#Dented skull au

[yeenkingart]

"F, it brings me much joy that you wish to reconcile, but this is an unorthodox meeting place. F? Where are you?"

Its fiddleford friday! Forget your memory gun at home so you have to make do :)

Something something Cane and Able

[woodland-gremlin]

Summoning Your Secret Boyfriend Pt. 6

First Previously AU Summary

“‘Even’ nothing. Now we are going to drop this, summon the new King, beg them for forgiveness and for them to deal with Trigon, and fix those disastrous laws!” Constantine declared while pulling out a book with a strange aura out of his coat pocket.

Red Robin internally sighed in relief. They were finally getting somewhere. He had been worried that they would be stuck getting integrated until Trigon was right on top of them. Not that it would stop them from getting questioned after the whole fiasco was over, but, small mercies.

From the way Batman was glaring at Supernova and Red Robin it was even more obvious that the Bat wouldn’t let it go. The only thing stopping him being the pressing matter with Trigon and the occult magician being very willing to yell at him if he kept poking. Though it did make Red Robin wonder how he planned to do so, it wasn’t like he lived at the manor anymore. No one but Alfred noticed that the only time they saw him was at the cave, and even that was rare. Really makes one question about the ‘World’s Greatest Detective’ title that Batman held. Danny certainly doesn’t think so with all his nicknames for him, and after the last few years he was inclined to agree. You really shouldn’t meet your heroes.

The Laughing Magician worked and while watching him make the summoning circle Red Robin and Supernova were suddenly glad that neither offered to make it. If they did they might have never stopped getting questioned. Even Constantine would have probably joined them with how differently their summoning circle would be. While the con man made an intricate circle with the title of Ghost King being the main factor, with candles placed at significant points and fancy offerings, the two boyfriends had a much simpler approach. The biggest differences being name and title. They call Danny by name, which makes it significantly easier than a broad title to summon him. Add on to the fact that most of the titles that Constantine are using are only Danny’s by default the ease in summons is a lot easier. Though them being his boyfriends and offering snacks plays a big factor in it too.

The occult magician then began to chant in Esperanto. Candles began to flicker, changing to Relam’s green. The room’s temperature began to drop, frost creeping across the floor and walls. Wind that shouldn’t be possible in a space station whipped around, flipping Batman and Superman’s capes over their heads. A neon green crack appeared in the air above the summoning circle. Claws clutching the tear in reality before ripping it further.

Out from the tear in reality stepped out an ethereal being. White hair that moved like it was underwater. Lavender skin with freckles spaced out like constellations. Bright green lighting birch scars crawling over their body, cutting all the up to their brow. Eyes glowing the same erie color with the one the scar cut through being that singular color, sclera and all. A crown seemingly made of aurora lights and ice, radiating power. A fur lined coat seemingly made from space only added to the otherworldliness, A ring shaped like a skull, signaling the being as one of death. Armor with small dents here and there showing that it isn’t just for decoration. That this being that they summoned was a fighter, a King forged in battle.

 Everyone but Red Robin and Supernova froze. They thought that they were prepared. They knew that they would be powerful, enough that they could rule over beings like Trigon. But no words could have prepared them for the aura bearing down on them. All their bravo was drained out of the minute they were subjected to the King’s presence. Aquaman was especially shaken. He was a King as well but he felt like nothing compared to the one in front of him. Like a big fish in a small pond thrust to face the ruler of the ocean.

“Were you the ones that summoned me, freeing from the bane that is paperwork?” the being asked.

To be continued . . .

Next

[1800titz]

DOG TEETH | ABO dynamics

alpha/omega au

(Always had an affinity for taking mutts home, you, even if they growled and bit.)

> alpha!Harry, omega!reader, dom/sub undertones, praise & degradation, p in v 8K on patreon

(You remember when he warned you; starting things you couldn’t finish. See it through—)

The sentiment you’ve cradled in the space between your collarbones seeps out in the way your fingers tangle into the wry bed of curls at the nape of his neck. The undomesticated (wild in your spuming bloodstream, riling every nerve ending to kindle in the fire— a twisted paradox) urge to be owned. Claimed. Mated. See it through—

He cradles your wet gasp against the flats of his teeth, the gap between. Your tongue slinks out, lashes fluttering, and you bask in the way he brushes his own against it. 

It’s no jejune delicacy of a first kiss. 

The tentative, eggshell-daintiness of brushing lips— no, it’s all tongue, teeth, sloppy, slick. Your head tipping back with the fingers he snares into the hair at the base of your skull, the fist he wrenches your crown back by. Spit smearing against the corner of your mouth. Humid aphrodisia that settles in the trench of your tummy when he grips you under your jaw, thumb and middle finger denting into the fleshy margins of your hot cheeks. He smears his tongue against yours again.

It’s this— possessive, hungering— a triumph you’ve been chasing from that prepubescent past time. Giving home, in longing, the pooling bliss of your mettle unspooling under the way he pants into your mouth. 

(Nasty, nasty man— the kind you barely know, the kind you shouldn’t let suck on your tongue, never mind in the turbulent window of an incipient heat that’ll make your bones feel like they’re rotting in their sockets.)

“Yeah, that’s it,” you make out the crook of a smile in his words (lewd, coarse), liquified yearning, your eyes half-mast, “Filthy, little omega. Never imagined you’d be such a pretty whore.”

It’s vertiginous. Feral. Makes your world spin on its axis, because this exigency, swallowing you— need, need, need, fuck— is an all consuming rapture (when he sticks his fingers into your mouth— a bunched dyad, middle and forefinger— prying your head back with the heel of his palm still under your aching jaw).

“Sweet, little—“ you vaguely hear over the spindrift of blood in your ears— you don’t even recognize the wanton hum you grant him, tongue out— something that dies on his teeth, gets mottled by a growl (it stems from his chest, reverberates through the palm you still have on him, rocks your fizzing marrow). 

There’s no gentle, callow dubiety (you don’t expect it from him, anyhow) when he pins you, limbs out, on the bed two steps from the front door. Your need— that same, unbroken longing that pulsates in your joints— spills a mist over the aftermath (clothes peeling away, your heart stuttering in its caging, you nipples between his teeth). 

Up until the point where he nestles himself between your thighs, splayed, flat on his abdomen at the foot of the mattress. 

You watch him with a lust-ridden hypervigilance. Like this, with your thighs split, you can smell yourself from the headboard. Your leaking slick. It makes you desperate, gets your face crinkling, forehead scored in ruckles as your hips cant up. 

And Harry plants his hand onto your tummy, under your navel. A monstrous looking thing in sheer heft (cleaned as best as managed, knuckles bruised, split where aged scar tissue was battered back into gashing). The stark size of his hand against your soft underbelly— the way his thumb to his pinky, the shape, sits so perfectly between the verges of your pelvic bone, pressing you flat to the sheets— only makes you squirm more.

“Easy,” Harry purrs. Easy, girl— a luring croon in a dominion-rich tone that makes every atom in your body sing. If the fire rippling across your circuitry wasn’t drawing you into a delirium, surely you’d wear a frown at the smile over his mouth— the mocking. 

Even still, you think, it’d falter at the way he ducks his chin to stipple kisses to your mons, the faint dusting of hair there, eyes flickering up. The electric charge in his soft-spoken echo (instruction, gentle), “Easy, baby.” The, “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.” His thumb prying you open, eyes winding, that clots your lungs.

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[planet-hwa]

୨୧  bad boy facade chapter 2 – 산

chapter 2  a wildfire of rumours     ୨୧   previous chapter  ◦  series masterlist

pairing     badboy!san x reader  genre     high school au, plot with angst intertwined in it word count     5.6k -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ warnings     the nickname princess will be a running theme through the series, jealousy, swearing, mentions of drugs, smaaall verbal argument, gaslighting, guilt-tripping — featuring woosang

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“Hey princess, do you have a pencil?” The boy next to you coughed lightly, pulling your attention to him.

You turned and were met with the sharp feline features you saw in the courtyard, looking sharper than a knife when closer — his jawline could cut you with the slightest touch. Not only was your new seating partner a devilishly handsome man, but also the man who winked at you ten minutes prior causing unwarranted butterflies in your stomach.

A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips at your slightly bewildered expression before he asked once more. “So, pencil or not?”

“Y-yeah, sorry.” Quickly reaching into your pencil case and passing it, sending him a small apologetic smile. “There you go.”

“Thanks princess.” He smirked, grabbing the pencil and letting his fingers graze yours softly, the small touch tingling through your skin and sending unwanted feelings through you.

Trying to concentrate on the information spilling from Mrs Waltz, something about a history project, but you were too distracted by the feeling of eyes burning into the back of your skull. You could feel the piercing glare that Yunho was shooting in your direction, almost feeling the heat of his jealous aura radiate through the room. Turning to meet his gaze, his eyes were dark and eyebrows furrowed, all he did was shake his head slowly at you before moving to talk to Hiraya, his best friend — the move he was always pull when trying to make you guilty and jealous, knowing you didn’t like her. You turned away slightly defeated, but also annoyed at your boyfriend's attitude, before turning to the boy next to you.

“You can’t call me that.” You whispered, leaning your head in slightly as to not interrupt the lesson. The boy’s lip curled at the corner once more, a small dimple denting his cheek as his smirk only grew. “Call you what, princess?”

“That.” You muttered, a quiet chuckle leaving his mouth before turning to face you.

“Okay, sorry princ- what’s your name?” He paused slightly as your eyes narrowed at the nickname, still holding a cockiness to his attitude. 

When you were talking about giving the Southside students a chance, there were definitely going to be some exceptions. One exception was automatically going to be Wooyoung, and you should’ve known that the people he was friends with would be just as arrogant and smug as he was described.

The classroom began to grow louder with chatting students as the teacher finished her opening lecture. You could still feel the eyes that daggered into the back of your head, only another pair was doing the same though you didn’t know it.

Behind Yunho’s piercing gaze followed another boy, who saw you earlier with his ex best friend and had heard about you — deciding to hate you the moment he saw the two of you walking through the courtyard. Wooyoung was aware that Yeosang quickly became friends with you after the two of them departed, and he despised it. Not because you were friends with his ex, but because Yeosang wasn’t more hurt after their eight years of friendship crumbled into the ground, not as hurt as Wooyoung felt: at least, that’s what he thought.

“It’s Y/N,” You stated, turning back to continue your work. “Not that we’ll be talking much.”

“Aww, why not, afraid I might corrupt you?” That stupid shit-eating grin still sat on his face as he crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair. The leather of his jacket squeaked as it moved along the back of the chair.

“No it’s not that, it’s just-” You didn’t really know what to tell him. It’s a bit weird to say to a stranger that the reason you can’t talk to him much is because your boyfriend was overly jealous that you were involuntarily sat next to a guy that isn’t him. “I need to focus on my work without any distractions.”

The dark haired boy raised his eyebrows, slightly offended by being referred to as a ‘distraction’, but left you alone — for now. That was the last thing you said before blocking him out for the rest of the class, hoping that Yunho noticed the lack of communication between the two of you and leave his jealous behaviour to cease.

The lesson felt like it was never ending, a continuous loop of historic information going in one ear and out the other. You struggled to stay awake and write notes down until the bell rang through the school. The floorboards creaked as students filed out of the room and hurried towards the cafeteria. You rushed to clean up your things, looking back at Yunho’s seat and noticing he had already left, unnecessary guilt began creeping through your body.

There were only the new students and yourself still remaining in the classroom as Mrs Waltz quickly chatted to each of them. You stopped your rush to pack up, not wanting to get caught up in the cafeteria line fight (or with Yunho’s current emotional state) as Yeosang’s figure appeared at the door. He sent you a small wave before distracting himself with his phone, not paying much attention to the classroom, or who was inside.

“My name’s San, by the way.” He whispered in your ear before walking toward Wooyoung. “See you later, princess.”

That stupid nickname, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at it. You could tell, by his overly cocky and confident demeanour, this nickname was going to stick whether you liked it or not. You gathered your things and made your way over to Yeosang without a second glance at San.

“You could’ve waited for me at our usual spot,” You stated as Yeosang looked up from his phone, quickly switching it off and pushing it into his pocket. “It would’ve probably been easier.”

“What do you mean, I always wait for you outside class?” He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, unsure why you wanted a change in the routine you had unintentionally set a few years ago.

The confusion was quickly replaced with realisation at your attempt to save him from an awkward situation. It was as if time had slowed as Wooyoung walked towards the door and past Yeosang, their eyes connecting instantaneously. There was no need for any words, their faces communicating every emotion and cutting through the thick tension between them. Yeosang’s face was easy to read: his eyes were soft with deep sorrow in them, the underlying sense of hope that his best friend had changed was quickly demolished by the emotionless face that stared back at him. His heart began to break as the sunken cheeks and dull coloured eyes showed him that nothing had changed about Wooyoung — still addicted and still a dickhead.

They moved past you, Wooyoung’s shoulder connecting with Yeosang’s and pushing him backwards slightly. God, you wanted to punch the smug look on his face after it. San followed him out the door, sending you another wink which you returned with disgust once more.

You watched as Yeosang’s eyes followed their figures moving down the halls before switching back to you and distracting himself with more pressing matters. “Lunch now? I’m starving.”

You shoved your books neatly into your locker and linked arms with Yeosang before making your way to the cafeteria for some very underwhelming “fancy” food.

“Oh, and I made a new friend for us.” Yeosang cheered as the doors to the courtyard pushed open, a cool breeze blowing over you and sending a small chill through your body.

“Wow, replacing me already?” You snarked, dropping his arm but being collected back by him.

“Very funny, I could never replace you.” He dramatically declared, a small giggle leaving your mouth. “I promise, he’s nice.”

The cafeteria line was long but moved steadily, until it was finally your turn. Filling up your trays with various different foods, all of them with unpronounceable names and looking like they’d be on the menu of a five star fancy restaurant, you left the line and wandered to your favourite spot.

The Promise Tree.

A willowed cherry blossom tree that sat in the middle of the large courtyard that had small notes from all previous generations tied to the branches. A lot of the notes were promises of high school couples to stay together for the rest of their lives: spoiler, most didn’t. Some were to promise to do well with grades and to succeed in life, but most were silly little drawings or confessions. You and Yeosang claimed the cobbled seats under it as your spot a few years ago, always sitting here to eat or study during your spares.

As you made your way over, your eyes scanned the courtyard for Yunho and quickly located him. He was sitting with his group of friends, Hiraya tightly snug next to him and acting like there was no more room at the table. His eyes caught yours, a smirk grew on his face as he watched your discomfort of how close she sat next to him, his revenge for your actions in class. You turned away and continued following Yeosang, noticing a figure over his shoulder that was sat under the tree as you grew closer.

The boy waved and Yeosang waved back, you doing the same even though you had no idea who it was. He had one of the most beautiful faces on a guy, on anyone, that you had ever seen, white shoulder-length hair shaping his cheekbones nicely. 

“Hwa, thank god you didn’t get lost.” Yeosang smiled brightly at the boy before turning to you. “This is Y/N, my best friend and now yours too!”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Seonghwa.” He shook your hand as you sat down, a sweet smile coating his face and pinching at the corners of his eyes. “Yeosang talked about you a lot in class.”

“Wow, way to call me out.”

You laughed as you watched him shove pasta into his mouth, the sauce already spreading around his mouth messily. You turned back to Seonghwa and began sharing small details about each other's lives. He was from the Southside but was a bit more fortunate than the rest, and he seemed to be the nicest of the students that you had met so far. As lunch continued, you got to know each other better and were instantly clicking together, it already being decided he was the newest member of your friendship duo — now a trio. 

The chatter of the courtyard died down and was replaced with whispers, pulling your attention to the distraction. Multiple rumours of the newly entering group began spreading across each table, growing more exotic with each whisper. The four boys sporting their leather jackets strode through the courtyard with an intimidating presence, San in front acting as their leader. Different reactions mixed through the air. The private school boys held judgemental thoughts towards them but were not confident enough to say them in fear of being beaten up. It was obvious though, that the girls were extremely interested, desperate eyes following the boys movements and examining their handsome looks: most drawn to the handsome confidence of Choi San.

You couldn’t deny that you weren’t paying attention to them either, even if you didn’t want to. They were like a messy car crash; you wanted to look away but the subconscious interest kept pulling your eyes back to them, back to him. Although multiple people stared, it was like he could only feel your gaze, meeting in and growing another shit-eating smirk on his lips before sitting at the table a few metres from you.

“God, not even a day at the school and they already think they own it.” Yeosang scoffed, directly turning his back towards their table and avoiding any further eye contact with one specific boy.

“It’s what they’re used to,” Seonghwa sighed. “It’s how they ran things at the old school before they– nevermind…”

Curiosity trailed at the end of Seonghwa’ sentence as he cut himself off from saying something he deemed unimportant. There were rumours of how the Southside High School suddenly burst into flames but nothing was ever confirmed, but there seems to be a reason that is known amongst some.

“Well at least none of them are in our homeroom, right Hwa?” Yeosang stated, momentarily forgetting about what happened fifteen minutes prior. “Oh… sorry Y/N, I forgot.”

“It’s fine, I think I can handle being in the same room as them for a few hours each day.” You huffed as you picked out the green peas from your pasta, the mushiness of them always grossed you out. “I’m just glad that he who shall not be named isn’t in your homeroom.”

Yeosang smiled softly at you, his eyes quickly drifting down and watching as he fiddled with his food before devouring it once more, very messily.

“Voldemort?” Seonghwa questioned and grew confused as the both of you burst into laughter. You quickly explained the situation to him without spilling unnecessary hurtful reminders, Yeosang promising to tell him the full story one day.

