#I get irate when I have to interrupt my routine. I want to move!!!! I want to feel good!!!!!

[applbutter]

the hardest part about actualizing self-improvement and becoming a better version of you is sincerely wanting it so much that you won’t put yourself off later on down the line

[harrygroves]

part four

part three

of course i did a part four of the willing victim Steve/ lifeguard Billy fic.

*

Max is getting ice cream with Lucas the next time she runs into Steve. They get to the front of the line, order, and Steve hands their respective cones to them with a smile.

“Oh, you got your name tag back.” She mentions casually, licking at her strawberry ice cream.

Steve looks down at his chest, like he’s confirming it’s there. “What?” He asks when he looks back at her.

“Your name tag.” She repeats, louder and more aggressive like she’s annoyed.

“I got it...back?” He prompts with a small shake of his head. Steve didn’t say anything to any of the kids, and Billy didn’t really seem like the type of brother to bond over a tub of ice cream and hair rollers while talking about all the mean shit he did that particular day.

“Yeah, it was in a box under Billy’s bed.” She says with a small shrug, like it’s no big deal.

Says it so calm and flippant that Steve doesn’t really understand at first.

Then he processes what she said.

It was in a box.

That’s weird.

Steve is caught up in his thoughts, heart deciding on it’s own to double in speed at this little revelation because it feels innately personal. Max and Lucas have the audacity to turn away and leave.

“Robin! Take the register!” Steve yells as they move through the crowd.

“Jesus, Steve, I’m right here!” Robin snaps back at him, no more than two feet away. She doesn’t ask where he’s going, just slides over to the register before realizing he’s not replacing her at the ice cream stand, then shouts after him to get your ass back here!

He ignores her and springs around the corner of the counter, chasing Max and Lucas who’re already heading out the door.

“Hey!” He yells after them.

He yells again when he exits the shop. They glance back and stop in their tracks, but they both appear confused and slightly concerned.

“Max!” He shouts, stopping in front of her. “Wait, explain.”

“Ex...plain?” She says.

Steve’s breathing is haggard, but it’s not the short jog, it’s this feeling that’s shooting through his body, a lightbulb goes off in his head that this is important. “Yeah, you said it was in a box under Billy’s bed?”

“Yeah, with like, a bunch of other weird shit. He never cleans his room.” She says with a disgusted face, a roll of her eyes.

“What else was in the box?” He asks.

“Uh…” She trails off, eyes defocusing like she’s trying to remember.

“What else?!” He yells at her. He doesn’t mean to do it, it just happens because of the roaring in his ears and the heat on his face. Whatwhatwhat???

“Okay! Okay!” She yells back, eyebrows drawing together, but she’s not mad, it’s more like wide-eyed concern. “Uh...there was like, I don't know, random shit. A party invite -- ”

“What did it say?” He interrupted.

“God, I don't remember, but I think it was, like...a Halloween party? And...um, there was one of those drawings from Will’s house, your name tag...a sock…”

“What?” Steve blurts out incredulously.

“Yeah, it was like a gold and green sock.” She tells him.

It’s his sock. It has to be. It went missing from his gym locker -- he kept thinking it had fallen out and the janitor had thrown it away. As for the other stuff...it sounds like a curated collection of items to remind Billy of...

“Oh!” She says, startling him out of his thoughts. “And your yearbook picture!” She says with a snap of her fingers.

“What?” Steve asks hollowly, but he’s no longer fired up. No. Now, it’s a molten heat pooling in his cheeks, tugging in his stomach, making the back of his knees quiver.

Oh.

Oh.

Max starts babbling while Steve is having his mini panic attack. “Yeah, like, I really don't know what his problem is. I don't keep shit that reminds me of people I ha--”

She stops, mid-word and her eyes suddenly get really wide, mouth hanging open. Lucas’ mouth falls open in perfect mimicry.

“Holy shit.” She says. The ice cream is trailing down her hand. She doesn’t appear to notice.

“Max.” Steve starts.

“Oh my god.” She says thickly, a little aghast, volume rising. The ice cream is now dripping onto the floor.

“Max, look.” He tries again.

“I...Steve. I think--”

“Stop!” He puts both his hands up and she stops talking. “I know, I get it, okay? Look, I need you two to...keep this quiet, okay? Seriously, no telling the others. Just leave it alone, alright? I’ll give you free ice cream for the rest of the summer.”

They look at each other. Lucas tilts his head at her, she nods shortly in return and looks back to Steve after their silent discussion.

“A year.” Max negotiates.

Steve scoffs. “God, okay, a year. Just keep it zipped. Promise?”

They both nod and walk off, moving close together, heads bowed in deep conversation.

Holy fucking shit.

*

On Steve’s next day off, he goes to the pool. It’s blistering hot and the humidity hangs around through the afternoon, into the evening. The sky darkens a bit too quickly for this time of the year, thick gray clouds rolling in, the promise of a summer storm approaching.

He waits until the pool closes.

Pulls into the parking lot close to the end of the day, parks next to the Camaro and waits. Sweat drips slow down his back, gathers at his hairline. He’s in khaki shorts and a thin, white shirt but his body can’t keep cool.

He slides out of his car when the last round of children and teens trail out and he waits, barely breathing, ears perked, jaw tense as he listens to the shuffle of Billy moving chairs back in place, the plastic sounds of gathering up floating devices and shoving them into the shed.

He watches the tall lights around the perimeter of the pool turn off.

That’s when he makes his move.

Steve, limbs feeling sluggish and numb but his mind in overdrive, heart in his throat, pushes open the pool gate.

“We’re closed.” He hears Billy grumble before he sees him. He’s over by the employee entrance, facing away from Steve but he turns his body halfway, glancing over his shoulder to see who has interrupted his shutdown routine.

Steve freezes, unsure. Confused. Billy’s eyes lock him in place, and he can’t move. Steve feels like an animal suddenly caught in a trap, like one of those metal rabbit cages, the gate to the pool slamming shut behind him only amplifying the tension. A sound threatens to spill out of him, but it dies in his throat. The heat in the air has seeped into his lungs, filling them to burst.

“Harrington?” Billy chokes out with a lilt in his voice, one of surprise and anger at the same time. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

That seems to be Billy’s whole deal. He’s as equally happy as he is annoyed when Steve is around, and Steve’s been thinking about all those moments -- ones filled with jabs and shoves but also with glints of light in his eyes and suggestive tongue wagging; he leans in, takes up space, like he’s trying to make sure he’s the only thing Steve’s focused on.

And, well. Steve’s finally paying attention.

“Drowning.”

He’s positive that he said it aloud, but the thunder in his chest, the electric fizzle crackling in the air making the tips of his fingers feel fuzzy; it’s overstimulation, and he can’t be sure that he said it, only that he hears it come out of his mouth somewhere very far away.

Steve can’t even be sure if Billy heard him.

He walks forward and pitches himself into the deep end of the pool.

*

Steve hadn’t actually remembered to take a deep breath before doing this. He’d been too preoccupied with the way Billy was looking at him. Every thought in his head was solely focused on the curve of Billy’s back, the bulge of his calves, the angle of his long neck and the bob of his adam’s apple, the way his eyes bored into Steve when he realized who it was.

So now his dumbass is underwater and he doesn’t have any intention of coming up and it’s for two reasons: one, he wants Billy to jump in after him and two, he feels like an absolute moron for doing this and if he dies it’ll be a blessing. It’s a win-win.

He’s underwater for maybe a full fifteen seconds before getting a little worried that Billy isn’t coming to save him but then the water breaks next to him as Billy jumps in.

Steve watches as Billy swims down to him, staring at him through the water with a strange mix of bafflement and rage. Steve stares back, eyes stinging, letting bubbles of air fall out of his mouth and float between them. Billy grabs his arm roughly. The water is cold but the place where Billy holds him is warm, and he’s pulling Steve up to the surface.

They explode out of the water, Billy keeping his death grip on Steve’s arm.

“What the hell is your problem, Harrington?” He yells instantly, water splashing around them, rolling down his face.

Billy’s holding him close, their legs brush in the water below. Steve stares into his eyes, watches Billy’s face change between curious and irate, pensive and scared.

He hasn’t said anything -- he realizes this, and they both tread water while the low rumble of thunder builds around them.

Billy opens his mouth and starts to say Steve’s last name again but Steve pushes himself closer and slots his lips over Billy’s.

It’s unhinging.

They both taste of chlorine, Steve craning forward, the determined, wet weight of his mouth keeping him afloat as Billy’s hand relinquishes Steve’s arm. Steve doesn’t care though, solely preoccupied with the heated, damp feeling of Billy’s mouth balanced against his perfectly. Steve lets out a long, deep groan, the sound of it coming up from his chest, rumbling through him in a hum against Billy’s mouth.

Billy jerks his head back all of the sudden. Steve’s eyes slowly flick open, but Billy doesn’t explode the way Steve expects. He stares at Steve’s mouth, eyes heavy and lidded, mouth open. They continue to keep themselves afloat, bodies cutting through the water as they bob up and down.

The thunder grows louder.

Steve takes a deep breath and plunges himself below the water’s surface.

He stares at Billy’s torso, the swayed movement of his swim trunks for a moment before Billy lowers himself to match Steve head-on. For the first time ever, Billy doesn’t look angry, doesn’t look like he’s playing a game where only he knows the rules and the outcome. He looks...soft. His features aren’t tense, no pent-up emotion boxing his shoulders.

In this hastily-created private world they look at one another without apprehension for perhaps the first time in either of their lives. A crack of muddled lighting flashes above them, barely registering through the clouds and the water.

Billy swims forward and pushes his mouth against Steve’s.

It’s hard to properly kiss underwater. The space between them diminishes quickly. They don't grapple for one another, both too nervous but there’s hesitant slide of hands over bare planes of skin, the timid tangle of legs, eyes pinched shut.

They pull back at the same time and swim upwards, gasp in lungfuls of air simultaneously.

Steve doesn’t -- he can’t let Billy get away for too long, knows the moment will be broken so he moves back in, crowds close and kisses him, hands coming up to touch Billy’s shoulders. The soft pads of his fingers sink into his flesh, skid over the edge of his collarbone. Steve feels the tentative press of Billy’s fingers along his sides where his shirt has floated up. He opens his mouth, lets his tongue flash out and run against Billy’s bottom lip. Billy actually opens his mouth, let’s Steve teasingly dip his tongue in for the briefest moment and Billy makes this soft, strained noise against Steve’s mouth before jerking back again.

