#*rattling the bars of my cage* do you ever regret love? do you ever regret mercy? or do you let your choice to love break and consume you?

[littleaipom]

"I should have eaten you"

[desertofsnowflakes]

Incorrect Order Chapter 2 (Nessian AU)

A/N: DO inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: Abuse and Swearing

1957 words | Part 1 | Read on AO3

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Cassian was waiting. And waiting. And waiting. He waited for the day he would forget the woman’s face. He waited for the day he could close his eyes without seeing her blue-grey eyes blazing in anger. He waited for the day he wouldn’t burn his bacon because he was thinking about her.

He had mused, how the face of a stranger was branded into his mind vividly. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered if they’ve known each other before or have seen each other somewhere, anywhere before the day in the mall—even if on photographs or at an event or at another shopping mall. Still, he desperately wanted to forget about her. He wanted to forget that she ever existed. He wanted to forget their encounter in the mall that day. He wanted to forget everything about her, even though deep down, he knew what he wanted was far from forgetting her.

But he couldn’t afford this. He couldn’t afford to think about her at all times. He was getting distracted at work. His part-time job as a martial-arts instructor and as a sommelier was in a precarious position if it went on like this. He nearly tore one of his student’s muscles in his centre and got at least 5 orders wrong at the restaurant he was working at.

On a Saturday noon, Cassian decided the best way to clear his head was to dive into a war book or reread Secrets Of The Sommeliers for probably the millionth time.

* * *

Nesta flinched at the sudden ping of the oven timer. Again. She’d been thinking about him again. This was the fourth time in the whole week when she burned her cheese sandwich and she was getting so tired of this. She urgently needed a way to stop thinking about him. To stop seeing his insufferable grin whenever she closed her eyes. To stop thinking about him at almost all times.

It struck her as odd, the fact they didn’t even know each other’s names but she kept seeing his face as if they’ve known each other before. She gasped. What if they had known each other before? What if they were probably neighbours from Nesta’s old house or classmates or maybe they went to the same college. Nesta shook her head.

But why should she care? No, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care what his name is or if he even has a name. She doesn’t care if she’s had the misfortune of seeing him before or if that was the first she’s seeing him. Or so she kept telling herself. She couldn’t afford to have him occupy her thoughts. She had better things to do. But all these excuses weren't enough to stop her from still thinking about him.

Nesta looked at her clock. It was a Saturday, almost noon. Maybe reading a spicy book or two will help.

* * *

Cassian loved the House of Wind library and bookstore. They had a variety of books in almost any genre. He'll admit though, that some of the librarians here are better left alone. He was lucky he came here often and therefore knew a handful of the merrier librarians. He made a beeline for his favourite section, books related to wine, best books for sommeliers.

On his way to the shelves he had committed to memory, he realised that there was a big poster about their annual Free Premium Membership Fest where 20 fortunate, early birds would get their membership card updated to premium with a number of privileges. Cassian's whole being was elevated. He missed the last fest they held and had been waiting for the next fest. He wondered how he could forget such an important thing. Oh. Right. Of course. A certain lady was occupying his thoughts. He sighed. He forgot about that too.

He was quite disappointed when he reached the counter. The fest started yesterday and the computer stated that there was only one person left till 20. What truly disappointed him was that Clotho wasn't at the counter as she usually was. Maybe she'll be in the—

“If you're done staring at the computer maybe you could deign to move so it can really serve its purpose of being a public property?” Cass froze. He'd know that voice anywhere. This was the voice taunting him at all times. “And if you have coffee in your hands, I'd suggest you turn slowly.”

He smirked. So she knew who she was talking to.

“Well, looks like the damage would be lesser this time since your clothes aren't white,” he observed.

“I figured black would hide stains caused by ogling, clumsy people better than white,” she said. “Now, if you could move, I want to register for the Membership Fest.”

“Register? What do you mean by ‘I want to register for the Membership Fest’?”

“A register, you know,” she teased, “Something like a form where you fill your details if you want to join something?” She smirked at his glare.

“Well,” he said, “if there is a register let me fill it first.”

“Because your ego is bigger?”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” he dead-panned. “I came here first.”

“Here as in the counter or the library? Because I’m pretty sure I stepped into this library first.”

Cassian quickly checked the database where the information of all members appeared. He turned back to her with a self-satisfied smirk. “The database shows otherwise, sweetheart.”

She scowled. “I don’t believe you. You might’ve tampered with the information.”

He moved slightly to the side to give her a better view. Her scowled deepened.

She rounded on him. “You,” seethed. “You did—”

“Hello,” a new, shy voice said.

“Hey, Gwyn,” they both said in symphony.

A look of surprise crossed over her features before it faded away. When the woman turned to Gwyn, she wore a huge smile. “Oh, look, she smiles,” he muttered, earning him a glare.

“Is the fest still on?” Cassian asked.

Gwyneth Berdara, one of the joyful librarians here, said, “Unfortunately, not. We just got our 20th member.”

Cassian’s face fell. He noticed the same of the woman too. Gwyn, always the optimistic one, said cheerfully, “Maybe we could reserve one for the both of you next year?”

They both murmured their assent before Gwyn offered her farewell and went back to the staffroom.

The woman turned back to him. “This is all your fault,” she hissed and stalked out of the library, leaving Cassian more confused than ever.

* * *

Nesta went to the library to find solace or at least a semblance of it. Seeing the man there, however, left Nesta more rattled than she would care to admit. Rattled, and angry. Angry at the universe for giving them these unfortunate encounters. Angry at him for following her wherever she went. Angry at herself for feeling such futile emotions. Angry at her body for reacting to him.

She was also upset that she didn’t get a free premium member cr

Nesta was so occupied with her thoughts and emotions that she didn’t realise she was taking the wrong route. She wasn’t familiar with this part of Velaris. She also didn’t realise she was being followed. It was distinct, the sound of hushed breathing, of the soft thuds of footfalls. The footsteps sounded heavier which most probably meant it was a man. She couldn’t really be sure, though. This was a person who was not experienced in stalking but was trying hard enough.

Nesta knew she shouldn’t panic but couldn’t help the bout of fear that crashed through her. Nesta tried to stay calm. She tried to make sure she didn't quicken her pace. She tried, cauldron, she really did. But her fear was slowly overpowering her senses. She felt the urge to run away from her stalker.

But that wouldn’t be wise. Running away from her stalker isn’t a good choice. It wasn’t smart. Who’s to know he wasn’t armed? What if he was faster than her? What if her stalker was faster than her? He might be stronger too. He could over power her and cage her in. She didn’t even know what his motive was.

Then, Nesta made a ridiculously huge, dumb mistake. She turned to an abandoned alley. At least it looked abandoned. She let out a frustrated breath. Running away was at least better than getting stuck in an alley. So much for ‘that wouldn't be wise’. She looked around, trying to get a sense of where she was or if there were any means of escape, however meager it might be.

Suddenly, she was slammed to the alley wall. The rough cold stone was unforgiving and unyielding under her cheek. Her windpipe was closed off and she was struggling to get some air in. She fought to get free but her captor —a man, as she guessed— was too strong. Somehow, his hands felt familiar to her. As if she were long acquainted with this person’s touch.

“What do you want?” she gasped out.

He chuckled, the sound grating through her very bones.

“My little Nesta,” he whispered, his hot breath ghosting the shell of her ear. “Ever the stubborn one.”

That voice. It was one that she couldn’t forget as hard as she tried. Tomas Mandray, her ex-boyfriend, was someone not easily forgotten.

“Tomas,” she said. She couldn’t bring herself to be nice. Not now, not after how he treated her. “What the fuck do you want? Let me go.”

“I see you haven’t changed at all.”

“I can say the same of you.”

“Mhm. You broke up with me and then you called the police. Got me stuck behind bars for two fucking months.”

“Good riddance,” she muttered.

He slammed her head against the wall. Hard. Blinding pain shot through her. He yanked her hair so hard she was afraid chunks of it came out. Her head only throbbed harder.

“Manners were never your cup of tea,” he hissed.

“You were not that kind either. You were an empowering, possessive bastard and I don’t regret watching you grovel to the police for freedom for one fucking moment and I won’t ever.”

He growled and slammed her head against the wall again. She cried out and was pretty sure she heard something crack. She felt the metallic tang of blood on her lips, streaming from her nose freely.

“Oh, you will. You’ll regret everything. Every. Single. Thing. For your whole god-damned life. I’ll make sure of it, bitch,” he promised.

He tightened his grip on her hair that sent another wave of agony through her. She caught the glint of something in the fading sunlight. A knife. Of course he had a knife.

He had a knife while she was a mess, kneeling on an alley, completely at the mercy of one of the people who hated her the most. Pathetic. So, so, pathetic. She hated herself for whimpering. She hated herself for being this weak. She hated that she had gotten panicked enough that she turned to an alley, where no one would know.

Here, in this unknown alley, with the person she hated the most, Nesta Archeron was going to die. She was going to die a death as unknown as the place she was in. Maybe even without her sisters knowing. Shit. Her sisters. If only she showed all her love to sweet Elain and brave Feyre, if only she even went to meet her brother-in-laws, Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian, maybe things would’ve been different. She closed her eyes, fighting the emotion in her throat. I’m sorry Elain, Feyre, Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian, I’m so, so sorry, was the last thing in her head before she felt acute pain and succumbed to the dragging talons of oblivion.

taglist:

@im-someone-i-guess @shadowsinger07 @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @julian-blackthorn-supremacy @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @ladygabrielli1997 @nehemikkele

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Valued Possessions

Word Count: 1.9k  

Pairing: Trainer!Izuku/Dragon-Shifter!Reader

Synopsis: Izuku’s rather fond of his newest find, an exotic Dragon-Shifter set to join his ever-growing collection of beasts and monsters. It’s a shame he has to break you in before he can expect you to fall in line.

TW: Violence, Abuse of Power, Kidnapping, Dehumanization, and Captivity. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a dragon.”

His voice is smooth, unaffected, an ongoing drawl as practiced as the nonchalant smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. It’s been there since you arrived, since his obnoxious, noisy lackeys pulled you out of a cage with iron bars, a muzzle locked over your mouth and shackles around your wrists and ankles, the broken remains of four identical restraints laid at your feet. Izuku, as he insists you call him, saw fit to do away with the muzzle, but you couldn’t be thankful, not when he makes it so clear he’d prefer you keep quiet. You’d already had to endure his humming while he wound your chains around the stone pillar you were currently kneeling in front of, a solitary structure in the center of the cavernous tent he seemed to call home. If an off-tune melody is your reward for cooperation, you have no desire to find out what misbehavior will earn.

Silently, you make plans to tear out his tongue, then his vocal cords, and if you’re feeling generous, his lungs. Anything he could use to get on your nerves.

“Dragons are such wondrous creatures.” He’s behind you, now, his light footsteps only made softer by the bare earth that makes up his floor. It’s just soil and grass, but it’s biting into your knees nonetheless, wedging itself between your scales and doing nothing to aid the steady, pulsing ache in your calves, tight knots of pressure and tension you couldn’t shake out. You need to stand, to stretch, and while you’re all-but sure Izuku can sense your discomfort, you know you won’t be permitted to move until you’re ready to beg for it. Needless cruelty is a staple of humanity, and he’s given you no reason to think him any better than than the rest of his kin. “I used to have a few friends like you - halfbreeds. Half human, half reptile.” Izuku pauses, letting out a disgruntled huff. His own, personal, unpleasant joke. “Although, Kacchan could hardly be called anything but a nuisance.”

You narrow your eyes, speaking under your breath. “You’re one to talk.”

If he hears you, he doesn’t deem the comment worthy of indulgence. Rather, Izuku takes the opportunity to edge closer, the fabric of his thick gloves rustling before falling away completely, his bare fingertips soon brushing against the unprotected, fleshy skin of your shoulder-blade, just above the base of your wing. Automatically, you jerk away, balling your hands into fists and curling into yourself, but Izuku only laughs, the sound breathy and arrogant. The laugh of a man watching his skittish pet shy away from his touch, too simple-minded to realize that it can only run to the end of its leash. “You’re prettier than Kacchan. Fewer scars, duller talons... your scales are a nice color, too,” He says. Then, as if you don’t already know, he adds “They match your eyes.”

You don’t respond, biting the edge of your tongue, but Izuku is already preoccupied. Idly, his attention shifts towards the nape of your neck, his fingers dancing over the patch of scales that protect the top of your spine. He follows the shape, where it narrows and dips, guarding only what’s necessary before trickling to a stop completely, only to pick up again below your knees. With a discontented, throaty noise, he stabs his thumb violently into small of your back, his unoccupied hand clamping around your shoulder as you cry out, more out of shock than pain. Whatever he’s searching for, he doesn’t find, something he makes apparent with an unsatisfied purse of his lips. “No tail.”

You grit your teeth, but it fails to quell your anger. “Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” You spit, raising your voice before you can make yourself regret the action. “I thought you had eyes--”

Izuku doesn’t care for that. Before you can find a proper end to your insult, something flat and sharp bites into your skin, the vulnerable tissue of the back of your thigh. There’s an eruption of flame beneath your skin, but it fades quickly, leaving a scalding, lasting pain in its wake. One that burnt more than it should’ve. One that hurt more than you’d care to admit. A whip, you realize, just in time for the second blow. You don’t remember when he picked it up, but you don’t particularly care, either. A weapon is a weapon, and the fact that he has the gull to turn one against you at all is enough to make your broiling hate boil over.

“That’s not the kind of language you’re going to use with me,” He coos, his voice nothing short of benign, as if he hadn’t just struck you for no other reason than his own perceived superiority. “We’re friends, are we not? There’s no reason to take that tone with me, not when you and I want the same thing.” Slow, deep circles are pushed into the dip of your shoulder, Izuku’s half-hearted attempt to comfort you. It does little to erase the furious red streaks now decorating your skin. “You want to survive, and I want to see you flourish. If I have to hurt you, it’s only because you’ve done something to warrant discipline.”

“It’s because you’re a sadist,” You grunt, flexing your claws, testing the strength of your chains. They hold true, rattling under their own weight at the slightest shift, reassuring you that you wouldn’t be able to escape them, not without giving Izuku time to do something much worse than inflict a momentary pain. “If you didn’t enjoy this, you wouldn’t--”

Another strike forces your breath to hitch, colliding with your shoulder and seeping onto your chest. Your scales distance the pain, but that only means it lingers, carving out a place in your memory before it began to fade. You don’t cry out, for fear that any sound of displeasure will earn another blow.

Izuku doesn’t bother with a warning when he takes up one of your wings, instead, tearing it away from your back until the appendage is stretched to its full length. It flutters, attempting to tuck back into a position more in tune with its twin, but Izuku’s grip is firm, keeping it in place as he idly runs a finger down a prominent ridge, following the shape from the bend of your wing until it disappears into leathery sinew. You shudder, and Izuku pretends not to notice. “Beautiful wings,” He notes. “It’s a good pair. If I cut them off and sell them to the highest bidder, I’d make a small fortune. Enough to fund your upkeep, and a little extra... It’d only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

It’s involuntary. You don’t say anything, you’re smart enough to bite your tongue and keep quiet, but there’s a twitch, a delayed effort to keep yourself docile, and that’s enough for Izuku. With a light chuckle and a step back, his foot implants itself in your spine, knocking you forward, your chest crashing haphazardly into the stone pillar. The edge collides with your chest, slotting itself between your ribs and refusing to move until a bruise is blooming across your diaphragm. You scream, the noise high-pitched and cut short by your own pride, but Izuku doesn’t pull back. If anything, more of his weight comes to rest on you, the sole of his boot making itself at home on your skin. Taking pleasure in doing so, at that.

“You’re mine,” He growls, the declaration a ridicule in itself. “I paid for you, I brought you here, and now, you belong to me. You’re a monster, and I am the loving, caring hand that’s going to make sure you don’t stumble into another trap or get skinned for your hide. I’m doing you a favor, and you will be thankful for it.” He grinds his heel down, driving a small, pathetic whine from somewhere deep in your throat. Tiny, insignificant, and exactly what Izuku’s looking for. “You’re going to be happy, and I’m going to take very, very good care of you. We’ll work hand in hand as master and pet, and you’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

“I’m not an animal.” It takes more restraint that it should not to hiss the words, not to make a fact into a warning. If you hadn’t been captured, restrained and collared like an unruly mutt, you would’ve strung him to the nearest tree branch with his own intestines hours ago, and you would’ve done so with joy. It’s a difficult feat not to let that impact the way you speak. “I’m not human, but I’m not a monster, either. I’m not mindless.” You swallow dryly, remaining quiet for a moment, but Izuku fails to cut in. It’s a relief, and yet, his silence is enough to make you shrink into yourself, your confidence unshaken but suppressed. “You can’t treat me as if I am, not if you expect me to be grateful.”

A second passes, and you begin to hold your breath. But, Izuku’s eventual response comes without malice. “Yes, I can.”

It’s all you can do to remember how to talk. “What?”

“I can.” He pulls away, the pressure falling away from your back, but you don’t move, staying slouched over the pillar as if it was a lifeline, rather than a hindrance. Slowly, he circles to face you, and for the first time, you can see him clearly. His attire, all well-worn tunics and clothes made to guard against creatures much more imposing than yourself, his pale skin, littered with scars from his neckline to his wrists, and his eyes, dark and foreboding and so terrible, focused on you and unwilling to center on everything else, even when you manage to rip yourself away. Your head bows before you can summon your courage, but Izuku’s quick to correct your posture, his fingers soon rooted in your hair, wrenching you upward and forcing you to meet his gaze. He’s done giving you a choice, if he was ever willing to. “And I will. You might’ve been something before, but now, you’re one of my beasts, and I intend to train you appropriately. You’ll be grateful for my generosity, or I’ll make you act like you are. Regardless of how much I have to shave away to reach the golden, obedient core I know you have.”

Instinctually, you bare your teeth, but the gesture is feeble, much too little and far too late. Izuku only smiles as he leans forward, pushing a quick, chaste kiss into your forehead. You’d say it seems apologetic, but his broad, remorseless grin crushes your hope before it can start to take shape. “Be thankful,” He says, standing to his full height.

Somehow, he seems so much taller than he was, seconds ago.

“I might be the only person who sees you as human enough to warrant such thorough efforts.”

[straightouttaneptune]

You’ll come with me, won’t you?

Pairing: Harley Quinn x Reader

Warning: It’s different. Joker is a bitch. Reader becomes kind of morally weird as the fic progresses. People die. 

Summary: Y/N is a baby psychiatrist, who just started out. Suddenly, she is trusted with the most feared case of all. Harleen Quinzel. Y/N thinks it’ll be good for her career, or will it?

