#BUT LIKE. I DUNNO MAN IT FUCKING SHATTERED MY KNEES ANYWAYS

[moongothic]

Absolutely losing my fucking mind over the KSBD page like. Fuck. Fucking fuck. God. Fuck.

We’ve watched Allison go through absolute fucking hell, so much pain, suffering and heartbreak, and now we get to see a glimpse of her ASCENCION

And as if that wasn’t touching enough as it was, like

Like we’ve slowly over the course of the story met and gotten to know all Demiurges

We’ve seen all the dope ass introductions to them that I can not even fucking include here in full because there’s so many and they’re full page panels BUT YOU GET WHAT I MEAN

We’ve met the other Demiurges over the past 5 books, a process that has taken 8 years in real time

And like, all this time, we all thought this fucking comic, this god damn story, was about the task Zoss gave Allison back in Book 1, the reason he gave her the key, the mission he sent her on

We thought that’s what the title drop was

But no

Zoss was calling Allison by her true name

The name she has now claimed, with her ascencion

And I’m not fucking okay bro what the fuck

[jesuisgourde]

gay/queer references in Peter’s journals

Again, I have probably missed stuff due to going through pretty quickly and also due to having stared at this document for so long, everything has kind of blurred together.

Sometime close to the day that Carlos & I watched 'Love And Death on Long Island' (and afterwards paraded through the tea rooms of Picadilly) we both filled in application forms and were tres excited to be invited to the same group 'interview' - twas more like an audition though. I got the part. Carlos never. This did not bring any animosity - we both know that success for either of us is magnified a million times if it is shared by us both.

from 'A Diamond Guitar' by Truman Capote "Except that they did not combine their bodies or think to do so, though such things were not unknown at the (Prison), they were as lovers. Of the seasons, spring is the most shattering: stalks thrusting through the earth's winter-stiffened crust, young leaves cracking out on old left-to-die branches, the falling asleep wind cruising through all the newborn green. And with Mr Schaeffer it was the same, a breaking up, a flexing of muscles that had hardened. It was late January. The friends were sitting on the steps of the sheep house, each with a cigarette in his hand. A moon thin and yellow as a piece of lemon rind curved above them, and under its light, threads of ground frost glistened like silver snail trails. Tico Feo had been drawn into himself - silent as a robber waiting in the shadows."

Then a meet with Bounds Green's African prince outside whitechapel tube, rugged lookies at I in military attire & to a ruptured Albion rooms tidied in hours and now lids drawn heated on the eyes. A young looking fella has a crush on me.

Jackie/Camillia/Marie/Kate/Chris/V. churchill Jackie/Evelina/Jasmine/Sachi/Dalston/Sussie Sandra/Carlene/FP/Jay/Dalston/Kraut

There sat a young black man, perhaps in his early or middle twenties. He looked for all the world like the archetypal rude boy. Clean, cheap reebok, nike, adidas variously rolled, laced & zipped about his lean, spreadeagled body that hung loosely about the waiting room chair. Gold & tattoos adorned his person, and a blank animal look was attached to his clear face. He sat before me in a row of four empty chairs, staring at polished floor or the mundane television. A balding white man minced in & all perceptions were suddenly proven to be false as they embraced and snuggled up to each other, giggling & whispering & touching each others noses.... very much in love, fingers crossed for the blood tests.

[Image: an article from Gay Times of an interview with Peter. For some reason, the portrait included alongside the article is of Carl wearing a grey and black t-shirt.] Name? Peter Doherty Age? 22 Where are you? I'm on the motorway just north of Southampton. What kind of day are you having? (Vaguely) Erm... quite misty. Something's waiting around the corner, but there are no corners on the motorway, so we'll just have to wait and see what lies ahead. Maybe something will happen tonight.... What's this we hear about you once being a rent boy? Well, when times are hard, duty calls. How long ago was it? When I was 19, about three years ago. How do we know this isn't just a Shaun Ryder-type lie? 'Cause if it was, it would make me a complete scumbag and I'm not, and I'm not interested in that kind of pantomime. It wasn't a very happy time. I didn't really enjoy it. Why did you give it up? (grimly) Well, certain people disappeared... and anyway, ultimately I found myself no longer in such a vulnerable position anymore. Dawn broke, and I realised that it was a beautiful world after all. Have you done any other dodgy jobs? All of us in the band have tried to deal, but it's not good if you like the drugs too much. You just end up using them yourself! I once was a gravedigger. I used to do it with my mate in Willesden Green cemetery. We didn't actually do the digging, a machine did that, but we used to have to fill them in. It was pretty grim work. So are you gay then? Love is love, wherever it comes from. I'm not anything, really. I am a very sexual person but... I dunno, I believe in liberty... The Marquis de Sade has a lot to answer for... Do you get a lot of gay fans? Yeah - well, there's one guy in particular. He's very shy and he follows us around. He brings in letters and cards and stuff, but he's very quiet. I think John (the bassist) is the main pulling power in the band. Are you jealous about that? Nah! I've known him too long.

You know I'm alright i dont even care i like it when they stare & stare call me queer, dear oh dear a million things & what I wear He's real hard when he's with his mates but I'll saw him again & he was too late

Dear NME I'd have thought after the Gay Times piece, the interview with Rapture fanzine & our recent gig at the Slum Club everything would be clear. No it still remains to give a big hearty fuck off to all these twisted suburban types calling me a liar. Vulnerable young men & women all over the world find themselves victims of circumstance.

she was dressed in suit & tie & lightly etched-on moustache. 'I've always wanted to kiss a bird in the back of a taxi.' she says, running her hand up the fishnet ladders of my thigh. Stepping onto the front line in Bow puddles, elevators, buzzing doors,

[Image: the original page in the book has been preserved. Two paragraphs have been boxed off with biro. They read:] “...cast Richard Burton and Rex Harrison as bickering queer barbers and then much more uncompromisingly in William Friedkin's adaptation of The Boys in the Band (1970), which introduced some of the plainer four letter words in the English language to the screen for the first time. 'Who,' asks Cliff Gorman, in his brilliant portrayal of the most effeminate of the homosexual group as they gather for a soul-searching party, 'Who do you have to fuck to get a drink around here?' Other homosexual manifestations to occur in movies around this time included an elliptical but unmistakeable male fellatio scene in John Schlesinger's Midnight Cowboy (1969) when Jon Voight, as a broke and disillusioned Texas stud importunes in a New York cinema....”

[Image, top left: a blurry photo of John onstage, playing bass. Image, top right, sideways: a photo of the band onstage. Carl and John are on the left, sharing a mic. Peter is on the right, playing guitar and singing into his own mic. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his bottom half from the chest down is visible. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his top half from shoulders up is visible. Image, bottom left: a torn fragment of a photo. What looks like a denim-clad knee and a yellow carrier bag are visible. Image, bottom middle: a photo of someone's knee in torn jeans, taken from under a table. Image, bottom right: a torn photo of Carl in a black sleeveless shirt, posing with his fingers in his mouth.] [A paragraph from the original page of the book has been left exposed and boxed off with black biro. It reads:] “The Boys in the Band was displaced by an immeasurably more powerful portrayal of homosexual groups, Fortune and Men's Eyes (1971). Set in a Quebec prison, this disturbing, factually based drama vividly recounted the corrupted of a heterosexual convict trapped in a tough, potentially vicious homosexual society. In one horrifying scene, a weak, put-upon prisoner is gang-banged by his fellow inmates; in another, the 'hero' is blackmailed by his cellmate into accepting him as his lover for the duration...”

Like a cat on a hot tin roof Like a macho man in a roomful of poofs I have tried in my way to be free.

[Written in Peter's handwriting] Jerome... is that how it's spelt? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes it is [Written in Peter's handwriting] Can I read you something? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes please.....

I insist, new book of Albion, befuddled by drugs I may yes about 2 but I do not miss out entirely on the subtleties of the inhuman relation ships that are this the mainstay of my stay here in one bounce of a loaf. Boys are fooled into fooling with boys. [...]

More general references/some extra explanations:

“The boy looked at Johnny” is a line from Patti Smith's song “Horses,” part one of a three-part song called “Land.” In the song, a young man named Johnny is assaulted by another man in a locker room; he then mentally journeys to other fantastical lands and visions. A lot of people interpret it as being about gay sex, although some people interpret it as being about a stabbing.

Peter quotes and references Jean Genet's writing and works about Jean Genet many times. While Genet's works are nearly all about crime and prison (one of Peter's main interests and points of fascination), all of his works are very explicitly gay. The Thief's Journal is more about Genet's various lovers than it is about his criminal history. Our Lady Of The Flowers is about a drag queen and her criminal lovers, and is also extremely erotic.

(“Jerome” is Jerome Alexandre, vocalist of The Deadcuts, who was friends with Peter and Mark Keds.)

[walker-journal]

Mist Shelters All (Adam Solo)

Here I sit

Laughing at all of it Doesn't hurt a bit Tears fall But mist shelters all

-A wholesome Nursery Rhyme 

Content Warning: Allusions to Parental Death, Interfamily Violence, Walker’s being Walkers, Head Trauma, Lobotomy Imagery, Allusions to the Child Indoctrination 

Hartvlinder drifted through the air like a gossamer mist. Clusters of the tentacled polyps danced around Adam on thermal currents. They buffeted the Hunter in waves that were at once so thick that he couldn’t see anything beyond a few feet in the feathery haze, but also so gentle that the dreamy etherealness that made it easy to doubt if he was actually awake. 

Adam knew it was dangerous to be out here. These paranormal polyps all put out a tiny ‘blip’ on his Hunter senses. It was like ballistic Chaff in a way. Just as clouds of aluminum scrap Chaff could blot out radar, so too were all these drifting Hartvlinder turning Adam’s monster detection into just a grey fuzz in the back of his brain. 

But Adam had trudged deeper into the Hartvlinder-clouded moor anyway, boots swishing through fields of blue heather blooms and wading through ponds carpeted in padded lilies. The skyline of White Crest had been swallowed up hours ago, vanishing as a gauzy cloudscape of Hartvlinder enshrouded everything. 

He’d finally found the densest heart of the Harrvlinder haze, where the largest adult specimens drifted like airborne moon jellyfish. Adam held one of the squirming polyps in his hand, staring down with a leaden expression into the mass of fern tendrils that strained towards his face. But at each feathery brush against his temples Adam flinched away, trying to calm his breathing and work up the resolve to submit that lobotomizing embrace. 

Adam was so engrossed in this inner brinkmanship that he didn’t feel the blow coming until it was too late. The world was red tinged black as he was thrown down into the heather. 

“You don’t want to do that.”

Adam shook cobolt blooms off his head and tried to look up towards the familiar voice. A dark-haired man of sinewy muscularity in his later thirties, Daniel Walker didn’t look like much in oil-stained jeans and T-shirt from some band that’d been obscure long before either of them were born. But Adam had watched his paternal uncle nonchalantly snap necks enough times to respect Daniel’s no-frills approach to lethality. 

“Woooah fuuuck, Uncle Dan,” Adam exclaimed with boyish joviality as he flipped back up to his feet  in one smooth motion. “Dude so like Terry and I were thinking like ...what we covered some of these fern-aliens in Gold Bond and …”

“Adam I don’t have time left in my life for this prep-school boy toy act,” Daniel interrupted with the weary salt of someone who’d had to leave a soft bed with warm company. “Spill it or I’ll knock you cold and ship your ass off to Tel Aviv with a frozen food sticker.”

But Adam had already closed the distance and sent a low uppercut into his uncle’s solar plexus. “I’ve made up my mind Dan,” he claimed, sweeping a leg behind the elder Hunter’s knees and sending him tumbling with a two-fisted hammerblow to the collarbone. 

“Really,” Daniel huffed as he broke the fall’s  momentum with a backwards somersault through the heather that brought him back up to his feet. “You head  out to do wetwork all the time without bothering anybody bout it. Why message Naomi about that witch your sweet on? Why as me about an old rhyme?” Daniel jumped to the side as Adam attempted to catch him in a soccer slide-tackle, clapping the athlete hard on the side of his dead as he skidded through the grass. “If you really wanted to do this, you’d numbed yourself into a  Hart-Hollow hours ago.” 

Adam’s unfocused brown eyes lifted to the tendril clouds of Hartvlinder drifting around them like a ocean of dandelion seeds. “I just …,” he murmured with a slightly concussed slur, “I want to become a better person, to make it so that all the fucked up shit doesn’t hold me back. I need to become a better man, a more focused weapon for humanity. Right now I can’t help anyone, I’m a danger to you. ” 

Daniel was quiet for a time as the two sparred in the polyp fog, trading blows that would’ve shattered the bodies of more natural men with a celerity other eyes would have struggled to follow. Daniel watched his nephew carefully while reducing the younger man’s face and bare arms to a bruised blood messy and taking his fair share of pain in return. 

At last the huntsman reached his verdict: “Bullshit.” 

Adam glared at Daniel while pausing to wipe the blood trickling down from his broken lips. But while Adam came at his uncle again with a gritted teeth and more viciously aimed punches, he didn’t actually deny the denunciation. “You think I don’t have the guts to do it or something?”

Daniel weaved back from Adam’s southpaw and took a guarded stance while noticing his nephew’s form become both more ever aggressive as anger overwhelmed training. “Few months back? Yeah I’d say you more then brainwashed enough back then to mutilate yourself into a Fern-Terminator for mankind’s glory or some shit,” he mused softly while stepping into the blindspot of Adam’s incoming punch. “But now? Nah, that’s not why you’re here” Daniel asserted, jamming an elbow straight into Adam’s abdominals while his other hand landed an uppercut to the nose. 

“You don’t know that! I need to change, to get rid of...the fuck do you know!”

Daniel looked into Adam’s bloody face as the footballer’s fury seemed to make the livid bruises covering him all the starker. “Fact is you’ve already changed son, have been for a long time now I figure,” Daniel said softly. “And that scares the shit out of you.” 

Adam circled Daniel in search of an opening, feinting and drawing back into the obscuring cover of the Hartvlinder mist. But Daniel simply stood calmly in the blue heather, and sure enough, the retaliating blow never came.

“I’m just lost” 

Daniel flashed a wry bloodstained smile to the younger killer struggling to stay on his feet from battering and sleep deprivation. “Nah, I don’t think so,”  he assured, rubbing some ribs Adam had landed a solid kick on earlier. Daniel walked over to where Adam had sank down into an exhausted heap on the grass. “Look, I know the Code’s been the guiding star your whole life but...”

“I broke it Uncle Dan,” Adam confessed hoarsely with a thickness in his throat. “Then I even lost our....”

“I know,” Daniel interrupted gently, squeezing his nephew’s shoulder. “But how can you protect humanity if you give up what makes you human?”

Adam shook his head furiously in the fervent denial, tears mingling with open cuts. “Dad gave everything for humanity!”

“Hey dumbass, it ever reach your brain that you’re one of the people my brother died to save,” Daniel snapped, “humanity is an empty idol. No one loves abstract humanity, we love people. So cut that shit out.” 

Adam swallowed and tried to wipe his eyes, shoving away a drifting Hartvlinder that’d been extending its gossamer tendrils towards his face. 

“But you’ve already known that deep down for a while,” Daniel observed, “Honoring our ancestors’ sacrifices doesn’t mean mindlessly following their every word.”

“Still nice to hear someone else say it,” Adam admitted. “At the Bullet when they talk about Uri and the Gehenna 13 incident its like hes....I dunno..not even my dad anymore.” 

“Not a real human that ate, shat, and had flaws like the rest of us,” Daniel suggested. 

“Yeah pretty much,” 

The two battered Huntsmen sat in the heather for a while, watching wispy waves of Hartvlinder become subtly numinous as dawn sent a golden glow through the gauzy veil. 

“I still like, feel totally lost all the time without the Code, like I’m just making it up as I go along.”

Daniel scoffed and ruffed Adam’s sweaty hair . “Chill out kid, it just means you're growing up.”

[atlasfreak]

hell is hot from your mistakes

chapter three; Tumblr edition

The afterlife is a mess of time and space.

Dream got the brunt end of that mess, of time, and bad luck follows Tommy even in death.

Dream is mere seconds too late reviving him.

Tommy wakes up in a familiar, unfamiliar world in a familiar, unfamiliar body that looks so much like an old friend of his, and yet he remembers everything when really, he shouldn't. His brother's voice guides him, the Nether is blistering heat and dust and his hands are hoofed.

ArchiveOfOurOwn Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073104/ or THIS

Tommy spends the next day on high alert.

They don't leave the cave, to Wilbur's annoyance; Come on, it'll help things. You- you always took walks when you were upset back before exile, didn't you? His voice floats around distantly - as though he wasn't really back at Tommy's side yet - but Tommy can hear him well enough to be pissed.

"We're not going outside, Wil. We went out fucking yesterday - less than a day ago! And someone fucking died. We stay in here. I wouldn't be allowed to go, anyway."

Fine. Fine. But we should head outside. I have t- I'm rather bored.

"Wilbur, I swear to Philza fuckin' Minecraft-"

Truth is, Tommy did want to go out - he wanted to roam the red fields and forests, counting shroomlights and watching zombified piglins growl at each other. He can't stand it, being cooped up in a cave too empty, space next to him too cold.

But it'll be a long, long while yet before his piglin mother even considers letting him leave the safe sanctuary of the cave.

Speaking of - she's curled in on herself, watching him with a hawk's eye, red from tough Nether tears; tears sapped of all water, tears leaving saline stains along her cheeks. All day she's been torn between getting lost in her awful, awful grief and caring for him, watching over him, protecting him. If not for Tommy, she'd probably sleep the day away in her pain. So Tommy spends the afternoon in the red red cave, trying to entertain his guests and keep his mother from mourning... too heavily. Right now, that means running all around and jumping over her and over the soul soil patch and over the edge of the far side of the cave, where it leads down into a second one.

He's trying, anyway. Wilbur isn't making this any easier. At all.

He sounds in Tommy's left ear. Tommy, if I scout ahead do you- and then he's too quiet for Tommy to hear, -forest? How about that?

"You cut out, Wil," Tommy murmurs, crouching down and bunching his haunches to jump. Mama piglin sprawls out, giving him less of a challenge.

What? You're not just trying to get me to shut up, are you? Wilbur pauses, I'm- I'm cutting out?

"I dunno. You just sound really far away."

I- how long have I sounded far away for?

"A day or so," Tommy mumbles, springing up and landing on all fours on the netherrack behind his mother. She purrs and he feels her tail whip his arm as it wags. Approval. "Ever since you left."

Left?

"To go take brother piglin to the dead zone, right?" Tommy asks. "You know. You went silent. And you were back when I woke up."

Oh! Oh, yes. Yes, I took the piglin to the - how do you call it? The Death Zone, so you could be reunite when you die, Tommy. Lemme tell you, he did not want to leave you guys alone.

"Oh. He's safe then?"

Yes. He's safe - he's with a friend.

The former blonde laughs. "A friend? Yeah, he'll either love or hate Mexican Dream, I think."

Oh, he loved Mexican Dream, Wilbur smiles. Very entertaining fellow, M.D.

Wilbur's voice grows no louder, no closer as they talk; still it sounds far off, distant. Tommy brushes it off and glances to his side. Mama piglin is laying over on her side now, eyes closed.

Tommy rumbles gently at her. Wilbur pauses in what he's saying to stare as Tommy goes to lay beside her -she deserves rest.

Is your mother asleep? Wilbur asks quietly, as if she could hear him.

"Yes," Tommy whispers. "She would've growled back otherwise, even if she's sad."

Good. Come on, let's go.

Tommy glances over, like he'll find Wilbur; like Wilbur will be standing beside him. "What?"

Let's go. Y'know, outside. Come on, Toms, we're going to the forest.

Tommy feels panic flare up in his stomach. "No, nonononono, no. I'm not just leaving her, Wilbur!"

We'll come back, don't worry, Wilbur insists. I'll make sure you don't get jumped. Come on. We need to find- I need to show you something.

Tommy hesitates. He's not.. sure about this. About following Wilbur again. Trust only goes so far when you're TommyInnit, post death.

He voices his hesitation.

Theseus fuckin' Innit, I won't let anything happen to you out there, Wilbur declares. Come on. I'll protect you.

"How're you gonna 'protect me' if you're a fucking voice?"

I'll spec. I'll warn you and scout- it's called ghosting for a reason. It's ok, Toms. I have your back.

"You're sure," Tommy mumbles, casting one last look at his mother. "And nothing- nothing bad will happen?"

Nothing bad will happen. I swear on my life- well. My death.

Tommy swallows and he weighs his options and he makes a decision.

He follows Wilbur's voice out of the cave.

Wilbur does keep his promise, though; whispering Not there, there's a pack of piglins or Watch out to the right, there's a hoglin over there whenever he senses movement. Tommy's head shoots up at every creak or murmur or whistle, jumpier than a chicken on Christmas Eve. Wilbur chuckles.

"Wil, where- where are we going?"

It's somewhere. I don't know exactly.

"Wh- I thought you had a plan!"

I- I kinda do, I don't bloody know!

"Wilbur!" Tommy shouts, "Why'd you lead me out here if you didn't have a plan?"

Keep your voice down. You don't wanna end up like m- mister piglin brother.

"Low ass fuckin' blow," Tommy snarls, but he lowers his volume. "If I die out here, Mama won't even find my body. The hogs will eat it. I don't wanna die again, Wil, I really, really don't."

You won't die, Wilbur says, voice confident as a dying man - take that how you will. If you die, I've failed. You won't die.

"You're so fuckin' weird," Tommy growls as they continue walking - just a little piglin and his disembodied voice of a brother, wandering through the brush. "You're so fuckin' weird today."

Hey, Tommy - look. What's that? Wilbur suddenly asks. His voice is clearer, closer than it's been in hours. Tommy glances over. A little stream of lava falls from the Nether roof and spills across the netherrack floor. Two little red creations bathe in its fiery warmth.

"That's a strider, innit?" Tommy mutters. "You ride 'em cross lava."

Tommy, go up to it, Wilbur whispers. It's friendly.

"How'd'you bloody know that it's friendly?" Tommy grumbles, but he approaches the lava anyway. The nearer strider turns at his footsteps - it sees his hooves one step too close to the heat and it rushes to knock him away at the same time that Wilbur screams Not THAT close!

The strider shivers when it drags itself out of the lava to stand with Tommy - it's young, and Tommy is taller just barely. He moves a hand up to pet it. "Wil, go look for little blue and orange mushrooms. I wanna take the strider home."

I don't see anything, Wilbur says after a moment, but maybe it'll follow anyway.

The purple critter makes a noise akin to a fire crackling and Tommy plays with the frills on the side of its head. "Aw."

