#*projects so heavily i have nothing left inside me*

[areyouwell]

Memento Mori

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Violence, slight body horror

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: Took me long enough. New long-fic comin' in from the left! i know i teased this around three weeks ago (ish) but here's chapter one. not sure this is gonna be as long as Phobophobia but i'm really excited about this one. it's a little darker (yeah i know) but i already love this MC. if anyone wants tagging in this pls lmk, i don't wanna assume everyone who i tagged in Phobophobia wants to be tagged again so i'll start a new list <3

Dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

“So, as detailed here, there have been a string of these… murders, I suppose.”

Logan sighed heavily. When he woke up this morning, the one thing he didn’t expect was to be called into Charles Xavier’s office so soon after having breakfast, let alone be greeted with grainy photographs of some of the most horrific murder scenes he’d ever had the displeasure of looking at. Entrails, bones, flesh, eyes. None of it was where it should be, which most of the time, seemed scattered around the floor rather than attached to whichever poor, unfortunate soul who’d had the shitty luck of running into their silent assassin. Charles pointed the telescopic stick towards the mangled jacket of one of the equally mangled victims. Logan couldn’t even tell what gender they were, their face nothing but a bloody pulp.

Almost as if it had been exploded from the inside out. 

“This symbol here is the only string that connects the murders, and after doing a little digging,” he nodded thankfully to Ororo, her white hair bobbing with her dip of acknowledgement. “We found they all belonged to the same company, here.” With a click of the remote in his hands, the projection flipped to the next slide, a map of San Fransisco, a large red circle drawn around a location Logan was only somewhat familiar with, only because he’d walked past it a few times. 

“It’s a warehouse,” he offered, several heads turning to look at him. “I’ve walked ‘round there couple times. Nothin’ special, s’always buzzin’ with life.” He shrugged thoughtfully, tugging a cigar from his jacket pocket and flicking the Zippo lighter open and shut with his other hand. Charles gave him a slightly irritated look, but he pretended not to notice.”So… What? Our killer’s just popping caps in the head’s underpaid workers? Doesn’t make much sense.” 

“That’s what we thought too,” Ororo continued, placing down a few pieces of paper and spreading them about the table. “Until we started to notice a pattern. They’ve been picking off specific shift workers, mainly those on the late shift. But it’s never new members of staff either. Always those who’ve worked there for at least two years. Lately, their security has increased, but once they leave work, they’re basically on their own.” Storm took the remote from Charles and clicked to the next slide, a list of names and hours flaring onto the screen, the names of victims having been crossed out, though their hours were still visible on the row of the rota.

“Ya don’t think this has anything to do with that orphanage incident, do you?” Kitty piped up, cupping her mug of tea in both hands, either for comfort or for warmth, Logan couldn’t tell. She had a good point. It must have been around a month ago now. A fire had started downtown in the dead of night. Officials had said it was a discarded cigarette from one of the employees, but that didn’t explain why all the windows and doors had been locked.

Everyone within burned. Children included. 

“It’s certainly a theory…” Scott mused, rubbing his hand against his jaw in thought. “A terrible accident sounded far too much like a cover story. Think this killer had something to do with it?”

Charles sighed heavily. “Ordinarily, yes, I’d have some kind of suspicion, if it wasn’t for the fact our killer was elsewhere at the time.” He nodded to Ororo, who clicked the remote once again. “This was taken not an hour beforehand, on the other side of the city. Unless the killer can teleport, there’s no way they could have made it across town in such a short amount of time, let alone take all the precautions and set alight to the building. Though I do not believe it was merely a terrible accident, I don’t believe they had anything to do with it.” Charles finished before Ororo leant over the pages she’d spread on the table, spinning one to face the rest of the team.

“Though we do have this. A pattern of all the attacks and locations,” Logan stood up to skirt around the table, standing between Kitty and Marie as he inspected the red pen. With every X, the attacks almost formed an exact circle around the warehouse, almost as if the killer could predict which ways those victims would take home. Especially after the first attack. “We think the next one will happen here,” Ororo pointed to a side street far between the locations either side. “The most recent one being here, it’s logical to think they’d take the opposite side. At least, that’s what we’re hoping…” She trailed off, and Logan returned to his seat, having an idea as to what this meeting was actually about.

“You want us to lay a trap, right? Trail several employees home and jump in before Killer McGee can get their hands on ‘em.” He clarified, and Charles nodded a little too darkly for his liking. 

“Exactly. Which is why I won’t be asking you all on this mission. We need to avoid detection and sending all of us would be too much of a risk. Whoever this is, we must assume they’re a mutant. These attacks happen quickly and viciously, and to cause such damage in such a short amount of time, we must assume they possess some sort of ability.

“Scott, Ororo and Logan, I trust you can handle this task? I will be in Cerebro with Jean on hand, and the rest I want you on standby in the Blackbird in case backup is required.”

“Wait, we’re doing this tonight?” Marie squeaked, casting a wary glance to Kitty who returned her expression. Logan was relieved neither of them would be actively on the mission, he’d come to care for them both deeply, and whilst that didn’t mean he didn’t care for either Ororo or, though he’d never admit it, Scott, he was glad the two girls would be on standby rather than active duty.

“The attacks seem random, as if they flipped a coin to see if they would head out each night, but when you look closer, they’re only on the days the older members of staff are on shift. We think they’re looking for something, or someone, specific.” Ororo explained, pointing back to the projection on the screen. “These three here have been working at this specific warehouse for three, four and seven years respectably,” she clicked the remote again for each of their work ID cards to flash onto the screen. “Scott, you’re tailing Alec,” she gestured to the string bean of a man, blonde hair styled into several spikes atop his head, two silver snakebite piercings adorned his lower lip.  

“Logan, you’ve got Manuel, he’s been there for four years,” Logan didn’t think they could have found such a different-looking guy to the previous one if they fucking tried. Manuel was built like a brick shit house, a buzzcut of dark hair dusted the top of his otherwise bald head, ears like fucking cauliflowers. Of course, that’s who he’d be tailing, probably because a punch from this guy would send anyone else across the damn room. 

“And I’ll be tailing Henry, he works in the office upstairs but is still very much a likely target. We’re hoping to locate and pin down the killer before their shifts even finish, but in the eventuality The Professor can’t get a lock on them, this is the backup plan. Got it?”

Both Logan and Scott nodded in unison. It didn’t seem too much of a problem mission if this killer was cowardly enough to be picking these guys off one by one, he didn’t think they had much in terms of fighting prowess. Taking an enemy by surprise was the coward’s way out, in his opinion, though he supposed not everybody could heal the way he could. 

And taking this killer by surprise was exactly the plan…

Maybe he should rethink his principles. 

“Be suited up and ready to head out at ten. Gives us at least an hour to locate and set up.” Ororo gathered the papers on the table, tapping the small stack against the surface before tucking them beneath her arm. “Right, I’ve got a class to teach, pretty sure you do too, Professor.” She turned to Charles who simply smiled and nodded, ending the meeting just like that. With a huff and a stretch, Logan stood from his seat, instantly reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thick cigar, earning himself a sharp look of disapproval from Xavier, the Professor glancing pointedly to the chilly air beyond the window. Logan knew what he was saying, and usually, he’d tell him to go fuck himself and smoke indoors. But he needed a breath of fresh air after that stuffy, slightly nauseating meeting, and if he could kill two birds with one stone, why wouldn’t he?

With an acquiescing shrug, he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel to stalk from the boardroom, shoving the door open with his shoulder and almost walking chest first into Jean. His heart skipped a beat or three, lips pulling up into a small smirk to hide the fact he was borderline giddy to be running into her outside the meeting. She’d been the object of his affection ever since he was brought to the mansion and she checked his vitals. He couldn’t help it. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to her the instant he was in her presence. He didn’t find himself thinking of her much outside their interactions, but when they were in the same room, all he could think about was her. It would be frustrating if he cared about anything said in those meetings. 

“Watin’ f’me now are ya?” He teased lowly, savouring the way her lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. There were times Logan thought she felt the same magnetic pull toward him that he felt toward her, times like this, where she didn’t look away from his gaze, and entertained his relentless teasing. 

“You know Scott’s still in there. We have plans,” she responded, feigning an attempt to look past him and back into the room where Scott was discussing various strategies with the Professor. Logan raised a brow as he followed her wavering line of sight, keeping that brow raised as he looked back at her. 

“Plans? Hope you don’t mean dinner, doesn’t look like he’ll be out anytime soon.” If she could just see how terrible Scott was for her. If he could just make her see how he would be so much better. Would suit her better. Would take care of her better. He wasn’t willing to change for many people, but if Jean asked, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d change himself for her.

“Yes, Logan, dinner plans before the mission. And you know this is a tradition because you comment on it every time.” She huffed, her hair bobbing slightly with every emphatic move of her head. Logan chuckled lightly, his eyes briefly glancing from her gaze to her lips, how perfect they looked, and how perfect they would look wrapped around his–

“Then we both have our little traditions, don’t we? C’mon, doll. Why don’t we stop this dance?” His fingers curled through a strand of her hair, feeling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Haven’t I shown ya I can be the good guy?”

Jean sighed, and Logan half expected her to move away, but instead, she just closed her eyes, shaking her head softly. Was she mournful? Disappointed? It was hard to tell. 

“Logan, I don’t–”

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Scott’s voice slashed through the charged atmosphere between them, and Logan found his hand falling away from Jean’s hair almost instantly. 

“We were jus’ talkin’, Scotty.” Logan shot back, trying to keep the defence from his voice. There was no need to let Scott know just how irritated the interruption made him feel.

“Yeah, like hell you were. Back off, Logan. I don’t wanna have to tell you again.” Placing his arm around Jean’s shoulders, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way she shrank slightly, looking almost humiliated. He tensed his jaw. If she hated Scott’s attention this much, she knew what he had to do. Logan didn’t know how much more obvious he could make his interest in her. All she needed to do was take the leap. “Yeah yeah, ‘stay away from my girl’, I know.” He mocked, sending Jean a wink before continuing on his path to the courtyard. Now he really fucking needed that cigar.

The city was so pretty in the twilight. Silhouetted buildings scattered with twinkling lights against a deep blue sky, it almost made up for the lack of stars. And there was nothing like watching the city skyline descend into darkness that had you more prepared than ever for your latest chosen victim. You hadn’t learned nearly as much as you should have by now, nobody you’d tortured knew anything about what you were looking for and it was starting to piss you off. But you didn’t bury those feelings. Instead, you harnessed them. Used your frustration to your advantage and honed yourself like a forged weapon. Every burn of urgent irritation sharpened your slices, focused your fileting, and pinpointed your precision. 

For the greater good, you reminded yourself as your watch beeped ten, and you spun the small knife in your palm before sheathing it in your boot. Your specific target of the night finished early every other week on Thursdays, hence your change in schedule today. In fact, a good few of them did. You assumed it had something to do with specific shipments on the warehouse floor but you didn’t bother yourself with the details. You knew his schedule now. You’d been watching for weeks. And you had every single detail of his various ways home. He was a bus-taker. Though, to avoid you, he’d been taking different numbered busses to other parts of town, before heading home. But the moron used the same three in rotation. There was no cause to wonder why he worked in a warehouse…

Although you had a good feeling about this one. You’d already scored one victim of the night, who was currently unconscious in your chosen location. You were one hundred per cent sure he knew what you were looking for, and you had a fantastic feeling about this one too.

Standing from where you’d been lounging against a rooftop balcony, you stretched your arms high above your head, listening to your bones and joints crack slightly before securing the steel mask over your features, cursing the phantoms of your past for providing you with such memorable makeup, and, shrugging the hood of your short-sleeved jacket over your head. Your hands dipped into the various sheathed across your waist, double checking the various blades in your belt. You were thankful you never needed to go through any kind of metal detector, because it would likely take you the rest of the night to remove every weapon dotted about your body, from the little holsters on your biceps to the sheathes in your boots, to the retractable blades in the bracers on your wrists. A wise woman once said you can never have too many knives.

A phrase you really should copyright before anyone else claims it. 

Five past ten. Go time. Taking a few steps back, you broke into a sprightly run, leaping like a dexterous cat across the rooftops, every step measured in surety. You’d done this too many times to start second-guessing yourself now, and it wasn’t like you were a stranger to the city’s rooftops and sketchy alleyways before you started doing this. With little effort, you crossed blocks in a matter of moments, skipping over crowds and traffic like it was child’s play before you landed with a deft roll above the side street tonight’s victim would take in a matter of five minutes. 

Like you said. Child’s play

You crouched low, removing the serrated knife from your belt, and flicking it in your palm over and over. It was a habit you’d developed when waiting in anticipation for something. It kept your hands occupied whilst your mind focused on the events to come, picturing exactly how you wanted things to play out. It was difficult. Capturing and torturing these assholes was like shooting fish in a barrel. 

“Fourth clear, no signs of our guy.”

You ducked low on the rooftop, an unpredicted obstacle walking into view wearing some shitty leather getup, fingers delicately perched at the side of his horizontal glasses. Though they weren’t exactly glasses. How would you describe it? Eye-guard? Some weird single glass as opposed to glasses? Whatever the fuck they were, you didn’t exactly want to find out what they did. He was holding them as if they were some kind of weapon. 

Shit, this really wasn’t good. If he didn’t move on now, you’d have to take him out and risk alerting your victim to your presence. Fuck, fuck and fuck again. And just as luck would have it, Alec appeared at the other end of the alleyway, nervously looking about before entering hurriedly. People didn’t watch enough movies. Did they really not know that entering dark alleyways with a killer on the loose was practically the same as signing your own death certificate? In any case, this actually worked in your favour. With Mr Visor patrolling the other end, you sliced open your hand, your blood humming as you pulled it from your veins to wrap around the metal drainage pipe before you swung off the rooftop, the crimson rope twisting and writhing as if it were alive as you descended, landing quietly a few paces behind him.

Now, if he wasn’t on such high alert, he would have most likely chalked the slight thud of your landing to the sound of a street cat, or perhaps a fox. But the way Alec jumped with a yelp, staggering as he turned to face you, didn’t exactly scream discreet. You held your hand up in front of you, contorting your fingers as your mutation felt for his pulse, slowing down the blood flow in his veins as quickly as you could. Not fast enough, a strangled yell flew from his now pale lips, and you swore viciously as your latest obstacle jogged back into view between the alleyway’s walls. 

“Shit, HE’S HERE!” He called to nobody you could see, and you barely had time to duck before a searing red beam of pure energy shot above your head, illuminating the dingy street in the crimson glow. You thought it slightly ironic, as your knife slashed through the palm of your hand, the colour of his mutation and who he was up against. Curving your arm in a wide arc, you manipulated your own blood cells into a wide blade, propelling it forward whilst you took a few steps toward your now collapsed victim. With Glasses now distracted by what you assumed was him discovering your own mutation, you felt around his veins for his heartbeat, tracing the blood flow back until you found the source, and you poured all your energy into slowing that one too. 

“He can manip… manipulate bl… blood.” Once again he spoke aloud to nobody you could sense, his knees giving out before he crashed to the floor. You huffed out a breath, fishing a small bandage from the pouch on your belt before wrapping up your hand and pulling the tie tight with your teeth. The one thing you found frustrating about your mutation was your inability to heal. How fucking helpful that would be, if every time you had to slash yourself open, you could just reseal the wound? Instead of running the risk of bleeding out. But you guessed everything had its drawbacks. Even blood manipulation. 

You bent to pick up Alec’s ankles, dragging him a few feet back the way he came, before you stopped, and looked back to the unconscious mutant at the alley’s mouth. You should kill him. Things would be easier if you did. And so, dropping your victim’s feet without much care, you strode over, finding a small gap in the wrappings around your palm, you extended a small spear from your flesh with the intention of jabbing it through his head and silencing what he saw here forever. 

But there were little voices calling out from a small earpiece nestled in his ear canal. You tilted your head, plucking the bud from the side of his head and holding it up to your own ear.

“Scott? Scott can you hear us?!”

“We’re tracking your location, hang tight!”

“I’m en route, stay alive asshole.”

A kaleidoscope of voices blended together, though the last one had you dropping the earpiece and crushing it with the heel of your boot. Someone was coming. A big someone. Someone whose voice you really hoped didn’t match his body. 

You should kill him. You really should kill this Scott guy, but something about the concern and fierce loyalty of those in the earpiece stopped you. This man was loved. He was cared for. Most of your victims didn’t have anyone. No family, very little friends, and all with some kind of penchant for criminal activity. Alec, for example, was finding himself becoming a little too familiar with the gates of a primary school. The more you watched him, the more you found yourself utterly repulsed by the way he would try and get the attention of those kids. Those children. 

But Scott had people who would care if he died. And so you let him be, pulling and pushing him upright against the wall before jogging back over to your actual victim and resuming your strained attempts to drag him off to your chosen location for the night. 

An ancient, local church, ironically enough. 

Logan raced through the streets, across busy roads and through closed parks, leaping over fences and gates effortlessly. He knew Scott’s location, Jean begging him over coms to do what he could. He was still alive, The Professor could sense it, but how the mission had immediately gone south, he had no idea. But at least Scott was still alive. At least, he was for now. 

“SCOTT!” He called, slowing his steps as he closed in on his location, his claws sliding from his knuckles. The metallic scent of blood flooded his senses, but it wasn’t Scott’s. He knew what Scott’s blood smelled like, having punched him in the nose a few times for the scent to be memorable. No, this blood was new, unfamiliar, and reeked of mutation. Which he supposed made sense.

Blood manipulator. That was the last thing Scott had said before he fell silent and before his channel died completely. And stalking up to the mouth of the alleyway, he could see why. Scott’s earpiece lay crushed on the concrete, little pieces scattered across the floor. Peering into the alleyway, Logan’s heart raced as his eyes cut through the darkness to find Scott himself lying slumped against the wall, his head hanging low. Logan bent to one knee, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel his slow yet strong pulse. The same pulse that would be associated with someone unconscious. But there was no head wound. Nothing to indicate he’d been completely knocked out. 

“Is he–” 

Logan looked back to see Ororo landing behind him, her hair slightly wild from the wind. She must have flown her way over, avoiding the nightlife altogether. 

“He’s alive. Unconscious, but alive. You heard what he said, right? Blood manipulator. I think our guy must have slowed his heartbeat or somethin’. There’s no wound anywhere…” Logan gently moved Scott’s head in search of any kind of blunt force trauma but found none. Not that he was expecting to find anything, since the only blood he could smell was unfamiliar. And it lead right down the alley and out the other side. “Gonna need ya t’stay here, Storm. Make sure Scott’s alright.” He kept his eyes focused on the darkness ahead, and the small sliver of light beyond. 

“And where’re you going?” Ororo asked, crouching beside him as if to physically demonstrate she’d stay with Scott. Logan sniffed the air again, almost able to see the blood trail the scent was so damn strong. 

“Followin’ our man. We don’t know if he bagged his victim, but if he was here with Scott, then he was after Alec, and I don’t see him anywhere, do you?” He asked, raising a brow to the woman by his side, who shook her head. 

“No. And I didn’t see him from above either. Alright, you go. But be careful, Logan. He’s unpredictable and now we have an idea as to how dangerous. If he can knock Scott out cold like this, he shouldn’t be taken lightly,” Ororo implored, watching as he rose from his crouch. Logan huffed an irritated sigh, having to restrain himself before he rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine. Look after Cyclops.” Was all he said, before taking off down the alleyway at a light jog, following his nose and turning left at the end. 

“Logan, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t charge into the unknown with no information other than blood-manipulator.” Jean’s voice echoed in his ear, and he once again felt his lips pull up into a small smirk. 

“Why, you worried about me?” He provoked, chuckling when he heard her deep sigh, pinching the earpiece between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll send up a flare if I need ya.”

“Logan don’t–” 

Whatever Jean was about to say was lost when he tossed the coms unit onto the ground, leaving it and all methods of communication behind as he continued on toward his target. He couldn’t believe his eyes when his nose led him to a looming church, stained windows dark from the inside, spires towering high into the night. This couldn’t be right. Either his nose had failed him, which was unheard of, or the killer had a wicked sense of humour. It must have been the latter, the stench of blood increasing tenfold as he crossed the neatly mowed lawn outside, taking the stone steps two at a time and up to the wooden double doors. 

His ears twitched as he caught distant screams from inside, deep enough that anyone passing by would be completely oblivious to any goings on within. Once again, he released the hold he had on his claws, razors slicing through his muscles and flesh as they slid from his knuckles. He took a breath, bracing a hand on the centre of one of the doors before he pushed slightly, the hinges’ echoing screech causing him to freeze, letting the sound settle before he moved. The screams continued, and as sick and twisted as it was, he used that to gauge whether or not he’d been heard. So far, remarkably, so good. 

Stealth wasn’t his strong suit. Never was, but he cursed every heavy footstep that bounced off the wooden beams and stone walls, even the stained glass seemed to be mocking him, some ridiculous depiction of a halo-wearing baby with the proportions completely incorrect, being carried by an equally disproportionate-looking woman who seemed to be bathed in holy light. Once upon a time, he may have found comfort in the frieze. Now he simply thought it ridiculous. How could there be a god when mutants like him walk the earth? When mutants like this killer were allowed to wander around completely free? 

He shook his head of the thoughts. Now was not the time to contemplate divinity. If he wanted to discuss religion, he’d have a conversation with Kurt. He followed his senses, down the aisle between the pews and up to the lectern, his head snapping to the right and through the door to the sacristy. Once again measuring his steps, Logan crossed the altar and into the shadows behind the pillars, that same coppery scent of blood lingering on the slightly crimson-stained doorknob, the faint smokey smell of mutation told him this was the killer’s blood. Had the victim fought back somehow? He assumed he’d done the same thing to them as he had to Scott, knocked them out before dragging them away. 

Shoving the door open, Logan took a moment to look around. Nothing much, other than a large closet, a chest of drawers and a small bathroom sink with a mirror. A rug covered a large portion of the floor, the patterns almost psychedelic in nature, but this was where the scent was strongest so far. Here, in this room. Then where the hell was all the screaming coming from? He could still hear it, in the distance, beyond several walls of stone, or deep beneath–

Logan paused, his eyes flickering from the bare walls to the rug on the floor, one corner ever so slightly raised from the ground. With determined curiosity, he tugged on the fabric, pulling it back from the ground before tossing it completely into a corner. There, now revealed, a wooden trap door. He couldn’t help but think it was a little cliché, to have a trap door leading down to some kind of torture chamber, but if the chosen location told him anything, it was that the killer had a flair for the dramatic. 

To hell with stealth at this point. Logan crouched, gripping the large brass handle and throwing up the door so it clattered loudly against the floor. He was glad he had excellent vision, as the darkness beyond would be enough to turn away even the bravest of souls. And yet, here he was, taking step after step down into the pitch black, his eyes reflecting what little light there was. Perhaps the setting was more fitting than he originally thought because it truly felt like he was descending into the pits of hell with each careful step. The scent of blood now fused with the acrid scent of urine, and the musk of sweat. It was enough to have him almost gag, but he kept on going, led by the sounds of broken screams. 

