#I couldn’t resist trying out this meme for these two it just fits them

[thatoneguy56fanfic]

Kuvira: If a beautiful woman disagrees with me I will immediately change my views. I have no principles.

Korra: Well, maybe you should have principles.

Kuvira: You’re right, maybe I should.

[watchmenanon]

THE ‘STRANGER THINGS’ BOYS ARE OUR ‘NYLON GUYS’ SEPTEMBER 2017 COVER STARS

If anyone understands the sudden shift from “not fitting in” to “one-million-plus followers,” it’s these guys.

The following feature appears in the September 2017 issue of NYLON Guys.

Finn Wolfhard just couldn’t resist. Despite needing to be camera-ready for his NYLON photo shoot, the 14-year-old star of Stranger Things decided to suck on a blue Warhead anyway, and now he’s paying the price. “All these sets have candy on them, and I can’t help myself. It was a mistake,” he admits, sheepishly trying to scrub the cerulean stain from his tongue with a miniature toothbrush. To his right, Gaten Matarazzo wears a gray T-shirt that reads, uh oh! did my sarcasm hurt your feelings?, a slogan worthy of Dustin Henderson, the lovable wisecracker he plays opposite Wolfhard on the hit Netflix show. Matarazzo, also 14, is getting his trademark tangle of curls straightened, much to the delight of Noah Schnapp, who, at 12, is the youngest in this group of breakout stars that has helped make Stranger Things the most obsessed-over show in Netflix’s boundless roster of original series. Missing is Caleb McLaughlin, the energetic 15-year-old who plays Lucas Sinclair, but he’s on his way over in a black car, having just arrived from Los Angeles, fresh off an appearance at the BET Awards.

It’s the first time the boys have been together in several weeks, and none of them can pinpoint exactly when they were last in the same room. Ever since Stranger Things became a cultural phenomenon last summer, they’ve been swept up in a whirlwind of red carpets, talk shows, and fan conventions. And as the premiere of the sci-fi and horror fantasia’s top-secret second season nears, this summer has been overtaken by a flurry of promotional duties. Next week, while most kids their age are cooling off in pools or testing out the latest in roller coaster technology, Matarazzo and McLaughlin will be at Denver Comic Con, signing autographs and posing for selfies with wide-eyed fans. A few weeks after that, all four will find themselves inside the hallowed Hall H at San Diego Comic-Con, where they’ll premiere the thrilling trailer for Season 2 to rapturous applause.

But on this day, even though they’re technically at work, the boys still find time to goof off. They are, after all, best friends—like brothers, even, they say—and there’s a lot of catching up to do, memes to be shared, and jokes to be cracked. “We used to call Noah ‘Señor Biebs,’” Matarazzo offers at one point, due to Schnapp’s Season 1 bowl cut and its resemblance to the former haircut of a certain Canadian pop star. “He hates it!” he says, just before he sticks his finger into Schnapp’s ear (playfully, of course).

Inside the bright and breezy photo studio on Manhattan’s West Side, publicists abound, but because these budding stars are still minors, there are also parents. It’s an unusual sight, and a reminder that despite having very grown-up jobs, they’re still not old enough to drive. Wolfhard, the Vancouver native who plays Mike Wheeler, is here with his father, as is Matarazzo, who hails from Little Egg Harbor Township, New Jersey. Schnapp and his parents came in from Westchester County, north of the city. When McLaughlin, who grew up in Carmel, New York, finally arrives lugging a suitcase that’s almost as big as he is, he’s accompanied by his father, a burly man in an Atlanta Braves cap who goes around the room with his son hugging the other parents, a reminder of how tight the makeshift family has become since this odyssey began more than two years ago.

Stranger Things premiered as an underdog. Its creators, the twin brothers Matt and Ross Duffer, were unproven talents who had previously written for the Fox sci-fi series Wayward Pines. Except for Winona Ryder’s comeback as a grieving mother searching for her missing son, the cast was composed largely of unknowns and newcomers. But thanks to its double dose of supernatural intrigue and a nostalgic ’80s-tinged glow, along with a miraculous performance by a young British actress with a shaved head, Stranger Things quickly commandeered the pop-culture conversation in a way that few shows have done. In July, the show received a staggering 18 Emmy nominations, including Outstanding Drama Series.

Created by the Duffers in the spirit of the Amblin-era entertainments they were raised on, the eight-episode first season is set in 1983 in Hawkins, Indiana, and unravels the mystery surrounding the disappearance of Will Byers, played by Schnapp, who vanishes in the first episode after an encounter with the show’s resident boogeyman, the otherworldly creature known as the Demogorgon. As Will’s three misfit best friends—Mike, Lucas, and Dustin—embark on a quest to find him, they uncover an alternate dimension they dub The Upside Down, and a sinister government conspiracy that may be responsible for opening it. They also befriend Eleven, the feral girl with telekinetic powers embodied iconically by 13-year-old Millie Bobby Brown.

Stranger Things began filming its second season under very different circumstances than the first. What once felt like a scrappy production free of scrutiny from outside sources suddenly had the mood and atmosphere of a major Hollywood blockbuster. “Netflix knew it would be a good show,” McLaughlin says, “but they didn’t realize how big it would be and that the whole world was going to freak out about it.” Because of that intense interest from both the network and the public, the set suddenly had a noticeable security presence shielding it from nosy onlookers and paparazzi, while network executives showed up to make sure their prized racehorse was galloping along. Suddenly, there were expectations. “We raised the bar pretty high with the first season,” says Matarazzo. “There was a lot more tension on set, in that we really needed to make sure it was good.”

When Season 2 premieres on October 27, a year will have passed since Eleven sacrificed herself to defeat the faceless Demogorgon and save the boys, in the Season 1 finale. Trying to squeeze spoilers out of Wolfhard, McLaughlin, Schnapp, and Matarazzo is useless. Extensive media training, including detailed notes on what they can and can’t discuss, have transformed them into a rare breed: teenagers who can keep a secret. What they can say: Season 2 is bigger, darker, and scarier. There’s also a new character in town, played by Sadie Sink. (According to the Duffers, Millie Bobby Brown was “relieved” to have another girl on set.) “She’s a skater, sort of a punk girl, and she slowly becomes part of the group,” says Wolfhard, who also says his character will be depressed and “a loner” in the wake of Eleven’s disappearance. What they can’t say: pretty much everything else. But it’s not just scoop-hungry journalists who harass them for info. “Whenever you get recognized by fans, most of the time they ask you if you’ve got any spoilers for Season 2, and I’m like, ‘No, none, not at all,’” says Matarazzo. “It’s definitely kind of stressful.”

One of the biggest changes for the new season is the expansion of Schnapp’s screen time. Because his character spends much of the first season trapped in an alternate dimension, Schnapp spent a good deal of time at home in New York while everyone else filmed in Atlanta. “Last year I would drive up to the studio and everyone would be like, ‘Hey, Noah, we’ve missed you! How’ve you been?’” says Schnapp. “This year was a lot easier because last year, I’d have to go in and out of school, and that was hard. This year I could focus.”

Although he’s rescued from The Upside Down, we last saw Schnapp removing a slithery creature from his mouth, a telltale sign that not all is well with Will Byers. For Schnapp, whose character mostly communicated through Christmas lights in Season 1, the new episodes meant new challenges as an actor. “Shawn Levy, one of our directors, was telling me, ‘Noah, you have something really big this season. We have a lot in store for you, and you should get really excited,’” he says. Schnapp felt the added pressure, and would sometimes text his TV mom, Ryder, for extra help with particularly emotional scenes. “We knew we needed a strong actor in case the series moved forward into a second season, because we knew he was going to be a centerpiece,” says Matt Duffer. “We needed not just a good actor, but a really, really good actor.” Schnapp rose to the occasion, according to the Duffers. “Shawn [Levy] was like, ‘We’ve had a Ferrari sitting in the garage all of Season 1, and now the fucking garage doors are open.’”

The Duffers knew that casting child actors, who have a tendency to favor exaggerated performances over naturalistic ones, would make or break their show. “There’s really nothing worse than a bad child performance,” Ross Duffer says. “You couldn’t have any weaknesses, or the eight hours would be excruciating.” Along with their casting director, the Duffers saw what they estimate to be 900 kids, an undertaking they say was easier than it sounds because they could tell within the first few minutes if the actor had what they needed. “You’re looking for something authentic, and most kids don’t have it,” says Ross. “There are the ones that are obviously well-trained, but they feel too Disney, like they’re winking at the camera.” What the Duffers found with their four young male stars were kids who seemed like actual kids.

Matarazzo was the first one cast, his audition so impressive that he found out he got the part on the way back from the airport. “We didn’t really even know who the Dustin character was until we found Gaten,” says Matt Duffer. “He was sort of a generic nerd with glasses. He was a stereotype.” Matarazzo, whose sense of humor inspired the Duffers to transform Dustin into the show’s primary source of comic relief, has grown up with a condition known as cleidocranial dysplasia, which stunts the development of bones and teeth. “We wanted to make a show about outsiders, about kids who didn’t fit in and who were bullied and made fun of,” says Matt. “Gaten was really able to tap into all of that.”

McLaughlin and Matarazzo had known each other from their days as stars in two of Broadway’s biggest shows. Matarazzo portrayed Gavroche in Les Misérables, and McLaughlin played Simba in The Lion King. They’d often see each other in a park frequented by “Broadway kids,” as Matarazzo calls them. “When I found out Caleb had gotten Lucas I was like, ‘Caleb? Where do I know that name from?’” he recalls. Wolfhard and Schnapp established an early connection, too—sort of. “He doesn’t remember me, but I remember him,” Wolfhard says. “Because I asked him what other projects he had done, and he said, ‘I was the voice of Charlie Brown in The Peanuts Movie.’ I was like, ‘What?! You’re Charlie Brown?’ I was so pysched about that.”

Although they had all crossed paths during the audition process, usually around the hotel pool or at chemistry reads, it wasn’t until they arrived in Atlanta to begin production that all four boys, along with Millie Bobby Brown, found themselves together in the same room for the first time. If there was a first-day-of-school feel, it made sense: They met in a classroom, which is where the young cast of Stranger Things still spend most of their time when they’re not filming. That grueling schedule means the only opportunities they get to really mess around are between takes, and sometimes during them. “We have laughing problems,” says McLaughlin. Matt Duffer elaborates: “We definitely have an issue, where we can’t get through a take without someone busting up. They’re always making each other crack up—the number of takes ruined by laughter is in the hundreds.”

Schnapp was at summer camp when Stranger Things dropped on Netflix. He wasn’t allowed to have his phone, but shortly after the series premiered, one of his counselors happened to check his Instagram account—80,000 followers. The next day it was 85,000. “I was like, ‘Wait, what’s going on?’ I think I was at one follower before that,” Schnapp says. Wolfhard also remembers that odd rush of watching his followers skyrocket and realizing his life was changing right in front of his eyes. McLaughlin felt his anonymity evaporate the first time he was recognized. “In L.A., this kid came up to me and was like, ‘Hey, are you Caleb Reginald McLaughlin?’” he says. “And I’m like, ‘What? You know my middle name? That’s nuts.’” 

The connection between the boys is strengthened by the surreal turn their lives have taken, circumstances that most kids their age can’t relate to. When Matarazzo, McLaughlin, and Wolfhard met Barack Obama last October, as guests of the White House’s South by South Lawn festival, the former president, who’s a fan of the show, told them he especially enjoyed their on-screen camaraderie. That bond exists offscreen, too, and has only gotten stronger with every award show and panel. “They really are my best friends,” Matarazzo says. “We can relate to each other a lot more than other people can. People try to understand everything that goes on, but they can’t unless they’ve been there.”

“I don’t think any of the kids would say that our friendship is similar to the friendships they have back home, because it’s not,” says Wolfhard. “No kid has ever really had an experience that I’m experiencing right now—it’s a unique sort of friendship.”

Wolfhard is careful not to bring his work home with him. “If you go home and all you talk about is acting, then you’re a douchebag,” he says. “Your friends don’t want to hear about your professional life, they just want to mess around.” Plus, when you’re 14 years old, talking about work is never cool, even if it involves facing off against a faceless interdimensional demon. The boys are also learning that with a great number of Instagram followers comes great responsibility. “We have to be more cautious with what we say on social media and in public,” says McLaughlin, who was shocked to lose followers after he openly rooted for the Golden State Warriors during the NBA playoffs.

While Netflix has yet to make an official announcement, a third season of Stranger Things is a given, meaning the boys are all but guaranteed to live out their teenage years on one of the most popular shows on television. The Duffers, then, will have to follow in the footsteps of long-running properties like Game of Thrones and the Harry Potter franchise in making sure their child actors don’t grow up faster than their characters. “It’s terrifying,” Matt Duffer says. “I shouldn’t even be highlighting this, but if you watch Season 2, they’ve grown from Episode 1 to Episode 9. I’m terrified one of them is going to have a major growth spurt basically in the middle of shooting. But as long as they’re growing outside of the course of our shooting, I’m not too worried about it, because we just have to build it into our story. As much as you would like to keep some of it more continuous, every time we take a break between seasons, we have to make a year time jump at least.”

All four actors say that they want to remain in show business into adulthood. Wolfhard, who obsessively studies the filmmaking process while on set—he’ll star in the remake of Stephen King’s It, in theaters this month—is eyeing a multihyphenate career as a director, actor, and musician. Back at the photo shoot, Matarazzo and Schnapp gather around his iPhone to watch a video Wolfhard co-directed for a friend’s band, Spendtime Palace. Earlier this year, McLaughlin, who is a trained dancer, played a young Ricky Bell on the BET miniseries The New Edition Story, an experience he describes as “historic.” Matarazzo wants to continue acting, but not forever, and is keeping an open mind about other aspects of the industry. Schnapp, who took his first acting class at the age of six, describes winning the Screen Actors Guild Award for Outstanding Performance by an Ensemble in a Drama Series as one of the greatest moments of his life, and is doing exactly what he wants. (The boys, who describe the awards as “very heavy,” keep them in their bedrooms, except for Matarazzo, who has been meaning to retrieve his from his grandparents’ house. )

“They all love what they’re doing,” says Matt Duffer. “They love coming to set, they love working, they love acting. In terms of the fame thing, it’s a side effect that I think some of them are more into than others. You’re worried about, ‘What if they realize this isn’t their true passion?’ They’re so young. But this year those fears went away. They’re all very committed to this. That’s the important thing, that they enjoy what they’re doing. And that they’re passionate about it.”

[spencer-reid-in-a-pool]

It Was You All Along (Part 7)

Author’s note: So that wasn’t much of a break, but I couldn’t resist! Here is the next installment of the series, featuring a meme I made myself to reflect the vibes of the first half of this part! And yes, it is supposed to be that pixely. It adds spice. Also, I tried to be as vague as possible describing reader’s outfit towards the end so that you could imagine it the way you wanted! As always, feedback is appreciated, and I hope you all enjoy! Link to my ask box! 

Tags: @ayyyyitswednesdaymydoods @blackjay04 @weaselbee04​ @bravelittlesunflower​ @mxsmwndr​ 

A voice called for me, but I didn’t quite process it. I was too busy trying to fix this gigantic, gaping hole in Geralt’s trousers. Melitele knows if I don’t do it, he would just walk around with it decorating his attire. 

The voice called for me again, but this time I ignored it on purpose. If I lost concentration, I would prick myself with the needle...again. And I didn’t really want to turn my fingers into more of a bloody mess than they already were. 

I heard footsteps beside me, but I didn’t realize how close they were until a rush of coldness surrounded my body. Not only coldness, but wetness. A bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on me, causing me to scream and drop what I was doing as I stood up in shock. 

“Julian!” 

His real name still felt unfamiliar on my lips. I had taken to calling him that every so often, usually when I was angry with him, or when I was messing with him. It was for that reason, I think, that he froze so suddenly when I spoke. He wasn’t used to it either, even though he was the one that suggested I start using it more. 

The bucket made a small thump sound as it hit the ground beneath us, and Jaskier raised his hands up in an apology. But he also backed away like a scared animal. I almost felt bad for him. Almost, but not quite. 

“Now, (Y/N)...I was just trying to get your attention is all. It’s quite important, you see.”

I gathered my skirts in my hands and stomped towards him, scowling and shivering the whole way. 

“What could possibly be so important that you couldn’t wait until I was finished? And what made you think dumping cold water on me was a good idea?”

I didn’t give him a chance to respond before I starting running towards him, my clothes making a sloshing noise against my skin. A string of curse words left his mouth as he took off trying to get away from me. He could be quite fast when he wanted to be. But no way was I going to let him get away from me that easily. 

As soon as he picked up speed, so did I. He wove through the trees surrounding our campsite, going in between them like a maze. Eventually we made it back to where we started. My spot was near a tree and the pants I had been working on were visibly in a bunch on the ground. But behind that was the river that I’m assuming the idiot got the water in the first place. I wonder if I could lead him back there... and “accidentally” knock him in.

As luck would have it, I didn’t even have to put that thought into action. He had made his way to the edge of the river, and turned quickly on his heel trying to run away from me again. But he slipped on the muddy bank, and fell right into the water himself. 

Coming to a stop, a sharp laugh came from my chest suddenly. And I laughed even harder when he bobbed above the surface, hair sticking to his forehead and his fancy doublet soaked. 

“That’s what you get!” I yelled to him between bouts of laughter. 

While Jaskier pulled himself out of the water unceremoniously, I heard more footsteps behind me followed by a thud. Geralt must be back. Only one man I know could walk and sit down that heavily. 

I turned towards the sound, and sure enough, Geralt was sitting down on the log he had claimed as his earlier. He took one look at me and one look at Jaskier who was now standing on the bank of the river, shivering like his life depended on it. 

“I don’t even want to know,” said Geralt with a twitch of his eyebrow and a roll of his eyes. 

~

Night had fallen now. I couldn’t help but reflect on the past few months since that attack at our camp. Things had been pretty boring since then honestly. But I guess I couldn’t complain. Being bored was better than being in danger. 

Geralt was asleep and snoring at an unholy volume. This of course caused a glance between Jaskier and I, and sent us into a fit of silent laughter together. The kind of laughter that had your stomach hurting and your mouth open with no sound. The kind that had you grabbing onto your friend for dear life. Which is precisely what the two of us were doing right now. I had such a grip on Jaskier’s arm, I thought he surely must be in pain. But if he was, he made no mention of it and kept laughing with me. 

However much time had passed, it seemed to only be a few minutes. And I still had my hand on his arm, although my grip definitely lessened. He didn’t notice this either, and simply looked into the dying flames with dried tears from his laughter on his cheeks. My gaze lingered a moment too long on his cheeks, and I began to think about how gentle his eyelashes looked against his skin as he blinked. 

Heat rose in my cheeks and I silently withdrew my hand from his arm. This seemed to catch his attention though. 

“Composed yourself now? Don’t need to steady yourself from anymore laughter?”

There was a glint in his eye as he asked me the questions. I had to keep from smiling. 

“That depends. Got any jokes?”

He stood suddenly and rested a hand on his chin, making it seem like he was deep in thought. 

“You look as if you are composing a new song, Julian.”

“I’m a musician, my dear, I am always composing.” 

He paced around the fire, which was even lower than before. The way he took everything so seriously was something that entertained me, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself because of it. 

Suddenly, he opened his mouth in a silent “Aha!”

“(Y/N), why must you never use a broken pen?”

I paused for a moment and scrunched my face in thought, trying to come up with an answer. But before I could, he delivered the punch line. 

“It’s pointless, darling.”

I snorted at the same time Geralt groaned. The fucker was awake. 

Jaskier almost jumped out of his boots at the sudden noise, which only caused me to laugh again. The pain in my stomach from earlier was back, but I couldn’t keep from laughing. 

“Have you been awake this whole time, Geralt?” Jaskier yelled in surprise. 

“Long enough. Don’t you have anything better to do? Like sleep?”

Jaskier open and closed his mouth a few times before settling on a simple, “Right,” in response. He then took his spot a few feet away from Geralt and laid down for the night. 

“Goodnight, Geralt.” Jaskier said with a stifled yawn.

Geralt simply grunted in return, rolling over so his back was facing Jaskier. 

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” Jaskier called in my direction. 

“Goodnight, Jaskier. And goodnight Geralt!” 

“Hmph,” was all I got in response. 

There was a silence over our camp now. But it was too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like it would be broken at any moment now. Jaskier’s voice was what broke it, of course.

“Goodnight, Roach.”

“Oh, yeah! Goodnight, Roach and Lily!” I called out excitedly. 

“How could I forget Lily? Goodnight, Lily!” Jaskier parroted. 

“Oh, for the love of-” Geralt groaned loudly, sitting up and gathering his things. He promptly moved farther and farther away from us, settling on a spot under the cover of darkness in the trees. 

I snickered to myself as I got my things ready to lay down. Annoying Geralt had become one of our favorite things to do together over the past few months. 

It became silent again, and I could hear Jaskier’s even breathing now, signalling that he was asleep. I had the feeling I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Call it instinct, I guess. 

I laid down on my back and stared up at the sky. Jaskier and I were closer than ever, and it was so nice. But I needed more. I craved more. They say time heals all wounds, but my heart was still shattered after all these months had gone by. I was still so in love with my best friend that it hurt. Even more than it did before. 

Jaskier had been acting differently lately though. He called me more nicknames, and he was even more of a flamboyant disaster than when I first met him. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen him with any random women in bars or taverns anymore. Could he-? No. No way. I must be out of my mind. 

My fingers instinctively went to the dagger Geralt had given me a while ago. Sometimes I would run my hands along the inscription, trying to remind myself to be brave like it said. I could almost laugh at myself right now. I was being anything but brave when it came to Jaskier. 

“Could you please calm your nerves down? I can feel them from over here,” a gruff voice said in the distance. Geralt. Of course.

“Sorry to disturb you. Maybe you should move to another new spot, even farther away. Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask. How is Yennefer?”

I didn’t have to have Witcher senses to feel how that comment landed. 

~

Morning came much more quickly than I was hoping it would. It meant today was the day we had to get moving, which meant we would be moving closer to the situation I had been trying to avoid thinking about. The ball. 

I seemed to be the last one awake, and I could feel the energy as soon as I had rubbed the sleepiness from my reluctant eyes. Geralt sad brooding in the corner of our camp, and Jaskier was flitting about getting everyone’s things together. It was easy to see who was excited and who was not. 

“Today is the day, you sad sack of...sadness,” Jaskier vocalized in regards to Geralt. 

“I know. Don’t remind me.”

I almost laughed as I sat up from my spot on the ground. Geralt wasn’t looking forward to this, and truth be told, I wasn’t either. At least part of me wasn’t. The other part couldn’t help being excited in a childlike way. I had never been in a castle before, let alone a ballroom. Although I couldn’t help but feel like I would be out of place, and painfully so. 

“Don’t look so excited, Geralt.” 

“You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened at the last one.”

I winced and realized that he was right. Although Jaskier had told me some of what happened, I was almost certain that he watered down the events of Pavetta’s betrothal ball in doing so. 

The man in question turned to look at me, apparently just now realizing I was awake. 

“There you are! Come on, we are losing daylight!”

“Jaskier, do I even really need to come? Geralt is only going to be your body guard, so I don’t really have a purpose.”

“Don’t be silly. You must come! We couldn’t just leave you by yourself for hours at a time. These things do tend to take a while.”

I rolled my eyes and stood, stretching as I did so. 

“I am a grown up, you know. I can take care of myself. Afraid I might get kidnapped?” 

Jaskier scoffed and continued packing, mostly ignoring my comment. But it was true, I could take care of myself. Geralt had taught me some things with the dagger over the past few weeks, and I felt confident in my abilities. 

“Well if I must go, at least be careful with my dress and things. I’m sure Yennefer paid good money for them.” 

“The witch probably stole them, more like.”

I watched as Jaskier carefully started packing my things, and tried not to cackle when Geralt made a comment about shoving his foot somewhere it didn’t belong in reference to Jaskier. 

Today was going to be quite...something. 

~

Since we had done most of the travelling yesterday, what was left for today didn’t take long. We made it to the castle in no time it seemed. 

Lily and Roach were tied up in the stables, in the same stall actually. I was quite happy that the stable master was willing to do that. They always seemed to enjoy each other’s company. 

I sat in my borrowed room getting ready, and I was assuming that Geralt and Jaskier were in their own rooms doing the same thing. But that thought was at the back of my mind now as I looked at myself in the mirror. Or at least, what I think was myself. I didn’t really recognize the woman staring back at me. 

Yennefer had picked out the most beautiful, elegant, and intricate floor-length ballgown I could ever imagine. It was sleeved as well, with lace adorning them to match the bodice. The skirt was made of layers on layers, it seemed, and with every move I made it swished gently to follow. It was even in my favorite color. I wonder how she knew? I don’t remember telling her...

She had also gotten me some jewelry to match, and the metals and gems complimented my skin tone perfectly. How did she know all this? I had only met her once, and it was very briefly. I would have to thank her for all this later. 

Not long after I had finished getting dressed, jeweled, and made up, a knock sounded at my door. 

“Come in,” I called. 

Jaskier entered in his outfit for the night. It was a dark, silky purple with golden accents along the doublet’s center, and my breath hitched in my throat when I saw him in the reflection of the mirror I sat in front of. 

“You look breathtaking, darling,” he said in a whisper as he approached me. 

Hopefully he didn’t notice the blush creeping up the sides of my neck. I don’t think I would ever get used to his names for me. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself. Compare that to when you fell into the water yesterday and looked like a dying animal, you basically are a different person.”

Jaskier feigned anger, but I could tell he was amused. 

“Do you like your clothes? I made sure to tell Yennefer all your favorite colors and shiny things.”

My heart skipped a beat. He had told her all of that? I didn’t even know that he knew those things about me.

I stood before really thinking about what I was doing, and turned to face him, the shock evident on my face.

“You told her all that? I didn’t know that you knew such trivial facts about me...Thank you.”

He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Of course I know. And it was no problem. I had to make sure she didn’t dress you in an unflattering way.”

I tilted my head in thought, almost as a reflex, and it caught his attention. 

“What are you thinking about, (Y/N)?” Jaskier asked me quietly with a crooked smile. 

“I seem to be thinking about everything and nothing at once...but I am mostly wondering how you convinced the people hosting this ball to let me in. Geralt is your security, of course, I get that. But how did you get me in? I’m no one special.”

He was silent for a moment and stared at a spot past me, for almost so long I didn’t think he would reply. But then he did, with an odd look on his face that showed happiness and some other emotion I didn’t recognize. 

“I told them you were my muse. A musician cannot perform without their muse.”

My mouth twitched as if to fall open in shock. but I didn’t let it. I didn’t want him to see how this affected me.

“I’m your what?”

“My muse. You know, inspiration?”

I shook my head furiously, matching the speed at which my heart was beating.

“I know what it means. But why did you tell them that? You couldn’t have come up with a better excuse to get me in here? You didn’t have to lie to them.” 

You couldn’t have come up with a better excuse in order to keep me from getting my hopes up?

He looked at me with a smile. But it was a pained smile. Then for a second, it looked like he might speak. Until Geralt passed by the open door way and told Jaskier it was time to go. The crowd was waiting on him. 

