#*gestures aggressively at the entirety of this post*

[batsplat]

Hello Bat!! I love love love reading your thoughts on things, from motogp to terrible 2000s tv shows. You mentionned great Smallville Lex/Clark fic in a recent post, and I was wondering: could you please share? I literally just finished rereading the Astolat's and still hunger for more.

yeah sure!! I'm kinda coasting off my ao3 history here (apparently I spent the entirety of 30/10/22 Having A Moment) so it's like,, a very imperfect list

okay, I'm gonna start with a bunch of seperis fics but I'd genuinely check out... all their stuff. it's just a fun read of the characters!! also there's so much of it and it's a good time to work your way through

A Handful Of Dust 47k words

At the end of the world, Lex can't stop running.

quite a dark and sad fic but I think about it a lot and it really works for me. it's basically a post-apocalyptic fic where the apocalypse is caused by clark being pushed over the edge and succumbing to his god complex. he's hunting down his former friends and allies, including lex. I think this kind of premise can easily be like... edgelord central 'ooh what if the hero were actually the villain', but this one feels true to the characters and their relationship + is very engaging

Advanced Masochism 8.6k words

In which Lex is curious as to why he's become a proxy stalker.

a small series that consists of lex trying to make the whole clark/lana situation work while doing his best to suppress his attraction to clark. lex's internal monologue in this is fun and punchy - though a lot of it is about his age gap to clark, which never like... feels THAT extreme in the show because tom welling *gestures*. but if that element makes you uncomfortable, I'd give this one a skip!

My Usual Lie 4.1k words

He wants to be so much more than that.

ice skating!! kinda melancholic but also idk a little sweet. it's clark spending time with lex after he's already grown up and they've already grown apart and clark misses the way it used to be between the two of them... again also ABOUT the age gap. lex is such a fun kinda slippery presence here, funny and kind but also a little detached

Frantic 9.1k words

In which Clark does not get dinner. And then everything goes downhill.

oh yeah I really enjoy re-reading this one. clark finally is forced to reveal his powers to lex at an inopportune moment, when evil goo is attempting to kill them both. no angst, just bickering

Resident Alien 2.7k words

It's tax season in the Luthor household.

just short and sweet and fun! established relationship, does what it says on the tin, lex is very into taxes. he's also very into clark

Closer to Breathing 8.6k words

Christmas parties at Luthor Manor. Boys sharing thoughts with brandy. And other things.

really lovely read, tender and fun and just kinda... nails a version of lex who is so very good at what he does, who might be loathed but can charm the small town people anyway, and a clark who stands at crossroads between being part of the small town and not liking the feeling of seeing lex play people like HIM (but not him). gets into a lot of the inherent tensions of that relationship!! love lex the outsider

Vix Te Agnovi 36.8k words

Clark gets a late-night call and interesting things happen.

again, age gap-centric warning!! lex asks clark to pick him up from a sex party. very much about the tension between the worldly metropolitan lex and the country boy hick clark, and both of them kinda entering into each other's worlds... lex reckoning how he's changed, clark curious and awkward and frustrated at being treated like a child (which. he very much is)

A Life More Ordinary 4.1k words

It wasn't sudden, and Lex didn't know it was happening until it had. And then he did.

aggressively not ABOUT superman, it's just about lex and clark. about lex and clark being flatmates. soft and gentle and intimate

Two Paths 21.8k words

Everything decided in one breath.

man I WISH there were more of the series. the basic premise is the whole smallville lie falls apart and lex is trusted to like... get clark out of there and hide him. so basically clark becomes his ward!! they live together!! lex needs to be an Adult who Takes Care of clark, but again. conflicted. this is just fun like it's such a funky dynamic that feels like an absolute perfect nightmare for lex specifically

and fics by other authors:

The Olive Branch by tasabian, 3.9k words

It's the holidays...which means Lex Luthor is keeping Superman very busy. But what is Lex's hidden agenda?

lex does crimes to get clark's attention. they're cute idc

When a Strawberry Is Pushed into a Mountain by Thamiris, 33.1k words

Away at college, Clark learns to read between the lines and finds his future there.

college!clark!! a few misunderstandings and tricky emotions that serve as a backdrop for the care clark and lex show for each other... I quite like it when fic doesn't like,, cut out their terrible parents

The Butterfly Effect by The Spike, 11.6k words

Lex can't let this Cassandra thing go.

remember that old prophecy lady from s1? well, what if lex injected himself with something that gave himself the power to see the future too, and was horrified and traumatised by what he saw? feat. clark taking care of him and papa kent playing the role of the homophobic dog

Going Home by mskatej, 5.5k words

Lex has amnesia.

amnesia future fic! clark comes to the rescue a little too late and takes care of lex. warning: the amnesia creates some issues of consent

where the colors are by museaway, 10.3k words

After Clark rescues Lex from Belle Reve, they flee to Canada to start a new life. Although his age and the need for discretion limit his options, Clark does his best to support them. But despite Clark's loyalty, Lex continues to have nightmares of his time in the asylum and worries that one day, Clark will leave him—or that the rescue was entirely in his head.

this scratches a very straightforward itch: the one where clark successfully saves lex in season three and chooses him. kinda nice and comforting even in its melancholy of not being able to return home again... y'know, sometimes you want something exactly like this

light the torch and pass it on by ang3lba3, 19.8k words

Clark starts behaving erratically, and it's up to Lois and Lex to figure out how to fix him. Thankfully, the paper cuts off there. Clark is faint, sweating. He thinks he’s hard. He checks. Yes. Yes, he is. He flips the paper over. In a deep purple ink, almost black, is an unsigned note. I think we can come to a mutually satisfactory conclusion on this matter. “Oh my god,” Clark whispers, thrilled. “He’s blackmailing me.”

lex/clark/lois. clark is having like... a weird alien hormone situation and it means he's weird towards both lex and lois. lex knows clark is superman but they're still very much enemies here, so this is the push that gets them to change their relationship. this one's just fun! sweet, good banter between lex/lois, it's obvious beneath it all how much they care for clark and clark does for them

The Milk and Cookies War by Punk, 6.2k words

Lex Luthor's Penthouse for Wayward Boys.

college!clark shows up at lex's place and makes himself at home. my favourite scene in this one is a brief interlude where lex is bitchy to his father

m2m by rivkat, 2k words

For thefourthvine, prompt: Craigslist. Clark gets curious about all those superhero kink offers.

what it says on the tin. I think you can probably guess who's demanding a superman lookalike. this fic made me laugh

Risk Management by tasabian, 7.3k words

A bad day for Metropolis reunites Clark and Lex.

future fic where lex almost dying sparks the reconciliation. ... I'd also just rec checking out all their fics tbh

The Grope of Destiny by suzvoy, 19.7k words

Clark had no idea how he was going to explain *this* one.

clark and lex are physically stuck together, and it's what prompts the reveal. always satisfying!!

Candy Cane Hearts by tasabian, 4.6k words

A new brand of candy makes Clark unusually mellow; Lex finds it all very confusing. Written for the Under Mistletoe challenge.

another christmas-y fic, another fic where clark acts weird! basically whenever you remove clark's inhibitions, he whisks lex off. just sweet and charming

No Choice by mskatej, 4.3k words

Clark is in heat.

okay. listen. you need to un-repress them, right. again, this is taking license of some weird alien biology. lex's blend of caring about clark so much and also needing him and also feeling weird about it and also being very into the whole alien thing but also kinda freaked by it... the classic dynamic

The Hinge Moment by tasabian, 14.8k words

Superman has a bad day; Lex just happens to be there.

clark kidnaps lex! but like, in a nice way. a lot of these fics don't REALLY engage with canon all that closely, but this is a future fic that definitely does. gives them the chance to actually have some conversations, y'know. some days I don't actually want them to forgive each other easily, but sometimes it's nice to scratch the itch of having slightly older and more mature versions of them figuring out their issues. really well written

I might add some more at some point but I only had the energy to go through a few right now lol and well I imagine you'd rather like them now than in like. three months. also psa: pLEASE feel free to send in smallville fic recs to this account, I'm always happy to receive them

[worldsbiggestnerd101]

for the last 3 days during our lunch period, one of my friends let me info dump about/explain the entirety of hazbin hotel and she did a couple things i thought were funny so here! i present

things my friend did while i was info-dumping about hazbin to her

“oh!! adam!! he’s the one that-” *aggressively gestures as if she were stabbing the air in an impressive imitation of niffty*

(in response to me mentioning husk as i was giving her a rundown of the characters) “oh yeah he and angel-” *makes a heart with her hands, crosses her fingers, generally gestures to show they’re a couple*

“wait,,, you said her mom was gone for 7 years,, and alastor’s been gone for 7 years,,,,” *gets the entirely wrong idea and thinks that something had been going on between lucifer and alastor*

referred to angel dust as a slut/whore when i attempted to explain his profession

(in response to me introducing lucifer in a shockingly really good impression for someone who’s only seen reels of the show) “my daughter wants to see me! take that depression!”

recited the whole “and now i am going to FUCK you!” “it’s fuck you up, dad” “wait what did i say??” bit from memory despite having never watched the show

called lucifer a cinnamon roll, specifically saying he “looks like a cinnamon roll, is actually a cinnamon roll”

went all “you have a giant x over your eye and wield an angelic spear, it’s not rocket science” after i told her vaggie was an angel (she has never seen the show her only exposure is me and instagram reels)

repeated imitations of niffty stabbing adam and constantly asking “which is the one where adam dies”

(in response to me telling her about the fight between alastor and adam in what is again another good impression) *gestures to imitate alastor’s cane snapping* “ffffuck”

repeated niffty-like stabbing of the air

i’m gonna do one of these again but with my bsf after i give her a rundown of the show and i’ll post it, these are so fun

[dhr-ao3]

shatterpoint

shatterpoint https://ift.tt/u7tcw9j by saltedfish (Kuchiki) “So let me get this straight Minister,” Hermione spat out. “We,” she gestured aggressively with her hands to herself and the other two that made up the Golden trio. They were currently sat squashed up on a short couch facing Minister Shacklebolt. “Have survived fucking Lord Voldermort, after which putting our traumatized selves at the disposal of your good ministry to build back up, brick by brick, the entirety of wizarding England, and now you’re telling me I can’t enjoy the rest of my life in peace because, what, giant alien monsters have erupted from the earth’s crust? And you need us to pilot giant killer robots to fight them?” “I hate this life,” Harry said with feeling, head in his hands. “I really do.” *** A Pacific Rim AU, set several years post-war Words: 3538, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Neville Longbottom, Theodore Nott, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Original Characters, Other Character Tags to Be Added, frankly expect the whole harry potter cast to appear in some capacity or another Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley Additional Tags: Post-War, Recalling traumatic events, Angst with a Happy Ending, kaiju x jaeger x magic, Draco with a gun, lots of jaeger on kaiju violence, people are gonna suffer but there's no major character death, tagging as I go along, Ghost Drifting, Psychological Trauma, War-Typical Violence, BDE Neville via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/Byb4nKz June 25, 2024 at 01:42PM

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Genuine Giggles

Word count: 3100

Warnings: none, just fluff!

Another prompt complete! This one was from 🩰 anon requesting Tom and reader where Tom is reader’s costar and needs to help the reader produce a more genuine-sounding laugh. Lots of fluff here!

Something about voice-over acting was just infinitely more difficult than live action film acting.

With live action filming, you could immerse yourself in the scene. You could have dynamic conversations with your costars and feed off one another to make the scene seem more genuine. Sure, there was quite a bit of post-film magic that really put the whole scene together, like CGI and green-screen effect, music, etcetera, but it just felt more tangible. More realistic.

Admittedly, this was the first time you'd embarked on a voice-over acting project. Your manager had recommended you give it a shot, saying it would help you to 'expand your horizons as an actor' and 'make more of a name for yourself.' There was an animated film for a big-name animation company that was holding auditions for numerous roles, and you decided to just throw yourself out there and see what came of it.

You hadn't expected to get the lead female character.

The first couple of weeks on the job were devoted mostly to reviewing the animation and script, as well as getting to know the other voice actors. When you learned that Tom Hiddleston was your costar, playing the lead male role, you nearly choked on the sip of water you'd just taken. Luckily, he was as kind and genuine in person as he appeared on screen in interviews. The star-struck sensation faded as you got to know him on set. He was so very personable and friendly, you naturally fell into a light and playful friendship-type relationship with your costar. Although, you couldn't help but feel a bit smitten with him.

It was easy to chalk it up to your characters falling in love in the movie. Clearly that was the only reason.

When you finally began the actual voice over work in the booth, it took some time to get the hang of it. You were fairly certain you spent the entirety of the first day laughing through your lines, feeling somewhat ridiculous speaking your lines with a bright, aggressively optimistic lilt into a microphone while the directors watched you through the glass. Once you'd gotten the laughs out, you were able to buckle down and start getting serious about your lines the next day.

"Ready for another day of recording?" Tom asked brightly as he shrugged off his coat shortly after he’d arrived on set.

"I've got it this time. No more laughing - just voice acting," you responded confidently. You'd recited your lines over and over the afternoon before, figuring if you could get used to saying them to an empty room, you’d feel a little less awkward.

“I have faith in you! You’ll do great,” he assured kindly. Pushing open the door to the recording booth, he gestured for you to enter. “After you, darling.”

“Thanks!” You couldn’t help but feel a little flustered at the nickname, ducking past him quickly so he couldn’t catch your face flushing. Tom stepped in behind you, allowing the door to swing shut gently. The moment the door sealed against the doorway, a deafening silence filled the soundproof booth. You at least knew to expect it this time, having spent most of the day yesterday inside.

The film was more geared toward a young audience, although as with many animated movies, an adult could certainly find some entertainment in it if they found themselves watching it with their kids. Set in medieval times, your character was from a family who secretly practice magic. Tom's character was one of your best friends living in the same village, but he was none the wiser about your secret abilities. Your character had tried to keep her secret from him, not wanting him to dislike her, but when the village is threatened by a dragon, your character has no choice but to reveal her abilities to help protect her home.

Recording your first few scenes went much smoother today than it had when you'd first attempted it yesterday. The directors listened from outside the booth, calling in over the intercom to give suggestions to improve the dialogue by using different inflection or embedding your tone with a different emotion. Tom was incredibly easy to work with - having more experience with voice-over acting than you, he was able to provide tips and suggestions as you navigated through your lines together. His energy was infectious, and you found it simple to bring your own voice up to match his enthusiasm just by listening to him recite his dialogue.

After getting through the first few scenes together, you both took a break to drink some water and rest your voices. Tom turned to you, grinning with a sense of pride.

"You seem much more comfortable today than you did yesterday during our first few rehearsals," he observed.

"Well I got the nervous giggles out of my system at least," you responded humbly. "But now I feel like I'm being a little stiff in my dialogue."

"Nonsense! The directors would tell you so if you were."

"I suppose your right. It's just hard to match your energy! You're so animated when you speak."

Tom chuckled. "That's my way of getting into character. You're doing just fine without mirroring my crazy theatrics."

"But you look like you're having so much fun when you perform your 'crazy theatrics,'" you teased.

"Well perhaps you could have such fun as well if you allowed yourself to loosen up a bit more." Tom grasped your shoulders and shook you a bit to emphasize his point playfully. You chuckled a little, stumbling back a step to balance yourself.

"You guys ready to move on to the next scene?" the director's voice sounded from the intercom. You both turned to look at them through the glass, giving them a thumbs up.

Flipping to the next section in the script, you cringed. You had struggled with practicing this part last night by yourself. In this scene, your character and Tom's character are seated together at the dinner table chatting. Your mischievous sister slips a giggling potion in your drink to get back at you for a prank you'd pulled earlier in the movie. Luckily, Tom's character tells a joke just before you take a sip, so you have an excuse to laugh, but he gets confused when your reaction becomes a bit overenthusiastic. After all the nervous giggling you'd done yesterday, you'd think laughing on command would be a much simpler task. It was difficult not to make it sound forced.

"Alright - give us a laugh," the directors instructed. Glancing nervously at Tom, you took a breath and gave your best first attempt at a realistic-sounding giggle. Tom's expression contorted as though trying not to laugh himself at your failed attempt.

"Hey! Don't you laugh at me!" you whined, frowning at him.

"I-hi'm sorry! It's hard to do on the first try. Go on and try again," he suggested, putting his hand to his chin to cover his mouth with his fingers and hide his grin. You looked away from him to avoid seeing his amused expression, attempting another laugh and finding it even worse than the first. A small snicker slipped through Tom's fingers.

"Tom! You could try to help you know," you scolded. "Tell me a joke or something."

"A joke? I can't just tell jokes on command, who do you think I am?"

"Uh, an actor?" you deadpanned.

"Well... that's besides the point," he countered. "Alright, I'll try to come up with something... ok, ok, here's one. What does a pirate say when he turns 80?"

"No idea."

He shut one eye, grinning as he told his punch line in a heavy pirate voice. "Aye, matey!"

You stared at him for a moment, trying to process the punch line. "Oh-ho I see! I'm eighty, aye matey, they sound the same! Very funny, Tom!"

"You're not laughing," he noted.

"It wasn't funny enough."

Tom gave you a look of feigned indignance.

"Alright, why don't you just give it another try on your own?" the director called in overhead.

You sighed, turning to face your microphone again. After a couple deep breaths to loosen up again, you began to let out another very fake-sounding laugh. Suddenly, you felt two fingers scratching gently into your sides, causing your voice to pitch up in octave as a genuine giggle slipped out. Your face heated up as you whipped around to find your costar standing behind you with a mischievous grin on his face.

"Tom!!" you exclaimed, unable to come up with anything else to say in your flustered state.

"What? You need to laugh. You asked me to help. I thought I'd try tickling you. It obviously worked, didn't it?" His hand darted out and pinched your side, making you squeak and giggle again.

"B-but, that's not... I... you..." Unable to formulate a complete thought, you instead buried your face in your hands with a groan.

"Why are you acting so embarrassed, darling? It's completely normal to be ticklish," he assured, poking into your sides again to get you to lower your hands.

"Ahhaha Tohom! That doesn't make it less embarrassing!"

"Hey Tom, we're getting somewhere. Can you try tickling her again?" the director requested.

"What??" You glanced wide-eyed at the directors before returning your gaze to your costar, who was looking rather entertained by this whole ordeal. Still, being the kind man he was, he offered you an out.

"Darling, if you're truly uncomfortable, I won't tickle you. But you do have to admit, it worked."

Drawing your bottom lip up between your teeth, you remained silent for a moment as your mind raced. You weren't uncomfortable, of course not. Having your costar flirting with you and tickling you? No, not uncomfortable in the slightest. But it was incredibly flustering. Still, you had to finish this scene, and you clearly weren't getting anywhere by faking your laughter.

"Ohh... alright, fine. Give it a try."

Tom grinned, a glint of playfulness in his eyes. "Alright, turn around and face your microphone, then."

With a tiny, nervous giggle, you slowly turned around toward the microphone, glaring jokingly at the directors through the glass as they watched in amusement. Tom's hands met your sides, making you flinch and start releasing a quiet stream of anticipatory giggles before he'd even done anything. With a chuckle, he started gently kneading his fingers into the pliant skin of your sides, his fingers splayed wide to cover as much area as possible. You burst into louder giggles immediately, your hands shooting down to grasp his wrists as you squirmed.