Tommy listens to the creak and chattering of his new friend and Wilbur is silent for a moment, then We should keep going.

"We found a strider. We can just head back. No need for all this, it'll keep us entertained for awhile. Little pet strider! I'll name it Shitass."

Wilbur sighs. Awful name. I hate it. What's it gonna speedrun - death? No, and that's not the only reason I lead you out here. There's something else I want you to see.

"Not the only- you wanted me to find a- you're so fuckin' sus today, I swear. Whatever." Tommy rubs his eyes with a groan. "Just tell me what you're looking for. We'll go find it some fuckin- some other day."

Fine.

Tommy blinks.

Then he falls to his knees. His head explodes with hundreds and thousands of voices, all screaming at him, all shrieking at him, all loud, too too loud, too fucking loud-

Wilbur is sus! Aww, Wilbro! Can you name the strider after me? What the fuck is that? Can you say hi to my friend? You missed diamonds. You need blue fungi to lead a strider! Kill it for string. Boat with legs!

Tommy clamps his hands over his ears.

Chat.

"Tommy."

He looks up.

Wilbur is visible.

He's visible! Translucent, yes, but he's there, sitting atop the strider, wearing the dirty old trenchcoat from Pogtopia, hair tangled and eyes gloomy. He points into the distance, across the Nether - the crimson forest ends in a cliff and leads into the wastelands.

"There." he says. His voice is clear as ever - real, not just in Tommy's head. "Over there is a fortress with intact blaze spawners and unlooted chests. It's just over that crest."

"What?" Tommy manages through the mind-wrecking chorus in his ears. He doesn't see anything- no stormy red-black bricks anywhere in sight, just black fuzz creeping into his vision with every new voice, shattering his eardrums. "A- a fortress?"

"You have to learn to fight like this - as a piglin," Wilbur instructs. He tilts his head up. "And you need to get blaze rods. Then- then you can go back."

Woah! DUDUDU! E. Dude just find the smp portal hub, 4head!.Go get them rods, you can take a blaze or two!

Tommy whips around to stare at Wilbur. "I thought you didn't want me to go back."

"I don't," Wilbur sighs. "I really don't. But- but it's not as safe here as I thought it was. I.. you need to get back to the Overworld. Not the DreamSMP specifically, but the Overworld. So.. I'll help you. There's a fortress across the Wastelands, completely untouched. You can get blaze rods and maybe obsidian and gear from it."

Tommy is silent.

Wilbur hops down, but his hand never leaves the strider's head. "That's a long time from now. Prove to me that you can survive it, I'll take you there."

"Why are you so incitement that I can't die?" Tommy demands. "I'll respawn, won't I?"

"Insistent, not incitement," Wilbur corrects with a shake of his head. It's so odd - Tommy still isn't used to seeing him. "You're a mob. You have one life and one life only and Tommy, listen to me. You can't lose it. You can't lose that life. You can't die."

"Wilbur, you're scaring me."

Suddenly, chat is gone. Tommy peaks open his eyes, his head is still aching like a bitch.

Wilbur's gone, too. There's only open space where he had just stood, the strider blinks at him slowly. Must be confused, poor thing. There's no trace that Wilbur had ever been corporeal - just empty air.

Good, Wilbur says; back to a lonely voice, back to being chat. Good.

Tommy swallows.

"Come- come on, Shitass," Tommy whispers after a moment. "Let's.. let's go home."

It's quieter than late nights in the van, quieter than the blanketing silence of L'manburg in chunk-error ruins. Wilbur doesn't speak, but Tommy can hear his breathing. It comforts him; Wilbur hasn't gotten tired of him, hasn't left him behind. The strider follows them without the encouragement of food, and Tommy is grateful. He doesn't want to have to search this place for a single speck of blue just to have a friend that's not a disembodied voice.

"Why don't you do that more often?" Tommy murmurs as they walk. He still isn't heavy enough to leave tracks like his mother, Tommy notes.

Do what?

"Become.. real. Ghostbur."

Other people can hear me, and see me. It's not safe.

"Chat gets really fuckin' loud when you do it," Tommy comments. "It hurts like hell. You're chat, usually, but like... a moving chat. Like you're real, just not visible. When you became see-able, chat came back. Are you blocking them?"

I should be more careful with that first bit, Wilbur hums. But now I want to go ghost less. If it hurts you and there's no point to doing it, why should I?

"Be more careful with w- wait, 'go ghost?'"

It's a reference.

"What to?"

This thing called Da-

Tommy freezes. He feels ice sink through his veins, weighing down his legs. A new sound, a sound neither Wil nor Tommy have ever heard before - it echoes through the Nether, loud and piercing. It hits his ears with the force of a sledgehammer on a bell. The strider pauses and Wilbur shuts his mouth. It's almost like a scream, a cry, a call. A desperate one.

Shit.

"Mama! Mama, it's ok, it's ok!" Tommy can't describe his voice as anything other than frantic, desperate. "Mama, I'm right here, I'm right here, I'm safe!" he shrieks, running through the brush, stumbling over roots and thorns and bushes. The strider follows slowly.

He tries to match her scream, tries to tip her off - I'm right here, I'm right here! - but he doesn't hear her come to him, doesn't see her relieved white eyes. Wilbur is in his ear, whispering warnings and observations and-

"I don't care if there are hoglins, fucking- find her! Find her, you useless fucking ghost!" Tommy screams at Wilbur.

There's just a beat, a single heartbeat of stunned silence. Tommy pants, a mixture of exhaustion and fury trying its hardest to escape him. Wilbur's voice echoes in his mind as he whips around, looking desperately.

If you go forward a bit, there's a cliffside. Below is a very tall tree, far left of the cave. She's standing beneath it.

Tommy runs. He runs faster than he ever had with hooves, maybe faster than he had with feet. His mother glances up as he scrabbles down the cliffside, slipping down jagged rock. He feels hot, wet pain run down his leg but he doesn't slow to check, just tumbles to the ground with a yelp. She shuts her mouth and scruffs him immediately, sniffing his head and checking, reassuring herself, please be alive please be alive please be alive despite the very real squirming and very alive "Mama, please calm down, please, I'm fine."

She collapses when she realises he's safe and fine and alive and she's not childless and she holds him close.

If it were anyone else, Tommy would squeal and try to wiggle out, away, but it's his mother. He lets her hold him, forcing a purr. See? I'm fine.

Wilbur's voice rings out, distant. Tommy, what about the strider?

Tommy doesn't respond. He just lays in his mother's arms, eyes closed.

Nevermind, got it! Tommy turns around to see the strider hit the ground right in front of them with a distressed crackle and an OW THAT MUST'VE HURT out of Wil.

His mother has it dead in seconds.

GOD DAMMIT! Wilbur screeches. I JUST GOT THAT B- I JUST GOT THAT DOWN!

Tommy flattens his ears. His mother snarls as the strider falls apart in a cloud of smoke and dust and string.

Wilbur sighs. Tommy raises an eyebrow. "Can't you just bring one back by yourself? You can- you can 'go ghost', you literally didn't need me."

There's no response.

"Wilbur?"

Not even soft breathing. Tommy's tail falls limp. His mother hugs him closer, as if the lack of wagging meant he was about to drop dead, evaporate like the strider had.

Wil's gone. Tommy can only hope he's going to come back, like he did when his brother died.

Maybe Wilbur just doesn't like death.

Tommy leans into his mother's soft fluff.

"I'm sorry for leaving."

She huffs.

"Please never - fuckin' - please never scream like that again."

Her response is a low snort. You made me afraid. I was afraid. Never run away like that, and I will never scream, Tommy understands.

"Ok, Piglin Mama," Tommy murmurs. "Ok."

Wilbur runs his hands through his hair - real hair. Real, physical, human hair. Living hands, real hair.

He's furious. He won't let it show.

"What's this?" He asks, calm and collected and cool. With a soft smile and curious eyes - he's used to playing a mellow role, an innocent role. "What've you done?"

Dream narrows his eyes. "Why now did it work? Why couldn't I bring you back before, Wilbur?"

Wilbur ignores him, instead digging through his trenchcoat pockets. "Oh, I still have my deck!" he chirps. "Wanna play solitaire?"

"Is it why I can't bring back Tommy?"

"Or are you more of a poker guy? What about war? That's easy enough for you, I think."

"Wilbur," Dream hisses. "Listen to me."

"We could play Uno - queen can be pick up two, king can be pick up four, joker can be skip! Or reverse-"

"WILBUR!"

Wil smiles. "Yes, Dream?"

"Why can't I ressurect Tommy?"

"Do you not like card games? I'm afraid I've only got cards." Dream stands and Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "Aw, do you really have to look up to make eye contact with me?"

"It's because you're wearing tall boots. I'm not wearing shoes," Dream insists. "Sam took them," he adds quietly.

"Sure it's the boots, Dream," Wil snickers. "Sure."

Dream blinks. "Don't distract me."

"I didn't do anything."

"Listen up, Wilbur Soot," Dream snarls.

"Bit formal, what with the whole full name bit, but I'm listening. I'm listening, go ahead, Dream." Wilbur tilts his head, insufferably smug.

"You will tell me how to revive Tommy - you'll tell me what you did, you'll stop tampering - or I will kill you. Do you hear me, Wilbur? Do you understand me? I will kill you."

Wilbur sorts through his deck, counting cards and yawning. Unimpressed.

"I will kill you and bring you back and kill you again. Over and over and over, as long as it takes. Every minute of every hour of every day of every month of every year until. You. Spill. Your. Secrets. Now do you want to listen to me, and do it the easy, easy, easiest way, or d-"

"Actually, I'm a bit - little itty bitty bit, tiny bit - tired of of this whole living thing, love," Wilbur interrupts. Dream stutters as Wilbur runs past Dream, spins round to face him and fall back, arms spread like a bird and wearing a shit eating grin. Wilbur Soot throws himself at burning, starving lava with a silly salute and bright eyes.

"BYE, DREAM!"

The freckled man can't do anything but stare as Wilbur's face contorts in awful, horrible pain for just a moment, then gone. Fully, completely gone - nothing but a swirl of smoke. The scent of burnt flesh stains the air and Dream feels like he's going to vomit. A charred sleeve falls to the ground in front of him - embroidered patches display old flags.

Dream picks up the cloth.

Green and white and pink, blue and purple with a white... sun? And-

He clenches his hand around the scrap.

Half a black circle, a fine yellow border and a bold yellow x. A line of blue runs along the top, and red along the bottom, and white cuts through the center with two more crosses.

The flag of a fallen nation.

Dream holds the patch with shaking hands, fury racing through his veins like hot fire, the fire that ravaged fur and ravaged flesh. He lifts the chunk of fabric to the lava, flinching as the fire swallows it eagerly and licks at his skin with a flash of searing, searing pain. Tears prick at his eyes as he holds a scorched, damaged hand to his chest, breathing like sailer too close to the sea and its sirens. Dreams turns and he swipes the water off his face and he throws it to the ground, to the ring of red blood (his own, his own blood, his own horrible horrible red blood) and a single glove, a single fingerless glove taken from his own hands, a glove with just traces, traces, traces of a dead man, miniscule little skin cells, gloves he had borrowed long ago from hands stained gray with gunpowder, and he waits for the blood to lighten and glow and he waits for Wilbur to appear again with the same cold, cold eyes.

Wilbur doesn't respond.

Dream punches the wall. "STOP TAMPERING! STOP TAMPERING!"

He almost hears the mocking laughter.

Then stop trying.

Far, far away, a small piglin opens his eyes. He's tucked against a bigger piglin, a sow who had never let him sleep beside her before.

There's a baby strider sleeping in front of him an a kind voice in his ears.

Good morning, Tommy.

"Oh, Wilbur! Wil, you're back! Wil. Wil. Wil. Wil, where were you?"

Off. Visited an old friend, brought a new one. Sorry about- about yesterday.

"It's ok, I think. And, by the way?"

Hm?

"Thank you, Wilbur."

For the strider?

"For... everything, really. Everything here."

Oh.

Tommy doesn't hear Wilbur's quiet ...Don't thank me yet.

[alfredosauce50]

What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader 10]

Wordcount: 5,809 Rating: T for strong language and mild violence “Can’t you see that none of this is real? You’re living in the past, dumbass! It’s all a dream! If you don’t wake up soon, you’ll regret it!” Chapter synopsis: Half-dead, Allen falls into a strange realm of existence. It's nothing he's seen before, but it feels awfully familiar. He soon learns he's stuck in the past, and it's all in his head. He'll do whatever it takes to wake up and save Alfred from his demise he once played a part in. The reader is referred to as she/her.

Songs to listen to while you read (in order as found in playlist): 2049, Ghost in the shell - Original mix, Something about us, Cloudy day, L, The voice in my head. I have indented song titles throughout the chapter so you can change accordingly. Starting now:

2049, Ghost in the Shell - Original mix

“His condition is stable. He’s in a coma, but he’s gonna be fine.”

“A coma? For how long?”

Where were the voices coming from? Was there one person or two people speaking? He couldn’t tell. But his interest quickly changed to another subject.

Am I dead?  

With whatever brain activity he had left, that question was the only thing he heard repeating in his head like a broken record. 

He couldn’t see anything, let alone feel anything as he drifted into an abyss of nothingness. In fact, it was so empty, he couldn’t even say it was darkness he was engulfed in. Just nothingness. Was this what people experienced before walking over to the other side? Or was he going to be stuck here forever? Allen couldn’t tell. Not when there was no concept of time in this strange realm of existence, anyway. 

His eyes shot open. It took a few moments for his vision to adjust, but he came to realize he was sitting in his car. Huh. Was that all a dream? Whatever it was, it had escaped his mind so seamlessly, he couldn’t remember anything. Leaning forward to peer out the window, he was greeted with an onslaught of neon lights. Neon signs, holograms, and posters surrounded him from all angles and heights. At least that told him he wasn’t far from home. Turning to the front, he attached his hands to the wheel. Now, to get back. 

If he drove around for a few minutes, he’d surely pinpoint his location relative to Arthur’s auto shop. Revving up the engine, he heard it purr to life. As a small grin stretched over his lips, he pulled out of the cul-de-sac to move to the main street. “I missed you too.” He murmured, never letting his gaze stray from the road. Eventually, he made it to a familiar intersection. Before he could pass through it, he stopped and found himself staring at what looked like a police chase coming to an end. 

A helicopter hovered over a car stopped in the center. Over the fierce thumping of its blades, he heard a grungy voice barking out orders through a loudspeaker. He couldn’t make out what it was, but it didn’t look like they were followed. Not when the occupants in the vehicle were immediately shot upon stepping out–collapsing to the ground after a rain of machine gunfire blew them apart. 

“Jesus Christ…” He mumbled under a frown. “Poor bastards.” 

After they all dropped like flies, the helicopter took off in another direction. And just like that, they were gone. 

The police in Twilight city were ruthless as always. Quick to action, and yet, just as dismissive. But it wasn’t his business. So long as he played his cards right, he wouldn’t have to deal with them. Making a right turn, he breathed out a sigh as he made a detour. He never liked using alleyways. There was no saying if he’d run into a couple of weirdos in places like these. Speaking of weirdos, there was a couple of men huddling around a corner.  It piqued his curiosity to see them so interested in whatever it was they surrounded. Or more accurately put, who they surrounded. A girl. Slowing to a stop behind a tall bundle of crates, he leaned over to the right to get a better look. She was shaking in her boots, and her lips were trembling as she struggled to respond to the questions thrown at her. And how old was she anyway? 10? 11?

“That doesn’t look good.” Allen narrowed his eyes.

He climbed out of his car.  

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket, he approached the group slowly. But when one of the men took a hold of her shoulder, adrenaline surged through his veins and he burst into a sprint. When he got close enough, he grabbed said man’s shoulder before throwing his fist back. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” Punching him square in the face, he sent him hurtling towards the ground. 

Immediately, his cronies responded by pouncing on the newcomer for giving one of their buddies a black eye. After a few minutes of violent tousling, he managed to beat them all into submission. 

Leaving them groaning and wincing in the dirt, he gave his hand a rough shake. Phew. He hadn’t had a good fight in ages. Giving his bottom lip a light tap to find a small blotch of red on his fingertip. And he won against three people too,  escaping with only a busted lip. Before he could gloat about it, he glanced around to find the girl. Where did she go? 

Assuming she ran away, he shrugged and moved back to his car. If she wasn’t here, then he wouldn’t be obliged to help her any more than that. But upon nearing his vehicle, he spotted a small pair of feet poking out from the back. Then, they proceeded to shuffle back to become completely concealed. Breathing out a chuckle at that, he rested his hands on his hips. 

“I can see you.” 

No response. 

“You can come out now.” Making his way around the trunk, the child buried her face into her knees upon realizing she had been discovered. A light frown downturned his features at the sight of her shaking like a leaf. “Man, am I that scary?” He murmured, lowering himself to his knees. “Hey, kid. I’m not gonna hurt ya. I was just passing by. I promise I won’t do anything.” 

She kept her face hidden, but her trembling seemed to calm. 

“Well, if you’re not gonna say anything, I’ll be on my way. Just make sure to move out of the way so I don’t run you over.” Standing up on his feet, he turned his back to her. Before his fingers could do so little as graze over the car handles, a faint voice piped up. 

“Wait!” 

Allen grinned and spun on his heel. “Yes?”

She stood up slowly, but kept her head low to avoid his gaze. Without removing her hands from her pants, which she was clenching at, she opened her mouth again. “Could you maybe… Tell me where the train station is? I got kinda lost.” The way she spoke was soft, breathless even, and more so than Allen’s who just beat up a bunch of no-good-doers. 

“The train station?” The redhead questioned. Not that he didn’t know where it was. In fact, it was only a few blocks down, but he had to think twice about sending a ten-year-old off to wander the streets around here. The same streets a police shootout just took place, and the same streets where she was approached by a couple of hooligans. “How about I drop you off? I’m not in a hurry. I dunno if you wanna walk around by yourself after what happened.” 

He said it before, and he’d say it again. This city was an absolute shithole. 

“R-really? But I’m not sure…” The enthusiasm faded as quickly as she lit up. “I don’t know you.” 

“And I don’t know you either.” Allen hummed. “So you’re just as dangerous to me as I am to you. Sound fair?” 

The girl furrowed her brows. 

“That doesn’t make sense. You’re way older than me.”

“Oh yeah? I’m only eighteen though. Lemme guess, ten? Twelve?”

“Thirteen.” She answered, relaxing just a touch at the sound of his age. At first glance, one would have assumed he was in his early twenties, but she was relieved to know she was wrong. “Are you still in high school?”

The man blinked. Was she warming up already? “Nope. I finished nearly a year ago. But that doesn’t mean I sit around all day with nothing to do.” He opened the car door to the driver’s seat. “You’re lucky I was out and about to get your ass out of trouble. So what do you say we keep it that way?” 

The ride there didn’t take long, much to Allen’s surprise. By the time his GPS revealed that they had arrived, he had slowed down near the curb in front of one of the tallest skyscrapers in Twilight city. Sliding the window down, he poked his head out to give his surroundings a gander. The blinding lights of the liveliest commercial center forced him to squint, but he could still tell this was the city center. And that only meant the residential lots were a little further down. 

“You sure this is the right address? There’s nothing but malls and stuff around here.” He shouted over the bustle of people crossing the streets and pounding of music. 

“No, this it the right place. I live right there in that building!” Climbing over to the side, she pointed at Matsumoto Optics. 

Exchanging glances with the said building, then the girl, he gave his head a light shake. “What do you mean, you live right there? Nobody–” He paused, feeling dread settle in his stomach. “Wait a sec. What was your name again, kid?”

“(F/N) Matsumoto. My dad actually owns the whole plaza.” 

He paled. 

“Holy shit.”

Why did it feel like a gun was pointing at him?

Because there was one. 

Whipping his head to the window next to him, he found himself staring straight down the barrel of a gun. While his heart broke out into a pounding frenzy, he came to notice that his whole car was surrounded by men in suits. Bringing out every kind of shootable weapon that existed, his blood ran cold at the sound of more than twenty firearms cocking at once. From every angle there was, he was aimed at by something. “Fuck.” 

“Put your hands where I can see them!” One of the men demanded.

Allen threw his arms up. “Alright, alright!”

Glass shattered. A hand shot through the broken window and hit him in the back of the neck, hard. “Gh-!” It knocked him out immediately. Then, his unconscious body was dragged out of the car with next to no grace.

So much for following orders. 

When he finally came to, all he knew was the throbbing pain in his neck, and the rope burns around his arms and wrists. Since they were tightly bound together, he could only blink away the fuzz in his vision. This day had to be the longest yet. All he remembered was waking up in his car completely disoriented, then saving a middle-schooler from a bunch of creeps. Where was this place? An office of some sort? How did he wind up here again? All he could do was speculate as he continued to kneel on the carpeted ground. 

“My daughter told me you saved her from a group of ruffians.” A low voice began, forcing him to look up. My daughter? Did that mean he was Matsumoto? The Takahiro Matsumoto? The most powerful person on the planet? The person whose name he heard every minute of the day from slogans? His suspicions were confirmed when he found himself gawking at a beast of a man, who stood a little over six feet with a long gray beard. 

Wait a minute, this guy was old? And this… Built? “If she hadn’t, you wouldn’t have woken up.” 

Allen tensed. 

“… Right. Well, I’m sorry for whatever I did. I didn’t know she was… A Matsumoto.” He breathed. “If I did, I would’ve let her ride the train herself. Didn’t think putting her in my car warranted a death sentence.” 

“But you are alive, boy. And she is too, thanks to you.” The older man graciously responded, giving his head a firm pat. Then, he lowered his gaze to meet the other’s eyes. “I see an unwavering sense of justice from you. There were three men you had to fend off to keep her safe, and you only managed to let them hit you once.”

“…”

“You have talent.” 

“… Thanks.”

“If you haven’t noticed already, I want to recruit you.” 

The redhead had to do a double-take. Were his ears playing tricks on him, or did he actually say– 

“You wanna… Hire me?” 

Matsumoto nodded. “Like I just said. You have the skills to be a bodyguard, and we are in urgent need of one.” An ominous light glinted in his dark eyes as he opened his mouth again. “Did you ever wonder why there was a job opening?”

Allen gave a nervous laugh. On second thoughts, maybe laying low in Arthur’s auto shop was the better option. “Thanks, but no thanks. I was just lucky today, and I’m not a pro. I think you’re better off hiring somebody else–” 

The other hardened his stare at him. “We have an elaborate training program to prepare you for your duties. I see no reason for you to reject.” With a swift flick of his wrist, he beckoned over a few men who had been standing on the sidelines. “These gentlemen weren’t half as good as you when they began. Now, they are the best any secret service has to offer. Their combat skills are impeccable, and their instincts refined to perfection.” 