Until those broken screams were cut viciously short. 

Logan stopped in his tracks, bracing a hand against the damp wall, a crippling sense of failure weighing heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now Alec was likely dead. He couldn’t think of another reason why the killer would just cut off his screams like that. But what unnerved Logan further, was that now one voice had been silenced, another was rising up the dark, dank tunnel. There were two. The motherfucker had managed to grab two victims in one night. What the fuck was he using them for? Why torture them? What was he looking for?

A pinprick of flickering light teased him from the distance, the literal light at the end of the tunnel winking in the distance. How far down had he gone for the exit to only now be visible? Had this guy really dragged two bodies down these stairs already today? A picture was forming in Logan’s mind. He had to have some kind of muscle on him to be able to carry weights such as these. But he couldn’t let himself get comfortable in his predictions. That would only lead to chaos. So he kept his mind open, the only thing he was fairly sure about was the fact this killer was a man. 

Not that a woman couldn’t be capable of this kind of thing, but he’d seen the size of some of the victims. Either she was some kind of bodybuilder or a man. One seemed more likely than the other. 

He felt like he’d been in this stupid fucking tunnel for years by the time his eyes needed to adjust to the flickering torchlight, the steps levelling out to a long, claustrophobic stone hallway, the low arch of the ceiling barely high enough for him to stand up completely straight, the tips of his brushed up hair lightly brushing the damp brickwork. He continued creeping forward, a cone of more flickering torchlight illuminating a doorway ahead of him and to the right. 

The secondary voice gurgled another agonised scream, and Logan felt a decent amount of urgency fuel his steps, half jogging the remaining feet up to the archway, peering around the stone.

His stomach clenched, eyes widening. Well, that would show him not to make assumptions. The killer wasn’t a man. 

You were a woman. 

The two victims were strapped to chairs, back to back, a knife in the mouth of one, the other’s head– Alec’s head, hung limp. In the lap of the other, you held a map, blood dripping from both your palms.

“Point.” You spat, delivering a harsh slap to the side of his face. “And so help you, your answers better match up.” 

With shaky movements, your captive craned his neck down, pointing the quivering tip of the knife against a random point on the map you’d lay in his lap, tears flowing down his face as he whimpered in utter terror. Logan watched as you raised your hand over Alec’s head, contorting your fingers as he groggily returned to consciousness. He couldn’t see his face before, and Logan would spend a long time wishing he could return to that ignorance. Two dark, bloodied holes replaced the sockets where his eyes should be, tears of sanguine had rolled down his cheeks, staining his flesh until it bled into the exposed muscle of his cheek. 

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You took a step back, snatching the map from your second victim and drawing a circle with the bloodied tip of your finger. After so many deaths, the cacophony of screams that kept you awake at night, finally you had a lead. “And what is it exactly th–”

You stopped, your nerves alight with alert. 

Logan whipped back behind the archway, pressing his spine against the wall and keeping his breathing steady. He didn’t hold out hope you hadn’t seen him, and he was incredibly thankful for that, clenching his fists when your voice echoed in the expanses of the chamber. 

“I can feel it. The mutation in your blood. Scott’s friend, I assume?”

With a long sigh, Logan stepped out from behind the archway and into the light. 

“Friend is a strong term. Associate.” He responded, his eyes flickering to each of your palms as crystals of crimson extended from the two wounds in your flesh, taking the form of jagged blades. Your head tilted to the side, hood shifting slightly for the light to catch your eyes. 

“Scott’s associate…” you mused lowly, striking out with surgical precision to the two captives, keeping your wince locked away as your two blades crunched through their skulls with a sickening squelch. 

Logan clenched his jaw, keeping his chin held high. “No explosions this time? Entrails seem far too organised for you.” 

“A fan of my work? Sorry, I don’t tend to do meet-and-greets. Although I’d be willing to sign your corpse for you.” You held your blood blades tight in your palms as you bent your knees. You wouldn’t be getting out of here without a fight. And whilst you could feel the mutation in his blood, you had no idea what it was exactly that he could do. The claws were an obvious giveaway, but was that it? You’d come to learn to put all assumptions to the side and be prepared for anything. 

Years on the streets had taught you that.

“Why?” Logan asked, taking a steadying breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why?” He repeated with just as much conviction. “Why do this? What’re you looking for? Why’re you doing this?” He watched you falter slightly as if genuinely taken aback that he was interested enough to ask. “You coulda killed Scott, but you didn’t. Y’not afraid of causing pain, but you left him unharmed. Why?”

Too many thoughts were running through your head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t. He had nothing to do with this, and whilst yes he got in your way, he was innocent. None of these people were. None of your victims were. Least of all, you. 

“Why ask? Did you want me to? Yikes, that’s some rivalry you got there.” You deflected, twirling one of your blades in your hand. “Tell ya what, I’ll finish the job for you, free of charge.” You grinned behind your mask, taking a step toward him, dragging the tips of your crystalised blood blades along the ground, leaving little crimson trails as you walked. 

“Got a lotta lip, ya know that?” He growled, watching you like a hawk as you slowly stalked forward, step by careful step. 

“If only you knew the trouble my mouth gets me into…” You paused for a moment, crouching low. Anticipation crackled in the air, sparks of adrenaline igniting the room before you launched forward, keeping low to the ground. 

Logan tracked your movements, bending his knees and bracing his claws in front of his body before your blades cracked against his, literal sparks flying from the contact point as you stay low, your other hand braced against the floor, leaving bloodstains on the stone. Your leg swept toward his, and he wrenched his claws from where they’d tangled with your blades, taking a quick step back to avoid your jab.

Using your momentum, you pushed off from the ground, spinning upright just in time to parry a slice from his claws, your blood thrumming with the impact. He was strong. Really fucking strong. Annoyingly strong, in fact. You hated having to manipulate the vessels and cells within your body, but the moment his fists arced down toward you, you had no choice but to increase the blood flow to your biceps, wincing slightly as they shuddered and flexed in response, but it was just enough to catch him off guard, your two blades crossed between his six claws. 

You didn’t let the moment linger, delivering a harsh kick to the centre of his stomach and using the almost rock-like surface to send yourself a few steps back, sweat already trailing down the inside of your mask. 

Logan bent double, grunting in discomfort before lowering into a similar crouch to your own, watching closely as your blades dragged along the ground once again, leaving little slices of crimson. You raised your head in challenge, the flickering torchlight catching two sparks of sanguine red eyes, pulsing slightly as your mutation shimmered from your hands, veins bulging up your wrists. Something tugged at his chest, and he stilled for a moment. It looked almost… painful. The way he could see every pulse of your heart thumping within those bloodborne blades. 

His head tilted to the side, and you felt discomfort crawl over your skin. Was he… studying you? In the middle of a fucking fight? And not the ‘I’m studying you to see your next attack’ kind of way. You grit your teeth, irritation flaring in your gut as you launch forward, anger and frustration now fuelling your movements. How dare he. How dare he try to read you like this. He didn’t even fucking know you. But the way his features slackened slightly, the ever so small tilt of his head. You wanted to tear him to ribbons. 

Logan shook himself from his thoughts as you surged forward, once again bracing himself for the flurry of swipes he could sense was coming his way. Only–

You ducked to the side.

Your blades retracting back into your palms as you slid past him, grazing the centre of your hand against the floor in a wide arc. What the hell were you doing? What the fuck was with all the acrobatics. You’d done nothing but flip and spin around him, barely going in for any hits. He whirled around, claws still held before him in closed fists, but you looked… done. 

Like you’d already won. 

“Well, this has been a pleasure. But I’m afraid I’m a very busy woman,” you paused, placing a hand on your hip as if you were having a casual conversation in a shopping centre. “And you’re wasting my time.”

Logan barely had time to think before the bloodstains on the ground shifted, and in every place you’d dragged your palm across the stone, a sharp spear shot from the marks towards him, impaling through his suit and into his chest, his legs, back, and shoulders with a sick, wet crunch.

Through agonising pain, he finally understood what you were doing. Setting up a fucking trap. Any attempt to move resulted in tearing fire through his body, a rough cry of pain flying from behind his gritted teeth, before it became too much as he sank to his knees. Your sigh almost sounded disappointed, and he watched through hazy vision as you brought out a bandage from your belt and started to wrap up one of your palms with a slight hissed wince. 

You’d expected him to be dead by now, and yet somehow he was still clinging to life like a tenacious limpet. An irritated huff warmed the interior of your mask as you flicked your unbound hand, another jagged spear of ruby sailing from your palm and through the centre of his stomach, wrenching another agonised cry from his throat. 

“Fucking hell… still here? Most would be dead by now.” You folded your arms across your chest, wandering over to where he was still bent double on his knees, heaving rasped breaths. 

“Most of ‘em can die.” He snarled back, his strength slowly returning as his regeneration worked overtime to remove the whipping spears from his body. You watched as they shifted in response to the resistance, fascination curling like smoke in your head. What the hell was this guy?

“And you can’t, I presume?”

“Nope. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh,” you shrugged, your eyes flaring as you wormed those tendrils back through his flesh, something twinging in your chest as you did so. “That’s… unfortunate,” you crouched in front of him, running your fingers along one of the tendrils of blood holding him still, your eyes falling to the little X symbol on his leather collar, recognition striking you like lightning. “Wait… I know you. You’re one of Xavier’s, right? Never thought he’d meddle in simple human murders,” you thought for a moment, regarding him. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being nothing but a weapon to him? Just a gun to point at the enemy whilst he’s the one who claims the victory?” You provoked, finally garnering a response as he all but growled at you, bloodied teeth bared. You had half a mind to use his own blood to sew his mouth shut, but you were curious about him. A mutant who couldn’t die, running around playing soldier for someone who would never walk the battlefield himself. 

Sure he should be the one pulling the strings. 

Logan knew you were trying to get under his skin. Metaphorically, of course. Physically, you’d already achieved that, the sharp bolts of agony with every slight movement told him that much. But he needed to get under yours. 

“I know what these people did,” he breathed, chest searing with each fiery inhale.  “The ones you choose. I know why you kill them, but why torture them?” He continued through gritted teeth, tugging against the lashing spears through his body.

“You think that’s what this is? Me cleaning up after this world’s scum? I should add myself to that lengthy list.” You growled back, gesturing wildly to the walls around you. “These people know something. The fact they’re all child predators is simply luck. But don’t you think it’s strange? An orphanage burns down and none of the bodies are found?” 

Logan stopped his struggle. “What…? How d’you–”

“Nothing. Not even skeletons. Doesn’t that make you wonder where the hell those kids went? The disappearances throughout the city, all kids. All mutant kids.” You could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what you were saying, and what it meant. 

“Y– you’re looking for information…” He muttered with understanding, and you nodded.

“The men at that warehouse… they’re always hanging around schools and –before it burnt down– the orphanage,” your eyes flickered to stairs beyond the archway, and the distant shouts echoing down the hall. “It’s a slave trade. A mutant slave trade.”

“How d’you know?”

“I… I can’t tell you that.” Something twisted in your gut as his expression shifted to something softer, despite the obvious pain he was in. You didn’t want to hurt him. It was a sudden realisation that you’d acted too hastily. Assumed he was here to eliminate you after the series of events you’d caused. But you should have known the moment he started asking questions. Sure, he was probably here to put a stop to what appeared on the surface to be a sequence of grizzly murders, but he’d asked. He wanted to know why. Not many others had done that. And there was something else flickering in his strikingly haze eyes. 

He didn’t want to kill you. Not now he knew. 

Your head whipped back to the archway, where those distant shouts had increased in volume and, terrifyingly enough, proximity. You could clearly catch the repeated calls of a name. His name. 

Logan. 

“Look, if you want to help, there’s a gala happening at Thornbury Hall, west of the city. Saturday the 18th. Meet me there or don’t, it’s your choice. But you come alone. I’ll know if you don’t.” You hissed hurriedly, flicking your fingers to withdraw the countless spears from his body, and he screwed his eyes shut as his wounds immediately began to knit back together, muscle and tissue reforming with an unbearable itch, the crystalised blood liquifying once again, staining the stone red. 

“Logan?!”

Your breath quickened as you looked back to the archway, and Logan could just see the fear reflecting in your barely visible eyes as you took a few steps back. He wanted to stop you. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to take this on alone. They could help. He could help. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wasn’t going to take the olive branch you’d just extended. 

“How’ll I know it’s you?” He asked as he stood to his feet, eyes narrowing in suspicion despite himself. He hadn’t seen your face. Just two scarlet eyes behind a rather unnerving, featureless mask. Your head flipped between looking at him and looking past him to the archway skittishly, hurried footsteps growing louder as his other associates honed in on your location. 

“When you get there, look for a man with a runic tattoo on his neck and ask for Alecto.” You explained, continuing backing up into what looked like just a regular wall. But the greatest thing about ancient buildings such as this was the secret little entrances and exits installed for servants, refugees. Criminals.

“Alecto?” You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the slight smirk on his face, the amusement lacing his tone despite your efforts to try and kill him not moments ago.

“Look it up.” Was all you said, before slipping through one of the cracks in the wall the moment he turned around as two other mutants rushed through the archway. You barely caught sight of Scott and the other before you were gone. 

“Logan! What the hell? You can’t just go dead like that, what happened to your coms?” Storm ranted before falling silent, panic entered her eyes as she registered the state he was in. “What… what happened to you?”

Logan looked back to where he’d last seen you, finding an odd kernel of relief to see you’d completely vanished into seemingly thin air. “I found our gal. Put up a good fight. Slipped out when she heard ya comin’ and I was immobilised.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just let the very same killer they’d come here to hunt slip away.

“She– wait, she?” Scott asked, clearly having recovered from whatever Alecto had done to him. 

“Yeah, she,” he nodded, before sighing heavily. “Look, no point in standin’ round here ‘n chattin’ about it. Charles is gonna wanna know what I know.” 

“And what is it exactly that you know?” Scott asked, suspicion lacing his tone, his arms folding across his chest almost in accusation. Logan rolled his eyes.

“A helluva lot more than you, Slim. Let’s go.”

[autistic-katara]

I HAVE MORE OC QUESTIONS!

what fandoms would your ocs be a part of

what songs would they like

what are their favourite animals

srry for answering this so late TwT (its actually like the perfect question i just didnt wanna answer it wrong also giving them favourite singers/bands instead of songs cause idk which songs to do)

Catriona:

rlly likes Stranger Things (relates to both Mike and Jonathan a lot, Elmax/Elumax is her otp), quite likes the Spiderverse movies and Good Omens too.

listens to the Smiths religiously

cats :3 (yes ik 😭)

Ella:

she’ll obsess over any mildly queer kids cartoon but her top 3 r Infinity Train, Adventure Time, and The Owl House.

cavetown and girl in red r her favs

loves bugs c:

Liam:

also really into Stranger Things (it was one of the things him and Catriona bonded over past “we both gay, traumatised, autistic, and homeless // Byler shipper thru and thru).

diehard Noahfinnce fan, loves Green Day too

professional dinosaur enthusiast

Faizan:

pjo kid, relates to Nico and Alex on a spiritual level (likes atla aswell).

rlly likes The Front Bottoms, McCafferty, Everybody’s Worried About Owen, and Ewy

fish :D

Lola:

massive anime fan, loves bsd (i havent watched like any other anime so u can headcanon the rest of their favs if u want-).

got hooked on Noahfinnce’s music by Liam, rlly likes Against Me!

she loves dogs :]

Sasha:

also really into toh and the Spiderverse movies (relates to Amity and Gwen pretty hard).

loves mcr (also ik i said i was doing artists not songs but i associate him a lot with True Trans Soul Rebel by Against Me!)

would actually kill someone for a pet snake (me fr)

oh also they all cried while watching Nimona

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 63)

Trigger Warning: Heavily Implied Abortion. IT'S NOT UZI, DON'T PANIC.

“N, I need ya for something.” Hal walked by N's desk, two more weeks had gone by without either him or Uzi telling a soul about her pregnancy, and it was beginning to get to him, he understood why they had to keep it to themselves… with what was happening to her being unique. But… he was still so excited.

“What's up?”

“Need you to help me perform a wellness check on a… Miss Walker. Her employer said he hadn't seen her for a couple days.” Hal tangled his fingers in his beard as he read through a file, before turning back to N.

“Sure, now?”

“Now.”

N stood up immediately, following in behind Hal as they left through the office door and made their way through the hallways, it was still early, so the halls weren't filled with people yet, only a few making their way to their early morning jobs.

“How's Uzi?” Hal asked, his tone friendly, though clearly only making small talk for the sake of it.

“She's fine, why wouldn't she be?” N replied a little too quickly. Talking about Uzi made him think about the baby which made him want to scream it to every person passing by. So he tried to avoid talking about her at all while at work… which was nearly impossible, because he was always talking about a show they watched together, or how Tera was doing, or… everything to do with his family, really.

“You've been really quiet about her lately… you're not having issues are you?” Hal was still slightly in front of him, so he couldn't see the man's face, but he got the impression that Hal was at least somewhat genuinely worried.

“No! Nothing like that. We're perfect, never been better, really.” N quickly assured, though he wasn't sure how convincing he sounded, though it was the truth. Every night they spent together, weather it be watching a movie, playing a game or just… talking, had been magical.

“I heard she went to a mothers group. That seems… unlike her.” Hal mentioned, making N's visor fill with sweat as he realized how obvious that was. He was right, Uzi wouldn't just suddenly decide to go to something as sappy and cliché as a mother's group for no reason.

“I convinced her to, Tera doesn't spend a lot of time around kids her age, and we thought it would be good to start socializing her.” The half-lie left his mouth almost instantly, his time with Uzi had definitely made him a more convincing liar, but even still it wasn't entirely untruthful, they had talked about socializing Tera. Though it was more about preparing her for a little sibling.

“Ah… so it was your idea. That does make more sense.”

“How'd you know about that anyway?” N asked, cocking his head as they both rounded a corner, Hal raised an eyebrow at him.

“My sister was there, came to me ecstatic about a new member. Figured out it was Uzi by her description.”

“Oh.” N blinked, well that was good information to have.

“We're here, I'll let ya do the honors this time.” Hal stepped back from the steel door as N stepped forward, nodding as he lifted his fist and knocked on the door heavily, the sound echoed around them for a few seconds.

There was no response.

So he tried again, announcing himself this time.

“This is Officer N and Officer Stone here on a wellness check, we're just here to see if you're okay.” He shouted firmly into the closed door as he knocked again, once again there was no answer.

“What now?” He asked Hal, who pondered the question for a moment.

“We don't have a warrant, we can't just barge in without probable cause.” He explained and N nodded, pressing the side of his face into the door to try and hear what was going on inside.

There was a light scraping noise coming from the other side, like something sharp against tile. It was muffled heavily by the door, but it was audible to his enhanced hearing.

“Well there's something behind this door, I hear scraping.”

“H-Help…” Came faintly from behind the door, and N lept back in surprise, looking at his superior with a dreadful look.

“Someone just called for help!”

Hal didn't seem to hear the cry for help, but he did seem to trust N, as he took a device from his pocket and held it over the access panel for the door, there was a pause, then the device beeped twice as the door swished open.

“Hello probable cause.”

“Miss Walker? Are you alright?” N Called out into the seemingly empty apartment, nothing was out of place, the kitchen was clean, the living room empty, but N could still pick up gentle scraping from… somewhere.

He moved through the Apartment, Hal in behind him as he followed his senses into the apartments bedroom, where he stood at the doorway in shock for a moment.

There was a young woman, only half dressed with her grey tank top shredded down to ribbons, one of her purple eyelights were closed in pain as the other looked at him with a mixture of fear and relief. She was leaning against the bed, sitting on the floor clutching her core, her breath coming out in distressed, shallow huffs.

“Miss, are you alright? What happened?” N immediately crouched down beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder as he looked around, there was a small trail of oil leading from the bathroom into the bedroom.

“I'll check it out, see if you can get anything out of her.” Hal said as he moved into the bathroom, N turned his attention back to the girl.

She was still in shock, her long brown hair tousled and unkempt, she was whimpering softly, looking between him and the hand on her core.

“Hey… I'm N. I'm a WDF member. What's your name?” He started softly, easing her in with something simple as she looked like she was in a panic.

“M-Mary.” She replied, her voice small and weak, muffled by static. N tilted his head slightly, he could smell oil, and she seemed to be in pain, but nothing was visually wrong with her.

“Okay Mary, what happened? Are you hurt?” She leaned into the bed further, every ambient light on her body flickered at once and she winced, clutching her core tighter.

“Where are you hurt?” He changed his question and she gave him an answer by looking down at her core, and everything clicked for him, his eyes turned soft.

“May I see?”

He reached forward and slowly touched her hand, giving her time to respond. She nodded warily before N pulled her hand away and gasped as the smell and sight hit him.

The glass covering over her core had been punctured, by what, he didn't know, but the drones full cylindrical core was now exposed to the open air, oil drooled out of the opening profusely, and was all over Mary's hand from where she'd held it. Strangly, her core was glowing a different color then the rest of her, blue, instead of purple.

It was strange… seeing a working core just… exposed like that. But with the way it was flickering, it wouldn't be working for much longer.

He placed her hand back over it and met her eyelights, they had tears in them, one of her hands was gripping his knee like he was a lifeline, he tried to ignore how much her eyelights reminded him of Uzi.

“What happened? Who did this to you?”

Hal came out of the bathroom a moment later, a screwdriver covered in oil in his hands.

“Found this, no sign of any struggle.”

“Mary?” N asked softly, and the young woman buried herself into his shoulder as she sobbed, he caught a few words that made his oil freeze in his tubing.

“I'm sorry… I'm so sorry. I wasn't ready… I wasn't ready…” N blinked up at his boss, who looked like he'd just eaten a rock, N looked back down at her injury.

“You… did this to yourself?” The girl only sobbed harder as she nodded, and N felt himself gulp as, on autopilot, he scooped her up. Having no more questions.

‘Let's get you patched up okay? Can't have you going offline on us.”

The journey to the medical bay was both incredibly fast, and incredibly, torturously slow. Hal was right in front of him the whole time, sprinting as fast as he could go and N was the same, cradling the woman in his arms to protect her the best he could.

Why had she done this to herself? What wasn't she ready for?

The medical staff were waiting for them and whisked off the young woman in a gurney, leaving himself and Hal standing in the waiting room.

N was confused, but he also felt nauseous and the tips of his fingers felt like ice. Context was an informative bitch, even if he didn't have all the information, he could guess, but he didn't want to guess, he wanted to be wrong.

“Hal, why was her core a different color?” He asked, voice slightly shaky as he continued to stare foreward into the doors Mary had been taken through.

“Late Pregnancy.” Hal muttered simply, also staring at those cursed doors.