I stood frozen in the same spot I had been in, and I watched them leave. First Geralt, then Jaskier following behind him. At the last second before leaving the doorway, he stopped, placing a hand on the frame. 

Finally he turned to me, and looking over his shoulder, he simply said:

“I didn’t lie.” 

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(The Bad Batch) Preferences-Carving Pumpkins

(Author’s Note:  Ahhh, I had so much fun writing these!!!  I’m super excited for autumn, and I just needed an outlet involving our awesome squad

Warnings:  Squash being butchered, pumpkin guts....Oh, and some smooching).

Wrecker: 

   “Hey, sweetie?” Wrecker asked, and you glanced up from your selection of pumpkins.  He stood very still as his eyes flickered back and forth between two very large pumpkins that you were sure you wouldn’t be able to lift.  He stroked his chin in contemplation.

   “What’s up?” You folded your arms as you stood next to him.

   “Which one looks bigger to you?”

   You knelt down, dedicating several seconds to observing each pumpkin and taking mental measurements.  They were nearly identical in size.  “That’s a tough one.  They both look the same size to me, but if I had to choose which one I thought was bigger-” you pointed “-I’d say that one.”

   Wrecker stared at the pumpkin for a few moments before nodding.  “Yeah,” he agreed slowly.  “I’d say you’re right.”  He immediately knelt down and set to work on cutting through the stem with his viroblade.  Meanwhile, you had also reached a decision on a pumpkin, and asked your love if he wouldn’t mind picking it for you.  Wrecker was happy to oblige, cutting the stem with his viroblade and gently handing the freed pumpkin over to you.

   The others had already picked theirs and were heading over to the benches to clean and carve them.  You and Wrecker carried your pumpkins over to the nearest empty bench, claiming your tools.  Wrecker’s huge pumpkin took up half of the table.

   “So what are you going to do with your pumpkin?” you asked as you cut through the top of your pumpkin and proceeded to clean out the insides.

   “It’s a surprise!” he replied enthusiastically.

   You lifted a brow, but smiled.  “In that case, mine’s a surprise too.”

   “How about we do a big reveal when we’re done?”

   You nodded.  “I like that idea.”

   As you began to carve your design, it was hard not to notice the occasional chuckles and snickers as Wrecker set to work on his pumpkin.  Every now and then, he’d take a few steps back to look at it, huff out another fit of laughter, and then return to the project.  You were growing increasingly interested in what his would look like, but still kept your eyes on your own pumpkin.  Finally, both of you finished your projects and got ready for the big reveal.

   “Alright, on the count of three?” you prompted.

   He grinned.  “One...”

   “Two…”

   Both of you shouted, “three!” and spun your pumpkins around to face each other.  At the sight of Wrecker’s pumpkin, you burst into laughter.  It was a very silly face with big eyes and a wobbly smile, but it was carved so well, so precisely, it looked like a meme from the holonet.

   “Okay, that’s funny.”  You laughed. 

   “Yours looks good, ________!” he said, giving you a playful nudge.

   “Thanks.”  You turned to smile at him, and he pulled you into his strong arms.  His breathing picked up as he leaned into your space for a tender kiss.

   “I wanted to kiss ya’ so bad a few minutes ago,” he told you, “but I didn’t want you to think I was trying to sneak a peek at your pumpkin before it was ready.”

   You returned the kiss, lingering over his lips for a moment as you murmured, “well, you don’t have to worry about that now.”

Crosshair: 

   “Will this work?” he asked for the third time, though there wasn’t an ounce of impatience in his tone.

   “No, it needs to be more slender,” you decided with a shake of your head.  “And maybe just a tad taller?”  Crosshair backed away from the pumpkin he’d offered, eyes scanning the patch in search of one that better fit your description.  He knelt down, pushing away some leaves to reveal a pumpkin that was taller and thinner than the other one.

   “How’s this?”

   You knelt down beside him, narrowing your eyes as you tried to picture how your design would look.  It looked great in your mind.  Now, it was time to make it reality.  “Yeah, I think that’s the one.”

   Crosshair unsheathed his viroblade and swiftly cut the vine, detaching the pumpkin and handing it to you.  “There you go.”  You accepted it sweetly, unable to resist kissing him in appreciation for the gesture.  He hadn’t even questioned you on the design or complained once, only set to work on helping you find exactly what it was you wanted.  You waited for him to choose a pumpkin, which was a shorter process, before the two of you walked over to the nearest bench.

   You set to work on emptying the pumpkin of its guts, glancing over every so often to watch Crosshair at work.  Once in a while, he’d catch your gaze and notice the mischievous smile that you tried so hard to hide.

   He paused, straightening up from his task and fishing out a toothpick.  ��What?”

   “Nothing,” you replied.  “Oh, uh… Can I borrow one of those?”

   He lifted a brow, but said nothing as he pulled out another toothpick and passed it to you across the table.

   “Thanks, Cross.”  You lowered your gaze, but it did nothing to hide the glint in your eye as you continued working on your pumpkin carving.  Crosshair returned to his project, though he still kept an eye on you.  At one point, he smirked at how absolutely giddy you looked.

   Finally, your pumpkin was complete.  You placed the last finishing touch, the toothpick, where it needed to be and stood back to admire it.  Crosshair’s was done moments later.

   “So, let’s see what we have here,” he said, motioning for you to show him.  You grinned and turned the pumpkin around, revealing your handiwork.  You had chosen the pumpkin’s shape with purpose.  It was the perfect canvas to carve Crosshair’s face into it, complete with the crosshairs tattoo over its right eye and a toothpick sticking out of its mouth.

   Crosshair exhaled sharply in amusement, his expression so cocky and strangely attractive as he shifted his stance.  “That’s a handsome pumpkin,” he commented.

  “Glad you think so,” you said.  “What does yours look like?”

   He chuckled, placing a hand on the top of his pumpkin to spin it around.  It had your face, and it was well-carved too.

   That’s a pretty pumpkin,” you told him with a growing smile. He met your gaze with amusement dancing in his.

   “Glad you think so.”

Hunter: 

   Hunter cut your chosen pumpkin from the vine, handing it to you with care.  “There you go, sweetheart.”

   “Thank you,” you said. 

   While you had taken your time in picking out the pumpkin you wanted, he wasn’t choosy and ended up taking the one closest to yours for himself.  Both of you went to one of the benches and set to work.  Apparently, Hunter was more interested in the carving part.  You paused to watch him take one of the tools and expertly cut the pumpkin open to remove the insides.  You found yourself resting an elbow on the table as you observed the sergeant, your pumpkin nearly forgotten altogether in the moment.

   Hunter caught your eye, smiling when he realized you’d been watching him.  He twirled the carving tool between his fingers and gave a playful wink.  Your face heated up as you pulled your pumpkin closer to your end of the table to begin working on it.

   “Need some help?” he asked, mistaking your momentary distraction from your project as uncertainty.

   “No, I’m good.  I just needed a minute to think about my design,” you said, which was also true.  “I’m not so helpless, Sergeant.”

   The use of his title in such a playful tone made him chuckle.  “Didn’t think you were, sweetheart.  I just can’t help it.”

   You rounded the bench to plant a kiss to his lips, and he welcomed your touch with arms going for your waist instantly.  “I know,” you murmured, letting him know that you took no offense.  “You’re just so used to helping everyone else.  I like that about you.”

   He exhaled, and there was no missing the slight tremble of his body.  You pulled away and headed back to your side of the bench to continue carving your design.  Every now and then, you couldn’t resist glancing over to watch Hunter skillfully carve the numbers “99” in a large aurebesh font into his pumpkin with the signature skull symbol at the top right.

   “Your design,” he spoke up, peeking over.  “Looks good, ________.”

   “Why, thank you.  I like your Bad Batch pumpkin,” you replied.

Tech: 

   “Are you certain this is the one you want?” Tech asked.  You nodded at the chosen pumpkin, and he cut the vine to hand it over to you.  “There you are, love.”

   “Thank you, Tech,” you said.

   “It is no trouble at all.  Now, the trick will be finding the right one for myself.”

   You knew how particular Tech could be about things, but you didn’t realize how seriously he would take the endeavor of selecting the “right” pumpkin.  Even so, you waited patiently, your own pumpkin in hand, for several minutes as Tech browsed rows of the patch.  You loved him for who he was, but it was hard to wait quietly anymore.  At one point, you had to set down your pumpkin because it began to weigh heavily in your arms.

   “What exactly are you looking for?” you asked.  Perhaps you could help the process along.

   “I’m looking for the pumpkin with the most aesthetic appeal- good color and symmetry are important.”

   “Oh, okay.”  You knelt down, pointing.  “What about this one?  It looks like the kind of pumpkin you’d see in a fall article on the holonet.”

   He followed your gaze, adjusting his goggles.  “I saw that one already.  It is indeed a good pumpkin, but still not quite what I’m looking for.”  You shrugged and kept looking, but none that  you saw were even as nice as the first one you’d pointed out.  Finally, you heard an exclamation from farther down the row.

   “Ah, I found it.”  Tech had been kneeling down to inspect it before making the commitment of picking it.  He approached, leaning in to give you an apologetic peck on the cheek.  “Sorry it took so long.  Thank you for waiting.”

   “It’s okay,” you chuckled.  “I’m glad you’re happy with your pumpkin.”

   Both of you went over to the benches to begin prepping the pumpkins for carving.  The rest of the squad were nearly done with theirs already, but everyone was talking and joking around, so there was no rush.  Tech chatted about varieties of squash for a few minutes as you worked.  He paused every now and then to admire your design out loud and relocate some of the tools closer to your side of the bench since he had a tendency to hog them.

   “Do you have everything you need?” he asked again.

   You nodded.  “Yes, I do.”

   “Good, good.”

   You walked over to his side of the table.  “Do you mind if I look?”

   “Not at all.  Mind you, it’s not quite finished yet.”

   You were amazed to see a little fall scene carved into the pumpkin, complete with a barn, a scarecrow, and a bare tree.  “Wow, Tech!  This is great.”

   “It’s still not done,” he reminded, as if that should make you less impressed.

   “It really looks great though,” you insisted, cupping his cheek and angling his mouth toward yours for an affectionate kiss.  That seemed to get his attention, drawing it away from fussing over what he saw as an incomplete project.  His eyes gazed at you softly through the large lenses, and his lips turned up in a smile.

   “I’m having... fun,” he said, arm tightening around your waist.

   “Me too.”

Echo:

   Echo cut your pumpkin from the patch swiftly, passing it to you, before taking a short walk down the rest of the row.  It wasn’t long before he found one that was decent-looking and knelt to cut the vine.

   “How fun is this?” you asked happily, carrying your pumpkin as you walked beside him on the way to the benches.

   “Yeah,” he agreed with a smile.  “Me and the boys did this once on leave.”  he chuckled.  “Jesse got in trouble for throwing pumpkin innards at Fives.”

   You laughed at the mental image.  “That sounds like a good time.”

   Echo shook his head, though a chuckle escaped his lips.  “If Wrecker starts throwing pumpkin guts...”

   “Knowing Wrecker, that very well may be a possibility.”  The two of you got settled at the nearest empty bench.  You glanced over to see Wrecker was indeed tossing some pumpkin insides in Crosshair’s direction, earning a grumbled “grow up, Wrecker” from his teammate.  You stifled a laugh and set to work on emptying your own pumpkin.  You and Echo worked side-by-side, absolutely content with the proximity despite bumping elbows often.

   Your heart sped up while the rest of you felt simultaneously relaxed at his side.  There was a happy calm that settled between you because you were simply together.  Yet, every time he glanced your way with that sure gaze, it nearly made you shudder.

   “Looking good,” he commented, pausing to get a better look at your nearly-complete pumpkin carving.

   With lips curling into a smile, you asked, “Me, or the pumpkin?”

   Echo chuckled.  “Both.”

   You leaned in to press a light kiss to your boyfriend’s jaw.  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

   He seemed momentarily dazed from the unexpected gesture, but he soon looked at you with a mischievous glint.  “Now, was that aimed at me, or the pumpkin?”

   You laughed.

   “I’m being serious,” he deadpanned.  “Because if I misunderstood, then this next part will be very embarrassing for me.”  He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you in for a longer kiss, his lips caressing yours in a way that nearly made your knees buckle.

   “So embarrassing,” you murmured teasingly.  You separated to continue your projects, shoulders still touching.  His pumpkin carving was a typical face with triangle eyes and a gaping smile, but it was done very well.  “I like your pumpkin,” you said.

   “Thank you, m’lady.  I like your design too.”

   “Thank you.”

Omega at the Pumpkin Patch: She takes the process seriously, spending quite a bit of time choosing the right pumpkin for what she had planned.  The others were curious because she chose a pumpkin that was much wider than it was tall, and she kept it angled away from the group as she worked.  Anytime someone would venture over to check her progress, she’d quickly stand up in front of it to block the view.

After she finally beamed and announced she was done, everyone gathered around to see she had carved an image of the entire squad into the pumpkin.

[earnestly-endlessly]

Hi! Do you have any Cherik Army AUs? I've managed to find just 3.

Hi Anon, thanks for the ask. I found some good Army AUs, though some might not quite fall into the category of 'Army AU'. There are, surprisingly, few Army AUs that I have found, whereas there are several military and war AUs, but those don't necessarily involve an army. I did include a variety that involve an army in one way or another, though some fit the bill better than others. I hope you find some that you enjoy!!

Cherik Army AU

I Want to Guard Your Dreams And Visions – luninosity

Summary: I was reading Barbara Hambly’s Abigail Adams mystery novels, and then Erik/Charles American Revolutionary War AU happened. Little snippet in which they share a tent, drink coffee, and provide support to each other.

The Eggnog Riot – Sophia_Bee

Summary: 1826. The American Military Academy in West Point. The day after Christmas. Cadet Erik Lehnsherr wakes up naked with a certain cadet Xavier sprawled across his chest. He can only blame the eggnog.

No Man’s Land – ikeracity

Summary: It's 1914 in Ypres, Belgium. British soldier Charles Xavier has been in the trenches for four months of endless artillery fire, bone-deep cold, and constant fear of the enemy. But on Christmas Eve, the gunfire falls silent, and they climb out of their trenches for a Christmas truce. Charles, of course, meets Erik, the German soldier across the way.

My Land’s Only Borders Lie Around My Heart – pseudoneems

Summary: WW1 Christmas truce of 1914. Opposing soldiers Erik and Charles meet.

Le soldat – Iggyassou

Summary: Erik is in the trenches, trying to survive the war so that he can go back to Charles, his young lover waiting for him back at home.

Names – Squeegee

Summary: In the summer of 1917, British soldier Charles Xavier finds himself taking cover in a shell crater.

Not sure if the 'graphic' tag applies or not, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.

Quell a storm with pen and ink – patroclux

Summary: Charles had spared his life. That was not something he could easily repay.

They wrote letters to each other for two years, until Charles was pulled out of the war from a sudden illness and Erik remained to fight for a cause he didn't believe in. One that ultimately had no effect; one that stole away four years of his life.

Traumatized and persecuted, Erik applied for a post at Janus, a lighthouse in the middle of the Irish Sea. He thought being alone would do him good.

Despite the letters and despite the love, Erik didn't expect Charles to find him.

Hier steh ich an den Marken meiner Tage – MonstrousRegiment

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a spy in the SS, and his British liaison is strategist Charles Xavier. Their relationship from the moment they meet to a year after the end of the war.

Theme and Variations: War – ninemoons42

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a musical prodigy and a man destined for great things and great stages. But his life is shattered by a terrible accident that leaves him blind and trying to find his way back to his life, his music, and his place in the world.

Then he meets Charles Xavier, an agent of Section 8 of the Military Intelligence Directorate of Providence, and he finds himself listening in to clandestine radio transmissions and clicking Morse code, and these sounds are part and parcel of a war that can only take place in the shadows and the hidden places of history.

Strib nicht von Mir – ravenoftheninerealms

Summary: A squad of Allied Forces, led by Charles Xavier, liberates the Nazi concentration camp where Erik was being held prisoner.

Cold foxholes, warm hearts – oddegg

Summary: Basically, this is Band of Mutants. A little slice of life in Bastogne.

Photographs and Memories – tirsynni

Summary: When war-battered Erik Lehnsherr met Charles Xavier, the man kneeling in the dirt and whispering to a lost refugee child, Erik feared his days of running from his deviance was done.

Marching Home – Quietbang

Summary: For a prompt on the meme asking for fic dealing with the fact that, in comics canon, Charles served in the Korean war.

War meant something different to this generation, Charles knew.

Crash on the Levy (Down in the Flood) – Quietbang

Summary: “This is much bigger than you think. You're in the middle of a war, and you don't even realize, do you?”

He pauses, and answers his own question.“No, of course you don't. How silly of me."

The Knight and the Dagger – Dow

Summary: A Lieutenant in the Soviet Army, Erik Lensherr had no other goals than to find the man that killed his parents. But when a discovery yields a little boy with wings like an angel, Erik is shocked to realize that he isn’t alone. There are other people like him, both dangerous and alluring.

Lifelong Service – Pookaseraph

Summary: Erik thinks he should be the one to teach their recruits hand-to-hand combat; Charles makes a persuasive argument to the contrary.

Footsteps of uprooted lovers – ninemoons42

Summary: Against a turbulent backdrop of artistic, social, and political upheaval, the playwright Charles Xavier and the photographer Erik Lehnsherr find themselves meeting under less-than-polite circumstances, but part rather more amicably than they'd met.

When they find each other again in a Barcelona that is falling inexorably toward war, they find themselves taking up arms, each in his own way, and together they join a struggle for freedom, for love, and for their very lives.

Dear Soldier – Lindstrom, ToriTC198

Summary: "Dear Soldier,

I pray that this package finds you well. The organization gave us a list of odds and ends that you might need, but I thought that a person so far from home might appreciate something more than soap and tube socks."

When Charles' school decides to send care packages to the soldiers fighting in Vietnam, he chooses to also include a letter and a few personal touches. When Staff Sergeant Erik is the recipient of that particular care package it will spur a relationship that will change them both.

Fortunate Son – blueink13

Summary: he days leading up to and during Alex's deployment in Vietnam. Everyone handles it in their own way. Some handle better than others.

You’re Here – Deshonana

Summary: Everyone decides its a good idea not to tell Erik when his boyfriend comes home from the military.

Welcome Home –  loveydoveyecstasy

Summary: It's been two years since Charles was deployed to Afghanistan, and Erik can't wait to pick him up at the airport.

When Secrets have Secrets – ximeria

Summary: The arguments that take place in General Xavier's office when General Lehnsherr has a bad day are legendary. Quite frankly, no one really knows what's going on and if the two men have it their way, no one ever will.

Quiet Company – Sophia_Bee

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is always on the move. He's spent the last many years going from war torn country to war torn country telling the stories of the people there through photographs. Then one of his pictures is selected as a winner for the Pulitzer Prize and Erik finds himself stuck in London for longer than he wants. He ends up with an assignment to photograph Charles Xavier, a wealthy philanthropist who is intrigued to find himself working with a Pulitzer-winning war photographer. Erik is far less intrigued by someone he considers privileged and out of touch. Both of their lives are about to change in ways they couldn't imagine.

The City is Ours – RedStockings

Summary: Erik felt his heart racing with excitement, lightened, and for once felt joyful. Charles had looked at him, really looked at him, and there had been something there, a knowing of a kind. As the soldiers laughed amongst each other, and joked each other about who would succeed in marrying the boy, Erik made himself a silent vow. Charles was going to be his, and nothing would keep him from having him. He’d marry him, and he’d save him, and Charles would love him for it.

Not even the war could keep them apart... right?

Sign of the Times – dsrobertson

Summary: Casablanca-ish AU.

Charles Xavier meets Erik Lehnsherr in Paris, 1937. They spend the next two years with one another, stupid in-love, until war comes heavy in September 1939. Erik leaves for Poland and the Resistance movement there, promising to return. Charles is left in Paris, where Nazi jackboots march in, Summer of 1940. He becomes a member of the underground French Resistance, publishing illegal newsletters, leaflets, until news comes through in February 1942: Erik is dead. Charles throws himself into more dangerous work, meeting with Communists, helping derail a German train, and he does too much, goes too far. His friends find him safe passage out of France, out across the Mediterranean, to Morocco, Casablanca. It is here he finds Erik, alive.

The Waste Land – nekosmuse

Summary: The White Queen and her Shadow King sit on their throne, safe behind the psionic shields of the Walled City. The armies of Genosha batter uselessly at the gates, a war locked in stalemate. Magneto, camped in the frozen mud, receives word the Citadel intends to send a telepath to the front lines. The same telepath he met two years ago, who sat across a carved wooden chess set and offered Magneto the first friendly smile in a lifetime. The same telepath who still haunts his dreams.

Winter Comes With a Knife – RedStockings

Summary: It apparently came to no one’s surprise that the war-mage Erik Lehnsherr took up residence in the Dark Keep. I knew he was going to choose my sister, Raven, to be his apprentice so why wouldn’t he let me go? What did he want from me?

My name is Charles Xavier, I can read minds and use magic. I’ve met Kings and Queens, mages and magic users. I’ve travelled through lay-lines and jumped through the Dark Void… but none of that really matters.

I am leading an army into war, I am scared and I never wanted this. I’ve come to realise that what I want, rode into my life when I was still a child. Now he’s out there, ready to charge into battle. Ready to die for me.

Polaris – LastAmericanMermaid

Summary: Charles Xavier is 19 years old, doe-eyed and soft; Erik Lehnsherr is 24 years old, steely-hard and bitter. One is a soldier, the other a refugee. Both are mutants. There will be pain, oh yes.

(An AU in which Charles is a wounded British soldier, Erik is the German hiding in France who nurses him back to health, and the contents of this fic are best read to the soundtrack of Atonement.)

Note: Unfinished

MEDIC! – paladin_danse

Summary: A British airborne medic finds himself alone and afraid behind enemy lines. When he decides to save the life of an S.S. German officer he finds wounded in the snow, he has no idea the choice he has made will alter the course of the war—and their lives—forever.

Note: Sadly unfinished

Suicide is Painlesss – weethreequarter 

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr did not become a doctor to pick bullets out of children. Unfortunately the US Army had other ideas.

Stuck in the middle of the Korean War, Erik and his fellow civilian surgeons have to battle not only the war, but also weather, mud, and boredom. And that's without mentioning Major Sebastian Shaw who thinks war is the best thing that's ever happened to him and never should've been allowed to pick up a scalpel, or Colonel William Stryker who may or may not work for the CIA and probably doesn't even know himself.

Throw in new arrival Captain Charles Xavier, and Erik is in for a very interesting war.

Note: Unfinished

A Light That Never Goes Out – R_Cookie

Summary: It was meant to be the war to end all wars; these two men were never supposed to meet. One a German Jew, the other a British surgeon. The odds that their paths should cross were next to none - but War defies the expected. It always has, and always will.

From the beaches of Dunkirk to the treacherous slopes of Monte Cassino - this is their story.

WWII AU.

Note: Unfinished

[absolutepokemontrash]

The undatables as uncles need more love, so... What if L!MC and the rest of the children just go to the castle or purgatory Hall for a few days because the Bros got tired or just need a day of rest. Idk this makes no sense

Yes, more uncle shennaniganery!

A Day at the Demon Lord’s Castle

Masterlist

It was Demon-Flu season, and no demon in the House of Lamentation was spared from its sniffly wrath. It started with Belphegor waking up and sneezing right next to Beel, and it was all downhill from there.

Notice how I said “demon”, the dear little Half-Demons were all fine thanks to the efforts of M!MC who for some reason had bought a bunch of plague doctor masks the week prior.

“Why... why did you buy these?” L!MC asked, their voice muffled by the badly fitting mask.

“I saw em’ in a store window and I decided I wanted them.”

Three out of four of the Brat Brigade (plus the cat) were on their way to the Demon Lord’s castle to stay until the house’s little epidemic passed. Lord Diavolo had oh so graciously asked (begged) to be allowed to host the kids for a while.

What could go wrong?

Many things could go wrong.

For one, the first thing A!MC saw when they first arrived, was a rat. Not one of the gross scary ones, but one of the absolutely adorable ones that turns you into the ‘gently holds’ meme.

“I’m going to call you Templeton!” “*squeak*” “Yay!”

Barbatos of course came to greet the guests, and explained that they have a little... issue with rats at that moment. Butler-dad assured them it wouldn’t be a problem, just if the children saw any of the vermin running around to tell him and he’d dispose of them.

Templeton the rat was promptly hidden in one of A!MC’s pockets.

The Purgatory Hall crew was there as well, apparently Solomon decided to make brunch and Purgatory Hall’s kitchen exploded.

Lord Diavolo finally makes his entrance and declares that everyone should unpack and relax, his gorgeous/terrifying castle was their gorgeous/terrifying castle.

“So,” L!MC rested their head on their hand and rotated the knight in their free hand as they stared half vacantly at the chess board. “Did you take care of the snake in the labyrinth, Dia?”

Diavolo lit up when he heard his seldom used nickname. “Well, Henry 1.0 isn’t exactly bothering anyone down there at the moment, and I don’t think Levi is equipped to deal with a fifty foot long untamed snake.”

L!MC smirked and placed their knight down. “Yeah, at least not right now.”

The moment L!MC removed their hand from the knight, Diavolo moved his bishop and took their queen. Shit.

“Aw man...” L!MC mumbled, after a cursory look at the board, the poor thing realized that they had been screwed for the last five turns and Diavolo was just prolonging the match.

“Don’t feel too bad, L!MC.” Diavolo gave them a pat on the head. “Lucifer can’t beat me in chess either.”

“Hmph.” They wouldn’t admit it but... that did make them feel a little better.

“That reminds me, I have a favour to ask of you.” L!MC almost outwardly drooped at the mention of... ugh... a task. “Do you mind reviewing some dad-jokes with me to make sure they are suitably dad-like?”

“...what?” Quickly remembering they were in the presence of honest to God (poor choice of words... uh... Grandfather?) royalty, L!MC straightened their posture and tried their best to look respectfully curious instead of completely and utterly confused. “Pardon?”

“M!MC and several others have said I have ‘dad vibes’, so I’m leaning into it!” Diavolo smiled so brightly if L!MC hadn’t been the child of the Morning Star they may have been blinded. “My father wasn’t one for jokes, so I’d like to run these by you before I say them to others.”

Suppressing a snort of laughter, L!MC nodded. “Go for it, I’m all ears.”

Diavolo pulled out quite the long list and began to read out loud... L!MC quickly realized that this may take longer than expected. “Okay, to begin: I’m afraid for the calendar, it’s days are numbered.”

“Oh not-that-good-Lord...” L!MC muttered under their breath.

The dad jokes continued, some were funny, some were absolutely awful, some sounded like they were made for children in the Victorian era... overall, it was a good- holy shit that took over two hours...

“Finally,” Diavolo squinted at the last joke. “I went to the liquor store and they asked for my ID, while I fumbled for my wallet, my Blockbuster card fell out, the cashier said ‘nevermind’.”

L!MC furrowed their brows. “What’s a Blockbuster?”

“That was what I was hoping you’d explain to me... is it a dad requirement to get a card for that establishment..?”

“Mmmm...” L!MC pursed their lips. “Probably not. I mean, Lucifer doesn’t have one.”