A/N: I couldn’t find a good ending to this for the longest time, I’m so glad I did. Also, this is for my 500 followers fic queue :) Thank you for the love, darlings✨

—————————————————————

“Harleen Quinzel?”

That was a name you’d heard before. That was a name everyone’s heard before, at least once in their lives. But it was not the name that had surprised you, but it was the fact that her name was right there on top of your long patient list.

“Yeah, congrats Y/N. She’s pretty famous around here. Straighten her out and you’ll probably be in the big city in less than a year.” Your colleague, Megan peered into your books over your shoulders and patted your back affectionately.

You were one of the new psychiatrists in the business, and you had been dealing with criminal minors, the less mental mental patients and all the clients that newbies would usually handle. Being fresh out of university after holing up in the labs and libraries, you needed to gain some experience first before taking on the really hard cases.

Or... that’s what you were told.

“C’mon, Meg, you gotta know more than that. Why would they pass her case to me? She’s a rank SS psycho.” You pushed, looking up at her through your lashes in a slightly accusatory manner.

She gave you a look that asked; “Do you really want to know?” And you nodded.

“Well, I heard the other docs, the guys who were like 10, 20, hell, 30 years into the business, they all got their brains scrambled by... this girlie.” Her index finger landed on the profile photo of Harley Quinn, an apologetic look in her eyes.

You rolled your eyes, not necessarily at Megan, but at whoever it was that tried to deal this card to you. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“It’s cruel, but you can always turn it down, y’know?” Megan set her books aside, her left arm cradling your slumped shoulders.

“Yeah... But I might not.”

Megan’s dropped gaze snapped back up, her eyes wide with surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s a good way to kick-start my career, I guess.”

\|/

“Hello, new doc.” The moment you entered the room, you regretted making this decision immediately. Harley Quinn sat in a big contraption-looking chair, her hands and feet shackled onto the armrests and legs of the seat. Her platinum blonde hair was untied and unkempt, its bottoms still dyed red and blue, although it seemed to have faded over time.

The only thing dividing the space between you and Harley was a metallic table bolted on the floor, wide enough so even if Harley broke off her arm shackles and reached for you, she wouldn’t be able to touch you. You swallowed your nerves and entered the room with a confident stride, smiling sweetly at the guards as they closed the door with eyes of concern.

“Hello, Miss Quinzel.” You thanked heavens that your words came out right, especially in front of a woman who could sniff out people’s fears from thousands of miles away.

“You’re the first girl I’ve had.” She mused, her eyes twinkling with mischief. But the light in her eyes has lost its original color, you thought. She looked much more lively in photos taken way back then. When she was just a psychiatrist.

“Hm. I guessed that it would be nice to have some heart to heart, female to female.” You reassured your anxious self calmly in your head, repeating the words ‘you got this, Y/N.’

“Do you know why I’m here, and not... Damien? Who usually comes in for your check-ups?” Stowing your clipboard away on your lap, you continued.

“Yeah. Before him was another guy, then a grandpa and just... a buncha stupid-lookin’ guys. But I didn’t like them.” She replied as if it was the most simple thing in the world. The files back in the company would argue differently. Every single guy, either was tormented by her psychotic attacks or totally gone insane from her mental tricks.

“Are you going to do the same thing to me?” You asked, not really knowing what answer to expect. Your eyes remained soft, a small smile gracing your lips as you waited for her answer.

“No. I like ya.” She answered quickly, shrugging and adverting her gaze away to look down at her shackles. “Can I sit down like you?” She shook her wrist lightly, the chains rattling against the armrest.

“Maybe next time, Miss Quinzel.”

“There’s a next time? Yeah!”

You internally smiled to yourself, what a successful human being she would’ve been if not for a man like Joker to ruin her life. Right then, you vowed to whatever higher power was out there, that you’d get Harley Quinn to break free from his spell.

The people in your office were surprised, to say the least, that you were able to keep up your visits to the prison, and that an amateur therapist like you could get the queen of Gotham in a tight little leash. You didn’t like to think about it like that, but rather that she trusts you better than any of the others.

The weekly visits became 2 days a week, and from weeks of good behavior, Harley was allowed to be without handcuffs during her sessions now. You weren’t afraid she’d leap up and strangle you, because of some sort of connection the two of you formed after all those times spent together.

“Hey doc, why can’t you visit me more ‘round here?” Harley pouted, interrupting the current therapy session with an abrupt comment.

You looked up from your clipboard, dumbfounded. Why would she want to have you around more?

“Harley, I’m just your therapist.” You tapped the end of your pencil against the material of the clipboard, locking eyes with the woman. Anyone could see that she was starting to look better, particularly her eyes. They looked more human, compared to the hollow shell they used to be.

“I know, Y/N. But I’ve been doin’ some thinkin. It’s pretty fuckin clear that Mister J isn’t coming for me, and the suicide squad was probably just a one-time thing. And... You’re all I have.” She admitted, slowly sliding down from her pipe chair and laying down on the concrete floor.

The wooden chair you sat on scraped against the hard floor as you pushed it back. Standing up from your seat, you walked over to her in 3 steps. You kneeled down beside her, her skin just inches away from you. “Do you want a hug?” You questioned quietly, your voice softer and more inviting than usual. Harley felt this too, sitting up in a millisecond just as the offer left your lips.

“Yeah.” She almost crawled over to you, her arms wrapping around your neck desperately. That would’ve been terrifying if it was out of context, but she actually wasn’t trying to kill you. She genuinely just wanted a warm embrace.

You felt her slender torso tighten and loosen as if she was trying to repress a sob. Hand carefully sliding over her back, you whispered; “Let it out.”

And she did.

\|/

Time flew by as you continued to work on her case, and you fell into the worst situation a psychiatrist could possibly be in while working. You grew emotionally invested in your client. As a friend, who cared for her well being and happiness. 

Maybe... even more.

You still didn’t know if you could trust her though, you managed to keep a cool head and your mind was rational, but that only confirmed the fact that Harley wasn’t playing any tricks on you. That you were genuinely becoming attached to the beautiful prisoner.

Harley, on the other hand, did intend on ruining you at first. Make them run back to where they came from crying, so no one would disturb her again while she waited for her puddin.

But it was all starting to feel different with you.

“Hey, doc?” Harley called out from inside her electric cage. She was being a little bit mischievous that day, and she pulled an armed guard against the buzzing bars when he wasn’t looking. He probably died, she guessed.

But she didn’t like that she couldn’t be near you during your sessions. So a man died, big deal!

“Can you let me out?” She pleaded in the sweetest voice she could muster, calling out to you who was currently propped up on the usual desk, writing down some notes on your clipboard.

“No, Harley. I don’t have the keys to your cell.” You replied without looking up, but you could imagine the cute pout that Harley had when you denied her of something.

“But would you open it if you did?” You looked up at that question, seeing her smiling from ear to ear now, anticipation glowing in her eyes.

“Maybe. I know you won’t hurt me.” You smiled back at her, watching her facial expression carefully. How would she react if you showed some warm friendliness towards her? Could she possibly return to the life she used to have?

“Maybe I will, doc. You don’t know what goes on in here.” Harley leaped up to her cloth swing she’d made for herself, her now almost completely platinum hair draping down her back.

“I hope you won’t hurt me, then.”

You couldn’t forget that split second where Harley’s eyes looked more humane than it ever has been for many, many years.

\|/

“Warning. Warning. Escape Attempt in Sector 9H11.”

The sound of the speaker and the blasting alarm merged together in a chorus of chaos, guards and officers running around to stop whoever the escapee was.

It was 9:30AM and you were just about to enter the asylum for your shift, when this sudden noise almost blasted your ears off. Before you could process what was happening, a bomb went off right next to you, making you scream and clutch your head as you ducked.

The debris fell everywhere along with broken pieces of concrete, and you just stayed there trying to collect your thoughts. Right when a random hand grabbed you by your wrist. 

“Hi, doc. I was lookin’ for ya. You’ll come with me, won’t you?” Harley pulled you to the side, hiding the two of you behind a few bushes. Her eyes were electric making you realize that the true “Harleen Quinzel” you’ve been trying to look for is right in front of you now.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.” You didn’t hesitate to take her outreached hand. Your mind had already been made up since the first time you laid your eyes on her. 

[cthulhuoflongisland]

Fem Roadrat fic below, they’re in love and they bang:

They tore out of Australia like Mako’s fist through a paper screen.

That had been the easy part. The mad dash in the raft to get out, fueled by adrenaline and the knowledge that if Junkrat kept running her gigantic mouth, Mako would be out of a job quicker than it began. The world deserves this, she tells herself as Junkrat chatters away beside her, contained energy making her muscles shake and her voice come out high and giggling. She can’t let this scrawny slip of a woman get choked out before she gives this godforsaken planet what it’s earned, after all.

Junkrat fills Mako’s silence easily, fingers twitching and eyes wild. She never stops for more than a minute, but forgets frequently what she’s talking about. She has no regret or remorse for what she plans to do, or the destruction she plans to bring. She delights, in fact, at the possibility of it without an ounce of shame. Without tears or hesitation or any reflection at all.

The world deserves this, Mako tells herself.

The world deserves this.

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

The hard part comes much later, shoved into a tiny motel room with one bathroom and a shower so small it wouldn’t fit half of Mako’s body. There’s a single queen-sized bed, and for now Mako’s claimed it, thumbing through a water-stained romance novel as Junkrat tries and fails to relax.

The heart pounding exhilaration has receded, after a lot of heists and daring escapes, and now they’re forced to hole up in places like these between jobs. At first, the novelty of vaguely soft sheets and tiny bottles of shampoo were enough to stave off Junkrat’s complaints, but she’s bent over the desk now, tinkering with her arm and periodically letting out growls of frustration. More accurately, Junkrat is cycling between taking apart and reassembling her prosthetic for twenty minutes at a time and then pacing around the room with a sour look on her face while Mako silently rereads the same paragraph about Elizabeth tearing her corset off to succumb to her base desires. 

The cycle breaks when Junkrat flings herself onto Mako’s belly in a display of aggravation that’s so familiar at this point that Mako doesn’t bother to push her away or tell her to knock it off, or even look up from her book. 

“ Roadie.”

She turns the page.

“ Roadie.”

“ What.”

Junkrat tries to hide the stupid smile she gets on her face every time Mako responds to her, like Mako hasn’t learned to pick up on it. She wriggles to a position where she can look up into the eyeholes of Mako’s mask, which requires her to shove her head under the romance novel Mako has yet to put down and rest her pointy, pointy chin on Mako’s rather expansive breasts.

“ Was just wonderin’ when you’d be finished.”

Mako rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, too used to this game to be truly irritated. “ Won’t be for a while if you keep this up.”

Junkrat squishes her sharp cheek against Mako’s cleavage, like they’re well-worn pillows and not human flesh. Mako’s gotten used to the sharp pinch of her, and lays the book down with a sigh. She lays her massive palm on top of Junkrat’s head, pushing her face into Mako’s chest, which makes her cackle and squirm, like she couldn’t suffocate and die there if Mako willed it. Mako ignores the fluttering feeling in her stomach when Junkrat stills and relaxes, only barely twitching when Mako withdraws her hand.

Those eyes meet hers as Junkrat begins to chatter again, subdued and almost focused. Mako silently strokes a thumb over her jaw as she listens, absorbing nothing, not willing to acknowledge that she could spend forever like this.

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

Junkrat stands there, wreathed in flame as she throws her head back and howls with laughter, like all she could ever want is this destruction. Like it fuels her. Makes her. She’s nothing but fire in the vague shape of a woman, lithe muscles glistening in the warm light. If Mako were a weaker woman, she’d fall to her knees and worship her in awed silence, but instead she looks away and stares at the shattered glass of the suits’ offices, as if she can’t see Junkrat’s reflection in the pieces. 

She loves her then. It burns (God, it burns) just like the heat that radiates off of her, her blonde hair wild and stained with soot, a reminder that Junkrat claws her way into everything and everyone with no regard for anything but herself. Mako savors it as she fires bullets into the back of another snivelling billionaire, ready to let it cave her chest in. They all deserve what they get, and Mako meets their empty pleas with the pull of her trigger. The ones that charge her find their skulls crushed and their lips silent, and it’s only when all of them are dead that she realizes her lungs are rattling and she’s bent over a broken desk. 

Junkrat’s fingers are at her back, scorching hot, and suddenly her mask is filled with gas. Mako gasps it in and feels her lungs clear with every breath, Junkrat’s metal hand pressing the canister to its opening until it clatters to the floor, empty. Her smile is wild and crooked as it ever was, and God, she has no idea. No idea what Mako would do to kiss that smile, to keep it on her lips all the time. 

Mako can’t pretend anymore after that, but stays silent. 

There are some things she doesn’t deserve.

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

In another motel, a coast away somewhere on Long Island, Mako lays next to Rat on a bed too small for either of them. It’s four in the morning, too dark to see and too cold for summer, but Junkrat has been talking for hours now, mostly to herself. Mako lets her, knowing that she’ll eventually trick her brain into shutting off, and quietly enjoys the drone of Junkrat’s mismatched ideas. She’s half-way to dozing when Junkrat turns to face her, groping for her arm in the dark.

“ You listenin’ to me?”

Mako grunts, not in the mood to speak.

“ I said, what was it like? B’fore the omnium?”

Mako grits her teeth, letting out a long breath. She hates this question. It always comes back to this, and no amount of silence can deter Junkrat from asking.

“ Less fucked up. Bugs were a lot smaller.”

She can practically feel Junkrat’s eyes roll, and she slaps the mattress in frustration. “ Fuck’s sake, you really weren’t listenin’, were you? I was talkin’ about pickin’ up girls. Used to be easier, didn’t it?”

Mako really must have been half-asleep, because she has no fucking idea how Junkrat stumbled onto this subject. She’s suddenly wide awake, not sure if she’s about to give herself away.

“...Some ways. Depends on why you were pickin’ ‘em up.” Fucking got a lot easier in the wasteland. There were no more nice bars for Mako to sit at, making women blush and taking their numbers home. It all became physical, rougher and faster and leaving Mako wanting for something deeper.

Rat shifts, incentivized by such a long response. “ Yeah? Bet you were good at it.” Her voice lowers a little, and her hand stays on Mako’s bicep. “ Ladies love the big quiet types. Ain’t ever had much luck, m’self, squawkin’ ‘n spillin’ my drinks.”

Mako sits up, her stomach turning at where this is headed. She can’t bring herself to shrug Rat off and go back to sleep, though. Her heart pounds against her rib-cage, and it’s as if she’s found something she’d thought had burned away years ago. Her mouth opens, and she can’t stop the words from spilling out of her throat. 

“ You’re young. Pretty. Wait a while longer and someone’ll snatch you up.”

Junkrat jerks away, like Mako’s reached out and shocked her. A truck passes by and the light that blares through the window lets Mako see her face, chapped lips parted in surprise and those big, amber eyes wider than Mako’s ever seen them. She wonders if Rat can see her, too, and if the brief flash of light makes her look half as perfect.

“ Since when d’you think I’m pretty?”

Mako pauses, unsure of how to answer, but Rat snatches up the silence and fills it herself. 

“ Are you tellin’ me we coulda been fucking this whole time an’ here I was thinkin’ you didn’t like me?”

“Jesus,” says Mako, rubbing a hand over her face, “ I said you’re pretty. I didn’t say I wanted to fist you.”

“ But that’s what you meant!” Rat is suddenly climbing on top of her, jittery and overjoyed. “ I know I ain’t pretty. That’s just what people say when they wanna get in my pants.”

Mako’s heart sinks, her face softening as she strokes the hair out of Rat’s face and behind her ear. “ Rat.” Her hand runs down to trace over Junkrat’s features, worshipping them in the dark instead of just fantasizing about it. “ You’re pretty.”

Rat slows, awed by Mako’s admiration. She lays flat against Mako’s body, so their faces are inches apart, her breath tickling Mako’s cheek. Mako wonders how many stupid men have called her ugly, told her she was too bony, too tall, too strange to be attractive. Mako would kill all of them with her bare hands if she could find them.

“ I’m not saying that to fuck you. I just want you to know.”

Rat nuzzles against Mako’s palm like an affectionate cat, and then steals a kiss from Mako’s scarred, unsuspecting lips. Her nose pokes Mako’s cheek, and her back arches when Mako’s hands, huge and strong and warm, wrap around her tiny waist. Mako feels herself fall into that heat almost instinctively, her surprise melting away and giving rise to slow pleasure.

“ I think yer pretty, too,” says Rat as she pulls away with a smack, filling Mako’s silence for the millionth time, “ Real pretty. You make me wetter ‘n a hurricane.”

Mako snorts, but doesn’t take her hands off Rat, who melds against her like liquid metal. “ Romantic.” She kneads Rat’s tense shoulders, and lays her chin against the top of her head. Rat never could beat around the bush.

“ I’m tryin’ my best!” Rat squishes Mako’s cheeks together, her metal leg catching the sheets as she drags herself up Mako’s body, hips already squirming. “ ‘s kinda hard to set the mood when I know you’d fuck me now!”

“ Never said that.” Mako’s hands, reaching down to squeeze Rat’s hips and feel her shiver, betray her cool tone. She’s already restraining herself, hungry but tender. She’d never forgive herself if she cracked Rat’s bones or left bruises just because she’s been so starved. She deserves to be savored. Treasured. 

Loved.

Rat starts to kiss up her neck, and Mako moans, feeling that wicked smile in the hollow of her shoulder. She feels up Rat’s flat ass, massaging those bony hips that never stop jerking against her, biting her lip at the sensation of a woman’s feverish flesh finally under her fingers again.

Rat wriggles out of the torn tank-top she throws on every cold night, and God, dear God, Mako can’t help but slide her hands up to Rat’s soft, bite-sized tits, pinching them just to hear her gasp. She wants to bury her face in them, feel Rat’s mechanical fingers tangle in her hair as she covers her chest in dark hickies. The smell of her, gunpowder and smoke and faint sweat, is enough to drive Mako wild with long suppressed desire, her head swimming as she tries to make Rat out in the dark.

Rat has no time for such romantic gestures. She flicks the table lamp on after a few times fumbling in the dark, panting, “ Lemme see you, Hoggy, c’mon, lemme see-,” and delights when Mako is suddenly bathed in warm light, maskless and flushed and letting out low, deep groans as Rat grinds against her crotch. Mako’s chest swells with pride when Rat licks her lips, stripping down to nothing and lifting Mako’s worn t-shirt in such a frenzy it’s as if she can’t help herself. She leans down to roll a nipple between her teeth, and Mako holds her there, huffing through her nose.

