still be found on dark corners of the internet. And to say that some of the things were downright devilish would still be an understatement. If there was ever a man that was monstrous enough to do it, it was Stark.

What would a man like him want with a soulmate, anyway? He probably saw him as a liability. And that wasn’t even considering all the things he’d done to get on his nerves since becoming Spider-Man. He had to hate him. He couldn’t possibly want him as a soulmate. They were enemies! He certainly wasn’t what Peter was hoping for. Even if he is strong enough that Peter wouldn’t ever have to worry about hurting him… and smart enough that he could actually learn something from him… and he smells sooo good-

“Peter.”

He snaps back to reality. He’d obviously zoned out for a minute, but he doesn’t even acknowledge it, the possibility of Stark having said more that he didn’t hear, in favor of just shaking his head and continuing on like it didn’t happen. “I think I’ll stay right here. What did you do with my suit, Stark?”

The alpha stares at him for a moment, lips pressed together in a thin line, mind obviously working in high gear. “Safe,” he says simply. “You needed medical attention, and your identity should stay as secret as possible, so I changed you before I brought you here. It should be cleaned, by now, and put safely away until you’re ready for it again.”

He doesn’t allow himself to think through the full implications of that statement, not right now. All he knows right now is that he needs to get out of here before something bad happens, and on the off chance he can convince Stark of that, he needs to try. “Well, I’m ready for it now. I’d like to leave right now, actually.” 

Stark frowns at him. “I would much prefer if you would at least stay in the hospital wing overnight. You hit your head pretty hard-”

“I’ll be fine,” Peter interrupts, shortly. You hit my head ‘pretty hard’ off a brick wall, Stark. Not me. Just say it. Not that he’s even concussed, he’s sure. Not with his stellar healing abilities and the fact that that clearly wasn’t what Stark had been trying to do. He’s got a ring of bruises around his throat to prove that much. “Stop making excuses. Are you going to keep me here or not?”

Bold words, especially in these circumstances. They might seem bolder if his voice wasn’t trembling so much. Because of course it was. His strength is deserting him just when he needs it most. 

Of course he’s scared. He’s terrified. But he has to know. He doesn’t particularly want to -- doesn’t want to know if this is where Stark finally kills him, or if he’s playing the long game and keeping him prisoner. And what’s worse is that there isn’t anything he can do about it. There’s nothing anyone can do about it now, really. Their soulmarks match. Stark as good as owns him now. Legally, even if it wasn’t someone as untouchable as Tony Stark, there’s nothing anyone could do for him. And God knows Peter wouldn’t be strong enough to kill his own soulmate, even if he thought he could win that fight. And he knows he can’t. Again, he’s got the necklace of bruises to prove it. 

Stark lets out a long breath, contemplating him for a moment, something unreadable clearly at work behind his dark eyes. Then he waves his hand, and to Peter’s surprise, the chain around his ankle melts away. “Go, then, if you want to,” he says at last. “I won’t stop you. But when you need me, you know where to find me.” He stands, just like that, and heads towards the door. 

Peter stares after him, hardly able to believe it. This had to be a trick… right? “What about my suit?” he prods, taking a cautious step forward. 

“It’ll be waiting for you at home.” He opens the door. “If you’re not too stubborn, one of my drivers will take you home. Or just take the subway, if you insist. The elevator is down the hall, to the left.” And with that, he leaves, closing the door behind him and leaving Peter staring after him in shock. 

He waits a long few minutes before daring to try and follow. Then, he walks over to the door, trying it. It opens easily. 

He shuts it again. He still doesn’t trust that it’s not a trap. 

He goes over to the window instead. He still has enough fluid in his webshooters to get home. And there’s no point in worrying about swinging out of the suit, now. As long as he stays high enough in the air, there’s no way anyone can recognize him. And the person who controls all the cameras already knows his identity, now. 

He casts one last look at the door Stark disappeared through. Some part of him aches to follow, but he restrains himself. He’d probably just get himself lost; this tower is massive. Besides, if he goes after him, their next encounter might not be so lucky. 

He knows this isn’t over, but he isn’t ready for the next part just yet. So he does the only thing he can do. 

