#(I was going to talk to him about going off of my long term steroids but uh. not happening with the low blood sugar)

[tj-crochets]

anybody else ever think "oh I'm the kind of stressed where I should distract myself and make something, like a stuffed animal" and then it turns out no, your blood sugar was just low? I've got a new record low (but technically still not hypoglycemia) blood sugar and a three and a half foot long worm plushie (it only occurred to me to check my blood sugar after I was done making the worm, I'm fine now but ugh)

[skyeslittlecorner]

I just notice that all the kings are like... really tall...

So... Could I request some headcanons about the kings with a smol MC (smolllll) are going for a walk, then MC tries to keep up with their long steps and said "Wait for me! I got little legs!!!". The king's reactions plssssss 😭😭 (sorryyyyy for the grammar 🥹)

They’re HUGE and perfect this way. PB didn't skimp on giving them growth steroids. And I'm talking about all their sizes. 38 cm… AHKEM back to the point. Poor Satan, he's the only one of reasonable size in human terms and suffers for it lmao Mocking him for it is my love language

Also, don't worry about your English, it's good! As long as we understand each other everything is fine. I'm not native english speaker myself.

꧁:･ ✡ ･:꧂

Satan will look at you over his shoulder. He walks quite fast and is always in front to protect you. Usually, he will slow down a bit, but he won't want to walk hand in hand with you unless you are in a safe place or someone else is in front of you. For safety. If he wants to tease you, he'll pretend he doesn't hear you down there (do you know how satisfied that makes him? Finally, someone shorter than him). Ah, if you need to get somewhere fast, be ready to be thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. And he really hope it pisses you off~

Mammon slows down immediately. His Master's words are his command. It will take him a while to learn to walk really slowly, he is huge, his one step is your three. “Maybe we can work on speeding you up, Master? Maybe I'll carry you in my arms? Sedan chair? Levitating shoes? What do you mean, such thing doesn't exist? We will invent it for you. Walking slower is enough? Alright, then be it.” Still, he likes the idea of carrying you the most, so be prepared that sometimes your walk will be in his arms.

Beelzebub will speed up, turn on his heel and walk backwards, teasing you in the process. “These poor little legs need some work out, what do you say to run with me~?” His taunts go in one ear and out the other because you wonder how he hasn't tripped yet. When he gets tired of teasing you, he will come over and wrap his arm around your waist. That way he won't forget to go at your pace (suuure, we all know that’s not the real reason).

Leviathan will stop in place. If you run into his back, expect a glance of contempt over his shoulder. "Pathetic." But despite his muttering to himself, he'll be the only one who remembers it. Always. You may not pay attention to it anymore, because from now on he will always walk at a pace that is not a problem for you. He will remember it and adjust his speed to you every time. After all, he's perfect, isn't he?

[cblgblog]

Tess lives, does Jackson go better or worse?

Yes.

Better because Joel probably isn’t having the panic attacks with Tess there, at least not to the degree we see in the show. The whole ‘I’m failing her in my sleep,’ and ‘I wake up knowing I’ve lost something,’ that’s still gonna be there, but so much of it was also tied to him being ALONE with Ellie. The writers have said that Tess was the one who made the plans, and the only one who could in any way control Joel emotionally (see the way she talks him down when he’s losing his shit about her being beaten up and the fear of not getting the battery). He was alone with Sarah when she died. It was his job to protect her, his only job in life was to protect her, and he failed that spectacularly. So when Tess dies it goes from him not wanting to get attached to this kid at all to the added thing of, he failed Tess too, she’s gone and she made the plans, now it’s back to just him in charge of keeping this girl alive, and he has a shit track record at that. So while he’s probably scared to death still, and he may well still be having nightmares, Tess would be there to calm him down and keep him somewhat grounded.

Worse, because all that being said, he probably still wants to have Tommy finish things off. Because he’s still terrified of this kid, and what he had and lost with Sarah, but by then he’d have something else to be scared of too, which is Tess with this kid. The two of them together, with this kid. Whatever happened to Joel’s wife—we don’t know if she died or left or how long she was potentially in Sarah’s life—she clearly hadn’t been a thing in a long time when Sarah died. He’s a single dad, that’s what he is. Except he wouldn’t be with Tess there, he’d be watching Tess with this kid and trying not to get attached to that dynamic too, and be failing miserably. So he’s got a whole other thing to be terrified of losing.

Now, regardless of how he asks Tommy or if he even gets that far here—because he cannot fucking have that conversation with Tess in the room with them, he’d immediately get murdered—Tess would be pissed the fuck off at him for even voicing the thought. She’d understand why he’s having it, but she’d be pissed the fuck off, never mind if he actually does ask Tommy when she’s not around, because that’s a whole other level of murder rage. Because she wasn’t going to ditch the kid even at the start. If she’s lived through all this stuff with them on top of that…there’s no scenario where she’d ever allow Tommy to take Ellie. Which, look, if Tess was alive, let’s be real, Tommy’s immediate and only response would be what does Tess say?

Maria is also better and worse. Better because okay, there’s a woman here, I don’t have to worry about teaching the kid about period supplies. It’s not just a very small teenage kid just, alone with this guy. Worse because okay, she does not trust Joel in canon. She’d trust Joel with Tess even less, because Tommy’s told her what Tess is capable of as well. Also, Maria never would’ve gotten a chance to try and question Ellie alone if Tess was there. Just, never would’ve happened. Which, Maria would know that Tess was doing that, keeping her from being alone with the kid, so Maria finds out even less than she does in canon about the situation and…it’d be a whole thing, okay? Maria and Ellie, that was already a chess game, in terms of the back and forth there. Maria and Tess, that would be 4-D chess on steroids.

There’s just, so much about Jackson that would be the same and different if Tess lives, man. Ellie might still bolt, if she hears them talking about stuff and realizes that Joel wants to ditch her even if Tess doesn’t. Or she might not, because she knows Tess wouldn’t ditch her. But even if she did take off like canon, she and Joel wouldn’t have the ‘Everybody fucking except for you’ moment, the ‘I’m not your daddy, you sure as hell aint my daughter’ moment. It just wouldn’t happen like it did in canon, even if part of it did, which is a whole thing by itself because that moment is so, so pivotal to their arc in canon.

Anyway yeah um, that. Better and worse, because very, very few things in TLOU would ever go entirely and completely better, regardless of any changes that are made.

[apriiicotx]

Lady Killer I(2)

part two.

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Snap, Snap. “Hello? Are you too mysterious to talk to me?” Her eyes focused back on Kash. “No, no, I’m sorry. I zoned out, It’s just really pretty in the fall.” Kash continued talking about classes and what he planned on taking in the winter. Looking at him, Vira noticed how lowkey conventionally attractive he was. He had short curly hair that he bleached before November hit, which explains the outgrown black roots. He had an anti-brow piercing that matched with his ex-girlfriend, she still doesn’t get how she talked him into it‒and Vira considered him more on the malnourished(skinny) side but he just calls it the “Twink Proto-type”. Not to mention, his summer tan was fading away so it didn’t help refuting Vira's opinion. Kash dressed like one of those Cali boys who just wore baggy jeans, white sleeveless tops all day, and a little silver necklace to cherry it off. Necklace also from his ex-girlfriend. “I’m thinking about taking another Arabic literature class. I heard good reviews from my friends and they said the professor is pretty chill too,” He took a sip of iced coffee. “I just gotta figure out a way to move my work schedule around to take it.” Vira took another sip and nodded her head, “Yeah, I think winter term, I’ll just be working. None of the winter classes help with my major.” Kash sighed, “You’re always working, Boo!! You don’t even come out anymore on the weekends. ‘Dunno why you still at that shitty 7-eleven wanna be store.” Her index finger tapped his screen, the time read 10:05—class started soon. “Mm, I actually like the job..well more now that I’m working night shifts, its pretty dead.” Hearing Vira's response gave him a worrisome expression, “This may sound cliche as hell but not sure if you’ve been watching the news, they’re saying people have been going missing.” Missing, that’s a complete turnaround for the sleepy town Manchester, Oregon. Vira was quiet for a while and she processed the news she just heard. Knowing that she was working shifts and tended to dress well, she hoped she didn’t draw the wrong attention. Kash noticed her body language stiffened a bit, he didn’t want to scare her—he cleared his throat. “Only because my big masculine steroid hot tan bod won’t be there to save you if you mean mug a customer too hard.” What…? Vira said to herself, he played too much. Kash took her expression as amusement and gave off a laugh. He got up from the chair and placed his bag over his left shoulder, “let’s gooo, it’s 10:15 now. Your class is by 10:30”. She finished the rest of her matcha and grabbed her headphones and bag. Kash locked his arm with her and the two left the cafe, heading back to campus. 

Behind a lecture hall building,  a circle of students stood outside. It was now evening, so most daytime classes were over with. “Ahhh, Hanes was on my ass today,” One of the students said as he placed a cigarette to his lips. “Yeah, I honestly don’t know what his issue is, He acts like people read the sixty-two pages he assigns every night”. The other student pulls out a lighter and tosses it to the other. Vira leaned on the stair railing, listening to her classmate rant about professors, this was her way of spending time with her peers. “V you want one?” He held up the open box of Marlboro to Vira, offering her some. The black curly head nodded and took a stick from out the box. She didn’t consider herself a smoker but more of someone who smokes socially. If everyone else was doing something, it felt weird for her to be the only one not doing it. She felt this way with drinking, despite her family history of alcoholism. Including dating men and sex despite her not having attraction or interest in any of those things—she just didn’t want to be singled out. Her friend Jen once said she was “aroace’s final boss”, Vira didn’t get the joke. Kunae moved closer to light Vira’s cig as she placed it in her mouth. She took a long drag and exhaled the smoke, tilting her head upwards, eyes watching the dull clouds reel in. “But luckily I got accepted to that study abroad program in Barbados, I'm actually really happy I decided on marine biology. “ Kunae said before taking another drag. “Didn’t Vira help you write that application? Where’s her “thank you’?” Lun said while snatching her lighter from Kunae. One student laughed, “I knew there was no way you coulda got in by your own, not to even think about writing the application?” Another student chimed in, “pffft! Kunae who doesn’t even do the readings? Vira is an angel sent from God!” All the other students laughed and picked at Kunae as he bantered back with everyone. Vira was nearing the end of her cigarette, she flicked the ashes off. She felt a little jealous of Kunaes—he knew what he wanted to do but Vira had no idea. STEM, she excelled; Humanities and arts, she excelled but there was no passion for anything. Lun nudged her knee, “I appreciate you helping Kunae. He sucks at admitting he sucks but I know he appreciates you.” Vira rolled her eyes, “Assuming ‘thank you’ isn’t in his vocabulary?” She presses the bud of the cigarette on the railing, dropping on the floor. Lun picks it up, “Coulda just put it in the trash,” Vira waves goodbye at everyone and swings her bag on her shoulder. “That’s why I have you Lun-pookie~” Lun scoffs and waves, “Have fun at work!” Vira blew her a kiss.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

authors note:

Kash is my dream manzzzss.

[back-and-totheleft]

An artist of stark dualities and excesses

William Oliver “Ollie” Stone, child of Eastern privilege who eschewed at least some of that advantage to go through hard knocks on his own, a Vietnam Vet who enlisted and fought as an infantryman, later a pacifist and outspoken critic of American foreign policy and values, shock impact screenwriter and artful, sometimes poetic director — they’re all present in the 70something filmmaker’s rise-to-glory memoir, “Chasing the Light.”

I’ve been a fan pretty much since “Salvador.” My first reporting assignment at my first newspaper, where I was a freelance critic had me take five Vietnam War veterans to a showing of “Platoon” and buy them coffee at a local diner afterwards. Their harrowing stories, and tears at seeing their experience reflected so “accurately,” stick with me.

Stone remains a fascinating study in contradictions, champion of the underdog and occasionally an on-set bully, macho yet lefty, generous to every collaborator and teacher who helped him “make it,” learn his craft and get better at it, but almost always hitting them with a backhanded compliment or two. Or three.

From the beginning he has been an artist of stark dualities and excesses. He sees himself as Odysseus or a pirate, a rogue operator outside “The System.”

He comes off in print the way he’s always come off in interviews — passionate, thoughtful and somewhat dogmatic. I’ve interviewed him several times over the years, about his “Vietnamese POV” Vietnam film, “Heaven and Earth” (the third in his “trilogy” about his war — after “Platoon” and “Born on the Fourth of July”), about “World Trade Center,” his post-9/11 tribute to first responders and most “pro-American” work, and that Latin American politics doc he did a few years back. He’s long had that confidence of his opinions, certitude that he’s “right” in a historical sense, quick to analyze a performance, a colleague’s film or judge his own — sometimes harshly.

There’s a lot of psychoanalyzing of himself, his parents, their failed marriage, his own failures and insecurities in “Chasing the Light.” He talks about his drug abuse, hits a few romantic relationships, and consults his decades of diaries to remember everything from his father’s death to his first brushes with triumph.

I didn’t recall that his first trip to Vietnam was before the “escalation,” as an English teacher. I had no idea he was in LRRPs in Vietnam (Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol). That’s infantry on steroids.

I knew he had boarding school and Yale acceptance (he didn’t stick it out long) in his pedigree.

I didn’t realize he’d studied under wunderkind alumnus Martin Scorsese at NYU.

He understudied/worked for/was critiqued by the great screenwriter Robert Bolt (“Lawrence of Arabia,” “Doctor Zhivago”) in his 20s.

For this book about his long, long road to fame — “Seizure” (nobody saw it) to “The Hand” (a few more saw it) to “Salvador” (ditto) and then “Platoon” — Stone traces everything, from his scripts to his own saga, back to “The Odyssey.”

Stone’s lasting obsessions aren’t just Vietnam and America’s misguided way of throwing its weight around the world. It’s The Doors and Jim Morrison, as he quotes The Doors often, sees himself (and occasionally others) in Lizard King terms at several points in his memoir.

He details the ordeals involved in each early directing effort, and in his many screenwriting challenges — “Midnight Express,” “Year of the Dragon” and “Scarface” among them. Those are some of the most fascinating chapters in the book. He says Brian DePalma’s “operatic” take on his “Scarface” script has grown on him. Some.

Of Billy Hayes, the “hero” of “Midnight Express,” passed off in the media and the movie as just “a kid who made a mistake” — “stunned” that Hayes, contrary to the way he told his story, was caught on his “fourth” hash smuggling run out of Turkey, that Hayes led people to believe he was heterosexual, heightening (if that’s possible) the horror of prison sexual assaults and encounters.

“How do you live with yourself? I have no problem believing he can.”

Stone opens the book with an introduction to his love/hate relationship with the mercurial, motor-mouthed blowhard James Woods, telling tales out of school of Woods’ tantrums and fear-filled experiences filming “Salvador” on the fly in Mexico in the ’80s, fleeing a cavalry charge shot too early, exaggerating the danger and “Stone didn’t know what he was doing…but I did” way Woods described the experience.

Having interviewed Woods myself, a bantam rooster who can’t wait to work his (alleged) IQ into any introductory conversation, Stone seems on the mark in picking at the man being “the most insecure” movie star of them all. They worked together several times after their near-brawling “Salvador” experience.

The compliments mixed with slaps extends from Alan Parker, director of “Midnight Express,” who took his script and never invited him to the set, to Dale Dye, the formidable Vietnam vet and military consultant on many a war movie, who developed his “boot camp” for the cast of “Platoon,” and repeated that in other war films he worked on. Dye made “Platoon’s” cast a unit, with the right look and jumpy reflexes Stone remembered from his service. But keep politics out of the conversation, and Dye’s racial tolerance — filming in the Philippines — wasn’t the most enlightened.

Then again, he wasn’t the guy who kicked a Filipino production manager in the ass, on set, in front of the entire crew. That was Stone, who airs lots of his dirty laundry, even if he takes his shot at “explaining” or spinning that behavior. He also quotes freely from interviews conducted by a biographer who talked to many of those he worked for.

Stone is wise to limit this volume to his early years. His career has been winding down, although he has a small scale film, “White Lies,” in pre-production, “Snowden” didn’t set the world on fire and the Castro, Hugo Chavez and Vladimir Putin interview docs he’s made in the last haven’t done much for his reputation.

He turned 74 in mid September, and probably needed a better book editor to fact check his memories. He confuses the F4 Phantoms used in Vietnam with F16s — repeatedly (They didn’t come into service until ten years after his 1968 battles “in country”), gets a major plot detail wrong in “Gone With the Wind” just to make an analogy to his French mother taking up with his WWII American command staff officer father work. He thinks one-time producer-nemesis Dino DeLaurentis opened a movie studio in the middle of their ’80s kerfuffle in “Wilmington, Delaware” (Wilmington, NC sport).

But it’s a fair self-portrait, with enough colorful detail of research trips, filming ordeals and failing and failing and failing before finally succeeding, fine fodder for a film biography of one of the cinema’s grand mavericks.

-Roger Moore at Roger's Movie Nation blog, Sept 20 2020

[hereforhalstead]

Emergency Room

*Gif not mine, full credit to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader.

• Requested: Yes!

Could you please write a Jay halstead x reader, where she is a doctor at med and maybe a patient starts to get violent and Jay has to step in?

• Warnings: Swearing/Medical descriptions/Angst/Mentions of suggested violence

• Summary: Jay is always so used to being your protector, he doesn’t know how to stop himself when it comes to you. Even when you’re no longer together he can’t resist jumping in to get involved, he struggles to take the hints until you tell him what he never wanted to hear.

 Words: 2,319

• A/N : Y’all my toxic side took over with this one and I do not apologize. I always write the same kind of fics and really wanted to write some proper angst and this is the result lmao don’t hate me. I also have some other ideas for another part to this as I have some other requests I thought about combining with it so lemme know if you wanna see it.. p.s I’m cracking up with the way he’s walking in the gif but it was the only decent one I could find of him at Med😭

Full disclaimer, the medical terms are taken straight from an ep of Chicago Med as I didn’t want to mess anything up so turned on subtitles and started typing!

***

“Desmond, talk to me”

“Early 30′s male, found on the scene unconscious due to smoke asphyxiation. Intubated on the ride over”

You scramble over to the gurney as the paramedic, currently wheeling the 3rd victim of a gang turf arson attempt reels off vitals

“Y/N, Let’s get him in a room” Maggie orders, machine in hand as she frantically scans the room for an empty ward.

“There are no spare rooms, cafeteria or Doctors lounge” you cut off her search as she rolls her eyes in frustration at the overcrowded center “Doctors lounge it is”

You follow the paramedic into the empty room, watching as Will runs towards you to help “Transfer on my count” he demands, all taking hold as you prepare to transfer the young male onto the bed “1, 2, 3″ you all lift on three and the patient hits the bed with a thud of dead weight.

“Start a second IV and get him hooked on the monitor” you observe as Will examines the victim, grabbing at his burnt skin to gain further insight to the wounds “No gross deformities, but he’s got some pretty nasty burns including a full thickness near circumferential on his lower left arm. We need to get fluids into him”

Everyone got to work under his instructions, people manically darting throughout the room but still regaining a form of confidence in their actions. The patient was being monitored, vitals being read and noted whilst you and Will stood by to observe.

“Gonna be a long day, you sure you’re up for it?” he taunted, arms crossed with his eyes still set on the patient.

You scoffed and nudged his arm “Don’t be the second Halstead to piss me off” you warned, earning an exhale of laughter in response.

“What did he do now?”

Even watching this poor young man being strapped up to machines and injected with all kinds of steroids', that question still seemed more painful than any of it.

“Don’t start” you shoved him off, turning your attention to some commotion that had started to build outside the room, the waiting area which was now becoming severely overcrowded due to the concerned friends and family had tensions running high.

“Why is no one giving us answers?” you hear a loud voice boom, watching as Maggie becomes overwhelmed by the increasingly frustrated group that had taken over the hospital.

“You good here?” Will asked the team to which they all nodded “Let’s go” he tapped you on the arm, directing you to follow him.

As soon as the angry crowd caught sight of you and Will donned in some form of Doctor’s clothing, their attention turned to you. Soon all their shouting and questions were being flung at you, both stood in shock as you could barely even make out what they were saying.

“Can everyone just take a breath and lower the voices” Will shouted but his voice seemed timid compared to the intimidated voices coming back at the pair of you “If everyone stops shouting at once, we can try to answer some questions” you also chimed in but similar to Will, your voice was lost in the crowd.

“Everyone needs to back up and shut up”

Suddenly everyone was silent, all eyes turned to see Voight stood in the doorway. Stern look upon his face as he examined the room “If you all shout at once, no one can hear you” he stated, making his way over to you with his hands tucked firmly in his police vest.

“If I hear one more person raising their voice, I’m taking you back to the station with me” A few low grumbles were heard but other than that, nothing. Silence.

“Thanks Hank” Will whispered under his breath to Voight who simply nodded “Don’t thank me, it was your brother who said we should get down here”.

Your heart stopped.

“Where is Jay anyway?” he questioned, more so to himself as he scanned the room to look for the Detective.

You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you, you wanted to run, you wanted to hide, you wanted to be anywhere but here. With him.

“Will?!”

There it was, that voice that used to bring you a form of comfort and safety but now filled you with dread and anxiousness. Turning to be somewhat hidden by Voight as the three of you watched him jog over to you in an agitated state.

“Where’s Y/N?” his voice was filled with concern and a panic that you’d never seen on him before. Will looked over at you with a slight smirk “You mean, her?”

You were cowering behind Voight, like a scared child being faced with the monster under the bed. You didn’t intend to be covered by him but it just happened to be from how you were standing and you were not mad about it.

“Oh, uh” he mumbled, clearly not expecting to see you so soon as he started biting the inside of his cheek, one of the habits he had picked up when he was nervous “Just wanted to make sure you were alright”

“I’m fine” you harshly bit back, Will flicked his eyes between the pair of you with confusion like he was watching a tennis match unfold.

Jay simply nodded, satisfied with seeing you for himself to relieve his nerves and reassure himself you were safe. Things often kicked off and escalated fast at the hospital when an incident like this occurred, tensions were running high and the friends and family just saw you as someone in their way between them and the one they loved. They saw you as the enemy when all you were trying to do was help.

“Can someone please take me to my son?” A quiet voice appeared behind you. Turning to see a distraught mother, clinging to what seemed to be her sons sweater.

“Sorry Ms, what’s your sons name?”

“Adrian. Adrian Jeffers” she was quick to respond to Will’s question as he subtly shot you a glance “Come with me, I can show you to his room”

“I’ll come with” Voight agreed to accompany Will, happy with knowing Jay would step in and help keep the situation under control in his absence. You on the other hand were less than happy, as if the day hadn’t already taken off to a bad start, you were now faced with an angry group alone, with only Jay to help.

“You good?” he kept his eyes forward, inching closer to you with every breath as he rested his hands on his hips “Just brilliant” you sarcastically hit back, hearing a light chuckle fall from his lips “Glad to hear it”.

