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storylocke · 1 year ago

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Alolan Dusk 3

[A storm had been brewing over the course of the day, and the rain finally came pouring down with a surprising chill. Steam rises from the sun-heated pavement as it pelts hard enough to dissipate into a low fog.

Kukui didn't mind the rain normally, but tonight he can't shake the feeling he's not alone. He stops beneath the streetlight, scanning the area carefully for what lay out there in the empty Hau'oli streets. A soft glimmer of static catches his attention, appearing like a set of eyes before it vanishes into the night. As he tried to focus on it, a flash of lightning split the sky and betrayed the creature! A glint shows the outline of the metallic form as it fled. No creature he recognized, but a form that fit the description of something he had come to know all too well. He has to go after it!]

???:

Professor!!!

Kukui:

[Freezes and whips around to see where it came from. As the thunder rolls, he almost wonders if he imagined it. Tries to shield his eyes from the rain to get a better look but all he can see is someone with a flowing coat underneath an approaching umbrella] Hey! Who's there?!

???:

[comes into the frame of light and raises the umbrella to cover them both.] I'm so glad I managed to find you! You must forgive me, it's been a long time. [Smiles warmly] I was one of your former students and I had hoped-

Kukui:

[Flashes him a wide grin.] Ilima, it hasn't been THAT long! Just took me a moment, I hardly recognize you.

Ilima:

[Solemnly] Yes, well, a lot can change in a few years. [He gazes over the empty streets, how dark it is now with only a handful of lights still on among the buildings.] I'd hardly recognize Hau'oli City like this. It feels like a ghost town.

Kukui:

Eh, not quite. Just given the pattern we've seen, we try not to do much after dark if we can. Why don't we head for my place, and we can talk more where it's dry? [claps him on the shoulder heartily as they share the umbrella] So what brings ya back here? I figured being part of the Interpol would have had you halfway across the world by now.

Ilima:

[Soft laugh as they start walking] I'm still just a fledgling as far as that goes. But, as they say, there's always that one case that hits just too close to home to let go.

Kukui:

[Stops. Somewhat sternly] Ilima, I told you and Roark to back out of this after what happened to Hau.

Ilima:

[Also stops once he realizes his old mentor isn't following and looks back at him. States rather bluntly] Out of hunting, sir. But I'm in a new position now that has afforded me the resources to learn far more about this monster than you can.

Kukui:

[Hmph. Hands at his waist as he stares him down.] Oh yeah? And how did that work out for the agents who were sent here before you?

Ilima:

[Slightly taken back by his tone.] That's a bit cold of you.

Kukui:

[Eases up a bit as he didn't mean to offend him.] Just the truth, good buddy. You said so yourself you're just a newbie, and so far this thing has been able to take out anyone from Team Skull to the Elite Four. I know you're a skilled Trainer. Fine. I know you're an adult. But I don't wanna hear that another one of my kids got hurt. Yeah?

Ilima:

[Nods as that seemed more like the professor he knew.] Yeah. [As the lightning crosses the sky again, he gives a wary glance at the nearby rooftop where it appeared to strike. Probably just some Electric rodents. Could be… something else. Maybe Kukui had him all nervous now, but it seemed best to keep moving. Clears throat as he starts down the road again.] If it makes you feel any better, my mission here is simply to help in making arrangements. I've some grave news to deliver from headquarters. I just got through at Quips's place, and I ended up missing you at the lab. And I was honestly debating if I should try to get to Akala tonight or wait out the storm until morning.

Kukui:

[Warmly] Well, I'm here now. What kind of bad news you got?

Ilima:

[Listlessly gives the umbrella a twirl, shaking off the water as he thinks how to say it.] I'm not sure how aware of things you really are, but from an outside perspective, things are looking very grim. I have to ask… given that several people you've been close to have been taken by this madness, why do you continue to stay?

Kukui:

[Wry amusement as it feels obvious.] Not everyone can afford to leave, Ilima.

Ilima:

[Thoughtful] Of course not. But you can. Between you and your wife's positions, you're a lot better off than your humble living would suggest.

Kukui:

Hey! Are you calling me cheap? [Smile fades to concern as Ilima isn't laughing. In fact, he seems half lost in his own worries right now.] Ilima. …I know things are pretty bad right now, but I've got a lot of people who look up to me and depend on me. I can't just up and leave them. [Sticks his hands in his pockets as they move at more of a stroll.] And Alola… I don't know, it means everything to me. More than just my home. Call it a duty, loyalty, [heh] an insanity, I like to travel but I don't think I'd have the heart to abandon her even at a time like this.

Ilima:

[Tightens his grip on the handle as it feels wrong to ask.] Even if everyone else left?

Kukui:

…What do you mean?

Ilima:

We're being asked to evacuate. [Raises a hand as he can see the man about to protest] Not my call, but as you so delicately put it earlier, the situation is looking more and more dire. From a mere stats perspective, the business and tourism here is drying up. Outside help has only led to more casualties, and even if the number of humans-turned-monsters has dropped significantly, there's been an increase in wild Pokemon who've become Shadows. Which just shows that even if we were to say the Beast is slowing down, we don't know that. Wild Pokemon are harder to track, and their aggressive behavior is harder to determine if it's just territorial or deranged until a Trainer is injured. And… [shifts a bit uncomfortably] While it's entirely up to all of you, this is going to be the final offer. Once I leave, no one else is coming. Alola will be left to figure this out on its own. [He stops beneath a new streetlamp as he waits to see the professor's reaction.] The reason my superiors decided to send me was because they hoped the people of Alola would be more willing to listen to one of their own. Someone painfully aware of what they've gone through.

Kukui:

[That's… a lot to take in. And while he would argue that it's not as bad as it may seem to those on the outside, it was hard to deny the fear overtaking their little islands. Some kids were forgoing the trials altogether now for safety concerns. Not only from this mind altering menace, but Ilima was right about there being more Shadows now than they could count. And not just kids, but the adults were getting scared too. Unable to counter him, his mind drifts back to the earlier comment.] There's still a lot of people here. How could we possibly move everyone even if they wanted to go?

Ilima:

[Soft hum for thought. Not so much about the method as the enormity of the task.] We've been in touch with the Aether Foundation during much of the investigation as they seem to have a much clearer idea of what we're dealing with. And it's the very reason why they sailed that man-made island of theirs clear out of the region. Miss Lillie even admitted they half-hoped the monster, this "Necrozma" as they call it, would have followed them out when they did. And there's still some concerns about the danger they'll be in if they-

Kukui:

You're dodging the question.

Ilima:

[He would argue it's all related, but the man has a point. Takes a deep breath.] Aether Paradise is a floating city. They're on their way back here, sailing with barely more than a skeleton crew to make room, and have promised to take anyone on board who has no means to get out otherwise. Given your history with the family, I'm sure you and Burnet would be more than welcome to come and help them. Not only with the people, but you two have some valuable knowledge and experience to help with their research as well.

Kukui:

[Lillie… It was impossible to imagine what her and her brother had already been through, and already having so much responsibility. And now to attempt a stunt like this? She really was something. Just shakes his head.]

Ilima:

[Uneasy at the long pause] Would you at least consider it?

Kukui:

Of course I'll help. It'd be ridiculous not to after all that. Sounds like you've got a lot on your shoulders too, yeah. [Leans down a little to peek at the young man hiding beneath the shade] Hey. [puts a hand on his shoulder again, this time more gently] It's gonna be okay. My offer still stands. Why don't we get to the lab, since we're already halfway there, and we can start making plans.

Ilima:

Then you'll come?

Kukui:

[Straightens up] Not sure yet. But if they're leaving it up to you, there's no way we're letting you try to do this alone. Just like there's no way I'm letting you try to go sailing while the winds are up. Besides! It'll give us some time to catch up on other things.