When he sensed he had fallen right into a trap, he wasn’t wrong. 

“I wouldn’t imagine it to be hard for them to locate anybody residing in this city. Even your friend, Arthur, the British mechanic.” 

Seeing that Allen was now at loss for words, he smiled. 

“I believe it would be in your best interest to work for me, Jekyll.”

That same day he was recruited, his induction took place. And boy, was it a lot. By the time they had finished, night had fallen. Fortunately, he could treat himself to a hot dinner in the dining court before retiring to his room. He couldn’t say being given his own condo was unexpected, but when he stepped inside to become completely immersed in luxury, he was faced with a rude awakening. Up here where the air stretched thin over the blinking lights of Twilight city, he was reminded how out of place he was.

All his life, he was at the bottom. He grew up a street rat before he was taken in by a kind mechanic. And he taught him everything he knew. Never did he imagine he would ever be this high up in the clouds, working in a high-ranking position under a man comparable to God. And the longer he lingered on this reality, thrusted to him without his say, the hotter his eyes felt. There was no saying if he could go home again.

And that meant he wouldn’t be seeing Arthur anytime soon.

The next morning, he woke up the groggiest he’d ever felt in his life. Squinting at the window that happened to take up his whole wall, he was graced with a hot orange sunrise. It cast a pinkish haze over everything in his sight like a filter, but he was far too exhausted to appreciate the scenery. He checked his phone. 6:23 AM. Twenty missed calls and twelve text messages. Crap. He’d call him later. He needed to figure himself out first.

Giving his face a cold splash of water, he rubbed his eyes clean. Lifting his head to the mirror, he found himself staring at his reflection, which of course, stared right back. Did he always look this young? He snorted. What was he thinking? Of course he did. He was only eighteen, after all. Sliding himself in a dress shirt and pants, he finished off the look by throwing on a black blazer. Then, he gave his appearance a hard stare. “… Nope. This looks stupid.” Leaving the bathroom in a white tank and bomber jacket, he ventured out into empty morning halls to find the elevator.

Once he made it to the third floor, he began his journey to the training dojo. The walls were a beige white, the floors a polished wood, and there were shoji screens everywhere. He was washed over with a strange sense of déjà vu. But considering this was his first time here, that couldn’t be the right phrase. Jamais vu was more like it. He was here with the impression he’d never been before, but he somehow knew that was a lie.

And it was a gut feeling so strong, it was kind of eerie.

He couldn’t understand why he was feeling this way. And not being the thinking type, he chose to brush it off. He had enough to worry about already, so the last thing he wanted was to overthink a foreign environment. Maybe some exercise could clear his head— and that was exactly what he’d be doing today. His rigorous training program.

Entering a spacious room, he stepped inside to feel his shoes sink into soft tatami mats.

“Don’t even think about taking another step in here with those shoes on, Jekyll.”

A very rigorous training program.

***

Something about us, L

It had only been a few days since arriving here at Arthur’s, but you were slowly regaining your strength. With every new morning, you awakened with more energy than the last. Perhaps the small light of hope of seeing Allen do the same was what urged you to become an early riser. But like yesterday, and the day before, that hope was shattered at the sight of him unconscious in bed. He didn’t even move an inch.

Nearing his side, you lowered yourself to your knees and reached out to his cheek. Talking to him while he slept had become routine to you. You’d tell him about your day, everything you did, and all your conversations you ever had. If not, you’d reminisce the past so he wouldn’t feel left out. He never interrupted, and let you run off on tangents until you were sick of talking. “I really hope you wake up soon, Allen. I feel like… I’m talking to myself here.” Your voice was soft with a heart-wrenching kind of sadness, but you refused to linger on it.

After all, how could you expect him to wake so soon? You knew how strong he was, but it would be selfish to want something impossible. So you forced yourself to leave the room, figuring you would feel better if you focused on something else. Little did you know, someone had been lurking in the halls during your visit.

Alfred had his back pressed up to the wall outside while you dropped by, and he heard everything. And not even from just this morning. Everything you ever told Allen, he listened in on too. 

He knew better than to infringe on your privacy, and hear things that were better off left unheard. But he kept finding himself hiding outside in the hall, doing it again and again—even Arthur had caught wind of it. 

He heard footsteps clunking against the metal floor, but he never bothered to turn to it. Usually, Arthur would’ve kept on walking. But not today he didn’t. “If you like her so much, you should just tell her.” He’d murmur. 

Alfred whipped his head to him with his eyes widened ever so slightly. But he visibly eased seeing it was just him. And rather than denying his claims, he tore his gaze away. “I can’t.” His brows were furrowed for creases to form between them. Arthur was almost taken aback, having never seen him so frustrated. 

“Why not?” The Brit responded, resting his back against the wall beside the man. “It’s painful seeing you loiter out here all day. I’d say I felt sorry for you, but you’ve been eavesdropping on her for a while.” At the sound of that, the other’s cheeks flushed red. So his guess was right on the mark, after all. “She’s coming out right now. Might wanna make a run for it while you still can.” 

“Guys?” Another voice joined, forcing the two men to spin around. 

The mechanic bit back a snort. “Too late. I’ll be in the garage.” He whispered. Shooting you a brief smile, he turned on his heels to leave. “You two have fun now. I have lots of work to do today.” With that said, he disappeared to do exactly that, but not without a few chuckles under his breath. For the many years he knew the guy, he never found anything he wasn’t good at. There was nothing he couldn’t do. Looking over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of Alfred with a hand on his neck, laughing nervously. 

That perfect track record was finally ending, it seemed. 

At least he wouldn’t have to watch him fumble around with his feelings for long. You and Alfred were planning to leave in a few days to God knows where, to do God knows what. Frankly speaking, he didn’t know what you were doing, hanging around such a shady guy like him. That was right. You two arrived with your bodyguard Allen, who was half-dead then, and barely clinging to life now. What the hell happened? Wouldn’t your father be concerned?

Maybe he’d ask Allen himself, if he’d awaken anytime soon, that was. For now, he’d stay on the sidelines and help Alfred repair his missing Mantis blades as he’d requested. He was restless without them, frequently interrupting his work with, “Are you done yet?” until he finished for the day. Arthur narrowed his eyes and clicked his tongue, shutting the garage door behind him. Whatever you two had planned, he couldn’t imagine it to be legal. 

***

Cloudy day

A few months had gone by, and he was finally getting settled in his new workplace. But there was no saying when he’d ever be forgiven for it. Not that he could even explain himself. What was he even supposed to say? I saved a girl from a bunch of creeps and put her in my car to take her home but she wasn’t just any girl and turned out to be the daughter of Matsumoto himself and now I’m being threatened to work for them because they know where you live. That surely wouldn’t fly. Especially when he went through all that just to be a glorified babysitter. 

He just knew Arthur was buried up to the neck with work, now that he was alone. Breathing out a sigh at the thought, he rolled his head to the said girl sitting by a cherry wood coffee table, whose nose was buried in a book. 

“You ever get bored reading stuff all day?” He began, stretching his arms across the backrest of the couch. 

She shrugged. “Sometimes. But I have to study, otherwise I’ll fall behind.” 

Allen nodded, stretching his lips into a flat line. “Fair enough. Well, I did just graduate high school, so if you need any help with… Math or whatever, just let me know.” Surely, seventh-grade level wouldn’t be too difficult for him.

“Mm… Thanks, but I don’t think you can help me with what I’m doing. This is like… College level stuff.” You gave him a sheepish smile, to where he gawked at you in response. 

“Wow, you a genius or something?” 

“I don’t think I am.” 

“You’re just being humble, kid. It’s fine to be proud of yourself, ya know. ‘Specially now, cuz it gets kinda annoying when adults do it.” Allen grinned, hopping up from his spot to give her hair a ruffle. She could only hang her head to hide the embarrassed pout on her lips. Fortunately, their height difference let her do so. 

“Thanks, I guess…” It was only when he pulled his hand away did she look up again. In her line of vision was a chest of drawers, and she reached out to point towards it. “Also, could you mind checking if my USB’s in there? I think I left it in one of the drawers yesterday.” 

The redhead spun around. “Sure, no prob.” 

Pulling out one of the compartments, he rummaged around random bits and bobs until he caught sight of said USB. Besides the connecter, the storage disk was fairly long and flat. This thing could’ve stored hundreds of terabytes of data if it could. That translated to hundreds of computers’ worth of information. Picking it up, he held it in his fingers to give it a brief study. Before he called over to you with his lips separated ajar, he found himself entranced by it. 

But what was so interesting about something as common as a storage disk? For some reason, the small object in his hand resonated with him. It was… So familiar. As if he’d seen something like this before. Or perhaps, it reminded him of something he forgot about. Problem was, he didn’t know what. And it was a gut feeling so strong, he couldn’t seem to shake it off. 

The voice in my head

That night, he was called to his superior’s office for a security briefing. Appearing through the tall double door, he walked in with his hands in his pockets. Situated deep in the room, and just by the window overlooking the blinking lights of the city, was his desk, and the man Matsumoto himself. His chair spun around to reveal a bearded man well into his seventies with a light scowl on his face. “I expect you to wear the uniform suitable for these occasions, Jekyll.” 

Allen blinked before rubbing his neck. “Right, sorry. Forgot.” In all honesty, he considered showing up in a black tie and all, but it wasn’t the most comfortable fit in the world. “So, what’dya call me in for?”

The other clasped his hands together and gave him a firm stare. “Even in my company, you have moments of… Stepping out of line. Breaches of discipline.” He gestured to his attire, letting it do the speaking. “I may overlook some inconsistencies in exchange for your services, but there is one rule you must not break under any circumstances.” 

Silence fell in the room so you could hear a pin drop. It gave Allen some room to think–to guess what his superior was going to warn him about. A secret basement that locked up human guinea pigs he wasn’t supposed to stumble into, perhaps? But that was ridiculous. So he stayed quiet, prepared to listen intently to the man. Surely, his guess was far from reality. 

“There is a… Basement a few floors beneath the lobby.” 

Allen froze. He’d heard this before. 

Otherwise, how else could he guess that he’d say this? 

“I keep my most prized possessions in there. Personal vehicles and upgrades. Nothing goes in and out undetected. So don’t even think about stepping inside.” He couldn’t believe a word he said, as calm and convincing his tone was. 

Allen had an idea why. 

He sensed something was off the minute he came here. It was all so obvious–the familiarity of the dojo halls, the USB, and even his face in the mirror. He’d seen it all before. Previously, he’d brushed it all off. But he couldn’t deny it any longer now that he had this conversation, a conversation he already had. So if his intuition was right, that meant he could guess what was actually in the basement. And there were no fancy sports cars to speak of. 

He gritted his teeth as his tanned complexion began to pale. Then, his stomach began to churn. 

“… Are you unwell?” 

He lifted his head and shook it. “Nah. Just lost in thought.” 

“You may lose yourself in the emptiness in your head as much as you desire, but not in my presence. If you don’t have any questions, you are dismissed.” 

“Yessir.” 

Turning on the spot to leave, a deep frown downturned his features now that he wasn’t facing him anymore. Something was terribly wrong. And he was about to confirm it. A couple of hours later when the whole building fell quiet, he snuck down to the basement floor through the elevator. And while he ran through the pitch-black halls to the door in the end, he couldn’t get this thought out of his mind. He’d definitely done this before, too. 

Swinging the door open, he was greeted with a familiar stench of death. But he didn’t have time to gag. Running to the two pods, he never bothered turning on his night vision. He trusted his body and his muscle memories to guide the way. And it was the right call, because he found himself standing by the pods in no time. Lifting up one of the hatches to find a mummified corpse, he stared with an unreadable expression. 

He wasn’t even surprised. And that was really telling, considering he would’ve vomited at the sight. But this only solidified his suspicions. This wasn’t new.

Nothing was. 

Turning to the other pod, he fiddled around the latches for a minute or so before giving in. This one couldn’t be opened, not without proper authorization. Okay, this was new. He didn’t remember this pod being locked. So he jabbed his fingers into a couple of buttons, unable to resist his curiosity. He couldn’t leave any stones unturned. Thankfully, his rapid button smashing eventually did do something to reveal what was inside. 

The glass that was previously fogged up cleared. 

Inside lay a man. A blonde. His skin was flawless in save for the outlines of removable plates. He was a cybernetically enhanced individual, but not one he wasn’t already acquainted with. 

“We put him to sleep for fifty years…” 

“By the time he gained his consciousness, we turned him into a killing machine.”

 “Even to this day, he remains my greatest creation.“

Fragments of his memory began to play in his head. All until he could remember the name of the sleeping figure. It was Alfred. And he had yet to wake up to go on a killing rampage, or in other words, the first time they’d ever meet.

Allen eventually retreated back to his condo. The first thing he did was go to the bathroom and splash cold water to his face. If he wanted to figure out what the hell was going on, he needed to clear his convoluted mind first. Either he was a psychic or stuck in another reality. But he wasn’t bright enough to be a psychic. And interdimensional travel wasn’t invented. Yet. So what could it be?

While he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his wet fingers, his train of thought was interrupted by a voice. And it sounded just like his, but deeper. 

Glancing up to the source, he found himself staring at his own reflection in his mirror. But he came to realize it wasn’t him–rather, it was an older version of him. They had the same face, eye color, and hair, but the person who glared back at him had sharper features, and a more defined jawline. Unbeknownst to him, it was the subconscious of his present self.

“What the hell are you doing?” He hissed.

Slamming his hands against the mirror, the loud bang caused Allen to jump. “Can’t you see that none of this is real? You’re living in the past, dumbass! It’s all a dream! If you don’t wake up soon, you’ll regret it!” 

Allen dug his hands through his hair, and before he could even question him, panic overwhelmed his system. Not that he needed to, because everything he was just told made perfect sense. “W-Wake up? But… But how?”

“What do you think genius? You have to die!” The other screamed. “If you don’t wake up soon, Alfred and (F/N) are gonna get away with the chip! You can’t let him put it in his head! The Soulkiller will destroy him!” 

Fuck. 

He felt himself tense up in all reality as more memories flowed back to him. That was right. He was in a coma after being stabbed by a katana. He remembered how desperate he was as he fought to stay awake, all so he could warn Alfred he was falling into a trap. But he failed, and wound up in another realm of reality. His dreams. And if he didn’t wake up soon, there was going to be hell to pay. 

Shoving his hand into his jacket, he pulled out a gun. 

Then, he exchanged wary glances with his subconscious, who nodded at him. 

He cocked it. “If you’re wrong… And I die in real life…” It wasn’t like he had anything to threaten him with, though. “Let’s hope I don’t.” Sliding the gun into his mouth, he screwed his eyes shut. Then, he pulled the trigger.

Shooting up with a loud gasp, he finally awakened from the longest trauma-induced sleep he’d ever had. Almost immediately, he heard somebody else let out a scream of genuine fear. “Ah–!” By the foot of the bed he was laying in was Arthur, and he’d fallen right out of his chair. “Jesus fucking Christ! If I’d known you’d wake up like that, I would’ve sat further away!”

Standing back onto his feet, he was never fast enough to stop Allen from sliding himself off the bed. “Hey– watch it! You can’t move right away!” 

“How did I get here?” 

Arthur stepped back as his friend loomed over him. “Well–I’m not sure how you fell into a coma, but it was Alfred and (F/N) who brought you in.” 

Thank god.  “And where are they now?”

The other shrugged with a look of defeat. “I don’t know, honestly. All I know is they’re doing something dangerous. Alfred wouldn’t leave before I helped him install a new set of mantis blades.” 

“Fuck!” He hissed, feeling his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. Bile was even rising in his throat as he reflected on the possibility that Alfred was already dead. “I was too late. I was too fucking late.” Shaking his head as heat accumulated behind his eyes, he paused for a moment, letting hot tears of frustration run down his face. Then, he gripped Arthur’s shoulders when he was hit with an epiphany. With the slim chance they only left recently, he still had time. 

“How long have they been gone for?”

The blonde pondered for a moment, but the concern in his eyes never faded. “Only a week, give or take. Why? What’s wrong?” 

Before Allen could breathe out a sigh of relief, he was gripped with a panic-inducing sense of urgency. “That means I can still save him!” If he remembered correctly, the Soulkiller virus needed at least two weeks before the damage became permanent. So if he could somehow find you both in seven days, he could save Alfred. “No questions. I’ll explain in the car! We have to find them as soon as possible!” 

He would’ve been dead if it weren’t for him. 

So in return for saving his life, he’d do anything to save his too. 

[headoverhiddles]

Too Good To Be True - Tommy Devito x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: Much to his annoyance, you teach your boyfriend the art of delayed gratification. 

Notes: Requested by anon! Hope you like it, this has been a long time coming. 

First gif belongs to vicious-thrash.

Tommy’s car radio plays softly as he pulls up in front of your house.

You’re just too good to be true  

Can’t take my eyes off of you

“It was a good night, baby,” he says, killing the gas. You smile.

“It was, wasn’t it?”  

“I had fun. Lot of fun.” His eyes shift to you, then descend. “You know what would make it even better?”

“What?” His hand falls from the steering wheel to your knee, and starts to feel up a little higher. He does this every time; there’s no sense of mystery or allure in your flirtation anymore.  “Baby, not tonight.”

“What?” he moans, “Baby—baby aw, listen—”

“Tommy, I’m tired. I gotta headache, alright?”

“A headache? Probably all the booze you drank back there.”

“Let me sleep it off, will you?”

“You at least got a kiss me? For your boyfriend?” You lean over to kiss him. He watches you leave out the window, whistling at your skirt riding up .

“Hey! Thursday night, the Pink Flamingo?!”

“I’ll call you.”

“I’m buyin’ of course!”

“Goodnight, Tommy!” His eyes narrow as he gets the engine running, and as he pulls away, Franki Valli continues to croon.

I love you, baby

And if it’s quite alright, I need you baby—

“Ah, shut up,” Tommy growls, and smacks his radio silent.

---

“And then she said—get this fellas—she said she had a headache.”

“Ooh,” Jimmy cringes. “Mmhm. The headache line.”

“What do you mean?” Henry frowns. “Karen tells me that all the time.”

“You poor bastard. I’m sure she does, I’m sure you get fed that shit all the time,” Jimmy smirks, rustling his shoulder. Tommy sighs as he tips back another shot.

“I just don’t understand it. It was going so well, too. Women don’t do that shit to me. They just don’t!”

“Yeah, cause they’re fuckin’ scared you’ll whack ‘em!” Henry laughs.

“I’d never kill a girl,” Tommy retorts, “Especially not (y/n). She’s my one, you know? Maybe she really was tired, I dunno...”

“Nah, nah nah,” Jimmy shakes his head. “Something’s fishy. There’s gotta be something going on here. Women start losing interest in sex, there’s something that needs to be addressed.”

“I mean, was she really losing interest? She was goin’ down on me like there was no fuckin’ tomorrow last week, I can’t imagine her flipping on me like this.”

“You never know with women,” Henry sighs, taking a sip of his whiskey. Jimmy jerks a thumb his way.

“Sage over here. Fuckin’ wise guy.”

Tommy bursts into laughter, and Henry goes red as he ordered more drinks. As the laughter dies down, Tommy shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna lose her, but she seemed pretty pissed.”

“Were you pushing it on her?”

“Nah, of course not! I stopped when she said she was tired. I complained, but hey, my dick was hard, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s just the kind of thing I’ve come to expect.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

“What fuckin’ problem?”

“The monotony of it all.”

“The monotony of fucking me?”

“The same way, when she comes to expect it too, yeah. Variety is the spice of life,” Jimmy says, lighting up a cigarette. Tommy waves his hand.

“What am I supposed to do, offer to spank her? Geez, she’s always climbing me like a tree after I take her out.”

“A short tree,” Henry quips. Tommy slaps the drink out of the younger man’s hand, and slaps him in the face too.

“I’ll shoot your fucking kneecaps off so you can join me, how ‘bout that wise guy?”

“Ouch, fuck Tommy...” Henry laughs, “I’m just breakin’ your balls!”

“Hey. He’s just breaking your balls,” Jimmy says.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you both. Anyways. I don’t know what to do.”

“Give her a call, see what she says,” Jimmy tells him.

“What, do you think I’m fuckin’ stupid? She’s not gonna answer if she’s pissed.”

“Have you tried?” Henry asks.

Tommy crosses his arms.

---

“I don’t know what you see in that guy,” your childhood best friend says. You and Joni had been sharing a house for a few years now, and though you loved her dearly, she had a tendency to stick her nose into your business.

“I love him,” you say simply. She rolls the paint roller you two are painting your living room with as she gets ready for the base coat. Hair tied up in a knotted bandana, you’re painting tiny details over the base coat, little purple flowers over the cream.

“I don’t know, (y/n). He runs with the wrong circle, I seen him before, you know he—”

“I’m well aware of what he does.”

“You wanna be one of those wives?” She makes a face. “All pearls, diamond necklaces and tight dresses while their men go out and shoot each other?”

“So what if I do?” you ask playfully, dipping the paintbrush again. Joni just puts up her hands, smiling.

“No skin off my nose! I just worry about you, is all.”

“And I worry about you,” you tease, “You’re dating a banker who has sex on a schedule. What could be more boring than that?” The two of you burst into giggles, and you start to think of Tommy. It hadn’t been ideal, leaving the last date on the note you had, but you wanted Tommy to learn a lesson. Sometimes, it was more fun to wait.

Your rotary phone rings.

“I’ll get it,” you say, setting your paintbrush down and wiping your hands. Lifting up the receiver, you see who it is. “Hello?”

“Baby, it’s me.” You smile. You knew he’d call.

“Hey Tommy,” you say, twirling the chord. Your friend makes a face.

“You’re probably his one phone call from jail,” she hisses.

“What’s that frump saying about me now?”

“Hm? Oh, she just says hi.” You grin.

“Listen, (y/n). I, uhh... just wanted to check up on you after the other night. I hope I didn’t upset you. You’re my girl, you know.”

You keep the charade going-- he’d thank you eventually. “Oh, I know, Tommy. Things are fine. I’m just...”

“...What?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Nah, wanna discuss it over drinks? Milkshakes even. Hm? Lemme buy you a cute little milkshake, alright?”

“I’m painting the house,” you tell him. “Sorry, baby.”

“Aww...” He’s quiet for a minute. “You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yeah, Tommy. I gotta go, okay?”

He sighs. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Love you.”

“Sure. Love you too.”

---

Back in the bar, Tommy feels like hitting his head against the wall.