Maggie was trying her best to keep people away from the doors you were stood behind, answering questions wherever she could or atleast forming some kind of response to keep them calm but they were getting the best of her.

“Look Y/N, I ju-” Jay turned to you, you could already hear the sorrow in his voice before another round of shouting burst through the doors “Is someone gonna tell me if my daughter is alright or are you two gonna stand there and do nothing?”

Jay raised his brows at the tall man, instinctively taking a step forward to position himself in front of you "Sir, if you could just lower your voic-” he tried to reason with him but understandably his patience was running thin and didn’t appreciate being told what to do.

“She needs to tell me what’s going on” he pointed a finger, lunging forward to now be within mere inches of you “Or so help me god I’ll-”

“You’ll do what?” Jay flipped, you could see the fist he now had clenched at his side and the way his jaw stiffened “For your own good, don’t finish that sentence” he continued to threaten, sinister smile spreading across his lips as the man opposite still stood his ground

“What are you? Her boyfriend trying to save the day?” he chuckled, fear building inside you as he stood towering over Jay. You weren’t scared for Jay, you were scared for the large man who was trying to overpower him. He had no idea what he was letting himself in for with the way he was taunting Jay.

“I’m someone who will beat your ass if you take another step closer to her”

You tried to stifle a laugh, Jay had the patience of a saint but when it came to you he could lose it in an instant. Like a switch that would flip inside, he’d see red at the slightest of things and this was no exception.

“I’m just trying to get some answers and this pathetic woman, won’t give them to me” he almost sounded like he was trying to defend himself but the scorn in his gaze and booming voice, said otherwise.

“You sure that’s how you wanna play this?” Jay took yet another step forward to now be in dangerously close proximity with the man staring down at him, you knew you had to step in before he lost what little control he still had.

You placed a hand on Jay’s shoulder, his rigid frame instantly softening under your touch. Almost like he’d lost himself and forgotten you were there all together, he seemed to snap out of his anger when he remembered you were stood behind him.

“Sir, if you come with me I can take you to your daughter. I can only apologize for the wait you’re experiencing but assure we are doing everything we can to help” you tried to usher the man away but Maggie was quick to take him off your hands.

“I’d really appreciate if you could stay here, you can answer their questions a whole lot better than me” she pleaded, relief clouding her vision as you nodded “This way, she’s just through here” she directed, leading the relative away and trying to ignore the intimidating glance he shot back at you as they left.

Jay huffed as he ran a hand along his jawline “What a dick”. You turned to him with disgust at the little remorse and understanding he had for the situation, he was only there for you and didn’t seem to care about anything else.

“Take a look in the mirror, asshole”

The speed in which he snapped his head to you, it’s a surprise he wasn’t being admitted for whiplash with the shocked expression on his face “Excuse me?”

“You don’t get to just swoop in and act like my hero, Jay” you defended “He’s a concerned relative who just wants to see his daughter, have some respect”

“I do have respect I ju-”

You were tired. Tired of him. Tired of the angry crowds. Just tired.

“No Jay, you came here for me. You didn’t care about anything else” you could feel the anger within you rising but tried to remain calm as you could see he was also starting to get worked up.

“I wanted to make sure you’re alright” his voice was still somewhat apprehensive despite the current glare he was staring down at you with.

“You don’t have to protect me anymore, I’m not yours to care for” you bit back, watching as his face fell at your harsh words.

“I’ll always protect you, don’t say something stupid like that again”

He took a brief pause, looking away to regain some composure before turning his attention back to you. The darkness in his eyes, he was mad. But so were you.

“Just go home and chill out, stick Gossip Girl on and order a pizza”

“I’ve moved on from Gossip Girl” you muttered to which he let out a grunt of laughter “That doesn’t mean shit, you’ll still watch it after a bad day and don’t try and tell me otherwise Y/N”.

“Jay, just leave me alone” you nudged his shoulder as you made your exit, getting only a few steps away before he grabbed at your hand. You pulled away instantly as he watched your hand fall back to your side.

“Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll go”

You both stood in silence, those few seconds feeling like hours as he waited for your answer. You couldn’t tell if he was asking or hoping as he scanned your face for answers, brows slightly knitted as you scoffed

“I don’t love you, now go.”

***

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[bondsmagii]

Hey read (some of) this blog post (long as hell), tries to pick it up where your old scp cult post left off: lackoflepers medium com/scp-is-not-a-cult-196e87ce6b11

(link)

this is insane. I've never written anything that's ever received a full response before, so that's exciting. what's even more exciting is that this piece does raise some really interesting questions, and is very well-written and thoughtful.

the strange thing is, I think we're both in agreement -- but I'm calling it a cult, and the author of this piece is calling it a "fledgling religion". I agree with this outlook, if I'm honest -- but at the same time I can't help but think that this has filled a hole in my cult theory, rather than poked a hole in it.

when I wrote the original cult post, the one thing I couldn't quite equate was the religion aspect. there was a lot of things to consider from that aspect, in terms of cults requiring a certain doctrine, rituals, etc, and while I was able to draw comparisons to the site culture and these things, it didn't quite fit. this article explains and illustrates exactly what all of these things are, and the sheer amount of similarities between the SCP wiki culture and religious fundamentalists. it's absolutely incredible, how it all still adds up.

however, some things are way off. I understand the author has a history with site and with staff, and they obviously understand that there's a complicated relationship between the two. the piece certainly tackles the question from an educated site-critical standpoint, but I can't help but notice some glaring omissions and in some places, assumptions which I feel are quite simply incorrect. under the cut we go, because this is long.

the author seems to be very ignorant of the site's cyclical patterns. one of their main arguments for the wiki's not being a cult is how people like Dr Gears and thedeadlymoose don't have more power over the masses, being such important figures. the problem with the wiki is that it is very cyclical, and big names of one era do not translate over to new eras. big names replace old ones, and the old ones either become fond grandparent figures (like Gears, who had the sense to take a step back before the tides changed against him) or they become irrelevant or reviled (like thedeadlymoose, or pixelatedharmony (Roget).) this means that if the former appeals to the group, they will get essentially a pat on the head and a gentle dismissal, or if the latter speak out they will be silenced, harassed, banned, etc. this is very cultlike behaviour -- if somebody goes against the grain, they become an immediate enemy of the people. the only way to survive fame on the wiki is to retire quietly, at your peak, and keep yourself to yourself.

going on from this, there are also different levels to how a staff member is seen. there have been eras of the site where the site admin might not be as impressive as one of the prolific writers, for example. who these days knows about The Administrator? it's all Dr Gears to them. different authors have different levels of unofficial authority, and the author of the piece doesn't seem to realise that it's a cult of personality as much as anything else. there are constant divisions among staff, even if they present a united front; frequently those not toeing the party line have been ostracised or purged, and this filters down to the average user. just because a person is on staff does not mean they immediately skyrocket to godhood, if we're using the religious metaphor. this is why it seems as though "staff" as a whole isn't uniformly worshipped -- they're not. there are complex currents of power at work here, and it's frustrating because at first glance it seems to invalidate the very real fact that a few site members have all the authority. the staff worship extends to staff members. those in lower tiers will act similarly to those in higher tiers as a new member would act towards all staff.

the author draws attention to thedeadlymoose's impressive efforts to bring the site forward from its 4chan beginnings and make it more inclusive to LGBT members -- something that has undoubtedly had an effect. however, the author does not mention that to date, the site's only successful splinter site (as in, a site that lasted more than a few weeks) is RPC, and while this website came about for multiple reasons, it's undeniable that one of these reasons was because of the fact that the wiki was openly supportive of LGBT people during Pride Month. it's also interesting to note that the author is also a member of the RPC site, so it's odd that this piece of the site's origins is not mentioned.

the acceptance of these pro-LGBT policies also seems to be less wide-spread than the author believes -- most people don't care, there does exist users who are homophobic or transphobic, and -- something I'm surprised wasn't mentioned at all in the piece -- when LGBT members of the site spoke up and said the new logo made them feel pandered to, and the resulting blowout made them feel targeted and unsafe, they were mass banned from the subreddit by a rogue moderator who, incensed by the fact his authority was so challenged, then ragequit and abused people on the threads for several hours. this is a typical staff response to discontent in the masses. so yes, thedeadlymoose did have some significant sway in the attitude changing somewhat, but it was not as widespread (nor as cared about) as the article's author seems to think.

now, I shall move on to specific quotations.

Furthermore, as a gaggle of creators, SCP should never feature the mass conformity of thought that defines a cult; theirs is an ecosystem that predicates itself upon creation, and obsessively on the new and original — that is to say, the different (but tempered).

while the author does elaborate on this idea of creativity and conformity, this is just wrong. again, I blame the author's ignorance in regards to the cyclical nature of the site -- which isn't the fault of the author, in my opinion. such cycles are slow, measuring out in years rather than months, which is insanely long for an internet community. in order to notice them, you would have to have been observing for some time -- which I have been. since I have been observing the site (which has been since its very creation -- I was on the 4chan thread in 2007 when 173 was created and I have seen the wiki from its infancy on EditThis over to wikidot) I have seen this happen countless times. a type of writing, be it style or genre, takes off. it could be LOLFoundation, grimdark, whatever -- it takes off, it runs the site for a year or so, and then it crashes and burns. when it takes off, there are rules for writing it that must be obeyed lest you be downvoted to oblivion. as the attitude turns against it, those who still write it are vilified and ostracised, and the new one takes over. there have been mass purges in the past, and there has always been, since the wiki's inception, conformity of thought. one of my oldest complaints about the wiki is that, for a site full of writers, they have no imagination and absolutely no desire to step out of the approved style.

To put it very broadly, things get accustomed to the status quo in a highly regulated environment, and get better at simply remaining and surviving in that.

this could be a decent rebuff to my previous point, but the fact is that while the SCP wiki harbours cultish behaviour, a vast majority of the users are casual readers who maybe write one or two articles. the stagnation is, at least partially, because of the fact that most users sign up, read some articles, think "cool, I have an idea for one!", write it -- and have it emulate the articles they've read, thus sounding similar in tone and content to the rest of the recent articles -- get a semi-decent response if lucky, and then move on after a few months or years.

the people who power the wiki, however -- who are prolific, who churn out insane amount of articles -- are suffering from what I outlined in my above point. a small percentage of the wiki dictates the direction it goes. it has always been like this -- and people who go against the grain that staff have employed, be it old user or new, will pay for it. this payment is often in downvotes, but occasionally comes in harassment, bans, or deletions, too.

Lastly a cult is really the most extreme version of a religion, it is a religion on steroids.

this is straight-up incorrect. cults began as religions gone hayware, yes, but the idea of a cult as a Jonestown-style compound in the middle of nowhere is outdated. cults are the most extreme version of an ideology -- be it religious, political, or otherwise. they are ideologies on steroids. thanks to the internet, they also no longer have to be in real life spaces. you can be in a social cult on Twitter or on Discord; you can be in a cult of ideology on an incel forum or in a social circle of TERF blogs. all of these things are cults. they have cult-like behaviour and thinking.

this is where the author proves my point beyond all doubt. the author says the following about the wiki's increasingly left-wing inclusive policies:

What was intended to be an executive extension in peace has, due to the force required to counteract the sheer hostility and persecution once leveled at this group at its peak, instead overshot its mark and has become a brutal bureaucratic sanctioning of political identity. (I can hear someone saying that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.)

the biggest shift in this cult-think, for me, was observed when the shift towards Terminally Online Woke Left attitudes began to be increasingly observed. I'm not talking about getting people to tone down the homophobia and whatnot. I'm talking about this culture of purity and suffering that the author outlines very well in the article; if you have read the article, I needn't go over it again. the wiki now holds a monopoly on suffering using the same kind of Oppression Olympics as other spaces devoted to purity culture -- and purity culture is a cult. this is straight-up fact at this point. it is my belief that staff identified the power available to them in a) targeting people from oppressed and vulnerable groups and giving them a so-called safe space and b) using their various oppressions to their advantage.

something that is prolific in purity culture circles is that somebody who is oppressed in any way cannot be held to blame for their actions. they cannot be a bad person. this is ideological armour, and staff wields it. they also use purity culture and apparently progressive ideology to shut down anyone who dissents, and to smear their name and have then ostracised as an enemy. why do they do this? liking the power and fame of their position is a big part of it, as the author outlined, but something major is missing.

throughout the entire article, the author does not once mention the detailed and extensive history of staff sexually abusing minors on the site.

this is well-documented by this point. staff has seen many predators in its ranks, including one of the most prolific site members of all time -- AdminBright, or The Duckman. staff has known about these staff members and has covered it up over years. I myself have heard testimony from countless victims, but whenever we raise enough of a stink, a staff member does an "internal investigation" and nothing comes of it. the fact that the cult-like behaviour of this website can be discussed without one of the cornerstones of cult activity -- using its members for financial or sexual gain -- is astounding to me.

to go on from this, there is also no mention of the SCP lawyer fund, which raised over $30,000 and then faced staff actively resisting transparency as to the case and the funds. financial manipulation is another major example of cult behaviour.

without acknowledging these two things, I do not think that a full argument against the idea of the SCP wiki as a cult can be possible.

the author raises a good point that illustrates both why staff acts the way it does, and why the users are so eager to imitate:

The answer is something that can turn someone into their nemesis; something that would make someone sell their soul for 1000 upvotes; that tragic commonality that binds all individuals who feel the need to write; the need to be received, but more, to be loved for it.

this is a big reason why staff clings to its power, and why people sell out their creativity, and why people emulate this behaviour, and why prolific authors burn out so fast. however, running through all of this at its core -- through the need to be received and loved -- is the power that comes with it. this is all about power.

to mention the specific example of LordStonefish, and his reaction when he found out that his interviewer was enemy of the people pixelatedharmony, now of "burning out, ragequitting the site, and going to talk shit on KiwiFarms" infamy:

[...] it was as if LSF was speaking to a leper, and that the ongoing participation in the salvation of public approval (not to mention site participation as well) was directly dependent upon LSF’s rebuke of pH as a demon who is only worthy of a terrible fate and, as we see in the screencaps, even death.

leaving my personal opinions on Harmony out of this, going from a perfectly civil interview to finding out that the interviewer was an enemy and not only dumping all of his private information to offset doxing, but also going into detail about some highly personal stuff for shock value... I don't think Harmony quite required that treatment. the fact is that, as the quote outlines above, the only way to ensure that he wouldn't be completely ostracised for fraternising with the enemy (KiwiFarms -- of which Harmony is apparently the ambassador) was to behave like a man shunning a sinner. Harmony has sinned -- she rejected the status quo, she defied the group and its authority, and LordStonefish, in order to remain safe from being tarred with the same brush -- has to react with suitable horror to her presence.

it should be noted here that while KiwiFarms has a reputation for being a hive of scum and villainy, its main reputation regarding the SCP Wiki has been for being the one place where complaints against the site are openly discussed, often by defected staff members such as pixelatedharmony and Cyantreuse, and perhaps most telling of all -- the place where a lot of accounts of sexual harassment and abuse have been filed. staff rails against it on the grounds of it being filled with people who use slurs and have questionable ideological beginnings (ironic, coming from a website which began on 4chan) -- but as a leftist myself with extensive knowledge of the wiki, I can confirm that no criticisms I've seen on there have been unfair or inaccurate, and in fact a lot of the evidence and testimony posted there is damning. it would be fair to not wish to associate with the site because of its content in other places, or even its past reputation, but the fact staff rail against it so hard when it's currently one of the only places (and certainly the only public place) where their deeds are on display? it's interesting.

of LordStonefish's reaction, the author says:

This is the behavior of a deeply religious figure.

it is. this is the reaction of a Mormon meeting an old friend who has left the church. this is the reaction of a Jehovah's Witness crossing the street to avoid a shunned neighbour. it is the behaviour, you could say, of a cult member.

in the conclusion, the author states:

And if anyone is to shoulder blame for the creation of this pathology and its complex, it are those true bigots of history and today, who don’t have the spiritual maturity to understand that someone’s sexual preference or identity shouldn’t be enough to categorically separate them from a definition of humanity; to beat, maim, and wish death upon them.

perhaps this might have been true, perhaps this might have drawn a thoughtful and damning line under the whole affair, if not for the fact that this behaviour has been occurring since long before the internet became known for its progressive and now increasingly often, ridiculous takes on inclusion and sensitivity. this kind of cultish groupthink has been ongoing since the wiki's very first inception. the cyclical worship of a group of staff members and other prolific writers (though the group are often one and the same) and their chosen theme or genre has occurred like clockwork since the late 00s. it has occurred when the website was still entrenched in its 4chan days and saying slurs was barely blinked at. it was still there back when staff was predominantly (or at least presumably) cis, white, and male. it was there when being gay was the butt of a joke and being trans was all but unthought of. it has always been there, and while the latest progressive policies and attitudes have had an effect on how the power is wielded, it has not changed the power itself. if the tides ever turn on the Terminally Online Woke ideology, staff will change with it and adapt their policies and ideologies to keep their power.

if anyone is to shoulder the blame for the creation of this pathology, it is the elitist attitude that has allowed a select few to be worshipped unquestionably. it is the power-hungry individuals who seek out fame and respect on a writing website and then use this fame and respect to treat others badly and their fear of a fall from grace to shelter others treating people worse. it is on the shoulders of the staff members who use their position to groom and sexually assault minors. it is on the shoulders of the staff members who keep it silent. as the severity of staff's secrets has increased, so has their attempts to silence dissent and reform at all costs.

the author agrees that this kind of religious think might lead to a cult in the future. the author says the cult will be a cult of vulnerability, but I disagree. I believe the cult is already there, and it is -- and always has been -- a cult of power.

[abbatoirablaze]

Artificial Alpha, Hormone Therapy

Word Count:  923

“Still nothing?” Kyle teased. 

He glared at his older brother, “shut up…I’m not some gross beta like you are.  Or even some stupid omega like Zeke is.”

“You’re sixteen Bobby,” Zeke chuckled as he looked at his youngest sibling, “bout time that you came to terms with yourself…yer gonna be an omega like me.”

“No, I’m not,” he growled, pushing his older brother, “don’t you dare say that Zeke.”

“Better invest in an omega collar,” Kyle smirked, “like Zeke did.  You need to start saving up that money from your paper job.  When Zeke presented all the neighborhood cubs were looking to breed him.  You know how packs like a male omega around to keep the alphas good to go without the threat of a cub.”

“Shut up, Kyle.”

“Well, it’s true,” he laughed, “I remember mom shooing your little boyfriend off the porch with a broom and he showed with flowers for you every day.  You got four alphas in your pack and another omega girl.”

“He also thought that I was a girl when he first caught my scent,” he muttered, “I mean how many guys get stuck with floral scents.”

“Yer den brothers like it.”

“At least I have den brothers, Kyle.  No one wants a beta.  You guys are useless.”

“I’m not an omega… I’m not an omega.”

“Woah, woah…where you going kid?”

“Sorry Mr. Smith…just…things have been going rough with my family.”

He sniffed the air momentarily and chuckled, “still haven’t presented yet, kid?”

Bobby felt very insecure as the older man stared at him, “that’s none of yer business Mr. Smith.”

“Can’t smell ya, kid…sure you’re not just a zeta…no designation…you’re around the age where you would have presented as an alpha or beta by now…only thing left are the omega designations or a zeta.”

Bobby felt anger rising in his stomach as his blood pumped through his veins.  “Don’t you dare say that…”

“Just the truth,” the man shrugged, “Need a little something to help you figure it out?”

Bobby froze.  His brows furrowed, “what are you talking about?”

“Can help you out with your little problem, Pronge.  Get it all sorted nice and quick for ya.  No trouble.”

Bobby took a step back, “look, I don’t know what you think is gonna happen, but I ain’t no omega…and I am not gonna let some sicko plug me up because he thinks I’m an easy target.  I ain’t trying to be no pedo’s knot holder.”

“Relax Bobby,” he chuckled, “I just mean that I got something that could make you present…as an alpha…you know…even if you ain’t one.  I ain’t interested in ya like that, ya weird kid.”

“I-I am an alpha.”

“An alpha that presents after sixteen?  Even you have to know how rare that is, right?” he asked.  He scoffed and clapped the younger boys’ shoulder as he looked at him skeptically, “alright.  Sure you are, Bobby…look.  I know you’re a good kid and I want to help you out.  I’ll take a little off your pay and you be the test subject for it…”

“Y-you mean it’s not ready to go?” Bobby asked nervously, “like it ain’t even a real thing?”

“It ain’t exactly regulated, you see,” he muttered, “if you’re an omega, you’ll present as a delta.  If you’re a sigma you’ll present as an alpha…and if you’re nothing, well you’ll present as a theta…the genetic opposites.”

“So there’s no promise I’ll be an alpha?” he asked, “I-I’d have to be a sigma…”

“Listen kid, you’ll still be in the alpha range, even if you’re nothing.”

“W-what do I have to do?”

“Like steroids, you shoot em into ya,” he said with a shrug.  He pulled out a medical grade looking vial, “it’ll take about a week to settle into your system, and you’ll present…”

“And it’ll make me an alpha?”

“So long as you keep using…This vial will be enough for a few months.  We’re doing tests with pills too…but those you have to take every day.  The injectable is once a month.  Shot to the ass is easiest for most, but you can do it wherever.”

Bobby looked down the alley, “I-I don’t know, Mr. Smith…”

“Take a vial…let me know if you need more,” he shrugged, “in the meantime keep delivering the papers.”

XX

His stomach turned.  It felt like he was being ripped apart as he curled himself into a ball.  Between the overwhelming sense of feeling like he was burning up and the gnawing in the pit of his stomach, he was considering taking the vial that lay on his computer desk and just chugging it, not wanting to waste time prepping a needle. 

His worst nightmare was coming true.  Just a week later, when his family went on their vacation without him, because he had opted out of going, he presented, and went into his very first heat.  He wasn’t an alpha.  No, he wasn’t even close. 

He was something way worse. 

A sigma.

But rational thoughts seemed to leave him as the only thing he began to think of was needing an alpha.  Needing to feel the soothing relief of one around him. Needing their presence.  Their scent.  Needing to feel complete. 

He’d locked himself in his room and made sure that all of his windows were shut, despite the insane heat of the summer. 

He had to make sure that no one ever found out as he made his own little version of a nest to hide in, praying that it would go away.

[lizardkingeliot]

So, do those of you currently reading time cast a spell on you (but you won’t forget me) remember that scene in chapter 4 where Quentin shows up for his tutoring session and Eliot says he wants to go to the edge of the campus and manipulate the magic of the wards so they can fly? You know... this one:

Only they never end up making it there because they start bickering the second they leave the library? Well, in the rough draft of this chapter I initially had this scene... ending very differently. And they also weren’t going to fly, they were going to... well. I think I’ll just let y’all read it for yourselves lmao. I think I talked about this a bit on twitter when I was working on the chapter so if it sounds familiar that’s probably why. ANYWAY. I have a ton of deleted scenes from this fic, most of which will never see the light of day, but I woke up this morning with the urge to share at least part of this one so... I guess that’s what I’m going to do.

