#Especially that red shards were few that week

[skyc47su]

>:/

Hopeful Steward basically telling us to go unalive ourselves. I love this kid.

Yes, I still did the quest.

[kquil]

POLY MARAUDERS | HEROES IN TATTOOS PART 5

05 : DRUNK AND CIGARETTE SMOKE

SUM : It’s been a few weeks and James makes a reappearance in your life, Remus too — they’ve fallen into bad habits. 

G. : modern au ; muggle au ; tattoo artist james potter ; piercer remus lupin ; remus smokes ; drunk james ; reader is sad ; this is a little sad chapter ; fergus is an amazing, lovable manager ; i’m horrible at writing the scottish accent! ; james is an adorable drunk ; james’ car is sexy and red ; remiss has eye bags and smells of cigarette smoke ; uh oh ; it’ll get better soon! 

LENGTH : 2.8k

← PREV. : 04 | DISAPPEAR

You stare in disbelief at the notice that stares back at you mockingly from behind the glass door of the ‘Marauders Tattoo Parlour’. 

‘NOTICE’ it said in bold red sharpie, right above a handwritten message that you recognise as Remus’ neat penmanship, ‘due to personal reasons, Prongs, Padfoot and I (Moony) will be keeping the parlour closed until further notice. We kindly ask that you remain patient as private matters are being sorted through and resolved. We are still open for online and phone consultations to discuss designs and potential future appointments. Kindest Regards, The Marauders’. Beneath the polite and brief explanation of current circumstances was a business email address and phone number as well as working times for phone calls. 

The weeks following your discovery of the boys’ true relationship, you rarely ever passed their parlour. A little over three weeks has passed now and you’ve finally been able to walk past their studio doors close enough to read the notice. You’re frozen in place as dread and worry cultivates shards of sharpened ice to grow within you. Freezing up your senses, freezing up your mind and freezing up limbs. Yet, your heart is racing like never before, your blood pounding against your ears like a drummer gone mad. 

The feeling that settled in your stomach wasn’t a pleasant one, especially when you felt completely responsible for the boys’ sudden hiatus in business. They had often talked to you about how much the parlour meant to them, how it was their best investment and remains their biggest source of opportunity — an opportunity to help people express themselves. It’s a form of freedom that many have been deprived of (themselves included) and they were honoured to now be able to provide that same freedom to others. For them to completely close up shop like this was completely bizarre. 

How long have they been closed for?

You bite your lip and will yourself to move your feet, the ice in your limbs breaking uncomfortably, shattering into a million knives of ice, shooting pins and needles up your arms and legs as if your blood had been frozen up too. As you walk away, you slip your phone back into your pocket, where your hands also remain. 

While contemplating what could have happened to your favourite tattooists and piercer, you made sure to save a picture of their business phone number onto your photos. 

You were never able to call their business number. And you had many excuses lined up to absolve your cowardly behaviour. The main one being that it was their business number, it wasn’t meant to be used for a conversation between friends. Were you even still friends at this point? The thought made you shiver and stole the appetite right from your stomach. It was a greedy little thing cowardice, regret too. They’ve stolen many things from you, your appetite was their favourite thing to purloin, motivation another, happiness as well. Nasty, selfish and greedy thieves. But you weren’t brave enough to confront them and make them stop. And that, alone, makes you their willing accomplice — so who’s really to blame? 

It didn’t help that through this entire ordeal, you’ve realised that none of the boys have exchanged phone numbers with you. To say that you were bitter was an understatement. If they never gave you their number, why would they want you ringing them in the first place? 

…maybe they didn’t have a reason to? You couldn’t remember a single time after the day you first brought them that homemade ‘thank you’ lunch where you hadn’t seen them on a regular basis. And now that you were used to seeing them almost daily, your life has since been bleeding of colour and vibrance. Days are dull and monotonous, it’s hard to motivate yourself to do pretty much anything, let alone your job.

“Yer’ve been sighin’ so much these days, I’m startin’ to see wrinkles forming’ on yer cute lil’ face lass,” Furgus comments, nudging your hip with his own as he passes by you behind the counter. 

Flustered, you scramble to get back to work with a quick apology, evidence of your embarrassment heating up your cheeks as you do so, “I’m so sorry Gus,”

With hearty laugh, the burly Scottish man pats you on the back and whispers some reassuring words, “Yer’ve got nothin’ ta worry about lass, I jus’ wan’ed ta see if you were al’ight is all,”

“I’m okay,” you smile grateful for his care only to be met with suspicious eyes and a deep, bearded frown. 

“Don’t grow a habit o’ lyin’ ta me lass, it won’t do ya any good,” his words make more heat rise to your cheeks but you reassure him as best as you can in between taking orders and serving drinks. It was no use however, Fergus saw you as his own daughter, he knew you like the back of his hand and you know that he had his suspicions of your odd behaviour lately — all derived from a sadness he didn’t like you wearing. Thankfully, he decided to leave you alone with your sorrow and regret and focused back on managing the pub. Tonight was pretty average, you saw the regulars and greeted them with a friendly smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes; if any of them noticed, they never said a thing about it to you. Thank god. 

It seemed like it would be another regular night until you caught sight of a familiar figure in the corner of your eye. You had just gotten back from your break when you spot James at a far table, nursing a pint and buried under a sheet of suffocating misery all on his lonesome. 

“James?” you breathed in disbelief with a wide-eyed stare directed right at him. 

“You know that guy?” Bonnie, your coworker, asks in a whisper into your ear and you had no choice but to nod your head in confirmation — you’ve already outed yourself, there was no point in lying, “well he’s been drinkin’ himself to death for the past hour or so, what’s gotten into him? D’ya know?”

“No…” you’re a liar. 

“Well ya be’er find out or else imma have ta kick the poor bastard outta ‘ere,” Fergus comments, his arms folded over his large chest and his brows knitted together in disapproval. 

“May I—…?” you begin to ask softly, sending a curious look towards Fergus who meets your eyes with a small smile and a wink. 

“Consider yerself off fer da night,” with a smile, you thank him and take a breath before making your way over to the miserable tattooist. 

“Angel!” James smiles happily at the sight of you, his drunken state adding an adorable dopiness to his already charming grin, “It’s you~” he coos and wraps his arms around your middle to bury his face into your stomach when you were close enough, “I missed you so much, angel~” he sighs, his voice muffled by your clothes as he refuses to detach himself from you, “even if this is just another dream…” you barely hear him and you almost curse yourself from being able to because his words make your heart drop to your stomach. 

“James,” you ask softly, “can you please get up?” 

“Why?” he shuffles to press his chin into your lower belly and stare up at you with those sweet hazel eyes of his. The sneaky bastard, he knows how weak at the knees you become from his simple stare. You’ve never told him so and often put in the effort to not show it but you know, he knows. 

“Because you need to go home,” he gives an incredulous look at your reasoning and he’s adorable doing so, even in his drunken state. 

“Why would I need to do that when you’re right here?” he slurs and hiccups, your heart pounding erratically at his words.  

“James please—”

“No!”

“James—”

“‘m not going home! I wanna stay here with you,” he presses his face into your stomach again and sobs into your clothes, “you’re gonna disappear again,” he sobs miserably, “I don’t want that…” 

“Please just let me call you a taxi James?” he doesn’t respond, pressing his face further into your stomach as you comb your fingers through his dark hair, you touch gentle and comforting, coaxing him into some compliance, “remind me of your address again and I’ll call you a taxi, okay?”

“NO!” 

You suppress a defeated sigh. 

It takes several minutes of coaxing until you’re finally able to take his phone from him. He refuses to let you call him a taxi and you weren’t going to force him to walk home alone in his drunken state so you’re going to have to do the one thing you can think of that’ll guarantee his safe return home. Not that you’ll enjoy it because it means confrontation. 

“Can you tell me your passcode, please, James?” you ask in a gentle whisper, only to him, “I need to do something very important on your phone,”

With a large smile he recites the digits, “22nd of the 6th, 17,” the way he says it makes your raise a brow. Sensing your curiosity, James answers your silent question, “is the day Moony, Pads and I became official,” he giggles adorably to himself as you smile somewhat sadly — another reminder that you should stay away. You don’t say anything to prompt him further and, instead, type in the code before looking through his contacts. It takes you a moment but you’re eventually pressing call and waiting patiently for Remus to pick up.

“…James?” Remus’ familiar, kind voice speaks tiredly through the phone and you don’t know whether to breath a sigh of relief or worry, “Hello?”

It takes you a moment but you finally will yourself to speak, “Hey, um, Remus?” 

“…Dove?” he’s in complete disbelief and it’s evident in his voice, “Is that really you?”

“uh…yeah,” you chirp sheepishly and Remus is all forms of elated but his excitement dwindles quickly when he realises how you’re able to call him. 

“Why do you have James’ phone?” you were right to call him, knowing that he was preceptive, reasonable and easy to talk to even with the tension in the air. Patiently, you explain the situation, never taking your fingers away from James’ hair as he practically purrs into your form, adoring the physical contact and muttering to himself happily. It’s especially loveable like this, considering that it’s him being dopey and giggly and not anyone else.

“Oh…” Remus sighs, clearly disappointed, “I’m so sorry, darling, I’ll get him right away,” 

“It’s no trouble, Rem,” it was hard not to cringe when the familiar nickname easily rolls off your tongue. As if nothing happened — oh how you wish for such a reality!

“Just tell me where you are and I’ll be right over,” you don’t know if you’re just imagining it but there’s a considerable shift in his voice, he sounds much softer after hearing his nickname easily fall from your lips. 

“We’re at the Boar and Elephant pub on Chapel Road,” 

“Alright, I’ll be there soon,” with a click, he was gone and you were left to keep James satisfied until he got there. It wasn’t an overly tough job; James seemed perfectly content nuzzling into your stomach with his arms hugging you in place as your fingers massage his scalp and gently groom his hair. He’s like a puppy, eager to receive affectionate cuddles and pets. If he had a tail, he’d be wagging it like crazy and you giggle to yourself at the mental image it conjures up. 

“I missed that…” James mutters, maybe to himself but it wasn’t clear.

“I’m sorry?”

“I miss the sound of you giggling,” you don’t know what to say but he continues, going off on a tangent, “it’s so pretty, you’re so pretty. It’s like the sound of a cute little bell ringing…so pretty— pretty pretty pretty!” you can’t lie to yourself, he’s absolutely precious, “I miss you so much angel, why did you go away? I don’t want you away, I want you with me, and with Remus and with Sirius too…” he murmurs something into your stomach that you weren’t able to pick up but don’t press him further on the matter, fearing that your heart might just about burst if you do. You can’t afford to hope for such a fantasy with them when it could never become a reality. 

It just wasn’t possible…

“Not fair!”James whines, making grabby hands at you as Remus, with the force of a gentle giant, manoeuvres him into the back seat of a red Jaguar XJR. Dealing with a defiant baby was a struggle so dealing with a giant, beefy baby like James Potter was like trying to control a hurricane. But Remus had a magic touch and arguably had more of a silver tongue than Sirius did so he made it look like a walk in the park. It was astounding, “I wanna be with my angel!” James sobs as Remus closes the door on him, putting a stop to James’ needy cries. 

“She’s not yours, she’s no one’s,” was Remus’ response even though he had already closed the door, James unable to hear him and the hint of dismay coherent in his tired voice, “thank you for looking after him, Dove, you’re always too kind,”

“N-no, don’t worry about it,” he smiles down at you, silence filling up the space between your two lonely figures under the amber lamplight. He doesn’t seem to mind the hush in conversation but knowing that his eyes were fixed on you was unnerving, “so! Is that your car?” you ask, desperate for a change in conversation; your restless fiddling making your intentions obvious but Remus keeps to himself. 

“No, no, it’s not mine,” he answers with a short chuckle, “this is James’ car,”

“Oh…” you hum to yourself thoughtfully, eyes carefully examining the body and model of the car, “I see,” it looks like a car James would have, you think to yourself. There was more silence until Remus finally brings himself to commence your farewells. 

“Well I suppose I should head off, I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” your heart stutters, almost to a stop, at his words, even more so when you see him hesitate upon leaning down. A victim to your own habits, you find yourself closing your eyes and awaiting his gentle kiss goodbye against your temple.

…But it never comes.

“Goodbye then,” he calls over his shoulder, and rounds the car to get to the driver’s seat. 

“—Do you smoke?” you suddenly ask, in some part desperate to extend your interaction with each other and other parts curious of the lingering cigarette smoke you smell on his clothes, masking his usually comforting fragrance. It’s strong enough that you were able to catch it from your formal amount of distance with each other and it struck you as odd. You had never seen him smoke before. 

Remus laughs a brief and strained sound as he looks at you from over the hood of the car, did he always have such deep eye-bags? “Not usually,” he sends you a sheepish smile once you’re finally able to meet his eyes, “but I’ve recently taken to it again,“ he sees worry and grief fill your eyes and hurries to correct himself, ”—But don’t worry, Dove,” his features are gentle and kind, warm and… forgiving, “I’m okay,” 

The world slows as you watch him bend his head to sit in the drivers seat. It’s been too long. For you, at least. This can’t continue. It scares you to think about where this may go if you leave it to late. It’s only been three weeks! If this is the result…you dread to think about what would happen if things went on for longer than that. James is drinking himself to death. Remus is smoking cigarettes. What about Sirius? Your stomach twists uncomfortably, painfully, your heart too. 

“No! You’re not!” you shout, tears of anger welling up in your eyes as Remus stops and looks over at you once again, his breath hitching when he sees your eyes glistening with tears, “you’re not okay…” 

“Dove—”

“I’m coming by tomorrow,” you announce, “at lunch,” this was a commitment you’re making, a commitment to him, to them. Even if you’re heartbroken, that doesn’t give you the right to be a bad friend. You brave a watery smile, “I’ll make your favourites…so you better be there!”

→ NEXT : 06 | SELFISH DESIRES

A/N : i’m so sooo sorry for my depiction of the scottish accent, i really tried my best, please don’t hate me! if you have any ideas of how i could make it better, please say so, i’d really appreciate it. Also, i know that this isn’t completely fluff but we’re getting there, you’ll have to wait and see in the next chapter! 

NAVI. | HEROES IN TATTOOS MASTERLIST

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88

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[shadebloopnik]

"There's something else here, I just know it!"

Charlie clutches at her hair, frustration dripping as she stares down the two men before her. The others stand by the bar behind her, waiting to see how this interaction goes down. Vaggie stands by her side, her rock amidst the chaos, because she's just about had it with the two. They've met for barely a week, and yet they acted like they hated each other for decades. Each interaction conveyed a message laced with a bitter venom she could not understand, and she's just SO TIRED of all the secrets, especially ones that threatened to wreck the hotel every few hours!

"So what is it?! Why do you two hate each other so much??? You act like you've known each other for centuries and Im DONE with being kept in the dark!"

Her horns protrude, flames flaring from her hair as she levels the two with a glare. The demonic form has her girlfriend clutching tighter at her arm, and her friends backing up behind the bar.

The objects of her current irritation deflated a bit at her anger, though not without sneaking hate filled gazes at the other.

"Its nothing, Charl-"

"NO.", her voice reverberated across the walls. "Dad, I would normally not interfere with anyone's past, but not if that past hurts the hotel, hurts my people. Angel could have gotten so much more than a broken leg if I didn't step in."

Said spider flinches imperceptibly at the mention of his name. Even when he wasn't the one being scolded, Charlie could be terrifying when she wanted to be.

"You two have a past. What. Is. It."

Lucifer, for the first time since this started, visibly lost his composure, seeming at a lost for words.

"I- we.. W-we were-"

"Lovers..."

Silence, as everyone turned their gazes to the Radio Demon.

They...had to have misheard? Right?

But Alastor continued, turning his head away, smile and eyes unreadable.

"We were lovers."

Lucifer winces ever so slightly at the past tense, hurt(and guilt?) filling his eyes, before an irritated huff breaks out of his lips.

"I already told you, I-"

"It doesn't matter."

"It DOES! If you would just let me-!"

"It was all in the past, it matters not anymore, nor will it ever matter again. Apologies for the undesirable behavior, dear Charlotte, i'll try to keep damages to a minimum for the foreseeable future."

"Wait, Alastor-!"

But Alastor had already melted to the shadows, the King's black tipped claws clutching at thin air where he'd stood. His hands shook, closing into a fist as he tried to even his breathing. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips, dragging a hand down his face. Without another word, he too vanished in a swirl of red, leaving the residents of the hotel gaping at their absence.

Charlie- whose demon form long receded- stood processing what just happened. A hand made it way to her mouth, as she leaned into her girlfriend for support.

This...wasn't what she expected.

Its like she could start to see now; all the hurt buried behind each venomous gaze, all the regret laced with each bitter word. Something was broken, and they kept cutting themselves as they wielded each shard as its deadly weapon.

Oh hells, how was she supposed to fix this??

".......this is so worth getting my leg broken."

Husk turned a baleful, yet fond glare at the spider demon who chose to 'very subtly' break the silence that enveloped the room.

"What???? I live for the drama, sue me!"

[roachspeaks]

Seeing Vincent without his mask for the first time.

I just read a vincent oneshot and idk how to feel. I’m gonna try and accurately represent his character, convey how he would actually feel and not project too much but yea, enjoy! :)

Warnings: it’s mostly fluff, some spicy details,

This is not how he wanted this to go. He didn’t even know if he wanted this to happen in the first place. You had questioned him about his face a few times, questioned Bo and Lester about it too. But not once had you pressured him into feeling uncomfortable or sharing what he wasn’t sure off. Vincent is a very emotional person, but he was never given the opportunities to express those emotions in a healthy way. Hence his art.