“I just don’t know what to do! I don’t know what I did wrong! She’s talkin’ to me all weird, I can’t understand it. Maybe it’s another guy. If it’s another guy, I’ll shatter his skull.”

“It’s not another guy,” Henry mutters.

“How the fuck do you know?”

“Cause (y/n) is loyal to a fault! The way she looks at you? That’s not a woman who throws her pussy around when you’re not looking. She adores you, Tommy.”

“A keeper,” Jimmy nods. Tommy sighs, taking some comfort in this.

“Yeah.”

“Flowers,” Jimmy suggests.

“Flowers?”

“Yeah. Go to her house, tell her you’re sorry, and give her some nice-smelling flowers. She’ll be in your pants in minutes.”

“Yeah...” Tommy nods, “Yeah, alright.”

---

Sherry baby

(Sherry baby)

Sherry, can you come out tonight?

(Come, come, come out tonight)

The doorbell goes. You look up from your book, turn your small radio down, and frown. Was Joni home from a night on the town this early? Sighing, you bookmark your page. It had been nice to have the house to yourself while it lasted. It was an opportunity to walk around the place half naked in the little lilac nightgown Tommy had bought you. That got you imagining what it’ll be like one day to live with Tommy, in some mansion somewhere. Joni complained about the danger of it all, but you’re sure she wouldn’t turn down a life of spontaneity like that if she had the choice.

You grin to yourself as you put on a housecoat, and walk over to the door. You open it.

“Tommy,” you say. It’s a little surprising to see your love standing there like this on your porch at 10 pm.

“Hey, baby.” He gives you a lopsided smile, and hands you some flowers. You blush, and let him in.

“Aw, look! They match the painting I’ve done on the walls. You’re sweet, you shouldn’t have.” You set them on the table, making a mental note to get a vase later.

“Nah, nah. You deserve ‘em. I wanted you to know how special you are to me... how much I don’t wanna lose you.”

You bite your lip. “Yeah?” You let one shoulder of the housecoat slide down your arm. His eyes gravitate down.

“What’ve you got on under there, baby?” He starts to smile, that lascivious grin. “Huh? What’s that?”

“Look familiar? Recognize it?” you tease, letting the rest of the housecoat drop. He shakes his head, whistling.

“Oh. God, (y/n), what you do to me.”

“Tell me?”

“Well, I—” He hesitates, looking around. “Wait. Hold the fuck on. Just, just wait. What the fuck is this?” You pout.

“What?”

“You haven’t gone out with me in a week, you act like there’s somethin’ wrong between us, and when I show up one night unannounced, you just drop your panties for me?”

“Made you want me, didn’t it?” you breathe, ghosting your lips up his neck. He scoffs, shaking his head.

“Fucking tease. I chose a real she-devil.” He moans softly as your hand comes up to cup him through his pants, and he reaches back to lock the front door.

“Joni doesn’t have a key...” you whisper.

“Good,” he groans, and takes you over to the couch. He lays you down on top of it, starts to slide the straps of your nightgown down. “Look at my pretty girl... real pretty. You know how much I love seein’ you like this?”

“Tell me,” you moan, opening your legs to him. He gets overtop of you.

“Love it a whole lot. I think about it all the time.”

“Yeah?” you ask, bringing his hand to your feel your panties, “You think about this pussy?”

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, and you can see him shift gears from the sweet man waiting at your doorstep with flowers to his real personality—salacious and dangerous. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re gonna feel it next week. So fucking beautiful.”

“Tell me again, Tommy...”

“You’re so beautiful, fuck, you’re mine. Wanna be inside you.”

“Do it,” you gasp, and you shimmy his pants down. A gun falls out onto the floor.

“Oops.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy!”

“I said ‘oops’! What do you want from me, it goes where I go.”

“It’s okay,” you say, biting your lip. “It turns me on.” He starts to grin as he sits back on his heels.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” He moves your panties aside to see. You stop him, thinking of something. “Condoms?”

He groans. “Aw. Seriously? Really, this late in the game?”

“We don’t want kids.”

“I wouldn’t mind one or two running around. Get a babysitter, you know, while we go throwing cash around town, the meanest couple this side of Brooklyn, nobody’d fuck with us baby, and we’d raise a couple of real gems—”

“I still have a lot more partying to do before any of that happens,” you say, and order him off of you. “Go find them, they’re in the bedroom.” Tommy mutters to himself, cursing the whole way there and back, but does as he’s told. When he comes back out of the bedroom, he sees your fingers rubbing slow circles around your clit. Licking his lips, he gets back overtop of you, and you help him fit the condom on.

“I need you,” you moan, and he buries himself inside you, groaning as you take every inch. He grunts, picking up his pace to a rough pound as he takes what he needs.

“You’re so good... so fucking perfect, baby,” he growls, and reaches up to slowly massage your breasts as he fucks you. As he rocks his hips in and out, you arch your back, grinding up into his thrusts.

“You know what my friend would do if she knew we were fucking on this couch? This is her grandma’s antique couch.”

“Fuck the couch, and fuck her grandma,” Tommy breathes. You laugh, cutting off into a moan as he hits that perfect spot inside of you.

“Oh god, don’t stop,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he grunts, “Yeah, yeah. That’s fucking right. That’s what I’m talking about. You love taking that, don’t you?”

“Yeah—”

“Say my name. Come on, say it.”

“Tommy... Tommy, Tommy...” Your orgasm begins to build.

“Say it,” he leans down to mark your neck, “ Who’s fucking you good?”

“You are, oh god Tommy, I’m—” He groans, and you feel his body tense up on top of you. The feeling of him pounding you through his climax pushes you over the edge as well, and you both thrust and grind together until the bliss wanes.

“Did I mention I love you?” Tommy murmurs, from where his face is buried in your chest. You gently remove his hand from between your legs. You lift his face up, and kiss him messily.

“You could keep saying it all night and I wouldn’t mind. Felt good to wait, didn’t it?”

---

You sit at the bar with Tommy, necking. You’ve got a new necklace on, one he’s been eyeing for you for a while.

“(y/n),” Jimmy says, and Henry gives you a hug as they take stools beside you two.

“Where you two been?” Tommy asks, wiping the lipstick off his face and ordering a round of drinks.

“Out taking care of a job,” Jimmy says, popping the button on his jacket and looking around.

“Without me?” Tommy asks, opening his arms.

“You were busy,” Henry shrugs, smirking at you. You smile, rubbing a hand over your boyfriend’s shoulder and down his chest.

“I’d say we both were.”

“Oh, did you like the flowers?” Jimmy asks, smiling. He touches his chest. “My idea.”

Tommy’s face scrunches up, and Henry has to hold him back so he doesn’t kill his best friend. While your boyfriend is doing what he does best—starting fights-- Henry lets him go and turns to you conspiratorially.

“So uh, (y/n), babe... what does it really mean when a lady says she’s got a headache?”

[arcticfox007]

The Yeti, the Witch, and the Angel

Hi everyone - this is a continuation from days 2&3 which you can find under the same series as this one on AO3.

It will continue with Day 5. I had a great time writing this, it has more action than ther previous ones. Some fluff, some angst, general audiences.

I’m happy to add and/or remove people from my tag list, notes/comments/kudos on AO3 are all appreciated and I’m always open to feedback!

Destiel December 2020

Day 4: Sledding

Sam and Dean were running for their lives – again. Dean noted, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was much more difficult to accomplish this in knee-high snow. Unfortunately, the Yeti, yes, an actual goddamn Yeti because their lives weren’t bizarre enough, anyway - the Yeti was much better at running through the deep snow. They were hoping to make it to the abandoned park station up ahead, maybe they could barricade themselves against the creature long enough to figure out a plan.

“Dean, c’mon already!” Sam had less trouble in the snow with his stupid giraffe legs. Dean had resorted to running by basically leaping as far as he could to try and stay above the wintery fluff trying to get him killed. Thankfully, the station was now in sight.

The brothers managed to make it before the snow monster had caught up with them. The station was right by a rather steep hill and was surrounded by trees on most sides. Dean quickly accessed the area as Sam reloaded his handgun. Dean started to push the bookshelf over to help block the door.

“I don’t think that’s gonna kill it man. We’ve already unloaded two clips into that thing, just made it madder.” Dean looked around for anything else to barricade the door but there wasn’t a whole lot in here and he doubted the Yeti would be slowed down by much.

“Do you have a better idea?” Dean was about to snap back sarcastically at his brother when his eyes fell on the massive trash and recycling bins that must have been pulled aside when the station was shut down for the worst of winter.

“Well, no, but I do have a crazier idea.”

Dean knocked over one of the bins and started working the lid off of the top. “Come help already!” Sam and Dean together popped off one of the massive plastic lids just as the door shook with the Yeti’s weight. The thing screeched in rage and pounded harder.

“Shit Dean, what good will these do against that thing??”

“Just shut up and get the other one!” The second lid was wrenched off and Dean shoved it into Sam’s arms. He took a second to reload his gun which made him feel slightly better, even if the bullets hadn’t phased the monster. Then Dean picked up the other lid in his free hand. When he glanced over at Sam, his overly tall brother was looking at Dean like maybe he had finally lost it for real. Dean just shoved Sam towards the back of the building.

The Yeti screeched again and Dean thought that maybe it was part banshee. He was starting to wonder if his ears would ever work properly again. Dean threw open the back door just as he heard the front one start to shatter. The sight of its prey escaping seemed to give the Yeti a burst of energy and Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of the door and walls being ripped away as if they were nothing more than paper.

“Dean! We could use that plan anytime now!” Dean ran out the back door pulling Sam with him towards the hill. It was steeper than he remembered but he only hesitated for an instant. He threw the lid on the ground in front of him.

“This is the plan Sammy, we’re going sledding!” Sam’s jaw dropped.

“What kind of plan is – shit!” They both turned to see the Yeti barreling towards them and Sam stopped arguing about Dean’s questionable plan as they both turned to throw themselves down the tree speckled drop off. Sam started yelling something about Dean’s plan being terrible as Dean just tried to steer the trash bin lid enough to avoid the trees, which was getting harder as he picked up speed.

“Fuck!” This was a terrible plan; the service road was coming up on them fast as Dean spotted a car turning the corner. He wasn’t sure if crashing into a tree, getting mauled by a Yeti, or hit by an incoming car was a better way to go out. Meanwhile the Yeti was still chasing them.

“Dean, it’s right behind you!” Impulsively, Dean spun his lid around so he was now speeding down towards the road backwards. Hoping he didn’t hit a tree he managed to pull his gun out and shoot at the rampaging monster. Not that he managed to hit it more than once.

“Crap, crap, crap!” Before Dean had time to spin back around, he felt as if the bottom of the lid dropped from under him as he heard it crunch on gravel. With the last vestiges of his adrenaline he managed to throw himself off of the lid and roll – right into the Yeti. Dean only had a moment to stare up into the face of the vicious spitting creature before hearing a pop-pop noise and then the hairy snarling thing tipped over. Onto Dean. Dean felt his head crack on the ground. “Ermph!”

“Sorry, Dean.” Dean gasped for air as his guardian angel rolled the creature off of him. Dean looked up at Cas still trying to catch his breath, and damn, if he wasn’t the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. Cas crouched down and briefly checked Dean over for injuries. When he seemed satisfied that there was nothing immediately wrong with the hunter, he glowered at him. Dean had no idea what he had done to piss Cass off, but honestly even his glower was fucking beautiful. Dean continued to stare at Cas but the angel turned to look in the other direction.

“Are you alright Sam?” Dean heard his brother let out a high-pitched laugh that was just shy of sounding manic.

“Yeah, Cas, I’ll survive. Is Dean okay? What did you shoot the Yeti with?” Dean could see Cas’ mouth turn down into a frown. So pretty, Dean just wanted to touch his face.

“Dean will be fine, but there are no such things as Yetis, Sam. It was a witch that transformed itself, I used the witch killing bullets.” Dean heard Sam’s boots in the snow as he approached them but Dean stayed on the ground staring at Cas as he reached his hand up and started pushing his fingers into Cas’ face. Cas swung his attention back to Dean as the older Winchester started pinching Cas’ cheek between his fingers.

“Dean. What are you doing?” Dean smiled hazily at the angel.

“You’re so pretty Cas. I just want to squish your face.” Dean let out a breathy giggle. Cas gazed more closely at Dean. All of a sudden Dean could see Sam as his younger brother came to stand by Cas.

“Did you hit your head Dean?” Cas’ voice was so gravelly and sexy. He tried to move Cas’ chin to make him say more. Cas just caught Dean’s arm and looked up at Sam. “I think he has a concussion, give me a moment.” Sam nodded and went to check out the Yeti. Meanwhile Dean was enraptured by Cas’ eyes, they were just so blue.

“Blue is my favorite color Cas. Blue, blue, blue.” Cas ignored Dean in favor of pushing his grace into Dean’s bruised head. Dean felt warm and a soothing feeling spread through him. He sighed and then felt the world snap back into place. Cas continued to cradle Dean’s head making sure there wasn’t any other injury he needed to heal. Dean just lay still until Cas looked into his eyes. He was vividly aware of Cas holding his face with one hand and his forearm with the other.

“Better?”

“Yeah Cas, thanks. Um, could you help me up?” Cas raised an eyebrow, and all Dean could think of was how hot that was. Crap, maybe he still had a concussion? No, his head was fine, he’d known for a while now that he was attracted to him best friend, he was just usually better at shoving those feelings down. While Dean was struggling with his thoughts Cas had stood up and pulled Dean up with him. Dean staggered for a moment and Cas helped steady him. As soon as Dean seemed stable on his own two feet Cas resumed scowling at him.

“What?”

“What? What? You just text me to say you and Sam found the trail of a YETI, and then refuse to answer your phone? What if I couldn’t find you in time? What if I hadn’t already figured out it was a witch? I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU IT WAS A WITCH IF YOU HAD ANSWERED YOUR PHONE. Instead I make it just in time to see the two of you throwing yourself off of a mountain!” Dean was all ready to get angry and defensive but found himself defusing as the whole “it was just a witch” thing sunk in. Crap. Cas seemed to have run out of words and was now just glowering intensely at him.

“Uh – sorry? My bad man.” If possible, this seemed to make Cas even madder. He turned his back on Dean and went over to Sam and the Yeti corpse. Dean just stood there for a moment feeling like an idiot. Then he headed over to help the two of them get rid of the body.

***

Later that night Castiel was still unhappy with Dean and had left them at the motel to return the car he had borrowed when he had frantically scrambled to get to Dean and Sam in time. He mumbled something about the Impala not having snow tires and that they were lucky the local deputy was generous. Dean hoped Cas would cool off while he was out, Dean hated feeling like he was in the dog house which he mistakenly mentioned to his brother.

“He’ll calm down. You could try a more sincere apology though.” Little brothers were obnoxious, especially when they were right, thought Dean. He frowned at Sam but couldn’t keep it up as he sat on one of the beds with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, okay. I’m not great at apologies, but he’s right, I should have answered the phone. I was just so caught up tracking the Yeti-witch thing, I dunno, I just didn’t think.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“So, tell him that.” Dean nodded and stared at his feet, thinking. Sam must have assumed the conversation was over because by the time Dean looked up, he was absorbed in his laptop.

“Sammy. I need to do better than that. Cas, well, he’s important. He’s my best friend and I feel like I always, um, take him for granted or something. I want to do something really great for him for our Christmas present thing. But I ain’t got a single damn idea of what.” Sam turned back towards Dean and smiled at him.

“I think that’s a great idea Dean. You can’t think of anything? I mean, I’ve had a hard time thinking of something too, but I don’t have as much to apologize for.” Sam smirked and Dean was already regretting asking his brother for help.

“No. I mean I know some things he likes – like bees.” Sam snorted. “But I want to show him that I really do, er, value his friendship, y’know?” Dean was skirting around the idea that he wanted to show Cas that he valued him, just his presence in his life. Who was he kidding? He wanted to show Cas he was loved, but without actually saying it. Dean wasn’t even sure angels could be in love. There was a reason Dean kept his feelings buried, and it wasn’t just because he couldn’t imagine an angel, an actual freaking angel, loving someone like him. Sam just looked thoughtful.

“You know, that reminds me of something Mom told me.” Sam watched his brother carefully, but Dean had seemed calmer about Mom leaving since Cas had come back. “She told me she asked Cas how long it had taken him to feel like he belonged here – I guess because technically, she and Cas both had to experience adjusting to Earth after being in Heaven. Anyway, Cas told mom he still wasn’t sure he belonged. She said he seemed, uh, sad about it. Lost.” Dean felt like he had been stabbed through the heart. Cas felt like he didn’t belong?

“Why… why would he say that? He’s always chosen us over Heaven, chosen humans.” Dean started to internally panic at the idea of Cas deciding to leave one day.

“No Dean, he’s chosen you over Heaven.” Sam wasn’t right, was he? Dean felt a massive headache starting, he was drowning in thoughts. “Dean. Pay attention.” Dean’s head snapped back up and looked at Sam.

“What do I do Sam?” Sam looked at Dean, the exasperation clear on his face.

“You need to do something to show him he belongs here Dean.” Sam said this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And of course, it was. Dean’s head partially cleared and he started thinking, thinking back to when Cas was the happiest, when he seemed to fit in here on Earth the most, and then Dean knew what present to get his goddamn angel on Earth.

“Sam, I know what I’m going to do for him.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Well that’s good, Dean, because you only have eight days left until Christmas.”

***

@jellydeans, @galaxycastiel, @nguyenxtrang, @my-favourite-hellatus

[whumpywhumper]

TW: Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt

Summary: Buck wasn't immediately re-instated following Rage. The impact is life threatening.

Whumptober 2020: Day 12--I Think I've Broken Something Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

@whumptober2020

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org

V***V

Buck took another swig from the rum bottle before answering Eddie’s call on the fourth ring. If he’d been thinking clearly, he wouldn’t have answered it, but, at this point, denying himself any contact with his best friend was just something he couldn’t make himself do. 

“‘Lo?” he answered, voice low enough that he hoped the slur was imperceptible. 

It’s been a week since he last heard Eddie’s voice in the grocery store, the echo of you’re exhausting running through his head again and again. Bobby had called him that evening, let him know that the Chief was in negotiations to get him reinstated, that they hadn’t wanted the headache of a lawsuit. 

Because that’s all he was: a headache. 

“Buck? Do you have a minute?” 

“Sure, Eds,” he answered, working to enunciate past the numbness in his lips, “you ‘kay?” 

“Look, um, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day about. . . about Chris, and Abuela told me he’s been asking to talk to you all night before bed,” Eddie blew out an exasperated breath, and Buck could imagine the way the older man rubbed the back of his neck, thick eyebrows drawn together. “I know it would mean a lot for him to talk to you. . .” 

Buck’s lips wobbled as he thought of Chris, that precious little ball of sunshine that he’d lost in the water. His breath hitched, and he took another slug of rum, trying to dull the pain in his chest. He grabbed another tiny, yellow tablet from the coffee table, sticking it under his tongue as he looked out the dark loft windows. 

“—Buck? Buck?!” 

“Hmm?” Buck returned his attention to Eddie. He didn’t even know he’d stopped paying attention. “Sorry, ‘m s’ry, Ed’s, what?” 

“I just asked if you wanted to talk to Christopher,” his tone was incredulous, “hell man, I’m taking a huge step here trusting you to talk to my son. Do you really not care?” 

Buck’s face screwed up at the anger in Eddie’s voice, trying to keep the hurt from entering his own. “Ah-course I care, Eds. S’just. . . It’s not r’lly a good t’me. . .” he couldn’t disguise his increasing slur, but he hoped he held back the sound of the thick sob growing in his throat, “Chris shoul’n’t talk t’me like this.” He tucked his free arm around his torso and pressed his face into his jean clad knees, trying to muffle his wet sniffle. I’m sorry, Superman, he thought, heartbroken. 

“Buck, are you drunk?!” Eddie hissed, voice lowering as it became even more disbelieving. “You’re on blood thinners, Evan, are you crazy? What happened to taking care of yourself so you could get back to the station?” 

He laughed, the sound wavering and wrong. “Dunn’t matter, Eds,” he answered, leaning back against the bottom of the couch, head tipping back for another swallow of liquor. He grabbed at the table clumsily, hearing a couple of skitters across the floor. The chalky texture of the pills was unpleasant, and his tongue worked against the inside of his mouth, washing it down with more rum. 

“What? What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Wasn’t that the whole point of the lawsuit? Wasn’t that the whole point of you not being around?” Eddie’s voice was angry, his tone taking the same razor edge it had in the grocery store when he’d had his finger in Buck’s face. 

Buck shook his head, rubbing clumsily at his eyes as they started to water, forgetting that Eddie couldn’t see him. “Nah... not really,” he mumbled, honesty forced to the surface through alcohol and drugs, “I jus’ wanted to c’me home, but ev’n Bobby d’n wan’ me back. Nobody wants me, Eds,”  he whimpered, “‘M alone.” 

Parents didn’t want him. Maddie abandoned him twice, Abby left, Ali couldn’t handle him. . .Bobby didn’t want him. 

The crew of the 118 didn’t understand why the job meant so much to him. They had families, kids, lives outside of the station. What did Buck have really? A group of people who didn’t want him, didn’t understand him. At least as a firefighter he made a difference, saved lives. Who was Evan Buckley without that? What did he have without that?

An empty apartment, and a sister who didn’t need him. He didn’t have Eddie and Chris, they weren’t his, not really. He’d ruined whatever they could have been with the lawsuit, with abandoning them, however unintentionally. Eddie would never forgive him, not after Shannon did the same thing 

All the while, playing on repeat: You’re exhausting. Suck it up. You’re exhausting. Suck it up. You’re exhausting. 

“What are you talking about, Buck? We’re pissed, but we’re a family, okay? You had a place in the 118 until the damn lawsuit, hell, from what I hear you’re getting that spot back. All you had to do was talk to us, Buck, and none of this would’ve happened.” 

That was Buck. The impulsive fuck up. Didn’t think about the consequences. 

“Would you—“ he hiccuped, rubbing a few more tears away with his damp sleeve, “—w’ld you tell Chris m’sorry? I jus’ couldn’t keep swimmin’, ‘kay? He’s such an awesome kid, s’not his fault I’m fucked up.” 

“What? Buck, you’re not making any sense.”

“Might be the pills,” he mumbled, “makin’ errything fuzzy.” 

“Pills?!” Eddie gasped liked he’d been sucker punched, “Buck, what?”  

“Jusss dinn’t wanna hurt anymore, Eds,” he tried to explain, “feels like my chest’s always ‘bout to implode. M’heart’s bein’ crushed,” he snorted indelicately, “s’worse than my leg. Hurts. M’so tired a’hurtin’, Eds.” 