“That’s true...” Diavolo looked at the clock, then stood up and began to shoo L!MC out the door. “Look at me, taking up all your time that you should be spending with your friends. Thank you for your help, L!MC, now don’t let me keep you any longer!”

Giggling slightly, L!MC shot a wave over their shoulder as they left the room. “Bye dad! See you later!”

They were half way down the hallway when they realized their verbal slip-up.

“Oh.” L!MC’s face burned with embarrassment. “Shit.”

Dad-volo was totally delighted and very cool about it, don’t worry.

M!MC and Bean the cat were hanging out with the angels in the very pretty royal gardens when that mess was going down.

Luke was being absolutely adorable and was snuggling Bean while he and Simeon looked at the pretty plants.

In traditional M!MC fashion, they were engaging in an average game of ‘lightly tease the chihuahua’.

“It’s just... you’re so small.” M!MC took the opportunity to rest their arm on Luke’s head as he stopped to observe a colour changing flower bush. “How many years have you been this height? 100? 200?”

M!MC had taken the news that Luke was older than them in stride, finding new opportunities to make the little angel do his adorable angy face. They were obviously succeeding in their jerkwad-endeavours as Luke pushed their arm off and fixed his now smushed hat.

“You be quiet! I’m perfectly average height for an angel my age.” Luke huffed, petting the cat, who hissed at M!MC. The stupid cat absolutely hated them for some reason, it brought L!MC never ending joy to bring the cat into their shared room and watch it hiss and swipe at them. L!MC should really show some more respect for their older cousin!

“Are angels normally the size of a fifth grader?” M!MC snickered. “Is Simeon considered a freak for his height?”

“No, M!MC, I am not.” Simeon chuckled. “Rest assured, Luke will grow.”

“Yeah! And I’m sure I’ll be taller than you!” Luke added.

M!MC smirked deviously and pinched Luke’s cheek. “Well, I’ll have to take advantage of your smallness and baby face while I still can!”

“Hey! Stop that!” Luke tried to swat their hands away, but M!MC had inherited their father’s reflexes and his penchant for being a little shit every once and a while, so Luke’s swatting only resulted in more pinches.

“Never!” M!MC teased. “Surrender to your smallness!”

“No!”

Luke took off deeper into the garden, surprisingly quickly considering he was holding a cat that was hellbent on clawing M!MC’s eyes out. M!MC laughed and gave chase.

“Luuuuuuuke! Come back! I promise I’ll be nice!” M!MC lied right through their teeth like the little heathen they were, as they ran down the path they noticed that they couldn’t see Luke up ahead anymore, nor could they hear him yelling for Simeon to make them quit their teasing.

“Heheh...” M!MC wheezed as they stopped to catch their breath. “Luke c’mon, don’t be a baby. It’s real immature to hide like that!”

There was no response, which made M!MC just a little nervous, just a smidge. The plants had changed from pretty flowers and gorgeous trees to a much darker clump of vines and twisting branches. It all seemed to be the same plant, M!MC noted as they scanned the area for any sign of Luke and the cat, or Simeon for that matter.

“Luke? Bean? Come on! Haul your asses over here, this isn’t funny any-” M!MC paused and looked down as something coiled around their left leg. “-more?”

The vine tightened and yanked them backwards, M!MC fell right to the ground and clawed at the path to stop them getting pulled into the brush. Another vine wrapped around their right leg, any resistance that digging their nails into the ground was nullified as both vines yanked M!MC into the bushes.

Well, this was a nightmare of epic proportions. The vines continued to wrap around the helpless half demon until they were completely unable to move. As M!MC looked around frantically, they made eye contact with an all too familiar pair of blue eyes. Ah! There was Luke!

“Mmmph!” Only Luke’s eyes were visible, but the eyes are the gateway to the soul or whatever, and M!MC took an educated guess and decided that Luke’s soul wasn’t too happy with them.

“Mmth! Mmth!” M!MC tried to speak, but their mouth was covered by the vines. The two would have to communicate with their eyes only.

‘This is your fault!’

‘How the fuck is this MY fault?’

‘If you hadn’t teased me this never would have happened!’

‘Grow thicker skin, you chihuahua!’

‘Fuck you!’

Listen, Luke probably wasn’t capable of trying to communicate a swear word, but it was incredibly funny for M!MC to think about.

“M!MC? Luke?” Simeon stepped into their limited field of vision. “Where are you two? This plant is carnivorous.”

Oh... lovely. That was good to know.

“Mmemph!”

“MFTH!” Luke and M!MC tried to call out to Simeon, only for the vines to wrap around them even tighter. Wow, what a way to go... strangled by a plant... ugh. L!MC would never let them live that down...

“Hm,” Simeon looked down at the vine that was coiling around his leg. “What a bother.”

Quick as lightning, Simeon grabbed the vine and sent a burst of shining gold magic shooting through it. The magic quickly spread to the rest of the plant and the moment the magic slammed into M!MC they nearly passed out from the searing pain that shot through their entire body.

They clamped their eyes shut and clenched their teeth to stop them from rattling as they felt the massive wave of Celestial magic wash over them. It was weirdly warm, like a hug from a friend, but it wasn’t a pleasant sensation, at least not to M!MC.

The plant let out an otherworldly scream as it threw Luke, Bean, and M!MC back onto the path at Simeon’s feet.

Luke picked Bean back up and dusted off his clothes like he didn’t have a care in the world. M!MC lay on the ground, if you listened closely you could hear them sizzle a bit. Nothing like being nearly strangled by a plant and then roasted by holy ‘fuck you’ magic.

“I’m glad you’re both okay,” Simeon pulled Luke into a hug and helped M!MC off the ground. “Did I ah... use to much magic?”

M!MC half-scowled at their saviour and wiped down their outfit. “Yeah. A little too much.”

“My bad,” Simeon ruffled M!MC’s hair. “I hope this serves as a learning experience for you two, Luke, don’t run off like that, and M!MC,”

The half demon nearly jumped in fear and surprise as Simeon swivelled to look at them. The smile on his face was far from comforting. “Don’t tease poor Luke too much, okay?”

“Uh... uh huh.” M!MC quickly nodded.

“Good! Now let’s head back, I think we’ve all had enough of the Royal Gardens.”

As the group returned, they passed a very red in the face L!MC and wondered what exactly went down in the time they were gone.

It’s common knowledge that Barbatos hates rats, it’s also common knowledge that A!MC is the embodiment of a ray of sunshine.

What does this lead to, you may be asking, well...

A!MC and their dear rat Templeton needed to hide from the politely homicidal Barbatos.

“Sh!” A!MC whispered into their pocket, the rat responded with an indignant squeak.

The Demon Lord’s Castle was absolutely massive, and trying to navigate it without a map was akin to wandering around an ancient pyramid filled with death traps. A!MC and their dear companion were wandering the place without a map and trying to hide from a butler that had the power to see into the future. The two fugitives were at a clear disadvantage.

A!MC had managed to stumble into an area that had paintings and statues completely everywhere, it was then they realized they were completely lost.

While quietly perusing the room, A!MC took notice of quite the lovely portrait of a woman. She had long flowing locks of golden hair and the most gorgeous captivating eyes... A!MC nearly shrieked when the woman’s eyes snapped to their’s and her face contorted into a scowl.

“Do I know you?” The woman asked, A!MC gulped and shook their head.

“N-no ma’am, I don’t think we’ve met...” A!MC mumbled before sticking out their hand for a handshake. The painting woman stared down at their outstretched hand, very unimpressed. “I’m A!MC, it’s nice to meet you.”

The half demon offered their cutest smile, their dad had lovingly taken the time to coach them in the art of being so darn tootin’ adorable that everyone would fall over themselves to get A!MC to like them. The moment the woman registered the smile, her scowl returned for a brief moment, then vanished entirely.

“Oh,” The woman smiled sweetly. “I do think I know you, do you mind coming a bit closer so I can see you better?”

Suffering from a complete inability to detect red flags, A!MC happily moved closer.

“Ah, just as I suspected. You look like Asmodeus.”

“You know my dad?” A!MC asked.

“Yes,” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I know him quite well.”

A!MC was suddenly knocked off balance as a massive gust of wind shoved them closer to the painting. They frantically clawed at the stone ground as Templeton squeaked and squirmed in their pocket.

“Your father is the reason I’m stuck in this painting,” The woman explained coldly as A!MC tried to scramble away. “He escaped the labyrinth twice, but I don’t plan on letting you escape.”

“I-uh- m-muh-my dad’s probably really sorry about whatever he did! There’s no need to be rash!” A!MC stuttered.

“Yeah, no.” The woman huffed. “He had his chance to fix things. I’m getting even.”

“Not right now you’re not.”

A!MC swivelled their head around to see Barbatos calmly holding out a pair of scissors.

“Now Helene, I’d recommend releasing the child before I’m forced to take drastic measures.” Barbatos clicked the scissors together twice, and Helene paled. The wind pushing A!MC towards the painting dissipated and the half demon ran and hid behind the butler.

“Th-thank you...” A!MC mumbled.

“It’s not a problem, A!MC. Now I believe it would be a wise choice to move to another room.”

The two, (plus the hidden rat) ended up in the kitchen. A!MC shifted nervously as Barbatos began prepping lunch.

“Is there something you need to tell me?” Barbatos asked suddenly, A!MC straightened their posture and nodded.

“I um... promise you won’t be mad...” A!MC mumbled.

“I can assure you, I won’t be too upset.”

“I made a friend.” A!MC took Templeton out of their pocket and held him closely to their chest, Barbatos’s calm smile froze on his face. “He’s really sweet, please don’t kill him!”

“...A!MC.” Barbatos began slowly. “I’m not mad... just make sure it doesn’t escape and run rampant... now... please get it out of my kitchen.”

“Yes sir! Thank you sir!” A!MC turned and sprinted to their room.

Ugh... Barbatos, haven’t you ever watched Ratatouille? The rat can cook dammit!

When Luke went in to bake with his second dad he was very confused as to why Barbatos looked like he was having war flashbacks.

Huh... weird right? Anyway...

Good ol’ weird uncle Solomon suggested that after dinner everyone should get together and watch a movie.

L!MC and Solomon suggested that they watch The Conjuring and that idea got immediately shot down.

M!MC brought up that the most “family get-together” movie they could think of was Star Wars.

So they watched A New Hope.

“We could be watching the Conjuring right now.” L!MC murmured as they watched Luke Skywalker fumble his way to Obi Wan Kenobi.

“Yeah.” Solomon whispered back. “You know, I met Ed and Lorraine Warren.”

“Cool,” L!MC smiled. “My ren took me to their house once, when I went in to see all the haunted objects all the demons inside wanted to hang out with me.”

“Huh,” Solomon snickered. “Did they think you were Lucifer?”

“Yep. It was funny, Annabelle’s a pretty big asshole though.”

“I’d be an asshole too if I were stuck in a raggedy Anne doll since the 60s and not allowed to leave.”

“Both of you sh!” M!MC hissed, they threw some popcorn over their shoulder, which L!MC threw right back.

A while into the movie, M!MC elbowed Solomon and pointed at one of the aliens. “That’s you.”

“I’m so hurt…” Solomon pouted.

“And that’s you.” L!MC pointed at a stormtrooper that had just gotten shot with a blaster. M!MC scoffed and rolled their eyes.

“I’m not some dumb stormtrooper.”

“Yeah, you’re a little short for a stormtrooper.”

“HEY!”

“SHHHHHHH!” A!MC and Luke turned and started throwing their own popcorn…

The mess that they all had to vacuum after the movie was much more terrifying than The Conjuring ever could have been.

So, after a few days, Lucifer called to say that everyone was back to normal and the last remnants of the Demon-Flu were gone.

Yay! The kids could go back to their really overcrowded house!

The goodbyes were something to behold.

“Goodbye everyone! Come back sometime soon!” Diavolo waved from the doorway.

“Bye, Lord Diavolo!” L!MC smiled brightly and returned the wave. M!MC snickered and nudged them.

“That’s a pretty cold way to say goodbye to your dad-”

“Shut up…” L!MC growled.

“L!MC, what are they talking about?” Lucifer asked.

“Nothing!”

M!MC looked like they were weighing the pros and cons of surviving the conversation, then shrugged.

“M!MC, no, you have so much to live for!” A!MC pleaded.

“L!MC called Lord Diavolo dad!”

Mammon erupted into hysterical laughter while Asmo giggled and half heartedly patted L!MC on the head. Lucifer was not impressed.

“You know,” L!MC sighed. ��I’m moving out. Lord Diavolo can I come live here?”

“L!MC, come back.” Lucifer trailed after his very embarrassed spawn.

A!MC pulled on their dad’s sleeve and cleared their throat.

“Yes sweetie?”

“D-dad, do you have a vehement hatred and or fear of rats?”

“Um-”

“Meet Templeton, he’s adorable and my friend.”

————————

Author’s note, The next part of the main series is coming next week… or this week… idk how long things take.

(Probably this week)

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being a younger Avenger and mentoring Kamala

Kamala Khan x reader

warnings: avengers game spoilers, guns

a/n: so excited about this one; i made y/n just a bit older (and gn!) so that they’re in their mid-early teens during a-day! hope thats okie doke! reader has electrokinesis. this accidentally got really detailed

prompt: anonymous: “Hey there! Would you mind writing HCs for the Avengers Game about female reader being a young Avenger (around 17) and mentoring Kamala Khan?”

you were just a kid yourself when you joined the avengers

and you were an inspiration to kids around the world

“does SHIELD think nothing of child labor laws?” -bruce

the avengers became your family

and seeing what you could do...they knew you could handle yourself

and then a-day happened

the day started off so perfect

and the kids went ballistic over seeing you

“y/h/n! look, it’s y/h/n!”

“can i get a picture?”

“hi, guys! of course you can!”

but there was one kid who stuck out among the rest

kamala khan

“you’re the one who wrote about the sewers, right? i freaking loved it! may i just say your art is amazing?”

“r-really?”

“oh, yeah! and the part where you had thor spin mjölnir to push water towards the sewer lizards so i could shock them? genius!”

she could not wait to tell abu about what you had just said

you obviously took a selfie with her and handed her a little pin with your own “icon” on it

but your world got turned upside down that day

the battle was one you’d never forget

and the fighting with your own teammates afterwards would haunt you for years to come

“what do you know, y/n?! you’re just a kid!” -tony

“oh yeah? im one of the only functioning members of this team!”

“everybody calm down. y/n makes a good point, but—” -nat

“thank you”

“...but there’s some stuff you should leave up to us. you really shouldn’t have to take on so much responsibility” -nat

“she’s right, y/n. this was our fault” -bruce

“are you kidding me?! i’m just as guilty as the rest of you, i’m an equal member of this team! for years we’ve dealt with this together, taken the blame together! what’s changed?”

“y/n...you saw what we did out there. that changed everything...” -bruce

you technically were an inhuman, just not terrigen-based

didnt matter to AIM, they took dr. pym for god’s sake

so you had to run, you were on your own for a while

a long while

you laid low for five years, most boring five years of your life

at least you still had your life, though. it just wasn’t what it used to be

but you got a message one day

“‘tiny dancer,’ huh? my moneys on either nat or tony. nah, tony would have chosen ‘rocket man.’”

you couldn’t be sure, maybe it was just a random shield agent...maybe hank pym? god, this was crazy

the message brought you to, uh, cap’s memorial statue

and there was a young girl arguing with a couple of boys...an inhuman!

you hopped in and saved her, she seemed scared

“hey, kid, you alright?”

“y/h/n? is it really you?”

she seemed vaguely familiar

“are you tiny dancer?”

“no, i thought you might be? they sent you here, too?”

there wasn’t much time to chat, AIM was onto you

you two unfortunately got split up for a minute, but you were practically raised by the notorious clint barton and natasha romanoff, and various other spies

yes, you planted a tracker on her

and met her at the bus stop!

“you found me?”

“that i did, kamala. see, i do remember you”

“that is so cool! i mean—not almost getting killed, or the guy with the big head...”

“what guy? you need to tell me everything”

the whole busride was a bit overwhelming. kamala explained the resistance clues, her powers, her undying admiration for the avengers, you name it

but it made you feel good to know that there were people out there that didn’t hate you

“so what was it like? being the teenage avenger?”

“uh, it was...it was really cool. i felt like i was one-of-a-kind. but sometimes people didn’t take me seriously, it was kind of aggravating”

“yeah, no one takes me seriously either...”

“you know, depending on how this all goes, i might be able to give you a few pointers”

“really?! that’d be great!”

once you got to utah...you saw the chimera

it brought back some bad memories, kamala could tell

“you okay?”

“me? yeah, im good. just thinking...okay, well, do you have a plan on how to get yourself across all of this?”

“actually, i do!”

it was kind of creepy in there, but when you laid your eyes on caps shield, you kind of broke

“do you hear something, what it that?”

“...hulk. kamala, you need to get out of here, i’ll catch up to you, i swear”

she didn’t leave in time, so she got to see the greener side of bruce. you chased him back and tried to get bruce back

meanwhile, kamala found AIM troops...oops

bruce cooled off and man was he doing rough

“y/n, is that really you?”

“yeah, its me. surprise. how long have you been the big guy?”

“too long...a few years”

“jesus, im sorry. i’ll be right back, though. some kid brought me here, i gotta go get her. you kinda scared her off”

she was passed out when you got to her

but bruce is a doctor, he’d figure it out

“i could give her a little shock to wake her up, you know?”

“oh, i know. just let her rest for a minute. she needs it”

“right...well im gonna take a look around, maybe go see what i left behind. i could power the place up, but we’re missing some parts to actually get this thing running. best i can do is lights and doors”

you turned the little things on and turns out did leave a decent amount of stuff in here

your first pair of pistols that nat gave you, the gigantic stein that thor gifted you for your 13th birthday, gadgets tony needed an “extra boost” for *bzzt*, a note from cap that just said “good luck, y/n, you’re going to do great!” you cant even remember what it was he was referring to. you just missed him

kamala walked in while you were shuffling around and cleaning the place up

“hey, dr. banner wanted me to come get you. is this your room?”

“that it is, and it’s a huge mess. this is literally all my belongings ever”

bruce had his plan and you just went along, helping kamala out as you go

“baby steps, kam, don’t want you to pass out. but don’t worry, happens to the best of us” -you

“really? you pass out too?” -kamala

“oh yeah, for sure. tell her bruce, remember that time we had thor overcharge me to literally make me an EMP? and tony was busy listening to music so he wouldn’t get out of the blast radius and his armor shut down? so he was out of commission and i had just collapsed from it all? good times”

“y/n, we thought you died” -bruce

this hc is so long omg — anyways you guys ended up finding tony and it was sort of entertaining but he kinda punched bruce and then hugged you

“you got so big”

“shut up, tony”

you kinda harbored some bad feelings since none of the avengers did anything to help you once they started rounding up inhumans (but you still missed them)

getting attacked again

“okay, kamala, remember what i said about baby steps. dont overdo it. i trust you with this!”

“thank you, y/n! uh—oh my god!”

aaaanyways you went to the ant hill to see hank and pick up some supplies, boy was it great to see some familiar faces, then back the the chimera you went to fix it all up

“can you hold that right there for me, kamala? thanks. i think that just about does it. now i have a surprise for you...your own room!”

you helped kamala get it nice and tidy while talking about each other’s lives, she really did remind you of yourself when you became an avenger. excited, scared, underestimated, all of that. and she begged you to share some mission stories, so you obviously did

“you know, if you stick around for a while, you’re gonna have some cool stories, too. maybe even a kickass costume.”

“oh! a costume, ive got that sorta covered. check it out. a burkini, muslim women wear it for swimming and stuff. my mom got it for me”

“love it. soon we’ll find you a fitting name and update the suit, but seriously, this was the perfect way to go. you look great”

“you think so? i don’t know if i feel that cool. maybe i should try something else?”

“if that’s how you feel, you don’t have to stick to it. you can experiment all you want! but i really think you did awesome on this. come on, pose with me! and hey, i like your pins.”

at this point, you’d do anything for kamala, she reminded you so much of yourself. you would have killed for a mentor your age back in the day.

natasha was in fact tiny dancer...called it

“oh, god, y/n. you’re all grown up...im sorry we left you alone. but if it makes you feel better, i always kept an eye on you”

“well, i kind of took on a protégé...she’s like your grand-protégé. kam, c’mere”

after thor finally came back, everyone started fighting again and ditched, it felt so familiar. but you couldn’t leave kamala behind, you swore to yourself that you couldn’t do that.

she was so good for this team

MODOK was defeated (by kamala herself) but there was so much left to do, tons of threats to extinguish, training to accomplish

“y/n, tony won’t turn his dad rock off! he overrode the speakers in my room”

“oh, it’s on. get chastity’s fabric dye and bleach pens. we’re gonna start some trouble”

she gave you a high five one time and nearly broke your arm

sending each other tiny hand memes

“hey, ms. m, how’re your parents? doing okay without their favorite super-daughter?”

“my abu doesn’t stop texting me actually, says my family is super proud of me. it’s a nice change of pace”

you take her on covert missions for field training, it was Educational(tm)

*elevator music playing* “so...what do you want for dinner? i was thinking we could ask thor to barbecue”

sleepovers in her room that just turn into her showing you her superhero merch, listening to music, prank lists, sneaking off to the HARM room for hand-to-hand combat training and power experiments, thinking up new costume designs

“tip: you always need backup suits, you never know what you’re gonna run into out there. one time tony pushed me into a tower of paint cans and they spilled all over me. steve yelled at him for two hours afterwards. worst mission ever, except steve said ‘motherfucker’ and i have never recovered from the emotions of that day”

“wow, i wish i could have been there for that”

“don’t worry, kami, you’ll see some crazy ‘team bonding’ along the way”

she geeks out about captain marvel sometimes

“hey, i’ve got a book carol gave to me about ‘teens taking responsibility.’ you wanna read it?”

“is it any good?”

“i don’t know, i only read the first two pages”

you ended up having a true heart-to-heart with her after one mission when she made a mistake that nearly cost you guys the mission. you told her that not every mission is going to go perfect, each avenger had slipped up in the field, and she had just started, shes not going to be perfect

“i am literally always here if you need anything. i know what it feels like to be a teenager among legends, but trust me, you’ve made it this far and you’ve proven how much of a badass you are. i know you can take anything that gets thrown at you”

kamala said she makes vegan nachos and yeah she makes vegan nachos

you guys have to hide from the rest of the team when she makes them bc they eat ALL OF THEM

gaff (the SHEILD vendor) has you test his gear, you recommend gear to kamala

you were so excited to guide kamala on her journey of heroism

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm //

[nyxdelanuit]

Joy is Yellow (Kaminari x Reader)

Hey guys! This is for the BNHarem collab. The theme this time was Flowers c:

Here’s the link to the rest of the collab! Please look here to find more of your favorite BNHA characters written by some awesome writers!

It wasn’t often that Kaminari was disappointed with becoming a hero, but watching you wander around the farmer’s market in the mid-morning sun, he regretted not being able to do this everyday. You walked arm-in-arm with his friends, unaware of his pining. He wanted to tell you, so badly he wanted to tell you… but if there was one thing Kaminari had learned about himself since graduating UA, it was that as soon as he caught feelings, the words stopped coming out of his mouth right. He couldn’t risk messing everything up. Not with you.

 Sero hung off of one arm, Mina on the other. Your bag hung precariously off of your shoulder, threatening to tear Mina’s arm from you as it fell. Yet you didn’t mind, you simply forged forward, smile wide on your face. Kaminari let you pull his friends forward, hanging back to hear your laugh filter through the crowds. His eyes watched your back as you ran around, looking through local honeys, fresh vegetables, and the occasional booth of art and hair pins. The crowd grew larger as the morning went on, obscuring you from his vision when you ducked into tents and booths, but he still took in the crisp air with joy in his heart. Kaminari thought he might finally understand what people meant when they mentioned ‘simple pleasures.’

He had to resist the urge to sprint to your side as your squeal pierced the calm air. The sight of you, unharmed, calmed him somewhat but didn’t ease his pounding heart. Face flushed, eyes wide in joy, and utterly angelic as you took in the wide selection of flowers in front of you.

 “Mina, look!” You held a slip of paper out to her, hands trembling in excitement. “I never knew flowers had meanings. Look, this one has almost a whole page!” You were threatening to turn Kaminari’s insides to mush, watching you flitter from flower to flower like a hummingbird, barely stopping to skim over the slip of paper in front of each flower. Kaminari may not be able to get the right words out of his mouth, but maybe….

 Daffodils: Inspiration. You inspire me to push myself every day. I want to be someone worthy of your beauty- inside and out.

 The note sat nestled inside a modest bouquet of buttery yellow daffodils, still dewy from the chill morning. Your fingers ran over the note, trying to recall the handwriting. It was at least someone who knew where you lived- in a gated apartment for recently graduated students of UA- and someone who knew of your new obsession with the language of flowers. With gentle hands, you scooped up the flowers from your stoop, placing them in a vase you had purchased at the market the day before. It was true what they said, flowers really brightened up a room. Or maybe that was the feeling that sat airily in your chest.

 You usually ran into one or two former classmates while wandering around your apartment complex, but Kaminari was becoming a more regular face. It wasn’t unwelcome, you enjoyed every moment spent with the ditsy blonde. You did wonder if he played up his dumb blonde shtick for laughs, but he was always genuine with you. As you wandered through the gates after your shift, it was no surprise that he was the first person you saw.

 “Hey! Have you eaten yet?” He called out, a grin plastered on his face. You couldn’t help but think he’d been waiting for you, as self-absorbed as that made you feel. He was still staring at you, the grin faltering before you realized you hadn’t answered.

 “Oh, not yet. I was hoping to get out of these gross clothes first.” He nodded sagely before breaking out in another grin.

 “Let me pick up some food for us while you change then. And no saying no! I want to have a picnic, and no one else will have one with me!” Kaminari tried his best to give you the most pathetic puppy eyes that he could muster, a smile breaking through as you giggled at his antics.

 “Fine, ‘Minari. I’ll meet you out here in twenty?” You were surprised he hadn’t concussed himself with how hard he nodded before sprinting off with a wave. Surely he must have whiplash at least?

 If it wasn’t Kaminari Denki, the class flirt, you would almost think the picnic laid out before you was… romantic. He had surely put a lot of energy into it, making sure that the blanket had shade, but wasn’t hidden under the tree, a wonderful view of the late afternoon sky, and most of all, quiet. Not many people ventured to this part of the complex, preferring to stick to the well-worn paths and their own spaces. Your favorite guilty-pleasure dinner was laid out like it was homemade, a bottle of sparkling juice on ice nearby. Kaminari must have been serious about wanting a picnic.

 The picnic flew by in a flurry of laughs, leaving you both red-faced and out of breath. He had tried, really, to keep himself serious. There were many questions about how your life was like now that you were outside of school, if you liked your job, and any problems you had been facing. He tried so hard. And then he misjudged the toss of a snack, hitting himself in the eye instead of dropping it into his mouth like he intended. You appreciated his efforts, but you appreciated the unadulterated Kaminari more.