Before you could continue the conversation, a teacher walked up to your table and asked to borrow Seonghwa for the rest of the break. You waved goodbye as he followed the teacher back into school, leaving you back in old times with the solitude of Yeosang. A small silence flourished between the two of you, not uncomfortable but not peaceful either. Your mind was curious about the four boys Yeosang used to know, mostly one, but weren’t sure on how to bring it up. “Seonghwa seems nice.” You mumbled to break it, Yeosang quickly agreeing.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot me.” He said, jokingly throwing his hands up in defense. “Don’t actually though, I’m too pretty to die.”

Laughing at his idiocy, you gathered yourself before asking a question your unsure will trigger him or not. You know he doesn’t love talking about Wooyoung, but you also think it’s going to be inevitable to avoid the subject now that he’ll be seen daily, even if you too would love to avoid it.

“What’s up with their group? I mean obviously I know enough about Woo- he who shall not be named, but what about the others? Are they just as bad as him?”

Yeosang suddenly froze at the question, one he had been expecting but not at this very moment. It was known that he hated confrontation and talking about his feelings, but you always encouraged him too, never pressuring him. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding before he began to explain.

“The tall one, Mingi, seems scary at first but warms up to people quickly if they impress him in some way. When he does warm up to people, he can be really sweet — he’s a little dumb though. Jongho is the shorter one that looks very serious, and he is but he’s definitely the friendliest of the four. The short time I knew them, he was the nicest by far even if he looks the meanest.” He paused for a second, turning to glance at the group.

“San is the dark haired boy that acts like he’s the leader, which to them when they’re not with the entire gang, he is. He was definitely the rudest, always trying to get rid of me in some way. He’s a complete fuckboy who uses girls constantly and humiliates them when he’s done with them, yet they still go crawling back to him. He’s the one that got… him… to join The Black Pirates in the first place.”

You watched the four boys mess around over Yeosang’s shoulder, grimacing at the stories he was telling about them. It was like San’s eyes were magnetic to yours, always seeming to meet your gaze any time you glanced in his direction, an arrogant wink and smug grin always following.

“Mrs Waltz decided on arranged seating this year,” You brought your attention back to Yeosang, who had sneakily stolen food off your plate before quickly discarding it into his mouth. “I have to sit next to San for the entire year, she said no exceptions.”

“I’m sure that went over well with Yunho.” Yeosang scoffed, the joke laced with a seriousness that was easy to pick up. Knowing and having experienced the wrath of Yunho’s jealousy himself, he had already noticed the tension in the gaze you shared with him earlier.

“Look, I’m not saying you have to avoid San completely, that’d be impossible, but do not get caught up with him.” The tone of his voice was intimidating, something you had never felt from Yeosang.

“Yeo, you don’t have anything to worry about.” You reassured him, holding his hand lightly and watching the concern on his face disappear for a second. “I would never cheat on Yunho, I love him.”

“And you can rub your relationship in that guy’s face and he wouldn’t care!” He snapped, keeping in a hushed voice to not gain any unwanted attention from surrounding tables. “You don’t understand how many relationships he’s ruined because of his stupid hypnotic fuckboy attitude.”

The thought of people ruining their relationships by cheating with San was shocking to you, almost unbelievable. But you heeded your friend's concerns and warnings, reassuring him once more that nothing would ever happen between you and Choi San.

Ever.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

San could feel the longing stares of the students scattered throughout the courtyard, the majority of stares from interested private school girls who had never experienced danger in their pathetic lives. He always enjoyed the attention, letting it feed his ego as more girls would line up for him. He had never been in an official relationship, only keeping a girl to call over at his will for a few weeks before moving on to the next and acting as if it never happened — an ongoing routine for him.

And of course, private school girls were desperate for his attention. They had never experienced someone like him before and curiosity got the best of all of them: most of them. Yes, he had watched as girls gawked at him with heart eyes as he strode through the school, but he seemed to be only interested in one set of eyes. One that seemed to catch his eye every time but not with adoration or lust, but with an unknown emotion to him. It intrigued him more than anything, wanting to know how long it would take to crack you and make you fall for him.

“God, what is this shit?!” Mingi grimaced, slamming his tray on the table and letting food splatter across it, some landing on Jongho who punched him in the arm roughly. San glared at the two boys before they continued their antics. “Is this serious what you used to eat every day, Wooyoung?”

“Unfortunately.” He huffed, lifting his fork and watched in disgust as pasta dropped back down onto his tray. He pushed it away from him, crossing his arms grumpily and leaning back against the wall. 

“Can’t believe I’m back in this shithole.”

Wooyoung hated this school, not only because of the classes or the teachers, but because of the memories that he had created here. He hated the fact that every spot he looked, he was reminded of the friendship that was destroyed by himself Yeosang. From the hallways, to the classrooms, to the bleachers they used to sit under and each lunch together: everything held a memory that drugs could never make him forget.

San glanced over at his friend, following the death glare that he sent towards three people sitting under a willowed cherry blossom tree, mostly directed at the dark red-haired boy. Wooyoung refused to talk about Yeosang, but the boys had met him a few times before they disassociated with each other. Though he would never admit it, San noticed how Wooyoung’s addiction became stronger once the friendship disconnected.

“One thing is good about this school,” Mingi chimed in, pulling San and Wooyoung’s attention away from their thoughts. “There’s a fresh group of hot private school chicks who would love to hook up with a Southside badass.”

“Don’t call yourself a ‘Southside badass’ when you get scared of a fake cockroach.” Jongho rolled his eyes teasingly at the taller boy, the two falling into their usual bickering and exchanging a few small punches to the arms and knuckles to the head.

San’s eyes were drawn back to where your small group sat, watching you intently as you smiled and laughed at whatever conversation the three of you were having. His eyes traced your body lightly before recognising the white hair of the boy next to you.

“Looks like Park Seonghwa has made friends with your ex.” San chuckled at Wooyoung, receiving a glare of daggers.

“He’s not my ex, dumbass.” Wooyoung growled, eyes rolling but subconsciously landing on the back of Yeosang’s head. “He’s just some lowlife I once knew, I couldn’t give a fuck who he’s friends with.”

San knew that was bullshit but didn’t push for anything more, the only curiosity of the group remaining on you. Considering you denied talking to him in your homeroom class, he didn’t get to know you but was fascinated by you. Being so used to girls throwing themselves at him left and right, when you did the opposite, it ignited a fire within him — a challenge.

“So, who’s the girl he hangs out with?” San asked, lifting an eyebrow at Wooyoung. He squinted his eyes at the question, already knowing where San was going with it.

“I don’t know, he didn’t know her when we were–” Wooyoung stopped himself, hoping San didn’t notice the slip up. “When we knew each other. Aren’t you sitting next to her in homeroom?”

“Yeah, she didn’t seem very interested in getting to know me.” San chuckled at the absurd statement, one that has never come out of his mouth before.

“I think she’s dating that tall blonde guy,” Wooyoung stated, gesturing toward the table that Yunho sat at. San glanced over at him, instantly taking a note of the touchiness he shared between another girl. 

“He kept mumbling shit under his breath about how you two were flirting the entire class, ‘said he reckons he could beat you in a fight. What a fucking loser.”

San scoffed at the thought of fighting the tall, blonde boy who was as slender as the slender man himself. He glared harshly at the boy before turning back to you, your eyes instantly connecting. With a wink sent your way, he watched as your eyes rolled in annoyance, but took more attention to the small creep of blush going to your cheeks. Even if you were ignoring or denying, he knew he had an affect on you, whether you liked it or not.

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of getting with that bitch?” Wooyoung observed the eye that San had for you, annoyed that out of all the girls he could’ve chosen, it had to be the one connected to his ex friend. But he knew, once San made his mind up on something, there was no changing it.

“Jealous?” San cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Hell no, she’s not my type in the slightest.” Wooyoung hissed, the thought of you disgusting him.

“Too close to home for you, ay?” San taunted him, pushing all the right buttons to make him tick. He could feel the anger emitting from Wooyoung at his jokes before finally stopping.

Lunch continued quietly with a small tension, Wooyoung’s anger still present but aimed at the bickering of Mingi and Jongho. San blocked out the three of them, instead meeting the eyes of every girl who smiled and stared his way, their boyfriends sitting next to them with death stares on their faces: none of them intimidating enough for San to stop. The only thing distracting him was you, his eyes always seeming to drift back in your direction and always meeting the annoyed innocence in yours.

Whether it was him who stared first, or you, there was no denying it — a magnetic pull kept drawing you to each other.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The rest of the school day went painfully slow, watching the hands on the clock tick from minute to minute yet it felt like an hour each time. In the corners of your notes showed the evidence of your boredom, small scribbles and drawings scattered over the pages in order to distract yourself from the repetitive dull voices of your teachers. Though he was sat right next to you once more, you hadn’t spoken to San since the early morning, trying to follow your best friend's warning and avoid conversation when possible. 

His eyes drifted from the window of the outside world to your notebook, watching you draw a small cat in the bottom left corner. A small smile grew on his face at the subtle innocence in the drawings that covered more of the page than general notes.

“Cute drawings,” He whispered in your ear, the warmth of his breath fanning across your cheek indicating how close he really was. “How did you know I liked cats?”

“It’s not for you, dumbass.” You retorted, you turned your body slightly to face away from him in an attempt to block him out, but the hint didn’t get received. Or maybe it did and he just ignored it, throwing it away like useless ads you get in your mailbox.

“Damn… feisty,” He whispered whilst reaching for a pencil from your case. Before you could stop him, he began writing something in the top corner closest to his reach: a series of numbers followed by a small winky face.

“What the hell is that?”

“My number, princess,” That stupid nickname slipping out as a familiar smirk curling onto his lips, one you would love to punch right off. “Give it a call sometime.”

Your face was masked with utter disbelief as you stared at the dark-haired boy. The confidence that he held with no fear of rejection was astonishing, but also impressive. He knew he could do that to any girl and they would call or text that number within seconds of them parting each other. Watching as you stared at him in shock, he cocked his eyebrow in a way that triggered you. This southside biker fuckboy really thinks you’re that easy, that desperate for his attention? Absolutely not.

“Give it to someone who’s interested, I'm happily taken.” You revealed, distracting yourself with your drawings once more.

“Are you sure?” The question made you snap your head back at him, that stupid shit-eating grin creeping onto his face as he examined your anger. “I mean, I haven’t seen the two of you talking since before the first bell., seems more preoccupied with his friend. Sounds like a very happy relationship to me.”

You wanted to punch him right is his perfectly chiseled jaw, because you knew he was right. It wasn’t a happy day for your relationship, and you’re starting to think there hasn’t been a happy day in a while, but you didn’t want to admit that to yourself. Anytime you think about all the jealousy, manipulation and straight up bullying you face from Yunho, it makes you question everything — until your brain reminds you of all the nice moments: buying you flowers randomly, romantic dates, the soft kisses the two of you share. It was hard to face the truth when you couldn’t differentiate which side was more of the reality.

And you had never had someone notice it, let alone confront you about it. Especially not someone you’ve known for a day.

“It’s fine, I-” You tried to gather your words but they kept scrambling, only two words making a sensible explanation. “Couple’s fight.”

San hummed in response before the final bell cut him off. 

Finally.

You scooped up all your belongings and made a hasty exit before he could continue talking to you. Seeing Yeosang standing next to your locker instantly calmed you down, the feelings towards San disappearing as soon as your best friend’s puppy face came into view. Organising your books into your locker, grabbing the homework teachers have already started handing out, the two of you left the building and made your way towards the car park.

As Yeosang’s car came into view, you noticed four polished motorbikes parked a few spots over before they were claimed by a group of leather-clad boys. All in a hurry to leave their new school, they threw their helmets over their heads and started the engines, the loud rumbles vibrating through the air and drawing attention from all directions. San spotted you standing next to the car, winking at you before flicking the visor of his helmet down and revving the engine, the boys speeding up and out through the school gates.

“What a bunch of douchebags.” A familiar voice scoffed as it grew closer, turning to see your boyfriend walking in your direction.

“Oh yeah, Yunho asked if I could give him a ride too.” Yeosang shrugged.

Looking up at him, Yunho’s dark brown eyes still managed to avoid yours but with slight hesitation that you happened to pick up on. The three of you loaded into the car, backing out of the parking lot and beginning the quiet journey home.

It was an uncomfortable atmosphere not just for you and Yunho, but for Yeosang too. Though he would always be on your side when an argument between the two of you occurred, he understood Yunho’s side a bit more than usual. The soft music that played in the background was the only distraction for you, though you could feel eyes from the backseat watching your every move. Yeosang pulled up in front of your house a few minutes later and bid the two of you goodbye, leaving Yunho here as well since his house was just a few houses down, driving off quickly to leave the two of you standing awkwardly on the sidewalk.

“Uh, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Yunho mumbled but before he could walk off, you tugged at his wrist and stopped him.

“Wait, we need to talk.” You said, eyebrows furrowing upwards. “Please.”

He turned around and looked at you, a displeased expression masking his face. He sighed loudly before crossing his arms at your desperation for communication.

“Yunho, you don’t have to-”

“Why did you let him flirt with you all day?” Yunho growled, stepping closer and towering himself over — another one of his tricks to assert his dominance over you. “Because you enjoyed it, right?”

“Wait, I tried to tell him-”

“Do you want to break up then? So you can go be with your new drug dealer boyfriend?” Yunho argued, refusing to let you explain yourself.

“What- of course not!” You eventually were able to get out. “I don’t care for him, I promise you. I tried to tell him to stop all day-”

“Sure you did.”

“I’m serious Yunho!” You cried, tears beginning to prick the corners of your eyes. This was something you were used to, him never listening or letting you explain anything. “I told him that I was yours and that I wasn’t interested. I promise you.”

He looked down at you, watching as tears threatened to fall down your cheeks. Reading the emotion in your eyes, his face softened, large hands cupping your cheeks before placing a soft apologetic kiss on your lips. You melted into his lips, hands instinctively wrapping around his waist before he disconnected. He held the back of your head and pulled you against his chest, placing a small kiss on your temple before resting his chin atop your head, a tear finally making it’s escape and soaking into his white button up.

“I’m sorry baby, you know how jealous I get.” Yunho apologised, placing another kiss on your forehead. “I’m just so worried to lose you.”

“You won’t” You muttered into his chest, looking up and being met with his kind eyes.

Moments like this reminded you that he was good, things in your relationship were good. With forgiveness set aside, Yunho walked you up to the front door, another soft kiss placed on your lips followed with an ‘i love you’ from his. You returned him with one before saying goodbye and entering your house with a sense of happiness from the day.

Walking through the house, your mother was nowhere to be found, so you retreated to the solitude of your room and flopped onto your bed with a heavy exhale. The sound of soft purs entered the room, your cat Latte, jumping up to your bed and instantly curling into your side, rubbing her head over your limp hand and demanding attention. First day back and you were already exhausted, drained from the school work and the social interactions. Though not all the day was bad: seeing your best friend and boyfriend again since the start of summer, meeting a new friend who seemed nice within seconds of a greeting — all you could think about though was that one boy.

That one dark-haired boy with the sharp features, always holding a smirk on his lips.

You knew you shouldn’t give him a second thought, not only because of Yeosang’s warnings but because of the overly cocky and arrogant behaviours he showed you within the first five minutes of meeting. But you couldn’t deny it, you were intrigued and you hated it. It’s not like you were in need of his attention or wanting to date him, but you were fascinated by him.

But you made a promise to the person closest to you. 

Do. Not. Get. Involved. With. Choi. San.

So you pulled out your phone and jotted it down in your notes, starting a tally of any time you failed your newest goal, your mission: avoid Choi San at all times.

A mission proved to be impossible.

    ୨୧  next chapter

author’s note   chapter 2 is here !! i'm so sorry it's almost two days late, i have been so busy this week but i didn't want to rush this chapter ;-;

  ୨୧  taglist    @morethingsfandom @solaris-amethyst @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @baby-stay92 @autieofthevalley @liveloveseonghwa @dejatiny @mortal-advocate @dreamsoffanfics @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @dalsuwaha @nevieatiny @woateez @choizlover @foreveryxunggg @woosmaid @yeosannie4 @auroras-colors @mintchocosan @jjongbearsies @frzzenfrxg @sanniebabes @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @eyesonlyformingi @sannies-tiddies @honeyjongie @rainteez02 @robertsbbygirl @mingisgf999 @atzz8 @moonlight-hwa @chrryjoong @sanhwalvr @cloudysannie @atxxzist @choisansplushie @starz-choisanii @slowitdownmakeitb0uncy @jerseygirlzzzxx @mzngi @sparda1234 @babigriin @marvolos

[sivseven]

housemates and some others

archons x gn reader [smau & hcs] (modern au)

[potential romantic: venti, zhongli, ei, furina, mavuika ft. neuvillette & scara // platonic: nahida]

Economy in Teyvat has recently been… less than stellar and you have had some certain huge adjustments. Mainly because when you accepted your work, you had to move to the city because that was where your place of work was located. Your line of work does not really want you flaking out on them, meaning you have to be close by when you are needed on certain emergencies.

And so, you had to look for listings on a living space. Most apartments were quite expensive, nothing your current savings could not handle… for like the first three months. But you had to scrap that, you’d rather not risk it, especially on possible medical emergencies that could put a dent on your bank savings.

But then, by some miracle, just a month before your new work starts, you found something relatively cheap — except the very reason why it is cheap is because the villa you will be living in will be shared with a couple of people around. Six to seven people, give or take. And that is not even including you.

You had decided to inquire, and to no one’s surprise, the owner accepts you after running a background check and getting your deposit. You’re already good to go and have been told that you won’t move in until a week later after the last few renovations are done.

You met with your landlord by then, and you are positively smitten — Mister Neuvillette is so nice and dreamy. You feel nothing but some intense catholic guilt for just imagining stupid things that involve him and you.

But this isn’t about you and him.

It’s about you and your really weird roommates.

VENTI

A musician, a composer, just an overall bonafide artist, some kind of member in an idol group that you may or may not be exposed to already — a soul like no other with one hell of a talent in drinking.