“Oh, Buck, cariño mio,” it sounded like Eddie was about to cry, “do you know how many you took?” He thought he heard a feminine voice in the background, thick with concern. “Me tengo que ir, Abuela, te lo explicare mas tarde. Call 9-1-1 to Buck’s. Now.” There was the sound of a door slamming, and Eddie breathing hard into the phone. 

“Don’ call 9-1-1, Eds,” he slurred, “m’fine, don’ wanna bother Maddie.” 

“You’re not fine,” Eddie snapped, “do you know how many you took? What did you take?”

“Don’ be mad,” he started crying softly, “can’t stand when you’re mad a’me. M’sorry I lost Chris, m’so sorry.” 

“Buck,” Eddie took a deep breath, his tone softening, ”Chris is home safe, I told you I don’t blame you for that. Cariño, I need to know what you took, how much did you take?” 

“I dunno,” he mumbled, “had ‘lot from my sug’ry dinn’t use. Tried t’get better faster. Dinn’t work,” he sniffled, swallowing thickly, voice shaking, “cause m’not good enough.” 

“Buck, Evan,” there was a car door slamming in the background, an engine revving, “you’re good, so good, nothing’s been the same without you, cariño, please.”

“You don’ want me, Eds,” Buck slurred, biting his lip as his heart gave a viscous squeeze. It didn’t matter than Buck had wanted Eddie since he’d seen him in that locker room for the first time, had fallen in love with him and his son after seeing them after that earthquake. Eddie didn’t, could never, want Buck back. Couldn’t love Buck the same way he loved him, with everything, every ounce of himself. He hiccuped back a sob as he took another slug of rum, another pill to chase away the pain, head lolling on the couch cushions, “Bosko already replaced me anyway. . .s’better.” 

Bosko would take care of Eddie. It’s not like Buck had done a very good job of having Eddie’s back. 

“Bosko?! What—How?!” Eddie couldn’t seem to settle on a question, an inarticulate noise of bewilderment trailing his quick breaths. “Talk to me, cariño, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

“The truck, the embolism, the tsu—tsunami. . .“ he blinked slowly, taking a shallow breath and sighing it out over the phone, lips wobbling as he sniffled back a whine, “M’be the w’rld’s tryin’ t’tell me somethin’, ya know?”

“Buck, Evan, what are you saying?” The other man’s voice was shattered, and it broke Buck’s heart, destroying the last dam holding back his tears. 

“‘M jus’ so tired, Eds,” he sobbed, letting the tears stream down his cheeks. “I know ‘m exhausting,” he said, quoting Eddie’s words that had burned their way into his brain, “but ‘m jus’ so tired. M’sorry, I can’t. . .can’t do it anymore.” The lump in his throat became too thick to force words past, and he sobbed harder, head swimming. 

Everything was becoming heavier, breaths shallower as his eyelids slid closed. The rum bottle tipped to the side, clinking against the floor as a dribble of liquid splashed out onto his limp hand. He didn’t remember the last time he’d slept without nightmares, without being crushed by a ladder truck, being swept away by the water, without losing Chris. Seeing the blame in Eddie’s eyes for losing his son. 

Couldn’t he just sleep?

“—uck! Evan?! Don’t you dare go to sleep! I’m almost there, please, cariño mio, por favor.”

Had he said that stuff out loud? He hadn’t meant to, but he couldn’t find the energy to apologize as the phone slipped from his hand. Eddie’s voice became even more muffled until even that went away. 

[tisfan]

Hey, are you still doing those prompts? If yes, would you write some IronFalcon - or even some WinterIronFalcon? (which huii ~ *fans myself*) With either 21. "Are you being sarcastic?" "Me? Sarcastic? Never." Or 82. "What a load of bullshit." Please and thank you! :D (If you don't do them anymore; whoops my bad :P)

Title: Welcome to the Club Collaborator(s) Tisfan Link https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235783 Square Filled Y4: Collateral Damage StarkBucks Bingo: B1: walking disaster Ship/Main Pairing Bucky/Sam Bucky/Sam/Tony Rating general Major Tags/Triggers/Warnings some homophobic language, homophobic parents, Howard Stark’s A+ parenting, pre-slash, possible threesome much much later Summary Bucky’s getting some use out of his terrible Christmas Present. Unfortunately, Tony gets in the way. Word Count 1580

For @buckybarnesbingo @starkbucksbingo and @justsomeoneunordinary

Tony took the empty cardboard boxes, neatly broken down as requested by the big sign in front of the dumpers, down the stairs. Moving in the day after Christmas had been rough, and he was glad he didn’t have a lot of stuff to take with him. (Howard had practically growled the whole time he was packing, making sure he didn’t take anything valuable with him to sell on the other side.) 

The smallest rental van he could afford and a few trips, and he was now the proud renter of a shitty apartment with almost no furniture, some crappy dishes, his clothes, and Dum-E taking up space.

On the plus side, he’d discovered that his mom had slipped a couple thousand dollars into one of the moving boxes before he left, so he had a little less precarious problems than he had before he’d unpacked it.

Tony about jumped out of his skin when the dumpster next to him exploded. Debris rained down on him, sharp and stinging.

He hit the ground, scraping the denim out at the knee, and erasing some of the skin underneath. “Son of a bitch,” he yelled, covering his head.

The moment of sheer panic subsided and he realized what he’d thought was a bomb or gunfire was, in fact, the shattered remains of a plate.

He stared around, until finally he looked up to discover two men standing on a balcony overlooking the trashcan. One of them had his hand over his mouth and looked aghast. The other was laughing like a loon, pointing at the first one.

“Shit, man, you okay?”

Tony climbed to his feet, hissing as his knee stung. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Sam’s chuckin’ china,” the other man said, still giggling. “Sorry, you’re just collateral damage.”

Tony looked down at his ruined jeans. “Yeah, great,” he said. “Fantastic. Terrific.” He limped a few steps back toward his apartment, the cut dripping blood down his calf and into his sock. Shit. He didn’t even think he owned a first aid kit.

“Seriously, man, you okay?” Sam was practically leaning off the balcony, and while it wasn’t that high up, falling three stories onto a cement sidewalk wasn’t going to be good for anyone.

“Scraped my knee,” Tony reported. 

“You missed, you asshole, you missed,” the other guy said.

“Hang on a minute,” Sam yelled, then smacked the other guy who was still laughing. “Shut up, you walking disaster.”

Both of them vanished into their apartment. Tony waited for a moment, then decided he didn’t really need someone taking pictures and for it to end up in one of those cheap supermarket magazines. It wouldn’t take long for Howard to figure out that Tony hadn’t even made it one day before something stupid happened.

He got all the way to the stairs before his leg decided enough of this shit. Fuck. Well, maybe he could just rest a bit, and--

“Wait, no, don’t sit down, we’re comin’,” the laughing guy said. 

Don’t sit down, what was he, crazy. “Don’t sit down,” Tony grumbled, “what are you, crazy?”

“Don’t you mind him,” Sam said. “Look, if it’s okay, we goan carry you upstairs and see to that knee of yours. You can trust me, I’m an EMT.”

“Don’t look at me,” the other guy said, “I just drive the ambulance.” The other guy was hard not to look at, honestly. Grey-blue eyes and a jaw you could rest a shot glass on. Man, Tony would like to do shots off that jaw, honestly. He decided that not getting punched in the face was the better part of valor, however, and didn’t say so. 

“You guys--”

“Work for the local hospital, yeah. I’m Sam Wilson, this is my partner, Bucky Barnes.” Sam offered a hand to shake.

“And you’re going to carry me upstairs,” Tony continued. “Are you sure you didn’t hit me in the head?”

“Yep,” Bucky said. He and Sam did something, and suddenly their hands were aligned in such a way, with one of them gripping the other’s forearms, that made a little basket of their arms. Something to sit on. Huh. Tony was impressed. Sure, why not.

“If you all drop me down the stairs, I will sue,” Tony said.

“I ain’t drop nobody yet,” Bucky said. “That’s Steve.” And at Tony’s blank look, he added, “another guy on our crew. But me and Sam are the same height, so we can do this.”

“Huh. Okay.”

Gingerly, Tony sat down on the little seat-frame they made.

“One, two--” Sam said, and suddenly Tony was being carried like he was the damn Prom King or something, and they went up the stairs with alacrity. Two flights and Tony might have been breathing hard, but these guys weren’t even breaking a sweat. 

“Uh, don’t you even want to know what floor I’m on?”

“Nope, you’re coming to our place,” Sam said. “My kit’s there.”

“Am I being kidnapped for my kidney, this sounds like it might be--”

“Oh shut up,” Sam said, “an’ open the door. It’s unlocked.”

“All right, here, on the sofa, and--”

“Drop your britches,” Sam said.

“This is sounding more and more like a kidnapping at every turn,” Tony said, but he did what Sam said, because there was, in fact, an EMT kit right there on the coffee table. And also, treating a scraped knee was going to take either getting the pants off, or cutting them open. And Tony didn’t have that many pairs of pants, really. He could get one of those iron on patches, and whine at Pepper, maybe, until she fixed them. Although she would probably just look up some videos on YouTube for him and tell him to stop assuming she knew how to cook or sew just because she was a woman. Maybe he wouldn’t ask her.

See, Pepper, I can be taught.

Sitting in his boxers on someone else’s sofa that he didn’t even know was super weird.

“This is super weird, guys,” Tony said.

“No, no, the guy we had to triage about fifty feet down a drainpipe, that was weird.”

“I dunno, I liked the lady who got stuck to the inflow pipe of her swimming pool. That was fun.”

The two of them traded stories back and forth, Tony listening with rapt attention, as Sam cleaned out Tony’s knee.

“Here, you got some gravel in it,” Sam said. He pulled out a pair of extra long tweezers and a kidney shaped metal dish, plucking the rocks and debris from Tony’s wound with an expert hand. The gravel made little plink noises as it hit the dish.

“Little bit of bacitracin and some topical numbing agent--”

“Like the stuff in solarcaine,” Bucky added helpfully.

“--and a bit of spray on skin, to seal it up. Wearing a bandaid on your knee is all but pointless,” Sam said.

“Huh.” Tony looked down, then put his pants back on. It still hurt, but it wasn’t bleeding. So, you know, that was good. “So, uh, why were you throwing dishes off the balcony?”

“So, Bucky and me, we’re partners, right?” Sam said. “And--”

“My father doesn’t approve, which you know, whatever, screw him anyway,” Bucky said. “Although I can’t figure out if the problem is, I am gay, or that Sam is black.”

“Usually with that type, it’s both,” Tony said. 

“But he’s been trying to-- I don’t know, get fuckin’ brownie points with me by pretending everything’s still cool,” Bucky said. “It’s stupid, but I reckon he don’t want to end up being old and my bein’ the person who gets to pick his nursin’ home or something. Or he doesn’t want people to ask the wrong sorts of questions.”

“Bucky’s a hero,” Sam said. “It was in the papers and everything. So people do ask about his son.”

“So, he sent me this fuckin’ Christmas present, right?”

“Dishes?”

“Yeah, like, not even ones you can eat off, but those bullshit things you put on the wall,” Bucky said. 

“Bradford Exchange,” Tony asked, because Rhodey had gotten big into those for a while, buying plates with Star Trek ships on them, and the like. He had a whole collection of them.

“An’ like, not even nice ones of those. Crappy ones. With bible verses on them. That you get from like, the Dollar Store.”

“Which would still be okay, spirit of Christmas, maybe,” Sam said. “Except he regifted them. Someone at his office gave them to him, and he left the receipt in the box. Probably not on purpose--”

“With George, it’s not like you can tell whether he’s bein’ a jackass or not,” Bucky complained. “What a load of bullshit.”

Tony recognized that tone of voice, too. That was the tone of a man who still cared, and was mad at himself that he did. Wanting Dad’s approval and hating himself that he wanted it. And still not getting it.

“So, this happy asshole here,” Sam said, “was trying to see if he could hit the dumpster from the balcony. Which is how you ended up involved.”

“Hey, I got two of them in, which ain’t half bad. You’re the one who missed by a mile.”

“My dad kicked me out three days ago, because he caught me in my room with a boy,” Tony said. “So-- can I join your club?”

Sam and Bucky looked at each other, then grinned. “We’ve even got jackets.”

[unforth]

May Trope Mayhem Fill Day 13: First Kiss

Fandom: Star Wars Eps 7 - 9

Ship: Finn/Poe Dameron

Rating: Gen

Tags: Post canon, fluff with a splash of angstful pining, love confessions, first kiss

Words: 1,987

First time in like a week one of these fills was short enough that I felt it was appropriate to post the whole thing to Tumblr. Also, first time since the event started that I didn’t write either Chinese or Japanese fandom. :D Here, have some Stormpilot.

Xposted to AO3

@duckprintspress​

Rolling onto his side, Finn swung a hand behind himself to catch his balance before he could tumble off the edge of the narrow X Wing nose (was it even called a nose? Finn wasn’t sure, and wasn’t in the mood for the good-natured ribbing he’d sustain if he asked). Poe lay beside him, so close that their sides had been pressed together before Finn moved; he made holding his position look effortless, as effortless as he made flying look, as effortless as he made rebelling look, as effortless as he made smiling look. Lips spread in a relaxed grin, Poe stared up at the night sky over D’Qar, reflected stars sparkling in the depths of his dark eyes. A breeze tousled brown locks over his face and shifted the folds of his loose shirt.

He’s gorgeous.

Am I allowed to think that? I wish I knew. I wish I could ask. And...maybe I can...I wish I knew why I feel like I can’t…

...don’t be an idiot, FN-21-- Finn. I feel I can’t because I’m scared of what’ll happen if I say something I shouldn’t.

I can’t risk losing what we have now.

So - let’s keep things safe, instead.

“What happens now?” Finn asked. Even speaking barely above a whisper, Finn’s voice sounded loud in his ears in the forest night. Insects chirped, branches creaked, leaves rustled, something called low and eerie from the darkness, and Poe’s breathing ebbed and flowed in sof rushes of air. Speaking seemed to shatter something, and Finn wished he hadn’t, but Poe didn’t react as though he’d done anything wrong; he wiggled onto his side, slid an arm under himself, set his elbow on the hard metal of the X Wing and propped his head up on the hand, and directed toward Finn the same easy look that, moments before, had stared up at the sky. One of those gusting exhales brushed over Finn’s face, warm and humid, and stole Finn’s breath away.

“What doesn’t happen now?” Poe replied avidly. “The sky’s the limit, literally. Rey’s got that whole Jedi-Sith fusion plan going on, and the politicians are doing, I dunno, the same crap they always do, and I’m still training folks at the academy...there’s sure enough to keep busy with! I guess the question is - what do you want to happen now? What do you want to do, Finn?”

(read more)

“I want to stay by your side.” The answer, the truth, slipped from Finn before he could stop it. A dash of panic set his heart to racing - what if Poe misunderstood what he meant? What if Poe understood what he meant? - and he continued in a rush, “You know. Rehabilitating the former Storm Troopers. Helping them integrate. Retraining the ones who want it. All that kind of…” Searching for the right words, he raised an arm and waved vaguely at the ait; tiny bugs flitted away as though he movement threatened them; it didn’t - the only threat was to his own precarious perch, and he caught himself with a foot thrown behind himself and a boot stomped hard against the angled side of the ship. “...stuff like that.”

“Awesome stuff like that, yeah.” Poe’s eagerness was spectacular, his implicit support calming. “But honestly? Not exactly what I meant.”

“No?”

Poe shook his head; even that didn’t damage his positioning. Truly, the man was a wonder in everything he did.

But he didn’t answer.

“Something wrong?” Finn asked leadingly, nervously.

“No...and yes,” Poe sighed, slumping onto his back and pressing his palms into his eyes. “Fuck, I’m bad at this.”

“Bad at what?”

“Usually, it’s so easy.”

“What’s easy?”

“I just...go to the person, say how I feel and what I’d like to do, they go, ‘cool, yeah, let’s do that!’ or ‘I’d rather not’ or, at worst, ‘ew, no, get away,’ and that’s that - it’s all good, we do what we do, we don’t do what we don’t do, and life goes on.”

“I literally couldn’t have less idea what you’re talking about.” Finn scowled, disgruntled. He knew that Poe was forward in stating his desires and approaching people he was interested in. That was part of why Finn felt so sure he wasn’t allowed to want - all that confidence had never been directed toward Finn, at least not ‘like that.’ If Poe wanted what Finn wanted, why hadn’t he just said something?

Takes one to know one, Finn - I feel how I feel, and I want what I want, but I haven’t said anything either…

“But you…” Poe directed his speech toward the fathomless sky, not sparing Finn’s interjections a reaction. “...Fuck, I don’t know. What am I even saying?”

“That’s what I’m wondering,” said Finn. “ ‘Cause it almost sounds like you’re suggesting that you’ve got feelings and...doings...that you want to say, except for whatever reason, you’re putting me in a different category than...like...everyone else?”

Please don’t...please tell me I’m just another person…

“Uh, duh?”

...or say that. Oh, that stings.

“Oh,” muttered Finn. Shifting his leg, he let gravity take him and did a controlled tumble down to the runway, landing in a squat.

“Finn?” Poe called after him. Glaring at nothing, Finn rose and stalked toward the barracks.

“Wait up!”

He knew he was being unreasonable.

“Come on, don’t be like that!”

He knew he was being unfair.

“Will you just stop?”

He knew that, if he wanted Poe to talk to him, his current behavior was guaranteed to produce the exact opposite result.

“You don’t understand!”

He knew, knew, that Poe didn’t see him as merely an ex-Stormtrooper, merely a former soldier, merely a murderer who had to learn to assume the facsimile of personhood.

“Aaargh, you’re being impossible!”

He doesn’t see me that way.

“This is exactly why I didn’t know what to say!”

I see me that way.

“I love you!” Poe’s voice, breathless and sincere, shouted out loudly enough in the night that the birds and animals went silent.

Finn froze.

Pounding footsteps raced up behind him and Poe sprinted to his side, overran by several steps, stopped huffing and puffing with his hands on his knees and his breath making foggy clouds in the chill night air before him.

“I know...I know what you’re thinking,” Poe said. “I get what you’re afraid of. And you’re not wrong.” I’m not? “I don’t see you like those people. Because you’re not those people. They could be anyone, but you’re Finn.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” asked Finn acidly. I’m sure it is. He said he loved me. He said...he really said…

“If I cared less, I could talk about it more.”

“...that sounds like something I’ve heard before…”

“Whatever, it’s from some book the General recommended, it doesn’t matter,” said Poe, waving away Finn’s words. “What matters is you. You matter too much for me to risk hurting you. You’re too important for me to take for granted. You’re too special for me to sanguinely accept that if I say the wrong thing, you’ll walk away. And then I said the wrong thing anyway, and you did walk away, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

He looks so earnest, so genuine, so beautiful, that Finn’s heart ached.

“Can I fix it?” Poe implored.

His concerns sound so similar to my own...he comes from a place of experience, and I from a place of inexperience, but the fears are the same.

“Tell me how, and I’ll do it.”

And now I know - there’s nothing for me to be afraid, because he’s told me how he feels, and I know it’s the truth.

“Because I’ve lost everyone - almost everyone - and I can’t lose you too, Finn.”

I’ve told him nothing.

“You won’t,” Finn said; a moment of shame and worry had him looking around, looking down, his toe scuffing the dirt of the path...and then he shook his head, crossed the couple steps separating them, threw his arms around Poe’s shoulders, and pulled him into a rough hug. “You never will.” A helpless noise burst from Poe and then he relaxed into the embrace, putting one arm around Finn’s waist, another around his shoulders, and holding him like he never meant to let go.

“Finn…”

“I love you, Poe,” Finn murmured, shifting his head against the side of Poe’s face, delighting in the tingle of scruff tickling against his cheek, adoring being able to whisper the truth into Poe’s ear. “Seriously.” Poe breathed a word - it might have been yes! but Finn wasn’t sure - and hugged him more tightly. “I really, really, love you.”

“Really, really?” asked Poe, voice rolling with laughter.

“Really, really.”

“Just to be abso-fricken-lutely clear, you don’t mean, like...bro-love?”

“I mean, like, I can’t remember the last time I looked at your face and didn’t imagine kissing you senseless.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s...that’s really, really.”

“Yup.”

“Awesome.” And Poe dropped an arm, leaned back, and hesitated a moment as he gazed at Finn’s face...and he lifted a hand to Finn’s face, ran calloused fingers over his cheek, and then leaned forward and brought their lips together softly, slowly, gently.

Finn had seen a lot of people kiss since he joined the Rebellion.

Finn had been kissed, and kissed others, a whole mess of time - in grief, in celebration, in relief, in greeting. So many cultures kissed casually, he’d learned to do the same.

Finn thought he knew what a kiss was.

Easing into lip-on-lip contact with Poe, Finn realized with crystal-clear, fuzzy-warm clarity, he had no idea what a kiss was.

And he was really, really looking forward to finding out.

He and Poe would have to experiment a great deal until Finn understood, profoundly, how all those other kisses were different from exchanging tender intimacies with the man he’s loved and wanted since roughly 10 Standard Minutes after they met.

Too soon, the kiss ended. There was a soft mwap as they drew apart. Finn’s lips tingled pleasantly, warmth suffusing his chest; flicking out his tongue, he moistened the skin and delighted at the flavor of Poe in his mouth.

He opened his eyes.

Poe was staring avidly at his mouth.

“That good, Finn?” he asked, voice low and throaty.

“You tell me,” Finn replied.

“How about we both work on the sharing-and-caring?”

“It was fantastic, Poe.”

“Right?! It really was!”

“Really, really!”

“Super really, really!”

“Ultra really, really.”

“Mega really, really.”

“Ice-cream-with-a-cherry-on-top really, really.”

“Where did you even learn that?” laughed Poe. “Ginormously re--”

“Question.”

“Anything, Finn.”

“Why are we talking about it when we could be doing it again?”

“...valid. Really valid.”

“Really, really valid?”

Snorting, Poe smacked a quick kiss on his lips again - Finn chased him futilely as he leaned away - and broke their embrace to take Finn’s hand.

“My bunk or yours?”

“My bunk is literally a bunk,” replied Finn.

“And mine isn’t?”

“Yeah, but yours is in a room, with a door, and no bunkmates.”

“...they haven’t given you your own room?!”

“How do you not know that?”

“You literally saved the galaxy.”

“We all literally saved the galaxy.”

“I...you...fucking damn, okay, tomorrow, we’re going to fix that.”

“And right now?”