Apprehensive eye contact is exchanged before Billy starts swimming towards the edge of the pool, moving in skilled, even strokes.

Steve scrambles after him and hoists himself up onto the cement, and they both lay back against the warmed cement, staring at the sky. Steve lets his feet stay submerged in the water.

Time passes as the clouds roll and tumble past them, indistinguishable shape-shifting with sudden bursts of white lightning. Steve keeps trying to think of something to say but he’s coming up blank.

What the fuck is he doing?

Billy finally breaks the silence. “Like I said. The pool’s closed.” He says, sitting up. His face is angled away from Steve.

Steve sits up too, retracting his feet from the water, moving to stand in tandem with Billy, trying to decipher his tone, his body language, but he’s getting nothing. Billy is stoic, each movement purposeful as he starts walking away from Steve towards the employee building. Steve feels the moment pass, and finally -- the sky breaks. Soft rain starts coming down around them, dripping into the pool, cement exploding in dark circles.

Say something, Steve thinks angrily.

Billy stops walking, but he doesn’t look back. “Go home, Steve.” He says firmly before he starts walking again. A thread of lightning flashes, turning everything white and blue.

Say something! Steve’s mind screams.

Steve opens his mouth, but a loud crack of thunder steals his voice.

[sneezefiction]

falling for you

Tsukishima Kei x reader - Scenario

a/n: ok so, trying to portray fluff with Tsukki was a challenge characteristically, but i’ll be damned if i don’t try. lemme know who i should try next~ i’m open for requests :)

warnings: slight cursing, mentions blood/wounds (nothing angsty)

wc: 1680

---

Tsukishima never intended to get to know you.

He had actually been avoiding you for quite some time.

You see, you got under his skin in the most irritating ways.

It wasn’t like how he loathed Hinata or Kageyama. Or his annoyance with incredibly slow grocery clerks. It wasn’t even similar to the exhaustive irritations he experienced toward the end of a full volleyball match.

Yes, these things are problematic, but Tsukishima can handle almost any obstacle.

You see, his cold, calculated presence soaks in every detail of life for the purpose of learning how to dismantle an issue. He resassesses, maneuver, and overcomes. There’s a reason the boy is so good at blocking. 

However of all the problems he could have... this one is the worst.

Previously, he had everything he possibly could, under his control.

But when you came along? Oh, he had absolutely no experience with handling this level of meddling.

Because it isn’t even your fault.

You just somehow manage to interrupt all of his patterns and sneak your way into a majority of his thoughts. 

Every. Single. Day.

So it isn’t a surprise that Tsukki, a master of mental strength and strategy, would be enraged by his inability to pin down his feelings for you.

For example, last week, you accidentally bumped into his arm, stumbling a bit. Tsukki grabbed your arm before you could hit the floor, but as his hand meets your skin he feels as though he’s taken a fall of his own.

His heart fluttered.

And when you immediately turned to him, apologizing and thanking him sweetly and sincerely, his whole mind went numb.

You make him feel confused. Uncertain. And… real.

But that doesn’t mean he likes those feelings. No, he doesn’t, Tsukishima tries to convince himself.

So why is it you that he pictures your figure whenever he closes his eyes? Or that your laugh echos through his head after someone tells you a cheesy joke from across the classroom? Or how whenever you call his name, he can’t help but temper his irate disposition?

You’ve got him spinning in circles and it’s driving him wild.

Because Tsukishima doesn’t want to need anyone. Not a friend. Not A lover. And he definitely isn’t in the market for another disappointment.

However, as much as he tries to avoid you, your touch, your smile, he can’t seem to stop running into you. He can’t bury his feelings for you, as much as he wishes he could.

Even though he’s tried to find reasons to hate, laugh at, or ridicule you, he simply can’t. Because the reason you are so bothersome and so obnoxious has nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with his inability to cope with how relentlessly wonderful you are in his eyes.

---

Your walk home conveniently crosses with Tsukki’s own path and every so often he’s out of volleyball practice just in time to run into you. An increasing occurrence over the past couple of months.

Tsukishima may not realize or want to admit it, but he treasures the rare moments where he’ll walk in sync with you. His stride subconsciously copies yours, slowing him down significantly, and somehow it’s okay.

You, harboring your own feelings toward the blonde, always try to make small talk or ramble about your day, doing your best to find some type of common ground with the tall boy next to you. 

He finds himself responding to you again.

He’s tried for so long to not get involved, but over the past few days, he can’t help but let his thoughts flow. You make him uncomfortably comfortable, if that’s at all possible.

His snarky comments are (currently) nonexistent. His abrasive nature, moderated.

I mean, of course he’s dripping with sarcasm, but Tsukki wouldn’t change that part of himself for anyone.

Today something seemed to have clicked between you two, likely due to Tsukishima briefly relinquishing his stubbornness and fear of connection. It’s infrequent, but with your consistency, he’s finding himself far more capable of seeing outside of his past.

As the conversation picks up speed, so do your feet. The pebbled path you walk doesn’t help you keep your footing, so you find yourself unsteady and sliding every once in a while. 

Suddenly, your feet are out from under you, and similarly to the week before, you plummet to the earth. 

You’re not quite as fortunate this time, because as quickly as Tsukki swoops down to catch you, your hands and knees are already covered in dirt, sand, and bits of rock. Scraped and bleeding, you do your best to calm yourself down and assess the situation… so you turn to Tsukki.

Poor boy looks so awkward, unsure of what to say, but still attempting to keep his cool demeanor.

“Are you okay?” He asks, crouching down to meet your eyes. As masked as it is, you see a flicker of concern in his expression.

He takes your hand in his, trying not to let his feelings intervene with your pain, and studies the tears in your skin.

“I- I’m okay,” You stammer, partially from the pain, but mostly from his gentle touch.

“Okay… let me see if I have anything that’ll help.” Turning toward his bag.

It aches and the grimace on your face shows just how nasty the gash on your knee really is. 

He gently lets your hand down, taking out tissues from his backpack and uses one to wipe off your knee while you use another to apply pressure to your hands. 

The air is very still, almost as though it chose to pause for this moment. 

“Hm, the weather actually is nicer down here for you short kids. I’m envious.” Tsukki jokes, breaking the tense silence.

“Haha, very funny. Maybe if you ever fall down, I’ll actually be able to catch you, since I’m already down here.” You retort playfully.

“Okay captain sassy, whatever you say.” He shoots back, “Now how ‘bout we see if you can actually stand up.”

He offers you his hand once again, the feeling making your heart race and his face go blank.

You attempt to straighten out your legs entirely, moving a foot forward, but find yourself in extreme discomfort.

Tsukki notices and without skipping a beat, suggests,

“Well, I can… y’know, carry you?” He turns his head, the lightest dusting of pink touching his cheeks.

You, still using his hand for support, look down, your face becoming red.

“I think that may be the, uhm, best option. It hurts a lot.” 

He silently stoops down, placing his arms under your knees and behind your back, making sure to not agitate the wound any further.

The walk continues in a nervous, but intimately close manner. Neither of your eyes knowing what to focus on.

So you decide to fixate on him for a moment, 

“I’m sorry about all this… I should’ve watched my step.” You express, “But… I’ve really enjoyed our walk together.” You crack a warm smile.

Tsukki returns your gaze, pulse jumping slightly, his honey-brown hued irises capturing your soft (e/c) eyes,

“Yeah, dumbass. You should’ve at least remembered how big of a clutz you are.” He smirks.

“But I guess this was nice… not so much the falling part…” He takes a moment to consider his next few words, breathing a little deeper.

“But these walks, speaking with you…” He averts his gaze,

“Just you, actually, y/n.” If your blush wasn’t already apparent, it was clear now.

He’s approaching your house as he finishes his sentence, but it feels as you’re both walking through time and space. A small galaxy opening up just for the two of you.

Reality stops in moments like these, Tsukki notes.

And it doesn’t feel… bad.

It feels right. Nice, even.

Before making it up to your front door, you reach your soft hand toward Tsukishima’s forcibly stoic face.

While outwardly, he’s kept his composure, his insides are producing so many SOS signals, it’s not even funny.

You lean forward, hand resting on his jaw, and place a short kiss to his cheek.

Leaning back, you catch a look of adoration in his eyes. Something he has no idea he’s physically showing right now.

He takes this chance to capture your soft lips in a kiss.

He hasn’t really done this before, but Tsukki gets how a kiss should work.

What didn’t cross his methodical, logic-based brain was just how good it would feel. Like a cloud, back-lit by golden sunlight, or a perfect chord progression to the most touching ballad.

It’s imperfect, but it’s electric.

Your lips melded with his so well, every second melting away his icier emotions. It began to introduce him to a new reason for life and a new meaning to love.

He eventually sets you down in front of your door.

But he has your hand lightly held in his, careful not to disturb the scrapes.

A huge grin spreads through your face, eyes lit up.

And he now knows why he can’t stop thinking about you. You really are a necessary part of his life. Worthy of breaking routines. Special enough to stop his flow and grumpily facetime you. Important enough to reshape himself to account for your existence.

With this final realization, Tsukki goes to his next line of action.

“So, are you free Friday?” He inquires.

“Actually, yeah! Can we go see that new dinosaur movie? I’m kind of obsessed with it.”

“Well, damn. This is gonna be even better than I expected.” He smirks, leaving you confused, but smiling at his response.

No, he wasn’t going to tell you about his discoveries from that day.

At least not in great detail.

But, thanks to this… to you, Tsukishima is learning to open himself up again. To take chances on himself and others. A process that is never too early to begin.

All it took was helping you back onto your feet to get you into his arms.

Something that both literally and relationally makes a whole lot of sense for some reason, Tsukki concludes.

[brideofcthulhu10]

Here we are, I apologize for the delay you guys but I can guarantee you it is so worth the wait! A humongous shout out to my incredible co-author @imlostinsantacarla for writing this with me, I had an amazing time and this is arguably one of the best written posts I’ve done so far. SO without further ado, I give you

Lost Boys Fem!S/O Gives Birth [3/4]

CONTENT WARNING: Offensive Language, Blood, Child Birthing Process, Intense Environment! READER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

Marko

The soft silver moonlight slithered through the cracks and crevices overhead in the hotel, illuminating your form in a tender glow. You laid casually atop the dusty old couch worn from years of perpetual abuse, staring up into the cave’s ceiling at the little slivers of sky you could see between them, fingers fondling the soft blanket wrapped around you. Nerves caused your heart to stutter as another set of cramps waded through your body, making you feel nauseated. However, you put on a valiant front, hardly batting an eyelash as your boyfriend Marko sat beside you, eyes fixated on your form in an adoring fashion, though there was worry mixed within his countenance, a deep groove carved between his brows. Granted when you had initially announced your pregnancy you could have gone about it differently, however you were met with a joyous response from your adoring vampire. Originally David had suggested they turn you whilst pregnant to prevent any foreseeable complications, but there arose a new set of issues. Your infant would be a hybrid of vampire and human, something none of you even knew was possible. The potential need for a live body could mean that turning yourself before the birth could kill him or her in the process. Even if the birth could result in your death, unfortunately, all you could do was patiently wait, as going to a hospital was surely out of the question. Nevertheless, patience was a virtue- one Marko had yet to achieve. 