"T-Tohom!!" you whined through your giggles.

"Darling, you can't interrupt the recording - we'll have to start over," he insisted with an impish lilt to his tone.

"Noho we wohon't!"

"Yes you will," the directors concurred. Tom's fingers stilled against your sides to allow you a minute's reprieve. "Make sure you don't say anything this time. We only need laughter, no words."

"Ugh! Fine!" You stood still, bracing yourself for the moment Tom started tickling you again. He paused a moment to build suspense before wriggling his fingers into your sides again, reaching around to scratch at your belly. The giggles exploded from your mouth in surprise, and you doubled over slightly in response to the increasingly ticklish sensation of his fingertips sweeping along the sides of your abdomen. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from saying any instinctive protests, trying not to ruin the take.

After a few moments, Tom paused again to allow you to breathe. You pushed his hands off your sides with a giggle, spinning around to give him a pleading look.

"Yohou're soho mean!" you whined.

"Mean?? I helped you, darling! Is this not what you asked for?"

Your retort was interrupted as the directors called your name into the booth, drawing your attention to them.

"That was better, but we need more vibrant laughter, not just giggles. As the giggle potion takes effect, it's supposed to be harder for your character to control."

Shooting them a sharp look, you groaned. "You guys just want to watch him torment me."

"That's only an added bonus."

Sighing heavily, you turned back to face the microphone. "Alright... I'll try again."

"We're going to have to find a more ticklish spot if we're going to get you to laugh harder," Tom suggested teasingly, placing his hands on your sides and sliding them up to your lower ribs.

"Nohoho!!" you whimpered, instinctively closing your hands around his wrists and pushing to prevent him from moving any higher. He laughed behind you, pausing to lean over your shoulder and get a better look at your face.

"It will go much faster if you'd stop pushing me." You reluctantly released his wrists, pressing your biceps to your ribs instead. He dug his fingers into the spaces between your lower ribs, starting slowly and picking up speed as you reacted to his ticklish touch with steadily increasing laughter.

"NAHAHA TOHOM!!"

"We're going to be doing this all day if you keep interrupting the recording with your complaining," he warned, stopping to create a break between the ruined take and the next attempt.

"Ughhh I knohow, I know!! Hold on, give me a minute," you insisted, pacing around a bit to try to will the heat out of your cheeks. Tom laughed at your nervous energy. "Dohon't laugh!!"

"I'm sorry!! I can't help it! You're just so adorably flustered by this!"

"Shh!!" you hushed, pressing a finger to your lips for emphasis. Returning to your microphone, you took a deep breath in and out. "Ok. I'm ready."

"Are you really?"

"YES! Just... get on with it!" you pleaded.

"Are you going to allow me to find a more ticklish spot?"

"I cahan't! It's instinctive self-preservation!"

He gazed at you thoughtfully for a moment. "Alright, I have an idea."

"What - HEHEY!" You shrieked in surprise when Tom suddenly wrapped his arms around you, grabbing your wrists and passing them to one of his larger hands. "N-noho, thahat's not fair!"

"I'm just helping you fight your self-preservation instinct!" You squirmed with a pout. “If you’d rather I let go of you, I will.”

Did you? This was incredibly flustering, but sort of in a good way. You certainly couldn’t think of another excuse for him to have his arms around you like this.

“Just… go easy on me?” you squeaked.

“I’ll do my best,” he laughed endearingly. “But we do have to get those laughs out of you.”

The directors gave you a thumbs up, and Tom began kneading into the middle of your ribcage on one side with his free hand. A shriek quickly dissolved into bright laughter, and you instinctively began tugging at your wrists to try to block your side. Tom’s grip was surprisingly strong, or you were already weak from laughter, or perhaps both. Whatever it was, he managed to hold your arms far enough from your side to worm his fingers up under your arm.

“EEYAHAH NOHOT THEHERE!!” you screeched. Tom stopped tickling you, not yet releasing your wrists.

“Yohou are quite ticklish,” he chuckled fondly, earning a flustered whine. Glancing at the directors, he called, “How are we doing? Have what you need?”

“Almost. She needs to start with lighter giggles, then slowly start to laugh harder as the giggle potion takes effect.”

“You guys are the WORST!” you groaned jestingly.

“We have faith in you! We’ll take a break after this to let you recover.” You definitely heard a hint of suppressed laughter in their tone.

“Alright, I won’t tickle you under your arms this time, since you’re so ticklish there you clearly can’t stop yourself from shouting at me,” Tom teased. “I think we can get it this take!”

“I hope so, I’m getting tired,” you griped playfully. Tom placed his free hand on your side above your hip.

“Ready?”

You braced yourself, nodding in response. The giggles began immediately when he wriggled his fingers into your side, purposely gentle to keep you from bursting into hysterics right away. As his fingers crawled slowly up your side to your ribs, you leaned instinctively away from his touch as your laughter grew more bubbly and loud. Don’t say anything, don’t say anything… you willed as he dug into the center of your ribcage. The protests were there on the tip of your tongue, but you held them as he began to draw desperate laughter from you as his fingers crawled up a couple more ribs.

“Perfect! We got what we need, take fifteen alright?” the directors called. Instead of releasing you as you anticipated, Tom suddenly slotted his fingers up under your arm and dug into your highest ribs.

“AHHAHA TOHOM YOHOU JEHEHERKFACE!!” you cried, twisting harder in his hold to try to break free.

“I-hi’m sorry! I have to see what all the fuss was about,” he insisted teasingly, suddenly releasing your wrists in favor of swiftly shoving his hand under your other arm before you could clamp it down to your side.

“THIHIS… HAHA THIS ISN’T A-HA BREHEHEAK!!”

“You’ll have plenty of time to recover, I promise you!”

You sank to the floor as your knees gave way, and Tom followed you down to continue tickling you under your arms for another moment before finally allowing his fingers to go still. You were no longer in hysterics at least, but the mere sensation of his fingertips still pressed against your uppermost ribs kept you giggling and squirming, much to his amusement.

“I-hi’m not even tickling you!”

“Gehehehet your hahands ohout!! It stihill tickles!!”

Tom obliged, removing his hands from under your arms at last. A giggly sigh of relief left your lips as you knelt there on the floor for a moment, trying to recollect yourself and regain your composure.

“I hope for your sake there’s no more laughing scenes that you have trouble with,” he teased, squeezing your shoulders fondly. “Although, I will remind you that you gave me permission to tickle you.”

“I… didn’t hate it,” you mumbled, your face burning with flustered embarrassment.

“Noted.” You turned your head to look at him, and he shot you a wink, which only served to intensify the heat in your cheeks. “Come on. Do you want coffee? I owe you a coffee.”

“I wouldn’t mind a coffee,” you agreed, allowing him to take your hand and help you to your feet. Before leaving the booth, you grabbed your script to review it while you sipped your coffee. Curiously, you flipped through the next few scenes, your eyes landing on one where Tom’s character ends up pranked with the same giggle potions yours was.

Oh, you’d definitely be getting revenge.

[timefoocsorsmthidk]

OC STUFF FROM MY NOTES APP LMFAO

Rose’s ears turn red when he lies

To fill the silence, Maple makes little noises (ie: beeping, humming, squeaking, tongue clicking)

Maple also doesn’t make eye contact when she’s nervous, she’ll states straight ahead when she speaks

Maple would smile by biting moon’s lip when moon was little, so now when moon gets nervous, moon’ll bite moon’s lip

Nikola uses a lot of hand gestures when they speak + nods their head a lot

Nikola has a resting bitch face IM SORRY DHSJJDJD

Jayden picks at his eyebrows+pimples when he’s bored

Rose is very expressive with their face so he makes REALLY FUNNY EXPRESSIONS ESPECIALLY WHEN HES CONFUSED

Nikola stutters when they read out loud and ITS REALLY FRUSTRATING FOR THEM :(

Maple tends to hold up a peace sign as a greeting rather than waving

Nikola talks to themself out loud when they’re thinking

Rose ends almost every sentence with an awkward chuckle or a “y’know”

Jayden cracks his knuckles like ALL the time. And they’re really loud cracks too

Maple finds new words to say as a stim every once in a while (beep boop, yipeee, yahoo)(ties in w the making little noises)

Nikola works best with due dates, if a task doesn’t have a due date, they will procrastinate on it forever

Nikola actually has little initiative and won’t really do things unless they are instructed to do them

Jayden loses his stuff all the time

Like it’s actually funny because he could say “where’s my phone?!1” and spend a whole 10 minutes looking for it when it’s just sitting on the table in front of him

He wears glasses and is so comfortable with then that he often forgets he has them on. One time he walked into the shower with them and thought he was going blind when they started to fog up

Nikola paces around when they’re talking about something they’re passionate about

Rose loves hearing people talk about the stuff they like, it makes them happy

Maple knows the entirety of the FNAF lore

So does Jayden

They talk about it a lot

Also Jayden played Omori and it’s his favorite game of all time

Maple will screech when she’s excited

Nikola assigns colors to random things (for example: they would say the number 3 gives off pink vibes, and the word “boing” should be orange with yellow dots)

Rose is actually super organized and clean

Nikola has a pile of clothes they haven’t gotten around to folding up yet

Nikola is ashamed of how disorganized and demotivated they are. They’re the heir to the throne after all, they should be perfect, right?

Rose feels uncomfortable showing anger

Maple gets very anxious in the face of conflict and will go to any lengths to avoid it

Jayden likes doing peoples’ makeup and his own as well

Jayden would do anything to help his friends

Jayden is very sensible to tone and will cry if you sound even the slightest bit aggressive

Maple loves calling friends

Jayden has SO. MANY. PLUSHIES. AND THEY ALL HAVE NAMES

Maple’s love language is gifting so she’ll make necklaces or jewelry for people

Rose isn’t great at expressing gratitude, but is very thankful for their friends and loves them very much

Nikola could literally name and point out literally any constellation ever

Rose is scared of heights

Nikola loves being up high because it’s peaceful and breezy

Rose thinks Nikola’s insane for thinking heights are “peaceful”

Maple likes running around while listening to music

Jayden falls asleep to music and actually can’t sleep well without it

Jayden’s a Creepypasta fan and always rambles to Maple about it

Maple has Tumblr and posts Omori and FNAF memes

Maple’s favorite Danganronoa character is Tsumugi Shirogane

Maple loves cosplay and moon’s first cosplay was in fact, Tsumugi

Jayden always cries at the Omori soundtrack cuz it’s so good

Maple is very strong and can lift people up pretty easily (she may be short, but moon *can* throw you across the room)

Rose always tries to be the comedic relief because they love to make people laugh

Nikola doesn’t laugh at a lot of things but…puns..?..that’s the shit right there

Nikola snorts when they laugh

Rose laughs like Genocide Syo

Maple’s laugh is a giggle

Jayden laughs very quietly it almost looks like he’s silently choking

[greenlikethesea]

greenie my beloved i swear every time i read anything about fair ithilien it adds a year to my life, and also in honour of the post you rb about fanfic details and research, i have a question, do you have a favourite little detail in fair ithilien (or a few little details you love) that is something that you (or the equally as lovely ms sparkly) spent quite a bit of time on that went mostly unnoticed or didn’t get the hype it deserves!!

this is such a kind, lovely ask that really made my day! i've had a few personal setbacks these past few days, including a muscle injury sustained after hitting a deer, so this is a balm for my soul.

oh goodness, there are quite a few of these! a lot of these details i love the most are also well loved by our readers, which makes me happy -- we really do have the best readership bar none. i'll just write a few that pop into my mind, most of which are @sparklyslug originals and which made me feel many an emotion upon first reading them.

sparkly has done a lot of incredible work in emphasizing the fact that steve and megan are two sides of the same coin -- megan is what steve could have been if he were female and had had more attentive parents. a knockout detail that's so small but speaks volumes is this thing she added in during chapter 2 of three weddings:

"Steve follows her subtle elbow-gesture (Megan, with how she was raised, never points a finger at anyone or anything) to where Max is standing."

it's just such a great character detail that speaks to megan's whole deal -- polite, occasionally to the point of a terrible feedback loop. speaking of feedback loops, here's another detail of sparkly's that really gets me, from there's a phrase that fits:

"As Steve explains the situation, it’s so clear he’s trying his hardest to be calm, to be level for Megan, whose warm voice Eddie can occasionally hear chiming in in the background of the call, but Eddie knows him better than most. Eddie doesn’t have to interact with Megan to guess that she’s freaking out, but doing that passive-aggressive WASP “oh no, it’s fine, it’s fine” thing that’s practically genetic. Which, Eddie knows, kicks off the same programmed behavior in Steve, trapping them both in the kind of horrible feedback loop that has been (Eddie almost wishes he didn’t know this, but he does) one of the foundational issues in their increasingly rocky marriage."

to me, that's the perfect summary of the breakdown of their marriage -- a horrible feedback loop of passive aggression where they don't actually talk about anything, because they don't know how. it also contrasts how eddie and steve later communicate with each other, far more direct and a little more than confrontational. it does so much with such tight, concise details.

as for details I've specifically contributed, oh man, haha. it's hard for me to talk about my writing in a way that isn't neutral erring toward critical, mainly because i've been through a battery of programs and career choices that have leant themselves to this behavior of mine, but by golly, am i gonna deliver because you asked so nicely.

people have noted how much they enjoy the gay man to gay man conversation that's in (well, that basically is the entirety of) there's a phrase that fits, but this is a detail i love, because it's a callback to how eddie learned to be comfortable with being gay, with this aspect of himself, in a context away from hawkins:

"“And aren’t you so proud?” It’s vicious, not innate but learned from Lloyd and the boys. Read him like a book and hit him where it hurts, sweetheart, Lloyd had purred, steady like a soldier by Eddie’s side when Tom sneered at him to impress his new boy toy. Eddie has found his own version of calculation that suits his own purposes just fine, a mix of cool cattiness and Dungeon Master character analysis. Will’s lucky it’s just Eddie taking a swing – Lloyd would have absolutely eviscerated Will if he were here right now."

both of the named people in this scenario that eddie is thinking of have been dead for a number of years, both due to tragic circumstances. this is truly a distilled moment in time, but eddie has still been permanently shaped by those who are no longer there, for better or for worse, people he only got to know for a short time before they were taken from him. tom's a complicated case for eddie, but eddie will always, always miss and love lloyd, and that lives in his body and his actions forever.

thanks so much for asking this question! <3

[dandelionflower]

I saw on one of your post that said to send you prompts sooo... can I request A childhood friend AU either Felix or Marinette moves away and then reuniting in college in France at age 14 in Felix's school with the Quantic Kids.

It was a pretty normal day, which probably meant something was going to happen. If it wasn’t a normal day, something was bound to happen as well; life in Paris hadn’t been normal in months. It being a normal day meant that Marinette was late. Super late. Way, way, so very late she might as well be early for the next thing kind of late. So late that- (oh, she’s beginning to catch onto why she’s so late.)

She knew even as she was shoving toothpaste into her bag for Tikki and brushing her teeth with frosting (wait, switch that) that she would be late, and her erratic movements were enough to convince her parents to write her an excuse. Not that anyone could blame her; she had to deal with three akumas in one night. Three akumas. Who could blame her, or anyone for that matter, for being late when there were three emotionally-stunted teens each wreaking havoc upon the city? It was a wonder that anyone else got to class on time, except for Alya, who Marinette was pretty sure didn’t sleep.

Marinette kissed both parents goodbye, thanking them again for the excuse note. They shoved a box of pastries into her hands, as was their habit whenever she didn’t leave school fast enough.

They had done it since her first day at her new school, when she was tiny and frightened of new people; having the same best friend since birth would do that. Her father had shoved a box of macaroons in her arms and her mother placed a bracing arm on her back. They told her what to do and she tried her hardest to follow their instructions, standing up straight at the front of the class, introducing herself, and offering cookies. Unfortunately, that was the same day Chloe Bourgeois was joining public school, and compared to cookies, her offer of money to ten year-olds wasn’t all that effective. And Chloe was excellent at holding a grudge.

Of course, she ended up with friends: Alya, Nino, Adrien, and everyone in art class, but it was hard to go about her first couple years of school without anyone in her corner. Becoming Ladybug really gave her the boost of confidence she needed to break out of her shell and make new friends, and now she had a whole class full.

She stopped in the classroom to put her stuff away, pausing for a second to breathe. How was she out of shape? She’s Ladybug, for heavens’ sakes! Those three akumas really took it out of her. Luckily enough, she had gym class up next. (Can you hear the sarcasm?)

“Girl! Where have you been?” Alya smiled up at her from where she was stretching her hamstrings.

“Sorry Alya, slept in too much.” She fell into place beside her, choosing one of the more advanced stretches to accomplish instead. “Three akumas yesterday; couldn’t get much sleep.”

“You need to get over yourself, Mari. Ladybug and Chat Noir always win against the akumas, this fear of yours is ridiculous.” Alya glanced at her with an incredulous look, but when she saw her intense yoga pose, the look shifted and she yelled over her shoulder. “Adrien! Get over here! Marinette’s doing her physics-defying stuff again!”

Adrien joined them, laughing at Alya’s exaggerated despair. “It’s really not that hard. You just have to-” He fell into the position easily and began matching her movements. “There.”

“How on EARTH?” Alya shrieked and threw herself to the right, toppling into Nino, who was in a shaky warrior two. They ended up in a heap on the floor, Alya staring in horror at the two still upright and Nino staring bewildered at his girlfriend. “How are you two doing that?”

“Well, I don’t know about Marinette,” Adrien moved into an upward dog, “but father insisted that I be physically active in some way and my mother used to do yoga. So I picked it up.”

Nino leaned close to Alya’s ear. “I’m not sure whether to add this to the ‘reasons Gabriel sucks’ list or be happy he has this thing with his mom.”

“Both I guess?”

“What about you Marinette?” He moved into a handstand-like position. “Why do you know all this stuff?”

My superhero moonlighting requires me to be as stretchy as a rubber band, so my partner, who is also a furry, taught me yoga. “My first best friend and I learned tai chi, and this just felt like the next step.” Not a lie, just not why she chose yoga.

“Okay, you’re fine.” Alya pointed a finger between them both. “But next time you do something weird, I’m starting a cryptid blog about you.”

“You don’t have the guts.” Marinette leaned in and Adrien flipped down to join her. It felt familiar, like deja vu; not her crush, she killed that with fire once he started dating Kagami.

“Heey!” Nino opened his arms in front of them. “Let’s change the subject, what about that new student?”

“There’s a new student?” Marinette turned to the rest of the class, who were all stretching dutifully. No new faces whatsoever. “Where are they?”

“Not here, he went to the office over a scheduling conflict. Seems like a jerk.” Alya pulled an arm behind her head, glaring with derision in the direction of the office.

“Alya, don’t.” Adrien nudged her with a foot. “First impressions don’t mean anything, right Marinette?” He shot her a playful glance.

“Don’t remind me.”

“That one was a misunderstanding. Mister Ice Cold over there doesn’t even say a word, just nods and walks into the back of the class. At least Adrien did something and he asked for forgiveness afterwards. Frosty doesn’t even look at us.” With that final comment, Alya joined the rest of the class in dodgeball.