He loves you, thats for sure. Bo remembers going downstairs into Vincent’s work space and seeing sketches of you splayed out all over Vincent’s desk. Your face, your body. Bo assumed that Vincent depicted what he imagined your body would look like but then again…you never know. He teased him relentlessly for it for weeks, but never brought it up to you. He was an asshole sometimes, but he still loved his twin.

But still, he could be an asshole. It was his fault Vincent was in this uncomfortable situation in the first place. It was always his fault. Bo had a thing for picking on his brothers, older or younger it didn’t matter much. His jokes were often cruel and degrading. Especially toward Vincent. He’d make comments on his appearance, call him names like freak, or monster. Usually though it was when a tourist got away, got in the way or otherwise. Lester and Vincent understood that. You understood that. This time though Bo had truly gone too far. Someone had escaped. They were fast, but Bo was faster. Gave him quite the fight though, Bo came home with a black eye and a bloody lip. Immediately going to the freezer for an ice pack. The man had escaped form Vincent’s watch, making sense on why Bo was so annoyed with him. Lester was the one that alerted you to the situation going on downstairs. You both, plus Jonesy came running down the stairs to the kitchen. Seeing Vincent talking to Bo in sign.

Where’s the tourist? I needed them for a piece

Vincent signed. He was clearly upset. But not as much as Bo. The next few moments were a flash. Bo started talking back, aggressive and loud. Standing from his spot at the table and getting into Vincent’s space. Calling him all those names that you hated. Freak dumbass reject. He backed Vincent into a corner, continuing to get into his face. Vincent didn’t fight Bo. Never in their entire lives did he fight him back. He was his brother, and he valued that dearly. Bo made a comment about “Why do you even where this stupid thing? Not like me, Lester or the bitch your in love with don’t know what a freak you are.” Then Bo made a huge mistake.

He flipped Vincent’s mask up and off his face. It was like slow motion in your head as it crashed to the ground. The porcelain breaking into hundreds of pieces against the tile floor. Jonesy started barking immediately. Not at the broken shards, not at the loud crash. At Vincent’s demeanour. His stance, and posture changed. He was being calm, dealing with Bo’s angry behaviour. Now he was angry. Furious. There would be smoke coming out of his ears if it was possible. Speaking of which, the tips of his ears were bright red. Not in anger but in embarrassment. Not only had Bo broken his mask. His only form of comfort and protection from the ridicule of others. He had exposed him completely. Shouting out Vincent’s feelings for you for whomever to listen(though it was only you and Lester Vincent didn’t care).

In a flash of movement Bo crashed into the wall, Vincent holding him up by the space where his shoulders and neck connected. He was grunting angrily. Slamming Bo into the drywall over and over. You knew Vincent was strong. But this was inhuman. You had to get him back down to earth. “Lester, can you drag Bo’s sorry ass outside when I need ya too?” You turned your head too see Lester nod. Understanding what your plan of action was. You approached Vincent slow. Raising your hand to his shoulder even slower. Not wanting to get an unwanted reaction out of him. When your hand came in contact with his shoulder he snapped toward you, grabbing your wrist harshly and slamming you back against the fridge on the opposite side than Bo.

Lester was quick to drop to his knees beside his brother, helping him stand. He gave you a look that said ‘you gonna be good?’ And you nodded, still in some pain from Vincent’s harsh movement. Lester just nodded back, and helped Bo out of the room. Finally, you looked back at Vincent. His hair hung In front of his face but you could evidently see one blue eye. Beautiful eye. That you had only gotten the privilege of seeing through his mask. When Vincent met your eyes he realized that it was you he was holding so tightly. Not the kind of tightly he imagined holding you. But he was hurting you.

That wasn’t what he wanted. Never in his life would he want to hurt you. Bo on the other hand- but now that wasn’t the issue. Stiffly he let go of your wrist and backed away in an effort to put space between you two. He was struggling to cool down. Struggling to make his mind a safe place again, especially since his face was exposed. He ran his hands though his hair aggressively. Scrunching them into fists and pulling as hard as he could as a way to try and ground himself.

You were quick to intercept him. “Vincent Honey….I know your uncomfortable right now. I know your panicking. But I need you here with me. I need you to look me in my eyes okay? It doesn’t matter that the masks not there. It’s the same as before. And you can always make a new one” your hands slide up his arms, forearms and wrists to his hands. That you slowly pulled down from his head. You pulled his hands up to your own face and let them rest on your cheeks. He stared at you for a moment. Before his hands started to wander. Tracing ever detail on your skin.

Your skin was warm. At least in comparison to his hands. He liked the feeling. Some parts soft, others rougher. “May I?” You knew it was a stretch, a long one. But you wanted to show Vincent that you felt the exact same way he did. He worshiped your skin with his hands, and his art. It was foolish to believe you hadn’t seen the numerous pieces that looked oddly similar to you when going down to his workspace. You were flattered, and had your suspicions yourself. But Bo announcing that Vincent loved you was a very clear confirmation.

You held your hands out in front of him. He longed for that warmth. For that feeling of comfort that he hadn’t felt in his lifetime. For the feeling that he had heard one to many tourists talk about. Like a comfort he had never known. He stared at your hands. Tiny compare to his own. He had imagined how this would play out. You seeing his face that is. He had never, in any of those scenarios imagined that you would want to touch his face. His scars.

Taking in every detail of your hands, he could only imagine the warmth they would bring. He found himself slowly nodding and leaning closer to your hands. Not fully touching though, he still wanted you to be okay with backing out of it was too weird for you. But you never did. Your hands came up to hold his face and he immediately looked into your eyes. Eyes that were already staring directly at him. “Your beautiful Vince, I love everything about you. How focussed you get on a project, the care you have for other people in your life, and now I get to love your face.” You stepped closer to him. Resting your forehead against his. There were tears streaming down his face soon after. Tears of joy and relief. You loved him. Someone who he viewed as perfect, and beautiful, loved him. He couldn’t say he understood it but it didn’t mean he was exhilarated. Anytime you two hung out alone after that his new mask was off, and his hair always found it’s way behind his ears. As he worked on his art and you did whatever you wanted to do to pass the time. He loved it. Most importantly he loved you.

Hope you enjoyed! It’s 3AM and I’m ready to pass tf out. Anyone wanna request my inbox is always open.

[hellsburners]

strain and torment

summary: reader has insane bi panic pairing: matt murdock x male reader x elektra natchios word count: 3.2k warnings: 18+ warning, bi!top matt, bi!male reader, threesomes, p in v sex, anal seggz, reader and elektra do it, dom/sub themes a/n: part 2 of the pain and suffering duo fic!

masterlist | more matt murdock

gif credit

“We’re here,” you said, facing him. His crimson lenses glinted against the porch light, his veiny hands tight around the walking cane. There was a smile on his face, the same face you’ve grown to love and adore, the dimples more prominent.  “Are you sure you could head home alone?” 

“Yes,” he chuckles. “I can manage, you should go rest.” 

“And—that’s it?” you said, teetering. He laughs, that breathy laugh he always makes, the one that also makes you laugh. His hand reaches for your face, calloused fingertips brush your cheek lacing through your hair. You close your eyes, appreciating his warm touch. His other hand wraps around your waist pulling you to him. 

Your chests meet, feeling your heart beat faster and louder, like his alarm in the morning—alerting him. He presses his lips against yours, his stubble prickling a bit. He felt your warmth, your scent, your taste, it was inebriating. You pull back, catching your breath, he pulls you back in. He wants this moment to last, the moments where it was just you and him—happy. 

Matt finally releases you, and a shot of anxiety crashes through him. This won’t last, he thinks. After two weeks of flirting back and forth, he was happy for a time, but he knew the risks. Just a few days ago you found him lumped on the floor unconscious, his eyes sunken in, purple bags around his eyes. He knew how worried you were, the way your breathing would quicken, your heartbeat too fast, and your hands cold and shaking. He hated how it made you feel, that’s why he thought of ending it as soon as possible. Maybe Foggy was right, this lifestyle isn’t suited for a mundane relationship. 

“Goodbye,” he smiled, the guilt eating him up. He turned to walk away, hailing a cab across the street. You head back to your apartment, you notice the way Matt’s mood shifted. It has been bothering you for days. He would always say he fell down the stairs or he slipped, but you’re not dumb, you know how different those bruises are. It worries you too much. 

—

You fumbled to open the door, the keys got caught on some pins. You dragged yourself to the fridge for a drink, you took the box of juice and a glass, pouring yourself a drink. The cold liquid shook your body off of the anxiety, it was soothing in a way. 

“Hello there,” a voice said. Your body jumped, the glass falling from your hand as you turned around. There was a woman in your dining room. She was slim and sharp, she could’ve been a model you thought, with long black hair cascading down her shoulders. She wore a maroon suit, wraps of the red cloth around her waist and hands. Then you saw it, a faint glimmer of silver at her hip, two blades sheathed, fear raised from your chest.

“Who the hell are you?” you shouted, brows furrowed. You could feel the wetness on your feet, under the shards of glass. She stood up from her seat, walking to you in a cat-like manner, slow and precise. 

“I’m no one, especially to you,” she said, her voice low and sultry. Her eyes were dark, like a siren, her red lips sharp as she grinned. 

“So—why are you in my apartment then?” you said, sarcastically. 

“Just to look,” she said, scanning you with her dark gaze, her long lashes batting at you.  

“Okay lady you’re creeping me out,” you said, sweat forming on your forehead. “I need you to leave.”

You inch forward but she quickly grabs the phone on your kitchen counter. She takes a look at your screen, the photo of Matt at Fogwell’s set as your background. “Aww, how cute,” she said. You grabbed the phone from her hand, hiding it away. She had this mischievous look on her face, taunting you. “You must be Matthew’s new boy toy.”

“Boy toy?” you were shocked. “You know Matt? And what’s with this ninja outfit?” 

“Ninja?” she chuckled. “Which part of this get-up says ninja?” You gestured at the blades on her hip. “Ah, smart boy. Matthew’s taste must have improved.”

“Lady, you’re not answering my questions.”

“Because they’re dumb questions,” she said. She inched forward, her long fingers touching your chin. She was beautiful up close, almost otherworldly. Her arm reaches past your shoulder to the fridge to grab the box of juice. She grabs a glass and pours herself a drink as you stand frozen. Your head is riddled with so many questions.

“Fine—I’m Elektra Natchios,” she said, taking a sip of the juice. “And I’m here to save your life.”

—

Matt asked for the cab to stop only a few meters from your apartment. The cab driver was confused, Matt gave the man some money before he left. His senses were off, something was wrong. He could smell it from afar, his head scanned across the street, the smell of the dead. Like rotting corpses. He could also hear metal sliding across each other, like a hundred blades unsheathing. 

He tried to pinpoint where they were coming from and then it hit him, it was coming from your building. He rushed through the people on your street, bumping into shoulders, curses flying around as he hit their bodies a little too strong. Fear inched at his nape, sweat trickling down his skin. 

He reaches the entrance of the building, the door ajar. He ran to the stairs, running to your unit, he was getting tired but soon the adrenaline came over him. He reached the fourth floor, his senses were off, and he couldn’t find your scent. He runs to the last door on the right, a body lumped on the floor the taste of iron on Matt’s lips. 

He tried, he tried to find it—any semblance of your presence but there was none. He could smell the faintest jasmine scent, a familiar scent to Matt, a scent he knew would only signal bad news. 

“Where is he?” he said, entering the room. 

The slender figure, wiping the blood off her face, left a last kick on another man on the floor. The entire room was a mess, tables were broken, vases toppled over, and around twelve men were dead on your apartment floor. “Oh there you are,” she said, taking a glass of juice from the counter. “I haven’t seen you for months and you don’t even say hi.”

“Answer my question Elektra,” he said. 

“He’s safe with me,” dropping the glass on the floor, a thousand shattered pieces littering the already messy room. “He’s on the way to my penthouse with my driver.”

“Who did this?”

“Your little devil adventures pissed off the wrong men,” she said. She reached down to the body on her feet, pulling on the man’s hair. “Tell him who sent you,” her blade placed on his jugular.

“The Rose sends his regards,” the man grunts, blood pooling on his mouth before he passes. 

“Richard Fisk?” Matt said.

“Putting the Kingpin behind bars left the city ripe for the taking,” Elektra said. “Stay with me for a while, we can think of how we can deal with this there—plus he’s there too.”

She noticed the way his hand clenched, knuckling white as his nails dug into his palms. She touches his hand, rubbing her thumb to soothe him. “Elektra—I can’t lose him,” his voice hitches, tears forming. 

“And you won’t,” she whispered. “I swear, I’ll help you.”

“How would I know you’re not deceiving me again,” he said, pulling his hand away from her. “There’s always a price when you’re involved.”

“Richard Fisk is ruining business for me. Help me get rid of him and you’ll never see me again,” her lips graze Matt’s ear. “Plus—you and me fighting criminals, like old times,” she smirked.

Matt bit his lips in contempt.

—

Elektra’s penthouse was big, with high ceilings and massive windows painted gray. It was cold and dark, You sat near the kitchen counter, your hands shaking. The sight from your apartment was frightening. Elektra took down a bunch of armed men, her body moving swiftly with such grace she was like a red sword cutting through the men like nothing. 

She managed to drag you outside the apartment, shoving you inside a black SUV, and told the driver to bring you to her penthouse. You were in so much shock during the car ride. Your home would probably be a crime scene, all your belongings left there for the cops to find, you even left your phone there, with all your precious pictures of Matt. 

The door swung open. You looked to see Elektra enter the room, her clothes soaked in blood. Behind her was Matt, his suit all messy and his hair all tousled. You ran to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. His hands gripped onto you hard. “God, I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispered. 

“What happened?” you asked, Elektra vanished from the scene, her clothes left on the floor trailing to her room. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth,” he said, his hands firm on your waist. You saw the duffel bag Matt had left on the doorstep, a billy club protruding from the opening.

“Are you?” you uttered. “The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?”

He nods, it would explain everything, the bruises, the wounds, the constant pain weighing on his shoulders as if he carried the world. “How?” you said, your brows furrowed as your hands roamed his chest. 

“It’s a lot to explain, but trust me I’ll tell you everything,” he said. “No more secrets.” 

Your hands went to his collar, pulling him into a kiss. His lips, were warm against yours as his arms hugged your waist. His kiss was filled with want, pulling you tighter to take you in. It was feverish like he craved for your taste on his lips. He breathed in, taking in your warm scent into his lungs, the fear from earlier leaving his senses. 

His fingers reached under the hem of your shirt, calloused fingertips warm against your back. Your hands smoothed through his soft hair, his lips falling to your cheek, down to your jaw, to your neck, the roughness of his chin pricking your neck. His lips pressed onto your skin, the tip of his tongue toying with your jugular. He would leave a few marks on your neck, drawing moans out of you, It was lewd, you had forgotten you weren’t in your homes. 

You heard the clinking of glasses, Elektra was setting up three glasses and an expensive bottle of scotch. “You horny boys ready for a drink or what?” she sneered. Matt sighed, letting go of you. 

The three of you shared a drink, the bitterness surely shook the anxiety away. “Care to discuss how you two know each other?” you asked. Matt choked on his drink, and Elektra smirked. 

“Yes Matthew, do tell your boyfriend here how we met.”

“Elektra was my ex in college,” Matt said, his voice hoarse. 

“Ah,” you said, taking another sip of the liquor. You avoided their gazes, swirling your glass around doing anything to distract yourself from imagining Matt on top of Elektra or Elektra on top of Matt or—

“If it’s any consolation for you,” she said. “I broke it off. Not that Matthew wasn’t an excellent lover, he surely is well endowed.”

You choked on your drink. Matt shook his head in disbelief. 

“Especially in the bedroom,” she said. “His skill is unparalleled.” 

“Can we stop this conversation,” Matt broke off, waving his hand around. 

“So, how long are we staying here?” you asked. 

“As long as Fisk’s son is brought to justice,” he said. “We’ll take care of it.”

You downed the drink, the alcohol burning your throat. You noticed Elektra staring at you, her dark eyes piercing through you like she could tell all your secrets just from reading your body language. You look back at her, your brows furrowed in confusion. She smiles, that same devious smile she makes, like a temptress. 

“Does it bother you?” she asked. Matt had left to get your things settled for the night. 

“No,” you answered, bile rising from your stomach. Was it jealousy? Or utter curiosity? That Matt would settle for you after dating someone who looked like a Greek goddess.  “Do you have a problem with me? From the moment you saw me you’ve been taunting me.”

Her smile fades.

“If anything I think the jealous one here is you.”

She chuckles under her breath. “I’m not jealous,” she smiled, inching closer to you. “Matt had spoken to me about you, how much he adores you. And somehow it intrigued me.”

“Intrigued you?”

“How it’ll be like to have you,” she said. “To see what Matthew sees in you.”

She sets her index finger on your chin bringing your face to her. You could smell her lip gloss, a soft cherry scent. You inched closer as well, your breaths meeting. Heat rose to your cheeks painting them red. Her slender hands found your waist, hooking onto a belt loop and pulling you in. 

“What’s going on?” you heard Matt clear his throat. Elektra knew he heard everything, and her stable heart would indicate she was telling the truth. 

She spun you so you were facing Matt, his shirt abandoned leaving him in his trousers. “Just wanted to play. Your boyfriend here seemed eager.”