He turns back to the window, and jumps. 

~~~

Tony slides down the wall beside the door as soon as it closes behind him.

God, that was so bad. It didn’t go as badly as he’d pictured and yet it had still managed to go horribly wrong.

At least there hadn’t been any screaming. Or crying. Or begging. God, if he’s started begging again, he doesn’t know what he would have done. Though it was kind of touch and go there at the end. 

The kid is just so… scared. He felt like he was walking on eggshells the whole time, and he still managed to terrify him. 

He hadn’t expected anything less, but it’s still so frustrating. 

Legally, he could have made him stay. He knows that. But he also knew that that wasn’t going to get them anywhere. It would just make Peter feel like a prisoner.

They’re already off to a pretty terrible start, but if there’s any way to make things worse, that would be it. So he let him go, even if it hurt something deep inside him. 

He just has to wait for Peter to come back to him. He has to have time to reflect on things and decide that he wants him on his own. That he’s willing to at least try to hold a conversation with him not full of accusations and tangible tension and fear. There’s nothing Tony can do to force that, no matter how much he might want to try. 

Give him a little bit of time at home. To go back to his aunt, his life, and put things in perspective. The bond would do the rest. It’s already calling out to Tony, and he has more self-control than almost anyone he’s ever met. He can’t imagine what it will feel like for Peter. 

He just has to exercise that self control for the next few days. He’s almost sure he can. 

Almost. 

Besides, he has a lot more ways to soothe his raggedy nerves and obsession than Peter will. Things to do, people to kill, and really, a lot more access to Peter’s life than Peter has to his. He’ll just keep an eye on him from afar and make sure he’s safe and sound until Peter is ready to come back to him on his own. 

Surely it can’t be more than a few days… right?

[abrunettefangirlnerd]

Little Bird

Request: wanted to ask you if you could do a Loki x teen!Reader. Where the reader meets Loki in some way and she touches him and connect their souls 'cause she has powers she doesn't know about. And then some day she's in pain or smth and Loki feels it and comes to her. And she finds out she just can connect her soul with someone she trusts. And loki is all sweet ? And angst maby. Please and thank you.

Pairing: Loki Odinson x teen!Reader

Chapter: 1/2

Warning: some slight violence that it not really graphic but thought I’d warn you!

            The ground beneath your feet trembles as the latest villain of New York decides they are powerful enough to take on the Avengers. Living in the city you thought you would get used to this, but every time is different and equally terrifying. Your parents have suggested that you all move. A suggestion you have constantly protested till you were blue in the face. Despite all the danger, you feel as though it is where you belong.

             A team of nanobots cling together as they tear a hole in the wall in front of you. Before you could react, the nanobots swarm over your body and carry you out of the window of your high school. The wind ripples through your hair as your screams illuminate the sky around you. Then suddenly you are falling. The nanobots let go of you right over the chaos of moving cars and frantic people not paying attention.

             Two arms grab you from impending death and a sense of calm washes over you. Looking into an ocean of blue eyes, you find them looking into your (Y/E/C) orbs. An unnatural electricity travels from your skin into his fingertips. It is as if a part of you knows this man, but yet you’ve never met before. Despite the calming sensation radiating off of him, your heart begins to flutter at an irregular rate. Excitement, longing, and safety overwhelms your system as you feel the possibility of fainting approach.

“Hold on a moment little bird.” His accent leaks into your conscious and you find yourself releasing a breath you’ve been holding. “We are almost there.”

             Tearing your eyes from his, you try to take in the rest of his appearance. He is lean but still a little muscular. Shiny, long dark hair flows in the wind behind him like smoke. His face is slender and you swear you’ve seen him before, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

             Your time is cut too short, to your dismay. The mystery man returns you to the front of your high school. His careful touch directs you to sit on the steps leading to the front set of doors. You look into his eyes one last time and feel a pain of sadness heave from your chest. All you want to do is stay in his arms and stare into his eyes.

“Oh my god!” Your best friend Cami exclaims behind you. “Loki just saved your life!”

“Who?” You slowly stand up with Cami’s help. Still dazed, but your eyes don’t leave him until he is out of view.

“You know! Loki is Thor’s brother, the Avenger. Super muscular, hot, and strong.”

             Loki just saved your life. A god you barely knew but somehow felt like you did. He stopped what he was doing and saved you, out of anyone else in New York. That kind of stuff just didn’t happen right? It just happened by chance, that must be the reason. Though, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself, there is something in the way it felt to be around him that you couldn’t shake.

Two Years Later