This is super rough and unedited and honestly not up to my usual standards, but... you know. Rough drafts tend to be that way. It’s also all over the place in terms of tone and where they were at this point in the fic lmao. This might be bordering on crack honestly. Which is why I just scrapped the whole thing and went a different route in the final draft. Anyway. Shutting up now. This is about 2k words so I’m putting most of it under a cut...

—

Trudging across campus two paces behind Eliot, Quentin was stricken by the overwhelming feeling that he was trapped inside a dream. The eerie, quiet campus, lit only by the waning moon and a few dots of light spilling from the various student houses. He looked back over his shoulder, spotting the Cottage in the distance, the dim orange glow of the front bay window swimming in his vision like a boat lost at sea. 

As they approached the outer edge of the grounds, Quentin could feel the magic of the wards, buzzing on the air like insects. Bone-deep reverberations, strains of music swelling from within. He’d never been out this far before. The line where Brakebills ended and the real world began. Where there was nothing but the boat house and the wind. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He breathed in deep, the scent of the Hudson rushing nearby filling his senses as Eliot came to a sudden halt in the dark.

“Here,” Eliot said. Quentin could only just barely make out the shape of his elegant fingers pointing just ahead. “Can you feel the energy? I guess the Naturalists come out here sometimes and use it to light their bongs.” He laughed, a sound that warmed Quentin underneath his jacket at once. “And occasionally singe their own eyebrows off in the process.”

Quentin looked back. They’d come out to a place that the light from the Cottage couldn’t reach. Eliot formed an orb between his hands and pinned it overhead, a grapefruit sized pendant of magic swaying gently in the breeze. He stepped into Quentin’s personal space, giving him the once over. Head-to-toe and back again, settling at last on Quentin’s eyes.

“So,” he said with a smirk. “Cavaleri Animation. My memory of the First Year curriculum is a little hazy, but they’ve dazzled you all with that one already, yes? Turning your marbles into little glass animals, you know the one.”

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, um… but Alice was the only one who could actually get hers to work.”

Swift and warm as a pulse, Eliot’s hand curled around the nape of Quentin’s neck. Heat spreading down the column of his spine like a flame catching a wick. Thumb teasing over burning flesh. Eliot’s lips ghosted over his ear, not quite touching. Still, Quentin swore he could feel his smile. “Well,” he said, soft and dark, “I’m here now. And you’re going to do it. And it’s going to work.”

Quentin’s hand was bunching up the back of Eliot’s cardigan. He didn’t know when that had happened. The hum of the magic was making him dizzy. For a moment, it was impossible to breathe. His body a tight line of tension and desire. Eliot pulled away and Quentin released his hold, staggering a little as he tried to regain some semblance of control.

“Um, okay…” Quentin ran a hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt at centering himself. “Why, uh—why do we have to do that here? We could have just done that spell in the library.”

“Because,” Eliot said with a tip of his head, “I have a theory.”

“A theory?” Quentin frowned. “You brought me out here for a theory?”

“More of a hypothesis really,” Eliot said with a wave of his hand. “But I think it’s going to work.”

“Great,” Quentin said with an exasperated sigh. “Dicking around with unstable magic in the middle of the night. What could possibly go wrong.”

“Look, it’s going to be fun,” Eliot said with that casual little air of his. “And we probably won’t explode even if I’m wrong. So we really don’t have very much to lose.”

“Okay, I’m—” Quentin threw his hands up. “For fuck’s sake, El, can you just tell me what we’re actually doing out here?”

“We,” Eliot said very slowly, reaching inside his cardigan, pulling a sliver of magenta colored glass out of the pocket of his vest, and looking through it, “are going to tap into all that crazy energy and make your little glass marble friend into a very big animal friend and take it for a spin.” He passed the sliver of glass over to Quentin. “Take a look.”

Quentin stared at Eliot for a very long time before relenting. “You’re actually a crazy person, you know that?”

“I think you mean certified sorcerer genius, but I’ll take it.” He gestured with a nod of his head. “Go on. It’s balls to the wall out here. So much energy we could power a fucking nuclear reactor and I doubt Henry would notice.”

Quentin looked through the glass, moving it from one eye over to the other. At first, it was impossible to make sense of what he was actually seeing. A latticework of stars. Billions of them it seemed, all bumping up against one another in a wild, cosmic dance. A galaxy of intersecting lines and patchwork patterns shimmering like the wings of a dragonfly. And every now and then, a spark. Popping off into the dark like fingers desperate for the night. Quentin handed the glass back to Eliot with a shake of his head.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Don’t be boring, Quentin,” Eliot said. It made Quentin’s chest ache with its normalcy. Like their past couldn’t touch them out here. Like out here with their bad ideas and their wild magic, maybe they could have some hope to start again. “But maybe… maybe don’t make anything that wants to bite our heads off.”

“Okay, so…” Quentin sighed with his whole chest. “To recap: you want to steal unstable magic from the wards of the school where we’re both currently students to make a giant glass animal that hopefully doesn’t swallow us whole so we can… take it for a ride?”

“Yes,” Eliot said, like it was the most obviously brilliant thing in the world. “Don’t make that face with your face. Tell me you’ve never wanted to ride a rhinoceros.”

“We are not riding a rhinoceros, Eliot. Absolutely not.” 

“Well, okay…” Eliot’s hand on his nape again. Heat, fire, a five alarm blaze encircling his neck like a collar. “If you could ride on any animal, real or imaginary—”

“The Cozy Horse,” Quentin said without thinking, heart pounding like hoofbeats trapped inside his chest. “Um… it’s from the Fillory books, uh…”

Eliot laughed softly. “Okay.” His hand slid down to Quentin’s shoulder, gripping it possessively. “Tell me about... the Cozy Horse.”

“Um…” Quentin squeezed his eyes shut, took a breath, shook his head. Eliot’s hand was stroking up and down the expanse of his upper arm and shoulder, making everything go all fuzzy in his brain. “It’s just, uh… it’s this horse that Jane rode on. It’s, uh… really tall. Like a hundred feet. Like a clydesdale on steroids.”

“You won’t ride a rhinoceros but you’re perfectly fine with a horse that’s a hundred feet tall?”

Quentin turned his face upward, trapping himself in Eliot’s gaze. Sinking, flying, falling. Close enough to kiss if he only went up on his toes a little. Tucked inside the safety of his warmth. Quentin wanted to burn, to melt into a puddle at Eliot’s feet and slosh around like muck. “I…” Quentin swallowed. “I don’t think the Cozy Horse would hurt us. It’s basically a giant stuffed animal.”

Eliot grinned, gazing down at Quentin for a long beat before pulling away. “Okay then,” he said, taking a few steps down the path under their feet. “Show me Cozy Horse.”

Quentin reached into his pocket, knelt down, set the marble on the path. “I don’t understand how I’m supposed to… harness the magic of the wards.”

Eliot made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, peering through it with one eye. “Just leave that part to me,” he said absently. “Go on. Make your horse. And don’t say you can’t do it. We both know that you can.”

Quentin gazed up the long line of Eliot’s body. Eliot was fully focused on the wards. The sound of night, the crackle of magic. Quentin shivered under his jacket. His hands hovered over the marble, focusing his energy on prepping the glass for transformation with Dempsey's Silent Thermogenesis. Once molten, the marble could be manipulated into almost any shape he could imagine. For the Cozy Horse, Quentin didn’t have much to go on but the memory of a single illustration, and a few lines from The Wandering Dune, but he figured it would probably be simple enough. How hard could it be to imagine a draft horse the size of something straight out of the Cretaceous period?

Quentin twisted the glass under his fingers, so fully focused on his task he almost didn’t notice when Eliot began to move. When, suddenly, through the loop of Eliot’s fingers, a beam of sharp, frenzied magic began to focus on the animal he had half-formed with laser precision.

“You might wanna hurry,” Eliot said. “I don’t know how long I can hold this here.”

Quentin scowled in his direction, looping a bit of the molten glass into the shape of a tail. “You’re shit at communicating, you know that,” he spit, letting the gentle rage rising in his belly fuel his magic. “I thought cooperative magic was supposed to be, I don’t know… cooperative?”

Legs, hooves, the gentle slope of a hulking animal’s back. The wispy tendrils of a mane. Eliot was saying something that might have been a warning. Quentin was too focused on his creation to parse a single one of his words. The magic of the wards cracked like lightning. He could feel it in his hands. Quickly, almost as an afterthought, Quentin gave the beast that had come to life beneath his fingers a shimmering loop around the back of the neck that might have passed for reins if he squinted.

A single hoofbeat on the soft ground. The beam of magic stuttering through Eliot’s fingers died away, and he let out a tremendous sigh.

“Okay so... “ Quentin frowned, eyes flitting from the tiny glass horse up to Eliot’s face. “I don’t think this is going to—”

A flash, a pop, a tremendous wave of heat knocking the air from his lungs. Quentin shoved his body backward off the path and into the grass just as Eliot was running over. Kneeling down, using himself as a makeshift shield as he pushed Quentin further back away from the molten monstrosity shifting and morphing and doubling, tripling, quadrupling in size. A deep rumble, the tinkling of glass. Quentin peered over Eliot’s shoulder, his eyes moving up, up, up, trying to take in what it was he was actually seeing.

The glass horse shook out its mane, rearing up on its hind legs and down again with an earth-trembling thud. The distance from the ground to its shoulder must have been twenty feet. It had no eyes and no mouth, but Quentin swore he could feel its glassy stare boring into him. The light of the orb dangling overhead passed right through the center of its body. For a long moment, everything went perfectly still.

And then Eliot started to laugh. “Holy shit,” he said, his eyes wide as dinner plates when he turned his face to Quentin. “That is a big fucking horse.”

A laugh sputtered out from between Quentin’s lips. “Yeah, um… yeah. Fuck. It really is.”

Eliot’s body pressed right up against Quentin’s body when he turned, and leaned in, so close they were almost kissing. A pulse of heat passed between them. Quentin felt it in his chest like a second heart. “So,” Eliot said, a hand curling around Quentin’s cheek for a fleeting moment before pulling away. “You wanna take her for a spin?”

Quentin felt absolutely out of his mind. Hazy, his body a liminal space. “Yeah,” he said with a short, stuttering burst of laughter. “Yeah, why the fuck not.”

Unreality set in hard as they stood and cautiously approached. Up close, they might as well have been gazing upward at the hulking glass back of a dinosaur. The haphazard reins Quentin had created looped around the beast’s neck like a string of fairy lights. 

“Um…” Quentin laughed, tucking a tuft of hair behind his ear. “How the fuck are we even going to get on this thing?”

Eliot took his hand suddenly, threading their blood-warm fingers together. “Oh, Q,” he said with a full-faced grin, “we’re gonna fucking fly.”

[izlaria]

Someone you like (part 1)

This work is inspired by the animatic called Someone you like by honestlyprettychill. I don’t know if I’ll have the energy to do all of the povs showcased in the video, but I just really loved the idea that Lance would eventually come to like Pidge, a romance born from  years of friendship. Friends to lovers is my jam.

I’m posting this on tumblr in case I never finish it, because I just wanted to share what I’ve written so far. I might upload the whole thing to AO3 later.

I made some changes to the video’s initial idea, because I wanted to follow canon ages and I didn’t want a 14-year-old to fall for a 12-year-old. At that time, it’s a pretty big difference in development. So I wanted to establish the basis for Lance to eventually romanticize their first encounter, despite not having been attracted to young Katie.

Spanish to English translations at the end.

14 years old

The truth was that Lance went to Space Camp because Veronica could be a little pest. She knew their parents wouldn’t let her go alone and so had enticed her younger brother with the promise of travel and foreign girls and no parental supervision.

Veronica had obviously left out the fact that they were essentially going to school on steroids for a month, smack in the middle of their summer break. Cool as Miami might seem, Lance wasn’t exactly excited for all the extra work the camp would entail.

“No es un acampamiento,” his sister repeated for what felt like the thousandth time. He wasn’t listening anymore. “Tú sabes que el campo de explotación espacial no está muy desenvuelto en Cuba. Si realmente quieres trabajar con eso, entonces simplemente cállate y no insultes a nadie.”

“¿Cuando he insultado a alguien?” he shot back, defensive. Veronica didn’t dignify that with an answer.

As much as Lance might like to think himself very smooth, there were still times when he stumbled over his words, especially in English. More than once he’d meant to pay someone a compliment and had accidentally started an argument of some kind.

Veronica looked impatiently at her watch. “Mira, tengo una reunión con mi orientador. Y tú tienes por lo menos dos artículos para leer para las clases de mañana, ¿por qué no vas a la biblioteca para trabajar un poco? Prometo comprarte una hamburguesa después.”

Lance pouted at her, arms crossed over his chest. “Me debes más que una hamburguesa y lo sabes, Ronie.”

His sister snickered, but it was as much of an acknowledgement as he was going to get. Veronica pressed a quick kiss to his hair, already turning to go into the main building.

“¡Gracias, hermanito! ¡No te arrepentirás!”

In all honesty, Lance wasn’t as irritated as he made Veronica believe. He knew that a summer program in Miami was a really good opportunity, especially if he wanted to get into the Garrison in the following years. It was just difficult.

He was diligent and studious, but not as naturally gifted as some of the other kids. Besides, he hadn’t been to the US in a couple years, since his parents had mostly settled down in the family farm, which meant he still had to fall back into his English, a task made even more frustrating by the xenophobic comments from one of the boys in his AP geometry class.

The teacher had put an end to it right away, but the words stuck with Lance, for some reason.

With how much humanity had progressed in terms of technology, one would think they would be able to get past petty rivalry between nationalities and usually that was true, but the influx of foreigners following the establishment of the Galaxy Garrison in the US desert still annoyed some people, despite its existence as a multinational center for space exploration. It irritated Lance to no end, especially when so many of these scientific advances came from international collaboration.

If only he could shrug off the inadequacy that now grew in his chest.

Straight ahead, there was a path that led to a green area in the middle of the campus. The other students had taken to calling it the Woods, though it was more of a middle-sized park, with benches and picnic tables where anyone from the Institute could go to relax. That’s where Lance went, mind too full to really focus on homework.

He wondered if people would react that same way if he ever made it into the Garrison. He didn’t know how Veronica dealt with it all, especially when she was alone in Arizona most of the time. Barely a week had passed and Lance already missed his parents, the tenderness of home-cooked food and well-intended lectures.

No, he had to believe that Billy Underwood was an exception. The other kids hadn’t joined in on his taunts, even if no one had moved to defend Lance. It was still too early to make conclusions on his colleagues, especially when everyone had seemed so charmed by him before then.

Lance was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize he had been standing in front of one of the benches until a new voice broke through the peace of the park.

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

The words were somewhat harsh, but when Lance lowered his eyes to their source the girl winced, grimacing. She seemed to have spoken impulsively.

“Hmm, yeah.” Lance blinked at her for a moment, before finally sitting down on the bench. He made sure to leave space between him and the girl, not wanting to make the situation even more awkward.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” the girl said after a moment of silence. She looked at him sideways and her brown eyes seemed almost golden in the sunlight. There were freckles spread across the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks, and the green ribbon in her hair swayed in the wind. It was a soft sight, a contrast to the steeliness of her posture and gaze.

“It’s fine,” Lance hurried to assure her. She looked young, but so did he, and talking to complete strangers never failed to make him nervous. “Nothing like a little girl yelling at me to bring me back to earth.”

He gave her his best grin, the one reserved for first impressions and fancy parties. It was supposed to project confidence and kindness, even though Luis said he ended up looking a bit smug.

“I didn’t yell,” the girl pointed out with a light frown. Then her eyes shifted into a more calculating look. “You’re a bit of a goofball, aren’t you?”

“I prefer the term good-humored,” he replied jokingly.

She continued to stare. Lance got the feeling that the girl did this a lot. She had an untamed intelligence to her that Lance couldn’t completely understand. It was the sort of air that teachers sometimes carried, as if they could see something deeper in you if they looked long enough.

“It didn’t seem like you were feeling all that good-humored just now.” She tilted her head to the side, letting the words hang between them.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” Lance found himself saying.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” She looked so doubtful that it almost made Lance laugh. The feeling, however, was overcome by the relief of finally having someone who would listen.

He had spent the week trying and failing to explain to Veronica what was truly making him feel down. She was too busy or too happy for Lance to tell her the truth, especially when it left him so vulnerable. After all, Veronica had taken to her work on the Institute like a fish to water. Lance was supposed to be more adaptable than this.

With the rest of his family away in Cuba, he felt unbearably lonely.

“Yes! Thank you!” Lance shifted in the bench to face the girl. She was taken aback by his enthusiasm, but didn’t move away. “There’s this cabrón in my class, who thought it was a good idea to mess with me, just ‘cause I said fábrica instead of factory in our first day here. He hasn’t really left me alone since…” he whined. “I speak two languages but somehow I’m the uneducated ass here!”

The girl nodded, eyes downcast. “I know what you mean.”

“You do?” He eyed the fairness of her skin and the almost ginger of her hair. “Sorry, but you look white.”

Lance’s comment must have taken her by surprise, because she actually laughed.

“I am white. I’m also Italian.” She rolled her eyes, but there was amusement in the tug of her lips. “I can be both.”

“That’s true.” Lance grinned sheepishly. It was good that she wasn’t offended by his lack of filter. “You don’t have much of an accent, though.”

“Neither do you,” the girl bit back, no real animosity in her tone.

He shrugged. “My family spent a lot of time in the US when I was younger. It used to be second nature to me. Now, I keep feeling like I have to hold back the instinct to roll my R’s.”

“I get that. My parents moved here right after I was born, but we used to speak Italian in the house.” There was a pause here, something that she couldn’t bring herself to say. “I think it’s cool that you can speak Spanish. It’s useful.”

“Yeah?” Lance sat up straight, feeling suddenly boastful.

“Sure!” she continued, encouraged by his interest. “The Bouman Aeronautics Research Institute really values multiculturalism! It is a hob of different nationalities and perspectives, created to foster new minds from around the world! Or that’s what my brother says, at least, and he is rarely wrong.” She gave him a smirk that quickly shifted into a grimace. “Don’t tell him I said that or he will never let me forget it.”

“Older brother?” At her nod, Lance smiled. “I got older siblings too. Sort of the reason I’m here in the first place, actually. One of them was accepted as a researcher and she tricked me into applying too.”

“Same, actually.” She seemed startled for a moment, pulling out her cellphone. “Freak, I have to go! I completely lost track of time while reading.” She got up to go, collecting the book she’d apparently put down to talk to him. It was a thick volume with numbers on the cover, but it didn’t look like math.

Another green ribbon fluttered to the ground, having escaped the pages of the book. Lance bent down to pick it up.

“Here.” He stretched it out to the girl. “Wouldn’t want to lose its pair,” he said with a wink.

“Thanks for reminding me!” She grabbed the ribbon hurriedly, then paused, turning back to Lance. “And for the conversation, I guess.”

Lance grinned at her. She was a little awkward but in an endearing way, like she wasn’t used to having the attention of others on her. Given she empathized with his circumstances in the Institute, it wasn’t that big of a leap to assume that she had trouble making friends.

“Bye bye, Italian girl.” He waved, glad that he could spend these few minutes with her.

“Farewell, Spanish boy.”

Lance meant to correct her about his nationality, but she took out running, clearly late for something. He laughed at the way she stumbled across the uneven ground, careless like a little kid. It was a strange juxtaposition: the thoughtfulness of her earlier words and the childishness of her smile now.

He settled back into the bench, feeling much more content than he’d been earlier. It was nice to talk to people outside of class, for a change.

And, well, Italian girl was pretty. A bit young-looking for him, but he thought guys her age should be tripping over their feet for a chance to talk to her.

“Hey, you’re Lance, right?” A boy had approached while Lance observed the girl disappear from sight. He was tall and robust, with shortly cropped hair, but his expression was friendly. “You’re in my Analytics class.”

It took Lance a second to place him. Analytics was one of the classes Lance struggled with the most, so he hadn’t had as much opportunity to joke around there.

“And you’re Hunk!” Lance snapped his fingers, smiling. “Sit down, man! What can I do for ya?”

Translations:

“No es un acampamiento.Tú sabes que el campo de explotación espacial no está muy desenvuelto en Cuba. Si realmente quieres trabajar con eso, entonces simplemente cállate y no insultes a nadie.” - “It’s not a camp. You know that the field of space exploration is not very well developped in Cuba. If you really do want to work in this area, then simply shut up and don’t insult anyone.”

“¿Cuando he insultado a alguien?” - “When have I insulted anyone?”

“Mira, tengo una reunión con mi orientador. Y tú tienes por lo menos dos artículos para leer para las clases de mañana, ¿por qué no vas a la biblioteca para trabajar un poco? Prometo comprarte una hamburguesa después.” - “Look, I have a meeting with my coordinator. And you have at least two articles to read for tomorrow’s classes. Why don’t you go work for a bit in the library? I promise to buy you a burger later.”

“Me debes más que una hamburguesa y lo sabes, Ronie.” - “You owe me more than a burger and you know it, Ronie.”

“¡Gracias, hermanito! ¡No te arrepentirás!” - “Thank you, little brother! You won’t regret it!”

Cabrón - Bastard

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Customer Service.”

Guys, I know I am a little later than usual because I was trying to execute this one well, but I wanted this to be nice and Funny. I suggest reading it because it was fun to write and maybe it will make you smile. :)

Have a great day guys! 

The Galactic Assembly members stood in council, hundreds of projected holograms stood at attention as nothing more than smoke and light upon the bridge of the UNSC Harbinger.

Commander Vir stood at attention ramrod straight pristine grey uniform pressed to perfection shoes polished to a shine. He clasped his hands lightly behind his b at shoulder width planted firmly on the ground silhouetted by the starfield towards his front.

“It was spotted on a routine patrol towards the edge of the system.” The Rundi chairwoman began pressing her long tapering fingers together before her chest, “As far as we can tell there was only one, but that doesn't mean more aren’t on the way.” 

“What do they want?”” The Finnari councilman began 

“The Burg have no lover for the Galactic Assembly.” The commander began, reaching out to grip the railing before him one handed, with the other still held stiff behind his back, 

The Drev representative rumbled deep in his chest spear-butt clattering loudly against a metal floor, “And what quarrel do they have with the assembly.”

There was a momentary silence on the bridge.

“Commander.” The Rundi chairwoman prompted.

Commander Vir lifted his chin stepping back to once again place both hands behind his back pacing a few steps this way and that eyebrows slanted in an expression of worry, “I am afraid that would be my fault, General.”

There was a shuffling about the council representatives.

He turned on his heel and came to attention before them, “Our last encounter ended, and honestly begun, on poor terms. It was towards the beginning of my tour, and I was unaware of their particular…. Quirks. Young and naive with an unfortunately uncontained bravado I am afraid I may have offended their leader. He saw it as an insult to his honor, and determined to kill me only after torturing the members of my crew which he had captured.” 