“Is that true?” he said, his voice stern and commanding. “Do you want to play with Elektra?”

“Only if you allow it,” you said. Matt’s eyebrow raised as if you just said the wrong thing. “I meant, only if you allow it, sir.” 

“Oh, has he been trained well?” Elektra said, her hands finding your hair, tugging. 

“Yeah, always obedient,” he came close to you and Elektra. “You know your safe words right?”

“Yes sir.” 

“Good,” he said, taking his head to your lips. A soft whimper leaves your mouth, you can hear Elektra chuckle. Matt’s large hands find your waist, reaching behind to grasp a handful of your ass. 

You could feel Elektra leave soft kisses on your neck, her hands roaming all over your torso. Your knees buckle from all their touching, your knees almost giving out. She finds the growing erection in your center, her hands palming it. You cry in Matt’s kiss, falling out of balance. 

Elektra grabs the two of you by the wrists, dragging you to her room. It was massive, with big windows overlooking the city skyline, a king-sized bed with maroon sheets, and some gym equipment at the side. 

Matt sits on the bed, palming his erection. He pulls you to his lap, sucking on your neck leaving marks. Elektra comes to join you, standing in between your legs to press a kiss on your lips. She was sweet and her lips soft. 

“Show Elektra how good you are sweetheart,” Matt whispered. 

You knelt in front of Matt taking his cock out. You left soft kisses along his erected shaft, licking the from the base to the leaking tip. Elektra went to sit on the small chair near her vanity. Her hands playing with her sex. 

Your lips pressed on the tip of Matt’s cock, and he shuddered from the contact. You slowly envelop the head with your wet lips, taking him till your nose hit the base of his cock. Matt lets out a guttural moan, his hand gripping your hair. 

Elektra played with her clit, circling her fingers on the sensitive nub. You could hear her moan just from watching you, you start to touch your sex, anything to deal with your aching cock. 

“See? He’s a good slut,” Matt said. You continued to bob your head on his cock going down and sucking up. 

“Let’s see if he can do the same here,” Elektra said. You crawled your way to her, her panties already gone, her sex glistening against the dim lights. You present your tongue to her as you lap on her slit, licking and sucking on her clit while you tease her entrance. She shudders, pulling you in through your hair, her thighs shaking on each side of your face. 

You could feel Matt pull your pants and underwear off, his stubbled face in between your cheeks soon after. You continue to taste her at the same pace Matt was licking your hole, gripping tightly on your ass as he ate you out. 

“Shit—” Elektra moans, her long nails scratching your scalp. 

“Is that good mistress?” you said, looking up at her with tears running down your face, your lips swollen and wet. 

“Very good,” she whimpers once more. 

After Elektra came for the first time you were soon on her bed. Matt lying down, you straddling his dick, while Elektra rode Matt’s face. You and Elektra were moaning from Matt’s actions, his thick cock filling you well while his tongue played with her clit. 

Your hands held onto Matt’s chest for stability, Elektra pulling you in for a kiss, her mouth swollen and drooling as she pressed onto you. She moved her hips forward and back on Matt’s face as she soon came for a second time, an ethereal glow plastered on her face. 

Matt later placed you on the bed, your legs on each side of his waist as he fucked you more vigorously. Elektra lay next to you stroking your cock as Matt riled his hips inside you, his hair all wet and his lips swollen. Precum leaked onto your belly, Elektra took some of it to taste and to use as lube for herself. She later took your cock inside her, straddling you as Matt took his fill inside you. 

Matt’s arms wrapped around Elektra’s waist, fondling her breasts and tweaking her nipples while another hand played with her clit. Sharing a kiss, they looked like a pornographic painting, Matt was big and full of muscle while Elektra was small and delicate. Elektra’s pussy felt so good on your cock, and Matt’s thickness only drove you closer to unraveling. 

“You look so pretty taking us sweetheart,” Matt groans, Elektra agreeing with him. They bent over to share a kiss with you, their tongues meeting yours as you moaned. 

“I’m close—” you said, Elektra smirked. She rolled her hips harder, clenching on your cock as she rode her high. Her body convulsed on your dick she was shaking so hard it sent vibrations on your cock triggering your climax. 

You came inside her and the vibrations from your bodies only aided in Matt’s release. The three of you were moaning messes as you came crashing down on the bed, naked bodies all wet and panting. 

Matt smoothed your hair out before kissing you on the lips, Elektra doing the same. 

You spent the month living with Elektra, the sex continued until the mission was done. The three of you spent the nights researching and fucking all over her loft, like animals.  Sooner or later Matt found out Elektra had an ulterior motive which led her to leave again. Your relationship with Matt never changed but you still thought of those nights whenever you lay with Matt. 

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

[nightcityvngel]

POV: you're a Maelstrom boss trying to make a deal with this tiny bitch and her crew at the Totentanz when Netwatch attacks. Her and her crew proceed to kill them and then lower the deal by 2000 eddies because fuck you.

So last cyberpunk red session we accepted a gig to get a shard from Maestrom. Deal the client had was 5000 eddies for the shard. Client was banned from Totentanz so he needed us to do it. Luckily we had an easy in as Vngel has a Maelstrom patient by the name of Beyblade so he was are easy ticket in. Now we were slightly worried when we got there cause the higher up we had to talk to ended up being a guy we beat in a food truck competition a few weeks earlier. Yes we beat Maelstrom in a food truck competition it was a ton of fun. But he couldn't fully remember where he knew, especially Blue, from Blue (@lokismindtricks character) being the badass fixer he is managed to get the pay down to 4500 eddies when Netwatch stormed in wanting the shard. Of course we used most of the Maelstrom guys as meat shields as we proceeded to kill the Netwatch agents. Vngel at this point was more then a little annoyed because Blue got pretty badly hurt and she also had Beyblade to worry about who got hurt to the point of dying. They weren't getting paid enough for this gig (the client had offered 500 eddies each) so she told the big boss the deal was changing. They hand over the chip and get 3000 eddies in return. Now obviously this wouldn't easily fly so the dice were made to decide with a trade check, something Vngel sucks at. But the dice spoke differently! I managed to still roll higher and off we went with the shard and an extra 2000 eddies in our pocket. Sure we may have pissed off Maelstrom but we were very pleased with ourselves. Then Netwatch ambushed us outside but we managed to strike a deal with them as well and get a 1000 eddies each from them as well, giving them the shard and they gave us a decoy for the client. Blue convinced the client it was the real chip, no money was left from the deal and everyone was happy as we all ended up walking away 2000 eddies richer each. Now Vngel just has to make sure Beyblade survives and it will have been a successful day.

[ladyhoneydee]

30 Day Song(fic) Challenge: Day 24

Today's Song(fic) Challenge prompt was "A song that makes you feel optimistic about life"! I have a lot of songs that make me happy, but the obvious choice today was "Milhouse" by Maisie Peters. The album this is from has so many lovely, hopeful songs, but this one is the loveliest and hopefullest of them all, and it never fails to make me smile when I hear it.

A Shard and a Ring

Game: Twilight Princess

Pairing: Midna/Zelda

Word Count: 1789

Keywords: fluff, romance, proposal

“I love you,” Midna whispered through her toothy smile.  “I love you too,” Zelda whispered back.  A warm breeze, decadent with the scent of spring flowers, ruffled their hair and clothes. Midna closed her eyes briefly, soaking in the honey-sweet heat of the sun. She would never be truly comfortable under its rays, but she’d learned to take inspiration from its ceaseless strength.  There wouldn’t be a better moment than this.

Read the fic on Ao3, or under the cut!

Midna hadn’t been this nervous since she was sixteen. 

Apprehensive, sure. Confused, of course. Completely filled to the brim with batshit rage? Absolutely. But nervous? No way. 

She hadn’t had the time or wherewithal to be nervous while fighting Zant: what fueled her then was much darker, and she hadn’t had nearly as much of a head for caution. And since then, she’d been too busy growing up and helping out. Leading a country wasn’t nervous-making. No, it was anxiety-inducing and thought-provoking and thrilling and occasionally blissful, but nerves were never something that came into play. 

But tonight? Skies, Midna was practically shaking with them. And Midna never shook. 

The thin black box was burning a hole into her thigh through the pocket of her inky, silk robe. She was trying so hard to listen to Zelda as her lover talked about the flowers in the marketplace that she’d gifted to Ashei, and the stark red the lady-knight had blushed, but her thoughts were firmly entrenched in her own concerns. 

Midna was a pessimist, after all. It was a struggle against her very nature to think that Zelda wouldn’t reject Midna’s proposal out of hand. But if there was anything she’d learned about Zelda over the last several years, as their twin stars orbited closer and closer until they fell wholly in love, it was that Midna should trust her. 

So Midna was hopeful that for once, things would work out in her favor. 

“Midna, my love, are you listening?”

She snapped to attention. Zelda’s slate-blue eyes were staring into her face, softened with affectionate concern. 

“I’m fine!” Midna said hastily. 

Zelda’s lips quirked. “That wasn’t the question that I asked, which leads me to believe that you aren’t listening, or fine.”

She sighed. “Caught again. Yes, you’re right, I wasn’t listening. I’m sorry, darling. I know you were looking forward to this date, and here I am ruining it.”

Zelda caught Midna’s chin in her hand and cradled it with a gentleness so sweet Midna had to fight down a lump in her throat. Skies, she loved this woman. “No such thing as ruining. Not between you and I.” She smiled mischievously. “Especially in a place like this.”

Midna obediently looked out across the vista before her. It was true; the scene was stunning. On their world-saving quest, Link and Midna had passed through Kakariko in winter and in high summer, but never in spring. She’d had no clue that the canyon bloomed with wildflowers of a thousand different shades and scents for a period of a few weeks, and the late-afternoon sunlight made them practically glow. 

“True enough. Thank you again for suggesting we come here, Zelda.” Midna turned her gaze back to her lover, traced it over her fine-boned features and the chocolate hue of her hair—with its adorable little flyaways from the wind—and the bottomless pools of her eyes, and smiled. “It’s gorgeous.”

They’d been together long enough that Zelda could identify Midna’s flirting immediately, but she still blushed at every remark like it was the first. Midna felt a grin spread across her face at the redness blooming in her lover’s cheeks and long, pointed ears. 

“I love you,” Midna whispered through her toothy smile. 

“I love you too,” Zelda whispered back. 

A warm breeze, decadent with the scent of spring flowers, ruffled their hair and clothes. Midna closed her eyes briefly, soaking in the honey-sweet heat of the sun. She would never be truly comfortable under its rays, but she’d learned to take inspiration from its ceaseless strength. 

There wouldn’t be a better moment than this.

“Zelda, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Her lover tilted her head to the side questioningly, and the gesture was so fetching that Midna nearly had to stuff her fist in her mouth to hold back gushing adoration. “What is it, Midna?”

Midna took a deep breath. Then another. Then a third.

“You…are the person I love and respect most in the world—both of our worlds—every world. I’ll never stop being grateful that you stopped me from breaking the mirror all those years ago, supporting me over those hundreds of letters we sent while rebuilding our countries and letting me support you too, and finally being the first to take the step of sharing your feelings. So in turn…I think it’s only right that I take this step.”

Midna reached one hand into her pocket for the box. Unfortunately, it was trembling so hard and sweating so much that despite her fumbling, it refused to get uncaught from the folds of black fabric. She struggled and struggled and felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment and frustration. Of course this wasn’t going to go smoothly. How could it ever, when Midna was such a skies-damn mes—

Cool hands around her wrist. Zelda met Midna’s eyes, and at her shaky nod, reached into Midna’s pocket herself. Her clever fingers skated over Midna’s thigh through the fabric, caught the smooth composite of the box, and nimbly freed it from its inky prison. 

Midna took it from her with overflowing gratitude and a sigh that shuddered her entire frame, leaving her with nothing but relief. It would all be alright, no matter how she stumbled along the way, as long as Zelda was Zelda. 

“In Twili culture, we have a tradition,” Midna began. “Each of us has a small mirror made for us at birth. It represents the wholeness of our person, and our connection to our world. As we begin to let others into our heart, though, we shatter our mirrors, and give the pieces away. The mark of a well-lived Twili, at the end of their life, is a mirror composed of shards from others intertwined with their own, marking the loves they shared and the happiness they gained in a symbolic show of what happens in our very hearts.

“But the largest chunk goes to the person we wish to spend our lives with.”

Zelda’s wide-eyed gaze darted from Midna’s face, down to the box, and back up again. Her petal pink lips poised in a confused pucker so kissable that Midna had to wrangle herself back from interrupting her own speech with an ill-timed lip-lock. 

“Some Twili can only give the mirror shard itself, if they don’t have the resources or time to supply a setting. Some choose to do so even if they have both. Others get it set into jewelry, so that their loved one can wear the shard with them always.”

Midna lifted the lid of the box, and Zelda’s hands flew to her mouth.

“Zelda, you are the one I wish to spend my life with. Will you accept my shard and my hand?”

Her answer came in the sensation of Zelda’s arms flinging around her shoulders, and Zelda’s lips crashing onto her own. Midna’s eyelashes fluttered shut, and she kissed her lover back with all the passion she had in her. 

After a few moments, she felt Zelda’s mouth gasping and chest heaving into Midna’s even through the kiss. She opened her eyes and pulled back in concern—was she crying? 

Zelda’s eyes were sparkling with mirth like rainwater under the sun, squinched into charming bands of blue. Without Midna’s mouth occupying her lips, they’d spread wide around a huge, beaming smile. 

She was laughing.

Midna couldn’t help but laugh along with her lover’s joy. “Come on, was my proposal that bad?”

Zelda shook her head emphatically, although she was still chuckling. “No, no, of course not! I’m only amused, because, well—”

She broke off to reach into the pocket of her own dress, and pulled out a ring. 

“We seem to have had the same idea for today,” she finished.

Midna’s head threw back with her guffaw. Really, the timing couldn’t have been more serendipitous. She laughed so hard that she needed to reach out for Zelda’s hand, both out of the simple desire to have her close, and because Midna was genuinely concerned she might pitch off of the canyon wall to the town below. 

Eventually, she caught her breath. “Shall we trade, then?”

“I think we ought to,” Zelda said, her voice so light it almost sounded like she was singing the words. Would you like to do the honors first, since you beat me to the punch?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Midna carefully lifted the necklace from the box by its golden chain. The mirror shard, which had chipped free of the piece in a nearly crescent-shaped arc, was set in golden alloy to ensure that no sharp edge could so much as nick her darling. She raised it around Zelda’s neck, allowing her fingers to graze the sensitive skin—what a rush, to feel her shiver beneath her touch—and then clasping it gently. 

The shard fell right over Zelda’s heart. Just as Midna had hoped it would.

“Your turn,” Zelda murmured, and took Midna’s left hand in both of her own. “Now, you got to give a whole speech, so do bear with me for a moment…”

The words were muffled as Zelda pressed her lips to Midna’s hand. First the wrist she had cradled so gently earlier, then lines down each tendon to the knuckles. By the time Zelda’s kisses had reached the pads of Midna’s fingers, her body was so flush with heat from the petal-soft brushes that she thought it might outstrip the sun. 

She loved Zelda. Loved her so much, every bit of her. That clever mind, her caring soul, her teasing hands. She loved those wishing-well eyes. She loved the miniscule cracks in her lips from the slightest beginnings of dehydration from how long they’d been up here talking without partaking in their canteens. 

The ring slid over Midna’s finger.

Midna loved Zelda. And she was hers. And she was hers. 

She hardly spared the ring a glance, choosing instead to stare into her lover’s joyful eyes. “Is this a yes, then?”

Zelda burst out laughing, and pushed Midna with her shoulder. “So much for implication. Yes, Midna, my love. I accept your shard, and your hand, so long as you accept my ring and my life.”

Midna’s fingers twined into the hair at the base of Zelda’s neck and pulled her in close enough for their lips to brush. “I think I can make that deal.”

If Midna cried into their kiss with relief; if Zelda threw a leg over Midna’s thighs and held her so closely that there was no room for tears; if the two women stayed up there so late with the distraction of hands and mouths that the wildflower-lined path back down to the village was hard to navigate in the dark…well, that was their business.

[kiigan]

@kyuusou Izumi entered the house after going shopping. "I'm back," she said. Itachi would have no difficulty recognizing her. No. She wasn't very stealthy these days, especially not for a former ninja. There was always something going wrong, whether it was groceries falling, stubbing her toes, or anything else. Then again, Itachi being Itachi, he would most likely notice anyone entering without even trying.  There was a spring in her step, indicating that she was excited. Quickly, Izumi placed some of the shopping bags on the kitchen table before heading over to Itachi. "I have a small surprise for you! Last week, I placed an order with the bookstore, and it arrived yesterday. It's a popular title that has been translated into braille. I hope you’ll like it," she added, kissing the top of his head and walked back to the kitchen.  "Oh! I also bought some nice fabrics, which I'm sure you'll love, unlike the book, haahhh..." Some fruit fell on the ground, and she crouched down to pick it up, but there was no sound of her actually doing it. Izumi stayed in her crouched position as she was pulled back into the illusionary world.

ㅤIt was a bit like trying to mend a mirror, after it fell to the floor and the glass shattered; trying to, first, hold the sharp shards without cutting your palms open and, then, try to figure out that puzzle and line the pieces up with a semblance of order and sense. Even as they were glued together again, though, the cracks would always show. And, every time you looked in that mirror, your reflection would stare back - as scarred and distorted as the cracks made it, nothing left of the clarity and purity from before.

It was what it was.