             Walking home from the latest dance club, you think about how much fun you’ve had tonight. Today was your 17th birthday and Cami took you out dancing because she knows it is your favorite thing to do.  You’ve always loved how the music can sway your body. For you it is much more of the feeling of the music versus the lyrics.

             You turn down an alley leading to a shortcut to your apartment a few blocks down. Normally you don’t walk alone at night or you get a cab, but there it is really hard to get a cab this late at night. Besides, it isn’t too terribly far of a walk.

             Two men lounge against an old rotting dumpster in the middle of the alley. They talk to each other in hushed whispers that sends an unsettling shiver up your spine. Everything about this feels wrong and you go to turn around when they spot you.

“Hey, don’t walk away from us!” The man shouts. “We know you saw us. Let’s just chat.”

             Attempting to sprint in heals is not a good plan. No one can actually do it and it is a good way to lose one’s balance. Thankfully you catch yourself before you completely fall to the ground, but it allows the men extra time to get to you.

             One grabs you by the arm and pulls your body close to his. You can smell the tobacco seeping from his clothes into your nostrils. You’ve never been one to like the smell, your uncle smokes and would often blow the residue in your face. The smell has left you extremely nauseous and sensitive over the years.

You almost don’t notice the gun the second man pulls out from his belt. As your mind detects what is going on, the man holding you grabs for your purse. It is small but does happen to carry your credit card, and a few twenty-dollar bills. You don’t put up much of a fight. You’ve always been told that if someone had a gun and wanted your purse, to just give it to them. It’s not worth your life.

“What do you think Hal?” The man with the gun asks. “Think we should let her go so easily? Or should we have some fun first?”

             A lump forms in the back of your throat as you process what he is saying. Limb paralyzing fear immobilizes your body. Your mind is screaming at your legs to move, but they don’t obey the command. The man holding you pulls out a knife and gently grazes the cool metal against your cheek.

“Pretty girls sting.” The man Hal sings. “But so do boys with broken wings.”

             A cool sharp pain congregates on your face, your cheek. The man holding the knife slowly cuts your skin deep enough for blood to slowly drip from your pierced skin. As an inhuman sound erupts from your throat, the second man covers his hand over your mouth and grabs it to keep from moving. Tears stream down your face. Forming a new gloss over your cut, causing it to sting worse than before.

             You can now feel the flat part of the blade float over your collarbone. The man removes it like before, and you await the next cut on your flesh. But it never comes. In fact the men release you from their grasps and you see them running for their lives down the alley. It occurs to you that you should be running too. If there is something scary enough to make them run, then you definitely do not want to stick around.

             However, your body still does not want to comply with your thoughts. One step in that direction sends your body tumbling to the concrete below. But like the second cut of the knife, you do not feel your body meet the ground. Instead two familiar arms catch you and curl you closer to their owner.

“You have some explaining to do, little bird.”

**

             You wake up in your own bed and in a fresh set of pajamas from your drawer. Remembering what happened in the alley your hand shoots up to your cheek. Feeling all around your skin; you expect to find stitches, an open cut, or at the least a scar. There is nothing. In disbelief you stand up and rush to a mirror in your room, but it only confirms the impossible.

“You should lay back down.” A deep alluring voice from behind makes you jump from your skin. “There is a chance you could be in shock.”

             Whipping your head around you come face to face with him once again. Your mysterious man that saved you in the clouds, Loki. Examining him, you see that very little has changed. His frame is still lean but muscular, tall, and his dark hair rests around his shoulders. Every inch of him calls out to you like before and you feel instantly safe.

“Why are you here? How did you know I was in trouble?” Your voice is horse, barely over a whisper but just as strong.

“I should be asking you that question.” Loki takes a step closer to you slowly, trying not to startle you. “Two years ago I started being able to sense when you are in trouble or scared. Most of the time is was false alarms. You getting in trouble at school, or with your parents, when you are watching a scary movie. Of which you probably should stop watching, I don’t think it is very healthy for your heart to experience such distress.”

             Loki’s movements continue, slow and methodical. As if he is approaching a wild beast and does not want to provoke it. The closer he gets the more intoxicated by his presence you are. Once he stops just a few inches from you, you finally process what he said.

“What are you saying?”

“I think you linked us. I don’t think you are an ordinary human like everyone else. There is something…” He smiles before continuing, “extraordinary about you. And I mean that in the best of ways.”

             Nothing could keep away the dash of blush that filters through your cheeks. Obviously Loki noticed it as well and a greater smile crosses his lips. You are hit with another wave of intoxication as you revisit the pleasure of how close he is to you. Before you could say or do anything, you feel your legs threaten to give way. Loki notices this too and gently helps you back to your bed.