With that, N felt a dam snap and then crumble into a thousand tiny peices, tears sprung into his visor as the peices clicked into place. Oh God, oh robo-god.

“Woah, N are you-?”

N struggled to keep himself standing as he imagined those purple eyelights driving the screwdriver into her core, for the express purpose of… of killing.

“Uzi's pregnant.” Hal gasped out, holding onto N's shoulder as he tried to supress a complete meltdown. Hal pushed N into a waiting chair as N himself buried his head in his hands.

“Yeah… She is…” N croaked back, trying to expunge the horrible image of Uzi doing this to herself from his processors. Or of her going offline, killed by Doll, killed by… by carrying their baby and it having nowhere to go but through her.

“Does Khan know?”

“No. N-Nobody does.” He grunted, gripping his own hair as all the unpleasant emotions that had been building up and that he'd been repressing, for Uzi's sake and for Tera's sake, and for the sake that he just… didn't want to think about all the ways this could go wrong.

“No wonder you've been so quiet… that's been eating at ya for almost a month.” Hal tried to inject humor but N didn't even laugh, he just made a pathetic whine and looked at the ceiling.

Did Uzi feel this way too? Like she wasn't ready? Or was N unintentionally pressuring her into something that… she didn't want?

He didn't know.

[the-kr8tor]

Speed Drive

🎉500 celebration fic🎉

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 6.2k

Synopsis: You come along with Hobie on a road trip to Glasgow. Aka the fic where I squeezed in multiple dream dates of mine lol

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mention, reader is a history nerd (definitely not projecting), the reader can't drive, sunshine! Reader. Suggestive content, lovestruck Hobie, Established relationship. FLUFF.

A/n: I did some research on the places they went to, if there are any inaccuracies on the geography/ information, please note that I've never been to any of these places, I'm only basing my knowledge on what I've researched and what I've studied in uni.

* I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms and copy and pasted on any ai software*

Navigation

Masterlist

You grunt as you lift the heavy amp, back straightened so you don't accidentally sprain yourself. Waddling towards Hobie's van, amp sitting heavily near your waist. The sun is just about rising on the horizon, painting the pavement deep blue. The water laps at the house boat's side, the sound familiar, adding to the relaxed atmosphere where you and Hobie are the only ones awake in the entire city. The early morning air nips at your skin, leaving goosebumps on the back of your neck.

Suddenly, strong familiar arms wrap around the amp. "What are you doin'? Told you I've got them" Hobie clicks his tongue, taking the amp from you.

He's annoyed but not at you, he's irritated that he got the short end of the stick, ending up waking up early (too early) to load the instruments. You don't take it to heart, knowing his annoyance isn't because of you. It would've been better if he just helped his band mates load them in, but lady luck wasn't on his side. Unfortunately he also got driving duties, now he has to drive seven hours to get to Glasgow for the band's very first big gig. Leaving the rest of the band to take (a very comfortable) train ride at a later hour. Hobie's a bit jealous on that end, he would've liked for you to see the sights on a train instead of sitting on his old van that creaks when he steers a little too far to the left.

The only silver lining about the impromptu road trip is you. Seven hours on the road with just you is pure bliss, if only he didn't have to wake up in this ungodly hour, he would've been in a better mood.

"Sorry, you were busy loading in the drums. Thought I would help" you look up at him through equally tired eyes. A cloud of breath escaping when you talk. Hobie zips your jacket further up, keeping you warm.

He heaves the amp on one arm, effortlessly carrying it. "Don't be, you're just trying to help." Hobie feels guilty for clicking his tongue at you. He holds your cold hand, sharing his warmth.

"You're definitely not a morning person" you squeeze his hand. "grumpy" bringing his hand to your lips, you leave a chaste kiss over his knuckles. "Is that the last one?"

"Think so," he looks around the area, finding nothing else to load inside the van. "Don't forget to bring in the thermos, you're turning into an icicle"

"Okay, I made us sandwiches" you smile at him, swinging your intertwined hands.

"What kind?" He stomps down his grumpy demeanor at the sound of breakfast.

"Lots!" You grin excitedly at him, Hobie wonders where you got your sudden burst of energy.

"Fuckin' hell, no wonder why you were up so late. You made every conceivable sandwich in the world" he jokes, your happy energy spreading to him.

You chuckle, "not every single one. You have the first pick for waking up so early"

"Yeah? Even though you threatened to splash me with water?" He raises a pierced brow, a smile curling on his lips.

You wince, "yeah, sorry. It finally got you to wake up though!"

"Yeah, yeah, and here I thought you would wake me up with a kiss"

"I did! Like five fucking times. You wouldn't even stir, I got desperate, okay!" You laugh, it echoes around the silent neighborhood.

"I believe you, can you get our bags from inside? I'll warm up the van" Hobie reluctantly lets go of your hand. You feel cold already.

"Get it nice and toasty for me?"

"What are you? Banana bread?"

"Funny" you point at him playfully, walking backwards.

"Don't forget the bloody Thermos!" He yells after you, following you with his gaze, making sure you don't trip because you decided to walk backwards.

You wink at him, "okay, dad!"

"Lil shit" he says with a smile.

—

Munching on your sandwich, Hobie cranked up the heating, you're now warm and toasty in your seat. The leather squeaks when you move to feed Hobie a bite of your sandwich. He *insists that he prefers yours even though you made an identical one. Hobie's free hand is glued to your thigh, squeezing it from time to time, making sure you don't fall asleep on him.

Hobie keeps his eyes on the road, trying to take a bite of the sandwich that you've teasingly moved a few inches away from his waiting mouth.

He bites at air, "Oi, what the fuck" you snicker, biting your lip. Hobie immediately figures out what you're doing, "don't make me swerve this fucking car into that ditch"

"Jeez, okay!" You laugh, leaning closer (as much as the seat belt would allow you to) Hobie takes a generous bite, "you're still grumpy? Do you need more coffee?" You rub at the corner of his mouth with your thumb, cleaning the bread crumbs. He hums appreciatively.

"I don't think that coffee's workin' too well" he says while chewing. "We're not even out of the city yet" Hobie huffs.

"Do you want me to drive for a bit?" You wait for his reaction with a tiny smirk.

"You haven't got a license," He says matter-of-fact, "you don't even know how to drive" he doesn't sound condescending or making fun of you, his voice laced with endearment. He makes a mental note to teach you once you two get back home. His fingers pinches you through your pants.

"I'm a fast learner" you joke, Hobie cracks a sleep deprived smile, oh he's definitely not a morning person. "Give it time, you basically drank the entire thermos. Maybe some music could help?"

"If it's your music, I'm gonna fall asleep on the wheel" He squeezes your thigh, just in case you didn't get his joke.

"If it's your music, It's going to burst my eardrums this early in the morning" you quip back.

"Nice. Sandwich me, love" he opens his mouth, darting his eyes from the road to you before his gaze goes back to watching the road.

You lean again, holding up the almost finished sandwich. "Do you know who invented the sandwich?" Hobie eats the entire thing in one bite, almost taking your fingers off. You glare playfully at him.

He chuckles, mouth full. "No, who?"

"Lord Sandwich, the fourth earl of Sandwich in the eighteenth century"

"You're fucking with me" Hobie takes a left turn, the van creaks, instruments in the back sliding a bit. You watch his hand turn the steering wheel, mesmerized by how his large hand grips the wheel. His rings don't help, you tilt your head, watching intently.

He pinches your thigh, getting your attention. "Hey, where'd you go?"

"Sorry, I was trying to recall the rest of the fact" you blink back to reality.

"Will you be like this the entire trip? Watching my bloody hands, you perv" He read you like an open book.

"What– I wasn't, okay! I was–" you fumble with your words.

He has a playful smirk on his lips. "You were what? Fantasizing my hands wrapped around your–"

"Stop!" You hold his hand that's on your thigh, so he could stop his teasing.

"What? I was gonna say 'wrapped around your hand', honestly what did you think I was gonna say?" He asks you playfully, shoving your shoulder lightly.

"it's too early for this shit" you mumble with a playful pout, intertwining your fingers with his.

He laughs, eyes crinkling into a smile. Hobie brings your hand to his lips, placing a quick peck on your warm hand. "Ah, too early for it? Maybe later then?"

You groan but your smile and the twinkle in your eyes says otherwise.

"What were you talking about? 'Bout the sandwich bloke?"

"John Montagu, he invented the sandwich because he didn't have time to eat a proper meal while he was playing cards and working."

"Bloody rich lord" he grumbles with malice.

"Hey, if not for him you wouldn't be eating one of my Sandwiches"

"I love eating your sandwich" he raises a teasing brow, proud of his innuendo.

"What is up with you this morning?" You laugh, playing with one of his rings, twirling the metal around his index finger. "Seriously, did I accidentally make you coffee with something in it? Is that why it says 'special' in the packaging?"

Hobie laughs loudly, echoing around the van. "You think they'd put an aphrodisiac in coffee?" He lets go of your hand for a bit while he steers the wheel with both hands. "Like ginkgo biloba or somethin'?"

You reach for his free hand immediately after he lets go of the wheel to lay it back on your thigh. "No like pistachio nuts or–" you try to think of another example, "— crab" you giggle when the word escapes your lips.

"Crab?!" He rides with your bit. "Must be some expensive bloody coffee, lovey" Hobie rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. "No wonder I tasted something fishy in that coffee"

You gasp, feigning offense. "You did not!" contributing to the bit.

"Now who's crabby this morning, huh?" He chuckles.

You roll your eyes at his pun, "argh, can't believe I have to endure seven more hours of this" teasing him, your sentence has no ounce of truth in it whatsoever. More than happy to accompany him on the trip.

"It'll be the best seven hours of your life, sweets" He looks at you through the rearview mirror with a smirk.

You can read him like a book too. Narrowing your eyes, you can just tell he has something planned, but you can't quite put your finger on it.

"You've got something up your sleeves? Spill it, Hobart"

He sideways glances at you, hiding his knowing smile. "Don't know what you're on about" Hobie clears his throat, playing it cool.

"Nope, I know you, babe. That fucking smirk of yours, I know it!" You lightly poke at his cheek.

"Lovey, I haven't got a scooby doo. I'm just here drivin' trying to get us to Glasgow"

"You get very detailed when you're lying. I know your tells!"

"That so?" He makes a mental note of what you've said, which might be handy the next time he has a surprise. Hobie opens the radio, cd already inside, it plays a loud tune, drowning out your questions.

"Hey!" You yell through the loud music. Hobie almost gives himself away with a laugh, he bites his lip to stifle it. "Whatever– wherever you're planning to stop at some backroad tourist attraction, we better not be too late for the show!"

Hobie cranks the volume up, "What? Can't hear you through the music" he gestures towards his ear.

You press the 'volume down' button, covering your ears. Now you're definitely both wide awake. "You're an ass, you can't have any more of my sandwiches" huffing, you grab a ziplock of sandwich just to tease him more.

Banter fills the van, laughs and flirty words entertain you until sleep comes back to haunt you. Unexpectedly falling asleep, Hobie lets you snooze away in his passenger seat. Avoiding potholes, slowing down when passing a speed bump. He even uses his arm to act as your second seat belt whenever he turns sharply, hand cradling your head so you don't fall off the headrest.

Hobie has the urge to wake you though, but he needs you at full energy for what he's planning on taking you. Eyes drifting to the van's console, he gazes at your camera, taking a mental note to remember to give you the extra roll of films he bought for you.

—

Hobie shuts off the engine, eyes bleary, he clicks the seatbelt off of him. He has the urge to close his eyes and join you in slumberland. One look at your sleeping face almost pushes him off the edge.

He leans closer to you, hand cupping your jaw, he taps your face with his thumb. "Love" you don't stir, eyes still closed. Hobie's so attuned to you that he knows you're not faking it.

He kisses you chastely, warm lips puckering to wake you up. Hobie calls your name this time, poking your cheek. You still sleep, lips slightly parted. He's absolutely jealous of you right now. Peppering your face with kisses, he fully intends to wake you up. Defeated, you still lay asleep.

A bright idea pops up in his mind. Pulling away, Hobie grips the steering wheel with both hands, arms length away from him. He screams bloody murder like he's about to hit a wall.

You jump away, yelling for a second before seeing the parking lot bare, van parked safely. You clutch your chest, eyes now wide awake. Slapping his arm, you glare at him. Hobie has a shit-eating grin on his face, arm raised to shield himself. His laugh echoes.

"You fucker!" Slap "I could've" slap "gotten a heart attack!" You huff with a pout.

"I'm sorry, c'mere" he tries to hug you, standing your ground, you cross your arms on your chest. "You wouldn't wake up! I'm sorry, please?" Hobie flexes his fingers, face apologetic.

"Are we here? Did I sleep the entire time?"

"No, lovey. We're at a stopover" he points outside with his head. "'m really sorry. If there's any consolation I think you'll like this place"

Your eyes zero in on the sign, reading it loudly, "Stratford Upon-Avon?!" Screeching excitedly. You click off your seat belt with urgency, with the intention of leaving Hobie hanging as revenge. You'll kiss him thank you later anyway.

Opening the door, you step off, stretching your legs and breathing in fresh air. Warmer air greets you, a much kinder one from a few hours ago. Trainers bouncing off in excitement. Greenery and old timey Houses fill your vision, adding to your eagerness.

Hobie joins your side, your sling bag over his broad shoulder. Hiding his disappointment from your lack of hug, he only blames himself for scaring the crap out of you.

"Y/n." The lack of the term of endearment alerts you, whirling around, you see his shoulders slumped, face clearly hiding his true feelings behind a straight face. You know he'll feel worse if you don't try to reassure him. So you do, hand signaling him to hold yours.

He blames the early morning for making him all lovesick, if it was the later hours, Hobie would've stuck to teasing you about your reaction. With a sigh and a weak roll of his eyes, he steps in your arms instead of just holding your hand, head resting on your shoulder, yawning as you knead his aching back; you indulge him.

Good thing it's still too early for tourists to flock the area, save for a few scattered ones looking for a place to have breakfast at.

"Apology accepted," leaning back, you straighten the knots on his forehead. "You need better coffee" you scrunch your nose at his closed eyes.

"Or sleep" he grumbles.

"Do you want to sleep for a bit inside the van?" You feel bad for sleeping the entire time. "I'll stay with you don't worry. I won't fall asleep this time."

He shakes his head, slapping his own face to wake himself up. Jumping up and down with you still in his arms. You don't question it, jumping along with him. Metal accessories clinking together, boots thumping hard on the pavement.

Spluttering, he shakes his head vigorously. You giggle at his face.

"Alright, 'm good. Let's go get coffee"

—

You lead a very sleep deprived Hobie by the sleeve of his hoodie, too warm for his leather one yet too cold for just a t-shirt. He lets you drag him along, not because he's disinterested, sleepiness just got the best of him.

Gasping, you point at a unique streetlight. Little statues of a donkey and a man sitting on the metal sides, a curious owl placed on top, looking down on the street.

"Look at that donkey with a guitar!"

Hobie squints through the haziness, "think that's a lute. Kinda looks like you." He still finds the time to tease you even with heavy eyes. A smirk playing on his lips, watching you closely.

"You're the owl then" you let go of his sleeve, taking the camera from your bag, positioning and angling it for the best lighting. He watches your face full of concentration with a faint endearing smile.

Click.

"Got it" you smile, spotting a stand full of maps and information about the place. "Oohh" skipping over the display, you take one. "Hobie, look! Babe?" You look up from the pamphlet when Hobie doesn't reply back.

He walks towards you at a snail's pace. Grunting back in acknowledgement.

You wince, practically feeling his tiredness ooze out of him. "Let's get that coffee. There's a café near here."

"Overpriced coffee" he could only mumble out a protest. While you guide him towards the shop for some much needed refuel. It's not like he has any other choices, all the coffee shops near the area are unnecessarily expensive, save for gas station coffee– which is too far to get to right now, he might fall asleep while driving to it.

Hobie can't let himself drive through the fog of sleep, especially that you're with him. So he surrenders with the promise of getting his pep back so he can drive you safely to the next destination.

—

After gulping down two cups of coffee that made Hobie seethe after hearing the price, he leaves you on the table to go to the loo, your eyes glued on the leaflet, absorbing every word and information on it.

Hobie makes his way back, now wide awake, he watches you put too much milk on your cup, too distracted with reading– it overflows, spilling the hot liquid on the table. He has never loved you more when you jump in your seat, quietly yelping, clumsily wiping at the table with a napkin. He shakes his head with a fond smile and soft eyes.

Hobie asks for more napkins from the cashier, promptly heading towards your table. He helps you wordlessly, wiping, avoiding spilling any more expensive tea.

"Sorry" you expect Hobie to chastise you for spilling your drink, instead, he looks at you with concern and fondness.

"You alright? Didn't spill any on you?"

You smile softly, thankful eyes staring back at him. "I'm okay, it's not that hot anyway"

"Sure?" He takes his tea stained finger on the tip of your nose, leaving a wet patch over it. Green tea wafts your nostrils. "There's some on you"

"Ack!" Wiping it with a clean tissue, you roll your eyes; faint smile telling him otherwise.

"That's how it is then?" He chuckles, satisfied with your reaction. He sits down next to you, drying his hands on a napkin. Arm instinctively flying around your shoulder, holding you close. "Where to go next?"

"Hmm?" You hum, drinking what's left of your tea, "I thought you had it planned?"

"I planned on stopping here, thought you got the next part since you've always wanted to go here, y'know planned the entire trip in your head before"

For a second he thinks that you're disappointed in him for not planning ahead. The thought stops the second you beam at him, hands on his shoulder to anchor yourself on him. lips puckering to kiss him on the cheek quickly since you're in public. Hobie doesn't protest, leaning towards the kiss, angling his face so that your lips just about graze the corner of his lip. You know exactly what he's doing, you let him, moving slyly closer to his lips.

"Oh, you know me so well!" You say excitedly, pulling away, shaking his shoulder for emphasis. "First stop! The river Avon!"

—

"The ferry's closed" you come back to his side with a frown. Gusts of cool air rushes past, rustling your jacket, the leaves on the trees whisper and rustle in the wind, big fluffy clouds providing shade. The river laps at the dock, adding to your downturned lips. "The employee also said Shakespeare's house and the other houses are closed since it's too early"

"We'll just have to come back on our way home then" your frown turns back into a smile, poking his sides teasingly.

"You'll take me back here?" You say with a smirk, playful eyes smile back at him, finger poking his waist. "Ohhh, you're so smitten"

He takes your poking finger with a roll of his eyes, hiding the growing smile on his lips with a scoff. "Yeah, yeah. Where to now, tour guide?"

"The butterfly farm is open early. Is that okay?"

"Why not?"

"We have to walk there, it's a bit of a trek" you shrug, "it's okay if we don't have time for it"

He calculates in his head, if you only stay an hour more, you two can be right back on schedule; just on time to get to Glasgow without being late for the show.

"We've got time to spare"

"You sure? I don't want us to be late" toe to toe with Hobie, finger still encased in his hand, you ask him anyway even though you know what his answer will be.

"Yes, let's go before people flock this place"

Hand in hand, you take in the sights, stopping from time to time to shoot pictures of the historical houses and buildings. Hobie becomes your model, posing like a natural in front of the lens. He wrangles the camera from you to take your picture right in front of Shakespeare's home and school. Shyness slowly edging away for a while as Hobie hypes you up. Instructing you to pose here and there.

You ran out of film before reaching the butterfly garden, stopping right in front of the royal Shakespeare theatre. The red bricks and dome like structure looms overhead.

"Aww, I think we used it all"

"'ve got more" he takes an extra roll of film from his pocket. You stare at him like he just did magic right in front of your eyes.

"Where'd you get this?" You say, bewildered.

"Brought it with me" he says nonchalantly like he didn't do the sweetest thing just for you.

"Have I told you lately that you're really amazing?" You load film inside the camera, quickly snapping a picture of his smug face.

"No, maybe you should say it often"

So enamored, chest filled with love, you agree. "Mm-hmm, maybe I should. Now, can you stand right there while I take a picture of your amazing face"

—

You finally make it to the butterfly garden. An arch with a large colourful butterfly display greets you. Inside is a beautiful glass greenhouse with a dome ceiling, it shines brightly in the early morning sun, adding to your excitement.

Once paid for the tickets, you and Hobie head inside, you're practically jumping off the glass walls. Hobie's hand leads you inside, preventing you from sliding on the gravel and breaking your ankle on the rough ground.

You're in complete awe of the place, it looked beautiful outside but nothing compares to it once inside. The sun glows brilliantly, bouncing its rays on the glass ceiling and walls. Flora and greenery as far as your eyes could see, strategically placed around the massive greenhouse. The flowery and sweet smells entranced you to explore the entire place, not to mention the colorful butterflies in all shapes and sizes fluttering all around you. Birds make their morning sing-song adding to the fantastical atmosphere.

The look on your face makes waking up a few hours earlier than scheduled makes it all worth it for Hobie. He softly smiles at you, hands clasped comfortably over yours. Eyes sparkling, mirroring yours, he guides you further inside. You let him, neck craned up, watching as butterflies swirl overhead.

Gravel crunches under your footsteps, Hobie stops walking. You almost bumped into him, he tugs at your hand, pointing down on the shrubbery.

"What is that?" You squint, jumping when something green slithers further away from you two and into the thick greenery. "Woah!"

He chuckles at your reaction. You fumble for your camera to capture a photo of the iguana lounging in the warmth, scales as green as the leaves around it.

Click.

"Look, it's you!" You point at its sharp spikes, looking at Hobie with a teasing smile.

"Careful, he bites" he taunts back, making you retract your finger back.

Strolling around more, you take so many pictures, the film Hobie gave you is almost full. You've even snuck in candid pictures of Hobie, and by god, he looked great in all of them. While all your pictures looked like you were at a field trip with your parents, posing with a goofy smile on your face as a butterfly lands on your shoulder.

It's been almost an hour of exploring, so you hold his hand again to tug him towards the exit with a promise of going back, without a time constraint next time.

Crisp air greets you two, hand in hand, you walk by the river, watching as ducks and swans swim on the surface. Their quacking and honking gets louder and louder as they notice you, asking for food.

"Maybe we should've brought rice with us" You mumble, looking at the birds with an apologetic look as if they can understand you.

"Do you think if you fall in they'll eat you?" Hobie asks with a serious look on his face, a small smirk curling on his lips, the only indication that he's fully joking.

"I don't think they'll like me very much, I'm full of bread, which isn't nutritious for 'em" you playfully quipped back, squeezing his hand. He chuckles at your comment.

Hobie slyly moves you away from the river, just in case you actually fall in. He guides you to his right, so that he's the one nearest to the water instead of you. Hand holding your left one, you lean to his side, full of affection in your chest, you softly kiss his shoulder. Whispering softly a 'thank you'

—

You've been quiet for an hour, Hobie side eyes you from time to time. The sudden silence makes him concerned, moreso when your face has contorted into a grimace, eyebrows furrowed, you bite your lips with a sharp inhale.