“ Rat,” she wheezes, “ Slower.”

She pulls Rat’s head out of the cleavage she’s created by pushing Mako’s breasts together and kisses her again, overtaking her thin lips to feel her melt and shiver, both hands grabbing at Mako’s loose hair. Mako squeezes her hips, her ass, her thighs, never hard enough to bruise, and listens to her muffled moans as Rat desperately slides her tongue into Mako’s mouth, tracing her sharp incisors. She vibrates with impatience, pawing at Mako’s covered crotch as she’s held there before she jerks her head out of Mako’s hands.

“ Fuck,” she breathes, still shaking as she presses her forehead to Mako’s, “ please, Hog. I can’t wait no more. I can’t, I can’t, please please please-”

Mako can’t deny her what she wants. What she deserves. She lifts her by the waist effortlessly and sets her spread thighs down on her face, not unlike she’s imagined thousands of times. Rat cries out for her tongue, which pushes into her slick, warm pussy without hesitation and pistons in and out of her until Rat shrieks so loud someone pounds their fist against the wall in the room next to theirs. She lets out high, begging whimpers when Mako sucks her clit between her thick, practiced lips, her thighs pillowing Mako’s head even as she cums, tongue lolling out as her voice chokes in her throat. 

Mako feels the familiar burn deep in her gut as Rat slides back down to kiss her cheeks, her wide nose, every scratch and mole and acne scar. She rubs her cheek to Mako’s like it doesn’t feel like sandpaper, so lovely in her nakedness that Mako can barely stand it. She yanks Mako’s pajama pants down low enough to stick the fingers of her flesh hand inside, still kissing her and murmuring slurred praise. She furiously rubs Mako’s clit, engorged with arousal as two long fingers slip inside her without any struggle at all. She moans for Rat as she’s fingerfucked by shaking hands, which pound the spot inside her that makes her roll her hips and kiss Rat’s pleased grin until she clamps around her and bites her long, tanned neck to keep from having the cranky heterosexual yuppie next door report them to the manager.

She lays there half exposed as she catches her breath, her arms wrapped around Rat’s waist as the lanky little minx snuggles against her, grinning deliriously. She’s so tender when she kisses Rat’s forehead that she feels her heart clench inside her chest, gently rubbing circles into Rat’s naked ass as her muscles relax. 

Rat in turn feels Mako’s biceps up with lazy joy, giggling in between pants.

“ Ain’t never thought that was gonna happen outside my head.”

Mako grunts in agreement, and Rat begins to babble again. She passes out to the sweet cacophony with the light still glowing beside them, and doesn’t wake up until noon the next day.

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

Things don’t change as much as Mako worries. Rat is no less fierce in battle, not regretful or ashamed of what they do every night they can manage. She holds Mako’s arm tighter now, calls her by her real name when they’re alone, screams at anyone who openly looks Mako up and down to sneer at her to keep their eyes off her girlfriend. She is just as rough and jagged as always, and Mako is so proud. So grateful to have this gleaming piece of desert glass stuck to her side, stealing her lingerie and black jewelry from the malls they loot. They murder the people who’ve earned their death, steal what they want, and have their wanted posters hung up in teenage girls’ bedrooms. 

They leave the States to hide in some obscure Sicilian village where no one could understand their accents even if they were speaking the right dialect. People give them a wide berth when they sit together in the bar there, holding hands as casually as Rat orders Mako the most expensive cocktail on the indecipherable menu by jabbing at the picture and demanding it in some of the most atrocious Italian ever spoken.

When it comes, pink and sweet as Mako used to enjoy all the time, Rat slaps her on the back with a wide grin.

“ Go on, mate! You deserve it!”

“ Yeah,” Mako tips her mask up and smiles, “ Guess I do.”

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Uno Reverse Time Baby

1144 Words; Koshiro Slapathon Event

TW for Cowshiro, Pet Whump, and all the other ickiness associated with Damage

Cole woke up to his head pounding. But rather than the familiar comfort of the Bounty, his surroundings were more reminiscent of a basement.

He stood up, only to be stopped short by a familiar weight around his neck, a familiar chafing around his wrists.

No.

“Hello, Pet.”

Cole flinched at the sound of his former captor’s voice. He turned around slowly, finding himself face to face with Koshiro.

“It’s lovely to see you again.” Koshiro said, gently reaching to put his hand on Cole’s cheek.

Cole bat his hand away, glaring. “What do you want?” This was bad. He was alone with Koshiro. He took a step back, trying to keep his breathing even.

“I think you know what I want, Pet.” Koshiro stepped forwards, affection in his eyes. “I want you to stay here.” He said softly. “Where I can take care of you and protect you, and we can be happy, Pet.”

“Don’t call me that. My name is Cole.” Cole growled, but his words lacked any bite. This was bad. He needed to get out of here.

Koshiro only smiled, roughly grabbing Cole’s arm. “Don’t be so silly, Pet.” He twisted it harshly, forcing Cole to the ground. “You’re going to be a good boy and stay right here while I get you some food.” He smiled blithely as Cole glared up at him. “You’ll settle right back in quickly enough, I think.”

Cole snarled. He refused to be dragged back down again. He refused.

As Koshiro turned away, presumably to grab that food he mentioned, Cole came to a very sudden realization.

If he had been drugged, it had already worn off. And he wasn’t chained to the wall, either.

Was Koshiro really that arrogant?

That opened some… possibilities. His powers were blocked, yes, but he still knew how to fight. He was a ninja, after all.

So the moment Koshiro turned his back and Cole made this realization, Cole struck. He struck hard, and he struck fast.

Koshiro went down easily. Strong as the man was, he wasn’t exactly a trained fighter. And though Cole was hindered by the cuffs and the ever-encroaching sense of terror, he had the element of surprise on his side.

Once Koshiro was down and out, Cole searched him for the keys to the handcuffs. Finding nothing, Cole dragged the man over to the familiar cage in the corner. It felt right, shoving the bastard into the confines of what still haunted Cole’s nightmares. It was almost worrying, how satisfying it felt.

Cole paid little mind to that worry.

He had some handcuffs to get off, after all.

+=+=+=+=+

Koshiro’s head was pounding as he came to.

That won’t do, he thought, trying to recall what had knocked him out. Was his Pet in danger?

No, he realized with a start, it had been his gorgeous, stunning Pet who had attacked him. Which simply could not be allowed at all.

He’d have to find his beautiful, lovely Pet and discipline him. It would be hard, so very hard, to hurt his pretty, delightful Pet so soon after getting him back, but if it had to be done, then Koshiro would do it.

He moved to stand up, only to be stopped short by the bars of his charming Pet’s cage.

“You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” He said softly. Oh, his Pet would be getting quite the talking to. And most definitely some time in the cage. With the blindfold and the muzzle.

Of course, Koshiro had to get out of the cage first. Which shouldn’t be hard. He had hands, after all.

It was then that Koshiro noticed the handcuffs, tightened to the point of chafing. It was then, as he was staring at the handcuffs in disbelief, that he noticed the collar, just tight enough for him to feel it.

“What?” Koshiro felt something… unfamiliar creeping into the corners of his mind. What was this feeling?

“You’re awake.”

Koshiro startled, before turning to face his glorious Pet. Fuck, his Pet was so beautiful. He would look better if he had his collar on, of course, but regardless. His Pet was near perfect.

But something about his Pet’s face was… off. There was a darkness to his visage, an emptiness to his eyes that was vaguely unsettling. It wasn’t quite like how his eyes had been when Koshiro and his Pet were happy together, but it was somewhat close.

Pet stepped forwards. “Enjoying yourself?” He asked, voice shaking.

His hands were trembling.

Koshiro began to feel nervous. He didn’t like it. Gathering his wits, he decided he might as well lecture his Pet anyway.

“Let me out, Pet.”

Pet shook his head. “Fuck you.”

Koshiro frowned. “Now now, let’s not be so rude to Master, Pet.” He rattled the bars of the cage, much like the way his Pet sometimes did.

The irony was not lost on him.

But Pet only laughed, face split into a wolfish grin. “Oh no,” He said airily. “You’ve got to stay in there and reflect on your actions.”

Koshiro flinched. “Now, Pet, let’s not do something we’ll regret.” He hardened his gaze. “Let me out.”

Pet came up to the bars of the cage, teeth bared and eyes vacant. “I think you’ll find, dear Master, that you’re the one who has anything to regret.” He smacked his hand against the bars, making them rattle ominously.

All of the confidence that Koshiro held seemed to just drift away, as if flowing down a drain. What had happened to his lovely Pet?

Indeed, Pet was trembling, but not from fear. And he was smiling, but it almost seemed like he was in some way being strained, pulled and twisted past his limit.

Like something in him had snapped.

But Koshiro was nothing if not dedicated when it came to getting his way. He was the Master of this relationship, after all. “I don’t quite think you’re in your right mind, Pet.” He smiled. “Let me out of this cage so I can help you.”

Pet shrieked with laughter. “You think I’d let you out? After all you’ve done to me?” His expression hardened into an animalistic fury. “No. You’re going to stay in there, and you’re going to think about what you’ve done.”

Pet paused, standing up and stepping back. “Now it’s your turn to be the Pet, Master.”

Koshiro bristled. The nerve—

“And who knows,” Pet continued, voice sickly saccharine, “Maybe if you’re a good boy, you can earn some privileges.” He made his way to the door.

Koshiro snarled. “I am not a Pet!”

Pet only chuckled at that. “You are now.” He paused in the doorway, turning back to Koshiro. “Don’t worry, Master.”

“I’ll take good care of you.”

Koshiro had never found the sound of a door shutting to be more terrifying.

---

EDIT: oh my God. Oh my God oh my God oh my God. I’ve already reread this twice and I’m still screaming because it’s so insanely good. I can’t even I need to go screech into the void euphorically. 

[windup-dragoon]

【Ｗａｔｅｒｌｉｌｉｅｓ】

Hien x Kiri

Goddess of the Sea AU 

Word Count: 2868

Brief mentioning of @windupzenos​‘ Octavia. 

“You swore an oath to me, Goddess!”

“Not this drivel again.” 

“From your very lips you gave me your word! Now release me!” 

“And ya’ thought you’d control the sea? Everyone knows the sea is fickle, my dear prince. Now shut yer damn trap!” 

Anger boiled his blood, his heart drumming harder in his ears than the pounding of his fist against the wooden door to the captain’s quarters. He could hear the hinges creak and groan beneath the strain, even rattling when he threw his shoulder into it. Yet it remained sealed despite his desperate attempt at escape. 

“Kirishimi!” His voice was hoarse from shouting her name. This time he would go unanswered, the sound swallowed by an abrupt roaring all around him. The ship rocked violently, slamming him against the door. He could hear the maelstrom worsen just beyond the wooden planks that barred him from the goddess out on the decks. Wood snapped like thunder claps that sent quakes throughout the hull of the ship; the sails hissed as their fabric was torn in the blistering gales; and if he listened, hard and close, between the chaos ensuing beyond his prison, the faint ring of metal sparking against metal. 

This was his fault. 

Hien felt as if he may begin sinking. The din outside faded beneath the weight of his thoughts and thundering heartbeat. He slipped to his knees, forehead to the splintered door and eyes loosing focus on the intricate knots of the floorboards beneath him. With each tug and pull experienced by the ship, the sway and lull as it crested tide after raging tide, he felt neither here nor there. 

All of this would be on his hands. 

While his search for the goddess had yielded grand results, his people restored and brought home to live in peace once more, he had doomed the goddess herself. A viper in his company had used him. A mere plaything to be discarded once he had fulfilled his role. How had he been so blind to it before? 

Of everyone in his crew, all but two had been his own kinsmen. While his own men were ready to cast aside their lives in search of a fantasy woman, she who spoke with the churning tides and sang with the gulls, these two hired hands had business of their own to tend to. And all the while he busied himself with the goddess, telling her stories of his country and admiring the way her eyes lit up with every shared laughter, he was dooming her to certain death. 

His heart ached at the wretched thought. Those nights spent on an eerily calm sea, watching stars mirror themselves on the oceans glassy surface as if a blanket of jewels while in her company... And she would die for his blunders. 

“They’ll tell stories of you,” The woman had snarled at him before drawing her weapon against the goddess. A monstrosity of an axe against a trident. “A sappy love story, to be assured. Poetic, as the bards have habit of making everything out of tragedy. ‘Land and sea dying together.’” Octavia gave a helpless shrug, as if to apologize for poetry not being her forte. 

Meanwhile, trashing in the maelstrom, Leviathan snapped his ship swallowing jaws at her companion, the crowned prince of metal and steel. In large arches blood dotted the stormy skies, a shower of scales and thick ichor. The prince seemed to have little trouble dealing blow after blow to the creature. Hien could do naught but feel his stomach twist with guilt with every pained cry from Leviathan. 

Words could not convey his regret for having ever brought this upon the goddess. 

Before tears could well in his eyes and blur his vision all together, the erratic movements of the ship had ceased. The brewing storm and angry lashings of waves to the ships hull began to fade. A glimmer of light briefly shimmered through the windows around him giving the prince reason to once again rouse from the floor. 

“Kiri-” His hands, scrambling for purchase at the door, were met with no resistance now and the door swung wide. The prince stumbled and spilled onto the deck. 

Sunlight showered the ship, setting pools of gathered sea water sparkling and glittering. It was near blinding. With raised hands to shield his eyes he surveyed the damage wrought upon the ship, jaw slack with dread. 

The masts were all shattered at their base, their tree like limbs completely gone without a trace; railing that he once noted to be intricate and heavy with artistic design were little more than bursts of splinters and broken lumber. The only thing he could visibly see that survived had been the captains quarter. Not a single glass pane had shattered while he occupied the room, nor had a lantern fallen amid the chaos. Surely this was intentional. 

“Good. Yer alive.” The voice of the goddess grabbed his attention, reeling him back from his dumbstruck awe over the unreal serenity of the moment. The oceans rage had been quelled at the cost of her ship. And no Octavia or her prince in sight. 

Hien followed the sound of her weakened voice finding her just behind the thrown open door he had lurched through moments ago. Her jacket, of such deep ocean blue and decorated in the finest pearls and lost jewels, little more than shreds at her arms. White hair a frazzled mess from the howling winds of hurricane gales. Her lips, bruised and bloody, curved ever so slightly before the woman sank against the wooden wall at her back. 

The prince threw himself at her, one arm around her shoulder while the other tenderly touched at the various cuts along her cheek. 

“What? Catfish got yer tongue?” She gave an echo of a laugh. 

“Shocked.” Hien brushed his thumb over a gathering bead of blood at her jaw and arched a brow. “I thought a goddess would not bleed red like the rest of us.” If this was the worse of her injuries, perhaps he could at last fill his lungs with a breath of air. 

“Heh, only when we’re close ta’ dyin’... does it turn to gold.” Despite the splits in her lips, Kirishimi smiled at the prince and drew her hand along her side. When she pulled it away Hien choked on a gasp. Her fingertips glittered beneath the afternoon sun now that the storm clouds had vacated. The ichor that set rivulets down each length of her fingers and pooled in her palm was ethereal to say the least. Never had the prince seen such color. Gold melted down, touched with the rainbow shimmer of pearls and glittered like stardust. 

His mind went blank at the realization. All at once it felt as though the world had stopped moving, his blood ran as if ice filled his veins, the darkest waters of the abyss drowning his lungs and smothering his heart. His hands felt numb as urgency filled his muscles, tearing away at the remains of her waterlogged jacket. He raised her arm, distantly hearing her muffled groan in retaliation to the pain. 

Along the curve of her side and splattering the deck spilled more of this unusual blood. A long gash had been torn into her from the cage of her ribs down across her abdomen. Hien’s throat tightened and vision blurred. 

“Don’t’cha look at me like that, mate.” She urged, an unusual softness to her tone. “I held my part o’ the bargain, didn’t I? Yer folk are home safe and yer still kickin’.” 

Hien shook his head. It was suddenly impossible to look her in the eyes. Those beautiful sapphire and crimson eyes. “At what cost? I’ve murdered a goddess.” 

“Oh? And which one o’ these injuries of mine belong to you? Don’t see yer sword in my gut or a knife in my back.” 

“Octavia and Zenos were apart of my crew. I had damned you from the start.” 

“Speakin’ of which. They should be crashin’ against the cliffs soon. Levi gave ‘em a tsunami bath. Teach them for steppin’ foot on my boat.” Kiri attempted more laughter, tried with all her strength to stay smiling for the prince at her side, but choked on a welling of blood in her mouth. 

She coughed and he leaned closer. “Kirishimi-...” 

As he moved closer, the goddess took his hand and pressed an object into the heel of his palm. It was sticky with blood, ichor that made his mortal skin feel alight with a warm flame of a candle. Miscolored eyes looked up to his, searching his pained expression. “Call Levi for me? I want to go home...” 

The item in question was an ocarina, he had seen her use it late at night, playing haunting melodies to the stars and the moon. But it’s make was hardly alike any  he had seen before; it was carved into the shape of a fiddler crab and painted with scarlet red for its body with claws of ocean blue. 

“This summons Leviathan?” He questioned, already knowing the answer. “W-Wait, what do you mean by ‘home’? If Leviathan can take us to land, surely a doctor or a healer could see you!” 

“Just play a tune for Levi, will ya’?” Mismatched eyes began to flutter against the sunlight. 

“Kiri, wait!” 

- - - 

The young prince had seen many things in life. He had seen war destroy homes and villages over night, witnessed life at birth and at death, even met the goddess of the sea. But this? This was a marvel in of itself. 

An entire city deep beneath the waves. Not a thriving metropolis like he would have suspected if one had made mention of a lost city; but one of ruin. Statues depicting once living people had begun to crumble from the oceans currents; limbs missing here and there or faces having fallen away to sink to the sea bed below. Every so often he would catch the glimmer of light sparkling off what was once beautiful stained glass, only to be swallowed by the darkness of the ocean as they slipped by. 

What stunned him beyond belief however was the place the goddess called home. Not a castle or throne room decorated in lavish pearls and sunken jewels. But rather a library. Fully intact at that. 

The building itself was nestled into a slope of earth beneath the tides, an air pocket preserving the library as if it were an underwater cavern. Parts of walkways had long since been submerged by rising waters, but the library itself towered high; lined every which way with tomes and books galore. 

The architecture resembled that of the sunken city; built in stone with towering columns and crumbling railings. Along several walls he could see motifs etched into the stonework. Beautiful depictions of a serpentine creature, each scale embedded with sapphire or cerulean blue tiles. Everywhere he looked he saw similar artwork. Leviathan. All of it was a dedication to Leviathan himself. And at the very center of the library, just feet above the ocean water that claimed the walkways, stood a fountain lined in the same tiles and jewels as the creature had been. The statue that still functioned, pouring water from a vase dusted in gold, was the goddess herself. Or at least the prince could only surmise. 