             Loki peels back the covers on your mattress as you slip underneath them. A new sense of fear engulfs you at the possibility that he will leave. That he will disappear out your window and you’ll never see him again. Or at the very least, another two years.

“Please don’t go.” You’re voice sounds like a begging child. Signaling, you direct Loki to lay down next to you in your bed. He quickly obliges like he had no intention of leaving at all.

“How do you know where I live?” You ask.

“Don’t be frightened okay?” Loki’s fingers lightly trace your arm in a back-and-forth motion. “After the first intense episode of your distress, I was worried and wanted to check on you. I got your address from a… friend.” You smile as you get the feeling the person he is referring to isn’t entirely his buddy. “Then it just became a habit. At night I would visit to give me some peace of mind that you are safe. It’s strange, I’ve never cared so much for a mortal to stay alive.”

“But you said I’m different.” You interject and Loki just nods in agreement. “When you saved me a couple years ago, and even right now, I feel this connection like I know you. Or that I am supposed to know you. I swear almost every night I have dreams about you.”

             Loki’s soft chuckles lightly move your bed. Unsure of what could be so funny, you knit your eyebrows together and look up at his perfect god-like face. How is it possible for one person to be this gorgeous?

“I know you dream about me.” Loki tries to contain his laughter. “I’ve heard you call my name a few times. It is very fun for me.”

             You playfully smack his chest. Of which just makes him laugh more than before. Not able to resist the contagiousness of his laugh, you join in too as you hide your face in the side of his body. An uncontrollable heat spreads through your face and you would be embarrassed for him to see.

             But Loki doesn’t let you off the hook that easily. Knowing that you are virtually unmovable, Loki positions his body to shrink down to your eye level. His beautiful blue eyes pierce yours, bypassing your wards and right into your soul. Never have you met someone who can make your toes curl by just one look.

“Before two years ago I didn’t know what was missing.” Loki’s soft voice brushes against your nose, drawing you in. “I thought just watching over you during the night… I thought it was enough. But being this close. I don’t think I can leave.”

“Then don’t.” Your words are so soft, you’re not sure you actually said them.

             Loki’s fingers move some free hairs from your face, and you are reminded of how he is only a few inches away from you. Uncontrollably, your heart begins to race and you wonder if he can feel it too. If he does, Loki offers no indication of the sort.

As he tucks the last bit behind your ear his hand rests on the side of your face. His thumb strokes the skin just below your eye before his finger traces the line of your jaw. Keeping near the section that joins your neck, his fingers explore that part of you as well. Little electrical butterflies are left behind in their place, exciting every cell in your body.

Loki’s lips cautiously brush against yours. Lighting the ignition, you close your eyes and deepen the kiss. You become suddenly afraid he may take his initial action back. But those fears are chased away by Loki pulling your body closer to his own. Your limbs intertwine with his as you both attempt to close any gap between.

Still not satisfied with the perceived distance, Loki partially hovers his body over yours as his free hand travels down your waist. Meanwhile, you run your fingers though his locks of dark hair. Pulling on a strand or two, you find that he secretly loves it. Even though he may deny it later.

Your body glides with his as your heartbeats rise with new demands. Then suddenly there is nothing but air around you. Loki is gone. Taking the opportunity to catch your breath, you look around your room and find Loki sitting on your window sill. His breathing is has heavy as your own.

“I’m sorry.” He manages to say.

             Suddenly you feel very exposed. All your clothing is intact but you’ve never felt more naked. Does he regret what happened? Is he going to leave? Will he ever come back?

“Don’t mistake my apology as a sign of regret.” It’s like he can read your mind, or at least your face. “I just… I can be dangerous if I get carried away. I don’t think I could bare something happening to you, especially at my hand.”

             You nod, trying to decide if you believe him. Loki is almost out of your room, only one simple move and he can disappear well into the night. But he doesn’t. Instead, Loki slips back into your room and watches your eyes intently for a sign to stop. His body repositions next to yours and you rest your head against his chest as his arms wrap around you protectively.

“Sleep, little bird.” Loki’s voice draws you to sleep. “Tomorrow we will figure out how special you truly are.”

Chapter 2

Taglist: @drabby-abby​

[nostalgic-pancakes]

one day (i know that you will be there)

Summary: Here, have some fluffy transbur :D

Pairings: gen everyone, with a specific focus on crimeboys

Read on AO3

Word count: 2070

Warnings: None? I guess? Tell me if there are any, but I don’t see them

Other notes: Part of @noorahqar‘s BANGER discord server Pride Event!

Please DO NOT send this to the CC’s or even imply that this exists because No, Thank you