Surprise.

“Of course, I wasn’t about to let my crew die for a mistake I had made. As it turns out the enzymes found in human saliva is particularly problematic for their species. The outer slime which lubricates their carapace and keeps their bodies from breaking down is particularly sensitive to the enzymes I mentioned earlier. None of us could have known what was going to happen.” He turned another tight circle  “As a precursor for some of you who may not know, spiting at someone in human culture is seen as an act of defiance or an insult. Thinking he was about to kill m crew, I had no particular respect for him. Of course my actions had greater consequence than I originally intended. He was dead within minutes, and the rest of my crew was able to escape.” He trailed off at this point though his expression remained serious.

The Tesraki council member chuckled slightly, “As I recall, they withdrew from negotiations shortly after, and all commerce between our people and there's immediately ceased despite our best efforts. Of course, no one blames the commander, the Burg were breaking intergalactic tretis agreements by implementing the use of force without the approval of the GA.

“Even so.” The Vrul began, “This does not bode well for their sudden reappearance.”

“I have some dealings with the Burg.” There was a short pause as Commander Vir turned to the side, looking on as his guest, an envoy, Lord Celex of the Celzex. The cute, fuzzy little creature with colorful fur, large feet and big eyes, never ceased to make any human in visual distance wish for a cuddle, but the Commander managed to restrain himself.

“Lord Celex?”

The fuzzy little creature rocked slightly on it’s large feet big mournful eyes sharp with anger. Commander Vir tightened his hands behind his back expression still very serious.

“The Burg are a proud race like my own. If they plan on attacking, they will not be dissuaded by diplomacy” his piggy little ears twitched lightly, “Though they can be pushed to make rash decisions using their pride as a point of attack.”

There was a slight slithering noise as the iotin representative coiled her snake like body about her feet, “And what are the chances of a preemptive strike.” 

The Rundi councilwoman sighed, “Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do. Our code of laws restricts us.”

“Don’t fire unless fired upon.” the commander muttered under his breath before raising  his head, “And can we be sure they plan to attack…..”

The Gibb representative shifted, “I am afraid not. Our scans indicate that the ship is heavily loaded with weapons and an unusual amount of persons. I wouldn't place our safety in hoping that they do NOT plan to attack.”

A chorus of muttered agreement rose about the room, “We should at least attempt contact with them. Commander Vir, I would have you do the talking accept for your….. History…. With the Burg.”

“A wise decision.” The Commander acknowledged adjusting his cap, “Chairwoman, that leaves first contact up to you.”

The chairwoman didn’t look altogether excited over the idea, but adjusted her ceremonial robes, “Hail the burg ship, begin transmission.”

Commander Vir, in accompany with lord Celex turned his attention to an additional hologram that began to materialize at the side of the room. The Burg were everything that the Celzex weren’t at least when it came to looks. Where the Celzex were cute enough to make any human squeal like a five year old with their big eyes pig ears, colorful fur and large feet, the burg were ugly as sin, centipedes on steroids with too many legs, to many antennae and covered in a gelatinous layer of slime. Their coloring ranged from brown to puke green and mustard yellow at the legs. 

When they spoke, their language was primarily clicks, hisses, and chattering gurgles made look even less attractive by their segmented mandibles.

“Hail, Burg, please acknowledge, you have entered restricted GA airspace. State your business.”

The uggly creature chartered and gurgled under the sound of the translation, “I have simply come as an envoy to the galactic assembly.”

Commander VIr leaned close to lord Celex quietly whispering, “That is a load of horse shit if i have ever heard of it.” Lord Celex snorted in agreement

“That is quite a collection of weapons for a simply envoy.” The chairwoman offered.

“Can you blame us. We are heading into hostile territory and had no idea of what you might do to us.”

Lord Celex shook his head, “Something is wrong here. The burg do not negotiate or have ENVOYS the words literally do not exist in their vocabulary. Specifically their culture is very insistent on holding onto grudges.. To let a grudge go is seen as the height of dishonor, and in their case it is death before dishonor.” 

Commander Vir tapped hsi chin, “So is there no chance they are here to be diplomatic.”

“It would not even cross their minds…. “ Lord Celex continued as the two of them watched the Burg avoid, change, and costrue his words in the most obvious way possible, but just barely veiled enough to make any action by the GA look excessive or even aggressive. After all, what he said was just words.

They couldn’t even reject him from entering the system with his weapons considering other members of the GA were allowed to do the same, most notably the Humans and the Drev whose ships were packed with as much weaponry as was possible and sometimes more than was practical.

“Let me convene with the council before a decision is made, but we will return to you shortly.” The chairwoman switched off the comm and was retransferred back to the rest of the council.

“He is lying.”

“And quite obviously I might add.” pointed out the Tesraki, clearly not very impressed.

“Lord Celex, tell the council what you were telling me.” Commander Vir urged 

Lord Celex took  the floor doing as told finishing after a moment with, “This is most certainly payback for previous dishonor. While their weapons are not as powerful as the humans. I suspect that they may take such dishonor by leveling an entire city if they have to.”

“Is there now way to restrict them from the system?”

“No, I am afraid not. We only have speculation, and no concrete evidence.” The chairwoman muttered, “Despite how certain we are. There is nothing we can do until they actually give us reason, and that rule may well be putting innocent lives at risk.”

The Bran representative scuttled a little bit in place, “Unless there was a way to make them strike first, out here where they are not a danger to civilians.”

An Iotin representative laughed, “That would require us goading them into attacking without breaking any laws in the process, and all of it on purpose.”

The room was filled with a mirthful laugh, and the entire council looked at the commander who was grinding in that wolfish way that humans had, quite predatory and VERY unnerving. He twisted his hands around cracking his knuckles, “Goading people without breaking any laws.”

He rolled his neck cracking that too, “That just so happens to be my specialty.” The expression he had was a stark contrast to his early seriousness, and the change was almost unnerving.

“You think you can get him to attack you first, without actually breaking the rules of engagement, or the rules of diplomacy.”

The human crossed his arms over his chest, “I can goad him into attacking me without breaking a sweat, ma’am. The key is over politeness, and complete bureaucracy. I guarantee you give me a few hours with this guy and I can crack him, maybe even less.” 

The council looked at each other interested, “And when they do attack.”

“My ship could take it, but I would appreciate if someone was around with an energy shield of superior quality. I would rather no one die in this effort.”

“Very well, commander. We give you leave to do as you must, but I must withdraw from the council before I see anything more.”

“Understood, chairwoman.” The human responded before grinning and rubbing his hands together a mischievous smile crossing his face.

Commander Vir sat in the Captain’s chair Lord Celex at his side, “Prepare for audio transmission” he was given the go ahead with a raised hand.

“Start transmission.”

“Chairwoman?” 

“Hello, this is Adam from the internal department of intergalactic nuisance. Is this the Burg captain speaking?”

There was a purse on the other line, “Where is the chairwoman.” The voice was clearly annoyed.

Commander Vir threw his legs over one arm of the chair lounging like he owned the entire universe, “Oh yeah, the council.” He kept his voice as informal as possible, “They were super busy and have a bunch of important things to do. Something about methane acquisition and internal sanctions on biological waste disposal. They generally send all the unimportant things to me.” Around the bridge humans had hands covering their mouths while lord Celex was nodding in approval.

There was a chattering growl over the line, “Unimportant!..... Waste disposal! This is outrageous. I came here on a diplomatic mission-”

He was cut off, “Of course you did, very important I am sure.” The human said lying the sweetness on thick, “Very important. We here at the GA department of intergalactic nuisance take the blurg representatives very seriously.”

There was a roar from the other end of the line, “WHAT did you say?”

“I said we take the burger very seriously.”

“THe BURG.” “That's what I said.”

“NO YOU DID NOT.” Humans about the room were openly smiling now. Commander Vir was grinning smugly as he crossed one ankle over the other making himself very comfortable, “Yes, that’s exactly what I said. The bug is an important priority to our department.”

“BURG.”

“It is very hard to hear you when you shout like that, sir.” 

The silence that followed was practically brimming with rage, “I demand to speak with a member of the GA. This is outrageous.”

“I am afraid we cannot do that right now, the GA is in session. Something to do with internal budget for the acquisition of branded paper clips, but I might be able to transfer you to the GA higher department of minor diplomatic inconveniences… please hold.”

He motioned to one of his men, and suddenly the other line was cut filled insteady with the tinny notes of easy listening jazz, abominable anywhere outside of elevators. The humans around the room were snickering.

They could still hear the burg though he could not hear them, over the line cursing and demanding to speak with someone though the line continued to play music. They waited for a good half an hour and just as the Burg was about to pick up, the commander made a motion.

“Hello this is Adam from the higher department of minor diplomatic inconvenience.” 

“Finally! I demand to speak with the GA.”

Commander Vir dropped the call.

The Burg cursed in outrage and tried calling back. Commander Vir picked up.

“Hello this is Adam from the higher department of-” “I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!.”  the Burg shouted, “And I commander of the Burg demand to speak with the GA.” 

“I’m sorry, who are you?

“The BURG commander.”

“The Burger?” 

They had to turn down the volume to the intercom as the Burg went and lost it. Commander Vir dropped the call for the second time.

He called back.

“Hello, this is Adam from the-”

“I DEMAND TO SPEAK WITH THE GA.”

Adam let a pause drag on for a long minute, “I am sorry, who is this?”

“THE BURG COMMANDER.”

“Oh, yes, I am sorry our department doesn’t deal with requests to speak with the GA, I am afraid I will have to transfer you don't to the lower department of under-minor diplomatic inconvenience.” Before the burg could say anything he was, once again, put on hold with the same tinny easy listening jazz poorly projected over the intercom. The Burg was having an absolute conniption on the other end of the line.

They didn’t make him wait as long, but still made him wait.

“Hello, this is Adam from the lower department of under-minor diplomatic inconvenience.” 

“Adam, I have already spoken to you.” The Burg growled.

“Who is this.”

“THE BURG COMMANDER.”

Adam shifted in his seat, “Please relax sir, But I assure you I have never spoken with the burger commander….. Is this a prank call?” 

“BURG, it’s pronounced BURG. THIS IS NO JOKE. And is EVERYONE in your department named Adam?”

“I am the only Adam in the entire department. I have no idea who you were talking to but it wasn’t me. What are you calling for?”

“I NEED TO SPEAK WITH THE GA.” He was screaming now barely comprehensible.

“Oh I am sorry that is a matter for the internal department of intergalactic nuisance.”

“I JUST SPOKE WITH THEM.”

“Please hold.” 

If anything could be said based on what was over the end of the line, something was getting destroyed all to the soundtrack of easy listening jazz elevator music  more than two thousand years old but somehow dated another century by being so horrible.

“Hello, this is.”

“ADAM I know.”

“I’m sorry, who? There is no Adam in this department. My name is Mr. Burg.”

“ARE YOU MOCKING ME?”

“I don’t even know who you are, sir please what are you calling for?”

“I am the BURG COMMANDER CALLING TO SPEAK WITH THE GA. I HAVE SAID THIS BEFORE.”

The human tapped his fingers on the chair arm, “Mmmm Mr. Burger, we have no record of your interaction.”

“BURG, it is BURG not BURGER not BUG nog BLURG, but BURG.”

“”I know what my name is sir, no need to get angry. Let’s just take a deep breath and try to relax. What did you say your name was?” 

“I AM THE COMMANDER OF THE BURG SHIP, OF THE NATION OF THE BURG, AND I DEMAND TO SPEAK WITH THE GA REPRESENTATIVES ON THIS INSTANT.”

“I am afraid our department doesn’t deal with demands.”

“THEY TOLD ME TO COME HERE.”

The commander hummed tilting his head slightly to the side, “That was likely when you were asking to speak with the GA and now it has turned into a demand, so I am going to have to transfer you to the Lateral Department of mid-major intergalactic diplomatic annoyance.” He went to put the Burg on hold, but he didn’t get that far.

“I WILL NOT BE TRANSFERRED, I WILL NOT BE PUT ON HOLD, LET ME SPEAK TO THE GA OR I WILL BLAST YOUR MINUSCULE STARSHIP INTO A BILLION MOLECULES.” “Was that a treat?”

“YES IT WAS.” 

“Begin holographic transmission.”

Commander Vir stood from his seat hands resting behind his back, “Commander of the Burg, I am Commander Adam Vir of the GA / UNSC fleet. And I will have you know that a threat to a GA spaceship in GA restricted airspace is a violation of the interspace tretisand allows me to detain your ship under restriction until such time as the GA decided what to do with you.” “ADAM the creature spat.”

The man was able to maintain a straight face, “Yes?”

“It was you the entire time.”

The human shook his head looking confused, “What do you mean the entire time. The entire time of what.”

“SPeaking with the diplomatic….. Whatever….. IT WAS YOU.”

“We don’t have a diplomatic department of whatever. As far as I know there was no one else in the GA with the same name. You must be mistaken.”

What happened next was almost expected, but not quite. All of the anger pent up in the Burg Commander snapped. He screamed demanding his ship to fire upon the UNSC Harbinger, an action that found immediate response with  the Rundi Command ship appearing form cloaking and covering the Harbinger in their their own energy shield. The Burg’s attack bounced off their shields and deflected back into space. The Crew felt nothing more than a slight rumble through the hull of the ship.

“”Tell The GA to deploy grappling field.” The commander ordered pointing towards one of his Comms techs who immediately sent the request.

It wasn’t more than a moment before their ship was grappled,their weapons decommissioned, and the council had reappeared as holograms aboard the ship.

“Less than two hours commander….” Someone said in awe, “How did you break them so quickly.”

The man simply smiled, “Unhelpful customer service is a bitch guaranteed to drive anyone into a rage.”

[megalony]

Family of six- Part 2

This is the second part of my new Murderer! Ben Hardy series that I hope everyone will enjoy, feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr​ @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah​ @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod

Murderer! Ben masterlist

Series masterlist

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) have a son together and are pregnant again but things take a worrisome turn when (Y/n) develops severe morning sickness and they find out they’re having triplets.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"(Y/n) Hardy?"

The moment (Y/n) heard her name called out it felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders but another weight had settled down in her stomach. (Y/n) had been very close to cancelling this appointment with the midwife today with how badly she felt when she woke up but Ben wasn't having it. He didn't care if he had to carry her in, he wanted someone to check on his wife and help her because she wasn't well at all.

She felt Ben's arm securing around her waist when they both stood up and he could almost see all the blood draining from her head and going everywhere else in her body.

(Y/n) was happy the moment they made it into the room where she could slump down into a chair.

"Okay, how are you doing (Y/n)... are you feeling alright today?" The midwife they knew as Mandy sat down in the chair opposite to where (Y/n) and Ben were sitting. She had a kind smile on her face but a concerned look in her eyes when she seemed to take in (Y/n)'s appearance. She could see (Y/n) wasn't feeling well by the way she was slumped in her chair and how she kept closing her eyes like she had a headache. (Y/n) also looked like she was trying very hard to control her breathing in a way that implied she was trying to stop herself from being sick.

"I feel sick, I haven't been able to eat much over the past few weeks, I just keep bringing it back up."

"Are you finding it hard to keep fluids down too?" Mandy looked at her notes on the computer to her right before she looked back over at (Y/n).

"I haven't seen her keep anything down over the last week, not even water." Ben spoke up when (Y/n) bowed her head and closed her eyes like she just wanted to curl up and disappear to stop the feeling of being sick. She knew that she couldn't be sick right now because she hadn't eaten in over twelve hours and she had only managed a few sips of juice. Nothing but bile and water would be thrown back up right now.

"Right, I'd like to take your blood pressure and check your weight first if that's okay."

When (Y/n) nodded, Mandy got up and moved over to a drawer to get the band to check (Y/n)'s blood pressure. The black band felt like a shirt sleeve that was far too tight but it didn't get too tight or stay on (Y/n)'s arm long enough to become irritable before Mandy had gotten the results she was looking for.

"Now if you'd come and stand on the scales for me."

(Y/n) did as asked, trying to stop the dizziness from overtaking her mind when she stood up straight on the scales. It was very clear that whatever was going on with this pregnancy wasn't just normal morning sickness because (Y/n) knew many people who suffered morning sickness and they could still eat and drink. They were able to eat when the sickness wore off later in the day or early in the morning, (Y/n) couldn't do that at all.

"Let's sit you down on the bed ready for the scan." The tone of Mandy's voice was soothing and understanding and she took (Y/n)'s elbow to ensure she didn't stumble or fall when walking unevenly over to the bed. "You're blood pressure is lower than I'd like it to be and you've lost weight rather than putting any on. I think it's safe to say you have what we call Hyperemesis Gravidarum which is severe morning sickness."

A look of unease took over (Y/n)'s features and her eyes darted over to look at Ben when he walked over and sat down beside her. (Y/n) knew that with her not eating her health and that of the baby would be worse and at risk but it didn't click that not eating would mean she would lose weight. She just presumed that she would still put the weight on because she was pregnant.

"How long will it last?" (Y/n) could feel the nervousness in her voice as she asked the question she dreaded the answer to. She knew morning sickness varied from woman to woman but if this went on much longer she was going to end up in hospital.

"There's no definite answer but I would presume it will continue until at least the twenty week mark. But we can manage this so please don't look so worried, I'll prescribe you vitamins and some anti-emetics which will stop you from being sick and hopefully let you start to eat and drink and it might be best if I put you on steroids too since you're losing weight. Now, let's see this baby for the first time."

(Y/n) nodded and she knew Ben could almost feel the relief she felt when he took hold of her hand to try and calm her down. It was relieving to know it wasn't something more serious than this and that Mandy seemed sure it was something that could be helped and controlled. But Ben knew (Y/n) was more than relieved because she wouldn't have to go to hospital, at least not right now. She had been desperate to go home from the hospital when they had Billy and it had annoyed and frustrated her when she had to stay in for a week after his birth. (Y/n) never wanted to go to hospital unless it was completely necessary.

"I-is something wrong?" (Y/n) interlocked her fingers with Ben's as they both looked at the midwife who seemed to be either anxious or uneasy about something as she looked at the monitor.

"No, nothing's wrong. I think this is going to come as a shock to you both, but it looks like you're expecting triplets."

The moment those words passed through her lips (Y/n) felt her stomach churning like she was going to be sick and she looked at Ben when his hand clenched around hers like he was trying to cut off her circulation.

Three babies at once.

Three newborns to look after twenty four seven and a five year old. Ben had the kind of job where he was great at escaping the police but it had happened more than once where (Y/n) had had to wait three or four months for him to get out of jail and repeatedly go and give a false statement to the police. Ben worked hard at the club and he was finding it hard to balance work and family life, three more kids all at once was going to make that even harder on all of them.

Looking after Billy when he was a baby had been hard enough, what if one or all of the babies were hard to feed or were fussy? What if they wouldn't get into a sleep routine, what if Ben was working more or couldn't get as much time off so (Y/n) was left home with four children who needed constant care?

How was this pregnancy going to work out? Twins and triplets in pregnancies came with complications, (Y/n) might not get to full term, she might have complications during labour or have to go on bed rest or get ill. She could lose one of them at any point during the pregnancy if something went wrong.

"No..." (Y/n) shook her head but the look on Mandy's face showed that she wasn't joking or making this up. She turned the screen so that both parents could look at the black and grey mess that was supposed to resemble their babies.

"Here's baby one, two, and three is hiding right there."

Mandy slowly pointed out the small grey shapes to them and it hurt (Y/n) that the more she looked at the screen, the quicker she could decipher each blob into a baby. She didn't want three babies all at once, she didn't want the risks or complications or the stress and pressure that came with triplets. But she had always imagined herself with a big family and she didn't want to get rid of them.

"I can see this is a big surprise so I'll leave you alone for a few minutes and get a few copies of this printed for you. You're thirteen weeks along but with triplets you'll need a few extra scans and appointments so we can monitor you closely, especially with your morning sickness and weight loss. But everything else seems to be in order."

Mandy smiled kindly at them both before she left the room to give them a few moments to talk and gather themselves.

"Three babies... how are we going to cope?" (Y/n) turned her head to look at Ben as she slowly sat up straight and cleaned her stomach before pulling her shirt down. If it had already been hard coping when Billy had been born then (Y/n) didn't want to imagine how they were going to cope with four kids, three of whom would be newborns needing a lot of care and attention.

Work and money and their home weren't issues that they had to worry about which was something of a relief at least. (Y/n) worked as a carer which was frankly the opposite of Ben when he was a boxer by trade who wound up killing a lot of people. But she had a feeling that she wouldn't be working for very much longer with how badly she was feeling and now knowing she would have three newborns to care for.

Ben profited from the club alone but all the dodgy dealings he had going on behind closed doors meant he had a lot of money saved even with the money he spent on the club and his workers and his deals. But with how much Ben worked and how badly the club needed to be ruled with an iron fist, it meant four kids wasn't the best idea right now.

"We'll cope just fine, I'm already cutting down my hours at the club to be home with you and Billy-"

"The club doesn't run well without you there and you know it."

"My guys follow my rules, I'm sure I can snap them into shape enough so that they don't burn the place down while I'm not there. I'm not leaving you alone right now when you're not well and I'm not leaving you to look after Billy and three babies on your own."

Ben was in charge of the club and he made all the rules, he knew he could get his workers to follow his rules to the dot so that when he wasn't there nothing bad happened. It may not run as perfectly as it did when Ben was there but as long as the club still functioned and nothing went wrong it would be fine. He had to be home right now to look after (Y/n) and Billy and he certainly had to be there if they were now going to be having three newborns to look after.

He could tell that (Y/n) was on the verge of disagreeing with him so he cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. He loved her and he knew they were more than capable of making this work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Have you two not moved since I left this morning?" The smirk resting on Ben's lips was clear as he entered the living room and looked over at (Y/n) and Billy. The pair of them were laid on the sofa bundled under a cover with a few of Billy's books scattered about the sofa with them.

When Ben left to go to the club this morning he left them both much like they were now, curled up watching tv. For the past two weeks with (Y/n) feeling ill, Billy had been glued to her hip, staying on the sofa or in bed with her to keep her company. It was rather endearing to Ben to see how Billy was being sweet and trying to make (Y/n) feel better. Billy especially loved it this morning when Ben asked him to look after (Y/n) while he was at work, it made Billy feel grown up and important.

"We made dinner." Billy pulled the blanket up higher until it was tucked under his chin and a smile was playing on his lips as he watched Ben's movements.

He watched as Ben shrugged off his dark blue jacket and put his keys down on the coffee table before he sat down next to Billy who was now sat happily between both parents. Billy tugged on the cover wrapped around him and (Y/n) so that he could drape the end over Ben's lap so that he was laid under the covers with them.

"Oh did you, what did you make?"

"We made pasta."

"I'll have to try some then won't I. Why don't you go and get your mum another drink cause she needs her medicine now." Ben kissed Billy's forehead before watching him wriggle out from between both parents and scuttle to the kitchen. "How you feeling, baby?"