He's worried since you've been extremely chatty an hour ago, voice filling the van, you help him stay awake. Well until he hit a speed bump that made you squeak out.

"You alright, lovey?" Hobie asks with a squeeze of your thigh.

You sit with a fluffy blanket over your lap, a neck pillow under your head. You look comfortable enough, so why do you look like you're in pain?

You exhale, looking at him through the corners of your eyes without moving your neck. "Mm-hmm"

"Mm-hmm? What's wrong? Is the seat not warm enough?" Hobie looks at you through the rearview mirror, seeing your knitted eyebrows.

You ball the blanket under your knuckles. "I'm okay"

He nods, unconvinced.

After a few moments of smooth driving on the highway, cars drive past, you squeeze your thighs together. Controlling your breathing, you try not to think of water.

"Love" he calls for you, "did you see that car with the flame decals on it?" Chuckling softly, he places his hand over your thigh again. Hobie feels the tight muscles under your pants, eyebrow raising in question.

"Y/n" he snickers under his breath. Hands kneading softly at your thigh. Hobie translates the squeezing of your thighs together and your elevated breathing, "I swear if you're hot and bothered, I can't park right here–"

"I need to pee" you say embarrassed, avoiding his eyes. Only finally admitting it so he doesn't actually think you're aroused for some reason.

Hobie laughs loudly, hand slapping the steering wheel. "I told you to go before we left"

"Hobie," you whine. "Not funny, I've been holding it for so long"

"Alright," he clams up, still smiling at your predicament. "There's no gas station near here, love. We're too far away to turn around but we're thirty minutes away from Manchester. We can stop there"

"Thirty?!" You're in agony, hands tucked in between your legs in an attempt to tamp down the need to go.

Hobie moves his hand from your thigh to the back of your neck, kneading softly. He presses the gas, if he hurries you can make it in twenty five without breaking any traffic laws. He makes a joke about you peeing in a bottle which you only glared in return.

Twenty minutes later, you're folded in half on your seat, head layed on your lap, trying to distract yourself by counting the threads in your blanket.

"Almost there, love. Hold on" Hobie pats your head in reassurance. You groan out a reply.

—

You jumped from your seat after a second of Hobie parking the car in front of a gas station. Hand tightening around your travel sized toilet paper.

Hobie patiently waits for you outside the door. Fingers fiddling with his web shooters tucked under his sleeve.

The door creaks open. His neck cranes up to meet your relieved face. "Success?"

"Remind me to not drink anything until we make it to Glasgow."

"You still need to drink some water y'know" he walks back to the car with your pinkies linked together.

"Are we still far?"

"A bit, let's stop by Liverpool to eat lunch" he opens the passenger door for you. You smile sweetly at the gesture.

"Thank you, sorry for being annoying" You hug his waist with one arm briefly just before you hop to your seat.

"Not annoying, tell me next time, yeah?"

"Okay" you lean down to press a kiss on his lips, savoring the moment. He hums into it, his hand right over your shoulder so that you don't fall off.

—

As the van passes through Manchester, you spot the canals, houseboats parked on the side, you get reminded of your shared home.

"Look! That one looks like ours, same color too"

"Missing home already?"

"Kind of. Wish we could stop here, they've got the oldest library in Britain" You lay your head over the window, watching as landmarks pass by in a blur.

"They also have a serial killer too"

You scoff, "in this day and age?" Looking at Hobie's face, you don't see any lie to his comment. Your face falls, "wait, you serious?"

He shrugs, side eyeing you. You have absolutely no idea if he's joking or not, Hobie's good at acting like that, especially if he's teasing you.

"Hobie, you're joking right?"

"Hmm?"

"Is there actually a killer on the loose here?" You instinctively check the door locks.

He doesn't respond, adding to your fear. You completely miss the mischievous look on his face though.

"I don't want to stop here anymore" you mumble.

"We could always take a detour right now–"

"Nope, no thank you" you answer lightning quick.

He hides his smile behind his hand. Maybe he'll tell you all about it on the return trip.

—

An hour later you're sitting down outside a local restaurant in Chinatown, waiting for your food to arrive. The air blows softly, fluttering your lashes. You close your eyes, head resting on your hand, elbow over the table. You can see the faint outline of the Liverpool cathedral underneath the fog. It's gotten a few degrees colder since you've arrived, the streets shine from the earlier rain, petrichor wafts your senses.

Two bowls of warm noodles are placed in front of you. Side dishes, dimsum and xiaolongbao makes your stomach rumble at the sight and savory smell.

"Thank you," you smile at the waiter.

Wondering where Hobie went, lo and behold, he emerges, walking towards you with a paper cup of convenience store coffee. "Food is here, you still need coffee?"

He sits down across from you. "Yeah, needed another boost" Hobie scrunches his nose before standing up again, moving his chair right next to you, avoiding it from scraping the concrete. He sits back down, arm thrown over the back of your chair.

You look at him with a fond smile, heart eyes staring back at Hobie.

"What?" He challenges you with a raised eyebrow and faint smirk.

"Nothin'" you shove him lightly with your shoulder.

"Hm" he hums, you translate it to an 'obviously'

You eat with content, letting him steal some of your broth from your bowl, in exchange, he gives you a dimsum from his share.

—

You do your best at reading the booklet about Liverpool that you've bought before leaving the city while the vehicle moves.

"The guy who designed the cathedral is the same person who designed the red telephone box"

Hobie listens intently with coffee coursing through his veins, stomach full of food, he's properly fueled to drive for more than four hours to Glasgow. His band mates better be there already when you two arrive or he'll wring their necks.

There won't be any more stops until you get to the destination since there'll only be the highway to drive on. It stretches far, cars whirring past. With Sprawling green hills, and mountains curved around the highway makes the drive much more serene. Powerlines on the sides ground you, making it all seem familiar. The weather is foggy, blanketing the England to Scotland border.

The van rattles as Hobie swerves the car to the right. He plants his hand back in your knee, palm circling the curve of it affectionately.

"Ohh, they've got a beach" you stare at the picture of the nature reserve with its sandy windswept dunes, and grassy knolls.

"Add that to the list"

"Okay" you take out a pen from the glovebox, biting the cap off with your teeth, you scribble it on the back of the booklet where there's an empty space. Using your thighs as a table, you add the destination on your little list right under 'old thatch tavern'

"There," you hum happily.

"Is there anything on there 'bout Glasgow?" He kneads your knee with his knuckle.

"A tiny bit" you flip to the back, "they've got a mural trail, we might pass through it on the way. Ooh they also have a glasshouse."

You two pass the time by giving him facts about the places you've passed. Hobie listens in, adding his own knowledge to the mix. An hour later, you're both jamming to his music cassette. You try to make him laugh by banging your head to the song. Whipping your head too hard, you end up banging it on the dashboard.

With wide eyes and laughter threatening to spill out, Hobie comforts you with his palm over your forehead.

You two chat about with you feeding him crisps in between, exchanging stories and playing 'I spy' Hobie ends up winning with his enhanced vision, you challenge him again with a huff. He still wins the second and third round. His prize? Hobie tells you he's gonna hold onto it until you reach Glasgow.

At hour three, the car makes a metal groaning sound in the middle of the highway, you and Hobie looked at each other in fear for a second, silent and waiting for the van to keel over. You both sigh in relief after a few good minutes of silence with the car still running smoothly. Good thing it did because you have no idea how you'll make it to Glasgow if it did decide to just die in the middle of the road.

Before you know it, Hobie parks the van near the venue. Clicking off his seatbelt while you stretch in your seat. Hobie leans towards you, elbow right over the center console, he helps you with your seatbelt before promptly moving his hand to your cheek to face him.

"Can I help you?" You giggle, pecking the tip of his nose. "Are you claiming your prize?"

"This isn't my prize, lovey." He softly says against your lips. "That'll wait for later"

"Okay," you feel like your cheeks are on fire.

"This is my thanks" He meets your waiting lips, moving with yours. Cupping his jaw, thumb rubbing his cheeks, you breathe through your nose so the kiss would last longer yet it still leaves you breathless. You feel his hand around your nape, deepening the kiss further.

Hobie pulls away, seeing your pupils completely dilated, chest heaving for air.

"Thanks for what?" You ask breathlessly.

"Comin' with me" with his finger, he wipes the sheen off your lips, it stays there for a second, savoring, longing. For everything.

"You could've asked me to go anywhere and I still would've gone. As long as it's with you."

He answers with another kiss, laced with so much love and thankfulness, you feel it all through it.

A sudden knock has you pulling away, Hobie clicks his tongue at the intrusion. Turning around, he spots his bandmates whistling and wiggling their eyebrows. One was making a gesture that made you hide your face.

"You fuckin' wankers!" Hobie opens the door, slamming it on his friends' faces, they scatter, hooting and hollering, taunting him.

You watch as Hobie play fights with them, arm choking his bass player. With a lopsided smile on your face, excitement bubbles in your chest, the return trip and his promise makes you excited more than anything.

A/N: this fic is long overdue that we're at 700 already! Thank you all so much for reading and interacting with my little stories! Love all 700 of you ❤️

[soulkeeper801]

Safe place - Twice Sana

Requested: Reader has always been someone who doesn’t let others see or know how she’s truly feeling(in terms of sadness and negative emotions) even when it comes to her girlfriend Sana. But, after an incident(you can choose…something really angsty preferably no death tho) Sana tries to get her to open up which leads to an argument and reader eventually breaking down.

Words: 1.6k

Angst? Fluff/Comfort

Sana x idol!f!reader (Y/N's group is disbanding)

“So the group is stopping all activities that were ready for the rest of the year,” one of the directors said, closing the file he was holding in his hands and giving a glance at where you were, “we’ve tried many things and not one of them have worked. I’m sorry, girls,” he continued, her gaze now filled with a hint of pity, “but we can’t do anything else, the project is over”.

You knew this would happen sooner or later. You thought you had prepared yourself to hear those words yet when they touched your ears your heart broke in a million pieces. The one thing you had worked hard for years was ending suddenly, leaving you with nothing else. 

What were you supposed to do now?

“We’ll find a way,” you whispered to one of your members as you saw her hold back tears.

There was no way.

You could only give them faint hopes to fight for what was left but deep down you knew it was really over.

The ride home was silent.

No one dared to say a word, knowing very well that it was probably one of the last times you would be together in the van that got you to places that only feeded hopes that never blossomed.

“Are you having dinner with me, baby?” a text lighted up your phone screen.

And it somehow lightened up your mood at least for a second.

“I might be late, love,” you replied.

“I’m buying take out on my way home, I’ll wait for you,” she texted one more time and you left out a deep sigh.

Sana was your number one supporter. Always getting in trouble with her own company just to promote you and your group. 

But not even that could save you.

As the van pulled up to your apartment building, the somber mood inside was hard to shake. You and your fellow group members slowly filed out, each lost in their own thoughts. 

The weight of the failed project pressed heavily on your shoulders, and the uncertainty of the future was overwhelming.

When you entered your apartment, you couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness. The walls adorned with posters and memories of your group's journey served as a painful reminder of what was now lost. 

As soon as they went to sleep, you made your way out to Sana’s apartment. It was something they all knew you would do and as always, they made sure no one would notice you were gone.

“I got your favorite,” Sana said when she saw you crossing the door frame with your spare key, “you must be so tired,” she continued, getting close to you and embracing you in a tight hug.

A hug that served not only as a welcome but also as the comfort you were looking for. 

You hated to be seen as vulnerable, not in control of your own feelings and emotions so you always wore a cool mask to protect yourself. You held back all the tears that had pooled on your eyes as soon as Sana’s warmth covered you.

“You still have glitter on your hair,” she chuckled, taking a strain of bright color from your hair and shoulders but her eyes lingered a little longer on your features. She knew you too well. “Everything alright?” 

Your gaze immediately went to the floor, there was no way you could lie at her while looking at her eyes. “Yeah,” you trailed off, trying to talk about anything else but the thing that was making you feel miserable. “What do we have for dinner?” you asked, taking a step towards the kitchen counter where the paper bags were placed.

Sana let you go but followed you closely with her eyes. Something was off.

As you unpacked the takeout containers on the kitchen counter, Sana leaned against the doorway, her concern evident in her gaze. She knew you better than anyone else and could tell when something was bothering you, no matter how hard you tried to hide it.

You both sat down at the small dining table, and the atmosphere in the room felt heavy with unspoken emotions. The aroma of the food filled the air, but neither of you had much of an appetite.

Sana finally broke the silence, her voice soft and understanding. "You can talk to me, you know. I can see that something's bothering you. You don't have to pretend everything's okay."

“It’s okay,” you lied one more time. Sana didn’t need to know what was happening. Your problems were yours to deal with and she didn’t have to be bothered. “This soup is amazing, where is it from?”

Sana smiled sadly. Didn’t you trust her enough?

“That Japanese place that opened last week,” she replied quietly, taking a spoonful herself to confirm what you were saying.

“We should buy from there more often,” you continued, trying to bring the conversation to a shallow topic. “Not a lot of new businesses around lately, huh?”

You lifted your gaze to find Sana looking intently at you. She had left her spoon on the side of her plate as she studied your expression looking for answers.

“Not a lot,” she replied, waiting patiently for you to go at your own pace, to process whatever was going through your mind until it was the right time for you to come forward.

Silence fell upon you two once again. You didn’t know but Sana couldn’t keep her eyes away from you. 

Usually, you would tell her all about your day. Where you girls went to record, what kind of food the team got you, if anything fun happened, you would tell every detail of it. 

Sana knew how much it excited you to be in this industry and how passionate you were about your job.

So it felt weird for her to have you dejected and silent during the little time you had to share everything with each other.

Sana finally broke the silence, her voice soft and understanding. "You can talk to me, baby. I can definitely see that something's wrong. You can trust me.”

You sighed, realizing that there was no point in keeping up the facade with Sana anymore. She had been your rock through all the highs and lows of your journey with the group, and you trusted her with all your soul.

“The group’s over,” were the words that left your lips.

And you felt the world crumbling around you. Saying it out loud made it ten times realer and it broke you down.

“Oh, Y/N,” Sana breathed out, reaching for you to bring you into a comforting hug.

Once again, her warmth made you feel safe but this time you let it all out, letting the tears fall freely from your eyes as your shoulders shook from the heavy sobs you weren’t able to control.

Sana held you close, offering the comfort you so desperately needed. She didn't say anything; she simply held you, letting you pour out all the pent-up emotions that had been festering inside you. 

Her gentle presence was a balm for your wounded soul, and for the first time in a while, you didn't have to pretend to be strong.

As you cried in Sana's embrace, she whispered soothing words and reassurances. Her hand gently rubbed your back in a comforting rhythm, and she let you take all the time you needed to let it out.

After what felt like an eternity, your sobs began to subside, and you pulled away from Sana's embrace, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. You felt emotionally drained but also a strange sense of relief. Finally sharing your pain with someone who understood made the burden a little lighter.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” you said, a little calmer after having cried for several minutes. “The group was all that I had”.

“That’s not true,” she replied, putting a strand of your hair behind your ear to look at your face better, “You have your talent,” she assured, “you have your passion and you have the girls who I’m sure also want to continue with this path,” she continued.

She looked at you with adoration in her eyes.

“You all will leave the company after the contract is terminated so you can get together and start again as a group somewhere else,” she proposed. 

You stared at Sana, her words slowly sinking in. The idea of starting anew with your group members, away from the constraints of the company that had just let you go, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"But where would we even begin?" you asked, uncertainty still lingering in your voice.

Sana's smile grew brighter, filled with determination. "There will be a way. I believe in you, in all of you. You have the talent, the passion, and the dedication. You can build something incredible together, something that's truly yours."

Her unwavering support gave you a glimmer of hope in this otherwise dark moment. It was a daunting prospect, but the thought of creating music and art with your friends, free from corporate limitations, was a dream worth chasing.

You looked at her and her smile gave you hope. She leaned in to hold your face in her hands and instinctively you closed your eyes. Sana always knew what to say to make you feel better, to make you feel protected and safe when everything was crumbling down. 

“I believe in you,” she repeated, leaving a soft kiss on your lips that lingered for a couple of seconds, “I can’t wait to see all the success you’re about to have”.

You nodded at her words, reloaded with a new sense of motivation. 

As you leaned on Sana's shoulder, you realized that even when one chapter ends, another can begin. You had the talent, the passion, and, most importantly, the unwavering support of someone who believed in you. 

With a grateful heart, you whispered, "Thank you, for everything," knowing that you were not alone in this journey.

[magnifythesun]

CCO Anthony Padilla and President Ian Hecox of Smosh

ooooooo let's goooo!

post writing notes: YAY OKAY IVE DONE IT!!! so i read this and immediately assumed you meant a business au and i for the life of me have not been able to think of what kind of business they would run in this fic SO it is "the company" and they make money and also have shareholders and they call their employees their "crew" and dont ask me any details i was unable to figure it out!! but i think this turned out pretty cute?? more angsty than i was anticipating but with comfort i promise.

also i stayed g rated since i wasn't sure what rating you were comfortable with but Company(TM) President Ian and CCO Anthony could get it on i think if anyone wants that in the future lmao, just don't expect any details on what the hell they're selling sorry lmao! also i know nothing about business

bonus points if you can spot the direct reference to the wikipedia article for the term CCO.

---

The responsibility of being in charge of the company weighed heavily on Ian. It had been at its worst when Anthony had left, the fear of driving the company into the ground, of not being a good enough leader, of failing to thrive without his right-hand man.

When Anthony had returned, it was like a breath of the freshest air. Although Ian maintained his position as President, Anthony taking the role of CCO was possibly the best business decision Ian had ever made. Anthony had always been best with the marketing and business strategy, with an eye for the best trends to get their company booming. A huge weight felt like it was moved off Ian's shoulders. He could just focus on the top-level stuff and taking care of his employees and leave the marketing, which Ian had always hated, to Anthony.

Still, this didn't mean Ian didn't get stressed anymore. Ian loved his work, but sometimes it became overwhelming, the way his mind spun around, worrying about the whether he'd assigned the right person to the right project, whether his employees were happy, and so forth. Over the course of each work week, the panic would build up inside, setting him on edge until he would lie awake at night, staring up at his bedroom ceiling as his mind flew.

Reprieve came from an unexpected corner.

There was a routine now. At the end of the work week, there was always a meeting, and he and Anthony would attend. Ian would mostly listen, too stressed and sleep-deprived to think of any meaning contribution. Plus, Anthony was better at leading the meeting anyway, as it was mostly about that week's sales. Afterward, Anthony would talk him down from all his worries, and Ian would be able to breathe until the next week began. This week was no different.

At the end of the meeting, everyone filed out, excited to book it home for the weekend, leaving Ian and Anthony alone in the big meeting room. Ian let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging, letting the last shards of his confident facade crumble and fall. Anthony glanced over at him as he shuffled his papers back into order.

"You alright?" He asked this every week.

"You know me," Ian waved a hand dismissively, "I get in my head."

"You're too hard on yourself, man," Anthony tapped the papers on the desk with finality. "Didn't you hear anything I said just now? Our sales are up, stockholders happy, and we even get to give a big bonus to the whole 'crew,' just like you always talk about doing."

Ian shook his head like he could knock the words away, standing up to face the big window that was letting in the light of the late afternoon sun.

"This year is going great, Ian! Why won't you let yourself celebrate this success that we've built?"

Anthony sounded tired. Ian couldn't blame him. They'd had this conversation every week for the last six months. However, this time, Anthony's words just couldn't shake the dread inside him.

This year, things were going great. But it wasn't that long ago when it had been the whole company on Ian's shoulders, margins in the red, the heavy weight of responsibility for all of his people's livelihoods crushing him into the ground. What's to say this year's success wouldn't be short-lived? Was there already something he wasn't seeing, some sign of trouble to come?

And what if, when things got rough... What if Anthony...

A gentle warm grip on his wrist startled him out of his thoughts. Ian turned, surprised. They'd had this conversation a million times, but Anthony always talked him out of it, sitting over at the table while Ian paced out his anxieties. He'd never come to join him by the window, and certainly had never—

Anthony tugged him slightly so that they were facing each other directly, the sunlight filtering through Anthony's hair so that the light brown highlights he'd gotten sparkled. Ian, for a blessed moment, couldn't think of anything else at all. Then, Anthony's hands took his own.

"I," Anthony started, not seeming sure of himself, "I get this feeling. Every week, I reassure you about the company. About how we're doing. About how our 'crew' seems really happy about where we're at, how we're seeing success at levels we could barely dream of back when we first started this." Anthony paused, his face filled with such genuine worry that Ian felt the hot sting of guilt roil in his stomach. "But, Ian, telling you all that doesn't seem to help you for very long."

Ian sighed, looking off to the side. "I'm sorry, I don't know-"

"I think I do," Anthony cut him off, reaching up to grab his shoulders instead. "Ian, I don't even know if I can say this in a way that will fully convince you, but I—," He pushed through with growing confidence, "I'm not leaving this company again."

How did this man always see right through him?

"I'm not leaving you again," Anthony said, quieter, and Ian couldn't stop the tears that were coming to his eyes. "Ever. Do you understand?"

Ian reached up and swiped the tears away. "Yeah," He said, shakily.

"I'm not leaving." Anthony shook him slightly, the look in his eyes so serious that it began to chip away at the pit in Ian's stomach that had sat there for years.

"Right. Yeah," Ian nodded his head.

"I'm not. We're gonna be running this thing for years," Anthony smiled, "Into the ground if necessary."

Ian laughed, "Okay, okay. I believe you." And he actually did. Another, heavier weight that he hadn't realized he was still carrying felt like it was melting away. "Alright, good."

They stood there just a little too long, Anthony's hands warm on Ian's shoulders, the sun bringing out each delicate shade of brown in Anthony's eyes. And again, for a moment, Ian couldn't think about anything else.

"Right, so." Anthony let go and walked back over to the table. Ian took in a slow, deep breath and let it out as Anthony grabbed his papers and shoved them in his briefcase. "I don't know if you even realized with your President head so far above the clouds, but we just wrapped a fiscal year!"

Ian rolled his eyes. "Of course I know that."

"Just checking!" Anthony beamed at him. "So, wanna celebrate? How about soup at your place?"

That startled a sharp laugh out of Ian. "That's the biggest celebration you can think of?"

"Look," Anthony held up a haughty finger. "As your CCO, I think making soup tonight will allow us to achieve our long-term objectives."

Ian scoffed. "Yeah, your long-term objective to have me cook you soup," Ian said dryly, grabbing his own briefcase and heading toward the door.

"No, hey, hear me out!" Anthony followed him out. "I've got a whole pitch for it and everything!"