Her face had spiderweb fractures, pieces of her cheek having fallen into the pool at her feet centuries ago. And where the goddess, currently cradled in his arms unconscious, had short hair, the statue was given hair that fell to her pedestal and into the fountain itself. 

“A mortal?” Echoed a voice from one of the many tiers of flooring that made up the library. 

Hien had to squint against the faint light that weaved throughout the railing, it looked as if fireflies were encased in the stonework itself to provide soft light. “A-Aye! The goddess is injured! Leviathan has brought her and myself here! Please, if you could offer us succor, her life could yet be saved!” 

Somewhere behind the prince, lounging in the caverns opening, Leviathan let out a gurgled hiss before resting its beaked nose against the half submerged staircase that made the libraries entrance. Hien had felt pity for the creature, only it’s head could fit. Leviathan, despite the injuries sustained, had bore them both to the bottom of the sea without qualm. Another miracle, Hien thought now, that the creature could conjure an air pocket for his riders while they descended to the depths. 

The voice overhead squeaked, a sound of books clattering to the floor soon followed. “Oh my! Quickly now! Place her in the fountain! Go!” A shuffling told Hien that the voice had departed, perhaps to reach them. 

Hien held the goddess closer, her head lulled against the crook of his neck. When she wasn’t barking orders or giving attitude, she almost seemed at peace. Though the prince knew not to be swayed by her looks alone; this was hardly sleep but death approaching. He could see it in the way her cheeks twitched as she grimaced, or the flutter of her closed eyes. 

With gathered strength he trudged forward, descending a small set of stairs where water soon swelled up to his knees. The stonework had begun to crumble here and there beneath him, he could scarcely make out the dark blotches just beneath the murky water. He picked his way through carefully, first feeling with the tip of his foot for purchase before moving forward. The water still rose, up to his waist before another small set of stairs appeared, leading up to the fountain. 

The fountain was larger than he would have guessed from his earlier position. Several goddess’ could have been laid beneath the glittering water with ease. Even the statue loomed over him, taller and far more detailed than he had given credit for. Each fold in her dress was clear as day, he swore he could even see the stitching in the stone. 

But the time to admire such craftsmen ship was gone. Hien shook his head, sitting himself down on the lip of the fountain. His eyes trailed to the goddess in his arms, absently sparring a moment to brush aside misty white hair from her cheek. Carefully he leaned over and lowered her into the water. 

Golden ichor spread throughout the fountains pooled water, shimmering and swirling like galaxies beneath the ripples. Her form sunk against the tiles, the pool swallowing her entirely. 

Hien watched impatiently as her blood bled into the fountains water. Had he been expecting a miracle? Magic to suddenly encase her and instantly heal her? 

“It’ll take some time, lad.” A voice once more called to him. Wadding in knee deep water, along one of the other pathways that lead further into the library, stood what Hien could only comprehend as a standing tortoise. A creature that looked human in the way he stood, two legs and two arms, but had a shell adorning his back encrusted in gold and jewels. Even his head seemed more turtle aspect than man. The creature ran a hand through a length of beard at his chin before chuckling. “Never seen a Kojin before? C’mon, let’s leave her alone to recover. You can regale me with how this all happened, eh?” 

Hien found himself shaking his head, too dumbstruck to register what the man had said at all. Was this tortoise truly speaking to him? Had he gone mad while traveling the ocean? The more he considered the thought, the more it made sense. Libraries do not just sink to the ocean floor. They do not make homes for a goddess. And what, he is supposed to believe she enjoys reading? Or Leviathan for that matter, who had snarled and hissed at him upon their first meeting, now a snoozing kitten at the entrance of this grand forgotten place. 

“I’ve lost my mind.” Hien wheezed, holding his head in his hands. “Ocean madness truly exists.” 

“You’re only mad if you insist on staying in wet garb all day, lad. You’ll catch a cold.” Snorted the Kojin as he began his retreat, climbing a staircase out of the water. “I’ll put on tea if you change your mind.” 

Loathe as he was to admit, this cavernous library was hardly warm. He had felt himself shaking with chill as they arrived, though in part it was worry that shook him. Fear that the goddess would die cradled in his arms. If she had passed, who then would he tell stories to late into the night? Of fabled cities that dotted the landscape just out of her reach? She seemed to love his storytelling... Maybe she did invest time into reading? 

Hien rose suddenly, curiosity filling his chest. This was home to the goddess herself. What other strange and interesting things did she keep secreted away down here? The prince, with new urgency, stood up to follow after the kojin. He spared only one glance back at the sleeping goddess and gasped. 

The fountain had filled itself with a rainbow of waterlilies. 

[lnc2]

rattle my cage

Summary: In which history, despite Alya’s best efforts, does not repeat itself.

A commission from @booyahfuruya who requested Adrienette in the panther cage.

AO3

It was all Alya’s fault.

Not that she would ever admit to it.  If pressed she would adamantly insist it was all Nora’s doing.

Never mind that the tenacious blogger should have been babysitting and not chasing superheroes across the arrondissements– no, it was her sister’s overprotectiveness that landed Marinette in this mess in the first place.

This mess being a locked panther cage, a debilitating crush, and a literal pile of animal shit.

She cast a too-wide, uneasy smile towards her stupidly attractive, blessedly naive co-captive and waved.

Adrien, confused, waved back.

Ugh.

She really needed to have a talk with Tikki one of these days about what it meant to be Lady Luck. 

Because, honestly, she was starting to have doubts.

What was lucky about having a best friend who considered unmasking her superhero alter-ego her life’s purpose?  A best friend who pawned her actual responsibilities onto her too-accommodating boyfriend.

A boyfriend, who, by all accounts, was (justifiably) terrified of said best friend’s older sister.

An older sister who would and did not take kindly to the discovery that her baby sister’s boyfriend let her run off after a magical terrorist. An older sister who, after putting the fear of god into the boy, sent him after her, neglecting to put away her other sisters’ football in the process.  

A devastating oversight that sent said best friend’s father tripping and spraining his ankle.

All of which now culminated in being dragged out of her bed by an indignant, grounded Alya, coerced into helping out at the zoo while Monsieur Cesaire was recovering.

“Please, M.” She’d said, with the biggest, brownest puppy dog eyes Marinette had ever seen.  “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

So, like a sap, she’d agreed.

Something Marinette was now deeply regretting.

Apparently, making it up to her meant pulling a Ladybug and “accidentally” locking her in the panther cage with Adrien before disappearing with her equally traitorous boyfriend.

E tu Nino?

In another life maybe, maybe Marinette could forgive Alya this so-called favor.  Another life where Adrien hadn’t just days before confessed to liking another girl.

She’s special. Very pretty. She’s got dark silky hair, deep and mysterious eyes.

Kagami Tsurugi was ladybug lucky and Marinette was the very good friend who’d volunteered to keep them company on their first date this afternoon.

She’d never dreaded ice skating more.

Even the solace of Luka’s company couldn’t stem the tide of that impending heartbreak.

And Alya, bless her, couldn’t seem to let it go.

“That could be you,” She’d said.  “You can’t give up now!”

It’d been a loud and frequent argument these last few days.  One Marinette apparently needed to revisit. Again.

“I’m really sorry about this,” She said, wiping her sweating palms against her jeans.

Akumas she could take down no problem.

Adorably earnest boys?  Not so much.

“No worries,” Adrien said, looking unfairly attractive for someone who was currently shoveling animal excrement.  “It’s not your fault Alya ran off with the keys.”

She smiled, nervous.  “Yeah. I guess not.”

“Besides,” Adrien said.  “I’ll just text Kagami and let her know.  We can always hang out another time, right?”

“Sure.”

She changed the subject then.  There was only so much a girl could take and Marinette felt stretched to the limits on her best days.  They moved on from fencing to school to his audition for the new Ladybug and Chat Noir movie when the screaming started.

Marinette froze as a woman’s terrified cry echoed through the park.  Adrien met her eyes across the cage, grimacing.

“What are the odds it’s just an escaped gorilla or something?”

She stared. He sighed.

“Right.” And then, more quietly, “Fuck.”

Marinette barely registered the epithet and his rushing towards the locked cage entrance as she whipped out her phone to call Alya.

The phone rang once, twice, three times.

“Don’t you dare leave us here while you play Lois Lane-” She growled, angrily hanging up when she was sent to voicemail.  She tried Nino next with the same result.

Fuck, shit, fuck.

“Aaaand the Ladyblog is live. Fuck.” Adrien said, echoing her thoughts.

He tossed her a worried look which she ignored.

She didn’t have time to reassure him.  She was already dialing the zoo’s front desk only to be met with the akuma emergency notification recording.

No phones, then.

Another scream followed by an earth-shaking explosion that nearly sent them both to their knees.  Adrien helped her to her feet and patted her sides. She waved off his fussing with a flustered, nervous laugh.

Now really wasn’t the time.

Reluctant but assured, Adrien tried the back entrance again, muttering a low string of curses with every useless yank of the door.

Marinette’s eyes scanned the cage for something, anything.

Maybe, if they worked together and had the proper leverage –  one of the heavier logs scattered throughout the habitat? – they might be able to fashion some sort of battering ram.  Although as the door opened inwards she doubted they’d be strong enough to do any good. And even if that managed to work the possibility of one or both of them getting hurt in the process was too risky. 

Marinette couldn’t even begin to think about what Gabriel would do if she injured Adrien by being so careless.  Her designing dreams dashed before they ever truly had a chance to take form. Adrien crippled, spending months in physical therapy, only to fall in love with his nurse.  Marinette growing old, unsuccessful, and dying alone.

Ouch!

Tikki pinched her side, sending her a look she knew all too well.

You’re catastrophizing again.

Right. Right.

So the battering ram was out.

There was some sheet metal near the exit - if she managed to unravel it they could try to catch the light and attention of any passersby.  Assuming of course there was anyone left nearby and that said people would be able to do anything in the first place.

She quickly dismissed any success there as unlikely.

She tugged at her pigtails, regretting her choice in hairstyle and its woeful lack of bobby pins even as she doubted something like that would work on the cage’s lock.

Or at least, she hoped it wouldn’t, no matter how convenient it may be in the current circumstances.

Although … Marinette met Tikki’s anxious gaze. I have something better than a bobby pin.

Tikki could get them out of here.  Preferably in a way that wouldn’t involve revealing her identity.

God, she could only imagine.

Hey hot stuff.  Real sorry to drop this extremely dangerous secret on your lap but Paris needs me. 

Yeah, no.

Marinette could do this without going that far.  All she needed to do was find a way to get Adrien away from the doors… and come up with some sort of explanation for how she managed to get them open in the first place.

Something that, upon consideration, shouldn’t be too difficult.  As ridiculous and incomprehensible as her stammering and excuses have been over the past year he always seemed to believe her.  A heart of gold and oblivious – Adrien Agreste really was the whole package.

Decision made, she nodded to her kwami who returned it with an adorable determination.

Excuse on her lips, she pointed towards the opposite side of the cage.

“Adrien I think we can use that log–”

“I’m sorry, Marinette.”

She whirled around to find Adrien much closer than before, mouth set in a firm line.  He was staring beyond the bars of the cage towards downtown and the likely akuma.

The what for was on the tip of her tongue when she caught sight of a pair of familiar, electric eyes blinking out at her from his open shirt pocket.

Wait…

“Plagg – claws out!”

Marinette reflexively shielded her eyes against the blinding flash of green light.  It was useless though– the stomach sinking feeling of shock and dread was already setting in.  She knew exactly who she would find when she dropped her hands.

Chat Noir gave a sheepish wave.

Son of a bitch.

“Um, hi."

Marinette blinked once, twice,

and then screamed.

“Wait– shh, no!” Chat (Adrien) said, ears flat, hands outstretched placatingly.  “Don’t scream. Please don’t scream, Marinette.  It’s me. I’ll explain everything I swe–”

“You...” She said, holding up a shaky finger.  “You...”

“Me.” He said, his lips quirking up into the smallest smile in spite of everything.

Oooh.  She could just kill him.

“You- You’re so stupid!” She cried and his smirk fell from his lips.

“Excuse me? ”

“We– we could have called someone!  Or jerry-rigged a battering ram! Or… or… you– we could have–” Marinette pulled at her pigtails and let out another muffled scream.  “I can’t believe you.”

“Me? ” He said, angry now.  “ You can’t believe me?”

“No,” She snapped.  “I can’t. If you had just given me a second I could have gotten us out of here!”

“With what?” He said, gesturing wildly.  “Your magic lockpicking kit?”

She stomped her foot, furious.  “I was working on it!”

“Well that’s great, Marinette.  Real great.” He crossed his arms and she wanted to smack that patronizing look right off his stupid face.  “But I don’t have time to wait around when there’s an akuma on the loose and Ladybug needs me.”

“What Ladybug needs,” She said, reaching up to poke at his temple.  “Is for you to fucking think.”

“I was thinking!”

“There are cameras, Chat.” She hissed, waving hysterically towards the blinking object in the corner of the cage.  “Oh my god.  Cataclysm that and recharge Plagg. We could have gotten out of here without the dramatics.”

Chat rolled his eyes.

“Oh I’m dramatic, she says.”

“Who’s wearing leather spandex?” She snapped before opening her purse.  “Tikki? Can you open that door?”

Chat Noir gawked as the little red and black sprite floated out of Marinette’s bag.  Tikki gave him the stink eye before phasing through to the other side of the cage. A few seconds later there was a distinct click and the door swung inwards.

Ladybug.

“We’ll talk about this later,” She said, cutting off his rising tide of gibbering, flailing, and panic.

Chat nodded, dumbstruck.  Unfortunately, his brain hadn’t caught up to his mouth and he said

“Where was that idea ten minutes ago?”

Marinette scowled.  “It was one of the first things I thought of, dumbass.  I just thought, you know, it would be best not to out myself.”

The reality of the situation had yet to set in but hearing Ladybug’s frustration come out of Marinette’s mouth was grounding.  Sort of. Maybe.

His mind flashed to their original plans for the day and he let out a mortified squeak.

Oh my god.

“How are you not freaking out about this?”

“Who said I wasn’t freaking out?” Marinette said, deadpan.  She pointed towards the security station. “First the cameras, then the akuma.  I’ll go find a place to transform.”

She shot him a familiar, scolding look that sent his heart stumbling over itself.

Oh my god.

He’d found her. He’d found her.

“Wipe that dumb smile off your dumb face.” Marinette said. “I’m still mad at you.”

Chat saluted, still smiling.  “Yes ma’am.”

“Ugh.” She grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him towards security.  “Go.”

“Okay, okay.  Just…” He looked down at her over his shoulder, eyes soft.  “We’ll talk later yeah?”

“Sure,” Marinette said, traitorous cheeks turning pink even as she pushed him away.  “We’ll talk later.”

Much, much later. 

Like, after she’d had time to scream later.

With her promise of a future discussion secure, Chat bounded off towards the security station, the very picture of caught canary. 

Marinette met Tikki’s exasperated gaze with her own.

Her kwami shrugged.

“Well… at least he’s pretty.”

[whumping-every-day]

Hey Sarah! Congrats on getting your card! I'm sorry you've been having a few rough days of writing. Writer's block stinks big time. Could I possibly request mercy killing from your card? If you have time and want to. I'm picturing the whimper maybe doing it to "free" a friend of the Whumpee that has also been captured? Thank you so much for all the effort you put into your stories. Please don't pressure yourself about them. We love them whenever you publish then. It should be fun for you!

Baby, buddy, my friend... thank you so much for your kind words. Also, you may regret asking me this. Because I saw this request, and immediately decided on doing the worst thing ever.

Have an Au of my vampire series, where Callum does not find and rescue Ash in time. Instead, Ash remains with the hunters who originally captured him. Callum happens to stop by years later to visit a friend. 

Content Warnings: Major character death!!! (non-canonical, but still) mouth/face/eye/finger gore, blood, broken/shattered bones, aftermath of torture, injuries, dehumanizing language, muzzles, put on display, tortured literally out of his mind, brief vomit, mercy killing. 

Tagging the vampire gang: @pepperonyscience @angelsuperwholock @pennsss @silver-sparrow-462 @silverinkgoldenquill @kestrelsparverius @learningtowhump @shameless-whumper @latenightcupsofcoffee @thebluejayswhump @what-huh-imconfused  @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic @vickytokio @pink-and-purple-flowers @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whump-em @umniyah-s

-- 

The creature twitches and shudders as it falls to the packed earth. The crowd of onlookers is thinner, now, as dusk starts to fall. A few of the townspeople linger, though, and the hunters just stand around and watch as they deal a flurry of kicks and insults to the quivering lump of flesh on the ground. 

That’s all it is, anymore. A lump of flesh. The muzzle is a part of its face, and its eye sockets are empty behind bleeding eyelids. 

There’s the rattling of strained, laboured breathing, but there is no other sound. Not even when one of the larger assailants sets his foot on the vampire’s chest and shoves. Something cracks as the creature’s torso caves in. 

“Alright, alright. ‘m afraid you will have to come back tomorrow, boys.” One of the hunters scoops up the chain attached to the creature’s collar. “Don’t worry, it’s not going anywhere.” 

One of the men laughs, wiping his boot off on the grass as if he’s touched something filthy. “Yeah, I should hope so. That thing’s practically our mascot now.” 

It takes some time, but the remaining villagers slowly start to disperse as the hunters drag the still-juddering corpse inside. It’s breathing, technically, but it’s still a corpse. There’s nothing about it that looks human anymore, not its face or its body. Its skin is still smoking, and the stench of burning meat still permeates the courtyard. Night falls, and the courtyard is empty, and the creature lies in a cage made of iron and floats on a sea of nothingness and agony. 

-- 

“Didn’t you say you have a vampire here?” Callum takes a long draw out of his tankard, drumming his fingers on the wood of the bar. He doesn’t know the hunter in front of him that well, but well enough that not stopping by when he’s in town would be rude. Derik is short and rotund, thick and broad. 

“Aww, yeah, man.” Derik is considerably deeper into his bottle than Callum is. “ ‘s hardly a vampire now, though. It’s a money-maker. Who’da ever thought people would pay to stand around ‘n watch us break it? It don’t even respond, anymore. ‘s boring.” The man slurs, glaring pensively into his bottle. 

Callum hides his grimace fairly well, but his next swig of beer tastes bitter on his tongue. He’s done awful things to these creatures, of course, but he tries to keep it quick. A bolt to the chest, or a clean decapitation with a silver blade. But then, he’s never been short on funds, so maybe he shouldn’t talk. “Hey. If it puts food on the table...” 