 You weren’t sure how it devolved into a pseudo food fight, the two of you desperately trying to win points by throwing food into each other’s mouths. It was funny, and, sweet, and utterly juvenile. After spending so much time trying to grow up quickly to match the world you were thrust into, it was such a welcome reprieve.

 He insisted on walking you to your door that night.

 “No self-respecting hero would let someone walk home alone. Especially if home is only a few doors down from mine.” The grin on his face as he left you at your door felt a little more genuine that night.

  Marigolds: Affection, making a connection. To let you know you’re on my mind. Seriously, you’re on my mind, always.

 The marigolds on your doorstep weren’t quite as fresh as the daffodils you had received a few days before, but they still held their pungent smell. You were never a big fan of the smell, but you couldn’t help smiling as you remembered the meme fights Sero and Kaminari used to get into in high school.

 “They’re marigolds!” Sero shouted at the top of his lungs.

“My god, I think she’s right, they are marigolds!” Kaminari yelled, overly scandalized.

“I may not know my flowers, but I know a b-” They started together, stopping only when an irate Aizawa turned the corner. 

 The memory alone would have been enough for you to place them among your daffodils, still standing strong with the flower food you had found squirreled away in your cupboards. The sentiment scrawled on the note only made you want to keep them more. Hopefully the daffodils would cut the scent somewhat.

 You hadn’t seen Kaminari since the picnic, besides glimpses here and there as one of you left for work. He had looked so tired lately. You knew that he had Sero, Kirishima, and Bakugou looking out for him, but even then, they were busy too. You were less so, by choice. It was too much to jump into right away, and you were always one to adjust to the waters before you dove. It was time to repay him for the picnic.

 The knock at the door surprised Kaminari, he was already setting his alarm to run down to the flower shop before you woke up. Then he could get another bunch of flowers, leave them on your doorstep before you left for work, and get a nap in before his shift. He had tried to ignore the dark circles spreading underneath his eyes and the yawns that plagued him. You were worth a little inconvenience.

 So when he saw you on the other side of the door, he thought his heart might stop. There you stood in all your glory, looking like you were plucked straight from some painting he ignored during his middle school museum field trips. He knew better now, if he could find your beauty in the paintings, he would stare for hours.

 You cleared your throat, pulling him from his drowsy daydreaming. “Can I come in ‘Minari? You’ve been looking a little beat up lately, so I made you some dinner.” He felt awful as he watched you shuffle the carefully stacked containers of food in your arms. Quickly, he went to grab some of them from you, easing your load and motioning you into his house.

 How could you do that? Just a few minutes and a simple dinner, something even he could have made, and he suddenly felt like he could run a few laps. No more yawns, they had been long replaced by full body laughs as he watched you utterly fail at the most recent fighting game he had bought. He couldn’t be bothered to play with you, the food in front of him was too tempting. Kaminari couldn’t remember the last time he had made himself food. You must have been an angel sent just for him.

 Sunflowers: Joy, optimism, positive energy. Tell me your secrets, please. How do you light up every room you enter? You chase away all the tiredness in my body. It’s like you’re an energy drink for my soul.

 You wondered how you were going to fit such large stems into your vase. It seems like your mysterious suitor had thought of that too, buying only a few smaller flowers. It was starting to look like a proper arrangement, although you wondered why it was all yellow. Surely there were flowers in other colors to convey what he wanted? No matter, the sunflowers in front of you definitely cut through the empty space, filling up your room with enough color to rival the sun.

 There was a big assignment that a few of the people in your apartment had been appointed to. Kaminari was included, and you barely caught sight of him anymore. Sero had also been called, but you saw him sneaking into Mina’s apartment with the morning’s light. At least you were assured that one of your friends were being properly cared for.

 You couldn’t help yourself, you started leaving containers of food at his door, little notes, and a few healthy drinks to combat the sugary energy drinks he preferred. Your dishes were always returned clean by the next day, and it made you feel like you were doing something more than sitting on your ass working part-time while he was out there giving his all. The night that signaled the end of the assignment, you found your dishes outside per usual, with a note.

 Thanks Sunshine.

-Denki

 The beating of your heart could be heard in your ears. You were so flustered you didn’t notice how the note matched the others you left on the counter.

  Pansy: Loving.

 This note confused you. Just a single word as explanation and a bundle of gentle yellow pansies with bleeding black centers. Still, you placed the gentle stems in the vase. You were sure to place them where they wouldn’t be crushed by the more boisterous flowers. The petals were so delicate beneath your fingers, you were afraid they’d wilt at the slightest touch.

 You’d be sad after these flowers wilted. It was such a fun experience to open your door every morning and search for flowers on your stoop. Even if they weren’t there every day, it only made the days you found them more exciting. You hadn’t really stopped to consider who had been leaving such sweet presents, but you knew who you hoped it was. Maybe you were just reading too much into it, with all the yellows consuming your thoughts.

 You knew that Kaminari had the day off, time to recover from the grueling days of work behind him. Even so, you couldn’t resist making more food than you needed. You missed him, even though it had only been a handful of days. With swift steps and an even swifter knock, you were finally in front of him.

 He looked awful, there was no nice way of putting it. His hair was unruly in an unintentional way, dark circles and even darker bruises littering his body. But he seemed to light up at your presence. It was a sight to see as the fatigue lifted from his face, his body less weighed down by his slouching shoulders.

 Kaminari ate beside you on the couch, a scene that was becoming familiar to you. It was comfortable here, just the endless chatter of the television to end the silence of the growing night. You stayed long after food was finished and the dishes were washed- Kaminari insisted it was the least he could do. Even longer after, when Kaminari’s head fell heavily to your shoulder. Whatever energy you gave him must have reached his limit. It took some time to maneuver him to his bed, all dead weight, but you slid him under his sheets eventually. With a brush to his hair- simply to get it out of his eyes, you tried to convince yourself- you left as quiet as you came.

 There was no flower when you opened your door that morning. It was a little disappointing, they seemed to have come after particularly nice nights with Kaminari before. You let yourself get caught up in your head with every thing you had done since the last bouquet, chewing on your lip as scenarios ran through your thoughts.

 A knock came at the door before you were able to chew your lip raw. A quick glance to a mirror and a quick straightening of your clothes made you presentable. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous to answer the door. It was just a neighbor, probably one that has seen you in states much worse than when you first woke up…

 It was a pleasant surprise to see Kaminari standing before you. He fussed with something in his grasp before he realized you opened the door. He thrust his fist toward you, a single daisy in his clutch. The poor stem had almost been worried through, leaning at an awkward angle. You accepted it with cautious hands, supporting the tired flower.

 “So, Denki, what does this one mean?” You smiled at him coyly, enjoying the way he could barely meet your eyes.

 “T-true…” His voice was barely a squeak escaping his throat. You took mercy on him, grasping his hand with your free one. Kaminari’s eyes finally flew to yours, questioning.

 “Breathe, ‘Minari.” You smiled, coaching him through a breath, and then two. His eyes were clearer when they met yours again. He let a grin sneak onto his face, bringing him a bit more confidence.

 “Daisies mean t-true love… and soulmates.”

 After many shared smiles and messy kisses, you led him into your apartment, his hand still clutched in yours.

 And many years after, you would still get compliments on your bright yellow daisy pendant, encased in resin and lasting as long as his love for you.

[aion-rsa]

Midnight Mass: It’s Time to Talk About That Monstrous Twist

https://ift.tt/39I2zkp

This article contains huge spoilers for Midnight Mass. So help me God if you read this without watching the series first…

The version of Midnight Mass that Netflix advertised still would have made for a compelling horror series. 

An isolated, insular island community? Great. A young, charismatic preacher suddenly coming to town to shake things up? Perfect. That preacher proving capable of performing minor miracles? Love it, no notes! 

Of course, as viewers who have watched at least four episodes of the seven-episode series now know, Midnight Mass has one extra supernatural twist in mind that elevates an already interesting story to true mind-blowing status. Critics were understandably asked to keep this aspect of the show a secret before it premiered. So please indulge me as I finally slay these embargo demons and get it off my chest.

Vampires. Vampires! V-A-M-P-I-R-E-S. VAMPIRES! VAMPIRES VAMPIRES VAMPIRES! Literally like Dracula. And Nosferatu. Anne Rice’s Lestat. Stephen King’s ‘Salem’s Lot. Vampires. VAMPIRES, BRO, VAMPIRES.

For creator Mike Flanagan, a filmmaker influenced by all manner of classic horror, bringing the fanged bloodsuckers to life was a long time coming.

“My favorite vampire movie is (Werner) Herzog’s Nosferatu,” Flanagan told Den of Geek and other outlets prior to the premiere of Midnight Mass. “That film is the vampire story as high art. I also adore From Dusk Till Dawn. I read Dracula young enough for it to really burrow in for me. And I read ‘Salem’s Lot early enough to color an enormous amount of work that I’ll do for the rest of my life.”

Midnight Mass’s depiction of the mythological undead beast and how it can neatly fit into Christian dogma is one of the most satisfying horror twists in years. Now that the truth is out, let’s discuss Midnight Mass and how it conflates vampires and biblical angels. 

Mistaking a Vampire for an Angel

The interesting thing about Midnight Mass is that it clearly takes place in a universe where the average person has no knowledge of what a vampire is. Even Sarah Gunning (Annabeth Gish), arguably the most well-read person on Crockett Island, has to do some research into “porphyria cutanea tarda” (a.k.a. the real life “vampire disease”). This is similar to The Walking Dead’s approach to zombies, in which the “z” word and George A. Romero’s name are never spoken. This strategy in Midnight Mass allows for a truly fascinating case of mistaken identity.

While viewers immediately know that the creature Monsignor John Pruitt (Hamish Linklater) encounters is a vampire, he believes it to be an angel. Given how studied Pruitt is in the Bible and Cathloic theology, it’s entirely understandable why he would think a tall, muscular, bald-headed beast with fangs and leathery wings is an angel. As it turns out, the angels of the Old Testament can be truly terrifying. 

Not all angels are soft-featured human-like creatures with fluffy white bird wings. Some, like Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones are designed to intimidate God’s enemies. In the New Testament’s Book of Luke, an angel visits Zechariah and immediately asks him to “be not afraid” because the angel can see the poor guy absolutely shaking in his boots upon his arrival. Angels being terrifying is even something of an Internet meme, with users contrasting the phrase “be not afraid” with images of truly monstrous beasts. 

Not only does Pruitt’s vampire have the vague appearance of an angel, it also apparently holds the secrets to eternal life as promised in the Bible. By merely drinking some of the “angel’s” blood, a good Christian can live forever just like God says. Does that blood-drinking sacrament sound familiar? It did to Mike Flanagan.

“In Bible school I used to say ‘if the wine turns into Jesus’s blood literally and we’re drinking it so that we can live forever … that seems like a short leap to vampiric myth.’”

Of course, drinking the angel’s fluids in the case of Midnight Mass also leads to some unwanted side effects like a thirst for blood and extreme sensitivity to sunlight. Thankfully, good ol’ Bev Keane always has a Bible quote ready to go for that. When read through the proper perspective, the Holy Bible may as well be the original vampire story. 

The Rules of Vampirism

“The thing that I love about the vampire as a cinematic tool is how malleable it is,” Flanagan says. “We all agree that there is no canon. There are no rules. In fact, part of the joy is seeing what rules people cherry pick as they approach a vampire story.”

All depictions of vampires are indeed quite different. Vampires can range from the classic Stoker-ian monster to Twilight’s nigh-invulnerable sparkle bois. Midnight Mass’s version of the vampire leans towards the classic, albeit with some tweaks. In terms of appearance, The Angel (as we will be calling Midnight Mass’s O.G. vampire for simplicity’s sake) has a more bestial look like Nosferatu rather than an aristocratic one like Count Dracula or Anne Rice’s creations. 

“We winked at (Nosferatu the Vampyr actor) Klaus Kinski a few times when we designed our guy,” Flanagan says.

Though the Angel resembles Nosferatu in appearance, its vulnerabilities owe more to Rice’s The Vampire Chronicles. Religious iconography does not appear to hurt the Angel nor its thralls. Traditional human weapons like bullets or blades also do no harm (at least not mortally). These vampires are, however, tremendously susceptible to both fire and sunlight. Exposure to the latter for even a few seconds is enough to kill the Angel and his many acolytes. 

Read more

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Like in Rice’s works as well, the path to creating a new vampire is quite simple. Step 1: Drink its blood. Step 2: Die. In Dracula and ‘Salem’s Lot, the method of vampire creation is merely being bit by one, zombie-style. Rice and Flanagan’s approach is quite a bit more intentional and interesting. It also opens the door for perhaps Midnight Mass’s most ingenious storytelling quirk: communion. John Pruitt is able to get nearly the entirety of Crockett Island to become a vampire by spiking the communion wine with his buddy’s blood. Then, all that remains is for them to poison themselves to death, Jonestown-style. 

The mass “resurrection” scene in which the congregation awakes as their new vampire selves also provides some insight to just how hard it is to contain the vampire’s overwhelming hunger. Riley Flynn was able to resist it when he turned because John Pruitt babysat him like a psychedelic mushroom guide. The plan for the rest of the congregation was to have their babysitters as well but that didn’t quite work out. Still, Riley’s dad Ed makes it clear to his wife Annie, that even if it’s hard to resist the call for blood, it’s not impossible. 

“When I saw them at the church, I thought it was something they really couldn’t help. Like something impossible not to do. But it isn’t, Annie,” he says.

Maybe if more vampires were like Ed Flynn, a whole island full of vampires wouldn’t be too bad of a thing in the first place. 

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

How to Defeat a Vampire

While every vampire story presents its own unique take on the creature, the answer on how to defeat a vampire is usually the same: by doing it together.

“We poor humans only have so much that we can give,” Flanagan says. “We’re ill-equipped as individuals to make any kind of meaningful stand. The only way evil in the world can be brought down is through collective effort. That’s something Stoker understands inherently. It’s clearly something King understands.”

Alongside the aforementioned Bram Stoker and Stephen King, Flanagan presents a small team of humans at story’s end who will do what it takes to defeat evil, even if it means dying in the process. Erin Greene (Kate Siegel), Dr. Sarah Gunning, Sheriff Hassan (Rahul Kohli), Annie Flynn (Kristin Lehman), Warren Flynn (Igby Rigney), and Leeza Scarborough (Annarah Cymone) are the six residents of Crockett Island brave enough to try to take down the Angel. All but two (Warren and Leeza) die. They do succeed in eliminating the immediate threat on Crockett Island but it’s possible the Angel made it away to suck blood another day, damaged wings and all.

What’s interesting about Midnight Mass’s “final crew” is that six appears to be the magic number when it comes to taking down a vampire. Stoker’s Dracula has six heroes: Jonathan Harker, Mina Harker nèe Murray, Arthur Holmwood (Lord Godalming), John Seward, Quincey Morris, and Abraham Van Helsing (of which, only poor American cowboy Quincey Morris dies). King’s ‘Salem’s Lot also has six: Ben Mears, Matt Burke, Susan Norton, Mark Petrie, Jimmy Cody, and Father Callahan (of which, decidedly more than one of them die). This strange bit of arithmancy is something we asked Flanagan about.

“The number was certainly not intentional,” he says. “Once it was clear that Riley was not going to be carrying the torch to the end it really was about asking ‘who are the characters who seem in the very beginning to be at a disadvantage and how do we empower them in the end?’ This was gonna be played out by Sarah Gunning, Sheriff Hassan, and everyone else who would get to just give a little piece.”

Considering that Erin and company were outnumbered about 117 to six, it was a pretty good showing for Crockett Island’s last humans standing.

All seven episodes of Midnight Mass are available to stream on Netflix now.

The post Midnight Mass: It’s Time to Talk About That Monstrous Twist appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3CPaitL

[allmightluver]

First lines meme

Ooo! 😲 thank you for the tag @justanotherfoolhere !!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 just list them all!) See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening lines. Tag 10 authors!

I’m incredibly shy so if you would like to do this, I tag you!!

Ah I have some old stories from old fandoms (or side fandoms I should say), but as for MHA, most of my stories are just wips right now. I have approximately 5-6 stories in the works right now, however 3 are just thoughts yet, not written out, 1-2 are RP’s with another person that I’m not sure if I have the ability to share yet 😅, 1 is....extremely, well...NSFW 🙈 even the first line asfkgkka I’m not going to do that one, you’ll just have to read it on ao3 when it’s done 😖

However! I do have a massive story that’s been in the works for over a year now (atm it’s around 57,800 words), I’ve actually gotten stuck on it half way through and a friend is helping me by rping those parts with me. If anyone remembers from forever ago, I talked about writing a story about Toshinori actually becoming addicted to his painkillers, and overdosing during class, that’s this story. I have a good chunk of this written, so to make up for my lack of stories, I’ll post a few paragraphs of the beginning! (I hope that’s ok! 🙈)

((I should note, I don’t normally rp, the ones I’ve done are just with a close friend or two))

So, here’s a few paragraphs of what I’ve been calling “Painkiller” under the read more...

Eyelids sluggishly rise. Each blink seems to be getting slower and slower. And he’s still talking. How the soft furred mammal at the front of their table can speak for hours at a time without so much as a break is a superhuman feat. Of course, the principal isn’t human at all, which probably is how he can accomplish it.

Black eyes glance at the clock on the wall across from him. 1:50 p.m. This was supposed to be a short meeting. A quick briefing on the school’s protection and security upgrades. This is also the time to give feedback on how the procedures seem to be working. It had started during their lunch break at 12:30 p.m., and it’s still dragging on. Snipe as well as a few other teachers that have classes to teach at this time are absent, but the rest of the available staff are present.

Shota massages his eyelids, refraining from gritting his teeth against the stinging, and promptly tipping his head back to apply his eye drops. They’re almost gone, he’ll have to get a refill from Recovery Girl. Shota lowers his head once again, black locks falling back over his face.

He’s exhausted. A full night on patrol and then the morning teaching at UA. He’s done for the day after this, and all he wants is to sleep. He’ll still have to check in with Eri to be sure she’s been ok throughout the day, before he can collapse on his bed. 

Eri was still adjusting to living at UA, but seemed to be doing well so far. When he couldn’t be with her, she had another teacher or staff member watching her. Thankfully, there hasn’t been an instance with her quirk going out of control. Yet. He hopes to keep it that way. She’s just starting school, but slowly. She has a lot of learning in just living before she can worry much about academic intelligence. But Shota has no concerns of her being able to catch up to her age and grade level. Eri’s proven to be smarter than they’ve given her credit for. Perhaps wiser in some ways than a kid her age should have to be.

Shota usually teachers her in his spare time. His hero work has decreased due to his stacking responsibilities. Last night was the first in close to a month, and he can feel in his sore muscles that it’s been too long. Thankfully, he can rest tonight, but if Nezu didn’t hurry this conference up he’s going to be pulling another all-nighter. The temptation to pull out his sleeping bag and snooze in the chair he sits is becoming harder to resist.

Shota’s gaze moves across the room at the other occupants.

Mic sits to his right, closest to Nezu. The man’s listening, but one can see the bored expression on his face as he picks at his painted nails.

Midnight across the table seems a bit more focused. Her arms rest on her lap as she listens to the white animal, adding in her thoughts every now and then.

Cementoss and Ectoplasm sit next to her, both relatively silent.

Shota’s eyes flick to the chair next to his left before moving to the closed door at the room’s entrance.

Yagi had been here as well. A few minutes ago, he had politely excused himself from the room and had yet to reappear.

Maybe he made a break for it, Shota thinks with envy. Though he knows it’s a lie.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the Number One Hero to duck out of meetings and public places for short periods of time. No one questioned him on it, assuming he had business calls or the like. He was All Might after all, and surely a very busy man.

But now the Symbol of Peace is dead, and still the brief intermissions continue. In fact, they’re increasing in frequency. Shota has high doubts about the possibility of impromptu hero phone calls from the man’s agency, but doesn’t dwell on it.

Everyone, even All Might, has secrets. It isn’t Shota’s job to nose his way into everyone’s personal life.

His sore eyes blink in mild surprise when the door he had been focusing on slides open, and the man in his thoughts shyly stoops his head under the doorway to enter back into the room. Yagi closes the door again and takes his place beside Shota, moving quietly to attempt not to draw attention to himself. But it’s a wasted effort; whenever he’s present, all eyes immediately are drawn to him. Plus, it’s hard to ignore a 7 foot man.

Shota turns away, attempting to refocus on whatever their eccentric principal is speaking about.

For a while, the meeting draws on as usual, Nezu doing most of the talking and the other teachers providing input as they see fit. The way the conversation is leading, it seems like things are starting to wrap up. Finally. The last class of the day starts at 2:20 p.m. and that doesn’t leave much leeway room for any teachers that need prep time.

Shota leans back with a silent sigh through his nose, crossing his arms. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can go check on Eri back at the dorms, and the sooner he can crash. Thinking about anything other is too hard to concentrate on.

Through his sleepy fog, something moves in his peripheral vision. Instinctually looking over to his left, he notices the lanky man next to him has wilted in posture, much like a plant with no water. The haze in Shota’s brain clears only slightly, having something more interesting to observe.

Now actually taking the time to study the other, Shota notices the haphazard blonde mane looks messier than normal. Yagi’s long, sinewy hands are placed comfortably on his lap, though a subtle tremble is running through his frame. A sheen of sweat is starting to form above his brow. Though his eyes remain fixed on the principal, the unfocused haze in the cyan pools gives Shota the impression Yagi isn’t paying attention. The normally bright irises are dull and almost completely hidden in the surrounding black sclera.

He looks pale. Must be sick. Shota lets his attention drift back to Nezu. Toshinori Yagi is a grown adult; he can take care of himself. If he doesn’t feel well, he’ll go home. These thoughts stubbornly go through Shota’s mind just before another pushes itself in.

He remembers the tall man entering the teacher’s lounge only two days after the Kamino incident. Yagi had been completely wrapped in bandages, bruises and stitched up cuts littering his body, and one arm was in a sling. Everyone had expected him to still be in the hospital, and not back to UA for at least a week, maybe two.

Shota recalls the other teachers chastising the ex-hero and trying to convince him to go home, to rest. Yagi had politely smiled, one that made Shota’s teeth grind at the obvious artificial gesture. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, only present to soothe their worries.  But Yagi thanked them for their concern. Even then, their coworkers had tried to assist him in any way possible. He had always insisted he was fine, respectfully refusing their help. It became hard for their colleagues to accept when it was obvious the injured man was struggling with even the simplest tasks.

Recovery Girl had made frequent appearances, much to Yagi’s dismay. It was unfortunate his body couldn’t handle her quirk, and he had to heal naturally, so she made it her job to monitor him. She didn’t even try to deny she was only there to check in on him, to make sure he was behaving himself, at least to the miniscule level she could except from Toshinori. She was always disappointed, and expressed so outright. But she could do little to sway him in his own self-care habits, and he always waved her off with another deceptive smile.

If he had forced his straining, overworked, body to comply during that time, what’s stopping him from teaching his class in 15 minutes?

More movement next to him puts Shota’s thoughts on pause. Dark eyes flick over to the older man, being as inconspicuous about his spying as possible. With the black hair covering his face, most people probably can’t tell where he’s looking anyway, and he’s not moving his head at all.

One of Yagi’s arms slowly lifts to his face, resting his sharp elbow on the table. The large and scarred hand covers his mouth, baring his bony wrist and too-thin arm as his sleeve slides down a few inches. The pose might be meant to look like he’s simply resting his chin, gaze still locked on Nezu like he’s listening intently. But sitting this close to him, Shota can see how the tremors in his body have increased, sweat starting to run down the deep crevices of his face in tiny rivers. The glazed over look in those black eyes has been replaced by one subtly emitting a fight or flight expression.

Shota frowns. He’s gonna barf. The pro briefly wonders if he should use his capture weapon to grab the trash can in the corner of the room to prevent a mess on the carpet, or worse, the table.

Before he can act, Yagi’s chair abruptly slides backwards as the retired hero wrenches his body up, fumbles with the door handle, and rushes out of the room as quickly as his unstable limbs can carry him. He barely manages to slam the sliding door shut behind him before he’s out of everyone’s sight, the hasty squeaks of his shoes on the tile floor growing more and more distant.

Nezu pauses at the sudden outburst, all the room’s occupants staring at where All Might had disappeared. The feel of concern weighs heavily in the atmosphere.

Although Yagi had often left before, he always excused himself quietly or snuck away when the attention wasn’t on him. Something this dramatic has never happened.

-----

And we’ll leave it there for now! This is still a wip remember, so things may be changed here and there, but I hope this makes up for my lack of other stories!

[onceandfuturehimbo]

do you read fics bc i desperately need some wholesome merthur reccs

Why yes I do in fact read fics, I say as I admire the never-ending row of open ao3 tabs on my laptop. 😌

I’ll go ahead and add a read more because I always tend to ramble a lot 🙈You’ll find some fic recs buried in the midst of my incessant chatter under the cut ✨

Since I don’t know how specifically wholesome you’d like the fics to be, and I was promptly overthinking everything, in the end I just decided to go with no-angst-in-sight wholesome, so hopefully you’ll enjoy my selection ✌️

[Also, if you’re looking for merlin fics in general you should check out the beautifully organized @merlinfic tags page, where you can find all the fics your heart desires. Or you could consider joining the @merlin-fic-server on discord, also incredibly organized, and with many other people who can help you find whatever you need]

Now without further ado, here are some of my recs (in no particular order):

Missing the mark by @schweetheart (2750 words) - When Arthur realises that his 'insults' to Merlin lack a certain something, he resolves to stop comparing his manservant to cute, fluffy things and come up with a way to properly express his exasperation. This turns out to be much more difficult than it sounds.  ↳ The summary speaks for itself tbh Arthur trying to pretend he doesn’t have feelings for merlin and failing spectacularly is what I’m here for. 

Found a friend by helloearthlings (2363 words) - Leon gives an extremely drunk Arthur a ride home.An extremely drunk Arthur who will not shut up about Merlin. (outsider pov, modern au) ↳ I live for outsider pov fics and affectionate!arthur is so so cute omg

The magic of love by platonic_boner (4194 words) - Arthur repeals the ban on magic and expects Merlin's undying gratitude, but Merlin acts like nothing has changed. Clearly Arthur's only recourse is to annoy, bully, trick, and otherwise coerce Merlin into openly using sorcery.  ↳ Two pining clotpoles. Nothing more needs to be said.