Ilima: [True, he had actually half thought of just staying at his old house for the night before their meeting got him turned around. Casting a glance back, the road seems so long and dark to cross town alone on a night like this. Back to Kukui] Might as well.

~~~~~

A/N: Not much to say on this one. I will say it wasn't my idea that Ilima ended up joining the Interpol when he grew up, but it's pretty funny how there's even a hidden event in USUM where you find him playing detective after a Pokemon stole his stuff since the police are useless in the situation.

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#twitch plays pokemon #Alolan Dusk #professor kukui #Captain Ilima #Horror #Mystery #story

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maemen · 4 months ago

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WHAT IS DIVINITY? it's not a question he has thought of much. ironic, perhaps, for the favored chosen of a god. he knows what it isn't it isn't something he could hold in his hands, to tear to shreds or sink his teeth into. it eludes. it is a fluttering thing that flees into philosophers and theologians' dreams. he lets it go, never one to chase after butterflies, ever discerning of the false shine of the fireflies. the only divinity Maamon has ever known is his greed.

what he could hold is here: her blood and flesh in his hands, slicking his fingers and warming his skin. he clutches it in his paw the chunk of flesh and skin he torn off of her neck like a jewel he treasures. he anticipated her stop as well as he could anticipate her moves. he has learned her so well. even with his blood boiling like a billion ants electrified in his veins he could still recognize her.

he drinks her in with his crazed eyes, one flaming gold with a slit of pupil, and the other pitch black like an onyx orb, hard to say which is more like an animal. he is an animal, wild with contempt, and feral with desire.

he will gorge on her.

his jaw is already unhinged, his teeth glinting, when she jumps on him like lightning wrapped around a tree. her fingers digging into his eye sockets (claws they are...) drawing out an angry hiss from the serpentine beast. she is no easy prey. beneath the instinctual fear of blindness, Maamon feels the surge of ecstasy. thrill of the hunt... and more. the bursting excitement of finding one's equal. it would be istar yes. istar would total at the same weight as he, despite her petite frame; she could throw the same punch, grow to the same size... large enough to fill the void inside him right to the brim. he hisses and laughs. his remaining scimitar falls to the ground as he takes her by the wrists. he could break them, snap them like twigs and leave the most lovely bruises around her wrists like ruby bracelets...

her hands slip. he once again gains sight just in time to see her crash into him like a meteor. it would hurt her more than it hurts him. Maamon is elated by this realization almost instantly, driving his horned head forward like a bull to meet her impact. it happens the same moment as the lightning strikes, unexpected and raw. he roars at the searing pain (his blood soaks up the electricity, twisting it with his own in a flurry of light and sparks). his hands clamp down around her wrists (involuntarily this time) like manacles, burning her with the same electricity conducted through his golden scales.

THEY WILL MELD INTO EACH OTHER AT LAST, surely. skin sticks to skin; blood mixed with blood. one single lump of flesh sizzling in their mirror madness.

he drops to his knees, sighing perfectly. waking from a sweet, deep slumber and an exalted dream. he would not let go of her wrists; his hand prints marking her skin. he feels dizzy, spent in the best ways. as stars fade from his eyes and static noise quiet in his mind. he opens his eyes and sees: her face, bloody in its glee; fearless in her rage. he grins. mouth splits from ear to ear as he grabs her by the neck, smashing their faces together again his tongue between her lips, feeding her a mouthful of sharp teeth.

blood gushes out and for a moment-- a delicious, horrid moment, ishtar licks her lips. she, too, is his maker's monster: she, too, was an experiment in abominations, disturbed from the youngest age into a blade that would rust but never dull. when the lizard bleeds, handsome behemoth ready for the kill, she feels hunger. or is it lust? is it both? does it even matter? she would lick at the wound, she would put a finger in for good measure, just to prod around... just to see if anything beneath the scales is as tasteful as the rusted flavor of the jewelry above. she would take a bite, there, where the impenetrable shield has already been compromised. she would make a meal of him the same way he sometimes make a meal of her: too much fucking teeth, rough & harsh, the kind of touch that leaves her high for minutes on end, breathless. barely thinking, convinced for a moment that the heart within her body will break free in a spectacle of blood & gore… the large bird in her ribcage, beating itself to death against the crate of her chest.

under him, he says, as if she has not mounted him the way you would a wild horse. as if she has not tamed him times and times again, long enough for the precious freak to no longer hear the humming of his treacherous god. oh, lizard, do you not know better than to think yourself above the faithless? she has built a church for herself and has let you kneel at her altar; you have lapped at her wine like a dog who has been through the desert. even know, you beg for it. red, warm, so savoury. she has made statues of gold for you within her chapel; everything you have been given has been that: a gift. every bite every broken bone every kiss every cut every high every meal every necklace every murder every coin. gifts upon gifts upon gifts of the most pernicious nature. under him, as if he has power and agency in this setting: him, starving for blood. her, so fucking full of it she can fill it already trickling it down her body in heavy drops that will go to waste.

the dagger comes back. she isn't fast enough; she calls for the breeze and it does deviate its deadly route, but not enough to prevent the stabbing. just enough, perhaps, to avoid immediate failure at staying alive. she watches it where it is within her, planted in her right thigh. the contemplating does not take long but it seems like an eternity anyway: there, she finally understands it will come to her death. she had doubts, before, as every seer does when they are confronted with a future they had not envisioned coming at them so fast. she thought he would awake. she overestimated him. but doubts have faded now. he has come beneath the skin, punctured flesh, grazed bone. he will kill her. (in a last act of cruelty, she will perhaps let him.)

everthing is still. even the storm, its eye wide open, seems to gather all that is to see for future retellings. there is no other story than that one, surely, where he takes what he is owed.

well. let it be that story, then.

she smiles. all-teeth, canines first, as she turns the blade in her own thigh, just as she did in his back. she laughs at that, again, which is as much from the pain as it is from the ridiculeness of it all. a shriek, mirthful and viciously entertained. she screams, too, but it becomes rather difficult to determine which one is which. all that matters is that her pain is hers, and her blood is hers, and she is spilling it so he won't. fucking entitled asshole. "golden boy…. i'll make you red, lover, so red even your master won't recognize you anymore." she breathes heavily through her nose, the last of her laughter / scream dying in a painful moan. "and when it's gonna be over, i need you to know this: you'll still be begging for more. and he'll pretend to give you your next fix."

she looks at him. truly looks at him. the scimitar is dropped on the ground and soon enough, the bloody daggers join it. "but there's no next fix. there's no other me. [ a coughing that gets red. she licks it off her own teeth. ] fucking addict, with no drug that will feel as deliciously sweet as this. no high ever as high. no longer in control. not even an owner of your own mind, own body, less alone owner of all the golden shit you carry around. and you know what's even more pathetic than that?"

she runs towards him as he launches forward. the claws get to her throat (a shriek from deep in her throat, where blood gushes out. missed the artery because she was a force in motion too, but not by far.) her legs around his waist, nails already aiming for his eyes. she'll claw them out if she has to, digging deep, deep, deep, 'til she finds the one part of him that is not fucking infested by the two-faced asshole he calls daddy. "i'm the prettiest and shiniest thing you've ever owned, asshole." her bloody palms against his scales, her nails going for his eyeballs. she's pressing down with all the strength of a storm, she'll gouge his fucking eyes out, maybe that'll make him see. "a pathetic fucking disappointment." she spits at him, right then and there, all bloody saliva, while she can feel her thigh's agonizing wound coloring his waist. her legs squeeze tighter.

there is no warning. her hands abandon his eyes to hold his face firmly. she might kiss him. she might kill him. undecided, she simply lunges forward, forehead first, to break his skull in two, while thunder falls from the sky, aimed directly for the wound within his back.

let hell break loose if it must.

#feminurge #might be disjointed since i wrote it over several sessions #they're out of their minds exhibit 900 #but anyway........ love(?) wins or something adfjlakjdfs

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camillathe6th · 3 years ago

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For una! Any combo of 16, B, IX. 😌

OH-OH-OH. I see. FUN.

So that's: 16. “You look better on your back.” B. Chase. IX. End with a cliffhangher.

Let's go!

─────

“Bo, do you copy?! Bo? FUCK—“

Still here, he’s still here—augh, FAST you swing your weight and veer—LEFT, full speed, dodge and TURN and under you the bike jolts-roars through armour and skin. Deafening. Deafening, the engine, the blood, the blood throbbing in your mouth. You clench your thighs and let the pavement whine against your armored leg—FASTER, go FASTER, FASTER, FASTER—

“—Motherfucker—“

There we go—up and straight—by a hair you skirt one two three four cars and tilt back with the engine.

“Boss?”

“I’m taking the bridge now. I need you to wait for me at the third exit. I’ll ditch the bike there. Be ready to step on the gas, this fucker is like a dog with a bONE—“

He’s back. Right behind you. Right behind—right near, right here—

“Leaving so soon, Sidestep?”

The Chargebike slams into your side and you skid against the railing of the bridge with a deafening screech of metal. The scream, the scream is yours. You have to do something, and quick. You should have guessed his fucking bike was pimped to the teeth. What else does he have up his sleeves, bear traps? Yes. Probably. Didn’t think to do some secret reckon after lounging in his bed, did you? Fucking idiot.

You twist and slip again, but not far enough, not quick enough, never quick enough, and you wish you hated this, hated him, hated it all, but someone’s laughing, laughing louder than the engine, someone’s laughing and it’s you.

There he is. Back at your side. You dodge the lightning strike, narrowly enough that you feel it skittering up your nerves. Right next to you in white and blue he’s there, and under his visor you can see his grin.

“FUCK ME, CHARGE.” “If you insist!”

Now or never, Una. When you raise your glove from the handlebar the engine shudders and rocks. You’re going to crash. You clench your fist. You’re going to crash. The handlebar spasms. Not now. Hold on. One second. Sparks fly when you graze a car so fast you can’t register its colour. Two seconds. So close.��Now. Aim. Smile. Shoot.

“Let’s see how you run without wheels, old man!”

The nanovores mist and swarm, but the Chargebike doesn’t budge. Still speeding. Still dodging. You can’t see; you shoot ahead with a cry of surprise and lose Ortega behind a truck. What the fuck? What the fuck? No time—keep your eyes on the road. Shit. What happened? He’s still looming on your HUD’s tracker, but the end of the bridge is in sight. Revving, deafening, HOWLING the wind the engine the static and your mind. Yes. Yes—close. Closer. Closing—

But then ELECTRIC LIGHT.

Blinding. The light, the flight. Blinding the crash, the pain. Your HUD flickers ORANGE ORANGE when your body hits the ground at full speed—once, twice, ah—h-h. You curl on yourself to protect your screaming ribs, too late.

Breathe. Very slow.

Fuck.

On the helmet screen your spit is blood-tinged.

It’s fine. You’re good. Dizzy. You try to move. You’re gonna puke. Where’s the bike—can you run to Bo?

“No, no, not so fast.”

The pain is from him. The moan is from you. His boot falls on your chest and something inside the armour grinds and whines. Your bones, probably.

You look up.

He’s still smiling. He’s had the time to take off his helmet, shake his hair. Asshole. How long have you been trying to crawl on the pavement?

In the acid sun his eyes sparkle black and brown, and there inside your helmet there's only your panting and the steam and the fever, fever-pitch, from your heart to your innards, sizzling in the heat.

You close your hand on his calf, hoping to soften the pressure. He feels it. He doesn’t let up, though. No.

He pushes. Harder. Deeper. It’s… You close your eyes for a second, and swallow. Hmm. You're fucked.

“Look at you… You look better on your back,” he purrs. He bends down, very low, kiss-close. “But we knew that already, didn’t we, Una?”

#una #snippet #charge

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russadler · 3 years ago

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RUSSADLER’S KINKTOBER DAY TWO

EXPLICIT/18+ CONTENT

Alex Mason x F!OC Smut

Day Two: Eating Out

Alex Mason x F!OC

A/N: mason and female oc in a cabin somewhere idk lol i wrote alex more similarly i guess to how he was in black ops 1?? once again idk lol

There’s an electricity in the air, like lightning about to strike, the static raising the hair on the back of her neck.

It hasn’t stopped snowing all day.

Alex, the Alaskan boy he is, was more than prepared. The fireplace burns steadily, a large supply of wood that would probably last them days at the ready. She could have kissed that smirk off his face when she realized that he had literally thought of everything.

Now, they’re snowed in, and they have nothing but time.

The tension coils in her gut, her core aching and waiting.

She waits for him to strike, for the tension to be too much for him to bear, for him to feel the same way that she does now. Yet, Alex is stone faced, unbothered as he finds things to do around the small cabin in his own quiet way.

She wants to feel him give in, wants to watch him snap, but Alex Mason has mastered stoicism in his own right. Time is nothing to him, hardship is nothing to him.

What’s being cooped up in some house to a man who had been a prisoner for a year?

At last, she can’t wait any longer, and right when she’s ready to get what she wants from him, Alex finally comes to her.

Not because he can’t take it, but because he knows that she can’t.

He smirks that same stupid, knowing smirk again. The same one he wore when she realized he was ready for the storm.

She’d kiss that stupid smirk off of him if he wasn’t using his mouth for something better.

One minute she’s reading a book in the sitting room, and the next Alex has her naked and stretched out in front of the fireplace. The flames ensure her naked body stays warm despite the chill surrounding them, the fur beneath her tickling her skin.

He’s still wearing his jeans and wool sweater, and the fact he’s fully clothed while she wears not a shred of fabric makes the whole thing even more erotic.

Alex parts her legs, hand stroking down the insides of her thighs until they reach her pussy. His eyes are locked on her slit, a thumb moving to give her clit a single miniscule flick.

Her hips leave the floor, desperate for more as a strained mewl emerges from deep within. Alex rumbles, pleased with the results.