Either learn to cherish this damaged mirror, or toss it into the trash altogether.

ㅤBut Itachi did notice her returning home, a few minutes before even the front door was opened. Always attuned to his girlfriend's Izumi's chakra presence, the beautiful blue of flowing water mingled with the vivid red pools of fire their clan was known for. ...Or, what was left of their clan, anyway. No need to pour salt on old wounds. «Welcome home,» he said in response, smiling up at her as the gentle little peck fell on top of his head. Currently entertained on the living room floor, sitting by the coffee table with a pile of laundry right beside him, folding piece after piece. Always a challenging task to do when deprived of eyesight, mostly because he couldn't make sure the final result looked as perfect as he always wanted everything to be, but feeling around with his fingers for creases was a second-best solution. Better than nothing, right?

«Oh? What is it about?»

ㅤIf he had to guess, he'd bet on one of those that they both had agreed to call nerd books, a long time ago. Peaceful days of sitting by the lake shore sharing a box of dango sticks, Itachi avidly reading whatever thick volume he'd picked up that day [ever the best client of the library], so that after he could gush to Izumi about it. Even when she had absolutely no clue what he was talking about, she would ever listen with infinite patience and just as much enthusiasm, and that was something that was priceless and that Itachi cherished beyond words; souls fall in love before bodies even come to touch, after all.

ㅤWhen no response came after a few seconds, though, his dark brows furrowed in apprehension. «Izumi?» She was still in the kitchen, he knew, having not heard her return from there after going to do what he assumed to be to put the groceries in place - but everything else had suddenly fallen silent, as though frozen in time. Which... given the circumstances, might turn out to be more than just a metaphor. He was well aware of her fragmented state of mind, of course; how could he not be, when he was the sole responsible for it? The way she would often fluctuate in between worlds, from reality to illusion and then back again, at times not truly sure about which side of the looking glass she belonged to.

ㅤRealizing this was no proper time to sink into guilt, however [there would always be plenty of opportunity for that, later], Itachi got up from his place by the table and headed over to the kitchen. As he did so, he activated his sharingan because then he would at least be able to see Izumi's chakra and get a general sense of where she currently was. Kneeling on the floor by her side, he gently placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to get her attention without startling her.

«Izumi, can you hear me?»

[mistressofthecubicle]

Watering

Annie was sick of it. Every week the guy in the cubicle next to her would take either a Friday or a Monday off. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but he was forever asking her to take care of his plants. The first time he’d asked her a few months ago, she’d insisted that it was no problem. But not now, it seemed like he was always gone and she was on plant duty every single freaking week. If it had been only one or two plants she wouldn’t have been so irritated, but the guy had thirty plants. She often wondered why the office manager turned a blind eye to the jungle that Alex had created. Surely they would start attracting insects or mold sooner or later.

Besides, Annie didn’t relish taking the half hour needed to water them. It was too god-damn time consuming, especially on a Friday at the end of the work day. But as usual, Alex had called in sick today. She’d grudgingly agreed to water them again. She felt like a slave to his plants. She sighed and clocked out from her computer. She was the last one in the office, and her things were gathered and waiting for her on her desk. She stood and stretched, shaking her head of short brown hair. A few curly locks fell around her face, framing her pixie jaw line, and her full mouth turned down in a pout. She was feeling sorry for herself and oh so put upon by that jerk of a cube neighbor who skipped work and left her to keep track of his jungle. She stomped into Alex’s cubicle, wishing she’d said no this time.

Her thin manicured hands wrapped around the light green handle of the plastic pitcher with the flower shaped end spout that Alex kept for watering. It was always three round trips to fill the small pitcher, so she shed her high heels in her cubicle once she’d collected the empty pitcher. She didn’t feel like tottering back and forth on them for the waiting plants. She was nearly done watering when she carelessly knocked over one of the smaller plants. The plant itself was nondescript, a pale green stem with delicate leaves housed within a pretty ceramic blue container. The plant lay on its’ side waiting to be rescued. Only a few pieces of dirt had spilled out onto the grey desk, like the first few stars one sees at early dusk. Suddenly, the ridiculousness of the situation hit her and Annie was angry. She was furious that Alex could have whatever he wanted in his cubicle, and that he could take so much time off. She was also irritated that she was stuck doing something so mundane for someone else. She wanted freedom from the drudgery of the corporate world and the small plant staring up at her from the pot seemed to taunt her;

“You’ll always be the lackey, never the star. You’ll always be at mid-level, never at a management position. You're too pretty, and pretty girls don’t get to move up. You get to be the eye candy, but you’ll never taste the success.” In a rage she grabbed the plant and smashed it against the desk top, sending pieces of blue shards and dirt, everywhere. But it wasn’t enough to calm her so she picked up the fragile plant and pulled the leaves off of it. Repeating the nursery rhyme of yesteryear; “He loves me, he loves me not…” Somehow the rhyme brought her back to reality.

“Shit!” She exclaimed, and she hurried to clean up the mess. “Whatever did I do that for?” She had somewhere to be, she and her friends were all going out to the club, and she was looking forward to meeting some guys. She didn’t bother to try to save the plant and figured that one less plant wouldn’t make a difference. “Maybe Alex won’t notice, or maybe he will and he’ll ask someone else to do the watering.” Annie said out loud smiling and hoping for the second option. Her only goal was to clean up the mess and get out of here without getting dirty.

She’d dressed nicely before work, in her red off the shoulder dress, and had hidden the non-work appropriate clothes with a sweater. That way she’d be able to leave the office and go directly to the club. She dealt with the pieces of the shattered pot, dirt and the dying plant by sweeping them all into the garbage. She did her best to hide all trace of the spill. A little bit of dirt, and grass stains were smudged on her hands but she could wash them off later. She surveyed her work. There was no sign that she’d killed a plant except for the hole in the wall of green that had formerly been occupied. Maybe if she moved the plants around then Alex wouldn’t notice that one was missing. She reached over to rearrange them when one of the plants reached out and bit her with its’ thorny stem. “Ouch!” She exclaimed pulling her finger back and putting the hurt digit in her mouth.

She could taste a small amount of blood and when she pulled her finger out to examine it, she saw a small red mark on it. “What the hell?” She stared back up at the plant. It was motionless. Maybe she hadn’t been careful enough, after all there were a few thorns on that one. She paused for a moment then reached out again. She gingerly touched the plant with her right hand, her gaudy ring flashing a contrasting pink to the emerald green of the plant. Nothing happened. “I’m probably just being paranoid.” She turned to leave, but one of the vines of another plant snaked out and grabbed at her ankle.

The sudden force on her ankle caused her to lose her balance and she fell to her knees. She was disoriented for a moment and thought that maybe she’d slipped. Her first concern was her dress. And she scanned it for tears or stains. Her dress seemed fine, and she flipped over onto her rear end in order to see what she’d tripped on. A thin vine had wrapped itself around her ankle and was slowly sprouting and wrapping itself upwards toward the hem of her skirt.

Even though she was wearing nylons, she could feel the snaky movement as it inched up her leg. “That settles it! Come Monday, I’m going to demand that Alex get rid of all of these monstrous plants.” She casually reached down and pulled the vine from her leg, effectively breaking it into pieces, throwing them into the garbage can. She gathered herself to stand when three more vines snaked out quicker than the first to wind themselves around her ankles. “What the hell?” Annie squeaked half in fright, half in laughter. “This is getting ridiculous.” And she once again reached down and freed herself from the vines. This time they were harder to break. She had just deposited the broken pieces into the trash when upon turning she saw a huge number of vines darting out quick as lighting and they all wound around her ankles and spread up her legs, quickly moving to subdue and capture her.

Frantic, she tried to tear them off and she could smell the fresh chlorophyll from the breaking vines, but the small green tentacles of the plants were shooting out faster than she could break them, and they were getting stronger. It seemed that every time she managed to break the stranglehold of one vine, three stronger ones would take its’ place. Indeed, so many were wrapping around her lower half that it looked as if her red dress had turned a mossy green. The variegated colors of green began to tighten around her legs to the point of pain.

She fought valiantly but the more she struggled, the more the vines tightened. She tried to scream for help but a few dark green vines forced themselves over her open mouth, blocking any sound from coming out. She quickly closed her mouth against the flavor of leafy greens, fighting her gag reflex. Overwhelmed by the attack, she lay down on the floor of Alex’s cubicle.

During her brief lack of defence, the plants finished by neatly wrapping themselves around her arms, effectively pinning them to her sides. For a few minutes, Annie lay in a half-conscious state, breathing shallowly through her nose, as her mouth was still covered by the invading vines. A new sucking sound awoke her. She didn’t know what the sound meant, until she felt a slight pressure on her feet. She struggled to look down at her feet, as her body was mostly encased with the suffocating vines. What she saw was too much for her fragile state of mind. The plants were gnawing and sucking away at her feet. “No, OH GOD NO!” She lamented. The vines constricted tighter. Her breathing grew distressed, and her weak struggling slackened as the plants sent a calming chemical through her veins.

It was funny that the last thoughts that crossed her mind were; “Eaten by office plants, such a sad way to go. But at least everyone at work would know what happened. Maybe now they'll fire Alex. He deserved that for bringing such dangerous plants to work.” Annie felt herself finally fade into oblivion. The weekend passed and the only evidence left of the vile plants’ vengeful handiwork the following Monday was a red dress, black sweater and other clothing items that were thrown haphazardly onto the floor of her cubicle. Annie's phone and purse were still on her desk. The company suspected foul play and alerted the police. A search was made but they never found a trace of Annie. And Alex who called in sick again, finally came back later that week to some extremely overwatered plants that were bulging at the stems. And he couldn’t help but exclaim; “Damn it Annie, I told you not to give them too much water!”

[ladylokilaufeyson5]

A New Reality - Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: After creating and destroying Westview, you figure out how to find you wife, Wanda, in the Multiverse.

Warnings: slight dark!reader, 

Words: 1.9K

You were no stranger to the chaos magic you possessed. It had been a little over two years since you’d gained the magic. Two years since the love of your life, Wanda Maximoff, had sacrificed herself to save you on the battlefield against Thanos. Two years since you’d somehow absorbed her power and killed the one who killed her.

After that, you’d been lost. Losing Natasha, Tony, and Vision was hard, but losing Wanda was the hardest. She was the one who had been with you from almost the beginning of your time as an Avenger. You two had bonded instantly, and from friendship bloomed the most perfect relationship you could ever imagine. She was your other half – with her, you felt complete.

And so you went to the house you two had wanted to move in to together. Wanda had left it to you – the plans, the deeds… she’d left everything to you.

And that was the first time you’d used chaos magic. It was an accident, and it wasn't planned, but that was the first time the red magic had shown itself as you screamed your pain into the wind. And through your pain, came the fake Westview, with a fake Wanda. But she was your Wanda – she came from your memories, and she was everything you wanted. You fell for your own spell so easily, especially when you saw her in black and white, in her 1950’s dress. And you kissed her for the first time in weeks, and you pretended that everything was fine, that everything was okay. You had two beautiful boys, and everything was going pretty much perfectly.

And then things slowly began to fall apart. You tried to fix them as best you could, but then you got into a fight with Wanda. She knew something was up, and even though she had her magical abilities, she was powerless to leave, to do anything about it.

And then your neighbour, Agnes, was revealed to be a witch. She said you had chaos magic, therefore making you the Scarlet Witch. You tried to tell her that it wasn't you, that the power was given to you by Wanda, who was dead, but she simply told you that, ‘the Scarlet Witch is not born, she is forged.’

And so then you had to say goodbye to Westview, to Wanda and the twins, and everyone else you’d ever known. You were a criminal now – a highly dangerous one at that. So you retired to the mountains of Sokovia, somewhere you’d been on a trip with Wanda a few times.

You expected Stephen Strange to contact you sooner, to try to take you in, but he simply needed help with the Multiverse. You knew quite a bit about it, but you didn’t want to say anything about it until you knew his true motive. Apparently the Multiverse was falling apart, and that’s how you came up with your plan. Your plan to find Wanda and your children.

You left Stephen in the fake reality you’d created, blossoms wilting before his eyes as he realised the whole thing had been an illusion, a lie. You watched as he saw the dark marks under your eyes, and your dark fingers from using even darker magic. 

You left him there, and you flew as fast as you could to the Kamar-Taj, where you had to attack the sorcerers in order to get inside. When you found the Scarlet Witch temple, you entered and began setting up for a spell you’d memorised. Candles burned as you sat in the centre of the pentagram, and you closed your eyes and began the spell.

Loud banging distracted you, and you opened your eyes to see the doors of the temple blown open, and Strange and Wong standing in the doorway. Before you could react, Strange moved his arms, and glass encased you. You rose to your feet and inspected the glass, touching it lightly.

The mirror dimension, you thought, surveying the glass.

But you knew somewhere else made of glass. Shards of glass that showed different realities, realities where Wanda hadn’t died, and you lived peacefully with Billy and Tommy.

So you took a deep breath, readied your magic, and stepped through the glass. You began to fall and righted yourself as you entered a ravine with glass instead of rock. You saw glimpses of people in the glass shards, people you knew, and people you’d never seen before.

You were in the Multiverse.

“What are you doing here?”

You whirled to face the person addressing you. It was a man with an abnormally large head and glowing eyes, wearing blue robes.

“Who are you?” you asked, readying your magic.

The being eyed you  and your magic warily, but answered the question anyway.

“I am the Watcher,” he said. “I watch over the Multiverse. You need to go back.”

“What I need is Wanda, and my children,” you snapped. “Where are they?”

“Your Wanda is dead,” the Watcher said sadly. “She will not be able to come back to you. And your children never really existed.”

Your blood ran cold. It couldn’t be. They had existed – how else did you know them? They had been real, even if they had been confined to your spell.

“I don’t believe you,” you growled.

The Watcher looked at you for a moment longer before sighing.

“You need to go back,” he said gently.

“No.”

The Watcher looked slightly taken aback, but you didn't care. You were going to find Wanda, you were going to find Billy and Tommy, and things were going to be okay. The Watcher moved his hands and light appeared, so you shot a jet of magic at him. He tumbled away and you looked at the glass, scanning all of the shards for any sign of Wanda. The moment you saw her, the familiar ginger locks tumbling down her back, you touched the shard, and appeared in a glass dome you’d left only minutes ago. You thought something went wrong, until someone behind you spoke.

“Who are you?”

You turned around, and your breath caught in your throat. Wanda stood there, magic at the ready. She wore a suit identical to yours, and her eyes were dark, as well the tips of her fingers. When you turned around, recognition flared in her eyes.

“Y/n?” she asked hesitantly.

“Wanda,” you breathed, before throwing your arms around you.

She hugged you back cautiously, and you pulled back to look at her. At her green eyes that reminded you of a calm forest; at her lips, soft as a pillow; and her hair, as auburn as you’d last seen it.

“How - how is this possible?” Wanda asked. “I - I watched you die.”

“And I watched you die,” you choked out. “I - I went through the Multiverse to find you, Wanda. And now we can find Billy and Tommy.”

“How do you know about Billy and Tommy?” Wanda asked, pulling away from you.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. Billy and Tommy were your children – why wouldn’t you know about them?

“She doesn’t love you here,” the Watcher said.

You looked around for the voice, but couldn’t see anything. She doesn’t love you here. What was that supposed to mean?

“Well?” Wanda pressed.

You looked back to her, and remembered what you were talking about.

“I - I created them,” you said slowly. “In Westview. With you. Although, I assume the roles were reversed here…”

Wanda shook her head.

“You weren’t in Westview,” she said. “You weren’t there with Vision and I.”

You felt your heart begin to break. Vision? You, Wanda and Vision had all been close friends in your reality, but you supposed that in this one, Wanda had fallen in love with the android instead of you. It felt like a punch to the gut. You felt like some had ripped your heart from your chest. This wasn’t your Wanda, but she looked like Wanda, she felt like Wanda. It hurt that she was in love with someone else, that you’d waited years to see her again, and she didn’t love you.

“You - you don’t love me,” you whispered.

Wanda cocked her head at you in confusion. Your hands began to shake, and you shook your head.

It’s okay, you thought. I can find somewhere else. I can find a different Wanda.

“She doesn’t love you, Y/n,” the Watcher said. “Just go back. Things will get better-”

“SHUT UP!” you screamed, sending a blast of magic to the slight reflection of the Watcher. The glass cracked, and you heard voices.

“What the hell was that?” That sounded like Wong.

“There’s someone else in there.” Strange.

“What happened to you?” Wanda asked.

You whirled to face her, anger bubbling inside of you. You shouldn’t take it out on Wanda, you knew that, but the pain, the anger, was too much.

“I loved you,” you growled. “I still love you. You died for me, for me and my worthless life. You died and gave me your power. I created Westview from my pain and brought you back. We had two children – Billy and Tommy – but I had to remove the hex, and you all disappeared. I’ve been searching for ways to bring you back for years, and I found the Multiverse. I found it, and I’m going to find the right Wanda, the Wanda who actually loves me.”

Wanda flinched slightly at your words, and you shook your head. You went to step through into the Multiverse when the glass disappeared, and you stood in front of Stephen and Wong, and quite a few more sorcerers.

“Wanda, you need to stop,” Stephen said. “You’re going to tear the Multiverse apart.”

Stephen then looked to you, and recognition lit up his eyes.

“Y/n?” he said. “I thought you were dead.”

“I am,” you said. “In this reality, anyway.”

Strange processed your words, and his face turned grim.

“You need to go back,” he said.

You scoffed. 

“I’m not going back there,” you said. 