He once invited you to hang out with him on a patio, wanting your input for his new piece, you ended up drunk out of your mind with what you think to be the start of your liver problems and maybe the shortening of your lifespan.

Venti is terribly cryptic with his words and it takes every fiber of your being not to crack his skull open to just… understand what is going on with his mind. You tried deciphering most of the shit that he was saying to no avail.

He has a tendency to give you a quick ‘ehe ;P’ whenever he breaks your things, and he pays them eventually… in installments, one measly mora for each week, he tells you all the time about how he’s a starving artist with no mora to his name.

(He quite literally invited you and your other roommates to watch him perform a concert with his idol group, and you watched him get paid stacks for it — and of course, you made him buy you a new pair of headphones).

He owns a blue dragon he named Dvalin and it just floats around the tank like some washed up corpse. To this day, you don’t know if Dvalin is a plastic toy or an actual sea slug.

A huge troll — mostly to Zhongli, hassling him constantly about the ‘good old days’ and how Zhongli was so old and that he sure looks like it (probably from all his boring work, according to Venti).

One of the biggest shit talkers, but he is so cryptic about it that it takes a while for the target to understand, yes you have been on the receiving end at times but in good fun (like hiding his alcohol).

But he does shit talk anyone that does you wrong. Like any time you come to him just venting about this one person, he is quick to jump on your side and even quicker to say something so underhanded about that person that even you’re a little baffled. You and him are definitely a pair of gossip besties.

ZHONGLI

One of the more levelheaded residents in your little clubhouse arrangement. He is responsible, and extremely well put. He has the energy of either a good househusband or a grandpa, waiting for you with tea.

You got along fairly well, and you have unofficially promoted him as your encyclopedia since he seems to know so much, especially from his nation. A proud Liyuen through and through.

He has a regal aura around him, kind of like your landlord, but for some reason, you hardly see the both of them chatting or having tea. You once tried to set up an afternoon tea with him and Neuvillette, and both cancelled on you despite seemingly interested at first.

Come to think of it, you never once had him accompany you to Neuvillette’s office to pay rent — the rest always accompanies you, Furina and Nahida more often than the rest just to have some tea and chat with him. But Zhongli never did.

He is wise beyond his years, and has himself a job as a museum director. This man is a historian, you’re pretty sure with how much knowledge he has around the world. His room is always off-limits to Venti (which turns into your room becoming the drunk’s usual hangout spot that isn’t his room) because sometimes he takes home rare artifacts that could crumble into dust if anyone even dared breathing on it.

He has… odd friends. Really… really odd friends. You thought they were cold at first, but then you realized, the moment they started talking, they sound like regal idiots that are so awkward with talking, like they are not used to talking to people of your caliber (which is like… way below them).

A stickler for contracts, never did break them once. Any deal you make with him is written on paper. You still have a souvenir of a crude contact written in a Starbucks napkin.

Every time you guys go out, dinner is automatically on you. He always forgets his wallet at home that at this point, you consider giving him a chain for his wallet to not forget it.

He has a frog named Azhdaha and it hates you… and a bit of Zhongli too.

EI

Bless this woman. She is your purple wife, a hardcore recluse and gamer, going in her room for hours to just game. You’ve come to learn that Ei is a popular streamer and has once walked in on her doing so when you came to bring her dinner over.

You nearly got cancelled because apparently, her parasocial fans really dislike the idea of her having a possible caring partner that brings her food out of nowhere. They found your twitter quickly and some asshole was planning to dox you so they can hunt you down and punish you for stealing their ‘gamer wife’.

For some reason, even after that debacle, she makes you sit beside her at times during a stream and makes you ‘get along’ with her chat.

You nearly had a #[Name]IsOverParty a second time when you lightly directed her to the right direction when she was exploring the same game you were also playing just to help her, saying you were being condescending and that apparently it means you must not believe women can be gamers.

Ei cannot cook. It’s like her cooking just cannot exist in any type of universe. You were sure that if there was another universe where even she is an almighty ruler of a nation, she’d still be unable to cook.

You once made the mistake of asking her to cook you something when you were newly introduced in the house and she gave you the weirdest looking soba noodles. You swore it looked at you, but she had an expectant look on her face that you had no choice but to stomach it.

You and her are the epitome of the meme that goes like ‘x who just woke up at 2am’ 🤝 ‘y who is just about to sleep at 2am’.

Often these run ins turn into a 2am session of just binging shitty videos on the internet, or her trying to teach you the better builds for your Tarnished after you make yourself and her a bowl of instant ramen noodles.

She has a friend… Yae Miko, who is some… CEO of a publishing company. She terrifies you sometimes and you do not recommend being alone with the both of them, it is likely you will not survive for reasons… that are not to be disclosed.

NAHIDA

You were confused when you first met her. Actually, you even asked your other roommates if they also brought their kid. And everyone looked at you and said, “Oh yeah, that’s Nahida, don’t worry, she makes the best soup when you’re sick.”

And you were just genuinely perplexed about her existence. She is a literal child, but her mind transcends so much — you can even say it has a better mileage than Venti’s, but to be fair, he has borderline alcoholism to deteriorate his cognitive functions, so that probably wasn’t saying much.

She is the epitome of someone who either knows too much or knows too little and there is little space for the normal in between.

Also wise beyond her years… how many that may be. You wonder how she can pay for her rent or even afford to live without her parents… but apparently, it’s better that you know little about her origins, and that her family is with you and your other roommates (it was so hard not to melt at that).

So how can she pay for her share on the rent? She has a covert consultancy job in managing databases. For some reason, this kid is more tech savvy than you will ever be. Everyone comes to her to troubleshoot their phones and she is always happy to entertain them, provided that you let her make you try her candied al— akji… ajilenakh nuts. In all fairness though, they are pretty damn good.

Does she go to school? Technically? But she does it remotely, on her laptop, so there are hours within the day where the villa is so quiet just so Nahida can have her time with her, what you are sure, are university-level lessons.

She has a snake called Apep. It disappears from its cage randomly, and holy shit does it put everyone on edge. Everyone forgets Apep until she turns up three months later.

She has… a friend? No, a son (??), just… someone she supervises. And it’s the saltiest guy you’ve ever met. He’s an asshole but somehow you guys are casual friends that send each other the shittiest memes. He is… definitely well-connected. Nahida supervises him, he is in the same idol group with Venti and a companion of Zhongli’s (the emo one, you recall), and for some reason, he is tense and frosty around Ei.

You and her have tea parties together, with Furina usually and Zhongli. And she always accompanies you when it’s time to pay your monthly dues.

FURINA

Your darling wife in blue. She is actually also a popular figure in Teyvat. An opera singer who is constantly making the most groundbreaking performances in Teyvat. She is from Fontaine, so of course it is already very much expected.

For some reason, she is the only one with a discounted rent payment? Neuvillette permitted it, and when you asked him, he said he was looking after Furina and you just fell harder for the man.

Not going to lie, when you first met her, you were intimidated and a little standoffish. She was a star, a literal legend, a household name that even as someone who doesn’t dabble much in opera arts, you just… know her from the news.

But the moment you further got to know her, you had a cultural reset with how incredibly subdued and skittish Furina is. She is so easy to startle and extremely sensitive. You found out how much of a class act she is though.

The definition of healing her inner child. You walk into her room and you nearly got confused if it was Nahida’s or hers. But if not for the blue themed room, you’d have definitely mistaken her room for someone else’s. It wasn’t just… something you would ever expect from a star like her. Her room’s most distinct features were the four plushies that sat on her big queen bed.

A crab, a seahorse, an octopus, and a huge… thing. She said it was an Oceanid, made for her by the production that she starred a play in which was titled “The Little Oceanid”. You watch her snuggle with it when you would crash in her room just to give her some company.

She hates, hates, HATES, being alone. Not her thing. Not ever. You asked, and it was something about her being isolated for so many years despite the fact that she is a literal star. And because of that, your room gained a new tenant other than the alcoholic idol.

She has a close relationship with Neuvillette, hence the docked rent. They seem to go way back and she always joins you to his office when it’s time to pay rent. You once tried to ask her to put in a good word for you and she looked at you, offended, because she thought you and her were planning a long term cohabitation that was not at all discussed beforehand.

This goes without saying, but she invites everyone to her plays. Front row seats every time and it is just… magical every time she is out there, shining.

MAVUIKA

She is definitely the most normal roommate there is. But she’s also kind of popular? In a sense that she has a lot of connections. She has friends who are actually normal? People you can actually talk to?? No offense to Xianyun, Houzhang, and Jiehu.

Her friends come in to storm the villa every now and then. Your most memorable one was probably this Kinich guy and his rabid… dog, Ajaw. It tried to bite off any person that came close, and it won’t stop barking. Kinich calls Ajaw the yappatron and none dare contest such a name.

Other than in real life, Mavuika is also really popular online. Mostly because of her biker chick aesthetic. Apparently, the internet ate it up. How did they know? Ei posted a picture of Furina taking a selfie with her and Mavuika (and somehow your back was caught on the background picture too). Ever since then, her quiet 8k followers on Twitter and Insta blew up into a million followers.

The opposite of Zhongli. When you two go out together for dinner, it’s HER shout. It always is, somehow it evens it out, you’re not sure why. Of course, those dinners always involve you riding her bike with her.

You guys are the definition of bait. Absolute bait. You post each other on stories, which is just, hilarious because it leaves her fans always speculating. So far no one has decided on which one is it. Though in the end, as crazy as they are, you’re grateful Mavuika’s whipped fans aren’t really as terrifying as Ei’s. No one dared to cancel you and were just making some deranged comments of having a threesome with you and her. Well, now you’re not so sure which is worse.

There is an unoccupied room in the house, and Mavuika uses it for her home gym. She works out and you watch, but you always run away before she could drag you to join her. You tried, but her workouts are so intense, you’d literally rather have liver failure.

Undoubtedly one of the most caring roommate you’ve had the pleasure of living with. She is incredibly dependable and is just a warm blanket of a person. You once got sick and she’s there caring for you when Nahida is busy.

Mavuika is a street racer, and often wins it. You’re not really sure the ins and outs of it, but you’re pretty damn sure that she is, quite literally, loaded from winning those races.

You ask her why she’s still living with you all if she’s already loaded, she only shrugged and dragged you to her room, never to be seen again.

extras:

NEUVILLETTE

SCARAMOUCHE

[abarbaricyalp]

omg so many of the meet ugly prompts are so funny.. 22 or 57 if you like!!

They're so silly! Which is great for SamBucky, who are also dumb. Here's some college AU shenanigans. From this list 57: We're fighting over the last box of half-off valentines' day chocolate and end up in a 'who has it worse' battle

Cw: migraines, discussion of pain, threats of throwing up, mentions of cheating (they're having a who has it worse competition 🤷‍♀️)

Sam was so out of it, he didn't even realize what day it was until he stumbled into his favorite dilapidated used-to-be-a-Target-and-was-still-red-but-wasn't-a-Target-anymore corner store only to be further blinded by wilting flowers and an abundance of pink that could've covered a few hundred Dream Houses and Malibu convertibles.

He groaned a little, unable to help himself, and put his hand over his eyes, focusing on the ground as he made his way to the soup aisle to load up on spicy shrimp ramen and mushroom soups with all the extra add-ons. He grabbed a half-liter of ginger ale too, then went to the freezer section and got a bag of french fries, not because he wanted them, but because the bag was big enough to wrap around the back of his head and down his neck to alleviate some of the pain snaring through every fold in his brain and every muscle connected to his skull.

His stomach churned with alternating waves of hunger and nausea as he ducked between the aisles of chips and prepared meals. He was trying very hard to stay away from all of the flowers that desperately wanted a home, but the smell was permeating the store. The cloying sweetness of their petals was digging into his smell receptors, or however that worked. He moved the bag of french fries over his face, kept it there until the cold seeped past his skull into his head and also started to hurt his eyes.

The check out line was stretching halfway across the store for some reason. It was the middle of the day on a Tuesday, but he would've thought it was ten minutes after the end of the world was announced. He massaged over one of the million pinpricks of pain in his head and, on cue, a baby began to cry.

Sam peeled out of line again, directing himself away from the decibel inferno. While his head was being split apart anyway, he pulled out his phone and texted his best friend, Sorry to miss the fun last night. Still sick as hell. Let you know when my brain's done going through the seven layers of the Hellraiser make over.

Riley answered him back with an indecipherable string of emojis and added, Have some chocolate. Solves everything. It's got, like, endorphins in it or something.

Sam did not have the neuron capability to argue. He turned down the, surprisingly, empty sale aisle and tried to make sense of the colors and letters on the bags in front of him. Eventually he would have to recognize a Reese's package. There'd have to be some orange on there somewhere instead of all this pink and red.

There was lots of the overpriced chocolates left. The kind so expensive that, even half off, it still wasn't worth it. Lots of gummy candies too, the sight of which was enough to turn his stomach and make his teeth ache. Surprisingly, the sour candies had been wiped out along with the normal chocolate. He put a dented box of conversation hearts back in its wrong spot on the shelf when he confirmed there was nothing that actually belonged there hiding behind it.

Someone turned down the aisle just as Sam spotted one lonely bag of heart shaped Reese's sliding to the floor. He reached down to grab it, but was cut short by his head colliding with something else. Honestly, this migraine was already so bad, he almost didn't notice the additional pain. Almost. It made itself known.

"Oh my God," he groaned. And he just fully sat down on the floor. His head was swimming and he didn't trust himself to stand up. The pain was traveling down to his nose, making his eyes water, and he hadn't even hit his nose.

"Dude, come on!" the stranger snapped, rubbing at his head. "Watch where you're going."

"You hit me," Sam snapped back. And, when the man reached down to grab the Reese's, Sam's inner petulant child came out and he snagged it away with a speed that would eventually give him motion sickness. "No chance in hell, buddy. I saw it first."

"Are you seriously about to do this?" the man asked.

Sam glared at him, then faltered a little. He was handsome. Stupidly handsome. The kind of handsome that would normally make Sam roll his eyes. Actually, if he could roll his eyes at that moment without wanting to vomit, he would. Because of course someone this handsome would be an asshole.

"You've got to be joking," the man said, staring at where Sam was undoubtedly squishing a few heart shaped chocolates beneath his death grip. "I'm not in the mood. Please give me that."

"I saw it first," Sam repeated. "I've been on this aisle. How did you even see it at all?"

"I knocked it down from the other aisle!" the man snapped. "I was reaching for it, but some stupid singing cactus went off and I knocked it across the shelf."

Sam had a great vantage point, on the ground, to see that the shelf level with his face did extend to the next aisle. Huh, he'd never noticed that before. "What's on that aisle?" he asked. Then felt like cringing (except it would hurt) because that was stupid.

"Toys," the man huffed. "A lot of stupid, annoying, cheap stuffed animals with stupid things written on ugly hearts. Bullshit platitudes for people who don't know their partners well enough to get them something meaningful, or don't care enough to spend the money, but still want an excuse to fuck you for checking off some stupid box on an imaginary, capitalistic hellscape itinerary for a holiday that shouldn't even exist. All because some fucking Catholic in the Roman era kept marrying people, who probably weren't even happy anyway, because how could anyone be happy being stuck with someone else for the rest of their life, especially back then when love probably hadn't even been invented yet, except to ruin people's lives. Which, actually, is what it's still used for. So what the fuck."

Okay, so asking what was on the next aisle hadn't been that bad.

"Bad Valentine's Day?" Sam guessed.

The man glared at him, fingers working in and out of a fist. Then he sat down in front of Sam all at once, coat fanning out around him as he did. "My girlfriend's sleeping with my ex-boyfriend."

Sam's mouth actually dropped open for two seconds before he realized what had happened and he shut it again. "Wow. That's... Yeah."

"He introduced us. Set us up on our blind date," he continued.

Sam subtly moved the Reese's further away, tucking it behind his hip. "How long had--"

"Six months."

"Right. And--"

"We all live together."

Sam had to physically focus on his jaw muscles to keep his teeth together. It meant his eyes were free to be as expressive as possible, eyebrows raised, eyes wide. "Wow. And I thought I had a bad night. All I did was sleep in a bathtub so I could lean over to the toilet to vomit easier." And because the bath tub was cold, which had felt amazing against his skin when he'd gotten in. It felt less amazing on his muscles this morning.

"And then, this morning, I found out the necklace I bought her is two days past its return window," he added.

"Do you think a bag of Reese's is going to fix any of that?" Sam asked. "At least it can actually help my migraine."

"Oh, shit," the man breathed, eyes snapping up to Sam. They were so bright they almost hurt to look at. "I'm yelling at you and you've got a migraine?"

"Yeah. If you kept it up, I was about to get sick on your shoes."

"Sorry," he said.

"Just...every word, a new needle into my brain," he continued, miming shots coming at his head.

The man looked stricken up until Sam's mouth twitched and then broke into an exhausted smile. "Asshole," the man muttered. "Look, dude, please, I will pay for everything else in your hands if you let me have the Reese's. They're the only chocolates left and I love peanut butter."

"There's Lindt and Rocher down there," Sam said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "You can get a capitalistic lion with the Rochers. No ugly heart, just the container."

"I'm not spending ten dollars on six fake truffles."

"Could name the lion after your ex and rip it apart or use it for dart practice or something."

"You could do that. Name it after me."

"I don't know your name," Sam pointed out.

The man held out his hand. "Bucky," he said.

"Fuck," Sam groaned. "You really do have the worst luck."

"I will give you a handful of Reese's if you let me have the bag," Bucky tried again.

"No way. No. No. Because, look, you're not the only one dumped out up shit creek without a paddle, alright? I defended last semester, which means I graduated, which means my student insurance cut off at the end of May, right? So I can't get my preventative meds or my reactive meds. I've taken enough Ibuprofen in the last three days to take out a hippo's liver and it hasn't done shit all for me. And this is my reality until I can find a job with benefits. Which, at this point, I don't think exists. So, no. You can't have the chocolate. I'm taking the stupid half off chocolate."