“Is she alright?” Adrien side-eyed her.

“Yeah, she just really hates people acting superior to her. Let’s go.” Marinette shrugged it off and joined her in picking teams.

Dodgeball was a mess; it always was. The entirety of the class had been akumatized at one point, and some of the strategic prowess remained. Marinette’s team always won, which everyone attributed to her agility, but it was really that Ladybug had more practice in strategy. The only way the teams could be considered even was if Adrien was against her.

She still won; she always won. When it was all over, each team, sweating and exhausted, gravitated to the center line to shake hands and congratulate one another on a game well played. Adrien met her in the middle with a weary smirk. His hair was disheveled, but there was a spark in his eyes that made him seem more familiar than he already was.

“I almost got you that time.” He gripped her hand tight.

“All that training with Kagami is really upping your game.” She quipped, shaking his hand. “Better luck next time.”

With that promise of another match, everyone vacated the gym to the locker rooms, where Alya continued to warn Marinette against the new student.

“Even Chloe doesn’t like him and he seems like the kind of rich boy that would be right up her alley.”

“Alya, I get it. You aren’t the new guy’s biggest fan.”

“And the feeling’s mutual too.” She griped.

“So just don’t talk to him; it works with Chloe. Why not this guy too?” She wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her to their desk.

“Fine, but I don’t have to like it.”

“You don’t have to like him either.” She pulled out her notebook and began writing down the date.

Before Alya could make another passive aggressive comment about the mystery new boy, Miss Bustier walked in, the usual skip in her step. “Class, I know I already introduced you to our new student but since some of us weren’t here for the first period,” Marinette ducked her head with a sheepish smile, “I’ve decided there’s nothing better than a redo. So, here’s Mister Culpa, introducing himself again.”

Culpa?

A boy with pale blond hair and paler skin strode into the room. He wore what could only be called business-casual, all monochrome. His eyes were a one-in-a-million breathtaking ice blue.

Culpa?

“Hello.” His eyes scanned the room emotionlessly. “As I previously said, my name is Felix Culpa and I am from-” He stopped when he reached her. “Nette?”

“Felix.” She breathed, barely even daring to say it louder, lest he disappear.

He was a blur, climbing the steps and reaching her in the time it took her to stand. There were no words when they hugged, other than the other’s name. She was on the tips of her toes, pressing her forehead to his collarbone. Felix got tall.

“I missed you.” He whispered, squeezing just a little tighter.

“I missed you too.” She laughed, pulling back to see his face. He was crying. She was crying.

“What in Ladybug’s name is happening?” Alya’s shout broke them from whatever pocket dimension they were inhabiting together. “You two know each other?”

“Alya, this is Felix.” She turned to look at her, hand still on Felix’s shoulder. “He was my best friend from birth to ten.”

“Was?” He bumped her hip with his. “Didn’t know I’ve been replaced, Netta.”

“I couldn’t contact you after I moved! I was ten and your mom never told us what her new number was.” She punched his elbow. “What are you doing here?”

“My family moved. I didn’t know you were in this area too; imagine my surprise when I see what the current events in Paris are and find out that there are superheroes and my best friend is now a borderline celebrity.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“We have to catch up some time.” She grabbed his arm.

“Certainly, maybe not here and now, though.” He gestures to the class around them, avidly watching the exchange.

“Right.” She released his arm and rubbed the back of her head awkwardly. “Coffee and macarons later then? My place?”

“I would like nothing more.” He quirked a smile that would seem tiny to anyone else, but to Marinette was as bright as the sun. “Until then.” Felix squeezed her hand and moved to the back of the class with a little wave.

She returned it, a goofy smile definitely on her face as she sat back down.

“Well,” Miss Bustier coughed, ���since Felix has been so thoroughly introduced to everyone else, I suppose I should start the lesson.” And she dove into a spiel about the first World War.

“Dang, girl. Is it just me, or do you have a date after class?” Alya whispered to her from behind her textbook.

“It’s not a date! We’re just catching up.”

“Sure.”

She spared a quick glance at Felix, who was nose-deep in his book, just like when they were kids. He had such sharp features, and upon reconsideration, his eyes looked even more beautiful than she remembered. Felix grew up just fine without her. Really fine, in fact.

It took Marinette a couple seconds to realize she was staring, and when she did, her head turned back to the front of the room so fast she swore she heard a snap.

This was... going to be complicated.

[ktheist]

01 — show me yours & i’ll show you mine | m

“then won’t you fuck me right now? i’m already wet for you.”

“not tonight,”

➙ muses. seokjin x college student / gamer!reader ft. best friend! taehyung

➙ genre. best friend’s brother au. university au. working au. fwb au. 

➙ word. 5k

➙ warnings. explicit content, reader coming onto seokjin who’s still hung up about how he watched over her and his little brother, taehyung, all these years, they’re six years apart, fingering, rimming.

➙ index. 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | finale | side story 1 |

➙ synopsis. you’re a horny bunny yet kim seokjin always seems to manage to slide out of your grasps like a fox every time.

follow these two as they embark on a sexual adventure whilst keeping their relationship on the low from kim taehyung who may or may not just pull out the (your) best friend and (seokjin’s) brother card to call a time-off on them for good.

➙ note. if you’re used to reading my fics, this one is a little different. it focuses less on healing and more on getting it on w your best friend’s brother ykwim.

also, if you’re not okay with the age gap or the nature of their dynamic, keep it to yourself. block and don’t engage. much love x

x

“i watched you grow up!” seokjin shouts right in your face as he leans so far back against the counter, you thought his back would break.

“exactly,” a suggestive smirk curls on your lips as you lean your breasts against him, making sure the angle allows him to have an eyeful of your voluptuous slopes, “i’m grown now.”

but your words seem to have snapped him out of your wonderful spell, eyes going round with realization, “you’re nineteen!”

“and,” your finger teasingly travel up from his chest and a few inches above dip of his collarbone where the protrusion of his adam’s apple dips and stops at, “legal.”

“taehyung will kill me,” he reasons, large, secure hand wrapping around your wrist before he holds it away from his throat.

“only if he knows,” your free hand caresses the noticeable protrusion in his pants that’s pressing deliciously against your stomach.

seokjin’s mouth opens and closes twice but no words come out. and he’s not exactly making any moves to hold your teasing hand away from his boner.

“please, seokjin?” with a voice as sweet as angel’s and a tilt of head just in the right angle, you give him your best puppy eye, “i can’t take it anymore, after i saw how hung you were last month when i accidentally walked in on you in the bathroom... you’re all i think about - and you weren’t even hard back then!” you giggle when his hand finally captures yours when you try to pull down the zipper of his pants.

seokjin’s lush lips glisten from his tongue swiping out to wet them - you may not have spent as much time with him than with his brother but you know that whenever he does that little tongue thing and seem to stare off into nothing in particular - it’s because he’s heavily considering the possibility of delving into whatever that had his head occupied.

but before he can even say a word, the sound of keys jiggling from the other side of the door echoes into the space where you’d trapped him, in the middle of twirling around with a newly filled glass of water. you’d easily took the glass out of his hand, noting the way he arched a brow but silently watched as you placed it on the counter next to him before you boxed him between you and the counter.

“...that’s why i’m telling you! we need more cheese!” taehyung walks in with two bags of groceries, head craned towards his elder brother and middle child of the kims - namjoon who only shakes his head at the younger boy’s antics.

“we already bought three packets of cheese,” by the time namjoon’s pointing out the unbelievable bought, you’re already helping taehyung get the backs off his hands and placing them on the counter across where seokjin stands, front facing the counter, boner hidden underneath and hand gripping the poor glass until his knuckles turn white.

“oh my god, spicy carbonara ramen!” you squeal, finding out the signature light pink packet before setting that aside - you don’t trust anyone in this house to not steal your food unless you keep it safe in your room.

“you’re too obsessed with that thing,” taehyung asserts from next to you, sitting on one of the stools, eating out of the bag of cheese-flavored chips.

“uh-huh, maybe if seokjin or namjoon says that, i’d take it more seriously,” you don’t miss the way the eldest brother’s eyes sweeps up to you in an automatic response to his name.

to anyone else, your smile would look as if you’re sharing the same humor for teasing taehyung.

“uh, i’m like the boss of moderation,” taehyung waves a dismissive hand.

“the three packets of cheese in the fridge disagrees,” you twirl around, stealing the bag out of his grasp and leaning against the counter as you place one chip into your mouth.

you notice seokjin padding towards the hallway where the rooms are and somewhere at the end, lies the infamous bathroom you speak of that changed your life forever.

x

the kims and your family have known each other for years. having been next door neighbors, it’s almost inevitable that you’d be best friends with the same-age, truck toy-wielding boy. your parents didn’t need to worry when they didn’t find you in your room - they could just ring up the kims’ and ask if their daughter were over without telling them which, most of the time, was the case.

you didn’t get to hang out at school because you went to an all-girls school and taehyung and his brothers went to a co-ed school. seokjin was the kinder but still fun to hang out with brother but wasn’t around most times. he was already in high school when you were in elementary - had his own set of friends, joined robotics for the entirety of his high school career which made him immesurably busy. namjoon’s alright but he’s more quiet and also somehow managed to get you and taehyung to do your homeworks even though you initially came over to get away from your parents nagging you to do said homework.

you should’ve seen that diplomatic but persuasive nature of his would have landed him a job in one of the biggest firms in seoul. seokjin took on a much different route, choosing to work for samsung’s sister company that specialized in r&d-ing micro-everything that goes into the phone - which is also in seoul.

you and taehyung got into the same university but the different in majors yet again obstruct you from hanging out whenever you wanted to which was why you were almost always around in the weekend at the kim brothers’ shared apartment. that meant sacrificing your back, sleeping on the thinly layered futon taehyung bought for you on sale because he finally took pity on your sleeping on the couch and suffering from back pains every morning (they were exaggerated and taehyung knew but you guessed his guilty conscience got the best of him).

“what? so your girlfriend found out i’ve been crashing at your place and she wants you to choose between me and her?” you’re in front of the laptop (they don’t have a tv) in the living room, eating a bowl of ramen while taehyung has his cheesy burrito, the movie freezing in the screen before you turn to him with the most, you’d say, nasty frown.

“i mean - she just said a girl and a guy shouldn’t be sleeping together in a room regardless if one’s on the bed and the other’s on the floor,” taehyung’s avoiding your eyes and that’s how you know he’s actually debating following that snobbish little bitch’s instructions.

now, you don’t call just anyone a bitch but when you do, she’s on your ‘don’t fuck with’ list.

“do you see my girlfriend complaining about us sharing a room when me and her were dating?” you point out in a matter of factly.

“th-this and that are two different things!” taehyung slams the burrito onto the plate in his lap and slams said plate onto the coffee table.

you say slam but it’s really possibly just a tad bit aggressive than what taehyung’s like usually.

“how is it different?” the bowl of ramen clicks sharply when you place it on the coffee table too.

“i-it just is,” taehyung shrugs.

“i can’t believe you’re choosing some bimbo over me!” hand over your chest, you look at him dramatically, jaw hanging loose and eyes accusing.

“you’ve been sleeping in the living room before i got the futon. it’ll just be like one of those days, you know what i mean?” he shrugs - or at least attempts to look casual about it.

“look at this place! it’s not even big enough to fit the futon,” hands flailing, you gesture towards the minimal space on the floor.

“it’s fine, we can move the coffee table somewhere-” taehyung still tries but you’re already vexed-marching towards the hallway with your bowl of ramen without another word.

to just about anyone, it would’ve been obvious that you’ve had it with your best friend. but taehyung being taehyung is probably desensitized to your anger fits because this time, he does sound casual when he shouts, “what about the movie? can i continue watching without you?”

“do whatever you want!” you shout back before slamming the door behind you.

it takes you a moment to gather yourself before you notice the heat of a pair of eyes on you from all the way across the room. seokjin lies in bed with his laptop on his lap, pillows elevating his upper body. he’s staring at you with arched brows and cute naturally puckered lips.

“oh, don’t mind me. i just had a fight with taehyung and i can’t stand to see him right now,” you say, walking over to the vacant table and chair, “do you mind if i finish my ramen here?”

“be my guest,” before he even lifts his hand from the laptop to gesture towards said desk, you’re already plopping down with a “thanks!”

soon enough, the tapping sound of his keyboard fills the otherwise silent room. you don’t know how long time’s passed but you’ve already finished your ramen and scrolling through instagram on your phone when you see seokjin’s latest post.

he’s sitting in a cafe, dressed in a denim jacket over a white turtle neck with a cap casting shadow over his eyes. the angle he has head head lowered makes it all the more difficult to see his expression. only his soft kissable lips are visible.

so you double tap on the picture before going into gallery and scrolling through your own pic. there’s one with you standing in front of a brick wall, clad in all black, bringing out your colorful eye makeup in conjunction with pride month. the way you’re standing accentuates your curve, bringing attention to your hips after the beholder would be done with admiring the emotions in your eyes.

you have taehyung to thank for that picture but you’re not about to tag him for credit because you haven’t really forgave him. he’s on his phone since it dinged with a notification, probably from you liking his picture. but he hasn’t even looked at you once throughout the course of that and you posting a new picture.

relentless, open up snapchat, posing for a picture and making sure the frame captures the sight of your perked breasts as you stick the tip of your tongue out, smirking and biting on it ever so gently.

with a caption of ‘don’t have a bedroom to sleep in tonight, can i sleep in urs, ggukie-yah?’

it takes a second and a half for him to set his phone down... and go back to his laptop. the tapping sound continues without even the slightest hiccup to it - and he’s already opened your snap.

so with that, you stand up, pick up your bowl, making sure to stand in a way that makes your hips more curved and breasts more defined, “well, i guess i need to get out of here since taehyung’s jealous ass girlfriend doesn’t want me sleeping in his room.”

“hm?” his brows raises at that, “you’re leaving? but it’s night time.”

your dorm is at least half an hour away and it’s too expensive by grab - you usually go back on monday with taehyung since he has a car. but since you’re not on speaking terms, both you and seokjin know that even if the youngest brother offers to drive you back - you’d straight out refuse him. would probably even say something along the lines of your friendship being over and that he has no obligations to ensure you return safely. all of it’s gotta be dramatic though. maybe add in crocodile tears.

“i’d probably stay over at a friend’s at least he’ll lend me his bed to sleep in, unlike your woman-choosing brother.” when your hand is on the handle, seokjin stops you.

“this friend... is it ‘gukkie-yah’?” and there goes the fish biting the bait.

“how did you know?” you’d like to think your tilted head and confused, drawn together eyebrows are convincing enough.

“you mistook me for him... i got your snap which was probably meant for him,” he waves his darkened phone screen in the air.

“oh my god, you did?” hand over your mouth, you gasp, “i’m so sorry, that was embarrassing.”

“it’s chill,” he shrugs.

“anyways, i’ll text him on my way there. he usually has no qualms lending a helping hand to a friend in need,” and with that, you twist the doorknob.

“are you guys... close?” the question hits the air with a different kind of tone.

“kinda,” you say, face struggling to stay neutral when you see the way his eyes glint with a dangerous gleam, “we were fwb’s in freshman year before i started dating yoona... might continue where we left off.”

“cool,” is all he says before he goes back to his laptop, the incessant tapping sound echoing throughout the room. not even a glance is spared at you the whole time you slip out of the door and close it behind you.

taehyung’s eyes catch yours for the briefest second and before he can even say anything (he looks like he would’ve said hi like he didn’t just choose his girlfriend over you), you’re holding up a hand, “don’t talk to me. i’m still mad at you for choosing a girl over me.”

as soon as you’re done washing the dishes, you pad back towards the hallway, not even caring that taehyung’s not bothering to get up from his spot or pausing the movie to talk to you - guess you’re both in that stage where you know no matter how mad the other is, they’ll never be mad enough to break the friendship for forever.

either way, if your best friend already exiled you from his room and your crush doesn’t even care about you going over to another boy’s place, you might as well actually go over to said boy’s place.

at least jeongguk’s dick game is good.

“you’re really going?” seokjin’s sillhoutte leans against the door frame whilst you’re stuffing your clothes into a h&m’s paper bag.

“yeah, like, i’m done. i’m not gonna let that bimbo think she won,” you huff while in the middle of shoving your headphones on top of the neatly folded pile.

“you can sleep with me,” as soon as he said those words, you can see panic spread through his face as he quickly adds, “in my room- on the bed- i can sleep on the floor.”

“why can’t we sleep in the same bed?”

his eyes follow the sweater that you were in the middle of folding and discard, tossing it onto taehyung’s bed.

“you and taehyung don’t-” he starts but you’re convulsing in disgust.

“ew,” you manage to hold back your rising bile. so he stays quiet. clad in a creme colored sweater that makes him look cozy and warm, “why’d you think i never complained about sleeping on the couch or on the floor? it’s cause i don’t wanna catch his cooties!”

okay, so maybe that was a lie. taehyung may be cootie-less but you’ve never been the huggy-cuddly kind of best friends. for one, it’s because you both did believe that touching the opposite gender will actually render your whole body spotted with incurable diseases and before you know it, you both were allergic to physical contact with each other at least.

seokjin doesn’t seem to believe so, otherwise he wouldn’t be shaking his head and smiling to himself.

“does that mean we can sleep in the same bed?” you cross the short distance between the bed where you’re standing over and to the door, putting on your best puppy eye.

“sure, why not?” seokjin caves like he always does back then.

you squeal in delight, arms wrapping around his waist as you give him a big hug whilst he freezes under your touch but doesn’t tell you to go away, “eeep, thanks!”

it’s almost as if the incident at the kitchen this afternoon was just a dream.

x

taehyung has tried talking to you - you say talk because no word of apology slipped through his mouth - but you’re having none of it, hiding behind seokjin’s big bro influence, or so you’d like to call it, when he burst through his eldest brother’s door, demanding for his best friend, “i know she’s in here!”

“she is,” seokjin says simply and you’re about to shoot him accusatory looks before he chuckles, “but she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“____, come on, the squad’s all ready to play,” so that’s what he’s after.

over the years, you and taehyung have gathered your own like-minded people when it comes to video games. you don’t own a personal computer so your laptop suffers for it but the upside is that you get to bring it everywhere and it’s a pretty sturdy, gamer laptop.

“i’m playing here,” you say, laptop already set up on seokjin’s desk, headphones on.

“okay, whatever,” with a roll of his eyes, taehyung closes the door, leaving you and seokjin alone again.

and so it goes, you giving rapt attention to the game and the occasional comments spilling out of your lips when one of you make a dumb mistake or when one of you manage to kill off the enemy team’s avatar until you end up being killed yourself.

“what?” jeongguk - oh, he’s part of the squad - drags out as if he couldn’t belive his eyes.

“that’s cheating, bro,” taehyung’s voice rings in your earphone, “they literally ganged up on ___!”

“shit, shit, shit, shit, we’re gonna lose,” hoseok chants like a mantra.

“no, we’re not gonna lose,” you can just hear jimin rolling his eyes.

“bro, stop capping! we lost our fighter!” hoseok is at a point where he’s shrieking now.