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

Sometimes, it feels like it's okay. Nothing's wrong at all and in fact, Wilbur is happy.

Other times it feels like he's stuck in his own skin, a place he can't get out of.

Wilbur doesn't really know what's going on with his gender. He's always been cis, it's all he knows we it's his comfort zone. Even while his life was being wholly upended by YouTube, and Twitch and life in general, Wilbur's gender was always a constant- the one thing he never worried about or spent too much time on. It was his gender, and it was just kind of...there.

Sometimes when gender is part of the conversation, people display confusion when Wilbur talks about his gender like something separate from him that was tied on and is just there now, like a bit of hair that can never stay in place, but isn't necessarily a bother, either. But isn't gender like that for everyone?

Well, according to the one and only Tommyinnit, no.

"Well… for me, my gender is pretty malleable. It's more of a fucking... fucking abstract concept than a feeling? I'm a little detached from mine, but not as much as that, Wilbs."

"Then what is your gender like?" Wilbur asks. It's late on a Friday night, and Wilbur had ended up visiting Tommy's flat out of mostly impulse, living just under a kilometre away from his sibling these days. They're in the living room, splayed out on the floor talking about anything and everything in the dark, too quiet to wake Tubbo and Ranboo.

Wilbur’s not agender- he has a gender that he keeps around, even if it stays reasonably sectioned away from the rest of him.

Tommy hums, an older tune that Wilbur can't place as he fiddles around with some wool scraps ("Cabbages!" Tommy insists indignantly) leftover from the cardigan they had just finished when Wilbur walked in. It's a burgundy colour that's probably going to be matched with one of Tommy's longer cream skirts to University Monday morning.

"My gender is a… a kind of vibe? I guess? To me it feels like skirts doing that cool swoosh thing in the wind around you while you walk or eating Tubbo's chicken soup and that feeling I always got after a Dream SMP stream. It's weird, but that's my gender I guess." And that is weird. It's weird as fuck, but Tommy's gender sounds really fucking cool so Wilbur tries anyways. Tries to imagine what his gender, the amorphous entity that it is, feels like to him.

It's hard, at first, but then Wilbur starts humming. He's always done better with auditory concepts than visual or tactile ones, strumming tunes together that tie in with his latest hyperfixation.

So Wilbur hums. He starts with 'White Wine in a Wetherspoons' and then 'Cause for Concern' with a little bit of 'Your new Boyfriend' thrown in for posterity as it all starts to come together. Tommy starts tapping his finger on the plywood floor, creating a small beat.

His gender feels nice, actually, and not just the neutral burden that the universe has him carry around. It begins to feel like the warmth in Wilbur's chest when someone says "Hey, don't stop. Tell me more, this is interesting" to even the most niche fixations that Wilbur has ever had, like the different types of bricks or the historical fashion one he had at the same time as Tommy and they made dozens of Pinterest boards together (1830’s hairstyles his beloved). It feels like Phil calling him 'Son' in that chamomile accent, like everything will be fine. It feels like the tipsy laughs he and Niki share when getting drunk together and it sounds like the quick, comforting 'bzzt bzzt bzzt' of Tommy's sewing machine running on the other side of the flat while Wilbur makes them breakfast because they and his flatmates are fundamentally incapable of looking after themselves.

It's really a pretty nice gender, actually. So when Wilbur closes its metaphorical pouch and clips it back onto his metaphorical backpack, he feels lighter, warmer inside than before. Is this how Tommy feels sometimes?

The tapping stops and Wilbur realises that Tommy's fallen asleep, surrounded by scraps of cabbage on a fairly cold plywood floor. This will not do. Thankfully, Wilbur has gained enough arm strength to reasonably carry the nineteen-year-old to his bedroom, carefully avoiding sewing pins that Tommy will clean up frantically in the morning. Tubbo and Ranboo are asleep as before, in the same place, huddled together on the lowest bunk covered in blankets, with just enough room for another person.

Tommy fits in perfectly, head on Ranboo's shoulder and the rest of him swathed in blankets to protect from the cold. It's started to show fairly heavily outside so going home is not possible. Therefore, Wilbur stays.

The guest room still has some of his shit from the last time he stayed over, around a week ago. Piling a thick-ish duvet on top of himself, Wilbur sleeps, more at peace than he's ever been.

-

Monday morning, Wilbur tries out pronouns. He was spending the weekend in a bit of a haze of filming and social interaction and talking to Elodie, his editor, in order to have most of this week free.

He's back at home with pronoun dressing rooms loaded on Firefox, a Geoguessur stream finished and a free day with spoons to spare. It is time.

First- she/her.

This is Wilbur, the site reads, She's 27 years old with a penchant for making songs. She also really likes hanging out with her sibling, Tommy and her best friends on the Dream SMP. She still ships DNF.

Oh. Oh wow. She/Her works pretty well actually. Wilbur likes that for herself.

Next- they/them. This is not as nice, but it's also not bad, necessarily.