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Somehow, Through the Storm

Summary:

Living in the slums of the Warehouse District, Kaz and Inej are struggling to cling on to life through a seemingly unending winter. Wrapped up in a stranger's overcomplicated marriage contract that he is convinced is key to solving the merciless weather, Kaz remains busy and distracted for days on end, putting everything else at risk. So when a storm ravages the city and sweeps Inej into danger, the offer of safety, food, and a place to stay is an overwhelming one - no matter the cost. Terrified of mounting threats, Inej signs a contract - not knowing she would land herself trapped at the Menagerie. Kaz signs a contract that states if he can walk all the way through the city and back to the Warehouse District with Inej behind him, never looking back at her, they will both go free. But this is the Barrel, the darkest part of the city where the rules of physics can change with the stroke of a pen; the journey back will not be the same as journey there…

This is a Hadestown-inspired reimagining of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, casting Kaz and Inej as our main characters and heavily featuring our beloved Crows, set in an alternate version of the Grishaverse with a different magic system based entirely on contracts.

Tags: @lunarthecorvus @marielaure @multi-fandom-bi @igotthisaccountunderduress @thelibraryofalexandriastillburns @devoted-people-hater @spraypaintstainonawhitewall

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list let me know <3

Warnings for this chapter: homelessness, implied threats, food scarcity, implied loss of parents/family/loved ones

AO3 link:

NOTE: I know I said that the first two chapters would come out today and I am still hoping to get chapter 2 out later on today but I'm not 100% that will be possible as I have a lot more left to write than I initially anticipated, but it will at least be coming soon!

Chapter 1 - Inej

Some flowers bloom where the green grass grows; our praise is not for them, but the ones who bloom in the bitter snow. We raise our cups to them

- We Raise Our Cups, Hadestown 

This is an old story. It has been told many times, in many ways, with many different faces, and yet we tell it again. This is a sad story. And yet, we tell it anyway. That’s our role, in all of this, and we are nothing if we do not fulfil it. This time, it started - as Inej’s stories seemed to have begun to do so with concerning frequency - with getting kicked out. 

“No- please, wait-” her pleas were cut off by the dull, painful thud of a bag being hurled into her chest. 

She gasped, winded, and as she stumbled backwards her foot slipped from the top step. Hendrija huffed what might have been a short, breathy laugh as she watched Inej fall, but Inej managed to regain at least some of her dignity as she rebalanced on the gravel. She was shorter than Hendrija anyway, and glaring up at the older woman standing above her on the porch she felt incredibly aware of her smallness. 

“Move on,” Hendrija jutted her chin vaguely down the street, “You ain’t wanted here, girl,”

“Please, Hen, I swear I’ll get you the money-”

“No you won’t,”

“I will,” she promised, “Please, just a couple of days, I swear, I just need a couple of days, I’ll get you-”

“Three months. I gave you three months grace, and I haven’t seen a cent. You’re done, now get off my property before I call the stadwatch,”

“No, Hendrija- Hendrija!”

The door slammed in front of Inej’s nose and she screamed her frustration at the apathetic panels. That was it, then: she had officially been thrown out of every hostel in Ketterdam. Brilliant. 

There was, unbeknownst to Hendrija, almost one hundred kruge tightly hand sewn into an inside pocket of Inej’s jacket - but last time she’d tried to pay her with ‘that type of cash’ Hendrija had refused it. 

“You don’t come in here and give me someone else’s money, girl,”

“I didn’t-”

“You earn some money for a room here, or you don’t keep one. You got it?”

Inej wasn’t sure what else Hendrija expected her to pay with, though. There weren’t any jobs to find. Not now. Not ever.  

“Fine,” she’d said, “I’ll earn something. How’d you-?”

“You think I don’t know you ain’t worked a day since you got here?” Hendrija nodded to the purple bills tucked between Inej’s fingers, “Where’d you get it?”

Inej squared her shoulders, pretending not to feel the pit crumbling inside her stomach, as she told her where the money was from out loud and apologised, again, to her Saints inside her head. Hendrija’s cheeks blanched. 

“At the very least, lass, if you’re gonna steal, don’t steal from him. Nasty way to go, when he gets to you - and he will. Always does,”

Inej had given her a sincere nod, then brushed off the conversation without another thought. It didn’t matter what anyone she stole from might do if they caught her, because they wouldn’t catch her. No-one ever did. 

She lingered for a brief moment on the porch of the rooming house, as though Hendrija might open the door and say that she’d changed her mind, or that was only teasing and oh dear, Inej, don’t you take things too seriously. But, of course, she didn’t. Inej didn’t really want her to, she supposed, other than that it would be easier than trying to find somewhere else to sleep tonight. She shouldered her bag, appalled to feel herself stagger slightly beneath the weight. When had she last eaten? There was nearly a hundred kruge sewn into her jacket, yes, but she hadn’t dared to touch it yet. It had only been hers for a couple of days. Inej wasn’t exactly an expert, but she thought it might be best to wait a while before she used it in case someone got wise somehow. The last thing she needed was to end up in a prison cell. 

Although, an upsettingly convincing voice added inside her head, at least it would be a place to sleep. Somewhere dry, with a pillow and a blanket. Somewhere she could stay still, lie down and close her eyes, eat once - maybe even more than once - a day and never have to feel the wind. Inej almost laughed out loud at herself. What had she become? What had this city turned her into? She used to be good. Now she would do anything for a bed, for food, for a roof the weather couldn’t chase her through. 

A gust of wind prickled down the back of Inej’s neck, sending a shiver running over her, and she reached to turn her collar up against the breeze. It was going to rain soon, she was sure. Where was she going to sleep tonight? She sighed into her jacket, creating a brief pocket of warmth, and began to walk. Prayers first, then food, if she could find something. She had hours until sundown. She’d figure something out. 

The Saints didn’t require a Chapel to hear their prayers, but there was a small one in the North of the Warehouse District for anyone who preferred an organised service. Inej attended when she could - she tried to light incense for her parents at least once a week, but more realistically did so about once a month, maybe twice if they were lucky. She leant against the wall of the building next to the hostel, just out of sight if Hendrija was sticking her nose out of the window, and began to dig through her measly bag of belongings. Should she change her clothes to go to Chapel? Her only other shirt and trousers were probably no cleaner than the ones she was wearing, but she ran a comb through her hair and did her best to pull it into a quick, neat braid. At least she’d tried to make an effort. She didn’t think her Saints cared, but people definitely did. 

There was a little matchbox in her bag as well, but when she slid it open with trembling fingers she was overcome with the sudden desire to scream and hurl it into the street when she discovered it was empty. She settled for holding it so tightly that the thin card crumpled in her fist, then shoving it back into the bag. She could just leave it for the day; find something to eat and start looking for a place to stay, try to buy matches once the money in her pocket felt safe. But when had she last been to Chapel? Not for several weeks. She couldn’t not go, and she couldn’t afford to turn the matches into an excuse not to return. Her parents deserved better than that. They deserved better than any of this. 

She sighed again as she stood back up from the wall and slung her bag across her shoulders, then ventured slowly into the street. It was busy, or busy enough anyway, and she knew that everyone here would have just seen her and Hendrija arguing on the porch bare moments ago so she wasn’t really expecting much when she wove into the crowd, going unnoticed until she parted her lips to venture: 

“Excuse me? Does anyone have a match?”

People glanced down at her, or between themselves, all with the same expression as they stepped away and a ring of space was created around Inej. She tried to step forwards and, as though she were a drop of oil in water, wherever she moved the strangers stepped away from her, pace for pace. 

“Please, sir,” she tried, turning to try and focus her quiet appeal on the closest individual, “Would you happen to-?”

He shook his head, turning away. Inej dug her fingers deeply into the cuff of her sleeve as she watched him pull a cigarette from his pocket as he walked away. She tried again, and then again. 

“Please,” she said, again, as the crowd parted around her, “I’m sorry, but does anyone have a match that I could use?”

From behind the shape of someone’s dusty red coat as they moved away, a boy appeared in Inej’s field of vision. He looked up and caught her eye, then seemed to sigh as he beckoned her towards him with one gloved hand - the other remaining secure over the carved handle of the cane he leant against. He was taller than her but Inej would guess they were a similar age, though his face was aged by the little scars that crossed his pale skin.

“I can help you,”

Inej paused.

At the very least, lass, if you’re gonna steal, don’t steal from him. 

Inej had stolen from him twice. The first time nothing happened, except for Hendrija refusing the money - as if her boarding house weren’t full of criminals and as if she didn’t damn well know it - but if he’d gotten wise? What if someone at the house overheard something and passed it on? She swallowed tightly. 

“I didn’t ask for help. I asked for a match,”

“I can give you a match,” he said, reaching one of those leather-clad hands into his pocket, “I can also help you,”

Inej frowned. For a moment she studied the matchbox that he held out between them, and then it was in her hand and the boy was pulling away and she didn’t know why but it felt like something… something had happened.  The air felt calmer now. She was part way through sliding the box open when he said: 

“You have ninety three kruge in your jacket,”

Inej’s head snapped up. 

“Excuse me?”

“Ninety three kruge,” he repeated, “That’s how much you have, isn’t it?”

“Wh-?”

“That’s how much you have. That’s how much you took from me, three days ago,”

Alarm bells started ringing inside Inej’s head. There was probably very little point in lying now, and her brain was already trying to click through what to do, how she could get out of here, where she might be able to run - he probably wouldn’t be able to keep up with her with his limp, and he almost certainly wouldn’t be able to climb up a building after her. If she could just make it to a rooftop she could disappear, run until her legs ached, then find a nook somewhere in the skyline to fall asleep and pray the rain wouldn’t be too heavy. But what after that? If he knew well enough to track her here, to a house she’d been tossed from under the safety of a false name, would she ever be able to safely walk these streets again? Maybe if she found somewhere to stay on the rooftops she would be okay - there were plenty of nooks that could form a snippet of shelter, the stadwatch would never rouse her from them, she could steal food from market stalls and storefronts, and finally become fully invisible. No-one would ever have to know that she was there. 

But even as these thoughts occurred to her the boy shifted, ever so slightly but definitely intentionally, and a shape that looked very much like a pistol appeared and disappeared between the folds of his immaculate coat. She twisted her fingers around the little box of matches. 

“You’ve got the wrong girl,”

“Have I?”

His voice was rough, like two stones being scraped together to form words. 

“Believe me,” said Inej, slipping the matchbox casually into her pocket, as though he wouldn’t notice, “If I had ninety kruge I wouldn’t be hanging around here,”

She turned away. 

“Ninety three,” the boy corrected, “And I’ll have that back, if you don’t mind,”

Inej hid the brief, disappointed scrunch of her nose before she spun and tossed the matchbox back to him. 

“And the cash?”

“I told you, it wasn’t me,”

The boy shook his head. 

“I suppose Inej Ghafa must live elsewhere then,” he said, and she knew he’d noticed when she tensed at the sound of her name, “Shame. I was going to offer her a job,”

“Who are you?”

He smiled. 

“Maybe I’ll tell you,” he said, “if you tell me how you managed to get in and out of a house with no-one ever seeing you and yet only took ninety three kruge,”

Inej frowned, thinking of the rundown house and its leaky ceiling, up to three sleeping bodies pushed into every room but the attic. The attic was this boy’s domain, and he didn’t share his space with anyone, but it was still not the kind of place that looked prosperous; a door had been balanced on its back atop stacked crates to form a makeshift desk, there was no running water but a slender basin that must have been carried in and out to be refilled at least once a day, uneven and creaking floorboards, a worn down mattress with no bed frame or sheet, a blanket without a quilt. She’d thought finding an entire ninety kruge in those rooms was a miracle. 

“There was more?”

“If you knew where to look. A proper thief would have found plenty to take,”

Something in that comforted Inej, just the tiniest bit. She was not a proper thief, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be one. 

“How did you get in?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I was there,” he shook his head, “I didn’t hear you. I didn’t see you. Not until-”

“Until I spoke,” said Inej, the memory returning to her. 

She hadn’t known there was anyone close enough to hear her when she slipped the money into her pocket and thanked her Saints out loud. The boy nodded. Inej tracked through her movements in her mind, trying to work out where the boy must have been - outside the room, she supposed, on his way up the stairs perhaps? That didn’t feel right, though, because surely she would have heard his footsteps - at the least the sound of his cane. She drew the floorplan of the attic in her mind; it was barely smaller than the other floors of the house, partitioned part way through with a wall that stretched over half the width of the room to create a more private space for sleeping. Maybe he’d been behind the wall. There was only a very small window on that side of the room, it was where the slope of the roof divided it the most, and Inej hadn’t inspected that tiny slither of glass before she slipped through the larger window on the other side of the room. Idiot, she thought, fingers tensing as she tried to study the deceptive change in the boy’s eyes, what have you done now? 

“I had no idea you were there, until then. How is that possible?”

Inej shrugged. She’d wanted to be silent so she had been, why did that matter? The matter at hand, as far as she cared, was why he hadn’t apprehended her when he heard her - and what he might want from her now. There was some kind of angle here, of course, she just didn’t know what it was. 

“No-one ever does,” she told him, “Who are you?”

“Were you trained as a dancer?”

“An acrobat. My family… all of us are acrobats,” 

Were acrobats. 

“It’s your turn to answer a question now. Who are you?”

The boy smiled again. 

“You already know that. You just don’t want to say it,”

A beat passed. 

“Dirtyhands,”

“I prefer Kaz,” he said as he conceded a nod, smoothly but not quite relaxed enough to not raise Inej’s suspicions, “I found two names for you. I assume Inej Ghafa is the real one?”

She nodded. Why bother lying? She had not known, when she slipped through a window several months ago, who it was that she was stealing from. Would she have done it, if she’d known? She wasn’t sure it would’ve stopped her - it hadn’t stopped her three days ago, had it? She hadn't known he was in the building though, or she might have been careful enough not to part her lips. 

“Is that what you’d prefer to be called?”

Inej nodded again, without taking her eyes away from Kaz’s. 

“Is Kaz Brekker your real name?”

“Real enough. Do you feel like giving me my money back, Inej?”

Not particularly, she thought, as she released a small sigh and stuck her thumb into her jacket to burst the ugly stitches she’d made around her stash. As soon as Kaz had laid gloved fingers onto the notes they vanished in a smooth folding motion of his palm, and in their place a small card was raised between the pair. 

“If you want a more reliable income, come to this address for eight bells tomorrow evening. I’ve got a job for you,”

Inej shook her head. 

“You can leave the recruitment kit at home,” she told him, “I’m just passing through,”

“You’ve been here seven months,”

There was a pause. 

“I came to pass the winter,” she ventured, “but-”

“But it isn’t ending,”

Inej nodded. Winters had been getting longer in Ravka, the spring short and the summer unbearably hot, but it was worse here than anywhere she’d travelled to across the Eastern Continent. Seven months in Kerch had passed in a twist of frozen ground, dead flowers, howling winds, and endless storms. 

“There’s something wrong with the weather,”

The weather has no mercy.

Kaz gave no reply but a nod, as if that was an explanation all alone. He was still holding out the card between them, and after a moment Inej reached out. Her bare fingers brushed briefly against the leather of his gloves, and then the card was in her hand and his was dropping away. She forced her eyes away from the dark, endless pools of his, and studied the words on the card for a moment. 

“I don’t read Kerch,”

“You know where Bloemstraat is?”

She shook her head. 

“Meet me at the Slat, then - I know you know where that is,” he almost smiled as he added that, “Seven bells half chime, tomorrow evening,”

A moment passed. 

“I’ll be there. But you should know: I’ll leave when spring comes,”

Kaz laughed, short and coarse, almost taking her by surprise. 

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes,”

He shook his head. 

“You really don’t know Ketterdam, do you? There’s no spring coming, not here. Barely to Kerch at all; not anymore,”

Not at all? Inej faltered. 

“What do you mean?”

“You heard me,”

“Why?”

“Why does anything happen around here? The world’s been thrown off kilter,”

Inej shook her head. 

“You should get out of this city. There’s a storm coming; this place isn’t worth sticking around for. Not through that,”

Kaz laughed again. 

“No-one leaves this city,”

He turned away, taking only a few steps before he glanced back over his shoulder to say:

“Oh, and Inej? Don’t ever steal from me again. And definitely don’t sneak up on me,”

Inej watched him leave, clutching two matchsticks and a slip of paper between her fingers, wondering what had just happened. 

[mangledscrimp]

HAPPY BUTCH DAYYYY!!! Finished her a while ago but i think it’s a good time to post it now hehe

will contain nonsexual nudityyy in the cut!!

This is Hershel’s new ref sheet!! the old one was..erm..kinda doodoo LOLLL! Kinda scared to get hate on this waaaa but idgaf I love her hehe

as always, going into detail abt bullet points!!

•Pronouns

Generally, she goes by she/her pronouns. Though with her wife, (post miracle mask/what i’ll call dy miracle mask), she also enjoys going by he/him from time to time..but really only with her wife. She’d rather the public use she/her.

•Sexuality

I like to think she’s bisexual but mainly with a preference for women. In diabolical Yuri’s writing, she dates a lot of the female cast. They enjoy her gentlemanlyness I guess LOL! She hardly involves herself with men but if her wife were a man, she would still love them dearly. She’s very sapphic in my head tho haha..

She’s also a Stone Butch! if you’d like me to go more into that, send me an ask!! :3

With original Hershel, I like to think he’s also bisexual haha yay

•From Barbados & Puerto Rico

Ok this is purely because I projected so heavily onto Hershel that I gave her my ethnicity LOL. Diabolical Yuri au is really to help find joy in myself haha.. Also chose to make her those ethnicities because I hardly see characters from Barbados and wanted to feel represented!

Though, Hershel wasn’t raised in Barbados or Puerto Rico, her biological mother is from Barbados and her biological father is from Puerto Rico. She was raised in a small unnamed village with her sister until she moved to Stansbury alone with her new adoptive parents after an accident involving her father and mother had occurred.

•Facial Features

For dy and in canon, I like to give Hershel a big nose because I find it cute hehe.

For dy, I give Hershel crow feet. No the little lines by her eyes are NOT eyelashes, they are crow feet. Without them, it makes her art just not look like her. She gets them from her (bio)mother.

Another thing that I do is give her a rounder plump face. I think it fits for her and looks great hehe!

I also give her visible facial hair by the sides of her head and by the left side of her face! I give her facial hair because, again, I want to feel represented in my designs. I have facial hair in those areas as well and I think it looks good on other characters too!

Lastly, visible eyebrows. Gave her eyebrows because her hat can’t possibly cover them up, unlike regular Hershel. She’d have to fight with her hair if she wanted her hat to cover her brows! Loll

•Facial Expressions

Hershel has a range of facial expressions that she can do.

When she’s startled, confused, or in a trance she gets little swirly eyes.

When excited, Her eyes dilate like how a rat’s eyes would or gets whale eyes when she’s really excited!

•Hair

She’s got fluffy hair with an exclamation point standing straight up!

•The ring & Wife

The word “wife” is in quotes because she never got legally married. Her “wife” just bought her a ring. She doesn’t like to use the term girlfriend or anything like that for her partner because she has this feeling that their relationship wouldn’t end, no matter what happens to the two of them.

Though, to keep the ring safe, she doesn’t wear it on adventures. Only to special events like staff parties, birthdays, or evenings out with her special somebody. She’s very afraid of losing it.

•Outfit components!

Decided to give hershel a flared out coat, nothing special haha. Her shoulders are quite boxy in her coat compared to her sweater, but she finds the look stylish.

Unlike regular Hershel, she tends to take off her hat inside buildings like a gentleman would. The hat doesn’t contain much sentimental value to her because of her rocky past with Claire.

Underneath the coat she’s got her lovely orange sweater, attached is her clip on tie. Her tie is really just a pin with a cap to hold the string of the other component of her tie. She finds it pretty rude when someone grabs it to pull on it but doesn’t mind all that much when her wife does it.

Green shoes, nothing much to it!

Not really an outfit component but she does have a purse/case mix thingy that she uses to hold items much like Hershel in the original professor layton. She’s also quite the klepto like the original professor haha!

•Pcos and Other things

I gave Hershel pcos to, again, feel represented in the things I create!

(UWAA,, IF I GET ANY OF THIS WRONG PLEASE LET ME KNOW!! I don’t reallyyyy know if i’m autistic myself yet,, so pleaseee let me know if i’m doing anything wrong with thisss )

I also decided to give her Autism/Autistic traits. In some of the art I make of her, her hands shake whenever her wife touches her or in stressful/overwhelming situations in dy’s writing. similar to mine whenever I see stuff that I like or just to relax myself.

In dy’s writing, she tends to go silent/mute when she gets too overwhelmed. During her college years it affected her quite a bit but she tries to manage it as she gets older.

She finds certain textures pleasing. She loves to have her hands in hair, preferably dense hair. And she likes the feeling of facial hair as well!! Besides hair, she hates certain bedsheets that are grainy so she’ll try anything to avoid them at all costs.

That’s ittt!! for this section at least!

Nonsexual nudity under the cut!!

Here is how she looks under everything!!

She wears a regular standard bra and Exclamation point boxers with regular old white socks.

She’s got body hair on her arms along with her legs and a happy trail!

yeaaa not much to it haha!

End of ref!!

[lazyollie]

Lloyd x Captured reader// Part 4

Last Part

Warnings: cringe, bad grammar, typos, blood, injection, violence

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

A familiar male cologne filled you nose as you snugged closer to the guy in green gi. His body was warm and soft. He wrapped his arms around your smaller body. It made you smile and close your eyes. You kind of missed his hugs. "I love you, Lloyd" you mumbled burring your head into his chest. His room was quiet like the other ninjas were not around the Monastry. It was strange but you couldn't care less when you were so comfortbale in your lover's arms. "Look at me and tell it to me once again.." he broke the silence. You chuckled playfully as you slowly lifted your head away from his chest. "I love-" you got cut off by shock. It wasn't Lloyd.. It was Saburo the whole time. You were hugging onto him the whole time? "YOU THOUGHT YOU CAN ESCAPE ME??! AHA-HA- HAA.. how naive" he laughed at you with a maniac look. You pushed, kicked, punched to free yourself but all for nothing. "No It's can't be..Let me go PLEASE!!" You begged as the room around you turned black as his smile just grew.

You woke up breathing heavily. Tears formed in your eyes as the nighmare played loop in your head. Oh my..How much you miss Lloyd. You tried to get your hands to move but they were still restrained. You have to get out but how? You are cold, hungry, sick and weak. How could you get out?

"Oh, Lloyd where are you?"

•~

The Ninjas has followed the signal and soon they reached it. It was an allay with some trash cans and stray cats fighting with each other. Nothing what would make it different from any other allay in Ninjago City. "And now what?" Jay asked pulling his mask down scanning the place for openings. "The signals came from under Ninjago City.." Zane explaned to Jay who suspiciously looked around once again.

"Search for secret buttons or platforms.." Lloyd ordered, breaking his silence. The ninjas did what he said trying to find anything what could open something.