The months of waiting grew heavier on him as time ticked by, whilst the haunting lack of knowledge grew more frustrating with any passing discomfort he witnessed. His inability to help you outside of a shoulder to cry on when your cramps became too unbearable to sleep through made him feel helpless, a sensation that not only was he unfamiliar with; it was one he absolutely loathed. The boys did their utmost best to be accommodating to the situation, and one certainly had to give them credit for the amount of effort they had gone through. Dwayne had gone to the library for a few books for yourself and Marko, including one or two children’s books for the baby. Paul had spent his free nights shoplifting for supplies you’d need. No one could dismantle and sneak out an entire crib like Paul could. The guy had created a craft in the endeavor. David, with the help of Dwayne, had scoped through the caves and old hotel rooms still salvageable and managed to reinforce one of the rooms closest to their own cave. You eagerly draped the walls in colorful fabrics, finding an old dresser for your child’s clothes with a surface now cluttered with stuffed animals. Toys were crammed into a wooden chest, a massive rug laid across the old wooden flooring to deter any stray splinters from harming you. Watching Paul and Marko stubbornly argue over the crib instructions was certainly the highlight of your pregnancy while David was barking at them to move out of the way when he came carrying in the glider chair in one arm and a mass of pillows in the other. Although, you had to draw the line once Marko had smacked Paul with a two by four. Surely, that was uncalled for. But according to Marko, not so! Best friend or not, no one said he had the building skills of a drunk monkey!

Tonight was the night that would mark round about the eighth month of your pregnancy, and, - if it were truly possible -, Marko nearly had a heart attack when your false contractions came into play a few weeks ago. This ignited a vigilant nature within him, motivating him to remain much closer to you than he had previously been, which resulted in a lot of checking up on every unusual sound that you made. It was impossible for it to be helped. Well, that's what he kept telling you anyway.  

"You know, I can skip out on the hunt tonight…" Marko trailed off, cool fare fingertips dancing along the soft flesh of your arms, creating goosebumps to rise in their wake. The contrast between body temperatures was ghastly and you shivered, more at the electric shock that raced through you whenever he touched you. 

"Babe, you skipped out on the hunt last night, and the night before, and even the night before that. Marko, you must be starving!" You sighed irately, tipping your head back in frustration before turning it in his direction. Ever since the news of your pregnancy, Marko's primal instincts to protect you and your child had grown in vast numbers. It was pleasant to begin with, almost endearing… Though, as months sped by it had grown a hindrance because the young man was hardly even caring for himself now, and he hardly ever left your side. Honest to God, it was smothering, leaving you almost agitated at the sight of him. He was aware of this, yet still could not resist the urge within him that called for him to aid you in whatever way he could. There was an ample amount of anxiety over future happenstances such as your water breaking, uncontrollable cramps, the ACTUAL birthing of the child! You were understanding of his concern, but there was only so much that could be done. After all, you wanted your baby just as badly as he did. But he couldn’t allow his health to decline due to his own worry, you needed him. And frankly, your sense of unease was bordering onto the bandwagon of fear when you saw Marko’s ribs sticking tightly against his translucent flesh, a plethora of dark circles sinking his blue eyes into his skull. He wasn’t eating, he hardly slept, and soon he wouldn’t be able to control his frenzies.

"I don't know, baby girl," Marko began hesitantly, his round eyes widening as they peered into your own thoughtfully. Worry had never been a good look on Marko, and now, you longed for the days where reading him had been more difficult. His anxiety was like a fungi, infecting your very aura at the same time. "I don't wanna leave in case something happens you know? I mean, yeah, I guess I'm kinda thirsty but that stuff can wai-" You interrupted him with your fingertips gently silencing his lips, your eyes having shut as you breathed deeply to calm your nerves. This boy was driving you nuts. 

"Marko, I know how worried you are. I am too. But babe, I can tell that it's getting harder for you to be around me because you haven't fed. I really don’t want to start smelling like a fillet mignon to you, and if you’ve been looking at me like some mouth watering steak, we run the risk of the baby becoming appealing as well, I know you don’t want to risk that." You quipped with a quirked brow, lips tucked up into a wry smile as you stared straight at him. Your case was a good one, there was no doubt about it. There could be a very good chance that Marko, albeit not on purpose, could harm you or the baby if he smelled the scent of blood or even heard a too hasty of a heartbeat. And if there were to be an accident such as that, Marko would be plagued by an immense amount of guilt for all eternity. “Besides, it’s only the seven and a half or eight month point right now. I’m not having the baby for at least six more weeks. Right now, I need you to be at your best. Please babe.”

"But-" Marko began to protest.

"She's right, Marko." David piped up lazily from across the room, his eyes never leaving the book that he had been reading. He turned the page briskly before continuing, "You need to feed. It's the basic terms of vampire-hood. If you don't, you die! Now, what good would that do anyone then?" He inquired sardonically, a trace of a smirk in the air. 

"Yeah, bud! David and Y/n are right! Just go on one feed with us." Paul grinned from ear to ear at his bestest pal in the whole world, despite the horrifying fact that said best friend had hit him in the head with a two by four. Excitement had been rushing through Paul's entire being during this whole process. He was going to be an uncle man, how could he not be excited?! It had been such a bummer since Star left with Laddie, it’d be cool having some new tiny mind he could influence. Not that he'd even get as far to really influence the child without getting a brisk smack to the back of the head by David before you and Marko could even lift your fingers. No, he would not be teaching your child about the world of “Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll” at five years old!

"I mean-" 

"With the way you're going, you're gonna be a shriveled prune." Dwayne muttered out of thin air as he slowly rolled past Marko and yourself on his skateboard. The hulking raven haired vampire came to a standstill  as he stepped slowly off of his board. Dwayne was also right. Marko wasn't looking his brightest. Feeding was a nightly routine for a vampire in order to ensure they took in the right nutrients their dead bodies could not produce for themselves. Especially since they weren't capable of absorbing those nutrients through human food any more. Marko had to feed, there was no whisking his way around it, no matter how many excuses he could come up with. 

The trio of boys stared at the curly haired blonde, your eyes also capturing his form. There was a stretch of intense silence that flooded through the hotel as Marko thought over his options, pushing a mesh of frizzed blonde hair away from his face. He didn't want to risk going out and a possible complication occurring with the baby or yourself. But he also didn't have a strong desire to cause a catastrophic accident whilst going into a frenzy when your heart rate started skyrocketing due to cramps or whatever. Already his mouth was watering profusely as he stared down at his worn hands beginning to wither from lack of nourishment, the consistent thudding of your heart and the delectable rush of your blood in your veins made it practically impossible for the man to focus for much longer. 

"Man, just go! I'll stay with her." Paul finally interjected, slightly irritated that his buddy was being such a pansy about the entire situation. "If anything happens I'll scream at the top of my lungs or something, man. I got this! Scouts honor!" Paul added sarcastically, flattening a palm over his heart as he raised his free one up by his head. The entire thing looked comical, it made the others laugh. 

"Yeah, sure, let me get the flowers early for the funeral," Dwayne muttered, settling himself on another dusty old couch with a soft sigh. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, dick breath?" Paul roared, brows pulled together in anger, punching Dwayne’s shoulder.. 

“Can you even give scouts honor if you were never in it?” you asked with a laugh to your tone, raising a brow at the blonde trying to rapid punch the utterly indifferent vampire planted in place.

"Dwayne has a good point, Paul." David sneered at his comrade, blue eyes lit up like torches watching Dwayne yank Paul into a headlock on it’s way to a noogie. "You remember the last time we-" 

"Ow! Okay, I didn't know she wasn't allowed to drink alcohol! But she never drank any so I don't get why you guys keep bringing this shit up!" Paul muttered, managing to wiggle himself out of Dwayne’s iron grip. With stubborn stomps he huffed, flopping onto the edge of the fountain in the middle of the room, his chin resting on his hands. He stared at you and Marko for a moment before continuing. "Man, I swear I won't pull another stunt like that again! I can take care of her! Dwayne told me the gist of what she can and can't have. I can do this, buddy." it was practically the most pitiful thing you had ever seen, it even tugged a little at your heartstrings.

You looked to Marko for confirmation and from the twinkle in his eyes, you could tell he was thinking the same thing as you. 'Let's just let him do this so he can stop pouting like a brat.'

"Alright, alright!" Marko stated, gloved hands raising up in the air in defeat. "You can watch out for her, but if ANYTHING happens, man, you've gotta go and find me. No fucking around and no fucking weed either!" Marko was firm as he spoke, eyes boring seriously into Paul's. 

The sun broke out onto Paul's face, his pearly whites glinting from the fires scattered around the hotel. You could tell in that moment that Marko had made Paul's entire century. "Fuck yeah! Scouts honor, dude. Just like I said before!" the blonde rocker was practically bouncing in his seat like he needed a piss. He hardly looked like a badass biker vampire that went out murdering people left, right, and center every night. He looked more like a baby rabbit. 

“I fucking mean it man,” Marko firmly repeated. “No weed, no booze, no being a dumbass.” Although he was being firm there was a slight twitch to his mouth. Being stern with Paul was often impossible but you had to admit, Marko was doing a grand job without the two by four!

Paul threw his hands up in the air in such a rushing motion that you were surprised they hadn't flung out of their sockets. “God damn, trust me man. I’m not gonna let anything happen! You guys need to gimme more credit here, who’s the one that stole a fucking crib for you assholes?”

With a tenacious huff, you wedged your hands behind your back feeling that the full weight of your belly was determined to keep you jammed between cushions, but nevertheless, you managed to heave yourself up and off of the dusty old couch with an audible grunt. The four boys' heads turned to watch you, instinctively with brows furrowed. They thought they'd insisted that if you needed to be moved, they would help you rather than let you strain yourself any more than you had to. But you were impossibly stubborn! You had insisted on multiple occasions that it was necessary for you to move, even exercise to keep you and the baby healthy. None of them were willing to humor you but you’d found that tuning out their protests was the best course of action in most occasions. And by impulsive habit, Marko dove over to offer you assistance, though you only responded by swatting his hands away from you. You were fine!