“Right now...my bunk. Definitely my bunk. Right, Finn?”

“Really, really right, Poe.”

“Stop that,” groaned Poe, laughing again.

“Never,” promised Finn with a grin, and delighted in the matching grin he got back.

“That’s right. Never. Never stop.”

“I really, really won’t.”

“Fuck, do I love you…”

And, beaming, beyond happy, Finn allowed himself to be drawn to Poe’s room.

Had he truly been so worried about how things would go if he spoke his heart?

Now, he was really, really not worried.

And he knew - he was in for a really, really, excellent night…

...and he’d never have to really, really, worry about Poe’s heart again.

Really, really.

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Hellfire

A/n: SO this is wild I know but this is Taemin from Brimstone but reader in Hellfire is succubus!reader from Pomegranate Seeds. They have a bit of a past, you see. This serves as both Taemin’s backstory AND a sequel to Pomegranate Seeds, no I don’t know why I’m like this either.

Summary:  Even demons have a past, but Taemin didn’t expect you to show up in his present with a human boy on your heels and your horns shaved down.

Warnings: WELL OKAY HERE WE GO, edging (m. receiving), masturbation (male), needy desperate sub!JK under the effects of succubus pheromone withdrawal, bipanic!Jungkook, dom!Taemin (who is a switch but in this particular circumstance dominant), threesome (mmf), oral sex (m. receiving), talk of overstimulation and orgasm denial, reader is a real bratty sub as one would expect from a succubus, she’s living her best life being dominated by Taemin and dominating JK we stan, big angst tho idk fam 

Word Count: 4235

Taemin doesn’t think of you. At least, he tries not to, because he finds it distasteful, the way his throat aches, the way his mind goes all fuzzy...it’s unbecoming of demon royalty, having things like longing.

But he isn’t really given a choice when you pop into his chambers, cursing and stumbling.

“What the fuck, I---oh. Taemin.” 

Your voice goes flat when you say his name and he tries to pretend it doesn’t affect him.

Your hair is all mussed, face flushed, and was that....nubs of the horns you’d been growing? 

“Ah, my Persephone finally returns, yeah?” He says slowly, hoping the smile spreading across his face was a smirk and not as wistful as it felt.

When you flip your hair back over your shoulder a memory, unbidden, flashes through his mind.

“Ah...not like that, Persephone.”

“Will you stop calling me that? That’s not my fucking-” Your words were cut off when he wraps his fist in your hair, tugging hard, and a whimper leaves your mouth instead.

“You want me to let you do it wrong? Do you want to marry me after all, sweetheart? Is that why you won’t listen?” He hissed down into your ear, nipping at your earlobe when he pulls away.

You’d been bent over his chair, the one you mockingly called “his throne,” your ass in the air and him buried inside you, still, watching the line of your spine when you rocked back against him.

“Fuck you,” you bit back, and rolled your hips, this time the right way, the way he’d taught you, and he gritted his teeth to keep from moaning at the way your cunt gripped his cock.

“That’s it, Persephone,” he breathes instead. “That’s my girl.”

Taemin shakes his head to rid himself of the memory and pats his knee.

"Come and sit. Tell your betrothed all about your adventures."

You scowl at him, and he hates how it makes his heart feel light, the way you sit on the floor instead, always stubborn.

"I've been working, but ...I fucked up, Taemin. Will you...will you help me?"

You're looking up at him with those wide eyes again and he's almost angry, suddenly. He's almost angry because isn’t that all he's ever done? 

You should be in his bed, should be his wife but he'd taught you how to tease and tempt instead, taught you a trade so that your father would let you be independent.

He'd taught you how to leave him and never come back, and now you return to him smelling like humanity and gazing up at him with those big eyes of yours, asking for more help?

In the end, he leans forward in his chair and kisses the tip of your nose.

"I'll do what I can, Persephone. Tell me what you've done."

In the end, he listens even when rage is pounding in his ears at your tale, because Lee Taemin, demon prince, whether you wanted him or not, was irrevocably yours.

By the time you're done, his head is pounding.

"So let me get this straight."

You just look up at him expectantly.

"You were supposed to be corrupting an innocent."

You nod.

"And you did, but what, you just let him keep his soul?"

You nod again and Taemin takes a deep breath.

"Why?"

You scrunch up your nose and Taemin is an odd mix of smitten and infuriated.

"I dunno. I...I love him."

He isn't prepared for the pain that rockets through him at your words, and he masks it with a low chuckle.

"Persephone ...love? With a human?"

 He tsks at you and you stand up.

"Fine. If you're just gonna make fun of me, I'll ask Jimin."

His hand flies out to take your wrist. "Don't be ridiculous. Your father will never let you past the river Styx with an incubus." 

You look up at him and the panic in your eyes hurts more than anything you could have said.

"Taemin…"

"I know. There isn't much time. How long has it been now? A day? A strong one can probably go a week without-"

"He's not. He's not strong, he's….he was really an innocent. He won't last the week, Taemin, please-"

You clutch at his shirt and your hands on his skin makes his breath catch. "I'll do anything. I'll…. I'll marry you, if that's what you want, just take me to help him."

He looks down at you for a moment, searching your face and he hates himself for considering it, just for a moment.

"Y/n. Stop it. Such behavior is unbecoming for a princess, you know."

He takes your hands from his chest and holds them in your own.

"I'll take you. But he won't allow it now. We'll have to give it another day, make him think you're obeying his wishes."

You drop your hands, defeated. "Okay," you say quietly. "Okay, but I'm not sleeping in your bed."

"Still can't control yourself around me, Persephone?" He teases, mouth twisted in a bitter grin.

You look up at him, wide eyed. "Probably not," you admit, and your words shoot heat down his spine.

"I'll sleep on the floor. You take the bed." He says shortly, turning to get a blanket.

You let out a sound of protest and he smirks back at you over his shoulder.

"I want my sheets to smell like you again."

You roll your eyes but he can see the relief on your face, and he spends a long moment in the linen closet trying to control his breathing around the tightness in his chest

Later that night, he can hear you shifting, tossing and turning in bed.

"Taemin?" You call softly.

He lets out a long breath before answering. "Yes?"

"I can't sleep. Will you sing to me?"

It's incredible how a heart can shatter through without crumbling entirely, because he's thinking of a hundred times you'd said those words to him, remembers singing low in your ear with his arms wrapped tight around your waist, remembers how you'd sigh and relax against his chest.

It's been years since he's let himself think of the lullaby he sang to you all those years ago, but he finds he remembers every word, and you find sleep long before he does, his shattered heart still thumping stubbornly in his chest.

Jungkook watches you arguing with your father with his lip caught between his teeth.

You're pacing around the room and speaking in...Latin?

He wants to go to you, to soothe you,but you've warned him not to touch you when you're angry and he'd learned the hard way with a burn on his palm from trying to take your hand during a fight.

You whirl around to face him, suddenly, and there's panic in your eyes.

He reaches out to you, burns be damned but you disappear through the floor, a burning circle where you'd stood on the tile.

It takes a few hours before he panics, calling your phone over and over and it going straight to voicemail.

He tells himself it's just a night with your dad, and the fact that it's probably in hell is fine because you're a demon and...wow had it been a wild year.

Jungkook doesn't know what to do, so he goes to work out like always but in another few hours he's exhausted, muscles trembling and still anxious.

Anxious and….horny.

It'd been months, and you'd think he'd be used to it, the heat coiling in his stomach, his skin flushing everywhere, the ache right up his cock, but he doesn't know when you'll be back.

He ends up sitting on the couch, playing Mario Kart shirtless with a raging hard on, when a man appears in his living room, burning another circle on the floor.

He blinks and looks up at him.

"Hello," the man says, and Jungkook wonders if it's a rule that all demons must be ridiculously attractive.

"Um. Hi."

"Jungkook, is it? I'm Taemin. Persephone speaks highly of you."

The way he drawls that sounds like Taemin doesn't agree and Jungkook swallows and somehow none of this is helping his boner.

"Persephone?"

The man smiles, and it's a bit wicked, a lot like yours, actually. "Ah. You know her as Y/n. Persephone is ...a bit of a petname, I suppose. In any case, my betrothed is worried sick about you and I can't sneak her past her father just yet, so I'm checking in."

"Your... your what now?" He swallows again and boy, he doesn't like that feeling, a rock in his gut alongside the lust.

Taemin waves his hand as if to dismiss him. "You seem relatively healthy."

"Yeah I'm... I'm fine." Jungkook stutters, and Taemin perches on the edge of the coffee table, leaning forward.

"Are you sure? I can help, if necessary."

"I'm…. I'm okay." Jungkook gasps a little, and Taemin chuckles low in his throat.

"You sure? I taught our girl everything she knows, after all."

Jungkook gapes at him for a moment, stunned. He'd taught you? This guy? This effortlessly gorgeous "betrothed" of yours? His stomach actually hurts, visions of you and Taemin fucking swirling around in his head and it makes him feel jealous and insecure but somehow his skin is even hotter, his cock straining against his sweats.

"I'm sure. Can you...can you tell her I miss her?"

A little smile twists Taemin's full mouth.

"She was right about you being cute, anyway. Well, I think you'll last the night. If things get hairy, I assume you know how to take matters into your own hands, so to speak?"

Jungkook nods vigorously, feeling his face flush even hotter, and the man is gone with an oddly musical laugh that lingers in the air.

He's tugging down his sweats before he can think about it, gasping at the feel of the cool air.

He's fisting his cock and he throws his head back, calling up the way you look bent over the couch arm, how you look back over your shoulder and smirk at him.

Jungkook isn't teasing, he's been hard for hours and he's so close to the edge already but suddenly instead of himself being in his fantasy it's Taemin, full mouth twisted in that smirk, hips snapping into yours, and he lets out a long groan and slows his hand.

He should stop touching himself, he feels almost sick at how fucking gorgeous you two must have been together, it hurts to think of you bouncing on top of Taemin's slight frame but it's also so fucking hot, he can imagine how your face looks, can imagine Taemin fucked you hard, how your ass would jiggle when you were bent over, and he's so close it's almost painful to stop, his cock bouncing off his stomach.

His hand comes away sticky with precum and he's breathing hard

"What the fuck?" He says quietly, and heads to take an ice cold shower.

It doesn't help, and he knows better, knows he needs to come, you've warned him again and again, but when he's lying on his sheets that still smell like you, that scent of black cherries, there's now a burnt cinnamon smell where Taemin had appeared and is that what you'd smelled like together?

He hates it, hates how fucking good it smells and he's bucking into his hand again within moments of lying down, water still beaded on his chest.

Jungkook doesn't sleep, and he can't bring himself to come, going so far as to tighten his fist at the base of his cock, breathing hard, heart pounding against his chestplate, once, twice, three times.

It's almost daylight when the smell grows stronger, and his skin is on fire, head spinning like he'd drunk a case of soju.

His mouth is dry when he tries to speak, and he licks his lips.

"Baby?" It comes out like a hoarse whine, and he hears hushed tones outside his bedroom door.

He lurches up from the bed, dizzy and unbalanced, and pushes the door open to see you standing there with Taemin.

Taemin scoffs.

"Humans. Honestly, Persephone."

You push at Jungkook's chest gently, and he lets out a low moan when he feels your hands on his skin.

He hadn't bothered getting dressed from the shower, and he lies back down obediently, eyes big and glassy.

You stroke his hair back from his face, crooning comforts.

"Y/n. Baby." He breathes, hand back on his cock again, bucking his hips. "Baby, please. Please I can't ...need to come ...need you."

"Oh, my poor Kookie." You lean down to kiss his mouth and he whimpers.

"Please please please," he chants. "Please touch me. It hurts."

"You didn't teach him his breathing exercises?" Taemin's voice booms from the doorway and Jungkook gasps, eyes darting to the doorway and then back to you.

"I did!" You snap, your eyes dark with worry. "Kookie, what happened? Your breathing exercises and...you didn't come? All night?"

He shakes his head quickly. "Tried. Couldn't." He can't seem to string a sentence together, so he takes a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, like you'd taught him, and it clears his head a little. "Kept thinking too much." His eyes flit to Taemin again, who is standing there looking down at him, face almost blank.

You stroke his cheek and he turns his face into your hand.

"He taught you? He must be so much better than me, yeah? Must be better for you," he says mournfully, and you cup his face and kiss him again.

"No. No. Don't think that way."

Taemin chuckles, covering his mouth, and you stand and shove him outside as Jungkook whimpers.

Taemin smiles at you when you shove him outside because it's easier to be a bastard than to show an inkling of how he feels.

You'd been clutching his hand on the boat across the river Styx, leaned against him and he'd forgotten what that felt like, how it made his chest swell, and now...now with this boy, this human…..

He'd rather you'd put your mouth on the boy's cock right away, it would've hurt less than how wide and worried your eyes were, the soft kisses you'd placed on his mouth.

"You said you'd help me," you cry, chin jutting out defiantly.

"I thought surely you knew what you were doing when it came to this, Persephone," he drawls, but he regrets it when he sees your lip trembling.

He thumbs your bottom lip, voice softening. "Hey. Chin up. You know how to help him."

"I don't even know where to start! And you just made things worse, telling him ..."

"Telling him the truth?"

You snap your mouth closed, eyes searching his face for a moment.

"What happens after? Am I in over my head, Taemin? Should I...should I let him sweat it out so that he can be free of me? I'm no good at this. I failed him. Should I just do as I'm told and marry you?"

His breath catches in his throat and again, he wants to say yes. But your eyes are filled with tears and instead he brushes your hair back to expose one shaved horn and leans down to kiss it gently.

"It hurts, to have them shaved down, yeah? I should know, I had it done to come up here. You wouldn't have done that if being free weren't important to you. Do you think I want some pretty princess to sit on my lap?"

You just look up at him with those wide eyes and he sighs deep in his chest, leans down to kiss your mouth, almost chastely.

"If I wanted easy, I would have never chosen you as my mate, my Persephone. Loving you means letting you go, and I've always known that."

Your brow furrows and he can't help kissing you there, too.

"Taemin…."

He shakes his head, breath hitching in his chest. "I'll help you if you need me, Persephone, but I...the way you look at him…"

His voice breaks and he runs a hand over his face.

"Taemin," you say again, and the way your voice breaks when you say his name makes him feel like he's breathing in broken glass.

"You can do this, you know. You can. You can help him and I'll take the heat from your father. I'll tell him I chose another mate."

"You think I can do this? You think…"

"I think you can do anything," he says, honestly, and he strokes your face once before he takes a step back, before he breaks and begs you to change your mind the way he'd wanted to when you'd left.

"Will you….will you stay? Just until he's better. Just in case-"

He's already nodding, looking down at the ground, and he's grateful when you turn and shut the door so that you don't see the tears spilling down his face.

Jungkook is still lying there, looking at you with those big, doe eyes, and you wipe at your face.

"He….he loves you," he says softly. 

You hitch in a breath and sit on the bed next to him. "It's okay," you coo. "I'll help, Kook, I'll-"

He's shaking his head weakly. "Would it be... would it be better? With him? Would you be happier?"

"No. No, stop it." You hitch up your dress and straddle his hips, and he gasps and bucks beneath you when his cock slides through your heat. "I love you. I want you. Want to be here."

He still looks worried, throat working, and you guide him into you, slow, and he clenches his jaw to keep from bucking off the bed.

"I'm happiest here," you breath, and roll your hips.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," he chants and his hands slide up your back as he sits up to angle deeper, bouncing you on his cock and pressing his face into your neck, kissing you there sloppy and open mouthed.

"You smell so good. Is that what you smell like together? Cherries and cinnamon?" He moans against your throat, and you stiffen.

"Kookie-"

He's still bucking beneath you, needing the friction, the need to come taking over every rational thought.

"I want to see," he babbles. "I want to see how he fucks you. I want to know how to fuck you better."

"Jungkook, you're delirious, you-"

He lifts his head to look at you, and his eyes are a bit clearer. "I'll just watch. I'll be good. I'll be so good, Y/n, please…"

"You... you're serious?"

Jungkook nods eagerly, but he whimpers when you move off him and head to the door.

Taemin is already standing there at the doorway, smirking, no trace of the vulnerability you'd seen earlier.

"Baby needs a lesson?" 

Taemin had heard the boy's ramblings and his first instinct had been to run, to go back to hell and lick his wounds, because he'd said he would help but this was asking too much.

But you'd left four years ago and he can't stop thinking about how good it felt just holding your hand on the boat.

So he ends up letting you lead him in the boys bedroom where the boy is sitting on the bed, cock standing red and eager, and Taemin did have to commend you for your taste.

What demon wouldn't be swayed with that wide eyed innocence contrasting against the body of a god?

"Will you show me, hyung?" The boy asks, and Taemin raises an eyebrow.

"If that's what you want, human."

Jungkook nods and you make a squeak and Taemin turns to you.

You're stripping off your dress, struggling a bit with getting it over your horns and Taemin laughs a little and tugs it off for you, leaning down to kiss you softly on the mouth.

Jungkook whimpers from the bed, and you try to turn your head to look at him but Taemin holds your chin tight in his hand.

"He asked for this," he says, and you nod.

Taemin kisses you again, harder, slipping his tongue alongside yours, and when you melt against him, he smiles against your mouth.

You're bare now, and his hands slide along the outer swells of your breasts, your hips until you're moaning into his mouth, unbuttoning his slacks and filling your hands with his cock.

Taemin turns his eyes to the boy, who's stroking his cock with an almost pained expression on his face.

Taemin grabs one of your hips with one hand and turns you to bend you over the bed, his other hand on the back of your neck, pressing your face down into Jungkook's lap.

You barely make a sound but Jungkook moans low in his throat when your mouth touches his inner thigh.

"She likes being on top, human. But what she loves is when you make her bottom. She likes being put in her place…. isn't that right, Persephone?"

You moan against Jungkook's thigh until Taemin reaches down to wrap your hair around his fist and tug, making you cry out.

"Yes. Yes, sir."

Jungkook is looking up at him in awe. "Is it….are you always on top? With her?"

Taemin barks out a laugh. "You think I taught her how to seduce you without letting her top? You really are an innocent, yeah?"

Jungkook flushes such a pretty pink that Taemin releases your hair.

"I think you've mastered how to bottom, human. Give her something to do with her mouth. She likes to be used."

Jungkook looks at you with those wide doe eyes until Taemin pushes at the back of your head, and then he seems to snap back to reality, replacing Taemin's hand with his own.

You moan around his cock and Jungkook's head snaps back. "Oh. Oh."

Taemin takes the distraction to move his hand to the base of his cock, guiding himself into you, and oh fucking hell, he'd forgotten how tight you were, how your cunt sucked him in like he belonged there.

He hears you cry out around the human's cock and heat coils in his stomach. He grabs your hips and starts to move, fucking you hard and fast, just like you love, just like he knows you can take, and Jungkook is gasping and bucking his hips, eyes darting between you and Taemin.

It's easier not to think when he's slamming into you, easier not to feel anything but your body, your cunt clenching around him like a vice.

"She's coming around me already. She loves to be treated like a whore just as much as she likes to be treated like a goddess," he says, grunting when you roll your hips back against him and slapping your ass. "Ah, Persephone, be a good girl, yeah?"

You pop off of Jungkook's cock long enough to meet Taemin's eyes over your shoulder and smile. "Never."

Taemin chuckles and presses down on the nape of your neck again. Fuck, he loves you. He loves you and he hopes this is enough. He hopes he can make this memory linger.

One final lesson.

He ignores the tightness in his chest, moves his hips faster as you wrap your lips around the human's cock again.

"If I had more time, I'd show you how she likes to be punished, how to tie her up and make her come over and over until she's trembling."

"Ah, shouldn't we deny her orgasms, hyung?" Jungkook asks, and Taemin lifts an eyebrow, surprised.

"That's one way, but I….I never could deny her anything," he admits, drawing closer to his orgasm, mouth running away with him.

"Next time," Jungkook gasps, making eye contact. "Next time you can show me."

Taemin is too far gone to question what the human means by that, focusing on how your ass jiggles against him, on his cock pumping in and out of you and with Jungkook a moaning mess beneath your skilled tongue, he feels confident his lesson has been helpful.

Taemin empties himself inside you with a long groan of your name and when he looks down at him, Jungkook yelps and shudders, finally finding his release.

"Oh, oh, thank you thank you, Y/n, hyung…" he babbles and collapses on the bed, throwing a forearm over his eyes.

Taemin sighs when he pulls out of you and he buttons his slacks and lifts you onto the bed, padding to the bathroom to wet a cloth.

It's bittersweet, wiping you down, crooning comforts into your ear as you come down, and when you take the cloth from him, he can't bear to watch you do it to the human, distracts himself by going to get water bottles and when he returns, you're holding your arms out to him with your human asleep beside you and his heart seems to crack.

"I should go," he says quietly, and you shake your head.

"Don't. Stay."

In the end, he does, he and your human on either side of you like bookends, because he told Jungkook the truth. He's never been able to deny you anything.

Days later, when he tells Jongin about you, liquor and the newly fallen's own story loosening his tongue, Jongin raises an eyebrow.

"You still love her? After all that?"

A bitter smile twists his mouth.

"What, you think only angels can love unconditionally?"

*****

Up next: Fallen - Jongin’s backstory

[sora-writes-things]

In The Moment

Bodyguard AU Oneshot

Content warnings: None!Except for some cursing (and a brief hint at blood at the end), this is a completely innocent oneshot! All fluff-based! Written just to give you all happiness!

Anyway! Enjoy! And expect a sequel here shortly! 💙

————————————————————————

“Who are you?”

The question, spoken by his bodyguard, who was in the kitchen washing the dishes, threw Luca off for a moment.

The question was followed by a splash, which only made the inventor even more curious. He glanced over at Tracy, who was asleep on the couch beside him, before he turned his attention back towards the kitchen, where he heard another splash.

“Who are you? And who sent you here?” Aesop’s voice came out as a slight growl, his tone completely serious.

Luca slowly half-rolled off the couch, sneaking over towards the kitchen so that he could see what his bodyguard was doing.

“Answer me, you son of a bitch... Who sent you?” The silver-haired guard shoved a glass cup under the water, a frustrated scowl on his face.

Luca had to hold a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from bursting out laughing. “Oh my god... He’s trying to drown the dishes...”

“Why won’t you fucking answer me?? I’m asking you a damn question!!” He splashed the cup under the water again. “What is your goddamn name?! And who the hell sent you here??”

Luca’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, trying his best to hold in his laughter. He couldn’t breathe. It was too much.

The sight of his protector, attempting to violently drown a piece of glassware in the sink to get “answers” out of it was too fucking funny.