“Sensitive?” He asks, the corners of his lips upturning with an almost cocky grin.

His hands make no move to stimulate her again, and her legs jostle with frustration. “Fuck you.” She sneers, tired of the way the man plays with her and always manages to win.

Alex laughs quietly then, his voice raspy and low as he moves to kiss at her thighs. The combination of his voice and his stubble tickling her in all the right places.

“You wish.” He retorts, nipping teasingly at the flesh of her leg.

And without another word, he dives in.

His tongue traces from the bottom of her slit to her clit, and she can’t help the moan that the act tears from her throat. Her hand quickly moves to clamp her mouth, hushing the sounds that follow.

“There’s no one around to hear us.” Alex rumbles, pressing a delicate kiss to her clit. “Let me hear you.”

The man surges forth again, this time tasting her with what she could only describe as absolute greed. His tongue moving back and forth between flicking at her clit and plunging into her hole.

She writhes like a feral animal beneath him, her cries unsilenced at his behest. His hands grip punishingly at her thighs, holding her hips down as they thrash in response to the way he’s eating her out.

Eventually he settles on simply tongue fucking her, the flesh moving in and out of her cunt at an even pace. Her nails scrape at his scalp, a mixture of curses, moans, and his name tumbling from her mouth in a disorganized flurry.

Alex, Alex, Alex.

Please.

She wills herself to look down, her head having been tossed back the majority of the time he’s spent between her legs. He’s feeding upon her like a wolf who’s captured long awaited prey, feral but satisfied.

His eyes meet hers, and his tongue goes deep as he lets out a groan of his own. The vibration reaching a place deep inside her that takes her straight to the edge.

Alex removes his tongue from her hole, his mouth attaching itself to her clit and sucking hard.

She comes so hard that she sobs, her vision whiting out as she reaches her peak. There’s nothing she knows for that split second but the heat of the fireplace and the sensation of Alex Mason’s mouth at her pussy.

The next thing she knows, there’s a hand rubbing tenderly at her hip and the man is no longer between her legs. She looks over, where he lays next to her as casual as can be, arms behind his head and staring at the ceiling as if he didn’t just bring her to the greatest orgasm of her life with just his mouth.

Her chest heaves, still out of breath and brain still processing what the fuck just happened.

Alex turns to look at her, eyebrow cocked as if to say what?

“Okay…” She pants, reaching over to put a hand on his belt with a smile. “Now that you’ve shown me what you can do with your mouth…why don’t I show you what I can do with mine?”

#kinda late but a bitch workin #alex mason #black ops cold war #call of duty #bocw #call of duty fanfic #bocw smut #black ops cold war smut #black ops cold war fanfic #bocw fanfic #kinktober 2021 #alex mason smut #mine #my writing

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angelicyoongie · 5 years ago

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the crimson shell

— pairing: jungkook x f!reader — genre: mermaid au, yandere au — w.c: 1.9k — warnings: mild stalking, near drowning, mentions of eating humans — notes: just wanted to contribute something to mermay! this is also my first time attempting to do anything in the realms of yandere (and mermaids!), so pls be nice lol. in this universe everyone is referred to as a mermaid, no matter what gender they are. this will most likely be a two or three part series with jk growing more and more obsessed as he gets y/n into his scaly clutches :)

Part I / II / III / IIII

— summary: you had always found comfort in being at the beach, often spending hours just watching the waves lap against the shore. but unbeknowst to you – something had been watching you back.

You inhale deeply, enjoying the salty smell that so uniquely belongs to the ocean. The last rays of sun are slowly disappearing behind the horizon, painting the skies and the waves in hues of deep pink and purple. You’re going to miss this view.

You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse sand as you let the gentle breeze caress your face. You’ve been looking forward to this for years, but now that your departure is so imminent, it feels more scary than liberating. The time has come to finally leave your home behind, and you feel a pang of regret as you realize you might not see your friends or family for a very long time to come.

Years of saving up your measly paychecks have finally paid off, and you’re setting sail for an island you’ve been hearing constant murmurs about for the last few months. Originally, you were only going to travel to the next kingdom over, hoping to find more suitable work there to help your parents stay afloat. But the talk of the mystery island abundant with riches piped your interest more than you would like to admit – and you’ve never been one to shy away from adventure.

However, you weren’t stupid enough to just blindly trust the rumours milling around your little town. In fact, you wholeheartedly believed it to be a scam until a familiar face suddenly turned up in the town square only a few weeks ago.

You hadn’t seen Jimin ever since he set sail for the unknown six months ago; and so everyone, including yourself, had presumed that your talkative neighbour had met an ill fate, and was floating at the bottom of the sea. You realized you couldn’t have been more wrong when Jimin returned with riches you never expected you would ever lay eyes on, his whole body adorned with various diamonds and gold chains.

It was Jimin who had urged you to seek out the same island, saying he barely even took a handful of all the treasures that were there. He had warned you about a price that would need to be paid, but you weren’t all that concerned. If a sea witch wanted your first born, then fine, you weren’t too keen on children anyway.

You busy yourself with drawing patterns in the sand, lost in your own thoughts as you try to remember your little mental checklist of all the things you wanted to see before you left tomorrow morning. You’re pretty sure this beach was the last one. It’s not much; just a short stretch of sand at the edge of the hill leading up to your family’s cottage, but it has always felt like home.

You come here every evening without fail, using the time to relax and breathe. The last month has felt a little different though, even if you don’t like to admit it. You’ve always stayed on the beach quite late, there’s nothing you know of that can rival the starry sky that appears once the sun had set. But lately, you’ve found yourself retreating back up the hill before the night could fully greet you.

It feels like you’re being watched.

It’s silly of course, considering the only thing in front of you is the quiet ocean. You would have noticed if there was something there, but still, you can’t seem to shake the feeling that something is out there – observing you.

It always happens so suddenly; one second you’ll be merely enjoying the view, and in the next, a sense of dread would knock into you so hard it left you breathless. It would make your neck feel tight, as if someone was gripping your skin, and the hair on your arms would rise in alarm.

Even just the memory is enough to give you goosebumps, and you let out an annoyed huff at how easily you seem to be able to scare yourself. You dust the sand off your hands before you rub them up and down your arms, trying to calm down the twinge of anxiety that’s slowly spreading through your body.

You don’t want to remember your last night here as something uncomfortable, so you let your gaze sweep over the beach one last time.

Something catches your eye just as you’re about to turn. Something red is ebbing and flowing along with the waves, and you hesitantly step forward until you can see it clearer. It’s nothing more than a pretty shell, but you’ve never seen that tone of red before. You snatch it up from the water before the tide can pull it out, slowly turning it back and forth to study it. The last sliver of light seems to catch on to it just right, giving the red a gorgeous golden shimmer.

You let out a low gasp of wonder, trailing your fingers along the scalloped pattern. It’s stunning, and you can’t help but think that it’s the beach’s way of saying its last goodbye. Maybe it was giving you a parting gift.

You clutch the shell gently in your hand, a soft ‘thank you’ slipping past your lips as you watch the ocean fondly. You notice a few sudden ripples in the quiet sea a little further out from the beach, but it has started to grow so dark that it’s impossible to make out anything below the soft waves. Chalking it up to just being fish, you shrug it off, finally turning on your heel to walk back up the hill to your family’s little cottage.

You’ve officially been on the sea for a week, and you’ve already grown tired. The small group of fellow villagers that you left with have already started getting on your nerves, and you’re not sure how you’re going to make it all the way to the island and back without going insane. Jimin said you would need to travel north for about two weeks, so you try to find solace in the fact that you’re halfway there already.

The journey so far has been pretty smooth, but the dark clouds on the horizon seem to be rolling towards you at an alarming speed. You dig into the pocket of your trousers, finding comfort in running your fingers along the shell you found on your beach. You can only hope it serves as a token of good luck, because the storm heading straight for you really doesn’t look good at all.

It feels like you only blink before the rain is pelting down against the ship, harsh waves tossing the wooden boat back and forth to its whims. You’re clinging on the side with all of your might, but the floor has turned wet and slippery, and it makes it even harder to stay on board with all the vicious tossing and turning.

You feel the electricity before it hits, the static making your hair stand up straight right before a bolt of lightning slams into the mast. You can barely hear the loud creak of wood over the screams from the other travellers, you gaze transfixed on the large wooden pole as it starts tipping.

You’re frozen in place; all of your muscles locking up in terror as you realize the mast is coming straight at you. You’ll be crushed in you don’t move, but you can’t. You close your eyes instinctively as the looming shadow rushes towards you, harshly sucking in one last breath of air. You feel the ship lurch, and your fingers slip from the bars you were clinging to as you’re tossed overboard.

A blanket of silence wraps around you the moment you hit the water, all of the screaming and creaking of wood suddenly ceasing as the cold liquid mercilessly drags you downwards. You can see the shadow of the ship growing smaller and smaller, your last breath escaping you as it bubbles up towards the surface.

You flail your hands desperately, your body too low on air to properly function. Swim, swim, swim! Your mind is screaming, but your heart has already accepted the rush of water filling your lungs, and the heavy feeling in your bones.

Your vision grows hazy, the blues and greys of the ocean blurring together. A streak of red suddenly breezes by your line of sight, but your tired brain only managing to provide you with the fleeting thought of fish? before the exhaustion truly sets in. You can hear a low series of muddled clicking noises all around you, but it only seems to make you even more drowsy.

Sleep, a deep voice whispers in the back of your mind. And slowly but surely, all of the mixed colours fade into nothingness.

It wasn’t that hard for the mermaid to steer your ship in the wrong direction. The ship was in his waters, under his control, and the storm that suddenly picked up in the northeast presented itself like the perfect opportunity.

He had been trailing after your ship ever since it left the dock, making sure he could strike at the right moment. He couldn’t believe the weird creature he had been watching for months was finally coming willingly to him, but it was only right considering you had accepted his courting gift.

And now, as you were sinking to the bottom of the sea, you were finally his. The mermaid circled you excitedly at a distance as your limbs flailed around underwater. He tried to tell you to calm down – that the fight against his ocean was futile – but you just wouldn’t stop trying.

The mermaid bristled in annoyance, his crimson tail cutting through the sea harshly as he watched the stupid creature fight a losing battle. He needed to take it home now, before his brothers could realize it was here.

Finally, your body stopped moving. The mermaid quickly closed in, strong arms wrapping around your torso as he stared into your unfocused eyes. While he didn’t exactly know what you were, and why you had one limb too many, he had at least gathered enough information to understand that you needed to breathe in that pesky air in order to survive.

He pushed up, letting the currents easily carry him up towards the surface. Of course, he made sure to emerge far from the sinking ship. While the gurgling screams usually were music to his ears – he couldn’t keep you too close to the food. His brothers would be here in no time to feast, and he couldn’t let his new pet be swallowed up before he even had a chance to play with it.

The creature sucked in a shuddering breath as oxygen finally flowed through its veins again. It didn’t take long before all his precious water was being expelled from the creature’s lungs, the mermaid watching in displeasure as it was replaced with that wretched air instead. It just seemed so .. inconvenient.

You didn’t wake however, the near drowning having swept away all of your energy. The mermaid threw one last look towards the remains of the ship, thin lips curling into a pout as the gurgling was replaced by bloody shrieks. He was hungry too, but it seemed like it would have to wait until his pet was out of harm’s way.

Well, at least until it was out of his brothers’ way. The mermaid didn’t like making promises he wasn’t certain he could keep.

#mermaid bts #mermaid au #mermaid jungkook #jungkook x reader #yandere bts #yandere au #yandere jungkook #jungkook au #bts au #bts fanfic #bts #yandere x reader

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sirius-archive · 4 years ago

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I Hate You (I Love You)

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader, mentioned Remus Lupin x Reader

Warnings: Smut!!!!! Swearing !!!!! Angst !!!!!! NO MINORS ALLOWED !!!!!!!!

Word Count: 🤷🏽‍♀️who tf is counting????

Prompt: 4.“Why are you lying to me” 5. “Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.” 7.” Do you even still love me?” 11. “Can you shut up for once in your life?”

Request: (1)Hey, can you do a Sirius one with 4,5,7 if you are still doing the requests??? I am seriously in need of some heavy angst. (2) Omg yay!! Angst 4 and 11 for sirius please ❤❤❤ ily

A/N: I havent done smut for ages lol

***

Loving Sirius Black is a very beautiful, very complicated thing.

On the one hand, he’s charming and spontaneous and romantic, loyal to a fault, honest and kind hearted and generous with his affection, always having to touch you and be near you as though you make him feel whole, make him feel safe.

On the other, he’s jealous and suspicious and hot tempered and his anger is like being caught in the midst of a thunder storm; forks of lightning strike in his eyes and his voice is a deep, sky-splitting roar, making the room shake and the air shudder.

You, however, fiercely stand your ground

When the two of you collide, it’s like an earthquake without a warning. The entire Gryffindor tower goes silent, listening to the broken symphony of screams and crashing furniture, magic exploding from the pair of you as your anger fills up the room, charging the air with static electricity

Today is no different.

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole,” You snap, bitterly, as you climb to your feet and stomp away from the picnic rug Sirius had laid out, “Trust you to ruin our six month anniversary.”