“I’m fine Marko, don’t worry I can get up on my own. Anyway, Paul’s right,” you agreed, looking over at your friend who beamed with delight at your praise, arms crossed over his chest with a nodding head of total satisfaction as if you had just given a mighty speech. “He’s not gonna let anything happen. Besides, what could really go wrong in just a few hours?”

"Babe, don't say shit like that, you could jinx it!" Marko cried incredulously, eyes practically bulging out of his head. 

"Babe get a grip. There's no such thing as “jinxing” things." His worrying was really starting to bug you. And what did you do in turn? You did and said the exact opposite of him, a way to subconsciously counteract the apprehension that oozed out of him like a foul smell. Carefully you took his hands into yours and placed them on your taut belly. “See? Feel for yourself.”

For the past several months Marko had attested to being able to hear your unborn spawn within your stomach. Not necessarily thoughts, but emotions. Cluttered, wild, uncertain emotions that would come in jumbled waves. There was a weary contentment within you, sleeping soundly in a cradle of water kept safe within. Finally his muscles began to relax, tension beading out into limp arms as Marko pulled you in for a firm hug, holding you against him.

“You promise me.. If anything happens, you scream for me immediately. No toughing it out because you’re worried about me eating.” He mumbled sweetly into your hair, taking in a slow inhale of your heavenly scent. It was the one thing that could soothe his soul instantaneously, burying his face into the crook of your neck. 

“Marko-”

“Please, Y/n.”

 His plea made your heart ache with slight agony. It was a desperate rasp, his arms almost trembling. There was a rush of relief filling him when you wrapped your own arms around him with a tender smile. “Okay. Alright, I promise, if anything happens I’ll call for you,” you hummed in tender response. For a moment you had to take a moment to pause, feeling a low and deep, sharp pain stretching from your abdomen to your back. Instead of making a fuss you tried to ease your breathing before Marko could notice. You weren't prepared to allow a few false contractions to get the better of you and stop him from getting his fill of the blood he so desperately needed at this point. And you also weren't going to play into any of Marko's anxieties either. You could do that when he returned from his hunt. Gently you lifted his chin. His cold lips felt cracked against your own, cementing how desperately he needed to feed. Even his kisses grew hungry, and you had to pull away from him before this grew into a horror show. “Go, you goof.”

It had taken some further convincing for him to leave, by the time he finally left with David and Dwayne it almost felt otherworldly in that cave. The lack of presence was almost spooky, though thankfully Paul was nice enough to loan you his walkman to curb the initial silence. Playing his Def Leppard tape you sat back into the couch, breathing through the occasional cramps that would continue to sneak up on you in a pulsing fashion. Hysteria was always your favorite album, as the dulcet tones of the rock ballad began to lull you into a half sleep state. But the continuous bombardment of contractions had begun to grow concerning. They weren’t slowing down, nor consistent in their spaces between as they should be. Cautiously you sat up, counting out the seconds between the first and the next. One minute, two minute, three… and again. For a full minute your muscles spasmed and ached, almost drawing an audible gasp from your mouth. Again you counted. One minute, two, th- no! Now it came again at a two minute interval. In a haste you peeled the headphones from your ears, grasping your stomach as you leaned forward suddenly. Your legs buckled, every time you tried to stand the pain just dragged you back down. “Fuck.. oh go- Paul!”

The blonde vampire was so lost in his own world he was nearly jolted out of his seat by your panicked cries. “What, what’s up you- JESUS!”

Without missing a beat, Paul slipped on the floor beneath his feet, barely having the reflexes to catch himself before his face could meet the ground with a harsh smack. The floor was soaked! Seriously, who spilled water everywhere? “Damn man, what happened here? Why is it all-” again, his words were paused, almost as if they'd been caught in his throat whilst he looked over your doubled over form clutching your profound belly. “Oh- oh shit! Oh fuck no way! Shit, holy fuck shit are you-?? Is it?!”

“Yes! ” You cried out incredulously, cutting off his panicked questioning in a hasty fashion. A sudden cry escaped your lips whilst you gasped in desperation, your spine going erect as you flattened your palms out behind you to stabilize yourself. "Oh god!"

"Oh shit man, I better get Mark-" Paul began, face having dropped to terror. 

"No! I swear to go- ow! Paul, if you even dare- I swear I will stake you myself! Ow!" 

“What, are you crazy?!” He demanded, jutting his arms in your direction. “You swore you’d call him, dude! This is big, man, he’ll kill me if anything happens to you! Oh fuck but he’ll kill me if I leave you alone- Fuck!” Paul swiftly kicked over one of the tables, running his hands through his mess of hair. The thing looked more like a lions' mane in all honesty. “Bed! We gotta get you to your bed, like now!”

"And how are we gonna do that, asshole?"

Paul's face soured immediately at your insult and with a swift motion, he swung you up into his arms bridal style, paying little mind to your plethora of protests. “Shut up already. I’m not doing this for my fuckin’ health! But you gotta be in bed! I may be a dumbass but I at least know that much!” He muttered, carefully tightening his grip as you attempted to wiggle out from it. He rapidly stepped over tunnels and rocks whilst he swung his way into the cavernous nursery where your bed was nestled into a corner, his calloused fingers on one hand releasing your legs as he pushed the black curtains that draped heavily over the frame. And with that, he placed you gingerly down on the bed, staring at you with a perplexed expression with a hint of something else. Was- no, that couldn't be embarrassment. 

"What're you staring at," you questioned, a nervous twinge to your voice. You rolled on your side to relieve some of the pulsating throbs that ran rampant through your muscles.”

"Uh- well- shit! I mean, we need to take off your pants, man. What if you start pushing and the baby suffocate or something?"

“I can’t even start pushing until I know how dilated I am,” your voice was quivering, clutching your stomach. “If I were to push too early it could kill us both.” 

"Oh fuck! Where's Marko when you need him?!" 

The dreaded predicament was growing increasingly deadly the more your body warned of its approaching birth, and soon you were left with a terrifying decision. Wiping away the thick layer of sweat misting your flushed cheeks, you managed to breathe out a hesitant response. “Paul.. You have to go get him.” 

"I’m sorry, WHAT?!" Paul’s voice echoed in the caves at a high pitched octave. “No! No freaking way, I am not leaving you here, you’re having a fucking baby! What if something happens to you? Fuck Marko being haunted, there’s no way I would be able to live with myself!” Paul ranted on, throwing his arms in the air whilst he paced around the sides of your bed in an antsy motion.

Sobs made your chest spasm uncontrollably, rolling over again onto your back. No position provided relief anymore, the contractions following still at an even two minutes each. “It could be hours before I’m actually ready to give birth! We have to know h-how far I am a-and the only way to do that…”

“...Yes? What way, c’mon maybe I can do that!” Paul stopped dead in his tracks to face you, serene as he had ever been in his entire life.

“You’d have to stick your fingers in me,” you groaned with imminent embarrassment, receiving an equal look of humiliation and horror from Paul’s pale face. He looked down, then at the cave’s entrance. Guilt plagued him, this kind of decision had never been put in front of him before.  He knew his options were slim, but he also knew where they hunted, if he could catch Marko’s scent outside he could easily find him. But again, he looked at you writhing in pure agony on top of your bed in tears. A knot tore at his own gut like someone was trying to rip them right out of him, his throat aching when he swallowed, a dryness had developed from nerves. “You sure you can handle it until I get back. You fucking swear you’ll be okay? Just for a few minutes.”

You could only nod in response as the pain was so debilitating it rendered you utterly speechless!

“Please, just go get him.” You managed to squeak out intensely. The expression of pain mixed with fear that captured your beautiful features truly did break his heart.

Paul sighed deeply in defeat, his fingers gently pushing your hair from your face. “Stay tough kiddo, I’ll be fast as fucking lightning.” You hadn’t even seen him leave, a huge gust of wind caused  the bed to shudder, leaving you utterly and completely alone.

 Kicking away your soggy jeans, you promptly pulled yourself to the top of the bed with your back pressed against the headboard. With every passing contraction you fought to breath evenly through it, fingers tightly clutching the sheets beneath you. “Fuck...god Paul hurry please!”

Paul flew as speedily as he could carry himself through the air, his nocturnal eyes aflame, rapidly scanning the ground for any sight of his buddies. The fresh scent of blood wafted through the cool night's air which coaxed him closer to the boardwalk, perhaps a mile or two north. The fucking sand dunes, of course! Sure enough, amongst a towering, crackling bonfire stacked high with the charred remains of surfboards that belonged to screaming Santa Carlites currently being devoured, there he spotted the trio of vampires tearing and ripping into the flesh and bones of unfortunate victims. Their blood spraying in odd directions, splattering across their clothes and hair. "Marko!” Paul yelled far louder than he needed to, panic evident on his countenance whilst he clumsily crash landed into the  wind whipped rouge sands below. The display caught the attention of his brothers immediately as they finished off their prey in a geyser of crimson fluids, leaving the ground stained.

Marko dropped the lifeless shriveled up human carcass he had been cradling savagely in his arms to the ground with little interest for it any longer. His previous frail lineament now long gone, replaced with a healthy  complexion. Although Marko felt he was back to his full capacity, he couldn't help the immediate apprehension and terror that sparked within his chest as it panged in his gut nauseously. "Paul?! Dude what the fuck are you doing here, where’s Y/N?? What's wrong?" He asked, panic straining his voice. 

"Dude! Fucking hurry up! I think Y/n's in labor, man!”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Marko demanded, grabbing Paul by his jacket. “You fucking left her?!”

“Marko, man, listen! One minute she was okay, the next she's screaming bloody murder and the fucking floors drenched!" Paul panted, doubled over as he'd flown here with all his might. "Before you ask, she's on her bed, okay? I took her there myself, even with her kicking and screaming. Dude I swear I didn’t just ditch! I swear, man I didn't wanna leave her but she said she needed someone to stick their fingers inside her or fucking whatever cuz if she pushes the baby will die, I dunno man but I'm not itching to do that ever!"