“well, take however-long-it-takes-for-me-to-respawn, i guess,” you say in the middle of them arguing that they still have a hybrid fighter who is jeongguk.

either way, you’re already standing up, stretching your stayed-in-one-position-for-too-long limbs just in time for seokjin to walk in with a towelette draped over his head - you remember him using those cute little printed ones back then to dry his face after he brushed his teeth and cleansed his face. sure enough, he looks as fresh as the air that you’re about to take.

“you’re going to bed?” you ask the obvious.

“yeah, don’t worry, you don’t have to turn off the lights.”

“oh, don’t worry, i’m used to playing in the dark - my eyes are immune,” you wave a dismissive hand.

then he steals a glance at your laptop where your headphone lies next to it, emitting the lowest mumblings from your squad.

“you died?” he asserts - it’s obvious because otherwise, why would you even be talking to him.

“yeah, i think i’m gonna go wash my face now too.”

and with that, you’re out of the door, bursting in taehyung’s and shaking his shoulders to distract him as he reports the act of disturbance you’re comitting to the squad before you leave for the bathroom where your toiletries have made home in the cabinet along with taehyung’s belongings whilst namjoon and seokjin opts for placing theirs on either corners of the sink.

when you’re back, the room is already dark with your laptop being the only thing guiding your steps. there’s a lump underneath the blanket on the left side of the bed and another bright light casting sight on seokjin’s face as he scrolls through his phone.

he doesn’t bat an eye when you climb over, only looking up when it’s too late. thanks to his phone light, you can see how his eyes widen as he gazes at you with a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

you just pecked him on his cheek.

“good night,” and with that, you bound over to your laptop, noting that you’ve already respawned and getting shit talked by your squad for your tardiness and almost being the cause that the whole team was going to lose.

but fifteen minutes in, you make a blunder that causes the whole team to lose, “alright, alright, i don’t think i’m in my zone right now. maybe i’ll hit the sack.”

a chorus of protests erupts through your headphone as jeongguk starts calling you out on uncanny ability to stay up all night playing.

“i’m hitting twenty!” you dramatically moan, “my body doesn’t work like it used to!”

the protests floods in one more time but by then, you’re already saying your goodbyes, making sure to give taehyung a warning not to come bursting into seokjin’s room because he’s already asleep and you don’t want to get kicked out for being the cause his little brother disrupted his sleep to find the best friend he’s housing after she got exiled.

“seokjin?” you whisper into the dark, climbing onto the bed for the second time of the night but this time, you’re on top of the human-sized lump.

when no answer comes from the man, you giggle, “please, i heard your phone shutting off when i was telling the boys i was going to bed- had one headphone over my ear and the other off.”

only then does the man underneath you move, his tone bearing a warning, “taehyung is right across the hallway.”

“shh,” you’re groping blindly, but lady luck deems that you find seokjin’s neck and then his plump lips with ease, “then we better be real quiet.”

unlike this morning, he isn’t as deflective. doesn’t tell you to stop even when you’re grinding directly over him. and boy, is he hung.

“you know,” he lets you pry the sheets off him, kicking it off his feet completely as you take a seat on his hardening self, breasts pressed against his chest as you slowly lay yourself on him, “i was hoping you’d fuck me when i was playing,” his heartbeat is deliciously erratic, “bend me over the desk and fuck me while i talk to my friends like nothing’s happening.”

seokjin’s teeth grazing over your thumb that you use to shush him comes off as a pleasant surprise. your only regret is not letting the laptop stay on so you’d at least be able to see what kind of expression he’d make.

“you might not be able to keep your moans in on your first time with me,” the unadulterated confidence reeking off him is enticing. so ever different from the kim seokjin who’d throw around dad jokes in the house whenever the four of you sit down to have dinner, “none of the ladies i slept with could.”

“is that a challenge?” you don’t pretend to hide your excited tone as you shoot up, eyes searching for a face but all you see is darkness.

but you feel him underneath. you smell his fresh minty breath. you hear his deep breaths. you feel him.

“touch me,” it doesn’t take long for you to find both of his hands after you took off your tanktop and bra, mainly because they’re caressing your ass. all you do is cup them over your exposed breasts.

his hands are larger than jeongguk’s. they swallow your voluptous breasts like they were quarter sized cups. but by god, does he know how to fondle a woman. he teases you, grazing his thumb over your erect nipples ever so gently that you crave for more. it’s no surprise that when his hand snakes behind you and pulls you down, you easily submit.

you’ve always wondered how his lips would feel on you - but you never thought the first thing they’d be on is your nipple. suckling and biting tenderly whilst his hand makes sure your other nipple is kept accompanied.

“ah!” a mixture of a moan and a shout escapes your lips when he bites a tad too hard. teasing. testing the waters.

“for a little minx, you’re quite sensitive,” his chuckle is as warm and endearing. too warm and endearing for someone who’s doing things he shouldn’t do to his precious little brother’s best friend.

“the boys dig it,” you remark, not knowing that it would spark a fire that burns so bright, it can only be put out by your silent suffering as he flips you two over.

“that’s right, you’ve only ever had boys,” it’s not a question and even if it is, you wouldn’t have the time to answer because you’re yelping in surprise at the coolness that licks your entrance, legs forced open by seokjin’s knee.

“and girls- ah!”

a lone, single fingerpad rims around your opening. and that’s all it takes for you to swallow thickly. breath coming out bated with anticipation. heartbeat racing.

“let’s see, if you don’t make a sound, i’ll fuck you while you play next time,” he slips the tip of his finger in as if testing you, hoping you’d moan right when he sets down his offer on the table. your bottom lip hurts from suddenly forcing your teeth on it but that’s a small price to pay especially when you haven’t heard of the second half of the deal, “if you do make a sound, we stop this whole thing - no more teasing, no more seemingly innocent little gestures.”

“alright, bet,” that might’ve come off a little prickly, but it’s all seokjin’s fault! if he wasn’t hung like a horse, you would’ve taken one speculative glance and left him to his own devices!

the sweet chuckle echoing off the walls is disarming. so much so, when he slips one digit into you, your back arches and you’re biting into the pillow to stop a moan from escaping.

“is that a moan i hear? since we just started, i’ll let you off the hook,” there it is again, that disarming trickle of hymn as he slips in and out of you, loosening you up for something much, much bigger.

“it was a cough, god damn it,” you barely manage to get that out before you’re shoving your curled index finger into your mouth when he starts inserting two fingers inside without so much as a warning.

“that’s cheating!” you whine but your legs spread wider anyway.

“all is fair in war and sex,” he comments, free hand pinning your hips down on the bed before he starts thrusting his digits faster, the squelching sound of your juices reverberating against the walls - you fear that even without your moans, the two other brothers that are walls apart would’ve heard and come knocking on seokjin’s door.

along with the fear comes the electrifying euphoric sensation that courses from the tip of your toes to your core and all over your body. you remember clawing at seokjin’s hand that’s pinning you down because of how unbearably rapturous he’s making you feel. you remember his hand not budging a single inch from your meek attempts. you remember trying to bring your legs together but something’s wedged in between them. you remember tears pricking your eyes as the background slowly fades - taehyung’s presence in the room across from where you are, the possibility of namjoon coming back and walking down the hallway right as your back arches upwards and toes curling inwards as sparks course through your veins.

when your senses come back, seokjin’s in the middle of complimenting your hardwork, if “not bad” is even plausibly a praise. his fingers are still inside you, unmoving, possibly waiting for you to come down from your pleasured state.

“did i pass?” you might have been a little too elated.

“surprisingly,” he affirms, that beautiful sound of chuckles spilling out of his mouth.

“then won’t you fuck me right now? i’m already wet for you,” the last part, you say with a tinge of spoiled-ness.

“not tonight,” he says, before instructing you to lift up your head and slipping his shirt over it. you know it’s his because his heat still lingers when you slip your arms through the arm holes, cheeks hot as you forearm brushes against a nude chest as he pulls the sheets up over you.

but you being you, manage to ruin the moment with your, “why not?”

seokjin hums, that sound alone enough to make your heart shake with a sort of emotion that you can’t pinpoint, “like taehyung says - things are better in moderation.”

“he never said that,” you plainly dispute.

“well,” a kiss lands on the side of your head and an arm drapes over your stomach, just above the area where he used the same hand attached to that arm to pin you down as he fingered you, “let’s just say it’s my way of keeping you from going back to that ggukie-guy.”

you gasp into the dark, “are you jealous?!”

“i sure am,” he admits, a bit too willingly - as if it’s a known fact.

“oh,” you say, lost for words becase - “no one really admits that they are, not the people i’ve been with at least.”

“that’s cause you never been with a man... or woman. but i’d say being with a man - me - is better. i’ll show you what you’re missing out on,” he shushes you up with a “shhh” and a hand on your jaw to turn you towards him.

a pair of the softest lips meets yours and whatever retort you’re thinking up of is already out of the window.

x

note. this is different than what i’m used to writing so i’ll probably need some help!! i’m planning to update this from time to time with scenarios like ‘where he picks you up from your uni’ or ‘wherein he takes you shopping’ - idk djashdsakj send in suggestions that you think will fit oc and seokjin’s dynamic and i’ll incorporate them for the upcoming parts in their (nsfw) adventures to realizing their feelings for each other while also sneaking around behind taehyung’s back! it’s cool if you don’t though! but heads up, my smut writing skills aren’t as good so you’ll probably see more sexy times / implied smut most of  the time lol

 either way, hope yall enjoyed this!

[makeste]

the mortifying ordeal of being known... and rejected

or, how to create a self-fulfilling prophecy and get yourself stuck in a hole you’re too scared to try and pull yourself out of (by Bakugou Katsuki).

here is an observation: Bakugou often processes/hides/disguises fear...

uncertainty...

and even grief/guilt...

as anger.

the why, obviously, is because like most humans, he’s afraid of opening up and being vulnerable. but this post isn’t really about discussing the why. rather, it’s about the natural conclusion we can draw from this: that if the majority of Bakugou’s anger is in fact just his way of covering for his “weaker”, more vulnerable feelings, his doubts and fears, then that says a ton about Bakugou’s relationship with the one person he has always displayed the most hostility and aggression towards throughout his life.

so let’s talk about Bakugou’s actual feelings towards Deku.

disclaimer: I am not a therapist, or someone with any kind of psychology expertise; I am just a person that likes to read manga and think too much about fictional characters. so please keep in mind that even though I might not preface every single sentence here with “I think...” or “in my opinion...” obviously these are still just my guesses and interpretations and they may very well be wrong! the only one who knows for sure is the guy over in Japan drawing doodles of sentient flowers in his spare time, and I can’t very well ask him, so for now this will have to do.

so Katsuki and Izuku were childhood friends. let’s take this all the way back to the start. here we have two very young children who are introduced to each other at an age when they’re still young enough to have absolutely no secrets. they’re young enough to have not yet learned to be shy or self-conscious, or to downplay their enthusiasm so as not to let others know they care. kids that young don’t hide anything. they don’t lie or deceive. they don’t have agendas, and they assume that others don’t either. it is, in short, a very pure type of relationship in the sense that it’s honest and uncomplicated, that it is exactly what it appears to be at face value. their personalities are fully out there with no attempt at reining anything in. Katsuki witnesses the full force of Izuku’s boundless hero-worshipping energy and enthusiasm. Izuku witnesses the full extent of Katsuki’s relentless confidence and Peter Pan cockiness. both boys see each other for who they are in their entirety, and accept each other.

this is a fundamental bond. there is trust built between the two of them at a critical, formative age. it’s a relationship formed so early on that it’s likely that neither of them can actually recall a time before they met the other. they are and have always been a constant in each other’s lives. they’re a lot like siblings in terms of that kind of closeness and complete understanding of the other, both the good and the bad. in fact I’d say that Izuku’s use of “Kacchan” (and Katsuki’s automatic acceptance of it) isn’t that different from a younger brother’s use of “Niisan” for his older brother. it’s very revealing of the type of relationship they have. and that includes the typical sibling squabbles as well. it’s very much a relationship that’s taken for granted; there’s no filter, no effort to hold back, no attempt at trying to tone down their behavior around one another. there is whining and bragging and squabbling and name-calling and tears, just as much as there is cooperation and respect and trust. because at the end of the day, the assumption is that the relationship will endure no matter what, so they can go at each other as hard as they can and it doesn’t matter. the other one’s presence is just a given. that’s the kind of relationship that this term “childhood friends” really encapsulates, I think.

what I am trying to say here is that although it’s often viewed by fandom as an imbalanced relationship at best, and a toxic/broken one at worst, I think this is an incredibly important bond to the two of them. this is a relationship that has deep, irreplaceable value. the value lies in being known without having to suffer through the whole mortifying ordeal part. in the absolute, taken-for-granted surety that the other will always be there; in the constant, reassuring, and familiar presence; and in the security of knowing where they stand.

and what that in turn all means is that when four-year-old Bakugou Katsuki is struck by the thought that this relationship is being threatened, that the status quo may not always be quo, that the bond he’s come to rely on may have been built on a crumbling foundation, the emotional response which we are actually seeing here is not anger.

it’s fear.

this is the person who knows him better than anyone else does, and who, knowing all that, has always seemingly found something to admire in him. this is the person who’s always followed him no matter what. this is someone who looked up to him and believed in him, and whose belief and admiration perhaps more than anyone else’s filled him with pride and confidence. so the sudden fear, however ridiculous or unfounded (because at the end of the day he was just a preschooler, and that’s important to remember -- the fact that this fear, misplaced as it is, was based off of a scared four-year-old’s logic, and was incredibly real and overwhelming to said four-year-old), that Katsuki might lose this relationship -- or worse, the fear that the relationship was never real to begin with and was based on a lie and was unreciprocated and he was being strung along and laughed at behind his back the whole time -- is absolutely crushing to him.

because what he realizes in this moment is that in some ways, Izuku is already better than him at being a hero. and this realization, along with the fact that Izuku tries to help him and Katsuki misinterprets that as a gesture of pity or scorn, leads to a sudden cascade of other disastrous fears, including (1) the fear that Izuku is a sudden obstacle to his dream of becoming the number one hero, (2) fear that Izuku is looking down on him and not taking him seriously, and (3) fear that he won’t be able to catch up, because he doesn’t understand this mysterious quality that Izuku has, because that something isn’t physical strength, and that’s the only thing he’s ever considered up until now. and the one thing he does understand is that whatever it is (hint hint, it’s actually heart, and the determination to save and protect others), it’s something he himself lacks.

these are the fears which rise to the surface in this instant, and the fears which Katsuki is on some level at least aware of, and subsequently these are the fears which actually get confessed during Deku VS Kacchan Part 2 and are finally addressed. so all this is stuff we more or less already knew. 

but here’s another thought: I believe that this whole time, there was actually a fourth underlying fear which has actually been at the core of all those other fears from the beginning, and which has stayed with him this entire time, and which is such a profoundly upsetting thought to him that he refuses to consciously acknowledge it at all, and yet at the same time also reconstructs his entire personality around it. and that fear is simply this: that Izuku is going to leave him behind.

that’s it. he fears being left behind and discarded by the one person who has always been there. and yeah, okay, I do realize that this is a particular take that will probably have some people going, “uh, what” and gesturing towards THE ENTIRETY OF BAKUGOU’S BEHAVIOR TOWARD DEKU THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE SERIES and raising their eyebrows. and look, yeah, I get it. the fuck kind of fanficcy, melodramatic “deep down the two of them were closer than anything” take is this. “you’re telling me Katsuki’s absolutely reprehensible behavior toward Izuku for a full ten years of their lives had less to do with him being full of himself and hating on Izuku for being quirkless, and more to do with him being sad and fearful and upset over the thought of losing his closest friend?”

but... yeah. that’s exactly what I’m telling you. because for starters, his reaction is about 50 times too over-the-top for it to be anything else. but because also, his reaction to this one fear is so starkly different from the way we’ve seen him react to all of those other fears. usually, when Katsuki is faced with a challenge, he has a very specific response:

so why, then, would his reaction toward Izuku throwing down the gauntlet be any different? hell, we’ve seen how he reacts toward people that are stronger than him (Todoroki), and towards people he thinks aren’t taking him seriously (again, Todoroki), and it’s completely different from how he treated Izuku. his entire personality shifted from being cocky and confident and nearly always having a grin plastered on his face, to him being hostile and defensive and antisocial and almost never, ever smiling. in fact he doesn’t ever really seem be happy at all.

so yeah. this is my take. he fears being left behind. it’s not just that he fears losing to Izuku; it’s that he fears losing Izuku. because of course he does, because given the significance of that bond as explained above, that’s the natural thing to fear. the two of them have always been together. he’s never not had Izuku there. and so he might bitch about it and act like he doesn’t care about it, but in truth it’s because he fears the loss of it so much that he lashes out defensively -- no you can’t push me away, if you even try I’m going to push you away first so you can’t hurt me.

because that’s what it is, isn’t it? bullying Izuku every time he gets too close. telling him over and over again to stop following him, and to not try and get into UA. Izuku, from his perspective, is looking down on him, so at the end of the day it’s just easier for him to convince himself that he doesn’t even like Izuku, that he’s just someone who’s in his way, and that Izuku isn’t the one leaving him behind, fuck that, he’s the one who’s going to leave Izuku behind. that it’s his choice. it just hurts less. fear as anger, because anger is just easier to deal with; anger gets you fired up and helps motivate you; and anger doesn’t leave you feeling as hollow inside. or at least it can help distract you from that feeling.

so. this is all pretty goddamn miserable, all things considered. and so it goes for the next decade of their lives. except Izuku never does go away. and then one day he goes and saves his life, and from there on out we basically know the rest.

fast forward to the present! or I guess technically three months ago, since as of chapter 257 the present is now Late March/DAWN OF THE FINAL DAY (24 HOURS REMAIN), apparently, and what I actually want to talk about now is the internship, and its impact on their relationship as seen since then.

