#I am literally not well equipped to be handling this much positive attention which is why I’ve been having an existential crisis every other

[sourkitsch]

The fact that the only thing that’s kept me from killing myself the past few months is the fact that a famous art critic said that he’d be keeping an eye out for me. Thanks dude.

[hsisklmkdkwlzllalow]

The fact that the only thing that’s kept me from killing myself the past few months is the fact that a fav prof gave me a book with a note 'maybe it will inspire you to write your great story' and the friends i look up to say they cant wait to see my work how the hell do i not dissapoint them how do i prove worthy of their faith

#adding to the complexes & such.#actually the amount of pressure & expections that literally every adult in my life seem to be placing on me??????#hold on I’m literally working something out right now#obviously are fucking insane considering what the expectations of me growing up were#I am literally not well equipped to be handling this much positive attention which is why I’ve been having an existential crisis every other#week like clockwor #also I’m never not suicidal it’s honestly something I live with just know I’ll mention it from time to time#not currently in a place where I’m actually gonna yknow . do anything. sparkle on

[rinkrats]

🥺 that mike lange story. But also those tags #sid loooves christmas #he loves giving presents #looks good in red #piles on the pounds fast #post hockey career as santa 😂😂👌🏽👌🏽

he loves his mementos and presents and is COMMITTED to them. scrapbooking. matching jackets. little pills with hidden motivational messages~*~ his love language is gifts and neck smooches and stalking geno. relevant right now are some anecdotes i sent a friend earlier this year for dorky sid gifts fic fodder:

1. Crosby's constant thoughtfulness would be impressive from anyone, much less someone of his stature.

"Sid always texts me happy birthday, he's always asking me like, how's Russia?" Evgeni Malkin said. "We talk and message all summer. He asks me how my skates are. He knows, like, everything. He follows my Instagram, I think (laughs)."

In addition to having a handle on those little details, Crosby is constantly providing those around him with memories and mementos. If the team is on the road and goes, say, sightseeing or to a sporting event and takes a group photo, Crosby will later send a framed copy to everyone.

When Ron Hextall and Brian Burke watched their first Penguins game in person, Crosby is the one who approached head equipment manager Dana Heinze and asked for two used game pucks to give to the new GM and president of hockey ops. 

After the Penguins won in 2009, Crosby had jackets made for the three players on the team who had scored a Cup-clinching goal in Game 7: Talbot (Pittsburgh), Ruslan Fedotenko (Tampa Bay) and Mike Rupp (New Jersey).

"They were blue jackets with gold buttons, and each one had a patch on it that said 'GWG Game 7,'" Talbot said. "At one of our first team meals the next season, he presented us with the jackets and did a big ceremony with the music and stuff. We had a private room in the restaurant. I still have the jacket."

-The Consummate Teammate, Captain and Ambassador, Feb 2021

2. Merz: My first interaction with Sid was when we were on the bench, guys were talking about a teammate, and the first thing this 15-year-old says is, “Hey, guys. Let’s keep everything positive. Don’t talk about your teammates that way.”

Salcido: When we were getting ready for nationals, he found these little pills that you could put a hidden message inside. They unscrewed, and inside was a tiny scroll. He gave one to every teammate. … He had everyone fill one out. He didn’t tell anyone what to write, but he made it known that we all knew what the goal was: winning nationals. So we wrote on our scrolls, rolled them up and put them in the pill thing. We kept them with us everywhere we went.

-‘Is this real?’: Stories of Sidney Crosby’s year at a Minnesota prep school, May 2020

3. On “Butterfly Boy” Jonathan Pitre:

Though the Senators are his team, Sidney Crosby has always been Jonny’s favourite player. After the TSN documentary airs, Tina gets a call from the Penguins. Sid needs Jonny’s measurements. He wants to have a suit made for him by his personal tailor, Domenico Vacca.

“It’s the kindest, sweetest gesture,” Tina says. “Sid heard that Jonny went to a lot of games, so he wants him to look like he’s one of the guys.”

“I want him to feel like a pro,” Crosby says. “Here’s a guy who is going through something so painful, and his first thought is always, ‘How can I help others?’ When I was young, I’d watch on TV the players coming to the rink in their suits. That was a cool part of being an NHL player. I want him to feel that, to make it as real as possible for him.”

Tina tries to discreetly measure Jonny while she’s changing his dressings. But he’s way too smart for that.

“Um, Mom, why are you measuring me? Am I going for surgery again?” he asks.

“No, no!” Tina replies, trying to reassure him and come up with a good lie, all in the same breath. “The doctor needs them just to make sure they have proper dressings next time you are in.”

A few weeks later, the sharp navy blue suit shows up at their front door, along with a couple of ties, an autographed stick and a handwritten letter from Sid. 

“His eyes just light up,” Tina says. “Jonny always liked to be well-dressed, and he just loves having his own suit. It fits perfectly. He looks so good in it.”

-Beauties by James Duthie (2020)

4. Pascal Dupuis inspired his Pittsburgh Penguins teammates on their run to the Stanley Cup, and Sidney Crosby found a special way of driving that message home.

Dupuis retired in December with lingering health concerns because of blood clots. Despite his NHL playing days coming to an end, the veteran forward remained an integral part of the Penguins and was in uniform to hoist the Cup after Pittsburgh's six-game win against the San Jose Sharks in the Stanley Cup Final.

On Sunday, Dupuis brought the Cup home one last time as a player to share a special day with his family, friends and hometown fans.

"Yes, it does feel bittersweet a little bit," Dupuis said. "You get the Cup, you want to celebrate. But at the same time I got a gift by the mail [Saturday]. Basically, it's a book of all the pictures of all the good stuff we went through. It came from Nova Scotia, so you guys can figure out who it came from (Crosby), but he couldn't give it to me during the season, he saw me skating a little bit.

"And he sent it [Saturday], before my day with the Cup, so he knew what he was doing to get me right here," Dupuis said, putting his fist over his heart.

-Pascal Dupuis shares Stanley Cup with family, friends, Aug 2016

5. In 2011, Crosby was out of the lineup with a concussion, and the Penguins made their annual visit to Children’s Hospital.

Crosby got along so well with one boy there and was so touched that he later asked Bullano to go back... just the two of them, no cameras, no attention.

When Bullano and Crosby met for the follow-up visit, Crosby appeared clutching a pair of Toys “R” Us bags, filled with a Transformer toy the two had discussed.

“He literally bought every type of this toy they make,” Bullano said. “[Crosby] had never seen it before and thought it was so cool.

“There are no pictures of this. There’s no video. He was laying in the bed with the kid. They were just playing. We were there for over two hours. I got to know the mom really well because we were just sitting there.

“The kid had no idea. Didn’t expect it. They had no idea he was coming. We got there and he said, ‘Hey buddy. hope you don’t mind that I came back.’ The kid couldn’t believe it.

“[Crosby’s] crazy cool about stuff like that.”

What’s crazy is trying to recount the many times stuff like this has happened with Crosby:

• The Little Penguins Learn to Play program has been around for nine seasons, outfitting now 1,200 kids with free head-to-toe hockey equipment. Not only does Crosby serve as the face of the program — which the NHL has now adopted — but he helps fund it, too.

“There’s an awareness of what a person in his position can bring,” Penguins vice president of communications Tom McMillan said. “I think he activates that as much as anybody I’ve seen during his playing career.”

• After a recent practice, Crosby noticed a local family in the Penguins dressing room, approached them, introduced himself, learned their story and wound up giving them a signed stick.

Nobody asked Crosby to do that, and he wanted zero credit when discussing it a couple days later.

“For people who have the opportunity to come in here, people dealing with certain things, if you can brighten their day a bit or spend some time with them, it’s something that’s special for all of us,” Crosby said.

• A few years ago, through a team charity event, Crosby befriended a 4-year-old Amish boy with cancer. Crosby remarked to Bullano how much he loved talking to the boy because of how engaging the boy was and how he wasn’t consumed with technology. Crosby even tried to visit the boy but learned he had passed away.

• He learns the first and last names of the kids who attend his hockey school in Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia.

“Two kids came from Japan its first year,” Bullano recalled. “He was so blown away by that. He couldn’t wait to meet them.”

• Earlier this season, the Penguins welcomed Grant Chupinka, 24-year-old cancer patient, into the dressing room. Crosby chatted up Grant and his parents, Steve and Kim.

He spent his usual time — about two or three times the requirement. Gave the tour. Then found out the Chupinkas didn’t have tickets for that night’s game and decided he would pay for them to go.

“I’m sure he could just give them an autographed puck or something, but he takes his time to go out and see them and talk to them and get to know them,” Brian Dumoulin said. “It speaks volumes for him and who he is as a person.”

Spend any length of time with Crosby during his visits with those less fortunate, and a few things become obvious.

One, Crosby is really good at these. Smooth but not in a slimy way. Sweet. You know how when you’re around someone talking and they go out of their way to make eye contact with everyone around? That’s Crosby.

He’s also humble, always introducing himself like those he’s meeting don’t already know. Holding a hand is no issue. And Crosby is the rare 20-something pro athlete without kids who acts every bit like he does.

“It is not an easy situation to talk to someone with terminal cancer,” McMillan said. “A lot of people couldn’t do that. He has an amazing ability to do that and make that person feel good.”

Crosby has welcomed several Make-a-Wish kids and tries, if at all possible, to schedule such events for practice days — to maximize the time he’s able to spend.

He’s developed a special friendship with Patrick McIlvain, a soldier who nearly died when he took a bullet to the head in Afghanistan. McIlvain actually does physical therapy with one of Crosby’s sticks.

A former club hockey player at Cal U, McIlvain comes by every year, and the Penguins don’t even bother to tell Crosby. Either he already knows or immediately stops what he’s doing to come say hello.

“He’s not doing it to leave a legacy,” said Terry Kalna, Penguins vice president of sales and broadcasting. “His numbers leave the legacy. He’s just a down-to-Earth, good guy.”

Before a visit, Crosby has Bullano email him what is essentially a scouting report on who he’s going to meet. He likes to learn about them, their situation and what they’ve been through. As much information as he can ingest. Crosby never just swoops in, shake a hand and leave.

“As much as anyone has ever seen, he accepts the responsibilities of being not just a professional athlete but a star professional athlete,” McMillan said. “He views it as part of the job. Like coming to the morning skate. That’s just what you do.”

Put another way, “he owns those moments,” says Kalna.

Said Bullano, “He’s just a good human being.”

-When it comes to giving, Sidney Crosby does as much as he can, Feb 2017

6. When Crosby received a generous signing bonus on his Reebok deal, he wanted to share it with everyone.

“He gave everyone on the bus gifts,”  says Oceanic radio commentator Michel Germain. “Him sharing his bonus with all the people he’d been travelling with for two years, that impresses me greatly. I think the most important thing about Sidney Crosby is his personality and the kind of human being he is. What he exuded. The inner richness he’d already developed.” 

-Superstitious and generous, Dec 2006

7. also this simply because it makes me ;w;

Even in defeat — no, especially in defeat — Sidney Crosby proved why he wears the "C" for the Penguins.

After the game, with his heart sinking and his season over, the Penguins’ captain bent over, sank to the ice to pick up the puck, took it to linesman Tony Sericolo and then skated to his team’s handshake line.

I immediately thought of a View from Ice Level I’d written on Crosby making sure a retiring official was sent away from PPG Paints Arena properly. I knew picking up the puck wasn’t for the same reason that was, but I also knew, in some way, it was connected to Crosby’s awareness and respect of the game.

“It was for the Islanders,” Crosby told me after the game, his eyes swollen from a first round exit – by way of a sweep to make it worse. He told me how the winning team always wanted the puck, and it was his way of providing it for the Islanders.

Crosby looked me right in the eye as he told me this, just as he did with every other member of the media to come to him after the loss.

I could tell from those swollen eyes and the way he sat at his stall, by himself with his hands folded as he stared blankly, that Sidney Crosby is much more used to being on the receiving end of a puck when a series ends than he is at retrieving it for the winning team.

That scene. His swollen eyes. Staying in the locker room until most had left – talking to anyone who needed him. Most of all, though, picking up the puck that prompted my question in the first place and making sure the right people got their piece of their own history.

It all adds up to one thing: In victory and in defeat, Crosby respects the game above all else – just as he’s always done.

-Even in defeat, Crosby shines, April 2019

[lovelybarnes]

god- l. laufeyson (part 2)

pairings: loki laufeyson x reader, platonic!tony stark x reader, mentions of nick fury warnings: language and minor angst about: part 2 to god a/n: i apologize for taking so long to post it, i was having trouble coming up with the little details and honestly just writing overall but it’s up!! and another bucky fic will be up tomorrow or saturday!!

loki is suspicious after you leave. in the- admittedly short- time he’s been shoved away and locked in a cage to rot, he had seen you all of two times, and he was enthralled. flabbergasted, too, surprised that a simple mortal managed to stay hidden in the deep parts of his brain and refuse to leave. you were… interesting, just as you had described him: not as a villain, or evil, or horrendous, but captivating; unbelieving that he would do anything for no good reason.

whether that was true or not was still up for debate, so he had yet to decide if you were incredibly intelligent or the simple, stupid mortal he thought you all to be. nevertheless, he found himself slightly disappointed when you left, waving goodbye to him and tucking your book under your arm. while he tried to dissolve the sensation, tony stark came bounding in, standing as close as he could to the glass barrier. stark barked words that loki didn’t care much for, ignoring the man. he could see you wince from inside the elevator, a sliver of your face still available from the closing doors.

“hey, hey!” stark barked, snapping his fingers at loki. the god tilted his head at him, “yes?” he asks, voice dripped in more annoyance than usual. “that girl who just came out of here?” stark started, while loki took a minute to examine his words, “girl,” was she not an accomplished avenger? he thought tony of all people would show the respect that loki thought none of them deserved. “if you even think about doing anything to her, i will bring in the big guy to slam you around some more. you remember him? or do you need a refresher?”

loki nearly scowls at the mention of hulk, body reminding the strange ache that was left after the oaf slammed him into the floor. he only chuckles lowly, though, “how much do you distrust a fellow avenger to believe they cannot handle themselves?” loki muses. tony scoffs, shaking his head, “i really don’t think you’re in a position to question me.”

“i’m a god. i am always in the position i wish to be in,” loki reminds, making tony roll his eyes, “you’ll never see her again if i can help it. and i can,” he says. “oh, but i like her!” loki rebuts, riling tony up, “so sweet, don’t you think?” tony freezes, abruptly turning around and slamming a hand against the glass, “you will not lay a hand on her. i’ll make sure of it.”

“i seem to remember midgardians can usually do as they please,” loki replies smoothly. “and you really think she’ll want to spend time with a monster?” tony questions. loki smirks, “i suppose i simply have a feeling.”

-

tony is seething when he comes to your lab, having switched with steve to come talk to you. you’re humming along to a song he doesn’t bother to recognize. “you’re in a good mood,” tony observes. at the sound of his voice, you turn, taking your earbuds out and grinning at him. you press what he assumes is the pause button on your phone, “tony! i’ve actually been meaning to ask you something,” you begin. tony raises an eyebrow to tell you to continue. “it’s about loki,” you continue, anxious about his reaction. the man pauses, exhaling softly, “oh. i know what you want to- i’m so sorry for doing that to you, y/n. i promised that i wouldn’t put you with him and we should’ve been more prepared. it won’t happen again.”

the confusion is clear on your face, vocally affirming it with a “huh?”

“that’s what you wanted to talk about, right? babysitting loki?”

“well, yes, but no, it actually wasn’t bad, i wanted to bring up the idea of maybe allowing him books? or maybe music or something, i can’t imagine going from having any book at your fingertips to none at all. also, he’s not getting enough food and i wanted to talk to you abou-” tony stops you with a raised hand, “what?” you recognize the conversation won’t end too well, so you try to phrase your words in a way that tony won’t get too angry at. “i just- when i was watching him, i thought we could be a little less… cruel.”

“with the guy who tried to take over earth?” tony retorts, you sigh softly, already beginning to feel resigned. “he still deserves to eat,” you defend weakly, “come on, tony, please? i’ll watch over him myself when he’s listening to music or reading or eating and i’ll take it back when i have to leave.” tony shakes his head, “someone will always be watching, and it won’t be you.” you frown, “why? don’t you trust me? i’m an avenger, tony. i’m not weak or useless, it’s just watching over someone who is literally in a cage. he can’t even escape.” tony���s about to say no again, so you press, “how come nick fury- man who doesn’t trust- trusts me enough to do that but you don’t?”

tony’s fingers squeeze the space between his eyebrows, eyes closed. he contemplates the effects if he refuses, no doubt ending in the thinning-by-the-minute thread that is your trust in him completely snapping.

“fine,” he finally agrees, and your frustrated frown melts back into a relieved small smile, “but everything you give him has to go through someone else first. i don’t care if it’s fury or hill or romanoff or me, but it has to be approved.” you nod quickly, “yes, of course.” tony raises a finger, “and, you will watch him the whole time. you got yourself into this, kid. i trust you can protect yourself from him if you ever need to.” you agree, “absolutely, and, uh-” you reach into your bag, pulling out the book finnegan’s wake, and your old ipod, equipped with a single downloaded song and earbuds plugged in. “i actually have already chosen a book and a song that i think he would appreciate during the time he tells me himself what he would like and while it gets approved, and um,” you push the objects toward tony, a surprised look lining his features, “since you have time now… the ipod has only that one song and i doubt he can do anything with either of the items, although i’ll be here if he does.”

“you picked these out for him?” tony questions, and you nod again, “i don’t really know him, i doubt anybody does, but i thought james joyce was a good guess considering.” tony looks from the objects in your hand back to you, before sighing and grabbing them. “i want to break free?” he asks, holding up the ipod. you feel your cheeks heat, “music is hard, i went for the obvious.”

tony exhales, looking down at the book, “fine, both are approved.”

“what, you’re not gonna check to see if i carved out a hole into the book and put the tesseract in there so he could escape?” you ask sarcastically, taking back the items while he rolls his eyes. “no, i trust you.” you grin, “you better. there’s no reason for you to not,” tony agrees with you softly, genuinely feeling bad while he kisses your cheek in goodbye. “steve was just called on a mission and needs a replacement, so you better get down there. bowser isn’t in a good mood today.”

you huff out a light laugh at the nickname, cradling your dear books and tangling your fingers in the cords of the earbuds while you walk to the elevator. you catch your bottom lip between your teeth while you watch the numbers blink above the elevator doors, nerves from your choices finally making a home in the pit of your stomach and making your grip tighten on the items. you really don’t know him, and one of the few things that you do know about him is that he isn’t the nicest- although you think it probable that it was warranted- which begins the inkling of regret of your carefully-picked choice to form. you try your best to push past it though, attempting to reassure yourself through the fact that loki’s reading options are limited, and as evil as everyone (including him) claims he is, you suspect (hope) that there is something in him that can’t simply disregard kind gestures. you suppose that theory is from what thor has told you about frigga. you hope it’s correct.

the elevator dings, knocking your thoughts off their destructive railroad and your attention to the shield guard wearily eyeing you and what you carry. “hey, wally,” you greet, shooting him a smile as you walk over to him, pulling your id card from your pocket. “what’cha got there?” he asks, sitting up straighter in his chair to look closer at you. “a- already approved by tony stark- book and song for loki. you know how much he had access to in asgard?” you question. he shakes his head, and you sigh, “me neither. but i imagine it’s a lot, and i don’t think he’s been introduced to our books yet.”

wally stares at you for a few seconds, before pursing his lips, “already approved by stark?” he checks, “already approved by tony,” you repeat. “just no ear things. don’t want him to choke somebody,” he instructs, holding out his hand. you oh quietly, hurriedly pulling off the headphones and putting them in his hand. wally only nods then, trusting you enough to not ask for any more reassurance, and pressing a button next to him to allow you into another elevator. the ride is much shorter, and you bounce on your heels, fidgeting with the edge of the book.

you barely recognize when the doors part, the slick-haired god already examining you. “in asgard, it is strongly discouraged to damage books like you are doing,” loki states. you stop your picking, dropping your hand and walking inside. “hello to you too, loki.” the god ignores you, instead focused on what is in your arms. “i thought any pleasantries for you weren’t allowed down here,” he says, eyes focused on your ipod. “ah, not if you ask nicely,” you reply, standing next to the chair, “and, these aren’t for me.”

you set your own book down on the floor- a very cliche wuthering heights, but it was either that or romeo and juliet, and you’d prefer not get caught reading about a forbidden romance while watching a villain- and hold up the one for him, grinning. “so i don’t know much about asgard or its books because thor hasn’t budged yet on taking me, but from what i can gather, you have little to no media from here, right?” loki ducks his chin suspiciously in response. “so i can imagine you haven’t read shakespeare, or james joyce, which reminds me a lot of you, so…”

you offer no more explanation, putting the book on your chair and showing him the ipod, walking closer to the glass. “this is an ipod. it’s used to play songs offline, and i picked one out for you. i don’t know if you’ll like it because i don’t really know what type of music you like or if you like it at all-” you pause, finally recognizing how long it had been since he’d talked. “but, uh, i hope you do.”

you look up at him then, unsurprised to find him already staring back at you. “you did this for me… why?” he queries skeptically. “i told you before; i imagine it’s difficult to go from everything to nothing in a day. and i think it must be boring to be trapped in there all day with nothing to do.”

loki still looks distrustful, but you grab the book, pulling out the key card to open his food slot. “i can’t leave these in here after i leave, but i’ll stay until you finish both,” you assure, pushing the book through the small gap. your ipod is still in your hands as you walk back near him. he looks at you for a few moments longer before his eyes flick to the book. “and there are no… explosives? poison of some kind in that?”

you shake your head, “no, of course not.”

loki narrows his eyes at the paperback anyways, walking towards it apprehensively. “when you want me to, i can teach you how the ipod works and you can listen to the song. it’s by a rock band called queen,” you babble, watching as he slowly observes the book before picking it up at an even more leisurely pace.

“i’m going to go sit over there now. just let me know if you need something,” you can’t seem to stop talking, so you focus instead on your legs moving you back to your seat, picking up your novel before sitting. you’re about to ramble on about something else again, until you notice the publication in loki’s hands, slightly panicking at the immediate rush of satisfaction and happiness it gives you when he opens the first page.

you try to avoid the sound of turning pages when you stay stuck on the same sentence, too concerned about why your neck decided to warm when the god accepted your favor.

“you can play it,” loki voices suddenly, almost as if reading the loud thoughts about your decision on the song. he looks up at you, “reading is usually accompanied by light music, but i suppose i could listen to rock.”

you nod, pressing a button on the small device that makes the beginning notes bounce off the walls of the room. your fingers gently tap along to the beat on the edge of your page without your noticing, too used to the melody to not react. you try not to look too hard at loki to watch for his reaction, too interested if he’ll like it or not.

after the first minute passes by and he doesn’t object to the sound, you count this as a win, allowing yourself to relax into your chair and actually read the words lined on the page, discovering them to make a lovely combination. you only notice when the song ends when loki speaks up, “it is okay,” he compliments, “i enjoyed it. i think i’d enjoy your so called queen.” you chuckle softly, “i thought you would. do you have any favorites here so i can add them for next time?”

“no,” loki responds, not taking his eyes off the page. “i’ll find some for you, then,” you promise, then press play on the ipod again, not missing the tiny quirk of loki’s lips, making you way too giddy than you should be.

-

after it has been over six hours and loki has barely finished finnegans wake, you’re completely sure he took extra time to read it; whether it be to absorb it better or simply have more time with it in his hands, you don’t care, pride swelling up in your chest because you did something right for him. he hadn’t complained about the repeated song, and you can’t blame him. the sounds are a lot more entertaining than the cold silence that usually occupies the space where he resides.

you ask loki more about what he thought, attempting to coerce him into telling you his preferences, until tony is calling you up.

you’re about to leave, both books and ipod in hand when you pause.

“y/n,” loki starts, and you realize it is the first time you’d hear your name out of his mouth. you decide you like how it sounds in his voice, not disregarding how you shouldn’t. “yes?” you answer instead, meeting his eyes. “thank you.”

you swallow, surprised at the genuinity in his voice while you nod, “it was no problem.”

loki finds it disturbing how much he dislikes seeing you walk away.

[endless-vall]

Someone who needs me more - Kayden x MC fanfic

Summary: After twelve years of being queen, Angelica finds that Cordonia doesn’t need her that much anymore. But there might be someone who does. Or, at least, there might be someone in the close future.

Author’s note: So, something that really spoke to me was when mc told Kayden that she won’t be married to Fabien forever. That she’ll leave him when Cordonia won’t need her. Or, more specifically, when someone else would need her more. This made me think of this fanfic, as well as a epiloge for ‘The Royal Masquerade’.