“Oh so it’s my fault?” Sirius yells, sardonically, “Let’s all blame Sirius like we always do!”

You lift your chin, “I’m not the one who drags up OLD relationships, Sirius, you did that all on your own!”

Sirius’ eyes narrow, his fingers twitching around the bottle of fire whiskey in his grasp.

“If you didn’t give me a reason to then I wouldn’t.”

“Oh my god, can you shut up for once in your life?!” You yell, blood roaring in your ears, “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s over between me and Remus!! It’s been over for TWO FUCKING YEARS!!”

“Do you think I’m a fool?!!” Sirius barks, suddenly jumping to his feet. His fingers tighten, knuckles white and bulging, as though he were trying to strangle the throat of the bottle, “Because I’m many things but I’m NOT a fool!! I see the way he looks at you (Y/N)-“

“Well that’s HIS problem, Sirius, because when we ended things, it was amicably. Jesus, why aren’t you listening to me?”

Sirius shoots a hand through his hair and curses thickly under his breath. His chest is heaving. You watch him as he begins to pace, your heart hammering, your blood boiling.

“FUCK!” He suddenly blurts and you start. He kicks a chair and it flies across the room, smashing against the opposite wall. He doesn’t met your eyes as he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

“Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not!”

“You are!”

“Sirius!” Your eyes are stinging with hot, angry tears, an invisible bubble growing in the back of your dry throat, “I’m not lying to you!”

“WELL WHAT IS IT?” He booms, and the furniture scatters as through leaping out of the way of his rage, “WHAT AREN’T YOU TELLING ME?!”

You swallow thickly. Tears you hadn’t realised you’d shed are drying on your cheeks.

“NOTH-!”

“-DON’T!” Sirius roars, hurling the bottle across the room. It smashes loudly, spraying foam and glass against the wall, “DON’T FUCKING SAY IT OR I SWEAR TO GOD-“

“What?” You taunt, waspishly, taking a daring step toward him, “What are you going to do, Sirius?”

A charged silence descends upon the two of you. You glower at him, long and hard. He glares at you, fierce and wild. Every ounce of your being feels consumed with rage.

“What is wrong with you?” You spit, hoarsely. Sirius stares. You stare back and continue, valiantly, “I’ve always loved you, Sirius...since the day we met. I’ve supported you. I’ve cried over you. I’ve fought for you. And even when I was with other people...it was always you. That’s why Remus and I ended it, Sirius. Because he knew I loved you and only you and I’ll always fucking love you,” you break off, glancing away from him. Your bottom lip trembles and you bite down on it long enough to voice the question that’s been swirling around in your head, “And yet...I can’t help but wonder whether you love me too, because you certainly don’t seem to trust me, let alone your friends. Sirius, do you even love me?”

The silence is absolutely deafening. The tension feels sentient, like it’s grasping your throat with a strong, unforgiving grip. Sirius stands still, eyes trained on yours, and he stares at you for so long, you don’t think he’s going to respond.

And then-

His lips crash against yours, fierce and hungry, the force of his kiss throwing you off balance but he catches you before you can topple over, his hands gripping your waist, fingers digging into your skin. He tastes bitter and tangy, like alcohol and self-destruction, but you can’t deny the way it makes you shudder, the way it liquifies your abdomen and makes you forget about the pointless fights and the screaming matches.

And when his tongue delves into your mouth, when it curls and licks and tastes, it’s with a definite undertone of aggression, the kind that makes this even more delicious.

Sirius breaks apart for only a moment before he’s diving down to taste the skin of your neck, biting on the spot that melts your spine. His tongue swirls over the bite mark and then he’s blazing a trail up the pillar of your throat, across your jaw until he meets your lips again.

Teeth clanging against yours in another bruising kiss, Sirius strips you of your clothes with a single flick of his wrist and then makes quick work of his own.

“Sirius,” you gasp, gripping his shoulders as he pushes into you, too desperate and hungry for foreplay.

“Jesus fuck you’re wet,” he grunts, rocking his hips against yours.

“You’re fault,” you moan, scraping your nails down his spine and delighting in the little shudder that follows.

“Guess it is always my fault,” he smirks and you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

Sirius sets a rough, frantic rhythm, desperate for release, thrusting in and out of you and groaning with every deep, wet plunge.

“Merlin, Sirius,” you moan, “I’m so close. So fucking close.”

Sirius’ lips twitch into a smug smirk and then the callous pad of his thumb is pressing into your clit and your gasping, spasming around you as your climax hits you like a gigantic fucking wave.

A few moments later, Sirius slams into you with a cry of your name and then he’s burying himself inside of you, as deep as he can go as his cum pours out of him in rivulets.

Sirius rests his forehead against yours, panting, and you can taste the fire whiskey in his breath as it fans against your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, and then he reaches up to cup your cheek, “I’m sorry. I do love you - Merlin - I love you more than life itself.”

You cover your hand over his, leaning into his touch as he presses a gentle, tender kiss to your lips. The force of his kiss, the desperation in the moan that rumbles in the back of his throat, the way his mouth moves against yours - you can tell without words that he means it.

You believe him.

***

@jamespottersimp @mflufflion @tinymalscoffee @beyoncesdragon @moon-zodiac @siriusmuch

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alwaysananxiousmess · 4 years ago

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lighting tommyinnit au

okay so i made this a while ago, like, pretty recently after the final disc war.

So, after Doomsday, Tommy get’s struck by lightning in a world where spontaneously generating powers is normal. Techno has a stupid strong healing factor he got from fighting in the Hypixel arenas when he was a kid. Dream is a speedster and has enhanced reflexes, something he got from the manhunts.

There are other examples, but those two are the most relevant, so there you go. I bet you can see where this whole thing is going.

Tommy get’s struck by lightning, and understandably passes out, because that is thousands of volts going into your body in the span of a second or less. I bet it hurts a fuckton.

Ghostbur is the one that finds him, having been talking to him when it happens. He goes to get Tubbo, who brings him to Sam’s place because he was the only one walking around who actually had a place for Tommy to stay.

Tommy slowly heals and recovers, and has some major side effects from the strike. He’s blind and deaf on his left side, lost his sense of taste, and has frequent muscle spasms that make fine motor control extremely difficult. He has scarring on the left side of his face, neck, shoulder, chest, and back as well as down his left arm, ending about mid-forearm. (If you want to know what it looks like, google “lightning flowers”)

He also has... other side effects, ones that aren’t as explainable. There’s a constant energy building underneath his skin that he can’t explain, like a humming only he can hear. It itches sometimes, and eventually becomes painful with how much of it there was, but more on that in a bit. Time also seems to slow down at random moments, but only to him.

Anyway, the energy builds so much that it gets to the point that he’s curled in a ball in the middle of the night, sobbing in his bed at Sam’s base. It hurting him and he doesn’t know why it’s happening.

Sam is the one who finds him, immediately going to comfort him, but Tommy accidentally electrocutes him.

Now Sam is a creeper hybrid. He can’t be hurt by lightning, but he can’t become charged like a normal creeper does. He’s more shocked than anything else, but Tommy is freaking out because he thinks he’s hurt Sam and he doesn’t know what’s happening. This inevitably causes him to release more electricity, which still isn’t hurting Sam, but it only makes Tommy panic more. Sam’s trying to calm him down and reassure him that he’s fine but Tommy just doesn’t believe him.

Eventually, the electricity stops because Tommy just... ran out of it. He’s still crying and freaking out but there isn’t any more lightning flying everywhere. Sam manages to calm him down, promising him that he’s okay and that Tommy didn’t hurt him.

Tommy shakily asks what the hell just happened, and Sam theorizes that the lightning must have made him generate a power, and that’s what the energy and the time slowing down things were about.

So, they test it out once Tommy’s come to terms with it a bit more in an attempt to help him control it. Tommy is super paranoid about hurting someone accidentally, and he pushes himself into learning how to control it.

They figure out that time isn’t slowing down, Tommy is speeding up. The lightning strike allowed him to become a speedster, like Dream. Their final theory is that Tommy generates electricity, which is what the energy that he feels is. Using his superspeed generates it faster. Occasionally, he needs to release the energy, which is why he can produce lightning and electrocute things. If he doesn’t release it, it will release for him in one huge blast, which causes extreme pain for him and is very lethal to anything around him. It also makes him pass out for a few days.

The incident regarding him accidentally electrocuting Sam was because he releases electricity when he’s distressed or in pain. Tubbo makes a rubber chest plate and gloves he can wear to ensure he doesn’t get shocked when Tommy needs his help.

One of the more funny side effects of his power is that he’s a walking static cloud. Touching people gives them light shocks, not painful, just annoying. If he waves a hand over someone’s head their hair will stand up.

He’s also a walking redstone signal. He can act as a redstone torch, and will often help Tubbo and Sam out on their projects when they need him. If he steps in the wrong place though, he can mess the whole thing up. Tommy is not allowed near TNT, because touching it ignites it like a redstone torch would.

He can carry around a little mini redstone lamp in his pocket and it acts like a flashlight when he takes it out. It’s very useful.

Onto more plot.

So.... Final Disc War.

Tommy and Tubbo are in the weird Hall of Attachments thing, and Dream says he’s going to kill Tubbo, and “there’s nothing you can do to stop me, tommy”

Tommy just steps in front of Tubbo, cracks his knuckles, and replies “that’s what you think, bitch”

speedster fight speedster fight speedster fight speedster fight

Every time Dream tries to grab Tubbo, Tommy slams into him and forces him to change course. They’re chasing each other around the room and they’re fucking running on the walls and ceiling what the fuck.

Eventually Punz and everyone else shows up, and they’re kind of just staring into a mostly empty room with Tubbo standing in the corner and one green blur and one white blur moving sporadically around. Literally only Sam and Tubbo understand what’s happening.

Dream eventually gets the upper hand, injuring Tommy in some way that forces him to stop running. Dream’s crouching over Tommy, gloating about his win, while Tommy’s bleeding everywhere and spitting in his face angrily.

Everyone else is at a standstill. They can’t fire at Dream, because he could just finish Tommy off and run before their arrows even get there, and they can’t rush him, because he can just run off. Tubbo is begging for Dream to spare Tommy and to kill him like they agreed, but Dream refuses, saying that Tommy’s been to much of a pain in the ass to let him live.

Dream raises his sword and prepares to kill Tommy with it, when Tommy grabs onto the blade of the sword and just grins.

You remember how him using his superspeed generated more electricity?

Tommy inhales, and sends literally every single volt of electricity into Dream with one giant light show. You can fucking smell Dream burning, and really only one bolt was needed to kill him, but Tommy keeps going. He sends bolt after bolt into Dream until he’s completely drained dry of electricity and Dream is crumbling away into respawn, the sword falling harmlessly onto the ground.

Tommy just lays there for a few moments as the smoke clears, and then turns his head to Tubbo with a grin and says: “that was pog” before passing the fuck out from the amount of pain that amount of electricity erupting from him caused.

Sam and Tubbo run over to go save Tommy right as Dream respawns. But Sam is too concerned about saving Tommy’s life than putting Dream in prison, because Tommy’s bleeding out and his body is working overdrive just to generate more lightning.

So Dream gets away while Sam and Tubbo bring Tommy back to Sam’s base to heal. Dream only has two lives left, and he goes to Techno, using the favor for shelter and protection until he can get his revenge.

Some cool tidbits me and Belle came up with when we talked about it a few weeks back:

Smoke starts coming off of Tommy’s skin and hair when he’s pissed, and his hair will stand up straight. He can char things too, so imagine a pissed Tommy stalking off and leaving black footprints on the sidewalk behind him.

His eyes glow white sometimes, typically when he’s using his power/when he’s mad or scared. I’m talking full white, glowing Eret eyes. It’s cool to look at.

His hair after the lightning strike turns very very pale blonde instead of the golden blonde it was before.

His lightning flower scars light up when he’s using his superspeed. It looks pretty cool tbh.

When he needs to release electricity, he’ll go out into the woods alone and let it off in slow bursts so it doesn’t hurt as much. The walks are incredibly lonely and he hates having to do it every time. He’s terrified that he’ll accidentally hurt or kill someone if he doesn’t, though, so he does it anyway.

(The way Dream attacks him after the Final Disc War for the first time is when Tommy is on one of these walks and he depletes all his lightning before Dream showed up)

If he completely depletes his electricity, such as like in the Final Disc War, he can’t use his superspeed. There needs to be existing energy for it to kick on. If there isn’t any starter energy, bad news, you aren’t gonna go fast like you want to.

Anyway, yeah, that’s the lightning Tommy au. This is more brainrot than anything else tbh I just like it.

Shoutout to @bellfort3 and @ecinue-unicorn for listening to me ramble about this au in dms <3 multiple times

#fanfic ideas #au idea #tommyinnit #dreamwastaken #awesamdude #tubbo #temporary character death #hearing loss #vision loss #lightning strikes #superpowers

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incaensio · 1 year ago

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what then? the furrowed face she gives him is meant to ask, but haymitch is shifting in his seat and turning something on — even cars have these sorts of tv-things. she turns her questioning face to the hologram then, and the image doesn't make her feel any better because the guy who killed chandler has finally come to get hazelle too, and he's butchering her! katniss is reminded of clove, who promised a good show, who would have tortured her, carving her flesh out on tv, had thresh not intervened. "she- she's dead. on the screen, it…" her brain is in a rush between panic, guilt, sadness and something else. ezra didn't make it a show. he cut her in the arm, some nasty thing that could make her bleed out way too slowly to be entertaining for the capitol and, as katniss whips her head back to haymitch, he's not sad nor even surprised — not that her mentor is a feeling guy, but hazelle is not just anyone. "he cut her tracker." this makes no sense.