Marko said nothing, primal instincts kicking in full throttle as he sailed through the air and headed straight for the cave. His mind wandered to perilous details in furious cluttered thought, things that already created all the more apprehension to to twist in his gut, turning them round and round. His thoughts immediately went to the fact that you were alone in the hotel, in the purest of all agonies, having to go at this on your lonesome. The closer he sailed over the coastline the more he could hear. Your voice was just in the distance carried on the winds in gut wrenching cries that tore him apart. His next thoughts dwindled on your safety as well as the babies. He was very aware that there was no doctor involved in the mix, which meant no hospital and certainly no pain killers. He was terrified as his mind blasted through the worst of the worst. Didn't women used to die of childbirth back in the day? Was there a possibility that you could die? 

Marko hadn't even noticed that the others boys had been hot on his heels, prepared to offer aid wherever they could.

 "Marko, man! Slow down!" David called, struggling to keep up with the pace in which his pal was flying. The little bugger had gotten a head start, fueled by his pessimistic contemplation. But Marko didn't halt or slow down for that matter. There was no time for any of that! He had to get to the hotel and into your room as swiftly as possible, he wouldn’t dare slow down! What the hell was David even talking about anyway? Slow down?! Slowing down would do nothing but increase the chances of something else going wrong. He knew that the moment you'd spoken the words of, "what could go wrong in a couple of hours", that you had completely and utterly jinxed the entire night! 

His body dove and swerved through the hotel passing caves and holes, nearly crashing as he sped to a desperate stop inside the nursery. Your screams were crystal clear, as though they were right there, yet the sound rattled his ribs until he thought he would pass out. Still hidden away behind pitch black curtains, he could almost see your pitiful form writhing in limitlessly excruciating anguish. Rapidly his steps carried him to your bedside where you were still smothered in fresh blood, wrenching away the curtains. The sight was a visage of carnage torn straight from hell itself! Yet you only saw your dearest prince, and it was truly a sight for sore eyes left distorted by cruel tears. His coarse hand clutched yours immediately, providing the first rare moment of sanctity you had felt. The sudden motion and contact from him startled you tremendously, causing you to shriek when another contraction sent you into a panic. "Hey, it's me, baby girl. It's just me." He cooed comforting down at you, his free hand smoothing your damp hair from your sweat slick face. He probably looked like hell, still covered head to toe in his latest victims blood. That probably wasn't the most hygienic state for him to be in during the birthing of his child. But he had to work with what he had. There wasn't exactly running fresh water in the hotel anyway. It was almost unbearable for him to watch you, the color drained from your cheeks, grasping his hand until he swore he heard bones begin to crack.

“Marko.. I-I can’t push yet.. I d-don’t know how far I am,” You choked out, pressing the back of your head into the mattress when pulsating rivers of agony wove through you in cruel waves. The pain was now a disarray of spontaneous choreography, a violent tempo swelling and spreading throughout your entire body, leaving your brain foggy and black spots waltzing at the corners of your vision.

Before Marko was able to utter a word, the three boys bounded into the room, breathless and covered in a film of dampness, no doubt most likely from the crashing waves of the sea that battered along the cliffs' edge. The intrusion was noisy and agitating, leading to Marko's eyes becoming beacons of flourishing orange and his head whipped towards the guys. "Will you guys get lost? I'm not about to have you guys stand there like the Triplets of Fucking Bullshit while I try to figure out how dilated Y/n is!" he practically roared, the cave was shuddering for a moment as specs of dust flitted sporadically to the ground.

“Marko, baby, please calm down," you begged him, placing a hand on his forearm. The sight of him still smeared in blood was one thing, but such rage even at his brothers almost frightened you, his head practically whipping around to face you with fangs bared and piercing white hot eyes tearing into your own. It felt like he had stared straight through into your soul which was certainly not what you needed currently. The petrified expression left plastered across your palored cheeks made Marko feel incredibly remorseful, running his fingers through his hair. He was running on little sleep and barely had enough to satiate his lingering appetite, leaving him still quite exhausted.

"It's fine. We'll clear out. C'mon boys." David stated, Dwayne having already left. He stared pointedly at Paul though, who was staring at you in fright. He felt as though he should be there, however, with David staring at him so intently, he glanced over your way. You could only give him a weakened smile, your gaze assuring him you were safe now. Paul hung his head low and squeezed past the spiked blonde boy briskly. And David followed suit, not sparing another glance your way. It seemed cold but truthfully, David wasn't entirely sure what to make of the situation. Heightened emotions made him uncomfortable. David was better away from this specific spotlight, and currently his friend was in a frenzy he wasn’t willing to have escalated in such a delicate moment. He'd deal with the aftermath once the storm had passed. Marko could deal with the storm singlehandedly if that's what he so desperately desired. I mean, David hadn't knocked you up, so why get his feathers ruffled when he wasn't wanted there anyway?

“You… owe th-them an... a-apology,” you managed to pant out, wearily smacking his arm when a moment of relief between contractions allowed your voice to return. 

Marko huffed, shimmying off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair as he climbed on top of the bed with you, shutting the curtains. “I’ll make it up to them later babe, now’s not the fucking time.” Marko grumbled indignantly, his vampiric features morphing back to his human ones.

It was incredibly important for Marko to ensure that you were dilated 10 centimeters. This was not just for the babies sake but also for your own. If you pushed too soon it could prove fatal for you and your child. There was an instinct in you that told you to push, though Marko insisted adamantly that you hold off on pushing for the meantime. Stress riddled Marko to the core as he knelt down in front of you on the bed, his fingers comfortingly stroking your inner thighs prior to pulling back and nearing your entrance. To begin with he slipped in a finger, pushing softly as the books had told him until he reached the surface of the cervix which if he hadn't been reading the books that Dwayne had given him, he would have thought it didn't exist. Instead, he was met with a rubbery balloon-like texture which he knew was the bag of waters that held your baby. He slowly retracted his finger and added a few more, until he was certain that you were way past the 5cm mark. "Ow! B-babe! Tbh-that hurts!" You complained loudly, back arching off the mattress as you flinched, brows knitted together in contorted pain. 

"Really?" Marko snapped, eyes meeting yours whilst his fingers froze within you. "You've had much worse in there and a few fingers hurt? Sheesh!" He stated slowly, his expression flattening momentarily. And suddenly, as if by magic, the tension that had been suffocating the pair of you lifted somewhat, causing the pair of you to chortle for a moment before you winced, a grimace clouding your expression. 

"Shut up you complete asshole, h-how about I sh-shove a watermelon up you butt, s-s-see how you like it,” you breathlessly laugh, leaning your head back against your pillow. “So, c-can I p-push now, or not?" 

"Yeah, I'm pretty certain that you're 10 centimeters now, babe."

Some form of twisted relief washed over your soul in that moment as you let the instinct to push was over you. There was a slow, long drag pulling through your back. It was like a tiger had dug it’s hooked claws into you and was pulling them down through your flesh.  The endeavor was tiring, grueling in fact, leaving you dizzy and exhausted. But yet there was a set determination that took over you whilst you pushed desperately. Your toes tightly curled in place, grunts and panting replaced by blood curdling screams that sent chills down any who heard it. Tears made it impossible to see, the salty concoction of tears and sweat staining your face. Everything burned, you were fearful you may pass out. Though as soon as you pushed you found yourself holding your breath, to which Marko had to coach you through how  to breathe. A deep breathe in and another deep breathe out. In through the nose out through the mouth. Well, more like, in through the mouth and back out again. He also had to remind you when to rest,especially when he took note of exhaustion blanketing across you. 

“Marko- I can’t! No, no! Fuck I can’t it hurts so fucking bad,” you cried out until your throat was raw, having to be snatched by him before you launched up, pinned precisely in place by his steel grip. “No, god, I can’t do this! Please, I-I can’t I can’t it h-hurts!” 

"Come on, baby girl you can’t stop now! You have to hold still, it’s gonna be okay, you've got this." Marko encouraged ceaselessly, offering his pale hand to you to hold. Using his other he cemented you in place, knowing one wrong move could kill the baby. Your strength caught him by surprise when you snatched his hand tightly, grateful he couldn’t feel the crushing grasp of your fingers as his dead bones began to crack. Fortunately for him, years of rigor mortis and rot had decayed most of his nervous system by now. He held your head back on his chest, continuing to coax you with tender words. “Almost there baby, almost I know it hurts, I know, I’m so sorry baby." He whispered softly into your ear, his cool breath fanning across your hot flushed skin. You swallowed thickly, almost as though you were in a trance as you continued your strained pushes. A pinkish liquid spilled out and onto the sheets in a cruel, seeping motion. Marko noted it’s scent carried a heavy copper tone and glanced down as the pale salmon tint deepened into a dark crimson hue. Your screams had nearly numbed his ears by now, although it was not a sound he desired to grow accustomed to. 

Marko softly unwound his arms around you, though he kept his left hand in your ironclad grip. He needed to ensure that blood was the baby’s head crowning and not some horrendous miscarriage. He wouldn’t dare mention the alternative to his mate mid-birth, pushing away the blankets covering your legs and to his amazement there was your baby's head crowning momentarily before slipping back inside. From what he'd read, this was a completely normal process, your pushing, in conjunction with your contractions would continue to shift the baby down the birthing canal and out of you. Your heels dug into the mattress with your back arching upward as your mouth was aghast in treacherous suffering, a hideous cry drawing tears from your eyes. The room began to sway, the pace of your heart was that of wild horses unleashed on an open plain. Heat grasped you from every angle, it was getting harder to breathe the more you fought through it. Fear grabbed hold of your lungs, squeezing violently, picking up your heart rate until Marko could hear it thundering beneath your rib cage like a frightened animal wanting to be let loose of its cage. Your rapid labored breaths carried a concerning pace that had him beside you once again.

“Marko.. T-the room..,” you tried to whimper out between screams, head swaying to the side staring at the pitch black curtains that somehow seemed to be seeping into your surroundings. You could feel the drag pulling down your back into your birth canal, you were so close but the sheer exhaustion tempted you to faint at any moment. “I..I can’t..” you gasped out under your breath so quiet he almost thought he'd imagined the words.

"Just one more push, babe," Marko pleaded, brushing his hand over your damp forehead. In a sweet, yet ardent motion your hair was pushed back from your face. You clung to his hand, pressing your forehead against his frigid palm savoring the relieving rush of cold. The sight of his wide eyes connecting with yours forced a momentary breath of air, those perfect blue pools gave you something to focus on. The blackness was scattered, a last scream forcing it's way out of your throat as you gave one final push, the dragging motion within you halting. Light faded in and out of your vision, rapid black splotches flickering around the room, the pain becoming dull and pulsating. You hardly even noticed the muffled, shrill cries emitting from your newborn, or the fact that Marko had already had her wrapped in a towel once he'd cut the umbilical cord. Your chest shuddered when you breathed, the small pink infant squirming beneath white fabric making whimpering grunts. Small fingers stretched out, clutching at Marko’s shirt.