This is my tribute to TRM. I think it was a really good book. Sure, some things could’ve been handled better, and not as rushed, but overall this was a great story and a really nice way to tell about the story how TCATF/TRR connect.

Tagging: @cora-nova @lilyofchoices @paisleylovergirl@dandeservestheworld @mfackenthal @quacksonlover@blackcatkita @writtenbycandy .  Let me know if you wanna be tagged in future works for Ethan x MC/Open Heart/Perma tag! Let me know if you want to be untagged! ^^  

Angelica was married to Fabien for twelve years now. She was happy, but not in love.

Well, she was in love, just not with Fabien.

Her and Kayden were seeing each other in secret for twelve years now.

She’d married Fabien. She had his child - Gideon. They were great rulers together. Good parents. Good friends.

And slowly, but surely... Cordonia didn’t need her as much. Fabien learned the ways of the court, he was a fine leader on his own now.

So she faded into the background. Attended less balls and events.

She let Fabien take the lead in the rare times she did make an appearance.

And Angelica... Started feeling something new. A familiar feeling.

Some morning dizzyness, a sore back. Her missed cycle.

Could it be...?

After consulting a trusted, anonymus physican that Vasco reccomended her, it was clear.

“Fabien...” She got her husband’s attention. His eyes rose up from his cup of tea. They were having a drink together in the garden. In all truth, it was a rare occurance these days. Fabien knew, too, that that time was coming. Sooner, rather than later.

“Yes, darling?”

While they never fell in love, and both had their own lovers, they did grow fond of each other. They did care for each other, like you do for a family member. 

They did have a son, who they both cared for and watched grow, teaching him the ways of the court as well as the important things in life.

One of them was... Following your heart. And Angelica was ready to follow hers.

“I am...” She stood up, suddenly a bit flushed. She haven’t said it out loud yet. Not even once...

“With child.” She caressed her yet-to-be belly.

“Oh,” He was taken by surprise, taking in her words.

Her solemn look told him everything he needed to know. “Oh...” He gasped, this time - in realization.

“Yes,” She smiled, not able to contain herself.

It was Kayden’s child.

“I guess this is it, then.” He rose up, forgetting their tea behind.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” She bit her lower lip. “Although you have to promise to bring Gideon over for visits, every once in a while!” She instructed.

“It won’t be easy, given the court has eyes everywhere. But I promise I will.” He did as she comanded.

“Good.” Angelica nodded.

Somehow, in an awkawrd way... They both knew this was goodbye.

Fabien extended his hands, inviting her in for a hug. Angelica nodded before wrapping her hands around him.

She spent the rest of that afternoon with Gideon. She made sure he knew he was loved, and that he’ll grow up to be a good leader.

It won’t be easy not being able to see him everyday like she was used to, but she knew this was for the best.

The queen having a bastard will bring a scandal, and besides, she was always planning to retire with Kayden, not Fabien, in the end of it.

Kayden remained a royal guard. He wasn’t the leader of the royal guard, after the scandal of him being a sorcerer, but it worked in their favor.

He was reduced in his rank, but made it all the more easy for him and Angelica to meet in secret, and to, one day, disappear completely.

“Care to join me for a ride?” Angelica surprised Kayden that night.

They met in the hallway, leading to the stables.

“A ride?” He looked out the window, it was getting quite dark right about now.

He haven’t seen Angelica all day, which wasn’t a surprise but considering her offer, Kayden couldn’t help but suspect there was another matter on the table.

“Yes, I think we could use one. Vasco made all the arragements.” She motioned him to follow her.

Kayden blinked at her in confusion, but he trusted Angelica enough to follow her. He trusted her with his entire life.

When they arrived to the stables, Vasco was standing there with two horses. Both had their saddles on, and equipment secured on them.

Some food, clothes, a bag for the important possessions, and a map.

Kayden gulped. “Are we going on a trip, my queen?” He asked. He probably knew what this meant, but couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Not quite,” Angelica grinned, pleased with herself.

“So?” A glint of hope escaped Kayden’s eyes.

“I thought maybe it was time we got ourselves a nice little place in the country-side. Open up a bakery. Have some kids running around...” Angelice closed her eyes, seeing the picture in her mind. Her voice dreamy... Promising.

“Kids?” Kayden almost choked out. His hands wrapped around her waist, loosely.

“Yes,” She placed her arm over her stomach. Her baby-bump might not have been visible yet, but Angelica could already imagine the joy of holding their baby in her arms.

Kayden broke into a smile. A tear running down his cheek.

“I want nothing more than that... Are you sure?” He was beaming at her.

Angelica didn’t reply. She just smiled back, just as happy as he was, a nodded.

“If I may be so bold...” Vasco cleared his troath and brought the couple back to reality. “She’s sure. And you two have to leave soon, if you want to pass undetected.” He raised an eyebrow, giving Kayden the leash of his horse.

Kayden nodded and accepted it. “Of course.”

Vasco then turned to Angelica. “Thank you, Vasco. For everything.” Angelica hugged him, surprising the older man.

She was positive he was blushing. “I’m just carrying out my duty, to you, and your family. Ahm, but... For what’s it worth... You were like family to me. And I truly wish you both joy and peace in whatever you choose from here on.”

“Thank you Vasco. I consider you family too. And don’t worry. Annalisa will convince you all to visit sooner or later, when she learns of what you did for me.” Angelica winks at him.

“I shall tender my resignation at once, if it comes to that, my lady.” He bowes, and Angelica chuckles. “I’m afraid my sister won’t let you off so easy, Vasco. Goodbye,”

She and Kayden take off, and ride into the sunset... Quite literally.

She’d wanted to say goodbye to her sister, but unfortunately Annalisa and Percival were away.

Angelica herself was supposed to go onto a trading-summit, the next day...  which would be the perfect cover for her and Kayden.

A wild animal attack...

The queen and one of the royal guards never to be found again...

....

A few months pass. The palace mours their queen.

Annalisa, Percival, Vasco and the Rosario aunts get an invetation. It doesn’t say much, but a location.

They travel to a peaceful village, full of farmers and kind people. They pass by a newly-built bakery, and Vasco hides a smile although Annalisa teases him about knowing more than he lets on.

They finally arrive onto their destination.

A beautiful yet humble church, with a beautiful garden before it. The five of them passed through the doors, meeting some unfamilar faces seated across the grand hall.

But two familiar faces did catch their eye.

Kayden, at the end of the hallway, and one pretty bride beaming at them.

“Finally, we can begin,” Angelica rushed to their side. “Sister, will you walk me down the aisle?”

Annalisa teared up, her smile glowing. “Yes, yes I will!” 

[loyally-unfaithful]

—; hey, i don’t need any love or future , (3)

word count: 3.1k

pairing: sky high | keith goodman/gn!reader

genre: angst, hurt-no-comfort

summary: even if it meant that he spent more time away from you, than with  you—for the safety of everyone living in this city, including you, he will keep going. if it were to protect everyone here, if it were to protect you, he will keep going. for your smile, for your laughter, his sun.

if it were for your happiness, he will keep going.  

a/n: i have literally never written an action scene send help ,,,, there is only so many ways for me to describe air in a threatening way dkslfjalkfjand

also, wiki says sky high's hobby includes thinking,,,, hmmm he thonking

he is surprisingly perceptive and oblivious at once, in equal measures, scary haha

he was heading home, so how did he even get here in the first place?

he’s not as naive as people may think. sure, he has his moments; sure, his airheadedness may have been an integral part of his personality. perhaps keith could even be qualified as foolishly optimistic. but the hero’s occasional obliviousness is what made him him, it was what made him charming. it was what endeared him to you. but clueless and lacking tact he was not. it was hard to be when one has been in the industry for as long as he has. certes, he may not have as many years under his belt as wild tiger or rock bison, but he has gone through his fair share of rodeos. enough time for the novelty and the lustre to wear off. enough times for him to get acquainted with the notion that being a hero isn’t all that simple and evident—not that the blond was looking for an easy way to further his own reputation or to revel in the limelight. but after enough times, once the glitter and sparkle has worn off, the personal sacrifices made often outweighed what was won as the career grew to become increasingly demanding.

it isn’t just as easy as appealing to sponsors and scoring points. it’s not just as effortless as repeating the speech you prepared beforehand and rehearsed out loud in front of your own reflection. it isn’t just a matter of apprehending “bad guys”, branding yourself as the paragon of virtue and justice by capturing what people would label as scums. after all, he knows better than to assume that right and wrong, good and bad, are two clear cut binaries. the world isn’t black and white, the world isn’t as easily divided into two groups—those who are right and those are wrong, those who are good and those who are evil—as he may have naively thought when he began his career. it’s cliche’d, it’s overused, it’s been repeated so often that it has lost its meaning and has become redundant: the world is every shade of grey, every criminal that he captures all have their circumstances, everyone has their reasons. sure, some are out only due to a wanton lust for chaos, but it would be unjust and unwise to assume that every thief, every con artist, every murderer, are the same.

that’s why the hero wants to give all of them the benefit of the doubt, offer them a second chance, or a third, or how many times it takes for them to redeem themselves.

the evening had not been that different for the hero: he too longed to be back by your side, much preferring to spend the night differently. glancing at the clock on his hud, the blond figured that you would be asleep. you were waiting back at home. faintly, a smile appeared on his face. with a subtle shake of his head, he pushed away his selfish desires and willed himself to focus on the task at hand, attentively watching over this city. to his surprise, but not his displeasure, the patrol had proved itself to be unusually uneventful and rather dull, marked by an incredible lack of events or occurrences that required his intervention. no criminals to be seen, no signs of any incidents occurring. even if it was dull, it comforted the hero that he didn’t have to act: it meant that everything was alright. pleased with what he had seen so far, he decided to turn around and head back to his flat, calling it a night.

he was heading home, so how did he even get here in the first place?

his patrol was about to come to an end without much fanfare when he caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure lurking in an abandoned construction site near his apartment in the corner of his eye. for the most part, the person’s identity was concealed by the all-consuming darkness and were it not for the built-in night vision in his helmet he would’ve never noticed them. the unknown figure’s movements were precise, too precise, purposeful as they silently jumped from platform to platform and expertly navigated the unfinished building. from where he flew, the only thing visible to him was their back, but something about the way they manoeuvred around the rubble, about the way they kept glancing side to side to observe their surroundings, made them suspicious. deciding that they were worth keeping an eye on, the hero moved cautiously, quietly, and sought to increase the distance from them to observe them from afar, as the figure was already on high alert. it was tricky, but he tried to get a better look at the questionable person, and perhaps even discern their identity, without alerting them. pivoting to the right angle, he caught sight of their face and though hidden behind his helmet, his eyes widened in recognition: that mask!

« stop right there! »

halting in their sprint across the beam, the figure abruptly swiveled their head in time to catch sight of and dodge a particularly vicious whirlwind. their combat boots skidded loudly on the concrete as they landed on a roof. dust settled back on the floor after being disturbed by the person’s display of acrobatics. from their slightly crouched position, the person slowly lifted their gaze at their attacker. whatever light the moon provided illuminated the figure, bathing them in an eerie blue glow, and the hero was finally able to get a clear look at the individual, which confirmed his suspicions. there was no mistake: the silver gas mask, the crimson symbol running down its left-hand side. there was no mistake.

« intercessor! he called out, loud and clear. »

though they never called themselves such, criminals and law enforcement members alike dubbed them so because of the type of operation they engaged in: serving as the bridge, a mediator, between gangs and criminal groups; offering them resources and intel; smuggling out weaponry and equipment, or even providing information on other organisations, locations, or heroes. a bit of an outlier, the criminal has only just recently appeared in the public eye, but has never made any attempt to involve themselves with the general public, avoiding from being seen for too long or to even reveal the alias they went under. despite their recent emergence, it’s been assumed that they’ve been active for at least a few years—if the testimony of captured criminals and graffiti of their symbol, the same symbol as the one on their mask, a stylised illustration of an open eye with a streak of red paint (perhaps representing a tear), were anything to go by.

though it had been nothing but a hunch, something about the criminal was very familiar to him. something about the way they moved and fought reminded the hero of a case he had been assigned to earlier in his career. but the two did share any other resemblance beyond that, so he pushed that observation to the back of his mind.

on a surface level, it seemed like they were harmless as most of their operations were covert, never directly endangering the city, but they would ultimately compromise its safety as they indirectly aid more malicious criminals in their goals. the hero frowned behind his mask. for that reason, they must be stopped before that happens.

« now that i am here, your villainy has come to an end! »

the hero warned them, making his voice be heard. even when the cameras were not on him, he unconsciously followed the dramatic performance he had practiced over and over, and assumed a dramatic stance, one hand on his hips and the other pointing at the criminal in question, attempting to exert pressure to make them give up without putting up a fight.

« a hero? the criminal’s distorted voice echoed discordantly, unfazed. leave me be, static reverbated harshly in the empty building as they ordered him. i’m not looking for a confrontation. »

their words coincided with their established modus operandi: operating under the darkness, out of sight, and escaping if they were to be spotted, rather than seeking out confrontation. however, despite their stated disinterest in engaging the hero in a fight, they poised their hands and prepared themselves to retaliate. momentarily taking a blue glow, they summoned two strong gusts of wind of their own and released them on the waiting hero. despite the ferocity of the attack, he easily evaded them with the help of his jet pack and advantageous position. the criminal clicked their tongue, annoyed at their failed frontal attack.

as expected, despite their shared next power, it seemed that the criminal was not as experienced as their opponent—both in terms of handling their ability and combat experience, they fell short. frustrated, they lifted their arms once more and made it clear that they were determined to continue their assault until the hero left them alone. swinging their arm up, they commanded a vortex to strike the hero, managing to graze his arm. shrugging it off, he created a strong blast and asked them to stand down. they sidestepped, and returned the hero’s attack. the latter dodged it with ease.

« it would do you well to give up. he cautioned, striking his signature salute. my greatest wind velocity for today is at an all-time high! »

warning going unheeded, the dodger concentrated the air around their palm into a compact sphere, forcing the volatile energy into a small projectile waiting to be released. and released it will be, as they threw shot after shot at the hero. soot momentarily obscured both of their sight, their attack stirring the dusty ground under them. as it cleared, the criminal was pleased to see that at least some of their blasts landed.

« try me. they sneered. »

if only they would make it easier for the both of them and give up.

the hero resigned himself to a lengthy altercation—it seemed he wouldn’t be able to fulfill his promise, and he hoped you wouldn’t notice that he would be back later than usual—and gave his own reply to their challenge, taking the form of two columns of air which twisted dangerously fast towards the intercessor. despite the viciousness of the attack, the criminal still managed to avoid getting caught by the skin of their teeth. recovering quickly, they repeated their previous attack, though it failed to work as well as the first time, which had caught him slightly off guard. he didn’t know what the thief thought was going to happen, attacking him head on like that.

nevertheless, he chalked it up to inexperience and dived to apprehend them.

backstepping, they summoned an upward wind to throw off the hero. despite being blocked momentarily, he continued to pursue them all the while making attacks of his own. but somehow, they manage to evade him, leaping out of his way. the blond’s persistence paid off as the dodger made a displeased sound as they took in their predicament, forced to go on the defensive. preoccupied with manipulating the air around them to make a makeshift shield, they could no longer attempt to run. it seemed as if their attempt to throw him off did not work to dissuade him but neither did his tenacity at convincing them to give up, and both were now at a standstill—their shared ability nullifying their attacks: as he’d attempt to catch them, they’d parry him. as they attempt to push him away, he’ll bolt out of their way. they continued this performance, as if they memorised their role on the stage perfectly.

but at last, as they tried to maintain their distance, the criminal managed to push the hero farther back away from them with an especially violent swat and, thinking that the extra distance afforded them more time, the intercessor caved under the pressure and started to attack erratically, overwhelmed by the increasing need to escape.

this was his chance!

while his opponent was flustered, he will capture them and call the authorities, who will take care of the issue from there.

lowering his guard, the hero ambitiously descended to capture the villain. making something that sounded like a laugh, the thief created a large barrier around them, an arc of powerful wind that violently threw the hero back. the hero’s balance having been thrown off, they feigned a head on attack which the former automatically blocked. his attention drawn elsewhere, they prepared a second vortex which took the blond by surprise.

were they faking their incompetence and making amateur mistakes on purpose? then that erratic onslaught was intentional… it was a lure and he fell for it. the rough winds buffeted him, and he rushed to recover.

the criminal flinched slightly as the attack connected, taken aback that the tactic had worked and that they had managed to actually injure the hero, but soon precipitated to take advantage of the hero’s current predicament.

« perhaps it’d do you well to not underestimate your opponents… they taunted, saving face. »

seeing that the hero was stunned, the intercessor took it as a chance to escape and resumed their sprint through the unfinished apartment complex. throwing caution to the wind, they ran without looking back, hoping to lose the hero as they dashed over to a particularly dark corner.

« i don’t intend to let you go! »

seeing as they had exploited the hero’s lowered defense, they shouldn’t have brought theirs down so easily: his voice carried in the empty air surrounding them, and the criminal picked up their speed—not expecting the hero to shake off the attack so quickly. however, as they climbed on a particularly unsteady beam, the hero went through with their threat, which took the form of a large ball of ferocious air that he slammed on his opponent. in a vain attempt to dodge the new onslaught of vicious attacks, the thief slipped and lost their footing, crashing down a few stories without much grace.

« alright… »

he tried to boost his own spirit, exhaustion getting the best of him, but knows that he hasn’t won yet. he sighed. not until he confirms that the criminal had been stopped and handed over to the authorities. not until he returns home. not until he returns to your embrace. you. home. it’s late and he’s starting to feel slightly worn out.

in hindsight, he could’ve accidentally given the criminal the chance to escape, but he flew down to the base of the construction at a rather unhurried pace. to be fair, finding the criminal after their fall wasn’t that difficult of a feat: all he had to do was fly over to where he saw them crash and follow the tracks to where they must’ve dragged themselves as a futile last ditch attempt to escape the hero, the uneven footprint revealing that the criminal was now limping,

he landed smoothly on the unsteady terrain and began his search for the fallen thief, thanking the night vision once more for making his job easier.

as he moved deeper into the unfinished complex, having to stop once in a while due to the building’s questionable structural integrity or obstacles created by the recent fall, he finally reached the dead end that the criminal trapped themselves in. having found the cornered person, he now has to make the right choice. part of the ceiling had caved in, and as he ducked to enter the room a stray gust brushed the side of his helmet. an attack? no, it was a warning. but, it was half-hearted. it missed him by a long shot and hit the wall beside him, and through his peripherals, he could see that the impact had barely shaken it—his opponent had lost all their intent to fight. collecting himself, he turned to properly face the criminal he pursued.

he freezes.

the hero was prepared for many things, for many different difficult situations he could’ve found himself in: he was prepared to fight back in case the adrenaline made the perpetrator lash out, he was prepared to begin his spiel to convince them to redeem themselves (after going through their sentence, of course). however, he wasn’t prepared to hear a shaky gasp and whimper in a voice that became increasingly familiar, in a voice that he had come to be fond of, as he got closer. he wasn’t prepared for the person he would face.

making the right choice is hard. would it be easier if he had a next power that helped him see the future? could such a power exist? regardless, that’s not what he has. making the right choice is hard, and he has to base his decision on what he has and what he knows at the time. making the right choice is hard. making the right choice is even harder as a hero, when every action, every word, every decision, is recorded and broadcasted for millions to see. no, it’s not easy, there’s a new weight to his choices. the consequences and the impacts are heavier than if he were just another person. he’s not nearly naive enough to believe that every single choice he has made was the most just, he’s not nearly naive enough to believe that they all led to the best of all the possible outcomes. there will always be factors that he needs to take into account and there will always be things that he has missed. not just facts and circumstances, but also his own personal bias.

the right choice was difficult because it’s a struggle between two beliefs. right now, his conscience is split between two ideals, two wants, two rights.

time is often critical, and hesitance can make all the difference in the world. « it’s time to surrender, you’re under arr— ». but for the first time in a long time, he faltered. his throat felt dry, and he can’t find it in him to summon his voice.

after being a hero for so long, making split second decisions has become second nature to him, an instinct, but for the first time in a long time, he faltered. for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what was the right choice.

he’s heard somewhere that everyone considers themselves the hero of their respective lives, and that they see themselves as the “good guy”. he supposes he can apply this to himself, he hopes that what he is doing is ultimately for a good cause, that he will make a change and leave this world better than when he entered it. did they think the same? was this the case for every villain he has met? was this the case for the criminal he finds himself petrified before? was this the case for you?

he was just heading home, so what choices led him here?

a/n: idk i like the idea of soulmates sharing the same next power

LIKE MY WORK? CONSIDER BUYING ME A COFFEE // CHECKING OUT MY MASTERLIST | LINKS CAN BE FOUND ON MY DESC

[pjnuzlockes]

EHED: Chapter 1

Remember when I said I was gonna update on Wednesdays? Me neither

They’d cover more ground if they split up. After asking pokemon along Route 1, Brinley reported that the Rockets had been last seen along Route 22, and Gary decided to push on ahead. 

Anything to distract him from the pain.

Route 1 was a very long path, a meadowy area that separated Pallet Town and Viridian City. It was dotted with tall trees that the Pidgey line nested in. Along the dirt path worn down by years of travel were holes dug out by Rattata. A few insects buzzed along and Pidgey swooped down to catch them. 

No clouds blocked the sun. Light breeze. Perfect weather for Finley to sunbathe. 

Oscar, on the other hand, was already sweating. About an hour into the walk, he needed a moment to rest. “Oh, Arceus, why does it have to be so hot?” he complained, sliding down the tree he leaned against.

“Oh, come on!” Finley said. He laughed. “It’s not that bad! Just get yourself an enormous plant on your back and you’ll feel great!”

“No!”

Finley pulled a vineful of grass and tossed it in Oscar’s general direction. It drifted uselessly in the opposite direction. “Hey, we should look for a teammate. Quit your griping and go catch something.”

“Can’t. Don’t have any pokeballs.”

As though summoned, several pokeballs materialized just above Oscar and bounced off his head. Mew appeared a second later, snickering.

Oscar tried to catch the balls as they rolled away.

Finley stopped one and laughed again. “So, were you just waiting for an opportunity to do that?”

“Yep,” Mew said. “Got these from Viridian. Figured you guys might want to expand your team a little. Also, here’s some potions.” She tossed them to Oscar, who actually managed to catch this time. “Don’t worry about how I got these.”

Finley and Oscar exchanged glances.

“I wasn’t worried until you said that,” Oscar said. “Did you do this to Gary too?”

Mew furrowed her brow. Then she gasped. “Oh, crap, I forgot! Go catch some pokemon, I should probably help Gary out.” And with that, she was gone.

“... ‘Kay.”

Getting bonked on the head by a pokegod that then vanished to go harass his best friend should have bothered Oscar more. Something about it should have, at some point, stopped him and told him “Hey, this whole situation is kind of messed up.” But, whatever Bullshit Alarm Oscar had ever been equipped with had long since been stamped out. Instead, he shoved all the items but one pokeball, did a series of dramatic poses holding it with Finley, and collected himself. 

“Okay,” Finley said. He cleared his throat. “Since you have the active researcher license, you can really catch whatever you want, but you’ll still only get one shot for each line. How do we wanna do this? Planning has never really been our strong suit.” And on top of that, they’d only really be able to catch one pokemon per area because of wildlife conservation laws. There were some exceptions, but Finley doubted they’d ever encounter them.

Like they’d ever run into a shiny with their luck.

“Well, since that is the case. I was thinking, I’ll really only aim for a Pikachu in Viridian Forest, other than that, I’ll just see what happens.”

“Okay, so we’re going to face the Rockets with whoever we happen to run into along the way. Great.”

Oscar shrugged. “You did say we suck at planning.”

“I did.”

“Not as bad as you suck at throwing grass. You’re literally a grass type!” Oscar grabbed some grass and tossed it at Finley. Just like before, it floated away on the wind.

“Oh god, you’re worse than I am.”

Oscar snorted. Some movement above them caught his attention.

A couple Pidgeys. They landed in the grass and pecked at the ground. One stopped, cocked his head at Oscar, then returned to pecking.

“Psst, Finley, go talk to them,” Oscar whispered. There was no telling if they were able to speak Kantonian- though that was relatively common on routes closer to towns. Best to have someone else do the talking, just in case.

Finley crept forward. “Uh, excuse me? Do either of you wanna join our team?” He asked, in perfect Kantonian and completely misunderstanding Oscar’s intentions.

One Pidgey flew away, but the one that had looked at Oscar stayed. He studied Finley for a moment. He looked tired. “What’s the team for?”

“Well, it’s, it’s pretty dangerous. We’re, uh. Going to take on the League and fight the Rockets.” That probably didn’t sound particularly inviting.

“Just the two of you?” The Pidgey gestured back to Oscar, who was watching while rubbing one arm.