haymitch doesn't need to respond her, though, because the chaos in katniss' mind is just a reflection of the one in the arena as ezra continues running around after cutting out the trackers from hazelle and devyn, and then there's johanna's tribute, juniper, untangling all that wire she had guarded as her life. because it is. at twelve, they don't teach you much about technology, electricity, how any of that stuff works other than the basics that don't really tell them anything. but they had taught her of electrical conductance — she doesn't recall this name now, of course — and that wire would be perfect to conduct electricity, the one from lightning, in fact. the one that strikes as scheduled, every day. the one that does as she had just thought of, as it runs through the wire and does something that makes all the cameras go off.

katniss pulls her hand from haymitch's as the sound of static continues to spread around the car, the only thing breaking the silence; the car doesn't stop even when it is clear the driver hears it too, and katniss looks beyond to the steady driver, glaring at a bare piece of scalp to center herself. ezra took the tributes' trackers, they can't be monitored by the capitol either. juniper did something to make electricity spread throughout that wire, and it hit the cameras, the arena even, maybe. how? why? could the arena be broken apart like a child's toy? the panic has been replaced by curiosity, by the quickness of her mind that she relied on now and then, the one that had saved her in the woods of home several times and the ones that had doomed her in the woods of the capitol, when she decided to make those poisonous berries her way out of the arena with peeta, not alone, as they'd have preferred it.

"yes, ‘ll be calm." only on the surface, though, but there seems to be a condition in haymitch's words, the way that always carries in everyone's words to her. you do this, and i will do this for you. and what haymitch is telling her is that they'll all — the four of them, and hazelle — go somewhere. this is not the first time katniss has pushed down her anxiety, and her body seems to acquiesce, compartmentalizing that for another time, once the bargain is struck and they are safe. "where?" she insists. the windows of the car are tinted, keeping people from the outside looking in, but it also does little to help the visibility from within, and she can't see much but empty streets. "you, me, peeta and effie," the mockingjay repeats, like a song. but then adds on. "what 'bout mother, prim, gale, the kids? if we get out, he'll get 'em." like he got your own family, remains unsaid as her eyes stay hard on his.

she's grasping onto his hand, like an overwhelmed child to their distracted parent. haymitch wasn't made for this, but he allows her to clench his hand. with her being so small in all aspects, abernathy swears he can feel her racing heartbeat in her petite hands. she's in another universe, attempting to outrun an omcoming train. he's never been guided on how to be comforting when someone's in a panic. " no, she shouldn't be, " he ominously disputes as his free hand is tinkering with the private car's switches that work the holographic. soon it lights up. the scene before them is of ezra and juniper, the man from two cutting out the woman's tracking device. " she's just injured right now, " her vitals are offline since the tracker got booted, but he'd watched hazelle and devyn laying on the arena floor after the supposed ambush. he's surprised that this plan from the rebels might actually be working. the capitol is on their toes, not unlike the second quarter quell that haymitch participated in.

the arena had shifted four hours sooner. everything is going fast, not unlike the speed of their current vehicle. when eight o'clock strikes, so does the lightning strike. eyes are glued to the younger victor though. abernathy wouldn't even notice that the screen had gone to black until the sound of static accompanies it. " they're gonna get 'er out of there, katniss. we're all leaving ... you, me, peeta, and effie, we're gonna join her and the remaining tributes. we're leaving the city. you're gonna have to remain calm, if this is gonna work. do you understand ? "

#— 𝐾. 𝐸. : written.#eventideevent03 #eventidepast #murder tw #death tw #gore tw

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whalesfallmoved · 4 years ago

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hand over wound

round two.

chargestep, rated t. 1.9k.

a brief, helpless attempt at ortega’s point of view. the shameless flirty banter and back and forth of pre-heartbreak ricardo, whose main goal is being an absolute menace to society- population, sidestep. horribly self-indulgent in every way, but she lets herself get helped in this one, so what can I say.

ao3 link.

—

She’s got a hard grip and a bite sharp as her bark, and when you finally get her to put her hand in yours it’s not without the same sensation of coaxing a street cat out of hiding, flinching at the first sudden movement.

Not this time, though. This time, she lets you catch her wrist, lets you turn it over, and— oh boy— this is the most skin you’ve ever seen, sleeve pushed up almost to her elbow, wrists on display, never would’ve thought they’d look this dainty, crisscrossed as they are by scar tissue and branching blue veins and solid as birdbone.

She squeezes that small, angry little fist in your hand and the tendons flex, the knuckles split raw and furious, scabs already coagulating where the damage runs reddest. Her trophies for that blitz quick punch she packs, armorless and fast (but not as fast— not as fast as you— lightning striking twice.)

Fidgeting, antsy, she kicks her feet against your chair, knock-knock-knock, squeezing her mask in her other pink, exposed fist. Jittery, and you bite back something wry and flustering, something that’ll earn you a freeze and an idiot and a blush and oh, you love that even more, how you can watch it bloom freely now, worth the wait and the coaxing to get her to finally tug Sidestep off the rest of the way, leave just Noa and her big, big eyes (deep brown as a hound’s and you weren’t expecting that, for her to be so warm underneath the hard, cold turquoise) and how she desperately needs the mask, they’d never be scared of her otherwise—and with your other hand you loosen her curled fingers free.

Toss her a grin, tap her leg with yours, pretend you aren’t surprised by how soft her skin is when it’s not covered in skinsuit and blood, the way it’s never seen the Los Diablos sun—at least, not long enough to match the freckles on her doughy cheeks (freckles down her shoulder? her back?) Layers and layers and here she is, in your apartment, hand in hand, and fuck, you can say something about that too. Something about that kiss something about— later.

“So, I was thinking.”

“Wow. Did you hurt yourself?” Reflex, but she straightens up, watches, waits, and you like that too— the way she can’t hear, the way she has to ask.

“A little, yeah,” medkits and rags and clean water, you dab at the cuts and earn yourself a hiss.

“Out of practice, huh?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You wink and that gets you a scowl, a twist of her mouth, and you’re pretty sure if you weren’t you you’d get her teeth, too. Not even Themmy would get away with that, much as she likes them, they can’t cross the hard line of her last name yet, and you’ve earned smug, you think, you grin, you drag the antiseptic across her knuckles while she’s still glaring and pink at the ears—her hand jerks in yours and you squeeze tighter, gentle. “I was thinking about your suit.”

“Trying to give some fashion advice? Pass.”

“First of all, if anyone here’s in desperate need of it—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, not this again.”

“Don’t get me wrong, you make the unwashed seventeen year old boy look work for you, somehow—”

“Asshole.”

“Sorry, would you prefer sexily disheveled?”

“You— shut up,” there it is, her averting gaze, her grooving brow, her pretty cheeks— ow, fuck— her foot ramming into your calf. “You are such a dick.”

“You love it,” wink, sly grin, she glares harder but doesn’t argue, you’ve got her there and you both know it. “And that wasn’t what I was going to say.”

The split cuts are worse than you thought, wounds wiped clean revealing the deep and the raw all laden on top of each other, opened again and again, her smarting palms scratched and torn, not so different from yours when you try hard enough but it’s different (because it’s her?) and fuck, how long has she been doing this?

Still can’t win her over with the blue and the white and big capital R and the promise of solid health benefits. Too bad. Can’t blame her though, even if it makes your job twice as hard to let her into the systems, to let her put her darting fingers all over the Rangers’ files, to let her anywhere near the missions you need her most.

“Well?”

Look up, and she’s watching and waiting still, and you must’ve gone quiet for a moment, turning her knuckles over.

“Your suit’s crap.” Homemade and spliced together, practically sportswear these days, riddled with seams and stitches she’s mended. Not bad for a third-rate vigilante, but that’s not her, not Sidestep, not your—

Not your anything, and she’d eat you alive if she ever caught the tail-end of a thought like that. But she’s going to get herself hurt all the same. More hurt than usual.

“It’s just lightweight. Yours isn’t any different.”

“Mine’s definitely different,” fresh white bandages over red, swollen bruises. You wind them around once, twice, taking care. “The material’s outdated. Where’d you get it, anyway?”

“None of your business,” she snaps, and you half expect her to rip away, pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t. “And it’s not like I can just hit Uncle Sam up for some brand new state of the art gear.”

“I mean, you could.”

“Don’t.”

“I think you’d look good in blue.”

“Ugh.”

“Just think about it. You. Me. Matching uniforms. We could get you a little lightning bolt, right here,” hand over your heart and she’s definitely going to hit you for that one. “I don’t mind sharing the brand with you.”

“Go die in a hole.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please go die in a hole.”

“Will you join me?”

“Fuck no. I’m putting you there myself. Can’t stand your ass.”

“Good thing you’re sitting down then. Also, thinking about my ass, hmm? Good to know.”

“Ugh.”

“Bad time to ask about what other sounds your mouth can make?”

“Try it and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs.”

“Ohh, promises, promises.”

She wants to laugh, catching it quick between her teeth, a soft indent in her softer cheeks, and if you try a little harder you might be able to shake that grin from her, earn yourself a glimmer in her dark, dark eyes—and she’s running out of bark, out of bite, so the first round goes to you as you set her fist down, wrapped, clean and new in bandages that won’t last the next fight.

You reach for the other and she goes willingly, fingertips settling butterfly-light on you, her thumb to the heel of your hand, scars and nicks aligned. There’s something about it, about the skin, about the colder palm that rests quietly in yours, the mods sticking to your bones, and— yes, you like this the most; the way she lets you touch her, even if it’s just this, one kiss in the aftermath of violence and her wrists on display.

She breaks the silence not with a laugh or a sigh but a shake of her head, a suspicious cant of her eyes to yours, then away; blushed, accepting defeat. You smile, wash her wounds again with the slow repetition of old, small ritual and she knocks her ankle against yours, knee to knee.

“You’re a deeply troubled and troubling man, Ricardo Ortega.” She finally says, low and almost sweet, and there it is; a dimple beside her mouth, unwillingly surrendered, and the sight unfurls something achy and bruise-deep in your chest.

And the truth is, you can’t help yourself. “I love the way you say my name.”

“I swear—” a gasp, an exhale, her bandaged hand meeting her forehead, fissuring that barbed facade of sneers and razor-edged tongues. “You’re so fucking weird. Can’t you just take an insult like a normal person?”

“Oh, those were insults? But they sounded so sweet coming from you.” You reach for the bandages again. Repeat. Gauzy, featherlight loops around her flinching knuckles.

“God…”

“No need for that. Ricardo works just fine.”

“How about idiot?” And oh, you’ve got her soft, how’d you manage that? She’s red from her ears down her neck, flush disappearing beneath the black nanomesh, and you wait for her to smack your knee or bring a little teeth but all she does is squeeze your hand, nose scrunched jaw dimpled, melting, and your heart’s tattooing itself to the ribs—maybe you can get her to let you kiss her again, just to see what her lips feel like when they’re not red-slick with iron and sweat and fear. They were softer than you thought. Desperate, too. Almost as desperate as you, and fear’s a thrill a rush a jump but when you thought she’d ended up mashed on the pavement it—

“Only for you.” A tease or a confession and the most honest lie to cross your lips, you tuck the gauze but keep her hand, and she lets you, thumbs over the boundary line of your wrist. Strange. Almost intimate.

She pulls back just enough to trade places, snaring your hand between her own wounded ones, running circles around the emitter, fearless, unflinching, trusting, waiting. Always waiting and never staying long enough for an answer, like you could give her a straight one either way, like you even know what it is beyond aches and bruises and the pained gasp pressed to your lips when you pried her loose and held her tight, Psychopather gone on the ground, victory in the shape of her mouth.

Still, a skip runs down your spine as she massages down, down into the calloused meat of your hand, not even jumping at the kick of electricity, spiteful as blanket static.

“What, nothing stupid about kissing it better?” She mutters—disappointed?—and of course, how could you miss that chance—but she’s always been better about the plans, a thousand little ways to sidestep dancing around in that lovely skull of hers when all you want to do is charge right in, and as she pulls away you pull back, catch her gauzy, angry fists in your open palm.

She waits. Waits to see what you’ll do.

You watch, hold your breath, the biting grin gone now, mask shucked loose for a moment when she looks like that, soft and vulnerable in the white-gold light of your kitchen, and she could pull away if she wants, or careen forward, turn it into a punch, into a throttle.

But she doesn’t.

Her eyes really are pretty, warm brown like the slow burn of whiskey down your throat, and you keep them as you draw her hands up, bring those softened knuckles to your lips, feel the first twitches of a smile that you press lightly against her and— kissing—

And she raps the back of her fingers against your cheek, barely more than a tap, a reprimand and hey—! She jerks away, stands up, darts from your grasp, gone again. Moved too fast. You sigh, catch yourself, remember to smile.

“Idiot.” She scoffs, grabs her mask off the table, ducks her head like she’s expecting that soft hair to make a curtain, a shield, but it’s twisted back at the nape and you chuckle, lean back, because it looks like round two is yours again, and you want— you want—

She’s on the other side of the kitchen, working that mask back, turned away, and you don’t ask her to stay, you already know the answer, but fuck if you don’t love to watch her leave, if you can’t wait for round three.

#chargestep #ricardo ortega #sidestep #fallen hero #mywriting #shameless 'tenderness is stored in the hands' propaganda here #these idiots- desperately in love and not a thought between them #definitely used this mostly as an excuse to play with banter and the lighthearted almost flirting of two clowns that think fighting #definitely counts as a love language #(this is as tender as they get- at least for now. the idiots. <3)#hand over wound*

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silkling · 3 years ago

Note

I'd like a fanfic based off of that headcanon. I actually saw a fic on DeviantArt that inspired me to ask you about Chase and his fear of thunder storms and I think Blades would understand since he's scared of heights.