Derik snorts. “Barely. ‘sides, tha’s not the point. It deserves it.” 

“Ah.” Callum takes another drink. “So you guys caught it, and just... kept it?” 

“Mm-hmm.” Derik’s cheeks are flushed, and he looked about ready to pass out. But his eyes brighten suddenly, and he leans forward, nearly unbalancing on the stool. “You wanna see?” 

“Do I want to-” Callum breaks off. He doesn’t understand why the question fills him with a nameless sort of dread. He doesn’t want to see. He doesn’t want to know. And yet, that terrible dread is translating into sick curiosity. “I’ll take a peek.” 

“Yeeaaahh, that’s my man,” Derik crows. He slings a careless arm around Callum’s shoulders, and his breath stinks like booze. 

Callum is starting to regret coming here at all. 

--

“This is your vampire?” The words fall from his lips as horrified, and for a split second, for just a moment, it feels like it’s happened before. But everything is different, this time; everything is worse. 

They’ve disassembled the creature, piece by piece. Callum mistakes the dark lump for a shadow at first, but then the shadow moves. Callum’s hand falls to his knife automatically - but the figure is keening, quiet and raw. It sounds like a child sobbing, or a wounded, dying animal. It sends shivers down Callum’s spine. 

“Oh, yeah. It don’t do much no more...” Derik stumbles over to it, and he’s not steady on his feet, but he’s aware enough to spit down on it. The flesh of its lower face is burned away. Callum can see its cheekbones, and that it’s missing its teeth. Not just its fangs. All of its teeth. 

Callum gags a little and takes a step back, feeling horror roil in his gut. “What is wrong with you people?” 

Derik is busy fumbling with his pants, like he’s going to take a piss right on the creature’s broken body. He pauses at the words though, brow creasing. “Wha’s wrong with you?” He counters. “ ‘s a vampire. I can do.. wh-ever I want.” 

Callum can’t catch his breath, suddenly. The smell in the little stone room is rancid; filth and piss and rot, and the sour, overlaying stench of terror. The vampire is missing fingers, and the ones that remain are bent and crushed. Callum feels very cold, suddenly, and then very warm. 

His fingers shake as he grips his knife and draws it. He is driven by cold horror as he moves, his mind not even catching up with his body. 

Derik is too drunk to see him coming. Callum knocks him over the head with the hilt, and the man drops like a stone. Callum has to stifle the urge to keep hitting him. 

The vampire does not seem to be conscious of his presence... or of anything at all, really. Callum walks over to it, and the longer he stares, the more he feels the alcohol twisting and turning in his gut. 

It’s only when he sees the creature’s severed tendons, and the way the bottoms of its feet have been mangled, that he turns and vomits all over the floor. 

“Oh my god,” he mutters, wiping the back of his mouth. This goes far beyond overkill. This is - this is something else. This is the deepest expression of human evil he’s ever come across. Callum has never been religious, but this is an abhorrence.

There’s a stake in his hand as he crouches beside the trembling lump of skin and bone. Its head jerks in his direction, and the keening gets a little louder. 

He can’t heal it. Callum has tested the limits of a vampire’s body himself, but he’s never seen torture like this. He’d have to drain three people or over to even think of fixing it, and even then... Callum looks at the way its empty eyelids flutter, the way the exposed, caved bones in its chest rattle and wheeze. No. Healing it would not be a kindness. 

The hunter draws in an unsteady breath and grips the stake. It will be easy from here; a quick plunge, not even a moving target. But he can’t help but reach out, just once, as if something else is guiding his hand. As if allowing this creature’s last moments of contact to be violent is too much.

There’s no patch of the creature’s flesh that is not maimed in some way. Callum settles a hand as gently as he can over its empty eyes, and his jaw clenches at the way it shudders and twitches. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, even as he readies the stake. “You can rest now.” He doesn’t know why he’s trying to talk to it. It can’t understand him. Callum squeezes his eyes shut just for a moment, as if hoping to purge the gory image from his mind. But it’s still there for him when he looks again, and the creature is limp under his hand, finally fallen silent. It’s waiting, he realizes. Callum’s hands shake with fury, but he squeezes the stake harder and grits his teeth. “I give you mercy.” 

It’s a harsh motion, quick and decisive, and the creature turns to dust beneath his fingers. Callum is left gripping the worn wooden steak with angry tears in his eyes. Everything about this is wrong. Everything. 

He’s sick at heart as he stands, and as he goes back to the bar and pays his tab, and as he finds his way out to the stables and saddles his horse. There are monsters in their world, Callum knows this. But he will never again forget that the worst monster is and always has been humanity. 

It’s just one night in the course of his life, but Callum isn’t ever able to forget what he saw. And when he gets home and goes to collapse onto his cot, for some reason, the lab feels emptier than it ever has before. 

[homesception]

Don’t mind me, I’m not quite ready for the yearly update to this blog.  Maybe in a month or two.  In the mean time, this is just a repost of a crack pair joke fic from a closed side blog so I don’t lose track of it.

tags: beta session, canon divergence (from homestuck.com/story/1144), jack noir / dad egbert (one sided), draconian dignitary / jack noir (one sided), black queen / jack noir (referenced)

- - -

It’s only been a few minutes since you allowed the foreign captive to escape, and already you’re beginning to regret the decision.  True, the man had been a thorn in your side.  True, he had earned the favor from you by burning that loathsome hat.  But when the Queen finds out that you just let him go, if she hasn’t already, she’s going to make your life here even more of a living hell than it already was.

Plus, dealing with the man had been about the only interesting thing going on around here for longer than you can remember, and with the captive gone you now have nothing to distract you from the mind numbing monotony of paperwork.  Nothing except her.

Damn it all, you may be an archagent, but you’re still an agent!  You should be in the field, gathering intel, murdering targets, stabbing people.  Being locked away like a bird in a cage is killing you, and she knows it.  She just loves rattling the bars, getting you all worked up and frantic and then offering only herself for release…  not that you necessarily hate that part, but damn it all, you hate her for making you want it, and you hate the entire kingdom for knowing that you’re just the Queen’s toy, for the snickers behind your back, the jokes carved into bathroom stalls…

You had sensed something of that frustration in the captive.  You had felt a kindred spirit, another soul bound by obligation to a life of crushing servitude, aching yet impotent to break free.  A man, like you, of discerning taste, fenced in by thwarted desire.  You’re sure he felt it too, this dignified stranger in a world of nauseating, royally mandated garishness and buffoonery.  You’re sure he knew exactly what he was doing when he freed you from that hat’s revolting maw.  Staring down at the broken bars of the prisoner’s busted cell door, you can’t help but think that perhaps…  perhaps when he left you should have…

‘Guess the wise guy was stronger than he looked, eh boss?’ asks the Dignitary.  Cripes, how does he always sneak up on you like that?  Real quiet for such a tall guy.  'Packin’ some muscle under that bean-counter outfit,’ he says.

‘Yeah,’ you answer, distractedly.  'You could chip a shiv in those abs,’ you say.

'What’s that?’ he asks.

'What?  No,’ you say.  'I just mean I’m gonna need a bigger knife,’ you say.

'Going after him yourself, then, boss?’ asks the Dignitary.  'Queen’s not gonna like that,’ he says.

Not much for you to say to that.  He looks you in the eyes, with that blank face of his, that blank face not nobody can read, not even you, for all the time you’ve worked together.  That face what makes you want to shake him, yell at him, grab a knife and stab some emotion out of him.  Instead you break the silence by clearing your throat.

'Gonna need you to hold the fort here, keep the Old Lady off my back till I can recover the prisoner.'  Another awkward pause.

'Alive?’ he finally asks.

'No,’ you lie.

You hadn’t even meant it to be a lie when you said it.  A moment before, you woulda sworn you had every intention of hunting the man down and stabbing him to death, finally letting off some steam before dragging his corpse back to Derse as a trophy.  Yet the moment it’s out of your mouth, you know you don’t mean it, and you know the Dignitary knows, too.  Something flickers across his face for a single instant, something there and gone just fast enough that you’re not even sure you saw it at all.

'Here, boss’ he says, drawing a long stiletto from somewhere in that ludicrous harlequin outfit that he alone in the entire kingdom manages to pull off.  'You said you needed a bigger knife, so here.  Stab 'im once extra for me.’

'Sure,’ you lie again, taking the blade.  It feels like some sorta’ betrayal somehow, in this weird moment you don’t really understand.  But it’s a nice knife, and you were never one to turn down a gift of fine cutlery.

- - -

After the boss leaves, you just stand there for a while.  Alone.  Feeling all the things you were just too dignified to say.  That you have always been too dignified to say, and now it’s too late.  Too late to stand with the boss against the Queen, too late to tell the boss what all your years working together have meant to you, just too late.  The boss is gone, and he wouldn’t be coming back.  He’s gone off to chase after a new partner.  Maybe more of a partner than the two of you had ever managed to be.  Yeah, the boss might stab that foreign agent if he caught 'im, but it wouldn’t be with a knife, now would it?  Not just a knife, anyway.

A less dignified man might be consumed with jealousy.  Might go after the foreigner himself.  But you are not a less dignified man, so instead you prod the Brute awake with the toe of one pointy shoe, while ringing up the Droll on the phone.  'Listen up boys,’ you tell them both, 'we got work to do.’

[regrettablewritings]

Technically he wasn't included in the list of one's you could write for but I know you've written for him before, would you be willing to do a Matt Murdock x Reader for the ship meme? Either way, thank you. Your the best.

Crap, I knew I was forgetting something! Sure thing, though! Apologies beforehand if it’s not up to par – I did my best with all the crap going on today.

How differently do they think of each other now compared to when they first met?: When you first met Matt, you were just like everybody else and bought the schtick where he acts unassuming due to his disability. Nobody could blame you, that was the point of it. However, what stood out to you most was his apparently big heart: After all, most forms would turn you down upon hearing what little (yet all) you had to offer regarding the inhospitable conditions at your place of work.

But according to the Nelson part of Nelson & Murdock, any price was perfectly fine (“Feel free to throw in a blueberry pie,” he joked). And the Murdock half flashed a smile in your general direction, assuring you that they would get to the bottom of this. To your surprise, they not only did but also did so while treating you like an actual goddamn human being.

As for Matt, the first thing he thought of when he met you was, “She’s innocent.” Of course, he meant this in reference to your heartbeat when discussing your situation, as he always did when concerning a potential client. But the more he talked to you about the case, the subsequent things regarding your personal life he learned. And the more vivid of a picture he had in his head.Due to his reliance on sound and the things he could hear, as well as how secretive he actually was, Matt managed to develop a newfound opinion of you before you could of him.By the time the two of you accepted yourselves as a couple, Matt knew you as a resourceful type of person who wanted to make sure that the ones she cared about were comfortable and taken care of. However, if shit went down, you were absolutely not afraid to take a stand and call bullshit.You, on the other hand, still held your belief that Matt had a big heart. The problem was, it took a very long while before you also realized how self-destructive he could be. And it makes you worry tremendously. You still admire him, but you really wish he’d quit playing the martyr.

What do their friends/family think of their relationship?: Foggy’s beyond glad that you’ve entered Matt’s life because he foolishly believes that with a healthy love life, it’ll force Matt to have to reconsider his actions. He’s always been foolhardy, using the stigma of a docile blindman to convince others not in the know that he was careful with his decisions and actions. Perhaps having you and something to strive for besides the safety of Hell’s Kitchen might give him a reason to not be such a martyr and quit volunteering to jump in front of the swinging fist of some thug.Karen, similarly, is glad that there’s somebody who can look out for Matt potentially more because you’re more likely to be in a more intimate setting than she and Foggy would as just friends.Matt nearly won your friends and family over by the mere mention of him being a lawyer. Of course, it did come up that his particular firm was notorious for accepting cases with payments of pies, bananas, and IOUs. You really tried to hype up that this was due to Matt’s good hearted nature, but it was still accepted with some hesitancy.Otherwise, they don’t find him unpleasant and as long as you’re both happy and he treats you well, they can’t find too much to gripe about. (Though your folks still make occasional jabs at the question of his ability to provide for you in terms of a long-term relationship…)

How do their personalities/skills complement or contrast with each other?: Matt’s protectiveness works well with your need to assure the comfort of others. Additionally, you both have a sense of justice. The difference is that his involves dressing up like a devil and doing parkour around ten blocks of New York nearly every night and beating the shit out of people.

What is their favorite aspect of each other?: You enjoy Matt’s wit, and he enjoys how you can make a person feel comfortable. He keeps you laughing with his dry humor, and your thing for hospitality meant you helped repay Nelson & Murdock by redecorating the office to feel less sterile and unprofessional.

Do either of them have pet peeves about each other?: Technically speaking, Matt’s secretiveness and martyr complex isn’t a pet peeve. Nevertheless, drives you insane the most and really tests your relationship. He takes way too much upon himself with little regard for the effects; he’s certainly not a scale, because he constantly proves he can’t balance everything as well as he thinks he can.The thing that annoys him about you is arguably and comparatively chill: Sometimes you just do things too loudly. Cutting up food, slamming cabinets — the usual. You try to keep it quieter, you really do, but what’s normal to most others is loud to the man.

How would each reconcile with each other after a fight?: Matt’s lawyer mode unfortunately shines during arguments with you, and sometimes it results with him saying things that pierce you to the bone. The moment he hears you inhale sharply, smell the salt of the tears welling in your eyes, and hears a change in your breathing pattern, he knows he’s gone too far and regrets it. If you need space away from him, he doesn’t blame you and will probably hate himself: He made uncomfortable the one person who tries her best to make others feel happy and safe.If you’ll hear him out, he’ll likely give an apology riddled with self-deprecation until you’ve had enough. Unfortunately, his typical go-to is makeup sex as a result of him being used to doing that with Elektra. Given that you’re the first healthy relationship he’s ever had, he isn’t entirely sure of what else to do if this doesn’t suit your fancy; but Matt’s no quitter.He’ll try and do to you the things you do to him when you make him feel comfortable: Cuddle you, read stories (though, given that most of his literature is law books in Braille, you may want to skip this), order food from the Thai place down the street, and so on.On your end, usually all you have to do is apologize and Matt will hear it in your heart how truly honest you’re being and how much it’s hurting you to keep being angry with him. Once he hugs you close and whispers that the apology was accepted, you know all is better. Maybe not well, but better.

What would be their ideal vacation getaway together?: Matt’s never really ventured out of New York or gone on vacation for that matter. Wasn’t the entire point of vacation to see new sites? Of course, you’re not buying that crap for a minute. With Luke Cage and Jessica Jones and god knows who else is running about, you promised him it’d be okay if he took a break and went elsewhere for a week or two. Somewhere nice and fresh, away from the pollution of an urban area would be ideal. A nice, small town perhaps. Rural. Where you can both sleep in under linen sheets and breathe in the cleaner, country air…

Think of a new way (AU, different situation, etc.) they could have met for the first time: Matt was quite aware of how odd it was for a blind man to be wandering around such a shady area of the Kitchen. At best, people would scoff at him and try to bring him back to “a nicer area”; but at worst, they might attempt to mug him. He made sure to put extra focus on his awareness, praying that the noises and smells of the jazz club wouldn’t distract him for too long.Go in, eavesdrop, get out. Go in, eavesdrop, get out.He repeated this mantra over and over in his head as he recited the password to the doorman. He didn’t need to see to be aware of the quirked brow the guard wore when they heard the clicking of his walking stick, having realized that the red-tinted shades weren’t for fashion.Immediately, he could smelling the choking stench of cigars and alcohol and cheap perfumes and expensive colognes alike. With the rustle of his fingers, he could feel the fabrics of the bar patrons, hear the chattering and obnoxious guffaws of overly flirtatious women as men slapped their palms on the wooden tables, making their glasses rattle.Matt tried not to appear uncomfortable, pretending to feel around for a seat he could “see” quite clearly. He was beginning to wonder if it was worth coming down here to get a lead on a self-directed investigation. Surely there was another way…“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage the lovely (Y/N) (L/N); she’s a little shy so be sure to give her a nice warm welcome.”Crap.If he tried to leave now, it might draw more attention than what he’d already gained as a visually impaired patron. Matt bit back a grimace as he slid into his seat, courteously joining the small crowd in light applause. No choice now but to go along with it, pretend he was enjoying the music when really his ears were scrambling to focus on a particular voice of the one suspect he was tailing.But, oh, was the attempt in vain.“There’s a saying old, says that love is bliiiiind… Still, we’re often told, ‘Seek and ye shall fiiiinndd.’ So I’m going to seek a certain lad I’ve had…in miiiiiiindd…”Matt had heard many voices in his life — possibly more than the average person, given his hypersensitive hearing.He could not say even years from that moment precisely what it was about your voice that made him lose focus in record time from his initial mission.Maybe it was that you sounded like Ella, only somehow sweeter than Ella. Or how your handling of the words made each syllable slink the the air with honey-like grace. If he allowed himself to indulge in a very rare instance of sappiness, however, Matt would have probably secretly humored that God blesses your voice to be particularly wondrous that evening.In fact, he very much did think so.“I’d like to add his initials to my monograamm. Wheeeere is the shepherd for thiiiiisss looooossst laaammbb?”Cross that: Your voice was bewitching more than anything to him. (And had his vision been available, his sight of you would only encourage such: A red, curve-caressing dress; hair styled to display softness even at a distance; devilish, red lips that one wouldn’t expect to produce such sweet sounds.)“There’s someone I’m longing to seeeee I hope that heeee turns out to beeeee… someoonne who’ll waaaatch… oooover meeeee…”Matthew Michael Murdock had only ever heard of love at first sight – and he already didn’t believe in such rubbish. But as he heard you on that stage, his focus now completely on you, he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps love at first song might’ve been a thing. At the very least, infatuation at first song.He no longer cared how unusual it was for a blind man to be in a club in the seedier part of the Kitchen. Nor did he care with how much enthusiasm he applauded your performance. Hell, he barely cared about the reason he came here in the first place.He heard you thanking the audience with gleeful yet shy appreciation, followed by the sounds of you hopping down from the stage … and walking towards him! Matt felt like an imbecilic college student again, flustered at the realization that a pretty-sounding girl was coming for him! … And passed him. His heart calmed with a gut-jolting thud, only to pick up as he caught a whiff of your perfume. Wait … Lotion, he corrected himself. How unusual for a club singer to bathe her scent in lotion and not perfume. But to Matt, it was a tiny yet wonderful thing. It made him want to get to know you more.She might have something to say about our guy, he told himself as he listened for your movements. He could hear the sway of your hips as you waltzed on over and took a seat at the bar. He heard you talk to the bartender an a highly amicable manner and order your drink. He could hear the parting of your rich lips as you took a sip, a sigh of relief as your parched throat was finally aided. You noticed that this copper-brown-haired man was headed towards you before he did – the click-clacking of his cane cued him in to you in spite of his own personal use of the item.He could hear you producing a confused smile. He didn’t mind. “Good evening, Miss,” he uttered, turning on the Murdock Men’s charm, whatever that was. Whatever it was, indeed – because even years from that moment, you wouldn’t be able to explain precisely what it was about Matt Murdock’s voice that stood out from the many others you had heard up to that point in your life.Maybe it was because it was deep yet encased with warmth. Or maybe it was how even among the chatter of the bar patrons, his voice seemed to caress your ears as gentle hands would. Or maybe it was because the words flowed from such a lovely-looking man, of whom proved himself to be quite the conversational partner as the evening wore on.