Coming home by @supercalvin (2330 words) - Midshipman Percival Troyes watches his fellow sailors reunite with their loved ones after nine months on the HMS Albion. (outsider pov, modern au, military au) ↳ Back at it again with another outsider pov fic. Incredibly soft and with amazing characterization. I’ve read it so many times omg (also features some perwaine)

This dance of days by kianspo (8090 words) - In which people get married, Arthur is confused a lot, Uther gives relationship advice, and Merlin isn’t scared, except when he is, but only a little bit. Also Merlin steals things, and Gwaine is up to no good. (modern au) ↳ I love this fic so much, their relationship is so well written and they’re so head over heels for each other I melt in a puddle of heart eyes every time I read it

Would it be okay if I came home to you? by @shut-up-merlin (1022 words) - The day has finally arrived and Arthur couldn't be happier. This is it. This is the day he's finally getting married to the love of his life. His Merlin. (modern au) ↳ Wedding! Fic! Fluff and more fluff with a side of fluff, aka right up my alley

How it was supposed to be by @nextstopparis​ (4956 words) - “But,” Merlin continues anyway, because he truly sucks at being a servant, “anyway. The hunt last week was supposed to get you out of it, except it didn’t work, so. I was wondering if you wanted to just go out for a ride, just us, with nothing important to do?”  ↳ Okay so this one was inspired by a tsoa scene, so when I first read it I had prepared myself for heartbreak of the highest order, but it’s so incredibly sweet and their dynamic is spot on

Three tasks by syllic (30882 words) - Arthur is the Royal Arbiter for Suitable Suitors' Disputes. He (and his trusty companion, the golden-dragon-tasselled hat) alone can determine who is fit to woo royal servants and other assorted courtiers in Uther's court.  ↳ An absolute fave since I joined the fandom basically. I’ve read this a thousand times and I’ll never tire of it

Warm and real and bright by ariadne_odair (2034 words) - In which: Lord Arthur Pendragon is courting one Merlin Emrys, Arthur is absolutely not pining whilst Merlin is away, and Gwaine gives advice that is (very) occasionally useful. (regency au)  ↳ The merthur regency au I didn’t know I needed

When the truth comes out by ingberry (1334 words) - When Arthur wakes up from surgery, completely loopy from the anesthetics, he doesn’t recognise Merlin, but thinks he's really quite lovely. (modern au) ↳ I love these kinds of fics omg it’s about the tenderness

But these are only a few of the MANY amazing merthur fics you can find out there, honestly this fandom is blessed by an incredible amount of talented writers I am constantly in awe 🤩

I tried to limit myself to no angst at all so this barely scratches the surface of my faves, and considering the sheer number of open tabs I have I definitely missed some (also I apparently really need to organize my bookmarks bc it’s getting way out of hand). So if you're craving even more fics be sure to check the blogs I linked and also the other works by these lovely authors because they have so many more amazing fics 🥰 Or you can always message me again for more recs, I always love excuses to reread my faves lol  

So I hope these were sufficient, if anyone has any more I forgot to add feel free to link them in the notes 👀👀

If you’ve reached this far congrats for being able to resist my ramblings 😂💀 as a bonus here’s the gbbo meme I sent in the merlin fic server because I was worried I’d select fics that weren’t wholesome enough:

[animatedarchives]

CONGRATS ON 400 SOPH OMG 💖 I’d also like a matchup for Bnha if u don’t mind 🥺👉👈 (don’t worry about who I obvs stan lol just give me ur honest opinion) id like a male pls! I enjoy writing and drawing. I’m an introvert but don’t mind going out and having some fun :) I’m a cancer, nursing assistant and soon to be registered nurse!! I love helping people, it’s one of my passions in life. I have a dark sense of humor sometimes and I love joking around and memeing, and I’m also a thirsty hoe :-)

HI VALLL okay i went oFF on this one because it was literally just too cute i couldn’t resist 😭😭 I HOPE YOU ENJOY DARLING i love you very much MWAH ❤️❤️

i match you up with...

keigo

i feel like your relationship would be a slow burn; you wouldn’t hate him — sure, he’s good-looking and all — but you’d think he’s too playful and flirty, and doesn’t have a lot of substance to him. but you don’t really care much, he’s just the number two pro hero to you. he on the other hand would think you’re nice and a good person, but nothing particularly interesting strikes him about you. that is, until he gets a serious injury and lands himself in the hospital, leaving you to tend to his injuries.

he often sees you in the hospital and likes how you take care of him, asking him how he’s feeling and making small talk when you change his bandages. and so he begins to take a liking to you. you try to remain professional, but the way he jokes around (yes, with a little dark humour as well) and makes things seem so light and easy, you can’t help but admit he does make your day at the hospital a little bit brighter.

eventually, you guys become fond of each other and he feels more comfortable sharing things with you, beyond just basic pleasantries. slowly, your conversations go from “yes, i’ve taken my medicine” to “i’m glad i can take a break from my hero duties” to “sometimes... i don’t know if i’m good enough to be the number two hero”. as he starts opening up to you more, you manage to see past his facade and catch a glimpse of how complex of a person he really is. he’s so much more mature than you thought he could be, and you also never expected him to feel so inadequate about his abilities. his complicated emotions and thoughts intrigue you, especially because you find people to be rather interesting. he’s not just the number two hero you have to take care of anymore. he becomes a friend to you, someone you look forward to seeing when you go to the hospital every day. and eventually, the feelings start to creep in and make their home in your heart.

he likes listening to you talk as well (cheeky bird would definitely press the call button a few extra times just so he could see you more) and loves listening to you rant when you’re feeling tired or down at work. it makes him feel like you can depend on him too, and that it’s not always him who’s sharing about his life; he wants to help you carry your burdens as well, not always you being the one listening to and shouldering his.

after weeks of being in recovery, he’s finally fit enough to leave the hospital. he’s usually pretty confident and laid-back, but he becomes uncharacteristically anxious when he thinks of asking you if you’d like to keep in contact. he approaches you, saying that he’s been discharged and is on his way out of the hospital. you smile at him and he feels a pang in his gut because he doesn’t want this to be the last time he sees it. his palms are literally sweating but he sucks in a breath and nervously asks you for your number. when you blush and shyly give it to him, he sighs with relief and smiles because he’s glad at least you want to see him as much as he wants to see you. and he’s excited because finally, you won’t be in your scrubs and he won’t be your poor bed-ridden patient anymore.

your relationship steadily grows after that, especially because you share similar morals, interests and the same passion for helping people and making them feel better. you guys fit together perfectly; he brings joy to your life and helps you loosen up and enjoy the little things while you keep him grounded and steady, being his voice of reason and keeping him in check. he’s there for you like you are for him and eventually, he realises you’re the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with. he becomes fully committed to you, doing everything he can to win you over. some birds do mate for life after all, and he just knows you’re the one he wants to be with forever.

also yes, smexy time with this man would be exciting and spicy, especially with his defined muscles (like, have you seen this man) and his quirk that can literally manipulate feathers according to his will. he will never fail to make you feel loved in every sense of the word.

[2manyfandoms2count]

Friends who cook together...

I saw today's prompt for @auyeahaugust (College AU) and thought it would be the perfect opportunity to share the beginning of this fic I've been working on!

It's actually based on @e-milieeee's post, I couldn't resist the cooking trope 😬

Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 (gasp)

---

Lesson 1: Ratatouille

Adrien Agreste was the perfect man. Good-looking, hard-working, charming, he was the prime example of the son-in-law every parent wanted, and the people his age who didn't want to be him wanted to date him.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng wouldn't deny she might be classified in the latter category, although less so than when she was younger. She was good friends with the model now. Voluntarily so. You didn’t fight and defeat Paris’ number one villains for years, growing from a teenager into a young adult together, without getting close. Their respective crushes on each other had faded over time, but it didn’t mean they would’ve said no if all the circumstances aligned, although they wouldn’t have admitted it out loud.

The one thing Adrien Agreste wasn’t, though, was a good cook. Not that he didn’t have everything he could possibly need in his kitchen. The apartment he now lived in, although a huge step down from the Mansion that had once been his home (but what wouldn’t be), was still a lot bigger, and a lot more comfortable than what a normal student should have been able to afford.

It was a lot better equipped, too.

Marinette had told him the contractors were abusing his trust by installing things that were way more expensive than they ought to be, knowing he wouldn’t double check, but he’d waved her concerns away. With his father’s demise, he’d just wanted to move out as quickly as possible to avoid the crowds of paparazzi, and if signing a very large cheque could provide him with the knowledge the workers wouldn’t blab, then so be it. He couldn’t bring himself to sell the Mansion despite the knowledge it had been Hawkmoth’s lair the whole time -there were too many memories associated with his mother there- but he’d had some offers to rent it out for movie settings which would definitely cover the costs of keeping it, as well as his rent. He’d looked into his finances and put all the money he’d earned as a model in a bank account, and donated the rest to a fund to help Akuma victims. There was no way he was keeping his father’s dirty money when so many people had suffered at his hands.

Since then, Adrien had fallen into a nice little routine as he moved from Lycée to University. He made the most of his freedom by exploring every nook and cranny of Paris without anyone being able to say anything about it. No curfews, no limitations, but for his own tiredness and others’ private property, of course.

It left little time for him to learn basic cooking skills. He was often too tired to make anything when he came back from his nocturnal meanderings, so he went for the easy solution: food delivery. There were so many restaurants nearby he could’ve eaten something different every night for a month and still not have gone through all of the options. It was more diverse than anything he’d ever eaten, and it suited him just fine.

Little did he know that this habit would be disrupted by his best friend moving in next door.

Marinette had been looking for a new flat. Not that she didn’t enjoy living with her parents, but she found herself wanting a little more privacy now that she was at University. The reveal that she was Ladybug had brought a lot of attention to the Tom and Sabine bakery, which was good, but a lot of it was journalists prowling around in the hopes of getting an exclusive interview with her. She was tired of being pretty much mauled anytime she left the house, and although she could easily leave via the rooftops as Ladybug, she refused to let them dictate how and when she could get in and out. Which is why, when she’d seen the words “à louer” on a window of Adrien’s building as she visited him for their weekly game night, she didn’t think twice about calling the number. Adrien had been a step ahead of her, so the owners were expecting her call. A week later, she had officially moved into the flat across from his.

She hadn’t paid much attention to his habits at first. She was too busy settling in, and with all the planned evenings with Nino and Alya, plus the ones with the Miracuclass students who remained in Paris, she didn’t see how late he came back at night, and ordering in didn’t seem out of place. What better than a pizza for poker night? Or sushi for movie night? It was easy .

As winter settled in, though, and nights out dwindled to once every fortnight, she noticed the ballet of scooters and bikes that came almost at a fixed time every night. Generally when she was about to fall asleep, doing a grand job at waking her up. Groggily stalking up to the window one evening, she’d noticed Adrien meet the delivery person as he came back from wherever he’d been, paying his due and coming up. She’d dismissed it due to midterm season approaching, but exams had come and gone and things hadn’t changed. She kept an eye out, and after two additional weeks of seeing Adrien collect a brown paper bag, knowing fully well that he ate a sandwich every midday thanks to her father’s well-meaning gossip, she’d decided to take action. She couldn’t let her partner have such a questionable diet.

“What's it going to be tonight?” She asked, leaning arms crossed against her door frame one night as he appeared on the landing.

Adrien froze at the top of the stairs and looked at her like a deer caught in headlights.

“Er…“ He raked his mind for something, anything that would sound even remotely healthy, but nothing came. He sighed defeatedly. “None pizza with left beef.” He mumbled, his head lowered guiltily. He’d seen the meme the night before, and had wanted to try it out.

“What?”

He repeated a little louder.

“Okay that’s it, you’re coming over to my place for dinner.”

He knew from her tone of voice there’d be no arguing with her, so he sheepishly followed her inside her flat, still clutching his pizza box. He wasn’t too unhappy about the outcome, if he was honest. Marinette was a good cook. He’d have a nice meal tonight.

“What about the pizza?” He asked weakly.

“We can use it as… bread, or something.” The girl suggested, crinkling her nose at the thought. For someone who came from a long line of bakers and was part Italian, calling the contents of the box pizza or even bread seemed inherently wrong.

Adrien trailed a little behind her as she walked towards her kitchen, marveling at what she’d done with the place.

Marinette’s apartment mirrored his in terms of structure, but whereas his decoration was very minimalistic, hers was a lot more eclectic, without looking cluttered. Her furniture wasn’t a set, yet fit together very well and gave the space a cozy feel. The painted walls, as well as the coloured posters, curtains, rugs and cushions made it feel very homey. He wanted nothing more than sit on her sofa and snuggle under the knitted blanket with her to watch a movie.

Platonically, of course.

Adrien walked into the kitchen and was greeted by the pastel yellow of the walls and warm lighting. Her utensils provided nice splashes of colour that brightened up the room. He particularly appreciated the Ladybug-themed colander that was drying next to the sink.

“If you look in that bottom draw,” she indicated with her foot before reaching for a jar of dried rice in a cupboard, “you should find some saucepans, if you could take two out please, Chaton.”

He obliged, resisting the temptation to lift her up to help her. He knew she wouldn't appreciate it.

“Can I put you in charge of cooking the rice?” She asked, handing him the packet. Adrien accepted it but looked at her quizzically.

“Sure!” He replied excitedly. “Do you have the instructions anywhere?”

Marinette stopped in the middle of washing vegetables she’d taken out of the fridge and squinted her eyes as she gauged whether or not he was joking. He seemed genuinely at loss for what to do.

“Have you never prepared rice before?”

“No?”

“It’s like pasta.” His clueless face made her sigh defeatedly. “You’ve never made pasta either, haven’t you.”

“Does instant ramen count? Or pasta boxes?” He flinched slightly.

“How you’re still alive and actually fit is beyond me.” She rolled her eyes. “Right, I guess we really are starting with the basics then. Consider this lesson number one: pour some water in that saucepan.”

She moved away from the sink to allow him to access it, but stayed close enough to be able to turn the tap off for him. He clearly had no idea of how much water was needed.

“Right, now put the saucepan on the hob, and turn it on.” She saw a smirk spread on his face. “And don’t even think about making a joke, I know what it sounded like!”

“You’re no fun, Buguinette.” He pouted, pressing the button she indicated.

“Add a little salt, and then we’ll just let it come to a boil.”

Next, she handed him a chopping board and tomatoes. She hesitated before giving him a knife. “Can I trust you not to cut yourself?”

“Har har.” He grabbed the knife. “Joke’s on you, because salad is actually the only thing I know how to make. How do you want these?”

She resisted making a comment on how knowing how to make salad wasn't something he really could brag about. “Sliced. We’re making ratatouille.”

“Ooh, nice!”

He listened as she talked him through the recipe, impressed by the fact she didn’t need a cookbook to remember how to prepare it. She taught him how to prepare an aubergine, which he could recognise thanks to the emoji, but could not imagine how to bring to an edible form.

“We just want to sear them in some oil with the courgettes, then we’ll let them cook gently with the rest of the vegetables and the herbs.”

He’d been quite dainty on the amount of herbes de Provence he’d added, which had prompted her taking his hand and shaking the spice pot to cover the tomatoes with it.

He looked at her concentrated expression as she stirred the pan and couldn’t help but smile, his hand still hovering above the hob.

Marinette looked at him inquisitively. “What?”

“Nothing.” She raised her eyebrows. “I just forgot how cute you are when you’re bossy.”

Marinette stammered in response, her cheeks pinking. It didn't matter how at ease she felt with Adrien now, she still couldn't take a compliment from him. He grinned and took advantage of her distraction to steal the wooden spoon from her and taste the dish.

“Authorisation to add a little salt?” He asked, refilling the spoon with ratatouille for her.

She took it, trying not to focus on the fact his lips had been just where hers were. She let the flavours flood her palet thoughtfully.

"Authorisation granted."

She smiled fondly as Adrien excitedly added missing spices to the mix.

"See? I am a competent cook!" He added with a satisfied smile.

"Please, you're barely a sous-chef." Marinette snorted. She backtracked her slightly harsh words seeing her partner's pout. "Don't worry though, you'll get the hang of it! It's just a question of practising." She rubbed his back encouragingly. "Would making the plates pretty make you feel better?"

"I think so." He mock sniffled.

Marinette made a point of taking out her Chat Noir plates, which she'd been planning on keeping for special occasions. The way Adrien's face lit up upon seeing them made the fact they were her only dishes that couldn't be dishwashed seem irrelevant. Adrien made a mental note to try and find matching Ladybug ones, although he wasn't sure if he would be gifting them to her or keeping them for himself.

Marinette busied herself with tidying up the kitchen and laying the cutlery as he worked on the presentation. Had her phone been nearby, she would've taken a picture of him as he blepped in concentration.

"Does this look good enough for Madame la Chef ?" He asked as he presented the plates to her. He'd positioned the vegetables around the rice so as to make it look like a flower.

"It's perfect, Chaton." She kissed the top of his head as she passed behind him with a packet of smoked ham. She rolled the slices into little roses and planted them in the rice.

"A table?" She asked as she finally sat down opposite him.

Adrien dug in before she could say bon appétit .

---

When Adrien came home from his morning run a couple of days later, a fresh croissant in hand, he found a conscientiously wrapped package on his doormat. The black polka dots on the field of red were a dead giveaway as to who it was from. He grinned as he picked it up and opened the door.

Breakfast and washed hands later, he sat on his couch, facing the present. He was torn between tearing the wrapping, or being civilised about it. Before he could choose, Plagg flew nearby and obeyed his cat instincts, swiftly disappearing back into his Camembert cabinet with a grin to avoid his holder's reprimands.

"Je sais cuisiner." He read the title and laughed, holding the book in front of him. It was an old edition, a yellow hardback with a picture of the author on the cover.

A post-it note stuck out from the top of the book. He opened it to get to the bookmarked recipe.

For Adrien - saw this and thought of you! Since you're so keen on instructions, this might do the trick! Feel free to use it often ;-)

Love, Marinette

P.S.: I suggest we try this recipe next!

Adrien read through the page, and felt his stomach grumble. He was very pleased at the thought that something had reminded her of him and that she'd bought it for him. The "love" and the fact she was obviously looking forward to repeating their cooking experience were added bonuses.

He himself could hardly wait.

[fullsunalicia]

i really loved the jaemin prince au 💗💗 if you have time, could you possibly write a princess diaries au with jeno?? thank you for sharing your work with us ! have a great day 🤗

prince charming — LJN

in a matter of mere days, your whole life is flipped upside down. the only constant in your life are your best friends, yeeun and jeno. but while you’re being charmed with a crown and the family connection you’ve been craving for a long time, jeno is desperately trying to figure out how to tell you that you’ve charmed him.

of course i can, my love! thank you for your request and your kind words 🤍 have a great day and stay hydrated! eat if you haven’t yet. and as promised, here the princess diaries au~

For as long as you can remember, it has always just been you, your mom, and Chairman Meow. It’s a silly name for a cat, but it’s what you’ve decided on when you first got him at ten years old, and your mother found it too funny to resist. Now this poor cat is stuck with that name forever.

The life your mother built for you is far away from the family you have still left. When you were born, your father had already succumbed to an illness, leaving nothing behind but nineteen birthday letters, some presents, and the gaping hole he had ripped into every future family picture. At your first father-daughter dance, your best friends’ father had danced with you because Yeeun and Jeno couldn’t bare leaving you alone at home to cry about the fact that you had a missing parent. Everytime father’s day comes around, they pile up in your room with you and the day is spent watching rom-coms. Every year on the same day, your mom lights up a candle to honor the father who had abandoned you before birth.

Your mother told you he had his reasons. That they loved each other, but it just wasn’t meant to be. You had believed her and promised to honor the memory of a father that wanted you, but ultimately couldn’t have you. Because his own family didn’t accept it.

The letters are the only thing you have of him. You were told that when he realized he was nearing death, he decided to write them as birthday presents, one for every year. Some are longer than others. Some cheesier. Some seem like diary entries, where he regrets not being able to see you for the first and last time before he goes, since he’s sure your mother and him made the perfect daughter. The only reason you don’t resent the father that left the mother to raise their child alone is because you can feel the love in these letters, his true feelings, the somber sorrow of someone who’s being played like a puppet. His letters arive every year alongside the presents your grandmother sends you, but hers are left untouched while you cling to these letters as if they are your lifeline.

It’s almost like he’s here for you. Gone, but still felt. His love is with you when your mother kisses your forehead before school and you can see it in her smile. Your parents loved each other a lot - you wish to have a romance like theirs. You wonder why your grandmother thought it was a good idea to tear them apart.

The answer comes weeks before your last and nineteenth letter can arrive.

❀ ❀ ❀

“Will you wake up already? Damn! You’re worse than Jeno!”

“First of all,” you drawl out, sleep still heavy on your tongue. Your mind barely registers that you’re awake, and you blink several times to regain your sight after your comatose state. “I don’ t take nearly as long as Jeno in the morning to get ready. That’s why I’m able to sleep longer. And who the hell let you in?”

“Your mother,” your best friend of ten years deadpans. “Duh.” Yeeun clicks her tongue and reaches out for your body beneath the warm blankets. She doesn’t even care about the fact that you scream when you’re forcefully removed from your own paradise.

“Yeeun! I’m barely awake!”

“You want me to get a bucket of water, then?”

Yeeun is the oldest of your little group. After her comes Jeno, her younger brother, and lastly you. They baby you all the time, even though they’re barely older than you are. The first time you guys met was in first grade, where the siblings had bickered over what snack they should buy because they didn’t take enough money with them to buy one for each sibling. Without hesitation, you had approached them and lent them yours, and since then, Yeeun and Jeno basically adopted you. They’ve both already moved out and share an apartment near the university you three attend, and you know there’s a room for you waiting there.

Something just keeps you home. You can’t bring yourself to part from your mother and leave her, because then, she’ll be really alone. After all, your father’s side of your family doesn’t really like her. And her own parents live far away.

“Please don’t tell me you stayed up watching k-dramas again.” Yeeun groans and pinches your nose, the same annoying habit she tended to do to Jeno when he got on her nerves. No one else is more like a sister to you than she is, and you’re very grateful for her. It’s a different story for her brother, though.

Lee Jeno is as beautiful as his older sister, but he was the one who first drew you in with it. Your very first childhood crush in fourth grade. He even stole a first kiss from you when his lips had first touched a bottle of soju, and even though you’ve always dreamt of a fairy tale first kiss, you somehow were still thankful it was him. The boy with the crescent moon eye smile. The lingering taste of sweet alcohol and chewing gum. Careful hands who cradled your face as if you were the most expensive thing in the entire world, despite his intoxicating state.

He doesn’t remember that, though. And he doesn’t need to. You’ve buried your embarrassing crush for the younger sibling a very long time ago, and it’s never going to be dug out. Not if you can hinder it.

“I’m so tired, Yeeun,” you hiss at her and slap away the hands who are trying to pinch you awake. She laughs and wraps her arms around your waist. “Did you really have to wake me up so early?”

“Class starts in, like, twenty minutes. The longer we take here, the more Jeno is going to panic.”

“I hate you both. You’re a plague. I should’ve just let you brawl for that stupid tteokbokki cup.”

Yeeun forms her lips to a pout, lips puckered as if she was going to give you a kiss. “Aw, man. What am I supposed to do with engagement ring now? I spent so much money on it...”

Carefully, as to not hurt her, you push your best friend off your sleep-ridden body. Standing up has never taken so long, and you groan as your back cracks when you stretch it. “Don’t fool yourself,” you mumble. “The only thing you’d get me would be a ring pop.”

“Touché.”

It takes you a little longer to get ready, but Yeeun doesn’t mind as she scrolls away on her phone, liking a meme here and there. Jeno honks in impatience from outside the house and Yeeun grins, waving him off on instinct, even though he can’t actually see her. When you finally step out of your room, your mom already’s put on a cup of coffee for you on the table. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she says, grinning, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. You furrow your brows. “Finally awake?”

“After I basically assaulted her, yeah.” Yeeun snatches up the cup meant for you and nips at the dark mixture. Outside, Jeno honks again. “Though we better get going before your neighbours file a complaint. That kid doesn’t have any manners, I swear. And to think that we’re related!”

“You’re only two years older, Yeeun,” you shoot back, yawn tumbling from your lips. She’s right, though, you don’t want to keep him waiting any longer. The neighbor next door is rather weird, and you swear you’ve caught him several times sitting down infront of his window to watch the people pass by. He claims it’s inspiration for his books. You don’t bother with finding out if that’s actually considered stalking. Your mother turns her head so you can kiss her cheek, fingers twirling the cup she’s holding. She’s nervous. For what? “I’ll get going, mom, see you later.”

“Don’t forget to come straight back home after your lecture, (y/n).” She finally looks up to meet your eyes, showing you her evident worry. Your mom had pulled you aside the evening before, saying that you had important matters to discuss at lunch because someone was coming for a visit. She didn’t tell you who, though. “Text me if you need anything.”

With that, Yeeun tugs you out the front door, the familiar click of the lock accompanying your descent down the stairs to the street. Jeno looks especially annoyed, but he still leans over from the driver’s seat to open the door for you. “I’m going to kill you both,” he threatens the second you’re in earshot, hissing at his sister like a cat as she flicks his forehead and slides into the backseat. Despite being upset that you’re late, he lets you pull him into a tight hug, and you basically disappear in his embrace. Since he’s started going to the fitness center with his friends, he’s been building up muscles like crazy. Yeeun bet you ten dollars he’s on steroids.

He’s always been this athletic, though. Now, it shines through, and it makes your knees kinda weak of how strong Jeno is becoming.

“Is that coffee?”, he asks, fingers already reaching for the cup that was stolen out of your kitchen. Yeeun slaps his fingers, pretty features pulled into a grimace. “Not for you!” she answers. “Hands on the wheel.”

“So you let me wait for an hour, but I don’t even get coffee? Got it. Should’ve just left you on the curb this morning.”

“And who would’ve woken up (y/n), huh? It takes you years to wake the girl up!”

“Because she looks so peaceful in her sleep! Unlike you, I actually care about how much sleep (y/n)’s getting!”

“I hope this car crashes,” you mumble. With that, you swipe your coffee out of Yeeun’s hands, force Jeno back into the driver’s seat and lean back to finally sip at the coffeinated drink. It’ll be a miracle to survive this car ride.

❀ ❀ ❀

You like sociology. It’s the only course you share with Jeno, and despite claiming it’s his favorite class, he keeps napping in it. Because the professor likes him and his essays are seemingly “amazing”, Jeno ends up getting out of trouble scot-free, while you have to pass your notes to said troublemaker at the end of every lecture.

Maybe you should have given him some coffee after all. His head is resting on your shoulder, shamelessly using it as a pillow, his fingers are intertwined even in his sleep. As if he’s praying. Maybe he’s praying for this lecture to end quickly. The dark circles under his eyes worry you, and you wonder if he’s even getting enough sleep.

When Jeno and you first met each other, his features had still been soft, a true baby-face. He had winced every time you pinched his cheeks and often complained when you and Yeeun determined that he could be a prettier girl than you guys were. A decade later, Jeno is still breathtakingly beautiful, but where earlier had been fat to pinch was now sharp cheekbones, and a jawline that could cut diamonds. What had been pretty turned into attractive.

He looks like a prince. It’s no wonder his family calls him that jokingly. He owns the title.

“Stop staring at me, creep,” Jeno murmurs, voice drowsy. He still reaches out for you, though. Strong arms envelop your body and press you against a firm side, and you don’t even put up a fight when he uses you as his personal body pillow. His strong perfume wafts over your senses, and it’s hard to resist the urge to cuddle against him. You claim you’ve gotten over him, but it’s so easy to fall back into old habits when they go by the name Lee Jeno.

“Start paying attention to the lesson, then.” He doesn’t even budge when you try to push him away. Sighing, you resort to taking notes instead. You can feel him grin against your shoulder.

Asshole. He knows he’s stronger.

“It’s not like the lesson’s interesting. Can’t you just stop nagging me?”

“Can you stop bothering me while I pay attention?”