“Uh. Hopefully not,” Finley admitted. “We haven’t really thought that hard about it.”

The Pidgey just stared back. He looked even more tired than before.

“We don’t really know what we’re going to do. But that’s why we’re asking. Better to ask then just lob a pokeball at you, right?”

The Pidgey took a deep breath. “I see.” He flew over to Oscar and landed on his shoulder. “Name’s Charlie. I’m joining the team. Someone’s gotta make sure y’all don’t get yourselves killed.”

Oscar tapped the pokeball on his forehead. Charlie didn’t resist.

“Welcome to the team, Charlie!” Oscar smiled. He sent the little bird back out. No use keeping him cooped up in the ball all day. Plus, it was more fun with a crowd. It made it feel less like Brinley and Gary were off somewhere far away.

The rest of the walk to Viridian went by quicker. Keeping up with Finley and Charlie’s well being in battle distracted Oscar enough from the heat that he almost celebrated when what had to have been the twentieth Rattata launched itself at them.

At least the team was getting good experience. Bit by bit.

Viridian City was a small haven before the twisting, winding roads of Viridian Forest. Named for the shade of the flora, the area was absolutely bursting with greenery. Every house had a garden and community buildings were packed with potted and hanging plants inside. Oscar couldn’t help but smile at a particularly vibrant pecha plant as he walked to the Pokemon Center counter.

After a quick rest (and restock at the Mart), Charlie spoke up. “We should head north to Route 2 first. Then come back for scoping out Route 22. We won’t be able to go far, but we should try to recruit as much as possible.”

Oscar nodded, done playing with a fern planted next to the road. “We may be able to meet up with Gary and Brinley soon, too.”

“Let’s not get too far into Route 2. Don’t really wanna run into any Weedles just yet,” Finley added. “We’re not quite ready for that. Even if I’m part poison type, I’m still not resistant to Weedle poison. And you and I both remember what happened last time we had a run in with a Kakuna nest.” He looked pointedly at Oscar.

Oscar laughed. “We were fine.”

“No Weedles for Oscar,” Charlie said. He had the feeling he would have to make a lot of rules like this.

“What about a Rattata?” Oscar pointed ahead where one sat, grooming herself. “Hey! Wanna join our team and help us beat up Team Rocket?” he called.

“Shh! Not so loud! What if a Rocket was nearby?” Charlie hissed, exasperated.

The Rattata ran to them. “You’re fighting Team Rocket?” Hopeful. Eager. “They took my friends. The whole nest hasn’t seen them since. We don’t even know if they’re okay.” She looked Oscar right in the eye. “Catch me. I wanna join your team.”

Oscar obliged, and let her back out. “Well that was easy. What’s your name?”

“Vivi.”

“Vivi, do you wanna help me destroy our best friends in battle?” 

“Absolutely.”

---

Route 22 was rather different than the previous areas. It was more rocky, the grasses scraggly where they once were lush. Not to say that the route was devoid of life, it was simply where the terrain became more mountainous. Plenty of pokemon made the area their home, mostly the more rugged lines that didn’t rely on grasses as much for cover. 

A lake had formed toward the center of the route, making what would have otherwise been a short walk to Victory Road more difficult. Old paved roads were cracked and in need of repair, but hadn’t been made a priority over the repairs needed in cities and towns. It was generally assumed that trainers that went out to Route 22 could handle themselves.

“We’ll go no further than this first patch of grass,” Oscar said. He ducked as a troop of Mankeys jumped from the tall rocks overhead. 

Charlie returned from his quick scouting. “Doesn’t look like Team Rocket’s here. Your friend must’ve chased them off.”

One of the Mankeys stopped. She watched for a moment, then grabbed a rock and launched it at Oscar, nailing him in the head. “HEY TRAINER!!”

Oscar yelped and Finley jumped into a defensive position.

“Leave him alone!” Finley growled.

“DO YOU GUYS NEED A MANKEY?” she shouted.

“Oh my god, we can hear you just fine,” Vivi muttered.

“If I catch you, will you agree not to throw another rock at my face?” Oscar rubbed his forehead. He made a face at the small smear of blood on his hand. 

“YEAH SURE.”

Oscar chucked a pokeball at her, which she promptly burst out of. “Hey!” 

The Mankey laughed. “OKAY, TRY AGAIN.” Another pokeball, which she burst out of again, laughing. “OKAY, OKAY, I’LL STOP. FOR REAL THIS TIME.” To her credit, she actually stayed put and allowed herself to be caught.

“Stop shouting,” Oscar said as he ignored the voice inside him saying to keep her in the ball.

“I do what I want,” she said, quieter now. “The name’s Reggie. What I want is- I wanna tag along.”

“Um, okay.”

“Hey, Oscar. I like the new style!” a familiar voice said.

“Gary!” Finley cheered.

Brinley smiled brightly. “I see you guys are getting quite the team. Did Mew give you supplies too?”

“Yeah, seriously, how’d you catch so many pokemon already?” Gary added. He pointed to the Pidgey on his shoulder. “I was only just able to catch Melody here like an hour ago.”

“She stopped by earlier this afternoon,” Oscar said. “Guess she got sidetracked.”

Vivi, Charlie, and Reggie exchanged confused looks.

“Maybe we just had bad luck. Wanna battle?” Gary asked. “We wanna see how well we’re doing with our training.”

“You’re on!”

The first round was bird versus bird. Charlie was faster and just a smidge stronger. Several well timed gusts later and Melody was defeated. 

Next up was Brinley. Reggie jumped at the opportunity to fight someone who didn’t have the advantage.

“Be careful Reggie. No throwing rocks,” Oscar chided. 

“You got it, boss!” she agreed, kicking Brinley in the legs and knocking her over. 

Brinley retaliated with a scratch across Reggie’s face. It hardly left a mark.

“Sorry, kiddo. We Mankeys have pretty tough skin,” Reggie said, kicking again.

This time, Brinley fell onto her back and held up one hand. “Alright, I give. You kick hard.” No need putting herself and Gary in danger when the outcome was clear.

“Well,” Gary said, tossing some coins to Oscar as though he’d been expecting this. “That was anticlimactic. Looks like you got yourself some pretty tough teammates!” He bent down and helped Brinley up. “We’ll totally get you later.”

“We look forward to it,” Oscar said. He and Gary fist bumped. “Next loser buys lunch?”

“Next loser buys lunch.”

[popatochisssp]

What kind of lovers are the skellies? 👀👀👀

I am…definitely supposed to be working on the new/final chapter of SnS and yet……….the call of the nsfw…………….it beckons me

Well!

This is a multi-layered question! So we’ll set the mood and start off with the kind of bedroom fun they’re best at.

Do you want…

To have fun and fool around?: Sans (Undertale), Rus (Swapfell Papyrus), Papy (Horrortale Papyrus)

To make love?: Paps (Underswap Papyrus), Jasper (Underfell Sans), Slate (Horrortale Sans)

To get absolutely RAILED?: Papyrus (Undertale), Sky (Underswap Sans), Pyre (Underfell Papyrus), Mal (Swapfell Sans)

But we can get way more specific than that. ;3

Under the cut for safety!

Sans (Undertale)

He’s a playful lover who likes it best when things are just easy and fun.

He doesn’t like putting a lot of work in–kinda the definition of a Pillow Prince– so he’ll top or bottom to your preference, but you gotta be the one calling the shots or else you’re never gonna get anything done (or anyone, hey-o!).

He’s the type to bring a lot of humor into the bedroom with jokes, puns, and pranks galore because what’s even the point of fooling around if you’re not having fun with it?

You’ll always find something to laugh about going to bed with him and whether it’s a crass joke or a whoopie cushion where there definitely shouldn’t be a whoopie cushion… well, no point ruining the surprise, right? ;)

Best Fit: DOM | SWITCH | SUB

Favorite Position: 69

Papyrus (Undertale)

He’s very enthusiastic in the bedroom!

He wants to show you his feelings as vigorously as he can– and he hopes you’ll do the same!

He likes a lot of attention and is just a bit of a show-off so expect a lot of strenuous positions (for him) and compliments/praise (for both of you).

His eagerness and adaptability tends to make up for his inexperience and he’s generally ready and willing to be whatever you want from him to make for the best possible experience.

As long as you’re happy, he’ll be happy, too!

Best Fit: DOM | SWITCH | SUB

Favorite Position: Standing

Sky (Underswap Sans)

He tends to be…a little experimental.

He likes exploring new territory with you and pushing boundaries a little, which is probably why he insists on having a safeword in play no matter what you’re doing just so things are as safe as they can be.

He really likes getting to be in charge and calling the shots, bonus points if you don’t mind letting him tie you up here and there. One of his favorite things is pushing you to your limits and seeing just how far he can take you, and with his legendary stamina it’s easy to see why that safeword is…probably necessary.

At least his aftercare is top-notch so whenever you’re Done, you can rest assured that you’ll be well-taken care of and praised for doing such a good job!

Best Fit: DOM | SWITCH | SUB 

Favorite Position: Oral (giving)

Paps (Underswap Papyrus)

He’s the kinda guy who likes to take it slow. Really slow.

Foreplay lasts a long damn time with him because it takes him awhile to get properly In The Mood and as far as he’s concerned, what’s so wrong with taking his time, anyway? Seems like he’s got a whole lot about you to appreciate and he’d hate to rush that.

He tends to go with the flow and doesn’t mind taking direction if you’re the type inclined to give it. If he’s getting laid, with you, he really doesn’t think it matters how it happens– it’s all good.

Don’t expect a lot of energy out of him since that’s just not really who he is, but don’t worry that he’ll let you leave unsatisfied, either. He may not be fast, but he’s damn thorough and he’ll take good care of you if you let him.

Best Fit: DOM | SWITCH | SUB 

Favorite Position: Cowgirl

Jasper (Underfell Sans)

He’s a tender lover, no question.

He flirts a lot and talks a big game but one of the biggest reasons he tends to stick to one-night-stands is that when he gets that intimate with somebody more than just once or twice, he, uh…he starts getting feelings involved and it turns into a whole Thing… And he hates feeling like he’s got more at stake, emotionally, than the person he’s with, he can’t stand that!

So with you, a long-term partner, probably 90% of the time you fool around, it’s actually more love-making than just sex, with lots of affection and trust and vulnerability and he adores every second of it.

He likes to be in control if only because not being in control makes him a little nervous (sometimes to the point of being jumpy if you don’t at least go slow), but his highest priority while he’s got the reins is making you feel cherished and good so that’s hardly the worst thing in the world, is it?

Best Fit: DOM | SWITCH | SUB

Favorite Position: Missionary

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus)

He’s passionate, fiercely so! He wants to lavish you with his affections and drive you as crazy as you make him feel.

Picture the kind of steamy, purple prose, bodice-ripper novel where the protagonist is just overwhelmed with their ardor for their lover and cries out, “Take me now! Make me yours!” and that’s about the speed of it.

He may even put a bodice on you just for him to rip, roleplay is not off the table and is, in fact, encouraged.

First and foremost, though, he wants you– all of you, with no hesitation and no reservations. Your trust and willingness is his favorite thing and never fails to make him feel like the luckiest skeleton in the world.

He’s kinda smug about it, actually. It’s pretty endearing.

Best Fit: DOM | SWITCH | SUB

Favorite Position: Oral (receiving)

Mal (Swapfell Sans)

In a word? Intense.

There’s definitely something primal about it when you really get him going, kinda rough and very possessive. It’s one of the few times he allows himself to let loose, even a little bit, and he’s downright fierce when he’s showing you how much he loves you.

He’s careful and won’t ever hurt you (more than you’ve agreed to be hurt, anyway), but he loves it if you let him leave his mark on you with a scratch or bite in a visible place. The thought that someone is going to see it later and know he left it on you sends a thrill all the way through his soul: you’re his and he’s yours and everyone should know that!

Even during more gentle moments, he just likes being very close to you physically, right up on you, and he probably won’t want to take more than a hand off you at any given moment, as if he just can’t stand not to be touching you.

He kind of can’t? He’s more than a little touch-starved so you’re a feast for his hands– and he hopes that he’s a feast for yours in return.

Best Fit: DOM | SWITCH | SUB

Favorite Position: Doggy

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus)

He’s a pleaser, he wants to do whatever you want to do.

He’s a little affection-starved himself, and his attitude towards it tends to be ‘take what you can get.’ You’re the boss and you call the shots and he’ll lap up the attention with gusto and no complaints.

The only real downside of him being willing to do absolutely anything you ask of him is that…well, he really will do anything you ask of him, whatever his own feelings on it are.

You kinda have to take responsibility with him and make sure that his trust in you to take care of him and not push him farther than he actually wants to go isn’t mislaid. Pay attention to your skele’s body language!

He just wants to have fun and feel good with you, and any genuine affection you pile in on top of that is just the icing on the cake for him.

Best Fit: DOM | SWITCH | SUB 

Favorite Position: Splitting bamboo (and he wants to be on the bottom of this one, so if you don’t have the equipment to accommodate that, you better buy it before he goes shopping himself, his eye-sockets are always bigger than his…well. You get the gist.)

Slate (Horrortale Sans)

He’s gentle, exceedingly careful with you at all times!

He’s acutely aware of his size compared to you and as hot cute as he finds it, he’s even more acutely aware of how easy it is for him to hurt you. That’s the absolute last thing he wants to do, ever, so he has a tendency to treat you like a very precious, important thing– because you are.

He likes to check in with you a lot to make sure things are going good and can never quite shut up about all the things about you that awe him the most. He doesn’t think he should be blamed for that, the fact that he’s even sharing that kind of moment with you at all is literally incredible to him and he feels downright honored.

He can be encouraged to move things along a little faster or a little rougher if that’s your preference, but he prefers to take his time if you’ll let him.

He wants to commit every second to memory– and y’know, his memory isn’t very good. He might need to really savor the moment, maybe…maybe share it with you a couple more times, just to make sure it really sticks. ;3

Best Fit: DOM | SWITCH | SUB 

Favorite Position: Against the wall

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus)

He’s a very exploratory lover, with a tendency to meander a bit.

Your body is amazing to him, beautiful and fascinating in equal measure, so whenever you decide to share it with him he’s going to spend a lot of time just touching and marveling at you well before anything gets underway.

He starts to get a little anxious and uncomfortable if he feels like too much attention is on him so he prefers to be in control of things and to keep the focus on you, if he can, but he’s very careful about boundaries and making sure you’re alright at all times while he’s in charge, so that shouldn’t exactly be a deal-breaker.

Save the praise and body-worship for the platonic moments, he can handle it better then!

He’s all about servicing you and making sure you’re as satisfied as you can possibly be, even to the point that you may need to remind him that his own pleasure is important, too, but he just considers that a bonus.

What pleasure could possibly be greater than giving you yours? :3

Best Fit: DOM | SWITCH | SUB 

Favorite Position: Spooning (great for cuddles and for lovin’!)

[luckyspike]

i just wrote raising steam fanfic get it out of my head

i listened to ‘We Are Number One [DANK EDITION]’ for the duration of the writing

It seemed appropriate

Vimes makes it a point, on the Iron Girder, to get to know everybody present. It is, after all, a fairly important journey: the Low King is on board, and what kind of guard would he be if he didn’t sniff out any suspicious characters? A piss poor one, honestly.

The engineers don’t worry him - he knows them already, at any rate, and they’re all too focused on steam and mechanisms to pose any legitimate danger. He only has to watch them for a few minutes at work, watching dials, pulling levers, to know this. They’re obsessive, and their first priority would be the smooth operation of the engine. One less group to worry about, then.

The stokers, though. He’d wondered about the stokers. Hand-picked by Harry King, Vimes reasoned they were probably above-board at least in this one specific instance, if not at any other point in their lives. But they were an odd bunch, mysterious pasts, with the sole task of shoveling coal into a furnace - a single-minded job, and not hard to slide into if, say, you wanted to hitch a ride on a rather important journey without drawing too much attention.

Vimes didn’t trust them.

There were eight of them in all, and they had the shifts worked out amongst themselves. Early in the journey, Vimes made the decision not to watch them work, as he had the engineers, because they had a simple job and, if he had to guess, they didn’t likely love it. He admitted, after talking to the first two that he might have been wrong on that count - bonkers about the railroad, the both of them - but nevertheless, Vimes weighed caution above all else. No, individual interrogation would be the way with the stokers. There would be no hiding, no avoidance, just a frank conversation for Vimes to ask his questions and take their measure.

Which was why, a scant 36 hours after leaving Ankh-Morpork, he found himself nearly apoplectic with rage in the stokers’ car, glaring down the tyrant of previously-mentioned city.

He had recognized the man as soon as they came face-to-face, next-day stubble and ridiculous gray shirt and trousers aside, and then blast him he’d had the nerve to say “I don’t suppose you’re going to interrogate me, now, Vimes?” before grabbing the commander by the front of his shirt and, sighing heavily, dragging him into the car. “I’d be obliged if you made it quick.”

“The hells are you doing here?” he spat, while his body snapped to attention, because some habits can’t be broken. “Are you insane?”

Vetinari considered the question. “No, I don’t think so. In fact I’m nearly positive that I am not.”

“So why are you doing - doing …” He waved his arms helplessly.

“This?” Vetinari smirked. “Would you believe me if I said it sounded like fun?”

“Absolutely not,” said Vimes, although he would have. He just didn’t want to.

“Very well. Then consider this: I have entrusted a fairly crucial portion of foreign relations to von Lipwig, and added in the potential for catastrophic mechanical disaster. I can do many things from afar, Vimes, but sometimes it’s best to ensure personally that things don’t go … awry.” He crossed his arms. “Honest enough?”

“You could die,” Vimes hissed, still lingering on ‘catastrophic mechanical disaster’. “If this train goes -”

“Then we all die,” Vetinari said simply. “Frankly, Vimes, I feel it’s unlikely and in either case, should the Low King, you, and von Lipwig die on this blasted mechanism while I remain in the city, my own lifespan there would probably not greatly outlast yours.”

Vimes blinked. He considered it. His rage banked, for a minute, but then another thought jumped into the fire and he snapped, “There will be fighting. You know there will be.”

“Hm, yes, I rather expect I do.” He smirked again. “I don’t need you to protect me, if that is what you’re thinking. Believe it or not, Vimes, I can take care of myself, on occasion.”

“It’s my duty.”

“I’m an Assassin,” Vetinari replied simply, which Vimes considered might be answer enough. “I will be equipped with a very serviceable shovel, and I’m sure it won’t surprise you to know I’ve also taken my own precautions.” There is a whisper and from somewhere - where? Vimes wondered - a knife appeared in Vetinari’s hand. Not a dagger, but a proper knife, with all of the intent and none of the class of the Guild’s usual fare. He blinked. “Feel better?” Vetinari asked, twirling the thing between his fingers before it vanished again, no more obviously than it had appeared.

“Not really.” Another thought occurred to him. “If you’re here, then who’s -” His eyes widened. “Charlie’s a godsdamn idiot, my Lord, excuse my Klatchian.”

“It’s Blake, for the time being,” Vetinari corrected. “Just Blake. And Charlie is an idiot, but an idiot who looks like me, and therefore not entirely useless.” He shrugged and, to Vimes’ complete amazement, grabbed a mug of coffee at random prior to taking a swig. “He has Drumknott with him, he’ll be fine.” He considered the coffee and then set it aside. “I don’t understand the compulsion to put sugar in coffee, I really don’t. Are we done here?”

Vimes blinked. “What? I - Dammit Vetinari -”

“Blake.”

“Whatever. Just …” Vimes scowled, and then, in a move that might have been suicidal back in Ankh-Morpork, but what did that matter here and now, when the Worlde had Gone Madde, he jabbed a finger into Vetinari’s chest. “Don’t die.”

Vetinari nodded solemnly. “I promise I will do my best not to, Commander. Can I leave now?”

Vimes glowered up at the man and then stepped aside. “Fine.”

“Duty calls, and all that.” Vetinari brushed past, and paused at the door, half-opened, to turn and raise an eyebrow at Vimes. “Good luck with your inquiries, Commander. Although, if I may offer a suggestion?”

“No.”

“I’m going to anyway.” Vimes noticed, as an engineer strode past, down the hall, that in a blink Vetinari’s typical genteel enunciation had disappeared, replaced with something coarse and clipped - Pseudopolis, Vimes realized. “Don’t worry about the stokers. There’s way more interesting stuff happening in the back.” He smirked. “I’ve got the front end handled.” He left then, scooping a shovel up from the rack outside the little room, and sauntered - sauntered - up to the engine. Vimes watched him go, hands in his pockets and a rancorous scowl on his face.

“Bloody bastard,” he muttered, before he turned away and headed back to the other compartments, to continue his inquiries … literally anywhere else.

[dreamingdolls]

FFXIV, and why it’s unlikely I’ll ever return to WoW

So, inspired by my friend @luniil (who isn’t very active here but does occasionally write down some thoughts on gaming topics), I wanted to try my hand at writing a post about why I’ve grown to love FFXIV as much as I do, and reflect a little on how things were in WoW in comparison.

To preface this; I am not a Final Fantasy player. Nor Warcraft for that matter -- I had not touched that franchise until The Burning Crusade was in the middle of it’s lifespan. I play MMOs, and that’s what led me to both games. I’ve played WoW, Guild Wars, TERA, WildStar, ESO and FFXIV, but only two games on that list have kept my attention for any extended period of time.

I don’t want to spam people’s dash so, yknow.

General Gameplay

Let’s start this off with a flaw of FFXIV -- I’m not going to be sitting here saying the game is perfect. XIV does a horrible job at luring people in with it’s gameplay.

At the earlier levels, you barely have any abilities even compared to what an early WoW character will have. On top of that, the 2.5s Global Cooldown (as opposed to WoW’s 1s) means you won’t be hitting buttons too much early on. This has definitely been the cause of a fair few people giving up on the game early on.

However.

Once you press through that, your list of abilities is far more interesting than anything WoW will offer you. Positional requirements, utility spells, varied rotations and a huge amount of flavor is carefully woven into the class design. While WoW frontloads you with a fair amount of stuff but then doesn’t give you much to add to that in the later levels, FFXIV starts you off slow then gives you the more complex things when you’ve had time to get familiar with the game. By the time you reach level cap, you’ll easily have about 20-30 abilities to use at least semi-regularly, as opposed to WoW usually not going much further beyond 15 or so abilities.

The longer GCD will suddenly start to make sense, too, as a good deal of your abilities are off the GCD, and the gameplay essentially becomes a case of weaving on and off GCD abilities together.

I absolutely love how XIV handles alt classes as well. In essence, you are able to level every class on a single character if you so wish. Instead of levelling your character as a whole, you level your class. So say I’m on my level 80 Red Mage and equip my Dancer weapon, my level will be reduced down to the level I have on my Dancer, and my action bars will simply switch over. I personally adore this system, even if it does mean alts are a lot less commonplace.

Not all classes are available from character creation either. You actually get to unlock classes out in the world, which is a very neat concept.

Story

OHMYGOD THE STORY. Where do I start?

I’m not going to be going into any spoilers here, more so how the story is written. Whereas WoW’s story tends to be written more in chapters that don’t really link together all that smoothly, XIV’s story is an ongoing thing. Information you learned in your first few levels is still relevant today, at level cap, three expansions later.

This allows the characters to have personality. Growth. Whereas in WoW it’s not uncommon for characters to be used as plot devices rather than, well, characters. How many times has there been a discussion on wether Illidan, or Garrosh, or Sylvanas, or who have you, is a villain or a good guy? Well the shocking answer; they’re both. They’re whatever Blizzard needed them to be at the time, for that chapter, and that creates a very jarring experience.

That’s not to say FFXIV’s characters are clear-cut on their allegiances either, however their grey areas happen in a far more natural sense over the course of the story, as opposed to switching back and forth with every patch release.

Oh, and you know how I mentioned I had never played a Final Fantasy game before this? No problem! Each FF game is kinda it’s own game. There are elements that are in every game such as creature design, but as far as the actual story goes you don’t need any prior knowledge of the other games. And even while there are cameos that I’m sure would be that much more fun had I played the source game, they are done in such a way that you can follow things as a complete newbie to the franchise as well. It’s not like you’ll be running into Cloud every few levels (Which, I’ve been told, is rather shocking as Square seems to love milking that character. Anyway, that’s not my rant to make).

Group Content

This is an area where, while there is definitely some overlap due to the nature of MMOs, there’s also a fair few things that set XIV apart from WoW for me.

First off, group size. Groups in XIV tend to be much smaller than they are in WoW. Regular dungeon groups consist of a 1/1/2 tank/healer/dps set up. Raid groups are a mere 8 people with a 2/2/4 setup as opposed to WoW’s massive 20-30 people raid groups. XIV’s equivelant of LFR, which I’ll come back to in a bit, is the only thing to come close to that at 24 people, grouping three raid groups together.