Ben moved over until his leg bumped against (Y/n)'s and he was close enough to run his fingers through her hair and brush it out of her eyes. The way he looked at her made (Y/n) feel like he was both admiring and studying her at the same time and it caused a shiver to run down her spine.

"Hungry, I didn't feel like eating earlier. Billy's been reading to me for the past hour to make me feel better." (Y/n) didn't feel amazing but she didn't feel like the world was spinning around her or that she was going to faint or throw up to no end. She had managed to find the energy to get up and go to the kitchen to make dinner with Billy which she hadn't done for the past week with how she had been feeling. And for once (Y/n) now felt a bit hungry instead of sick and she had been serenaded with stories by Billy because it was what both parents did for him when he was ill.

"You look more awake and lively than this morning. Have your meds then you can try and eat something with me."

Ben leaned over and cupped her face before he kissed her, feeling a bit more at ease since (Y/n) looked better than she did this morning. She wasn't laid with no energy to move or gagging or curled up trying to stop herself from being sick. She just had to eat and actually keep something down and she might start to feel and get better.

He could feel (Y/n) smiling into the kiss and the way she bit her lower lip when he kissed the corner and edge of her mouth before pulling back with a sly grin on his face. Ben leaned his head to the right when (Y/n) slowly curled her arms around his neck and pressed her forehead against his cheek. (Y/n) watched with a smile as Ben picked up the black bag on the table that (Y/n) used to use as a make up bag.

She had been given steroids, vitamin tablets, tablets to stop her being sick and supplement powder sachets for her drink if she didn't manage to eat anything. Ben never seemed to forget or miss anything like (Y/n) did, she could remember to take her tablets in the morning and then an hour later she could forget to take them. Ben knew how many anti-emetics she could take a day and what times she should take them and it was so much easier for (Y/n) if Ben helped and reminded her when and what to take.

(Y/n) took the steroids and anti-emetics in the morning, the vitamins around this time with the emetics again which she also had at night and then she could have the sachets whenever she thought she needed them if she hadn't eaten or drank anything.

"Alright baby, take these two." Ben handed (Y/n) the two small circular tablets and what was left of her juice and watched as she tipped her head back to make sure she could swallow them. Tablets never usually came as much of a problem to (Y/n) but with the way she was feeling lately even swallowing tablets was hard.

Ben got the antiemetic medication into the syringe it came with but when he gave it to (Y/n) she knew the look in his eyes. She had to take this three times a day because of how badly she was being sick and not intaking any fluids and it was in liquid form because she couldn't take many tablets without being sick. But for the past three days she had been on the medication, most of the time she had thrown it back up so it wasn't getting into her system.

"Please try and keep this one down."

(Y/n) nodded as she took the syringe from Ben and cringed as she swallowed the medicine that made her throat feel dry and her stomach feel unsettled. She knew he wasn't mad at her and he knew she couldn't help if she threw up but if she couldn't keep the medication down that was meant to stop her from being sick then they would have to go to the hospital.

With a sigh, (Y/n) leaned her head on Ben's shoulder as his arm circled around her waist to hold her to his side. The small moment of peace that the couple found themselves in didn't last long before Billy was carefully walking back over to them with a glass of blackcurrant juice clasped carefully between his small hands.

"Thank you baby." (Y/n) smiled when Billy put the drink down on the coffee table before he turned and looked at both parents for a moment.

"Daddy move, you're in my place!" Billy hopped up onto Ben's lap and then wriggled around until Ben sighed and let Billy burrow his way in between him and (Y/n). He watched with a smile and roll of his eyes as Billy moved his way under (Y/n)'s arm so he could sit tucked up by her side like he had been doing before Ben came home. It made Ben smile more because Billy was just as attached to (Y/n) as Ben was, (Y/n) always commented on how Billy was a double of Ben and now he was starting to act like him too.

"I think it's my place to be next to your mum but I'll let you off this one. I'm gonna go get some of that pasta." 

Ben shook his head jokingly at his boy before he made his way into the kitchen, seeing that (Y/n) had plated up pasta for them both so he just had to heat it up. It was surprising but very good for Ben to se that (Y/n) felt well enough to cook and move about the house. He had taken to coming home at dinner and making them all something to eat or making stuff and putting it in the fridge to make it easier for (Y/n). He didn't want her overdoing anything and making herself feel worse.

He put the plate in the microwave and flicked the kettle on to make a drink before he leaned back against the counter and went on his phone for a few moments. He had left Andrew in charge of the club but everything was set out for the day and the rotas and finances were done so Ben was hopeful nothing would happen or go wrong whilst he was home today.

He was alternating between taking the mornings off and having the afternoons off to vary things at the club and at home. He couldn't even think about doing a full day at the club yet until he knew for certain (Y/n) was well enough to be on her own with Billy.

"Daddy! Daddy mummy's sick!"

Ben barely took two sips of his coffee before he almost dropped his cup back down on the counter at the sound of Billy's panicked voice. He made his way quickly back into the living room but Ben couldn't help the way his lips curled in distaste and his blood started to boil.

(Y/n) didn't have the sick bucket downstairs with her and there was nothing else to use but the blanket over her lap. She huddled it in her hands and threw up into it, curling in on herself as gagged, feeling like she couldn't breathe. She could feel Billy patting her back but he didn't know what else to do but to look over at Ben with rather worried eyes.

"Buddy, go upstairs for me and put the tv on in our room, I'm gonna help your mum then take her up to bed." Ben gently hooked his hands under Billy's arms and picked him up from the sofa to place him down to his feet. He didn't want Billy to have to watch (Y/n) being sick and clearly feeling unwell and he knew she wouldn't want Billy to see her like this either. The five year old looked up at Ben and it was clear he wanted to protest but he didn't when Ben patted his back and gave him a nudge towards the doorway.

The moment Billy was out of sight Ben sat down next to (Y/n), moving his hand to her back as his other hand rubbed up and down her arm.

"Baby, baby just breathe it's okay." Ben rubbed his hand a bit harder between (Y/n)'s shoulderblades to try and help her catch her breath back.

Ben dared to look over (Y/n)'s shoulder and see the blanket between her legs but it only made his jaw tighten when he saw that she had thrown up the antiemetic medication and the vitamins he gave her less than twenty minutes ago. She couldn't carry on like this, she had to go to hospital if she was throwing her medication back up that was supposed to stop her from being sick. The midwife said they could control this but Ben could clearly see that things were getting out of control and he didn't like anything out of his control.

"I d-don't like this Ben, I can't even take the meds they gave me." The way (Y/n) sobbed at the end of her words made Ben shiver and his muscles tense. He wanted nothing more than to control this and make (Y/n) better, he wanted her to have almost no morning sickness like when they had Billy instead of this.

"I know baby, give it an hour and then we'll try again with the meds and if not I'll take you to hospital. I can't have you getting any worse than this baby. Now let me take you up to bed."

Ben wasn't messing about, whenever (Y/n) got ill Ben would get to a certain point before he ended up carrying (Y/n) to the car and taking her to a doctor. It happened more times than either of them cared to admit but this time Ben knew (Y/n) wouldn't be arguing when he decided to take her to hospital because it was clear that was going to happen sooner rather than later.

(Y/n) didn't protest when Ben hooked her arms around his neck before he gently curled her legs around his hips so he could stand and pick her up. She rested her head in the crook of Ben's neck as his hands moved to her bum and he walked out the room. Ben could feel the curve of (Y/n)'s stomach pressing against his own and it sparked something inside of him because he loved the feel of her stomach when she was pregnant. But right now all he could think of was that she was still losing weight which she needed to gain for the three lives they created.

"You playing with my chain baby?" Ben moved his head to look at (Y/n) when he started walking up the stairs. He could feel the small silver chain around his neck moving and tugging against the back of his neck making him shiver.

(Y/n) hummed in his ear as she continued to move the chain around his neck. There was just something about the chain that always captured (Y/n)'s attention and when Billy was a baby he always used to pull and bite the chain. But (Y/n) knew exactly how it got to Ben when she messed with his chain and she liked the chain.

"You're lucky your ill." Ben growled quietly in (Y/n)'s ear and he could feel her smiling against his neck when he hit her bum. They both knew if (Y/n) wasn't sick she wouldn't get away with teasing him.

[averyrogers83writes]

Destiny

Title: Destiny Authors:  @endrega23  & @averyrogers83 Warnings: Fluffiness Rating: General Pairing: WinterHawk: Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton Summary: Clint is a sex-repulsed asexual - he falls fast for people, but since he doesn't want to have sex with them, they sooner or later leave him, because those just seem to be the kinds of people Clint would find for himself. Bucky on the other hand has a hard time falling in love with anyone and finds he’d much have a “friends with benefits” setup with Nat then to go out and find someone. That is until Nat knocks some sense into him and makes him realize something she’s known for a long time.   Words: 2904 A/N: This is a collaboration between @averyrogers83writes and @endrega23 for the Marvellous Ace Valentine’s Collab Link: Here

@kimmycup @one-crazy-writer @shield-agent78 @hotoffthepressfics @chuuulip @buckysforeverprincess @thorfanficwriter @the-soulofdevil 

There were three things Clint couldn’t function without. Coffee, pizza, and pretty much Bucky. Clinton Francis Barton, AKA Hawkeye, was a mess when Bucky wasn’t around. On his own during his down time he could be a basic basket case. He was like a kid with ADHD on steroids. It was probably all the coffee in his system. If he could, Clint would put an IV filled with coffee straight into his veins. It’s pretty much why Bucky often made two mugs of coffee before he left the apartment and would meet up with Clint on their way to work.  

Bucky sat down on his couch, looking out across the street through the very conveniently placed window. On the other side, he could just see into another apartment: Clint’s, who for some reason was extremely animated as he talked to Lucky. Bucky shook his head fondly. He never knew what Clint was up to at any given moment, but whatever it was, he could be sure to be amused and and exasperated.

His phone pinged. Bucky glanced down reflexively and his heart stopped for a moment.

Nat - 1:1

Any plans for Valentine’s, yet? I’m excited to see what you come up with this year ;)

Shit, Valentine’s was next week, wasn’t it? He needed to figure out what to do for Nat. She was hard to come up with ideas for. In fact he really couldn’t remember what he did for her last year for Valentine’s Day, but either way it was only right to do something nice for her.

Just as he was scrolling through his phone for ideas, there was a persistent pounding at the door.

“Alright, hold your horses, I’m coming!” he called out He reluctantly got up from the couch and opened the door without looking up from his phone. He knew it was Clint - no one else knocked quite so enthusiastically.  

“Bucky, dude, I need your help.” Clint pushed his way past Bucky, and Bucky looked up. Clint sounded… frantic, somehow.

“What is it this time? Please tell me you didn’t find another cat for me to adopt. Alpine is more than enough for me, thank you very much.”

“No,” Clint shook his head, practically jumping on his toes. He didn’t even rise to Bucky admitting to liking Alpine. What the hell? “I’ve found the one.”

“The one what?” Bucky asked, but damn he knew what the answer was gonna be. Not again.

“You know..the one I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. The one I’m going to marry.”

Bucky sighed. “Yep, exactly what he thought”. Being Clint’s best friend came with some exclusivities, mainly being privy to how chaotic his love life could be. Bucky knew everyone Clint was ever involved with because it seemed like he was with a new partner constantly. When Clint fell, he fell hard, only to break up with them a month or two later. All through college it was the same thing. Clint didn’t fall in love with someone because of what they offered physically, but more emotionally.  It’s one of the things that Bucky and Clint had in common.

That wasn’t the only thing they shared, though. Clint’s dad messed him up so badly that the poor kid ended up partially deaf in one ear after a beating. After that Clint swore that he’d find a way to get out and he did. Bucky’s dad was an alcoholic that was more mentally abusive than physically, but he was known to toss Bucky around a time or two. It sucked that their shitty childhoods are what they had in common, but it allowed them to understand each other more where others couldn’t.

“Yeah? And what makes this one different?”

“She’s hot, smart, makes gravity her bitch - I mean have you seen her dance moves? I just know she’s the one for me and I need your help to plan the perfect Valentine’s date. I’m going to ask her to marry me.” Clint shrugged, and Bucky pinched his nose. He could feel he was going to give in. “Please, dude, you’re my best friend and I really need your help on this one. I don’t want to screw this up.”

Bucky sighed again. How could he deny his best friend his assistance? Besides, maybe they could help each other out in trying to figure out the best dates.

“Fine. I’ll help you, but you’ve got to help me with setting something up for Nat.”

“Are you two finally getting serious?”

Bucky just grunted. Where Clint could fall in love with someone quickly, Bucky found it hard to fall in love. He fantasized about it, don’t get him wrong - but finding someone? So far, it really seemed impossible. It was easier to find someone that he didn’t mind hanging out and occasionally having sex with, but anything long-term was nothing more than a dream and the sex - well. He didn’t really care if the relationship was physical at all, but it certainly seemed like the only kind of intimacy he could get. So for the majority of the time he would hook up with Nat.

Natasha was another one of their long time friends. Where Nat and Clint would often partner up on projects, Bucky would be the one to help make their vision a reality. It was what made the three of them such great friends. It was also why Nat and Bucky were so good for each other. They both pretty much wanted the same thing: a friends with benefits situation where there was no real commitment to each other, just an occasion meet up for sex.

The rest of the day the two spent throwing ideas back and forth on what to do. The ideas went from the simple to the down right over the top. Bucky settled for a more simple route for Nat. She wasn’t one that liked frills and fancy stuff so a nice dinner and maybe some flowers would be enough.

Clint, on the other hand, wanted it to be a night Jessica would never forget. So Bucky helped make reservations at one of the most expensive and hard to get into restaurants in the city. Lucky for them they knew someone that could get them a table. Of course then he had to hire a violinist down to the best wine and champagne. But the more Clint talked about how Jessica was the one, the more Bucky felt agitated. He tried to help with getting the reservations set up or the flowers ordered and just found himself getting frustrated faster.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to or liked helping Clint, but the longer he had to deal with it, the shorter his fuse got. When Clint asked Bucky to go with him to the jeweler to help pick out the perfect ring, Bucky finally felt close to breaking. But it wasn’t like he really had a reason to be frustrated, right? Clint would do the same for him. So he made himself take a few deep breaths and went.

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

The next day Nat invited him to the new Star Wars movie at the mall. The movie was fun (though Bucky would always swear by Star Trek), but what was really worth it was their usual sushi place next to the theater.

Bucky wasn’t quite in the mood, though. He was quiet, he knew - he just didn’t feel like talking.  He could feel Nat’s eyes on him, studying him, and he knew it would bite him in the ass, but…

“James.”

Bucky grunted.

“Do not do this with me,” Nat poked at him with her toe. “You are better than this.”

Bucky glanced at Nat and shrugged. “Am I though?”

“James, what is this?” Nat frowned and set her bowl down. “I thought we were over this. What brought it up?”

Bucky let his head fall back.

“Just… I don’t know, Nat. Clint is getting married and all I can feel is annoyed. It’s not like him getting married is so rare,” Bucky waved a hand in the air. “This is the third time I can remember, and you’ve known him longer. Just.” He rolled his head over to look at Nat. “Why can’t I be happy for him?”

Natasha blinked. "James…” she trailed off, then took a harder look at him. “Please tell me you’re just playing ignorant. Dummy, you're in love with Clint."

"What?" Bucky blinked. "I'm not... What?

He couldn't be, what was Natasha even talking about? Clint was his best friend. Sure, they hung out all the time, but it wasn't romantic. Was it? Noo, no way. It wasn't.

"James Buchanan Barnes." Natasha glared at him. Shit, full named? "Tell me you knew that.

"Nat, come on," Bucky pleaded, his eyes going wider. It couldn't be, right? "You're joking, right? Clint is my best friend, I'm not in love with him.

Natasha stared at him. "You're not kidding.

"Uhm..."

"I can't.” Natasha shook her head. “Just... Think a bit about it. I'm going to get ice cream.

"Rude," Bucky muttered to Natasha's departing back. Leaving him in an emotional crisis and getting ice cream without him? Rude. He should be the one getting the ice cream.

But Natasha couldn't be right, right?

October, 2014

Bucky stared out of his window. If he stood just so, he could see into Clint’s apartment on the other side of the street. Of course, Clint could also see into his, but where that would have bothered him with anyone else, with Clint, it was fine. Clint was fine.

Except right at that moment, Clint wasn’t right, because just as Bucky was preparing to turn away and settle in for his solo night in, Clint tripped right in the narrow strip Bucky could see. Probably over Lucky. The poor dog always got in Clint’s way whenever Clint was getting ready for a date, and really, Bucky couldn’t blame him. He often had the urge to trip Clint up, just so he couldn’t leave on his newest date.

Which was stupid. Clint was an adult, and they’ve known each other long enough that Bucky knew Clint didn’t appreciate others directing his life for him. So Bucky wouldn’t, really. Clint had the right to go on date after date, fall for person after person, and every time he got dumped, Bucky and Natasha would be there with ice cream. Because that’s what friends were for.

Clint tripped right in that narrow strip again, and Bucky sighed. Maybe he should go rescue Clint from Lucky. Maybe Alpine wouldn’t even mind, and that way, at least he’d have a cuddle buddy, even without Clint.

August, 2015

“Hey!” Clint shouted as he pushed open Bucky’s door. “You ready for our pizza night in?” Bucky sighed. “In the kitchen!” he called back. “You know, I distinctly remember locking the door.” “Oops?” Clint grinned at him from the kitchen doorway. “What are you making?” Bucky sighed again, but he couldn’t stop the smile curling his lips. “Just some salad. Natasha threatened again to force-feed you greens, thought I would preempt it.” “Awww, you’re my hero,” Clint fluttered his eyelids, and something in Bucky’s chest squeezed. “Yeah, well,” he said brusquely to cover it up, and pointed at the spare chopping board he set up. “Get chopping. The onions are yours.” “Aw, onions, no,” Clint complained, but obediently stepped up to the board. “Do you have to make me cry?” Only fair, Bucky thought, but bit his tongue before it slipped out. Where the hell did that even come from?

December, 2015

“Come on, Clint!” Bucky shouted to the kitchen, twisting impatiently. “The episode is starting!” “Shit!” Clint cursed, and something crashed. “I’m fine, don’t have to come!” “Sure you are, buddy,” Bucky muttered to himself. The day Clint would be fine in the kitchen was the day they married. Instead, he twisted back to look at the TV, playing the intro of Dog Cops. Why Clint loved that series, he’d never understand, but it made Clint happy so it didn’t much matter. “I’m here!” Clint announced and plopped down next to Bucky. “I think Alpine ate the chicken wings. Sorry.” “Well, whatever,” Bucky grumbled. “Come here.” “Yes, sir,” Clint grinned, and threw his head down on Bucky’s lap. “You’ll have to feed me, I can’t reach the popcorn this way.” “Oh no,” Bucky deadpanned, but obediently reached out to grab a fistful of popcorn. “Now shush.” He dropped the fistful into Clint’s open mouth. Clint grinned up at him, cheeky, but his mouth was full so Bucky just shoved his face to look at the TV. “Dog Cops. Now.”

As if on cue, the intro ended, and then suddenly Clint wasn’t that interested in annoying him anymore.

“Aww, I didn’t miss it!” Clint crowed from behind the popcorn in his mouth. “Yeah, dummy,” Bucky snorted, and sank his hand into Clint’s hair. Really, getting to       pet Clint might be his favorite part of watch parties.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky whispered. “I’m in love with Clint Barton.”

“What?” a voice came from behind him, and Bucky turned, confused.

“Jessica?”

“Yeah, dummy,” Jessica frowned at him from the door to the sushi place. “What did   you just say? Because to me it sounds like you just professed love to my boyfriend.”

“Oh shit,” Bucky cursed. Jessica was staring at him expectantly, but Bucky’s mind was blank. He could feel his heart start to race and his breath coming shorter. He couldn’t believe that he said that out loud, for fuck’s sake.

Jessica sighed. “It’s true, isn’t it? You know, I should thank you. You made things so much easier.”

“What?” Bucky frowned.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.” Jessica smiled tightly and turned.

“What? Jessica…!” Bucky finally sprang into motion, but it was too late; Jessica was gone.

What the hell had she been talking about?

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

Bucky was going out of his mind. He wasn’t able to find Jessica in the mall, and she wouldn’t answer her phone. He wasn’t able to find Nat, either, and when he called her, she just laughed at him and hung up. Honestly, he should just call Clint, but…

But he was a coward. What if Jessica told Clint? What if Clint now hated Bucky? There was no way Clint felt the same way - Bucky knew what Clint in love looked like. It came quick, it was flaming, and it was over just as fast. They’ve known each other for years, now. He should just go to sleep, right? He had work in the morning. But when he looked around the apartment, it was… empty. Specifically, it had a Clint-shaped void gaping at the center. Well, that wasn’t going to change. He might as well get used to… Loud banging on his door interrupted Bucky’s train of thought. What the hell? He rushed to open the door before the banging woke the whole building. “Clint?” Shit, Clint looked awful.

“Jessica broke up with me. She just got up and broke up without any warning other than that I needed to talk to you.”

“Clint I…”

“Bucky what the….What did you say to her! Tell me!”

“Clint I didn’t realize that she was near and she...she apparently overheard me.” Bucky’s heart was racing, he knew he had to come clean, but… “Come in, at least? The whole building doesn’t need to hear us.”

“Oh,” Clint smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

They walked to the couch in silence, but Bucky could feel the tension bubbling up in Clint. To be fair, he wasn’t much calmer.

“Tell me what she overheard,” Clint demanded once they reached the couch.

Bucky took a big breath. Well, here goes nothing.

“She overheard me come to the realization that I love you. I know you don’t feel the same way, and I don’t expect you to. Honestly, I just want things to stay the same; I value your friendship more than any romance.” Bucky’s face flushed. “But I’ve never felt more like myself with anyone else, and, well. You wanted to know.” His palms were sweating and he felt like he was going to faint, and Clint was just staring at him with an open mouth. An actually, comically open mouth. “Clint?”

“Where the fuck did you get the idea that I don’t love you?”

“Wha..what?” Bucky blinked.

“I’ve loved you since the day we met,” Clint said, and a shit eating grin started to appear on his face. “You were everything I ever wanted from a relationship.”

“But…” Bucky blinked again. This was… this didn’t make sense. “You kept falling in love with people!”

“Polyamory,” Clint shrugged, and oh, that made sense. “I kept hoping someone would turn out half as good as you. No one did, though.”

“I… Okay, okay.” Bucky took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, this is a lot to process. Oh my god.” Relief started to fill him. A stupid smile stretched his face, and it felt like he could fly away. Oh god, could he really get to have this? “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Clint grinned back at him, then leaned over to kiss Bucky’s cheek, and Bucky’s face erupted in flames. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.”

“We’ll have to talk things over.”

“I know.”