Alrighty then! I’d be happy to write it! This one was fun! I like writing Chase and Blades, they’re both cute.

———————————————————————————————————

The sky flashed outside the firehouse, and then there was a loud boom that Chase swore made the air itself shake. He flinched, his armor plating pinning tight against his protoform so fast and so harshly it made an audible sound. Here in the main garage of the firehouse, the sounds thunder and flashes of lighting seemed so much closer than they probably were. He knew he was being foolish. It was just a storm, and as long as he stayed inside it couldn’t hurt him.

The windows lit up with another strike of lighting, and the thunder boomed once more. Before Chase even realized what was happening, base processor functions took over and he was folding into his alt mode, peeling backwards and away from the open garage door, and skidding to a stop on the large elevator pad that would take him to the bunker. It started lowering, and as soon as there was enough space for him to not scrape his roof he was gunning his engine, flying off the pad and landing on the floor of the bunker to skid to a harsh stop. He transformed back to his root mode, quickly making the pad lift back up, and sealing the bunker from the upper floors of the firehouse.

There was silence for a beat, and then a much more distant crash of thunder sounded. Chase flinched, his plating clamping impossibly tighter. The sounds were much more faint down here, dampened by thick, heavy stone and earth. Even so, it was just loud enough to be heard. But…Chase supposed that this was better than being in the garage. That would be worse.

It would be even worse if he was with the others. They’d gone on a camping trip to the forests of the mainland, where they were apparently going to be so far from civilization that the Rescue Bots wouldn’t have to worry about being seen. The plan had been to camp out in a large cave on on top a cliff to watch the storm, since apparently this type of storm was some for of rare meteorological event. Graham had assured him it was mostly harmless and they’d be safe as long as they stayed out of the thick of it, and even if things went wrong there was a cabin owned by Doctor Greene nearby that everyone would fit into and be safe at.

Chase had very politely opted out of that trip. He had no desire fo be out in the middle of a storm, in the middle of nowhere. Just being at Griffin Rock in the middle of it was bad enough. He’d told Chief Burns he wished fo stay behind and review human law and order systems. A lie, of course. He was too tense to focus on anything of that sort. The others had all gone, and now he was alone here. He was starting to think it would have been better to ride this out with friends.

The police bot forced himself to move, turning and walking stiffly to the couch. He fell back onto it, turning on the TV and rising the volume as high as it would go in an effort to drown out the noise of the storm. When he could hear no thunder over the sound of the human entertainment system, he finally allowed himself to relax.

“Chase? You didn’t go on the trip?”

The unexpected voice made Chase shoot to his pedes, his previously relaxed frame tensing and his armor clamping tight once more. He turned to the speaker, and it took his frazzled processor a moment to recognize the slim frame of his teammate. His vocalizer clicked several times, spitting a blaat of static before he was able to make it work.

“Blades?”

“Yes?” Blades seemed confused. “Chase, are you alright? Are you hurt? Is that why you didn’t go with the others? I can treat you if you need medical attention.” The copter bot walked closer, his hands uncurling from where they’d been tucked against his canopy to flutter nervously in front of him.

Chase took another moment to force his processor to work, and he shook his helm slowly. “I am–I am unharmed.” he stated. “I remained behind to study human law practices.”

Blades stopped in front of him, helm tilting. His audial fins only had limited movement capability, but they still twitched very slightly with his visible confusion. “You were watching one of Dani’s weird human romance movies.” he pointed out.

He felt embarrassment rush through him, and he ducked his helm. He quickly picked up the remote, turning down the volume so they could speak without having to raise their voices. “Yes. I, ah–“ he struggled to find an excuse. He had to change the topic. “Why are you here?” he blurted out. “Did you not go with the others?”

The copter shook his helm, his hands tucking up again his canopy again, as he always seemed to do when he wasn’t using them or gesturing while he talked. “Dani wanted to fly in the storm. She said it was safe as long as we stayed out of the pre-determined lightning zones and that it would just be like a theme park ride but I didn’t really want to.” he said.

“Oh.” Chase blinked, and was about to open his mouth when there was a very, very loud crash of thunder, and then bunker itself shook around them.

His optics blew wide, the blue burning so bright they practically glowed white. A high, distressed shriek left his vocalizer before he was even aware of it and he was shoving himself back into the couch, making himself as small as possible and pulling his field in tight, armor clamped so closely to his frame none of the seams were visible or individual plates were even distinguishable. Blades stared at him in alarm, then in two quick strides he was there and crouching by the couch. His field expanded to wrap around the police bot, emitting soft, soothing feelings.

“Chase, it’s alright. You’re safe down here.” Blades assured. He cast a worried glance up, then tilted his helm. “That last one felt like something nearby might have been struck. I have to go check, but I’ll be right back, okay?” he said. He waited for a response, but after a minute where it seemed it wasn’t getting one he was forced to give up and go check.

Chase was alone, then. Air squealed past his vents in harsh wheezes, and he couldn’t make himself calm down. All he could focus on was the memory of getting struck, the feeling of the bolt hitting his chest, burning so hot it scorched and melted the metal of his chestplate into a twisted mess. He hadn’t allowed himself to show how it affected him then, but he’d been terrified. Lightning couldn’t kill a Cybertronian. Not a single strike, at any rate. But for those with thinner armor or smaller frames, a single strike could do permanent, crippling damage. He’d been extremely lucky, he knew.

After the wound on his chest had been healed, it had only taken three days or so for his systems to recover from the powerful electric attack and for the pain to stop. But the fear had remained. He’d realized that if he was ever struck again, he might not be so lucky, and he could be permanently, irreparably damaged. With the risks lightning posed to Cybertronians, especially to Cybertronians of his build…he would almost prefer if the only thing he had to fear from getting struck was death. At least then, he wouldn’t have the risk of his systems being permanently crippled.

He didn’t realize that his vocalizer had started clicking with his distress until he felt a hand on his shoulder and a EM field wrap tightly around him. For a moment, his panic grew, but then he recognized the field pressing around him and his engine hiccuped. His vision was blurred and staticky, and it took a moment for it to clear enough for him to see Blades. His friend was staring at him in open concern, his rotors all but vibrating at his back with his worry.

“Chase? You with me?”

“I–What–I’m sorry–“ he gasped, only for the copter to cut him off.

“No, none of that! It’s fine.” Blades scolded gently. “Come on, you need to vent. Your frame is overheating and your fans aren’t enough. Vent, deep and slow. Follow me.” he said, venting in the pattern he needed the police bot to follow.

Chase shuddered, his armor audibly rattling with it, and he followed Blades’s lead. After a moment, his frame stopped feeling so hot, and he was able to calm. There was no thunder, not that he could hear. All he could hear were the hums of his and his teammates systems and the noise of the TV. He reset his vocalizer, remembering why Blades had left.

“Was anything damaged?”

Blades shook his helm. “No. The lightning just struck pavement. There’s a scorch mark, but no damage.”

Chase nodded. “Good, good.” he whispered, sounding distant. “Blades, I–that is, I should–I mean–“ he cut himself off, forcing himself to try again. “I…I wish to apologize.”

Blades blinked, looking startled. He shifted from where he was crouched in front of Chase, sitting next to his friend on the couch instead. “Apologize? What for?”

“I am acting foolish. The lightning cannot hurt me. It cannot even reach me. Yet…” he trailed off, ashamed of his own fear.

Blades blinked. “You’re not foolish, Chase.” he said, tone gentling.

Chase looked at his teammate, his optics just a little too bright. “My fear is irrational, Blades! It helps no one and only causes inconvenience!”

Blades didn’t flinch under the force of his yelling. “So?” His audial fins flicked. “Fear is often irrational.”

“Perhaps.” Chase seemed bitter. “But my fear makes me a liability. What if a storm occurs while we are on a mission? It could keep me from doing what is needed of me.” he stared at his lap. “The others will think poorly of me, I am sure of it.”

“Chase.” Blades’s voice was firm. “You’re not the only one with an irrational fear.” At his back, his rotors fluttered pointedly. “The team doesn’t think any less of me for my fear, do they?”

Chase turned a startled look to his friend. “Of course not! That would be foolish! Your fear does not stop you from performing your duties! We have no reason to think less of you, and you are no less of a bot just because you are scared of heights!”

Blades smiled. “So, why wouldn’t that be true for you?”

Chase froze, blinking.

“I know how guilty fear can make you feel, Chase. Believe me, I understand. And one day, you may have to confront it head on for a mission, but if that day comes I know you won’t let us down. It’s alright to have fears, and it’s alright to avoid the things that scare you if you have that option. You just can’t let your fears define you or stop you from living your life.” he said softly.

Neither bot said anything for a long moment. The only sounds in the bunker were those of two Cybertronian systems running and and mundane human commercial from the TV. Then Chase broke it.

“You are…you are correct. Thank you, Blades.”

Blades beamed, nodding. His rotors twitched happily at his back, and he settled down more comfortably. “Good! Now, how about we find something to watch and drown out the storm?”

Chase let out a huff of laughter. “I would like that.”

The copter nodded, then he shifted again, moving until he was leaning against Chase’s side. He knew his teammate wasn’t as tactile as him, so he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. “Is this okay? Physical comfort helps me when I get scared. Back on Cybertron, if I got really nervous, my brothers would usually hug me.” he said distractedly, flipping through the channels on the TV to find something to watch.

Chase blinked. “You have brothers?” he turned that statement over in his processor. “You have spark bonded siblings? Blades, what happened…?”

Blades froze, then sagged. “Don’t tell the others.” he whispered. At Chase’s nod, he continued. “I have brothers.” he confirmed. “Four of them. I’m gestalt. I don’t know where they are. The bond was active and I could hear them before we went into stasis, but after we got out…” he trailed off, resetting his vocalizer before he was able to continue. “The bond is muted now. I don’t know if it’s because of distance and time apart from them, or because they’re–“ his voice cut off. He forced himself to finish that sentence. “Because they’re dead.”

Chase stared at his smaller teammate for a long moment, then he wrapped his arms around him and tugged him close. “Perhaps, tonight, we can comfort each other.” he said.

Blades was startled, and then he laughed weakly and nodded. He shifted, rearranging himself until he was folded and tucked neatly against Chase’s frame, and then he relaxed. “I’d like that.” he grinned.

Chase found himself smiling as well, and his contentment grew when Blades finally picked one of the humans’ true crime shows to watch and dialed the volume all the way up. The remote was set down, and then both Rescue Bots were curling even further into each other, enjoying the physical comfort they could offer one another.

Outside, the storm raged on, but it went unnoticed to the two Cybertronians in the bunker below. Neither bot had stopped being afraid of their fears, but they both knew that didn’t matter. They had each other, and in that moment, that was all that really counted.

———————————————————————————————————

And there it was! I like to headcanon Chase and Blades as Amica, so a tiny bit of that may have slipped into this. I hope everyone liked it! And for more information on the original ask that spawned this and some of the background info, click here.

I love writing for Rescue Bots. It’s the perfect medium for found family and fluffy friendship. I need more of that in my life. I’ll be posting another request fic soon, btw! And if anyone wants to shoot me an ask about one of my AUs or any headcanons I may have, I answer those pretty much as soon as I get them.

Until next time, folks!

#silkling request fics #request fic #transformers rescue bots #tfrb #tfrb chase #rescue bots chase #tfrb Blades #rescue bots blades #friends!#team as family #they’re soft babies!#blades is a Protectobot #chase is afraid of thunderstorms #cuddling #amica!#amica #maccadam

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seagreen-meets-grey · 4 years ago

Text

When Lightning Strikes Ch. 17

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

“I’m in love with you.”

Fresh raindrops were hitting the windscreen in an increasing rhythm, the backdrop to her thoughts.

“I’m in love with you.”

She turned on the wipers.

“But I can’t be your friend anymore.”

His voice was haunting her, words replaying in her ears over and over, accompanied by an electric jolt stopping her heart for a beat every single time. She almost anticipated a flash of lightning on the horizon, a crack of thunder rolling through her chest.

The drive back to Berk had never felt this long, the allowed driving speed never this slow. Eyes on the road, she fumbled for her phone, managing to connect it to the car one-handed. There was a call that absolutely could not wait.

It rang a few times, then cut off. Did she have no reception here? Didn’t he? Did he decline her call? Nervously tapping her steering wheel, Astrid flung the phone onto the passenger seat. She would try again if she got stuck at a traffic light. But traffic flowed freely and not much later, she parked in the same spot as mere hours before. She couldn’t believe so little time had passed since she had gotten ready for her lunch not-date (that had totally been an unofficial date).

Dashing through the rain, she quickly made it to the front door and rang the doorbell. But after fifteen minutes of repeatedly pressing the button, she concluded that he either wasn’t home or really did not want to open the door. She tried his phone again, but it just kept ringing and ringing. Which was weird, because he had specifically asked her to call him back, hadn’t he? Why would he not answer her calls now? Had he changed his mind, was he mad that she’d just left like that?

She racked her brain for where he could be, but the weather wasn’t leaving her a lot of options. He couldn’t be at work because it was a Sunday. She didn’t know where any of his friends lived. Hell, she only knew two names, maybe three if she counted the ex-girlfriend. Perhaps he’d gone to the forest again, despite the weather?

But his car was still parked to the side. Was he home after all? She tried the doorbell again, then rang for his neighbor. They could let her in so she could pound at his door, just in case his bell wasn’t working.

“Hello?” came a grumpy voice out of the speaker.

“Ah, yes, hi. I’m trying to get a hold of your neighbor, but he’s not opening. Could you let me in, please?”

“No.”

Briefly taken aback, she blinked a couple times. “I really need to–”