Now in terms of raiding... WoW wins in quantity. XIV wins in quality. While WoW has more fights, let’s be real; who is going to remember fighting Skorpyron?

XIV definitely gets smaller raid content, with each tier only having four bosses. However, we also get a bunch of extra single boss fights sprinkled inbetween. In addition, it’s LFR equivelant isn’t merely a tuned down version of each fight either -- it’s a completely seperate instance with unique bosses *specifically designed* for a LFR environment. To make a list of what you can expect in XIV in terms of raiding;

- Trials (single boss fights) with a regular mode and an extreme mode - Raid tiers consisting of four bosses for 8 player groups, with a regular mode and a “savage��� mode. - LFR raids tuned specifically for a 24 player group, usually giving each of the 8 man groups in there their own tasks. - Very rarely, Ultimate fights. These basically are the tip of the iceberg in terms of challenge. I’ve not gotten to see them myself, but from what I hear, they can literally take like an hour for a single pull. They’re definitely meant to be *the* highest challenge.

Group content does not stop there either, though. There’s treasure maps that can lead to little treasure vaults to run with people. The game’s equivelant of World Quests, FATEs, rewards *anyone participating*, giving the whole zone a shared progression bar instead of doing your own quests. This tends to mean that hey, people will actually go and help each other out in the world!

Misc

Here be a bunch of random stuff that I couldn’t really dedicate a specific part to.

- THE MUSIC IS INSANELY GOOD - There’s player housing, and you actually are in a neighbourhood with other players rather than being locked away in your own seperate area. It’s quite cozy. - Most mounts have their own music theme which very nicely adds to their flavor, such as a raid drop mount playing that fight’s soundtrack. You can disable this if it’s not your thing, though! - Oh yeah. Raid bosses have their own soundtracks. - You can customize the very first mount you get with bardings, different colors and even a name, and it can fight with you in the open world. - You can get married ingame which is insanely cute. - There’s this like, Las Vegas-esque place in game with a bunch of minigames and it’s just a lot of fun? Think Darkmoon Faire but not time limited and way bigger games.

Why I Likely Won’t Return to WoW

This bit will get somewhat personal so if you were only interested in the game comparisons, feel free to skip this.

Honestly? Purely from a game standpoint I didn’t enjoy WoW for the last few years I played it. The trap with MMOs is so often the friends you make. They keep you playing even if you aren’t that into the game anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I loved playing with my friends still, but had it not been for them I’d have left WoW long before I did.

Warlords of Draenor is often agreed upon to be a poor expansion, but truthfully? I didn’t feel Legion was all that great either. It was better, sure, but the story was still a fair bit of a mess and the gameplay, well... I can only stomach seeing Eye of Azshara so much, you know?

On a more personal note, leaving WoW has been good for my mental health too. I was being harassed and even blackmailed there and it caused constant headaches and drama, let alone making me feel unsafe in what was supposed to be an escape. That’s simply not really a world I’d like going back to.

I’ll never say never, but I will say likely never.

[katsitting]

Black Mambo

Rating: M

Ships: Volmione/Tomione

Warnings: Alien Tom Riddle, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Researcher! Hermione, Referenced Murder, Brief Mentions of Mutilation, Choking

AO3 link (x)

A chair screeched in the room, but Hermione didn’t flinch. No harm would come to her here. Not when there were guards pressed alongside the walls of the perimeter, taking care to watch the resident held within its walls. 

Hermione slung her leg over the other, crossing it at the knee, from underneath the table. Her eyes did not shift from the figure sitting at the center of the room, buried behind impact-glass and two feet of concrete. 

It was a bit of overkill, in her honest opinion. But she could understand their concerns. There was no telling what the creature was capable of, after all.

Especially when it had somehow killed two orderlies in the span of 48 hours.

“Hermione--”

Her gaze did not waver from the hunched figure behind the glass, scrutinizing it for any sign of understanding--awareness-- of where it was. It didn’t so much as flinch when another chair was yanked back, the wood screeching against the floor to stop at Hermione’s side. A redheaded man sat to her right, but Hermione didn’t look at him. It wasn’t necessary. She knew who he was, and knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“Any ideas what this could be?”

There was a brief pause where Hermione said nothing, tracing the bumps in the creature’s spine, before she sighed. 

“I’ve no bloody idea, Ronald.”

With a purse of her lips, she reached for her notepad and pen, dragging it onto her lap to write down precisely what she was seeing. This creature had similar features to that of a snake, but--

Brow furrowing, Hermione’s breath caught when it turned its head and a humanoid face stared back. Its eyes were a deep red, and even from where Hermione sat in her seat--which was not a short distance by any means--, it was not difficult to tell that it was noseless and hairless. 

it had all the trappings of a human male, but its face was deformed. Its naked body was littered with snake scales that flashed and twinkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the cell. 

The creature's eyes stared at them through the glass, and Hermione’s hold on her pen weakened, unnerved at the way it cocked its head. It was almost as if it could see them, but no--

That was silly. Anyone on Hermione’s side could see into the room, but there was no possibility that it could stare back. The glass they used was of the special variety. The same kind that officers used in their precincts when conducting an interrogation.

Calm down, Granger. 

“I’ll have to run some tests. Maybe get a closer loo--”

“Absolutely not. You’re not going in there when that thing has already killed two people, ‘Mione.”

Hermione’s lip twitched before she whipped around on Ron, startling the poor bastard enough that he fell off the chair and onto his arse.

Serves him right.

“Don’t start with me, Ronald. I have a bloody job to do. I’m all this damn facility has got.”

Ron grumbled, the chair screeching beneath his weight when he propped all of his weight on it to get up. He threw a sour expression in her direction, knowing better than to argue with her on this. He knew she was right. 

She was all they had until they can fly in more researchers. The few that hadn’t run with their tails tucked between their legs at the discovery of this creature, had outright refused to go near the thing. After the whole fiasco with the orderlies, it was in her best interest to follow their lead--

And yet--

Hermione began writing again, now noting down the way the creature cocked its head, its lipless mouth twisting into a parody of a smile. It raised the hackles in Hermione’s spine, but she didn’t dare look away, didn’t stop writing. 

How could she stop when a real-life, flesh and blood alien was sitting just several layers of concrete away from her? This was the opportunity of a lifetime even if it was dangerous. 

“Fine. But I don’t have to like it,” Ron shot, tearing her thoughts away from the creature. She tried not to scowl, shifting her attention back to her ex-boyfriend. “Just be careful. People have died, ‘Mione.”

The frustration bubbling in her chest melted at the genuine look of concern in his periwinkle blue eyes. They may have ended things in less than stellar terms, what with him losing his patience and her losing her temper, but she knew that he still cared. She did too, even if half the time she wanted to strangle him for hindering her work.

“I will, Ron. Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing.”

Ron's shoulders relaxed at her words, the color on his cheeks quickly returning.

Huh.

Hermione didn’t know when he’d gone pale. It wasn’t a surprise, but still, that was a rather extreme reaction nevertheless. One would think the monster was out of its cage, bearing its teeth straight at him. 

“Now then, if you’ll excuse me. I have a specimen to examine.”

Ron swallowed at that, what little color he had regained, vanishing almost instantly. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes, a snarky remark sitting right on the tip of her tongue.

Honestly.

You would think she’d never observed a dangerous predator before.

After days of arguing with the heads of the department, Hermione was finally given the opportunity to inspect the creature in person. 

She was positively glowing with pride, with joy, at the idea. No more did she have to sit behind the glass of the interrogation room, tucked away in the dark to catch a sight of its body slinking in the dark. 

Now she could come closer, could press up to the glass and watch the way its ribcage contracted with each breath it took. 

Ron had not been thrilled, having gone against her back to the heads to complain about the ‘suicidal’ decisions by Dr. Granger.

But no more. She had won her case when the alien had killed no more guards, remaining docile and well-behaved behind the glass after weeks of observation. 

Anticipation curled in her stomach, a literal pep in her step when she got out of that hour-long interrogation. 

Nothing would keep her away from this discovery. Not Ron, and most certainly not the department heads.

Hermione tried not to scowl at the fleet of armed men flanking her, her hold on her equipment and notes giving her no time at all to smack the lot of them in the back of the head.

She was more than aware that the creature was dangerous, but Christ, did they have to send half of the bloody army to guard her on the way there? She guessed that there were at least twenty of them, and that was being kind.

The only perk to all this was that she didn’t have to open any of the doors, what with her hands being otherwise occupied and all. But still, she walked with the echoes of their footsteps at her back, her annoyance mounting with each time she had to wait for the group to decide who would open the door next.

The relief when they finally reached their destination was almost palpable. Even if that relief was shortlived when the guards began to squabble in earnest now, no one wanting to be the first to open the door and scope the lab.

“Beckham already we--”

“Alright, enough of that,” Hermione snapped, shoving past two arguing guards while the rest of them hung back. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes at the way they squirmed where they stood, some even glancing mournfully down the hallway. You would think she was sentencing them to death. It wasn’t like they had to get up and personal with the fucking alien.

“Just open the godforsaken door and let me through. I don’t have all bloody day.”

They were quick to comply, swiping their key card before Hermione could swing the cases in her arms. They knew she would, more than aware of just how easily she lost her temper when tested. Her and Ron’s tumultuous relationship was more than evidence of that fact.

“Thank you,” Hermione said before trekking into the room, an army of guards in tow. 

The icy chill of the room greeted her from the moment she took her first step into the room. It burrowed into the meat of her hands, curling through her white coat and the sweater she wore underneath.

With a shudder, Hermione ambled deeper into the room, eyeing the glass window that gave her a complete view of the creature’s prison from a whole new angle. The glass was just as fortified as the one at the opposite end of the building, but--

Something about being in this room, in particular, made things more intimate. Smaller and nestled. Almost like a nursery save for the fact that this room was not decorated with bright and cheerful colors nor adorned with comfortable furniture. 

“You lot handle the controls. I’ll need to get a closer look if I am going to decipher just what sort of creature this is.”

There were some murmurs in the room, nervous and restless, but neither one chimed in to refuse her command. Several men made a beeline for the controls, already hard at work to get the second cage lowered. 

“I’m going to ask that you all be prepared for anything. And I do mean anything. If something goes wrong in there, and I am still inside, you know what the protocol is.”

No one said a thing, even when Hermione’s eyes stared each of them in the eye, letting them all know that she wasn’t afraid. If shite hit the fan, she would be left in the room with no means of escape. It would be unsafe for the general public to have this creature unleashed. 

Hermione was more than willing to sacrifice her life if it meant keeping that thing away from the outside world.

“Dr. Granger.”

Hermione spun around on her heel, dropping her equipment onto the floor. It was one of the men--Marcus? Hermione wasn’t sure, there were so damned many of them--she’d ordered to manage the controls who had spoken.

“It’s ready. The creature has been contained.”

Hermione nodded, satisfied. 

“Alright then, boys,” Hermione hefted her things once again and took a step toward the door separating her from the creature lying in wait. “Let’s get to work.”

The days of observing the creature bled into one another, and Hermione hardly minded. 

This was what she wanted. How could she complain when every morning she had the chance to observe a live alien and make observations about the creature? 

No one else had been given this privilege. No one else was brave enough, had the nerve to sit back on a tiny metal chair and write down notes about the smallest detail. 

She knew more about the creature than even the military that had found it, and that was something that made her heart swell with pride, that made her toes curl with pure delight. 

This was her discovery, her mission. No one else would be nearly as humane, as kind as she was being to a creature that had murdered two men the moment it had arrived at the facility. 

“Did you miss me?” Hermione asked when she entered the room, ignoring the worried glances from the guards standing by the doorway as she took her seat.

They thought her mad for talking to it. 

Hermione didn’t care for it, for any of their opinions. She refused to treat the alien like it wasn’t a living, breathing thing. It deserved her kindness. To be spoken to, to be treated with as much respect as she could without arousing suspicion and discomfort in the people up top.

As much as she wanted to bathe, clothe, and give the alien space to do things in private--even if it didn’t seem like there was much going on behind its red eyes--Hermione was nothing but ethical.

She refused to test him, to do anything more invasive than watch, than scribble down some notes on the way it behaved when she entered the room, or when others, like Ron, perched up at her side and laid a hand on her shoulder.

Hermione wiped the sweat that had formed on her forehead, her curls escaping the tight bun she’d wrested them into. She’d been in the room for a little over an hour, observing the creature as it circled around in the tiny cage it’d been confined into. 

It was fascinating, really. Watching it move and slink about; it was like watching the coils of a python furl and unfurl. 

Her hand ached from scribbling down onto her clipboard, ink smearing along her thumb and the meat of her palms to get everything she saw down onto paper.

As she had noted previously, the creature did have all the trappings of a human male. It was shaped like a human man, down to the top of its head and to its feet. Its thighs were thick and its calves thin. The rest of it was muscled, too, littered with scales that were most concentrated on its face and abdomen. 

They were a gorgeous shade of teal, the light catching on scales making it almost gleam blue or even green depending on the angle. She wanted to touch it, to feel it and learn if it was just like a snake, truly. 

But that was for another day. She knew that. There were too many variables, too many dangers to trying to tranquilize it. There was no telling how the creature would react to the use of human barbiturates--it could either end terribly, with the creature having an outright adverse reaction or even worse still, where it did work, but the creature woke up too soon while she was in its cage. It was too risky to do something that rash now, so--

Hermione watched. For now.

She took in the smooth shape of its head, the red of its irises and the cat-like slits of its eyes. Her eyes missed nothing, noting with excruciating detail even the flap of skin between its legs, furled and wrinkled. It was uncanny, how, even after days of observation, she was still struck by how much its genitals resembled that of a human male’s.

“Dr. Granger.”

Hermione jumped, attention so consumed by the specimen in front of her that she didn’t notice when a guard had stopped beside her. 

Pressing her hand to her chest to stop her heart from crawling up her esophagus, Hermione cast an annoyed glance at the man. He was dark-haired, with eyes such a pale green that they almost glowed. 

Hermione, for the life of her, could not remember his name.

“Yes? Is there something I can help you with?” Hermione asked, masking her irritation as best as she could. There was no need to chew the man out. Lord knows how long she’d been in that room already, starting at the alien’s body. Anyone would be concerned about her mental health.

“We’ve been here for three hours, doctor. We understand how important your work is, but--”

Hermione lifted her hand up and the man stilled in his words instantly. 

“You can relieve yourselves, if that’s what the fuss is all about. I can take care of things from here, as you can see.”

Hermione gestured to the creature safely contained behind a smaller glass cage, as if to prove that she had everything handled. The guard did not look convinced, however.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.”

Hermione groaned, as if pained, her hand coming up to rub against her temples. Had she not made herself clear? She was not leaving. Nothing short of an actual nuclear disaster was getting her off this damned chair.

“I understand the concern, but as you see, there is still much to be done. The specimen has been well behaved--no one else has died save for the two men when we first transported it here. However, if you’re so worried about my wellbeing, you can leave one of your men behind to keep an eye on me.”

The guard opened his mouth as if to argue, but then he clicked it shut. Victory swelled in Hermione’s chest instantly. She had won, could tell in the way the guard lowered his shoulders and his lips pinched.

“Alright. We’ll leave someone outside who will manage the controls while you're still in here. If anything happens, and I do mean anything, they will come for you.”

Hermione nodded, eyes already making their way to the specimen that had stopped its pacing in the cell, its eyes now trained on the both of them.

Interesting.

She didn’t look away from it when the man excused himself, the sound of his footsteps disappearing and the door closing announcing his departure. 

A grin spread along her lips, excitement bubbling up her belly. 

Finally, they were completely alone.

Weeks passed, and Hermione found that the guards had become more amenable to leaving her alone with the creature. 

She was grateful for that, happy to work without the scrutinizing gazes of the guards on her back as she sketched and diagrammed different areas of its body.

Although from a glance, the creature did look human in many ways, that was where their similarities ended. 

When the creature had opened its mouth once, Hermione could not help but shudder at the row of sharp teeth inside. There were rows of them, not one but two, the back of them flat--similar to that of humans in that it mashed up whatever food it ate.

But those canines. 

They were large and sharp enough to cut through meat, to break bone down. She almost wanted to test its jaw strength, to throw in a device that would test just how much strength it had.

She didn’t, though. It was enough to watch it eat, to see it chew and snarl through raw meet with a pearly white bone poking out from the flesh. The fact that it could tear through raw meat that easily, without making a mess of blood and flesh on the floor was telling of how powerful it was.

It was a good thing, indeed, that she was out there and the creature was in there. 

Hermione had abandoned her chair in the midst of her observations, no longer satisfied with remaining in her seat when she could get a much better view of the way it breathed pressed close to the glass.

The creature had stopped its movements altogether, its eyes looking at her curiously--a hint of something Hermione could not define in its gaze. It was...amazing. 

A real-life alien. She couldn’t contain her zeal, walking around the box, and reveling in her excitement with little reservations now that she was no longer under the careful eye of the guards.

The only one that remained was outside of those doors, and Hermione pressed her hands against the glass, eyes wide in wonder when the creature stood on its legs as a man would and placed its hands against the glass where her hands were.

Oh my--

Hermione was vibrating with energy, unable to tear her eyes away from where their hands were separated from the glass.

“Did you enjoy the view?”

All the air rushed out of her lungs, brows knitting together despite herself. Surely, the creature couldn’t possibly be speaking--

“Oh yes, I most definitely am.”

Hermione backed away from the glass as if burned, shock fueling her movements until she was standing right at the corner of the room. 

The creature had not torn its eyes away from her, a glimmer of amusement and interest gleaming in its inhuman eyes. They were no longer dull with unawareness.

It was intelligent.

Hermione couldn’t quite decide whether to be terrified or awed.

The box was made for an unintelligent specimen. It wouldn’t be able to hold something that could think outside of eating, killing, and defecating.

“H-how long?” Hermione asked, eyes widening with horror when the creature cocked its head to one side and the glass cracked, splintering into millions of tiny fissures within moments.

Oh god.

“From the very start.”

She sprung from where her legs had been rooted on the floor, running to the door at the end of the room. She pounded on its surface, blood rushing up to her ears.

The door refused to move.

“Open the god damn door,” she shouted, hysteria making her words crack at the end, but still, the guard outside refused to open the door for her. 

Was he even still out there?

“They won’t come for you, you know.”

Hermione trembled when the crack of glass shattering exploded behind her, shards of it sailing through the air and pelting her with the crystals. She didn’t turn around but continued to pound on the door, her heart lodged in her throat.

No. No. No.

The mutilated bodies of two men flashed behind her eyes, and Hermione thought she might be sick. She’d been personally there when the autopsy had been conducted, wanting a closer look at the extent of the damage to feel out the alien’s abilities. 

“You and I both made certain of that.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione stopped banging against the door. It was useless. If what the creature said was true, then she wasn’t going to get out of this unscathed. 

She’d just have to find another way out, then.

Hermione spun around, leveling the creature with the bravest look she could muster. There was nothing brave or strong about her emotions. They were messy and alive with hysteria, but she had to calm down.

Panicking would get her nowhere.

The creature was standing in the remains of the glass box, its eyes trained on hers. Hermione tried not to shrink underneath its scrutiny, wondering faintly if this was how the creature had felt when she’d been roaming over its body with her eyes.

“What have you done? How could you have done anything when in that cage?”

The creature cocked its head to one side, as if weighing whether to answer the question or not, before he stepped out of the glass box. The crunch of its bare feet stepping onto the glass made her wince.

“Now now, Dr. Granger, that would be telling.”

Her lips twisted into a grimace, hating the way its lips stretched into a delighted smile. It was fucking terrifying. 

“Why should I answer your questions? Why should I indulge your curiosity? You have no power here.”

Anger bloomed in her chest, toxic and acidic. It made her see red, it made her want to lunge at the monster and do something foul.

Hermione bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood, in a pitiful attempt, she might add, to calm herself down.

It’s baiting me.

“I beg to differ. You’re not setting one foot out of this facility without my say so,” Hermione said through gritted teeth, hating the way the creature began to purr. Its eyes roved over her, from the top of her head and down to her feet and back. It was invasive, oddly probing. It was as if it were looking for something. 

Hermione hoped it didn’t find what it was looking for.

“And what makes you think I could not have escaped already? That I am not here because I have elected to stay?”

All the breath rushed from her lungs, horror shooting through her insides at the thought. 

Then, the creature began to move, its steps slow and sinuous despite the loud crunch of glass sliding along the floor. Squaring her shoulders, Hermione tried not to let her fear show, eyes whirling about the room for something she could snatch to defend herself.

A shard of glass winked at her from her left, and Hermione didn’t wait. She sprung from her perch against the door, screaming when the creature was suddenly on her, its hand snatching her coat.

With a roll of her shoulders, she forced it off of her before the creature could get a stronger hold, grunting when there was a loud tearing, the sound like nails to a chalkboard. 

Hermione snatched the massive shard of glass and turned, pointing it out at the monster that now stood only a foot away, its massive height making her crane her neck to maintain a clear view of its face.

Her coat was in its grasp, and Hermione shuddered when it pressed the cloth nearer to its face, its eyes sealing shut to breathe in her scent from the fabric. 

“You smell just delightful, Dr. Granger.”

Nausea wrenched her stomach, bile burning up her esophagus at the guttural sound and the way its eyes snapped open to pierce her with a look of total hunger. Hermione’s grip on the glass tightened, the corners cutting into her palms. She hardly felt the sting, not when there was pure adrenaline rushing through her veins.

"What do you want?” Hermione snapped, taking a step back when the creature lifted its head away from the fabric, eyes never leaving her face. There was something shrewd about the look it gave her. Cruel. As if it were toying with her, stringing her about like some puppet on display.

It made the teeth in Hermione’s mouth ache, her fear and anger coil like live eels in her stomach.

“Why are you here if you chose to be here?”

A high hissing sound rumbled from the creature’s throat, and Hermione stiffened, incensed. It was laughing at her. 

“Come now, what fun is there in giving you all the answers? You’re far brighter than this, love.”

A chill swept through her, thoughts rushing a mile a minute. But no matter how hard she thought of this, of its intentions, it was like grasping at straws. She didn’t understand. 

None of this made sense. 

It was an alien from god knows where in the universe, and it spoke to her. In English, with a British accent no less--

“Still don’t understand? Would you like a hint?”

Gooseflesh rippled up her arms when the creature began to move toward her again, and Hermione lifted her weapon, pointing the shard of glass at him in the hopes that it’d stay away.

“Two human men have died. What is it that they have in common?”

For each step he took, Hermione took another, the corner of her eyes keeping an eye on where she moved, so as not to force herself into a corner. She’d seen enough bloody horror movies to not make that mistake.

What did they have in common?

Surprise hit her like a blow to her stomach. She wanted to be sick, to press her hand to her mouth to repress the nausea that overcame her, her lunch that afternoon threatening to climb up her esophagus and greet her shoes.

Both of their skulls had been cracked open like an egg and their brains scrambled. Salvaged for something.

“Oh g-god, you--”

The creature only smiled, a wicked glint in its eyes. It looked pleased, thrilled at the horrified expression on her face.

“Their minds were of little note, but it was enough to give me the tools I required to learn your pitiful language. You cannot imagine my frustration at being able to delve into your mind what with the language barrier--”

Hermione limbs had locked, her mouth opening and closing both in horror and fascination. The creature had eaten their brains, quite literally, to speak their language. And now--

Now it will eat yours too.

“Nonsense. I will do no such thing.”

Hermione was far from comforted by this fact. 

Wait. Had the creature just replied directly to her thoughts?

“After all, I am here for you.”

All thoughts of the monster melted away when the creature crept closer, and she began to move again, eyeing the way its body slid and slunk like that of a coiled snake, ready to sink its fangs into its prey. Her mind was thinking a mile a minute, unable to make sense of what it was even saying.

For her? 

The creature was there for her? No, that couldn’t be true. That would mean that two men died because of her. That two lives were lost, their brains utterly scrambled like bloody soup for her.

“No,” Hermione denied, a sharp sting spreading over her palms when the glass cut into her palms. She was clutching the shard so hard her knuckles went white, but the cut on both of her palms, the potential infection, was the least of her worries. “You’re lying. You couldn’t possibly--”

“But I can. I am.”

A scream ripped from her throat when the creature rushed her, moving so fast she couldn’t see its movements, and grabbed one of her wrists. It squeezed her hard enough to bruise, and Hermione cursed and kicked, dropping the shard from her shaking fingers from the pain.

“I will admit. I didn’t plan to play captor and captive for very long. It is rare for me to remain in such a state when I am used to taking what I want from inferior species.”

She kicked and clawed, her free hand raking it across its arm, shoulders, and chest. She was fighting with everything she had, but the creature wasn’t phased by the blows, in fact, its eyes were glowing with mirth, a stupid smirk gracing its lips. 

“But your smell,” it rumbled, the purr of its voice making the hairs in the back of her neck stand on end. 