“Things can’t be this easy.”

“Can’t they though?”

“Wanna cuddle?”

“Hell yes.”

[teamfreewilllover]

Almost Lover: Part 7 - Xavier Plympton Imagine

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Everyone ran as fast as they could towards Xavier’s van when they heard jingling keys coming from the shadows. Y/N and Xavier were stumbling at the back of the group, as Y/N was still feeling out of it. She was pretty sure she had a concussion. Chet noticed them lagging behind and placed Y/N’s arm around his shoulder, the same way Xavier was. She gave him a thankful look, as he held her closer to him. Xavier couldn’t help but roll his eyes at this action. Was Chet really trying to make a move on her at a time like this?

“Come on, hurry up!” Montana called over to the three, as she spotted the van.

The group quickly piled into the large van, with Xavier helping Y/N into the passenger seat.

“Let’s go!” Trevor insisted, as Xavier moved into the driver’s seat.

“I cannot see that shit! There was grey matter coming out of his head, man!” Ray cried, as Xavier fumbled with the keys.

“Who gives a shit?! Xavier, drive!” Montana exclaimed, banging her hands on the table.

Xavier frowned when the car engine wouldn’t start, and hit the steering wheel angrily.

“Hey, calm down. Just try it again in a second. Don’t flood the engine” Y/N soothed him, touching his arm lightly.

“I can’t die with a guilty conscience. I totally did those steroids” Chet admitted, as Y/N whipped her head around to give him an unamused look.

“Shocker” Y/N mumbled.

“Yeah, we all fucking know!” Montana grumbled.

“Come on, baby” Xavier pleaded, as he tried turning the van on again.

They all started to cheer as the van came whirring to life. Xavier and Y/N highfived, feeling relieved.

“Did you just call the van your baby?” Y/N frowned, a moment later.

“Let’s not talk about that” Xavier grinned, making her giggle.

“Fuck you, Camp Redwood!” Montana exclaimed, holding her middle fingers up.

Xavier laughed as he began to reverse out, starting to feel like everything was going to be okay. He looked to Y/N and finally felt like he would be able to tell her how he felt. He wasn’t afraid anymore.

“Look out!” Y/N cried, as she saw a figure jump out in front of them.

Xavie swerved the car at the last moment, narrowly missing hitting Rita who was waving her hands wildly. Instead, he plowed into Margaret’s car, as the group all surged forward at the impact. Y/N let out a scream as she held her hands out in front of her, almost hittting the dashboard of the van.

“Hey, are you okay?” Xavier questioned, as she turned to look at him.

“Can someone else drive next time?” Y/N groaned, touching her aching head.

“You don’t look well” Xavier bit his lip, as he reached over to touch her face lightly.

The others all ran out of the car to check on Rita, but Xavier was far more concerned about Y/N.

“I’m fine, it’s just a headache” Y/N replied, as she leant into his touch.

“Hey! If you guys are just about done touching each other up, we’ve got to get going!” Montana insisted, from outside the van.

They decided to split into two groups, one to get Trevor’s keys, while the other group would get Rita’s. Y/N opted to go with Trevor, just as Montana did. She was surprised when Xavier and Chet all but tripped over each other to join her. She could swear she had seen Xavier grit his teeth when Chet had volunteered.

“Why are you being weird?” Y/N asked, as they locked the cabin door behind them.

“I’m not” Xavier shrugged, making Y/N roll her eyes.

“Bullshit. What’s wrong? Why are you being off with Chet?” Y/N questioned.

“He’s flirting with you, Y/N. He has been ever since we got here” Xavier went on, as Y/N burst out laughing.

“Wait, that’s it? Your jealous?” Y/N teased.

“...Yeah. Yeah, I am” Xavier confessed.

“What are you saying, X?” Y/N asked, her eyes wide.

“You know what I’m saying” Xavier mumbled, not meeting her gaze.

“I still want to hear you say it” Y/N stated, softly.

“I don’t think I really knew until I thought you were dead...” Xavier trailed off, as Y/N took a step forward so their faces were only inches away from each other.

“Go on” Y/N smirked, her eyes dropping to his lips.

“I’m not good with my words, Y/N. But if anything ever happened to you...my world would literally end. And I know we might die here-” Xavier was cut off, as Y/N suddenly leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Xavier was too shocked to respond for a moment, as Y/N pulled back, afraid she might have read the signals wrong. Xavier was looking at her with wide eyes, as a smile grew on his face.

“What was that for?” He questioned.

“Like you said, we might die. So what the hell?” Y/N grinned, as leaned down and kissed her again, his hands resting on her hips.

Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a deeper kiss, as she smiled happily. She couldn’t believe Xavier liked her too, which seemed pretty clear from the way he was kissing her.

“Fucking finally!” Montana cheered, looking overjoyed at seeing her best friends kissing.

“I think we’re going to have to find a crowbar to prize them apart” Trevor mumbled, making Monatana giggle.

“Get a room you two” Chet exclaimed, as he threw a pillow at the pair who were still kissing.

“Oh, I plan to once we get out of here” Xavier smirked, as he pulled away slowly.

“I like the sound of that” Y/N beamed, her arms still wrapped around his shoulders.

The pair jumped in surprise when there was a loud bang on the door. Xavier quickly pulled Y/N behind him, as the banging continued.

“What the hell is that?” Montana questioned, as they began to hear jingling from outside.

“Any ideas how to talk Mr Jingles out of killing us all, Y/N?” Chet whispered, as the group backed away from the door.

“Someone keeps him talking while the rest of us run away?” Y/N suggested, as they all turned to give her a look.

“Right...bad idea” Y/N mummured.

“Hey, asshole! We’ve got a gun in here and I’m about three seconds from pulling the trigger!” Xavier announced, as the banging suddenly stopped.

“Huh, that actually seemed to work” Y/N stated, impressed.

“Yeah, one problem. We don’t have a gun” Trevor pointed out.

“Oh yes, we do” Y/N retorted, as she placed her hand in her jacket pocket and held it out to make a gun like object.

“This is never going to work” Montana bit her lip.

“It’s better than staying in here and waiting for him to burst through that door at any moment” Y/N explained, as Montana reluctantly nodded.

“Wait, are you sure about this?” Xavier said, grabbing her hand.

“He already let me live once tonight. Let’s see if he’ll do it again” Y/N went on, as she squeezed his hand.

“I’ll stay at the back...just in case we get ambushed” Chet suggested, as Y/N laughed.

“You do you, Chet” Y/N nodded, as she slowly began making her way towards the front door.

“We all ready?” Y/N questioned, getting a few nods.

She then ripped open the front door, raising her arm out, ready to meet the serial killer again. Instead she was met with two young boys wearing large raincoats, holding their hands up.

“Please don’t hurt us! We’re sorry. Please” The nearest boy begged, getting on his knees.

“Jesus, it’s just some stupid kids” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Trevor asked them.

“It’s just a stupid prank” The other boy cried, holding a brown paper bag in his hand.

“What’s that?” Y/N inquired, ushering to the bag with her fake gun.

“A bag of shit” The boy confessed.

“Ew!” Y/N and Montana cried.

“We’re so sorry. Please let us go” The boy on the ground whimpered.

“I’m not going to kill you, idiot. Get up” Y/N mumbled, annoyed.

“Can you put the gun down first?” He asked.

“Oh yeah, sure” Y/N replied, taking her hand out of her pocket, as the boy flinched.

“Wait...you lied!” He exclaimed, standing up.

“Yeah, I did. And you pissed yourself” Y/N retorted, indicating to the stain on his trousers.

“That’s so not cool, dude” The boy grumbled, placing his hands over his trousers.

“Uh...is that another one of your friends?” Xavier inquired, as he saw a figure approaching them in a black raincoat, as his keys jingled.

The boys shook their heads furiously, and pushed their way past the group to hide behind them.

“Oh shit...” Montana mumbled, taking a step back.

“Hey Mr Jingles...you remember me?” Y/N asked, as he stopped at the bottom of the steps.

Everyone was surprised when Mr Jingles did seem to recognise her and stayed where he was.

“Are you ready to tell me what you’re really do here yet?” Y/N queried, taking a step forward.

“Y/N, don’t” Xavier panicked, reaching out to her.

“It’s okay...you’re not going to hurt me, right?” Y/N suggested, as she walked down the next step.

“I don’t...I don’t want to hurt kids...anymore kids” Mr Jingles stuttered.

“If that’s true then what are you doing here, man?” Y/N went on.

“I need to remember...” Mr Jingles trailed off.

“Remember what happened in 1970?” Y/N suggested, as he nodded.

“There’s more ways to doing that then going on a murdeous rampage, asshole!” Xavier exclaimed, making Mr Jingles flinch.

Y/N whipped her head around, and mouthed the words ‘what the hell’ to Xavier, clearly annoyed.

“What my boyfriend is trying to say...” Y/N trailed off, as she realised what she had said.

“Boyfriend?” Every person in the group, including Mr Jingles and even the pair of kids questioned.

“Well, it’s not official but...I mean would you want to...not that you have to...” Y/N stuttered, turning back to Xavier.

“As long as you definitely want to...I don’t want to pressure you-” Xavier began, but was cut off by Trevor.

“Jesus, there’s a time and place you two!” Trevor exclaimed, with an exasperated expression.

“Right, anyways...” Y/N coughed awkwardly, turning back to the serial killer.

“I’m guessing someone let you out of that insane asylum?” Y/N guessed.

“I prefer the term mental health facility” Mr Jingles grumbled.

“Noted...you don’t really strike me as the kind of guy who would kill dozens of summer campers?” Y/N pointed out.

“That’s what I’m here to figure out” Mr Jingles told her, making her frown.

“Ever heard of counselling?” Trevor exclaimed, as Y/N whipped her head back around.

“Seriously? The next person who interrupts me, I’m gonna’ whoop their ass” Y/N grumbled.

“That’s my girlfriend” Xavier grinned to the boys behind him, who looked impressed.

“Uh, Y/N?” Montana began, as Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Don’t think I won’t hit you just because your a girl, Montana” Y/N scolded her.

“He’s gone” Montana informed her, ushering to behind Y/N.

She turned back around and found Monatana was right. Mr Jingles must have snuck away while they were bickering with each other.

“Son of a bitch” Y/N sighed.

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list or want to see anything in particular in the future parts!

Tag list: @neontiiger @redama @genderfluid-geek27 @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @iamnotjesha @fangirl--of-everything @pikachubutwithteeth @hoeposey @usuallyunlikelyfox @becky-futcher16 @directioner51798 @baptizedinfire @bedazzled-bandit-ban @avacadontyoudare @cheshirecat107 @fandoms-allovertheplace @theeonlyroman @anoud1970 @mysterious-adventurer @littlelimonchik @grippleback-galaxy @molethemollie @rachelle3musicals @shadesofbarryallen @vixi3303 @mostawkwardperson101 @freeshavocadoooo @yady24 @miskwaadesiwag @isletsoflou-gerhans @thefandomzoneisdangerous @trickei @alexandrathegreat3 @quacksonbarnes @btsarmygirl417 @rhiannon-the-troublemaker @yn-yes-from-the-imagines @faith-alons26 @uwonman @kellysimagines @psychobitchtess @thexmancometh @ace-fiction @anon-1112 @perfect-ginger-maniac @professionalunicorn15

[johobi]

The Devil In His Details

Word count: 9.2k

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, drug mentions, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), assplay, prostate milking, edging

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686617

A/N: So this was supposed to be 1k words long for an anon that requested bad boy!Jimin in a drabble prompt game. Clearly that didn’t happen. I hope you enjoy it more than I did editing lkfjwalkjf.

Evil comes in many forms. In this instance, it’s a 5′8″ pretty-boy with an even prettier dick. And you’re the form you want him to come in.

Park Jimin.

A slender, regal nose. Two sly eyes that mellow with laughter. A white smile with just the one, imperfect tooth. Cheeks you'd find on a cherub's face, but a jawline hewn with the devil's input.

Everything about his face is an infuriating dichotomy of soft and sharp. And, God, his lips. Full, unfairly alluring, and begging to be kissed. But this is not a man who does much of that. Begging, that is. Kissing? Oh, he does a lot of that. It doesn't extend to you, though, no matter how much you wish it did.

Jimin is the object of your latest fixation. Well. You may say latest, but in reality you've been harbouring something hot and nasty for this guy for most of the academic year. To the faces of your friends, you blame the heartbreak inflicted by your ex-boyfriend. The thing is, you've been over him for months. Without that as a plausible explanation for your misguided crush, though, you have little to offer in substitution. Jimin isn't the type of guy any sensible, law-abiding girl should be cranking her Rabbit up for. Sure, he's so beautiful that his face can cleanse troubled minds. But he’s flying so many red flags it's like swimming in shark-infested waters.

He manspreads across from you in the campus square, leather jacket and black jeans lacquering his body and a cigarette dwindling limply between his lips. A smile occupies his mouth and eyes, the latter until they're mere, charming slits. You find yourself smiling, too. Oh, God. Get yourself together, ____. Fucking infatuated idiot.

You should know better. Jimin is aposematic with his lurid, magenta hair. He's a beacon of rebellion amidst the drab of campus conformation. And, yeah, maybe he looks cool because of that.

But he’s nothing but trouble.

A criminal.

You don't know the extent of his many and varied illegal activities, but you do know that you'd be an idiot to ever involve yourself with him. The lesser of his crimes begin with him not even being enrolled at the very university he utilises as his base of operations. And nor is he shooed away for his overt disregard for campus rules - and, generally, the law - because security lives snugly in his weed-stuffed back pocket. Yep, he's a dealer. Street racer. Brawler. You don't know how many times you've been torn from sleep by his gang's maniacal laughter as they rough up a rival, less attractive one.

He's also a heartbreaker.

And as ridiculous as it is, that's the thing that gives you most reason for pause. Not the drug-peddling, not the violence, but because you're in so deep you want to be sharkbitten. Consumed, bone for bone.

But he never looks your way. Ever. You're not so much a Plain Jane, you don't think, but desperately shy. Especially where your heart's involved. It forgets its function when confronted with someone you like. You take care of your appearance. You've had a few, long-term boyfriends. But whenever you're dumped back at Square One: Single, you're as hopeless in romance as you are in cooking. And all the cuisine you can conjure involves a microwave.

Scenarios of seduction circulate your mind as you ogle him from afar, your thoroughly bitten lip again between your teeth. If only you possessed the confidence your best friend insisted lay latent within you. It would be nothing to strut up to him now and toss your phone into his lap, arms crossed and an expectant smirk curling your mouth. "Gonna give me your number, or what?" you'd sigh - exasperated for the sake of drama - his beautiful face wiped clean of its cocksure facade.

Yeah, that'd be real cool.

But you're still sitting here, legs bobbing out of habit. Jimin is still there, smug and sexy, imparting something hilarious enough, apparently, to wind the comparably attractive guys with him. It's then that your phone purrs between your hands, clutched and previously forgotten.

It's Jisoo, said best friend.

[13:56] slut #1: heyyyy

[13:56] slut #1: guess what

It'll be one of two things. Either she needs your notes because she slept-in in lieu of doing the set reading, or—

[13:56] slut# 1: our floor's having a party tonight

Party.

[13:56] slut #1: come or ill break your legs 

The severity of her threat comes down to your repeatedly declining her invitations. It's not that you don't enjoy parties, because you do. In fact, there’s rarely a time you feel more alive than getting smashed and exorcising your anxiety for those few hours. It's more the fact that it takes a month's worth of mental energy to prevent you flaking out in the lead-up.

Today, though, you're game. Your introversion has been well and truly catered to these last, barren weeks. You're at full charge.

[13:58] yeah, why not

Dots dance across the screen.

[13:58] slut #1: serious???? holy shit that was easy for once

[13:58] slut #1: come to my room at 9

[13:59] the party's in your room?

[13:59] slut #1: no dumbass it's like the whole floor, idek whose party it is but u gotta meet me somewhere right

[14:00] kk. see you then

However unlikely, a feeble hope tugs at your fragile, besotted heart. Maybe he'll go? The organ stutters in your chest when you raise your eyes to where Jimin sits. But he's gone. Suddenly, it all seems like a terrible idea. It's just not meant to be. The universe is communicating it to you as gently as it can.

I need a firm slap. Irked by your nonsensical infatuation, you shoot to your feet and make off in a storm, bag not so much slung but catapulted onto your back. I need to get the fuck over this.

The campus square is a sizeable, open space with the central fountain being its only obstacle. However, by how solid the object is that you suddenly collide with, it seems to have sprouted another.

"Shit!" you gasp, nose flattened sharply, painfully, against something immovable. As you rub it, brows sharp in offense, you peer up into eyes of the thing you've blindly marched into.

Fuck.

Jungkook.

One of Jimin's lackeys.

Before you can locate his magenta-headed leader, however, Jungkook fills the entirety of your field of view. His narrow lips draw tighter; eyes, too. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

“U-Uh—”

“Uh?” the musclehead mimics, stooping into your personal space. By instinct, you shrink. At odds with his adorably prominent front teeth, the sneer he wears is nasty. “Anything else?”

An errant glance over Jungkook’s shoulder finds you Jimin. He hangs back, hands in pockets, nonplussed by the confrontation. It’s likely pretty tame in comparison to their usual run-ins. But it frustrates you, nonetheless, that the boy won’t look at you, even now, when the spotlight is searing you.

Jungkook snaps his fingers at the end of your nose and you’re back in the room. “Well?”

“I’m sorry. It was an accident. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You hack for breath when he exhales a plume of cigarette smoke directly into your face. “I-It won’t happen again.”

The other one with them - Seokjin, the half-ass in your business studies class - claps a hand on Jungkook’s seam-straining shoulder. “‘Roid rage. Sorry, sweetheart. You’re a finance major too, right?”

Before you can even process the unexpected civility of his question, Jungkook rounds on him in ire. “The fuck? You know I don’t take steroids.” His cigarette flares at the corner of his mouth. Like a showboating pidgeon, he puffs out his muscular chest. “This is all hard work.”

Seokjin is clearly unmoved. He blinks an unnecessary amount of times, like it’s a tic of his. His glasses ride up as he crinkles his nose. Then: “Okay. Didn’t know you were too stupid to get a joke though. ‘Roids must be shrinking your brain as well as your dick.”

“What—”

An Off-White jacket streaks across your vision.

“—the fuck—”

A white t-shirt follows it soon after.

“—did you just say?”

Jungkook ripples, shirtless, with such unabated fury he distorts the air surrounding. Or maybe it’s the heatwave.

It’s then, beholding this sudden, aggressive display, that your fear finally surfaces. “Oh my God, what the fuck is happening?” you whisper exclusively to yourself, because to attract attention is to court an ass-beating.

And it’s then, of course, that Jimin finally takes heed of your existence. With a quirk of his head, he stares you down. Well, not so much stare. What he does expresses far less effort. His eyes meander the length of you in their own, good time, before landing on your blanching face. The laziest of smirks possess his lips.

Your heart sprouts wings.

His smirk widens.

Fuck, your heart’s airborne. It’s gonna launch itself out your mouth.

Seokjin dispels Jimin’s sorcery with another, unwisely provocative comment. “Your dick’s shrivelled? Or your brain? I don’t know which one offended you.”

Jungkook pounds his chest once, like an oversexed silverback. “Why you always gotta do me like this, bro? Is it ‘cause I fucked your mom that one time? I thought you were over tha—”

“Fuck you!”

Just when you’d established Seokjin as the pacifist of the group, he begins throttling Jungkook double-handed. The pair slip into an awkward grapple while Jimin looks on.

Looks at you.

Doesn’t even spare a glance for the groups of hurried, whispering students migrating across campus.

Guttural grunts float up from the ground as Jungkook and Seokjin’s scuffle escalates, but their leader pays them no mind in that moment. It’s your opportunity to say something more, but you don’t. Your vocal chords never pull together.

Moment missed.

Jimin sweeps a lock of magenta from his eyes, finally animate. A testy sigh siphons from him. “Get up. You’re making me look bad. Put your fucking shirt on, Jungkook.” His voice, usually soft, strikes like a serpent. Venom coats his tongue. “You represent me, dickheads. Plus, you’re scaring this girl.”

The absurdity of the situation, the apprehension you feel, is muffled for a moment. All you can hear is the rush of blood and Jimin’s vocal acknowledgement of your existence ricocheting in your mind. Girl. You.

It’s stupid. Demeaning, even, snapping up these scraps like a slobbering mongrel.

But exciting.

Having captured Jimin’s attention, you bow to him the gratitude you can’t vocalise. The plan, as you rise, is to hit him with a seductive smile, but you're certain your mouth only stretches awkwardly. Nevertheless, his pretty lips purse for a moment before pulling up, too. “I’m going.” He addresses them, but his eyes are on you.

Jimin takes his leave without further ado. As he passes you his gaze lingers too long, demanding he turn his face. His body ghosts past without contact, but a chilly thrill descends upon you like he's drifting right through your bones. And then he struts away like he owns the place, because he does.

And, God, he owns you, too.

His in-fighting entourage scrabble to catch up with him. Jungkook's hastily gathered clothes scrape the floor as he runs, their expense forgotten. “‘Min-hyung! Wait! We’re sorry!”

"Bye then," you comment, quiet, to their retreating backs. It wasn't quite the first encounter you'd prophesied, but considering Jimin's reputation, it should've been.

Anyway.

Your eyes fall to your phone and this evening's plans.

Party.

---

Jisoo's generously highlighted features bob before you in the muted light. Parts of her face are so illuminescent it looks like scaffolding. "Anyway, I'll be back soon. Get some drinks, loosen up. I need to find Namjoon."

"Okay, but are you actually gonna come back?" Your first beaker of jungle juice is already souring your lips. "'Cause if you're gonna find Namjoon, I don't think you're gonna come back."

Her eyes are everywhere but on you, glossy mouth twisting. “I'll really try! But I also really wanna see him, now I know he's here." Suddenly, your free hand is in her meticulously manicured clutches. "I'm not saying I will disappear, but I might. Please understand! I need dick so bad. Please." And now her eyes are on yours, black as night and just as dangerous. Jisoo is never more serious than when cock is at stake.

You shake yourself free of her flimsy grasp and flimsier promises. "Do what you want, but I don't know anyone in your dorm. If you don't come back in an hour, I'm gonna go."

That was an hour ago.

Within that hour, you consumed three cups of awful booze, lingered awkwardly by the party lights, and recovered zero Jisoos. The only noteworthy happening was some plastered guy insisting you were his boyfriend. So insistent, in fact, that you doubted your own identity by the last of the 15 minutes he spent calling you Yoongi. He lamented endlessly about how difficult it would be to survive the evening without getting in your tight little ass. The only thing that convinced him of the truth to your identity was said, tight-assed man appearing and dragging the lightweight away. Yoongi did have a nice ass, you observed, as they fell back into the throng.

Oh.

And Jimin was here.