And then you used your chaos magic. It burst out of you, and Wanda, Strange, Wong, all the sorceres… they all disappeared. It was just you, and your infinite magic. You created the hex, you travelled through dimensions – you could do this too.

You let the magic flow, let the past become the past, but not the future, nor the present. You tweaked it with your magic, making sure Wanda never died, making sure Billy and Tommy were alive and safe. 

You created another reality where everything was okay.

When you opened your eyes, you were in an unfamiliar room. There was a bed with light grey sheets and a dark headboard, and a wardrobe and a floor-length mirror. You looked around slowly, letting your fingers run slowly over the surfaces. The doors opened and you turned around, and the breath left your lungs.

“Y/n, Darling?” Wanda said cautiously. “Are you alright?”

Y/n, Darling. She’d called you that so many times before, and the words leaving your lips made your heart feel lighter. Wanda looked you up and down, and you realised that you were wearing your suit and you quickly used your magic to change out if it.

“Yes, of course, my love,” you said, almost breathlessly.

Wanda paused briefly before smiling at you brightly and walking forwards to pull you into her embrace. You hugged your wife back tightly, and heard the sounds of two boys running around and laughing. Your heart squeezed in your chest at the thought of seeing your boys again.

“I love you,” you whispered to Wanda.

She smiled at you and rested her forehead against yours.

“And I love you,” she replied.

And so in a ravine of glass, another shard fell into place.

[thornedrose44]

Prompt: "Do it. Take a chance, I'm begging you. You don't want to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been."

Read on AO3

“What is it?” Kara huffed out, her frustration finally reaching critical mass.

“What’s what?” Alex replied, playing dumb by pretending to study the DEO’s monitors far too intently considering Kara had literally just dispatched the rogue villain of the week.

Kara crossed her arms, hip cocked forward slightly as she leant against the central console, blue eyes observing her sister's profile closely.

“Whatever you’re not telling me because you think it will upset me.” The superhero clarified bluntly, her social hesitation and uncertainty having dampened over the last few years.

She had learnt the hard way how important it was to never shy away from the truth and avoid speaking around the heart of the matter. It was a lesson she had absorbed completely, and it was one she refused to forget - needing to prove she had evolved, had bettered herself from the version that had required teaching in the first place.

“I’m not…” Alex refuted, shrugging dismissively but keeping her gaze trained forward, “There’s no-“

“Look, I’m asking you out of courtesy,” Kara cut in, “but you and I both know that I could just as easily ask Nia, and she would fold almost instantly.”

Alex grumbled irritably under her breath - Nia still had yet to build an effective resistance to Kara’s puppy dog eyes and this particular weakness had caused no small amount of trouble for Alex over the last five years.

“It is Lena related, right?” Kara checked, though it was completely unnecessary.

For Alex to actively try and keep a secret from her, it couldn’t be about anything else. And it had been more or less confirmed by her sister's reaction to her threatening to go to Nia.

“Just because I’m keeping a secret, doesn’t automatically mean it’s to do with Lena.” Alex tried, though the conviction behind her statement was weaker than wet tissue paper.

The redhead side-eyed her and Kara merely had to arch an unimpressed eyebrow in return for the DEO director to deflate.

“Okay maybe it’s a little to do with Lena.” Alex admitted with a wince, rubbing the back of her neck in defeat.

Kara threw her hands up in exasperation. “It’s been over five years, okay? I’m fine!”

Her bellowed declaration of stability, made the nearby DEO agents look over with a mix of curiosity and concern. Kara grimaced at the reaction and as such didn’t resist when Alex grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the central room and into her private office.

Alex turned to face her fully, lips pressed tight together and hands firm on her own hips (it had always annoyed Kara that Alex managed to make her signature superhero pose far more intimidating than her own attempts).

“Yelling I’m fine, definitely helps your case.” Alex retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Kara had the good grace to look suitably embarrassed for a moment before launching into the same variation of the speech she gave every time there was a morsel of Lena news to be had. “I screwed up, okay? Big time screwed up - ‘regret it for the rest of my life’ screwed up!” Kara declared prompting a beleaguered sigh from her sister who knew the blatant lie that was coming next. “But I’ve made my peace with it. I won’t spiral into another depressive episode when I hear how happy she is.”

Alex shook her head, not even remotely convinced - not that Kara could blame her, the last time Alex had been pestered into telling her a Lena update, Kara had spent a weekend on a drinking binge that had successfully proven that there were limits even for a kryptonian.

“I don’t think-“ Alex began.

“What is it?” Kara demanded. “Is she getting another medal from the president?”

Alex shook her head, jaw clenching and unclenching. “Kara, you don’t want to know this.”

“Her and Kal save the world again?” Kara barrelled on, her lips curling into a jealous snarl. “The greatest Luthor and Super duo continue to make the world a better place?”

That particular news article had been printed and burned by Kara’s heat vision more times than she dared admit to anyone.

“Kara, please-“ Alex begged, expression crumpling as Kara relentlessly pushed.

“Tell me, I can take it.” Kara proclaimed, voice coming out high pitched and strained. “Is she dating someone again? Another famous actress? That Olympic male gymnast? What-“

“She’s getting married.”

A bomb must have gone off, Kara thought to herself.

A kryptonite bomb.

It was the only thing that could explain the ringing in her ears, and the way everything just… hurt.

A shard of kryptonite must have pierced her chest and cut her heart into jagged pieces. That was the only thing that could explain it.

“What?” She questioned, barely above a whisper. She didn’t quite recognise her own voice - it sounded shattered and unfamiliar. She also didn’t know what she was asking.

Didn’t know what ‘what’ was all about.

What just happened?

What did you say?

What post-apocalyptic reality are we living in now?

“Next week, she’s getting married.” Alex explained, giving Kara answers she no longer wanted. “Sam, Ruby, Kal and Lois are invited.”

She knew it should sting. Not being invited even though they hadn’t spoken in nearly five years. That she should feel something about the fact that Lena had omitted Alex, Brainy, Nia and J’onn as well - it further reinforced how Lena believed them to be Kara’s friends and never hers (which was one of the things Kara regretted most - how her poor treatment of Lena had infected and destroyed everyone else’s friendship with the youngest Luthor).

“To who?” Kara asked, tone cold, hollow… empty.

“Kara,” Alex murmured softly, reaching out to comfort her sister, “this clearly isn’t good for you.”

Kara jerked backwards so fast that the papers on Alex’s desk shot into the air, fluttering down around the sisters like snow.

“Just tell me!” Kara ordered, hands turned into white knuckle fists at her sides that would be capable of tearing through the strongest of metals. Her eyes heated but she managed to stave the fire in them as she glowered at her sister.

Alex slumped back, leaning heavily against her desk, running a frantic hand through her short hair. “Does it matter?” Alex muttered defeatedly, brown eyes filled with pity and sympathy as she stared up into Kara’s eyes.

“Of course it fucking matters,” Kara snapped in outrage before she had a chance to stop and think , “because it’s not me!”

The admission hung heavy and rotting between them. It wasn’t a revelation to either of them, though the fact that the intensity of Kara’s feelings hadn’t dampened despite the separation of half a decade was.

“Kara…” Alex breathed, standing back up and moving towards the blonde with the obvious intent of hugging her.

“I should get back to CatCo.” Kara mumbled, cheeks a fiery red with shame. She stepped hurriedly away from her sister and was already halfway out the door before she halted, turning back to call out a sad yet sincere. “Thanks for telling me.”

Xxx

“I genuinely don’t get why you love these films so much.” Lena remarked, hands cupping her just made cup of cocoa, nose adorably scrunched up as she snuggled back down on the sofa beside Kara, who didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her best friend’s shoulders.

“They’re sweet and romantic.” Kara replied with a happy sigh, turning to nuzzle into the side of Lena’s head for a fleeting moment as the film’s lead started her joyful march down the aisle. “It makes me hopeful.”

“Hopeful?” Lena repeated curiously, leaning away slightly so she could meet Kara’s blue eyes.

Kara shrugged, ducking her head bashfully, “It’s stupid.”

“Hey,” Lena murmured gently, freeing a hand from her mug so that she could interlace her warmed fingers with Kara’s, “you could never be stupid, especially not about something like this.” Her best friend asserted, before asking seriously, “You want the classic big white wedding?”

“Uh…” Kara blushed, cheeks pinking as her mind struggled to kick into gear.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena that the reason she loved weddings more than any other event is because they so closely resembled Kryptonian Bonding ceremonies. That the exchanging of rings, polished everlasting metal, reminded her of wonderfully crafted bracelets clasped on wrists. That it was an occasion for family to join together across generations, for the rare flashes of art and music on Krypton to take centre stage over cold science.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena that after being alone, abandoned and lost - ripped away from her home in the cruelest of ways - that the idea of belonging to someone else, of having a home in someone else regardless of time or location was what Kara wanted more than anything else.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena because it would require admitting the truth of who she really was, it would require taking accountability for years of lies.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena without losing her forever.

“Yeah.” Kara coughed awkwardly, “I want the whole thing. Beautiful dress, surrounded by family… the love of my life at the end of the aisle. Everything.” She shot Lena a side-long glance, “I’m guessing you don’t?”

“Never really been my thing,” Lena admitted readily and Kara’s heart twisted at how Lena didn’t hesitate to bare herself, how she gave all of herself when it could be argued that Kara - at best - only gave half, “probably because I can’t imagine I have enough people in my life to invite and feel ‘surrounded’.” Lena pursed her lips thoughtfully, “I also don’t get the need for the spectacle. Just the idea that there’s someone out there that would want to…” Kara watched her best friend deflate, expression wistful and pained, “be with me, love me like that… that’s more than enough.”

Kara’s eyes stung with barely suppressed tears at how little Lena thought of herself. Whoever had the privilege of marrying her best friend would be the single luckiest and most fortunate person in the universe and Kara wished Lena knew that, wished she believed it. But when she opened her mouth to say it, to proclaim it, her breath faltered and her courage abandoned her… like it always did with the youngest Luthor.

“So no white dress?” Kara muttered instead, voice meek and lacking the lightheartedness that should have carried the question.

It didn’t matter, though, Lena let out a quick exhale that resembled something on the edge of laughter. Kara’s escalating heart rate settled at that, however, it did little to alleviate the pang of regret that was steadily accompanying all her interactions with the CEO.

“Well, I guess I could be convinced by someone special.” Lena teased, shooting Kara an overtly salacious wink that wouldn’t - on the surface - be considered genuine.

“Anyone that marries you will have to be special.” Kara replied, the statement tumbling out instantly.

It wasn’t the heartfelt confession that Kara wished it to be and it wasn’t quite light enough to be dismissed as a friendly reassurance. Instead, it was yet another thing that fell into the ethereal greyness that lied between them, something to tuck away and think back on late at night when they tried to work out if the other meant it the way they wished they did.

“Yeah?” Lena whispered, piercing green eyes studying Kara’s face closely.

Kara swallowed thickly, “Yeah.”

Xxx

Lena found out less than six weeks after that movie night. They defeated Lex and Kara had been on the edge of breathing easy, of being able to simply relax back into her life when it all came crashing down.

They had been at Games Night and Kara had been antsy, waiting for her best friend to arrive. The thought of pulling Lena into a hug had been what she had been looking forward to most all day.

Kara was at peace, laughing and drinking with her friends - her family - when Lena had arrived. Kara had beamed up at her immediately and for a second Lena’s entrancing green eyes lit up in return before turning dark and distant.

Kara’s smile faltered, crinkle appearing between her brows when-

The wine bottle smashed into the wall behind Kara’s head.

Deathly silence fell over the area.

Kara looked into hollow, emptied out versions of her favourite green. She would have preferred anger, fury, rage… the defeated nothingness staring back at the Kryptonian was far worse.

Lena turned and left, grinding Kara’s heart to dust and taking the sand particles left with her.

She knew.

She knew because Lex had told her.

She knew because she had gone to stop her brother, intent on saving the world like always only to find out that those she was saving the world for didn’t view her as their equal. That the people she treated as family had kept her on the outskirts. That her best friend had lied, had manipulated, had-

xxx

It was Lois that found out everything from Lena.

When the fallout had happened, as Kara and the Superfriends realised what they had lost, the blonde hero sent notice to her cousin that his identity was probably known as well (mostly because she remembered how hurt she had been when Kal shared her secret without her consent). Kal and Lois had arrived almost immediately, frantic and terrified (especially with baby Jon to consider) at the concept of a Luthor knowing their identity.

Kara, joined by all the Superfriends, quickly put their minds to rest, sharing Lena’s actions from before, her dependability, kindness and inherent goodness. Kal and Lois were convinced their secret was safe but they were horrified to hear how Lena had been isolated and kept at arms length after her considerable good deeds. Alex and the others had squirmed uncomfortably and tried to weakly talk around their hesitancy.

Kal and Lois had simply looked at Kara for an explanation but she had none. Yet again the words would not come.

It was Lois, therefore, that had sought out the youngest Luthor and through her incredible tenacity was able to gain access where everyone else was rebuffed and harshly rejected.

It was Lois that comforted Lena, gave her support and sympathy.

It was Lois that relayed Lena’s demand that they give her space.

It was Lois that suggested Lena return to Metropolis - presenting it as a way to celebrate how L-Corp, after Lena’s repeated sacrifices and heroism, was fully rehabilitated and ready to reclaim its once home.

It was Lois that encouraged Lena and Kal to work together becoming an unstoppable force that Kara and Lena had always danced on the precipice of.

A Luthor and a Super. Saving the world.

xxx

Kara did as asked. Gave Lena space. Or at least the semblance of space.

She checked in constantly, hovered nearby throughout the days and nights leading upto L-Corp’s departure and Lena along with it. She followed Lena’s jet to Metropolis, a sentinel ensuring safe passage.

She kept her distance for three months. Three months of stony silence before she broke.

Snapped, more like.

Landing on Lena’s new balcony in Metropolis that had been specially built for Superman this time - not for her, though Kara, at the time, had hoped that she had been considered consciously or unconsciously as well.

Kara couldn’t remember the exact words.

She remembered crying from beginning to end.

Remembered ‘I loved you’ - past tense.

Remembered finally breaking through Lena’s cold, hardened shell to the raw, bleeding wound hidden underneath and regretting it almost immediately.

Remembered how seeing Lena’s agony was worse than kryptonite, worse than watching Krypton burn…

Remembered Lena saying she needed time to heal, for Kara to stop hovering nearby - because she knew, she sensed Kara’s presence even without seeing her once - and to give her time to stop thinking of Kara and feeling only pain when she did so.

Remembered promising to do just that.

Remembered a timer starting to count in her head - the seconds that she would be condemned to purgatory.

Remembered the hope that just refused to go out - the hope that whispered give it time, give it time, give it time with every beat of her heart.

Remembered thinking that given enough time Lena would reach out and they would get the chance that Kara had almost destroyed for them.

Remembered flying zig-zagged and dangerous to Alex where her endless stream of tears returned to full flow as she sobbed into her sister’s shoulder using words and phrases like ‘heartbroken’ and ‘I love her’ and ‘I can’t survive this pain’ and ‘what do I do?’ and ‘I can’t breathe’.

Remembered a hollowed out shell of Kara Danvers moving through the motions for a year, for two, three, four… five...

Remembered taking up drinking to excess whenever she saw Lena’s life flourish and grow - not because she didn’t want Lena to be happy, that was what Kara wanted and wished for more than anything - because she wasn’t there with her for those life-changing events.

Remembered Alex and Kelly’s worries growing with each occurrence, intervening more and more to such a degree that they encouraged Kara to consider AA meetings - she did eventually, and found destroying entire junkyards to be a healthier coping mechanism, external destruction rather than internal.

Remembered Brainy at the behest of Alex, setting up Kara’s phone and computer to prevent searching for any keywords affiliated to Lena and to alert Alex if Kara ever managed to stumble upon a news article.

Remembered listening to Kal and Lois skipping large parts of stories where it was clear that Lena was involved - it was nice in some way to know Lena was getting the credit she deserved, but it hurt when Kal’s stories started to involve gaps at Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year (events that made Kara’s loneliness even more acute and her longing intensify).

Remembered her life without Lena.

Remembered regret and guilt and loss.

Remembered-

“She’s getting married.”

xxx

Kara shouldn’t have been there. Shouldn’t be anywhere in the vaguest vicinity of where she currently was.

The bride was dressed in a simple silky white shift, sipping intermittently from her champagne glass as she stared contemplatively up at the designer white dress hanging off the door in front of her. Raven locks were pinned up, so tight and intricate that it made Kara wince sympathetically at how it must tug and pinch at the bride’s scalp - she’d always preferred it down, loose and curling… soft and inviting. The bride’s make-up was artistic with a dramatic edge that would captivate but made her look… not like herself in Kara’s opinion.

Or maybe after five years it made Lena look more like herself - the version of herself she had become once free of Kara and all the pain she brought into her life.

She was hovering outside the dressing room window, trying to work out how far she was willing to take this. If it would be better to leave without saying anything, to try and leave some part of Lena’s life unspoiled.

It was the fear that she had always given into when she was best friends with Lena that made her decision for her. Like speaking her truth and learning to ask for what she wanted - Kara had also promised herself that she would never allow that bone deep fear to stop her ever again.

The window was open and it was as good an invite as Kara was ever going to get.

“Lena?”

The beautiful bride-to-be jerked in her place, champagne glass nearly tumbling to the floor but saved at the last second.

She didn’t turn around for a beat… then two…

Kara was just about to escape back through the window when Lena exhaled slowly and pivoted round to meet her.