Oh god. No, No. No--

“It is mouthwatering, Dr. Granger. I simply had to find the source, to see for myself just what human possessed such a delectable scent.”

Then, the creature was lifting her up by her wrist, the pain in her joints shooting up and down her arm like a shock of electricity. She cried out, toes barely touching the ground as she tried to struggle, but couldn’t find the leverage to do any damage.

“And to my surprise, I find a human girl and a researcher no less. How tempted I was to take you while you were tucked away in that little room, your little eyes fascinated by something as innocuous as my naked back. It would have been delightful to watch your eyes widen with fear as I tore that human male’s throat out before your eyes--”

Hermione flailed about, tears burning at the corners of her eyes from the agony. Her shoulder felt like it was about to be pulled out of its socket, but still, she refused to cry. She wouldn’t.

She wasn’t weak, damn it.

“But I refrained. I wanted to see what you’d do, Dr. Granger. The fascination in your eyes, the furious way you took notes of each painful detail that you could see, your knowledge: all of it had sealed your fate.”

Abruptly, the creature released her wrist and Hermione fell back with a loud cry, her back hitting the ground so hard that her teeth rattled in her mouth. The creature slinked over her, and Hermione couldn’t move, could scarcely breathe from the agony shooting up her back and the red eyes staring into her eyes.

“You wanted to know what made me tick, to understand my capabilities, to see for yourself just what I can do.”

The creature’s mouth parted into a wide grin, teeth gleaming beneath the lights above their heads. It pressed closer, until its forehead was against hers, the chill of its skin enough to spur her into action.

Her hands came to claw out its eyes, her feet kicking at its chins, squirming and punching at its body. The monster blocked her kick when she aimed it at the wrinkled flesh between its thighs, wanting--no, needing--to see if it would end in the same result as it would a human male.

The high-pitched laughter that escaped its throat was enough to make her snarl, to make her desperate, but the creature, as if being done with the theatrics, snatched her flailing hands in one of his own and slammed them above her head.

The bones in her wrist protested, a twinge of agony forcing a pained whimper from her throat. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck--

“Let me show you, Hermione, just what it is that I can do.”

Then, there was a shift, and the question sitting on her tongue, the one that urged her to demand how it knew her name, fell away. Lost to the wind when there was a faint sound, one that Hermione could have almost missed had she not been hyperaware of every twitch the creature made above her. 

Its body began to contort, to ripple like millions of droplets on a placid lake. It was both fascinating and horrifying to watch, to see how its teeth began to recede into its mouth, how the slits of its pupils rounded into that of a human’s. It was transforming, becoming something else--someone else.

She was at a loss for words, frozen by both her mute terror and fascination, as hair began to grow from atop its head, the bald head replaced by a head of soft waves of dark hair. A nose began to grow from the flat part of its face, sharp and angled. 

The rippling didn’t stop until it was a human face staring back at her. One that Hermione had never seen before, but would never forget. 

Its eyes were still red, still a malignant shade of cruel, but it didn’t matter now. The monster had become the most beautiful human being she’d ever set her eyes on. It was as if the monster had taken the best features from a human male and took it for his own.

A hand pressed against her throat, human and warm, unlike the cold flesh that had touched her forehead, and Hermione swallowed, unable to speak when its fingers dug into the skin. 

“At a loss for words?” The creature asked, a teasing note in its voice that made her stomach clench. It no longer spoke with a high and reedy tone, but masculine drawl. It was as rich as sin, and Hermione wanted to shrink into the floor and disappear.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening--

“Oh, but it is. I am just like you, Hermione. I can be anything if I wished it, could lift from your very mind the faces you’ve seen in the past and become them.”

Hermione wanted to vomit, eyes unable to tear away from the creature’s when those, too, began to change. Darkened. 

The creature spoke on as if it didn’t mind that Hermione had yet to say a thing.

“You’ve been a wonderful host, Hermione. But I think I’ve overstayed my welcome in this facility, don’t you agree?” 

Hermione swallowed through the lump in her throat, a wheeze escaping her when its fingers squeezed her throat, blocking her airways. It could strangle her if it wished. Snap her neck, if it so desired. The possibilities were limitless. Hermione shook her head furiously, in spite of that. Nothing would make her happier than to see the creature leave.

“But of course, I must take you with me. We have great need of a human with your skillset.”

No.

Its fingers tightened, and black began to creep over her vision, specks of color dancing along his face. She squirmed beneath him, moving to dislodge the hand curling over her neck while his thumb slowly trailed over her pulsing carotid artery.

Panic bloomed in her stomach at the look of malicious glee in its eyes, at the way its face glowed with satisfaction at her weak squirming.

“I cannot simply let you go. You know far too much about me, Hermione.”

The hand pressed onto the sides of her neck, careful not to dig into her trachea and snap her neck, and then--

She was floating, sailing through murky depths, unable to hold onto what remained of her consciousness no matter how hard her mind screamed for her to stay awake. 

She fell, and fell, and fell--

Its laughter, the last thing she heard before she was swallowed by darkness.

[gentleknj]

consequences (part 2) | kth

✧ pairing: kim taehyung x reader / crime au

✧ genre: angst, light smut, breaks of fluff because i needed to break up all that angst.

✧ word count: over 6k  ✧ summary:  This is a love story of two people, told in chronological order. Lovers on the lam was never going to be an easy feat. But falling in love wasn’t any easier than robbing a bank, especially if your love thrives in the midst of a drug war. One from a broken home and the other from an underground drug world, will this love triverse the odds or will it succumb to its demise?

✧ warnings: heavy swearing, familial issues, cheating, slight gore, mentions of drugs, guns, serious crimes, death, and alcohol. If you are easily triggered/very sensitive i recommend you not reading this. i’ve said it before and i will continue to say this until i run out of words to write. I would rather have 0 readers than harm anyone. enjoy. X

(ps i am so so sorry this is so late, but i promise the next chapter will be over 10k and there will be more backstory for both y/n and taehyung as well. thank you for the continued support, and i hope it lives up to your expectations)

masterlist

Love. A completely foreign concept to the blonde man, a feeling he thought he had only felt many years ago when his mother was still alive. But such a out-of-the-box feeling resonated from the figure beside him. Whatever he was developing with you, he knew it had to be protected and he would stop at nothing to do so.

It truly was astonishing how there was even any room for oxygen in the office, the tension thick enough to disperse the hydrogen from the oxygen atoms themselves. Jin’s hardset eyes continued to lock with Taehyung’s. The latter still found it harder to breathe, despite keeping his resolve. The older man waved gently for Laura to shut the door, making a tsk sound when she tried to leave while doing so. The sound alone drove chills down your spine as if it were some warning signal that only went off to alert full hell had broken loose.

“Laura, dear, please do stay. I think you’d at least like to get a goodbye in if this whole ordeal goes south.” Jin’s voice was sweet like honey, only stinging like the bee it was made from. Such a handsome man, kind and gentle looking, but his soft features were a ploy to deter you from the malevolence brewing inside.

The blonde woman swallowed thickly before doing as told, closing the door to cut off the party unfolding beneath them.

“Now, I’m aware that Mr. Jeon has told you about a job tonight, is that correct?” Jin spoke as he shifted his position, resting against the front of the doe eyed boys desk flatly on his palms. The tone of his voice kept Taehyung on edge, his digits sweating against yours as he gripped you tightly, stepping in front of you just a fraction. “Ah, well, there have been a tiny change in plans. You see, what you collect tonight is to be returned here to me. Of course, you all get your cut, but only what is seen fit for the effort I see you put in.”

“Sure. It doesn’t bother me either way. I drop a few bodies, hand you your shit and leave.” The blonde male fired, feline eyes never leaving his targeted audience.

“Mm. I see.” Jin reached up to gently rub his chin in what seemed to be annoyance, quickly standing to his full height as he adjusted his expensive blazer. “You and Jungkook are to head to the docks and disband this poker game to bring me my payout.” His expression was now calm, unreadable almost as he sat further onto the edge of the wooden desk.

“But it’s mine, is it not?” Jungkook’s features were hard, emotionless save for the quick tilt of his head to the side. Taehyung knew that gesture all too well, his friend was ready to pounce and quite literally rip apart Jin’s throat in pure anger despite, howbeit, his formalities still lacing his voice. “Those men owe me, sir. I don’t mind splitting my profit 70-30 with you-”

“You expect me to take such a low share when I’m doing you a favor and not putting a bullet between your lady’s eyes after taking her on your desk in front of you? Hmm?”

He was egging Jungkook on, enjoying the rise he was getting out of him. Your free hand lent itself outwards to Laura, her hand welcoming yours immediately. Taehyung swallowed thickly, releasing your hand before outstretching his towards Jin. ”You have a deal,” The younger verbally sealing the negotiation. “My only request is that our girls are monitored among the guests downstairs. None of your men, or you, get alone time with them. You wouldn’t want us to focus on their safety while we’re gone and fuck up the job, would you?”

Taehyung was charismatic, it was hard to say no to him whenever he made any kind of business transactions. He radiated confidence even if his life was on the line. Jin turned his attention to the blonde man, eyebrows raising slightly as his expression became furthermore unreadable. Minutes passed silently as they looked at one another, the latter’s hand still outstretched causing your heart to pound with the muted bass from downstairs.

“We have a deal. 50-50, and the ladies join the party downstairs. I’ll have my men posted at every door, and if you or your ladies try anything, our deal is off. Do I make myself clear?”

The agreement was then made by the chorus of hums in agreeance, guns lowered and tucked away as Jungkook was released. The brunette boy wasted no time in making his way to his girlfriend, his emotions etched into his face. The tension was still residing in the stuffy office and the purple haired man nodded towards the door.

The four of you were to follow Namjoon to the room down the hall to equip the two men before they headed out for the night, the door slightly ajar as Jin’s voice rang out.

“Oh and boys,” He smiled smugly, taking a seat in the lavish chair behind Jungkook’s desk. “Don’t take too long, I may charge a late fee if you do. I’ll choose which of the girls will repay me for the time you waste of mine.” Taehyung grasped the younger boys arm firmly at his words and shoved him further down the hallway before he could reply with some remark that would guarantee the deal would be off.

Twenty minutes later, the two of you were stood outside in the cobblestone driveway. Jungkook had said his goodbye to Laura before he left the house, instructing her to take care of herself by any means until he returned. The blonde mans eyes were fixed on yours, his hands taking yours firmly.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere alone and keep in mind what I taught you about close combat.”

“Tae, I’m not seven. I can handle myself if I feel my life is in immediate danger.”

“I know that. I just needed to hear it. I’ll call you when we’re coming back and then you and I can leave alright? I heard Yoongi’s got us a penthouse suite for the week and a run for us to do.”

“I don’t want to think about that until you’re back in one piece, got it? Focus on getting you and Jungkook back safely and then we can talk about the next run.” Your hand moved to cup his cheek gently, your teeth worrying into your lower lip as you paused. It was hard to grow attached to someone, let alone someone like him, a complete mystery. But the affliction that brewed in the pit of your stomach was hard to suppress. You had given your heart completely to him and you hoped he knows it. Falling in love wasn’t something you ever wanted to do, love never existing in your upbringing, but it sure did have a hold on your heart when you looked at him.

“I promise.” He nodded, tangling your free pinky with his own before leaving a chaste kiss to your forehead.

Within minutes, the car had disappeared into the traffic of the night, the pale woman beside you reminding you to join her inside. The heavy feeling that plagued your chest was one Taehyung felt himself. Only, he couldn’t focus on it, but instead the man beside him and the mission at hand.

Jungkook is amazing on his feet, agile and intelligent, he was a great man to fight beside. The tension that radiated from his body and filled the car, however, was something the younger man was always struggling to subdue behind a facade of indifference.

“They’ll be fine, you know.” The older of the two spoke, checking the magazine of his silenced .9mm as his friends knuckles turned pale at the intensity of his grip. “Even if that bastard wanted to put his hands on her, you know she could-”

“Just shut the fuck up, hyung. I don’t need to keep the image of him laying hands on her in the front of my mind. It’s bad enough he fucking came to my home.” Jungkook all but growled, jaw tight as the traffic heading to the docs blurred by.

The blonde man sat tight lipped the rest of the way, a frown remaining prominent on his otherwise model like features. Once the two arrived, there wasn’t much security for the game that nestled itself in a freight container, sitting against the waterside. The headlights of the car were turned off as they parked a few containers down, scoping out the area for any unexpected onlookers or security. Gun silencers in place, mags full and hearts silently racing, the two snuck amongst the shadows to the entrance and easily took out the two hefty guards. But not before one of them got a good left hook in on Taehyung, his lip splitting at the harsh contact. It only egged his anger and discomfort of the entire situation on further.

Loud music pumped through the metal container to muffle the chatter of the older men inside, the bickering amongst who was bluffing and playful banter about the others abilities at poker. It was almost a shame to break up such a domestic get together, as domestic as drug kingpins could get on a weeknight.

The brunette nodded his chin towards the opening gap of the container and the two stepped fluidly inside, neither hesitating to put a bullet between the two goons’ eyes that stood to overlook the game. The six men sat around the poker table shouted in a mixture of shock and anger upon the interruption.

“Ah, Mr. Jeon. I see you’re here to collect your money personally, eh?” The eldest man sat at the far end of the table spoke after they had quieted down, all eyes on the two young men with gun sights that moved between each of the elders.

“Something like that.” Jungkook quipped, a small smirk making an appearance. “I grew impatient of waiting. I have people to pay off as well, you see, it isn’t just about you.”

Laughter boomed from the bold man, hands moving to swipe through his taut hair, glasses dropping to the tip of his nose. “Young man, there is such thing as patience-”

“Cut the shit, Ahn, we aren’t here to talk. We’re here to get what you owe my friend here and leave. Now, either you can give us the fucking money, or we’ll put a bullet through your head and take your fucking pals out as well.” Taehyung made his way to the other side of the container to press the tip of his silencer firmly to the back of the man’s head, annoyance bubbling through his veins.

The smoke from the abandoned cigarettes around the table made the air thicker, apprehensive glances shared between the two boys. Neither one of them taken seriously by the gangsters sat before them. Each men in the room had their fair share of guns pointed at their skulls, so this was nothing new. But they needed to be provoked into cooperation and Taehyung was getting impatient as the thought of you being alone at the manor creeped up his spine.

Dry laughter befell the older men and that seemed to only heighten the blonde’s annoyance, his gun swiftly shifting momentarily to lodge a bullet in the man beside Mr. Ahn. The men’s head made a loud thudding sound as it hit the table, the laughter ceasing between the older men.

“Christ..” Mr. Ahn sighed, motioning to the three duffle bags sat in the corner of the container. “Your fucking money is in there. Take it and leave.”

Jungkook nodded, lowering his gun before shouldering two of the duffle bags and motioning for his friend to take the other.

“Don’t even think about retaliation, sir. I know where your daughter and her three children live.” The youngest man threw a smirk over his shoulder before taking a leave through the slightly ajar doors.

The walk wasn’t very far to the car although their pace was swift, the trunk opening upon a simple press of a button from the keychain that sat comfortably in Jungkook’s hand. The two boys shared a silent congratulatory nod as the duffles were stuffed in the trunk. The hour long drive back was now the only thing left of this fucked situation.

Back at the manor, Laura had flit between small groups of party guests to do her best at keeping the anxiety of the situation at bay. You on the other hand, gripped the mostly full bottle of soju in your hands, knee bouncing up and down as you sat on the bar stool that hugged the in-home bar. It was hard to keep the gnawing thoughts of negativity from clouding your mind. And the smug look on Seokjin’s face from the far end of the room didn’t help ease your mind one bit. You could feel his eyes boring into your skin, making you feel small and under a magnifying glass.

You had been too caught up in nursing the tiniest of sips from your bottle that you hadn’t noticed someone sat down beside you.

“You’re kind of cute when you’re frightened.” Namjoon chuckled before ordering a drink of his own.

“Oh, piss off.” You hissed, your nose scrunching slightly as you tucked into the bar counter further, eyes scanning the front door periodically in hopes of seeing the man that made you feel safe.

“Mm, feisty.” The purple haired man shook softly with laughter, sipping from his freshly made drink. “You know, you should ease up a little bit. We aren’t as fucked up as you’re making us out to be.”

“Oh yeah?” You finally looked at him, brows knotting together. If he wasn’t so intimidating and on the ‘opposing team’ you would’ve found him to be much cuter than your senses would allow. He’s probably a nice man, but right now you could only think about the million and one ways he could put you in danger right now with a simple signal from his boss just over 10 feet away.

He simply nodded, eyeing you over the rim of his glass. But before the conversation could carry out, you had anxiously glanced at the front door for the umpteenth time that night and were pleasantly overwhelmed by what you saw. You didn’t owe Namjoon a polite excuse before jumping from your seat, feet shuffling quickly through the intoxicated bodies.

Your hands immediately cupped Taehyung’s face to give his features a good look over, noting his split lip and deciding to ask him about it later before pulling him into the tightest hug you could manage. He’d only been gone maybe three hours, tops, but after growing used to doing any runs with him, this felt like you’d been apart for too long. Relief finally flooded through you when he let out a laugh at your actions, duffle dropping to beside his feet to wrap his arms around your frame.

Your embrace was short lived when none other but Seokjin himself interrupted with an unamused clearing of his throat. “Shall we head to the office, boys?” He spoke, a wry smile making an appearance.

Jungkook waved his girlfriend over with a small smile, the two interlacing hands before the four of you followed behind Jin to the office you met in earlier. The air seemed to be just as tense as a few hours ago, duffle bags making a quiet thud against the hardwood of the desk. 3.5 billion won sat comfortably between the three large bags, each bundle of money counted twice to ensure the full payout was there. Half was taken by Hoseok and Namjoon down to their leader’s car as the aforementioned man stayed behind, hand outstretched to Jungkook.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Jeon.” A cheshire cat smile making an appearance as the two shook hands.

Jungkook had stayed silent in response as Taehyung shook Jin’s hand as well, the older male leaving immediately after. You let out a heavy sigh, unaware that you had been holding your breath that entire time. And now that you could relax, the dried blood that sat against Taehyung’s swollen lip brought itself to the front of your mind once more.

“Christ, what happened?” You frowned, brows furrowing as you tilted his chin to get a better look at the bruising area.

Instead of answering, he simply sucked in a quiet breath when your fingertip ghosted over the wound sat proudly on his plump lip. A ‘tsk’ sound fell from your own lips, his face being tugged down gently by your hands as you leaned up on your toes to place a firm kiss to his forehead. Your fingers laced with his when Jungkook spoke up, Taehyung’s chest blooming with warmth at your simple actions. He hadn’t felt someone care about his injuries, however minor they may be in this case, since primary school.

“Goodness, what am I to do with you, raindrop?” Her voice was hoarse from the medication pulsing through the IV. “What happened?” She tried again, this time with a new softness in her tone.

The small boy looked at the floor, eyes brimming with embarrassed tears. “The boys at school told me I looked like I was poor. And they said mean things about you so I pushed one of them and told them they were stupid.” His voice broke as the tears spilled, tiny hands clinging to the soft fabric of her sweater.

Gentle coos filled the room along with his sobs. Her tired arms mustered as much strength as she could to pull him up into her lap as she sat at the edge of the bed, fingers carding through his messy brown locks slowly.

“It’s okay, raindrop. They don’t know any better, okay? Their parents didn’t take the time to tell them right from wrong. Now how about this, hmm? You and I can go down to Myeongdong tomorrow and do some clothes shopping okay? It’s going to be okay, baby.” She paused, pulling away enough to make eye contact with the sad boy in her arms. “I’ll make it all better, I promise you. But you have to promise to never get sent home from school for some dumb fight. Got it?”

He nodded hurriedly, afraid that if he even missed a beat that she would be disappointed in any hesitation. Any over thought reaction. She was all he had, and he couldn’t bear the thought of what would happen if he made her hate him. Although, what he didn’t know, was that his mother wasn’t wired to hate the small, intelligent and kind boy that sat in her lap with snot and tears claiming their spot on his small, puffy face.

The two men bid their goodbyes after splitting the cash evenly, the younger of the two muttering an apology before whisking away his girlfriend to be a host of the party still carrying out strong on the floor below. The anxiety finally subsided as Taehyung’s hand laced with yours, a nod towards the door for a silent understanding of much needed rest. Although, with the amount of fear you had during this evening’s events; you were sure that it would be near sunrise that the two of you would finally be getting some sleep.

AUGUST.

-

Today had been marked the hottest day of the year, lucky for you two, you were calmly sat in the large apartment Yoongi rented out. From the windows, you could see all of Daegu. Soft chatter from some droning newscaster about a convenience store robbery from yesterday. Your hip rested against the grand piano Yoongi had bought and occasionally played when he stayed at the apartment between jobs. The sun beat down on the lively city, people going about their day and completely unaware of your actions the previous day. More so, they knew what you’d done, but not that it had been you.

Taehyung had gotten stir crazy, going on about how he had been itching to get his hands on actual cash and not on the cold plastic of the card his friend set up for money to be wired to for jobs. So, on a complete impulse, the two of you drove to the edge of town and robbed the fourth convenience store since last month. The registers were never full of enough money to raise eyebrows, but close to a million won was enough to report to the police.

Adrenaline, pure and hot as it coursed through your body. The balaclava snug against your skin, leaving your eyes and lips exposed. Two things Taehyung couldn’t quite get enough of. A friend of Yoongi’s, Park Jimin, decided he would be an accomplice so long as he got a third of whatever proceeds the two of you were able to get.

The van circled the block twice, the three of you scouting for any ‘heros’ that would come to the rescue of the young, unwary cashier that sat inside. Business was slow and there were hardly any people roaming the streets. What a perfect opportunity. Taehyung dialed Jimin’s cell, instructing him to keep it on speaker and sit around the block with the van running so they could make a smooth getaway.

The orange haired man was obedient to his friends instructions as he adjusted his sunglasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “Good luck, I’ll be here.” A soft smile was hidden behind his mask as the three nodded to one another.

Your feet carried in sync with the tall blonde’s, hands entwined while you entered the store. No customers were inside, the adrenaline subduing slightly. Taehyung held the trash bag open as you pointed the gun at the cashier, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“Clean the register out!” You shouted, pacing slightly as you glanced around the store once more. “And don’t you fucking get ballsy kid. I won’t hesitate to fucking shoot you.”

Tears began pouring from the young man’s face and you felt a little guilty, this had to’ve been his first job. Ironed work vest, naive. He followed directions well enough, though, emptying the entirety of the register into the bag Taehyung had held out, gun tucked into the back of his pants snugly.

But before either of you could register the older woman that came out of the backroom, she fired a shot. It rung out in your ears as you turned to the source, morals out the window as you fired not once, but twice at her. The young boy had taken this opportunity to book it out of the store, jumbled words falling from Taehyung’s lips.

As your heart nearly stopped, you grabbed the bag from the tan boy’s hands, wrapping an arm around his waist to help him out to the van that now sat with the backdoor opened and a very panicked Jimin in the driver’s seat.

“Fuck! Step on it! Get us to the fucking apartment!” Taehyung’s body thudded into the bed in the back of the van, the door sloppily slamming shut as the orange haired male did as instructed, speeding off down various streets in an effort to not seem suspicious.

“Baby, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.” You cried, tearing the wool fabric from your face as well as his to hold your hair back.

Your hands were covered in blood, the bullet luckily hitting his lower left abdomen where there would be less chance of any major organs being completely thrashed.

“Fuck, J-Jimin! Learn to fucking drive, huh?” Taehyung shouted, face growing pale.

Sweat beaded on his hairline, large hands enclasping yours to add pressure to the wound. “Call Hyunsik and tell him to meet us at Yoongi’s place.” You shouted over your shoulder as the van haphazardly pulled into the basement parking lot of the apartment complex. Luckily enough, if you insert a special card into the elevator then you can bypass the front desk and any staff that would inevitably ask questions. “Baby, you’ll be okay. I’ve got you, okay?” You tried once more, reaching a hand up to brush hair out of your boyfriend’s face, blinking away the tears that spilled.

It was no easy feat to support Taehyung’s weight as you and Jimin helped him into the elevator, the phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear as he helped lean his friend against the elevator wall. Within the span of twenty minutes you had gone from an adrenaline junky to a complete mess. The man you cared so deeply for was now bleeding on you, losing consciousness as you made it to the dining room table of the apartment. The blood trailing itself from the elevator and across the white tiles.

Within minutes, you had managed to follow the instructions being given over the phone as Hyungsik informed you that he would be there in ten minutes. The blood was staining your hands at this point, tears mixing with sweat as you inspected for the exit wound.

“Yeah, yeah- There’s an exit hole, fuck! Please-” You sniffled, trying your best to remain level headed as every emotioned flooded through your head at once. “Please hurry.”