Skulking the fuchsia shadows like a perfect predator. Thing is, he's already top of the food chain. No hunting required. Very much evidenced by the girls that swarmed him all night like a shoal of pilotfish. The music was too loud and the light too dim, but for every instance he opened his mouth, his accompanying partygoers exploded into laughter. This seems a skill of his. He has dominion over men and women both.

And you're no exception.

Whenever he was in sight, he drew your eyes. When he was dancing, he drew them lower. And there they remained, never straying from his swivelling hips and straining thighs. The girls danced in circles around him like they were worshipping a pagan idol. Understandable. You coveted him, too, from afar.

But now he's gone. Your cup is empty. Jisoo is getting Namjoon'd.

It's been an hour. You're going home.

There’s enough trash at your feet and liquor loosening your morals that you feel no guilt in dropping your beaker onto the pile. Polished, black shoes with pointed toes enter view and crumple that which you’ve littered. You look up.

“Juh—”

Jimin. It’s Jimin. Neither your mouth nor brain can co-ordinate sufficiently enough to identify him verbally, though. Instead, you gawp, inches from his breathtaking face, bathed in romantic light. “Littering, huh? Kinda rude, don’t you think?” He taunts, tongue between teeth. When you don’t rebut him, he slides an arm up the wall behind you. Sinks closer, until your eyes meet on an intimate level. “What are you doing here, campus girl? Didn’t think this was your kind of thing.”

Righteous indignation roils in you. As for why, it’s unclear. As are most things when relatively tipsy. “How would you know what my kind of thing is? You don’t know me. Also, don’t call me campus girl.” At this proximity, you’re acutely aware of the alcohol on your breath. You dial it down a bit. Turn your head and snort. “That’s rude.”

The alcohol, apparently, has also robbed you of your self-preservation skills. Because never in the light of a sober day would you be slighting a delinquent like this. And not the one you’re besotted with, either. That, then, dawns on you. As does his closeness, and the sweet smell of his own poison of choice.

“Well, I don’t know your name, do I?” Charm inhabits his tone, his smile. God, it’s flustering. Jimin toys with you, thwarting your attempts to evade his eyes. His face follows yours, until it’s all you can do but stop and stare. Fall fully and deeply into him. “‘Cause you’re shy, aren’t you?” He wets his lips then, unfairly. They’re dewy and full and even rosier in this light.

“Let me suck your dick,” you blurt, hypothesizing it being just as juicy. Just as tasty. Your inhibitions are low, but not enough that this is a mistake. Jisoo is right. There’s confidence in you, somewhere. You tap it when you tap a keg.

Jimin looks scandalised. His eyebrows vanish into his hairline. Giddy laughter streams from him. “Pardon?”

“I said, let me suck your dick.” Power floods your bloodstream. Liquid courage mingles with. “I’m pretty good at it, and I really want to. Like, so bad. I think about it a lot.”

If he says no, you no longer have to wonder.

If he says no, you never have to look at him again.

If he says no, you can chase someone wholesome and virtuous.

If he says yes, you get to suck his dick.

“Yeah?” Interest kindles in Jimin’s keen, black eyes. He’s close enough, now, that his body heat feels akin to weight against you. His voice drops below the bass of the music. “What did you think about?”

Are you gonna dirty talk in public?

A quick glance around and they aren’t so much the public anymore as parading monkeys, high on lust and low on decency. Just over from you, there’s a girl getting the least discreet fingerbanging of her life.

So, yeah. You lose a little of your rigidity and tip back your head. Lick your lips with a deliberate tongue. “How pretty your cock probably is. How it’d feel on my tongue, in my throat.” Unconscious or not, Jimin’s pressing to your hip. The subject of your conversation starts soft in his pants, but stiffens with your salacious description. Fuck, you’re tingling, too. “How you’d taste, coming down my throat—”

“Are you for real, campus girl?” Jimin interrupts, breathy. Disbelieving. He almost sounds distressed. Like a donkey that doesn’t wanna walk miles for a dangling carrot. Jimin doesn’t seem to get it, though. He’s the carrot, and dear God you wanna chomp down.

“I told you not to call me that. Guess you’re not interested,” you bluff, because not only are you provocative on booze, you’re also an absolute fucking idiot. There’s a significant chance he’ll tire of your tsundere bullshit and find another open mouth. However, as you turn to leave, fate smiles on you. As does he, when he sandwiches you to the wall, his chest to your back and his mouth a ghost on the nape of your neck.

Chills.

Chills spread where his breath is hot and wet. But still, his lips don’t touch. You can, however, hear the smirk in his voice. “Tell me your name.”

The stutter sabotages you somewhat. You’re breathless. “I-It’s ____.”

"____," Jimin repeats with a flick of his tongue, wetting your nape with the slightest of saliva. "Are you for real, ____? Or are you drunk?"

His fingers spread like wildfire across the tops of your thighs, testing the give of your flesh. You exhale as if he's squeezing the soul from you. "I'm for real. I'm not drunk, I've just had enough to realise that if I don't say this now, I never will. How often do you talk to me, after all?"

Jimin's throat rumbles as he contemplates. His lips part by your ear, vocal fry caressing each, careful syllable. "How often do you talk to me?" he poses. The steady, rigid throbbing against your ass suggests that this could've happened sooner.

Reluctant as you are to disturb your clinch, you’re not here to stare at the plastering. It would be a crime to deny yourself the chance to ogle his beauty close-up. With this in mind, you twist against his body, bringing your fronts flush together. God, he throbs all the more potently like this, pressed to the crotch of your dress. Jimin's still smiling, of course, all illegal charm and zero reserve.

A nervous lick of lips. "You're terrifying. Especially when you're surrounded by those guys all the time. That's why I don't talk to you." It’s a half-truth. The other half is your incompetence in flirting.

"And here I was, thinking you were shy," is Jimin’s riposte. "But, clearly, I'm wrong." Those plush, pink lips descend on you before you can blink away the unreality of it. They're softer than any piss-poor imitation of a man's mouth that's come before them. Softer than silk, even. And when they open, syrupy. A mire of heat and wet tongue, caressing away all your prior fears, even if they're legit. It really doesn't matter. Not when you're tasting this sublime man. Not when he suckles at your mouth so sensually, so gently. He can't be that horrific a person when he's holding you with such careful attention. It's too soon when he unties your tongues. "You don't need to be afraid of me," Jimin murmurs thickly to your lips. The lop-sided smile he wears says otherwise. It's a little too close to a sneer. "Well, ____—" he steps back. Lures you with him. "Wanna make this a reality?"

You're giddy as fuck. So much so your legs feel like a Newton's cradle. "Y-Yeah. Take me somewhere—" to speak his name is to make it real— "Jimin."

People blur, merge shapelessly around you as he weaves through their mass, leading you by one, dainty hand. It's not the drink. You're dizzy - high, even - with anticipation so intense it renders all outside his svelte figure indistinct. All there is is him, and what you're about to do. It doesn't even feel like you're tripping up the stairs when you do. You're floating, actually, because he's pulling you up and smirking so salaciously that you're weightless. The only weight is the one nestled deep in your abdomen, punching at your cunt like it knows well what that smug mouth could do.

The two of you stagger into an unoccupied bathroom. It's as grim and grotty as you'd expect of student lodgings, but that matters very little right now. Even though you're painfully germaphobic. The priority is realising you're about to suck off Park fucking Jimin. It hits you so powerfully that, for a very long second, you want to reconsider. After all, he likely has expectations. Confidence flees from you.

"Okay, then. On your knees, ____."

And then it floods back. As does desire.

Jimin perches atop the toilet with poise, its seat flat beneath him. You briefly speculate its cleanliness, but he’s already slinking the denim down his legs and over his knees. They cling in a pool at his ankles, likely impossible to get any further. His visibly wilting cock lounges against the crotch of his CKs, waiting for your intervention. It'll have to wait a little longer, though, because there's nothing on God's awful earth that will hinder your leering at this visual feast. His muscle-strapped thighs are somehow all the thicker hugging the bowl of the toilet. And the tiny, toned waist they taper to is all the confirmation you require to understand that this man is way out of your league. Like, forget international league. You're 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. "Fuck."

The curse is all he needs to understand. Whether it's for the sake of wanking his ego or to titillate you further, Jimin tenses his quads until they're as hard and smooth as varnished oak. All you want is to ride them like a fucking rocking horse. "You making me wait?"

Hell no. Before he can even finish his taunt you're at his feet and kneading his thighs like dense dough. Jimin feels fit. He isn't pliable like lovers gone. He's zero body fat, all thew, all sex. He's everything.

And you're nothing to him.

Tonight, though, you’ll become something.

Your fingers continue upward. And as they do, inward. Where he's slightly fleshier, and by the twitch of his covered dick, more sensitive. "How do you like it?"

"I'm as predictable as any other guy," Jimin half-shrugs, reclining against the cistern. His fingers curl into your hair, though not in any pushy, possessive way. It's almost as though he's simply appreciating its texture. The curve of your scalp. Tingles spring from his touch and arrest your body. "Deep as possible. Don't neglect the shaft. Play with my balls a little," he reels off his litany shamelessly. "If you can take it, lemme fuck your face?"

Each of his suggestions make both your mouth and cunt salivate. You want all of those things and more. That other thing. "We'll see," you say as much to yourself as you do to him. "Let's see what we're working with." You lunge for his waistband with both hands, eager to steal them from his body. Jimin halts you once you peek pubes.

"I'm not sitting my bare ass on this toilet." The grunt he makes is indignant. Adamant.

But you have plans. And so you whip a towel from its rail and coax it beneath him, the makeshift mat feeling dubiously damp. "If you want me to do it good, let me have you without your underwear."

Jimin complies, shifting his weight. Then, with danger perverting his tone: "Then you better do it good, ____."

You perform well under pressure. The pressure that comes with academic deadlines and 10th grade theatre, at least. However, it doesn't extend to sucking the cock of, arguably, the most intimidating, most captivating man you've gawped at from afar. Your previous lovers were diffident and easy to please. It's only through your own, bored invention that you delved deeper into the art of oral with them. You hope it serves you well tonight. "I'll try my best," you challenge, brow cocked, Jimin's boxers successfully purloined. The front of them are tacky to the touch, and this alone incites you. God, you can taste his salt already.

To your dismay, he doesn't resume his careful caressing of your scalp. No, once his bottom half is nude, he splays his thighs obscenely and leans back, fingers curling around the towel-covered toilet seat. From here he peers down his nose at you, a smirk all the while. His torso is one rigid, smooth slope, and you wish selfishy to see it exposed. Asking for that, too, though, might be too much.

And now that your gaze plummets, it doesn't matter. His cock is enough. You'd think it impossible for such an awkward looking appendage to ever earn the term pretty. But, uniform with the rest of him, his is. What he lacks in length he makes up for generously in girth. His cock is chubby and blushing, and, yes, pretty. God, so pretty.

Yes, you'll let him face-fuck you.

The tinkle of Jimin's earrings disrupt your awed silence. He projects impatience: Chewed lips, raised eyebrows, a slight, inquisitive tilt to his head. "This your first time or something?" Magenta falls across his eyes as his focus slips down his own body. He cages his cock inside a delicate fist, nurturing it to its full, thickened capacity. As it grows, so does his filthy smile. "You don't need to lie to me. I can go easy on you."

"This isn't my first time." Your resentment is palpable. Apparently, he enjoys it. As he pumps himself harder, his tongue probes disrespectfully at the corner of his upturned mouth. That only inflames you. "Is it your first time? Are all the rumours false?" Your comeback is risky, but the mood suggests banter is welcome. Perhaps all this big, bad wolf wants is a little, red-faced riding hood to provoke him.

The dare pays off. With one last, long stroke, he lets loose his erection, the concrete appendage slapping his stomach with an admirable thud. Resting back on one hand, he gestures to his waiting cock with the other. "Totally. I'm a good boy, ____. Now stop talking and fucking spit on it."

Your clit jumps. As do you, right into action. With your palms canvassing his inner thighs, you take one last, unenlightened breath before you dive face-first into his musk, pulling aside his cock to nuzzle at its base. To fully savour his scent and warmth. Jimin fills your hand to the extent you're unable to form anything close to a closed fist. Your thoughts are possessed only by your imagination and how wide he could stretch you. How full he could make you. A fucking stampede thuds through your pussy.  "Mm, you have such a nice cock," you murmur around the root of him. It's not so much meant as a compliment, but a statement of pure fact that must be expressed. You're sure he's heard such professions many times.

Yep. "I know, sweetheart." The timbre of his voice is a little heavier. Breathier. As your tongue flicks lazily under the round of his balls, it quivers, too. Nevertheless, he maintains his stoicism. "Why you teasing me down there? You know what I want."

When you pull one of his testicles into your mouth, however, he emits a quiet noise. One that sounds a little like it's something he wants. "Yes, daddy," you mouth around him, full irony. Jimin reacts to it, though. Pushes into your slack grip, looking for friction you're not about to give. It's almost enough to make you roll your eyes. Still, you don't know where the limit to his patience lies. And so you relent and pull your mouth upwards, dragging his sac with your reluctant lips. Jimin tenses when finally you free him, wet, sticky, and back to hanging. And then you're ascending his fat, veiny shaft, lathering the underside with your tongue. Ekeing from him the most delicious gasps of air. His hands go back into your hair, though with far less care this time, grasping at your roots as though to earth him.

"Yeah, that's it, ____. Keep going." Jimin's encouragement is sweeter to the ears than any lauded music. And so is the stifled whine that streams from him when you glaze the tip of his cock with saliva, enough to dribble down its entire length. Once he’s sufficiently spat on, you follow with your mouth. Fuck, it’s a strain to accommodate him. A feat not to scrape him with your teeth. He's so thick you must look vulgar stuffing him between your lips like this. A wayward glance tells you he's enjoying the lewd visual, though. His mouth is parted and breath puffs quickly from him. His eyes, normally sharp with wit, are dull. Fully blown. Jimin devours the sight of your struggle, as you do his uncomfortably chubby dick. His nails imprint crescents of self-restraint into the skin of your scalp. "F-Fuck. Yeah. Suck me."

You do. More fervently than you have any mouth-watering candy. Your lips work the head of his cock with measured pressure, back-and-forth, to the tune of his increasingly whiny vocalisations. Instinct takes him, sometimes, and he jerks without thought into you. Your teeth graze him, then, but it seems like an ineffective deterrence. No, sometimes he moans when you catch him, and for that you reward him with tongue on his frenulum.

That gets him the most.

His thighs ripple, his back bends. His head of magenta hair falls back.

"You—mmmmh—like that?" is your an attempt at a taunt, dulled by the cock wedged in your cheek.

"You suck dick like a fucking slut." Jimin is panting now, a sheen of perspiration oiling his face. Fuck, he looks dewy and downright dirty. The crotch of your panties is saturated with want for him. "You pretend you're all innocent and shit, but, Jesus, you're a dirty bitch."

With an enthusiastic flex of his thighs, he struggles free from the jeans binding him and props up a foot, knee bent and accentuating just how shapely his calves are. Spread like this, he's sordid. Wanton. He's getting desperate, and, against all expectations, unafraid to show it. Men with his level of machismo are typically reserved. It turns you on, dials you into overdrive, just how unabashed his enjoyment is. "Deeper. Can you take it deeper, ____? P-Please," Jimin whimpers on cue, resolve thready.

Briefly, you alight from his cock. He whimpers about that, too. This man is the terror of your college campus. And now he’s a needy, sex-swollen mess. "Depends. Can I edge you?" You're actually decently sober at this point, but bravado still brews in you nevertheless.

Jimin, no longer basking, purses his lips. Glares with the fury of a thousand blue-balled men. "Don't you fucking dare. Try it and I'll take over. I’ll come all over your smug little face."

The threat, in actuality, is more a solemn hope of yours. "Okay, okay. I won't edge you." Your hands keep busy while your overtaxed mouth relishes its moment of emptiness. You funnel your energy, instead, into keeping his cock stiff, five fingers twisting along its lubed-up length. With the other hand, you return to your earlier fixation and palm tenderly at his distended balls. A delicate quivering radiates from his core muscles. "But I really wouldn't mind you coming all over my face."

Everything about him tenses, then releases. His eyelids, low, bear the weight of arousal. "For real?"

"Might as well, my knees are already gross. You can get me dirtier if you like, Jimin." And then you're pulling down the straps of your dress until your breasts spill out, already pebbled and desperate for a fondling they won't get tonight. "Or here. Or everywhere. Just go to town."

Jimin gulps down stuffy, humid air. Concentrates a little too hard on your uncovered tits. Rocks a little too enthusiastically into your undulating grip. "God, yeah. I wanna come all over you. Spit in your fucking mouth." Suddenly it's not just your sole fist grasping him. He's clutching you, clutching him. Squeezing your knuckles until they're white and his cock is very, very red. "I'll bend you over the bathtub and fuck you 'til I break your hips. 'Til your pussy's dripping cum."

“Jesus—”

You’re so luststruck by his vulgar fantasies that it’s almost too late when you come to your senses. Jimin fucks your hands so ferociously it’s clear that the beast has taken him. You snatch away your hands before he wastes himself all over them. His come away, too, hovering in the air and demanding answers.

"Okay, well you just edged yourself." A giggle slips out while you watch him heave breath like he's nearing death. In a way, it's cute. Jimin's cheeks are full and flushed, eyes rounder than moons. He himself seems taken aback by his lapse into unadultered lust. "Don't take away the only reason I came here."

Despite Jimin's earlier, emphatic disapproval of being edged, he sure seems appreciative now. He basks in the near-rush, mellower than before. Gently - perhaps affectionately? - he cradles the back of your head and draws you in, a thumb pressing caresses to your cheek. This sudden sweetness, it's abnormal. Harmful. You don't want it. You don't want to see his good side, nor fall for it.

But here he comes, eyes searching, lips begging.

"Then deepthroat me like I asked."

Nevermind.

The pompous smirk is back. He reclines, his one leg up like an ode to Michaelangelo, dick tall and looking just as self-important. You're decided. It's time to make him squeal. "Okay. No edging. But let me make it feel even better?"

Jimin drips scepticism. "How?"

Fully anticipating rejection, you're direct. "Lemme stick a finger up your ass."

Again, he surprises you. Insomuch that revulsion doesn’t immediately sour him. "The fuck?" A husky chuckle rattles in his chest, instead. "Is that your secret technique?"

"Kinda." Your shoulders draw inward as self-consciousness consumes you. "I totally get it if you don't want to. But the other guys I've been with enjoyed it."

"Then do it, whatever. Don't let me go soft, though, ____," Jimin warns with pouty lips. His cock leans demonstratively forward, threatening flaccidity. "I'm feeling neglected."

"Tragic," you coo, feigning empathy. Looking as petulant as he, you suckle softly around the head of his dick, enkindling his passion before it fades. Your tongue does work around its bulbous ridge, teasing where it makes him squirm most. Then, with his demands in mind, your mouth descends over his modest stretch of shaft, worshipping each, precious inch as you go.

“Yes, baby. That’s it, that’s it.”

You dip and rise, tug and suck in a tantalising advance toward his base, wringing the precum from him. It's salty and sticky and you love it on your tongue, love smearing him with his own mess. Want to smear him with your mess.

“Fuck, yeah. K-Keep—unh!—going!”

The more of him you gobble, the more erratic his body behaves. Beneath your hands, his sweat-tacked thighs are tremulous, tensing without rhyme or reason. Jimin has little control over  any of his extremities. His hands are uncomfortable fists in the back of your hair, like he's reining in a wilful mare. And then there's his beautiful, unstopped moaning, so sinful your clit thumps like a bass drum between your legs. You moan, too, slurping the end of his leaking cock to the back of your throat so he can better feel it. The reverberations must reach him, because Jimin bucks, then, wildly enough to trigger a gag. "Ugh, y-yes, fuck!"

You can't so much as master Savasana in yoga, but what you are adept at is gag control. And though you cough a little, slaver a little, nothing but sudden death will stop you now. Nose-deep in Jimin’s considerately trimmed pubic hair, you trap him momentarily there, the whole of his cock nestled deep in your throat's constraints.

Jimin looks half-way gone. His hands hover above your shoulders, fingers curling and twitching peculiarly, like he’s about to astral project. Indeed, all you can see through the sliver in his lightly-closed lids is the white of his eyes. Every so often Jimin rolls his pelvis towards you, but you stymy his attempts to face-fuck you until you're ready to see him over the finish line. Grasping his hips, your thumbs take the liberty of feeling the lines of his obliques, and, God, you've never hated an item of clothing more than the t-shirt he's wearing.

"More," he splutters, then, swivelling against your hold like he's compelled. "More, give me more. I'm so close, I—I wanna fucking drown you in cum—" an ungodly groan bursts forth as he whips himself into a frenzy of his own making— "Fuck, you suck cock so good—so good, baby."

Of all things, baby is what heats your cheeks. The endearment feels like long-coveted validation. "Bear with me," is what you try to communicate, but considering the weight of his cock is pinning your tongue, it comes out garbled. Jimin doesn't even notice, so rapt is he in your mouth's luxury. Occasionally, he rewards your efforts with globs of pre-ejaculate that slide smooth down your throat.

Not wanting to interrupt his well-earned crawl to orgasm, you bob on his cock hands-free, employing them instead to locate one of the condoms populating your purse. Keeping pace is difficult enough that it's not long before Jimin, unsteady on his perch, growls in caution.

"Don't you dare fucking stop," he grunts through gritted teeth, scrutinising your every, unrelated move. When he sees what it was you sought, the growl becomes a snarl. The disdain his eyes convey is almost comical. "Don't make me come in that. I'm not coming in that," he snorts, placated momentarily by your refocused efforts on his plump little dick. As you tear open the wrapper, you tongue his cock hole like a striking snake. "Oh, sh-shit!—H-Hey, if you don't want me to come on you I won't, but—"

Slobber splatters the towel in your haste to cut him off. "It's not for you."

Rather than court more questions, you demonstrate. Hastily, you unroll the condom over your longest finger. Then, with his unerring attention, you squat back on your heels and hike up your dress, allowing him a view onto your panty-wrapped cunt. Jimin doesn't even notice that your mouth is gone from him while he’s leching. It’s just long enough an opportunity to dip your rubber-sheathed digit deep into the wetness of your pussy. He makes noises as you do, quiet ones, ones that stress how much he wants to be inside it. When you withdraw, your lips lock back onto him, kissing his cock where it's most swollen and sensitive. "Try and relax, okay? It'll feel good quicker if you do," you offer in advice, your cunt-slick finger bypassing his balls and slithering along his perineum. Already he's reacting, even from this slight, external stimulation.

"I'm relaxed as fuck," Jimin puffs defiantly, despite his initial recoil. "Show me what you're all about, ____."

"Alright then." Ever so carefully, you wheedle the tip of your finger past his asshole, stopping when his body tells you to. "Jimin, if you can’t handle it—"

They're unextraordinary words, but, apparently, the magic ones. Immediately he loosens around you. "I can. Shut up."