I’ve already talked about the internship’s general impact on Katsuki in a previous essay, so I won’t really get into it at length again here, but basically the short version is that I think (or am at least hoping) that over the course of this whole thing, Katsuki finally started to broaden his perspective to be a little less self-focused. and as a result of that, I think that seeing Endeavor’s broken relationship with his family, and in particular watching Endeavor apologize to Natsuo and tell him “you don’t need to forgive me” (and Natsu being all WELL YEAH, I WASN’T GONNA) was kind of a much-needed kick in the pants for him as far as making him realize that his relationship with Deku, newly renovated and given a fresh coat of paint after the whole Ground Beta fight, and finally starting to look a bit like its old self again after all this time... maybe isn’t actually quite as sound as he thought it was.

and isn’t that a fun thought. because here they were finally starting to fix that shit after all this fucking time. after a decade of constantly worrying about Izuku surpassing him and passing him on by, he finally realized that this fear was unfounded the whole time... only to subsequently realize that there’s another reason now why that relationship might still be in jeopardy. that being the small fact that, oh right, Katsuki has been a straight up dick to him for the past ten years. oh shit.

this is something he never once thought about before. because previously he was too blinded by his own fears, and his conviction that he was the one being looked down on, and that Izuku was the one who instigated everything. and then once he finally realized he’d gotten it wrong, I think there was a delay before it finally hit him just how much hurt and harm he actually caused, simply because he’s not used to examining things from anyone else’s perspective other than his own. and then there’s also the fact that this entire time, Izuku has never once really shown any kind of lingering bitterness or hostility toward him in spite of everything. in fact he’s been seemingly overjoyed to finally have that friendship rekindled again, and he’s been more admiring toward Katsuki than ever.

in short, I’m pretty sure that up until very recently, Katsuki has just sort of been taking Izuku’s forgiveness for granted. just assuming that he already had been forgiven, even though yeah, okay, he was pretty bad. he just had no reason to think otherwise, because Izuku’s personality is so kind and accepting and understanding that he never even showed a hint of harboring any kind of bad feelings toward him over it. not to mention that all of the really bad stuff happened so long ago -- going on two years now! -- and Izuku has never once said anything about it! and so Katsuki, being the dumbass he is (and also subconsciously wanting to avoid the guilt, no doubt, because hoo boy, that is not a pleasant emotion at all), just sort of assumed that it was all right. that they were past it.

but... is that actually true? are they, really? or is he just telling himself that because it’s what he wants to think? after all, he did recently learn that he interpreted every single one of Izuku’s actions pretty much 100% wrong for about a dozen years. so fair to say he might not be so good at reading him. and, well... what he did to him was really bad. he was really fucking awful. regardless of how generous and kindhearted Izuku might be, Katsuki really has no right to just expect forgiveness, actually. he has no idea what kind of feelings are actually lurking there beneath that freckly surface. just look at all the resentment Endeavor’s kids have bottled up toward him for what he did. and maybe Izuku is only trying so hard to get along with him now because of what All Might said, about how the two of them are supposed to try and learn from each other. and isn’t it possible, and maybe even likely, that deep down he actually hates him as much as Natsuo hates Endeavor?

so there’s the bitter irony: Katsuki spent a dozen years believing that Izuku spited him, and trying his best to push him away so as not to feel the hurt of being spited, only to finally realize that the enmity between them was all in his head, and that in truth, he was the one driving the wedge in between them and chipping away at the cracks the entire time. that in reality he was the one doing the damage. that the thing he was so afraid of was never actually a real possibility until he brought it into existence, but that it does exist, now -- the possibility that their bond really might have been destroyed. and that it’s entirely his fault. that he created his own demons and dragged them into the light.

so now he’s afraid all over again, except that this time, he has absolutely no idea what to do. if he tries to push Izuku away again, he’ll only bring about the worst-case possible outcome that much faster. not to mention that he already played that song for more than a decade, and if there’s one thing it taught him, it’s that he hates that tune almost as much as the alternative.

so then what he should do, clearly, is apologize. that’s the right thing, obviously. the heroic thing. and I don’t think he’s incapable of moving past his pride in order to do it. and on top of that, I think he probably wants to apologize because he actually is sorry! but I do think there is something else that’s currently holding him back. and that something, once again, is fear.

Katsuki is normally one to face his fears head on. in fact, I’ve previously gone on record as saying that he would apologize without hesitation once he realized how badly he fucked up, because he’s not one to shy away from accepting responsibility no matter what the consequences. but now, though, I think that I was wrong. it’s not that he doesn’t want to take responsibility, or that he doesn’t think an apology is owed. rather, I think I underestimated just how great this one, last, biggest fear of his is. the fear of that possible rejection. the idea that Izuku might not accept. that he might say no. that it might simply be too little, too late.

it’s the one thing Katsuki has never been able to face. the fear that started this all to begin with. it’s the one fear that has shaped him since his childhood, and the one fear that he stands frozen and powerless against. the fear of having the one person who’s always admired him no matter what revealing that in truth, he doesn’t. the fear of having all his deepest doubts and fears confirmed. if he isn’t seen as redeemable or worthy to Izuku, who knows him best, who’s seen him at both his highest and lowest and understands him to a degree which one else does, not All Might (whose approval, by the way, also runs through Deku and which he also stands to lose) or his parents or teachers or his other friends... if he’s seen as beyond forgiveness by him, then that’s a blow he can’t recover from.

so now he’s stuck here in this precarious position with Izuku where he doesn’t want to take a step backwards again, but is too afraid to try and move forward. which brings us to the current chapter, where for the time being it seems like he’s decided to simply embrace the status quo, which in his mind is “rivals.”

so he’s leaning hard into that now, and simply pretending like things between him and Izuku have already been fixed, without actually taking the steps necessary to really move past it, because in the end it’s just easier. and I think that he will continue as is until that status quo either becomes too difficult or painful to maintain (i.e. the guilt becomes too much to bear), or until something happens to finally trigger a boost of courage in him, or a realization that he needs to stop being selfish and own up to his actions.

but eventually that will happen. and I think he knows that deep down. if nothing else, this is something that’s currently standing in the way of him becoming the number one. he has no right to ever call himself a hero if he can’t even muster up the courage to apologize, and to accept whatever consequences may come with that, just as Endeavor did, even if it potentially means being shut down and cast aside. he has no right to expect or demand anything else.

but at the end of the day, Katsuki is still only human, and still a young one at that. and he has only just gotten his friend back. and I can tell you right now that Izuku is not the only one who feels relief and even gratitude at being able to have a “normal-ish” conversation with the other after all this time, regardless of whether or not Katsuki might deny it. and really, there’s no rush. he’ll have to face it soon enough, and he knows.

but for now, this is nice.

[aria-i-adagio]

Suntrap - Dragon Age Fanfiction

Chapter 42 of Where the Elfroot Grows. It's short and can stand alone, so I'm cross-posting the entirety to Tumblr.

Meanwhile...

Skyhold.

It has taken weeks to get here. Weeks of impossible terrain, and freezing temperatures, and thin air. Weeks of gorgeous blue sky, and dazzling white snow, and mountain views that stole the breath from Rhys’s lungs. But Solas’s promise kept a good number of the survivors from Haven going, and Mother Giselle rallied the rest. And they’ve arrived. Skyhold. A fortress that shouldn't exist because how could one build a castle in the sky?

Rhys has been scolded so many times for wasting his time building castles in the sky.

The place holds its breath waiting for them to enter through the gates that long ago fell open. Cullen orders the soldiers to spread out and search, but Rhys can't convince himself to hold back and wait for caution, not after the weeks of anticipation. He spins around with his chin tilted up and his hands held slightly out to his sides, surveying the high, mostly intact walls, the domineering circular keep, the long basilica married to its side, and then - with a laugh and a shout - he bolts up the sloping ground toward the second level of the courtyard, ignoring Dorian’s dismayed shout about unholy fools and how they’ll be the death of him.

Rhys for pauses a moment, enjoying the crunchy sounds of grass beneath his feet; he shouldn’t take his boots and socks off, but it’s an act of will not to. He waits for Solas and Dorian catch up with him before picking his way up the stairs to the basilica, exercising a little more restraint in case the old stones start to crumble beneath his feet. Falling into Haven’s forgotten catacombs had been an unpleasant experience. One he does not care to repeat.

Rhys pauses at the threshold of the basilica. “So, this is Skyhold.”

“Yes.” Solas stands to the side with his hands folded behind his back. “Abandoned and waiting for centuries now.”

“Is this one of the places you sought out to dream in?”

Solas’s smile is enigmatic. “Certainly it is a place where I will dream now. Go on.”

Vines hang over the doorway at the top of the narrow, crooked stairs. Rhys pushes them aside - Arbor Grace, he thinks, although it’s a bit hard to tell when the leaves are dead, dry, and crumbling in the cold. Behind them, an empty door frame opens into a long hall. Dorian catches the vines and holds them back, gesturing elegantly for Rhys to be the first to step inside.

Rhys holds his breath as he enters. Stone vaults support a soaring ceiling. The remnants of a carpet sprawl across the floor, rotted by time and scattered by animals. Colored light scatters through the room, flowing through a miraculously intact rose window opposite the door.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I thought you might appreciate it.” Solas lays a hand on the doorframe and strokes the stone with his thumb like one might the hand of an old friend.

Dorian follows them inside, claps his hands together, and blows on them. “And it’s out of the blighted wind.” He’s been despairing that he would suffer frostbite and lose an unsymmetric number of fingers since before they ran from Haven. In all fairness, it hadn’t been entirely theatrics on Dorian’s part. Rhys still wasn’t entirely sure how the rest had managed to evacuate with as many supplies as they did; he suspects it had something to do with Josie’s preternatural organizational skills. There had been sufficient heavy coats and blankets to go around, and if there weren’t technically enough tents for the group, no one complained much about sleeping piled close together in the few tents that they did have because it was too damned cold at night for anyone to sleep alone. Rhys can think of several fates worse than sharing space with a cranky not-actually-a-magister.

Solas chuckles. “I would not call the wind blighted, but yes, it is out of the wind. Go explore, Herald. I suggest the first door on your left.”

Rhys hops up and down, trying to get some feeling back in his toes before running off to see what else Skyhold contains. Not the defenses. Cassandra and Cullen are already inspecting the battlements, and it isn’t as if he would know anything about whether the keep could be fortified. But there are so many other aspects of any new place. Secrets. History. Rhys can feel the ghosts of years and years breathing around him, heavy and portentous. Curious. Apprehensive. Welcoming.

“Do you feel them too?”

“Yes.” Dorian looks around the echoing space and shivers again. “Some are old. Older than the stones of this place.”

Rhys hooks his arm through Dorian’s elbow. “Come on. Let’s see what else there is.”

Unoiled hinges protest loudly when they shove open the door Solas suggested. A tunnel passes through the thick stone wall and out onto a gallery running around three sides of an open yard. The space is entirely overgrown -a riot of unpruned trees and aggressive vines - but Rhys recognizes it for what it is immediately.

“A suntrap!” He lets go of Dorian and springs over a collapsed balustrade to land in the overgrownth. The temperature of the air in the yard is several degrees warmer than anything Rhys has experienced in weeks. Warm enough for plant life to remain active within this nook. Bits of greenery poke through dead grasses. Blackberries are taking over and creeping into the galleries - as one expects from an ornery vine. Hardy shrubs long ago abandoned whatever order they might have first been planted in and dot the space at disorganized intervals, and closer to the walls, where the heat will be best retained through the nights, Rhys can make out the shapes of fruit trees, gnarly with age.

He stomps down brambles as he makes his way back to the trees: apple and pears, cold-tolerant varieties, though he doesn’t recognize precisely which ones - or they may all be seedling after so much time untended - but they’re still bearing even in the cold of this altitude. He pulls the glove off his right hand and reaches up, gently touching the neck of a pear. It’s not quite ripe yet, but very, very close.

The weeds rustle behind him as Dorian picks his way over, stepping carefully to avoid catching his clothes on the thorny blackberries. “I don’t know what a suntrap is, but if it’s always this much warmer, I like it.”

“Look at how the walls are built. It’s open to the northwest to catch the sun during the day.” Rhys indicates the stones surrounding them, gesticulating with both hands. “All the stones warm up during the day and keep the plants from freezing at night. Other than a greenhouse, it’s the only way I know of to grow much of anything at this altitude.”

“Clever.”

“Yes!” Rhys had worked in suntraps before. The Circle in Ostwick used one to grow tenderer herbs and fruits from higher latitudes - Tevinter, mostly, even a few from Par Vollen. Nothing that heat-loving will grow here, of course, but the suntrap is a promising challenge. Rhys never tried to coax anything into life in a place so cold. “Once the ground is cleared, I think I can get all sorts of things to grow here. Add a cold frame or two, and...”

If nothing else he’ll be able to get root vegetables and greens going. The presence of healthy fruit trees suggests that at least some summer vegetables will make it - not at this time of year, of course, but there’s always next spring to experiment. He’ll need to choose the location well, possibly add some warming glyphs he wants anything semi-tropical like tomatoes. Tomatoes would be lovely.

Dorian catches at Rhys’s arm just below his elbow. “Hold on there. Let’s get a bit more settled before you go finding another way to get entirely covered in dirt.” He picks a stray leaf out of Rhys’s hair and tuts. “Look you’ve already gotten started.”

Rhys holds Dorian’s gaze as long as he can manage before there’s too much blood rushing to his cheeks to be passed off as an effect of the chill. He dips his chin and looks away, still smiling and probably looking like an absolute fool.

“I wonder if there’s a well in here. There has to be a water source - or several - in a fortress this size.” Rhys wanders toward the middle of the garden kicking aside the blackberry brambles. It’s a little late for berries - even this high up - but Rhys would still place a fairly high stake on his ability to find something edible in all this mess. He thinks he can see something that was once a domesticated brassica of some sort. It’s run wild over multiple generations of going to seed, but no one would be too picky at this point about cooked greens being a bit on the bitter side. They’re running low on food. Game had gotten scarcer as the altitude grew higher.

“I’m sure anyone who engineered something that’s lasted this long thought about water.”

Dorian's gloved hand finds his again, and Rhys turns into the contact. An indulgent smile crinkles Dorian’s eyes and turns up the corners of his currently-less-than-perfectly sharp mustache. Rhys reaches out his bare fingers and touches the stubble on Dorian's face, not even the frigid temperatures and weeks of travel on foot had convinced him to let a full beard grow in. Two days seems to be the maximum amount of time he could tolerate going without shaving. Rhys lets his thumb rest at the corner of Dorian's lips, half expecting him to pull away.

A shout echoes through the suntrap, bouncing off the stone walls. “Hey, Sparkles, Lucky - what did you find out here?”

Dorian tenses and turns, but into Rhys's hand, lips brushing across his palm before stepping aside and picking his way back to where Varric stands on the gallery. “The Herald has discovered some plants. Possibly dinner.”

Dammit.

Rhys huffs with annoyance. Then grins when his breath doesn’t immediately turn to frost.

[a-wayne-at-heart-too]

Ask...

BaTube video titled "The Blood Son's Vlog #352": *buffering*

Damian (with a BatPro camera strapped to his forehead, giving first-person POV): *muffled sounds, lens zooming in and out*

Damian: *camera shakes slightly as he walks around* Hello. I'm Damian Wayne, the Blood Son. I'm here at Stately Wayne Manor. Forgive me if I haven't been posting videos as of late. I've been very busy -- *Duke's voice in the background: "I can't tonight, Jefferson. It's family patrol night with the Bats. Yup, Cass's coming with us. We're gonna kick some criminal bu--*" *clears throat loudly* Ignore that. 

[CUT]

Damian: So, I received a question from *scrolling through Tumblr* " @dangerous-doodle​ " asking me how many pets I really have. Let me commend you for the excellent question. Many of my fans think they know all of my pets, but today I will finally reveal the truth. Allow me to show you.

[CUT]

Damian: *opens the door to his room and gestures to the cat on his king-sized bed* Alfred.

Alfred: *kneading the comforter, then suddenly claws violently at the camera* 

[CUT]

Damian: *reaches the bottom of the stairs and walks into the front parlor* Ace and Titus.

Ace: *playfully chewing Titus' ear* Rowrrrrr...

Titus: *pins Ace to the floor* Ruff! Ruff ruff!

Damian: *gives them a thumbs up* They say hi.

[CUT]

Damian: *enters the playroom and dodges a tennis ball* -Tt-

Jon: *waves to the camera* Hey, guys!

Damian: As always, my colleague Jon --

Jon: *makes a disgusted face* Colleague? Don't you mean Super Best Bud?

Damian: *watching Jon and Krypto play catch while flying*

Damian: *in a low voice* It pains me to break the kid's heart, but Krypto actually likes me more --

Jon: *catching the ball before it goes through a Wayne family portrait* Super hearing, remember? 

[CUT]

Damian: *sitting cross-legged on a mound of hay, with Jerry the Turkey nestled in between his legs and Bat-Cow's head resting on his thigh*

Damian: *caressing them* Can you keep a secret? This is where I hang out when I want to get away from everyone else in the Manor. To be alone. With Jerry and Bat-Cow, of course. Father built this barn for me, but I’ve put a passcode so that no one else can --

Bat-Cow: *farts*

Damian: *gasping for air*

[CUT]

Damian: *heads to the pool area* Over there, you’ll see my duck, Drake. He's quite the swimmer.

Tim: *splashing water onto the camera* Get away, Brat!

Steph: *watching from a pool chair, cackling* He's not wrong, though!

[CUT]

Camera: *shows the automated garage door slowly opening*

Damian: *whispers* I knew it’d be here...

Damian: Meet my fire-breathing dragon, Todd.

Jason: *lights up a cigarette, takes a drag, then blows smoke at the camera* Sup?

Damian: *coughs* Incredibly, incredibly *coughs* rude. I wonder why Father still chooses to keep him.

[CUT]

Camera: *violent shaking, sounds of a struggle, red everywhere*

Damian: Sit! I said SIT!

Damian: *wipes sweat off his forehead, then stands up and moves away to show the entirety of a sulking Goliath*

Damian: And here *panting* is my sweet, sweet *glares at Goliath* baby. If you thought he were to be feared, then you'd be right. *wipes his eyes tiredly and snuggles up against Goliath* He sure is *yawns* cuddly, though... *light snoring*

Camera: *focused on Goliath's nose, causing the lens to fog up with every breath* 

[CUT]

Damian: *enters a cave, with hay and red fur all over his clothes* Is he here?

Barbara: *not looking up from her laptop* Are you doing one of your vlogs again?

Damian: -Tt- Yes! Now, where is he?

Barbara: *smirking* Why do you wanna know? And why do you sound nervous?

Damian: *scoffs* I'm not nervo--

Dick: *lifts Damian from behind, then turns the teenager to face his belly for a tight hug*

Camera: *smooshing, pitch-black*

Dick: *muffled* Gotchaaaa!

Damian: *muffled* G-graysooon, gerofff meee --

Dick: *loosens his hold* 

Damian: *sprints away*

Dick: Hey, where're you going, Little D?

Damian: *stopping to catch his breath* That was... *exhales slowly* the Hug Monster. An awfully impulsive and aggressive pet.

[CUT]

Camera [second-person POV]: *Damian emptying cans of gourmet pet food into different bowls handed to him by Alfred the Butler*

Damian: And there you have it. My home is crawling with pets. Some are harder to care for than others, but perhaps that’s for another time. Thanks for watching. This is The Blood Son, signing off --

Jason: *pushes one of the bowls off the counter*

Damian: TOOODDD!

Jason: *running away* What? That was my share!

[CUT]

[dreampeople]

We’ll Come Back To This Later - a drabble

synopsis: ravi and mina reminisce during a quick trip to the convenience store.

words: 1.8k

read under the cut:

It was afternoon—aggressively afternoon, to Mina’s discomfort. An amber overcast hung in the room, the brightness of the oncoming dusk worsening her screen-induced headache, coating the walls in a dark, ugly brown color. The house had been unlively all weekend. Mina somehow managed to make being curled up on the couch on her phone under a blanket the core of her day, drifting in and out of naps as an intermission, and now the anxiousness she’d been able to suppress from the morning came creeping back up her stomach and into her throat, making her queasy. She prayed for a thump, a crash, a holler—for any cause to direct her restlessness towards. She was answered with a trail of footsteps coming from the end of the hallway, footsteps she immediately recognized as Ravi’s. His steps had weight, a clunk to them, and she could hear keys jingling somewhere on him, a melody she’d lately become quite familiar with. It meant he had somewhere to be. He had no time anymore for his steps to be soft, muffled by socks and dragging pajama pants, to be eager and willing to waste the day along with her like they used to. After all, being a college student was a great responsibility. He had much greater goals to pursue than correctly predicting the outcome of some contrived competition show or seeing how many shortbread cookies they could eat before one of them got sick. He’d just been way too busy for any of that anymore, for her, she thought.