"If I start crying in front of you, will that change anything?" Bucky asked.

"If I throw up in front of you, will it change anything?" Sam countered.

"Jesus. Neither of you do either of those things," an employee said, holding a scan gun in one hand one of the display boxes for the conversation hearts in the other. She was an older woman who Sam had seen often after frequenting the store so often. She had a tattoo of an arrow splattering water colors running the length of her forearm. He'd always meant to ask where she'd gotten it done because the pigmentation was amazing. "And get off of the floor. What is going on here?"

"There's only one bag of Reese's left," Bucky explained lamely. Totally sounded lame when they had to explain it to a real person.

"Both of you are here too much not to know where the candy aisle is," she sighed. "7, by the way, if you forgot."

"It's not half off," Sam added. It was the principle of the thing. The sneaky success of the deal.

"Besides, the hearts taste better," Bucky said.

"No they don't. The cups are the best," Sam argued.

"Good, give me the hearts and go by a bag of cups."

Sam shoved his hip up against the bottom of the shelf to keep Bucky from reaching around him to grab the bag. "Something is better than nothing, Bucky."

"Both of you please stop," the woman said. She jostled a foot towards them until Sam had to scoot out of the way.

He did stand back up, since he was already moving. Below him, Bucky stared, calculated, then stood as well. "I swear I will buy everything else you have if you give me the chocolate."

Sam's head hurt so damn bad. "Fine. Fine," he snapped and practically flung the Reese's at Bucky. He bobbled them for a second, but managed not to drop them. "Only because I assume you're gonna try to move and--"

"Why would I move? It's my apartment. She's subleasing the room out from my best friend, who's just out of the country for the semester."

"Dude, you already have the chocolate. Don't keep pushing the woe-is-me thing."

Bucky relaxed, leaning back on his heels. "Let me have your basket," he said, gesturing to the forgotten stack of ramen and soup cans.

"It's fine," Sam waved off. "I can pay for my own shit."

"You've gotta let me take care of something," Bucky objected. "What about some coffee some day when your head isn't killing you?"

"Are you kidding?" Sam asked. "All of this and you're gonna ask me out?"

"I'm asking you to coffee. It doesn't have to be a date. You know, I bet the 24 hour one down the road has a Reese's flavored drink."

"I think you're thinking of the froyo place," Sam corrected. "That coffeeshop looks at you like you're a personal problem if you ask for anything as complicated as a latte."

"We can do froyo instead," Bucky amended with a shrug. "I'm not picky."

Sam studied him critically. He had to unclench his jaw again, which had tightened to the point of pain. Not that everything wasn't leaving him in pain. "Do you have a number?" he eventually relented.

Bucky grinned, triumphant, as if this had been the goal instead of the bag of Reese's. "Yeah, I have a number." He waited for Sam to dig out his phone and then let him put in his number. A second later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. "Let me know when you feel better. Maybe we can talk about your defense. I should be dealing with mine in November. Should be."

"I see how it is," Sam said. "Steal my chocolate and then use me for insider knowledge."

"Yeah, the arcane secrets of thesis defenses," Bucky agreed sarcastically.

"Listen, I'm about at my limit for not-being-in-a-pitch-black-room here. I'll text you later," Sam said quickly, before Bucky could lead into another conversation about something.

"Sure," Bucky accepted, stepping out of the mouth of the aisle so Sam could slip by. "Thanks. For the..." He shook the bag of chocolates.

Sam waved him off and trudged back to the line, which was a little shorter and, more importantly, had no crying babies in it. Bucky went in the opposite direction, kicking a gorilla wearing heart themed underwear out of his way with a scowl.

On the Valentine's aisle, the woman working turned around the next display box on her log, so it faced properly out the way and showed off all of the bags of Reese's inside of it

[terresdebrume]

for the prompts - "i'm not worth saving. please." and/or "a few more steps. we're nearly there. i've got you" for a ship/ships of your choice?

Hey friend! Thanks for the prompt :D Sorry it took a bit, you know how it is with work^^" Still, I hope this AU without a cause will satisfy! Prompt list here, if anyone wants to send me another one!

Edwin huffs as he leans backwards, suspending his entire weight at the end of Charles' arm and still not managing to move him more than a couple of inches. He pauses, heaving for breath, and watches as Charles heaves himself up the last few steps with a painful-sounding mechanical whir.

"Come now Charles," he pants, forbidding himself from sitting down. "We only have a few steps left."

"I can't," Charles says.

His words comes out flat, mechanical. His voice modulator must have given up somewhere between the bottom of the stairs and now. His chest is rising and falling too fast, cooling circuits working overtime, but the audible sound his systems make tells Edwin it isn't quite working. Charles must be approaching overheating, and there is nothing Edwin can do about it here, in the hallway to the agency.

"Charles, please," Edwin begs, but Charles shakes his head.

"I can't," he repeats. "My left knee's piston is malfunctioning."

Edwin inhales, sharp and loud, and ignores the beeping in his systems that say his shell is too warm. They found spare parts for his cooling system last month: he can handle a little heat, but Charles--

"Charles, you must keep going, you can't--we have to plug you in!"

It took a lot of time, and even more money--although they are lucky Crystal never asked them what it was for--but they finally got their systems up to a point where they can handle one of them, at least for a time. Charles' software isn't as solid as Edwin's, but ROWLAND persocons had a reputation of hardiness for a reason. They have the memory banks required, and more than enough compatibility coding between the two of them to keep Charles safe until they can find him a new chassis, but none of that will matter if they can't get him connected before he shuts down.

"You should leave me here," he says, Edwin gasps.

"Do not say that," he warns.

"You should," Charles insists, eyes closing. "I'm not worth saving."

"Do not say that!" Edwin all but shouts, not caring about the time, or the human neighbors whose suspicions they've been trying not to arouse. "I forbid it, Charles!"

"Look at me!" Charles exclaims.

Edwin, electrical core on overdrive, looks down at Charles. Some of the hair is missing from his skull, burned away in the accident that nearly tore Edwin's head off a few years back. There is a long streak under his eyes where the synthetic skin peeled away, revealing the gray of his chassis, and the open jacket he wears fails to conceal the three large dents in his chassis, left there by the older ROWLAND model he used to live with. He looks resigned and, impossible as it should be, exhausted.

Even so, even pulling up the necessary softwares to run a simulation of existence without Charles prompts half a dozen alerts in Edwin's system, and he shudders. Crouching down, he puts a hand to the side of Charles' face.

"I am looking at you," he says, voice modulator struggling to keep his tone even through the shiver of his cooling system going overdrive.

"I'm old," Charles says, bitter. "I can't even move. Even if we do preserve me: I won't even have a body. I'm an industrial unit--what good am I if I can't even move around?"

"Charles," Edwin says, surprised to get an alert from the hardware around his throat, "please stop. You haven't been a dockhand in decades--"

"But I am!" Charles cries, or must try to. "That's why I'm the brawn, isn't it? Stronger chassis, longer batteries, building routines--that's what I'm for! What am I if I can't do what I'm for?"

"You're my friend!" Edwin says, fiercely, bringing his face closer to Charles. "You're the man who got me out of the scrapyard I'd been stuck in for seventy years! You're the one who made me look human enough to go out again!"

"Yeah, and now I'm the one who looks like a rogue!" Charles retorts, closing his eyes in distress. "If anyone from Endless Co. sees me, they'll do more than scrape us--"

"That will not happen--no!" Edwin insists, louder, when Charles looks like he is about to protest again, "That will not happen! I will never let it happen. You are my friend! You are my confident, and my companion, and you must stop talking about yourself like you are a glorified forklift!"

"That's what I was programmed for!"

"And I was supposed to be a sex unit!" Edwin breathes harshly in the stunned silence, gathering himself closer to Charles, until he can curl up around him and touch their forehead together. "I don't care chat they made you for," he whispers. "You're the one who decided to download all those fighting programs. You're the one who saved me. You're the one who came up with the name of the Agency. I don't care that they think we're not alive, Charles, I know they're wrong. You and I, we're alive in all the ways that matter, and I--"

Edwin stops talking. His voice modulator refuses to add even one word, some previously unnoticed subroutine cutting off his access to his dictionary. Fantom code, perhaps: a glitch. Or maybe the people who programmed his model line back at Payne Industries wanted to make sure they couldn't evoke certain feelings. Either way, Edwin's voice absolutely refuses to shape the words he is thinking, and so he does the only thing he can possibly do in this situation: he leans forward and presses his lips to Charles'.

Charles twitches under him, unnatural and poorly coordinated, but when Edwin pulls away to look at him, he is met with eyes filled with wonder, and joy, and that same word Edwin's core software won't let him say.

"Oh," Charles says, and brings a hand up to touch Edwin's cheek.

"Yes," Edwin replies, arch and haughty, "oh. Now, if you would please help me. It's only a few more steps."

[spookystree]

For the roommates AU, what was Edwin‘s hell? Because he obviously didn’t go to actual hell💀

Honestly? Instead of actually going to hell he just has some major religious trauma (of the Catholic variety, idk if this is canon but I can relate better if it's that, so I'm projecting basically)

Still went to a boarding school, still got "sacrificed" but it didn't actually send him to hell or kill any of the boys, instead it sent him to the hospital for what the boys did to him and gave him a major fear of people and of sleeping. The school still hid what happened as well, his parents agreed so they didn't have to deal with the embarrassment. He quietly was sent back to school and was expected to not say anything and go back to normal, the only thing that changed was that he got his own room.

So instead of going to hell he had to face the people who did that to him daily and wasn't allowed to say anything or retaliate in any way. The boys kept harassing him after that, almost never leading to another hospital trip but still bruises and small cuts and such.

The other hospital trip was from one of said boys hurting his skull pretty bad, he was knocked into a metal pole and managed to hit a bolt on it just perfectly that he was suddenly bleeding all over. There is still a dent in the back of his head and it will randomly hurt almost as bad as it did when it happened, it also causes migraines for him.

When he moved out and didn't immediately go to college to be something like a lawyer or anything his parents wanted they started pretending like he didn't exist, which was awful at first and still hurts every once in a while, now it's more manageable, he can be himself after all, and eventually hopefully marry his boyfriend, that would make it all worth it in his eyes.

Anyway! Hope you like the reply! Also you definitely can't see the projection in this one more than the others 😭😭😭

[inkformyblood]

the red on my face is matching you (GhostSoap)

Canon Era, Soulmate AU. Part 1/4

The meeting room booked for this debriefing is a fucking disgrace. They could have one of the newly refurbished digs closer to the centre of the base, the scent of fresh paint still bleeding off the walls and all the furniture still slightly uncomfortable in that never-been-used way, but no. Ghost couldn’t be that fortunate. 

Two months stuck in a bleeding ditch with rainwater up his arse, no cover so he was being slowly roasted alive, somehow freezing and boiling all at the same time, and they get one of the off-shoot debriefing rooms miles away from everywhere and not even a crappy coffee machine to get some dishwater that labelled itself as tea. 

Ghost bites the flat of his tongue, holds the pressure steady until the ache is all he can think about, the pain dull to dead nerves, and let's go. In the end, he hadn’t really been needed, just left on the line to dry while the forward team swept through the compound like a wildfire. All flash, no bang. He’d watched them through his scope, just distant moving shadows that were somehow people all the same, seen a couple fall and not even been able to take out their killers thanks to the red tape garrotting him. 

Ghost had his orders straight from Price, smelling faintly of cigar smoke and delivered in the rattle of the plane. Price’s knuckles were white on the tangle of the harness in his grasp, swaying the motion of the plane as he leant down to speak to Ghost. His words had clattered like gunfire and Ghost felt them burrow into his skin, rotting him from the inside out. It wasn’t Price’s doing, he had his own marionette strings knotted around his limbs, pulled taut in that moment, and Ghost understands that well enough.

He’s a dead man walking so he needed to stay out of the mission. Observation, nothing more. Note down the time and position that each man dies, the scope boring a hole through his skull, the trigger a tripwire against his finger, and do nothing.

Fucking bastards.

Ghost tips himself back in the chair before he settles all four legs on the floor once more. It creaks beneath his weight, some flimsy dumpster find, the wood pitted with numerous scuffs, the scrawl of someone’s initials over the back. The singular fan, a goddamn divine miracle at this rate, sits off to his right. It wheezes through the cloud of dust coating the blades, orbiting from one side to the other as if that would do anything. 

He can feel his eye black running down his face, sweat stinging at his eyes as it goes, and it makes his skin crawl, the hollows of his gum aching. His fingers curl, the tapered edge of his fingers catching on every uneven scuff on the table, every dent from a slammed fist. Maybe a couple were from a quick fuck, too pent up to wait until they were behind doors that locked, still stupidly besotted enough that getting caught added a thrill of excitement, and Ghost’s fingers catches on those scratches like all the others, indistinguishable, unimportant. 

Copper coats his tongue, a fresh tear in his lip that he’s been chewing without realising. The nerves are too fried to transmit much about pressure or temperature and he relies on habit rather than sensation most of the time. Sometimes it works. Blood joins the sweat accumulating on the inside of his mask, the fabric beginning to smell more like an open body pit than the nondescript fabric paint he’d used at the start. He wants to take it off. He wants to sew it to his skin and then, maybe, maybe—

“Here we are.”

Price. Self-assured swagger to his step that came along with the bars they’d added to his shoulders when he was promoted way back when. It’s a distinct enough walk that Ghost relaxes back into his seat, letting his legs sprawl out as best as the confines of the chair will allow him. He’s enough of an open book to the other man — open the same way an academic text in a dead fucking language so mostly targeted guesswork — and Price will read his annoyance like a signal tower. Bastard. 

Ghost inclines his head in greeting to Price, his attention snapping to the puppy trailing Price in. Fresh meat. Fuck, had he ever been that young, that bright-eyed? He must have been the same age as the other man at one point, hell, given how young Ghost was when he joined they might be the same age now, but he never felt that young. Adult responsibilities piled onto childish shoulders that grew quickly enough to hold them. 

The lad’s got a mohawk for fucks sake.

It’s intentional, a peacock shaking its iridescent tail for attention, because the realisation that the other man is also wearing a mask is slow coming. There’s introductions — “John MacTavish, our new recruit.” “Soap, please, sir.” — and Price is several sentences into an explanation before Ghost can fully take the other man in. 

The hissing undulation of the fan ruffles Soap’s hair and he pushes a section back from his face without looking away from Price. He’s keen, hungrily so, more likely to slit his own throat for guts and glory and Ghost is ready to dismiss him in the same breath. Just another dog, leashed like Ghost is, but this one hasn’t learnt the incoming hand is more than often a blow instead of a pat. He must sense Ghost watching him — a prickle across the base of his name, someone walking over his grave — as he glances over, his eyes crinkling as he grins and Ghost realises. 

Soap MacTavish is wearing a mask too.

It isn’t the same as Ghost’s, medical instead of tactical, camo print splashed over the front until it’s dismissed as just another part of the uniform. But it’s pulled higher than Ghost is used to seeing people wear, drawn to rest just beneath his eyes and held close to his jaw, a custom job. It’s not uncommon for other soldiers to wear masks, some people are picky about their privacy although not to the same extent that Ghost is, but Soap is another mystery all together. 

The meeting room door opens once more and Gaz slides into his seat, blinking at the newcomer before he covers it with a grin. Must already know Soap because there’s only a whispered exchange before Gaz’s attention glides onto Price like it’s been there all along. Price takes it all in without a second glance, sliding a file over to Gaz without tripping over his words as he brings up the next image. Standard compound, just remote enough to fuck with the delivery drivers, several foot of trees cleared from the hastily constructed walls. Dropped into the centre, a gigantic fuck-you to any thoughts Ghost had of some R&R between missions, is a tower, leaning sideways already, a kid getting distracted and swiping at the blocks as they move away.

He can see his grave when it’s laid out in front of him.

Turning his attention back to Soap, it isn’t a surprise that the other man is staring. Not just staring, devouring, consuming, drinking Ghost down like he's air and water both, mana from heaven and the holy fucking sacrament. There’s a silver cross on Soap’s chest, the chain shining while the token is tarnished, and his hand rises to it, brushing over the metal before it drops once more. 

Ghost hasn’t seen the inside of a church that hadn’t doubled as a battleground for years. Might prove a problem if Soap turns out to be the judgemental type.

But… the mask.

Why?

Ghost grinds his teeth together, the sound echoing in the confines of his skull, and Gaz flinches, a scowl already traced over his mouth. Price barely pauses in his speech, his gaze flickering over to Ghost in a silent chastisement that always twists something in the base of his throat, some scrap of a heart that’s keeping him upright and moving. Soap watches all of this, the fabric of his mask indented over his lip as he chews on it. There’s a damp patch when he releases it, nearly hidden behind the pattern of the camo. Ghost tugs on the edge of his gloves, pulls up his sleeve, folds the scrap of skin in danger of showing away once more. 

It’s a choice, a deliberately maintained choice, something cared for and cultivated. Soap must have a stake in the game, something heavier than just vanity, or is it? Ghost fights the urge to grind his teeth together once more, his gums aching, a spark of restlessness burning through his joints like kindling tossed in the undergrowth. Too long spent huddled in one position and not enough time between missions and then this mystery is tipped into his lap, near-enough fucking giftwrapped to torture him about.

Roba should have tried something like this. Might’ve worked out for him better.

Soap’s still watching him. He’s being careful about it now, thanks to Price’s momentarily diverted attention, sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye between blinks. Price presses a button and the lights dim, a sprawl of surveillance footage rolling across the screen. Ghost watches it without taking it in, green-toned sepia rolling across the whites of his eyes and falling back off again. His attention —  carved up for decoration like scrimshaw, thoughts gnarled together even as the upcoming battle plan etches itself on the inside of his skull — is diverted, compromised. He tips his chair back carefully and Soap straightens at the noise of protest it makes, his brow furrowing before he relaxes deliberately. Already a bleeding heart, Ghost guesses, trying to make sure he doesn’t die somewhere nonsensical before he can die and decay somewhere it would be useful, a puppy whining from its basket. Sit. Stay. Shoot. 