“I’m gonna ask you again. Who sent you? Who’s your contact?” Aesop hissed, practically slamming the glass into the sink with a loud clash. It was a wonder that the cup didn’t shatter.

Luca wheezed, keeping one hand held over his mouth while he clutched at his midsection with the other arm, struggling so hard not to laugh that it hurt.

“Oh... So you still won’t talk, huh? Let’s solve that, shall we?” There was a click of a switch flipping, followed by a loud whirring sound as the garbage disposal turned on. “This is your last chance, you incompetent bitch. I need answers. Now.”

“Oh my god... I can’t...” Luca tried to keep his voice down, but he was too hysterical to actually do so.

Thankfully, Aesop was just enough into the moment that he didn’t hear Luca talking to himself. That, and his hearing was probably impaired because of the garbage disposal being on.

“Still no answers?” He gave a loud sigh. “Guess we’ll be doing this the hard way.”

The young bodyguard shoved the cup straight into the sink, with such force that it finally shattered. He flinched back as it happened, the angry fire in his pale grey eyes dissipating as he snapped out of the moment.

Luca, who had finally managed to calm down a bit and was now standing in the doorway again, slowly raised his hand to cover his mouth once more, unable to fully hide his smile.

Aesop quickly noticed his client’s presence after looking around, his eyes going wide and slightly fearful. “Oh shit- Hi Luca...” He averted his gaze, hiding his glass-cut hand from the inventor.

“Aesop... Holy shit...”

“Luca... I’m uh... Really sorry about this...” He swallowed hard, picking up a large shard of glass in his hand. “I uhh... Kinda broke one of your cups...”

Luca finally allowed himself to burst out laughing, which made Aesop flinch up for a moment. “Wh-Why are you laughing..? Aren’t you mad...?”

The inventor struggled to catch his breath for a moment, but finally managed to speak. “I... I fucking love you... so goddamn much.”

Aesop was clearly taken aback by the statement. That certainly wasn’t the response he had been expecting... Did he really hear that right?

“Wh-“ He didn’t even get a chance to question it before Luca shot forward and threw his arms around him, landing a small kiss on the silver-haired man’s cheek.

Aesop’s face turned bright red, and he went rigid for a moment. Holy shit. What the hell was even going on right now?!

Luca pulled away, his own cheeks completely flushed as he realized that his actions were completely unexpected. “I’m uh.. I’m sorry I did that. I dunno what came over me.”

A light grin spread across Aesop’s face before he suddenly pulled the inventor back into a hug, almost making a move like he was going to kiss him back, but ultimately deciding not to.

“I love you too.” The words slipped out before Aesop could stop them, but honestly? He could care less about it.

They pulled away from each other, locking gazes with each other for a brief moment before Aesop looked away. “You really aren’t mad?”

“Of course not. I’ve got plenty of glass cups, and they’re easy to replace,” Luca replied, flashing the young guard a smile before the expression dropped into one of concern. “Is your hand okay?”

Aesop tilted his head to the side, raising his hand to look at it. There were a few cuts along his palm and fingertips, which were leaking just a small bit of blood. “Oh... That’s a thing.”

Luca took ahold of Aesop’s arm and gave it a comforting rub. “It’s alright, we’ll get it all patched up. I’m not too worried.”

Aesop looked back towards the sink. “I should really clean up the mess I made...”

“No, don’t worry about it. Trace and I can take care of it later. Let’s just get your hands fixed up, and we can relax for a bit.” The soft smile returned to his face. “Wanna watch a movie? I was gonna watch Tombstone with my sis... You’re welcome to join us, if you want.”

Aesop smiled back. “I’d... really like that. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it! You’re in the family now! So we’re gonna treat you like family!”

The bodyguard’s heart fluttered at the statement, and he found himself blushing again. This really was a lot different than all his previous relationships with his clients. He wasn’t sure what it was, but...

He finally felt like he’d found the place where he belonged. He felt like he was part of a family again. Like he was loved.

And that was more than he could have ever hoped for.

[straightouttatheashes]

An Ultimatum

“Aeriden!” Pheonix barged into the backroom - making the man jump at his desk, spilling ink all over the page he’d been writing on.  “Aria? What...how did you get in here? You didn’t tell me you could pick locks otherwise-” “I can’t. Not well at least.” His sister waved her hand, which made Aeriden raise a brow, and look past her towards the front of the shop. “I’m going to have to replace that, aren’t I?” He muttered, before setting the inkpot aside, and lowering his quill - staring down at his ruined page for a brief moment. “...Is everything alright? What happened?” Considering she’d just broken into his shop, and loudly announced herself. So much for having a quiet weekend to catch up on work and re-organize the store. “I have a deal for you.” Pheonix put a hand down on his desk - a look in her eye that made him slightly nervous. “...Go on…” What came out of her mouth next, he definitely did not expect to hear. Well, the ultimatum, at least. “I can’t accept that you’re gonna just, study this magic bullshit. Not alone, at least. I found you someone who can help, who’s trained. But -” She leaned forward, attempting to drive her offer home. “I want to challenge you. If you win, you can go study. Do whatever you want. I’ll tell you who to talk to. But if I win, you give up. You stop everything and forget about it.” Aeriden held her gaze for a moment, narrowing his eyes. By now he knew of how deadly she was - her stories of her fights, her survival. It was a gamble, and he knew that. But he also knew she thought she’d have the upper hand because of this. “...You’re going to fight me. Really?” He laughed, honestly just trying to push those thoughts away and forget he’d even heard her proposal. “Aria...this -” “Is the only way I know how to bargain with you. You never said you’d give it up after what I said. So I’m doin what I do to settle shit.” Her hand raised, and then slammed onto the desk - knocking his inkpot over. Again. “If you beat me, I’ll stop. I promise. Take my challenge, Aeriden Brightfall.” There was a sharp tone as she spoke his name, and he locked onto her gaze….before sighing, running a hand through his hair, and giving in. “Fine, Aria. I accept your challenge, and the terms that come with it.” As soon as he accepted, Phe grinned and backed away from the desk - snickering a little at the ink spill. “Great. I’ll meet you by the coastline near the ruins at four. If you don’t turn up, Aeriden...I’m taking it as a forfeit.” Before he could answer her, or even quip back, Pheonix winked and left - the noise of the door opening and closing, signaling her final departure. Glancing to the pool of black leaking across his desk, Aeriden sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. She had no idea, did she? He couldn’t tell her. He had to go through with this. --- This is a stupid idea. He’s your brother. You’re going to fight your goddamn brother. This is stupid. It’s dumb. For a moment, neither one of them moved - a small distance away from each other, waiting for a signal from either side. But of course it would be her signal - she was the one that started it, after all. Pheonix watched as Aeriden stood there. No weapon, no armor. Just the clothes he’d been wearing when she’d busted into his store - minus the vest with that all familiar brooch. She’d only need to get up close to him, land a few hits...and he’d be down. The bet would be hers. He’d be safe from whatever bullshit he was going to get into, tutor or not. Little did she know. “I didn’t realize this was a staring contest, sister.” His voice cut through her thoughts, and she laughed. “No, it’s a fight! Sorry, I was...thinking. Anyway! We bow first, and then the first move is whoever’s got the guts to do it.” Aeriden nodded, watching her movements. As they both lowered into a bow, he exhaled slowly - feeling the tingle of magic, the chill of ice, snake up his arm. And the first move was his. Pheonix narrowly missed the large, sharp icicle that shattered against a tree behind her as she ran forward, dodging another one that shot up under her feet. As she got close - she grabbed his outstretched arm, yanking him forward to knee him in the stomach - but a sudden force threw her back, her body crashing to the ground as she shook her head to regain her senses. The fuck was that? Aeriden caught his breath, the split-second mind blast making his head pound, but Pheonix was already on her feet again before he could truly recover. A sharp jab connected with his stomach, and he doubled over as a strong kick sent him to the ground. Letting out a wheeze as the impact winded him - it was all he could do to quickly roll to the side and manifest a shield of sharp, jagged icicles around himself before his sister descended on him. If he wasn’t quick - she could end this with one blow. As the jagged spikes shot out - Phe brought her arms up, sharp tips tearing into her skin before she could catch herself and jump back before one of those spikes instantly impaled her. “Fuck, Aeri. You aren’t making this easy.” “A challenge is never easy, Aria.” He kept the shield up - trying to think of his next move...but she’d beat him to it. He felt the heat flare up against his shield - as Pheonix drove a fistful of flame into his barrier, icicles exploding, shattering, and falling to the ground. He could see the bloody wounds on her arms, and wanted to call the match off there, but this was his sister. She’s had worse...and she was passionate about this. He had to hold up her challenge...but he had to win. He could never say why...it would break her more than it is now. It was a little too late to notice the arcane missiles shooting over the top of the barrier - countering her own magic, which imploded upon impact. A pained yell escaped her as she once again found herself on the ground - smoke engulfing her hands and arms, the overwhelming shock of the arcane magic coursing through her. Spluttering, she willed herself to get back up - adrenaline kicking in. She needed to win. She had to… But Aeriden was on his feet - hand outstretched as a row of icicles appeared around him. “Aria, call it off, please. You can’t-” “I can!” She yelled back, spitting blood and glancing to her hands. Burnt. No matter. She didn’t feel it right now. “I’ll win, Aeriden. And you’ll stop this...and everything..will be..fine!” He couldn’t believe her. He could see the blood, the burns. The glow of her tattoos as she once again ignited her hands. She was going to do this, and see it through to whatever extent. Was she stupid? No. He understood why. But she had underestimated him. After everything she knew….she had still convinced herself she’d win. He was proud of her. So he bit back his regret, as he watched her become slowly encased in ice - starting with her feet. Not that she’d go down without a fight. The sound of icicles shattering, blasts of fire from each kick, each punch she gave drowning out her yells as Pheonix tried to get close to him. Her brother watched as the weight of the ice grounded her - rendering her immobile, one last punch connecting with his face - the crack sending a shock through his own body as tears stung at the corner of his eyes. Tasting blood, Aeriden looked back at her - one of the icicles of her prison digging into her neck. Silence. There were no words, and there didn’t need to be. He could see the defeat in her eyes. Yet...perhaps as soon as the match started, maybe she figured it out. “Aria…” “...Let me go, Aeriden. You won. ...Grats, yeah?” Pheonix spoke through gritted teeth. Not because of the sharp point that threatened to tear her flesh. Not because of the stinging pain that was now catching up to her as her body stood in it’s icy tomb, frozen. No, she’s had worse. What hurt, was the thought of what could be, now. She hoped...that Aeriden wouldn’t destroy himself. “I’m sorry.” As his magic released her, she dropped to the ground, catching herself on her hands and knees - letting out a choked sob, masking it with a cough and a small wheeze. They’d both need medical care...but she wanted to be out of his sight when she received hers. Afterall...she’d come out of this worse. She didn’t answer his apology with anything else but a small smile - shakily getting to her feet and weakly returning her damaged hands to her side. “You hold up okay, Aeri.” Pheonix sighed, chewing her lip - forcing herself to meet the concerned eyes of her brother. “I uh...had no chance, really.” “Then why did you do this? Even after finding someone to teach me, you still gave this last ditch effort….” He winced as he saw her wounds. “I dunno, I thought...after what I said. After like…” Phe began before shaking her head, wiping blood from her mouth. “Why can’t you let it go, Aeriden? You know my reason. Why won’t you stop?” The question hit him hard, and he felt himself unable to say anything. He couldn’t. She couldn’t know. Not yet… Pheonix noticed his hesitation, and frowned. She had at least thought he’d finally give her an answer. Didn’t he owe her that much? A reason? She didn’t believe his first reason anymore. Not...entirely. But he’d won, and she knew it unwise to call a rematch. “Good luck, Aeriden.” The sharp tone she used hurt her. “I’ll...I’ll see you another time.” Aeriden’s expression faltered, brows furrowing as he reached out to his sister. “Pip..wait..” “Pyraelia Sunmote. She’ll help you. You know her, so the rest is on you. And don’t use that fucking name.” He let her go - no doubt she had her own place to be. Someone to see to heal her wounds. A hand raised to rub at his own face, where she’d struck her last blow. Magistrix Sunmote... @pyraelia​ for mentions

[fortunatelyhauntedblackcherry]

Moonshine - A Beetlejuice Fanfiction 09

Warning: swearing (as always), BJ being horny, fire hazard.

The next day was monday, and every monday night since the girls moved together years ago was movienight. They prepared dinner together, bought a shitton of snacks, sat down on the floor in the living room and watched at least 2 movies. Most of the time they fell asleep during the third one.

So they were all in their kitchen, which had pretty peach-colored walls, a big window framed by curtains with various embroidered wildflowers on them, and olive green / beige french country-style kitchen furniture. Rei was making guacamole - which Sirius made quite a hard activity with all the jumping and whining for a piece of chips or basically anything delicious - while Sofía was talking about her business dinner from last night and Ari was sitting on the countertop, in the middle of the kitchen, eating Nutella out of a jar with a skull-shaped spoon. Minerva was laying beside her on her back, playing with a piece of breadcrust, getting occasional earscratchies.

- So I was like "No go amigo, I couldn't possibly share an exhibition with them" and my manager was like "why?" and I was like "because I'd have to be talkative and cute with them and man I couldn't" and he was like "but they are respected artists in the community" and I was like "yeah but they can't even use photoshop MICHAEL how could I work with people who are sooo past century"? - said Sofía, flipped her hair and took a sip out of her lemonade. - So yeah, he arranged the whole thing and now my coworkers for the next couple exhibitions will be not so known, but rising photographers instead of old people, isn't that awesome? - all of a sudden Minerva lifted her head up, pricked her ears and started to hiss in the entrance's direction.

Beetlejuice just arrived after his hunt for bugs in the winter garden. He was leaning against the entrance archway, and shaked his head in disappointment.

- I can't believe that you still hate me this much, you waste of fur. - the cat hissed harder. - What?!? Two can play this game, if you're not nice, I won't be either! - he pointed at Sirius, who let out one bark, then continued harassing Rei. - Look, even the dog got kinda used to me!

- I wonder what her problem is. - said Sofía while Ari pulled the kitty into her embrace.

- That's the point where you should tell them that "yeah she sees my demon buddy, yeah, we have a spectre, and I can hear him!" - said Beetlejuice in a girlish voice while he stepped closer to Ari. The girl stroked the slightly hissing Minerva, who was now laying on her lap. Ari licked her Nutella-covered spoon clean. Beetlejuice stopped in his movement and his jaw slightly dropped. He started to drool a bit. - Hooooly shit babes, it seems like you know how to turn my software into a hardware!

Ari blushed a bit and tried really hard not to giggle so she started to talk.

- ANYWAY... - that was way louder than she intended, so she cleared her throat - ...what did you do last night, Rei? - knowing exactly what happened to her poor sister (since after she got better, Beetlejuice told her everything), she was just curious if she would talk about the posession of her computer. Rei's ginger hair flew over her face as she turned to Ari and put the guacamole down to the countertop.

- Well you could say I was practicing poetry, since Robert Lewis Stevenson insisted that wine is bottled poetry, but to be honest after streaming I was just drinking and wondering what I wanted to be when I grew up... I'm sure it wasn't an anxiety ridden bitch disgusted by people with a wine problem, serving exactly those whom I disgusted by, but... - she put her hands up in the air - ...here I am! - she giggled as she turned to the fridge.

- So I suppose your "fans" were mean again? - asked Sof. Rei took some cheese out of the fridge, and scoffed while giving a piece to the very excited Sirius.

- Not mean, fuckin nasty. - she shut the fridge and rubbed the bridge of her nose under her glasses. - I mean, some of them spammed my IG DMs with requests of "please send me the bra you wore during today's stream, I saw the strap and I'm hooked", like... Ugh.

- Can't judge a man for wanting some lingerie from a pretty girl, that's my opinion. - said Beetlejuice while he hopped on the counter next to Rei.

- Jesus fuck people are weird... - commented Ari as she got off of the middle countertop. Minerva ran away to upstairs.

- Oh so that's the socially acceptable opinion now? Okay wait... - Beetlejuice cleared his throat and continued in a sarcastic manner, heavily gesturing while doing so. - OH YES PEOPLE ARE AWFUL UGH DISGUSTING EW HOW COULD SOMEONE ASK ANYTHING LIKE THAT EWEWEW. - his voice went back to normal as he looked at Ari, who just hugged Rei. - Was it good and totally believable? - Ari smiled and gave him a thumbs up behind her sister's back. - God I'm good! On the other hand, did I tell you that when I walked into Rei's room yesterday, I almost tripped on a bra? You could say... - he floated next to Ari's ear. The girl could feel his icy breath on her earlobe. - ...it was a booby trap. - Ari shut her eyes and bit her lower lip while smiling widely. - SERIOUSLY HOW ARE YOU NOT LAUGHING YOUR PRETTY ROUND ASS OFF, THAT WAS PHENOMENAL!!! - Ari let Rei go and went to one of the cupboards. Rei poured herself a glass of red wine.

- I don't even know why I'm getting upset by these kinds of shits anymore. I've been doing this job for years, I should be used to creeps. - she shrugged. - Eh, whatever, it felt nice to vent.

- And we're here to listen every time! - shouted Ari, head inside one of the lower cupboards, fistbumping the air. After some rummaging, she lifted her head out. - Hey guys, where did we put the ultimate bathbomb?

- What? - asked Sofía with a tilted head.

- The toaster. Obviously. - BJ slapped his knees as he started laughing.

- Gee, doll, that was good! Your humor is getting worse and worse under my influence and I'm living for it! - he scratched his head. - Wait, is that appropriate for me to say? Or should I say I'm dying for it? Since I'm dead? - he shrugged his shoulders. - I dunno both sound good.

After Sof got the machine out of one of the highest cupboards, Ari started making grilled cheese sandwiches. Beetlejuice floated right next to her and flashed a pretty evil, toothy grin. He wriggled his fingers while looking up at the ceiling lamp, which started to flicker. The girls quickly looked at each other but didn't say a thing. BJ giggled. Ari stuck the toaster's plug into the power outlet, which instantly made it sparkle. One of the sparkles fell on Ari's hand. She quickly got it away with a quiet "ouch", and looked at where Beetlejuice's very uproarious laugh came from. The angry face she made almost made the demon tear up.

- What? You thought I'd never mess with ya, doll? After seeing this face, I'll do it even more often, you angry little toddler you... - and with that, the lights flickered again.

- Am I hallucinating or did ya see that too? - asked Sofi, pointing at the lamp.

- Maybe it's just bad wiring... - said Rei, with a rather nervous chuckle. She didn't sound believable at all. - It's nothing to worry about...

- Oh so you think I'm nothing to worry about?! - said Beetlejuice with annoyement in his voice. - You underestimate me, little one. - he pointed at the chandelier in the living room and the lamp in the kitchen. They both started to shine and flicker in the same rhythm. The girls looked at each other.

- I'm pretty sure that's not bad wiring... I think... - one of the light bulbs in the living room shattered, stopping Ari for a moment. They all ducked as the light bulb in the kitchen exploded. - I THINK THIS HOUSE REALLY IS HAUNTED!!!

- THANK YOU! FINALLY! - shouted Beetlejuice, his eyes and his neon green hair glowing. - I'M FINALLY GETTING THE RECOGNITION I DESERVE!

- IT'S NOT, GHOSTS ARE NOT REAL! - shouted Rei, while trying to help Ari get hold of the angrily barking Sirius.

- It's scientifically proven that they are... - commented Sof.

- Shut up, I'm not superstitious like you two! I mean sure, weird things are happening in the house, like my PC acting strange, or the hairdryer sucking Sofi's hair in, but I'm sure there's a logical explanation!

Beetlejuice grinned like a maniac.

- Oh baby you really want logical explanation? You think there's any logic to ME? Then watch... This! - the demon cracked his fingers and chuckled as he looked at the plugged in toaster. Ari looked at the voice's direction and gasped when she saw what Beetlejuice was doing. The toaster's heating wires were glowing red hot, and an awful stench came from the machine. The smell of burning plastic.

- OH FUCKIN HELL!!!

- Who doesn't like a bit of electrical fire? - said Beetlejuice, laughing, looking at the infurious Sof. Ari quickly jumped up and started to go through the drawers quickly. Sof was quicker, she handed her the oven mittens, which Ari put her hands into and lifted the now flaming toaster.

- Okay... Now what? - Rei jumped up in panic too.

- What what?!?

- Where do I put it?!

- ARIADNÉ, YOU JUST LIFTED THIS FLAMING SHIT UP WITHOUT A PLAN?!?!?!?!

- I'M NOT A VERY BRIGHT WOMAN, OKAY?!?!?!? - Rei opened up the window and pulled the curtains back.

- THROW IT OUT!!! - Ari quickly threw the machine out of the window, into the birdbath that was under it. The flames started to fade and the girls let out a huge, relieved breath.

- Welp... I may sound like a hypocrite but... After this I think we're haunted. - Sofía and Ari both looked at Rei.

- You said, literally a minute ago, and I quote, that you are not superstitious like us two. - Rei threw her hands up in the air.

- I'm not superstitious! But I'm a... Umm a little bit stitious.

- Do you seriously think this is a right time for Office quotes? - asked Sof, with folded hands and an eyeroll.

- Hey this is how I cope! Toasters don't start spitting flames normally, man! That shit scared the living Hell out of me!

Ari bit her lower lip. A faint idea crossed her mind.

- Ummm... I think we should ask our presence what do they want. - the girls and Beetlejuice both looked at Ari with lifted eyebrows. - Sof, don't you have an Ouija board? We could ask them stuff and maybe help them out. So they won't cause trouble like this again. - Beetlejuice covered his smiling mouth with his hands.

- OHMYGOD BABES THAT'S A GREAT IDEA! I never tried playing with those things but...

- Okay let's do it. - stated Rei decidedly. - Sofía! Get your Ouija board. We're adjourning movienight. Let's ask this bitch what the everliving fuck is their problem!

[effable-ineffability]

Can I ask for some fight & separation followed by decades of Crowley engaging in self destructive behavior and decades of intense loneliness and longing on the angel’s part? Angsty angst being angstified? Or if you already have a similar fic... a link would do lol.

uh oh all right here’s some real angst and i am here for it and i have no apologies

this is gonna be in two parts, because one for crowley, and one for aziraphale, and also because apparently i have no self-control.  but also, if you know anything about me, you know i cannot not do happy endings so don’t worry too much ok

** content warning for implied drugs and sex, and very much not-implied alcohol

–

the place we used to love : part one

[read on ao3]

There was a drink in one hand, and something very hot in his other.  Crowley blinked, and realized that his cigarette had burned down to his fingers and was dutifully trying to turn those to ash as well.  He smothered it in the ashtray - well, near the ashtray at least - and drained the drink. It was refilled a moment later by the attentive bartender.