Fae/Faer- this one is pleasant enough.

Everything else is okay, Wilbur supposes. She figures that just knowing that he/him isn't the only answer is good enough for herself.

The first person she tells is Tommy, on a phone call during one of his frees.

“Okay, so he, she and fae, right?” they ask, rolling the pronouns around like the colorful hard candies sold in packets of two hundred each, muttering small sentences, barely audible to the phone mic amongst the dozens of student voices around him, pitter-pattering like sleet on cars heard from a cozy living room.

“Yeah. pronouns change by the day. Please don’t interchange them.” Wilbur confirms, short and soft.

“Oh that’s really fucking cool. What are they today? Does anyone else know? Do you have names you want to be called instead?” Tommy asks, orange-sweet in his kind concern and slowed down questions as to not deflate the souffle in Wilbur’s brain.

“Uh, she/her, and no, not yet on the knowing and the name thing. I’m going to tell Phil and Niki, then Dream, probably. Wish me luck.” Wilbur answers, the ‘wish me luck’ thrown in more as a formality than anything, but she’s still nervous, thoughts spinning in popcorn-crunch circles, pop pop pop about how it could go wrong and even if Tommy and Ranboo were accepted, perhaps that courtesy won’t be extended to her. Tommy, the absolute fucking legend as always seems to have figured that much out.

“Wil. Wilbur. Wilby. Big Dubs- It’s going to be fucking fine, you’re popcorn-popping again and while that’s one of your idiosyncrasies and I fucking love those, you are also freaking the fuck out. Everything will be fine, alright?”

“Idiosyncrasies? Where did you learn that? Is ‘The Tommyinnit’ learning new big words?” Wilbur teases, to mask her affection just a little bit, even as it seeps out of her voice like honey in a sopapilla, warm and sticky and sweet.

“Don’t fucking patronize me.” Tommy retorts, instinctive as it’s been for the past few years now, no bite behind their words. “I’ve got South Asian Lit now- call us in the evening?” he asks, because Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo are a single unit in the evening. Do not attempt separation till after midnight. Wilbur laughs, a small thing only audible to her sibling over the phone.

“Course. You can tell them yourself, if you want.”

“Okay. Now I need to walk like, three buildings or some shit, so I’m hanging the fuck up. See you later?” Tommy’s voice is softer towards the end, cotton candy and Wilbur melts, just a little bit.

“Okay, bye Tommy.”

“Bye Wil. Good luck.” Tommy hangs up a few seconds later, the last thing on the line that Wilbur can hear being Ranboo’s steadily louder voice as end catches up to Tommy, and Wilbur keeps the phone to her ear for a few seconds more, before putting it on charge and loading up Discord, to find Phil and Dream on VC 3 together, Tubbo and Purpled occupying the beloved VC 2.

Wilbur joins the call, taking in a deep breath and letting it out, and taking a sip of lukewarm tea. Earl Grey, probably taken from the tea box Phil gifted her on Christmas and prepares herself.

“Ay, H’lo, son.”

“Hey, Wilbur!” Dream’s voice, chirpy and crisp as a freshly-picked apple registers first, just before Phil’s comforting chamomile and Wilbur is at ease very quickly, because it’s Dream and Phil. It is literally impossible for things to go wrong.

“Hi! I just came on here to tell you something.” Wilbur starts. After hearing noises of agreement, like popping candy, Wilbur starts.

“Um, so on Friday, Tommy and I did some soul-searching. Well, I did most of the searching. And uh, I figured out that I’m technically genderfluid, but my gender is a series of abstracts and I use he, she and fae pronouns.” It’s quiet for a second, before Phil responds.

“Hey, that’s pogchamp, mate. What pronouns are you using right now? Are they interchangeable?” Dream makes a noise in agreement, in questioning.

“Thanks, and uh, she/her, and no. not interchangeable. I use certain pronouns until I don’t.”

“Oh, that’s cool! Should I update your pronoun role in the Discord to ‘ask for pronouns’?” Dream finally says, and in typical Dream fashion, it’s by getting straight to business. It’s ridiculously endearing, even five years on, knowing everyone’s little quirks and idiosyncrasies (thanks Tommy for reminding her that the word exists) that it’s still possible to be endeared by them, and that they’re all still endeared to her.

“Yes please, Dream. Thank you. I’ll make a small announcement on the server myself, but thanks.”

“No problem, Wilbur! We’re glad you’re happy.”

“What the green-bitch said, mate.” Phil responds, and Dream turns on his camera for that only, just to show that he isn’t actually wearing green- he’s wearing a blue T-shirt, blonde hair mussed about enough to show that he did not comb it when he woke up. His face still has some sleep leftovers, but he’s awake enough to pay attention, and he’s smiling at Wilbur, mouse clicking very fast to change her discord role, and it shows up a few seconds later with a purple dot. ‘ask for my pronouns’. Wilbur is smiling like an idiot, and she turns on her camera, Phil following suit as she starts laughing a little wetly and all of this sinks in.

Wilbur is gender-fluid. She loves herself, her family and the little pouch still strapped to her backpack. Phil is whispering things into the mic soothingly and Dream is grinning at her, and it just feels so good. The bad feeling in Wilbur’s skin just isn’t here today, and it feels like it won’t be around for a while yet.

With slightly blurry eyes trying to see through her glasses, Wilbur makes an announcement with the @everyone turned on.