Ghost tips his head to one side, pressure along the side of his neck, a matching ache in his thighs as he braces himself against the floor. There’s still mud on his boots and he scrapes one against the table leg, jolting it slightly. Gaz flips him off behind Soap’s back like he’s a schoolboy hiding from the teacher and Soap twitches, his mouth caught halfway between a grin and a gasp, terror woven so neatly into joy. He catches Ghost’s gaze once more, locked onto him like there’s an entire missile tracking system whirring behind his eyes, and, for all Ghost knows about the government programs twitching curtains behind the scenes, there damn well might be. 

Soap looks ordinary enough, cut mostly from the same cloth as any other soldier.

His arms are mostly bare, sleeves pushed up to his elbows due to the heat. There’s the faint lines of scars visible when he shifts, the light catching off of the silver marks and the notched counterparts, a tattoo on his right forearm of a familiar logo. Cocky fuck. If they both survive this mission, and Soap can manage to find his feet on solid ground, he might grow to like this new stray Price has brought in off the street. The tattoo is too faded to be new, the ink bedded into Soap’s skin aspirational or in memoriam. Could be chasing after his own ghosts and Simon is just another notch on his belt of actions he’ll regret. The mask hides the majority of his features, suggestions of a crooked nose beneath the fabric, a grin bright enough to be noticeable despite it all.

“Any questions?”

Ghost shakes his head at Price, rocking his chair back onto four legs. He’ll be glad to be out of here in any capacity, even if it is to another squeeze into a metal box before he can be thrown into battle once more. Price might sit next to him for the flight, the cigar smoke clinging to the weathered lines of his palms, a curved line of heat at his side to combat the chill of so many booted feet marching over his grave.

Soap could sit next to him.

Ghost dismisses the thought in an instant, anger burning in the base of his throat, bitter like he should be. He’s dead, buried in a grave he was too stubborn to stay in; life isn’t for men like him.

“Good.” Price nods once, pride clear in his wide stance, the easy grin he wears. “It’s going to be a small team this time, lads, so in and out, no guts, no glory. Understand?”

Another nod from Ghost bumping up against the regulation-size “Yessir,” from Gaz, both torn apart at the heels by the bright “sir, yes, sir” from their newest addition. Soap’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins, every piece of his face that is visible utilised to shout his emotions to the world, a fanfare covered by a tea towel. Fuck, Ghost needs a drink. Preferably several, each strong, all served alone in the quiet nest of his room, but he’ll take whatever cheap swill he can coax from a coffee machine before he has to shrug all of his gear back on. It’s been days since he’s taken off his eye black and caught a glimpse of his own reflection, years since he’d wanted to. 

Gaz dawdles and Ghost is going to gut him for it. Give him a new set of scars over his rib cage to show off to his flock of twittering admirers, each one burning with jealousy and trying to catch alight on the reflected glory of Gaz’s attention. 

It gives Soap time to break away as Ghost makes his escape, to slip out of the door moments after he does.

“Hey, LT.”

Ghost stops. Soap doesn’t.

“Looks like we’re going to be working together on this one. Hope it’s a good one, yeah.”

Standing, they’re nearly of a height, Ghost claiming a few inches over Soap. He glares down at the other man, his jaw clenched tight enough he thinks it might shatter, spilling blood and bile down onto the bleach-stained floor. “What are you doing, Sergeant?” 

The fuck off and leave me alone is unspoken, landing like a tactical nuke in the space between them, and Soap ignores it utterly. He’s still grinning, sharper now, somehow, the bright blue of his eyes drawn darker beneath the fluorescence. “Getting to know my teammates, sir. I’ve been hoping to get assigned this unit for a long time now.”

“Why?” Like a gunshot, better to be over sooner rather than later, a quick impact between the eyes than a slow puncture in the belly. Ghost folds his arms over his chest, tipping his head to one side. The cut on his lip had scabbed over, now torn open anew.

Soap meets his glare head-on, the same stubborn streak painted over every aspect of his being that must have set him on this course. “Got my reasons, sir. Not about to kiss and tell on the first date, so to speak.”

Cocky fuck. 

If he lives, Ghost might grow to like him.

“Go get your kit. Dismissed.”

Ghost turns and walks away. He doesn’t look back, even when he hears the conspicuous absence of Soap’s footsteps, the heavy starving weight of his stare imprinted on the back of Ghost’s head. One more mission, then he can rest. Another mission before he can sleep. 

[florianniss]

Trouble with Angels - RatedE, Human AU, Teenage Rebellion

It all comes to a head on the second Friday in February. The Sweetheart Dance is the following day and he’s taking Robin again. He’s got his tux and her flower and she’s looking forward to it. But Eddie has a gig, and Steve would rather die than miss it.

He’s in his usual spot on the bench, bored out of his fucking skull and listening to Robin and Chrissy do their same old thing in the bleachers. The boys are losing, again, just like they’ve been doing the whole season. Coach keeps looking at Steve like it’s his fault they’re so bad. And Steve has had enough of everything.

He ditches the team for the locker room ten seconds before halftime and hides in the stall until everyone else goes back on the court. He sneaks into the stands, still wearing his uniform, and steals a pom pom from Chrissy.

The girls blink at him, surprised for a good half a minute. Until Steve stands on the bench, rolls up the hem of his jersey, and breaks into one of the school’s cheers.

The response from the audience is a collective roar. Robin shoves her other pom at him and he does a really, really bad impression of Chrissy’s cheer. Coach doesn’t even notice until one of the guys points it out. Steve knows he’s in deep shit, but he doesn’t care. This is the most important, the most necessary he’s felt in a long, long time.

He leaves arm in arm with the girls, taking the back seat and feeling oddly refreshed at his rule breaking. He feels a sense of freedom, like a weight has been lifted from his heart. Robin catches his eye in the rearview mirror and holds it for a long minute. She is going to grill him later.

Chrissy is giddy. “Oh god, Steve. You’re gonna be in so much trouble!”

“Yeah,” Steve smiles. “It’s gonna be great.”

Steve switches to the front seat after they drop off Chrissy at her place. There are six moments of silence as they pull back onto the road.

“OK, Harrington.” There’s a bossy kind of scolding in her tone. “What’s going on with you?”

Robin grips the steering wheel as if it’s Steve’s neck. Sure, he feels a little bad about probably getting kicked off the team. But there’s something else, something that makes him feel more alive. He’s finally deciding on his own terms what he wants to do with his life.

Steve doesn’t answer right away, so Robin lands him with a threatening glare. “Something happen with you and Eddie?”

Steve laughs. How can he tell Robin that he’s so stressed about everything that he can’t get it up?

“There’s just a lot on my mind,” is what he settles on. It’s not enough for Robin.

He bites the bullet and tells her about how little he gets to really be with Eddie. Even though they’re living together and sleeping in the same cramped bed. She listens, her mouth purses and she grinds her teeth as she thinks.

“You want to go to Eddie’s thing. Don’t you.”

It’s not a question; she knows exactly what he wants.

“I’m not canceling on you.”

She snorts. It’s kinda cute. “I asked you, remember? It’s OK for you to back out.”

Steve frowns and shakes his head. “I’m not backing out on you, Robs. You’re probably the only thing keeping me sane right now.”

He means it. Robin turns to look at him, her face unreadable. 

“Well, that settles it I guess,” she says. She throws her shoulders back and raises her chin. “We’re going to watch Eddie sing. I’d much rather do that anyway.”

Neither of them tells Eddie about his midriff-baring, falsetto-shouting, basketball-bashing stunt.

Eddie is thrilled, naturally. He climbs onto the bed and jumps up and down. Dust falls from the ceiling and the bed frame slams against the wall. He adds more dents to the ones that are already there from their enthusiastic fucking.

“You’re staying with me. Robin and Chrissy can come too. I don’t give two shits what the rest of the guys say. You’ll be my VIP guests.”

It’s nothing like the last show. They park in front of a long, low building with a bar and restaurant. There are no bouncers, nobody to card them and send them away. They walk right in as if they are old enough to belong there. The anxious wobble in Steve’s chest stills a little.

The bar has no stage, just a spot reserved back in one corner. It’s dark and dank and smells of stale smoke. Steve helps Eddie set up his amps.

Eddie catches on that Steve is nervous. He shoulders him playfully as they return to the van. “I’m glad you’re here to give me support. Sometimes I have such bad stage fright I puke my guts out just before.”

Steve doesn’t know this. It shocks him a little. “Really?”

Eddie climbs in the van and hands Steve a duffle bag. His eyes are bright and shining as he emerges from the vehicle. “Yeah. It’s kinda scary having you here. Knowing you’re watching, that you’re so close to the music.”

They’re standing in the snow without any jackets. Eddie’s arms hang limp by his sides. Steve is hugging himself to keep warm.

“Sometimes music hurts my heart,” Steve says. He feels it more often now that Eddie’s attached to it. “I don’t know how to explain it. It just –”

Eddie comes in hard for a hug, pushing Steve off balance. He catches his boyfriend in a risky embrace and kisses the side of his neck.

It’s nice and soft, the skin is warm and he tastes amazing. Steve can’t wait for later, when he can taste more of him.

“I know, Steve. I know exactly what you’re talking about.” He hugs Steve as tightly as he can. “And you have no idea how fucking awesome it is that you understand.”

They break apart and head back inside. Eddie reintroduces Steve to the others, and he’s surprised to find out how chill they are. He’s still a little jealous of the one guitar player, and how close he’d gotten to Eddie on New Year’s. But things are different now; Eddie belongs to him. And isn’t that a scary thought?

The girls show up just as the band is tuning and checking sound. Robin grins and waves and Chrissy jumps up and down. Eddie has saved them a table at the front. Steve feels like the two of them are so opposite. One’s overly emotional about everything, the other is mean and brutally honest.

Steve sits on a stool behind a huge amp. He’s just a few feet away from Eddie at the front. Eddie’s told him they’re running Van Halen covers that night. Something begins to smolder inside Steve’s chest.

The whole atmosphere is different. Tables are pressed right up to the band area. Most people who file in are too busy talking to friends. The first song Eddie belts out is background music to them.

It is not that way for Steve. Eddie is his whole world. Steve sits on his stool and watches as his boyfriend puts every ounce of energy into filling his lungs and emptying them into the song.

Their version of Pound Cake is so good, Steve can hardly tell the difference from the actual artists. The drummer and guitarist and pianist are really fucking talented, and Eddie’s voice is a dead ringer for the Red Rocker’s. Steve watches each of them in turn, studying fingerings and feeling his chest thud with every downbeat. He’s so close to the bass guitarist he can feel the strings’ vibrations in his heart.

Eddie steps back and lets the soloist have his turn. He makes eye contact with Steve and eases toward his stool. He’s sweaty already, black shirt clinging to his chest and back. He holds the microphone away, leans in, and presses lips to Steve’s cheek.

“You’re so fucking hot right now!” Eddie hisses in his ear. Steve is thinking the same thing; he suddenly wants Eddie in his lap.

Steve and Eddie join the girls at the table during the break. Robin has ordered a massive plate of steak fries and they devour it in minutes. Eddie sits next to Chrissy and she rests her head on his shoulder, laughing when he attempts to shove a fistful of fries in her mouth. Steve looks on from Eddie’s other side, their feet tangled under the table and loving the hoarse laughing he’s doing. He looks over at Robin, who’s watching him with eagle eyes, making whole lists of things to talk about when they’re together next. Steve collects her and pulls her into his side. Something inside him is wholly content.

Nobody dances until after ten. Robin and Chrissy grab each other’s hands and find a space on the floor. Their hair flips in the air and they hop and grind and laugh. Steve stays at the table and sips his Coke and it’s the first time he’s considered how great they are together. 

He mentions it to Robin when she comes back for her water. Her smile becomes rigid as they both watch Chrissy dance. 

“How about if you just let me have a friend, huh? Other than you, of course. Jealous bastard.” 

Steve’s about to correct her, but some middle-aged dude moves in on Chrissy, tipsy and a little handsy. He thinks Robin is about to charge at him, and Steve prepares to do it before her, but Eddie steps in, all Smooth Operator. He scoops Chrissy away and twirls her against his chest. He doesn’t miss a beat, just adds “My girl,” to the lyrics. The look of relief on Chrissy’s face does something to Steve’s gut. Eddie’s dark, suggestive eyes do something to his dick.

Steve dances to one song before he can’t take it anymore. Eddie throws an arm around his neck, all chummy. He smells incredible and he’s so beautiful like this, all confidence and magnetic energy. Steve’s stomach does the familiar loop-de-loop and he wants to do disgusting things with him.

The microphone is shoved in Steve’s face and everyone is watching and it’s not that he can’t sing or that he’s afraid of the spotlight. It’s that Eddie is touching him in public in a friendly way and it’s not fucking fair.

Afterward, Robin threatens to tell Eddie about the cheerleading incident if he doesn’t pull the stick out of his ass. She knows violent threats don’t work, so she reverts to blackmail. Steve paints on a stellar smile and talks to the group of girls at the next table. He gives it everything he has because Eddie is watching him with those big, brown, ‘I wanna fuck you’ eyes.

Oh, and does Steve want to get fucked!

The band quits at midnight and a DJ takes over. Steve sits at the bar with Eddie and his bandmates and gets ruthlessly teased about how Eddie insisted on playing a certain song because it’s Steve’s song.

Eddie hides his face, embarrassed, when Steve asks which one it is. 

“I’ll tell you in the van.”

They can’t leave soon enough. 

Eddie puts the girls in Robin’s car and sees them off while Steve starts the van to warm it up. He gets out of the driver’s side to allow Eddie in, but his boyfriend is grinning with something up his sleeve.

“Let’s go to Skull Rock. You drive.”

Skull Rock. The place Eddie took them to on his birthday. Where they fooled around for the first time. And were almost busted by Hopper.

Eddie’s hand is grappling with Steve’s dick before he even puts the vehicle in drive. He’s groping Steve through his jeans, smirking like he’s definitely got something planned. Steve’s so happy to be alone with him and the potential for unclothed sex that he goes off the road a little.

Luckily the pavement is dry, and when he swerves, they don’t make a shitty and end up sideways in the ditch. By the time he turns onto the highway, Eddie’s got his zipper down and is mouthing at his underwear. Biting and sucking and growling like he’s some wild animal.

Steve glances down at the sweat-drenched back of Eddie’s neck and makes a pathetic whimpering noise. His boyfriend chuckles and mumbles something hot through the material onto his cock.

“What did you say?”

Steve is holding his breath to better hear him. It’s not lasting very long.

“I said,” Eddie grins as he pulls back and palms him harshly again. “You’re sexy when you’re jealous.”

He returns to assaulting him by mouth and Steve remembers what Robin said about him being jealous.

“I’m not jealous!”

Eddie makes a muffled sound and sticks his finger through the useless slit in Steve’s underwear. He finds the ridge of Steve’s dick head and scrapes a nail over it.

“I saw you looking at me and Chrissy.”

Steve begins to protest but Eddie shoves his hand down his underwear and pinches off his cock at the tip to shut him up. It’s a high-pitched, cut-off screech he makes in response.

“Not saying that I mind,” his boyfriend explains. He’s tugging Steve out of his shorts now and staring at his exposed dick like he’s starving. “Look what it’s done to your dipstick here, Baby.”

Steve almost misses his turn. He has to slam on the brakes to make it.

Eddie starts blowing him, and Steve is worried he’ll lose consciousness. He feels drunk and high and stupid, even though he’s got dibs on only one of those. He barely makes it into the parking area, slamming it into park, when Eddie announces his real intentions.

His lips are wet and red and kissable as all fuck, and he’s damn near piercing a hole in Steve’s heart with those lashes. “I think we should change things up. I think you should fuck me.”

Eddie doesn’t wait for Steve’s jaw to drop or Steve’s heart to leap into his throat before he’s hopping out of the van and slamming the door shut. 

It takes Steve a horrible moment before he realizes, by the hooting and hollering, that Eddie is stripping outside in the cold. He pushes his dick back inside his underwear and jumps out, hurrying to Eddie’s side before he does something he’ll regret.

“Are you sure?” Steve shouts as Eddie ditches his shoes. His shirt is already gone, and his back is steaming; little streams of smoke rise from his body in the glow of the van’s exterior lights (Steve left the van running).

“Whoo!” Eddie shouts. He’s in his socks and jeans now. He rushes to open the sliding door and climbs on up, zipper undone and ass half hanging out already.

Steve watches as Eddie collapses on the floor and struggles out of his jeans. The sleeping bags are already prepped. How Steve missed that is a mystery to him. Eddie’s eyes flash up and he’s being a little seductive shit about it. Steve is actually going to die.

“Steve!” he cries before flipping over and getting on his knees. His balls are bright red against the soft white flesh of his thighs. Eddie scoots and sways until he’s full-on presenting his ass. He gives it a wiggle. Steve’s still standing outside.

“It’s freezing, Harrington! Get inside and close the door. We don’t want old Hopper catching us doing the nasty with it open!”

Steve obeys but doesn’t know how he does it. The door slides closed behind him and he’s sliding out of his jacket. On his knees this close he can see the dark slice of crack between Eddie’s butt cheeks. It’s suddenly the most terrifying thing ever.

He swallows hard and shuffles out of his shoes. Eddie backs into him so fast that Steve is forced to put a hand on his ass. It’s warm and soft, just like it always is. But it has a different importance to him now, now that he’s thinking about it.

Steve has thought about it. There would be something wrong if he hadn’t. He’s never had anal with anyone, and it’s definitely on his sex bucket list. The fact that Eddie is willing and ready, pulling one cheek to the side and thrusting himself even further back, has Steve practically panting for it. He wants. Oh, he fucking wants.