“Marko.. Wh-what are they,” you groaned our, flickering lashes barely keeping you conscious.

Marko hesitated to glance between misted eyes, choking out a stunned laugh. “A girl…”

The blood stained her red skin, and before he could wipe away the sticky red substance off her fingers she suckled at the red liquid, eyes bright white just as his were when his fangs were bared. She had yet to form her own, and when there was none left on her hand they had faded back into little grey, uncolored orbs. The lack of food had become noticable, and she let out a fussy whine, kicking her feet against the blanket in a fit. So that's what she needed to feed on. Marko gently bounced her in his arms, nuzzling his forehead against hers until her tantrum was subdued. “Shhh shhh, it’s okay baby girl.. Plenty of time for that later... Daddy will bring you a big ol bag of blood when mommy feels better, I promise.”  

You blinked away tears as she was delicately passed into your arms, weighing no more than eight or nine pounds just as weary as you were. “Wilhelmina...,” you choked out, brushing your fingers across her plump cheek.

“Billie huh?” Marko asked, laying on his side beside you with his bent arm elevating his head, his fingers reached out to brush against the blonde dusting of hair on the head of his daughter, a grin plastered on his face, an exhausted twinkle dancing in his eyes. "I like that... Wilhelmina it is.."

He now felt like finally, in these eight months of your pregnancy, that he could catch some shut eye. Time had become distorted, he had no idea whether it was daytime or night time any more, the two may as well have been blurred together. In your safe haven of thick black flowing curtains, Marko placed Billie delicately into your heavy arms, slumber already having wrapped you tightly in its deep and vast embrace. He curled his fingers around the dark fabric, pulling it skeptically out of the way. The room was swallowed in darkness, however, his nocturnal eyes easily scoped out the shut door at the other end of the room. He thought for a minute, capturing his bottom lip in between his teeth. He chewed on it for a moment before pulling himself up and off the bed. Truthfully now that his territorial rage had fizzled out he knew he owed the guys for how much of an ass he'd been when confronted with your unexpected labor. 

With tentative steps, so as not to disturb you, Marko flitted towards the shut door, no light seeping underneath the crack of the door. He twisted the knob carefully, a low squeak creeping into the air as he opened the door. He stepped out into the passageway leading to the main cave and began a somewhat hurried stroll. Honestly he was ecstatic to tell the boys. To show them his daughter was something he was practically bouncing on the spot for he couldn't wait! 

Marko, briefly unaware with his contemplation cluttering his mind, did not fully register the danger as he stepped forward into a stream of sunlight just up ahead cutting clearly through the decrepit roof of the hotel. It wasn't until the searing sizzle of his flesh did he register that he was caught aflame from the sun's rays. With a shriek he recoiled, battering at exposed flesh to kill the flames. He smoldered for a moment, back pressed to the wall as he peered into the vacant lobby of the ancient hotel. He sighed, shaking his head in dismay. "Dammit! Well... I guess they'll just have to meet Billie tonight then," he concluded with finality, not giving it much thought before he turned and made his way back to your room with heavy eyelids, finally content. As he padded softly into the room, shutting the door behind him, Marko couldn't help but feel relief wash over him. It was an enormous weight lifted from his shoulders now that he'd be able to go out to feed without fearing something could happen to you. That was more than enough to cure him of any and all anxiety that had previously immobilized him.

As he settled himself underneath the covers, he brought you closer, baby Billie placed tenderly between you both and he grinned half halfheartedly, a dopey, wide grin that pulled on his heavy eyelids. "I'm kinda glad you jinxed it, babe." he breathed into the air before he allowed the weight of sleep to shut his eyes and encapsulate him in its lulling motion.

[solar-writes]

solar's bite-sized fics #2

More Agen/Maul small-brained thoughts for the something about you 'verse, because I'm too lazy to write a bigger scene.

Rating: Mature

Ship: Agen Kolar/Darth Maul, background Eeth Koth/Savage Opress

Tags/warning: Fluff, implied sexual content

Nothing needs to be said when Maul comes stomping into their quarters one stormy evening, because Agen’s seen him throw that hissy fit a thousand times before, and by now he knows precisely what that face means.

“Where did you catch them this time?” he asks, not even bothering to look up from his datapad. As Master overseeing the reconstruction of the Ledeve Temple, it’s his duty to get a regular bimonthly progress report sent out to the Coruscant Temple, and Agen’s nearly done with this iteration’s issue. He’s not about to get distracted by something that’s become almost routine just now.

“You Jedi,” Maul snarls, in lieu of a direct answer. “Surely your Temple must have taught you basic decency, for all the virtuous facades you put up.”

“Jedi aren’t celibate,” Agen reminds him, somewhat superfluously given the fact that they’ve been having plenty of intimate pursuits of their own, albeit in the privacy of their quarters.

“I know, but surely you Jedi must have more self-respect than that,” Maul splutters.

Agen sets his datapad aside. He’s not going to be able to deal with an irate mate and the report at the same time. “The look on your face tells me you were unfortunate enough to catch them in a state of undress this time.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Maul sighs, aggrieved, and drags his palms over his eyes, as if hoping to physically scrub away the unpleasant memories. “I have seen things I would never wish on my worst enemy. Visions that now plague my mind, that make me want to retch and threaten to consume me, so horrific I would never have imagined them possible.” He’s pacing, now, exasperation lending force to his footsteps as they pound the wooden floor. “My indomitable warrior brother is reduced to a two-credit prostitute around his mate, and all of Koth’s braincells seem to spontaneously die whenever he so much as catches sight of Savage, so much so that when I entered the training salles just now —“

“Ah,” Agen interrupts, lifting a finger to stop him there. “Please refrain from inflicting them on me, too. I do not wish to hear about Eeth’s…exploits.”

Maul frowns. “Very well. And I thought you Jedi compassionate creatures. Instead you leave me alone to confront these nightmares —“

Agen rolls his eyes, and pats the spot on the bed beside him. Maul doesn’t hesitate to crawl in next to him, never once stopping in his dramatic tirade.

“—mind-healers, not even your Coruscant Temple has mind-healers skilled enough to handle the trauma I now carry within —”

“Something to distract you might be a good prescription,” Agen cuts in, as Maul settles in beside him, so close their sides are pressed up against one another and he’s got one knee over Agen’s leg. “How about I read to you?”

Maul pauses to consider this suggestion, folding his arms and looking only mildly petulant.

“Very well,” he says at last, and Agen shuffles off the bed to select a holobook from their small shelf. “But make sure it’s something related to the topic of botanicals.”

“Certainly, my love,” Agen says, allowing himself a small smile, and moves to comply.

[ahgaseda]

wolf boys || chapter 11

⇥ synopsis : being the young alpha female over a pack of misbehaving werewolves is no easy task and is made even more complicated when the time comes to choose a mate...

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language and dialogue, recurring violence or mentions of blood, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

Something stirred you awake, restless and yearning. Rolling to your side, you buried your nose in the sheets, drowning in your own scent. It was thicker, more pronounced than normal, and that was new.

You got to work. Ripping the blankets from your bed and tossing them to the corner. Then followed the pillows and sheets.

Standing there, you put your hands on your hips and realized you would need more.

The guest room was your first target. It hadn’t been used in ages. You piled high what you could find and began shaping your spoils in a snug oval wedged in the corner.

As the boys began to stir, Jinyoung was the first to notice all of the cushions missing from the sofas.

Appearing in the doorway, Jinyoug leaned against the frame and watched you fondly. “Are you… nesting?”

Coming to a stop, you sat squarely in the center with your legs spread comfortably at your sides. “Is that what this is?”

He smiled at the bewilderment on your face. “I think so.”

Glancing around, you huffed, “I need more blankets and towels.”

“You’ve decided to breed then?”

Flustered by the notion, you exclaimed, “No!”

Jinyoung cocked an eyebrow, unconvinced.

Glaring at the implication, you exclaimed, “I just feel a ridiculous urge to make this specific corner as comfortable as possible!”

Jinyoung held up his hands in surrender. “Alright. Alright.”

“Don’t mind me,” you retorted, adding another pillow to the growing heap.

Jinyoung left you to your task with a smile, warning the other wolf boys what they would find if they breezed by your bedroom.

Jaebeom passed the doorway not long after, stopping dead in his tracks and watching you with interest. Delicately you pushed the blankets until they rested exactly where you wanted them. Something in your blood told you what to do.

The alpha finally asked, “Are you nesting?”

Lifting your head, you felt a slight prickle of nerves at being caught by Jaebeom in this position, knowing it would lead to another awkward, tense conversation. “Ugh, I already had this chat with Jinyoung,” you groaned, putting another pillow against the wall.

Jaebeom reached down to pick up the small crocheted throw that had fallen just beyond your reach. He extended it toward you and said, “I’m supposed to bring you what you need.”

You took the offering quickly and draped it over your lap. “I can handle it myself,” you told him softly. “I don’t plan on using this nest.”

Jaebeom watched you resume the work, shivers racing up his spine. “I can see it... In my mind,” he whispered under his breath, more so to himself.

Disinterested, you asked, “See what?”

Jaebeom’s voice lowered, husky with the weight of his words, “You nesting here. Swollen with my baby.”

Your eyes lifted, gazes meeting, and you felt yourself melting under the sudden pressure in the room. “...Stop that,” you whimpered.

Jaebeom heard the shift in your tone and it was music to his ears. “If you’re having this urge now, we both know what that means.”

You sighed. “Heat isn’t far behind.”

“Mm.”

Rising to your feet, you asked, “What will you do if I give myself to Jinyoung to breed?”

Jaebeom’s expression flickered, jealousy gone as swiftly as it had appeared. He went to great lengths to hide his emotions, as always. “Jinyoung has already said he doesn’t want that for you.”

You stepped closer, testing the waters as it were. “What if I insisted?”

Jaebeom rounded on you, “Then I will drive him out of here, fangs and claws. All of them. I will stand at this door and fuck up any of them that try to get through to you.”

You blinked in shock, but deep down, you weren’t the least surprised. “Jaebeom…”

Jaebeom moved closer until he leered over you and growled, “Alpha. I am your Alpha.”