Whatever the case, by the time the both of you had left, you were both questioning the same thing: Was love or infatuation at first sound a thing?

Send me a character ship

[swanqueeneverafter]

15. The Stranger, Pt.5

Storybrooke, Catacombs. Present. (Regina leads Jefferson down to her vault.) Regina: “Watch your step.” Jefferson: “What is this place?” Regina: “Where I've kept the last bit of my magic. The only magic in this world is in the things I brought with me.” (They arrive at a room with shelves containing minor artifacts.) Jefferson: (Puts hat on floor, sighs:) “It's not spinning, it's--not working.” Regina: “It needs to absorb the magic that's here. I have some things left. (Takes box from shelf:) A few trinkets.” (Empties box into hat, replaces it on shelf. They wait. Jefferson shakes his head and flips the hat upside down; nothing falls out.) Jefferson: “It's not enough; we need something that still works. (Regina pulls out a ring from her pocket and studies it tearfully as it shows Daniel's face:) Who is that?” Regina: “Someone long gone.” Jefferson: “Well, whatever—or whoever—it is, it still has magical properties. Give me that, and let me see what I can do with it. (Regina hesitates:) If you want your revenge, give it to me.” (Regina indicates that he should put the hat on the floor. He does, and she places the ring inside. This finally causes the hat to make a small vortex.) Regina: “What's wrong? Why isn't it opening a portal?” Jefferson: (Examining hat:) “The magic; it's not enough. We can't go anywhere.” Regina: “Well, then you've failed.” Jefferson: “Maybe not. There's enough magic to touch the other side, just not to get us there. There might be enough to—reach through and retrieve something.” Regina: (Sinking down to eye level with Jefferson, interested:) “I can bring something back?�� Jefferson: “Is there an object that can help you? Perhaps I can open it enough, and reach through and grab it. It would have to be small, something you can take with your hand. Is there anything like that that can help you?” Regina: “Yes. Yes, I believe there is.” Jefferson: “Then you need to direct me to the time and place where this object exists.” Regina: “How?” Jefferson: “Think about it. Guide the hat. (Regina closes her eyes and smiles. She opens them and both stand up to witness a real vortex this time:) Excellent. It appears to be working. Now what is it we're after?” Regina: “An apple.”

The Enchanted Forest, Regina's Childhood Home, Stable. Past. (Regina enters and looks around. Enter Snow White.) Snow White: “Hello, Regina.” Evil Queen: “Follow me. (They walk:) Do you remember when I ran down your runaway horse, Snow? Do you remember when I saved your life?” Snow White: “Of course. (Nervous laugh:) It all looks the same.” Evil Queen “Not quite. This is new.” (Indicates a headstone with a pink heart on it.) Snow White: “Is that--” Evil Queen: “A grave. Daniel's grave.” Snow White: “Daniel. I thought--” Evil Queen “He ran away? I told you that to spare your feelings out of--kindness. But he died because of you.” Snow White: “Uh, uh-I'm... sorry.” Evil Queen: “I'm sorry too. But nothing can change what happened. What you did. You promised to keep my secret. You promised, but you lied.” Snow White: “I was very young, and your mother--” Evil Queen: “She ripped his heart out. Because of you! Because you couldn't listen to me.” Snow White: “You took my father. Haven't we both suffered enough?” Evil Queen: “No!” (Reaches into bag.) Snow White: “What is that?” Evil Queen: (Takes out apple:) “It's just a morsel. Did you know that apples stand for health and wisdom?” Snow White: “So why do I get the feeling that one might kill me?” Evil Queen: “It won't kill you. No, what it will do is far worse. Your body will be your tomb. And you'll be in there with nothing but dreams formed of your own regrets.” Snow White: “You're going to force me to eat it.” Evil Queen: (Scoffs:) “Of course not. It wouldn't work, anyway. The choice is yours. It must be taken willingly.” Snow White: “And why would I do that?” Evil Queen: “Because if you refuse the apple, your Prince? Your Charming? Will be killed.” Snow White: “No.” Evil Queen: “As I said, the choice is yours.” Snow White: “I take that apple and he lives. That's the deal you want to make?” Evil Queen: “With all my heart.” Snow White: (Takes apple:) “Then congratulations. You've won.”

(Snow White bites the apple and falls down. In his prison, Prince Charming grunts and falls down in the same manner.) Prince Charming: “Snow. (Runs to cage, rattles bars:) What have you done to her? What have you done? Snow!” (Meanwhile, the apple rolls down the hill and a small portal opens up. It falls through the portal and through Jefferson's Hat into Storybrooke.) Storybrooke Catacombs with Regina and Jefferson over the Hat. Present. Jefferson: (Catching apple:) “Was this it?” Regina: (Accepting apple:) “Yes. Yes it is.” Jefferson: “And my daughter? My Grace?” Regina: “First things first. The deal's not done. Not until I solve my next conundrum.” (Montage of Regina baking a turnover.)

Storybrooke. Mayor's House. (Emma walks up the front steps, rings the doorbell. Regina answers the door.) Emma: “We need to talk.” Regina: “Yes, I-I imagine we do. I was just about to call you. Come right in. (Emma crosses the threshold:) I wasn’t able to get any sense out of Sidney, I’m afraid he’s clearly unfit for trial. (Noticing that Emma isn’t really listening:) I believe you came to see me.” Emma: “Look. This isn't easy. I think that this—whatever it is between us—is great and I don’t want it to end.” Regina: (Smiles:) “Something we agree on.” Emma: “But I don’t want it to come between Mary Margaret and I. She’s really pissed at you. Last night at Granny’s she told everyone she’s planning to run against you for Mayor.” Regina: “What?” Emma: “This—feud between you is a problem. And I need you two to figure out how to deal with each other.” (Oven beeps.) Regina: “You're right. Would you mind following me for a moment? (Emma and Regina move the conversation to the kitchen, where Regina takes the turnover out of the oven:) I think you and I are of the same mind.”

Emma: “Yeah?” Regina: “Which is why I made this for Ms. Blanchard. (As Regina moves around the kitchen, Emma can’t take her eyes off the Mayor:) If we're going to be in each other's lives, it's time we start being cordial. (Puts turnover in container:) My famous turnovers. Old recipe. But delicious. (Presents turnover to Emma:) Perhaps you’d be so kind to give it to her for me? (Emma, her attention still focused on the older woman and the way she moves:) I do hope she likes apples.” Emma: (Slowly coming back to herself, takes the container:) “You only made one?” Regina: “Oh, Miss Swan. (Noticing the look in Emma’s eyes:) I think maybe you’re hungry for something else?” (Before either woman knew what was happening, Emma had tossed the turnover aside, grabbed Regina around the waist and locked their lips in a searing kiss. Regina opens her mouth and sighs as Emma eagerly sucks her tongue into her own mouth. Losing track of all coherent thought for a moment as her senses adjust to the overwhelming presence of Emma’s taste and smell and feel.) Emma: (Breaking the kiss briefly:) “I’ve been thinking about doing that all day.” Regina: “Well I’m glad you put your thoughts into action.” Emma: (Shaking her head:) “I’ve spent the day talking to what seems like everyone in this town and everything they’ve said makes me question everything about you.” Regina: (Stiffens slightly:) “Oh?” Emma: (Nods:) “And then I realised, I don’t give a damn what anybody thinks.” (The pair resume their feverish kiss with frenzied fingers now reaching to remove unwanted clothing.) Regina: (Between kisses:) “So everyone’s against me, are they?” Emma: (Moving to kiss along Regina’s collarbone:) “Every last one of ‘em.” Regina: “Except you.” Emma: “Mm, except me.” Regina: (Groans:) “Well then perhaps, Savior, you’d like to taste my forbidden fruit?” (Emma growls her answer, lifting the brunette into her arms and laying her down on the kitchen counter.) Emma: “Whatever you say, your Majesty.”

The Enchanted Forest, Regina's Childhood Home, Stable. Past. (Widow Lucas and Red enter, looking for Snow.) Red: “Snow's here. I can smell it.” Widow Lucas: “Snow! Snow!” Grumpy: (Offscreen:) “She's over here! (Cut to: The Seven Dwarves stand over Snow White's body:) I found her lying here like this, is she--” Red: “Granny, give me your dagger.” (Widow Lucas does. Red holds it under Snow White's nose.) Happy: “Maybe she's just sleepin'.” Red: “She has no breath. She's gone. (Dwarves remove caps in unison:) She sacrificed herself for true love.” Grumpy: “She sacrificed herself for all of us.” The Enchanted Forest, Dark Palace. (Regina sits at a table with a mirror on it.) Evil Queen: “It would appear sacrifice is overrated. (Giggles, leans forwards:) But speaking of.” (Gestures toward mirror, which--with a puff of blue smoke--shows Prince Charming rather than the Dwarves.) Prince Charming: “No! What have you done to her? What have you done?” Storybrooke, Mr. Gold's Pawn Shop. Present. (Mr. Gold stands at the counter, writing in a ledger. Enter Regina with a swagger.) Regina: “I hope you bought travel insurance. Because no one's going anywhere.” Mr. Gold: “Oh really. And why's that.” Regina: “Because I found the solution to my problem.” Mr. Gold: (Softly:) "Oh, yes.” Regina: “An old, reliable solution.” Mr. Gold: “A sleeping curse. Might I ask how you managed to obtain one here in Storybrooke?” Regina: “By sacrificing the last bit of magic I had left.” Mr. Gold: “So you made magic from magic. Well, I'm sure I don't have to remind you that uh... all magic comes with a price.” Regina: (Leans forward over counter:) “Then you can pay it. Because now? The curse is gonna be stronger than ever and you will be right here, where you belong. (Mr. Gold leaves the counter behind and stands by another counter:) Don't you understand? I won! (Follows Mr. Gold:) So whatever plan you had, whatever reason you wanted the curse broken... too bad. Because it's never going to happen.” (Spins globe on her way out.) Storybrooke, Mary Margaret's House. (Emma comes down the stairs and a knock sounds on the door. She opens it to Henry.) Henry: “Hey, Emma! Everything okay? You sounded strange over the walkie.” Emma: “Oh, um. I'm okay. Just, um. (Sighs:) I think I’m going to quit as Sheriff.” Henry: “What?” Emma: “It’s too much responsibility, I don’t need it.” Henry: “No no no! You're just scared. This happens to all heroes, it's just—the low moment before you fight back.” Emma: (Sinking down to her knees:) “Henry! This isn't a story! This is reality. Some things have to change. You can't skip school. You can't run away, and... you can't believe in curses.” Henry: “...You really don't believe?” Emma: “I’m not going anywhere, kid. I just don’t need everyone relying on me all the time. I’ve spoken with your Mom and she agrees.” Henry: “Yes! But she wants you dead.” Emma: “Come on, Henry!” Henry: “You're the only one that can stop her!” Emma: (Rises:) “Stop her from what? All she's ever done is fight for you.” (They hug.) Henry: (Seeing apple turnover:) “Where did you get that?” Emma: “Regina gave it to me. It’s for Mary Margaret.” Henry: “Apple!” Emma: “So?” Henry: “She can't eat that: it's poison.” Emma: “What? Henry, come on. Why would she do that?” Henry: “Because as long as she’s alive, you’re gonna realise Mary Margaret is your mom and you’re going to break the curse.” Emma: “Henry? You've got to stop thinking like this.” Henry: “But it's the truth. And you quitting as sheriff isn't gonna change that.” (They both reach for the turnover.) Emma: “I'll prove it to you.” Henry: “No!” (Snatches the turnover away and steps back.) Emma: “Henry! What are you doing?” Henry: “Sorry it had to come to this. You may not believe in the curse. Or in me. But I believe in you.” (Bites into turnover, chews.) Emma: “See? You wanna have some ice cream with that? Then we can go back to talking about-- (Henry collapses:) Henry. Henry? Henry?”

The End.

[obsidianmichi]

I was reading @feynites fun fic Looking Glass. I was struck to play with young Solas on a lark and to help with character development, though my Solas is nothing like her Pride. He came out much more... knightly. Plus, our Falon’dins have little in common. Still, thanks Feynites for this fun bit of play! I enjoy your writing quite a bit. ^_^

Fen’Harel growled in frustration, kicking his legs up on his desk and balled another memory fragment in his hands. Mythal’s lush gardens spread below his tower window and he knew the girl was somewhere in the rock building nearest the octangle compound’s far corner, potentially looking out on the same wilds. Whatever Falon’din had done widened the girl up to more and released more too, realized the ever present sadness lurking at the edges of her sorrowful eyes. Uncontained, her pent up pain was enough to wrench at his heart. The images came quickly, inundated him with fits and starts. The strange wooden boats moving across the ground and drawn by Ghilnan’nain’s halla, strange feral elves in strange, simple leather clothes about campfires and wearing the vallaslin of the People. The same dead vallaslin she had worn when she arrived. If they enslaved the halla, there would be swift vengeance delivered on them. Yet, he did not think so. Instead, his memory fell to the moment before when he’d escorted her back to her room. Her back stiff and unyielding, and she never leaned on him regardless of the pain.

“Thank you,” she’d said in the same quiet way she did every day before closing the door.

His heart thundered then, and he’d almost caught the rough, wooden slab with his hand. Demand to know what he might do, know why she looked at him with such sad eyes. Those sky blue irises, unlike those of his fellow elvhen. Whenever they found him, he felt as if joy fled from the world. His world of bright colors turned to dark and gray nightmare.

He understood why Sorrow and Misery lingered close to her, as did Compassion, though he’d seen no immediate signs of its presence. The other spirits wandered near her on occasion, but he suspected they were waiting until she was ready to speak with them. Of them all, it was Solace, Wisdom, and Regret who never left. Wisdom’s presence surprised him most.

“Young in body, old in pain, and kindred in ken,” was what Wisdom said.

That answer proved unsettling as the others.

He turned as the door creaked behind him.

“Still at it, eh?” Asharael said. The older elf strode into Fen’Harel’s private room at the top of his glass tower, eyes surveying the scattered red shards littering the floor. He rubbed his mouth, all amusement.

Fen’Harel cast him a dirty look.

“Your powers of poetry fail you?”

He sighed. “Try as I might, nothing comes right.”

“Yet you managed a rhyme scheme this time,” Asharael chuckled. Without invitation, he swiped one of the shards up off the floor and held it up in the light. “To whom is this pretty ditty of yours meant? A lucky elven lass, I’m sure. Perhaps Tana in the markets or the sorceress apprentice Lyvaea whose been eyeing you, the one transferred to Mythal’s service out of Dirthamen’s schools.”

“Neither,” he said stiffly.

“Neither?” Asharael spun the inert shard between his fingers. “Tell me you’re not hung up chasing some noble lady in the high casts? Or a raven wench with Falon’din’s delegation?” His upper lip wrinkled. “They’re hardly fun in a tumble.”

Fen’Harel studied him, remembering the girl… Eirwen pale in his arms. Her cold fingers extending, eyes full of strange relief and wonder as she reached out to touch his face. Solas. She’d whispered his name. His first name from when he’d been a spirit of Pride, when he’d had no other. A name he barely remembered. The air around her dead and unfeeling, but her soft eyes filled with an emotion he could only call love. He... whomever she’d seen in his place was someone beloved. Her beloved, he reminded himself. He’d seen the same expression in the eyes of enough young maids enough to know, yet nothing like hers. Their loves were not so precious. Even now, months later, he’d barely the words to describe it. Those eyes were a candle’s flame in the forest, burning brightly and gone again in the wind’s sputtered gasp. They knew nothing of timelessness, only endings. Yet, the swiftness of the coming end left her love all the sweeter, all the more fierce. Like a brilliant star in the overhead sky, he wished it would burn on forever.

In the moment, he’d been struck with envy. Envy, of all emotions the most selfish he might feel. Envy for the unknown male who bore his name, gifted with a love born in the shadow of death. Wherein the end would come, but each moment clung to as precious. Brief, brilliant, wildly passionate. A momentary love, come and gone again before one might blink. Yet in her love’s shadow all his turned to pale. Her love echoed in him even now, rattling bars of a cage he never knew contained him.

Envy.

Ridiculous, he thought.

“Ah,” Asharael’s tone darkened. “That one.”

“I’ve no intention to pursue her,” Fen’Harel said and heard it for a lie as the words left his lips. “She is… fascinating.”

“Severed from the Dreaming, almost in entirety,” Asharael replied. “To hear the Sorceresses tell it, she will never truly be restored though she may find some semblance of elvhen life as a construct.” The older elf studied the shard in his palm. “Falon’din has laid his claim, wolf brother. You would do well to avoid that storm.”

“Her vallaslin was inert,” Fen’Harel offered. He knew Falon’din’s intentions all too well, knew too Mythal humored her eldest. She had not given the girl up in part because the child proved an easy means to vex him.

“His mark is on her,” Asharael said. “Whatever that means, Linali won’t tell me.”

Fen’Harel nodded, remembering Asharael’s latest conquest among Mythal’s Sisterhood. “Mythal has promised not to give her up easily.”

“But never promised she would not,” Asharael countered. “I feel for the little lass, much as anyone can. Poor thing cannot feel as we do, she is half a creation. Flesh with but  a whisper of spirit.”

Fen’Harel shrugged. “I have been seeking to understand.”

“You know the spirits better than I, Dreamborn,” Asharael chuckled. “Mayhap you will.”

Irked, Fen’Harel traced the lengths of his fingers. Eyes moving to the collection of research piled on the far table on the opposite side of his quarters. Even with Wisdom’s help, researching her condition proved a daunting task. He was younger than Falon’din, and the other legendary. He knew spirits, yes. He had been drawn from the Fade by Mythal herself to serve at her court, but so had Falon’din and Dirthamen. They were First among the Children. Falon’din’s knowledge of a spirit’s transition into a mortal body was second to none. Mythal was correct in calling to him for aid. Yet, Fen’Harel frowned, Falon’din offered no favors for free.