“Kara?” Lena breathed out, green eyes closed off and wary.

The kryptonian studied the love of her life for a moment, taking in every little detail - soaking it all up as if accepting that this would be the last time she might ever get to see it again. That the timer that had counted past five years would stop after this moment, the hope powering it gone forever.

“Don’t marry them, please.” Kara requested, no flowery language, no build up. Just the honest truth.

“What?” Lena’s jaw dropped and the champagne glass didn’t survive the second shock, crashing to the ground - released by trembling fingers.

“Don’t marry them.” Kara repeated, uncaring of how the carpet below them soaked up the amber liquid.

Lena’s expression flitted through an array of emotions before settling on indignant rage, “And why the hell not?!”

Kara didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat, instead she stood taller, the crest of her super suit catching the early afternoon light. “Because it should have been me. It still should be me.”

Lena scoffed in disbelief, “You can’t be serious. Now? You’re doing this now?”

Kara pursed her lips, fighting back the regret that always came with the reminders of countless missed opportunities. “Yes.”

The straightforwardness of Kara’s answers seemed to be throwing Lena, leaving her wrong-footed, clearly expecting the blonde to talk around and hint and imply like she used to.

But Kara had learnt. (The lesson had been too painful not to.)

“You had years, Kara!” Lena argued, “Years where I…. I threw myself at you. Practically begged you to love me… to trust me…”

“I know.” Kara replied sadly, wanting desperately to reach out when Lena’s pretty green eyes began to glisten with unshed tears. “I know. But I’m here now.”

“I don’t want you to be.” Lena muttered, arms crossed over her chest and head ducked downwards to hide her expression.

“I know that too.” Kara assured, fingers twitching with the desire to make contact, to comfort and coax - even after all these years her body remembered, the pathways of hardwired instinct related to her best friend were still there, still active even if temporarily closed for service.

“Then why are you here?” Lena murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

Lena’s head snapped up at that, green eyes like saucers.

Kara’s single biggest regret was that she had never said those words to Lena before, had alluded and pointed at them during their final interaction but had never outright said them. And Lena had deserved to hear them then and deserved to hear them now to forever vanquish the doubts that had always been with her.

“Because I’m in love with you and we didn’t get our chance.” Kara affirmed, taking a half step closer to the bride, her red heeled boots and Lena’s bare feet meaning the younger woman had to tip her head ever so slightly back to maintain eye contact. “We didn’t get our chance because of me. Because I was afraid, I was so afraid of losing you. Of doing even the slightest thing that could mean you weren’t in my life. And in the end every action I took out of fear of losing you ensured just that. I’ve spent five years without you, Lena, and I can’t bear a single day more.”

“Kara,” Lena whispered, “I’m getting married.”

“I know.” Kara smiled sadly before adding, “Don’t.”

“What are you suggesting? Seriously?” Lena sighed, shaking her head mournfully and Kara knew she was losing her then.

“I’m suggesting that we have our chance now before it's gone forever.”

Gathering the small amount of courage Kara had left, she tentatively let her hands nudge forwards, brushing against Lena’s cool, pale fingers. That small contact was everything. Made it easier to breathe, made the colours of the world more vibrant, made everything just more.

“I let fear hold me back from the person that made me happiest in the entire universe and I won’t let it hold me back again.”

“Kara…” Lena whimpered, glancing back over her shoulder at the closed door that her wedding dress was displayed on, though she didn’t pull her hand away from Kara’s touch, didn’t flinch or retreat.

“Do it.” Kara pleaded, stepping across that final slither of distance between them, her forehead leaning forward to rest gently against the side of Lena’s, “Take a chance, I’m begging you. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been.”

Lena inhaled shakily, head returning to forward facing - foreheads pressed against one another, breathing in the same air - and then… and then…

Lena’s hands slipped fully into Kara’s, fingers intertwining together.

[ambiguouspuzuma]

A slice of worldbuilding from Archipelago:

“I’ll try to look the part.” She always did. Carmen had been used to working from the shadows, especially in the early days, needing to hide her face from parts of Old Ulbar and avoid the envy of the rank and file. For years, she’d dressed in simple tunics, grown out her hair, and tried to blend in to the backdrop of her work as much as she could: her clothes always smelling faintly of candle-smoke, her ink-stained finger-tips leaving whorled patterns on the pages she touched, and wearing black marks on her lips and teeth from biting her quill. Having grown up in in the middle tiers, elaborate silks were a foreign concept to her anyway. But she’d scrubbed up well today. Although they mattered little to her, Carmen had learnt appearances were important in her position, both to impress other people and to bring confidence to herself. Her noble’s robes helped her feel like a captain, an exoskeleton which kept her standing tall. Rather than hiding, she wanted her clothes to draw as much attention as possible, even as a way for her to hide in plain side. They drew people’s eyes to what they expected to see, all of the dressings of a real noble, and so they didn’t look too closely at the woman inside. Today her robes were cloth of gold, with leaves and birds picked out in satin greens and reds. Over the top was another coat of green, a cloak sewn from a thousand iridescent scales: they were the wing cases of jewel beetles which lived for a few weeks, collected after their deaths and crafted into something even more beautiful. They made Carmen feel like the dragonflies which danced over the Stem, gliding on two broad pairs of translucent wings: a gauze like Elisan stained glass, patches of red or blue above a slender, elegant body. They were some of their world’s greatest hunters, but they proved that death could gleam and killers could be glamorous. Carmen didn’t have to choose between being a commanding general and dressing like a queen. She could master both at the same time. Her crown topped the portrait off. In the past age of captain-kings each city had worn one, but now, with power split between five pentarch posts, most had removed them entirely. In places like Lakebridge, captains simply wore the three-pointed hats originally worn on ships, a call-back to their nautical past: if the archipelago was shaped slightly differently, no doubt their mavens would have named them the tricorn isles instead. Evenfall had split their white stone crown in equal shares, with each pentarch wearing a shard, symbolising that together they still held the power of a king or queen. Victory’s captain wore a golden belt around their waist instead, reflecting the strange customs of that war-forged state. The captain of the Silo wore a simple steel band. Highcliff had made five crowns, styled differently for each new role. As captain, Carmen was the new queen of war, and so hers was a circlet of tiny metal swords. The navigator wore a similar ring, but his featured ten different coloured pillars to match the ten-spoked tattoo on his neck. The rainmaker’s crown was a wreath of fossilised roots, to symbolise how life flowed through nature through Serena’s precious gift. The purser had a ring of different coins of various metals, silver ormers, iron chitons, bronze limpets, and other shells that weren’t even produced any more. Kel wore a rough iron ring like the manacles her executors used, to demonstrate her hold on and commitment to order. “Are you joking? You look like the part was made for you.”

Daily Sip 1/27

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[masterwords]

running toward nothing (part four)

Summary: Hotch is injured in an explosion while on overseas assignment, putting Derek in a difficult position both with the team and with Spencer who has spent the last few months inadvertently falling in love with him. (Set around 07x01 - It Takes a Village but canon divergent by a lot.)

Warnings: drug use, hospital, infection/emergency, drug theft

Words: 3.1k

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan established

Notes: This is for @tobias-hankel' s Spencer Whump Challenge. My assigned prompts to do my evil with were Derek Morgan & Betrayal...we finally have some solid betrayal going on here! And some very very bad choices being made by a few people. I will be out of town for Little League tournaments all weekend so the next update will be Monday, most likely.

CHAPTER LIST

Read on AO3: Running Toward Nothing

**

“Sean...”

Hotch's voice wavered, confusion made it sound watery and insubstantial. He didn't trust his eye, not in the low light and red haze. The shadows had been playing tricks on his sleepy mind. Still, it was more than his eyes, he could smell his brother's cologne, something musky and almost floral to mask the cigarette smoke in the fibers of his clothes. Sean was standing there or he'd reached a new level of hallucination. One seemed more likely than the other, especially with the vertigo he'd experienced on his way to the bathroom earlier that morning. Out of nowhere, legs made of jelly and a strange heat that surged from his hip to his knee. Over in a flash, not concerning enough to mention, he took his medication, relieved himself and hobbled back to bed without incident. Now his brother was staring at him, not just standing but looming, really, backpack slung over his shoulder like he was just leaving instead of just arriving. “What are you doing here?”

Sean smirked, as if to challenge Hotch's mental acuity. Even with the long shadows cast over his features Hotch could tell he wasn't going to take it easy. He never had. “Guess.”

“Jack told mom what happened,” Hotch started, flickering through a line of thought that was almost solid enough to grasp. “Mom called you. Probably bought you a bus ticket...how long are you staying?” He spoke slowly, carefully choosing each word, proud that he had managed to get through it without stumbling.

“Boss gave me a week.”.

With some great effort, Hotch talked Sean into helping him out of bed. He'd taken his pills on an empty stomach and it was starting to hurt. The dizzy feeling swelled in him, pounded from his eyebrows to his chest and he clutched Sean's arm tight. He hadn't intended to but it was just no use pretending he could do it on his own. The vertigo would pass. Blame the eye, he figured, he'd left it uncovered the last few days and it was messing with his equilibrium. Hell, it was messing with everything. Seeing the world through the red glare was like watching some old movie representation of Hell, minus the horns and pitchforks. “You good?”

Hotch nodded, he couldn't focus on walking and talking at the same time but he could nod. The walk to the kitchen was slow, and he was dragging his leg more than stepping but the joint had slowly become a ball of flame and all he could think about was sitting down.

“Where's Derek?”

“Work.” More of a grunt than a word as he sat, eased himself down into the chair leaning heavily on his good side. The ball of flame in his hip shattered and became shards of glass. “He's going to a movie with Spencer later.” Sean didn't seem to pay much attention to the way his face scrunched up in pain as he sat down, maybe he thought it was normal.

“Cool.” A break, Sean studying the cabinets one by one, inspecting their food selections and organization. He was a kitchen guy, it was what he did. “Alright, time to get you some lunch Skeletor.”

While he fumbled around for the items he wanted, the front door opened and slammed shut, followed by cheerfully loud voices. Jack and Spencer breezed through quickly, Jack stopping only to wave hello to his dad and paying no mind to his uncle at the toaster. Spencer said nothing, just walked right through to Jack's bedroom and they heard the door slam shut behind the two friends. On the door was a handwritten sign with a hand drawn flag of Jack's own invention and words that didn't quite make sense, the spelling was just creative enough to be nonsense, but the basic idea was that Jack's room was off limits to anyone that wasn't he or Spencer.

“Not even a hello?”

“Spencer is teaching him how to play Risk. They've got a card table in there covered with it.”

“He's a little young for world domination...”

“He's good at it.” Not just good, great. He'd listened to Spencer over dinner the night before rattle on and on with information he could barely keep up with, but it all amounted to praise for Jack's awareness and ruthlessness.

The conversation was halted by the dropping of a piece of toast slathered with orange marmalade and a glass of sweet tea in front of Hotch. Sean's specialty. He was southern through and through. Hotch couldn't help but smile. Sean's after school snack, day after day. It was memories on a plate. There was a twinge in his hip and he shifted, pressing his thumb a little nervously into the joint.

In Jack's room, they'd already set themselves down at the table and Jack was studying the board to make sure he remembered where everything was, what he'd wanted to do. He was little but he wasn't stupid, he'd figured the game out now he just had to remember all of the mechanics. What his plans had been when their timer went off. Spencer was just glad Jack was trustworthy, everything was in exactly the same place as they'd left it though he was sure Jack had been faced with temptation more than once...just to make a little move, just one little thing. See if Spencer would notice, but he knew that he couldn't fool Spencer. He'd win without cheating. Spencer rubbed at the ache in his temples and squeezed his eyes shut while Jack concentrated on the game, double checking that he remembered the rules.

“Your head hurts again?” Jack asked, huge brown eyes studying Spencer carefully. Spencer nodded, a little embarrassed that the kid had seen his discomfort.

“Yeah, it's fine, kiddo. Not so bad today.” Jack ignored him, already on his feet and moving toward the door with a plan. He'd been thinking about it for the last few days, once his mind was set on something it was set. He'd talked to his dad and Derek already, really. If your friend has a hurt should you help them? A seemingly simple question with a very simple answer. If you can, yes. Even Jessica had elaborated enough to say that you should always try to help people, even when it's hard. Even when they aren't your friends. Well, that had settled it...he knew he could help Spencer.

Perched on the sink, his feet dangling over the edge, he rifled through the medicine cabinet. Top shelf, the daddy pills. Everything else was Band-Aids and tummy stuff, but Derek kept those yellow bottles that made daddy feel better up high. He didn't know what any of the words on them meant but he'd figured out they all really did the same thing, daddy only had pills to make the hurt go away. He twisted and twisted at the little white caps but to no avail, they wouldn't budge, they would just spin and spin. He could figure them out, he knew he could, but something told him just to take a bottle to Spencer and let him do it.

He hoped he wasn't doing anything too wrong...his dad had so many and it seemed like Derek was always getting new bottles, he could spare just a little to help Spencer play the game with him. “Here you go! My dad takes these...they make his leg not hurt so bad...”

Spencer held in his hand a poisonous tube of sweet relief. He almost salivated, and still he wanted to push them back. Like it burned. Hadn't he just been thinking the other day that he'd like to get his hands on something? Anything? Closing his eyes he saw the orchids, still fresh and beautiful and blood red on Derek's desk. Blood red just like Hotch's damned eye that wouldn't seem to heal. It was creepy. He wore sunglasses, even in the house, just to hide it but Spencer saw the blood in there and imagined it sloshing around. “No, Jack I...these are your dad's.”

“He has five bottles...I counted.” It was so innocent. Five bottles meant enough to share with a friend, Jack couldn't see any reason not to. He got the impression from the look on Spencer's face that maybe was doing something wrong and thought he might want to apologize. Spencer looked scared. He considered giving the bottle back, telling Jack to take it to the bathroom but what if he was caught? He didn't want the kid to get in trouble, but he certainly couldn't take it back...if he was caught with it, even as innocently as this, Hotch would think he was relapsing. As if he'd even cared the first time, really. Who was he kidding? Hotch was so blitzed out on a cocktail of these things right now that he probably wouldn't notice. He shook the bottle, only a few left in there anyway, the prescription was probably ready to be refilled. Maybe they wouldn't even notice.

“Five bottles?” Spencer asked, quietly. His voice raised an octave and that was hard to control. He was talking more to himself, but Jack nodded. “Thanks Jack.” He wasn't confirming he'd take any of them, but he had decided that the kid was only trying to help. Slowly, reverently, he dropped them into the pocket of his vest when Jack looked back down at the board and decided he'd find a way to put them back in the bathroom before he left. No way he'd keep them. He couldn't keep them.

He'd worked so hard to stay away. He'd survived being shot in the knee and healed just find without them...what was some annoying headache in comparison with that?

Except he was so excited about the movie he was going to with Derek later that he forgot all about them in his pocket. He and Jack played an hour of intense Risk and he all but ran out of the house and to the movie theater without considering that he'd now taken a disastrous and dangerous step toward relapse. By the time he realized they were there he was parking in the garage, the flashing lights of the theater inviting him in. He'd put the pills back tomorrow, he figured. Hotch had five bottles...four now...of whatever it was he was taking. Probably a hefty mix, all things considered. Besides, there were only three left in this one, he'd counted the little shadows. Three wouldn't be missed for a while.

One day wouldn't hurt.

(x)

Hotch started acting funny about halfway through his toast, after swallowing his sweet tea and Percocet. He'd been planning to ask Sean to pass him a cookie, one of the oatmeal raisin ones Penelope made for him in secret. Watching Sean pick his way through the Tupperware full on the counter was making his stomach grumble, but he couldn't manage to slop the words together. His ears were ringing, his tinnitus back with a vengeance. Inside his skull was the entire percussion section of a 2nd grade band, complete with out of time triangles and tambourines. It wasn't that he couldn't think around it, more just that he couldn't do anything but drown in the cacophony.

“Sean?” His voice was ragged and soft by the time he found it. “My hip feels...” Like fire? Like shards of glass on fire? Not for the first time that day, but certainly the worst and for the last fifteen minutes it hadn't let up, it only seemed to increase. Afraid to touch it, to explore, he squirmed and felt the last remaining sutures pull. Where there had been so many, his entire side stitched up this way and that, only small places still remained and those places were the source of the flames. Breathing was getting hard. The heat was terrible, creeping like a forest fire over the surface of his skin. Sean came quickly and helped him stand, he was sure it was just the sitting down that was doing it but standing only served to make it worse.

“...lie down...” he mumbled almost incoherently as the vertigo came back with a vengeance and he faltered, slumping heavily into Sean's side before the world went gray and he went headfirst into the fog.

On the couch, Sean put an ice pack on Hotch's burning hip and called Derek who spared no time rushing home. He'd started running while he was on the phone, not bothering to shut his office down...he'd ask Penelope if she could later, it seemed unimportant now. By the time he rushed through the door, Hotch was awake but barely. Groggy and blinking slow, sweating beneath ice packs with Sean pacing behind him nervously.

“Sean,” Derek called, breaking his trance. “I'm sure you didn't do anything. Help me please.” With Sean's help, they shifted Hotch enough on the couch that Derek could see the incision, the site that now looked red and infected. The sutures, only four of them left, pulled taught around glistening pink skin. It was hot to the touch and Hotch flinched away from even the remotest sensation. Even the warmth of Derek's cinnamon gum breath was too much. “Looks like an infection,” he said softly, pulling out his phone to call Jess and let her know.