“I don’t know you. If they’re not opening, I won’t either. Good day.” The speaker crackled and went silent.

“Yeah, fuck you too,” she mumbled. “You got great neighbors, man.”

He still wasn’t answering her calls. At this point, she didn’t know whether to be annoyed or worried. Texting him a quick ‘where are you????’, she returned to her car and deliberated her next step. One option was to just wait here for him to get back. Call him over and over again until she got a reaction.

“Ugh!” With a frustrated groan, she threw her head back and closed her eyes. There was a way for her to reach someone who knew him, but even if she was successful, it would be a mighty awkward phone call and she would have to swallow a bit of pride.

“I’m in love with you.”

“Dammit!” She hit her steering wheel, accidentally setting off the horn. Hopefully, it had made Hiccup’s neighbor jump.

The next call went unanswered as well, but that only boosted her determination. There was no stopping her, not so close to her happy ending. She wanted to hear his voice, wanted to look into his wonderful eyes and scream at the top of her lungs, let out all her suppressed feelings that she’d been harboring for him ever since the moment his presence had first struck her like lightning. Three words, one breath. The clear answer he needed to hear from her, the one she needed to speak out loud.

She found Dagur’s contact in her list and sent him a short text, hoping he would help her out first and ask annoying questions later. And lo and behold, twelve minutes later, she had Heather Oswald’s number.

She picked up after the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Hi. This is Astrid Hofferson, um... We’ve met a couple times, I’m–”

“Yeah,” Heather interrupted her in a tone Astrid couldn’t decipher, “I know who you are.”

“Oh, okay. Great. Uh, I’m looking for Hiccup, actually, and he’s not home or answering his phone. You’re the only person I could get a hold of who might know where he is or…”

“I have no idea.”

“Ah, well then, do you have an idea where I could look?”

The line went silent for a moment. “Without a clue about what’s going on, it’s hard to narrow it down.”

“Oh. Well, maybe–”

“Look, Astrid?” Heather interrupted her. “I know it’s not my place to say. But Hiccup is one of my best friends and he’s been pretty depressed because of you for the past two years. He… cares about you a lot.” Astrid tried to get a word in, but Heather didn’t let herself be interrupted. “I know you two are friends, but you’re not doing him any favors as long as you’re not honest with him.

“Heather, I-”

“Whatever it is you want from him, please tell him so he can stop driving himself crazy.”

“Yes, I know, that’s why I’m looking for him!”

“You are? Good. You might not be aware of it, but you have the power to absolutely break him. I’d rather you didn’t.”

Astrid gulped. “Yeah, believe it or not, he actually has the same power over me. Why do you think I’m calling his ex-girlfriend for help?”

Heather chuckled. “I haven’t heard from him this weekend, but I can think of a few others who might have. I can give you their numbers.”

“Thank you, seriously!”

“I’m doing it for him. Good luck.”

The line went dead and Astrid let out the tension in her shoulders with a sigh of relief. She didn’t have a new lead, but she had gained new options. And she’d just gotten the dad talk from her ex’s best friend’s sister.

Her phone buzzed with a few messages from an unsaved number, sending her a few contacts. She assumed the two people with Hiccup’s last name were his parents and decided to make them her last resort since there was no need to worry them about their son being uncharacteristically unavailable. Besides, they didn’t even know her.

Discovering she actually knew the other people Heather had referred her to, she decided to call Fishlegs first, hoping for not another lecture on how to treat one of his best friends. The one had been uncomfortable enough. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Hiccup, even unintentionally. He was way too important to her, had taken root inside her heart the moment he’d first smiled at her.

She still remembered how he’d been able to make her forget about the sea of people around her in a matter of seconds, joking around about something trivial, grasping her full attention so easily she’d even blinded out her own fiancé, who’d been right there next to her. Looking back, she could only shake her head at her own stubbornness in admitting her immediate attraction and the connection that had been there from the moment their eyes had met. Her skin tingled at the memory of that bolt of lightning striking her to the core…

With a wince, she pulled herself from her daydream, concentrating on the task at hand and making the next call. Fishlegs picked up almost immediately, voice a little wary of the unknown number calling him on a Sunday evening. The horizon was darkening gradually, the last rays of sunlight drowning in the incoming wave of night, the streetlamps outside flickering on one after the other.

Fishlegs didn’t know where Hiccup was. “Maybe his phone is dead? He sometimes forgets to charge it before it’s too late.”

“Nope, it’s ringing. The signal’s getting through. Which means that’s not it.” She didn’t want to waste her time theorizing about why he wasn’t picking up. She wanted to find him, then she could ask him and punch him for leaving her hanging like this. “But do you know where he could have gone on a Sunday night while it’s raining?”

“Hm. You say his car is home?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Snotlout lives nearby, that’s an old friend of his–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know him.” Tucking her phone between her jaw and shoulder, she started her car. “Where does he live?”

Fishlegs gave her the directions and offered to stay on the phone so she could keep him updated, but she quickly thanked him and hung up before pulling out of her parking spot. This was the worst scavenger hunt ever. At least she could cross calling Snotlout off her list.

Severely hoping to either catch Hiccup this time or at least get a solid lead, she pushed the doorbell ten seconds long and then hit it repeatedly in a short span of time until she heard the static of the receiver.

“Whoever the fuck you are, fuck you. Hiccup, is that you? I want my jacket.” Well, so much for finding Hiccup here.

“No, it’s Astrid, we met once, I think you tried to flirt with me.”

“Wait, the Astrid? Hot Astrid? Hot-strid?”

“Call me that again and you’ll find out how hot my fist is!”

“Okay, okay.” She noted with satisfaction how he was trying to cover up that he was intimidated. “What are you doing here? Came here to get a taste of the Snotman?”

Deciding to ignore his immediate new attempt at flirting (she would handle that another time, for sure), she just rolled her eyes. “Have you seen Hiccup?”

Expecting the same answer she got from everyone else, she was surprised when he said, “Yep. He was here.”

“When?” She jumped on the information, leaning closer to the receiver.

“I don’t know, some time in the past couple hours? I was busy, I don’t check the clock on a Sunday.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Out.” Oh, she wanted to break the door in and slap him.

“But where, Snotlout?!” A dog started barking very closely to the intercom, making Astrid flinch away.

“Shut up, Hookfang! I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me. Sit, you dumb dog! He just came by for a jacket, he was kinda drenched. Pretty stupid, actually, because he had an umbrella and it wasn’t even raining when I looked outside.”

She bit her lip and frowned. So he was out somewhere, probably still in the rain. Great, so she just had to drive through town and search all the streets of Berk until she found him. At least she had some kind of solid plan now.

“Thanks, Snotlout.”

His answer was drowned out by the barking dog, then the intercom fell silent with a crackling static, but she was already sprinting back to her car. She tried calling Hiccup again, but then gave up with a groan; she wouldn’t reach him. He hadn’t read her text yet, either. So what now, call his parents if he had walked there? She didn’t even know if they lived in Berk.

Reaching for her phone again, she replayed his message. The butterflies tumbled through her stomach again when he said the five words she would never grow tired of hearing. There was the sound of traffic and rain in the background, but that didn’t help a lot, so she replayed it again. And there it was, another lead – he said he’d been at her parents’ place, looking for her. Of course! Maybe he’d mentioned more to whoever had answered the door.

She sped through town, parking right in front of the front door, something her father hated. But right now, she couldn’t care less. Fumbling with the keys for a minute, she pushed the door open and yelled into the house.

“Mom! Dad! Anyone?!”

Her father stuck his head through the door to the living room, glass of wine in hand, wearing his comfy couch pants. “Hello, daughter. We were wondering if you were still showing up for dinner.”

“Sorry, I forgot to cancel, I had something important to do.” She trudged down the hallway to the living room, leaving dirty footprints on the floor.

“Astrid, your shoes!” her father chided her, but she ignored it.

“Was Hiccup here?”

“Who?”

Her mother turned around on the couch. “Yes, your boyfriend was here. He was looking for you.”

Astrid scooched by her dad who almost spilled his wine. “When? What did he say?”

Wilma clucked her tongue in disapproval, shaking her head at her daughter’s wet shoes, two steps from the new carpet.

“Mom.”

Frederick put a hand on her shoulder, holding his glass out of her reach. “Why don’t you take your shoes off and join us? This crime thriller is very entertaining and there’s more wine in the fridge–”

“Mom!”

“Like I said, he was looking for you. I don’t remember when, but it was still light outside. He didn’t say what he wanted, though, and left as soon as I said you weren’t here.”

“Who?” Frederick repeated, confusion written clearly on his face. “The young man you spoke to earlier? What was that about a boyfriend?”

Astrid didn’t have time for explanations to be exchanged. “Which direction did he leave in? This is very, very important, mom!”

“What’s going on, dear? Why don’t you–”

Astrid rolled her eyes with an impatient growl, contemplating threatening to wipe her feet on the carpet if her mother didn’t just come across with the information, but figured that would only spark an entirely different discussion. “Mom, I swear – please just tell me, please!” The desperation had to be showing in her eyes because her mother gave in with a sigh.

“Down the street to Marram Lane, he was on foot so my guess is he was heading for the bus.”

That didn’t make her chase any less frustrating, but it was better than nothing. “Anything else?”

“No–”

“Okay, thanks, bye!” She dashed past her dad who took a surprised step back. Before the front door closed behind her, she could hear him complain about his spilled wine on the new carpet.

Jumping into her car, she deliberated showing Hiccup’s profile picture to every bus driver she could catch, until one of them remembered him and where he got off the bus. But chances were he’d taken the route home and was already back there while she was looking for bread crumbs all over Berk. So she decided on one last attempt. If he didn’t open his door now, she would go home and probably not sleep all night.

If it hadn’t been for the red light near the park, she would have missed it. Tapping her finger against the steering wheel, she absentmindedly glanced outside while waiting for green.

It was the jacket that caught her eye. Chipped print of faded red flames climbing up the dark sleeves, wide and short on a body too tall and lean for the cut. It was him.

The umbrella shaded him from the light of the streetlamps, but she immediately made out the wild auburn hair, the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, eyes cast down. He was heading for the park, on a shortcut to his house that she couldn’t take with her car.

A honk from behind her alerted her to the green light and she stepped on it, crossing the intersection and pulling over onto the sidewalk as soon as she got the chance to.

She ran, only just bothering to lock her car. The rain was coming down in buckets and she splashed her entire right leg when she stepped in an overly large puddle, but that wouldn’t slow her down.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Hiccup! Wait!”

He had almost disappeared behind the next corner and a few trees when he suddenly stopped and turned around. “Astrid?”

Panting, she came to a stop. “Finally. I looked- I looked everywhere for you.”

“Oh- oh yeah. I’m so sorry.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and showed her the screen. There was a large crack right down the middle and her unsuccessful calls finally made sense. He hadn’t been suddenly ghosting her, after all. “Did… Um, did you get my…”

“I got your message.” Her instincts told her to just grab him and haul him in for a kiss like she’d wanted to for so long, but he’d asked her to talk and she wouldn’t make any rash moves; there was just too much on the line.

For a beat, he looked at her nervously, before he noticed the water running down her face, darkening her hair and clothes. He stepped closer, holding his umbrella over the two of them.

“Thanks.” She wiped wet strands of hair out of her face. Every now and then, a gust of wind blew cold rain underneath the umbrella like a lawn sprinkler that had lost its rhythm. She was exhausted. She’d had a very long day.

It didn’t escape her how his eyes briefly dropped down her face, awakening the memories of his lips brushing hers earlier that day, numbing the tips of her fingers for the fraction of a second, before he averted his face. “I’m sorry if I sprung all this on you, but…”

“No, I’m the one who has to apologize.” His eyes settled back on hers and the shiver running down her spine had nothing to do with the weather. “You were absolutely right, I had been running from my conflicts, and my feelings. I went home to talk to Eret.” She took a deep breath. “We decided to break up.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, I… Was… Was it true, then? About him and…”

“Dana? That wasn’t what I thought it was. You were right about that, too.”

“Well, I’ll have you know I am always right about everything,” he said with a one-shouldered shrug and the hint of a shy grin.

“Hmm, sure.” Her lips were twitching and the invisible string attached to her heart was pulling at her chest. The rain was cold and the heat his body was emanating was driving her insane. The proximity to him, the way he was looking at her, the light of the streetlamps reflecting golden specks in his deep green eyes sending a parade of tingles over her skin. “He hadn’t been cheating on me any more than I cheated on him.”

His brows furrowed; head cocked to the side ever so slightly.

“Emotionally. Not with Dana. And that’s only one of the reasons me and him didn’t work out.”

Shaking his head, his frown deepened. “So… What does that mean now? Astrid, why are you here?”

She mirrored his expression. “Because you wanted to talk–”

“No, I mean, why are you here? In the rain, soaked to the bone? You could have called later, or tomorrow, or any other time.”

“No, I couldn’t,” she replied, trying to lay all the sincerity she felt into her voice. “Like I said, I’ve been running away for way too long.” The world began to blur around her, the traffic and the rain faded, vision narrowing in on him, capturing his gaze so intently, it caused her palms to sweat and her hands to start shaking from the intensity. “I love you. Okay? I love you! I want to be with you, Hiccup! I- I love you.” Her heart was rapidly pumping liquid lightning through her veins from finally saying the words out loud.

The earth stopped spinning as she looked at him, waiting for a reaction. His lips were slightly parted, eyes posing as windows to his soul, alive and starry, burning into her like fireworks into the summer night. With bated breath, knees weakening under his gaze, she felt the electricity buzz around her, charging for the final blow. Seconds passed, small eternities, in which she couldn’t move, the current pinning her to the spot.