Lloyd felt mixed feeling of the idea of finding you. What if you will be in a terrible shape? What if you won't be alive? And that's all because he was too late to find you. On the other hand, he would be glad to finally see you again. He wants you to be okay, in his arms.

"I found something" Kai yelled for the others. He pushed away a trash can, revealing a button on the wall. Lloyd pushed it but nothing happened as they looked at each other. After a second the wall opened what came out as a door reaviling a long corridor what lead down on stairs. "Wanna go first?" Jay gestured him kinda scared from the darkness inside. Lloyd nodded heading down with the others behind him.

After minutes filled with walking down the stairs they found themselfs is a white hall. The walls were supposed to be white but they were dirty. Some doors were broken and moldy. It looked like it was abandoned years ago. Three new corridors leaded into different direction what gave Lloyd an idea.

"We will split up. Nya and Jay goes left. Zane and Kai you will go middle. Me and Cole are going right. Make sure not to get caught.." Lloyd ordered and the other ninjas nodded going on their way.

"Do you think that this is Saburo's old labour?" Cole asked to break the silence as no threats were in eye vision. "I'm not sure..." Lloyd answered to him. He felt more anxious as they walked more and more. Soon they found multiply doors leading to experimentation rooms. It made Lloyd's stomach sick as he saw the experiment eqipments. "Oh God, this place is like a living hell.." Cole sweared shocked by the chairs and used ijections on the ground. The scratches on the wall spoke for themselfs. People might have lost their minds during this torture.

They checked the last room before they would turn right again on the corridor. That's when footsteps were heard approaching them. Lloyd pushed both of them into a room shushing Cole.

"I think I'm close to finish my project... The girl's elemental power turned out really well..." the man spoke into the phone walking with an used injection in his hand. Lloyd immediately knew who is he. He only could be Saburo. "She's much more weaker than her father was." He laughed darkly. Lloyd's blood boiled with anger, but he kept silent listening to him. Saburo walked past the room they were hiding but stopped for some reason. "Anyways, I will only need to activate her power once again and take some of her blood. The more it gets activated the more it gets stronger and that's what I need.." he said continue walking. Soon he disappeared into a room. Saburo musn't activate your power once again. "Let's get going" Lloyd whispered running towards where Saburo came from, Cole following him.

As they turned around the corner they arrived to the last door. Lloyd tried to open it but it was locked. He took a step back using his power to break the door what eventually did. Cole gasped what got Lloyd's attention too.

"Oh God.." Lloyd rushed to you panicing, cupping your face into his hands, lifting your head up. You lips were covered by dried blood and you looked super exhausted. "She's breathing" Lloyd sighed relivied as he watched your weak sleeping form concerned. You were in a bad shape. "Cole can you break the chains?" Lloyd asked not leaving your side as Cole stepped closer to you. He activated his power when a familiar voice stopped them. "Nice to meet you both.. So bad you weren't invited.." Saburo stepped into the room with his hands behind his back. "I didn't know this pathetic girl is having something with the big and strong Green Ninja.. Don't worry It's just makes it funnier" Saburo smiled creepily at them. Lloyd slowly stepped away from you and Cole took his weapon out, ready to fight. "Don't let him to get close to Y/n" Lloyd yelled as he jumped at Saburo.

He pulled out an injection as he got away from Lloyd's way. He punched him getting his way to you but Cole stepped in front of him. They were fighting until Saburo take a good hit on Cole who fell to the ground. Saburo was surprisingly good in fighting what made Lloyd's blood boil. He jumped at him again kicking Saburo's feet what made him fall.

Saburo jumped up like nothing, what caused to Lloyd to pull out his sword pointing at him. He just laughed by his braveness before he hit the sword out of Lloyd's hand kicking him hard what caused him to fall. Before Lloyd could have do anything he injected the glowy liquid into you.

You immediately woke up panting in pain. Lloyd run to you pushing Saburo away from you. The furnitures and object flew in the room once again. The panic got the best on you too when you saw Saburo approaching you with a needle. The pain getting worse and worse by second making you scream up in pain. Lloyd heart just ache for you holding your hand trying to sooth you.

Saburo was about to reach Lloyd when suddenly the furnitures started spinning fast around you and Lloyd. You kepts screaming in pain tears rolling down your cheeks. Saburo froze watching the tornade made of different things, making impossible to get close to you. He backed away and tried to ran out of the room but Cole with one move pinned him to the ground. "Don't you dare"

Lloyd saw everything turn to you worried. By the power rush the chain broke into pieces joining the tornado. Lloyd immediately took you out of the chair seating you down on to his lap, hugging you close to him. "Hey hey.. It's alright, I'm here..." He carresed you back softly, it pained him a lot seeing you like this. "I-I'm sorry.." you groaned in pain gripping his gi as you hugged him back. "Calm down, It's alright..." Lloyd said softly as you snuggled into his neck. Your tears soaked his gi, but he didn't even cared. One of his hand trailer up your head carresing your hair with such a gentleness. He teared up but kept his self together..for you.

"I'm so sorry.."

"Why are you apologising?"

"I-I didn't know a-about my power.."

"I know. I know."

Then nothing left your mouth as you passed out in Lloyd's arms. He wiped your tears away from your face placing a kiss onto your forehead. He watched you with such a concern in his eyes. You were through a lot of pain and it was visible on your body. Scars and bruises covered you and your skin was pale. He hugged your body close to him.

"I'm so sorry..I will make sure nothing like this will ever happen again..."

As you passed out suddenly every furniture dropped down with a loud noise. Soon the other ninjas arrived who stopped in the door with shock. Lloyd slid a hand under you knee and the other on your back lifting you off the ground. He walked to the others who looked at you worried.

•~\//Later\\/~•

Saburo went back to the Krymtarium Prison into a high guarded cell. Also it was sure he won't get out of it ever in his life again. The goverment found more hidden experiments, some of them were transferred to hospital, but some never returned home. It seems like It's over. For you might be not, because It's sure you won't forget this experience soon.

•//

A warm sunshine bright your face as you move your head to the other side. The mattres was so soft and comfortable that you don't want to wake up.

'Wait mattres?'

You quieckly open your eyes as you sat up. It wasn't the experience room. Yeah the walls are white, but it's more comfortable. There are a TV on the wall and table, magazins on it. And even plants are in the room. It's much warmer inside.

"Hey, you shouldn't move. You need to rest" a voice snapped you out of your thoughts. A familiar one. You turn your head to him as he carefuly lays you back down. He sat in a chair next to your hospital bed. "L-Lloyd..?" You stare at him surprised but he just smiled at you softly. "Yes, darling?" You tried to remember back what happened what caused you to get here. You don't remember Lloyd saving you. Is your head playing with you? "Love..?" He grabs your hand gently looking at you worried. Why did you zoon out all of sudden? You blink two as you pay your attention back to him.

"Are you okay? You have a headache? Did I patch you up too tightly? Your injuries hurt?Do you need more painkiller?" Lloyd bombs you up with questions as you look at him blankly. "No..Nothing like this" you murmur wrapping your fingers around Lloyd's hand. "I just don't know what exactly happened...I remember my days there but it still feels like few pieces is missing." You admit looking down on your patched up wounds and marks of the injections. He stays quiet for a while thinking that he should tell you. You might have forgot about the time when they came for you beause of the shock. It might be better for you to not remember.

"Don't think about it. Everything ended up fine. Saburo is back in Prison. Nothing can hurt you anymore. I'm here and I will protect you, 'til I die" A warm smile formes on his lips, his words seeking into your heart, making you tear up. You are so glad for him to be in your life. By your side. He kisses your forehead noticing your glassy eyes.

"Oh I'm so sorry. Did I said something wrong?"

No, I just love you so much..

"Ohh..In that case I love you so much too."

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

I've finally finished this fanfic story. This part turned out longet than the others. Anyways, if you want to see more fanfics from me and you have an idea what you can send it into my requests. I hope you like it. Have a nice day y'all<33

[skzoologist]

Ok so I have another idea,

So bae is having a bad day and struggling with something, feeling insecure making him feel really stressed and down and he considers harming himself to cope with it thankfully one of the members notice him (Feeling in a minho or chan mood rn so if you could write it as them that would be amazing) and check up on him right before he was about to and stops, him comforting bae

P.S You don't have to write it if you aren't comfortable writing something like this. Ngl I dunno what came over me with this, maybe I am self projecting?

-🐿️

word count: ~2.1k

warnings: self-harm, self-deprecating thoughts

genre: heavy angst, hurt/comfort

a/n: I know I got another ask from a different follower a day ago, but this is just activating my own spidey senses, so this enjoys priority. Also I'm alright writing this, because it touches on a part of Bae's lore that I haven't revealed yet, so don't worry about that. But 🐿️ anon, my sweetie, if you ever really have these thoughts, talk to someone. Anyone. A friend, family, heck, even me or another online person! This isn't a long-term solution, but it can help tremendously. This goes for everyone too: if talking to me or requesting something like this helps, never hesitate to do so! Life is hard and we sometimes need some time and help to recuperate and get back to our feet. There's no shame in it.

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

As soon as Bae opened his eyes, he felt the air heavily pressing onto his skin, as if a weight was fused onto the upper layer. His limbs felt sluggish, as if his own blood and bones were cast out of pure steel and misery. The light that successfully seeped through the thick curtains felt too bright, earning a low hiss from the male.

Mornings after a migraine were always hard to bear.

The one he’d had the previous day was particularly harsh, rendering him useless as he’d been just carried away by his bandmates to the dorms in urgency. All schedules’s been cancelled for him immediately, Chan telling him how it was alright, how he should only ever focus on his own health.

It made his stomach churn.

Everyone was working themselves to the point of exhaustion every single day, yet here he was, laying in bed once again, causing inconvenience for everyone. He hated it with every fibre of his being, the feeling seeping deep inside and nestling there. 

Yet, Bae put a lock onto the gate this monstrous being hid behind, forcing his limbs to move, the motion cumbersome and difficult. What would have only taken him a few minutes now took ten or twenty, an obscuring fog settling over most of his mind. Nothing felt right, yet he powered through it, refusing to leave out another day of work. 

Not even Chan could stop him.

After his morning routine was done and his horribly pale skin was hidden behind makeup, he went out of his room at his own, slow pace, knowing fully well no one else was at the dorms anymore. They were all already at the company, busy with their solo schedules and practices. He himself had to be at a photoshoot in an hour, or at least according to his original, filled out schedule. His hyungs adamantly gave him not only yesterday off, but two other days as well, not leaving him any room for argument.

Little did they know he’d told his own manager to reschedule those two days amidst head-splitting pain and blurry vision. It was an arduous task, but he’d managed.

Once he was down in the lobby and ready to go, his driver was surprised, safe to say, the expression obvious as it sat out onto his face. But he’d been working with Bae for long years now, thus that was the only indication about the idol’s unexpected appearance. No words were exchanged, the two acknowledged the other with a respectful nod and off they were to their destination.

The drive wasn’t long, leaving Bae no time to sink into his thoughts as he watched the scenery fly by through the window. Even the weather was feeling down, the skies grey and melancholic. It felt as if in the next minute the clouds would start weeping, openly pouring their heart out in a silent farewell.

Once the car was parked, he slightly nodded at the driver who was looking back at him, opening the door and stepping out onto still dry pavement. His legs automatically took him into the company, something he was grateful for with his hazy mind. The only thoughts that were coherently formed in there were about his bandmates and how he wished he wouldn’t run into them accidentally. He really didn’t have the energy to hear what they had to say and berate him over not resting.

It seemed like his prayers were heard, nobody noticing him as he was silently walking through the halls, as if he was a ghost tied to them for eternity. The moment the staff saw him enter the room they bowed and greeted him, something he reciprocated silently with a bow of his own. 

He was soon whisked away to a chair, his makeup and hair professionally done. Even if the workers noticed the bags under his eyes or his unnaturally pale complexion, none of them acknowledged it, opting to instead silently work away with precise movements. 

The different array of powder snugly stuck to his skin, just enough to make him feel like the idol he was supposed to be, not a smidge more. The colours were vibrant, the exact opposite of what he felt like under the mask he’d put up, something that fit his idol self only. His bleached, white hair was gently clipped up, a few chosen strands taken out and purposefully left hanging down, framing his face elegantly. A glint caught his eye, the dangly earring in his left ear catching light and shining brightly.

The man who looked back at him in the mirror felt like someone else.

Tearing his gaze away, he let the stylists choose his outfit and got into position, everyone’s eyes on that stranger who he was supposed to be. With a cold gaze he did his job, perfectly executing everything that was expected of him. Even after the sixth outfit change, the final one, and endless photos taken over the course of hours, his expression remained unchanged, focus solely on the camera that was pointed directly at him.

The way back home felt like a blur to him. Stripped of the branded clothes and sheltering makeup on his face, he felt vulnerable, something those dark, swirling thoughts started taking advantage of. He tried to think of anything else, of food or even a favourite TV show.

None of it worked.

They all circled back to how he shouldn’t be skipping the group’s dance practice, how miserable he looked and how he felt nauseous, even though he hadn’t eaten anything all day. Horrendous scenarios played through his head, worsening with every passing second, each ending with him being forced to leave the group.

He really should cook something. If not for himself, then his bandmates, who no doubt would be hungry by the time they got back to the dorms.

But what if… What if they wouldn’t want to eat it? Why would they? After all, he was someone undeserving of their love, to be in the group, useless with a malfunctioning body. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of them finally would have had enough of his constant migraines and the hassle that always came with it, the constant darkness and hushed voices as he was carried away, unmoving.

He also didn’t have an amazingly unique voice like Felix, or dance moves like Minho. Hell, he didn’t even know how to produce music, like 3RACHA.

He was useless.

The knife in his hand glinted, surrounded by half-chopped vegetables. A thought ran through his head, one that would solve all his problems, permanently ending them.

Pale skin drew him in, dark veins peeking through. It felt inviting, as if it somehow grew a mouth itself and called the knife’s name, inescapably alluring.

“Bae?”

His eyes were drawn from the freshly drawn blood, only a few droplets escaping and coating the surface of the blade in a bittersweet vermillion colour. Chan just stood there, frozen, hand stopped midair, no doubt in the process of taking off his bag. Their eyes met, dull ones with pure panic, darting between the knife and Bae’s eyes, as if no matter how hard their owner tried, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

The thud of the bag was loud in the heavy silence, unsure footsteps soon following it.

Bae just watched as the older walked towards him, steps wobbly and out of their usual, steady rhythm. Shaking hands reached towards his own ones, gently prying them apart and away from the stained, sharp object.

An even shakier breath left Chan’s lips as he just stood there, still holding the other’s hands in his gentle hold, blood now painting his skin in small rivers. Their eyes couldn’t meet this time, no, the leader’s own gaze focused on their conjoined hands, expression hidden from the younger.

Not a sound could be heard as Bae was led towards the bathroom, Chan’s hands quietly working away on taking care of the fresh wound. Bae similarly didn’t say anything, not even hiss left his lips when the alcohol touched open skin, or when it was finally sealed off, left to heal in peace.

The two remained there for a while, one standing, the other sitting, until the silence was broken by quiet sniffles, the older’s lip wobbling and eyes shining with unshed tears.

“What were you thinking?” - his voice was a broken little thing, as if he himself got hurt by the knife instead of Bae.

The younger stayed silent, numb and unwilling to burden anyone with his worthless thoughts. He didn’t deserve being cared for like this, something the voices whispered to him relentlessly.

“Bae, why did you do it? Do you hate being with us this much?”

His head snapped up from where he was observing the tiles underneath his feet, wide eyes staring into Chan’s tear-filled ones. Those obsidian orbs were filled with sorrow, the usually bright nebulas now hidden in darkness. The sight alone broke something in Bae, as if he was pulled up onto the surface of an alaskan lake from its deep, imprisoning depths.

A sound left the younger’s lips, something that vaguely resembled a word, yet no one could tell. It was quiet, broken, much like the male himself. More soon followed its wake, finally donning the form of a word and adamantly denying Chan’s question with their sole existence. His head shook as tears finally fell down upon shaking hands, ones that were raised in a sad attempt of hiding away. Chan didn’t hesitate to hug the unravelling boy in front of him, his standing form easily engulfing Bae’s small, sitting one.

“Then why?” - the question was careful, as if a single wrong word could shatter Bae into irreparable pieces.

“I don’t feel worthy to be here.” - that was the simple answer he got.

The grip on the younger tightened impossibly, Chan’s form rigid and unbreathing. It prompted Bae to snake his hands further up, clinging onto the fabric there desperately, hold more secure on his hyung. His head was buried in Chan’s stomach, afraid to be seen like this.

“My moonlight, look at me.” - it was a gentle request, one that was accompanied by tender hands, holding onto tear-stained cheeks and leading them out of their hiding.

Thumbs softly swiped the droplets away from underneath dark, confused eyes.

“You’re one of the hardest working people I’ve ever met, and I’ve been in this demanding industry for longer than anyone should have. There’s a passionate fire burning inside you, one that you never let lose its intensity. Not only do you practise and work relentlessly, you also have amazing talent in everything you do. Your singing is wonderfully soft, perfectly harmonising with anyone you sing with. You know every single one of our dances to the point where if I were to start a song from any point, you would know what dance move goes with it. And you always look amazing, no matter what you wear or do. On top of all that, you never fail to help us or listen to our problems. Never once have you turned us away in all these years.”

Chan’s eyes held a soft light, a gentle smile dancing on his lips. It stole the breath out of Bae’s lungs, his eyes stinging as a fresh wave of tears started forming.

“You can ask any of us, we would only sing your praises. Because they’re true, baby. You might get migraines often, but then what? That doesn’t make you any less of us. You work hard enough already, a little rest won’t take away from that.”

He stopped for a moment, as if a fond memory appeared in front of his eyes.

“Did you know? I love the little snacks you sneak into my bag that I take to the studio with me. I also love the little notes you always give me with it and the silly little drawings on them. I’ve never thrown one out ever since you started giving them to me.”

The look on Chan’s face was entirely too fond, something that Bae couldn’t possibly look at for too long, lest his chest burst into loved pieces. No, hiding into the fabric of his hyung felt better, unwilling to think about the way the man’s lips curved up, dimples peeking through, or the way his eyes were just slightly crinkled, holding the warmth of a star itself even through those crystal droplets.

“You’re loved, Bae. Never forget that.”

[violant-apologia]

An Appointment at the Parlour of Virtue

aka marian's homoerotic antagonistic extravaganza

words: ~1k

it's on ao3 or literally right here!

Marian stalks the Veilgarden streets, shifting in discomfort. She chafes against the aroma of spices, bristles at the discordant music and scowls at passing lovers. This is far from her usual haunt, as any onlooker would be well aware. It would perhaps undermine her authority were her crew to find her here: a captain so severe in this den of intemperance. Luckily, after so many recent brushes with watery demise, they’ll all have better things to do than tail their captain to this meeting.

The Parlour of Virtue is a large building for Veilgarden, where buildings often run squat or narrow. Its services are desired enough – and its clientele rich enough – to finance the grand facade. Speaking of the clientele, they look almost as out of place in Veilgarden as Marian. They loiter around the entrance, checking watches and tapping feet and clad in classy suits and frocks. Some have faces Marian remembers from the margins of Slowcake’s; the rest are masked. The Parlour caters to tastes expensive and eclectic – those wealthy enough to afford its premium services are also those least likely to want Doubt Street catching wind. Marian is not notable enough to go masked; besides, her face is already obscured with ragged bandages. The expressions on the unmasked faces as she skips the queue are ones of jealously, not recognition.

The inside of the Parlour is comfortably warm. More masked clients mill around the lobby or whisper to receptionists at polished wood desks. Marian is nodded through by stockinged women she recognises but couldn’t name. She climbs scarlet-carpeted stairs to the gallery of suites, doors numbered and, for the most part, occupied. As she follows the usual route, her attention drifts to the sounds behind the doors. Many are the typical affair for such an establishment, but as she traverses deeper into the building, the noises get odder. Recorded music and staccato tap-dance. A screaming argument. Chewing. The Parlour caters to all tastes.

Eventually Marian reaches the customary room and lets herself in. She takes a seat on the luxurious bed (shared by most rooms) and observes the neatly-folded pile of silks that lays on it (not shared by most rooms). Sinning Jenny is late. She is often late. But she always comes.

“You’re late,” Marian says as the door opens at almost ten minutes past the hour. “Again.”

“And I apologise again,” replies Jenny. Her cheeks are a little red and her breaths come heavily, fluttering the veil that hangs before her eyes. “I’m not as spry as I used to be. You’ll have to teach me your methods sometime.”

“Here’s an easy one: don’t work yourself to the bone on a hundred lost causes,” Marian replies.

“Ah, so you’d rather I didn’t make it here at all,” Jenny grins.

“Shut up,” Marian retorts, “and sit down. Lets get this over with.”

Jenny laughs (infuriatingly) and takes a seat on the bed next to Marian. She takes the silk bandages in her hands – seafoam blues, this time.

“Lovely colours,” she mutters to herself, “must remember to mention that to Ruth…” She lets the silks flow onto her lap. “Shall we get started?”

Wordlessly, Marian hold out her arm.

The process is painfully slow, and Jenny agonisingly gentle. She takes the right arm first – the one with skin beneath. She unwinds the ragged bandages like an expert. Marian doesn’t know whether Jenny has other tomb-colonist clients; nor does it concern her. The pair’s relationship is one of debt and repayment, nothing more.

Jenny works in silence – soon the old bandages are gone and Marian’s pale skin is left bare. Jenny takes one of the darker silks from the pile, secures it up the forearm, and begins to wrap. As she does so, her fingers graze Marian’s skin; Marian jerks her arm away.

“Watch it,” Marian spits, breaking the silence.

Sorry, Jenny mouths. Marian bristles. Despite the decade between them, Jenny still manages to make her feel like a child. It’s insulting.

“Done,” Jenny soon says. Indeed, the arm is covered. Marian flexes her fingers beneath the bandages: not too tight, not too loose, and the colours complement her old uniform well.

“Acceptable, ma’am?” Jenny asks with a smile. A coy twinkle plays beneath her veil.

Marian rolls her eye. The eye in question is still not visible, but she hopes Jenny gets the message anyway.

“Other arm?” Jenny offers. Marian shuffles over and Jenny moves to her left side. The bandages here are significantly more damaged, poked and pierced from within. Jenny barely has to work them before they fall away in scraps, revealing the mass of brambles beneath.

“Don’t prick yourself, princess.”

“I’ll be careful,” Jenny chuckles.

The process is even slower on this arm – the bandages have to both hide the vegetation and restrict its shape to that of a more traditional arm.  In her many visits here, Marian has noticed that Jenny gets more stressed – and more likely to make mistakes – when she works in silence. It is for this reason and no other that Marian clears her throat.

“I made it to Polythreme.”

“Oh!” Jenny says. “I’m glad you’re following those leads!”