Unbeknownst to her, Ravi had picked up on a shift in her own nature too. He’d noticed that he was now able to spend an evening alone in his room without her coming in to assert her presence, completely unprovoked. Whenever he saw her she looked pensive and uneasy. Instead of letting anything and everything she’d thought or felt throughout the day fall out of her mouth whenever Ravi seemed to her, ready to listen, she now barely said anything.

When she’d first moved in with him and his mom, her Aunt Reese, they were both tiny, stout and sticky little kids, both wary and hesitant to give way to being in each other’s space. The awkward period of adjustment was made easy because of Ravi. All it took was one kind gesture from him and she was stuck to him like wet taffy, and despite the expected begrudging of a nine-year-old boy whose main focus was to be cool, he still let her. Soon enough he did it without any grief, and for a while they were close, having composed a rhythm between one another that worked perfectly for them. But for the past few months she felt like the world had been spinning backwards, except now she felt even more unfamiliar around him than she did before.

Though she’d gotten the action she wanted, as Ravi approached she remained frozen underneath her blanket, scrolling through social media posts she’d already seen hours ago. She heard his clunking and jingling stop somewhere across from her near the kitchen.

“Hey,” she heard him call to her. She feigned sleepiness, clumsily sitting up and dramatically squinting her eyes against the invading sunset, then at him.

“I’m going to the store, did you wanna come?”

“Huh?” she made her voice a little hoarse, pretending to not have heard him. Ravi fought against rolling his eyes.

“I said I’m going to the store. Do you wanna come?” he enunciated, fishing out the keys in his pocket. Mina’s eyes filled out as she quickly shook off her “sleep”, gently swinging her feet from the couch to the floor.

“Yeah, sure,” she hid the long awaited relief in her face by staring at the floor. Ravi nodded and headed out the door, expecting Mina to follow. She hurried from the couch, sliding on a pair of makeshift slippers from the pool of shoes left by the door, the heels of what used to be sneakers welded down partly for easy access, and partly as a result of Mina’s laziness. Out the door she was faced immediately with the burning, setting sun, Ravi’s form eclipsing. She heard more unplaced jingling as another form blackened by the sun’s shadow flew into her field of vision, nearly hitting her in the face if she hadn’t caught it.

“Lock the door,” Ravi said.

“You almost fucking hit me,” Mina did as she was told. She skittered down the porch steps to catch up with him as he started down the road without her.

“You’re not driving?”

“I just meant the corner store,”

“Oh.”

The neighborhood looked like a savanna. Houses, street signs, and trees were all plastered black against an orange sky. Mina felt a hundred lengths shorter than Ravi while walking next to him, him providing the perfect protection and coolness underneath his shade. When Mina thought of being younger, this is what was usually in her head. The outside, the pavement slowly scrolling underneath her feet, and Ravi somewhere in her periphery. Jun was usually there too. An excited buzzing in her belly. No aim, no plan, no destination, but somehow their day always ended up being full. She tried not to think about how different it felt standing next to him now, how much faster he seemed to walk, how much greater an indent his steps seemed to make. Maybe it was all in her head, she thought. She felt like a fly that had latched onto his arm unnoticed.

It was quiet between them for a long time aside from the crunching of loose asphalt and the occasional passing car. The constant birring of someone cutting their grass baselined their silence. The sort of desperate panic that she often felt when trying to keep a conversation with someone, when trying to keep someone interested, when trying not to upset someone, rose up in her, a feeling she never recalled ever having felt around Ravi. Instead of saying anything her jaw clenched tighter.

Ravi inhaled through his nose and turned, looking her up and down.

“How did your shoes end up like that?” he asked, the corners of his mouth edging toward his ears.

“What?” Her head swung from one side of her body to the other and she kicked a heel up, a shoe nearly flying off. She smacked her lips.

“It’s more comfortable,”

He looked her up and down again, at the dingy t-shirt that was swallowing her upper half and the childish pajama bottoms she’d been wearing since the night before, and strands of hair that were crossed every which way into some kind of up-do, grinning wider.

“You look unloved, Mina,” he dramaticized, trying to make it clear he was joking.

“Wow, can you leave me alone, maybe?” Mina smiled, Ravi’s laughter easing her a little. Normally him laughing at her was one of the things that agitated her the easiest.

“Why are you fully dressed for the corner store anyway?” Genuinely, she wanted to know. It was the first time she’d been honest with him in a while. He got quiet, watching his shadow float with him. She could feel him slowing down to match her pace.

“I was gonna go see Jun later,”

“All that for Jun?” she thought but didn’t say.

“It’s just Jun,” she grinned up at him, softening her delivery. Ravi responded with another laugh, this time in the way that irritated her, like there was something he knew that she didn’t. They were a block away from the store now, and the light around them began to fade. The silence between them returned for the next block.

“Aye,”

Mina’s brows jumped closer together, startled by his breaking. Her face was all balled up, and she looked both really focused and really confused, staring at her feet again.

“Have you been alright?” He finished without looking at her.

“Me?” Mina responded, louder than she meant to. The strange kick in her voice caught Ravi’s attention, and he looked down at her, chuckling a little.

“Yeah, you,”

“Yeah, man,” she sounded like a puppy whose paw had been stepped on. Ravi knew how hot it got her when he laughed at her, and normally he would anyways just to see her get that mad, but this time he refrained.

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he stuck his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “You just seem a little different lately,”

Mina thought of being younger again. She remembered that weird period of adjustment again, facing unknowns and being unknown. Though she was known at home, being out in the world was an entirely different giant. She remembered the distance between herself and others—between herself and everything. She remembered her heart’s relentless throbbing in her throat, how the eyes of everyone around her clung like velcro, being able to feel the wind’s slightest shift in direction against her goosebumps and how uneasy it would make her. She remembered one day in particular, her mouth and throat sticky and clogged with the words she’d held throughout the entirety of it, waiting to walk home with Ravi, to finally end it. She remembered watching buses and cars and other kids pass, and Ravi still not being there. She remembered seeing the sun set far sooner than she usually would, the wind, the tears welling up in her eyes, and Ravi’s cloudy figure finally appearing behind them, his concern, her relief, and her shame.

By the time they reached the store the street lights were on, along with the colorful fluorescence of neon signs shining behind every window, illuminating the walls of ads, party promotions, help wanted signs, and missing person posters that hid the white shining from inside of the store. Air conditioning collided with the summer heat they brought in with them. Mina trailed off into the candy aisle, grabbing a pack of sour straws, the kind covered in sugar specs and that always got stuck in her teeth, and a sports drink from the front of the aisle for her headache. She watched as Ravi grabbed a bag of jalapeno chips, a cookies-and-cream chocolate bar, and a tall can of lemon tea, just like he always did, then a box of saltines and a bottle of gingerale. She felt herself wanting to get queasy but fought it.

“Can I get a separate bag for these two?” he motioned at the crackers and ginger ale to the store clerk. He paid for the both of them.

“How much do I owe you?” Mina asked on their way out. Ravi shook his head.

Mina expected they’d be heading straight home, but Ravi had claimed a piece of pavement on the side of the building. His tea cracked open with a quick, soft pop. Naturally, Mina settled beside him. They ended up talking through the dusk. The dark was cool and soothing on Mina’s eyes, the chill of night rushing in and blowing against them as they walked home. She welcomed its tinge on her face and skin. By the time they made it back, she realized her headache was gone.

[dragonnan]

Small teaser of the new fic for 2021 that I’ve started working on.  This is in memory of my own dad - someone I loved dearly even if I never knew as much about his as I’d always wished.  He was not someone who ever easily shared abut himself - that just wasn’t his way.  But I knew he loved me and my mom and siblings.  That was never in question.

It maybe goes without saying but the character of Stephen’s dad, while maybe having some surface similarities (the skills and history as a farmer) that are shared with my dad but he isn’t meant to be a proxy.  In the end, this is a story about father’s and children and the complexity that can come from those relationships.

A final disclaimer - other than names and where they lived I know nothing about Stephen’s parents.  Everything I write in this fic will be my own interpretation - not the least of which that I’ve chosen to have Stephen’s dad still be alive.

_____

Untitled Doctor Strange Fic teaser:

Nothing had changed.

And that was both startling and expected... in a way.  But mostly it was comforting.  Years... decades... centuries had passed him by and yet the same post office sat on the corner.  The same family-owned general store was across the street – windows still painted with specials that had been special since he was a child.  The same movie theater with its peeling marquee – the same bakery filled with overpriced and over-baked pastries – the same department store stocked with garments a good decade out of fashion.  Still dark but there was no lack of traffic as owners and employees made their way to shops and businesses.  One older man – Stephen thought his name was Danny... no, Donald, waved and smiled before unlocking the front door to a carpet and flooring shop.  

He could lift any day from his childhood and it would look just like this.

His exhale carried visibly through the air – the chill setting off a shiver and making him miss his robes – the cloak in particular.  This wasn't the sort of adventure where a cloak was needed, however, beyond warmth of course.  In fact the only arcane item he'd brought with was his sling ring.  He could be anywhere in the world in seconds, if needed.  So why was he walking? Certainly Wong had been the small voice in his head asking the question for the last five minutes.  But, truthfully, he needed this time.  He wasn't certain what sort of welcome he'd find at the end of his walk and, if he took enough time, there was always a chance he'd be summoned back to the Sanctum well before he arrived.  

He wasn't sure if that wouldn't be better, overall...

Stephen was half an hour beyond the town, sticking to the verge and surrounded primarily by fields, when he revisited the wisdom of his choices.  He was vibrantly aware that a slip of the ring could have him at the end of his journey.  He should have left later in the day.  To be fair it was easy enough to forget when the sun rose in Nebraska.  It was easy to forget a lot of things – even with an eidetic memory.  

Why was he doing this?

The watch on his wrist was a far cheaper model than the one, sitting on his bedside table, back at the Sanctum.  However, it had the benefit of actually functioning. Nearly 6:15, now; the sun would be up in a little over an hour.  His destination, however, was at the end of the driveway just ahead. Stephen blew on his hands before starting down the gravel path.

Carefully cultivated red pines lined either side of the narrow road.  They'd begun to go a bit wild, though, in the decade since his last visit.  Outside lights, ahead, gave him glimpses of the two-story structure that had changed color ever four or five years when he was young.  First white, then an unfortunate yellow, then finally red.  One last turn and he could finally take in the entirety of the property.

The apple trees had grown.  That shouldn't have surprised him and yet...  And each branch was heavy with ripe fruit – some already scattered on the ground.  God he could still taste Mom's pies.  He could remember the tradition of canning them every Autumn... right around this time, actually.  Steam adding a weighty humidity to the kitchen – his mother's arms red from the heat that rose around glass jars suspended in the hot water. The smell of fruit and spice.  Stephen plucked an apple – brushing it against his shirt before biting into the flesh.  Juice dribbled down his chin and he squinted at the tart twist of flavor – cool sweetness following and he wiped at the stickiness caught in his goatee.  He chewed as he walked – bypassing the house for the barn near the back woods.

Once upon a time cattle had moved through the pastureland set just beyond the fencing that separated it from the trimmed lawn.  But cattle hadn't roamed the hills since before he'd achieved his doctorate.  Too much income lost between disease and predation.  Tossing his core towards the treeline, Stephen was lifting his hand to the massive sliding door when sudden barking made him hesitate.  There had always been dogs on the farm but he was a stranger, here, and he felt that realization cut sharp through his belly.  A muffled voice quieted the dog.  Work boots clumping across concrete carried through the thick wood and, moments later, the smaller side door creaked on hinges that likely hadn't been oiled since Stephen was a child.

An enormous black dog darted out onto the packed dirt surrounding the barn.  Stephen couldn't help smiling – recognizing the breed as Newfoundland.  Typical of the breed, the big animal approached amicably – tongue lolling out with no trace of aggression.

“Hey, boy...”  Kneeling, Stephen twisted his face away from the tongue that swiped towards his cheek – though it managed to lap across his ear.  A few rubs on the shaggy head and he pushed up again – aware of the silent form watching him.  Finally he returned the look.

“Hi, Dad.”

Eugene Melvin Strange looked at the son whom he hadn't spoken to, face to face, in nearly a decade.  Three years away from eighty but one wouldn't know it from his features. Only his hair gave it away – almost pure white save for some lead grey streaks near the temples.  Well after the moment between them had become awkward, he gestured towards the house.

“I could use a cup of coffee.  You planning to stay a while?”

Stephen nodded – one hand still stroking across the large dog's head.  “Yeah.  I was, uh, hoping we could...”

“Great.  Lock up the barn, would you? I'll go put the pot on.”  And with that, Eugene whistled the dog to his side and the two of them headed towards the house.  

Well that could have gone worse. Rather than simply lock the door, Stephen allowed curiosity to lead him inside.  Gone were the smells of animals – the wild mix of warm fur, hay, and oats that had always been so appealing.  He used to nibble at raw oats – the taste like seeds and fresh grass.  In its place was the powerful sharp tang of varnish and furniture stain; enough to trigger an involuntary sneeze.  Rubbing his nose, Stephen pressed forward – back towards the stalls that used to house the cattle as well as one disgruntled boar.  Now those spaces had been filled with tools and furniture in various states of completion.  A second sneeze was brought on by the sawdust that still hung in the air where his father had been at work with a table saw – trimming down lengths of wood that had some eventual purpose that he couldn't quite discern.  On the other side of the barn, completed pieces stood behind sheets of plastic that had clearly been hung to keep contaminants from settling on the freshly varnished surfaces.

Stephen could remember his father always having some interest in furniture building.  He'd build a secretary for Stephen's mother for their 25th wedding anniversary.  Beverly Strange had used that secretary often – both as a place to draft letters as well as work on her stories.  She had never quite managed to publish anything but she had completed five manuscripts before she had taken ill.

Another sneeze hit sharp across his sinuses so Stephen called an end to his explorations – locking the outside door and following the path to the house.

[anchoviesinthenightsky]

AUTHOR'S NOTE-- Chapter One

Hey! Welcome to the first author’s note where I chat a little about the inspiration/ideas/and process of creating chapter one of We’ll Chase the Moon Tonight.

This a little long so I broke it into three parts: coming up with the title, some of the writing resources I used, and the revision process on the opening scene!

Part One: Title

Let’s start with the title! I usually choose titles from song lyrics after the fact, but this one I chose the title in the middle of writing. Originally, this story was called “I’d Hang the Moon for You” based off the song “Judy You Hung the Moon” by HARBOUR. This was the first song on my writing playlist, and it has this loud, bouncy, somewhat tender, and bittersweet vibe which I felt fit Alberto and Luca well.

I did eventually switch the title to “We’ll Chase the Moon Tonight” based off a lyric from “September Told Me” by Juice. It has kind of a similar vibe to the other song, but the this worked better as a title. I feel like “I’d Hang the Moon for You” is very much about having a grand romantic gesture, and that just isn’t this story. This story is Luca and Alberto stumbling back into each other’s lives, not entirely ready or expecting to fall in love, and getting swept up in it anyway. “We’ll Chase the Moon Tonight” gives off more of the sense that this is a joint effort, something they do together (and even something that might be a little impossible, but if they’re together does that even matter?)

Part Two: Using Resources

Moving on from talking about the title, let’s talk about the structure of the story? I have never written a 50k romance story, and I knew I wanted a guide before jumping into it. I ended up using this article, which describes the major plot beats of a romance story, and I used it as a guide. I did end up changing some things a little bit. Certain sections are more drawn out to get at the slow burn, and others are shortened/ combined.

I wanted to mention this specifically because fic writers don’t always talk about how they structure stories, and I think that can give off the sense that we either all just inherently know how to do it or that there aren’t resources that you can use. So let me just say—I had no idea how to write a romance plot going into this project, and I used a resource to help me do it. (And I think it came out pretty well!)

Additionally, I’ve referred to a lot of advice posts of @writingquestionsanswered I can’t find the exact post right now, but there was one about giving your characters something to do during a scene and then describe their emotions through how they interact with the object. That ended up inspiring the scene in the middle of chapter one where Luca is kind of aggressively scrubbing cups while he thinks about Alberto.

Part Three:

Last thing I wanted to talk about for this author’s note, was revision. When I started this fic back in July, my entire opening section was all an info dump. Completely telling and no showing. I ended up rewriting the entire thing as a scene where Luca goes to visit Giulia and pretend to be her boyfriend. I think that scene works so much better as an opener, and really lets you see the difference between Luca fake dating Giulia and Luca fake dating Alberto. The downside of this scene was that I ended up cutting the line “Rosina, as it turned out, knew as much about the stars as she did about wooing the hearts of fisherman’s daughters,” which I really loved. I thought it was a cute way of describing Rosina’s and Giulia’s dynamic.

I’m also going to put the first draft of the opening scene under the cut in case anyone wants to read it. I think it’s wild how much it changed from the first draft to the published chapter!

And that’s it for Author’s Note #1. If you have any questions about my writing process, I am extremely happy to chat about it!

In the unwritten pact of childhood friendships, there is an understanding that you will do anything to protect your friends. It doesn’t matter how ridiculous the request is, you simply agree to it and figure out the rest later. This is exactly how the entirety of the high school (and subsequently the middle and elementary school) faculty came to believe that Giulia and Luca were dating.

It had happened a few months into their first year of teaching. Giulia had taken the astronomy club on an after-school field trip to the Genova planetarium, which is where she met a very charming woman, Rosina. Rosina, as it turned out, knew as much about the stars as she did about wooing the hearts of fisherman’s daughters. Giulia began to find any excuse to bring school children to the planetarium, and eventually the other teachers began to tease her about it. The teasing was all in good fun, until one of the physics teachers in her department, a man a few years Giulia’s senior, started asking the wrong questions. Like, “Are you seeing someone who works there?” and, when she mentioned that she might have a crush, the questions became “What can I do to get you to go on a date with me?” and “I’m better than any guy at the planetarium.”

The questions became more and more frequent and from more and more teachers, that eventually, she broke down and asked Luca to pretend to date her.

“It won’t be forever,” Giulia had said as she wrong her hands. Maybe she had worried Luca would refuse. “I just need some space, and I can’t imagine that they’d take kindly to their competition being a woman.”

“Giulia,” Luca had said as he placed a hand on hers. After spending the last ten years with her, he could practically read the anxious thoughts crowding her usual confidence. “It’s fine. For as long as you need.”

And the relief that had washed over her face was total.

“Just one thing,” He’d added. “Can we keep it just to Genova? I don’t want my parents getting the wrong idea about our friendship.”

“Oh yeah, of course.” Giulia had smiled. “We wouldn’t want your parents getting the wrong idea.”

She’d over-emphasized “your parents,” even miming quotation marks when she said it. But she hadn’t pushed Luca to talk about Alberto, and he wouldn’t have offered much of a response if she had.

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xvi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xvi: that colossal wreck

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~6k idk man i barely go here 

Rating: M/Mature; lots of blood and stuff but nothing steamy.