You let your attention falter to his chest, something coursing in your blood both calming and arousing at the display of his dominance. “Alpha,” you finally purred, rising to your tiptoes and bringing your lips to his neck, breathing him in.

Jaebeom rumbled in his throat with satisfaction, knowing his scent was soothing to you.

Lashes fluttering, you broke away from him, feeling his arm wrapped around your waist slipping free. You lost track of how long you had been in his embrace, but you were reminded you had work to do.

Giving his chest a small shove that failed to even jostle him, you snipped, “I’m not using this nest.”

Jaebeom smirked. “Whatever you say, alpha.”

You snorted, watching him leave.

The tension that had filled the room steadily dissipated. Satisfied with your work thus far, you plopped down in your nest and began to rub your back against the blankets.

Having watched you for a minute or two, Jinyoung chuckled and teased, “You’re cute.”

Turning your head, you continued your ministrations and chirped, “I’m making it smell like me.”

The beta nodded his head. “Yeah, I got that.”

Jaebeom approached swiftly, his voice a deep snarl, “Don’t go in there.”

“Jaebeom,” you called, the scent of his sharp aggression tickling your nose.

Jaebeom crowded into Jinyoung’s face and warned, “I won’t have my baby’s nest smelling like my beta.”

You shouted, “Jaebeom!”

Jaebeom didn’t afford you a glance. He was as much tapped into his instincts as you were.

Jinyoung bowed his head in submission and murmured, “Yes, alpha.”

You bristled with agitation, and had you been in your wolf form, you would have pinned your ears back and shown your teeth. “Both of you,” you hissed, vehement. “Out. Now.”

Jinyoung didn’t hesitate to give you the space you desired, but Jaebeom was ready to plant his feet and put up a fight. He weighed the choice briefly before studying the sight of a clearly irate female and deciding to vacate to the safety of the living room without another word.

As time passed and you basked in peace and quiet, you relaxed again. Something in your lupine instincts despised any form of display between males close to your nest, which was why you had reacted rather angrily. You realized it was because you would one day guard and nurse your baby there. Of course, any mother would never allow the males to misbehave so close to her young.

You became less and less inclined to leave your nest. In fact, your new task was to saturate the place with your scent. At this point, you trusted your body knew what needed to be done and you took pleasure - and pride - in preparing your makeshift bed.

The silence didn’t last long unfortunately as Jackson finally stole a peek at your activities and exclaimed, "Ooh, she is nesting!"

You grumbled, "I'm just trying to get comfortable."

Jackson quipped loudly, "Comfortable enough to take that dick."

Your temper flared and you braced your hands on the cold floor, about to leap and give this kid a taste of your annoyance.

Jackson bolted through the door, but there stood Mark at the ready to give him a swat over the back of his head.

"Have some respect,” Mark chided with amusement. “She can kick you out of the pack at anytime."

The delta blinked. "She can?"

Mark nodded. You flashed a smug grin.

Jackson chuckled nervously. "I was just kidding, alpha."

"I will let it slide… this time,” you told him, waving the boys away.

Jackson retreated, but Mark simpered. “Are you okay? Need anything?”

You were grateful for the offer and replied, “I’ve given up trying to fight these urges. My mother always said a she-wolf knows best.”

“Trust your magic. You have a lot more of it than we do.”

Tears burned your eyes and you spoke lightly as a feather, “Thank you, Mark.”

“Anytime, baby,” he said sweetly. Then, he headed outside to make his rounds of the territory.

Left alone again, you sat there and waited. You had grown accustomed to the routine interruptions from your wolf boys. When enough silence had passed, you curled up in your nest and felt yourself drifting off to sleep.

Images danced in your mind. Of a dark-haired baby with full cheeks tucked against your breast, your body curled around her protectively as she rested over your heartbeat. A faint smile tugged at your lips, lost in your dreams.

Jaebeom approached without hesitation, slipping into your nest and settling at your side. Nose to nose you met his eyes and exhaled in contentment.

“Comfortable?” asked the alpha.

“Very,” you sighed.

Jaebeom began to move, rubbing his back on the blanket.

You scowled and warned, “Stop that.”

“It should smell like me,” Jaebeom countered, playful.

“It’s mine,” came your dangerous growl.

Jaebeom settled down. “Wouldn’t you get lonely?”

You laughed at that and deadpanned, “No, I live in a house with four boys.”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes, but shifted with the intent to leave you be.

“I will allow you to stay in my nest for now,” you told him quickly.

Jaebeom smiled, but your closed eyes kept you from seeing the happiness on his face. “Is that so?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

Jaebeom took one last look at the serenity on your face before he joined you in your sweet dreams, whispering under his breath, “It’s perfect.”

chapter 10 ⇤ chapter 11 ⇥ chapter 12

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[thecosmicsen]

january 12 1966.

!!  trigger warnings: emotional abuse  !!

the tip of his tongue pokes out as he meticulously sweeps off the last morsel of splattered sauce off the bookshelf surface.  Taesoo had yet another tantrum over an issue that Jaewoo cannot recall now.  what he does remember is how his twin brother had gotten so emotionally aggravated to the point that he had moved Jaewoo to tears,  the tears pricking and burning his eyelids with the familiar sensation of yet another guilt-ridden night waiting in-store for him when he is to lay his head down at night.  to come to think of it,  what had Taesoo gotten so worked up about  ?  all he can remember is that it is his own fault for not looking after him properly which is why he can admit with humiliation that he is everything that his brother holds him accountable for.  but did he really have to waste food and send everything flying to get his point across  ?  

Jaewoo pauses his furious scrubbing with a forlorn sigh to mull over this point.  does he have enough pocket money to buy extra cabbage tomorrow morning  ?  he might be able to buy some in time before the twins are set to leave for middle school.  maybe he can create a make up lunch box for Taesoo in time.  that sometimes works in favour of earning his forgiveness.  but for now,  he can simply air dry the books partially soiled with the resentful douse of his brother’s fury.  he is so caught up in ensuring that the house is spotless that he doesn’t notice his mother returning from work.  it isn’t good that I’m always cleaning after his messes.  he usually helps me clean his mess afterwards.  did I really mess up that badly that he won’t even help me now  ?  maybe I don’t deserve talking to him because of that.  but why am I the one cleaning again  ?

“  Jaewoo, ”  his mother interrupts his spiralling pessimism with her sharp voice smoothly cutting through the buzz of his frantic thoughts.  “  what is there to eat  ?  ”

“  yes mama  ?  ”  he immediately whirls around,  eyes round as globes as her words sink in.  “  welcome back home  !  uh . . .  um . . .  I can warm up the stew for you.  I made that today.  I can warm up yesterday’s leftovers too or do you want me to make you something else  ?  ”

“  no no,  that’s fine.  warm up the leftovers.  ”  she firmly shakes her head as she peels off the multiple layers of outer winter clothing,  a tuckered sigh escaping from her lips.  Jaewoo instantly picks up on this,  making sure to offer to massage her legs later on after dinner before he heads off to obediently warm up her dinner. 

there is a tightening ache in his chest that randomly robs him of his breath,  the anxiety surging through his veins as he ardently prays to whatever god is listening to him that his mother will not catch a spot of spilled stew that he had missed in his thorough cleaning up.  his mother doesn’t take too kindly to news of the twins quibbling and the bulk of the need to pick up the heavy responsibility always falls back on the eldest son.  once again,  he slips into his pattern of fretting and then fretting over not doing a good enough job of the current task at hand which is preparing his mother’s dinner.  

miraculously,  her usually shrewd observation doesn’t catch a glimpse of any mess as she heads to quickly refresh herself before dinner.  heaving a huge sigh of relief,  Jaewoo turns back back to reheating the stew on the stovetop and vigorously cleaning the tabletop for the nth time for his mother to dine at.  when she finally reemerges,  he already has her table fully set up and piping hot food awaiting her since Jaewoo is more than accustomed to her routine after her nursing shifts,  as irregular as they may appear to be.  as she begins to eat,  he turns back to the stove to boil water for tea whilst also washing up on the two remaining leftover bowls previously upturned by Taesoo.  he is so engrossed in his domestic chores that he initially doesn’t notice his mother calling his name again.

“  Jaewoo,  are you done with the tea yet  ? ”  she inquires and he doesn’t sense any irate antagonism from her so his shoulders relax slightly.  as he nods,  she mirrors his movements too before firmly instructing.  “  okay,  good.  come here.  ”

half hesitant but half eager to see what she wants,  he pads up to her.  “  y-yes mama  ?  ”

“  put your head here.  ”  she pats on her lap after setting her spoon down,  waiting for him expectantly.  pleasantly surprised,  he listens to her right away although he attempts not to bother her with the full weight of his head on her lap,  the rest of his body flopped out across on the floor.  with a small chuckle,  she insistently presses down on his forehead to ease the full weight of his head on her before gently running her fingers through his locks of hair.  “  good boy.  you can always be such a good boy.  I like it when you behave well. ”

a part of him wants to burst into tears and have his heart singing for joy to finally have some sort of recognition for all of his hard work and efforts to maintain the house and look after his family.  yet the other nefarious part of him wants to wholly reject that and weep tears of complete anguish when he has been such a bad brother and a bad son by arguing with his younger brother just a mere hour ago.  either way,  emotional tears pool at the corner of his eyes and he audibly sniffs,  vainly attempting to blink the tears shut away.  unsuccessfully,  a few trickles escape and dribble down in tiny sploshes to the floor.  he can hear his mother sigh again.  

“  why are you crying  ?  I know you can be a good boy but I need you to try better when it comes to your younger brother.  Taesoo has been affected by your father’s death but you fighting with him doesn’t help.  it makes things worse instead.  I really wish you would stop fighting with him,  Jaewoo-ya.  ”  her words are cutting but her fingers work to continue massaging his scalp,  alternating to stroke through his hair.  

as for Jaewoo himself,  his arms are loosely crossed on his chest,  his lips pressed tightly shut to hold in any loud sob that may betray his raging emotional battle.  he tries he tries he tries but Taesoo gets upset over the most random and inconsequential things.  he doesn’t want to listen,  he doesn’t want to compromise.  he just tells Jaewoo how bad he is for treating him the way he does.  the problem is,  he always tries his best to treat him well.  what is he still doing wrong  ?  what is wrong with him  ?  