His eyes returned to the gardens below. Swinging to the verdant jungle in the east, twining vines and the ancient trees with their wide fronds. Spirits swanned down the paths, conversing freely and eagerly with their embodied counterparts. His gaze fell to a couple, far below, in a secluded grove beside Gardenmeister Karina’s favorite babbling brook. They curled together lazily in the fading light, looking up or down every so often to plant a gentle kiss on the other’s lips.

Coolly, Fen’Harel reached for another memory shard. He’d enough work to do overlooking Mythal’s forces, and reviewing training for his contingent of Wolf Brothers. He was not a general, not truly. He was Champion, overseeing the training of the elite and serving under the more seasoned Hamilin. A glorified bodyguard as the elder commanders so often reminded him. Still, his warriors would be on the training floor tomorrow. The girl had intimated she’d some sort of combat training, though he privately doubted its efficacy.

With a flick of his thumb, he called up her image. Her bare face, stripped of Falon’din’s offensive markings, stare back. She was tiny, especially when compared to the elvhen. A smaller frame with thinner bones, a round if hollow face compounded by massive doe-like eyes. She’d been half starved as a child. That much was obvious to anyone with eyes. Her visage remained ridiculously childlike, though her expressions showed an aged maturity. Yet she’d lived no longer than twenty-six short years. Impossible! Fleshborn at twenty were cradlebound. He turned the image over in his hand.. Her magic came and went in whispers. A teasing breeze taunting him with wisdom born from pain, and some unspoken knowledge half-remembered in dreams.

Fen’Harel banished it again, his mouth set in a firm line. Such a child could not have combat training, much less experience. It is my duty to test out all potential threats to Mythal, therefore I must test her. If he knew how well she defended herself perhaps he would stop worrying, and if she could not then he’d have a beginning.

Asharael’s hand settled on his shoulder, and gave him a warm squeeze.

Fen’Harel glanced at him.

“You will get past this,” Asharael said. “All comes to its end, brother.”

“Except us,” Fen’Harel replied.

Asharael smiled. “Even us.”

Fen’Harel sighed. “I must wait these emotions out then.”

Asharael gave him a knowing pat. “The feelings will leave in their own time, and you will be yourself again. You are young yet, Fen’Harel. You shall see.”

“Too young to be Champion?” he asked, voice wry.

“You earned the honor accorded,” Asharael answered. “Only Mythal in her mightiness may take it from you.”

Fen’Harel sighed. “What brought you to me, Squad Leader?”

Asharael chuckled. “Back to business, then? Well, the soldiers are requesting their leader’s presence at the drinking hall. They wish to celebrate, as such they could not begin without you.”

Laying the memory shard back on his desk, Fen’Harel stood with a sigh. “Then we’d best not keep them waiting.”

“They prefer you cheerful to melancholy,” Asharael said, waggling his bushy black brows as they walked together toward the door. “When you’re happy, you ease off drilling on the practice field.”

“I promise nothing,” Fen’Harel replied, hands tucking behind his back. “They ought to know by now a night of summer spirits gains them only a morning grouch.”

“Ah, but there is always the chance you’ll stumble off to find a nice bar lass who’ll work the tension out,” Asharael said. “If not, an embarrassing moment for blackmail.”

Fen’Harel laughed. “I do not believe I have ever been quite so drunk.”

“Well,” Asharael grinned, “there’s always a first time.”

Following Asharael out the door, Fen’Harel descended from his tower. He intended to spend time with his warriors, or perhaps only watch their revelries. His mind turning to the morrow, and a plan regarding the girl formulating in his head. He realized, long after the sun had set and his mind drowsy with spirits that he should get used to calling her by name.

[freakylittle-shank]

Truth or Dare... Choose carefully.. (Part 2)

Anonymous Request: could you do an imagine where the lost boys play truth or dare and someone dares you to sleep with pan.

A/N: OMG GUYS! I WASN’T REALLY EXPECTING THAT THIS IMAGINE WILL GET A LOT OF ATTENTION, BUT OMG! YOU GUYS REALLY SURPRISED ME! Well since the first part of TOD got lots and lots of notes… This is it! the second part of TOD! hope you guys love it! and to all my followers, my requests are open so request away boo c:

Warnings: Cursing, “ the thing ” ;), slight harassing

P. S ( the gifs are not mine c: )

______________________________________________________________

“The game’s about to change (Y/N), and this game is about to start. I hope you choose to play it carefully. This game is between you and me only, and nobody, not even Baelfire……. or Felix is going to stand in my way.” Peter said with an evil smirk while looking at the direction you ran.

“Let’s play.”

You were running through the forest, away from Peter. You didn’t want to see any of the lost boys either. What happened tonight was just too much for you to handle.

While you were running there was a strong force that made you fall from a high ground and a sharp rock scarred your skin and you screamed in pain.

Your body was aching from the pain and it was unbearable.

“What the hell.” You groaned, your body weak and panting from the run. You tried to get up but it was no use. Your body’s tired and fragile and you feel like you’re about to break at any moment.

“Shit.” You cursed to yourself then you suddenly heard noises around the forest. You tried to pick yourself up again but you can’t, so you decided to just give up and accept whatever is going to happen to you.

“Show yourself!” You yelled trying to be brave and brushing off the fear inside you. But all you were was terrified about Peter or whatever is out there with you.

But all you can do now is hope that whatever it is, it wouldn’t harm you.

“Go on and show yourself!” You yelled again but there was no answer instead there were only footsteps. You then saw a tall figure coming out of the forest and heading towards you.

You searched your pockets trying to find any weapon you can use to protect yourself. Your body was shaking, heart pounding, mind racing.

“(Y/N)? What the hell are you doing here?” Felix said his face full of surprise. “Felix!” You said trying to stand up and reach him but you failed, instead Felix rushed towards your weak figure.

“What the hell happened to you?“ Felix said his eyes wide in surprise. ”(Y/N), Y-you’re bleeding.“ Felix said immediately as he lowered himself to your level while looking for something inside his satchel to help you clean your wounds.

You stared at Felix while he was cleaning your wound. Felix then looked at you for a second then went back to continuing to tend your wound.

“Felix,” You said reaching one of your hands to hold his face “Can you tell me what happened to you back at camp?” You asked, your voice calm and sympathetic.

Felix just ignored your question and with a sigh you held his face to look at you, this time you held his face with both of your hands “You can tell me anything Felix.” You said as you stared deeply into his eyes.

“Just tell me.” You said continuing to look into his eyes. Felix sighed and removed both of your hands from his face, He quickly looked back at your wound wrapping a cloth around to cover your scar.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Pan?” Felix said trying to avoid your question earlier but before you can say anything someone replied.

“She is.”

You and Felix quickly looked at the direction of where the voice went from. And that voice was Peter Pan’s. Not exactly the person you want to see right now.

“Pan.” Felix said quickly getting up and away from you. Peter gave him a stern look and with a nod Felix left. Now you were both alone. Just you and Peter. In the middle of the forest.

“Shit, shit, shit.. I need to get out of here… Shit..” You thought to yourself looking at everything around you except Peter.

“What’s the matter (Y/N).” Peter said a smirk on his face while kneeling down to your level. You looked at him, his eyes full of darkness in them and you aren’t even sure if this is the Peter you used to like.

This Peter is different. 

“You can’t keep running away from me (Y/N),” Peter said making your face drop to the ground.

“You know you can’t. Just come with me.” Peter said reaching his hand out for you to take, his smirk becoming darker. You looked up to him violently your face full anger and you pushed his hand away.

“No! I won’t. I’ll keep running away from you if it’s the last thing I do.” You said, your voice full of determination.

“Very well then,” Peter said standing up from his position his face becoming darker every second.

“You’ll regret ever saying that (Y/N).” He looked down at your position with an evil frown on his face.

“Come out boys!” Peter yelled and in an instant a group of lost boys came out of their hiding spots.

You looked around.You were helpless. You didn’t know what to do. You were clearly outnumbered.

“Take her to the cages.” Peter ordered the lost boys. They immediately went to take you and you tried to escape from their grip. Peter just looked at you with an evil grin.

“Get away from me! Get off of me!” You yelled while the lost boys dragged you to the cages, Peter following behind.

“Let go of me!” You yelled trying to take your chances of getting away “Just let me go!” You trashed your body back and forth and sideways.

“You can try all you want (Y/N),” Peter said a smug grin still on his face “But you’ll never escape.” Peter said and you looked at him with pure anger. The boys then came to a stop and with a swift movement they pushed you inside the caged locked you in.

“Let me out of here!” You screamed at the top of your lungs. Peter then went to your cage and knelt down to look at you.

“I told you (Y/N), you’ll regret it.” Peter said raising a brow with an evil smirk. You looked at Peter with sad eyes covered in anger and with that he left you there without another word.

It’s been five days and you’re still inside the cage. You can’t escape. But you did try to get out. But it didn’t work out.You tried to escape out of the cage but then a lost boy saw you and everything eent south since he immediately reported it to Peter and well, Peter then ordered some of the lost boys to look after you while you’re still in the cage.

So here you are now. Still inside the cage and just staring through the bars of it. Your face with pure boredom and sadness. Neither Felix or Baelfire came to visit you and you wondered why. They were the only friends you had but then they started acting weird since Peter got in the way of your friendship with them.

“Miss me darling?” A voice you recognized as Peter’s cut you out of your thoughts.

“Why would I?” You said as you looked at him kneeling and looking at you through the cage.

“Well I thought you learned your lesson.” Peter said a smug grin on his face as usual and you end up just ignoring what he said and looked to the other way.

You heard the chains of your cage rattling and you saw Peter unlocking it. “What on earth are you doing? Not that I’m complaining.” You said making Peter chuckle and he looked at you while you raised a brow at him.

“Just because i locked you inside a cage, doesn’t mean you can’t come out and play.” Peter said with an evil smile and finally unlocking the cage letting you come out of it.

You gave him a what-do you-mean look and with that he took your wrist and Peter started to walk pulling you closely behind his back and you, trying to keep your pace up with Peter’s walk.

“Where the hell are you taking me?” You said with a curious yet aggressive tone on your voice “You’ll see..” He said without looking at you and continued on walking with you being pulled by him behind his back

After a few minutes of walking and tolerating the pain of Peter’s hand tightly wrapped around your wrist. You both finally reached your destination.

Peter let go of your wrist and pushed you inside of his hut and casting out whatever spell and it made you anxious but you just shrugged it off.

“Peter, what are we doing in your hut?” You said giving him a stern look and as soon as he was finished casting a spell around the hut, he immediately rushed onto you and started kissing you.

The kiss was rough and passionate. You tried to pull away from the kiss but you can’t because Peter held a hand at the back of your head pushing you to kiss him back.

He soon bit your lip causing it to bleed and then he started on giving you light kisses to soothe your now bleeding lip down.

It was painful, and you can taste the blood on your lip.

You can feel that Peter wants you. But you didn’t want this. You didn’t want to be treated like a doll.

You tried to push him away but he was much stronger than you and you tried again but this time you let all your strength out and in one swift movement you and Peter were apart from each other.

“What in the fucking hell Peter?!” You yelled at him full of rage. “You don’t understand (Y/N). I want you. I want you more than anything.” Peter said full of passion as he went to come close to you again.

“No! Don’t you fucking touch me Peter!” You said getting away from him and you rushed through the door and were thrown away by a strong force making you hit your back on the wall and falling to the floor.

You groaned out in pain and you try to sit yourself up.

Peter chuckled, his face becoming darker and evil “You can’t get out of here (Y/N). You have no choice.” Peter said walking down to you with an evil look on his face.

“You see, I casted out a protection spell in my hut (Y/N), and that means nobody is getting in or out without my permission.” Peter said lifting your face to look at his while raising his brows.

A tear rolled down on your cheek and Peter tried to wipe it off only for you to push his hand away from your face.

“Don’t you ever come fucking near me or touch me again.” You said as another tear rolled down from your face again.

“Well it looks like we’re going to do this the hard way then.” Peter said standing up and took the protection spell back from his hut and went out without another word.

As soon as Peter left you were all alone inside his hut and started crying your heart out.

“Why did i have to like him.” You whispered to yourself as you continued to cry.

It’s been six days since the time You and Peter were in his hut, and you both never talked to each other after that.

You were on your own now. Felix never went or talked to you but when you try he just manages to leave you behind. And Baelfire, something strange must’ve happened to him.

You haven’t seen him for the past six days and you usually see him around camp but now he wasn’t there and it made you curious.

You were strolling around the woods, hunting for food rather, and you heard some footsteps and you prepared your bow and arrow ready to strike on someone or something.

As soon as you saw a figure you aimed your arrow ready to kill.

“(Y/N) it’s me, don’t shoot.” Felix said in surprise and dropped his weapon to the ground and raising both of his arms in defeat.

“What are you doing here.” You said as you brought your bow and arrow down “I came here to talk.” Felix said taking his weapon from the ground and walked up to you.

“Talk? Are you serious Felix?! You haven’t talked to me to me in days! You just completely forgot about me! And now that’s what you first tell me?! You haven’t even apologized about your rude actions towards me!” You yelled in anger and looked at Felix with sadness in your eyes.

“I know (Y/N), and I’m really sorry. I know what I did was wrong and I shouldn’t have done that to you. Now can you please forgive me?” Felix said his voice sad and melancholic.

You looked at him with a blank face shaking your head, while tears are starting to form in you eyes and you turned back to walk away but before you can leave Felix behind he said something you’ve been wanting to know for the past few days.

“(Y/N), Baelfire is in trouble. He was taken away from the camp.” Felix said with nervousness. You stopped from your steps and turned back to Felix.

“What?” You said raising a brow “Bealfire. He was taken away. I-i don’t know who took him, but I know where he is.” Felix said looking at you.

“W-where? Why didn’t you after him?” You said your voice trembling from Felix’s news.

“I tried but someone knocked me out and woke up by the ocean. I didn’t have a chance to go back to the caves cause it’s far away. I’m sorry (Y/N).” Felix said looking down to the ground and now you can see the prominent scar on Felix’s face and you felt sorry for him.

“Is that why you got that scar on your face?” You said about to touch the scar on Felix’s face but he stepped back and you sighed.

“Where d-did they took Baelfire?” You said, your voice was shaking and you were scared of what might happen to Bae.

“The… The Echo caves.” Felix said hesitantly while looking into your eyes. And with that you immediately rushed out of the forest to go and save Baelfire.

You ran through the forest to find your way to the echo cave but where you’re at right now is much farther from the caves but you can’t stop, not that you know Baelfire, your friend is in trouble.

And you’re about to save him even if it costs your life.

“Quite a good act Felix.” Peter said coming out of his hiding spot with an evil smile on his face.

“Never thought you’d do a good job on it.” Felix looked at Peter with a sad face while Peter placed an arm on his shoulder.

“Shall I go after (Y/N)?” Felix said looking down on the ground “Now, now Felix,” Peter said removing his hand from Felix, and moved to look at your footsteps

“We can’t end the party when the real fun is about to begin.” Peter said smirking while looking back at Felix.

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Ok, Honey Pot!