Bitchbur (she/her today): @everyone I’m here to announce that I’m genderfluid! You can either ask me my pronouns or I’ll just change my nick. The name’s still Wilbur. That’s about it.

Replies start coming in, nothing but messages of support and thumbs-up emoticons, and Wilber closes her eyes, leaning back in her chair, laughing a bit more. She’s so happy that she managed to accept herself, and find acceptance in everyone else on this server. She probably won’t come out to the internet for a while, or even to some of her real-life friends but that’s okay.

She’s got everything she needs right here.

[country-club]

Games #3

#1 / #2

*gif not mine* Warnings: mentions of puke and embarassment Wordcount: 1.959

> Remember Rafe owing you a tour?

Yesterday you hung out with Sarah and her friends. It was fun, though you were left with a headache. Thanks to JJ. The day went by rather quickly and around 8pm you called your friends to play a game of skribbl, an online drawing game. They updated you on what’s going on at home and your ‘ex’. Were you technically dating? You can’t say for sure. But it felt like you did. He quit talking to you a week before you left. In return, you told your friends about your newly made friends and Rafe. Do you like him? It’s too early to say. Is he cute? Yes. Picture? Haven’t got one. How old is he? He looks 18/19. Does he have any cute friends? Well, there’s Topper.

“Oooh, I can be his bottom!” One of your friends cheered.

“I’ll let him know, hon.” You replied.

“Yall I’m beating your asses. Do you want to play or talk about y/n’s boyhunt?” One of the guys asks. You finished the game and continued talking. One of your friends sent you a link over chat.

“Is this him, y/n?” She asks. You clicked it and found Rafe’s Instagram page. It only had a few pictures, the latest being one of him, Topper and another boy, tagged as Kelce.

“Yep, that’s him.” You scrolled through his pictures. Sarah had commented on one of his pictures. You tapped her name and looked through her feed as well. Not much here either. What about the other Pogues? Kiara was the only one you could find. The boys probably didn’t care much about social media. Kiara had some photos of baby turtles on the beach, a few of her looking stunning in every outfit she wore and 2 pictures with the boys. You sent the pictures to your friends.

“Ok, so Kiara is the girl, the boy on her left is John B, the one behind her is Pope and the blonde one is JJ.”

“Y/n, you have been blessed, you know that?”

“Are all the boys in Outer Banks this attractive?” Your friends asked. You nodded.

“Most of them are.”

“So, will you leave any for us?”

“I think John B and Sarah are dating, and Pope looked like he has a thing for Kiara. But I’ll introduce you for sure.”

“What’s JJ short for?”

“Yeah, and why is it John B? How many John’s can there be on an island?” You weren’t sure. You discussed possible names and theories. It was about 11pm when you said goodbye and hung up.

You walked downstairs to stretch your legs, debating whether or not you should go for a walk. Hmm, yes. You grabbed a hoodie, put on some sneakers and out you went. Putting on some music and shuffling through your playlist. The sky was clear, and you could see the moon and stars above you. Your guilty pleasure started playing and you almost bumped into a lamppost, trying not to make dance moves whilst walking. You walked past Sarah’s house and got caught in the headlights of a car on their driveway. You almost had a heart attack. Taking out the earpiece your shyly waved at whoever was inside. They turned the lights off. You saw a tall figure getting out of the car. Rafe.

“Hey, y/n. What are you doing out?”

“Hey, Rafe. What are you doing alone inside your car, on the driveway, at 11:30 at night?”

“I asked you first.” He said playfully.

“Just taking a walk.”

“I was about to head over to Kelce.” Kelce was the guy from his Instagram picture.

“Was?” Rafe laughed. You walked closer to him, so you could actually see his face and stop talking loudly outside.

“Didn’t think I would run into you.” What did he mean by that? Is he not going to go to Kelce because of you or does he-. Your thoughts were interrupted by Rafe’s voice. He must have noticed your confusion. “I believe I promised you a tour.” It took you a second to realize what he was talking about. You had asked him to show you around Outer Banks yesterday.

“Right, you owed me one.” Rafe nodded to his car and opened the door for you. You got in and pulled the door close. Rafe got in behind the wheel. He looked extremely good tonight. His hair wasn’t as slicked back as usual. It made him look softer. It wasn’t hot at all outside, yet he was still wearing shorts. What is it with boys and shorts even though it’s cold?

The two of you drove around Figure 8 for a while and continued on The Cut. Rafe didn’t talk much, so it was up to you. “Do you want to play 20 questions?” Rafe looked over to you.

“Only if we can take turns.” He said. Alright now you just had to think of a question. You still wanted to know what happened two nights ago. Who he had fought and why. It’s too forward.

“What was your favorite dinosaur as a child?” Rafe didn’t have to think about it.

“Triceratops.” He said.

“Still is, am I right?” You didn’t really ask. They are simply the best. Rafe took his time to come up with a question.

“Alright, if you could find out how you were going to die, would you want to know?” Well goodbye dinosaur talk.

“I don’t think I would. No matter how much I hate surprises, I’d rather not be scared of cars or bathrooms for the rest of my life, you know?”