“Didn’t even - ” he hiccuped slightly, “ - even matter, ‘n th’ end.”  He waved his drink around. “S’not nonsense, I told ‘im. Is, he said.  ‘nd so I left, walked out.” Another hiccup, and he took a swig before he could spill the fresh drink.  “S’idiot. He is. Massive idiot. Massive, big ol’ idiot. Prat.” He pat his pockets with his empty hand.  “Where’re my smokes?” They were sitting in front of him. He pulled one out of the crumpled pack and put it between his lips.  “You ever fall ‘n love witha idiot before?” He tried to light the cigarette, and missed three times before the bartender took pity and lit it for him.  “Thanks. Idiot! Can’t believe… who’s he to say - ” another hiccup, “ - nonsense? He doesn’t even know. Doesn’t know. Can’t possibly know.”

The pub had closed an hour ago, but Crowley had refused to leave.  His head was swimming with the alcohol he had drank in startling excess, he kept seeing the bartender morph into twins and triplets, and he wasn’t even sure if she was real anymore.  No, the only part of his brain that wasn’t completely drowning reminded him, she must be real, because she just lit your cigarette.

“Idiot,” he mumbled, ashing near the ashtray and draining his drink again.

The bartender - her name was Ash, which Crowley was fairly certain he had made a joke about at some point within the last couple hours after his somethingth cigarette - hadn’t said much for the last hour while she had been cleaning up.  Ash had tried to get Crowley to leave when they closed, offering to call him a taxi to get him home safe; but he had laughed and said he had nowhere to go, and didn’t want to go there anyway. So she had allowed him to stay and continue drinking, mostly for fear of what he might do if he went out on his own.  (It had been the last coherent thing Crowley was able to do, miracling up a reason in Ash’s mind to let him stay. Seeing as how he couldn’t even light a cigarette now, he was glad she didn’t seem to think anything was amiss.)

“Husband?” she asked carefully when Crowley finally fell silent.  “Or boyfriend?” As far as she could tell, this redheaded man in sunglasses had stomped into the pub some four hours ago, threw himself onto a stool at the bar, and began a tirade that lasted well past closing time about a man he was in love with who was, if he was to be believed, an idiot; this supposed idiot had disagreed about something nondescript - she wasn’t able to get this answer out of the drunk man; something about work? - and walked out.  Or maybe the redhead had walked out. She wasn’t really clear on the details, despite having listened to the story for hours, because they seemed to keep changing.

Crowley snorted.  “Neither. Jussa idiot.”

“You clearly care about him a lot,” she persisted.

“But he doesn’t, see?  Doesn’t care. Nonsense.  Said nonsense.”

Ash sighed, and leaned on the bar to level a steady glance at him.  “Look, …er, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Crowley,” he said.

“All right.  Look, Crowley.  This idiot of yours, you clearly care about him.  Quite a bit. So don’t you think it would benefit you to talk to him about this?”

Crowley laughed, but was unfortunately halfway through a drag from the cigarette, and ended up coughing the smoke back up.  “Talk to him?” he repeated, gasping for air. “S’stupid! What’m I s’posed to say?”

“Tell him you love him,” Ash said simply.

He slammed his glass down; it shattered, and Ash leapt back with a cry of surprise.  Crowley’s glasses had slipped down his nose, and for the first time, she saw his eyes.  What struck her most wasn’t the slit pupils, or even the inhuman color - it was the overwhelming pain of loss that sliced right to her core.  “Weren’t you listening?” he spat, his anger not directed at her, but instead at everything around him.  “I did! S’what started all this.”

(one year later)

Crowley sat down on his regular stool, already with a cigarette balancing between his lips.  He was wearing a slinky dress the color of an expensive port, and his hair was in slightly frizzy waves around his shoulders.  One of his sleek, black heels was scuffed, but his jewelry was all flawless gold. He made an indistinct wave, and Ash swept over a second later with a glass of his preferred whiskey.  “That’s a nice dress,” she remarked, “looks good with your hair.” Then, gently, she asked, “How’re you feeling tonight?”

He rubbed his head slightly, and drained the glass in one without moving the cigarette.  “High,” he said simply. “Dunno on what. Probably shouldn’t be drinking. Leave the bottle.”

She did so, but didn’t leave.  “Still haven’t heard from him?”

“Am I supposed to?” he snapped.

“Do you want to?” she asked instead.

“Stupid question.”  He poured himself another glass, and drained it as well.  “Wanted to dance tonight,” he said instead. “Rain fucked up my hair.”

“Your make-up’s still flawless,” Ash offered in consolation.

He scoffed.  “Course it is.”  He poured a third glass, but just held this one for the moment.  With a sigh, he motioned with his free hand, and Ash obediently produced a lighter to light his cigarette for him.  “Figured I’d wait it out here,” he said, leaving a trail of smoke behind as he motioned to the front windows.

“I can fix your hair for you, before you leave, if you’d like.”

“How’s that?”

“I’m leaving for the airport after work, so I’ve got my bags here with me.  Hair dryer, hair spray, brushes, all packed up. I can dig ‘em up for you, though.”

Crowley found himself smiling.  “You’re sweet.”

Ash smiled lightly in return.  “Happy to help.”

Two hours later, when the rain had let up, however, Ash found Crowley being chatted up by a rather drunk businessman.  Crowley was playing along, all coy giggles and sidelong glances. Ash gave the two appropriate distance, and watched - a little disappointed - as Crowley took the man’s hand and tugged him through the crowds of people towards the back door.  Just before they both disappeared through it, Crowley caught Ash’s eye and gave her a little wink. Ash sighed.

Ten minutes later, Crowley reentered the building, hair properly mussed up, dress sliding off of one shoulder, and wiping the corner of his mouth ungracefully.  He slipped into an “employees only” back room, where Ash followed a moment later.

“You know,” she said, reaching over to pull his hair back from his face as he retched into a trashcan, “there are nicer ways of coping.”

“Ssh,” he hissed at her, spitting something that she didn’t want to see, then leaning on his arms braced on either side of the trashcan.

“More drugs?” she asked, tying his hair into a messy but effective ponytail with a spare hair tie she had retrieved from her purse fifteen minutes ago.

“Have to ask?”

“Your knees are dirty.”

“So?”

“You’re going to get hurt one of these days.”

Crowley didn’t respond immediately.  In fact, he didn’t respond at all. He straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and gave Ash a look that said, quite plainly, They can try.

(seven years later)

“How’s the wife?” Crowley asked.

“Pregnant!” Ash said happily.  “Oh, I haven’t seen you all week, we just found out a few days ago.”

“Congrats,” he said, raising his glass in a toast, then emptied it.  “And the boyfriend?”

“Leaving for France in the morning.  Sophie and I are going to miss him, but we’re going to visit next month, so it won’t be so bad.”  She lit his cigarette. “And you? How’s things?”

He shrugged and was quiet for a moment before saying, very softly, “Thought I saw him today.”

Ash had been halfway through rinsing some glasses, but stopped and turned back to Crowley.  “Did you?” she asked carefully. He hadn’t mentioned anything about his lost love in three years.

The hand holding his cigarette was also now tangled in his hair.  “Thought I did. Wasn’t him.” He reached up with his other hand and rubbed at his eyes under his glasses.  Ash caught a glimpse of deep, purple bags.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Don’t be.  Hasn’t even been a decade.  He’s a stubborn bastard. He’s gonna make me wait.”

(four years later)

“You’re bleeding.”  Ash passed Crowley a rag.  “Another fight?”

He tugged his sleeve up and wrapped the rag around his forearm before Ash could see the wound properly.  “Yeah,” he said.

“You shouldn’t drink when you’re bleeding.”

“Shouldn’t drink when I’m high either, but that never stopped me.”  He took the bottle from her and took a swig directly from it.

“Bad day?” she guessed gently.

He sneered, setting the bottle down.  “What gave it away?”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Do I ever?”

“Sometimes.”

Crowley sighed, leaning forward until his head hit the bottle.  “I saw him today.”

“Actually him?”

“Actually him.  He was… sitting on our— on the bench.  At the park. Feeding ducks.”

“Oh.”

“S’moved on, hasn’t he.  Doing the things we used to do, but alone.  Moved on.”

“Or he’s missing you.”

“Course he doesn’t miss me.  Twelve bloody years, and not a word.”

“You haven’t talked to him either.”

He swung the bottle at her lightly, with no real threat.  “Get outta here with your logic. Gimme a glass. Don’t need to pass out til I find someone willing to punch me.”

(eight years later)

Crowley stood outside the building, smoking, as the rain cascaded down around him.  He was dressed simply, a sleek V-neck shirt and his favorite leather pants with dark snakeskin boots.  There was a bruise on his neck, and bandages wrapped around his left arm.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ash panted, hurrying up to him and lowering her umbrella as she joined him under the awning.  “Sophie’s appointment ran late, and then we had to get Lily to her friend’s house.”

“S’fine,” he mumbled.  “How’s Sophie?”

Ash mustered up a smile.  “She’s doing all right. Better than she should be, according to the doctor, so we’re being optimistic.”

Crowley looked her up and down.  The years had taken their toll on her, but he could still see the same fresh-out-of-college girl that had let him stay past closing all those years ago.  She was thinner than he thought she should be, but he knew she wasn’t eating much with the stress she was under. “Good,” he said simply.

They stood in silence while Crowley continued smoking.  As he was just about done, Ash cleared her throat. “How are you, then?”

He gave her a brittle smile.  “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“It’s been twenty years, Crowley.  If I didn’t want to hear about that, I would have kicked you out a decade ago.”

Twenty years.  Twenty years since the last time he had spoken to Aziraphale.  He flicked the cigarette butt into the street, and rubbed his head.  “M’not good,” he admitted.

“I know.”  She took him by the arm, and led him into the pub.

It was empty.  It had closed for good sometime last week, and was going to be demolished tomorrow.  But Ash - sentimental thing that she was - had insisted on pouring him one more drink.  She sat him down in his usual, well-worn stool, and slipped behind the bar, shrugging her coat off and setting her bag and umbrella down.  “I brought something special for this evening,” she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out two bottles. “For you, the same whiskey you drank that first night I met you.”  She set it down in front of him, along with a glass. “And for me, the same wine you gave me and Sophie for our wedding. Took me a while to track both of these down, but I thought they’d be appropriate.”

Crowley nodded, the slightest of smiles still tugging at the corners of his mouth.  “Thanks,” he said.

She opened both bottles and poured a drink them each a drink; they sipped in silence.  Ash noted that Crowley looked more exhausted than usual. Twenty years, and he still looked exactly the same, but the exhaustion was something to see in more subtle ways.  The slope of his shoulders. The bruises under his eyes. The shake in his hands. “So,” she said.

“Can’t stay away anymore,” Crowley said; apparently, that was all the prompt he needed.  “S’been torture. Drugs, alcohol, sex, violence… it numbs it all for a while, but then everything just comes back.  How’m I supposed to ignore something when it won’t go away?” He laughed a little. “Pain’s still here, twenty years later.  Figured, if it’s still here now, it really isn’t going anywhere, is it? So fuck it, what else can I lose, right? Gonna get drunk,” he raised his glass in acknowledgement, “and gonna march right up to his stupid shop, and gonna give ‘im a piece of my mind.”

“Good.”  Ash said this firmly with a single nod.  She had waited damn near twenty years for Crowley to get to this point, and was glad he was finally here.  “You’ll let me know how it goes?”

He snorted, and held his glass out towards her.  “Babe, you’re along for the ride, aren’t you?”

She tapped her glass to his with a smile.  “Glad to be here.”

[endangered-liaison]

Prompt #15: Snowbird

There are many discreet, quiet houses in Ala Mhigo.

Many places for people to hide away when they don't want to be found, especially after the wars.

This particular quiet, discreet house...rattles a little.

There's a yell from within, and one of the window shutters shakes. Another yell, and the sound of a spell being cast.

A muffled "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck y--"

The front door of the building shatters apart, and a hooded, cloaked woman crashes through it. She slides across the stone pavement of Ala Mhigo like a ragroll, groaning and muttering curse words.

A highlander arcanist steps out of the building, a book in one hand and a knuckle duster in the other.

"Nobody fuckin' told me Boartusk was a fuckin' fighter."

She staggers her way to her feet, one fist raised to fight while the other clutches her stomach. Behind her mask, she smirks.

"Let's fuckin' go, yeah?"

Another doorway opens, and half a dozen assorted Ala Mhigan goons wander their way out. A rifle, a sword. One of them has an honest-to-fuck spiked bat.

"Oh, come the fuck on."

Her vocabulary is getting more limited than usual. In her defence, this situation is fuckin' bullshit.

"Who the hells sent you?" Boartusk asks. His Mhigan brutes close in just a little more.

"See..." Maxima raises one of her hands slowly, as if to surrender. The other stays holding her side. "About that..."

Max seems to recover from her 'injury' remarkably quickly. She draws a revolver from her waistband, firing two rounds towards Boartusk.

His magicked barrier absorbs the first one, and the second is deflected, leaving a long gash across his arm. Fucking mages.

The one with the spiked bat swings for her, and she shoots him in the leg before shoving her way past him.

She'd love to stay and chat, really.

Nothing personal, yeah?

She's just got places to be.

She sprints out of the quiet alleyway and into the main street of Ala Mhigo.

It's at that point that she realises that she just sprinted into the main street of Ala Mhigo while holding a gun, right after three gunshots went off.

A Resistance... wait, Ala Mhigan Army soldier spots her, and yells something.

A rifle shot blasts over her shoulder, and she she shoves her way past the guard. No time to explain the situation right now this moment.

Which would be great, if not for the fact that everyone is running and screaming, and an alarum just sounded.

Fuck.

She really stirred up the wespe's nest, didn't she?

She's got about a minute until the whole fuckin' Resist-- Ala Mhig-- it's the fucking Resistance, okay?! - comes down on her head.

Right. Great.

She reaches the entrance to another alleyway and stops. Turns, raising her revolver. The first of Boartusk's enforcers rounds the corner from the alley she came from. A shot to the chest, and he drops. She hits the second in the leg, and he goes sprawling.

The man with the rifle rounds the corner, and Max aims towards him. She fires her last round.

The bullet skitters against a barrier.

Fucking mages!

She ducks around the corner as the enforcer retaliates, running again.

The corridor is long, and narrow, and an exceedingly straight shot for anyone who wants to shoot her in the back.

Max dives into cover behind a pillar as a Ruin spell almost blasts her head (or at least her hood) off. She fumbles a little then clicks the side of her mask, switching on the overly-expensive thing's vox unit. "III to Snowbird, that name's still stupid, come in Snowbird!" The Resistance have got to be closing in, and that damned caster and his lackeys are still on her tail.

"You're stupid," comes the languid response, half-garbled by static. "What do you want, Max?"

She snaps open her revolver, loading rounds in as quickly as she can manage. "Emergency pickup, on the uh..." a rifle blasts out a large chunk of the wall she's hiding behind. Okay. Three rounds will have to do. She snaps the revolver closed again. "East side of the city rooftops."

There comes a long pause. "What city?" the voice on the vox demands, exasperated. "If you need evac from Limsa, you're shit out of luck."

Another gunshot, another Ruin. "Y'think I'd get vox signal that far out?! Ala Mhigo, you shite!" Max breaks cover, firing three rounds towards the advancing brute squad (that fucking caster is the Brute Squad, she swears), before running.

"Ala Mhigo?! If you're trying to kill yourself, you're doing a magnificent job. You think the Alliance won't blow me out of the air the moment I show my face? Have you seen what dragoons do to fliers?"

"Nope. Seen what they do to cannons, though." It's a low blow. In Max's defence, she's being shot at. She slides below a merchant's cart, and the cart promptly shatters behind her as a spell blasts shitty Rhalgr charms in all directions.

She ducks into an alleyway. There's silence on the vox save for Max's perpetually-ragged breathing for a few moments, then a wooden crash and a bang. The background noise seems to die down, and Max lets herself wheeze more freely.

"...Laelia. Please." A please from Maxima Sawyer is rarer than a thank you, and almost, almost as rare as a sorry.

For a moment, there's just static.

"...Fine. You're lucky I have some spare nitro. Get to a high point and carry something bright. You're going to have maybe thirty seconds to jump on board. And afterwards you're paying me for the fuel cost one way or another. I have to steal this stuff now, you know." There comes another, longer pause, and then: "Don't you dare fucking die."

"No chance," Max whispers. There are voices, muffled, nearby. "I've got a date."

_

"Snowbird to III, you still kicking?" comes the voice at last over the vox.

Max lets out a sigh of relief. "Yeah." She's had to run a few times, her hiding places getting found out, and at one point she had to hit someone repeatedly in the face with the butt of her revolver. But she's still kicking. "Guessing I need to make my run for it now?"

"Yeeeeeeeeeep," Laelia drawls. "See that balcony to your northwest? Run like you're being chased by the Frumentarii."

Max groans. "Great. Fuckin' great." She holsters her revolver (it's out of ammo by now, anyway) and flexes her fingers. Takes a few slow, steady breaths. Then kicks open the door in front of her, and sprints out into the streets. She makes it almost a full twenty paces before someone yells "there she is!"

At the same time, the Delphinus descends like a great wyrm upon Ala Mhigo, burning bright and blue. Max sees it roar past her, just for a moment.

Max doesn't know if it's the Resistance or the goon squad yelling behind her, and she doesn't much care to stay and find out.

She leaps and grabs a loose stone on the side of the building to her left. Thank fuck for Mhigan building techniques. She clambers her way up the side of the building quickly, and looks around as soon as she reaches the rooftop. There. Aligned, pixel-perfect, with the balcony.

She's never been so happy to see an airship in her life.

A gunshot blasts the minaret next to her head and she yelps. "Seriously?!"

She starts running, slipping her bow from her back and nocking an arrow as she sprints across a wooden bridge between rooftops. Almost there. "Ten seconds out!"

"All you have is ten!" Laelia warns. Already dragoons begin to spring across the rooftops, and cannons train on the gunship from below.

Max shoots an arrow towards the Resistance marksman who seems determined to make her life miserable. It misses, but she wasn't exactly aiming for him. She isn't here to kill the Alliance, as weird as it is to even think that.

Another bridge between buildings, and she's one house from the right balcony. Her lungs are burning from her sprint, but she can't stop yet.

She leaps. The marksman peeks out of his cover again...and fires at her. Max stumbles on the landing, almost dropping to her knees before staggering the last few steps into the Delphinus. "GO!"

Laelia doesn't need to be told twice. She punches it, pulling away at such a harsh angle that gravity threatens to knock them both out. It doesn't, however, and they fly free, screaming over the alabaster salt-flats below.

"You okay back there?" she asks at last.

Max staggers towards the cockpit, gripping one of the handholds. She lifts her jacket a little, looking towards her back. A rifle bullet is digging into her armoured vest, and a small amount of blood trickles down to her pant leg. "Bastard shot me!" she grumbles.

"Dunno what you were expecting." Laelia doesn't turn, fully immersed in her flying. "So you wanna explain what madness made you decide that going to Ala Mhigo was a good idea, or do I just have to speculate?"

"New job for a cute cyclops." Max tugs off her hood and unclips her respirator. She gives Laelia a shit-eating grin. "Hey Belisar. Glad you could make it."

"You're a shit," comes the blunt response. Laelia still doesn't turn, though she's grinning. "You're lucky I like you. I wouldn't go out of this way for just anyone, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Max pauses. "...Thanks." She slumps into the co-pilot's seat and hisses as it jostles her injury.

Laelia finally glances aside, slowing some as they finally put distance from the danger. "We've got to find you a medicus."

"Careful; I might start thinkin' you care about me." Max grins again. "It's not bad. Barely pierced my armour."

Laelia stretches. "Nah, you're just useful. Either way, where should I take you?"

"Wherever you're calling home now. I can get the rest of the way back to Ul'dah. You gotta steal your fuel now, after all." Max seems to be mulling over her next words with considerably more care than she usually would. Finally, she seems to reach the decision point of sod it (her usual decision factor in life), and just says what's on her mind. "...Castellus is alive."

"'Wherever' is my home. I go as far as my fuel can take me. I don't know if they want us here but I'm going to guess no." Laelia frowns, her expression hardening more at the mention of Victoria. "...Is she...?" comes the quiet response.

"Survived the Reaper, just about. She's got some stylish scars and a missing bit of ear, but...she's okay. Working out of Ul'dah, keeping her head down." Max tugs a little at the collar of her coat and coughs. "...Got herself a girlfriend. Roegadyn, if you can believe that." She snorts, and that transforms into another cough.

"Roegadyn!" Laelia laughs, falling back into her chair. "So we've lost her to the savages. I knew she was hopeless." Despite her harsh words, there's humor to them. It's clear she's only joking. "I don't know. I've mingled some among the Eorzeans, pretending I'm a knife-ear. They've proven pretty boring thusfar."

Max cackles. "You've got the attitude to be an Elezen."

Laelia shrugs. "I'm only channeling our dear late emperor. He'd not have fired upon his own, I'll say that much."

Max winces at that particular statement. "...Yeah."

Laelia falls silent, flying them on. At last she pulls up in the East Shroud, landing them not far from Baelsar's Wall. "I don't want to send you too far on a hike, but this is the best I can do," she said. "If you travel west along the road from here you'll come upon a tiny homestead called the Hawthorne Hut. It's staffed with knowledgeable conjurers and they'll be able to patch you up."

Max nods, getting to her feet. She staggers, just a little, and clutches the injury. Alright, she might have been slightly downplaying how deeply the bullet pierced her armour.

She pauses, just for a moment.

"...Thanks, Lee."

"Anytime," Laelia murmurs, not able to reach her comrade's gaze. "Keep in touch, alright? I'll be around."

"Will do. I'll bring Vic over to see you sometime. Promise it won't be for an evac, next time." Max smiles, and it seems genuine, for once. "Stay safe, yeah?"

"Good. I'd love to see her again. Tell her to keep her chin up, kay?" She turns to glance behind her seat, smiling. "Like I said, don't die. I'd be pissed, and that's way too much effort."

"Really?" Max hits the 'open door' button with the side of her fist, and waits for the stairs to extend outwards. "Always felt like the easiest emotion for me to get a handle on." She smirks, and offers a lazy Imperial salute before stepping out of the Delphinus and into the Shroud.

Laelia chuckles. She waits until she's certain that Max has her feet on the ground and then pulls away. The Delphinus vanishes behind the canopy above.

((Featuring Laelia Belisar’s flying talents and snark.))