Author: Thymeth

Year: 2006

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Bob Fossil/Dixon Bainbridge

The hand went up and a flash of light blinded momentarily. But too quickly the world was back into focus and the knife was on its way down again. It plunged into the newt's stomach and the sand turned green and brown and grey and red. "Don't!" "Shut up, Robert, you little coward. God, you're such a cry-baby." * "Mommy?" "What?" she snapped, her arms deep in bread dough. "What's 'love'?" She turned and glared at him. "Love doesn't exist, littleums," she said in a deadly-sweet voice that made Robert take a step backwards. "But," he stuttered, "Miss Smith said that love's the biggest thing in the world and I thought you'd... y'know... seen it...?" * "Mommy?" "What?" she snapped, bent over the potato plants. "Where's Daddy?" She straightened up slowly and Robert wished he hadn't said anything. Stupid, stupid, stupid! "You know where Daddy is, you ungrateful thing," she said with a smile, "Really, child, I would have thought not even you were that dumb." "But," Robert said, "The Second World War ended years ago, Miss Smith said." "Miss Smith can go stick the war up her ass!" Robert fled. * They would have picnics down by the creek and Mommy would let them build a fire and they would roast apples and sit around until the sun set. She would tell them stories about animals in other countries and answer their questions with a smile. * "Robert pissed in the bed again." Robert didn't even need to look up to see Wilbur's smug grin. "You horrid, disgusting child," Mommy said and slapped Robert hard across the cheek. Robert kept his eyes on his porridge. Robert kept himself awake that night and hid in the cupboard. He could just make out his bed in the tiny half-dark room, a bundle of clothes under the duvet looking very much like a person. The door opened and Wilbur came tiptoeing in. Robert watched him piss in the bed and leave. "Mommy, Robert pissed in the bed again," Wilbur said the next morning. "I didn't!" Robert protested. "You did!" Wilbur said. "I didn't! Mommy!" Robert turned indignantly to Mommy. She stood by the stove, hand on hip just watching them. "I didn't! It was Wilbur. I saw him, I did!" "Stop lying," she said to no-one in particular and turned away. Wilbur stuck his tongue out. * "Mommy!" "What?" Mommy snapped, hauling the heavy laundry basket out into the yard. "Mommy, look," Robert said and showed her the tiny bird he'd found on his way home from school, "I think it's been hit by a car." "Oh, the poor thing," Mommy said and patted Robert's hair, "You're such a good boy, Robert. Come on, we'd better give it some water." Mommy sent Wilbur to stay with the neighbours that afternoon and she and Robert and the little bird hitch-hiked into town on a truck and went to the zoo. A kind, old man took the bird and said he'd take care of it. Robert had wanted to stay and help him, but Mommy dragged him with her and they walked around the zoo looking at all the different animals. She squeezed his hand and pretended to hide behind him when they came to the lions' cage. He laughed and so did she. They had ice-cream on the way home. * "You horrible thing! I hate you! You spawn of dirt, you make me sick!" Robert sat quietly with his head bent over his homework listening to Mommy shouting at Wilbur. He heard teeth rattling as Mommy shook him and the sharp sound of her hand slapping his face. The torrent of abuse continued and Robert bend closer over the book, trying to make himself as tiny as possible. The words in front of him swam together, letters swapping places and making no sense. 'And they lived happily ever after.' * "Ah, Robert Fossil." The man rose and held out his hand. Robert took it. "So," the man said as they sat down, "You wanted a bit of careers advice." "Yeah." "Do you have anything particular in mind?" "I'd," Robert said, looking down at his hands, "I'd like to be a vet." "Uh-huh," the man said and Robert heard him ruffle through some papers, "I don't think you'll manage that with your grades." * "And his name was?" Mr Jones glanced out over the disinterested class. "Robert," he said. Robert jerked his head up and stared at Mr Jones. He knew this. He fucking knew it. "Er..." he said. What was it? He had fucking known it just seconds ago. "Er..." he stalled, waving his hand in front of him. A few of the girls giggled and Robert's mind went even blanker. He knew what the man looked like but he couldn't remember the name. "The slick-haired black moustached guy!" he blurted out. A second everything was quiet, then the whole classroom exploded in laughter. Robert frowned. He knew now that he was the dunce Mommy had always said he was. He saw Mr Jones hide a smile behind his hand. "Almost, Bobby," he said, in a strangely kind voice, "The answer is indeed Adolf Hitler." * "Mommy hates you, you know." Robert looked up from the book he couldn't read. "She hates you too," he mumbled. "So? I'm leaving this dump. Wanna come with me?" "No," Robert answered automatically, regretting it instantly, "Where?" "England." "Why?" "Dunno, sounds cool. Wanna come?" "Sure, why not." "Ok, we leave on Thursday. Don't be late." * The next day Wilbur was gone, leaving only a short letter behind. "Gon to Ingland. Not caming hom nevr. -Wilbur." * Robert gave up on school. He didn't care any more. The only reason he went at all was to get away from Mommy. The other kids would flock around him and make him talk, and laugh when he couldn't think of the word and made up new ones. He started doing it consciously and soon he couldn't stop. They called him Bob and he made them laugh. * "Despicable child, useless thing! I hate you! You should never have been born!" Bob only half-listened. It was much easier pretending he didn't understand. "Yeah, well, I'm leaving! I'm going to Vietnam!" he found himself shouting and stomped out of the room. He threw some things into a suitcase and he was free. * The boat reached England several months later. They paid him quite well, or so Bob thought, and he went ashore. * 'Zookeeper wanted. No experience necessary. Apply within. Ask for Tommy Nooka.' * "Bob," Tommy said one day a few years later, "Meet Howard Moon." Bob looked up from the newts he was attending and saw a tall, scruffy, brown-haired guy with a moustache. "That's Bob Fossil there," Tommy said to Howard Moon, "Used to be my pupil, him." "Used to?" Bob interrupted. "Yes, training's over," Tommy said, "Howard's my new pupil. You're your own man now. You've been upgraded to a proper zookeeper." "But..." Bob said. But Tommy was already leaving, his hand on Howard Moon's back. "Remember, Howard," he said, "Dolphins are evil." * "Hi," a woman's voice said. "Hi," Bob answered, not looking up from the peanuts floating in the spilt beer on the bar counter. "Why the long face?" "I've been promoted," Bob said. "Oh," she answered and touched his arm, "Hey, let's get married!" * 'Dear Mrs Fossil. We regret to inform you that your son had been killed in combat. He died a hero. Best regards, The American Army, Vietnam Division." Bob read Little Wife's note again and stuck it in the envelope and posted it. He was truly free now. Little Wife had set him free. She could do anything. * "I'm getting old," Tommy said, addressing the keepers assembled in his office, "I can't run this zoo much longer. But I don't want to sell it to some stranger; I want one of you to have it. Keep it running like I have, following my principles. I'll be watching you these next few days and make my choice." As the keepers left, talking excitedly amongst themselves, Tommy beckoned Bob to stay. Tommy closed the door. "I already know who I want to give the zoo to," he said, looking up at Bob with a smile, "And I want to hear what you think." Bob's heart jumped in his chest. Had Tommy chosen him? Could it really be? "Yeah, sure," he answered, fidgeting nervously. "I want to give it to Howard Moon." * "Howard Moon, that jazz-fucker?" Tiny Wife exclaimed, "That's an outrage! We have to do something about this." * Bob followed her orders and before anyone really knew what had happened, Tommy was locked in the Jungle Room and the other keepers told that he had been eaten by ocelots. Bob was now the owner of the zoo. * 'Posishun as hed kiiper open. Apli to Bob Fossil.' By rights, Howard Moon should have gotten the job instantly, but Bob delayed, trying to find some fault with him. * "Alright?" Bob turned and found himself staring up into a face he couldn't place. He couldn't quite decide if this was a guy or a girl even. "Do I know you?" "I'm Vince," the boy-girl answered, "You hired me." "Did I?" "Well, Howard hired me, really," Vince chatted on, "He's told me everything about you." "Howard Moon hired you?" Bob still couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "Yeah," Vince said with a grin, "Said GCSE's weren't important, said..." But Bob didn't hear the rest; he was half-way to his office already. "Moon!" he shouted over the intercom, "Get your blue-pantied ass to my office now!" "You wanted to see me, Mr Fossil," Moon said, closing the door behind him. "I just met someone you hired," Bob said, standing behind his desk, hands on hips. "You met Vince," Moon said, his face lighting up, "Isn't he a find?" "I hire people 'round here!" Fossil shouted, "This is my zoo!" "You didn't mind when I hired Naboo," Moon protested, pointing at Naboo sitting as if frozen on the stool next to the desk. "That's different, dingo piss," Bob shouted, "Naboo's useful. He's unique. This zoo is already overrun by zookeepers as it is." "Look, I couldn't let him get away," Moon said, "Vince can talk to animals." "I don't fucking care if he can talk to fucking sock puppets!" Bob shouted, his head swimming in rage, "This is my zoo and I do the hiring! You can kiss the head keeper job's sorry ass goodbye!" "But, Mr Fossil," Moon interrupted desperately. "Forever!" Bob yelled. * "Good day," came a deep, rich voice. But Bob couldn't look up. The numbers on the page in front of him were right in the middle of a funny dance and he wanted to see it through. "I'm Dixon Bainbridge, the famous explorer," the voice continued, "I came about the head keeper position." Bob looked up and saw a tall, tanned man with dark-blond, almost golden, hair and a huge moustache. It was as if something fell into place in Bob's mind when he looked into those eyes, as if whatever had been missing in his life had suddenly come back to him. He loved his man. "It's yours," Bob said without thinking. "Don't you want to see my CV, my references?" Dixon Bainbridge said, staring back at him. "No," Fossil said. "Very well," Dixon Bainbridge said, still a little perplexed, "I'll start tomorrow then." "Ok, honey pot!" Bob answered as Dixon Bainbridge turned to leave. "What did you call me?" Dixon Bainbridge asked, looking over his shoulder. " 'Honey pot'," Bob answered. "I wouldn't advise you do that in public," Dixon Bainbridge said and left. Bob sat staring at the door for what seemed like hours, just smiling to himself. Then he heard something that sounded very much like a giggle coming from Naboo's direction. But when he turned, Naboo was sitting with his face as blank as always. "My Mommy," Bob said to Naboo, "told me that love doesn't exist. And d'you know what, Naboo? She was fucking wrong! Suck on that shit-sweet, Mom-face!" And he began dancing around his office, so dizzy with happiness it was like flying. * But an explorer can never be happy cooped up in a zoo day in and day out and soon Dixon Bainbridge was off again. Bob could hardly get up in the mornings knowing he would not see Dixon's face when he arrived at the zoo. Little Wife had to drag him out of bed and push him out of the house. He gave up trying to understand the dance the numbers on the page were doing and soon creditors were knocking on the office door, the next more frightening than the last. He even tried to cut costs by firing Naboo, not knowing that Naboo just went and set up a kiosk and took most of the profit himself. * And then, when Bob thought life couldn't get much worse, he had to send Tony the Prawn to Wilbur's Zoo for Animal Offenders. And Wilbur, the cockshit, had told Mommy that Bob wasn't dead after all and she had insisted on meeting them both. Bob returned home three days later almost unable to speak. But Little Wife had made him tell her everything nonetheless and then she disappeared. * A few days later, a policeman stood on Bob's doorstep. "Mr Fossil?" he said as Bob opened the door. "Yeah?" Bob said blearily, rubbing his eyes. "Is this your wife?" the policeman asked, holding up a picture of Little Wife. "Yeah." "And is this your mother and brother?" he asked, holding up two pictures. "Yeah," Bob said. "You'd better come with me, Mr Fossil," the policeman said. The policeman drove down to the police station and him and another policeman told Bob that Mommy and Wilbur had been killed by Little Wife. They kept him there for hours, asking him again and again if he had had anything to do with the murders. And Bob couldn't understand why they were asking. He knew nothing. "She's, well... mad," one of the policemen said to the other. "He's innocent," the other said, "But can we let him go? He's unable to look after himself. He's the owner of a zoo. How is that possible?" "She's a very clever woman." "Excuse me," a younger policeman said from the door, "There's a man who wants to see you, sir." "I'll be right there," the first policeman said. "No, he wants to come to you," the younger man said. "Fine," the policeman sighed, rubbing his eyes. The younger man disappeared and Bob looked back down to his hands on the table. "Good day," came a deep, rich voice. Bob snapped to attention instantly, as if slapped. Dixon Bainbridge! But, Bob almost shouted as he looked up, what had happened to him? His hair was silvery now, and his moustache too, and he had grown plumper and his face was no longer tanned. "He's a friend of mine," Dixon said, pointing at Bob, "I'll take care of him." * "What's happened to your hair?" Bob managed to ask as he sat in Dixon's car a few minutes later. "Dragonflies in Borneo," Dixon answered, "Bastards shat on my head, turned it grey overnight." "I think it's pretty," Bob said. "Thanks," Dixon answered humourlessly, "The tan's gone too. No longer in the Arctic sun now, you know." "I like it," Bob said, "I think you're beautiful." * Back at the zoo, Bob's office was cram-full with creditors who all started shouting the instant the door was opened. "Quiet!" Dixon boomed and the room fell silent at once. He turned to Bob. "I'll pay your bills," he said, "in return for the zoo." "But..." Bob said, thinking hard, "Then it won't be my zoo any more." "Exactly," Dixon said, "But you can stay on, as manager. Deal?" Bob knew he should have thought about it, but he was staring into Dixon's eyes and nothing else seemed to matter just then. "Deal!" he said and clapped his hands in pure delight as he saw a smile spread on Dixon's face. * Dixon's club was classier than anything Bob had ever seen. It was dark and heavy but sort of cosy at the same time. Bob could like it here. "Ah, Bainbridge," an elderly gentleman with icy-white hair said, holding out his hand, "Friend of yours?" "Yes," Dixon said, "Bob Fossil. Manager at the Zoonivers." "No," Bob corrected, "It's 'Fossil's Fun World'." "It's changed," Dixon said and turned back to the elderly gentleman, "He's a bit simple. So, tell me about those scientific experiments you had in mind. I have the zoo now, you know." And they wandered away, leaving Bob feeling ever so slightly lost in the sea of leather-bound chairs and fine-suited men. "And then he put on a Bambi costume and was twatted by an electrical baton!" The crowd gathered around Bob exploded in laughter. "Oh, that is brilliant, Mr Fossil," one of them said, "I'd never have thought that working at a zoo could result in that many mishaps." "Frozen jellyfish, vaulting penguins, porpoise races!" another said, "I'd never had believed it had someone else told me." "Hullo! Bainbridge!" the first one called to Dixon sitting a short distance away, "I like this one. Would you mind awfully if I borrowed him a couple of days?" "Yes, I would," Dixon said, getting out of the chair and grabbing Bob's arm, "Come on, we're leaving." "Spoilsport," the man said. "Watch it," Dixon said, pointing up at his face, "I've been keeping a close eye on your business transactions. You wouldn't want me to let slip what I know about those shares you've been selling." "Bastard," the man hissed, taking a step back and turning to Bob, "Well, it was jolly entertaining meeting you, Mr Fossil. Do mind you come back again." "Yeah, I sure will!" Bob called over his shoulder as Dixon pulled him out into the streets. "You're not to get too chummy with those men," Dixon said as they arrived back at his house. "Why not?" Bob asked, following Dixon into a long, richly decorated hallway. "I don't like sharing," Dixon said and pushed Bob up against the wall and kissed him possessively. * "Do you know everything?" Bob asked. He was lying next to Dixon in his big bed, even though it was past midday already. "Pretty much," Dixon answered, not looking up from his newspaper. "I only know one thing," Bob said. Dixon didn't answer. "One thing," Bob repeated, "That I love you." Dixon turned and looked at him. "Indeed." "Yeah," Bob answered with a smile. "Don't say 'yeah' like that, Fossil, you sound like an American." "But I am an American." "I know, but don't flaunt it; it's not fashionable. Had you been Japanese it would've been different. I only keep you because the others think you're eccentric." Bob wasn't sure how to respond. He didn't really understand what Dixon meant. So he just smiled. "Ok, honey pot!" * "I kinda miss the zoo," Bob said one day. "I got good money for it," Dixon said, "I don't see why you're complaining. I keep you well, don't I?" "Yeah," Bob said. But he couldn't help feeling a little wistful. He had loved that zoo, in his own way. * "I got a letter today," Bob said, "Your friend, whatshisname, I don't remember, wants me in his new cop drama, y'know, 'Big Leg', in America." "You're not doing it," Dixon said simply. "I already said yes," Bob answered. "You son of a fool!" Dixon snapped, "Don't you remember I told you last week how Philips had it all planned, how he was deliberately making it so it would flop?" "Yeah..." Bob said, trying to think back. "You'll make a complete fool of me," Dixon exasperated. "You?" Bob asked, "Are you in it too?" "No, of course not, mush-for-brains, but everyone knows you and I are connected. They'll laugh at me. You're not to do it, do you hear?" "I already signed the contract," Bob said quietly, "I'm leaving tomorrow." * Bob hated every second of it. Well, that's not quite true. He loved the filming and the hanging out with the cast and crew. But he hated going back to his tiny hotel room and sleeping there alone. He hadn't slept alone for years and the first few nights he couldn't even close his eyes. Half a year passed and the show was finally broadcasted. Everyone hated it. Bob was forced into press conferences and meetings together with the director and producer, meetings where they were accused of wasting money and dumbing down and all kinds of things Bob didn't know what meant. After one particularly gruelling meeting, he slumped his way back to the hotel, head hanging low. "Good day," he heard a voice say. It couldn't be. There was no point in looking up. He had heard that voice so many times in his dreams lately. Maybe he was going mad, unable to tell the difference between wake and sleep. Then something touched his arm and he stopped. "You're just a dream," he said, "Go away." "I am a dream," the voice said, "I'm every woman's dream. Many men's dream too. We're bored at the club. Come home, Fossil." Bob had to look up, just to make sure. And there stood Dixon Bainbridge in all his proud glory and Bob couldn't help smiling, the world finally put to right again. "Ok, honey pot!"

[euphoria17]

If there’s a will there’s a way

I know that title sounds cliche...but that’s the summary of what happened to us. 

Before I write anything, let me just write down in bullet form what happened in the last month  July 1-2: He was with that Girl, was supposed to meet on the second but girl didn leave July 3: I was busy with Visitors

July 4: Birthday, he left in the afternoon

July 8-17: Dean July 18-22: Owen, Kuya Gabby, JB (July 20 drunk text), Girl posted that shit (july 18) July 23-28: TIME ALONE, SUPER CHATTING wih him ...

July 27 his friend died, he decided to go home, booked a flight for July 31 

July 28: Funeral was moved to wednesday, he’s going home on july 31

July 29: I was in the province with Ying, he booked a flight for July 30  July 30: He arrived around 2/3 we met at around 4:30 and was together till around 8 am July 31

July 31: flight home  

Over the days, well a month that is... we talked so much it was as if I knew you for a long time already. We agreed that this was probably the most we’ve talked with someone we haven’t met and that the feeling was mutual (what ever it was) And we made a lot of plans: from finding cheese cake, bahn mi, dancing, hula hooping, drafting the UN plan, the boobs essay, bar hopping, hanging out in general. I even made a list.   I imagined 2-3 weeks with you or more. Going out of the city, traveling , making love .  But I guess not all plans work..not everything goes exactly how you planned it, how you envisioned it. And as always, if things don’t work out the way I planned them, I become rattled. So to my horror, when everything I planned did not take place i was lost and I did not know what to do. I thought that there wouldn’t be any chance of seeing you...but you made it work. Yur optimism is the kind of energy I need in my life. For some reason, when you said you’d find a way to make this work, i Believed you. I don’t know why but I did. Do I trust you? not so much.  But I know you:  -met with someone, was still video calling - still talking to someone on line

- was still using tinder as we were talking , changed your descripton twice

-you want to explore right now 

-you said  “if we were near...who knows maybe we would be dating”...”you’re easy to date” 

-”I want to continue talking to you” -”me: i like you but youre leaving -you: I’ll message you” - who knows what will happen 

-looked for visa options 

-maybe after europe ill go to asia...me:let me know then. You: of course 

-me: i have a feeling ill see you again you: I think so too  other things I want to remember: 

- how you understood privilege 

- how cute you were with glasses sitting across from me  -how i was running because you were slow

- how you removed your glaasses because i was getting distracted from your hotness 

-how i couldnt understand what you were saying so i said what? then you said you were just trying to talk 

-   how you were saying woooaaaah while watching the documentary about mudskippers and that fish

-strawberry condoms

- your kisses and your hugs 

-how you were just hugging me all of the sudden Anyway, I know he talking to a lot of women and that makes me really jealous. I know liking you is a dead end. I know we get along extremely well (both in talking in person and in bed) and for some reason i really like kissing you and getting kisses from you and hugging you and being with you in general.. I wanna go do all these things with you and i have never felt the urge with anyone. I even let you do that one thing that i never let anyone do (and i hope I don’t regret it). But this is a dead end. And this has been slowing me down and caging me up. This if the fourth day that I will cry o be bothered about this and after this i need to let go. Completely. Every thought. Every craving of wanting to talk to you and every idealized situation of us meeting again. Cause things alwasy end up this way. We talk a lot.. meet. And then they leave and we never talk again. As much as i want to idealize you and the entire situation ...the truth is I’m 23 and I’m just about to start my life. The truth is, and I just realized this now: I need to put myself first. I have to put my career first. I have put my  dreams first. I have to envision my life alone, doing everything aline and if it so happens that someone, may it be you or someone else comes in my life then thats great. But as usual... Ineed to think of myself as a solo team because in the end, when that person leaves, you’ll be ddevastated and it will take you a long time to recover again.  So for now, I will continue with my life. I will keep on meeting people. I will keep on reaching for my dreams. And then mybe someday we’ll meet each other again and maybe that spark is still there and maybe we can make things work .  But for now, thanks for being a happy memory Mark. I will always go back to the day that I met you and wonder: What if?