As he promised, ten minutes had passed and the elevator doors opened, a tall man in workout clothes entered the apartment. The size of the first aid kit in his hand looked more than equipped with whatever he could possibly need. But the amount of blood Taehyung had lost was more than any kind of first aid kit could even dream of having. Of course, medical TV shows were almost never correct in their diagnosis considering 90% of them were all fictional or dramas.

“He’s going to need blood.” Hyunsik spoke, gloves already on and kit opened beside the now pale man splayed on the table.

“Take mine.” Without a second thought you began searching for a tourniquet amidst the supplies. “I-I have O Negative, I can give to anyone. Please.” your eyes met the older man’s as tears blurred your vision.

A quiet nod was given as you sat at the head of the table, hands running through Taehyung’s hair in an effort to calm his grunts of pain. An IV was started as best as an at home one could be, your attention shifting to the pacing man across the room.

“Jimin,” Your voice shook. Clearing your throat as the orange haired man turned his attention to you, he looked almost as helpless as you felt. “Call Yoongi, please and let him know what happened okay? And- and figure out a way to clean up all the blood so we don’t get caught and you can have my share of what we took, okay?”

A sigh fell from his lips as he shook his head, long strides carrying him to the elevator as he dialled who you assumed was Yoongi. This was supposed to be simple, get in, intimidate the kid and get the cash. That was it. How could this have gotten so fucked in such a short amount of time?

A soft groan of your name came from the room down the hall, your thoughts interrupted by the sound. Padding quietly to the source, worry etched itself onto your features as you stood in the bedroom doorway. The curtains had been closed and a humidifier infused with lavender were all an attempt to keep the tan boy you’d grown very, very fond of, calm.

“Y/n.” He called again, arm over his eyes so he hadn’t a clue that you had been standing there.

“I’m here baby.” You started, carefully moving further into the room. “Are you okay?”

He jumped slightly at the closeness of your voice, the darkness concealing the majority of your figure, sve for the soft glow from the humidifier. But in the sudden movement, he winced and you could feel your chest tighten at the sound. His hand came down to pat the bed beside him, a pout forming on his pink lips. A quiet giggle escaped your mouth at the sight, he resembled a small child who was needy for affection and it made your heart swell. To see him acting normal like this after the events of yesterday was enlightening to say the least.

Once sat beside him, your hand gently brushed through his hair as the other carefully lifted the covers to investigate the large bandage that sat above his hip. He was lucky enough that the woman had bad aim and missed his organs. He sure was happy that he had gained a little bit of extra weight or else he probably wouldn’t have survived. That, and the handiwork of Hyunsik who, luckily enough, works at the hospital but is close friends to Tae as well as Yoongi, so this kind of a call wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him.

While you were lost in your thoughts, eyes glued to the injury, the blonde took a moment to admire your features, soft with a warm glow from the light of the humidifier, relentlessly beautiful. And as if he were a mad man, his large hands grasped your cheeks gently, tugging your face to his to place a firm kiss to your lips. He felt intoxicated when he kissed you, like nothing in the world went wrong and you were the only other person on the planet with him.

The hum you let out against his lips caused a wide, boxy smile to appear. One you hadn’t seen fully since before Kim Seokjin appeared that night in Jungkook’s office. The butterflies were entirely mutual, but he hadn’t a clue that they were. To anyone outside of the relationship, it was obvious you were in love. Madly in love.

But the words that hung at the back of your throat didn’t have the courage to climb out and make themselves known. Pulling his thoughts back to reality, admittedly yours as well, his large palm skimmed down your neck and down between your breasts, trailing down your stomach as he finally rested it in your lap. Long fingers tugged at the fabric of his sweats that adorned your body, his teeth capturing your lower lip between his to graze his pearly whites over. The feeling caused you to moan into his mouth, hands moving to push gently at his shoulders.

“You’re hurt baby, we can’t do that.” Bashful giggles left your mouth as you leaned back against your palms, your eyes meeting his.

He sported a very unconvincing pout, the corners of his lips tugging as you squinted at him. “That doesn’t mean I can’t make you feel better. You are taking care of me afterall, like some kind of hot nurse.”

“Oh, no no. No foreplay, no sex, no nothing until you’re better. I know you’re tough, but I don’t want to hurt you even more okay? It was my fault anyways that you got hurt.” Your eyes fell to your lap were your hands now sat, guilt eating at your mind.

“What the fuck?” The volume of his voice took you by surprise, your eyes meeting once more. “You know that isn’t true.”

“I could’ve checked the store better before just pointing a gun in that kids face.” God, you felt like you’d let him down.

“Hey, neither of us expected there to be anyone else. I could’ve checked the store too, you know? It’s not your fault, I want you to know that.” Large, warm hands took yours, tugging you to lay beside him on the bed. “We both could’ve done better at checking, but you got me to the van. I remember little...snippets, if you will, of you helping hyung. If it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t have made it. Okay?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice now. Instead, you carefully tucked into his side, your face seeking a home in the crook of his neck. The two of you laid like this for a while in silence until Taehyung switched on the tv, flicking through the channels aimlessly. That is until the CCTV screencap of the two of you robbing the convenience store was on every news channel. Both of you watched intently as the reporter carried on.

“There have been reports of robberies in the last month by, what seems to be, the same couple. The two remain unnamed, but are armed and dangerous. Yesterday around 3pm, there were shots exchanged by the owner of a G25 near the edge of the city. The owner, Ms. Kim Heejung is in critical condition, and it is hard to tell whether or not she will survive the two bullet wounds. If you have any information about the suspects, we urge you to call 119. Thank you, and we will keep you updated as the story develops.”

Taehyung’s rumbling laughter took you by surprise, your brows knitting together as you moved to look at him. Before you could even question him, he shook his head and put one hand up in surrender.

“I’m not laughing at the fact that that woman has been hospitalized, it’s just funny to me that it took them this long to even broadcast our robberies. At this rate, they’ll never catch us.”

“Shut up, or you’ll jinx us.”

A sly smirk graced his features and you shook your head, moving to get up from the bed. But of course, a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist and anchored you in place. Giggles bubbled from your lips, your eyes rolling heavenward as soft lips left sporadic kisses against your face. Your attempts to push him way proved futile, but the laughter that bubbled between the two of you as you now lay face to face was enough to make butterflies erupt in your stomach. His breath fanned over your face, stray hairs of your own tickling against your skin.

Over the year, Taehyung had grown accustomed to being alone. Sleeping with someone was purely physical for him and he absolutely refused to let anyone spend the night with him afterwards. Feelings were just something that would inevitably leave him in shambles and he couldn’t quite bring himself to do such a lousy thing to himself again. So what was so different about you? Why is he letting you in so close? The laughter died down as these thoughts swirled his cluttered mind, hand resting in its place against your chin; thumb ghosting its pad against your cheek.

“You know, I can see the sadness in your eyes when you think like that.” You whispered, keeping your gaze on his lips as he put his full attention on you. “Whatever it is that makes the cogs in your brain work so furiously like that, that make your eyes seem so lost, I hope you’ll tell me one day.” Where the boldness came from that encouraged you to say this was beyond you. But before the cops catch you both, you opt for getting to know the man who has your heart in his giant, warm palms. All of your life was filled with horrible examples of marriage and family, money and drugs tearing everything at the seems. There was just something about him that made you want to pretend, just for a moment, that love exists and the world isn’t completely overrun by money hungry, sex driven, unintelligent beings with enough empathy to spare for a cockroach.

His touch retracted for a moment, mind stalling at how you were able to read him so well. It didn’t make sense how you were able to see that he was so caught up in his own mind when he had grown so talented at masking everything. The way he pulled away, even if it was for a second, you could feel any courage that grew on those words at the back of your throat had been squandered and replaced with a nauseating feeling of overstepping. And with that, you pressed a kiss to his forehead before standing.

“I’m going to make sure the blood trail we left is gone, yeah? Just...ring me if you need me, babe.” The tone of your voice faltered slightly, eyes glossed over before exiting the room. How could you have been so bold like that? To assume you know anything about the mystery that is Kim Taehyung?

Your bottom lip was taken between your teeth, hands finding comfort around the glass of wine you had left atop the piano. The keys seemed to beg to be touched, but you couldn’t be bothered to remember the sickeningly bittersweet lies that tangled with the melodies you’d practiced until your fingers hurt. Maybe you were in fact defective like your uncle had said all those years ago, incapable of anything but destruction and caressing those ivory keys you begged so fervently to save you.

-

a/n: AHHHH! an update, fiNALLY! again, i am so so so sorry this took so long to post but i had a lot going on. its also past midnight and ive been up for nearly 30 hours so i apologize for any mistakes that were left in, im posting this without editing it three times like i usually do (pls go easy on me). i hope you guys enjoy this series as much as i do, and feedback is always appreciated! x

[a-splash-of-stucky]

Interrupted [1/3]

Pairing: Bucky x Steve || Bucky x Steve x Reader

Summary: You walk in on a private moment, forcing the three of you to have an awkward conversation.

Warnings: Language, M/M action, bondage, female masturbation, oral sex (m/r and f/r), threesome.

A/N: This is a re-post. Originally written as my entry for this writing challenge and posted on my other blog. 

My prompt was “Okay…but seriously what the hell is going on?”, which I have put in bold somewhere in the story. Enjoy!

[1] [2] [3] || My Masterlist

“Ms Y/L/N?”

“Yes, FRIDAY?” you reply, setting the book you’d been reading down on your bedside table.

“Boss is requesting your presence in his lab. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes have returned from their mission,”.

“Ah, right, thanks FRIDAY, I’ll be there soon,”, you say, swinging your legs off the bed and sliding your feet into your shoes.

For the past three years, you’d been working as Tony Stark’s glorified lab assistant.You’d dealt with  everything from dousing his fires, to testing his prototypes, to de-bugging his software, and, as in today’s case, sifting though terabytes of data, deciding what should be stored within his database, and what to get rid of. Steve and Bucky had been sent to infiltrate an abandoned Roxxon Oil base on the coast of Brazil. Their mission was to break into the server room and retrieve all the data they could possibly get their hands on. The team had reason to suspect that Roxxon Oil had been acquiring huge sums of money via less than honest means — namely, the development and trade of WMDs — and needed as much info on the company’s history as they could get.

You bounce into Tony’s lab and grab a Stark tablet off one of the worktops, before coming to stand by his side. “Hey Twinkle-pop,” he greets, not bothering to look up from whatever it is he’s tinkering with, “Romanoff’s just delivered the Stark-drive they took on the mission, it’s over there somewhere,” he says, waving vaguely towards the right side of the room. “Take a look at it and start…doing whatever you need to do,”.

“What exactly am I looking for?” you ask, wandering between the tables, keeping an eye out for the sleek, black hard-drive. You crow in triumph when you see it balanced precariously on top of an enormous stack of papers.

“Uh…transfers of huge funds, mentions of weapons, anything…suspicious looking,” Tony mumbles, brow furrowing in concentration as he picks up a pair of tweezers and starts poking at his latest invention. Figuring you’re not going to get much more out of him, you plop yourself onto a stool and connect the Stark-drive to your tablet, so that you can transfer the files into FRIDAY’s system and start working through them.

“Heavily encrypted,” you announce.

“Can you handle it?” Tony asks, his tone distracted, suggesting that he’s only half-paying attention to you.

You snort indignantly. “‘Can I handle it?’ he asks. What am I, an amateur?” you grumble, fingers already tapping away at the screen as you blast through the meagre security measures put in place. A frown comes over your face when you glance at the file-transfer progress bar. “Tony? You sure this is all we got? Looks like only about half the size we were expecting,”.

“Hmm?” says Tony, not hearing you, focused as he in on wiring up his gadget.

You groan frustratedly, looking back at the tablet in your hands and chewing at your bottom lip as you deliberate your next action. Maybe a visit to Steve is in order. If you can figure out how he and Bucky got ahold of their files, or at least get an idea of what kind of equipment they were dealing with, you can determine whether or not they successfully retrieved all the data.

“Tony, I’m gonna go talk to Steve about this, okay?” you say, as you turn off your Stark tablet and get up from your stool.

Tony waves a hand at you offhandedly. “Yeah, sure, go ahead,” he replies, “Say hi to Cap for me, will ya? Haven’t seen him all day,”.

“That’s because you’ve been holed up in this place all day,” you mutter, pulling your phone and earphones out of your hoodie pocket and slipping them into your ears. Steve and Bucky’s shared apartment is literally located in the farthest fucking corner of the compound there is, so you walk at a brisk pace to get there, nodding your head to the beat of the song blaring in your ears.

When you get to their door, you don’t bother knocking, as the three of you are prone to showing up unannounced at each other’s room at any give time. Your little trio has developed such an easy-going friendship in the time you’ve known each other, that it’s second nature for you, by now, turning the handle and pushing the door open, as you pull your earphones out of your ears.

You wish that you had knocked, though.

Because what greets you on the other side shocks the living daylights out of you.

Who knew Bucky Barnes was into bondage?

He’s completely naked, save for the blue cord snaking its way around his body, its bright hue contrasting beautifully against the red flush of his skin. Intricate knots bind his arms behind his back and his legs into a kneeling position — there is even a coil of blue around his cock. Your eyes can’t help but linger on that part of his body for a beat too long. It’s hard, flushed obscenely red and curving towards his belly, the tip glistening wet. Despite the absurdity of the situation, the image causes arousal to flare in your loins.

What a glorious cock it is.

If you’re honest with yourself, you’ve had a crush on Bucky for as long as you’ve known him. Seeing him wield his knives with such precision and confidence in the training room never fails to make you weak in the knees. To your shame, you’ve caught yourself thinking about him naked and in bed with you on more than one occasion — though this scenario had never come to mind.

There’s more to the scene in front of you (as if the sight of Bucky tied up and on his knees wasn’t enough?). Bucky is kneeling in front of Steve, who is sitting on a wooden chair, still decked out in his full stealth suit, minus the shield and the helmet. You might not suspect that anything was amiss, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s got his cock out with Bucky’s lips wrapped around it.

Again, your brain is torn. Part of you is wondering what the fuck is going on, and the other half of you craves to join Bucky, maybe even take his place. You’ve always had a thing for the Cap. It’s not often that you meet a man that looks like a freaking god, who also is a genuinely nice guy. And really, who can resist Steve when he’s got the stealth suit on? Clearly not Bucky, that’s for sure.

Never, in the entire time that you’ve known Steve and Bucky, did you ever suspect that their relationship was anything beyond platonic. You — and quite probably, everyone else on the team — never would’ve guessed that they were more than close friends. The situation in front of you suggests otherwise. You have nothing against them being together, as you are a firm believer that love is love, at the end of the day, but…you’re a little unsettled by this revelation, nonetheless.

But that’s more to do with the way in which you stumbled across this piece information, than anything else.

A long, drawn out moan from Steve draws your attention back to the moment. He’s thrown his head back, exposing the pink blush coating his cheeks and neck. His eyes are shut tight, though his jaw is slack, quiet whimpers falling from his parted lips. Bucky’s mouth is near the base of his cock and whatever it is he’s doing, Steve is enjoying it.

“Damn, baby,” Steve rasps, licking his lips, as Bucky bobs his mouth up and down Steve’s shaft, “F-fuck, ohh god, yes,”.

Bucky moans — and god if there ever was ever a sound to bring you to your knees, it’d be that — preening at the praise, looking utterly debauched but completely at peace with himself. Steve cards his fingers through Bucky’s sweaty hair, smoothing back the tendrils clinging to his temples. When Steve runs his thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone, the latter leans into the touch, almost nuzzling into Steve’s palm.

It’s then that you realise that this is so much more than just a blowjob; trust Steve and Bucky to turn a suckjob into something intimate, and private, and tender. A part of you wants to stay and gawk at these two for as long as you can, but you squash those urges down, feeling utterly guilty for what you have already witnessed. This is not something you’re privileged enough to see. This is not a moment that you can share with them.

And of course, just as you think that, Bucky’s eyes slide open and travel over the room, landing straight on you. You freeze in shock, heat flooding your cheeks because you’ve just been caught snooping on them. Bucky hastily rips his mouth off Steve’s dick.

“You didn’t lock the door?!” he hisses.

Steve, bless him, is still in his little sex daze, and takes a while to catch on to Bucky’s words. When he tracks Bucky’s line of sight and sees you, the pink flush on his face deepens to a bright scarlet. “I—I—well—y-you,” he stutters helplessly.

“Genius,” Bucky gripes. If the moment weren’t so awkward, you’d join in and make your own snide comment towards Steve.

“Not my fault!” Steve protests, “I—well, your hand was—,”

“No!” you interrupt, finally forcing yourself to turn away and pull the door shut, “I don’t wanna hear about where anyone’s hand was, thank you very much,”.

“Y/N!” Steve calls. You pause, half out the door, “Please come in, let’s…let’s talk?”

You swallow nervously. “Steve, uh…I’d rather you just…do whatever it is you were doing. Don’t—don’t let me ruin the mood,”.

Bucky snorts, and in your mind, you can clearly envision his eye roll as he mutters, “Too late for that,”.

“Bucky,” Steve sighs frustratedly, “Y/N, please let’s—let’s talk, I can’t—,”.

“Steve, Bucky is naked in the middle of your living room right now,” you interrupt, “I’d rather not have this conversation at this moment, so…why don’t you two get dressed and come to my room,”. From the silence that follows, you can only imagine that the two of them are sharing a look.

“She’s got a point, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs. Then, raising his voice, he calls to you, “Y/N? Sweetie, just head over to your room, we’ll see you there,”.

“Sure thing. Take—take all the time you need,”, you reply, shutting the door behind you.

——————

After practically sprinting back to your room, you make a beeline for the ensuite.You turn on the sink and splash some cold water onto your face, hoping that it’ll calm you down, somewhat. Your heart is racing, but you’re pretty sure that that’s not only because you’ve just run all the way here. Arousal is pooling in your gut, the image of Bucky on his knees for Steve forever burnished into your memory. As ashamed as you might feel, you know that that visual is going to stimulate many ‘personal relief’ sessions in the weeks to come. You clench your thighs together, hoping to take the edge off the pressure building between them, but your efforts are fruitless. With a resigned sigh, you turn off the tap and head into your room, sitting down on your bed and curling yourself against the headboard.

Not ten minutes later, the door to your room bursts open — it seems that your little fiasco earlier hasn’t instilled good practices in either of them — and Bucky comes traipsing in, a more subdued Steve sidling in after him.

“C’mere, sit on the bed,” you murmur, motioning towards the empty space beside you. At your invitation, Bucky promptly flops down at the foot of the bed, twisting onto his side and propping his head up on one hand. Steve, more reserved, chooses to remain standing.

A terse silence falls over the room, each of you waiting for someone else to kick-off what will undoubtedly be a very uncomfortable conversation. When it becomes clear than neither of them are stepping up to the task, you decide to bite the bullet.

“We—what did I just see?” you ask, fiddling with the strings on your hoodie, because you don’t really want to look at either of them right now.

“That was me giving Stevie here one helluva blowjob,” Bucky deadpans, the corner of his mouth crooking up into a cocky smirk.

“Bucky!” Steve says exasperatedly.

You roll your eyes at the two of them, but that little exchange seems to have broken the ice. Bucky’s teasing has lightened the mood in the room by only a fraction, but you’ll take what you can get. “Okay…but seriously, what the hell is going on? Between you two, I mean,” you add, gesturing between them, “Are you…a couple? Was that a regular occurrence kinda thing, or…”

You purposefully allow your voice to trail off, hoping that one of the boys will pick up the slack. Steve is shifting his weight from foot to foot agitatedly, glaring at the floor as if he wants it to swallow him whole. Bucky’s posture on the bed is still relaxed, but his expression is the complete opposite — brows knitted together, bottom lip drawn between his teeth. It’s an expression that tells you that he would rather be anywhere but here.

“Okay, look, Y/N,” Steve begins, “You can’t—you can’t tell anyone about this,”. You arch an eyebrow questioningly. “I—we’re…not…ready to tell anyone about…us,”, he explains haltingly.

“So there is an ‘us’?” you ask, your gaze flitting from one person to the other.

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but Bucky cuts in at the last second. “Yes, Y/N, there is an ‘us’, and has been an ‘us’ for as long as we’ve known each other, pretty much,” he says, shrugging indifferently. “But Steve’s Captain America and—,”.

“—and the America public might not react very well to their patriotic idol being gay,” Steve interjects, wringing his hands agitatedly.

“So can you keep it a secret, Y/N? For a while?” Bucky asks, looking at you anxiously. You get the impression that he’s completely alright with the notion of a gay Captain America, and that he’s going along with this more for Steve’s sake, than anything else. Still, Bucky Barnes’ puppy-dog begging eyes will never fail to be your weakness, and so with a lighthearted laugh, you agree.

“Of course! Consider my lips sealed!” you assure them, miming the action of zipping your lips, locking them shut and throwing away the key. Bucky grins at your antics, though Steve still looks uneasy.

“It’s okay Stevie,” you soothe, reaching out to rest your hand on his forearm. “I respect your decision. It’s not my place to tell, nor is it my secret to tell. As long as you’re happy, I’m good,”.

Steve breathes a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging as the tension flows out of his body, your words seeming to have placated him significantly. He gives you a tentative smile, “Yeah? Thanks, Y/N,”.

“So…we all good? We’re settled, aren’t we?” Bucky asks, getting off the bed and sauntering over to Steve. He slings his metal arm over Steve’s shoulders. “‘Cause if we are, Steve and I could go back to—,”.

“No! Don’t wanna hear it!” you cry, throwing your hands over your ears, just as a chuckling Steve playfully shoves Bucky away. Nonplussed, Bucky grabs Steve’s arm and practically hauls him out of your room, shouting a cheery “Goodbye!” over his shoulder as he shuts the door behind him.

——————

After the day’s unexpected events, you figure that you’ve earned yourself a nice, hot, soak. You drag yourself into the bathroom, pulling your clothes off en route before dumping them in the laundry hamper by the door. Though your bathroom is sleek and modern, the tub is a vintage clawfoot one that you’d found in an antique shop a while back. You step into it and fiddle with the taps for a bit, twisting and turning them until the water is at the perfect temperature. Now that you are naked, you are more acutely aware of the throbbing ache between your legs. Seeing the water thundering into the tub gives you an idea.

With some (a lot) of manoeuvring, you manage to hook your legs over the lip of the clawfoot tub. You grip the edge of the tub and lift your body, angling your torso until the stream of water is falling steadily over your aching clit. You moan wantonly, throwing your head back in ecstasy and squeezing your eyes shut as the intense pressure rushes over your sex.

In your mind, you’re back in Steve and Bucky’s room, naked and sat with your back against Steve’s chest, his cock trapped between your bodies. Bucky’s head is between your legs, those plump lips and clever tongue exerting just the right amount of friction and pressure on your pussy, making you squirm and writhe in Steve’s arms. For his part, Steve’s got his hands on your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between his strong fingers. And, since Bucky’s mouth is otherwise occupied, you imagine Steve’s lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his husky voice whispers filthy words to you.

That is the thought that has you coming undone. Their names tumble from your lips, your hips bucking involuntarily and back arching into an inhuman angle as the waves of pleasure roll through your body. Your thighs tremble with the effort of holding yourself against the spray of water, but you force yourself to stay still, in order to prolong your climax. It is only when you are shivering from overstimulation that you gingerly lower yourself down into the tub, sighing contentedly as the warm water envelops you.

“Ms Y/L/N?”

You groan, pulled out of your post-orgasmic haze far too early. “Yes, FRIDAY?”

“Boss is asking if you’re planning on returning to the lab,”.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and huff in frustration. Trust Tony to ruin the moment. “Tell him I’m taking the night off, FRIDAY,” you say, letting your eyes slip shut, “I think I’ve earned it,”.

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Dance With Me {2} || zyx

(Photo ctto)

Genre: Fluff (though it might get a little hot—)

Pairing/s: YouxYixing

Description: Yixing was attempting to learn the tango. You just happened to be one of the tango instructors in the dance studio he frequents in. Me attempting to write a mini-series. *dabs*

Parts:  {1, 2, 3, MB & PL}

Word Count: 4, 406

Practicing tango with Yixing had become a daily routine and you unwittingly found yourself looking forward to it. It wasn’t missed by your best friend when she saw you constantly glancing at the wall clock situated at the very back of the room. She was helping you that day with teaching the beginners’ tango class.

“Got a date?” she teased you. You snapped out of your reverie and instantly blushed, looking at her. The reaction was immediate and you couldn’t stop it, especially with your spaced-out state.

Mentally cursing yourself, you avoided her knowing eyes and ignored that irritating smirk as you said as nonchalantly as you could, “No, I’m not going out on a date. I just don’t want to be late to... somewhere.”