Derek would take Hotch to the hospital while Sean stayed with Jack. It wasn't exactly something Sean was comfortable with, he'd never been on his own around a kid before, especially not this kid who was so different from other kids. Jack who looked right into you, who spoke in words most six year olds wouldn't use, Jack who knew too much about life.

Lifting Hotch into his arms, Derek grunted and struggled to secure him in place. Long legs, head lolling to the side and back exposing his throat until Sean tipped him forward, dropping his chin to his chest. It was Sean who guided him, held doors open, made sure he got to where he was going without slamming Hotch into walls and doorways in his hurry. Holding him was no problem, even at his heaviest he wouldn't have given Derek any trouble, but those long legs...they seemed to go on forever and there was no good way to fold him up.

Derek was pacing the exam room while they poked Hotch's already bruised and scarred arms with needles, placed IV tubing and dimmed the lights. They were going to admit him, already planned to without the results of the blood tests, they could see the signs of infection already in his growing fever and redness. It was just a waiting game now...can you guess his counts? How bad is the infection? How long had it been festering unnoticed? Derek couldn't help it, he thought of Osmosis Jones, a movie he and Jack had watched more times than he could count. You ever try to blow dry your hair with a fart?It made him smile and would make for an easy way to help relay what was happening to Jack. Or maybe it would just keep his own spirits up.

Jessica sat with him. Paced with him. Conspired and whispered with him. They lost all track of time while doctors and nurses floated around them, in and out, adding and changing IV bags, checking vitals, poking at him.

At Derek's house, Sean was doing everything he could think of to entertain Jack who seemed oddly okay with what was going on. A little worried look would flash over his features but it was so quick that Sean nearly missed it. He guessed it made sense, Hotch hadn't been home long, he'd been away overseas, it was almost just like he hadn't come back at all. “Wanna watch a movie?”

Jack always wanted to watch a movie. By the look of uncle Sean, he'd pick a good one...something his dad wouldn't approve of, and he wouldn't even ask if it was okay. He got in his pajamas without complaint, helped Sean clean up the house and make some snacks, anything he could do to ensure that they got to watch a good, good movie. Not a baby movie. Jack fell asleep with a chocolate milk mustache on Sean's chest in a mess of popcorn to the dulcet sounds of Ripley blasting her way through aliens.

(x)

Spencer waited and paced the movie theater lobby, watching the clock tick away the time. He checked it against his own watch, and then his phone, to make sure. First Derek was just late but that could be traffic easily, he was working and sometimes things got jammed up pretty good this time of day. They had plenty of time until the movie started. And then Derek was even later, so he bought them their popcorn and sodas and found the best possible seats. No sense waiting in the lobby, Derek knew how to get into the auditorium. He left the ticket for Derek at the box office and settled in. When the movie started, the room went black, he was still alone. Sodas in the cup holders surrounding the seats he'd chosen, sitting on the outside so maybe Derek might use their shared arm rest and be closer to him...it had been planned out perfectly, except the seat remained empty. He set his popcorn there and fought back the tears. No text, no call, nothing from Derek except silence. Halfway through the intro credits, the music already agitating his now immense headache, he felt the bottle of pills in his pocket. Vicodin.

Just three. Still three. He could take one now, and put the bottle back with the last two when he brought Jack home from school the next day. He doubted they were inventorying them, that wouldn't make any sense. They weren't worried someone was eyeing the stash. Popping one into his mouth quickly, he slurped it down with a gulp of Pepsi and a handful of popcorn. His headache vanished quickly, but a lead ball settled in his belly. Guilt. A deeply upsetting feeling of stepping back in time...he knew damn well, the way his head swirled pleasantly with the soundtrack, that he wasn't going to return the other two pills either. He'd already named them dinner and dessert. The thought amused him as he slipped further into the memory of this light feeling.

Hello old friend.

<- Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ->

[alvhiedeir]

Title: Is that all you got?

Pairing: Indra x gn!reader

Tw: drinking, mention of sex within influence (both of them are so nonconsensual?), Language, nsfw-ish

Note: I literally typed this without drafts before sleeping so not proofread

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!"

When did things go wrong? There where many, many bad choices made last night. Which exactly, was the question.

Maybe when you agreed to go drinking with the other gods, something that you rarely do? But it has been a stressful few many days for you and drinking one or two might help with it.

Or maybe that's when things went downhill. Rather than one or two, you drunk maybe half the club's worth of alcohol. That sounded exaggerated but that's what the hungover felt like. After your first one, your friends' encouragement and teasing lead you to down one more.

And another.

And another.

And another.

'Till you can't tell what's louder, the roar of the crowd egging you on or your own laughter echoing around as you danced a little to provocatively.

Maybe that's what lead a certain Indian god to approach your drunken self.

Eyes droopy but mischievous, lips tugging into a smirk as you pulled him close to your body. Hips swaying just the right way to get him intoxicated but pulling away just as fast with a cheeky laugh.

And he doesn't seemed to mind your little game.

Oh no.

He loved it.

The ever so diligent and modest you, playfully messing with him. With lips painted with red and seduction, who in their right mind won't take the bait.

And so he played with you.

Hands on your hips and back, calloused hands tracing the skin revealed by your clothes. Just imaging how pretty it would look all bruised and covered by his marks. When you pull away laughing, he would follow, his own chuckles leaving his lips in a low tone.

Maybe this wasn't the sole reason for your predicament. But you're sure as hell this was a vital point.

Especially after your little game, you found yourself pressed against an empty hallway. The sound of the party nothing but a gentle him in the background as he stared at you, eyes ever so impatient.

He pressed his head closer to your, breath smelling thick of alcohol and cigarettes. His tongue darts out to lick his drying lips, all the while his eyes stared at yours.

Then he closed the gap.

Ah, maybe this was your worst decision of the night.

You were drunk. He was drunk. But rather than doing what any rational person - god if you will - would do, you didn't push him away and said this wasn't right. That you shouldn't.

Oh no.

You wrapped your hands around his neck, pulling him closer, deeper as it already is. Tongue seeking out his own to dance with. Greedy and hungry, you kissed back with such vigor as he did.

He held your head with one hand and the other claimed a spot on your back, pulling your body closer. Molding your body to fit his, wanting to feel every inch that you had to offer.

And you just laid yourself on a silver platter.

With a tug of his hair, you pulled back from the kiss. Your eyes took focus on his face, and shit. Was it just the lighting or he always this pretty?

His hair was a mess as per usual but both his eyes were clear for you to admire. It held a perfect amount of hunger, lust and admiration just enough to make your excitement to grow. But what got your legs shaking was his lips. Bruised and swollen from your bitting and beautifully decorated by your red lipstick. With each gasping breath he took, you can't help but to think how nice of a color it is to him.

And how he would look covered in it.

You made many bad turns this evening but this was the icing on the cake.

Swipping your tongue across your lips, you leaned forward to his ear. Teasingly taking the lobe between your teeth before whispering lowly,

"Is that all you got, Indra?"

And believe me, you have no idea what he can do.

So as you try to scurry to find you clothes scattered across the room (whose room you did not bother asking nor thinking as it will just intensify your own embarrassment), you can't help but curse at yourself.

"Fuck where are my underwear?!"

The ruffling of the bed sheets made you freeze on the spot. Head turning ever so slowly towards the sleeping figure on the bed, you almost let out a sigh of relief as he settled back into sleep after turning.

"Damn, looks like I'm going commando today."

You tried to look as presentable as possible before turning to leave but the memories of last night made you stop.

Was it just because of the lighting?

Curiosity will truly kill the cat.

As silent as your panicked self can be, you tiptoed to the bed and and looked at the god laying on his back, one arm on his head the other hidden under the blanket.

With all the courage that you (shouldn't) have, you peeled the cover away just above his waist and you had to say. Being drunk didn't deter your idea a pretty.

He did look pretty with those red marks.

With your curiosity satisfied, with a pounding heart you did your walk of shame with the only difference is that you're running.

And you thought that was the end?

Karma's a bitch and life loves drama.

And it's just so happen that you're their new favorite show.

A week passed after your little escapade, and let's us say you had to walk the long way over just to avoid a certain somebody. Even going as far as hiding in a closet for a solid 10 minutes.

And the one moment you had your guard down, he just happen to be there.

Against you.

Pinning you once again.

In broad daylight.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck"

"Look who it is."

His voice was both amused and taunting. His larger frame towering over you as he lean closer, the memories of that night resurfacing, along with the red ess of your cheeks.

He laughs when he notices the color on your face. His one visible eye filled with humour as he watch you try to push yourself deeper against the wall, as if it can swallow you.

"Why are you embarrassed now when you said and did a lot more than-"

"Indra!"

He barked put a laugh at your loud response, your cheeks tainting into am even darker shade at your own volume.

"I'm just here to ask two things, don't worry." Your eyes were weary but none the less nodded for him to continue.

And you probably shouldn't of didn't want to turn into a tomato.

"Is this your's?"

In his hands, he held up a black underwear, the one you left in a hurry to leave, unceremoniously twirling it in his finger that anyone walking by can see.

Your hands shoot out to grab the offending garment in his hands but he held it further from your reach. He smirked as you ended up leaning against his chest, face once again a few centimeters away from his own. And when you tried to pulled back he already had an arm wrapped around your waist, effectively cutting away your chance of escaping.

Sly bastard.

"Damnit Indra! Give that back!"

He smirked, a low laugh escaping his lips.

Sly, sexy bastard.

"I'll give it back, I just have another question."

You tried to reach for your garments once again but he led it higher and started twirling it again. One wrong move and it can fly away into the floor and someone might just-

"Fine! Fine! Ask your stupid question!"

You can hear your own pride shattering in the background but you swallowed to shards and stared at him.

He laughed again, and you swore if he laughed one more time you're going to throw hands.

"Calling it stupid is kind of mean."

"Just say it."

He smirked at your snarky reply, eyes starring at you so intently that your wounded pride almost let you whine.

He lead down his head, pushing you, once again on the wall. One arm on you waist, the other - still holding the blasted underwear - burried in your hair, holding it so that it stayed looking at him.

The same position the two of you were in before.

He swiped his tongue out licking his lips, all the while staring into you with those eyes. And for a moment it seemed like you two were back in that club. He slowly pressed his face besides your's, taking your earlobe between his teeth. His gentle nibbling making it harder to suppress the shaking of your body.

After a while, he released your ear, only to whisper lowly. Hot breath blowing against it.

"Is that all you got?"

This is a bad, bad idea.

But without the alcohol this time you had nothing to blame but yourself as you pulled him closer, eager to get another taste.

[thefanficmonster]

Inky Memories

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Drug Use (Past), Domestic Violence (Past), Shoplifting (Past)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Tattoos can reveal a lot about a person. What will Y/N’s tattoos, which she has kept hidden for so long, reveal to Corpse? Will it change anything between them?

Requested by Anon. If you’re reading this you know who you are 😊 Thank you for the request, hope you like what I did with it. Sorry if I made it too angsty! And my most sincere apologies for publishing it so late. Enjoy XOXO ❤

“Guys, come on now! I’m not hiding anything!“ I laugh, looking up from the comments to the camera, “You know how much I hate being embarrassed! Believe me when I say these tattoos are EMBERRASSING. I got them while I was either drunk or in my emo phase and I’m not too proud of them.“

I’m currently doing an Instagram live Q&A session that I scheduled last week. I do one every month and it’s my favorite way of connecting with my audience. An hour of chill lo-fi and questions and answers. I get really excited every time I schedule the session. My fans are such amazing people and they are all so supportive, funny, intelligent...I could go on and on about their positive qualities. One thing I’m not too fond of is their persistent curiosity. Here’s why.

Yesterday, while streaming, I got an unexpected pain in my forearm. Instinctively, I lifted my shirt sleeve to see what was wrong, flashing a few tattoos at my viewers in the process. I’ve never mentioned my tattoos to my audience, not even my boyfriend, actually, so to have this much attention on them so suddenly makes me want to hide them even more. People started commenting on them during the stream and I tried to dodge the majority of the questions, but I knew they would be inevitable during the Q&A. If the session hadn’t been scheduled for like a week at that point I maybe would’ve postponed it until the dust settled. 

“I have several. Not only on my arm.“ I only answer these vague questions. I avoid the ones that are asking details like what is depicted with the tattoos and what’s their meaning, bla, bla, bla.

Here’s the thing. I got my first tattoo when I was fifteen at this shady alley tattoo shop and I’ve been obsessed with tattoos since. I made a deal with myself to get at least one every year.

Needless to say, I’m twenty years old and have almost the same number of tattoos. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ashamed of them. And I lied when I said they were embarrassing. I am quite happy with them, the way they look, at least. Each of them represent something different. Unfortunately, they are representative of some dark and depressing times. Times I want only the fewest of few people to know about.

“Yes, he’s here. You can’t see him, but he’s waving. He says hi.“ Corpse is the perfect distraction. My viewers love him just as much - maybe more - as they love me. 

He knows how easily I get overwhelmed by the attention and pressure of thousands of eyes on me and whenever I’m having a hard time while streaming all he has to do is walk in my recording room and just say the most random thing. Recently, his go-to phrase has been ‘Chicken wing’ and it always cracks up both me and my viewers.

Speaking of Corpse, him and I have been dating for over a year now. We moved in together a month or two before quarantine was officially a thing so we have been together 24/7. It’s scary how many things you can pick up on when you spend so much time with someone. That, of course, means he has noticed some of my tattoos. He has asked me about them, like why I cover them up and why am I so secretive about them and I’ve always been vague and indirect with my answers. He’s the sweetest and most patient person ever, so he has never pressed me with the questions, but I’m still hoping to gain the courage to reveal them to him someday.

“Thanks for tuning in, guys! See you tomorrow for my regular stream and next month for a chill hang out like this one. Love you, stay safe. Mwah!“ And with that the live video is done and I can finally breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Now we can order dinner“ I smile at Corpse who is chilling on the couch in my recording room. He looks up from his phone screen, returning my smile. “Were you recording a Behind The Scenes again?“

He does that often, not only with my Instagram lives but sometimes my streams as well. That’s actually how we revealed our relationship to our fanbases. 

He nods, “Yeah.” He pauses for a second, switching to a sitting position with his feet touching the floor. We’re almost at eye-level now. His arms snake around my waist as he pulls me closer towards him. I take the hint and settle in his lap, my legs on either side of him. “I admire how well you handled the pressure back there. I know how you feel about that topic.”

The small bit of anxiety that has started spreading throughout my chest disappears. He has that calming effect on me. Like my own personal safety blanket that’s with me at all times. “I wouldn’t have handled it so well if you weren’t here with me.” I say as I run a hand through his hair, moving a few stray curls away from his gorgeous eyes.

He shakes his head, making the strands fall back over his eyes, “It has nothing to do with me, Y/N. You are simply an amazing person, that’s all.“ His cold hand cups my burning red cheek, leaning my head down so our foreheads are touching. “Nothing could change my mind about it.“

That sentence causes a small pang in my chest. I feel like a manipulator. I’ve led this man to fall in love with me without knowing the past versions. I realize it’s incredibly manipulative of me to reveal my dark aspects only after we’re head over heels for one another, but I can live with it. If it were up to me, he’d never have to know. He would never have to find out that I’m not the amazing person he thinks I am. I have been broken countless times before and all my pieces are just glued in place. Not all of them are where they’re supposed to be and some of them are on the verge of breaking off. Just like a mirror. You can put all the pieces together but not only will you see the cracks, the shards can fall at any moment. 

My tattoos are to me as the cracks are to the mirror - evidence of my fragility and the many falls and breaks I’ve had throughout my life.

“Are you sure about that?“ I whisper, trying my hardest to engrave every detail of this moment in my mind because, after what I’m about to do, I’m afraid we might never be like this again.

The softness of his curls, his scent, his warmth, the way he makes me feel. I can hardly believe I’m risking losing all of that, but I owe him the truth.

I feel him nod against my forehead. I tense up and pull away so I can look him in the eyes. It’s hard for me to maintain eye contact especially when I’m fighting back tears. I can’t even say I’m about to lose him. I’m about to let him go. It’s up to him if he stays or decides that he deserves better.

No backing out, Y/N.

I grab the hem of my sweater and lift it up, revealing the many ink drawings on my skin. I discard the sweater on the floor, leaving me in only my bra meaning all my tattoos are on display. Not exactly all, I have some on my legs as well, but these are some of the most important ones. The ones which reveal most about who I used to be.

Corpse takes my hands, tilting my arms so he can take a better look at the tattoos that go from my wrists to the bend of my arm. His thumbs caress the tattoo on each of my wrists. “This one... “ I nod to my left wrist, “I got on my friend’s birthday. We both did. They’re matching.“ The tattoo depicts a heart with a keyhole. “She got the key.“

“I thought I had the key.“ He says, smirking up at me.

“You do now.“ I feel the pang again but this time it doesn’t go away. It’s a constant pain - a constant fear. Being scared of something inevitable is the most nerve-wracking feeling. It makes you feel small, helpless, like you’re standing aside watching your life be controlled by a force you can’t see.

Before he can break me even more, I go on, nodding to my upper arm, a little below my shoulder where there’s a rope tattoo that bends around my arm, its ends connecting in a bow, “I got this one after my shoulder healed.”

His brows furrow in concern as he tilts my head for me to look at him, “Healed from what?”

Here we go. Let the cat out of the bag. “Um....well...” I instinctively reach up to touch my shoulder, running my fingertips over the inked rope. “My dad wasn’t a very nice guy.”