Warnings: blood and guts, mentions of self-harm, mentions of sexual assault, Kian is a creepy fucker and he needs to die so he gets his own warning, dog on man violence. Uhhhhh idk how shotguns work so I did my best, don't @ me. Elliot does go full feral in this and I'm not sorry.

Notes: I so hope y'all enjoy this chapter. I'm not gonna say too much about it here, but please know that every comment, like, kudos, whatever—even the tiniest bit of knowledge that y'all enjoyed it just makes me so incredibly happy. It was a bit of slog at some parts but I'm so excited to get it out for you. <3 Special shout-out to @starcrier who provides incredible input and support while I try and glean even a MODICUM of her talent; ilysm!!!

As well, @baeogorath has been such an absolute DARLING, allows me to send them memes at like 3am and scream at them about all of my feelings. And @lilwritingraven, who has been SO supportive and helpful and just all around the biggest sweetheart a gal could ask for, thank you BOTH sm. <3!

The first thing that she recognized was the desperate need to breathe. 

The second was that she was wet, exceptionally wet, her lungs filling with water over and over again, like dying a thousand times without the actual reprieve of death. Two strong hands gripped the front of her shirt, pinning her under the dark surface. Elliot thought, I’ve been here before.

Those hands gripping her hauled her out of the dark, wheezing and coughing up water, and tossed her onto the riverbank like a dead fish. She might as well have been, for what it was worth; when she managed to open her eyes, the world blurred and melted around her the way water swept over a window in a carwash.

“So glad you are awake,” Kian said from in front of her. He stood in the water just past his knees, and as he made his way out and over to her, she blinked rapidly to try and clear her vision. Elliot sucked in the biggest lungful of air she could, and all of the water that had been sitting in her mouth and throat caught and ripped, forcing her to lean and choke it up. “You were sleeping for quite a while, you know, Elliot. Had to make sure you slept all of it off.”

Her name coming out of his mouth felt like a violation—sticky, wet, ruined, a thing she had not allowed him to use, and yet he did anyway. She hadn’t given him permission to know her, and it felt different still than when Ase had used her name; like a weapon being wielded against her.

They gave me so much, she thought desperately a while her body thrummed with pain, searing hot through every nerve-ending as if they’d all been rubbed raw and exposed. They gave me so much of that shit, so much more than Ase ever did. How long was I sleeping it off? Fuck fuck fuck.

Kian’s fingers gripped her throat, slotted just under her jaw, and he pulled ; hauled her straight up with brute strength until her bare feet— when had they taken her shoes?—scrambled against the slippery river bank.

“Her dress fits you well,” he continued admiringly as he held her there. His words dragged her attention back to herself; she wasn’t in her own clothes, in fact, but in a long, dark cotton dress, high-necked and slim fitting. It looked like the same dress that she had first seen Ase in. “In fact, if your hair was just a little darker, and your eyes not so fucking blue, I would think you two could be sisters.”

Dead, the wind whispered. Humidity crept under the fabric, stifling and tenacious. Dead woman in a dead woman’s clothes.

“W-Where—?” Elliot managed out hoarsely. Her own heartbeat, so loud that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear Kian, thrummed violently in her ears as panic started to really settle into her skeleton. “Where—John, and Boomer—what the f-fuck did you—”

“Now that you’re awake,” Kian continued conversationally, as though she had not spoken at all, “we can start.”

His grip loosened and then released. She barely managed to keep herself upright. The world lurched dangerously beneath her feet, and for a second, she thought she was going to have to throw up; the sensation subsided, and she swept her gaze in a single circle around her.

No John; no Boomer. Only darkly-clothed, silent figures, watching. Each face—some as old as a grandparent, some as young as what she thought could only be ten, and many of them somewhere in between—regarded her with the same kind of glassy-eyed curiosity that came with a circus attraction.

“What the fuck,” Elliot said, her voice hoarse and cracking in distress. “What the fuck did you—where are they—?”

“I’m only going to give you one tip,” Kian said. “Stop trying so hard to talk. You’ll burn through all of your adrenaline, mor.”

He had passed her up the riverbank. The intent of it all was very clear: he anticipated that she would follow, because he had something that she wanted and she was in no state to claw her way through all of them even if she wanted to. The knowledge of this—the understanding that Kian knew exactly what hand he had, and was going to play it—filled her with another sickening wash of dread.

The redhead stopped at the top of the bank and looked at her over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Shivering, Elliot wadded the hem of the dark dress up in one hand and struggled to the bank. Kian let her. He let her catch herself, dirtying her hands and the dress, practically clawing her way up as her heart rate fluctuated earnestly and without pattern in her chest, and when she made it to where he stood she could see the treeline ahead of them. Dark, drenched in nightfall, the pines murmuring every time the night’s chilly breeze rustled the branches.

“They’ll—” Talking caused pain to splinter through her jaw, radiating in spiderwebs up behind her eyes. “His b-brothers will—”

Kian waved a hand. His voice was light when he said, “They are busy.”

Fuck. Despair welled in her chest. Elliot swallowed thickly and said, “What are... What are we...”

He stared at her. She had the distinct sensation of being an ant, trapped under the searing beam of his magnifying glass, raising burns all across her skin. Then, he reached down to the ground, and from a bag, he procured a handful of papers; when he pulled them out, the familiar scent of her home wafted from them.

“You have lovely handwriting.” He scanned the page. “I hope you’ll forgive my snooping through your home. I couldn’t resist. Let’s see here: sounds like our little bunny was struggling with insomnia, feeling alone. Angry with your therapist for saying you were displaying—” Kian lifted a finger to indicate the importance of the word. “— significant signs of post-traumatic stress disorder, including—”

“S—” I want to die I want to die. The pages of her ripped journal sat in his hands, even greater a violation than the sound of his name. “Stop—”

“—intrusive memories, loss of time, irritability and aggressive behavior, self-harm. Is that where those scars are from? Hm, and… 'Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like if I didn’t let this happen to me'. Is that guilt ?” Kian clicked his tongue. “Do you feel guilty, Elliot? For what that man did to you, those years ago?” And then he paused, glanced back at the paper, and said, “Forgive me. It was one year ago. Not that far gone, I suppose.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out; something gripped her lungs, restricted their movement, until she thought she was going to pass out.

He had been in her home. He had touched her things. He’d stood among the things that were meant to be hers, rifled through them, found her journal and ripped the pages out. She’d taken up journaling about what had happened—not to torture herself with the reality of her situation, but in an effort to understand who she had become, to feel less like a stranger in her own body.

And now he held it in his hands, and there it was: everything that she was, just that small, just that insignificant. The entirety of what she was clutched in the hands of a psychopath.

“I hope she’s fucking suffering.” Elliot ground the words out, and Kian quirked a brow at her inquisitively. She plunged onward, reckless and vicious from her pain, “I hope Ase’s fucking rotting in hell, suffering, and I’m glad they blew her fucking brains in.”

Something dark flickered across Kian’s expression. It may have been a trick of the light; the clouds passed over the moon, blinking the world into darkness for a few minutes before the nighttime wind pushed them forward again. Elliot couldn’t tell if it was real, what she’d seen on his face, but she hoped it was.

But he didn’t say anything about her venom. Instead, he said, “Ase and I used to play a game together.” His tone was light, casual; he dropped the papers back into the bag dismissively, as if they were nothing. “I would give her a three-minute head start. She would run into the woods, and I would try to catch her. She was the perfect prize.”

A strange kind of affection welled in his voice. It was love, Elliot thought with a sickening kind of realization, in his voice—and it only made her more grateful that John had busted through her spine with a shotgun shell, the knowledge that maybe Kian was suffering even a tiny bit as much as she was.

Kian continued, “Now, because of you, she is not here to play the game; you will have to be my prize, Elliot.”

She was going to be sick. She wished that he would have just killed her, rather than this—this waking nightmare, this actual fucking living hell he was going to put her through. Elliot sucked in an unsteady breath, and when Kian gestured at the treeline, she turned her gaze there. It was easier to look at the sturdy line of pines than at his wretched face.

Hot breath fanned across her ear. Kian’s hand came up to the back of her neck, holding, gripping, the way a father would when he prepped his son for a baseball game. She heard the words like a sick comedy in her head: Come on, champ! You’ve got it! But his mouth was right on her ear and he said, “I hid your man out there for you.”

John.

“He’s—not,” she managed out. “Mine.”

Kian huffed out a laugh against her temple. “Then it should be easy for you to hide from me and not worry about finding him.”

Bluff called. Fucking cultist.

He stepped away from her, heading to the half-moon curve of cultists waiting idly by. Silently, Elliot tried to count them; she wanted to know how many she could kill, and how fast, if she got a gun in her hands, but the splitting headache blurring her vision uneasily made it difficult to keep track.

One of them put a shotgun in Kian’s hand. He checked the ammunition idly.

“Start running, Elliot,” he called without looking at her. “Your time starts now.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“What took you so long?”

John thought he had to be dreaming. He was certain of it, somewhere in his brain, because Elliot’s voice hummed warmly against the skin of his neck and she pressed up against him like a feline eager for his attention, and that wasn’t her. Was it?

“You’ve been sleeping so long,” she murmured into him, all sleep-warmed skin and soft lines. “Aren’t you going to wake up?”

Yes, he thought, because he wanted to open his eyes, because he wanted to see her like this. He’d worked hard for it. He deserved it, didn’t he? Yes, I’m going to wake up.

“John.” Elliot purred his name, sweet and decadent. She was so warm. “Wake up.”

“Okay,” John said, because he knew that he was ready. But the world stayed dark. He tried again: “Okay, I will.”

Her lips brushed against his pulse. He felt her fingers traced the Sloth scar on his sternum, meticulous, memorizing, slender and warm and affectionate.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you,” he managed out, “I trust you.”

Like lifting the floodgates, he pushed his eyes open. And it was a push; the effort it took to open his eyes was astronomical, like someone had suddenly stuck him under slow-moving lava that swallowed him up, ate away at the oxygen around him and weighed down his lungs in their attempt to let him breathe.

There was no Elliot. Only the slow, dark pulsing of pine boughs overhead. For just one split second, John felt relief; he was fine. Somewhere, but fine.

And then a piece of the sky lifted and peeled, drifting away. The trees bent and warped around him. He tried to struggle to sit up, fighting the urge to coil up into a tiny ball.

He said, miserably, “What the fuck,” and something at his hip buzzed static. The sound sent jolts of white-hot panic searing through his body.

“Hello?” It was a radio. A thick, dark voice came through. John didn’t pick up. He thought it sounded like Kian.

“Fucker,” he managed out, hauling himself to his feet as the world see-sawed beneath him.

“John Seed.” The voice came again. “I know you can hear me. You should be waking up any minute now.”

John wished he was still asleep. The dream had been better than this. At least in that, Elliot was—

Elliot. The last thing he remembered was her frantic hands trying to undo his seatbelt, and then her warmth getting ripped away from him, and then someone's hands on his shirt and—

“Fuck.” Bad news. Bad. “Fuck fuck fuck. ”

Steadying himself on a boulder, he came around into the clearing, trying to see through the trees. It was no good; the world pulsed and bled around him, smearing like an oil painting, and he realized with a sense of dread pitting in his stomach that they’d drugged him. Hard. The same way they’d drugged Elliot when she’d been crying into the ground like she was going to fly off.

That he knew what was going on did little to abate the irrational panic flashing through him, electrical pulses pounding through his body every chance they got. It made everything too much —the sound of the wind, the murmuring of voices that he thought maybe weren’t there, the feeling of the night on his skin. Yes, he felt it, like a garment of clothing, sitting just on him; he couldn’t tell where he ended and the rest of it began. 

“I let your beast loose,” Kian’s voice crackled, seething with delight. “Gave her a head start, too.”

His fingers itched to grab the radio that had been clipped on his belt. He thought, I shouldn’t let him know I’m awake —

“Hey, fucker,” he snapped, his finger pushing down on the walkie button. His words kept slurring on their way out of his mouth, but he plunged onward anyway. “Come out here, huh? Love to chat face to face.”

Well, he’d never been that good at impulse control, anyway.

“On my way already,” Kian murmured silkily. “See you soon, friend.”

And then it went dead.

John spent what felt like an eternity staring at the face of the walkie talkie before he thought, Hey, that’s my fucking radio. And then: fuck, I can’t fight him right now.

He blinked furiously, trying to refocus his vision as bright colors started to bloom and bleed out from the ground. John kept telling himself that it wasn’t real, that there was no way it was real—and then he understood Elliot’s very real fear that night he’d tried to pull her down the hill. What had she seen then, he wondered? What had she been looking at?

“John?”

He hesitated, because the last time he’d heard Elliot’s voice it had been a dream. John’s base instinct was to stand very still, exceptionally still, which didn’t feel very still at all because he was drugged up through his fucking eyeballs and he wanted to puke.

“John—”

When she broke into the clearing, Elliot’s voice was frantic. Her hair had been let loose around her face and she was wearing a dress and bolting barefoot through the woods. Oh, John thought, a little panicked, oh, I’m dreaming again.

“Fuck,” Elliot said, her voice breaking. Her hands fluttered aimlessly, like she couldn’t figure out a place for them to land. “You don’t have Boomer?”

Maybe not dreaming, after all.

“Sleeping,” John replied, intelligently. “I was—”

Elliot stared at him as she drew closer, her eyes razor-sharp and clear and quick. The sliced right down to the core of him, but what was new, anyway? Stupid deputy, his brain chanted, sluggishly. Stupid, pretty, dumb deputy.

“... drug you?”

John blinked owlishly at her. He wasn’t in very much pain, which was good, but it probably was all going to hit him when the drug wore off and it was harder and harder to keep his attention focused; it was getting to the point where it was like being very drunk , where keeping his eyes open was becoming more and more of a chore.

Elliot snapped her fingers in front of his face. “John, focus.”

“Whose dress?” he managed out, gesturing at her.

Her eyes flickered uneasily. “Dunno.” She brought her fingers to her lips and whistled, high and fast, and John groaned; the sound rattled around in his head, echoing over and over again, splintering behind his eyes.

“Why?” he hissed. “Why are you—”

“Shut up, you fucking baby.” 

Yeah, definitely not a dream.

They stood there in quiet for a moment, waiting; in the distance, John could hear a faint barking.

“He’s out there,” Elliot said, relieved. “They probably have him tied up, if they were able to get their hands on him. John—”

The blonde stopped suddenly, and he turned his gaze back to her inquisitively. She looked very much like she wanted to say something; her lashes flickered uneasily and she swallowed thickly.

“You have to get him, John,” she said finally, which didn’t sound like the thing she wanted to say.

“I’ve got a radio,” he supplied helpfully; on instinct, he reached for her, and she didn’t flinch back when his hand found the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Warm, he thought pleasantly, hazily, the breath spilling out of his lungs like a waterfall. “It’s the one from the ranch. We can—radio Joseph and the others.”

“John, I need you to listen to me,” Elliot began, reaching up to put her hand over his. Her skin was warm, but she shivered—John realized very suddenly that she was soaking wet. “I need you to get Boomer. He’s over there somewhere, close enough to hear a whistle. You can whistle, right? Or just—say his name, he’ll respond to that too.”

“‘M drugged,” he replied. “No good. Besides, he doesn’t like me.” The last half came out petulant. He thought very little of Kian’s voice crackling through the radio, or that he’d said he’d be there soon, or that someone had drugged him and left him in the middle of the forest. All he could think about was the problem being presented to him: Elliot was asking him for something, and he couldn’t give it to her.

“You have to,” she reiterated firmly. “You told me you’d do anything I asked.”

“I did,” John insisted. “Don’t you remember? I f—”

“Shh!”

Elliot grabbed his hand and yanked, hard, hauling him into some thicker brush. The whole gesture of it had his vision spinning like a slot machine.

“John, you have to go,” she whispered furiously. The sound of heavy, leisurely footsteps thudded somewhere a little ways away. “Please. You said. ”

“We can both go,” he whispered back. And then, because she hadn’t recognized his good fortune earlier: “I have a radio.”

“I can’t,” she replied. Her voice broke a little, slipping past a furious hiss and cracking on an emotion that John didn’t want to know. “I can’t go.”

“Why?”

“I have to—” Elliot paused, her gaze flickering tiredly. “John, I have to take a break, I’ve—I’m so tired.”

He paused. “I’ll wait, too.”

“You need to go.”

“I don’t want to. I’ll stay, too, and we’ll go together—”

“No,” she insisted. “Fucking— God you are so annoying—”

John heard, very faintly, the low and threatening click-click of someone pumping a shotgun. He paused, and Elliot did too, and then she pulled him forward by his shirt and kissed him hard. She tasted a little like river water, but mostly like her, and the warmth of her mouth against his made heat bloom all over him like he was green and Spring, again.

“John,” she whispered against his mouth, nearly inaudible, “please. Get Boomer, radio your brothers. We’ll catch up on the other side. I—”

Another couple of footsteps echoed in the stillness of the night. All of the birds and wildlife had fled; they knew there was a big, bad predator out in the evening, and John felt that knowledge twisting something violent and wretched inside of him.

“Do not fucking die,” he hissed at her. “You’ve stayed stubbornly alive for this long. Do not.”

She nodded faintly. “Yes, boss.”

He went to move, but she stopped him, lifting a finger to her mouth; each beat of his heart rumbled violently in his ears, and he thought he might pass out if he didn’t get moving fucking soon; each second spent crouching still and silent in the brush was swaying him viciously back and forth, trying to get him to face plant into the ground.

Elliot, back against the tree, let go of his shirt. She mouthed, Go, and then darted out, quick and fast and taking with her all of the vibrant sound and warmth in the world.

John's legs lifted him to a standing position. It felt like operating heavy machinery; every movement ground through his skeleton laboriously. But he was going; gripping the radio, trying his hardest to sprint, when he heard the sound of a shotgun shell pelting the earth in one sharp, gritty blow.

And then a familiar voice: “Where are you, little rabbit?”

Please.

Everything in him was telling him to turn around. Screaming at him—but he knew that was exactly what Kian wanted, too. To have them both there, in the same place, to make one of them watch the other die.

So, he didn’t.

He kept going, and when he got far enough away to be convinced that Kian was preoccupied with Elliot, he stopped and looked around. The night was eerily still and pulsed dimly around him. He glanced down at his feet; the grass reached up and around his shoes, coiling around him, trying to hold him down.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hurriedly stepping forward. “Find dog. Radio Joseph. Boomer?”

He kept his voice low as he crept through the woods, fiddling clumsily with the radio as he moved. When he found a channel whose numbers looked vaguely familiar—and familiar was a stretch, considering that accessing just about anything in his brain was like feeling someone’s face in the dark and guessing who it was—he pressed down on the talk button.

“Joseph? Jacob? Somebody?” He let off the talk button. “Boomer?”

No barking. Was Elliot drugged too? Had they been hallucinating the dog barking? 

John had just begun to give up on the idea of doing anything other than wander aimlessly in the dark woods when he made it to the edge of the treeline and saw the dog. Unfortunately, the beast was tied up to a wooden stake, growling low and threatening the two men as they walked idly around him and to the van, busying themselves; soft music played from the car. They seemed to be waiting patiently for Kian to finish whatever it was he was doing. Killing Elliot?

Fuck, he thought hastily. Gotta hurry.