Then, he suddenly surged forward, grabbing her face with both hands, and lightning crashed through her as they finally connected in a blinding flash of blue and white. Her chest exploded; high voltage was coursing through her every nerve, every vein, blood alive, heart pounding in sync with his; it was like their souls were magnets, caught in each other’s magnetic field, too strong to disconnect.

Her heart was soaring, quaking, pulsating, the world empty but for them. Their heavy breaths and the deafening thunder in her soul the only sound reaching her ears. Space and time became foreign concepts, the universe narrowing down to where they stood, hands roaming over shoulders, necks, limbs and through hair, unable to linger, always seeking out more, lips chasing lips.

She had to hold onto him as the ground disappeared underneath her feet and she went falling, flying, tumbling through the clouds. Her stomach was doing somersaults, backflips, pirouettes; the lightning strike had left her blind. She couldn’t get enough of his touch, lungs screaming for air, but she couldn’t care less about breathing, reconnecting with his lips after every hasty intake of air, drowning in the feeling of wonder, of pure euphoria.

The only thing she knew to be real was the warmth of his body, the passion that let their lips collide over and over again until she felt dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the intense electric current running through their bodies like one.

Eyes still closed, they eventually parted for much required air, their foreheads touching, breaths mingling. Her hands were slowly sliding from his neck, resting over his erratic heartbeat, mirroring hers. His fingers trailed down her spine, settling around her waist.

“Did you feel that?” Her voice was shaking.

“The lightning?”

Her eyes fluttered open and her chest swelled with affection at the raw emotion in his eyes and the fact that he felt as much for her as she did for him. She nodded with a gulp.

“I did.” He lifted a hand to her face, gently wiping something hot and salty from her cheek that she hadn’t even noticed herself. “Is this real?”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Hey, if not, at least we’re stuck in the same dream, right?”

“Right.” Getting lost in his gaze again, she blinked when he suddenly cleared his throat and looked around, as if remembering that there was a whole universe out of their wonderful, perfect little bubble.

“We should probably go someplace dry.” The umbrella was discarded somewhere on the ground, dirty and forgotten. “I keep getting drenched today, how is that?!”

The laughter breaking out of her and the look he gave her in return were nothing short of breathtaking, and she wondered if she was ever going to get used to that, already addicted to everything about him, everything he was doing to her. “My car is back there.” She pointed in a general direction over her shoulder.

“Okay.” He leaned down and softly pecked her lips again, followed by another toe-curling, heart-stopping, world-shaking kiss, slow and deep, her fingers clutching at his soaked shirt. Their noses brushed, wet and cold. “Okay,” he repeated himself in a whisper and stepped away enough to entwine their hands, starting towards where she had pointed.

The skin of their interlaced fingers was frigid, but Astrid did not feel the cold. She just felt… free.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles as she steered him back to her car and the contact crackled through her nerves like an inextinguishable fire. Just this morning, she’d been shaken by her own confession to herself, still anxious over the fight she’d had with Hiccup the day before. Entire lifetimes had passed since then.

Glancing at him, she caught his eyes and the blinding smile on his lips. Oh, those lips. She had discovered a new drug and she was already high on it. With a weak fist, she punched his shoulder. “That’s for breaking your phone.” He blushed, rubbing his neck with his free hand. With her own, she fished her car keys from her uncomfortably wet jeans, pushing the button and glancing over him once more. “And what the hell are you wearing?!”

_______________

- End of Part 2 -

_______________

#httyd #hiccstrid #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #heather #fishlegs ingerman #snotlout jorgenson #when lightning strikes #modern au #a bit of angst with a dash of drama #or the other way around #maja writes #ff #fanfic #how to train your dragon

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infinites-chaser · 4 years ago

Text

all the lights that lead us there (are blinding)

| mlqc | shaw |

vague spoilers for ch.20+ content

he can't stay still. not really. his mind's always crackling with something some staticky noise that won't ever go— he tries to ignore it, lose himself in his music, his graffiti, his boarding, the play of electricity across his fingers late at night.

It starts like this: he's on the 330 bus at a hellishly early hour, listening to oasis's wonderwall (though he'll never admit it), the volume on his mp3 player turned up as loud as it can possibly go. just him, liam gallagher crooning in his ears, skateboard under his arm, the bass and drums thrumming through his veins like thunder.

correction: it's just him, the quaking wheels of the bus, and the girl who just got on— she's petite, delicate-looking, the kind of person he guesses is into pastels and flowers and gives people like him judgemental stares when they don't think he's looking. but when he stares at her, she stares back and for a second, it almost looks like the world could begin or end in her wide brown eyes. and maybe he wants it to.

(somehow, she seems familiar.)

he looks away first. static crackles around maybe you're gonna be the one who saves me.

and it's stupid but—

he's on the same bus every day. maybe he looks for her whenever he gets on. maybe he never sees her.

he cycles through the rest of what's the story morning glory. stops listening to oasis. vows to go back to something his bandmates wouldn't laugh at him for.

he's waiting for the bus again, same route, same time, same driver, blasting green day as loud as it'll go.

he closes his eyes. leans his head back against the sun-flecked window, cradles his skateboard close.

the bus rattles, coughs exhaust, then jerks to a stop. the doors woosh open, woosh shut.

footsteps tap light on the linoleum floor, come to a stop close to him. he doesn't move. then static fizzles and pops loud in his ears, billie joe armstrong's voice stutters, jarring, discordant, wrong

he opens his eyes, and it's her.

her and her wide eyes.

the bus jolts, his skateboard slides, and he catches it before too much damage can be done, but she levels that stare at him, bleeding-hearted dreamer's stare, looking like she wants to save the world, bring all the sinners to justice, his skateboard too, and for a moment he forgets himself.

he makes it rain for her.

gives her the umbrella on a whim.

maybe he wants her to save the world,

maybe he wants her she to save him,

he thinks she could. he thinks she will.

she does.

only, she's as self-sacrificing as he's selfish: didn't think you were a saint, he thinks to himself, the world ending, starting anew around him, time loops bending, universes shifting, floating in and out of focus.

he closes his eyes against every universe's, every timeline's final scene: her body limp as a rag doll's, her blood spreading dark and heavy across the war torn warehouse floor.

didn't think you were a hero, either.

the world's wrong, after. he thinks (stupidly, irrationally, immature, caring in a way he hasn't been in a long, long time) that he should've done more— all he's done is give her an umbrella. for rain and a storm he'd caused. it should've been him, at the end of it all.

though in a world where he's certain he's the only one who remembers her, he isn't really sure if she remembers him.

she doesn’t quite. then she does.

didn't think you looked a hero, he says, one late night over STF documents. her hands stiffen around her pen, her eyes narrow, glitter hard and bright to match it.

what do I look like, then, she asks, voice too-soft, too-calm

he falters. they have a balance, normally. he pushes. she pushes back. this time, he knows: he's gone too far.

what do I look like, she repeats, and her voice is still hard, her eyes still glittering, but there's an undercurrent to the ice, something thinning it, making her hardness fragile,

a savior, he says, near instinctively, and pretends not to notice when she nods, looks back down at her pen, and a tear slides down her cheek, splatters dark against the paper's white.

they come together, in fits and starts:

a warning text she ignores.

an insult. then another.

then, slowly, finally. an uneasy partnership.

it starts like this:

he takes her hand, pulls her onto the stage with him. it's hard to tell with the club's flickering lights. but he thinks she's blushing. it's cute. he's not afraid to admit it. he tries to tell her as much, but it's lost between the pounding of the speakers and the roar of the crowd. he settles for another devil-may-care smile.

what's your favorite song?

what?

I said, your favorite song!

you told me you'd tell me information. important information! that's why I came!

your favorite song, he repeats for a third time, even louder. maybe it'd be annoying if it were anyone else, but he'll say it again: she's cute with that pout.

then, hastily, as her pout deepens:

it's important information! in exchange, you'll learn how good my band is.

she snorts.

play anything, she says, and he finds his fingers straying over the strings of his bass to pluck out the opening notes of wonderwall. he doesn't dare look up to watch her expression 'til the chorus hits.

she sings along.

she looks happy. wistful happy. and maybe her smile's a little sad, and there's a glisten in her eyes when they lift to meet his, but the smile's for him, the way her gaze lingers is proof, and he'll take any smile he can get from her, no matter how sad.

oasis, huh, he says after. I knew it. your taste in music sucks.

she scoffs and reaches a hand up to knuckle his sweaty forehead, hard. he lets her. he'll take this, too.

later, he stretches a hand out, catches a raindrop, surveys it, then shrugs, half to himself. sure, it's cool to roll up to people like yeah I can cause storms (not to mention it's a hell of a handy evol in a fight) but maybe he's being stupid because when he sees her sad smile he wishes his evol could clear the clouds and bring her sunshine back instead.

he does the next best thing: he teases her. and maybe it makes her huff and pout more times than not, but it makes him happier which is really half the battle. and he's sure that behind some of those scoffs are smiles.

between their trading of barbs (always dry, quippy, light, never meant to hurt) she just goes quiet. he doesn't like quiet. he's not used to it, and from the look in her eyes when she gets that way, he can tell she doesn't like it either.

you can talk about it, you know, he says one time, and she freezes, blank stare instantly shifting to a deer-in-headlights look, then annoyance.

talk about what?

(atta girl, he thinks. sure it's defensive, but nothing scares him more than when she's just— nothing. lifeless. trapped in the past of a time worlds away.)

he scoffs.

your terrible taste in music? i meant— before

(and they both know what 'before' is without him having to say it aloud, saying it feels like it'd make it all the more real, it'd be wrong)

her eyes are wide again.

before? she says, and he feels it stretching between them, that distance, the void, the reminder that she and him, they don't have a before, only a now, maybe an after.

we need to talk about your taste in music, too, though. urgently, he adds quickly, musters a grin. waits for the scoff, the eye roll to come.

it doesn't. instead, she reaches up to ruffle his hair with a cheeky smile before he can react.

you're a good boy, after all, aren't you, hm?

he scowls. he goes to grab her hand, wind her fingers through his, but realizes what he's about to do seconds before his fingers brush hers— he changes trajectory, attends to his mussed hair. (there's an art to the rebel hairdo. clearly she doesn't know it.)

and he would retort, but she's still looking at him, and her smile's gone all soft, not in a sad way, but in a way that just. does things to his heart,

so when she says 'thank you,' all he can say back is 'you're welcome,' and if he sounds more sincere than he's ever before, she doesn't notice, but he is.

he's not sure when their relationship— reluctant alliance, friendship, more shifts, but it does, it evolves, it jumps— two steps forward, sparks fly, and they're back in the same place as before. same, he says, as if lightning could ever strike the same spot twice (he knows it does, he's not stupid, not like she is, eyes so bleeding heart wide they could swallow the world in her idealism, her kindness, they could and they will, after all, they've already swallowed him, remade him whole).

his days are filled with her, his nights, too. all the restless hours the clock strikes and neither of them wants to be alone,

bus rides at strange hours and electric eye contact across a crowded club after dark (he's tuning his guitar, about to take the stage, she's sitting alone at the end of the bar, two shots away from drunk) neon lights and drive-throughs before the dawn for hangover fast food, a tired employee's voice crackling through the speaker as he tries to give the order of the whole minivan— most nights it's him and the rest of his band, but once it's just him and her, sunrise after a sleepless night at the top of an empty parking garage, he gives her a can of spray paint and pretends to drive away while she runs after the banged-up van and tries to tag him, the studio and snacks and out-of-character honesty after waking up from nightmares

(it catches him by surprise, even as her brows curve up in surprise, too. the you can stay as long as you want, even though what he means is you can stay forever.)

she's sprawled clumsy across the faded cushions of his couch, halfway to dreamland, when he catches himself reaching to brush the hair from her eyes, thumb tracing tender over the edge of her cheek.

she murmurs something under his touch, soft, indistinct, and his heart's responding murmurs give his voice to a near-unconscious reply,

maybe, he whispers, you're gonna be the one who saves me,

he's about to leave her be when her finger catches round his pinky, holds his hand close,

save me? you already have, she says,

shut up, he says back, you're drunk.

her eyes blink open, spark bright when they lift to meet his and he's falling, he's already gone, about to make another mistake to add to the many or the one right choice in his life

not drunk, she mutters, and her eyes shutter closed.

he swallows.

I know, he replies. her brow furrows.

he waits a second, a second longer, but her eyes stay closed this time. her breathing evens in the silence. the worry smooths out from between her eyes. she looks peaceful for once,

for once, he could almost imagine her happy. imagine them happy. the thought gives him courage again, to linger at her side. to lean in. to press his lips to the back of her hand.

makes it a promise, an oath sworn by someone who'd never once wanted to be loyal to anyone but himself,

someone who'd decided that there's someone he's willing to follow.

someone he wants to have. to hold.

(all the world's adventures and he wants to be hers.)

#me: i am takinf a break from mlqc #also me: turns on wonderwall. sHAW BRAIN GO BRR #mlqc #mlqc shaw #val writes #this is so non linear and i have graduated to the postmodern school of no quotation marks we die in italics #the truth is it's like this. bc i started last summer and gave up but. today was a shaw day and i said screw it ITS getting. finished.#bUT IT IS intended to be. VIBES. and vibes only #the vibe here is. shaw being a soft bastard who listens to wonderwall that's it #this is not coherent and neither am i but.#here we are anyway

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