I can pinpoint the second his heart breaks. I don’t want to hear what he has to say, I know it will kill me, so I just continue, moving onto the one on my other wrist where the word ‘Shadow’ is written in cursive writing, “This was my nickname in my friend group. I was the only one to never get caught shoplifting.”

The tears are gonna start rolling at any moment so I deliver the final blow, moving onto the most traumatic event, aka the tattoo on my collarbone of a heartbeat turning into a dead line and kicking up again, “This one I got after I woke up from my almost overdose.”

As if on cue, a tear falls from my eye onto his hand that’s still holding mine. My voice remains still, to my surprise, but I know it won’t be long before it too gives and breaks. I can’t look at him. I don’t want to see any sympathy or that look like he doesn’t recognize me. I feel like I’ve let both myself and him down.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?“ he asks me in a whisper. He sounds almost hurt. “You know you can tell me anything.“

I see another tear fall, “I know. I just...didn’t want you to think any less of me.“

Again, he lifts my head so he can look me straight in the eyes. He knows how much I struggle with eye contact and how much I hate crying in front of people, he knows how vulnerable I feel when someone’s looking me in the eyes or when someone sees me cry. He also knows that he’s the only exception to that rule. He knows I never feel out of place when he’s around. 

“Think less of you? Babe, you’re a fighter like no other. You picked you life back up. You did all that on your own. You’re a warrior, Y/N.“

I smile through the tears which are now ones of joy instead of fear and dread. “I was a dumb teenager, Corpse. I had no idea what I was doing. I just wanted to get a thrill and feel something other than pain. I know I went about it the wrong way but...” he gives my hand an encouraging squeeze, “And you’re wrong, I didn’t do it all on my own.” I release his hand so I can cup his cheek. His hand comes up to cover mine as I swipe my thumb on his cheekbone, “I met you a month after I left the hospital. The rest you know. I moved to a less druggie populated part of town and I repaired my relationship with my aunt. All that time, I was balancing between the need to relapse and the will to stay alive. After I met you, that balancing act was no longer a balancing act at all. I didn’t even think about my past anymore. I was more focused on what I could be. On what I have to be to deserve to have you by my side.” 

“You will always have me on your side, Y/N. Even when you don’t want or need me there.“ With both his hands holding mine he leans forward, connecting our lips. It’s a short kiss laced with nothing but love and adoration. 

As we lay on the couch, him asking about each individual tattoo I didn’t get to tell him about, everything just seems a lot easier. Like a big area that was previously dark has suddenly turned into the brightest point of our relationship.

“I need to get that key tattooed. It’s only appropriate.“ He says, his finger tracing the heart on my wrist.

“Or an ownership deal for it. That heart’s yours, you know.“ I laugh, lifting my arm to inspect the oldest painting on my body, “It’s your favorite one?”

“No.” he shakes his head, “This is my favorite one.” he leans down and kisses the heartbeat on my collar bone. “I’m so glad it started beating again.”

“I am too.“

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus

[orangeoctopi7]

Buzzfeed Unsolved: The Suspicious Crash of Stanley Pines

The theme for @stanuary week 3 is Crime... what about... TRUE CRIME? I started watching Buzzfeed Unsolved this last summer, so I’ve been wanting to do something like this.

If you don’t watch Buzzfeed Unsolved, this is probably gonna seem like a lot of rambling.

On the morning of July Fourth, 1982 in the sleepy logging town of Gravity Falls, Oregon, there was a firey explosion that wasn't part of the fireworks and festivities. A car had gone over the edge of the town's famed floating cliffs.

"Floating cliffs?" Shane asked

"They're like, giant overhangs. They're not just floating up in the middle of the air like Pandora or something." Ryan explained, showing Shane a photo on his phone.

"Oh, that's pretty."

"It is really pretty."

"What a beautiful place for a car to careen over a cliff."

Ryan cracked up.

"You get a lovely view as you plummet to your death." Shane imagined.

Between 6:15 and 6:20 PM, the Gravity Falls Police Department received six separate calls reporting seeing a yellow car in flames drive off the edge of the cliff and crash to the valley below.

When investigators arrived on the scene, they found the remains of a crushed and burnt 1971 Subaru DL Coupe. The police report notes finding that the brakes were cut, and evidence of gasoline being poured into the driver’s seat to start the fire. Strangest of all, no body was found in or around the crash, only a few burnt strands of hair.

“So, right off the bat, real suspicious.” Shane commented.

“Yeah, and it only gets more suspicious from here.” Ryan assured his co-host.

“And I’m assuming there’s no chance that they guy, y’know, got up and walked away from the crash?” 

“Oh, no, no way. You saw the picture of the cliffs.”

“Oh yeah, no way.”

“There’s no way anyone in the car would have survived that fall.”

“And it was on fire.”

“And it was on fire.”

Despite the lack of a body, the police determined from the few burnt strands of hair and an anonymous tip they received at 6:15 PM on the day of the crash, the driver of the car was one Stanley Pines, a 31 year old man from Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. Allegedly, he had been coming to Gravity Falls, Oregon to visit his twin brother, Stanford, who lived just a ten minute drive from the cliff Stan’s car had driven off.

“Wait, wait, wait--” Shane interrupted Ryan’s explanation, “Twin brothers. Named Stanley and Stanford.”

“Yeah.”

“Who the f___ names their kids like that?”

“I know, right?”

“Were they identical twins?”

“Uh, I couldn’t find anything saying they were definitely genetically identical, but, uh, with the way this case goes, it’s safe to assume they were identical enough.”

“Yikes, I feel sorry for them growing up, can you imagine how often people got them mixed up?”

“Yeah, but imagine the kinds of shenanigans they must have gotten up to!”

“Oh, that’s true. There would have been plenty of shenanigans. Lots and lots of shenanigans.”

“If you had twins, would you give them cutesy twin names?” Ryan asked.

“No.” Shane answered firmly.

“I think I’d just do like, alliterative names. Nothing too similar.” 

“Yeah, no I think twins probably have to deal with enough confusion bull___ without having to throw similar names or the same initials into the mix.”

“Interestingly enough…” Ryan started.

“Yeah, I’m guessing from your comments that the twin thing plays into this.”

When interviewed by the police, Stanford claimed his brother never arrived at his house. However, testimonies of other townsfolk reported seeing a red 1967 El Diablo with a distinctive “STNLYMBL” vanity license plate driving up the road to Stanford’s house earlier that winter. The house is out in the woods, isolated from the rest of the town, so no one would drive up that way unless they were going to see the cabin.

“Well what if they just wanted to take a walk out in the woods?” Shane countered.

“It was in early February.” 

“Snowshoeing.”

“In a blizzard.”

“Ok, you do not have a weather report for the exact day they saw this car!”

“Two of the testimonies mention there was a snow storm that day. Plus, the license plate says STANLEY MOBILE.”

“Well, Stanley is a fairly common name.”

“You-you’re just being contrary to bug me now, aren’t you?” Ryan accused.

Shane just grinned.

What’s more, that same red El Diablo was the car Stanford now drove. 

“What!?” Shane laughed with disbelief for a moment before putting on a mocking tone. “Uh, yeah, he never showed up, but, uh, I have his car. I’m still driving it. Y’know, seemed like a waste to just let it sit in the driveway.”

“He didn’t even change the license plate.” Ryan added.

“Oh, of course not!” Shane said sarcastically. “Why go through all that trouble?”

Upon further inspection, the car that crashed was registered to Stanford, and had been reported totaled almost seven years prior.

“It’s interesting that they say it was totaled.” Ryan commented. “Because totalled just means that the damage is more expensive to fix than the car is worth, so it could have still been drivable.”

“And if you’re trying to fake a car crash, what better to use than an already worthless car?” Shane agreed. 

“Exactly.”

Stanley Pines was declared dead by auto accident and the case was closed in September of 1982, due to lack of evidence and quote: “A lack of interest from the involved parties”.

“A lack of interest from the involved parties!? What the h___ does that even mean?” Shane asked in bewilderment.

“It’s odd, to be sure.”

It’s when we look into the background of the presumed dead Stanley, and his brother Stanford, that this case becomes truly bizarre. 

Stanley Pines left home at the age of 17, and had brief but unsuccessful careers as an amature prize fighter and as a salesman, before he turned to a life of crime. Prior to his reported death, he had been in prison five times, in three different countries, and had lived under at least eight different assumed names, with several others that were never confirmed. He had known ties to the mob and drug cartels.

“Quite the shady character. That might explain why the police didn’t look too closely into his ‘death’.” Shane put air quotes around “death”.

“Well, does it? I mean, if they thought his death might have been related to the mob…” Ryan argued.

“They know better than to mess with the mob, even in Oregon.”

“I mean, we have seen in several past True Crime episodes, what can happen if you mess with the mob.”

“Oh yeah.”

“You don’t wanna do it.”

“Nope.”

His brother Stanford was no less strange. He was born with fully-functional polydactyly, meaning he had six fingers on each hand. It’s worth noting that after 1982, Stanford no longer had 6 fingers. He claims that he had them surgically removed, because, quote: “I was sick of people staring.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Shane said doubtfully.

“You don’t believe that explanation?”

“Let’s just say I find it highly suspect.”

Stanford was also a certified genius, graduating with the most PhDs Backupsmore University had ever awarded. As a graduate student, he worked as a researcher and inventor for the US Government. Some sources say he worked on top-secret experiments. 

In 1975, he received a $100,000 research grant, which he used to move to Gravity Falls and become a Paranormal Researcher. When he arrived in Gravity Falls, he was the subject of many rumors throughout the town, due to his reclusive nature and strange area of study. 

“Oh, so this guy was basically you.” Shane pointed out.

“He’s basically me if I didn’t have you.” Ryan agreed.

“Awww, that’s sweet!” Shane placed a hand over his heart.

Many residents reported seeing strange lights coming from Stanford’s home in the woods starting almost as soon as he moved in, as well as strange sounds.

“Well, it seems like Gravity Falls is a pretty small town. People gossip.” Shane reasoned.

“Ok, yeah, but people gossip about who’s cheating on who, or what business secretly sells drugs out the back. They don’t gossip about strange lights coming out of the new neighbor’s basement.”

“They could. It’s gossip. Gossip can be about anything.”

Reports of the lights stopped in late January of 1982. Just four months later, in March, Stanford began opening up his home for tours, and in a matter of weeks, transformed his home into a tourist stop called the “Murder Hut.”

“Oh my g__.” Shane stifled a laugh. “A little on the nose there, don’t you think?”

“He did rename it to the Mystery Shack about a year later.”

“Hmm, yeah I wonder why?” Shane asked facetiously. 

Stanford also exhibited paranoid behavior on several occasions before the crash, especially in the early months of 1982.

One local reported seeing Stanford screaming “No it isn’t, you creeps! I can see you just fine!” down an alleyway. Several other eyewitnesses reported seeing him fall out of his seat at the Triple Digits Truck Stop Diner on Route 14 and scream for something to “get out of his mind” before fleeing the building.

“So, he definitely seemed to think something was out to get him.” Ryan commented.

“Not the words of a sane man.”

“Unless something really was out to get him.”

“Eeeeh, even then…” Shane wiggled his hand in a so-so motion. 

Dan Corduroy, one of the few people who had regular contact with Stanford before he opened the Mystery Shack, had this to say about the sudden change from research lab to tourist trap:

“Oh, he’s definitely been acting differently. He was really shy before, hard to talk to even. He seemed uncomfortable spending a lot of time with people. I’d invite him over to one of my family’s cabins to visit, but he only ever wanted to visit the haunted one while we were all out of town. I’d say it was a good change, though. It wasn’t good for him to be alone all the time like that. I’m glad he’s finally spending time with other people.”

“He only wanted to visit our haunted cabin.” Shane repeated with disbelief. “Hey, do you wanna come over to visit one of our cabins?” He put on a voice. “Uh, that depends, what kind of cabins have you got?’ ‘Well there’s one by the lake, one with a nice view of the valley, and one that’s haunted.’ ‘Oh, I’ll take the haunted one!”

“What gets me is he only wanted to visit the haunted cabin while everyone else was out of town. We’ve stayed in our fair share of haunted places, and it was bad enough staying overnight, just me and you, but there is nothing that could convince me to spend the night in one of those places all by myself.”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure none of the places we’ve been to have actually been haunted, but I see what you mean. It’s not fun to go to a haunted house by yourself. It’s kinda boring.”

“Um, we’re not gonna get into this discussion now, because we still haven’t even gotten to the theories yet, but you’re wrong.”

The case came to light again in August of 2012, when Federal agents arrested Stanford Pines, and detained him for several hours for questioning. By the next day, he had been released, and officials stated that his arrest had been due to a false lead. What exactly that false lead was, however, was never stated.

Now that we’ve gone over the extensive background of this case, let’s get into the theories of what really happened that 4th of July in 1982.

Theory #1: The theory put forth by the police, that Stanley Pines died in a fiery car accident.

“So then how do they explain what happened to the body?” Shane asked.

“It doesn’t say.” Ryan.

“And why were the breaks cut?”

“No explanation given.”

“That’s a stupid theory, those cops ought to be fired.”

Ryan stifled a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

Theory #2: That Stanley killed his brother, made it look like his own death, and took over his brother’s life. This would explain the loss of his extra fingers, the sudden change in behavior that led him to open up the Mystery Shack, and his sudden acquisition of Stanley’s car. It does not, however, explain the lack of a body in the crash.

“He could have disposed of his brother’s body somewhere else, and then just like, left an ice block on the gas pedal and let the car run itself off the cliff.” Shane theorized.

“That’s possible. I was also thinking, maybe the body was gone. Maybe Stanley didn’t necessarily kill Stanford, maybe they met up in the woods, Stanford got eaten by a bear, and Stanley, who was already in trouble with the mob, took advantage of the situation, and faked his own death.”

“How--why did you work your fear of bears into this?” 

“That’s just my variation on this theory.”

“Then why all the secrecy? Why not say that he was the one who got eaten by the bear? Why fake the car crash and then say his brother never showed up?”

“Because if the mob knew he’d talked to his brother before he died, maybe they’d come question him?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a possibility.”

Theory #3: That Stanford killed Stanley and made it look like an accident. People who support this theory say the psychological trauma and guilt of killing his own brother may have driven Stanford to change his appearance and behavior to more closely resemble that of his dead brother.

“That’s… kind of a stretch.” Shane said slowly. “I feel like, Occam's Razor, theory 2 is more plausible.”

“What makes you say that one’s more plausible?”

“I dunno, just saying ‘He killed his brother and took his place’ seems a lot more likely than ‘The other brother killed him and the guilt drove him to act like his brother. I don’t think that’s how psychology works.”

Theory #4: Both brothers are still alive. Stanley, on the run from the mob, came to his brother Stanford for help. Meanwhile, Stanford was worried about someone or something that was out to get him. They came to a solution that would solve both their problems: switching places. They would fake Stanley’s death, throwing the mob off of Stanley’s trail. Then, Stanley would take Stanford’s place in the public eye, while Stanford went into hiding.

This theory is supported by photos that surfaced on Facebook in 2012. Several photos of Gravity Falls after a series of earthquakes did extensive damage to the town show what is supposed to be Stanford. However, another man that looks just like him is seen standing in the background. Interestingly enough, both mens’ hands are obscured in all of these photos. 

While the photos haven’t been analysed by any professionals to definitively determine if either of the men are Stanley Pines, it has been determined that the photos are not edited.

“Would the whole photo recognition software even work on identical twins?” Ryan wondered.

“I don’t think so?” Shane answered unsurely. “I mean, my Facebook facial recognition auto-tag doesn’t even recognize my mom half the time, so I wouldn’t be surprised if twins throw it off.”

“Just looking at some of these photos yourself, what do you think?” Ryan handed a few print-outs from his folder to Shane.

“Oh wow, yeah, they do look alike.” Shane nodded. “Alright, yeah, I’m convinced. We solved it, guys! Video over!”

“We actually do have one more theory.” Ryan informed him.

Theory #5: Stanford was abducted by aliens.

“Oh for f___’s sake--” Shane threw his hands up in frustration. “We have four perfectly good, plausible explanations, and you have to throw that in!”

“This one actually does have some evidence behind it.”

“Bull____, but go on.”

Stanford was a professional paranormal researcher. Although he was very secretive about his research, even to his grant committee, some of his research notes do list looking for proof of ancient aliens visiting the valley before European contact. Could it be the thing he was afraid of was aliens?

“... That’s it?” Shane asked. “When you said this one actually had some evidence behind it, I thought you meant there was a UFO sighting in the same area around the same time.”

“The negative space between the floating cliffs kinda looks like a UFO” Ryan pointed out.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean a random researcher in the 80’s was abducted by aliens! That’s like, if I found a ransom note for you in the office, but I said ‘Well, Ryan was afraid of bears. Bears used to live in California, there’s one on the state flag outside our building. He must have been eaten by a bear.’ That’s the kind of leap in logic we’re talking about!”

Was this a case of fratricide? Or is this the longest and most elaborate twin switch of all time? For now, this case remains… UNSOLVED.

 * * *

“It was really hard for me to stay on topic while I was researching this one.” Ryan admitted as they wrapped things up. “There is a lot of weird stuff related to Gravity Falls, we should go there for an episode one of these days.”

“I’d love to do that, it looks like a beautiful place to visit.” Shane agreed. “Are you sure you wanna do that though? It seems like the place is crawling with haunted cabins and bears.”

“Well, one could argue this entire series is about me conquering my fears, so… Why not?”