“No,” he shoots back immediately, arms locking tighter around your smaller frame. Jeno ignores the squeak you let out at that (as if you were a dog chewing toy...) and instead presses his face against your throat, lips dangerously close to your skin. Damn those siblings and their irresistible charm. “This is the price you pay for my friendship. If you weren’t ready to pay it, you should’ve thought about that ten years ago. No use fighting it now. Sorry.”

Friendship. The word stings and you wish it would hit you in the face once and for all, so that you could stop looking at Jeno in that light. He hums when you mess up his hair, recently dyed with the help of his sister. Both siblings had already bleached it once, but this color was darker, more evident. Soft as always. He hums in content at your touch, the sound elicting goosebumps on your skin.

“What’s gotten into you?” The accusation in your voice is only spoken in a joking manner, but it still makes Jeno raise his head and loosen his hold around your waist. This time, you’re the one tugging him back. (You hope your professor isn’t looking. The soft spot he has for Jeno isn’t reserved for you.) “You’re never this affectionate.”

“Is that a crime?” He furrows his eyes and glares at you. He looks a little like his cat when he does this, when she’s scolded for knocking a glass of the coffee table. You pinch his cheek. He hits your fingers.

“No. I’m only curious.”

“I’m just in the mood.” Jeno turns you around so you’re facing your notes again, and you roll your eyes. Are you his slave or what? Nonetheless, you pick up your pen and resume writing. Your best friend rests his head on your shoulder, chest pressed to your back.

Jesus Christ, he’s a muscle pig.

His fingers toy with the ends of your hair, and it almost distracts you from the loud, annoying voice of the lecturer. The room is stuffed with tired, disinterested people. Someone in fifth row is playing PacMan on their laptop. You almost wish you had remembered to take your own.

Your thoughts wander to that talk your mom wanted to have with you after school. Usually, she’s very honest and upfront with you. There are no secrets. If there’s anything that should be addressed, she does it right away. What could be so important that she’s waiting for the suprise visit to explain?

Maybe it’s a new boyfriend. But your mom knew you didn’t have anything against her looking elsewhere for love; you actually welcomed it, deeming her a “helpless single” in spite of her protest. If she had a boyfriend, you wouldn’t feel so guilty about moving out. The siblings have been begging you for a while now, and you three spend lots of nights huddled on their couch, anyways.

It doesn’t work that way, though. Your mother is all you have. You just want to be assured that she’s going to be okay without you, happy. Chairman Meow isn’t that good of a company. And if you move out, you can’t visit her all the time. Exams are coming up.

Jeno pinches your waist, a snicker tumbling from his lips when you jump. “Wanna grab a bite after this?”

“Can’t.” You abandon your pen momentarily to guide his hands away from your waist, pulling at his arms so they lock around you tighter. This hug is basically a death trap, but at least it’s enjoyable. “Mom’s planned something.”

“Like what?”

“Didn’t tell me.”

“Your mom tells you everything.”

“Gee, really?” you scoff. The remark was meant to be sarcastic, but the hurt and confusion still seeps through. Jeno soothes it with a kiss to your temple, but you wish he wouldn’t. It’s so hard to stop your heart from acting up. Convicing it that Jeno’s only being platonic is like talking to a wall. “I don’t know what’s up with her. She’s been acting weird since yesterday. It’s not like my dad’s anniversary coming up.”

“Maybe she’s finally throwing you out of the damn house. You know, it kind of sucks paying for a roommate who isn’t even there.”

Jeno recoils when you turn at that, moving faster than he can register. “I told you guys to let me pay!” you complain. To your horror, it comes out a little bit louder than intended, and if looks could kill, your professor would be charged with second degree murder. The boy beside you laughs at your suffering, but he shuts up quickly when you pinch his nose. “You seriously need to stop hanging out with Yeeun,” he hisses at you, and pins your wrists against his chest. “I was joking, you fool. No matter how many times you tell us, we’ll be paying for that room until you move in.”

The rest of the lesson is spent with Jeno and you squabbling, which is why you pack up in a hurry and leave before your professor can scold the living hell out of you. Yeeun’s already managed to snag some food from someone in her own lecture, and she shares it with you guys on the way home. When the duo drives off, they’re already arguing again, and you shake your head as you walk inside.

The apartment is strangely tidy. Not that you and your mom like to live in chaos, but it’s never this neat. “Mom?” you call out.

It’s not your mother who walks out of the kitchen. You’ve seen this face on pictures often, never face to face. It would be a disgrace for her to be seen with someone of your side of the family.

“Welcome home, (y/n),” your grandmother greets you.

❀ ❀ ❀

Jeno and Yeeun are traitors. None of them answer your distress calls, or the many panicked text messages you send them. This is treason. You’re never going to let them eat off your snack stash again.

When you had recognized your grandmother, you had promptly run to your room like a freshman in highschool and locked the elderly woman out. You did not appreciate that your mother had failed to mention that the suprise visit was the grandmother that had been resenting you for the past nineteen years.

You want nothing to do with her. She’s the reason your parents could never be together.

“(y/n),” the woman sighs, exasparated. The knocks to your door are quickly deemed useless, and she resorts to talking to you through the door. “I am aware that this must be quite the shock, but I wouldn’t have thought you’d react like this. I was told you were quite the mature woman.”

You are. Still, you angrily tell her: “You would’ve known better if you had made it your duty to see your own grandchild at least once a year!”

Silence. She doesn’t have an answer for that, and you’re glad she has atleast the brains to recognize. Still, after mulling over your words for a few minutes, she continues. “My child, this is why I came. To explain why your father didn’t stay with your mother. Why no one came to see you. Don’t you wish to know the truth?”

“You’re a little late.”

“Better late than never.”

You don’t have a clever argument for that. Sulking, you stand up and rip the door open, scaring the poor woman behind it to death. A hand placed over her heart, she reprimands you with a stern look. “Tell me, then.” You cross your arms in front of your chest. Up close, she reminds you of the many pictures your mom had shown you from your father. “Tell me what was such a good reason to destroy an entire marriage with a flick of your wrist. Why I’m suddenly so important, nineteen years later.”

Your grandmother pleads you with her eyes to come out of your room, so you stroll into the living room and sit down. Your mother is waiting there for you, and you clench your fists when she mouths an “I’m sorry”.

The atmosphere is, lightly put, very uncomfortable. Your grandmother takes the liberty of pouring you and her a cup of tea, but neither of you touch it. “(y/n),” she says then. “What do you know about your father?”

“That he was ill.” You clench and unclench your hands. They’re trembling. In moments like these, you wish Yeeun or Jeno were here, but that’s silly. You should be able to master your challenges alone. So, you clear your throat and go on, voice firm, even if you feel nothing like it. “That he loved my mother dearly and you didn’t accept it.”

“I did accept it.”

“Liar,” tumbles out of your lips before you can stop it, and your mother claps a hand over her mouth. “(y/n)!” she speaks up, in disbelief that you’d talk to a family member like that. Your grandmother waves her off, but you can see the hurt in her eyes.

You hate admitting it, but it satisfies you a little.

“Your father..” The elderly woman traces the rim of her tea cup with a perfectly manicured nail. “Your father was a good man, with a sense for duty. I liked your mother a lot, but just because I liked her didn’t mean I was able to accept it. There are some things that are better left unchanged. Your parents knew that. I knew that. And that is why I wished for the engagement to be nullified.”

The words set something in you ablaze; an anger you can’t name, the protectiveness over your mother. “What in god’s name could be more important than your son marrying the woman he loves?”

Your grandmother blinks. “The throne, of course.”

You raise a brow. Behind her hands, your mother peeks to grasp your reaction. For a very long time, you wait for someone to laugh and tell you this is just a prank. When it doesn’t come, you ask: “Excuse me, what?”

“(l/n) (y/n), that is the name you were given by your mother.” Your grandmother raises the cup to her lips, unfazed by your confusion. “Though that’s not the royal name given to you. You are a direct descendant of Empress Sunmyeong, member of the Yeoheung Min clan.” She sets the cup down with a loud clatter. If you hadn’t seen her eyes, you would be very angry with her joking right now.

She’s deadly serious.

“You are Min (y/n), heir to the throne.” Your grandmother looks you right in the eyes, gaze determined, honest. “Just like your father, you are expected to ascend the throne and marry someone of blue blood.”

❀ ❀ ❀

“You didn’t confess to her?”

Jeno pouts and stuffs his mouth with marshmallows. “I didn’t get to.”

The room is dark, dimly illuminated by the light that tries to reach it through the curtains. The siblings wanted to do a movie marathon since it was the weekend and there was nothing to study for, and it isn’t fun to go out drinking without you. An hour into their first one, they’ve already abandoned it and resorted to do something else.

Talking about Jeno’s giant crush on you.

“I thought you were going to tell her in Sociology.” His sister reaches for the popcorn, disappointed to find the bowl empty. Jeno offers her the bag of marshmallows, but she shakes her head; too sweet.

“That was the plan,” he mumbles. But how is he supposed to look you in the face and tell you about his feelings, when you’re so goddamn cute? Nobody has ever made butterflies erupt in Jeno’s stomach, yet one look from you and he’s absolutely weak. The memory of you kissing him back still haunts him to this day. What if you just did it because you were under the influence? “I chickened out.”

“Shocker.”

“I hope you choke.”

Yeeun snorts. But no matter how much fun they make of each other, at the end of the day, nobody cares about Jeno like Yeeun does. She’s a really great big sister, even if she gets annoying sometimes. So when the girl reaches for the remote to turn down the volume and face him properly, he doesn’t mock her or say something provoking. He holds out his arms and pouts.

When they had been children, Jeno had fallen down the stairs once and promptly fainted. He doesn’t remember much about it, but what stuck with him was the sight of little Yeeun looming over him, crying in worry. She hisses and hits Jeno often, but the second someone else does it, he has to physically hold her back. (She’s tiny, but she packs quite the punch.)

The day Yeeun had found out about his crush on her best friend, he had been drunk off his ass and crying. That’s why she told him that it was going to be alright, because she has his back. So when Jeno inches closer in the wish to be held, she only rolls his eyes and throws her arms around his shoulders. “You’re so annoying. Why’d I get the annoying younger brother?”

“Shut up and comfort me. I was really going to tell her today.” Jeno sniffs. He’s not going to cry, though, he’s only being dramatic. He wishes you were here. “I was so close.”

“I know. Next time.” His sister messes up his hair and grins at him. He laughs at that, reaching out to dishevel her own, and it soon escalates into them wrestling on the couch, fighting for the last bag of Dorito’s.

Their fight is cut short by several quick knocks to the door.

Jeno looks at Yeeun. “Are you expecting somebody?”

She can’t answer; a key is turned in the lock and as they look up alarmed, they’re greeted with the sight of you walking in, your eyes red from all the crying, the apartment’s spare key in your hand.

You hiccup. A tell-tale sign that you’ve been sobbing and are currently trying to stop yourself. “Hi,” you mumble. That’s the magic word for both siblings to jump up and run to you, familiar hands wiping over your wet face and your shoulders. “I just had the worst day ever and I just want to collapse into someone’s bed and die. Thank you.”

“Go rest in my room,” Jeno offers. “Come on.” You don’t need to be told twice, feet carrying you to the room you’ve been so many times before. Your followed by your best friends, who even go as far as tucking you in, and Yeeun leaves a kiss on your forehead.

“Don’t go,” you whisper.

So they don’t. They take you into their middle, Yeeun on your left, Jeno on your right, both brother and sister hugging you tightly. You’re lucky you all fit on Jeno’s bed, and for a while, you just keep laying there, staring at Jeno’s ceiling that’s been freshly painted. As they hold you, you start explaining your weird, nonsense circumstances. They don’t interrupt you once.

You want to stay like this always. Some things in life come and go, but the friendship to these two stays forever. The many nights you spent stargazing. The different occassions of someone crying and the other two cheering them up. Long hugs, adoration that is spoken out loud, silent support. You want to cling to these memories, to their hands, stay in this bed for the rest of your life.

But you’re a princess. You have your loyalties towards the crown, towards your father. Accepting the duty your grandmother laid in your hands feels like treason towards yourself, but you also can’t turn your back on what your father is giving to you.

Family honor. Blood is thicker than water.

That’s why weeks after this, Yeeun and Jeno see you less and less. They knock and spam your phone with several messages, but all they get is half-hearted apologies hours later. Sometimes, there is no response at all. It hurts them a lot, to the point where they spend several days of the week skipping uni to stay home and stuff themselves with ice cream. There’s a (y/n)-shaped hole in their daily lifes, and in Jeno’s heart.

You miss them terribly, just like they miss you. Time is running out until your official coronation, and your grandmother has been preparing you and getting closer to you at the same time. One afternoon, you both cried as you looked over pictures of your father’s coronation.

“I’m so sorry you weren’t able to see him,” she had told you, voice shaky, hands trembling as they gripped yours. For the better part of your life, this woman had been an unknown evil. Now, you’re able to see the love and regret in her eyes. You see it in the way she treats your mother like a proper daughter-in-law, even though she never got to be. The fond smile the queen gifts you with when you show her your photo album with dad’s letters. The pride that’s swelling up in her chest when you behave just like your father. “He loved you long before you were born, just like I did.”

There’s no use denying your feelings for Jeno when the dooming reality is that you’re not allowed to have him, anyways. You don’t tell anyone about your feelings, especially not the queen. But there are nights where you sob yourself to sleep, listening to a particular sad voicemail where Jeno whispers into his phone how badly he wishes you were here. You’re aware your mother knows, because to her, you’re an open book. Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything either. When you mourn your childhood crush, she puts your favorite cookies on the nightstand, leaves a kiss on the crown of your head and closes the door to your room.

Being alone is the only gift she can give you right now. In the whirlwind that is an official introduction to the public, getting some peace and quiet was like heaven.

Your coronation is on the day of your nineteenth birthday.

For the first time, you’re really scared about opening your father’s letter. It’s the last one you’re ever going to receive, and the dread sits heavy in the pit of your stomach. It’s such an umcomfortable feeling. Usually, those letters were a chance to look into your father’s heart. The words that convey his love wrap around you like an embrace, and there are many letters you know word for word. Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear. Your sixteenth letter. You didn’t understand then, but you understand now. The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all.

You open the letter.

Tears swim in your eyes before you can even realize what is written. You feel so overwhelmed by everything; the need to make your father proud, the love growing steadily in your chest for a man you can’t have. The fear of abandoning your mother. The heavy weight of a crown you never actually wanted. It smothers you, and you need several attempts to catch your breath.

A warm hand wipes your tears away. You didn’t even notice your mother sliding into the seat beside you, but you’re glad she did. She lets you rest your head on her shoulder, and familiar fingers that you’ve known all your life loosen up any knots in your hair. With her help, you’re finally able to read your father’s last words for you.

My dearest (y/n),

What a woman you must have become. If there’s any chance you’ve gotten your mother’s stubbornness, I can rest assured that you know how to get everything you want in your life and what you want. After all, that’s how she charmed me.

Today is the day you turn into an adult. By now, I’m sure you’ve been confronted with the throne you’re about to inherit. When I was your age, there was nothing more exciting than that. Other than you, I was raised to be king, taught what was needed to be known and fed with the love to our people. There is no physical impact you can do as royalty in the 21st century, but we represent the tradition of our country. The voice of those who cannot talk for themselves. We have no power in parliament, but we have the power to get loud enough for it to hear us. What others cannot, we must do for them. To help those who cannot help themselves, we must do everything.

But that is only if you want your crown.

(y/n), the crown was not a family heirloom I intended to give you if you didn’t want it. I love your mother, and I love you. I will continue to do that always, whether you decide to claim your birth right or reject it. I love you even if you abandon the family’s traditions to become the person you’ve always dreamt of, and I will still do that when you ascend the throne and make it yours. We are not our ancestors. The future doesn’t lie in our hands. But we can shape it, just like any other person. We can take each other by the hand and change the world together. My father taught me that long before he taught me how to love the crown.

What he didn’t teach me is the love to another person. It’s the only tradition everyone is too proud to change, or get rid of. Arranged marriages are a given, even though our monarchy has changed to accomadate to modern times. But nothing in this world could have stopped me from giving your mother my heart. After all, she blessed me with the most perfect child and love I ever received. To love is to be blessed. I want you to choose whoever you love. Fight for what you believe in, for I couldn’t do it. It is the only thing I regret in my life. I wanted to give your mother the world, and all I’ve given her is suffering. I hope you can give her that for me.

My mother is very proud. It’s what I got from her. It’s not something I want for you. Pride is nothing but silly. Love without being afraid, (y/n). If the person you give your heart to ends up to be royal or not, does not matter. If you choose to not marry at all is up to you.

All I wish for you is to be happy.

I wish for you to be healthy and satisfied. I wish that you accomplish anything you set your mind to and that you can be proud of your hard work. I wish for you to be supported unconditionally and I wish for you to always have the warmth of your mother in your life, for I can’t be there to do it. I love you, my dearest daughter. You are the greatest gift God has given me.

Happy birthday, little (y/n). May you be in good spirits always. Thank you for making your father beyond happy, even though it was only for a short period of time.

With love,

Dad

You can’t stop sobbing. You set the letter down so your tears don’t ruin it, and your hands move to cover your wet face. The crying doesn’t stop, no matter how much your mother kisses you all over and hugs you close. “I wish I could’ve met him,” you bawl.

Your mother fixes your hair and smiles at you, both happy and sad. “I wish that, too.” Another kiss to your forehead. You hiccup. “He would’ve been the best father.”

The words are imprinted into your mind, haunting you while you get ready. Your grandmother is going to introduce you to the public as the princess for the first time, but thankfully, you don’t have to be queen yet. This press conference is only for you to officially claim the throne. Ascending it wouldn’t happen before you finish university and spent the many years learning how to be a queen with your grandmother. You recite the letter in your head while your face is painted by make-up, and you mouth the words while the last finishing touches are done to your dress. The crown set on your head is light, but it feels like the heaviest thing you ever had to carry in your life.

Someone knocks at the door. Your mother sticks her head through, big smile on your face. You give her one back, even though your heart aches.

You wish Yeeun and Jeno were here.

“You’ve got company,” your mom declares and disappears again. The person stepping inside is not your grandmother, as you expected, but Lee Jeno.

His eyes grow wide when he sees you. And the way he looks at you! As if you were the only star in his universe. Your chest swells with love when you see the awe in his eyes, and you don’t even think about reaching out for him. It happens on instinct. Two big steps, and Jeno carefully wraps his arms around your figure. The people who helped you dress up quietly leave the room.

“You look so, so beautiful,” Jeno whispers into your ear. “So gorgeous. I thought I was looking at an angel.”

“Kiss-up,” you mumble, yet you still turn your head to grin at him. Unbeknownst to you, the sight almost makes Jeno’s heart stop. The things you do to him... “How’d you know I was here?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?” He nudges the tiara on your head. You giggle. “And even if it weren’t apparent, I still would have found a way to meet you. Because I’ve been dying to tell you something.”

That he was disappointed with you? That it’s all your fault the friendship is going downhill right now? You bite the inside of your cheek. Well, it’s not like you don’t deserve to be told off. So you brace yourself for the reprimanding.

“I love you,” is all you’re getting.

It’s your turn to gape at him. Did you imagine him saying that? Is your brain starting to mess with your perception because you’ve been obsessing over your father’s letter? But no, you’re not dreaming - Jeno is looking you in the eyes, soul laid bare. Waiting for you to reject him and send him off forever.

Your hands cup his face. “You do?”

“Of course I do.” Jeno inches closer. He smells like his perfume and a little bit of Yeeun’s deodorant. You know he always ends up using it accidentally, and it makes his sister laugh without end. You know everything about the man in front of you. Your heart spent years gathering information on the only person who’s ever lived there. “When you first gave me the money for that stupid snack in elementary school, I adored you. I didn’t know shit about love then. But I know that I missed you terribly when you didn’t go to school and I know that I loved having you fall asleep on mine and Yeeun’s lap after hours of studying. I loved twirling you around at prom. I love being the one to wake you up in the morning because you get all doe-eyed and clingy when you‘re barely awake. I love listening to things you’re excited about because you end up rambling and your voice is the nicest thing to listen to. (y/n), I may not have known back then what I was dealing with. But I got it bad, and I still do. If you asked me right now, I’d go on my knees just for a slither of affection. I love you. I love you so much, and yet my heart will make more space tomorrow to love you even more. I don’t think I’ll ever stop and at this point, I don’t want to.”

“Jeno,” you whisper. You want to cry again. “Jeno, I’m going to be queen someday.”

“You already are,” he tells you. His voice is soft, just like how he’s holding you close to him. When you lay your hands on his chest, you can hear his heart racing, pounding heavily against his ribs. As if it’s trying to jump into your hands. “You’re my queen. After all, you rule over my heart and my mind. There’s not a second I don’t think about you. Is that so bad?”

“No.” Jeno lets you tug him closer, accepts the kiss you deliver to his lips and the countless ones after that. Every single one is an unspoken confirmation. I’m yours. “Jeno, I love you, but I can’t... I can’t marry someone...” Who’s not blue-blooded, you want to say. You don’t finish your sentence. He doesn’t let you.

“Choose me,” he begs you, heart on his tongue, delivered to you on a silver platter. It’s all he can offer you as Lee Jeno, your childhood prince, the one your heart and soul craves. “Please, choose me.”

❀ ❀ ❀

Time is a flimsy thing.

It flies by when you’re not paying attention, not even for the coronation of a new queen. It doesn’t halt for the freshly crowned, neither does it for anyone else. Compared to claiming your birth right, finishing university was way easier.

But the easiest thing was getting rid of this stupid tradition. It does not survive a day of your regency, despite many in your family bashing you for it. They were silenced the second your grandmother backs you up on it, and you’re eternally grateful for that.

She’s not going to do the same mistake again. Never again is she going to rip apart two lovers who aren’t meant to be seperated.

Lee Jeno is nothing but a regular boy, but it doesn’t stop him from falling to his knees the second the rule is disabled, never to be abided by again. There are crowns adorning your head that are more expensive than the ring he holds in his hands for you, but you’d toss them all away to keep him forever. There is nothing more precious to you in this world than your childhood prince.

You marry out of love, not out of duty. For the rest of your life, you’re going to wake up to Jeno and his sweet smile, crescent eyes and all. You’ll spend eternity reminding your soon-to-be husband how much you adore him, and someday, you’ll watch your children do that, too. You’re absolutely sure your father would be proud of you.

(And to make one thing clear - Yeeun makes a killer maid of honor. Both Jeno and you can vouch for that.)

You may not have ended up with a royal partner, but you sure as hell found your own Prince Charming.

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xvi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xvi: that colossal wreck

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~6k idk man i barely go here 

Rating: M/Mature; lots of blood and stuff but nothing steamy.

Warnings: blood and guts, mentions of self-harm, mentions of sexual assault, Kian is a creepy fucker and he needs to die so he gets his own warning, dog on man violence. Uhhhhh idk how shotguns work so I did my best, don't @ me. Elliot does go full feral in this and I'm not sorry.

Notes: I so hope y'all enjoy this chapter. I'm not gonna say too much about it here, but please know that every comment, like, kudos, whatever—even the tiniest bit of knowledge that y'all enjoyed it just makes me so incredibly happy. It was a bit of slog at some parts but I'm so excited to get it out for you. <3 Special shout-out to @starcrier who provides incredible input and support while I try and glean even a MODICUM of her talent; ilysm!!!

As well, @baeogorath has been such an absolute DARLING, allows me to send them memes at like 3am and scream at them about all of my feelings. And @lilwritingraven, who has been SO supportive and helpful and just all around the biggest sweetheart a gal could ask for, thank you BOTH sm. <3!

The first thing that she recognized was the desperate need to breathe. 

The second was that she was wet, exceptionally wet, her lungs filling with water over and over again, like dying a thousand times without the actual reprieve of death. Two strong hands gripped the front of her shirt, pinning her under the dark surface. Elliot thought, I’ve been here before.

Those hands gripping her hauled her out of the dark, wheezing and coughing up water, and tossed her onto the riverbank like a dead fish. She might as well have been, for what it was worth; when she managed to open her eyes, the world blurred and melted around her the way water swept over a window in a carwash.

“So glad you are awake,” Kian said from in front of her. He stood in the water just past his knees, and as he made his way out and over to her, she blinked rapidly to try and clear her vision. Elliot sucked in the biggest lungful of air she could, and all of the water that had been sitting in her mouth and throat caught and ripped, forcing her to lean and choke it up. “You were sleeping for quite a while, you know, Elliot. Had to make sure you slept all of it off.”

Her name coming out of his mouth felt like a violation—sticky, wet, ruined, a thing she had not allowed him to use, and yet he did anyway. She hadn’t given him permission to know her, and it felt different still than when Ase had used her name; like a weapon being wielded against her.

They gave me so much, she thought desperately a while her body thrummed with pain, searing hot through every nerve-ending as if they’d all been rubbed raw and exposed. They gave me so much of that shit, so much more than Ase ever did. How long was I sleeping it off? Fuck fuck fuck.

Kian’s fingers gripped her throat, slotted just under her jaw, and he pulled ; hauled her straight up with brute strength until her bare feet— when had they taken her shoes?—scrambled against the slippery river bank.

“Her dress fits you well,” he continued admiringly as he held her there. His words dragged her attention back to herself; she wasn’t in her own clothes, in fact, but in a long, dark cotton dress, high-necked and slim fitting. It looked like the same dress that she had first seen Ase in. “In fact, if your hair was just a little darker, and your eyes not so fucking blue, I would think you two could be sisters.”

Dead, the wind whispered. Humidity crept under the fabric, stifling and tenacious. Dead woman in a dead woman’s clothes.

“W-Where—?” Elliot managed out hoarsely. Her own heartbeat, so loud that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear Kian, thrummed violently in her ears as panic started to really settle into her skeleton. “Where—John, and Boomer—what the f-fuck did you—”

“Now that you’re awake,” Kian continued conversationally, as though she had not spoken at all, “we can start.”

His grip loosened and then released. She barely managed to keep herself upright. The world lurched dangerously beneath her feet, and for a second, she thought she was going to have to throw up; the sensation subsided, and she swept her gaze in a single circle around her.

No John; no Boomer. Only darkly-clothed, silent figures, watching. Each face—some as old as a grandparent, some as young as what she thought could only be ten, and many of them somewhere in between—regarded her with the same kind of glassy-eyed curiosity that came with a circus attraction.

“What the fuck,” Elliot said, her voice hoarse and cracking in distress. “What the fuck did you—where are they—?”

“I’m only going to give you one tip,” Kian said. “Stop trying so hard to talk. You’ll burn through all of your adrenaline, mor.”

He had passed her up the riverbank. The intent of it all was very clear: he anticipated that she would follow, because he had something that she wanted and she was in no state to claw her way through all of them even if she wanted to. The knowledge of this—the understanding that Kian knew exactly what hand he had, and was going to play it—filled her with another sickening wash of dread.

The redhead stopped at the top of the bank and looked at her over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Shivering, Elliot wadded the hem of the dark dress up in one hand and struggled to the bank. Kian let her. He let her catch herself, dirtying her hands and the dress, practically clawing her way up as her heart rate fluctuated earnestly and without pattern in her chest, and when she made it to where he stood she could see the treeline ahead of them. Dark, drenched in nightfall, the pines murmuring every time the night’s chilly breeze rustled the branches.