“Why would you be scared of bathrooms?”

“I don’t know I once read that a ton of people have died in bathrooms. It’s where a lot of accidents happen you know.” He looked at you, a bit confused, amused and impressed.

“If you could go back in time to change something, what would it be?” Rafe sighed.

“Not using my dad’s money to buy a bike.” You wanted to ask more questions, but he wouldn’t let you. “I don’t want to talk about that.” Rafe added. He stopped the car. “Can I show the around the boneyard?” This is starting to sound like The Lion King. Elephant graveyard? You opened the car door and got outside, as did Rafe. Rafe locked the car and led you to the beach. There were tree trucks and branches around the beach. It does kind of look like a boneyard.

“What do you think is the ugliest animal in the world?” Rafe asked. Right 20 questions. Truth or dare, without the dare part. You had to think for a minute. What is the ugliest animal?

“Those birds from the Jungle Book. They scream so loud.”

“Vultures?” Yep those, you nodded. You were walking on the boneyard and couldn’t see much. You tried to be careful enough to not trip and make yourself look like a fool. The stars were still very pretty. You could see the Little Bear, it kind of looks like a saucepan. And there you go. Your foot got stuck on a tree branch. However, before you could hit the ground you could feel two arms holding you up. You stood up straight again.

“You alright?” He asked. To which you nodded.

“Yeah, just got distracted for a second. Can we sit down for a minute?” You asked. Rafe dusted away some sand off a trunk and sat down. You sat down next to him. “What is something you wish you were better at?”

Rafe looked up at the night sky. “Making my dad proud.” Why wouldn’t Ward be proud of him? “I just feel like sometimes I can’t do anything right, you know?” You nodded. Was this his soft spot, his dad? You didn’t ask any further questions, seeing as you barely knew him and the subject sounds personal. You looked up again as well. Seeing his face turning your way in the corner of your eye. You could feel his eyes on you. The moonlight was bright enough for him to see your features.

“Is there any memory you would like to erase from your mind?” You couldn’t help but laugh nervously and feel embarrassed already. “What’s so funny?” You looked at him and your eyes met. His blonde hair was getting slightly pushed around by the wind.

“What I’m about to tell you. Promise to keep it between us?” He promised. “Okay, so before moving to Outer Banks I had a boyfriend situation going on. And we were at my place after a party, where he had maybe a drink or two too many.” You sighed, feeling the redness on your face appear. “And we were about to..you know. But he couldn’t, because of the alcohol and then he threw up in my bed.” Rafe tried his best not to burst out in laughter, instead he put an arm around you. “He left after that. So, there I was, cleaning my barf-covered bed and desperately spraying deodorant through my room. We haven’t talked since and I’m not counting on it anymore either.” Rafe started rubbing your back.

“That really sucks man, I’m sorry that happened.” Did he just call you ‘man’? “It wasn’t supposed to be your first time, right?” You must look like a tomato right now.

“I believe it is my turn.” You switched the conversation. “What was your first crush like?” When the word left your mouth you felt like a 12 year old again. Rafe blew out some air.

“I think it was the babysitter we had as kids. She was really sweet and artsy, and stuff. Also really pretty, like you.” You couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I invited her into my pillow fort to eat Cheez-its with me.”

“And?”

“She friendly declined my offer.” You burst out in laughing. “Hey, I didn’t laugh at your story.” He angrily joked, punching your arm.

“Mine was worse.”

“True.”

You softly punched him back. “Hey!” Rafe fake moaned, pretending you had hurt him.

“Aw, I’m sorry. Kiss to make it better?” Rafe pouted and nodded to you. As you were debating whether or not to kiss his arm, your phone started vibrating. It was your stepdad. “Shit.” It was already 12:30. He must’ve realized you weren’t home and you didn’t leave a note.

“What’s up?”

“It’s my stepdad, I really have to go home like right now.” You mumbled as you got up and started heading to the car.

“You gonna get into trouble?” He sounded the tiniest bit worried. Maybe you would. You had been staying out late the past three days and didn’t pick up the phone when your stepdad called. As Rafe pulled up a couple of houses before yours, you thanked him and got out. “I should walk with you, so your dad knows you weren’t out alone.” That somehow makes sense. He got out of the car as well and you speed walked to the front door. You unlocked it and walked inside. As if shot for a horror movie, your stepdad put on the living room lights.

“Y/n? Where have you been and why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“Steve, I’m sorry if I made you worry. I was taking a walk and bumped into Rafe, Ward Cameron’s son-“

“I remember who Rafe is. So, he just left you to walk home on your own? Do you know what time-”

This time it was Rafe who cut your stepfather short. He had waited outside and stepped in. “I would never let y/n walk alone, sir.” Your stepdad nodded.

“Bedtime, y/n. Goodnight Rafe.”

“Goodnight.” You gave Rafe a hug, to which he wrapped his arms around your middle.

“Goodnight, y/n.”

You walked up the stairs and called it a day.

#4

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