You do. By engulfing his erection without warning. Drawing on it like you would a drinking straw, enough to fluster him into distraction. The result is an easy, sailing entry into his ass, right up to your knuckle. It's not difficult to locate his prostate from there, as deliciously swollen as it is. With a cursory couple of taps, Jimin's body responds in new, mesmerizing ways.

"W-What the fuck—ah!" he cries through his confusion, the unfamiliar feeling prying his eyes wide. Jimin can only watch, overwhelmed, as you manipulate him from within, his back arching clean from the cistern. He's suspended by sensation, a wobbling tension keeping him upright. As you slurp mercilessly at his cock, you fix him with a look. Jimin's not there to receive it, though. His expression says his brain short-circuited the moment you started stroking him internally. And then, with a choked gasp, he returns to the corporeal, yanking at your hair like a man possessed. Only, he's pulling you away. "Stop, oh fuck, I'm gonna piss in your mouth." Distress and arousal fight for his features. The latter is winning, if the stutter of his hips is anything to go by. He's caught between two worlds of pleasure; bookended by penetration and your softly nursing mouth. All he can do is thrust from one to the other.

You come away with his hands, just briefly. Kitten-lick his purpling cockhead. "It's okay. You won't pee, it's meant to feel like that. Just go with it, unless you don't like it."

The blush dusting his cheeks deepens. You can't imagine it's because he's embarrassed, but for a moment he looks vulnerable. Human. Beautiful. Your heart trips. "Whatever," he attempts nonchalance, but his needy fragility is fooling no-one. "I like it, so don't stop. As long as you're sure i won't piss in your mouth. I mean, I don't care if I do, but you might—ungh!"

Swallowing a man's cock is as good as gagging them. Jimin falls quieter than night when you welcome him back into your warmth, working his shaft as well as your aching jaw will allow. Your tongue, too, is tiring, and yet you only twist around him all the more ravenously. It's not just his body that’s contorting when you pound at his prostate, now. His mouth hangs open unchecked, all thought for appearances gone. Within, his tongue writhes, articulating nothing but bodiless sounds.

You rub harder. Suck harder. More insistent. Jimin's eyebrows knit so tightly his nose crinkles. And when he does, a flood of runny, salty liquid squirts into your mouth, catching you off guard and in-between breaths. It's a wonder you don't drown when it keeps coming, this thin, bountiful expulsion. "F-Fuck, God—what is that—" he whines between milkings. As it seeps from your stuffed mouth, Jimin is enraptured. With his focus on you, you regurgitate it noisily over his cock, dousing him in his own fluids. "Fuck, i-it feels so good. I want more." His hands are either side of your face, fingers at your temples, palms pressuring your cheeks. "More." With a grunt, he hoists his previously dangling leg onto the toilet seat with the other. He squats, open and obscene, the picture of aroused anguish. "More. Harder," he jerks, marionette-like, to fuck himself on your finger, to propel his cock further down your throat. You're prepared for this onslaught now, mouth wide and tongue laying dormant as he rams his tip to your tonsils. Each thrust pushes more of his leakage from your mouth until you're drooling like a starving dog. And he's transfixed by it, teeth grinding, gripped by a terrifying hunger. "Fuck. Take it, take me, oh, shit—t-ta—"  

Nothing much else comes from Jimin but discharge, his face contorting as his body does, locked and straining. The motion of his hips slows until it ceases. There, he floats, with unseeing eyes, his orgasm approaching in an unavoidable swell. The throbbing that radiates from his buried cock is the final tell you chance before you cough him from your mouth, kneeling tall before him, breasts and face a blank canvas. You don't push him that last step so much as hammer him, battering his prostate until his mouth twists in devastation. Jimin's eyes are so wide it's like you're fucking the fear of God into him. He rises from his squat, millimetre by millimetre, as you slap your palm to his taint; his bloated balls. "C-Coming, I'm coming—" is all he can rasp as his soul departs and streaks your face once, twice—your eyelids fall closed as thick, viscous white weights down your lashes. Robbed of your sight, his groans hit louder, deeper. They resonate with agony, almost. And still he paints you, your throat, your neglected tits. "Oh my God, I—"

“That’s it, Jimin. Empty yourself on me.”

As the deluge dies away, you wipe your eyes free of cum and slide yourself from his spasming asshole. You expect to see him sat there, clutching his softening cock, but instead he’s sat back, hands-free and seeing constellations on the ceiling. "You came without touching your dick? Damn. That's restraint," you chuckle, your mouth feeling oddly loose. Too big. Too empty. When Jimin doesn't respond: "You okay?"

He stirs briefly from catatonia, though he continues to stare spaceward. "I'm good. I'm good. I think." A laugh comes out, but it's like he's forgotten what they should sound like. "Well, that was fucking awesome." A few, dumbstruck seconds later, Jimin returns to earth with a shaky sigh and that damn smirk. Finally, he looks at you. "Whoa. I got you messy as fuck."

A deadpan blink is all you can spare him when most of your body is protesting some type of pain. Your jaw, particularly, feels unhinged. "Yeah. You didn't notice that before?" You slip the latex from your finger and lob it at the trashcan. You miss.

"I did, but I was, like, coming my brains out. I didn't know what the fuck I was seeing, other than it was good." With an unsteady hand, he flattens back his soaked bangs and stares at you, eyelids heavy. His cheeks are stained pink with exertion. "You look so hot like that. Fuck." And though his body must be leaden after satiation, he pulls you up to your knees, until your torsos nearly touch. Stops just short of smearing himself with his own ejaculate. Instead, he cups one of your soiled breasts with a small, soft hand, thumbing his cum across the nipple. Being touched here, now, after such deprivation, it's like a kiss of life to your cunt. It roars back to life with a bitter vengeance. But Jimin remains modest in his touches. Doesn't stray much from your one, sticky breast. No, he's more focused on you. Your face. Studying all there is to know about its shapes. And he's inscrutable as he does it. It makes you nervous. "Well." It's scarcely more than a whisper. "Thank you," he mumbles, soft and awkward, like he's never before expressed appreciation for anything. And then he kisses you again, though it feels like it's for the first time. It's slow, intimate, with lazy tongue and spent breaths in between. It makes your heart race for several, terrifying reasons. You break apart, then. "Can I do anything for you?"

"N-No, that's okay." The proposition is unexpected. And with the way you're feeling, dangerous. "I got what I came for. I had fun. Thank you, too." You rise to standing, weathering the crack of your joints as you go. "I'll just clean up quickly."

Jimin is already towelling down his own, comparatively unscathed body. He stands, too, though with far more grace. As he feeds himself back into his too-tight jeans, he extends the towel to you. "If you're sure." A tinge of something colours his tone. Disappointment? "Maybe next time."

Next time?

Jimin's semen begins to crust on your chin. The towel twists in your hands. "What?"

There's an indifference to his body language that doesn’t quite ring true. He shrugs on his jacket. "Yeah. Next time, right?"

For several seconds you both stand there, locked in an unsaid exchange. The air is pregnant with meaning.

The door flies open.

"There you are!" In Jungkook strolls, bleary-eyed and with no clear bearing on his surroundings. "Someone said they saw you come in here." His gaze is hazy as it lands on you and your poorly shielded tits. And then it’s on your face again, where Jimin's spunk is heaviest. "Holy shit."

What feels like a century of shame passes, but it's no more than a microsecond before Jimin is slamming the point of his boot into Jungkook's abdomen. "Get the fuck out!" He bellows, octaves deeper than all this past half hour. Masculinity oozes from his squared shoulders and jutted jaw. The hardness is in his eyes, too. They're like steel as they cut Jungkook down, unchanging even as the younger man claws at his gut and stumbles back. "Don't fucking barge in on me again. This ain’t for you to see."

"I-I'm sorry, 'min-hyung." Jungkook slurs his words past comprehension. "C-Call me wh-when yuh wha-wanna split."

Jimin folds his arms. Tucks balled fists inside. "Yeah, now go."

Unfortunately for Jungkook, the gang-leader catches that last, errant look at your naked breasts. And for that he is rewarded with another swift kick; to his retreating backside, this time. Though you can't see him behind the door, you hear the impact of his fall to all-fours and grimace. Jimin's line of sight tracks low. Jungkook must be crawling away. "Go and sober up, you stupid piece of shit. We're going soon."

The door slots back into its frame. Jimin lingers there a little longer than necessary, his head bowed to the panelling. "Uh." Again, he's different. Transformed. Someone more timid stands in Jimin's place. Ruffles the back of his well-tousled hair. "Sorry. He's a dipshit."

"It's okay," you laugh. You have to, because the entire scenario is astounding. "You didn't have to kick him, though. Twice."

Arms criss-crossing his chest, Jimin watches as you wipe away his residue. For some reason, you’re more self-conscious now than when he put it there. "He deserved it. He's an idiot. Idiots don't learn unless you kick them in the ass. I didn't kick him in the balls, at least. And for that, he should be thanking me."

Clearly, your views on appropriate punishment diverge. Jimin inhabits a different world to yours. It's unnerving. And a little exciting, even though it shouldn’t be. "I'll defer to your judgment in his case." Your straps come up and over your shoulders. On inspection, suspicious white stains dot your dress despite your attempts to prevent that. Hopefully everyone is so smashed by this point that they can’t distinguish it from any of their other surroundings. "Okay, I'm gonna go. My dorm's just across from this one."

"I'll walk you. It's not safe." There's a certainty to Jimin's words that speaks of his experience. Ironically, it's probably safer out there while he's tied up in here. "Lots of scumbags out there that will target girls who are alone."

Fully covered, now, you clutch your purse in front of the worst of the splattering. You want to say something, so you do. You feel like you've earned it. "Not you?"

So self-assured, Jimin is. For a moment, though, he isn't. His smile flickers. "Never. I'm not about that. And I'll thrash anyone who is."

The answer pleases you. Diminishes his other activities somewhat. Somewhat. Just enough that you can go home and fuck yourself into a guiltless coma. "Okay. Well, it was fun. Don't worry about walking me. It's literally just across from here and there are still people around. I gotta find my friend first, anyway.”

Another shrug. Then, with the same nonchalance, he offers up his phone to you. "'Kay."

Eyes on him rather than the device, you take it from him. "What's this?" The screen displays a newly created contact. The phone number is blank. The contact name, though?

Litterbug.

It's hard to scoff at it when you love it so much. "What the hell? That's me?"

"Yeah. Gimme your number?" Jimin grins, brazen-faced. The temptation to kiss him is almost insurmountable. "I wanna see you again, litterbug."

You smile, too. Until you don't. "I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea. I didn't plan on anything past this."

If Jimin's shaken by the snub, he hides it masterfully. His smile isn't quite so burnished, though. "Neither did I, but then this happened, and I want it to happen again, ____. Let me show you just what I can do for you."

God, it's tempting. A bite of that apple is worth being cast from Eden. But your heart is weak and liable to entwine far too easily. And he's not the type of man that should occupy space outside of your depraved fantasies. "How many girls with cute pseudonyms do you have on there?" you deflect, knowing well the answer. Hearing it might temper your hopes somewhat.

"I don't give out my actual number to anyone." Jimin doesn't miss a beat of breath. "Only those that matter to me. Or might do," he adds, quieter, losing his bullishness altogether. "But, do what you want." His palm lays flat in expectation of receiving his phone back empty, but you hesitate. Look down at the vacant space. You could fill that.

You want to.

"Okay, there I am." With a flourish of thumbs and a final tap, your name is input and the contract sealed.

The Devil smiles. "Cool." His fingers linger on yours when you return the device. They're soft like charmeuse, and just as expensive. Because this will cost you everything, you're sure. "Can I see you tomorrow? So you can explain to me exactly what it is you just did to my ass?"

Tomorrow? Jimin’s keen. And you’re smiling again. “Sure. I’ll give you a practical demonstration.”

[mother-snake]

Ok I don’t see this idea a lot but it’s my favorite:

Janus’s scales work like a curse, slowly growing (either taking away power, him becoming a mom steroid creature after they’ve grown fully or something else) and he’s either trying to stop it or has accepted it. -✨

(I play around with it a lot but I never really decided what to do with it :P)

hahaha- this is by no means short. but its hurt to fluff to hurt again and back to fluff. words: 2485 tags: @idkanameatall @imma-potatoo @girl-with-many-fandoms

It had started when he was seven. They were small clusters on his stomach and back. he had been scared and confused. He had told no one about them if possible. He wasn’t sure how they had gotten there in the first place. Sure, he had been feeling his effects dulling ever so slightly. But that had been it.

He was still none the less scared. And as he got older, more and more scales grew. And the more frightened he had become. Terrified of everything he did. it seemed no matter what he did nothing worked. Remove one, which was painful enough, two more seemed to come back.

And there was only so long he could hide it. and at age fifteen… the others found out. they had demanded they tell him what was wrong. What was happening he was scared. He didn’t want them to know. He didn’t want to be asked questions.

He found himself tucked away in his room. Lonely but that’s what he had been used to. The other sides had become wary of him since his scales had been seen. He was barely talked to. Barely listened to. he felt more useless that the resealable tab on an Oreo packet.

But it was the scratching at the door that had brought him out of his small tearful feeling. Curiosity replacing it instead as he wiped away the tears. And moving over to the door.

He opened it with a wide gawk as he saw what was looking up at him with a lopsided face, tung hanging out and a wagging tail. a sleek black dog with fur, soft brown patches matching where Janus’s knew his scales reached.

The dog’s orange and blue eyes stared back at Janus. and for the first time in a long time. He smiled. he opened the door and let the dog waddle happily inside. He had a friend. Now only to give him a name.

--

It was two years later that he had felt the strange feeling stirring from inside. The scales that had once covered up to his jaw were now so close to his cat eye. But he wasn’t as scared as before. the dog that now was his best friend had been called apple. For no other reason that at that moment of naming the dog he had been wanting apples to snack on.

Speaking of the dog. The once small puppy had grown quite conciderably. Reaching his knees. And still growing. yet much to Janus’s own surprise, the dog had stuck by his side. Even after creativity split months ago. It was still a sore wound for the both of them to talk about.

Anyways, the shift hadn’t been painful. But it did cause Janus to collapse to the floor in dizziness. Apple had been quick to hurry over to his friend’s side, making noises of concern at the limp body of Janus who lay sprawled on the floor.

It took a couple minuets for Janus to recover and make his way out the bedroom door… into a blackened hallway… with no white… he feared for the worst as he saw brand new doors he hadn’t seen before. he thought he knew fear. But this was far worse… --

It hadn’t surprised him when Virgil left. No. but it had hurt. his scales were now completely covered his left side of his face. the ones on his torso had begun to spread once again. Covering almost one fourth of it. but that fear now became a slight irritation.

Apple had sprawled over his lap. Barely covering Janus. she had grown concerned over his new attitude of cold and distant around everyone else. But if only apple was in the room then he seemed to go back to normal. Happy even. she knew this wasn’t normal for her pup to feel. He needed a friend. she raised her head, an idea sparking as she leaped of Janus and bounced down the hall. A yellow collar with a black bow had been tied neatly around her neck. It was never tight and always slightly looser than necessary a small bell jingled as she skipped to her destination.

The pink door soon came into view. The person on the other side had become close to her pup. But she knew that there was a fifty-fifty chance of her human excepting the help.

She scraped the bottom of the door and waited for it to open. She felt slightly guilty as she saw the tired face open the door. He must have been sleeping. “hay girl, what you need?” he asked tiredly as he patted her head. Sitting she came up to his elbow. he was the same height as Janus.

She grabbed his sleeve gently with her teeth and pulled him gently back “you want me to follow?” he asked, becoming more slightly aware. she barked happily in response.

The walk took only a couple minutes and she found herself clambering back on top of her human who let out a gasp as she laid back down on top of his chest.

“hi Theodore,” Janus gasped as he pet his friend’s fluffy ears. “you good there?” he asked sitting down on the floor by his head. “peachy,” he responded. “that’s a lie, apple wouldn’t have got me otherwise,” Theodore said rolling his eyes. “just. Why did Virgil leave?” Janus asked. “I don’t know… he left us all…. It hurts me too Jan,” Theodore said with a sad smile.

At least Janus knew he wasn’t alone. Apple was pleased about that. --

He knew apple knew something was wrong. his scales now covered half his torso and were creeping along his shoulder. He wasn’t frightened but he was tired, for that reason and another.

That reason being that he had once again been ignored. Shoved to the side like normal. He had gotten tired of it all… he wanted to be fine… just once was he aloud to be happy?! he felt himself curled up into a ball. A concerned whine from apple made sure he knew that he wasn’t alone as she shifted herself to lay her head on top of his side.

He hadn’t felt so alone before. Roman and Remus wouldn’t talk to him, none of the other dark sides would either. Logan and Virgil glared at him all the time and he was barely on good terms with Patton and Thomas.

He clutched his patch tightly. Shaking as he tried to force the thoughts out of his head. His dog snuggled her muzzle into his face, making him chuckled from the soft touch. “I'm okay big girl. I'm okay,” she hadn’t grown anymore. Reaching her height limit. his scales however continued to grow.

He patted the side of her face, reassuring her that he was fine. Of course, he was. he had his best friend by his side. --

Janus stared blankly down the hall. No other doors remained except his own. Apple sat by his side whining at him. he hadn’t spoken in a long time. He had barely played fetch with a smile. he barely did anything anymore.

She was angry. She was mad. The rage inside of her was boiling over the edge.

She let out a growl. Janus snapped his head down to his friend. In all the years he had known her… she had never growled.

She turned and stalked her way down the hall, Janus hot on her heels. Curious as to where they were going. but he felt himself freeze as he stopped at a white door. Apple sitting in front of it, letting out a guttural growl.

“no girl. Its not worth your time,” he said weakly, scratching her head. she knew that wasn’t the case. A small idea popped into her head. She would need Janus to sleep for it to work however.

He walked back to the sofa. Sitting down and looking around at the mess ridden room. He couldn’t have cared less about the mess. Even if he knew it wasn’t right. He just didn’t have the energy to deal with it. --

I was one week later that apple set her plan into monition. she had felt the twins being summoned by Thomas. That small connection from the king had remained, most of it had been retained with her pup however. So that she could always be by his side.

And as they were summoned. She followed that gut feeling as well. Hiding in the shadows of the dark night lit Livingroom. This was her first time, and she had never seen Thomas before. But she knew that wasn’t her reason for being here.

She watched as they talked. Something had been off apparently. Yes. She knew exactly why. and soon another side appeared. She hadn’t seen Patton in a long time, then Logan and then Virgil.

Why were they all missing the reason! she couldn’t take it any longer. She creeped her way down the stairs silently. Pausing just behind Virgil. she let out a deep breath rustling his hair with a growl.

Virgil screamed as he jumped out of his place, fright grasped around him tightly as he saw the bulking black dog with miss matched eyes and fur.

Her teeth were sharp and gnarling. A malicious noise dripping from the back of her throat.

“um- what the frack?!” Thomas said, his anxiety and fear racing in his heart.

“what are you doing here?” Remus asked looking at the dog. she sat by the stairs. Looking at them with rage filled eyes. “what if the answer wasn’t us…?” Patton asked, “has anyone seen Janus recently?”

“would it really be worth it? all he had done is hurt everyone here!” roman stated. she snaped her eyes over to the prince. She may have been half her creator. That didn’t stop the murderous feeling crawling along. “um roman? Maybe don’t insult Janus in front of apple?” Virgil whimpered.

“apple?” Thomas asked. she felt her ear twitch in his direction. But kept a firm gaze on roman for a few seconds.

“apple. Is something wrong with Janus?” Thomas asked. she glared at roman quickly before turning to face Thomas, letting out a small bark. “well then, lets try it shall we?” he chuckled as he rubbed his arm.

Janus felt the tug. But waited for a couple seconds. Janus didn’t take the pull. She motioned for him to try again. Nothing. She felt her ears go flat. she tried herself to summon Janus. much to her own surprise. He appeared. Just where he normally would. “there you are girl. I thought you got lost,” Janus sighed in relief. he reached up to her and pet her fur. She let her tail waggle happily at the contact. she gently picked the hat from his head; a noise of complaint came from her pup but she didn’t give it back and flung it towards Thomas who caught it fairly flimsily.

Janus turned to face where the hat had gone and realised what had happened. “you clever girl,” she picked up from under Janus’s breath, “what do you want Thomas,” Janus sighed, the sound of defeat clearly present in his voice, “because if you are here to insult me. then I’ll just leave,” he said.

“Janus, we were wondering if something was wrong,” Patton said. Janus blinked once, then twice before he let out a small laugh, “now you ask?” “see I told you-“ “oh shut up roman,” Janus said, startling the prince, “I get that you don’t like me. I get that none of you like me. the only reason I'm here is because my only friend is smarter than all of you combined,” he yelled.

Apple winced at the tone. Ouch on her ears. “sorry girl,” Janus said, a weak smile on his face reassured her that he was sorry.

“Janus… what happened?” Thomas asked. “for five months… five months I’ve been alone with only apple by my side. For over two decades I’ve been suffering with only her by my side. For… for as long as I can remember IVE ALWAYS been the outcast…” he felt tears prickle his eyes, “just once… I wanted to be seen for something other than a monster,” he sobbed.

Everyone was silent as they watched Janus break in front of them. apple was quick to curl around Janus and reassure him. “kiddo…” Patton muttered, his own tears pricking his eyes. “don’t. don’t say anything. you missed your chance,” Janus said. Tear streaked eyes staring at the moral side.

“five months?” Thomas muttered to himself. it didn’t feel like that long. But as he thought about it… he was right. Every time he had thought about summoning Janus. one side or another seemed to block that thought out… oh he was going to have a word with everyone.

He walked slowly over to Janus. stopping in front of the black mass circling Janus protectively. he watched as the dog tilted its head before going slightly to the side and sitting down.

Thomas smiled smally at the dog before turning back to Janus and wrapping his arms around the surprisingly tall side. --

It was the next day when Janus heard the knock at the door. shortly after the incident he and apple had sunk down. He gave a stern talking to his pupper about leaving like that, but was quick to throw himself into a cuddle. There he fell asleep with his head resting on her back.

It was now early afternoon. The knocking on the door was quick and had only happened once. But still he stood up and made his way over cautiously. A lot had been said last night. and the last thing he wanted was to be yelled at by another side.

He opened the door. No more knocking had been heard since the simple three taps from before.

He looked around but saw nothing. He cast his eyes to the ground and froze. His hat and plate off cookies with a small letter sat on the floor. he picked both up, glancing around the hall. No one was there. but he knew who had delivered them.

As far as he knew, Patton was the only one able to cook. he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

He turned back and placed the cookies back on the table. stopping and looking up at the mirror. His face had… quite the transformation. The scales retreating back to his jawline. The scar on his cheek and eye remained. A reminder of a much darker time.

But as he looked down to the plate and the do looking happily at the biscuits. Waiting to devour them as soon as Janus turned his back… he felt as if things were going to be okay for now.

And that was fine with him.