“And that somewhere would be Zhang Yixing’s practice room? You’re not fooling anyone by your candidness, Y/N. People are speculating if what happens behind closed doors is really only practicing tango” your best friend said lightly although you knew she was already giving you a warning. You smiled at her gratefully, comforted that she had your back with such a simple gesture. “I’m all for being adventurous, sweetheart, but I’m curious as well. Are you guys really just practicing?”

“Of course, we are! Why would anyone think otherwise?” you asked, bewildered. Did anything nowadays really equate to sexual relations? Couldn’t thing be simply labeled as ‘strictly business’? It amazed you how people could still be narrow-minded even at this modern age when two persons of the opposite sex don’t necessarily have to be attracted to each other to spend time together.

“Well, for one, you always spend your after-work hours in his practice room — and sometimes, in yours — and you don’t come out until late into the night. You guys literally close up the studio with how late you leave” your best friend reasoned out. “Second, the Zhang Yixing always has his eyes on you—“

“In which circle of hell did you pull up that bullshit?” You couldn’t help the words escaping your lips, attracting the attention of your students. Your best friend waved her hand, signaling that they should continue minding her their own businesses. You clamped your mouth shut, slightly embarrassed by your own outburst.

“Well, MIss Oblivious, he does follow your every movement with his eyes whenever you’re in the vicinity. So, even I myself am saying ‘No shit, Sherlock’ to the rumors that’s circulating in the studio. You guys would be the cutest couple, though. Just confess already” she teased you and you just blushed in reply because you still don’t believe what she said.

You were saved from the best-friend-obligation of saying something in reply to her statement when your phone’s timer went off, signaling that your class is done. “Alright, everyone! Make sure to wrap up your presentation by Friday this week, okay? Class dismissed! Don’t leave anything valuable behind and pack up as fast as you could. It’s getting colder nowadays and the night is longer, too.”

Your speed matched those of her students’ as you cleaned up as fast as you could to escape your friend’s inevitable interrogation. Fortunately, you finished up before her while she was double-checking the equipment everyone used earlier.

‘I’ll talk to you later, baby girl! Right now, I have a routine to perfect!” you called over your shoulder as you made your way out of the room.

“Make sure that’s really a dance routine you’re perfecting, no some other stuff. Lock the door and seal it tight if you’re planning on doing something crazy! And don’t forget protection. No glove, no love!” she retorted cheekily. You blushed profusely at her words, refusing to meet the eyes of the people milling around the hallways who probably heard your exchange. You sped your way through the halls until you reached Yixing’s practice room.

Immediately, you felt the familiar rush of anticipation that you’ve learned to convince yourself was from dancing tango with someone skilled and confident with their talent. It surely wasn’t because of the Chinese man you’ve grown rather fond of over the past few days, right?

Wordlessly, you simply twisted the knob and pushed the door open. You’ve made an agreement after the first practice to just come inside whichever practice room you agreed on using for your sessions. It helped add to the illusion of closeness as Yixing was a little uncomfortable and shy at first with how intimate tango could be. Heck, he couldn’t even properly look you in the eyes when you had simply placed his hand on your hip and locked your leg around his waist in frustration when you said that he had to lead the routine as a man since it was what made tango to look so sultry and powerful.

And so, you were making your way in as usual and it took you a few seconds to realize that a thumping bass was echoing inside the room. Your mind then jolted to life afterwards, recognizing the music as hiphop. You quietly inched inside, eyes locked on the masterpiece in front of you.

Yixing, in his element, was truly a sight to behold. Your jaw slackened, unable to help yourself as he delivered sharp and precise moves while matching the beat. You could barely register the presence of two other dancers beside him until they came in your line of sight. You observed them, both appreciating their skills as dancers and evaluating their performance as a colleague.

“How was it, Miss Y/N?” You were snapped out of your reverie when Yixing said your name out loud. Your eyes flew towards him and you finally realized that they had finished dancing. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you smiled up at them.

“It was good...” you said, addressing Yixing. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at you.

“But?” he prodded on. A corner of your lips twitched upwards. This had been something that the two of you just naturally slip into whenever you practice something other than your routine. You would give constructive criticisms to each other to help improve your dances and it was useful every time.

“It lacked power. Details are good but you have to pay attention to the mood, too. What do you want your viewers to feel? Keep that in mind while dancing. And you need to work on your footwork” you said to one of the two dancers with Yixing. You briefly recalled his name as Sehun who also taught here, although part-time since he has his own crew. He simply raised an eyebrow at you and you tried not to let your expressionless face crack because damn, he was giving you a run for your money for possibly having the bitchiest resting bitch face there ever was.

Yixing nodded out of the corner of your eye and you turned towards him again as he said, “Thanks for that, Miss Y/N. Oh, by the way, this is Sehun–” he pointed at the guy you gave your feedback to about his footwork– “and this is Jongin.” Your eyes were drawn to the tanned, muscular man next to Yixing’s lean frame. Like any other hot-blooded female, of course, you blushed when his dark eyes met yours. However, it was just a reflex on your part since it wasn’t everyday you met someone so ruggedly handsome. You missed the way Yixing slowly blinked at your reaction.

You simply nodded at them before your eyes drifted back to Yixing. He took that as the cue to turn to his fellow dancers and give some last-minute pointers before sending them off. Sehun and Jongin both gave you a final curious glance before they left. You were able to breathe a little better with the reduced amount of testosterone in the room.

“Do they really make you that nervous?” Yixing teased you. You playfully rolled your eyes at him as you stood up to approach him.

“Shut up, I’m just not good around good-looking guys” you mumbled as you positioned yourself in front of him.

He kept his gaze steady in front of you as he casually said, “So, you think I’m not good-looking?”

You blushed and mentally cursed yourself when you realized how it must have sounded to him. Hastily, you backtracked. “It’s not that you’re not good-looking–“

“Average, then?” You didn’t catch the twitching of his lips as you turned an even darker shade of red.

“No! God, no! You’re probably one of the most handsome men I’ve laid my eyes on. I just got better at handling myself around you, thank you very much” you admitted. “It also helped that you were awkward during our first meeting. Makes you more human than surreal.”

“You compliment me too much, Miss Y/N” he said in a cheeky tone. It was then that you realized that you’ve been played. Groaning in frustration and embarrassment, you pulled him closer as you put his hands on your body, the both of you posed for the opening of your routine. He grinned wider at the action, showing his deep-set dimples. “Manhandling now, aren’t we, Miss Y/N.”

“Shut up. And it’s just plain Y/N; enough with the Miss in front of my name” you absently muttered. You were too busy trying to hide your red face that you didn’t notice how his eyes were on you the whole time, a sparkle hidden behind the dark irises.

“Okay... Y/N.” You head snapped up, stunned by the sudden drop of formalities. Before you could say anything else, he had the music turned on already, filling the room with the sound of violin of the intro.

Instantly, the two of you rehearsed the routine flawlessly. You had it memorized like the back of your hand, as well as Yixing, as you both seamlessly wen through the choreography. He spun you once, twice, thrice before dipping your body low for the nth time as the song came to a close. Like always, you held the stance for a few seconds as you caught your breaths. Your eyes were trained on your reflection until they wandered upwards... where you saw how intense Yixing was looking at you as he breathed heavily. The slow creeping of redness from the top of your chest to your face was evident and you could see him following its path until his dark, glittering orbs made contact with yours on the mirror.

Suddenly, it was too silent and loud all at once. You were acutely aware of the sound of your breath, as well as his. Your could hear the blood rushing in your ears and the dangerously hard thumping of your heart. You wanted to look away but he held you captive. As if spellbound, he hoisted up your body until you were standing straight and flush against him. It was embarrassing how weak your knees were just from that strange moment. You didn’t know why you’re still breathing hard but you can’t stop it, unable to help yourself.

Clearing your throat, you tried taking a step back but found that his strong arm was still wrapped around your waist. You didn’t really want to look up. You had no choice, though. It would be weird to shyly ask him to kindly remove his arm because that wasn’t the image of yourself that you presented to him. You met people straight in the eye and that was what you did. You had to fight the urge to gasp when you discovered that his eyes were already on you.

“Hey, so there’s this thing called personal space...” you trailed off slightly, a little nervous because his blank expression didn’t change. “Yixing? You okay?”

He blinked then and was a foot away from you faster than you could say “thanks”. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat and smiled shyly at you. “Sorry, I got lost in thought for a moment” he explained. You only nodded but in your heart, you could stop the slight twinge of disappointment. But why were you disappointed? You weren’t sure but you wanted to find out.

“It’s okay. Let’s go at it one more time?” you suggested in a soft voice. He merely nodded in response.

“By the way, I have tteokbokki.”

“Are they spicy?”

“I also have the sweet variety.”

“You’re my hero. I also have cola. I bought a 1.5-L bottle this time. I hope you have some clean cups lying around here somewhere.”

“You bet I do. Let’s practice now so we can eat earlier.”

Saturdays were special for you. You dressed in your most comfortable outfit: a huge, fluffy sweater, a pair of jeans and sneakers. You rode the bus to your destination, a sling bag on your shoulder. Excitedly, you boarded off the stop that was nearest to the place you were headed to. After a few minutes, the soup kitchen was already in sight.

You hummed a cheery tune as you went through the front doors, instantly greeted by the workers. They cheered upon seeing the boxes of cookies and trays of coffee cups you promised them last week. Many hollered their thanks as they went through their tasks. You had refused help, saying you got it covered but frankly, your arms were ready to fall off. You just didn’t want to bother anyone since you were all getting ready to work for the day. Dawn was barely breaking when you arrived and you didn’t blame them for probably still being sluggish at this time of the day. You nearly jumped out of your skin when someone took half of the things you’ve piled into your arms, splitting it right in the middle and allowing you to see past the boxes you’re carrying.

“Here, let me help y – Miss Y/N?” Your eyes immediately snapped up to meet a pair of familiar, brown orbs. Yixing blankly blinked at your face before his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Y/N! You volunteer here, too?”

Before you were given the chance to reply, someone butted into your conversation. “What’s with the Miss Y/N? Are you guys co-workers?” one nosy worker asked.

“Yes, we are. We worked in the same dance studio” she answered cordially. “I did mention I teach tango there. He teaches hiphop.”

“Oh, that’s so cool! Anyways, it’s his first day today although he called in the middle of the week. Y/N, do you mind if you show him the ropes? I thought he would be more comfortable around you and you’re mostly in charge of the breakfast shift” the head of staff told you. You nodded in agreement and turned to Yixing.

“Well, let’s go, fledgling. I’ll teach you how things work here. I sure do hope they already gave you your shifts” you said in a light tone as you lead him inside the kitchen area. “And it’s Y/N. Geez, I’ve been telling you for so long to just drop the Miss. You already did the last time. What’s with today?”

He flushed, a dusting of light pink appearing on his cheeks. “It just slipped. I’ll keep in mind to call you by your name then. Oh, and my shift is breakfast service, lunch shift in the kitchen, and then dinner service.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to make your lesson as quick and informative as possible because we only have–” you checked the wall clock– ��two hours at best before we open up for the crowd.” 

You instructed him to place the boxes and trays on the counter as the coffee was for everyone and the cookies were for dinner. Once you had everything set, you turned to him.

“Okay, so this is how it goes. For breakfast service, you’re either assigned to one of the two jobs: service or clean-up. Since you’re in breakfast service, your job is to serve people their food. The system around here is a first come, first serve basis. They will fall in line in front of the counter where we’ll put the food and the bowls, plates and eating utensils. We put the food in either a bowl or a plate – sometimes both, it depends on the food – and give it to them. It’s up to them where they want to take a seat. Then, clean-up would come and take their dishes away after they leave when they’ve had their fill. Clean-up is also in charge of washing those used dishes. However, it’s a joint effort to clean the hall when there’s trash littered around or something like that. Still with me so far?” You paused to look at him to see him seriously listening, slightly leaning towards you as he took everything in with interest.

“Yep, I’m still listening. So, is that it for breakfast service?” he asked. You nodded in reply.

“Yes, that’s basically all you’ll have to do. We usually have an hour or two of slow traffic before it picks up again for the lunch crowd. Now, since you’re in the kitchen shift at this time of the day, a word of advice: just keep cooking. It’s more of a hassle to cook only when the food runs out. The key is cooking in small amounts, just enough to feed or tide over the first wave. Then, you keep the momentum.You’ll have to estimate that, though. If you want, you can ask and coordinate with the others who share the kitchen shift with you.

“Dinner service is similar to breakfast service, instead it’s in dinner so yes, that’s about it. You’re ready for battle” you joked. He smiled at you in amusement and he just stood there, taking in everything with his eyes silently until they landed back on yours. You took the time that he was preoccupied to take in his appearance. It was a little strange to see him out of his jogger pants and tank top. Instead, he was wearing an outfit rather similar to yours. He was also dressed in a sweater, although it was a little fit on his frame. The same goes for his jeans, highlighting how muscularly lean he really was. Even his sneakers were of the same color as yours.

“We look like a couple with our coordinating outfits” he said so suddenly, you nearly got whiplash with how fast you snapped your head up to meet his eyes. You both reddened at the statement before you burst out laughing.

“It would be fun trolling everyone and getting a kick out of their reaction” you said, playfully nudging his elbow with yours. “Come on, we should probably start working. We have to start the prep for the food to be served for breakfast.”

“Is that only for the kitchen shift to do or can the others help?” he asked you. You shook your head at that.

“Anyone can help. I just like doing it on my own but an extra hand is always welcome. They usually just help whenever they walk in on me” you told him. He nodded and watched you take a pair of plastic, disposable gloves, putting them on. He followed what you did and you smiled at that.

“What are we cooking for today?” you called out to everyone through the opening in the kitchen as you and Yixing put on hair nets. Someone replied with a “Seaweed soup, radish kimchi, vegetable omelette and rice!” and another added with “Don’t forget the tofu with seasoned soy sauce!” You laughed at their answers as you wrote it down on the small chalkboard they kept in sight for everyone.

“Okay, let’s start!”

Needless to say, you were knackered by the time your breakfast kitchen shift was done. Your coffee had gone cold and you were irritable because of that. It also didn’t help that there just seemed to be a never-ending stream of poor and homeless people who were the beneficiaries of the soup kitchen. It broke your heart just how many people out there were suffering while people like you could live in comfort. As much as helping was fun, sometimes, it would take a toll on you as it would make you think, “What else can I do to help more?”

You were in this state of mind when Yixing managed to find you after all the hustle and bustle outside. He was exhausted as well but you looked worse, even though he was kind enough not to mention it. You had already opened one of the ten cookie boxes you left for the staff, munching on a piece like there was no tomorrow.

“Whoa, slow down” he told you when you nearly bit off your finger. You just looked at him with solemn eyes before standing up to get yourself a glass of water. He was quiet as he watched you move around the kitchen, taking inventory of the ingredients left and the condition of the cookware. Once you stopped moving again, he unexpectedly grabbed your wrist and gently guided you out of the soup kitchen.

“Where do you think you’re taking me? We’re still at work. Well, technically, we’re volunteering but it still involves work” you deadpanned. You couldn’t help but be grumpy at him, at yourself and at everybody else. No one stopped you on your way out which confused you.

“I already asked for permission. We’re going to have your caffeine fix” he said. And just like that, your mood was lifted. He looked back, over his shoulders and laughed at how you beamed up at him.

“You don’t know how much coffee means to me. Thank you so much, you kind and beautiful soul” you gushed, your thoughts unfiltered as you said what was simply on your mind. He quickly looked away but it was too late. You already saw the flush that was on his face. Also, his red neck and ears were a dead giveaway. You didn’t call him out for that. But it did make you wonder if you had the same effect on him as he did to you.

“In all honesty, though, tea is a healthier alternative to coffee. I highly recommend that you should try it. It’s just a suggestion, though” he said in a conversational tone. He effectively maneuvered you through the crowd until you reached the nearest coffee shop. You nearly wept in joy at the sight of the familiar signage. You breezed through the front doors and were at the counter in an instant.

“Okay, Zhang Yixing” you started saying. It immediately caught his attention as he turned his head so fast towards you, you thought it gave him whiplash. “Since you were the one who suggested I try tea, what do you recommend I should start try to start off my journey to rediscovery?”

He laughed, laughed at your words and the sight was enough to render you into a puddle at his feet. His dimples peeked out at you, as if saying ‘Hi’, and you had to make a conscious effort of focusing to his words. “Well, I think peppermint is a great place to start. I’ll have a cup of green tea for myself. Anything else?”

“A plate of your freshest batch of chocolate chip cookies” you said to the woman behind the counter. She nodded and punched in your orders before pausing, waiting for your signal that you’re done.

“I’ll have the same as hers” Yixing said. “And I want mine chewy.”

You grinned slowly up at him. “Well, what do you know? I also like my cookies chewy.”

“Is that all?” the woman asked in confirmation. You nodded and she forwarded the order to the people preparing the tea and snacks. Yixing guided you to a booth next to a window and you sank down to the soft cushion, almost moaning in delight now that you could rest your aching legs and feet.

“Thank you for this, Yixing” you said in a grateful tone. He flashed you his dimples again before he looked out of the window. Again, you couldn’t seem to keep your eyes anywhere but on his as you drank in his side profile. The way the soft morning light hit his pale skin made him look ethereal. You were too busy looking at him that it took you a moment to realize that he was staring back, amusement evident on his features.

“You seem spaced out there for a moment” he teased you. “Am I that disarming?”

You blinked. Holy guacamole, is he actually teasing you? Pinching your arm, you confirmed that you were indeed awake. He noticed the action and his dimple deepened, a chuckle slipping past his lips.

“Okay, that had me reevaluating my life choices. I think my world just shifted off its axis” you said without thinking. He tilted his head, intrigued by your choice of words.

“Why is that? Is it so out-of-character for me to be like that?” he asked in bewilderment, leaning towards you across the table. You shrugged bashfully, trying to find the right string of words to pull together to form a coherent sentence as a reply.

“No, not really. It’s just... you’re this awkward, professional guy when we’re practicing at the studio” you told him. “This is just a fresh change, I guess? You’re more relaxed. Heck, you just teased me. A new side of you that I haven’t seen, you could say. Am I making sense? Well, bottomline is it’s disarming. Caught me off-guard.”

He smiled after your embarrassing rambling and stayed quiet for a few seconds. Then, he spoke up again, “Well, would you like to get to know this side better, then?”

You felt something shift inside you. Or maybe it was between the two of you. You weren’t quite sure but when you glanced up, considering his offer, he wasn’t the same Yixing you painted in your mind anymore.

“I have a better idea” you countered with a quirk of your lips. “How about I get to know as many sides of you as I can unearth?”

He mimed someone who was deep in thought before his eyes landed on yours, a glint evident in them. “It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

He grinned. “It depends on how many sides of you I can unearth. So, are you up for some deep talks over tea and cookies?”

You leaned forward, closer to his face as you whispered, “Just don’t forget we have to go back two hours before lunch and we’re good to go.”

Here’s part two of Dance With Me! Thank you so much for reading my work. I might add more parts to the series if I can’t wrap it all up in part three. Anyways, here’s to 2018! *raises champagne flute*

[ruffsficstuffplace]

And The AWRD Goes To... (Part 29)

Note: Extra long chapter, before I take a short break to assess other writing projects before the year ends.

An hour earlier, at a house that looked like a combination between a hunting lodge, a field laboratory, and a remote storage facility for old records and equipment, situated high up on the side of a mountain by the town of Hoshiko…

Inside of a large closet turned bedroom, its walls decorated with several Rune Rangers posters; calendars and planners covered in multi-coloured ink and childish doodles; and collectible figurines and manga on shelves, an alarm clock started beeping.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Laying sprawled out on her stomach in her bed, Silsa “Snowie” Schnee groaned, and put her pillow over her head. The alarm gradually kept on getting louder and louder, till no matter how many of her many pillows she packed over her ears, there was no blocking out the sound.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Snowie just groaned, resigning herself to an unpleasant, sleepless morning, laying in the comfort of her own bed. The beeping switched to a pre-recorded message in Nick’s voice, spoken in Vox:

“Snowie, sweetheart, come on: get up. There’s shit to do, love to give and get, and a brand new day to meet, kiddo.”

Underneath her pillow reinforcements, Snowie smiled, but still stayed in her bed in the silence that followed. Her alarm switched to a different pre-recorded message, this time in Freya’s voice, but also spoken in Vox:

“Silsa! Get up, right this instant! You have chores and duties to attend to, and you better be sick, bedridden, or dying for you to be ignoring this!”

Snowie groaned, and started slowly pulling her pillows off her head, throwing them into space on her wall painted in black and yellow hazard lines. When all of them were piled up or otherwise out of the way, Snowie slowly rolled over onto her side, off the bed and onto the waiting carpet below.

Thump.

Sprawled out on her back, she stared up at the Solitan saying on her ceiling, painted a bright, gaudy pink, contrasting with the earthy browns of Mistralian hardwood:

“Good day or terrible day, you will see it to the end.”

She smiled, before she punched the pressure plate just above her head, shutting off her alarm. That done, she rolled over to her stomach, pulled out the items underneath. First, she took out her pill organizer and a water bottle, took her three daily doses. Then, she pulled out a notebook covered in incredibly tough, worn leather binding, opened it and pulled out the pen inside.

She marked three X’s on the boxes next to that day’s date, started slowly going down the list of things she’d written down the night before, before she flipped to the inside of the cover. Among other things, there was a small sliding chart with pictures of her family, and a free space with silhouettes adorned with question marks.

Snowie sighed—red bars for everyone but Whitley. She forced herself to get up, walked over to her door, and reviewed the laminated pictures on it:

Her three prescription bottles.

A journal covered with bullets, of the “firearms” variety.

Clothes, a shirt and a pair of pants, with a plus sign between them furiously scribbled in black marker.

Satisfied she’d assessed all of them, she stepped out of her door, and headed to the kitchen. Whitley was already seated at the table, eating a bowl of Starlight Crusader Crunchies, and reading something on his scroll at the same time.

“Good morning, Whitley!” Snowie said as she stepped up behind Whitley’s chair, hugged him and kissed the top of his head. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Extremely glad it’s the weekend, and I have a two days reprieve from being tossed around in the Thunderdome that is Sanctum!” Whitley replied, looking up from his scroll long enough to smile at her. “How are you feeling, mother?”

“Like complete and absolute shit, as usual!” Snowie chirped happily as she stepped to the fridge, got herself a bottle of ginger ale. “I’m hungover, definitely had too much Steinbier last night, and overindulged in fanfiction shortly thereafter, but hey: at least it’s the weekend for me, too!” she said as she started taking slow, careful sips.

“Any plans for when Akko, Diana, and Ruby come over?”

“Already way ahead of you!” Snowie said, smiling and shooting Whitley a finger gun. “Got the perfect recipes already in mind, just gotta bike to Hoshiko later, get all the prep work done, put most of it in the fridge, then remember to toss the rest of the shit in the slow cooker before I pass out tonight!

“Then, come morning, I only need to toss it in the oven for like half-an-hour or unplug the crockpot, it’s gonna be delicious, and more importantly, it requires the least amount of active input from me possible, which minimizes the chances of me screwing it up!

“Unless Ruby and Diana have serious food allergies or aversions to literally everything I can buy at Hoshiko, there’s no way this can go wrong!”

Whitley put his spoon back into his bowl, and looked up from his scroll once more.

Snowie calmly took one more drink of her ginger ale, and carefully put it back down on the counter. “I fucked up and wrote ‘Sunday’ instead of ‘Saturday,’ didn’t I?”

Whitley nodded. “Yes. Yes you did, mother.”

Snowie began to make a long, continuous noise, starting as a quiet whine, gradually growing louder and louder to a wail of pure anguish, occasionally broken by hysterical sobbing.

Whitley sighed as he put his scroll down. “Mom, you’re going to be fine, we’re going to be fine.”

“No, no we’re not!” Snowie wailed as she started pacing about in the tiny kitchen, her hands gesturing wildly as she spoke. “Ruby and Diana are going to go in through that door, see how much of a fucking disaster this house is, and because we’re the only ones around to handle them, they’ll probably silently promise never to come back here again, and just stay at the inn at Hoshiko if circumstance ever drives them back here!”

Whitley turned around in his seat to look at her, Snowie held up both her palms, before she made the time-out sign. Whitley shut his mouth, Snowie gripped the counter as she took long, deep breaths, in-and-out, in-and-out.

“…We need to clean this place up…” Snowie said as she let go of the counter, noticeably calmer. “Cook breakfast… a socially acceptable one you can offer guests… and I need to bathe, because I smell like beer, ugly crying, and nervous sweating!”

“Okay, that last one certainly is a priority, and the second would be nice, but is the first really necessary?” Whitley asked. “I mean, we’re both exhausted from school starting up again—your struggling to be here all alone all day on weekdays, Weiss’ clearly less-than-ideal first week in Haven, and my being back in Sanctum.