He watched as one of the men set his gun down on the bed of the open van, stretching and chatting conversationally with his companion. When he wandered back over to Boomer and said, “Here, doggy,” the Heeler lunged viciously and set off barking, teeth snapping. He sighed.

“Stupid dog.”

They turned back toward the road, and John made his way closer to Boomer. If he could get that lead unclipped—if he could do it without them noticing…

“Fucking shithole,” one of the men said, backs turned to him as they lit a cigarette that got passed between them. “Can’t wait to purge this place and get out.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, do you know…”

As their conversation drifted, so did John’s attention. He slipped out from the cover of the underbrush; instantly, Boomer’s eyes were on him. His hackles went up, and John lifted his hands, keeping them open.

In hindsight, he’d probably feel stupid thinking about this moment. The dog wasn’t holding him hostage. But it felt a little like he was, anyway.

“Hey,” he whispered, creeping closer. “Gonna let you off, beastie.”

Boomer eyed him, eyes flattened back against his head.

“You wanna get ‘em?” he continued, glancing over at the men as he reached for Boomer’s makeshift collar, clipped onto the lead. He didn’t know what kinds of gestures or phrases Elliot used to get the dog to do what she wanted. He only knew that Boomer did , sometimes without her saying, and so he said again, more urgently, “You wanna get ‘em, beast?”

The urgency of his tone seemed to spark something in Boomer. His ears pricked forward. John’s fingers found the lead clipped around his collar, pulled on the little metal clasp, and let it drop to the ground.

Boomer watched him, expectantly.

“Well, go on,” he whispered, gesturing. That seemed to be all that was needed; the cattle dog darted forward, teeth sinking into one man’s leg and yanking hard enough to unbalance him and pull him to the ground; the dog's head thrashed violently, ripping out of him guttural snarls.

John blinked, and thought, holy shit, is this what he’s been like this whole time?

There wasn’t a lot of time to spend thinking about it, because the other man was whirling angrily, shouting something, and then his eyes landed on John.

They both looked at the gun sitting on the tailgate of the van at the same time.

“Fuck,” John hissed, lunging forward and grabbing wildly; he wasn’t entirely sure that he even stayed upright, the strange back-and-forth pull in his head having only abated a little, but he reached for the gun and snatched his hand back, fumbling with the safety.

The whole thing felt like an eternity —comedically so. While the sounds of Boomer mauling the unarmed cultist echoed in his ears, John’s fingers clumsily switched the safety off and he fired recklessly; the bullet barely grazed the cultist’s calf, and as the man reached for him, John pulled the trigger again. Once, twice, three times, the bullets planted themselves in the man’s chest, jerking him back with each impact.

A heavy thud echoed in the night as the man slumped to the ground. Boomer had handily dispatched of the other one; his mouth was red and wet, and when John struggled to his feet, he saw that the man’s throat had been ripped open.

“Nice,” he breathed. Boomer regarded him warily, unimpressed with the compliment. He quickly shuffled the safety back on and tucked the gun into the back of his jeans, pushing the tailgate of the van up. When the dog whined, low and uncertain, he glanced back at him and sighed.

He pulled the tailgate back down. “Load up. We’re gonna get her back.”

Boomer leapt up into the back of the van, nails sliding on the hard plastic. It took John about five minutes of rifling through the pockets of the two men to find the car keys. While he wasn’t entirely confident in his ability to drive, he had just planted a couple of bullets in a man, so he supposed he'd be fine.

As he climbed into the driver’s side, he shut the door and settled in and carefully, meticulously slid the key into the ignition. The van purred to life as though John’s last week hadn’t been an entire fucking series of absolute fuckhead jokes, and he let out a breath.

The glint of something blue and reflective in the cupholder between the two front seats caught his eye. He glanced down, blinking.

“Hey,” he said, reaching down. “My sunglasses.” Tucking them into his shirt, he checked the rearview mirror and gently, gently pushed the car into drive.

"Alright, beastie," John muttered. "Let's get this ended, huh?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The concussive blast of bullet meeting wood rang in her ears; chips of bark and the guts of the tree showered her, the shot echoing just above her head, and she thought, fuck, I just want to be dead already. She was so tired; moving was a luxury that was not afforded to her anymore, each gesture as she struggled to her feet tipped and fettered by the bruises and wounds that littered her body.

Finding John had taken about fifteen minutes, fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds of which had been spent agonizing about where to look first. She didn’t recognize where they were, or know her way around, and she was barefoot and soaking wet and shivering and she just kept thinking about how badly she wanted to lay down.

We’ll go together. Fuck, John was so stupid. She might have actually had a moment to breathe if he’d just listened to her and did as she said. But that wasn’t ever how these things went, was it?

A calloused hand closed around her wrist and yanked her to her feet. For a second, in the blurring, thrumming night, between the whispering voices in the wind and the lurching of the great beast hunting her down, Elliot saw the dark fabric of a button-up shirt and thought, it’s John, it’s John; he came back me and now we’re going to get out.

“I win,” Kian purred.

His voice bled through her skull, stretching and warping as the agony crashed over her in a scalding wave. Kian’s fingers wound iron-like around her wrist, holding her there, and his other hand came up to grip her chin; playfully, he shook her head back and forth, like he was trying to jostle her out of deep sleep.

“Don’t look so sad. I’m not going to kill you, Elliot.” He regarded her with something like amusement, eyes glittering dark and obsidian in what little moonlight had managed to seep through the tree cover. “Do you know what mor means? It means mother. We’re going to keep you for It, and when it’s time, we’ll slice you open. You will make It so happy.”

She gripped his wrist as hard as she could and tried to push his hand from her face. Kian had discarded the shotgun in favor of having both hands to grab her, and as he gripped her face—the wide, calloused crux of his hand covering her mouth while his fingers reached the dip of her jaw—she thought, Something has to be done.

Elliot had promised Joey. Even if I have to fucking die for it. She had promised, and that meant it had to be done.

Muddling through the panic, Elliot squirmed under his hand, opened her mouth, and bit down as hard as she could. The disgusting taste of hot copper flooded her mouth instantly; the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger wasn’t meant to take teeth ripping and tearing, and she was ripping and tearing; even with the limited mobility she had, she wrenched her head anyway she could, intent on taking some piece of Kian with her.

A wretched kind of sound came out of him. He tried to yank his hand back off of her face, and she bit down harder, anywhere her teeth could catch and grip. If she could hit bone, she thought; if she could sink her teeth right into the marrow of him, maybe then she would have felt like she got some repayment for what he’d done.

Kian yanked his hand free, gripping his wrist as crimson streamed down his palm and arm. His eyes were wild and dark; for a split second they stood there, staring at each other, two beasts nursing wounds and waiting for the other to make a move.

Elliot grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him forward, slamming her face into his. It would have been nearly impossible to bodily force Kian’s to move had he not been clutching his wounded hand, and for that she was grateful—grateful, she would tell herself, around the ricocheting stars of pain blurring behind her eyes, using the hardest part of her skull to bash into Kian’s nose and mouth.

And then she ran.

The gun was around, somewhere, dusted in pine needles and nightfall; like a needle in a haystack. She heard someone spitting behind her, and she thought, I hope I broke your fucking nose, you piece of shit, just before she ducked into a thick bustle of brush and behind a rock.

Around her, the world blurred and fuzzed black. She tried to furiously blink it away, but every second spent standing still meant that her body was suddenly remembering how tired and overworked it was, how much she had done, how much she had suffered. We could stop now, the tired little girl inside of her said. We should. We should stop now.

But Kian had said it himself; he wasn’t planning on killing her. She wouldn’t get rest even if she gave up. He might have changed his mind after she’d bit through his hand and headbutted him, but—

That wasn’t a chance she could take. Not for herself, and not for Joey, and not for the girl she had been that night in her apartment, either.

Heavy footfalls echoed just a few feet away from her. Her mouth was still flooded with the taste of Kian’s blood. As she made her way to the other side of the boulder she’d taken refuge behind and peeked out, she thought, I’d do it again, given the chance. I’d rip him open with my teeth if I got the opportunity. Give me the fucking chance.

Moonlight spilled through the trees and into the clearing they had just been in as the wind pushed clouds out of the way. The glint of dark metal, threatening, caught her eye; the shotgun was there, with hopefully at least one shell in it—one that she could put straight through Kian’s ugly fucking face.

And he was nowhere to be seen, either. Even as she leaned further out, trying to see around the boulder, she couldn’t see him crashing through the underbrush; she couldn’t hear him, either. Just the sound of the wind, pine needles skittering across the ground, a twig snap and—

A second too late, Elliot’s pain-addled brain realized the breaking branch was just behind her. Fingers fisted into the hair at the back of her skull and dragged, hauling her out of the underbrush and back into the clearing, tossing her like a ragdoll. All of the already-battered ribs shrieked on impact, and she wheezed out a breath that had blood and spit flickering across the forest floor.

Tired. She was so tired. So tired, and the world blurred and tried to fizz and pop out of existence around her, a sticky-wet hand forced her eyes forward.

Blood streamed down Kian’s face from their earlier collision. When he grinned at her, his teeth were stained pink, red seeping in the gaps.

“Hello, little rabbit,” he ground out, pushing away her scrambling hands and pinning the left down. “You put up quite a fight.”

Elliot tried to search in her spatial memory—what was left standing of it, anyway—for where she had seen the gun. But it was getting harder to breathe, and to think, and Kian’s fingers dug into her jaw and cheeks. An awful, animalistic noise came out of her at the pressure—it was a whimper, but unlike anything she’d ever heard out of herself, unlike anything she’d known she was capable of making.

“I wonder—”

His voice came out in a low murmur, spit-slicked and venomous, his nose grazing the slope of her cheekbone.

“—will you feel guilty about this, too? When I drag you back kicking and screaming, and make you watch as I cut each of those fucking hillbillies open? I know some of them got out. I'll find them, too.”

It had to be close, she reasoned through the haze in her brain; the gun had to be nearby. She’d just been looking at it. Her body was trying to give up; Kian’s fingers pinning her wrist down and bruising her neck, his words hissed out against her skin, were all tripping that strange little trigger in her brain that finally wanted to give up fighting and do something else.

Quit.

“ Mor,” Kian purred against her skin. “Mother, you’ll be so good for It, I know you will.”

Joey, clutching her tight. “I never doubted you’d be able to get me out.”

“It likes it best like this, you know.”

John, mouth so close to her ear. “I said, it’s a good thing you’re more devil than woman.”

Each second that ticked by, filled with Kian’s voice, the fingers of her one free hand inched. S he felt them close around cool metal.

“It likes the ones that fight back.”

She gripped the gun hard, and swung.

It collided with a heavy-handed thump against the side of Kian’s face, and he jerked back. He still straddled her, but with room between them now, Elliot could lurch forward, bowling as much of her weight into his midsection as she could to push him off of her and send him reeling back into the hard surface of the boulder.

Her fingers worked fast as she struggled to her feet. Pure adrenaline, pure muscle memory, as she flicked the safety off, cocked the shotgun, and pulled the trigger.

It clicked.

Empty.

Kian barked out a laugh wet with blood. There was a wound on his temple that was bleeding, now, and as he struggled to sit up more she could see him wince—the collision with the boulder hadn’t done him any good. Elliot pulled the trigger again, and again, and each time it clicked she found herself getting angrier and angrier. Filling with poison, up to her brim, like someone had just uncorked it.

“It’s empty, mother,” Kian rumbled at her. “You think I brought any more ammo than those two shells?” He spat blood out of his mouth and cocked his head, regarding her with dark eyes. “I told you, I’m not going to kill you.”

I’m not, like he still thought he had won. Pure, vibrating fury radiated through her body. This was supposed to be her victory; this was supposed to be her revenge for Joey. For her life. For her.

It would be. It’s mine, she thought viciously, this fucking moment is mine.

“Yeah, well,” Elliot spit out, digging her fingers into the metal, “can't say the same.”

The weight of the gun was not unlike a bat; so when she took the barrel of the gun and swung it like one, it felt familiar. Just like when she was ten, playing rec-league softball, only this time the bat was an empty pump-action shotgun and the ball was Kian’s head.

When the dull impact send vibrations rattling up her arm, and Kian keeled to the side, wheezing and biting out something venomous in Swedish, Elliot gripped the shotgun harder and swung again.

And again.

And again.

Each collision brought it closer to the satisfying, wet crunch of blood and bone on the redhead’s face. Elliot couldn’t have counted how many times she swung if someone asked her—or pinpointed the exact moment that Kian stopped moving, stopped breathing.

She could only think about the way he’d planted his words right against her skin, gripped her, I win.

Do you know what I get to do with things that belong to me?

“Nothing,” she ground out, when her arms burned and ached and her vision fuzzed with exhaustion. “You don't get to do anything.”

“Deputy?”

Blood spray littered her face. She was sure that her teeth were stained red, too. Each breath heaved exhaustively through her body, rattling, and when she turned her head to the source of the voice, she saw John and Jacob standing at the edge of the clearing; lights blurred through the trees, the sound of trucks and voices echoing in the still night air.

Boomer darted out from behind them, immediately pressed to her legs. She held the shotgun loosely in her hand.

“El,” John said, softer than Jacob had, “It’s me.”

Her gaze flickered back to the brutalized corpse in front of her. She thought, faintly, that there was no way her life was going to be normal after this again, but that was okay. She’d promised Joey.

If I have to die for it, I will.

She’d done it. And maybe she had died for it.

Jacob had taken a few steps toward her as the thought echoed in her head. Slowly, like she was a stray dog snarling over a cow bone. When John moved to follow, she saw Jacob put his hand out and stop him.

“Put the gun down,” Jacob said, his voice still and calm. Elliot blinked tiredly.

She wanted to do it. She wanted to let go of it. But that girl that she had been—that girl who had cried under the blanket fort, who had thought, I don’t know how I let him do that to me, the girl who had sat on the floor of her bedroom in Hope County and blinked through furious tears as she struggled to understand herself—no longer wept; that girl was furious, and so Elliot gripped the gun tighter.

As though it made it any less of a weapon, she said, “It’s empty.”

Jacob looked at Kian’s face, bashed-in. Obliterated. “I know.”

Boomer whined at her feet, nosing her empty hand quietly and gazing up at her with big, brown eyes. Something strange washed over her, an emotion that made her lip tremble and her eyes burn. The Heeler nuzzled her hand again, and she sucked in a shaking breath as finally— finally, finally —the tears stung down her cheeks.

She dropped the shotgun. John said her name, and Jacob dropped his arm, and she realized that it was relief she was feeling now.

Only vaguely aware of Jacob kicking the shotgun away from her, the world blurred as Elliot felt John’s hands cradling her face. Each place where his fingers traced the bruises from Kian, that pulse of relief ran stronger through her body until it was overstimulating, overwhelming. When John kissed her, it was almost frantic—she could taste the blood in her own mouth, his fingers tangling into her hair as he kissed her again and again, until her lungs ached with the need to breathe. But each kiss brought her somewhere else. It took her somewhere that she didn't have to think about anything except John in that single moment.

“Hey,” John said, their noses brushing. His movements were sluggish and uncoordinated, his voice still slurring a little. “I have you. Right here with me, El, don’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah,” she managed out. Her voice wobbled, and she sucked in a sharp, stuttering breath. “John—”

His thumbs swept across her cheekbones, smearing more blood than they wiped away tears, and as the sound of voices echoed dimly around them, she lifted her hands and gripped his wrists. Through the coppery tang in the air, she could smell his cologne; her lashes fluttered and John pressed their foreheads together.

“It’s okay.” John murmured the words, tugging her against him, into his chest. “It’s all over now.”

No, she thought as his arms circled her, pulling her closer, Boomer barking at anyone who wandered near.

It’s not even close.

[thedragonweasley]

Hope all are well and if today was a holiday for you I hope your stomachs are full of chocolate and peeps!

*slides another Cadbury egg into mouth*

Sparks in the Rubble Ch 3 Prt 2 coming at you! Here's a lil baby thestral, because it's adorable and makes my heart happy.

Charlie, now sitting up straight lowered his head towards the fidgeting garment and peered intently. As he did, a set of small dark blue hands cautiously slid out of an almost completely hidden pocket. To Charlie's astonishment a second set of hands followed the first and he knew exactly what was about to crawl out, though something he couldn't place seemed amiss. 

He whipped his wand out and stood to hover silently just behind his stool. Sure enough, out emerged the head of the most peculiar looking doxy, but a doxy nonetheless. As the creature turned to look towards Charlie it begun to babbled at him, with hand gestures and eye contact nonetheless. It wasn't really speaking, but it was most definitely trying to express something, it's babbling had a cadence too it that lent itself to the human language structure. Charlie was stunned, never in the entirety of his life and associated creature experiences had he ever encountered a doxy that acted that way. 

"WHAT IS GOING ON!" He shouted, forgetting himself and startling the doxy into a rage. 

In an instant the newly emerged doxy bared its teeth, screeched aggressively and launched itself into Charlie's face. 

"AUUGHHHH!" Charlie boomed, falling backwards. Of all the creatures that had put him on his ass, he didn't think a doxy would be one of them; they tended to be a duck and run kind of scenario. But the little thing was assaulting him with commendable ferocity. He swung down to dodge some venom soaked teeth and was about to stun it when they were quietly interrupted. 

"Puck..no..." 

Both the doxy and Charlie froze mid motion and turned to look at the table. Her words had been so quiet and her voice shallow and rasping in pain. The doxy and Charlie looked back at each other for an instant before the doxy hissed and took off towards the woman. Charlie was certain the creature had thrown its hands up in exasperation. He would have just stunned the creature and relocated it, but seeing as it had crawled out of the woman's pocket he got the notion maybe he didn't need to do that. 

The doxy flew over and hovered above her face, talking to her in its strange unintelligible language. It flew erratically, touching her checks then buzzing over to her hair and arranging strands, it moved to her neck and leaned into her. Then, settling into the nook of her neck, it pulled some loose hair over itself and squinted it's skeptical eyes, peering ominously at Charlie.

"Who...where am….." She mumbled. 

Remembering himself he rushed to her side, looking for any sign or indication of what she may need. Her eyes were barely open and he could see them rolling back in between mumbling. She wasn't entirely conscious, but it seemed the pain was getting through enough that she was operating on the fringes of consciousness. 

"Can you hear me? My name is Charlie and you are at my family home, you were injured and-" he stopped, she had reached a hand to cradle the doxy that was hiding behind her hair. 

"Shh Puck…" she whispered, comforting the riled creature. 

Charlie snorted, she had named that damn thing. All its behavior before was protective and worried, it was attached to her quite completely. He again, was astonished. 

"Can you give me your name, please?" He asked, leaning in but not too close to set off his winged adversary. 

"....mmm...Avnet…" with that her head lulled to the side and her breathing slowed. She was out. 

"Avnet." Charlie mused. "The stranger who befriended the doxy. Nice to meet you. "

END Ch 3

Hope you enjoyed! I have been SO excited to finally introduce Puck, I am working on his concept art still but will definitely post when I'm done.

I also just want to say thanks everyone that has been interacting and joining in on the head canon fun. This has been a wonderful outlet for my anxiety and a beautiful space to let my mind unwind. So, thank you :)