Marian scoffs. “I couldn’t fairly come back here if I didn’t keep my end of the bargain, could I?”

Jenny laughs. “I suppose not. Anyway, did you find the surgeon? Did he help?”

“Yes,” Marian says, “and no.”

Jenny’s face falls. “I’m sorry, Marian.”

“Oh piss off,” Marian responds, “you don’t care a jot. You just want me out of your hair.”

“I’ll remind you that there’s no actual obligation for me to make these meetings.” Jenny pulls a bandage tight around the vine.

“You want me off your conscience, then.”

Jenny sighs. “I’m also not responsible for the Campaign. Is it so difficult to imagine that I just want the best for you?”

“Yes,” Marian responds. “You’ve made a whole business profiting off of devotion. Forgive me for guarding mine.”

“Do you mean the Parlour or the Church?” Jenny asks. “It doesn’t matter, you’re wrong either way.”

She fastens the final bandage and trails a finger over her work. Marian shivers. “It’s been fifteen years, Cook. Why do you think we do this?”

Jenny’s fingers drift to the final set of bandages. She takes the end of one  at the base of Marian’s neck.

“Guilt,” Marian mutters. “The Church did this to me.”

“I’m not the Church,” Jenny murmurs, beginning to unwrap. Her breath tickles the slivers of newly-exposed skin. “War’s over, soldier,” she breathes. “You’re safe now.”

“I—”

A rose petal flutters onto the sheets.

Marian jumps up, snatching the last silks from Jenny’s lap.

“I think it’s best if I do the last myself,” she stammers. “I’m more practised, and all, and you’re obviously not focused on quality.”

“Oh,” says Jenny, “perhaps I was wrong. We can return to a purely professional relationship, if you’d like?”

“I— no, I’d—” Marian struggles, “Aurgh!”

She storms out of the room. Light, infuriating laughter rings out behind her as she stamps down the hall. Then Jenny calls out.

“See you next month!”

[genshinrail]

You Said You’d Want a Pet

Kaveh x GN!reader

Fluff | Word count: 941

Summary: Kaveh returns home with some new family members.

---

   It was a nice and quiet day, sunny and warm, perfect for staying inside and doing nothing at all. You were sitting on the couch with a book in your hand, in the house you and your boyfriend shared. The home was a small, but cozy place, perfect for a couple who doesn’t plan on having children any time soon. Kaveh had been away for the whole day in the desert. Something about his next project, he said. Perhaps he needed inspiration. 

Suddenly you hear a knock on the door. It was probably Kaveh. You got up from the couch and put your book away, eagerly walking to the front door. When you opened it, those beautiful familiar red eyes and warm smile greeted you.

“Kaveh,” you said excitedly. “You’re back!”

He chuckled but stayed put. You tilted your head with a questioning look in your eyes.

“Hi babe…” he spoke a little awkwardly.

Your eyes narrowed. He usually didn’t act this way. What was he hiding? 

Kaveh awkwardly scratched the back of his head while chuckling nervously. Something was definitely off.

“Kaveh?” you crossed your arms. “What did you do?”

“Nothing! Well…” He couldn’t even look at you, his eyes shifting down. “I have a question.”

You raised your brow and nodded your head. Kaveh took a deep breath and gave you the most pretty smile. Oh no, it was his cute puppy face. The face he showed when he wanted something.

“Babe, you said you’d want a pet. Like a dog, right?”

You nodded your head slowly. You sighed internally. Had he adopted puppies?

“Well… how about-” Kaveh stepped away a little, and then, three small desert foxes appeared. “- desert foxes?”

All you could do was stare at the three animals that were cutely standing next to Kaveh’s feet. How would you even react? How should you react? You loved your boyfriend, but this was unexpected.

“Kaveh.” you finally looked up at your boyfriend who was smiling awkwardly. “How… and where, did you find them?”

“It’s a long story”, Kaveh said.

“I’d like to hear it”, you replied.

He sighed, then nodded. “Okay, but can they come in? They’re probably hungry.”

With a moment of thinking, you finally nodded and stepped away so Kaveh and the foxes could come in. The little animals jumped around looking at their new surrounding curiously. Kaveh walked in, immediately worrying about what they were doing.

“Hey, watch out for that-. Hey! Don’t go there that’s my-. Watch it! You might get hurt!”

You watched as your boyfriend was stressing over his new little friends excitedly looking around and jumping on places. You couldn’t help but chuckle at how cute the scene was. While he was running around the foxes like a brand new mother, you walked over to the kitchen to see if there was something desert foxes could eat. Some leftover meat.

You had put the meat into three deep plates and placed them on the floor. “Come eat!”

You heard the small paw taps hit the floor as the foxes hurried to you. They looked happy seeing their food and dug in right away. After them came exhausted looking Kaveh.

“They’re so fast…” he said while breathing heavily. “We have to baby-proof the house.”

“Baby-proof?” You raised your eyebrow amusingly, smirking. “I would’ve wanted a warning for becoming a parent.”

Kaveh’s face got pale and another nervous chuckle left his lips.

“How about that long story?” you asked. “Why are we suddenly desert fox parents?”

“Right…” he nodded firmly. “Come, let’s go sit on the couch.”

Together you two walked into the living room, leaving the foxes to eat in peace. You sat down on the couch, Kaveh sitting next to you. He fidgeted with his fingers for a moment, until you tapped onto his shoulder and he sighed.

“So you know I was in that game with the other Darshans?” he asked, to which you nodded. “Well, while I was in the desert there were desert foxes who followed me. I don’t know why! But I couldn’t let them be so I helped them.”

You tilted your head. “But that was a while ago?”

“Yes, yes. Well… I went to the desert again for a project. And I met those three guys again…” Kaveh sighed deeply. “I tried to shoo them away, but they just didn’t leave! So I then walked away, but they followed…”

You grabbed Kaveh’s hand. He looked at you with wide eyes, like he was shocked.

“And you couldn’t just let them be?” you asked, showing him an understanding smile.

Kaveh nodded slowly, his cheeks turning a light shade of red. You let out a warm chuckle, shaking your head. He was too cute.

“You’re… you’re not mad?” he asked.

You shook your head, your warm smile remaining. “No, I’m not.”

“But… I brought wild animals into our home without your permission!” Kaveh said as if to argue with you.

“But I know you”, you explained. “I know you can’t let the smaller and weaker creatures to be, especially if they followed you here.”

Kaveh tilted his head. “So… we’ll keep them as our pets?”

A wide smile framed your face as you nodded. “As long as they won’t ruin the house!”

Suddenly, the three little foxes hopped all in front of the two of you, waggling their tails.

“I guess we’ll need to give them names”, Kaveh said, motioning one of them to hop on his lap. The other two hopped on your lap. You gently petted them. A sudden idea came into your mind and you smirked.

“How about ‘Alhaitham’?”

“Hell no!”

[maria021015]

“Sorry, but I can't let you walk out with this. It's way above the legal voltage limit.” Parish refused to hand over the metal baton along with the rest of the belongings that had been seized upon Chris Argent and Derek Hale’s arrest.

“I only use it for hunting,” Chris defended himself, not wishing to part from the device that had saved him from many a hairy situation. At his lack of description of what he used it to hunt, Derek shot the man a pointedly exasperated look. Argent could do nothing but roll his eyes in response.

“Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure you could use it to jump-start a 747.” The young deputy sassed, not budging on his decision.

“This property belongs to me, and the charges were dropped,” Chris continued to argue the point. “Although, I'm not exactly sure who's responsible for that…”

“I am,” A familiar voice spoke up as Sheriff Stilinski entered the space. Both Chris and Derek were surprised to see the man, considering he’d been away for several days consulting with medical professionals regarding Stiles’ MRI results. “I'll take care of this, Parrish.”

“Stilinski, I'm not kidding - this thing's a few watts from being a lightsaber.” Parish scoffed, but his superior officer waved him away.

“I said I'll take care of it,” Stilinski nodded, and Parish finally conceded, leaving the Sheriff to take charge.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” Chris commented genuinely. He knew that if it were Allison whose brain scans had come back displaying signs of frontotemporal dementia, he wouldn’t be returning to work any time soon.

“I expected you sooner,” Derek grunted gruffly, obviously bitter about being arrested for the second time for a murder he did not commit.

“The specialist I saw in LA told me the thing that every doctor says when he's trying to avoid a lawsuit - ‘We can't say for sure’. And then, I spoke with Melissa.” Noah pulled out an envelope of medical documents, placing two images side by side on the table. “These are brain scans - my wife's, and Stiles'. I knew they were similar, but those are the same. Exactly the same.”

“And I'm guessing this isn't possible?” Derek assumed, not betraying the slight sense of relief he’d felt when hearing the news.

“Not even remotely,” Stilinski shook his head, confirming what they all now knew to be true. Stiles had never had frontotemporal dementia.

“So, the trickster is still playing tricks,” Argent sighed heavily, staring at the identical brain scans laid before them.

“But why this trick?” The werewolf amongst them questioned the Nogitsune’s motives for such a thing.

“When I was in the Army, an officer told me, ‘If you want to defeat your enemy, you don't take away their courage - you take away their hope’." Noah quoted grimly.

“You don't look like a man who gives up hope easily,” Argent’s lips pulled into a faint smile.

“But Stiles might,” The Sheriff clarified his concern. “If this thing inside him...if it's using his mother's disease as some sort of psychological trick, then this isn't just a fight for his body. It's also a fight for his mind. Right?”

“You know, he's left people severely injured,” Chris cleared his throat, hating to be the one to bring it up. Stiles was Noah’s son, but he was also a threat that needed to be dealt with as such. He briefly wondered if it had been Allison, what would he have done? In all honesty, he didn’t even know the answer to his own question.

“...And others severely dead,” Derek chimed in harshly, not holding back.

“That's why I need the two of you,” Noah nodded in understanding. “I need people who are experienced in this kind of thing. I need you to help me stop him. Both of them.”

Both Chris and Derek picked up on what the Sheriff was not saying. “And by stop them, you mean trap them.” He deduced. Noah confirmed the man’s statement with a short nod.

“Then we’re going to need a lot more help than just the three of us,” Derek stated.

“This is everything non-lethal I could find…” Allison led them into the Argent’s study, gesturing to the weapons she’d laid bare over the desktop.

“Take all of it,” Her father advised her, eyes scanning over the contents.

“What's the plan, here?” Noah asked with slight concern in his features at the assortment of gear.

“Our best shot right now is for Derek to try to pick up Stiles' scent at Eichen House - especially if he went through something stressful there,” Chris answered, knowing the chemosignals would be strongest there. “We find Stiles, we’ll find Zaida.”

“Should all four of us be going to the same place?” The Sheriff questioned the rationality of pouring all of their resources into one location.

“Where else have Stiles and Zaida been showing up?” Chris glanced at his daughter for the information. Being arrested had meant he and Derek had been mostly out of the loop.

“School...the hospital…” Allison began listing places from the top of her head.

“Okay, hold on - we did this already. He disappeared, we started looking for him...then walked right into a trap at the hospital.” Derek pointed out in frustration, eyes opening to the pattern.

“...He's getting us to repeat the same moves.” Chris agreed with a grumble of realisation.

“So, what do we do? Wait for them to come to us?” Allison suggested unsurely.

“We can't.” Derek shook his head. “Not if the Oni find them when the sun goes down.”

“Scott's working on that right now with Kira,” Stilinski informed them, having been told by the werewolf himself that they were speaking with Kira’s mother, who apparently controlled the Oni.

“That's the problem - we're all trying to outfox the Fox,” Argent commented lowly.

“Listen…I'll understand if anyone wants to back out,” The Sheriff put out the disclaimer, secretly hoping no one would balk from their mission. Like Derek had said - he needed all the help they could get. Noah had never seen Zaida in action but from the sound of things she was the one to watch out for, and they’d never known until she wasn’t on their side anymore.

“Are you kidding? Zaida and Stiles are two of my best friends. We’re more than that - we’re a family. A pack.” Allison scoffed at the notion, looking to the others in the room. “I’m not going to give up on them. We’re going to get them back.”

“I won't be the first Wolf to run from a Fox,” Derek set his jaw stubbornly as he locked eyes with the huntress.

“Apparently, I'm carrying a lightsaber…” Chris held up the metal baton with a slight smile. None of them was going to be backing away from this.

“Dad, you and Derek hit Eichen House. Sheriff, it's you and me in the hospital. We all meet in the school.” Allison decided, calling the shots like a true Argent matriarch. As the huntress and the Sheriff split from the group, leaving to head towards the hospital, Chris stayed behind.

“...Making sure you have a few lethal options, just in case?” Derek arched a brow at the man, who was slipping pistols into hidden holsters.

“I like to prepare for the worst,” Chris answered grimly. He only prayed he wouldn't have to use them.

“You know what? I don't know how you guys do it. You're all so strong. You're fearless. Hell, you even manage to keep your grades up…” Noah Stilinski rubbed his hand over his face, his nerves jittering and stress overcoming him as they waited in the silent elevator of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. If the situation was getting to him - a full-grown man with army experience who works in law enforcement - how were the others still standing? How had they done it all this time alone, without the help of their parents?

“I am failing Econ…” Allison said slowly with a glum demeanour. The man clearly had more faith in them than was warranted.

“Is that Coach's class?” Noah questioned, remembering an interview he’d had with the teacher once about Stiles detailing the entire history of the male human anatomy for his Econ exam. When Allison dipped her chin confirmation he reassured her. “Well, I'll have a talk with him.”

Instead of finding the man’s words comforting, Allison felt her resolve crumble. She’d been holding on by a thread, but that has swiftly snapped at hearing of the man’s misplaced trust. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t lead the Argents - it was largely because of her that their family had been decimated, leaving only herself and her father. Her features twisted as the tears prickled at her eyes and fell. She was only a teenager and here she was with a crushing weight on her shoulders. She suddenly wasn’t sure of anything - of any decision she’d made since moving to Beacon Hills. Her friends were scattered across town, all desperately trying to keep up with the world crumbling around them. Xander was on life support and still hadn’t woken since his surgery, Isaac was lying in a hospital bed, she was losing Scott more and more every day. Scott , who was with Kira - whom Allison still didn’t fully trust - trying to stop her mother from sending assassins after Stiles and Zaida. Her father was alone with Derek and the last time one of her parents was alone with Derek…Well, her mother had died. Every time they went through something like this together, the others would remind her that they’d made it - that they were the lucky ones because they’d all survived. But they hadn’t all survived. At least, not to Allison. Kate hadn’t survived. Her mother hadn’t. Maybe no one else in their pack had been impacted as Allison had, but when would their luck start to run out? Would it be today? Tomorrow? Her heart trembled at the notion.

Upon seeing the girl’s reaction, Noah reached for the kill switch, forcing the elevator to stop in its tracks and buy them some more time away from the prying eyes of others. “Are you okay?” His brows creased in sympathy as he tilted his head at her with a soft voice. “Hey, you okay?”

“I'm not fearless...I'm terri-terrified. I'm always terrified.” Allison shook her head, choking out her words between sobs. “I...I act like I know what I'm doing, but I don't. I don't know if Isaac is dying right now...I don't know if I made a mistake with Scott...I don't know what my dad is thinking...I don't know if we should trust Derek...I don't know if I’m ever going to look into Zaida’s eyes and see my friend again…I don’t know if we’ll be able to save her and Stiles…I don’t know…I don't know anything!”

“You know what's funny? You sound just like a cop.” Noah’s lips smiled slightly in a supportive way as he recognised her sentiments, pulling her into a tight hug. She sounded like him - like the cacophony of worries that had been sounding off in his mind since his son had started having these nightmares. Since Stiles had gone missing. Since Noah had found out what was truly happening in Stiles’ head - and Zaida’s. Zaida, whom he considered the daughter he’d never had and hoped one day it would come true. “Hey…You're gonna be okay.”

“Okay,” Allison nodded, her voice shaking and she took control back over her breathing. Just as she managed to pull herself back together - shattered piece by shattered piece - she heard an alert go off. Pulling away from the Sheriff, her brows drew together in a curious frown. “What's that?”

“Someone's breaking into my house…” Noah recognised the sound and pulled out his phone to see a notification from his home security system. Clicking into the app, he explained it to Allison. “After Stiles started sleepwalking, I had some safety precautions put in - motion sensors, cameras…”

Leaning over to see the live video feed up on the Sheriff’s phone, she saw Stiles sitting on a bed and wiggling his fingers as he stared up at the camera tauntingly. “Is that his room?” She asked, a newfound sense of urgency instilling in her.

“What is all this? What are these sticky notes for?” Chris glared down at the chessboard the Nogitsune had left on the desktop in Stiles’ room.

“This is what Stiles used to try and explain to me about...all of you,” Noah recalled that strange conversation that he hadn’t quite believed at the time it had happened.

“Well, maybe it's a message from Stiles - the real Stiles,” Allison suggested, hope shining in her wide brown eyes. Her fingers brushed the top of the white queen labelled with Zaida’s name as her brain whirred over the possible hidden messages behind the placement of the pieces.

“Do you think there's any reason my name's on the king?” Derek asked with a raised brow.

“Well, you're heavily guarded…” Noah offered. “Though, I guess the alarming detail is that you're one move from being in checkmate.”

“It's not a message from Stiles - it's a threat from the Nogitsune.” Argent landed on the answer swiftly, looking at the board as a battlefield. “Look at the pieces and their purposes. Ethan, Aiden and Isaac are all pawns. Isaac’s been taken off the board, while Ethan, Aiden and Peter are all defending the king.”

“And Zaida’s the white queen, the most powerful player on the board, and the most unpredictable. She’s protecting the white king, but is also in a position to attack if she wants to.” The Sheriff analysed, picking up the white king piece. “I’m guessing this is supposed to be Stiles. The king is the most powerless piece and yet still the most important.”

“He’s trying to tell us we’ll have to get through Zaida to get to him, and getting through Zaida right now without hurting or killing her is pretty impossible,” Allison deduced, the cogs in her mind churning. “But he’s also unwittingly shown us his hand. Zaida is the power player - Deaton thinks she’s the reason the Nogitsune took Stiles, to take control of her through their telepathic connection. But the game is dependent on Stiles. Stiles is the one who has to be defeated to win, yet he’s hiding behind her. He’s been distracting us with her this whole time - when he made us believe she was the one possessed, when he made her kill all those people…He’ll do it again tonight.”

“So targeting Zaida is what he wants us to do,” Chris followed along.

“We need to call Deaton,” The huntress instructed, remembering the shot the veterinarian had used on the girl to inhibit her powers. “Find out if he has any more fennel.”

“Wait, if targeting Zaida is what the Nogitsune wants us to do, then why are we doing it?” Derek interjected, not seeing the sense in falling right into the fox’s ploy.

“If we do get her to attack…” Allison explained and reached for Zaida’s piece, sliding it across the board to where it lined up with the black knight - the one labelled with her name. T he naiad versus the huntress. By moving the white queen, there was an undefended opening around the white king. “It leaves Stiles vulnerable.”

Moving Zaida’s piece back to its original spot, Allison shifted the black rook labelled with her father’s name so that it had an unobstructed line to both the white king, and the black knight. “And the way to get her to attack, is to threaten the king. Only, Zaida is too valuable to risk losing, so she won’t place herself between you. ” The huntress added and instead of making the obvious moves, she repeated her earlier play and had the white queen take the black knight. When she was done, she locked eyes with her father. “She’ll come for me, betting on the fact that she’ll best me and that you will choose to protect me over capturing Stiles. You need to prove her wrong. Can you do that?”

Chris’ jaw locked as he was faced with the impossible question. Choosing the mission over his daughter… “If it’s between Stiles and you,” He muttered under his breath. “You can’t ask me to make that choice.”

“I’m not asking,” Allison’s gaze hardened. As the matriarch, this was her decision to make. “I’m telling .”

Chris couldn’t bring himself to say anything, he simply dipped his chin in a sombre nod of confirmation as conflict brewed within him. “If we’re going to get to them before the Oni do, we have to get moving.” He broke away from his daughter’s stern gaze to glance outside the window at the darkening sky.

“He's at the loft. That's what he's trying to tell us. And he wants us to come there.” Allison gestured to the board. “We just need to figure out how to capture Stiles once we get an opening.”

“This couldn't sound any more like a trap,” Derek grumbled, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I don't think it is…” Noah shook his head, leaning against the desk as his eyes fixated on the board.

“I think your opinion might be slightly biased, Sheriff…” The hunter pointed out.

“Hear me out! What we're dealing with here is basically someone who lacks motive - no rhyme or reason, right?” Noah began his explanation.

“Meaning what?” Argent raised a brow at the man.

“Our enemy is not a killer...It's a trickster.” The Sheriff identified the difference. In his experience, motive was the most powerful tool to predict an opponent’s actions. “The killing is just a by-product.”

“If you're trying to say it won't kill us, I'm not feeling too confident about that…” The werewolf trailed off sarcastically.

“It won't. It wants irony. It wants to play a trick - it wants a joke. All we need to do is come up with a new punchline.” Noah reasoned.

“The sun is setting, Sheriff…” Argent reminded him of their time limit. “What do you have in mind?”

“Go ahead.” Noshiko held out the healed sword to her daughter. “It's yours now.”

“What if I don't want it?” Kira eyed the blade warily.

“You need it.” Noshiko’s lips pursed as the younger kitsune took the sword and whirled it a few times experimentally. Her surprise was written on her face when she realised how perfect it was in her hands. “You see? It gives you balance. My power is yours now, Kira. If the Oni cannot stop Stiles, you have to, the same as I did...And maybe seek out a wolf to help you…”

As Noshiko’s gaze landed on him, Scott’s jaw clenched in frustration at the waste of time. “You didn't tell us anything.” He stated.

“You want to save Stiles and Zaida? Kill the boy.” The woman surmised the moral of her story.

“You agree with this?” Scott turned to Mr Yukimura in disbelief.

“Sometimes, history does repeat itself, Scott.” The man admitted regrettfully.

“Only if you don't learn!” The werewolf exclaimed, refusing to give up. There had to be another way to save Stiles and Zaida. A way that didn’t involve risking either of their lives.

“But sometimes, even then, fate conspires against you.” Ken tilted his head.

“There's a way to save them. There has to be.” Scott’s eyes hardened determinedly, turning his back on the two and leaving.

“Kira…” Noshiko stepped towards her daughter, but Kira followed Scott out into the hallway, making her alliance clear. Once the two of them were gone, she held her last tail up to the golden light of the setting sun, seeing the concern in her husband’s eyes. “I'll take it somewhere safe.”

“That's not what I'm worried about,” Ken’s lips pulled into a tight line. “History has not done well with making children into killers.”

“These children played their part in it long before we came back to Beacon Hills. I buried the jar deep within the roots of the Nemeton…” Noshiko shook her head. “It was their sacrifice that brought its power back...They let the demon out of its cage..”