“Come on, Handsome. I’m prepped and wet for you. All you gotta do is slide inside.”

The skipping of his heart makes Steve gasp. “Whattya mean you’re –”

He stops. He has a good idea of now of why Eddie spent so much time in the bathroom before they left. Steve just thought he needed to take a really bad –

“Fuck.” 

Steve’s thumb slides of its own accord into the shaded cleft of that round piece of perfection. Eddie is still moving, still arching his back and flaunting his hole like he’s desperate. His ass jiggles under Steve’s hand. It’s sexy as hell.

“Flip on that light so you can see.” Eddie cranes his neck back to indicate the overhead switch. The slink of his neck is the most beautiful thing in the world.

“But, won’t someone see us outside?”

Eddie turns away and reaches between his legs to grasp for Steve. He fingers the looseness of Steve’s shorts, grazing his dick and sending a full-body shiver through him.

“Nah, they ain’t seeing nothing with the curtains pulled. Now, hurry up! I’m shriveling up here and I want to come too.”

Jeezus, Steve can’t keep it all together. He pulls his jeans and underwear down below his ass and hisses as his dick springs back at him. He’s fucking hard and he’s fucking horny, and once the light is snapped on he can see exactly what Eddie’s doing. His asshole is winking and his taint is right there, and Eddie’s stroking himself off and –

“Shit.”

Steve panics because he doesn’t have a condom, but Eddie is fumbling around inside the sleeping bag for it. He comes up with a square package, which he slips back to Steve, and then he’s up on his knees and he’s so very close.

“Hi,” Eddie says playfully, leaning back to kiss Steve’s mouth. His confidence is intoxicating. So is the way he’s dumping cold lube onto his fingers and rubbing them back and forth to warm them.

“Hi.” Steve’s breathless. He’s trying so hard to get himself wrapped that his hands are shaking from the strain.

Eddie resumes his face-down ass-up position, but now he’s touching himself. Two wet fingers are pushing and disappearing inside himself, over and over and over.

When he pulls out, Steve can see quite clearly the pretty pink flower of a hole, shiny. He gives up on the condom and copies Eddie, pushing his thumb inside as slowly as he can.

Eddie lets out a long, content sigh. “Good boy,” he moans. Steve feels his excitement skyrocket. How Eddie manages to completely wreck Steve while bottoming is – well, it’s — it’s –

Steve reaches for his dick with both hands and finally, finally gets it rolled down. Just the little bit of touching he’s been doing has him throbbing and erect. He reaches for Eddie’s hipbone to brace himself, then gathers his cock in his fist. Eddie makes an impatient noise, and Steve presses in.

It’s like fucking into a vice grip, like a trap, punishing and stubborn. Steve gets himself lined up, thumb supporting his cock head, and has to stop to breathe. He leans into where Eddie’s rosebud hole is all tensed and convulsing. The feeling is fucking amazing.

“Holy shit,’ Eddie whispers. He tugs hard on his cock, then palms and pulls both balls out of the way. His thighs are spread wide and Steve can see the tiny quivering striations in the dim amber light.

Steve doesn’t know what to say. The condom does little to dampen the sensations. He can feel every little movement of Eddie’s body as he holds it in place. If he’s not careful, if he doesn’t temper his emotions, he’s going to ruin his orgasm.

“Easy, Babe,’ Eddie encourages, like he fucking knows what’s happening in Steve’s mind. “You’re not gonna hurt me. Christ, before you came along, I was riding dildos daily.”

Steve isn’t in charge of the sound he makes, but Eddie chuckles softly. It vibrates through him, through his hole, around the tip of Steve’s dick and it’s so good.

It’s Eddie who moves next, who eases back against the tension. It’s Eddie who pushes hard until everything gives way and Steve’s inside.

“Yeah. God yeah.”

Steve looks down at himself, at the point where the redness of his dick meets the crimson of Eddie’s cunt. It’s gorgeous. Steve can’t believe he’s really getting to do this.

It gets better, though, when Eddie grasps blindly for Steve’s dick, until his fingers are wrapped around and he’s pulling, pulling, pulling. The glide inside sends shooting pains through Steve’s pelvis, pains so good he could almost cry. And he wonders if Eddie feels this good when he fucks Steve.

“Baby. Sweetheart. Steve.” Eddie moans until Steve is all the way inside. Sweat is beginning to form on his lower back again.

“I got you,” Steve hums because it’s something Eddie says to him. “Christ, Ed. I’m not gonna last. Can you feel me twitching already?”

Eddie hums too. “Mmm, yeah, that’s nice. It’s OK, you know. You come whenever you’re ready.”

Steve takes a deep breath and gives an exploratory tug. Eddie’s skin drags slowly along, puckering out as Steve’s cock does the same. He doesn’t pull out completely. Doesn’t think he can. It’s warm and tight and he’s thrusting and Eddie’s moaning. 

“Faster. Harder,” Eddie says, and it’s damn near begging. What else can Steve do but exactly what Eddie says?

It gets away from him, the building pressure. He loses control of his own decisions. Before long, he’s fucking Eddie until his knees move across the sleeping bag, and Eddie has to brace against the window on the opposite side.

“Fuck, Steve.” Eddie’s tight.

“Oh, god.” Everything’s so very tight.

“Come on, Baby. Come.” Like a pressure cooker venting steam, Steve’s about to explode.

Eddie’s whole body jolts as Steve thrusts into him. The loose skin on his ass and his back move with every insertion, with every pullback. And although Steve tries to stay focused, to remain there with Eddie, his eyes close and he slams into Eddie and comes so hard his throat hurts.

Eddie, the bastard, immediately sits back in Steve’s lap. One hand grips Steve’s thigh tightly, and the other rips over his massive dick. Steve looks over his shoulder, wraps both arms about him, and gets to watch Eddie spray fucking everywhere.

“Fuck.” It’s beautiful, Steve’s elated high, like he’s just run a race, like he’s won a race, and Eddie’s his fucking prize.

Chests heaving, exhausted from bearing down, they hold the awkward embrace. Steve smiles when he realizes he got his wish; Eddie in his lap.

And then Eddie starts singing.

“How do I know when it’s love? I can’t tell you but it lasts forever.” 

“How does it feel when it’s love? It’s just something that you feel together.” 

Steve doubles down on his bear hug and kisses Eddie’s sweaty neck. “I fucking love you too.”

He can tell Eddie’s smiling. He continues to hum the tune as Steve rocks him. All the blood is leaving his dick and he’s just about to slip out.

Steve tells Eddie what happened. “Think I got kicked off the basketball team.”

His boyfriend inhales and exhales heavily. “Did you do that on purpose so we could have more time together?”

“No –!”

Steve stops. It’s exactly what he did. He sabotaged it. On purpose. For Eddie.

When Eddie speaks again his voice is determined. Like he's found something he was looking for and there isn't anyone who can stop him.

“Hey, Steve? I know you’re stressed, and I want to help. And I have an idea to give us more time. Would it be alright with you if I quit the band?”

AO3

[jupitercl0uds-art]

for that punk band au i havent mentioned in a while:

i used to love monster high skultimate rollermaze when i was younger. its the reason my fingertip in my right thumb is slightly numb and has a tiny dent in it. i hope one day i can get the wii version to see what its like, but the ds version is pretty good.

anyway, id imagine amy took surge and sticks out rollerskating for fun and in an attempt to get them to bond! it didnt work but at least they got out there. i would have seen them meeting shadow (seeing as its sort of obligatory) but i ran out of space and energy lol

i mostly kept the bat theming on amy's outfit except for on the dress because the bat print was too hard to draw. i also dont think clawdeen's colours entirely match sticks which is why i changed them slightly lol

[lowkeyclueless5137]

Day 4- Oblivious 101

Pair: Malleus x Idia x Azul

Prompt: different cultures

Notes: :0c OMG no au day

Warnings: :0c none as well?!

Idia guessed that some people have different behaviors towards others. He, as well, makes part out of this category.

But when Azul suddenly put on the board game table dead fish, Idia didn't know how to even react. Malleus, who was there because he got bored at his own club, also seemed taken aback by the apparition of the said dead animals. There were 2 very big fishes, definitely strangled, with their eyes bubbling up and their mouths wide open.

"I caught them myself right before our club meeting!" the latter puffed proudly. "Uhhh... Greeeeaaat..." Idia awkwardly trailed. "Very impressive." Malleus mused, examining the fish from top to bottom. "You like it?" Azul definitely was way too excited than his usual business persona allowed. Idia felt bad to ruin his mood so he only nodded. "Indeed... I appreciate this heartfelt gift..." Malleus hummed with a small smile, definitely more content about the dead fish than Idia was.

Still, the 2 kept the dead fish. Idia even fried it in order to eat. It was a good fish, even if the texture wasn't all that desirable.

Another instance of this odd behavior, was during joint classes. Sometimes, in order to make more time of his day, Vargas would put remedials students along with another 2 classes.

And Azul was usually in the remedials.

That's when Idia started to notice that Malleus wanted to seek attention. Usually he was very quiet, very down to the point, but now? Now he purposely showed off all the cool tricks he knew of, making sure that Idia and Azul would look and bask in his greatness, just like other students.

"Is he... Mocking me?!" Azul puffed as Idia grumbled, sitting down on the grass. "dunno... Glad PE turned into 'looking at Mr Malleus flexing'." Idia breathed.

Still, the odd behaviour only got worse when Malleus seemed to be expecting another reaction from the 2. He didn't forsee that maybe openly mocking more than half of the student body in their flying skills won't result in some being actually bothered by it?

After a week or so, tho, Idia realised, much to his own horror, that the 2 seemed to make some secret alliance and now act odd together around him. More dead animals that he's supposed to eat, more flexing around.

The new one was that, apparently, Idia missed the mark about throwing objects.

He was outside, Ortho next to him since the latter insisted oh so much on getting some fresh air. Still, he was allowed to play some video-games under a tree shade as Ortho was chatting away with the rest of the first years, a few meters next to Idia.

THUNK!

the firehead yelped, catching the attention of everyone else in his vicinity. Next to him, giving a dent in the ground, was a big pot of flowers, plummeted in there. Trembling in fear, Idia looked up, but saw nothing.

This went for the span of as long as the first years talked around, before Jack pointed out the possibility of Idia getting his skull split open by some falling pot. As for a solution, the first years welcomed Idia to stay with them, out of the tree shade, free from any falling pots.

Or so they thought.

"So, ya know... I said Hey~ and she totally blew me o-" THUNK!

Ace was hit square in the face with a pot. Idia was next to him, just as terrified as the rest of the group. "OMG, karma is finally coming for Trappola?! There's good in this world?!" Epel gasped. "Maybe I'll just scoot away from the pot magnet..." Ace groaned, going further from Idia. "Well... I guess you could go to your room, big brother... Until someone else gets clocked by a pot." Ortho exhaled.

It was hard to say who exactly threw pots around, but Idia had a vague idea of the culprit. Or in this case, culprits.

Still, he couldn't confront them. What's he supposed to even say? 'Hey, why do you throw flower pots at me? You want me dead?' is not a very polite response to this situation, but it would be the most appropriate in this situation.

The next day, unfortunately, it was a dormleader meeting. And Ortho insisted, again, that Idia shall attend it in person. And to make sure of it, the robot boy deconected Idia's tablet and locked him outside the dorm until the meeting is finished.

"And so... I believe we should-" Riddle continued his rant as either Azul or Vil would cut through to add some other imput, which also escalated in a rant. A new one was the presence of Malleus, who excitedly listened to anything that was spoken. He stood in between Azul and Idia, as per his insistences, all stoic, with a pleased smug smile on his face, as if the conversation about the sports clubs funds management was a praise session for him. He may not be that implicated into those, but Azul was only interested because Floyd was in the basketball club.

Still, Leona shifted into a nap as Kalim wad the only one troubled by something. At one point, the heir sensed that the conversation was nearing its end and thus he deemed it fit to make an intervention.

"You know... The headmaster said that we, as dorm members, should have some bonding activity... And I don't know... Idia was chased with flower pots yesterday... I don't think that was fun..." The heir trailed. Now all eyes were on Idia, whose hair tips turned a pinkish-purple.

Well, not all, since both Malleus and Azul found the floor to be very interesting at that moment.

"I think we should have something really fun! Oh! What about ice-cream?" Kalim suggested. "A wonderful idea, child of Asim... I believe we can procure it from Sam just as easy, no?" Malleus tilted his head. "But that wouldn't be fun... OH! I know! Let's all draw names! And we go in town and pick ice-cream that we think our name fits best. We bring it here and we mix them around!" Kalim excitedly clapped his hands.

The others looked at him as if he had grown 3 heads. Leona grumbled at that. "That is literally the dumbe-" "It's wonderful!" Malleus matched the excitement of the heir. "Really? You think so?" "I consider it as a beneficial bonding activity! I'm sure everyone would enjoy some ice-cream on this sunny day." Malleus smiled, summoning a few rolled up papers. With a defeated puff, Azul blended his hat to Vil, who mixed together the papers.

Riddle was the first to draw out a paper, reading the name and putting in his pocket without much hassle. Leone didn't even mention the name, groaning as his eyes read it 3 times, just to make sure. Azul seemed content with his luck, while Kalim seemed excited. Vil kept his best act to seem uninterested, while Idia picked his with a tremble as he read the name. Malleus was last and he seemed intrigued by the name itself, before putting it in his pocket.

"Alright! Let's go to town now! Is 2 hours enough for everyone?" Kalim asked. "I think it's more than enough, Kalim..." Riddle reassured, as each left for their own merry ways.

"Shroud..." "EEP!" Idia looked at Malleus, who grabbed him by the hand. Seeing that the firehead stopped, Malleus let go of the hand. "I was wondering... If you would help us find some suitable ice-cream for our names." the fae mused. "Us?" Idia tilted his head.

"Well... He insisted, so if you also accept, it will be us 3... We could finish the task faster that way." Azul mumbled. Idia looked in between the 2.

If he refuses, he'll have to deal with THE Malleus Draconia being upset at him. But if he accepts, he'll have to tag along the 2 to hell knows where for some ice-cream.

Adding the obvious pots murder attempts on these 2's side. Idia feared for his life more than a bad impression now.

"A-alright..." He breathed out, immediately being met with a happy Malleus, Azul exhaling behind the fae. "Well, then... Let's change into something more suitable for outside and go. In 20 minutes at the front gate?" He asked, receiving nodds from the other 2.

Once Idia was at the gate, he had to re-look over his own note: Kalim. Of all people, he had the immense luck of nailing exactly the most extroverted student there is in this school. The good part, Kalim would probably be happy with any flavor assigned to him. Still, this only made Idia's pool of choose wider and therefore harder to take only 1 flavour.

"Ah! Idia! You're here already!" Azul beamed as this time Malleus was trailing after the mer. Unlike Idia's simple hoodie and pants, Azul wore jeans with a turtleneck and a jacket to boot, while Malleus made even his own simple sweater and pants to look elegant. Although, Idia didn't take the fae as someone who had a soft lavender sweater in his wardrobe.

Still, they had to go in the Sage island city.

"Well... Let's go into a supermarket... There are enough flavors to pick from..." Azul mumbled. Idia couldn't even say it better. It would be easy. Just go to the frozen goodies section, pick whatever ice-cram box you want, pay and get out.

But, the walk to it, Idia couldn't help but feel almost squished in between the 2. Maybe it was the heat of the day or his anxiety over-doing it, but he could almost say he was squished like a play-doh piece in some toddler's hand.

The supermarket wasn't far, but damn did Idia feel like it took an eternity. "After you..." Malleus puffed as he reached towards the doors to open them, yet he failed miserably as those were automatic doors. If Idia were to say, the latter's curiousity over some automatic doors was both amusing and cute. But, that only took from their time. "Come on, Malleus... We have to go..." "But the do-" "You'll see them when we get out too..." Azul exhaled as the fae gave in and followed after them.

They didn't take a cart, because 3 boxes of ice-cream weren't that worth it for a whole cart to be dragged around.

But, what Idia came to realise, was that this place was oddly crowded today.

"Is this place used to be full of children of man?" Malleus tilted his head as by him some hurried person passed. "I'm certain this is not the case." Azul exhaled. "unfortunately... The frozen section is further down..." The mer grumbled.

"What are you 2 going to get?" Idia asked. "I am thinking of something red... But not strawberries... I feel like those would be too obvious." Azul exhaled. "I must embody the spirit of modern elegance... So I fully believe a more... Exotic aroma, will fit my demands." Malleus mused. Idia nodded.

"I'll probably pick chocolate chips... I'm sure that fits my name well enough..." He exhaled.

Reaching the said section, it seemed, surprisingly deserted of any people. The containers were almost empty, save for some specific items. "Well... Let's dig up!" Azul exhaled and Malleus summoned a shovel. "Not that kind of digging..." Idia replied, the fae unsummoning the shovel.

Idia saw the lack of cookie flavours, so he darted his attention towards the closest one, plain chocolate. It was full of them, so the firehead wanted one from the bottom. Those usually were less tampered with. Hands pushing away the said containers, Idia saw an odd one sticking out. Grabbing it, it was a different box alltogether.

'Chocolate and chip cookie' was written in big bold letters. Idia grinned from ear to ear. Maybe his luck was rounding up good in the end. Kalim would probably be excited about it.

"well, Idia? Did you find it?" Azul asked as he peered over. "fuhihi! The last cookie ice-cream is yours truly! SSR item acquired!" He cheered, before looking at Azul's ice-cream: pineapple and dragon fruit. On the box itself it showed a bright red ice-cream served by suggestion. "I think... This is perfect for my needs." He mused with a smile.

"I have found my perfect choice!" Malleus declared as he happily skipped over, showing his pick: Passion fruit. Idia had no idea how these 2 found such flavours, but he wasn't going to complain. He got his loot, off he was to pay and get out.