“Not to mention, the limited square footage of this house hasn’t made it physically impossible to get that dirty—our crap’s just more densely packed and space-efficient,” he said, gesturing to one of the shelves and containers close to the ceiling and crammed into the nooks and crannies of the house, all overflowing with random crap.

Snowie scowled. “Look here, you little shit: Ruby and Diana are going to be stuck with Weiss and Akko for the next four years, and we need to—hmnnnn…!” she balled her shaking hands, and took in some more deep, calming breaths, before she uncurled her fists. “… Sit down, like reasonable, responsible adults, and we are going to discuss our response, or lack thereof, to Weiss’ and Akko’s team coming here today.”

Whitley put his spoon back into his cereal, shut off his scroll, and set them both to the side. “You have my attention, mother. Would you like to start?” he asked, spreading his hands open in front of him.

“Yes, yes I would, actually, Whitley, thank you,” Snowie said as she sat in the seat opposite his, pulling out the chair with one hand before she summarily parked her butt on it. “I would really like you to please help me clean up the house and cook a decent breakfast for three, because as you know, I’m pretty usele—“ she winced “--unconfident in my abilities and competence…!”

Whitley nodded. “I understand why you would want my help with this, and I also understand the motivation and the reasoning behind making a good first impression for Weiss and Akko’s teammates, but I will counter with this:

“Mother, throughout all my years of living in this house, I have come to the conclusion that we as a family are totally incapable of keeping any sense of normality, order, or decency for any prolonged periods of time.

“However well we can clean up this house and whatever we can whip up on short notice to give the impression that life here is generally at this level of ‘Nice,’ I am absolutely certain that within the hour of AWRD sans Weiss arriving, all of our hard work will be undone, and whatever positive assumptions or beliefs they had from said first impression will swiftly be totally, brutally erased and readjusted to fit the reality that they will be exposed to later today, and indeed, however many times her other two teammates return here afterward, if they ever do.

“In short: I believe that the effort and the stress of cleaning up and pretending we are even the slightest bit normal is not worth the very, very temporary, possibly even counter-intuitive rewards. Why should we even bother…?”

“Because, Whitley, we need to at least look like we give a shit.”

“An excellent point!” Whitley said, pointing at Snowie. “However, I remain unconvinced, and I am still not yet even partially recovered from the hellish events of this week, and thus will be returning to my cereal and fictional lesbians now,” he said as he pulled his scroll and breakfast back to him.

Snowie scowled and slammed both her hands on the table. “Okay, you know what? Forget it!” she knocked her chair back as she shot up from her seat, caught it and threw it back down to all four legs as she walked away. “I’ll just do this all by myself!”

“I wish you the best of luck, mother, really I do!” Whitley called out, idly shoveling some cereal into his mouth as he returned to his reading.

Snowie ignored him as she went to her “Instructions To My Future Self” file cabinet in the living room, situated just by the stairs leading upwards. She pulled out the master list from the top drawer, found the one for “First Visit By AWRD,” and proceeded to unfold a gigantic flowchart decorated with stickers, symbols, cryptic code, and a system of arrows and nodes that seemed to go every which way.

Snowie flipped it over from the “If Drunk” side on the front to the “If Sober” side at the back, read the slightly more legible and better organized version of the flowchart, then got to work.

She began with the cleaning, picking up empty beer bottles, random junk, and discarded clothes scattered wherever there was space; crusty plates and utensils that had been left abandoned over the week; and all manner of takeout napkins, butcher paper, and obsolete print-outs that were adorned with Snowie’s doodles, writing, and random, sometimes illegible scribbling.

When all of that was shoved into her bedroom, and the door securely braced to prevent any sort of mortifying avalanche if it all spilled out, she went back to the kitchen, pulling out Freya’s homemade cleaning supplies. After strapping on a mask, gloves, safety goggles, and an apron loaded with pockets akin to a military vest, she wielded two modified combat-grade chemical sprayers in both hands, their revolvers gleaming in the light.

“Seal the kitchen, Whitley, mommy’s going on a germicidal war!” Snowie cried as she ran out, putting the safeties off.

“Way ahead of you!” Whitley said, using his scroll to activate the emergency air-vents, doors coming down from the ceiling and sealing off the entrances.

Snowie slid out into the living room on her knees, guns akimbo and firing cleaning solutions loaded with acetic and citric acids, specially engineered and cultivated bacteria and enzymes, her mother’s dirt-and-dust-eating concoctions, and water to make sure the various mixtures weren’t too concentrated.

She got back up on her feet, still firing like mad, spraying thick clouds of disinfectant everywhere, switching firing modes to suit the job: pressurized bullets to shoot up into the ceiling and hard to reach nooks; explosive, short-range gobs to dislodge stubborn stains; and continuous streams to wear down some of the most egregious splatters and spots from who-knew-what from however long ago.

No surface remained uncovered, Snowie’s hands flying every which way and whatever angle she needed to, twisting, spinning, and even bending backwards to eradicate every last stain.

Those that still refused to disappear were quickly set upon with much more dedicated, close-range physical assault with brushes, sponges, and cleaning cloths, Snowie scrubbing as vigorously as it took to eradicate them, the sturdy furniture and materials her parents’ preferred for everything barely affected.

She ran up to their bathroom, pulled out a grenade from her apron pocket. She opened the door, pulled the pin, tossed the bomb in, then shut the door.

Slam.

Shortly after:

Boom.

Snowie waited a few moments, before she opened the door, bluish mist pouring out the crack. She peered in, and satisfied that the bathroom-bomb had done its job well, scrambled up the stairs to the second floor. She was happy that she didn’t need to clean her parents’ room or their indoor workshops/laboratories, but there was still one more massive, difficult job waiting for her:

Her kids’ room.

It used to be a rather spacious guest room for cramming all the people Nick and/or Freya needed to absolutely have in their remote, intentionally isolated home, but now it was cramped with four bunk beds, and an excess of storage and shelving that made it possible to store more items than should have probably been physically possible in that space.

Weiss and Akko’s things were for the most part gone, moved to Haven or back to the latter’s home in Hoshiko, but there were still all the belongings they had had chosen to leave behind, not to mention Whitley and Winter’s possessions.

Snowie calmly sucked in a breath as she flipped open both her sprayers revolvers, tilted the almost-to-completely spent cartridges into her apron, before loading them with fresh ammo using two speedloaders.

She snapped the revolvers back into place. “Let’s fucking do this,” she said, spinning the sprayers in her hands before she holstered them.

Sheets were pulled off. Pillows were thrown out to the hall. Dirty clothing was thrown into the Starlight Crusaders hampers in the corner. Physically printed doujin and manga (Winter’s especially) were put back into their respective bookshelves, and their owner’s preferred method of discrete storage, such as trap doors underneath the beds, camouflaged shelves, or hidden nooks in the ceiling.

Every moisture-sensitive item back into its place, or otherwise sheltered and shielded from potential harm, Snowie whipped out her sprayers, and started fumigating once more.

A minute later, she staggered out of the room, heaving and sweating as she felt her mask’s filters finally begin to reach their limits. She took a brief reprieve by an open window to feel the rays of the rising sun on her face, breath in fresh air, wipe the sweat off her skin, and switch out the air-filters for fresh ones.

She was tempted to look at her scroll, before she stayed the hand reaching into the pocket containing it. “No, Snowie, no...” she whispered in-between pants. “… As soon as you open decantr… it’s all over.” She reached instead to the one with a bottle of water, chugged it, before she shoved it back into her apron, then bolted for the fireman’s pole that was in the center of their winding staircase.

She leaped towards it with a proud grin on her face!

Her outstretched hand missed it, Snowie hit the bar full-force, her aura preventing any physical damage, but not the uniquely unpleasant sensation of accidentally throwing yourself into a solid metal pole.

Tung…!

The pole vibrated slightly from the impact, Snowie’s other hand reflexively gripped it, slowing her descent back down to the living room, still holding onto it as she carefully lowered herself down to her butt, before she let go, fell backwards, and let out a quiet, agonized gasp of pain.

A glyph appeared underneath her, glowing the same shade as Whitley’s eyes, before it exploded in a flash, Snowie’s body now glowing with the slate blue of her Aura. She sighed as she felt the pain disappear and strength flood back into her body.

“Thanks, Whitley!” Snowie called out, still on the floor.

“Don’t thank me yet!” Whitley yelled back from the kitchen. “Akko and the others managed to hitch a ride with Owaka’s airship—he’s dropping them off somewhere down the road, and they’re going to be here any minute!”

Snowie scrambled back up to her feet, spewing the vilest curses she knew in Vox, rapid-fire. “… rat-dicked motherfucker!” she finished as she began to stagger to the kitchen. “I have to get cooking—Whitley, please, just distract them until I can--” she stopped, and sniffed the air. “Wait, are you cooking something…?”

“Quiche, two of them!” Whitley replied. “Better pray neither Ruby nor Diana hate or have severe allergies to eggs, milk, spinach, bacon, and/or nuts, because otherwise we don’t have anything else in the fridge right now!”

Snowie blinked, before her eyes watered. “Whitley: have I ever told you that I love you...?”

“Yes, mother, very many times...” Whitley replied. “Mostly whilst drunk and/or sobbing hysterically, and as always: I love you too.”

Snowie sniffed, before she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ll just be sneaking out the back entrance and taking a bath in the river, Whitley!” she called out. “But first, I’m going to have myself a celebratory beer for being fucking awesome,” she said to herself as she reached into a small drawer right by the front door, the empty and full Mantle Steinbier bottles inside clinking noisily.

Snowie picked one up and popped the lid off with a smooth, almost uninterrupted motion; she took a swig of freezing cold beer, shivered in pleasure as she pulled it away from her lips.

Their door rang, a series of different sized bells chiming in a melody. Snowie nearly jumped, shut her front door beer drawer, fixed her appearance in the mirror on the wall opposite it, before she peered out the peephole.

Akko’s smiling face took up the entire view, standing right in front of the door as usual.

Snowie smiled too, and didn’t hesitate to pull open the door. “Hi Akko!” she greeted warmly. Her smile remained plastered on her face as her eyes grew wide. “… Akko’s teammates! Ruby and Diana, right…?”

The two of them were about to smile and greet her back, before all three of them noticed the freshly opened beer in Snowie’s hand, frost still pouring out the mouth of it. Still smiling, Snowie slowly reached for the beer drawer again, pulled it open, put her bottle back in, and closed it, its contents clinking noisily the whole time.

Just then, the short-range communicator by the door activated. “Air-Med to Snowfall, Air-Med to Snowfall: come in, Snowfall, over.”

All of them looked at it in confusion, before Snowie held up her hand to Akko and co, and quietly picked up the receiver with the other. “Snowfall to Air-Med, Snowfall to Air-Med: we read you, but where are you from, and what the hell are you doing here, over?”

“Ōkuninushi Medical, bringing a patient plus guardian back home, Snowfall. Over.”

“Wait, Weiss...? I thought they said she’d be at the hospital for a week, at the minimum…? Ah, over!”

“Doctor’s changed their mind, Snowfall; guardian wanted the early discharge it to be a surprise. Anyway, requesting clearance for landing, over.”

Snowie looked at the others, a mix of expressions on their faces, cast a glance at Whitley looking in from the kitchen with a spatula in hand, before she returned to the receiver. “Circle for five minutes, Air-Med; it’s been a while since we had a landing, getting it ready might be a while. Over and out.”

“Roger willco, Snowfall, over and out.”

Five minutes later, the roof of the house was transformed into a landing pad, sections of it becoming part of the runway or giving way to the sturdy materials that had been folded up inside. The gears, motors, and assorted machinery groaned and churned from lack of use and maintenance, but it was still enough for the airbus to land safely.

“Mom! Whitley!” Weiss cried as she was rolled out to the runway, Freya trailing beside her. The smiles on both their faces stayed as they noticed the three other faces carefully peering out from the trap door that lead out to the landing pad-roof. “… Akko, Ruby, Diana…!

“… What are you three doing here…?” Freya continued, a tremour of nervousness in her voice.

“We ran into an issue with Akko’s studying back at Haven,” Diana replied as she and the others sheepishly climbed out. “We thought we should go back here and study Akko’s old reviewers, try and recreate it once we get back to Haven...”

There was a moment of silence as all of Team AWRD, the other Schnees present, and the paramedics in the airbus all looked at each other.

“Well, this is horribly awkward!” Whitley said, breaking it. “Who wants to have breakfast before we all talk about this later, in private groups, or all at once? I made quiche—bacon or spinach, both with eggs and milk so apologies for intolerance to any of those!

“We can even use Blubbermouth.”

“Blubbermouth…?” Diana asked.

“It’s a plushie we all use when we need to talk about difficult things to each other...” Weiss said as a paramedic continued to wheel her in. “Very useful for things like a conversation we should have had about a certain condition of mine...”

Akko’s eyes widened. “Ah, yeah about that… sorry Weiss, but I kinda… told Ruby and Akko after we met up at the hospital. Just them, though, and we all promise we haven’t leaked to anyone else!”

Weiss’ eyes widened, before she sighed, resigned. “It’s okay, Akko… I would have done the same then if I could.” She sucked in a breath, and looked at Ruby and Diana. “Look, I know Akko probably told you everything you needed to know about it and then some, but I trust you still have questions she couldn’t answer, and, well, I kinda need to explain it myself, too.”

“So… Team AWRD to breakfast, then my room to talk about my Depression...?” she asked, smiling hopefully as she carefully raised her hand into the air.

“To breakfast, then your room!” Akko said, striking a pose.

“To breakfast, then your room!” Ruby said as she did the same.

Diana looked at the three of them, before she sighed, imitated the pose, and then said, “To breakfast, then your room...”

Whitley smiled and teared up. “I’ll moderate,” he said as he wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “It’s the least I can do for that reference.”

The airbus took back off to Mistral, team AWRD and the Schnees headed back down inside for breakfast, then a much-needed talk in Weiss’ room afterward.

Note: There’s the big reveal. Did you guys not notice that the answer was in the AO3 tags the entire time…?

[medjaichieftain]

Silence Watches The Mummy and The Mummy Returns – Musings, Headcanons, Criticisms, & Observations About Ardeth, Horus, and the Medjai - [Part 2 of 2]

(Continued from here.)

[12.] All the commanders were able to be in one place on short notice? How big is a region, how far apart are these tribes, and how the hell did they get there so fast? Like how did Ardeth get word to them, have them decide to join him, and then have them all travel to that central location at literally a couple days’ notice? That really does not compute, heh. Then, once there, he told them, okay now all of you line up so I can just say who you are, and then you can go back to your tribes again? I mean, if I were them, I would’ve told Ardeth to go to hell, heh. Like thanks a lot asshole, we just traveled here at the speed of light and now you’re waving and smiling to us like okay bye-bye? Jerk. XD

[13.] So lemme get this straight… The Medjai can get to all the locations in the second movie while moving slowly on horseback, but the baddies need a train and a caravan of camels and the good guys need a dirigible? Uhm… let’s talk about distances and travel times, shall we? Haha. This is another aspect of writing these kinds of stories that needs to be paid attention to. Horses do not travel at the same speeds as camels, trains, and dirigibles. Also, if they knew the legend and knew that the big showdown with the Scorpion King would only occur at the last location the bracelet showed, then why did the Medjai travel around to all the locations? Why didn’t Ardeth just wait until they found the last location (which, didn’t they already kindof know it was in Ahm Shere anyway? Ardeth said the freaking legend right in the beginning of the damn movie, heh) and then just have them travel there? Because I doubt it was a linear path. He probably had these poor people trekking all around the frackin’ desert like, “Come on Ardeth, cut to the chase already!”

[14.] Okay, I love Horus. I do. But. There is no way… that a falcon… no matter how well trained… can go back and forth between two groups of people if he doesn’t know where they’re gonna be! I mean really?! Falcons are taught to fly to specific people (and yes, they have favorites) and specific locations. So he’s used to flying to Ardeth and he’s probably been familiarized with one or two other chieftains/commanders at least if not more. Okay. That’s fine. Now… Ardeth is in one place. He gives Horus a message and sends him off. Horus is trained to fly back to the location he last saw the other person! So he would go there and give the message and then fly back to Ardeth in the last place he saw Ardeth! And when he got there, Ardeth wouldn’t be there! XD And even if he managed to find him… the next message he was given to take to the other commanders… where would he bring it? Back to where he saw them last! (facepalm) I mean he can’t anticipate where they’re going to be and you can’t talk to a falcon and tell him where to go, heh. They’re trained specifically to go to certain places and people. There is a chance that he will go back to where he saw them last and circle for a while looking for them, but if they were covering as much ground as the bracelet was showing us in the movie, I doubt Horus would circle that wide looking for these people, heh.

[15.] Ardeth’s first thought when faced with a wall of Imhotep-shaped water that could bring down the dirigible and kill him and everyone else in it was to save Horus by telling him to fly away. FEELS. I mean, I possibly also think he let him fly to show them the best way out of the canyon (because the falcon is more instinctive than humans are), since Rick watched Horus and then told Izzy the way to go based on where he flew, but still… I like to think that Ardeth was kindof telling Horus to save himself. Well I don’t like to think it, I do think it. =)

[16.] Why is Ardeth commanding the entire Medjai army at the end of the second movie? Maybe Ardeth is a regional chieftain, but when all the tribes come together, he should be outranked by the higher commanders. So it is my understanding that there are twelve tribes, each with its own commander, and then regional chieftains within each tribe. The way I write him, I’ve kindof blended chieftain with commander, largely because to me Ardeth seemed to function much more like a commander. So screw it I’m making him one as far as duties are concerned heh. But in his particular religious warrior society, I would guess that three things should be respected above all: experience, age, and religious conviction. He’s got the last one, but he’s only in his late twenties in the first movie and early to mid-thirties in the second. Some of the other chieftains looked to be 40-60 years of age. Ardeth should not be commanding the whole combined army of all the Medjai tribes against the Army of Anubis at the end of the second movie, in my opinion. I mean, he looked amazing doing it so I’m really not going to complain, but... It seems unrealistic to me based on how tribal societies and religious organizations like his should normally be run. Did his actions during the first movie make all the other chieftains/commanders think hey, this guy can really handle his shit, let’s put him in charge even though he’s 10-20 years younger than us? I mean yeah, Imhotep got out, but Ardeth & Co. successfully imprisoned him again. That probably earned him a lot of kudos with the higher Medjai. Also, perhaps because the waking of Anubis’ Army pertained also to another awakening of Imhotep, it fell within the “jurisdiction” of his region, so since he was charged with all things Imhotep, it was his deal to lead all of the Medjai to help destroy him again? But the Army of Anubis had nothing to do with Imhotep, really. It had to do with Anubis and the Scorpion King. It was just that they woke Imhotep up to kill the Scorpion King and take over the Army… which I guess is reason enough. Whose jurisdiction did the locations in the second movie fall under? Were they all in Ardeth’s region? Because… that’s a big ass region, heh. I feel like at least one other chieftain should have been involved? But then also… he introduces the twelve commanders of the tribes of the Medjai like they work for him, heh. And they listen to him! So… I mean… there either has to be something else going on with Ardeth that we just weren’t privy to, or he had a history that was never explained, or they just saw a ton of potential in him and were maybe grooming him to take a higher leadership position? I am exploring all of those options in RPs because I can. XD

[17.] Again, I love Ardeth and he looks amazing when he’s fighting, but… there’s no way he would have survived the first round of battle with Anubis’ army at the end of the second movie. He had not slept at all that night and had fought through most of it. He would be exhausted and dehydrated and probably sore as hell. As a writer, I really focus on things like this because I’ve written full-scale battles just like that, sometimes after the character have been traveling for days or weeks, haven’t slept in a while, are wounded, are sick, are suffering from exposure, etc. As a writer, you need to keep track of all that. Your characters should not be super heroes (unless, you know, they are actual legit super heroes, and then okay but… make some rules and limits on their abilities and be consistent, heh). Ardeth was a normal human being with no magical powers whatsoever. He needs to sleep. And drink water. Think about it… He went from fighting in the jungle of Ahm Shere (including his fight with Lock-Nah), to what… running out of that jungle and through the damn desert to find his people because he didn’t have his horse or camel with him and the dirigible was down and Horus was dead (nope just winged, I swear, he’s okay folks)… and then went right from that into battling Anubis’ army? Soldiers that were godlike and huge and probably really freaking strong? We never saw him sleep or eat or drink any water. I’m sorry but… as cool as Ardeth is, he would have been having some serious exhaustion and dehydration issues which would have definitely affected his ability to fight.

[18.] Why is it that Ardeth ties back his hair in the second movie almost consistently in every situation but when he’s in battle and needs it out of his face? I know why. It’s because he looks a helluva a lot sexier fighting with his hair in his face, heh. But in all seriousness, as a warrior, your life depends on you being able to see clearly and from all angles. Hair in your face could spell death for you. As a supposedly seasoned warrior, Ardeth would have always had his hair tied back when he was in battle, assuming he wasn’t ambushed and had time to think about it. And really, he should want to keep it very short. Long hair is a liability. It can get caught on equipment and weapons. Your enemy can grab hold of it. Again, I’m not gonna argue to hard because his hair is amazing, but it made no sense from a warrior’s point of view to have it down in every single fight he was in.

[19.] Ardeth cries out Horus’ name when he’s shot down and starts to run after him, as if he’s a person who can respond back to the call, and as if Ardeth can reach him. It’s an immediate and emotional response. It speaks to the level of respect he had for the bird, but also to the depth of Ardeth’s love for him. He loved that damn falcon to bits. I firmly believe that. He wasn’t just a pet… or a living, breathing messenger bag, heh… he was Ardeth’s friend. Sad as hell. I hate that scene. [Stay tuned for a one shot shortly on this blog (as soon as I get time to write it) I which I change this and have Horus reunite with Ardeth.]

[20.] Omg Ardeth, you never do a sword flourish on horseback when riding at full speed toward an army of evil god warriors, haha. Wtf happens if you drop it? Great. Now you’re unarmed. Why would you even risk it? You also would not THROW the weapon. There was no guarantee that it would fall perfectly stuck into the sand such that he could retrieve it. In a life or death fight, this is simply too reckless. The stakes were too high for heroics and badassery. He should have been trying to stay alive every bit as much as fighting Anubis’ warriors. Beyond that, these people would have really valued their swords. Metal is expensive and making weapons is not something anybody can do. It is probably very difficult and/or expensive for the Medjai to make their own swords because where are they getting the metal from? They would probably scavenge weapons from the dead or buy them from cities and towns. But there’s no way they would be throwing them like they were a dime a dozen.

[21.] Ardeth is a good leader. Seriously. Like… I can see why he was put in such a position of power at such a young age, if that’s really what happened in the whole Medjai society. Like if it was decided or voted on, I mean. He does not act impulsively, and he does not risk the lives of his men unnecessarily. When Rick lights the dynamite when the Medjai attack the camp at Hamunaptra, Ardeth immediately decides this fight is over. He made his point, and if they stay longer, a lot more lives will be lost for not much more proving of the point. At the end of the second movie, when he orders the Medjai army to fight the Army of Anubis basically to their deaths, the way he does it is to make it not sound much like an order at all. He basically just yells out that he’s fighting to the death and it’s assumed that this is an order but it sounds more like “I’m with you” than “go die,” heh. He takes the time to look at the men standing closest to him. He knows there’s no other choice for them, but he places himself on their level when he looks at them. It’s not a decision made without consideration for the value of their lives. He understands the gravity of the decision and what he’s asking them to do because he’s going to die right alongside them. It’s a small gesture that really boosts morale in the moment, even as grim as their situation was. And the cool thing about Ardeth is that he didn’t even do it for that reason, he did it because he actually cared about the people he was fighting with.

[22.] When Ardeth makes the decision to die fighting Anubis’ army, and thus makes that decision for everyone else standing there with him, what is going on in his head? I mean, there really was only one choice, given the Medjai’s conviction, and even if they had chosen to flee, I doubt they would have actually escaped. There was nowhere to run. But after making that seriously heavy decision, did he feel badly for essentially telling the whole of the Medjai to die right here and now? And what about his own life? I have always headcanoned that Ardeth assumed he would not live to be an old man. It had nothing to do with skill or luck or anything like that, but he had seen countless other Medjai fall before their natural time. Such was the nature of his calling in life. So when he decides that he is going to die fighting Anubis’ army, was he thinking… “geez, I didn’t think I’d have this much time to ponder this?” He probably expected to die young, but I bet he thought it would happen randomly, in a split-second, in the heat of battle. I don’t think he ever planned on having all that time while waiting for the army to reach them to think, “hey… this is it. I’m going to die right now.” And then, when the army is banished, he had to be thanking Allah for that, and I think he might have believed that the courage of the Medjai had been rewarded. Perhaps he or other members of the society would tell the story for years to come of the time their faith and bravery was tested… and they passed the test.