“Scott’s on his way with Kira,” Allison relayed the information from the text message she’d received to the rest of the group as they climbed the stairs to Derek’s loft. “Noshiko wouldn’t help - the Oni are still coming.”

“Well, then let’s just hope our plan works,” Sheriff Stilinski sighed heavily, reaching for the handle of the sliding entry door.

“Good luck,” Chris nodded to the man, and the rest of them stepped back and out of view as the Sheriff opened the door and walked through.

As he stepped inside the swiftly darkening space, he caught sight of both Stiles and Zaida standing before the far wall of windows with their backs facing him. Simultaneously, in unison, the two slowly turned to look over their shoulders and stare at him. The way they moved in sync was unsettling, sending a wave of chills up Noah’s spine.

“Hi, Dad…” Stiles greeted him in a low voice, and something within Noah’s heart told him that the figure he was looking at was not his son.

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

Hi, probably weird question, but can you offer any tips on how to co-write, like two different authors working on the same fic? How does that work?

hello there is actually nothing i would rather do let me give you the unabridged version because I think people romanticise it and it's important to be real. I'm going to give you all of my experiences and why I did it and which ones worked and which ones didn't.

HERE IT IS :

2-Let's start with @greenvlvetcouch who was my first duo writing experience. I was heavily part of an online thing at the time and I met him there, and we somehow (I genuinely can't remember how but I think it was me) ended up DMing about something, which actually pretty quickly evolved into me throwing a concept idea into the chat, and it just took off. We ended up losing our minds over the library scene from God Eater and that was that. I had read Zar and Jude's fic where every 15 min they switched (I think??) and I'm not a "minute" writer so I suggested to Green we did 700-1200 words each and pass it back. I also have a background in theatre, and I am part of a improv group in my city so improv games was part of my curriculum and I've always LOVED IMPROV GAMES, especially in small groups. (this is relevant for later). That's how God Eater was written. it happened very organically. We wrote it all in four months, in a doc, and didn't talk about publishing it until we realized that actually it was going to be a thing we were super proud of, that we would want to post it. The writing experience itself had none of the stress of "what if it's bad". We just wrote until we were done with no expectation. There were a lot of inconsistencies we fixed when we were done and TA-DA.

Since then Green has been a writing partner for a lot of published and unpublished works. We have several projects, some which we started and never finished because we lost the interest, some that we might publish, we don't know. I think he and I are aligned on the fact that writing is meant to be this fun thing and if the joy isn't there when writing, then the project dies. We had a LOT of really cool fun projects that only lived inside our mutual DMs and I think it still makes them real and great. They just weren't tangible enough to see the light of day. Green and I's writing process isn't *super* involved. We rarely fangirl over each other's works. I think we've reached a healthy balance of we *know* we love each other's writing, so we don't need to tell each other that. We will when a line slaps particularly well but other than that we mostly just hype the story up which is our way of saying we love working together.

Which is a perfect segway into inthesquare and I's writing process (hi I still don't know if I can tag you so imma send it to you after).

2-I'm currently writing a story with her, and our start was very different. I read this fic from hers and lost my mind. I cried and was very upset, it was such a great story, so I left a comment (as one does). What would you know, a few days later I get a comment on my fic about how she freaked out because she liked *my* work. So we literally met the most organically way possible: through ao3 comments. Then the normal pipeline happened: Tumblr, then Discord, then Whatsapp.

I wrote one fic that felt very much like something she would do and asked her to participate and add bits and bobs, she said yes, I was overjoyed. And then a few months ago I popped in and was like... *you like myths, right?* and TADA we have the amaranth hymns.

The writing process with us is very different. We each write until we're done with a scene (which usually ends up capping at 1500/2000 words-ish). We are posting as we go, we have 0 plan, zero foresight, we're just hoping for the best, rocking with a Pinterest board and voice noting each other at 3am going "hey do what was this thing you wrote and what does it mean?" "oh cool" "and so does this mean that X? Cuz we need to Y then" "Yes, right". We're problem solving as we go, and I think we're both kind of unbothered and unstressed about it: the story will write itself, we're just along for the ride. We also don't really hype each other up (a little ya know, when a line slaps), but we *do* talk about the fic itself a lot, which I think is our way of showing our engagement. We talk about the fic because we like writing it (I have a point to make later on bear with me).

3- You remember how i LOVE improve games, right????? WELL. There is a game called the "yes" game. A scene starts, you have a theme and a concept and you can't backtrack. Whatever the person throws your way you have to work with it....hence the "yes". You can only move forward, never back. That's how Raise Hell was created. I asked a bunch of my friends if they wanted to create a frankenstein fic, some said yes, some said no, and Raise Hell got started. I knew all of these people beforehand, so that made it easier. We still want to finish this fic but ya know, life got away from us.

What ended up happening is that there were no "writing" rule aside from : you must write enough to propel the next person. Give the next person *something* to work with. So what accidentally ended up happening is each person ended up writing a chapter.

Now let's talk about the rest:

As stated before, I love writing with people: I have the bandwith to work on numerous fics at once (it keeps my brain fed and entertained, I like the community of it), I like it, and thus I seek it.

But I think (and THIS is my point) that people romanticise it and it can stress people out. This is what I mean:

I started writing fics with several other writers because *I like it and I seek it and it brings me joy*, but some writers didn't like feeling like they were one in a lineup.

I wrote 30k with a writer and then the story died and we never picked it back up.

I have had two people I was writing with tell me they didn't like it because I wasn't 'involved' enough (by this I think what they meant was that I wasn't showing enough hype and enthusiasm for their writing).

I had one person tell me that our writing didn't match up and it felt weird and they didn't want to continue.

I have had one person tell me I hurt their feelings because I made them feel like their writing wasn't good enough by the way I edited.

I think it's important to mention that co-writing *is* a skill and it's not something that will work for everyone.

I have a graveyard of fics and a few friendships that died because of that, too. I'm not a big hyper. I do edit a lot. I show my enthusiasm in ways that perhaps isn't obvious enough. I don't praise other people's writing that much because in my mind, the fact we're writing together is proof enough that I love their writing, but that actually isn't always enough.

And I think the difficult part of all of this is that writing is a very personal endeavour. When you expose your guts to another person and they do not react the way you want them to, it's not very easy I think to say "Hey, you hurt my feelings because you didn't tell me you loved this and that". That's another layer exposed and because talking about hurt feelings is hard and uncomfortable, sometimes it will drag on and take proportions that lead to broken friendships.

So you do have to be careful.

...But I also don't know how, in the sense that *before* you start writing with someone, you won't *know* how they will react to the duo process.

What I'm saying is it' a gamble and actually I have lost more than I have won, BUT I still don't regret trying. I personally have had good experiences every single time. I have grown and I have learned.

I know for instance that writing with Green and Inthesquare is a great experience because we approach writing in the same way and we are all very confident in our own writing. We like how we write. We like how the other person writes. We know that, we don't feel the need to say it.

But I think I tend to forget that some writers (even really good ones!!) can feel self-conscious about their own writing and need more praise than what I give.

So bearing all that in mind here is my advice:

-Talk about what you need from the experience BEFOREHAND. How much hype, can I edit, how much editing can I do, etc etc. When green and I edit our works, we fully destroy each other's parts. We will go in and add and remove a LOT, to the point where it really becomes kind of undetectable, who wrote what, because we're in each other's lines everywhere. This isn't something that will feel good for everyone. When I write with inthesquare, we *barely* edit each other's work. The separation is much more obvious, and I don't really know why this is? It just is? We just kind of never edited the other person's part. And it works really beautifully, too. My point is these are two very different approach yet there isn't one better than the other, it's just different.

Some people do not like when you tinker with their writing too much. Some people do not like when you tinker with their writing at all. Make sure you know what each person is comfy with.

-Decide on a plan: are we writing each for a set amount of time? Of words? Are we each doing a chapter? The only rule is the one you make up.

-Don't put pressure on the work. See where it goes. If it dies, let it.

-I would advise against posting as you go if this stresses you out. That way if the story doesn't finish, no stress.

-Start with someone who you feel very confident writing with. Someone you know, who knows you, where the communication canals are OPEN. You're gonna need to be able to tell each other if someone does something that wasn't appreciated.

Not all co-writing will end up with a fully fledged fic. Not all co-writing will end up being a good experience. If the person you really want to write with doesn't want to write with you, don't take it personally. It just do be like that.

But I'm the kind of person who really has come to love it, and while I'm a lot more picky now with who I write (because I'd love to like, not lose more friends), I think I will always seek it out, especially with the people with whom it's been a success before. I love, love, loveeeeee writing with my friends. I find it so rewarding and fun and great and I have nothing bad to say about it. I just really, really love it.

And if you've made it till here just know I have ONE fic I wrote with 2 other writers that we published under anon. and it's just out there. Doing its thing.

[countrymusiclover]

75 - I Will Rescue You

Part 76

Gemini Runaway

@icefrye19 @secretdreamlandmentality

Laying on the bed in Jo’s apartment it had been a few days since we all learned that Kai was out of his prison world. Which wouldn’t be good for anyone. Flipping over onto my side I stared at the hologram crystal briefly. Reaching over I snatched it from the table and grasped it in my hands. “Missing me again, love?”

“More than words can describe.” I said back to the hologram of my husband laying beside me. His blue eyes poured into mine. “I just wish I could snap my fingers and have the cures. So that we could get back to each other.”

He sat up a little, holding his body up on his left elbow. “You haven’t talked about the progress, maybe that would make you feel better about this.”

“Fine. Let’s see, Hayley and Cami went in search of the cure for Freya’s poison and found that. But it still leaves Rebekah’s hex and the beast bites that Elijah and Kol have. Which according to you was created by the seven Crescent werewolf packs with their venom.” I sat up hugging my knees to my chest thinking back to my previous phone calls.

Klaus sent me a smile trying to be hopeful for me. “There you go. Then you’ve got one out of three. That’s better than nothing.”

“Maybe….” I sighed heavily resting my chin on my knees.

“Raelyn, what aren’t you saying that you want to say?”

“Nothing.” I fought back quickly.

He raised a brow at me as a warning. “Raelyn…tell me.”

Throwing my hands up in the air I began crying in front of the holographic version of the man I loved. “I miss you so much. I miss your touch, your lips, your voice whispering in my ear. I miss watching you tell the girls bedtime stories. I miss you being here when I have nightmares that my family will come for me. I…I miss having sex with you like you wouldn’t imagine. Klaus, I can’t breathe without you honestly. I miss your scent, I miss being in your arms. I…I freaking miss you so bad and there’s nothing I can do about it!”

“Rae, I know and I wish I could fix it.” He said with a disappointed smile. Since he was made from my memory of him he knew what I was thinking inside my head.

Burying my face in my hands I started crying again. Even if I could see him it wouldn’t make the pain go away until I got to physically be with him. “You say everything that he would say to me. But you’re not what I want. At first it helped but now…now it’s just torture. Reminding me what I can’t have because of Marcel. I hate him!” Clutching my hands into fists the lamp on the bedside table caught on fire.

“Love, the lamps on fire.” He pointed out where I glanced over my shoulder.

“Shit!” I cursed getting up waving it with the rug until it was put out. “See I can’t even do magic right without the real you!”

Klaus shifted on the bed sitting with his legs crossed. “Maybe it would help if you visited the real me.”

“What, you mean like astral projection? I….I don’t think that would make me feel better. I mean who knows what kind of torture Marcel is putting him - uh you though.” I shook my head no, reaching down and twirling the dog tag necklace he had given me that he always wore after I had traded his for my brothers necklace.

Hologram Klaus got to his feet vamping in front of me where we were almost chest to chest with each other. “You could give it a shot. If you wish to know, is this suffering all for nothing.”

“I never said anything like that. I…we did this to save his siblings.” I trailed off not liking where my brain was heading.

He placed his hands behind his back with a serious look on his face. “But you have thought about it. In case you have forgotten I am a projection created from your head.”

“Okay maybe I have thought it once or twice. But it doesn’t matter how many bad thoughts I’ve had. I would never trade their lives for mine with you.”

Klaus tilted his head closing the gap even more between us where if he were really here we would be close to kissing already. “Don’t underestimate the allure of darkness, Raelyn. Even the purest hearts are drawn to it.”

“I’m not afraid of the darkness. I married you even though you want everyone to fear your name. I have my own dark impulses that I have inside me.” I raised my head meeting his gaze. “Yet that’s not what this is about. Nik, you will never understand even if you are a creature inside my head.”

He smirked, tilting his head to the side. “If you aren’t then do the spell. You have something of mine. So there’s nothing stopping you.”

Vamping away from him I found some candles and sage that Jo had gotten for me and Jaocb to talk with Cami or Hayley when they weren’t here. Bending down on my knees I draw with the sage the symbols on the wooden floor. “Demitte moi, demitte moi.” Clutching my hand around Klaus’s necklace I closed my eyes focusing on him.

Opening my eyes I covered my mouth with my hands gasping in shock. “Oh my god.” Klaus was laying in the middle of a circle of salt barrier.

“Do you suffer, Niklaus, as my wife suffered? As my child suffered? Yeah, you do. But I do believe, at long last, your suffering is at an end.” One of his vampires walked up. He was surrounded by the other vampires that were formerly sired to him.

Walking around one of the pillars to hide so they couldn’t see me. I peaked around the corner mumbling to myself. “I will rip Marcel apart when I get back here!” Nik’s hair was extremely curly and he was bloody with chains attached to his neck, wrists and ankles.

The crowd started chanting. “Kill him!”

“Do you hear that? The people have spoken. Now, honor would dictate a request for your last words, but you deserve no such privilege.” The vampire was holding a sword in his hand now threatening my husband. “Instead, I want the last words you ever hear to be my solemn vow. I will find your daughters….and then take your wife. And when I do, I will eradicate your malignant bloodline from... this... earth.”

The vampire hit Klaus over the head with the sword, knocking him to the stone floor. When he got back up the vampire tried to take his head but Klaus swung his chains tripping him. My husband then bit down into his neck.

Two more vampires came into the circle seeing my husband had picked up the sword from the ground. Nik swings his chains forward wrapping them around the vamp’s wrist. He yanked him forward biting into his neck doing the same to the other, throwing them over the barrier.

“Well, who's next?!” Klaus shouted, holding the blade in his hand. He had blood dripping from his mouth looking between the group. “Oh, come on. Meet... your... maker.”

Marcel came behind him snapping his neck where I cursed, clutching my hands into fists. “Bastard!”

“Mmm. That is a nasty bite. The good news is, we have the cure. You see, keeping Klaus alive does come in handy. I keep him for his blood, in case the wolves get out of line. I keep him as collateral, in case his family comes back. I keep him, because I can. I put him down, I kept him down, and I am the only one that can stop him from coming after all of you. New Orleans is mine.” Marcel declared to the gang of vampires before he made them all leave the cave where Klaus was.

Rushing out from behind the column I dropped on my knees pressing my hands on the spell barrier even though I didn’t have my magic when I did projections like this. “Klaus, Klaus hey. It’s me, Nik!”

“R…Rae?” He blinked, his eyes opened, waking up from the neck snap. He lifted his head up shuffling toward the spell as much as he could. “What are you doing here?”

Pushing my hands against the spell. “I…I had to see you. These years have been torture.”

“You shouldn’t be here, love. Marcel will find you. And if finds out you are looking for curse-“

I cut him off, shaking my head. “Klaus stop it. I don’t want to worry about him now. I know the risks of being here and I’m willing to pay. But he won’t find me, I swear it.

“Oh Rae…” He tilted his head to the side with those weak puppy dog eyes.

Sniffing through tears noticing that he was still wearing Jacob’s necklace around his neck. I smiled wishing that I could break the spell between us and just fling my arms around him and never let go. “Is this always going to be our lives, Nik. Having to be separated by one of your enemies, cause I thought we were done after you killed Mikael, Esther and Dahlia.”

“Raelyn, I promise you this. We will be together again I know it.” He placed his hands on the barrier spell where our hands would cover each other if it wasn’t there.

Leaning my forehead down and he leaned his forehead forward too. “I believe you but I don’t want to spend a thousand years or an immortal lifetime without you. I…I love you so much and I will rescue you. I will always rescue you.”

“I love you too, Raelyn. Always and forever.” He whispered before he moved his head hearing someone coming down the stairs. “You need to go before he gets here. Just remember I love you.”

“I love you too.” Raising to my feet I waved my hand disappearing back into Jo’s apartment. A set of footsteps came running down the hallway where I glanced over my shoulder quickly seeing Missy.

“Mommy, we did it. We can talk to Auntie Bex and Freya. And uncles Elijah and Kol!” She cheers, throwing her fist in the air.

Brushing hair out of my eyes I tugged on her father’s necklace for strength. Sniffing up the tears that had fallen I wiped them away with my sleeves. “Oh cool honey. How about you show me.”

“Mommy, why were you crying?” She asked when I picked her up in my arms carrying her over my shoulder.

Shaking my head we headed into their room where Alina and Hope were sitting in a circle of sage chalk drawn on the ground with candles. “It’s nothing sweetheart. Now show me how you have started talking with them.” The other two grabbed my hands after taking Missy’s hands in theirs. Closing my eyes I knew one way or another we would get their father back.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[troolyart]

Entity AU pt 1.

[How long?] Stanley asked. The Narrator looks at him through those damned yellow lenses, the green of his eyes being hidden by more than just the lights in the Zending that they currently are enjoying.

"What do you mean, how long? You really must expound more, Stanley. You can't just ask one simple question if you want a straight answer. How else will I know what you're talking about?"

Stanley just sighs and flops down onto the cool carpet, letting the lights illuminate his face as he stares up at the ceiling. His hands start to move while his face remains eerily blank. [How long have I been here? How many resets has it been, Narrator?]

The lights that have been bouncing around in the dome pause for a split second, almost imperceptible, before they continue as they were. Stanley can hear his companion let out a sigh and mumble to himself, most likely checking through his script for the answer.

"Ah, here it is," the Narrator muses as he fixes his glasses to be higher up on his nose. "It's been around six hundred and thirteen resets at this point. Although some of those weren't even my doing, I'll have you know."

There's a shuffling to his left before a small thump sounds next to his head and a warm, soft hand lands on top of his forehead.

"Stanley, I can tell something is bothering you. Why else would you ask me this out of the blue? You can tell me anything, honestly you can."

Stanley finds it in himself to sign again. [How long were you trapped here...before you changed?]

The hand atop his forehead jolts a bit before it calms down, a thumb creasing the worry lines Stanley's accrued over the years to try and smooth them out some. The office worker's eyes meet his Narrator's, green pools that appear haunted despite the colorful atmosphere. Stanley can't blame him for that; all of the years he's told him about, trapped with nothing but his own voice until the Parable decided to take pity on him must have been hell.

The hand leaves his head and the Narrator sighs heavily, his voice still present as a groan in the air that leaves him, as if he cannot be silent in any way. "Ohhh, I don't know, Stanley. It could have been years or three days outside of this place, but inside it...it felt like a millennium."

The Narrator turns his head to look at the man next to him, and Stanley does the same. "What brought this on?"

He can't help but flinch ever so slightly as he finally sits back up, knees drawing close to his chest. Stanley can't look at him when he asks this. Hell, signing might be difficult given that his hands are starting to shake.

He manages a shaky [Can't] before turning away. The hand is back, this time on his shoulder, pulling as if begging him to turn back around. It's still warm. Alive. Real.

"Stanley, please...talk to me? You're starting to frighten me a bit. What's troubling you so— good god, your hands are trembling. Stanley??"

Stanley buries his head into his knees and projects his thoughts to his companion, something he hasn't done in a long time given how much he prefers to sign in person.

"How long do I have until I forget who I am, Narry? Until I don't remember I'm human?"

It's quiet in the dome. Too quiet for how much his Narrator likes to talk. The last time it was so quiet was when Narrator became upset with him and left him alone for an hour or two. Probably the worst two hours he can recall. Oh god, why isn't he saying anything? Did I say something wrong? Is he upset about what I asked? His thoughts start to spiral and he can't even hope to know if he shut off that link to him and the Narrator.

Suddenly, the warmth on his shoulder moves to encompass him, pressing into his back, his sides, everywhere arms can reach. Soft hair tickles the side of his neck and a shiver runs through him as warm breath hits his skin. The Narrators voice comes to him soft but firm, as firm as the arms around him, directly into his ear.

"I wouldn't let that happen, Stanley. Ever. Not to you."

Stanley can't remember the last time he cried outside of the Parable. He's cried plenty inside it, though, usually after the discovery of a new ending that brings the both of them nothing but grief. He's crying now. Stanley is certain that the Narrator can feel the tears falling from his face onto the man's hands. One of those hands cradles his face and tries to pull it out of the nook his knees have made. He obliges and looks back into thoes green eyes, now also beginning to tear up.

"I will not let you forget, Stanley."

The office worker pulls away a little bit, takes the Narrators hands in his, and leans forward to touch foreheads with the man. His thoughts stop their spiralling enough to try and get his thoughts across. "But what if that doesn't work? If I'm too far gone, then—"

"Then I will remind you as often as you need me to," he interjects. "As often as I think I should, even if you're completely fine. Your name is Stanley. You're human. You are real."

A small smile starts to creep along Stanley's face as he takes in those words. "I'm real. My name is Stanley. My name is Stanley and my coworkers are missing."

The Narrator let's out a chuckle at his thought, the sound reverberating in Stanley's head as their foreheads still touch. It's so real. He's real. His Narrator.

"Ah yes, your coworkers are still missing aren't they? And yet here we are dillydallying in this room. Oh well, they can wait can't they?"

Stanley let's out a chortle at that with his companion following suit. God, this felt right. All that worrying about what could happen to him while the whole time he has his Narrator to look out for him. And he'll do the same for his friend. No...friend didn't quite fit their relationship.

He's so close. Not even inches apart, the Narrator is basically in his lap at this point. His lips are right there...he could just...

So he does.

Stanley's always been an impulsive protagonist, always diving headfirst, logic be damned. The kiss is nearly the same, but it becomes more thought out when his Narrator leans into it. Where he should place his hands becomes almost second nature, when to take a moment to breathe through his nose so their lips can press against each other for just another moment.

Stanley pulls back first, the Narrator lingers in his space, eyes half-lidded. The lights in the Zending have all gone pink, which does nothing to hide the blush they both are sporting. Both men smile before Stanley brings his hands back up.

[Thank you, Narry. For reminding me how real I am. And for the kiss.]

The older man grins mischievously. "Oh don't thank me just yet, dear boy. I'm going to be reminding you so much you'll get sick of me after a while."

Stanley quirks and eyebrow before pecking his cheek. [Will that also include kisses every time? Because I might not get sick of that.]

"You'll just have to see won't you," he says as he starts to get up off of Stanley's lap in order to stand. Once up right, he holds out a hand for Stanley to grab. "Ready to reset, darling?"

Stanley takes ahold of his hand and gladly let's himself get pulled along like always. [Ready.]