"Oh, dear... Is that the last box of cookie ice-cream?" Idia halted as a sweet voice of a grandma asked, leaning on her crane for support. "I'm afraid yes..." Azul spoke for Idia, who was entirely grateful that he didn't have to go face-to-face and refuse a small and sweet grandma.

She gave a sweet smile. "Ah... Such a shame. My nephew sure would've loved it..." she noted before going towards the other flavors that were still in stock. Idia took it as that and went on his marry way, Azul in front and Malleus behind, ll 3 ready to pay for their soon to be purchase.

"HEY! HE HAS THE LAST COOKIE ICE-CREAM!"

Idia's hair became a bright and jaggedy teal as the said yell from the small grandma alerted the whole store. The other people in there eyed the firehead, who hugged the container and applied a spell to keep it freezing still. "Idia..." Azul mused. "Yes?" "Did you know there's a selective sale today, right?" "A what?" Malleus tilted his head. Azul gulped as he made a few steps back, all 3 bumping into each other.

"It means we have to RUN!" the mer sprinted, grabbing Idia by the hand as Malleus followed close by, yet, by the 2 in the front not being so apt at PE, the greedy mob was reaching them. "This isn't going to work." Malleus mused, grabbing the 2 in his arms and sprinting as much as his legs could carry.

They were told that complex magic is forbidden outside school while they are still studying in there. And, unfortunately, teleporting is cutting right in that category. Still, Malleus looked with a dread at the mob that was racing on those carts to catch them up.

"Wall!" Idia yelled. "Wall?" "WALL!" Azul also yelled.

THUD!

The 3 crashed into a wall. groaning, Idia crawled his way out as Azul preserved the 3 boxes of ice-cream in his hold, re-casting the freezing spell on all 3 at once. "Malleus... Come on!" "I'm fine!" The Fae mused, but immediately he was thrown by a cart crashing into him.

"What is with these people?!" Idia gasped as he got the said discarded cart, Azul putting the boxes inside and also Malleus and himself, while Idia holded onto it, with one leg pushing the cart to roll off as fast as he could, trying to maneuver it in between the isles and to the cashier, where a poor, tired employee was waiting for their shift to end.

SKRRRR!

Stopping with a spin, Idia managed to roll backwards, the cart in front of the cashier as he was next to it. The employee looked at him, then at the angry mob following, before Azul and Malleus handed the boxes to the employee, checking them out.

"53-" "Keep the change, please." Azul said as Malleus gave out the madol bills, Idia pushing the cart out with the 2 still inside and the ice-cream at the octomer.

"We have survived!" The Fae said as he and Azul got out of the cart. "And acquired the ice-cream!" He cheered as the other 2 couldn't help but smile weakly.

"Well... I believe Idia's little hunting instincts were very useful." Azul hummed and Malleus seemed to nod in understanding. "Hold on! Hold on! What are you 2 on about?" Idia tilted his head, absolutely confused. This, also translated to confusion from the other 2.

"You didn't realise? The fish?" "The sitting together?" "the flowers?" "Offering to procure food together?" Idia closed for a second his eyes, trying to think what all these odd things had to do with each other. Then, he looked at Azul and Malleus.

An octopus and a dragon Fae. Both predators by nature.

"Oh..."

Oh!

Idia's once calm and blue hair burst into pink as he looked in another way. "Humans kinda... Court differently, you know? Thought for a hot second that you wanted to kill me with the pots." he whispered the last part.

At that, Azul was the first one to intertwine their hands together. "How about you show us how humans court and we show you how our kind properly courts too... I admit... My first attempts were sloppy at best..." The mer mused. "Lilia advised me that, perhaps, I should approach things much slower than Fae usually do." Malleus took Idia's other hand, the firehead looking in between the 2 with big eyes.

"y-yeah... Let's try it... Slowly..." Idia breathed out.

It turns out, Riddle drew Idia's name out and Kalim got Leona's, who got Azul. Only Vil and Malleus drew each others's names, to which the model presented with a beautiful mint and chocolate cream ice-cream. Riddle brought forth a pineapple ice-cream, saying that it resembles Idia's eye color. Leona picked a lavender one because Azul was a dramatic bastard so, clearly, something flamboyant would fit. Kalim was the most excited by the cookies ice-cream, while he brought for Leona an almond ice-cream. Added with Azul and Malleus's picks, everyone seemed pretty content in the results.

"Oh... Do I see right? The Idia Shroud is showing PDA?" Vil raised a brow with a teasing smirk as Idia realised that he still holded Malleus's hand, while Azul was latched onto his side, enjoying his ice-cream portion. "I-"

"Oh thank sevens! Finally! Kalim and Jade owe me a 15." Riddle breathed out.  "Aww... I lost..." The heir handed to the redhead some madols.

"Wait... WAIT! wait wait!" Azul shook his head. "YOU Betted on us?!" Idia couldn't help but avert eye contact as Malleus found the ice-cream to be his only focus point.

"Well... It was pretty obvious..." Vil noted, nonchalantly taking a scoop of his ice-cream. "Once you piece together the fact of who exactly we are talking about... It makes sense." he added, which only served to rub salt in Idia's metaphorically severe wounds. "Also, Leona... I expect my 20 by this evening, preferably." The model smirked as the lion Beastman grumbled. "And here I betted that the lizard brain was gonna propose." He grumbled.

"You know... He was very close to that..." "Eh?!" Idia looked in disbelief at Azul, then at Malleus. Taking a deep breath, the firehead tried to tame down his rowdy flames. "We are dating! Fine!" He puffed.

"But next time... Please... No more flower pots!"

[maddiesbookshelves]

Coraline, by Neil Gaiman & P. Craig Russell (Illustrator)

When Coraline steps through a door in her family's new house, she finds another house, strangely similar to her own (only better). At first, things seem marvelous. The food is better than at home, and the toy box is filled with fluttering wind-up angels and dinosaur skulls that crawl and rattle their teeth. But there's another mother there and another father, and they want her to stay and be their little girl. They want to change her and never let her go. Coraline will have to fight with all her wit and all the tools she can find if she is to save herself and return to her ordinary life.

I've been wanting to read the book for a while, and then during my internship I started reading every Neil Gaiman comics I could get my hands on (minus Sandman and his work for DC). I really love the movie so seeing this version of Coraline was weird, but it helped me see them as two separate things, which was a plus. I've got to admit, I don't really remember my reading experience, I only remember liking it a lot and it making me want to rewatch the movie and finally read the book, haha

French version under the cut

Lorsque Coraline passe une porte dans la nouvelle maison de ses parents, elle découvre une autre maison, étrangement semblable à la sienne (mais en mieux). Au début, tout semble merveilleux. La nourriture y est meilleure qu'à la maison, et le coffre à jouets est rempli d'anges mécaniques volants et de crânes de dinosaures qui rampent et claquent des dents. Mais il y existe aussi d'autres parents, copies conformes des vrais avec des boutons cousus à la place des yeux. Coraline devra employer toute son intelligence et tous les outils à sa disposition pour se sauver et retourner à sa vie ordinaire.

Je voulais lire le livre depuis un moment puis pendant mon stage je me suis mise à lire tous les comics de Neil Gaiman auxquels j’avais accès (sauf Sandman et ses comics pour DC). J’aime énormément le film donc voir cette version de Coraline était bizarre, mais ça m’a aidé à les voir comme deux choses séparées, ce qui est un plus. Je vous avoue que je me souviens pas bien de ma lecture, je me souviens juste avoir beaucoup aimé et avoir eu envie de revoir le film et d’enfin lire le livre, haha

[bedlamsbard]

“The soldier,” Thanos said. He flinched a little as one of Natasha’s widow’s stings hit him in the side of the head, but brushed it off as if it was nothing more than a mosquito bite. “The man out of…time.”

Thanos let the last word linger there between them. The Stones set across his knuckles glittered in the fading sunlight as he turned his left hand over, thoughtful.

He was a kid playing with a new toy, the kind of boy who burned the wings off flies with a magnifying glass and a sunbeam. Steve knew the exact instant Thanos realized he could use more than one of the Stones at the same time.

March 1945: With the deaths of Johann Schmidt and Steve Rogers only a month old, the SSR has spent the intervening weeks hunting down the last of Hydra’s holdouts. When Peggy Carter and the Howling Commandos are unexpectedly called back to London, however, the return of Steve Rogers from beyond the grave raises more questions than it answers – and draws the attention of a dangerous new enemy.  (Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff)

Previous: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

13: Good Old Days 161K, AU, WIP

Chapter preview:

The glow was fading from Carol Danvers as a hatch clunked open on the spaceship, which huddled on the lawn like a broken-winged bird.  The gangway creaked as it descended, a visible dent in it, and it stopped about two feet off the ground, tilting to the left.  The woman who appeared at its top had to stomp her foot against it several times to get it to descend the rest of the way.  If Bucky hadn’t been having what was easily the worst three weeks of his life – which was saying something – he might have been more surprised at her appearance; she was bald-headed, blue-skinned, and with metallic implants on her skull and a prosthetic left arm that made him feel a little less self-conscious about his own.  Her gaze swept around them, searching, then focused on Rocket, who had started running when the hatch had opened.  He stopped at its base, looking up at her.  She shook her head a little and his whole body slumped, his ears and tail going slack with disappointment and dashed hopes. The blue-skinned woman ducked briefly out of sight and reemerged an instant later, supporting a gaunt man who leaned heavily on her shoulder as she helped him down the metal steps.  Pepper Potts cried out, breaking into a run, but it was Rhodes who got there first, taking Tony Stark’s weight from the strange woman and saying something to him.  Stark’s shoulders went slack with relief as he saw Rhodes and Potts, relaxing for a moment into their arms before he straightened up enough to look around.  His gaze tracked Banner and Barton, then Sam, which got a slight frown, and Yelena, whom he looked at without recognition. Then he saw Bucky. He went tense, almost surging forward despite Rhodes’s restraining hand against his shoulder.  He looked past Bucky, searching, then around again, looking for someone who wasn’t there. “Who’s dead?” he said. “Tony –” Rhodes began. “Let’s get inside –” “Who’s dead?” Stark insisted. “Steve’s dead,” Bucky said flatly.  “So is Romanoff.”

[totes-tubulardude]

First Trial

Part two of the size shifter trooper au!

One of the most important lessons any clone learned from growing up was how to survive.

The long necks were always watching them for a moment where they’d slip up, to show a sign that they were in the slightest bit defective and needed to be decommissioned to ensure perfection for their buyers. The Mandalorian trainers were less predictable. Some seemed to like the clones a lot, seeing them as actual people instead of products. Others saw them as the latter. CC-1010 and his brothers learned to watch out for those ones. 

They especially learned to watch out for those ones when their specific genetic mutation began to show. 

He and his batchmates spent many days strapped to tables as the kaminoans ran tests and injected them with strange substances that made his limbs burn. 

It had all started one day during a particularly nasty storm swell. The wind was howling loud enough that they could hear it through the walls of Tipoca City and the rain pelted down hard enough that CC-1010 thought there would be dents in the wells afterward. He’d been followed Alpha-17 through the halls, his brothers in a single-file line behind him as they made their way to the training rooms. They always preferred the days that the alphas trained them. 

Sure they were scary and sure they pushed them so hard that CC-5052 had thrown up on Alpha-17’s feet after a conditioning day, but they did it in a way that was unlike the Mandalorian trainers. They treated the younger clones like family, aliit, because at the end of the day, they were clones too. 

They’d been right by the windows when there’d been a particularly bright flash of lightning, likely redirected right off the roof of the building, followed by a clap of thunder loud enough to shake the building. CC-1010 hadn’t been able to stop his jerk reaction to jump and duck, hearing similar shouts from behind him. 

There was also the strange sound of ripping fabric that came from somewhere near him but he wasn’t sure where. 

When the shaking finally stopped CC-1010 quickly straightened back up and immediately realized that something was wrong. The floor was further away than it had been, his body ached like he’d been pulled in every direction, and he was now eye to eye with Alpha-17. The older clone looked about as surprised as he was upon this realization considering that just a moment earlier he’d only been about hip height. 

“What the-?” CC-1010 stumbled backward, tripping over too-small boots.

He looked down at himself to realize that the sound from earlier was from his own clothing. His cadet uniform now hung in tatters from where his body had outgrown them. He glanced around to see the rest of his batch staring up at him in shock. 

He tripped over himself again and landed on his butt. The air was knocked out of him and suddenly he felt a strange tingling sensation over his whole body. His head spun and CC-1010 closed his eyes to fight off a wave of nausea. 

When he opened them again, his batchmates and Alpha-17 were kneeling on the floor around him. He could see a few Kaminoan’s heading their way as well while others tried to usher other groups of clone cadets out of the way.

“You alright 1010?” Alpha asked cautiously, placing a large hand on his once again narrow shoulder.

CC-1010 opened his mouth to answer before his eyes rolled back into his skull and he passed out.

-

CC-1010 -> Fox; CC-5052 -> Bly

Mando'a: aliit: family

[mybeautifulwifegojo]

I haven't got a title for this yet and it's still very much a rough draft but here is some Writing

Guide/Sentinel AU because I'm trash for this dynamic

~

“Shoko.”

The newly-appointed doctor looked up from writing a report to see her yearmate and best friend leaning heavily on her office door, his eyes squinted behind his dark glasses. He looked miserable.

“Headache’s worse,” Satoru said shortly.

Shoko pursed her lips, frowning, and stood, walking over to place her fingertips against his forehead. He leaned into her touch gratefully, sighing in relief.

“Is it because of the Six Eyes?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Satoru said, eyes already drifting shut. The tension in his forehead and jaw eased as Shoko used her power to pull away the strain of overstimulation, synthesizing it into calm, peace, reassurance. “I think I might be reaching the point where I need to wear a blindfold. Glasses aren’t cutting it anymore; I can see fucking photons now, Shoko-chan. Not all the time, but… often enough.”

“Is that normal?” she asked, shocked. “Being able to see particles and atoms and such?”

“Unfortunately, yes. The older I get, the more I’ll see. The oldest recorded bearer of the Six Eyes gouged them out of her own skull at fifty years old because she couldn’t sleep anymore, even with metal plates sewn into her blindfold. Luckily we don’t tend to live much longer than thirty, so I probably won’t reach that point. For now, I just need more than sunglasses.” Satoru sighed again and hugged Shoko tightly. “Thanks for helping with the headache. Sorry to interrupt you for silly shit.”

“It’s not silly, Satoru.” Shoko returned the embrace, rubbing his back lightly. She could count his vertebrae and feel his ribs through his clothes. “You should be eating more.”

“Not hungry,” he muttered.

“Look, I know it’s only been three years since… but you have to take better care of yourself. Find a Guide you can bond with, maybe. I can help if you want.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Satoru let go, stepped back, hitched on an incredibly fake smile. “I’m fine for now, but thanks for worrying about me.”

Shoko nodded. They’d had this argument enough times before. It wasn’t worth it to push. “Eat more. I don’t care what. Gorge yourself on cake and candy if that’s what it takes. But just… get nutrients into your body. You need the energy. Please, Satoru? For my sake if not your own?”

He scowled, but slumped in defeat and nodded. “Okay. For you,” he agreed. “So you can stop worrying.”

“Thanks. Sleep well, Satoru.”

“You too, Shoko.”

~\0/~

Bright.

Loud.

People. People all over. Too many. Too much danger. Everything… too…

Guide. Close by. Down a quiet street. He had to get to them. That locus of calm, a beacon of safety, a point of rest.

Bright. Loud. Escape, like a wounded animal.

Too bright.

Too loud.

Car coming at ten kilometers an hour, weighing 1,379 kilograms, containing four people with a combined weight of 105 kilograms, steady speed, not deadly but certainly enough to hurt him—no it was not a threat, not a threat, not a threat.

Bright, loud, bright, loud, bright, loud—where was the Guide? He needed—he needed them to—

Here. Here, the Guide was here, in this house. He slapped his palm clumsily against the doorbell. Too loud. He could hear it from outside the door.

The door opened. The Guide stood there.

The Guide… was a tiny child.

He made a small, desolated noise and mumbled, “But you’re a baby,” before he fainted.

~\0/~

Somehow, Yuji caught the strange man as he fell, and yelled frantically over his shoulder, “Grandpa! Grandpa, help!”

His grandfather rushed down the stairs, a dented aluminum baseball bat in one gnarled hand, but froze when he saw that Yuji was supporting the torso of an unconscious man. “Yuji, what—” he began, bewildered.

“I don’t know!” Yuji interrupted. “He just—he just fell, I think he’s hurt, Grandpa we have to call an ambulance!”

Grandpa helped him get the stranger to the sofa, where the old man and the frightened child managed to get him arranged more or less without any twisted limbs. Yuji tried to step away from the stranger, but his hand latched on to Yuji’s wrist, and somehow, Yuji knew that if he broke free, the man would suffer.

“He isn’t bleeding,” Grandpa muttered, inspecting the man suspiciously. “Doesn’t smell like alcohol, either.” Then he noticed how the man was gripping his grandson’s arm, and how Yuji was staring at that scrunched, pained face. “Yuji. Is he one of those special people?”

Yuji nodded, his gaze still riveted on the stranger’s face. This was not the first stranger to seek him out and cling to him, but it was the first time they’d been in such bad shape that they’d passed out. Odd that they always seemed to either wear similar dark uniforms with large brass buttons or be very scary—or, like this man, both at once. But, since he was not the first, Yuji knew what he needed to do.

The ten-year-old boy shuffled closer and put his hands on either side of the strange adult man’s face, ignoring how the man’s arm wrapped loosely around his waist. The man’s breathing was ragged and loud, but steady. He smelled of dry blood, but also expensive cologne, and a little bit like sour candy. Sight, touch, sound, smell… yes, this was enough. Yuji could fix him.

Dad had sung, because Dad had had a good voice and liked music. Yuji recited stories.