“They’ll—” Talking caused pain to splinter through her jaw, radiating in spiderwebs up behind her eyes. “His b-brothers will—”

Kian waved a hand. His voice was light when he said, “They are busy.”

Fuck. Despair welled in her chest. Elliot swallowed thickly and said, “What are... What are we...”

He stared at her. She had the distinct sensation of being an ant, trapped under the searing beam of his magnifying glass, raising burns all across her skin. Then, he reached down to the ground, and from a bag, he procured a handful of papers; when he pulled them out, the familiar scent of her home wafted from them.

“You have lovely handwriting.” He scanned the page. “I hope you’ll forgive my snooping through your home. I couldn’t resist. Let’s see here: sounds like our little bunny was struggling with insomnia, feeling alone. Angry with your therapist for saying you were displaying—” Kian lifted a finger to indicate the importance of the word. “— significant signs of post-traumatic stress disorder, including—”

“S—” I want to die I want to die. The pages of her ripped journal sat in his hands, even greater a violation than the sound of his name. “Stop—”

“—intrusive memories, loss of time, irritability and aggressive behavior, self-harm. Is that where those scars are from? Hm, and… 'Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like if I didn’t let this happen to me'. Is that guilt ?” Kian clicked his tongue. “Do you feel guilty, Elliot? For what that man did to you, those years ago?” And then he paused, glanced back at the paper, and said, “Forgive me. It was one year ago. Not that far gone, I suppose.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out; something gripped her lungs, restricted their movement, until she thought she was going to pass out.

He had been in her home. He had touched her things. He’d stood among the things that were meant to be hers, rifled through them, found her journal and ripped the pages out. She’d taken up journaling about what had happened—not to torture herself with the reality of her situation, but in an effort to understand who she had become, to feel less like a stranger in her own body.

And now he held it in his hands, and there it was: everything that she was, just that small, just that insignificant. The entirety of what she was clutched in the hands of a psychopath.

“I hope she’s fucking suffering.” Elliot ground the words out, and Kian quirked a brow at her inquisitively. She plunged onward, reckless and vicious from her pain, “I hope Ase’s fucking rotting in hell, suffering, and I’m glad they blew her fucking brains in.”

Something dark flickered across Kian’s expression. It may have been a trick of the light; the clouds passed over the moon, blinking the world into darkness for a few minutes before the nighttime wind pushed them forward again. Elliot couldn’t tell if it was real, what she’d seen on his face, but she hoped it was.

But he didn’t say anything about her venom. Instead, he said, “Ase and I used to play a game together.” His tone was light, casual; he dropped the papers back into the bag dismissively, as if they were nothing. “I would give her a three-minute head start. She would run into the woods, and I would try to catch her. She was the perfect prize.”

A strange kind of affection welled in his voice. It was love, Elliot thought with a sickening kind of realization, in his voice—and it only made her more grateful that John had busted through her spine with a shotgun shell, the knowledge that maybe Kian was suffering even a tiny bit as much as she was.

Kian continued, “Now, because of you, she is not here to play the game; you will have to be my prize, Elliot.”

She was going to be sick. She wished that he would have just killed her, rather than this—this waking nightmare, this actual fucking living hell he was going to put her through. Elliot sucked in an unsteady breath, and when Kian gestured at the treeline, she turned her gaze there. It was easier to look at the sturdy line of pines than at his wretched face.

Hot breath fanned across her ear. Kian’s hand came up to the back of her neck, holding, gripping, the way a father would when he prepped his son for a baseball game. She heard the words like a sick comedy in her head: Come on, champ! You’ve got it! But his mouth was right on her ear and he said, “I hid your man out there for you.”

John.

“He’s—not,” she managed out. “Mine.”

Kian huffed out a laugh against her temple. “Then it should be easy for you to hide from me and not worry about finding him.”

Bluff called. Fucking cultist.

He stepped away from her, heading to the half-moon curve of cultists waiting idly by. Silently, Elliot tried to count them; she wanted to know how many she could kill, and how fast, if she got a gun in her hands, but the splitting headache blurring her vision uneasily made it difficult to keep track.

One of them put a shotgun in Kian’s hand. He checked the ammunition idly.

“Start running, Elliot,” he called without looking at her. “Your time starts now.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“What took you so long?”

John thought he had to be dreaming. He was certain of it, somewhere in his brain, because Elliot’s voice hummed warmly against the skin of his neck and she pressed up against him like a feline eager for his attention, and that wasn’t her. Was it?

“You’ve been sleeping so long,” she murmured into him, all sleep-warmed skin and soft lines. “Aren’t you going to wake up?”

Yes, he thought, because he wanted to open his eyes, because he wanted to see her like this. He’d worked hard for it. He deserved it, didn’t he? Yes, I’m going to wake up.

“John.” Elliot purred his name, sweet and decadent. She was so warm. “Wake up.”

“Okay,” John said, because he knew that he was ready. But the world stayed dark. He tried again: “Okay, I will.”

Her lips brushed against his pulse. He felt her fingers traced the Sloth scar on his sternum, meticulous, memorizing, slender and warm and affectionate.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you,” he managed out, “I trust you.”

Like lifting the floodgates, he pushed his eyes open. And it was a push; the effort it took to open his eyes was astronomical, like someone had suddenly stuck him under slow-moving lava that swallowed him up, ate away at the oxygen around him and weighed down his lungs in their attempt to let him breathe.

There was no Elliot. Only the slow, dark pulsing of pine boughs overhead. For just one split second, John felt relief; he was fine. Somewhere, but fine.

And then a piece of the sky lifted and peeled, drifting away. The trees bent and warped around him. He tried to struggle to sit up, fighting the urge to coil up into a tiny ball.

He said, miserably, “What the fuck,” and something at his hip buzzed static. The sound sent jolts of white-hot panic searing through his body.

“Hello?” It was a radio. A thick, dark voice came through. John didn’t pick up. He thought it sounded like Kian.

“Fucker,” he managed out, hauling himself to his feet as the world see-sawed beneath him.

“John Seed.” The voice came again. “I know you can hear me. You should be waking up any minute now.”

John wished he was still asleep. The dream had been better than this. At least in that, Elliot was—

Elliot. The last thing he remembered was her frantic hands trying to undo his seatbelt, and then her warmth getting ripped away from him, and then someone's hands on his shirt and—

“Fuck.” Bad news. Bad. “Fuck fuck fuck. ”

Steadying himself on a boulder, he came around into the clearing, trying to see through the trees. It was no good; the world pulsed and bled around him, smearing like an oil painting, and he realized with a sense of dread pitting in his stomach that they’d drugged him. Hard. The same way they’d drugged Elliot when she’d been crying into the ground like she was going to fly off.

That he knew what was going on did little to abate the irrational panic flashing through him, electrical pulses pounding through his body every chance they got. It made everything too much —the sound of the wind, the murmuring of voices that he thought maybe weren’t there, the feeling of the night on his skin. Yes, he felt it, like a garment of clothing, sitting just on him; he couldn’t tell where he ended and the rest of it began. 

“I let your beast loose,” Kian’s voice crackled, seething with delight. “Gave her a head start, too.”

His fingers itched to grab the radio that had been clipped on his belt. He thought, I shouldn’t let him know I’m awake —

“Hey, fucker,” he snapped, his finger pushing down on the walkie button. His words kept slurring on their way out of his mouth, but he plunged onward anyway. “Come out here, huh? Love to chat face to face.”

Well, he’d never been that good at impulse control, anyway.

“On my way already,” Kian murmured silkily. “See you soon, friend.”

And then it went dead.

John spent what felt like an eternity staring at the face of the walkie talkie before he thought, Hey, that’s my fucking radio. And then: fuck, I can’t fight him right now.

He blinked furiously, trying to refocus his vision as bright colors started to bloom and bleed out from the ground. John kept telling himself that it wasn’t real, that there was no way it was real—and then he understood Elliot’s very real fear that night he’d tried to pull her down the hill. What had she seen then, he wondered? What had she been looking at?

“John?”

He hesitated, because the last time he’d heard Elliot’s voice it had been a dream. John’s base instinct was to stand very still, exceptionally still, which didn’t feel very still at all because he was drugged up through his fucking eyeballs and he wanted to puke.

“John—”

When she broke into the clearing, Elliot’s voice was frantic. Her hair had been let loose around her face and she was wearing a dress and bolting barefoot through the woods. Oh, John thought, a little panicked, oh, I’m dreaming again.

“Fuck,” Elliot said, her voice breaking. Her hands fluttered aimlessly, like she couldn’t figure out a place for them to land. “You don’t have Boomer?”

Maybe not dreaming, after all.

“Sleeping,” John replied, intelligently. “I was—”

Elliot stared at him as she drew closer, her eyes razor-sharp and clear and quick. The sliced right down to the core of him, but what was new, anyway? Stupid deputy, his brain chanted, sluggishly. Stupid, pretty, dumb deputy.

“... drug you?”

John blinked owlishly at her. He wasn’t in very much pain, which was good, but it probably was all going to hit him when the drug wore off and it was harder and harder to keep his attention focused; it was getting to the point where it was like being very drunk , where keeping his eyes open was becoming more and more of a chore.

Elliot snapped her fingers in front of his face. “John, focus.”

“Whose dress?” he managed out, gesturing at her.

Her eyes flickered uneasily. “Dunno.” She brought her fingers to her lips and whistled, high and fast, and John groaned; the sound rattled around in his head, echoing over and over again, splintering behind his eyes.

“Why?” he hissed. “Why are you—”

“Shut up, you fucking baby.” 

Yeah, definitely not a dream.

They stood there in quiet for a moment, waiting; in the distance, John could hear a faint barking.

“He’s out there,” Elliot said, relieved. “They probably have him tied up, if they were able to get their hands on him. John—”

The blonde stopped suddenly, and he turned his gaze back to her inquisitively. She looked very much like she wanted to say something; her lashes flickered uneasily and she swallowed thickly.

“You have to get him, John,” she said finally, which didn’t sound like the thing she wanted to say.

“I’ve got a radio,” he supplied helpfully; on instinct, he reached for her, and she didn’t flinch back when his hand found the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Warm, he thought pleasantly, hazily, the breath spilling out of his lungs like a waterfall. “It’s the one from the ranch. We can—radio Joseph and the others.”

“John, I need you to listen to me,” Elliot began, reaching up to put her hand over his. Her skin was warm, but she shivered—John realized very suddenly that she was soaking wet. “I need you to get Boomer. He’s over there somewhere, close enough to hear a whistle. You can whistle, right? Or just—say his name, he’ll respond to that too.”

“‘M drugged,” he replied. “No good. Besides, he doesn’t like me.” The last half came out petulant. He thought very little of Kian’s voice crackling through the radio, or that he’d said he’d be there soon, or that someone had drugged him and left him in the middle of the forest. All he could think about was the problem being presented to him: Elliot was asking him for something, and he couldn’t give it to her.

“You have to,” she reiterated firmly. “You told me you’d do anything I asked.”

“I did,” John insisted. “Don’t you remember? I f—”

“Shh!”

Elliot grabbed his hand and yanked, hard, hauling him into some thicker brush. The whole gesture of it had his vision spinning like a slot machine.

“John, you have to go,” she whispered furiously. The sound of heavy, leisurely footsteps thudded somewhere a little ways away. “Please. You said. ”

“We can both go,” he whispered back. And then, because she hadn’t recognized his good fortune earlier: “I have a radio.”

“I can’t,” she replied. Her voice broke a little, slipping past a furious hiss and cracking on an emotion that John didn’t want to know. “I can’t go.”

“Why?”

“I have to—” Elliot paused, her gaze flickering tiredly. “John, I have to take a break, I’ve—I’m so tired.”

He paused. “I’ll wait, too.”

“You need to go.”

“I don’t want to. I’ll stay, too, and we’ll go together—”

“No,” she insisted. “Fucking— God you are so annoying—”

John heard, very faintly, the low and threatening click-click of someone pumping a shotgun. He paused, and Elliot did too, and then she pulled him forward by his shirt and kissed him hard. She tasted a little like river water, but mostly like her, and the warmth of her mouth against his made heat bloom all over him like he was green and Spring, again.

“John,” she whispered against his mouth, nearly inaudible, “please. Get Boomer, radio your brothers. We’ll catch up on the other side. I—”

Another couple of footsteps echoed in the stillness of the night. All of the birds and wildlife had fled; they knew there was a big, bad predator out in the evening, and John felt that knowledge twisting something violent and wretched inside of him.

“Do not fucking die,” he hissed at her. “You’ve stayed stubbornly alive for this long. Do not.”

She nodded faintly. “Yes, boss.”

He went to move, but she stopped him, lifting a finger to her mouth; each beat of his heart rumbled violently in his ears, and he thought he might pass out if he didn’t get moving fucking soon; each second spent crouching still and silent in the brush was swaying him viciously back and forth, trying to get him to face plant into the ground.

Elliot, back against the tree, let go of his shirt. She mouthed, Go, and then darted out, quick and fast and taking with her all of the vibrant sound and warmth in the world.

John's legs lifted him to a standing position. It felt like operating heavy machinery; every movement ground through his skeleton laboriously. But he was going; gripping the radio, trying his hardest to sprint, when he heard the sound of a shotgun shell pelting the earth in one sharp, gritty blow.

And then a familiar voice: “Where are you, little rabbit?”

Please.

Everything in him was telling him to turn around. Screaming at him—but he knew that was exactly what Kian wanted, too. To have them both there, in the same place, to make one of them watch the other die.

So, he didn’t.

He kept going, and when he got far enough away to be convinced that Kian was preoccupied with Elliot, he stopped and looked around. The night was eerily still and pulsed dimly around him. He glanced down at his feet; the grass reached up and around his shoes, coiling around him, trying to hold him down.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hurriedly stepping forward. “Find dog. Radio Joseph. Boomer?”

He kept his voice low as he crept through the woods, fiddling clumsily with the radio as he moved. When he found a channel whose numbers looked vaguely familiar—and familiar was a stretch, considering that accessing just about anything in his brain was like feeling someone’s face in the dark and guessing who it was—he pressed down on the talk button.

“Joseph? Jacob? Somebody?” He let off the talk button. “Boomer?”

No barking. Was Elliot drugged too? Had they been hallucinating the dog barking? 

John had just begun to give up on the idea of doing anything other than wander aimlessly in the dark woods when he made it to the edge of the treeline and saw the dog. Unfortunately, the beast was tied up to a wooden stake, growling low and threatening the two men as they walked idly around him and to the van, busying themselves; soft music played from the car. They seemed to be waiting patiently for Kian to finish whatever it was he was doing. Killing Elliot?

Fuck, he thought hastily. Gotta hurry.

He watched as one of the men set his gun down on the bed of the open van, stretching and chatting conversationally with his companion. When he wandered back over to Boomer and said, “Here, doggy,” the Heeler lunged viciously and set off barking, teeth snapping. He sighed.

“Stupid dog.”

They turned back toward the road, and John made his way closer to Boomer. If he could get that lead unclipped—if he could do it without them noticing…

“Fucking shithole,” one of the men said, backs turned to him as they lit a cigarette that got passed between them. “Can’t wait to purge this place and get out.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, do you know…”

As their conversation drifted, so did John’s attention. He slipped out from the cover of the underbrush; instantly, Boomer’s eyes were on him. His hackles went up, and John lifted his hands, keeping them open.

In hindsight, he’d probably feel stupid thinking about this moment. The dog wasn’t holding him hostage. But it felt a little like he was, anyway.

“Hey,” he whispered, creeping closer. “Gonna let you off, beastie.”

Boomer eyed him, eyes flattened back against his head.

“You wanna get ‘em?” he continued, glancing over at the men as he reached for Boomer’s makeshift collar, clipped onto the lead. He didn’t know what kinds of gestures or phrases Elliot used to get the dog to do what she wanted. He only knew that Boomer did , sometimes without her saying, and so he said again, more urgently, “You wanna get ‘em, beast?”

The urgency of his tone seemed to spark something in Boomer. His ears pricked forward. John’s fingers found the lead clipped around his collar, pulled on the little metal clasp, and let it drop to the ground.

Boomer watched him, expectantly.

“Well, go on,” he whispered, gesturing. That seemed to be all that was needed; the cattle dog darted forward, teeth sinking into one man’s leg and yanking hard enough to unbalance him and pull him to the ground; the dog's head thrashed violently, ripping out of him guttural snarls.

John blinked, and thought, holy shit, is this what he’s been like this whole time?

There wasn’t a lot of time to spend thinking about it, because the other man was whirling angrily, shouting something, and then his eyes landed on John.

They both looked at the gun sitting on the tailgate of the van at the same time.

“Fuck,” John hissed, lunging forward and grabbing wildly; he wasn’t entirely sure that he even stayed upright, the strange back-and-forth pull in his head having only abated a little, but he reached for the gun and snatched his hand back, fumbling with the safety.

The whole thing felt like an eternity —comedically so. While the sounds of Boomer mauling the unarmed cultist echoed in his ears, John’s fingers clumsily switched the safety off and he fired recklessly; the bullet barely grazed the cultist’s calf, and as the man reached for him, John pulled the trigger again. Once, twice, three times, the bullets planted themselves in the man’s chest, jerking him back with each impact.

A heavy thud echoed in the night as the man slumped to the ground. Boomer had handily dispatched of the other one; his mouth was red and wet, and when John struggled to his feet, he saw that the man’s throat had been ripped open.

“Nice,” he breathed. Boomer regarded him warily, unimpressed with the compliment. He quickly shuffled the safety back on and tucked the gun into the back of his jeans, pushing the tailgate of the van up. When the dog whined, low and uncertain, he glanced back at him and sighed.

He pulled the tailgate back down. “Load up. We’re gonna get her back.”

Boomer leapt up into the back of the van, nails sliding on the hard plastic. It took John about five minutes of rifling through the pockets of the two men to find the car keys. While he wasn’t entirely confident in his ability to drive, he had just planted a couple of bullets in a man, so he supposed he'd be fine.

As he climbed into the driver’s side, he shut the door and settled in and carefully, meticulously slid the key into the ignition. The van purred to life as though John’s last week hadn’t been an entire fucking series of absolute fuckhead jokes, and he let out a breath.

The glint of something blue and reflective in the cupholder between the two front seats caught his eye. He glanced down, blinking.

“Hey,” he said, reaching down. “My sunglasses.” Tucking them into his shirt, he checked the rearview mirror and gently, gently pushed the car into drive.

"Alright, beastie," John muttered. "Let's get this ended, huh?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The concussive blast of bullet meeting wood rang in her ears; chips of bark and the guts of the tree showered her, the shot echoing just above her head, and she thought, fuck, I just want to be dead already. She was so tired; moving was a luxury that was not afforded to her anymore, each gesture as she struggled to her feet tipped and fettered by the bruises and wounds that littered her body.

Finding John had taken about fifteen minutes, fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds of which had been spent agonizing about where to look first. She didn’t recognize where they were, or know her way around, and she was barefoot and soaking wet and shivering and she just kept thinking about how badly she wanted to lay down.

We’ll go together. Fuck, John was so stupid. She might have actually had a moment to breathe if he’d just listened to her and did as she said. But that wasn’t ever how these things went, was it?

A calloused hand closed around her wrist and yanked her to her feet. For a second, in the blurring, thrumming night, between the whispering voices in the wind and the lurching of the great beast hunting her down, Elliot saw the dark fabric of a button-up shirt and thought, it’s John, it’s John; he came back me and now we’re going to get out.

“I win,” Kian purred.

His voice bled through her skull, stretching and warping as the agony crashed over her in a scalding wave. Kian’s fingers wound iron-like around her wrist, holding her there, and his other hand came up to grip her chin; playfully, he shook her head back and forth, like he was trying to jostle her out of deep sleep.

“Don’t look so sad. I’m not going to kill you, Elliot.” He regarded her with something like amusement, eyes glittering dark and obsidian in what little moonlight had managed to seep through the tree cover. “Do you know what mor means? It means mother. We’re going to keep you for It, and when it’s time, we’ll slice you open. You will make It so happy.”

She gripped his wrist as hard as she could and tried to push his hand from her face. Kian had discarded the shotgun in favor of having both hands to grab her, and as he gripped her face—the wide, calloused crux of his hand covering her mouth while his fingers reached the dip of her jaw—she thought, Something has to be done.

Elliot had promised Joey. Even if I have to fucking die for it. She had promised, and that meant it had to be done.

Muddling through the panic, Elliot squirmed under his hand, opened her mouth, and bit down as hard as she could. The disgusting taste of hot copper flooded her mouth instantly; the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger wasn’t meant to take teeth ripping and tearing, and she was ripping and tearing; even with the limited mobility she had, she wrenched her head anyway she could, intent on taking some piece of Kian with her.

A wretched kind of sound came out of him. He tried to yank his hand back off of her face, and she bit down harder, anywhere her teeth could catch and grip. If she could hit bone, she thought; if she could sink her teeth right into the marrow of him, maybe then she would have felt like she got some repayment for what he’d done.

Kian yanked his hand free, gripping his wrist as crimson streamed down his palm and arm. His eyes were wild and dark; for a split second they stood there, staring at each other, two beasts nursing wounds and waiting for the other to make a move.

Elliot grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him forward, slamming her face into his. It would have been nearly impossible to bodily force Kian’s to move had he not been clutching his wounded hand, and for that she was grateful—grateful, she would tell herself, around the ricocheting stars of pain blurring behind her eyes, using the hardest part of her skull to bash into Kian’s nose and mouth.

And then she ran.

The gun was around, somewhere, dusted in pine needles and nightfall; like a needle in a haystack. She heard someone spitting behind her, and she thought, I hope I broke your fucking nose, you piece of shit, just before she ducked into a thick bustle of brush and behind a rock.

Around her, the world blurred and fuzzed black. She tried to furiously blink it away, but every second spent standing still meant that her body was suddenly remembering how tired and overworked it was, how much she had done, how much she had suffered. We could stop now, the tired little girl inside of her said. We should. We should stop now.

But Kian had said it himself; he wasn’t planning on killing her. She wouldn’t get rest even if she gave up. He might have changed his mind after she’d bit through his hand and headbutted him, but—

That wasn’t a chance she could take. Not for herself, and not for Joey, and not for the girl she had been that night in her apartment, either.

Heavy footfalls echoed just a few feet away from her. Her mouth was still flooded with the taste of Kian’s blood. As she made her way to the other side of the boulder she’d taken refuge behind and peeked out, she thought, I’d do it again, given the chance. I’d rip him open with my teeth if I got the opportunity. Give me the fucking chance.

Moonlight spilled through the trees and into the clearing they had just been in as the wind pushed clouds out of the way. The glint of dark metal, threatening, caught her eye; the shotgun was there, with hopefully at least one shell in it—one that she could put straight through Kian’s ugly fucking face.

And he was nowhere to be seen, either. Even as she leaned further out, trying to see around the boulder, she couldn’t see him crashing through the underbrush; she couldn’t hear him, either. Just the sound of the wind, pine needles skittering across the ground, a twig snap and—

A second too late, Elliot’s pain-addled brain realized the breaking branch was just behind her. Fingers fisted into the hair at the back of her skull and dragged, hauling her out of the underbrush and back into the clearing, tossing her like a ragdoll. All of the already-battered ribs shrieked on impact, and she wheezed out a breath that had blood and spit flickering across the forest floor.

Tired. She was so tired. So tired, and the world blurred and tried to fizz and pop out of existence around her, a sticky-wet hand forced her eyes forward.

Blood streamed down Kian’s face from their earlier collision. When he grinned at her, his teeth were stained pink, red seeping in the gaps.

“Hello, little rabbit,” he ground out, pushing away her scrambling hands and pinning the left down. “You put up quite a fight.”

Elliot tried to search in her spatial memory—what was left standing of it, anyway—for where she had seen the gun. But it was getting harder to breathe, and to think, and Kian’s fingers dug into her jaw and cheeks. An awful, animalistic noise came out of her at the pressure—it was a whimper, but unlike anything she’d ever heard out of herself, unlike anything she’d known she was capable of making.

“I wonder—”

His voice came out in a low murmur, spit-slicked and venomous, his nose grazing the slope of her cheekbone.

“—will you feel guilty about this, too? When I drag you back kicking and screaming, and make you watch as I cut each of those fucking hillbillies open? I know some of them got out. I'll find them, too.”

It had to be close, she reasoned through the haze in her brain; the gun had to be nearby. She’d just been looking at it. Her body was trying to give up; Kian’s fingers pinning her wrist down and bruising her neck, his words hissed out against her skin, were all tripping that strange little trigger in her brain that finally wanted to give up fighting and do something else.

Quit.

“ Mor,” Kian purred against her skin. “Mother, you’ll be so good for It, I know you will.”

Joey, clutching her tight. “I never doubted you’d be able to get me out.”

“It likes it best like this, you know.”

John, mouth so close to her ear. “I said, it’s a good thing you’re more devil than woman.”

Each second that ticked by, filled with Kian’s voice, the fingers of her one free hand inched. S he felt them close around cool metal.

“It likes the ones that fight back.”

She gripped the gun hard, and swung.

It collided with a heavy-handed thump against the side of Kian’s face, and he jerked back. He still straddled her, but with room between them now, Elliot could lurch forward, bowling as much of her weight into his midsection as she could to push him off of her and send him reeling back into the hard surface of the boulder.

Her fingers worked fast as she struggled to her feet. Pure adrenaline, pure muscle memory, as she flicked the safety off, cocked the shotgun, and pulled the trigger.

It clicked.

Empty.

Kian barked out a laugh wet with blood. There was a wound on his temple that was bleeding, now, and as he struggled to sit up more she could see him wince—the collision with the boulder hadn’t done him any good. Elliot pulled the trigger again, and again, and each time it clicked she found herself getting angrier and angrier. Filling with poison, up to her brim, like someone had just uncorked it.

“It’s empty, mother,” Kian rumbled at her. “You think I brought any more ammo than those two shells?” He spat blood out of his mouth and cocked his head, regarding her with dark eyes. “I told you, I’m not going to kill you.”

I’m not, like he still thought he had won. Pure, vibrating fury radiated through her body. This was supposed to be her victory; this was supposed to be her revenge for Joey. For her life. For her.

It would be. It’s mine, she thought viciously, this fucking moment is mine.

“Yeah, well,” Elliot spit out, digging her fingers into the metal, “can't say the same.”

The weight of the gun was not unlike a bat; so when she took the barrel of the gun and swung it like one, it felt familiar. Just like when she was ten, playing rec-league softball, only this time the bat was an empty pump-action shotgun and the ball was Kian’s head.

When the dull impact send vibrations rattling up her arm, and Kian keeled to the side, wheezing and biting out something venomous in Swedish, Elliot gripped the shotgun harder and swung again.

And again.

And again.

Each collision brought it closer to the satisfying, wet crunch of blood and bone on the redhead’s face. Elliot couldn’t have counted how many times she swung if someone asked her—or pinpointed the exact moment that Kian stopped moving, stopped breathing.

She could only think about the way he’d planted his words right against her skin, gripped her, I win.

Do you know what I get to do with things that belong to me?