“In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit,” he began, keeping his volume low and his tone soft, almost but not quite a whisper. “Not a dirty, nasty, wet hole, full of the ends of worms and an oozy smell; nor yet a bare, dry, sandy hole, with nothing to sit down on or to eat. This hole was a hobbit hole, and that meant comfort.”

He recited the entire first chapter of The Hobbit, word for word, and watched the stranger’s face carefully. The grimace of pain eased away; the furrowed brow smoothed. By the time Yuji reached the end, the stranger was simply asleep. No longer in pain, no longer afraid, no longer lost and confused.

Yuji, however, was exhausted, and felt like he was going to cry. He’d never felt this awful after helping someone. Maybe that was why the man had passed out, though. Yuji removed his hands from the man’s face and backed away, and sat on the coffee table with a thump, like a puppet being dropped.

“I have his phone,” Grandpa said, calling Yuji’s attention. “I’ll call the last person in his contacts. Go to bed, Yuji. You’ve done what you can.”

“No I haven’t,” Yuji said frankly, frowning. “He’s still all torn up inside. I can feel it. Just ‘cause he’s asleep doesn’t mean he’s not still hurt.”

Grandpa smacked Yuji upside the head lightly, making him squeak. “Yes, but you can’t fix everyone, you fool. Go to bed. Rest. You can finish helping him tomorrow before school.”

Yuji sighed, hugged his grandfather tightly, and went to his room. He hoped the man stayed the night. He didn’t like thinking about who might hurt him in his current state.

~\0/~

Shoko frowned at her cellphone. Had Satoru ever called her on a mission? Something must truly be wrong.

“Hey, dumbass, what scrape have you gotten into this time?” she asked as she answered, trying to sound casual. If she answered with worry, he might lie and act like he was fine.

After a strange pause, a very old voice said cautiously, “Are you Shoko?”

Her spine straightened. “That depends entirely on who you are,” she replied coldly, her heart pounding in alarm. “How did you get Satoru’s phone from him?”

“Ah. Well… I am Itadori Wasuke. The owner of this mobile is currently passed out on my sofa. He appears to be ill, but luckily my grandson was able to help him.”

“Ill?” Shoko stood and headed for the door. “Not injured?”

“No, not that I can tell.”

“Your grandson was able to help him, though?” She bit her lip as she tried to think of any sorcerers on the payroll with the last name Itadori… none, none at all. “Is he a Guide?”

“A what?” Wasuke asked blankly. “He just has a knack for calming people down.”

Her heart sank, even as she began to run down the hall to the garage. There was no time for the train, and she had never been good at warping to places she hadn’t been before. “He’s a child, isn’t he? Elementary age.”

“How did you know that?”

“If he were older, he’d be registered. Where is he? Is he alright? If Satoru is passed out, please check on your grandson and make sure that he’s safe. I’ll be in Sendai in a few minutes.”

“You don’t even have our addr—”

Shoko hung up and sprinted the rest of the way. If Satoru had zoned so bad that he’d passed out, something truly awful must have happened. She might have to erase the child’s memory. There was no way an untrained child could pull Satoru of all people from a zone without being damaged.

In the car, Shoko put her phone on speaker and called Ijichi. When he picked up, sounding flustered, she cut across him, “Sorry to bother you, Ijichi-kun, but Satoru zoned, and an unregistered Guide found him. Can you search the Sendai records for an Itadori? They’ll be young, not yet sixteen.”

“Of course, Ieiri-san,” Ijichi replied, all cool efficiency now that he knew the situation. Such a pity that he wasn’t strong enough to be a sorcerer—he kept his head just as well as Nanami, and was twice as tactful. But he was also too good a leader and too incredible at managing to do solo work like sorcery. “Sendai, Itadori, under sixteen. Ah—yes, there is one. A ten-year-old boy. Do you need his address?”

“Please.”

Ijichi rattled it off, and Shoko nodded to herself. That was close to where Satoru’s mission had been. He hadn’t gone far before sensing the Guide. Good. She spared a thought for that poor child, presumably overwhelmed by a strange Sentinel’s zoning; even she couldn’t quite handle Satoru when it got bad, and they were dear friends. She knew that man’s brain better than he did. A little kid, untrained and unknown? She really hoped his grandfather could keep him safe and calm until she got there.

Sendai was far quieter than Tokyo at ten o’clock, but Shoko was still forced to slow down and obey traffic laws. By the time she reached the small, sleepy neighborhood, her teeth hurt from clenching her jaw. Parking on the street, she got out of the car and strode to the door. She could sense Satoru, alright, but… she hesitated, her hand raised to press the doorbell. He didn’t feel zoned. His emotions were calmed… calmer than she’d ever managed to get them.

And the young Guide wasn’t panicking or suffering.

Shoko rang the bell. The door opened in a few minutes, and a tiny old man with a sour expression eyed her critically.

“Itadori Wasuke, I assume?” Shoko asked.

“Yes. He’s still asleep.”

“Good. Your grandson?”

“Also asleep. It’s past his bedtime.”

Shoko frowned, but shook her head. No need to worry if the boy was fine. Satoru was her priority right now. “Alright. May I come in, please? I need to get Satoru back home, and it’ll be easier if I can wake him up.”

“Of course. Please make yourself at home.”

She didn’t really take in the physical appearance of the home, but she did note that the amount of cursed energy was unusually low, and the number of familiar residuals unusually high. She even recognized Mei-san and Utahime-senpai’s signatures, faintly. But overwhelming all of them was Satoru, calmer than he’d been in years, and deeply asleep, sprawled on the sofa.

Shoko knelt next to him, licked her pinky, and stuck the wet digit in his ear.

Satoru jerked awake with a squeal of shock. Shoko ducked his clumsy slap easily, and asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Uh?” Satoru blinked at her, confused. Then his eyes widened, and a look of horror crossed his face. “Oh… fuck. I zoned.”

“Yes, but luckily Itadori-san’s grandkid found you. So--”

“He didn’t.” Satoru sat up, rubbing his face with both hands. “I came to him.”

“...What?”

“I could sense him from across the city,” Satoru said, slightly impatient. “But he’s just a kid. Fuck, is he alright? Did I…”

“He’s fine,” Wasuke interrupted, frowning as Satoru and Shoko both looked at him. “Why are you both so fussed? He’s young, but his father taught him well. This is the first time anyone has sought him out at home, though.”

Shoko bit her lip. Then she asked, “Itadori-san, what do you know about Yuji’s… ability?”

“He inherited it from his father, my son,” Wasuke replied, his frown turning thoughtful. “Jin could calm a crying baby. Yuji can tell what others feel, break through killing rages, and has talked at least three people down from suicide. He’s never been as tired as he was after fixing this one, but he’s bound to have limits. You know more, though.”

“Yes.” Shoko glanced to Satoru. Satoru looked back, made a face, nodded. Shoko turned back to Wasuke and explained, “Yuji is a Guide. Sort of like an empath. I’m a Guide, too, as well as a doctor. It’s highly unusual for a child, especially a young one with no formal training, to be able to pull a Sentinel like Satoru out of a zone without suffering some form of psychological backlash. But… this isn’t the first time he’s done so?”

“No.” Wasuke stroked his chin. “There was that older boy with a scar over his eye and a strange hairstyle, and the woman with blue hair who gave him 600 yen. Lots of people have dropped by the house and told me they’ve met him and wanted to repay his kindness. So far it’s just little things, food and toys and pocket-money; but I am worried for him. He’s too kind. One day he may end up helping someone who won’t be good.”

After a moment, Wasuke asked, “Do you train these… Guides?”

“Not us,” Satoru said softly, “But we graduated from a school that does. We can put in a request that he be considered for enrollment.”

Wasuke nodded, looking relieved. “If you could, I would be grateful,” he said. “Did you want to speak to him? You’ll have to come back tomorrow afternoon; he has school, and I’m not waking him up again.”

“I did, yes,” Shoko said. “May I come by at four?”

While she and Itadori Wasuke discussed when she should come, how long she should stay, and what she should talk to Yuji about (Wasuke insisted Shoko stay for dinner, as thanks for checking on Yuji; Shoko insisted that it wasn’t necessary, any Guide with half a heart would want to make sure he was alright), Satoru put on his glasses and paced the living room, hands in his pockets. When all was decided, the two sorcerers thanked Wasuke and said good night, and left the house. As they were walking to the car, a sleepy young voice called, “Wait! Wass’yer name?”

Shoko turned, surprised, to see a tiny boy with reddish-blond hair and truly enormous eyes hanging out the window, squinting blearily at Satoru. Satoru himself flinched, before hitching on a friendly smile, turning, and answering, “Gojo Satoru. Thanks for your help, Yuji-kun.”

The boy grinned. “You’re welcome, Gojo Satoru,” he replied. “Come back some time! Grandpa makes the best chicken meatballs!”

“I will,” Satoru promised, still smiling.

“Yuji! Get back in bed! You have school tomorrow!”

The boy waved one last time and closed his window. Shoko and Satoru got into the car. Shoko drove much more sedately, and glanced often at her friend. His smile had vanished as soon as the boy couldn’t see him anymore, and now he looked… haunted.

“Would telling me what happened help?” Shoko asked softly.

“Yeah,” Satoru murmured promptly, startling her. “It wasn’t that difficult of a mission. Curses are always easier to exorcise when they’re newly born. But… there were witnesses. Some stupid teenagers getting drunk in the basement. I tried to get them to leave, but they wouldn’t listen, so I thought I’d just herd the curse up to the top floor, away from them. It smashed through seven stories to get to them.” Satoru closed his eyes tightly; Shoko kept her hands on the wheel, even though the rising tide of grief beside her plucked at her attention like a needy child.

“Any survivors?” she whispered.

“No,” Satoru croaked. “I managed to kill the damn thing before it could disfigure the bodies, though. Fuck. I was so stupid, Shoko.”

Shoko pulled over, flicked on the car’s hazard lights, and pulled Satoru into a hug, stroking his hair soothingly. He crumpled against her, breathing harshly. She really couldn’t think of anything to say that would make him feel better; it had been stupid to simply leave those teenagers alone, and it had been arrogant of him to think he could exorcise the curse before it took advantage of its placement directly above helpless children. Grief and shame must be what had tipped him into a zone; Limitless would’ve negated physical stimuli, and Satoru’s hearing was selective at best.

The emotions were overwhelming—but, oddly enough, Satoru wasn’t re-triggered into another zone. Shoko frowned slightly to herself.

“Satoru,” she said slowly, “How far away were you from that boy, Yuji?”

“I don’t know,” he replied dully. “It was at least a mile. I was trying to find the manager who lowered the veil, but…”

Shoko bit her lip, and pressed her face to his hair. She didn’t like the implication of that. A Guide that powerful was the perfect match for Satoru, truly—but Itadori Yuji was only ten. It would be unspeakably cruel to snatch him away from his life here and sequester him at Jujutsu Tech until he was old enough, and trained enough, to bond with Satoru.

But… others had visited him. Others knew him. Why didn’t she and Satoru?

“We both need sleep,” Shoko sighed. “I know the council will want you to write your report while it’s still fresh, but as your doctor and assigned Guide, I think you need to be in bed as soon as possible.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Satoru grumbled, and Shoko giggled.

Upon returning to Tokyo, the two sorcerers grabbed a midnight snack from a corner store and ate in one of the school’s courtyards, silent with exhaustion. Then they went to bed. Shoko hugged Satoru in the hall before they split in opposite directions to their rooms.

“Tomorrow, when you go see Itadori,” Satoru whispered, “Can… can you tell him I said I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

~\0/~

In his dreams, he sat on the cool ground, his head on someone’s knee, as they read to him. Their hand stroked his hair soothingly. They felt like home. There was a thick, warm ribbon of trust and affection and quiet joy connecting their mind to his.

He knew this moment, this positioning. He’d been here before. With Suguru.

How could he bond with anyone, when there was still a raw, gaping wound in his soul where Suguru had been?

~\0/~

Gojo Satoru didn’t visit the next day, but the tired-looking lady in a doctor’s coat did. She introduced herself as Ieiri Shoko, and told Yuji that she had the same ability as him.

“Is that why I can’t tell what you’re feeling?” Yuji asked, tilting his head. It was very unusual for him to not know on sight what someone was feeling, and if they needed his help.

She smiled slightly and shook her head. “No, the reason you can’t tell is because I’m shielding,” she explained. “I don’t do it very often, but I’d rather not overwhelm you.”

“Okay,” Yuji said, even though he really didn’t understand. He got the feeling she was one of those adults who wasn’t used to explaining herself, and he wanted to be polite and not distress her when she was a guest. “How’s Gojo-san? Is he okay?”

“Satoru’s fine,” Shoko assured him. “This isn’t the first time he’s zoned so badly; he’s probably in bed, and he’d better be eating and staying hydrated or I’ll kick his—butt.”

“You can swear, it’s fine. Grandpa says bad words all the time.”

Shoko smiled wider. “What a funny kid you are,” she murmured. “Thanks, Yuji-kun. Satoru is fine, he knows what he’s doing. I’m here to ask how you are, though.”

“I’m fine, too,” Yuji said, frowning a little. “I was really tired last night, and sad, but sleeping helped.”

“That’s lovely and I promise I believe you, but it shouldn’t be possible. Yuji-kun, may I do a quick assessment of your mind? I won’t be able to read your thoughts. I just want to make sure you’re actually alright, and not just blocking off trauma, which will make life much harder for you when you’re older.”

Yuji sighed, but nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Shoko reached forward and rested her fingertips gently against his forehead. Yuji’s spine stiffened as he felt the oddest sensation; almost like those cool, elegant fingertips had sunk through his skull and were resting directly on his brain. It was not painful. In fact, it was… kind of nice. Almost ticklish, but not in the way that made him want to jerk away or squeal.

Shoko’s eyes widened, and her mouth formed a little ‘o’ of shock. Carefully, she retracted her hand, and asked Yuji, “How long have you been helping people, Yuji-kun?”

“Year an’ years,” he replied promptly. “As long as I can remember. It was mostly just Grandpa and my friends at school, but when we moved here a really nice lady with a scar on her face was crying in the park, and she recognized me. Not like, knew me, but she recognized what I could do, and she got really upset ‘cause she thought I’d followed her, but I read to her from my textbook and she calmed down. She brought me candy the next day. I think she said her name was Utahime? She’s come by a few times since, but not for a while.”

“I know Utahime,” Shoko said, beginning to smile. “She’s a teacher, now, so she can’t get away from her students much anymore. Who else have you helped?”

“Lessee… there was the lady with blue hair who gave me money… and then there was the really tall boy, I think he was only a couple years older’n me, but he wasn’t crying or angry, he was, like… laughing, and hitting a guy who was already dead. I got him to stop and wash off the blood, and then a lady who said she was his older sister showed up and thanked me. I don’t think they were related, though. They looked different. He called me “little brother” when he’d calmed down and gave me a Kamen Rider figure. Oh, and there was the old man with a guitar, even older than Grandpa, but he was really strong. He sends me CDs a lot, and sometimes he and Grandpa talk on the phone about old people stuff like politics and music these days.”

Yuji listed off everyone he’d helped, which was… a lot. He remembered all of them. Sometimes Shoko smiled, or looked thoughtful, or raised her eyebrows in surprise; once in a while she would murmur their name, like she knew them personally. Maybe she did, if she had the same ability as him.

It was impossible for Yuji to forget someone once he’d helped them. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but Daddy had said it was something like… blocking out the excess. Yuji didn’t just block excess, though; he absorbed, and sometimes he could feel himself giving back, though it was so instinctive that he wasn’t sure what, exactly, he was giving. He simply knew that, if he could touch someone and speak to them, he could make them feel better. Taking and giving like that felt a little bit like sharing bits of his heart. He didn’t mind, not if it made people happy.

He thought about Gojo Satoru again. How, of all the people he’d helped, Gojo had been the first to be horrified, and call him a baby.

“Shoko-chan,” Yuji began, “Does Gojo not like kids?”

“What do you mean?” Shoko asked, frowning.

“Well… when I opened the door last night, he looked scared, and he said I was a baby, before he passed out. Is he angry at me? He shouldn’t be, not when I was just helping.”

Shoko laughed softly and shook her head. “No, Yuji-kun, he’s not angry at you, and he doesn’t really have any feelings about kids one way or the other. It’s just… Satoru and I aren’t used to kids as powerful as you. He’s never been a good judge of age; he probably thought you were even younger than you are. And, well, it’s a little scary for people like him to realize that someone who can match them in one aspect is a very long ways behind them in others. You’re incredibly powerful, Yuji. So is Satoru. He’s never met someone so young and yet strong—which is a bit funny, because he was the same way.”

“He was?” Yuji asked, eyes widening.

“Yep. Physically gifted, but also his own ability manifested early, and the only Guides who could keep him calm were adults he knew and loved. You, though? A little kid, a stranger, managing to fix that hurricane in his head in just a few minutes? He’s horrified that he forced that on you, and I think he feels bad because he’s so primed to hurt others who aren’t used to him.” Shoko stopped, and smiled crookedly. “You’re too easy to talk to, Yuji-kun,” she admonished lightly. “No wonder so many of the others like you.”

“So you do know them all!”

“Not all. Most. I’m actually pretty new to my position; I only graduated two years ago. Maybe that’s why no one told me about you.” Shoko frowned thoughtfully into the middle distance for a moment, while Yuji considered what that meant. So he was like a secret that people only got to find out about when others decided they were good enough? That sounded fun! He grinned, pleased with his role.

Then he heard himself ask, “Can I come see them all?”

Shoko blinked, startled. “Ah… come again?”

“Can I come see them all?” Yuji repeated. “I wanna make sure they’re all okay. Especially Utahime-chan. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who asks for help, even if she really needs it.”

After a moment, Shoko smiled. “You know what? Sure. What’s your weekend look like, Yuji-kun? I’ll take you to visit Utahime.”