“Nothing,” she ground out, when her arms burned and ached and her vision fuzzed with exhaustion. “You don't get to do anything.”

“Deputy?”

Blood spray littered her face. She was sure that her teeth were stained red, too. Each breath heaved exhaustively through her body, rattling, and when she turned her head to the source of the voice, she saw John and Jacob standing at the edge of the clearing; lights blurred through the trees, the sound of trucks and voices echoing in the still night air.

Boomer darted out from behind them, immediately pressed to her legs. She held the shotgun loosely in her hand.

“El,” John said, softer than Jacob had, “It’s me.”

Her gaze flickered back to the brutalized corpse in front of her. She thought, faintly, that there was no way her life was going to be normal after this again, but that was okay. She’d promised Joey.

If I have to die for it, I will.

She’d done it. And maybe she had died for it.

Jacob had taken a few steps toward her as the thought echoed in her head. Slowly, like she was a stray dog snarling over a cow bone. When John moved to follow, she saw Jacob put his hand out and stop him.

“Put the gun down,” Jacob said, his voice still and calm. Elliot blinked tiredly.

She wanted to do it. She wanted to let go of it. But that girl that she had been—that girl who had cried under the blanket fort, who had thought, I don’t know how I let him do that to me, the girl who had sat on the floor of her bedroom in Hope County and blinked through furious tears as she struggled to understand herself—no longer wept; that girl was furious, and so Elliot gripped the gun tighter.

As though it made it any less of a weapon, she said, “It’s empty.”

Jacob looked at Kian’s face, bashed-in. Obliterated. “I know.”

Boomer whined at her feet, nosing her empty hand quietly and gazing up at her with big, brown eyes. Something strange washed over her, an emotion that made her lip tremble and her eyes burn. The Heeler nuzzled her hand again, and she sucked in a shaking breath as finally— finally, finally —the tears stung down her cheeks.

She dropped the shotgun. John said her name, and Jacob dropped his arm, and she realized that it was relief she was feeling now.

Only vaguely aware of Jacob kicking the shotgun away from her, the world blurred as Elliot felt John’s hands cradling her face. Each place where his fingers traced the bruises from Kian, that pulse of relief ran stronger through her body until it was overstimulating, overwhelming. When John kissed her, it was almost frantic—she could taste the blood in her own mouth, his fingers tangling into her hair as he kissed her again and again, until her lungs ached with the need to breathe. But each kiss brought her somewhere else. It took her somewhere that she didn't have to think about anything except John in that single moment.

“Hey,” John said, their noses brushing. His movements were sluggish and uncoordinated, his voice still slurring a little. “I have you. Right here with me, El, don’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah,” she managed out. Her voice wobbled, and she sucked in a sharp, stuttering breath. “John—”

His thumbs swept across her cheekbones, smearing more blood than they wiped away tears, and as the sound of voices echoed dimly around them, she lifted her hands and gripped his wrists. Through the coppery tang in the air, she could smell his cologne; her lashes fluttered and John pressed their foreheads together.

“It’s okay.” John murmured the words, tugging her against him, into his chest. “It’s all over now.”

No, she thought as his arms circled her, pulling her closer, Boomer barking at anyone who wandered near.

It’s not even close.

[shellyeah90]

I don't usually post personal or even opinionated things. I primarily use social media for the memes and my preferred form of communication while here is gifs. But, to put things simply (because there aren't words to fully express my feelings), I am pissed.

Our state is in crisis and instead of handling the situation, Texas citizens have been failed in so many ways. No one here was ready for this storm. Hurricanes, we can handle. They happen yearly. But a statewide winter storm? We've never had one here. The cold, the ice, the windy chill... we don't know how to function in it. Other areas who are used to this weather can poke fun, but maybe consider hunkering down in your home because there's too many people to evacuate the city, being stuck while your power goes out and there are 130mph winds outside, watching helplessly while water rises above your roofs and ruins everything you've worked so hard for all of your life, and wondering just how you're going to keep your family safe long enough to catch a boat out. Because we do that shit. And it gets worse every year, but we keep working together to keep each other safe and help each other out. We smile and are friendly with each other, but we don't make fun of people in helpless situations.

Texas citizens aren't equipped for winter storms. We don't have snow tires, snow plows, or salt trucks. Our clothes aren't very warm, they're not snow or wind resistant, we don't typically use gloves, scarves, or whatever other accessories are used in snow. And we wear the same shoes in winter that we wear for any other season. Our homes aren't insulated for cold. Our pipes aren't insulated for ice. Our winters don't generally fall below 60°F and we're not prepared for it to.

So, when climate change (yes, it's real) took it's toll and brought a real winter to our state, it became a crisis... a statewide disaster, even. And the leaders that we rely on, the ones that were voted into office and are paid for by our taxes, not only failed their state, but showed calloused disregard for their citizens.

On 8am Monday morning, my husband and I lost power. And, with our water being sourced from a well, we had no access to water, either. At the time, we still had cell service and were in contact with friends that had lost power at 2am. It was approximately 25°F outside. At the time, it was 68°F inside of our house.

Hearing that the Super Stop on the corner of North Main and Cedar Bayou Lynchburg was open, my husband and a neighbor walked down together. The roads were iced and it was too risky to drive. They arrived to find that the owner was charging cash only and not using his computer (no paper trail) so that he could charge double for everything. $7 for a 24 pack of bottled water. $14 for a 4lb bag of charcoal. It is baffling how someone can take advantage of a terrible situation. It sickens me. But we needed water. And our neighbor needed charcoal. So price gouging continues in a vicious cycle.

We don't have children, but we keep many different exotic animals that need certain climate conditions in order to survive. It took two hours for the inside of our house to drop 18 degrees, down to 50°F, reaching deadly levels for most of our pets.

Our bearded dragon (Merlin), no longer having his heat sources, slipped into brumation. He is 3 years old and has never had to brumate before. Our pixie frog (Prince Charming, also 3yrs), burrowed down and began to hibernate for the first time. It was too dark for us to check on the red-eyed crocodile skinks (Big and Red) or the Vietnamese centipede (Burton), but they had seemed to burrow, as well. We couldn't see the axlotls (Silly and Willy) but we believed they were okay. Our green bottle blue tarantula (Pennywise), curled up and died. We blocked the windows to try and keep the cold from coming in and covered up habitats to try and keep in warmth. The green cheek conure (Jigsaw) and parrotlet (Navi) seemed to be well, just stressed and confused. We gave them extra seeds to keep them warm. The rats (Hannibal, Dorian, and Bilbo) huddled to keep each other warm. We had already blocked off the outdoor aviary containing a pair of finches and a pair of parakeets for the colder weather and they were all nesting to keep warm. The day before, my husband had brought in a half-frozen, near-dead lizard (Draco) and he was alive but not well in his temporary rescue home. The dogs (Kuzco and Lulu) and I all bundled together as we waited (and prayed) for our power to come back on soon.

The power did not come back on. And the temperature continued to drop. Still cuddled together, we could only hope that the inside of our poorly insulated home would at least stay above freezing point. But it did not. After a horrible night of silent, shivering attempts to sleep, we found that our house was at 32°F exactly.

The birds are my husband's babies. They've bonded and he loves them dearly. And as I was tending to my dogs, I had to watch him come out of his office cradling Navi in his hands. He had tears in his eyes when he murmured "Navi didn't make it." And it took everything that I had to hold myself together for him.

I waited until he went back into his office, still holding Navi, to be with Jigsaw before I checked on Merlin. To my horror, my bearded dragon was no longer just brumating. He wasn't just limp and unresponsive. He was frozen stiff. He wasn't moving at all. He was gone.

In a desperate effort to save their lives I called for my husband to go to the car with me. We bundled them in blankets and rushed to the only place where we could find warmth. With the car's heater on full blast we both held our beloved pets and prayed for a miracle. In our rush of panic, we both made attempts at compressions. We petted our babies to get their blood flowing. We did everything that we could think of to save them.

I remember holding my breath when I thought I saw Merlin take his. I watched closely to make sure that I wasn't seeing things. And when I saw his spikes moving and his stomach shakily inhale and then slowly exhale, I shouted excitedly "he's breathing!" My husband, also excited, leaned over to see. And we smiled at each other when the breathing continued. I watched my dragon revive. And I will never be able to describe the extreme sense of relief that I felt when he finally opened his eyes and looked at me.

Our little Navi and my sweet husband were not as lucky. And my heart is still breaking for them.

With a new sense of fear and loss, we brought our creatures into our bedroom and shut all of the doors. We stuffed clothes under the gaps in the doors. We blocked the windows as best as we could. We cuddled and bundled and just hoped that we wouldn't lose anyone else. There in the dark, freezing silence, we also discovered that cell service was shoddy, at best. We had no communication and no connection with the outside world, which seemed to have frozen over in an apocalyptic nightmare, we waited and hoped that power would come back soon. It had been more that 24hours, after all. Surely the electric companies would have figured out how to actually roll the blackouts by then, right? They had promised rolling blackouts. They had said it would be 30-45 minutes. That would have been well enough for everyone. We could have survived that. My babies could have survived that. My home wouldn't have become a freezing death trap if the blackouts were rolling. But they didn't roll. I had friends that never lost power. I had friends that went without it longer than we did. And all we could do was hold our beloved pets and wait.

By some luck, my husband and his brother were able to text each other, even though our cell phones were basically useless, and he invited us to his home. They had a generator. They had running water. They had warmth. Hope was on the horizon. But roads were still icy and chances of making it safely were slim. With our pets so at risk, and some barely alive, we felt we had no other choice. We loaded up the car with Merlin, Prince Charming, Jigsaw, the dogs, and whatever food we could fit. We didn't even pack clothes for ourselves. We just wanted to fit as many of our animals as we could and some food since they said they were low.

My husband fed Silly and Willy, making sure they ate. We read they could survive freezing temperatures and hoped they would be okay until we returned, whenever that would be. I filled up every bowl of food in my rats' cage and every water bottle, guessing it would last 2-3 days and hoping they could keep each other warm. It was still too dark to see my burrowed skinks and centipede. We tried to place everyone, including Draco, in the warmest areas (although with the house below freezing, there was no place that could be considered warm). We gave the outdoor birds as much food and water as we could. Every window was covered and every door was shut. We did everything that we could think of to protect our pets.

Stressed, weary, and down-trodden, we began the drive across Houston. Many roads were closed. GPS was down. Texts and calls weren't guaranteed to make it through. And there were so many people that still sped along the roads as if there weren't ice caked over it. We watched vehicles slide. We watched people, not knowing how to react, slam on their brakes when they lost traction. We kept our distance from other drivers and drove slowly, carefully, to our destination. We just wanted to keep our family safe and alive. And, fortunately, we only hit ice twice and both times we made it safely back to traction. A trip that usually takes about an hour with traffic took us over two with no traffic. But we made it.

Our sister-in-law was waiting for us in their standalone office where she had prepared a heater and space for our creatures. They set it up because it was warmer than anywhere in the house. And they diverted energy from their generator just for our pets. Uncomfortable and in tiny, traveling enclosures, our babies were lined up on their desk. They were far from home and didn't have their UV lights, basking lights, giant habitats, or familiar surroundings. But they were alive. And they were warm.

Relieved that at least some of our babies were well, we focused on getting the dogs settled and unpacking the food. We had brought nearly everything from our fridge and freezer, which we had saved by simply opening the doors and letting the chill of our house keep it cool when the power went out. Now we were packing it in snow to keep it cold. I went inside to comfort my dogs. Kuzco, my 10mo shepsky, is very skittish and I was worried about how he was doing. He and Lulu, my 8wk aussierottie (whom I had only gotten a few days before), had been quarantined in the dining room with the table being used as a wall. Kuzco couldn't see anything but the occasional child coming up to say hello. He was happy for the company but scared of the dark. As I was trying to comfort him, my husband came inside and said "you need to come and hold your dragon again." And the sound of his voice and the look on his face had me nearly breaking my leg to get out of that barricade and to my Merlin.

Between the rush of packing in the dark and the stress of everything we'd been through, I'd forgotten a few important things: Kuzco's calming treats, thermometers, hygrometers, and my contacts (my glasses are several years old and I can't really see well with them). We had been so relieved at having a warm space for our babies and having finally arrived there safely, that we hadn't realized the office was not yet warm enough for them. At least, it wasn't warm enough for Merlin.

He had been licking at the air, so I knew that he was dry. In my concern, I mixed water in with his fresh soil so that he could have some humidity. Again, I had forgotten the necessary tools to measure his heat and humidity, so I was just guessing. And in these mistakes, the damp soil got cold faster than the office could get warm and he began to freeze again.

I found my dragon brumating once again. This time, he was only partially stiff, so I knew that he hadn't left me yet. I held him close to my chest and sat in front of the heater, once again trying to revive him. We also placed the soil in front of the heater to warm it up and dry it out a bit. Eventually, Merlin became alert again. But I was sick at having gone through so much, come so far, reaching what I thought was safety, and almost losing him again.

After making sure that he and his soil were okay, I again had to leave him to tend to my dogs. My husband was busy with Jigsaw and the unpacking. Prince Charming, fortunately, was doing just fine. I made sure both puppies ate, drank, and pottied outside. And, after a long, damn near impossible day, my husband and I were able to sleep. Or rather, we were able to attempt to sleep.

I will never be able to thank my in-laws enough for everything that they did for us. They have 4 children and 2 dogs of their own. And they had their mom and her cat staying in their living room. It was already stressful for them to not have power when they had their own family to care for. But they took ours in, as well. And I will always be beyond grateful for that.

That night, in my nieces' bedroom, I held my dogs and wondered if I would have to endure the loss of anymore of my babies. And as I tried to find sleep, my Kuzco began to hyperventilate. He had just lost his brother, my Xander, a week before. And now he was in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people where he had to be isolated because the cat was not a fan of strange dogs (she literally went out of her way to attack him, even when he was barricaded). And my dumbass had forgotten his calming treats. All I could do was hold him tight and tell him it was okay. It took a while, but I finally got him to sleep. My husband set alarms and got up every two hours to check our other babies in the office and make sure that the generator was full and running properly. I don't think either of us really slept that night.

The next day, we checked with our neighbor and landlord to find that we still did not have power at our house. And my in-laws' house had lost water pressure the night before. Everyone in Houston had. So now, there were masses without power, without water, without cell service, and without the necessary means to survive the freezing temperatures that were now not only outside, but inside most homes.

On top of the obvious stress, my typical anxiety was kicking in. On a good day, I struggle to be social. And these were not good days. I was a guest in someone's home and I couldn't express how thankful I was because I felt so exhausted from all of the stress, grief, and constant fear. I felt terrible for feeling terrible. But I couldn't force myself to smile or be happy when I wasn't even sure who would survive or for how long. With the roads constantly melting and refreezing and more sleet/rain on the way, I wasn't even sure when we could get home or if we would have power when we needed to go home. I had left pets that I loved and the ones that I had brought with me were still not guaranteed to make it.

My in-laws were still so accommodating. But they wouldn't really let us help to clean or cook and that made us feel worse. In my anxiety, I kept thinking that I was in the way or that I was upsetting everyone. I still do. I don't like depending on anyone. It's an awful feeling. But in this case, it was necessary. I had no other choice, because I couldn't bear to lose another of my precious babies. I couldn't bear to see my husband's face or hear his voice crack as he told me we lost another one. Not if I could help it. I would do whatever I could to take care of them.

I took a moment of reprieve to watch Kuzco play in the snow. I hate the cold. But shivering out there, the feeling of needles pricking over my body and the cold burn of the wind as it cut through my 4 layers of pajamas and sweats, was worth it to watch my shepsky in his own winter wonderland. He ran around in their ice and snow covered backyard as if it were a mystical land and every icy slide and snowy mound were a magical discovery. And when he saw the snow flurries began to fall from the sky his furry face lit up with pure joy. I watched my happy not-so-little puppy excitedly jump up and try to catch the snowflakes in his mouth. His blue eyes were so bright and brilliant. And we both came alive in that moment. I wish we could have stayed there. But the snow turned to downpours of sleet and, unfortunately, we had to go back inside.

I had planned to keep my dogs in the office with me that day, but they were kind enough to put the pets on rotation, so my dogs were no longer confined. They were able to stretch their legs in the house and play with my nieces and nephews. They played fetch and they wrestled and they even played with balloons. The girls taught Kuzco how to keep the balloons from hitting the ground. It was fun to watch him jump up and boop the balloons with his nose whenever they called his name. Meanwhile, my pets in the office all seemed to be well. They were alert and lively. I still had no way of knowing their temperature or humidity level. But it looked like they would all pull through. Kuzco still had his moments where he would panic. It was a busy house with lots of people coming in and out (and even the generator scared him), but we gave him some extra love and calmed him down each time.

That night, the power flickered on for about an hour before going out again. Our landlord said that ours, too, had been on for a bit before going right back out. The rest of the week was still showing freezing temps, but maybe the powers that be were finally starting to figure out how to actually handle this crisis. Later, the water pressure increased. And, late that night, as we lied in bed and tried to sleep, the power came on. And it stayed on.

I didn't sleep. With wifi, I was able to pull up the security system to our house and see that we, too, had power. And I watched it through the night. There was movement in my rats' cage. I couldn't see how much food or water they had left, but they were still alive. I checked the temperature and watched it rise as the heater stayed on. Excited, I waited for my husband to wake up so I could tell him. I wanted to go home. I wanted all of us to go home. I had babies to check on and they all needed to get back into their controlled climates with a healthy supply of food and water. We all craved a feeling of normalcy.

My phone began to show notifications again... all of these emails and gaming things that reminded me the world was still out there, spinning like it should be, while my world had stopped and frozen still. For a while I was angry. How could things outside of my winter apocalypse still be happening normally? How could the rest of the world just keep on moving while I had just been struggling to keep my family alive? And then I saw memes and jokes on social media. And I got angrier. My family had been devastated. And I know I'm not the only one. I can't be the only one to have lost loved ones. I can't be the only one to have watched loved ones suffer. I can't be the only one to have stressed and worried about what's going to happen and what I'm going to do if/when it does. And yet there are people out there laughing at our situation. While families struggle to stay warm, to find food and water, to make it without the GPS, data, and communication that we're all accustomed to, to care for their elderly and disabled, to keep their children from crying and their pets from dying... there are actually people making jokes about it. Yet when our corner of the world gets record breaking winds and floods we step up and help each other. Companies do what they can to help the people. Employers cut their employees slack. And the rest of the world watches in awe. This is a record breaking storm for us, one that we were in no way equipped to deal with. And instead of empathy and aid, we're getting ridiculed? The only ones I see giving a shit are the people. The citizens that have been affected by this unprecedented crisis are all offering to do what they can while the government, power companies, and water companies make excuses. It's bullshit.

Our power was out from 8am on Monday morning to 10p on Wednesday night. For approximately 62 hours my home had no climate control. I have no way of knowing how cold it actually got inside. But below freezing is unacceptable. And to find out that there were some who went without even longer while some never lost it at all... who fucked up? Because someone surely did. And don't let them blame their failure to roll a blackout on a bad grid. They were just too lazy to figure out another solution.

We arrived home to piece back together what we could and try to reestablish our sense of selves. What had only been a few days felt like weeks of walking around in a living nightmare. The outside birds were still chirping. Draco actually survived and, due to our TLC, is better now than when we found him. Burton is hibernating (there's some sluggish movement, so I know he's alive) and I hope he wakes up soon. Silly and Willy are just fine. Hannibal, Dorian, and Bilbo are all okay, they just need some cuddles and de-stressing time. Big and Red froze to death. I found their stiff bodies near each other and in their ivy plant.

Due to fluctuating temperatures, we lost all of the food that we did not eat at our in-laws'. And most of the roach and cricket colonies that we use as feeders for our pets have been wiped out.

We have Merlin, Jigsaw, and Prince Charming back in their habitats. Charming and Merlin are grumpy, but they've eaten and they're well. Jigsaw is back to normal. Kuzco has finally calmed down and is happy to be home. And Lulu is completely clueless about the entire situation.

But this situation cannot die. It cannot go without resolution. Something needs to be done. For years, Texas has been told to fix the power grid. Texas insists on having its own so that they can avoid federal regulation. This is at the cost of being able to rely on the rest of the country and use its energy when we need it. All because Texas wants to be like the middle-aged husband holding out hope that he'll one day divorce his wife. Here's the thing Texas: your ugly ass wife is the only one who will tolerate you and you're too fucking helpless to take care of yourself. So stop buying those pretty, young things in the bar those drinks and then crying because they won't go home with you. Stop wasting your money on those hot rods. And own up to the fact that you need to work on yourself to be happy. Fix your fucking power grid and stop playing the blame game! Also, do something about the water situation. Take care of your damn kids. They shouldn't be struggling to survive, dammit.

Gas stations and grocery stores are empty wastelands of ruined food where people scour to find whatever they can to make due. Everyone's resources were destroyed from loss of power. And trucks haven't been able to get through the icy roads to resupply.

One winter storm should not send a civilized society into the stone age. It doesn't matter where you're at, your government should be prepared. Your elected officials are supposed to be taking care of this shit, not running their mouths. Meanwhile, there's an audacious mayor who grew such a big mouth he was forced to resign. The vote got Tim Boyd into office, folks. And here's what he has to say:

"The City and County, along with power providers or any other service owes you NOTHING! I’m sick and tired of people looking for a damn hand out! If you don’t have electricity you step up and come up with a game plan to keep your family warm and safe. If you have no water you deal with out and think outside of the box to survive and supply water to your family. If you were sitting at home in the cold because you have no power and are sitting there waiting for someone to come rescue you because your lazy is direct result of your raising! Only the strong will survive and the week will perish."

Yeah, he must have forgotten that those people he's bitching about are the ones that elected him into office and that they pay the taxes for his salary. And, in case anyone was doubting it, it is, IN FACT, the city and county's job to take care of its citizens. A government's basic functions are providing leadership, maintaining order, providing public services, providing national security, providing economic security, and providing economic assistance. And, as far as power providers and other services, I have contracts and I make payments. So YES, they owe me exactly what I pay for: the electricity, water, and cell service that they agreed to give me in the contracts that we both signed. So, Tim Boyd, as much as you try to backtrack and say you didn't mean it and you wish you could rephrase everything, we all know the truth is that you're just an idiot who doesn't give a fuck. I wonder how long you went without electricity. I wonder if you worried how long your family would survive. I wonder if you cried and had to bury any loved ones. This "week" will surely perish. It will be behind us, along with all of the other bad weeks that we've seen come and go. And so will you. Good riddance. You can spend your free time working on your grammar and spelling.

As far as Ted "Fled" Cruz goes, I hope he gets impeached. He sat by and watched while his state fell to shit, while his citizens suffered, and then he flew to fucking Cancun. Sure, he can say he was just dropping off his family, but we all know he only came back because he was getting flak for it. Do you know how many parents had to comfort their children in the freezing cold darkness of their quiet homes? Do you know how many scared families had no way out and no where to go? These are your citizens! And this is all after he actually made fun of California for their grid, knowing that ours needed to be fixed, knowing that we would suffer when disaster hit. He was elected to be our leader and he failed us so spectacularly. Where was the guidance for the power companies? Where was the communication? Where is the aid? People were unable to work and unable to provide for their families. And no one is offering to help them. Our resources have been diminished. What is the game plan?

And not only were there people taking advantage and price gouging during this dreadful time, but it continues to go blatantly unchecked. Plumbers are charging $800+ just to look at a problem with no guarantee of solving it. Gas station owners are marking everything up when they know people can't afford to not buy. And even the power companies are talking about charging more for the electricity that was used this past week, because it was in "high demand."

I will say that Xfinity gave us a credit on the days that our power was out, knowing that we were unable to use it. And my brother-in-law, who owns his own renovation company, is giving free consultations. He doesn't even give estimates until he's sure about the issue. And my aunts, who have always been such a blessing to us, were sweet enough to send us a door dash gift card so that we wouldn't have to worry about shopping right away.

And I cannot say enough how thankful I am to my brother and sister-in-law for providing us with a sanctuary for our babies. They were going through enough on their own and still, they invited us over and gave us warmth and safety. It was nice seeing them, my nieces, nephews, and near-mom-in-law, even under the circumstances. I'm sorry I couldn't be better company.

In the meantime, to all of you who went through it during this awful crisis, my heart is with you. What happened to the people of Texas during this weather is beyond unfair. It is intolerably savage. We deserve better. We deserve elected officials who care about us enough to step up and take care of us during a disaster, and not just when the media is on them. We deserve to get what we pay for and have our contracts honored. We deserve to have a power grid that can sustain us when we need it most. We deserve to have blackouts rolled instead of just having half the grid shutdown to fend for itself. We deserve to have a water supply that we can rely on. We deserve to have the cell service that we pay for. We should never be kept in the dark and in the cold.

This should have been a fun time for us. We see snow once every few years, if we're lucky. We should have been out there with our sweatshirts and sweatpants, sledding down the streets on whatever we could find, from trash can lids to screen doors. We should have been building icy snowmen and making snow angels. But instead, most of us were just trying to survive. We were running out of laundry and using every blanket that we had to keep our families warm. We were wondering if the food would make it and rigging ways to prepare it. We were scrambling to find water. We were worrying and trying to get in touch with friends and family with phones that were, at best, battery-draining flashlights. If we had generators, we were still struggling and conserving gas because there was none left at any of the stations. And if there was, the stations didn't have power to access it. And there are many more experiences that I'm sure I'm not covering because I was fortunate enough not to have to live through it all. But my heart aches. It aches for everyone that had to endure this tragedy that none of us should have had to endure.

My husband and I are still recovering. And this is far from over. But if anyone needs it, we'll help if we can. Just reach out. If anything, we can all be here for one another. Fuck Texas. It's not the state or the city that takes care of us, obviously. It's each other. We have always been able to awe and inspire with how we step up and take care of our fellow citizens. And that's just what we'll do.

For anyone interested in my sources or further reading, here you go:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Electric_Reliability_Council_of_Texas

https://www.texastribune.org/2021/02/18/texas-power-outages-ercot/

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2021/02/17/texas-power-grid-why-state-has-its-own-operated-ercot/6782380002/

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2021/02/18/state-energy-winter-protections-lacking-reports-have-suggested/4490501001/

https://ktxs.com/news/local/colorado-city-mayor-resigns-after-controversial-facebook-post

https://www.cnn.com/2021/02/18/politics/ted-cruz-cancun-texas-disaster-electricity-power-water/index.html

https://www.cnn.com/2021/02/19/politics/ted-cruz-cancun-texas/index.html

https://www.chron.com/news/houston-texas/article/Ted-Cruz-Twitter-California-blackouts-energy-power-15953893.php

https://www.cnbc.com/2021/02/17/how-the-texas-power-grid-failed-and-what-could-stop-it-from-happening-again.html

https://www.kvue.com/article/news/local/texas-ercot-power-outage-energy-demand-price-change/269-53ab63e2-8dcf-4485-8b9b-be6ad75316b4

https://www.curbed.com/2021/02/texas-blackouts-energy-grid-failure.html

https://www.texastribune.org/2021/02/17/texas-power-grid-failures/

https://www.chron.com/news/houston-texas/article/Ted-Cruz-Twitter-California-blackouts-energy-power-15953893.php