“  don’t cry.  you’re the man of the house.  ”  his mother continues,  stern in her lecture but touch still soft.  “  but you’ve been a good boy.  I like the stew you made today and you cleaned up well today.  good job.  I’ll give you a massage for a little while and then we can drink tea,  okay ?  ”

“  okay.  I’ll try my best mama.  ”  is all he can manage to croak out,  his voice thick with emotions as he tries to suppress the overflowing guilt that it should be his mother getting a massage from him right now not vice versa but who is he to reject his mother openly showing him some positive attention  ?  comforted with this newfound knowledge,  he can loosen up his shoulders that had an unknown subconscious tension pent up in them.  

for once,  his body doesn’t pick up on the calculating gaze of his twin brother peeping out through the small crack of their shared bedroom door that overlooks the rare scene of the twin’s mother dousing Jaewoo with physical affection.  

[airiustide]

Day 16: Necklace

A/N: I wanted to post this yesterday but I had an awful day at work, so my boyfriend took me to see The Last Jedi (and omg it was fjnfnukvnfhnwur….) and then gave me a pity massage until it put me into a near comatose state. But here it is!

@zutaramonth

“Tenzin, please….” Katara begged her son. Her five-month-old was restless and refused to sleep. He had been colic since the day he was born and she couldn’t remember the last time she slept well. Bumi and Kya would help calm the baby from time to time but after so long he would get irate if Katara ventured too far from him. She could feel the weight of the last five months put a strain on her mentality and Aang did little to relieve it.

When he had the chance, he always seemed to escape. He popped up when it was convenient and spent little time with her two oldest before going off on Avatar duty when Tenzin’s cries became too much. She never felt so alone. All she had were her children. The air acolytes rarely conversed with her, she even had the gnawing feeling that they had little respect for her as well.

Her days with Aang since they started having children turned into a daze. A never ending slow cycle of constant routines and little change. It gave her little confidence and a part of her wished time would reverse.

Katara loved her children, no doubt. They were her everything and there was nothing she’d want to do to change that. But she imagined her future with a lot less strain and tiredness. In a way, Aang was abandoning her.

“Lady Katara.” An acolyte interrupted her whirlwind of thoughts. “It’s a letter from Fire Lord Zuko.”

The waterbender smiled. It had been weeks since Zuko’s last letter. Since Mai had passed and he had been raising Izumi on his own, they often wrote one another. She had even taken the time to stay at the palace for several years when he had a hard time recovering from Mai’s death and he spent little time with his daughter in morning. It was Katara that put her foot down and pulled Zuko out of his funk in order to get him to be there for his newborn daughter.

Aang wasn’t pleased with her staying at the Fire Nation palace to help raise another man’s baby. Katara being Katara put Aang in his place and refused to come back home after his demeaning words set her off. Her husband then had begged on his hands and knees for her not to leave him. Even going as far as reminding her about Bumi and the fact that she was carrying Kya at the time. She shut down his attempt to manipulate her and making her feel guilty. It was then she chose to stay, giving birth to Kya at the palace.

Helping raise Izumi as well as her own children kept her occupied, but she was happy and seeing Zuko progress as a parent, even going as far as helping her own, gave her content.

Then Zuko remarried and she knew it was time to move on. It hurt. A part of her was beyond jealous but she knew there was no reason to be. It was she who turned down the Fire Lord’s proposal years before right after Aang had proposed to her first. She was conflicted. She had chosen the Avatar already but she also knew how she truly felt for Zuko. Fear set in her heart at the idea of being Fire Lady and how his people would probably never accept her for being Watertribe.

It was with that, she declined his offer.

Katara had never seen her friend so hurt. Guilt set in her heart at the way he forced a laughed and told her to keep the betrothal necklace he had carved for her as a wedding present before leaving her in her own gray thoughts.

She cried that night. Her sorrow felt endless and she couldn’t seem to patch it all together clinging onto the necklace Zuko had perfectly carved for her.

After the Fire Lord’s second wedding, she knew it was time for her and her children to go back to Republic City. Aang had eagerly welcomed them back home, catering to his wife he had lost for years, promising to be a better husband and father this time around. It was good. For a short time.

Once Tenzin was born, everything went backwards again. The couple was pleased to have an airbender but the constant cries of the boy and Aang’s inability to face conflict left her in the dark again.

After rocking Tenzin to sleep, Katara went to sit at the edge of her bed and carefully unrolled the scroll. She smiled reading over the words. The Fire Lord talked about Izumi’s eleventh birthday and how she would love to spend it with her Aunt Katara. They would make it to Republic City in a week’s time, his wife would be joining them. Despite Katara’s jealousy years ago, she had grown to like Ayumi. They would even write to each other once in a while.

Folding the letter, Katara opened the draw of her night stand next to the bed to place it inside. Pursing her lips, she slipped her hand to the back of the draw and pulled out a small red box. She carefully opened it to observe the beautiful trinket that hung on a deep purple ribbon. The stone melded together in a swirl of red and blue, meeting in the middle to create a purple center. The symbol of a dragon wrapped around the moon was well detailed.

Katara brushed a single finger over the symbol. This was her keepsake. Something she could hold onto when everything else seemed to fall apart. Even without his presence, Katara felt whole looking at the necklace Zuko gave her. Tears blurred her visions as she clung tight to the gift clenched in her fists as she held against her chest.

[fraink5-writes]

Trust Fall

For Soukoku Week 2017 Day 1. Prompt:  「Ah, heart, that believes in others more than itself」 – Sheep Song

Shout out to my beta-readers: @nolongertainted and @leio13! They’re amazing!

Summary: '“Don’t worry; you can trust me.” Dazai assured Chuuya, who was at this point already falling. Chuuya tumbled forcefully into Dazai’s extended arms. He squirmed briefly but quickly gave up upon realizing that he could not escape. '

Chuuya and Dazai had their own trust fall, which worked most of the time.

This fic can also be found Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

    Seeping from the cracks in his skin, blood dripped down Chuuya’s knee. Tears squeezed out of his eyes as he struggled to hold in his cries. Dazai, wiping the wound with a disinfectant, whispered sweetly, “Don’t cry, Chuuya.” He wrapped the bruise with a bandage, which he miraculously materialized.

    “Of course you have those,” Chuuya spat.

    “Chuuya,” Dazai smiled gently, ignoring his partner’s snarky remark. “I’ll take care of you; you can trust me.” Onto his tiny frame, Dazai lifted an even tinier Chuuya. He flashed a wider grin at the other boy. “See? Now you don’t have to walk on your hurt leg!”

    Chuuya grinned; his leg definitely didn’t hurt enough to be carried, but he said nothing. He felt safe pressed against Dazai’s back. Dazai was someone he could trust.

    “Chuuya, come down!” Dazai yelled, jumping at Chuuya’s red hair, arms flailing.

    “Dazai?! What are you doing?!” Chuuya screeched, hastily walking across the ceiling away from the brunette. “Are you trying to make me fall?!”

    “Maybe,” Dazai’s grin was smug as he chased Chuuya around the room. “But I’ll catch you~!” He sang out.

    Chuuya turned slowly to inspect his devious partner, but he was too slow. Dazai reached up, tapped Chuuya’s head, and Chuuya slipped from his perch.

    “Don’t worry; you can trust me.” Dazai assured Chuuya, who was at this point already falling. Chuuya tumbled forcefully into Dazai’s extended arms. He squirmed briefly but quickly gave up upon realizing that he could not escape.

    “Dazai…” Chuuya muttered.

    “What?” Dazai feigned ignorance and beamed at Chuuya. “Would you rather I dropped you?”

    Chuuya grumbled, but right as he was ready to get comfy, Dazai placed him on the ground. “Huh?”

    “You’re heavy.”

    “I am not heavy!” Chuuya snarled. “You’re weak!”

    Without a retort, Dazai shrugged, unconcerned.

    Chuuya kicked the dirt underneath him. He could not believe Dazai was becoming a Mafia Executive. Weren’t they partners? The difference in status unsettled him deeply.

    “Chuuya~!” Speaking of the devil, he had arrived.

    Chuuya rotated hesitantly, struggling to push his scowl off his face. “What, Dazai?” he replied, perhaps in a tone more deadpanned than he had hoped.

    “Chuuya!” The white around Dazai’s brown pupils widen as he shouted his partner’s name.

    Chuuya first looked at Dazai in confusion, then took a quick glance at the ground before falling towards it.

    Chuuya landed in his partner’s chest with a gentle thud. “Fuck...” He looked up to see Dazai smile down at him. “This is embarrassing.” He hastily removed himself him Dazai’s embrace.

    “It is embarrassing, isn’t it?” Dazai mocked Chuuya’s reddening face. “But it’s okay, even if you make a fool of yourself!” He poked Chuuya’s cheeks. “I’ll catch you; you can trust me.”

    “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you focus on executive things?” Chuuya mumbled, staring the black wall as he was unable to look Dazai in the face.

    “Yeah, but we’re partners first.” Dazai’s kind smile seemed to erase the differences with had accumulated between them. He was right after all; they were partners before anything else.

    By now, Chuuya and Dazai had developed a routine. In fact, sometimes, Chuuya would purposefully pace across the ceiling when Dazai was approaching.

    “Chuuya~!” Dazai sang from down the hall.

    “Dazai, don’t you dare.”

    “Hmm? Don’t you want me to catch you?”

    “What?!” Chuuya’s face lit up like a candle although both of them had long since known the truth.

    “It’s alright, Chuuya. You can trust me.” Dazai assuaged in his usual way, perhaps unnecessarily.

    Dazai ran his fingers briefly through Chuuya’s hair before the redhead, without objecting, fell into his arms.

    “You aren’t going to let me go now, are you?” Chuuya’s sweet smile conveyed an underlying malice.

    “When’s the last time I did that?” Dazai groaned.

    “I don’t remember, but don’t start now.” Chuuya lightly pecked Dazai’s cheek. “You’re going to carry me, aren’t you?”

    “Where to, Your Highness?”

    “Anywhere,” Chuuya sat comfortably in Dazai’s arms, hoping the destination would be far away.

    “Dazai.” Chuuya tapped his foot irately, the floor splintering under his wrath. “Where is the knife I gave you?” His glare cut through Dazai.

    “Knife?” Dazai laughed with a failed, fake ignorance. He averted his gaze, an act which only made the web of cracks under Chuuya’s foot grow. “About that… You know I’ve got your knife; you can trust me.” Chuuya watched silently as Dazai fumbled with one hand in his coat. “TADA!” He pulled out a knife--shiny, sharp, spotless--not Chuuya’s.

    Chuuya raised an eyebrow and stared briefly before snatching the knife from Dazai’s hand. He turned it in his hands, inspecting it at all angles. “This isn’t my fucking knife, Dazai”

    “But, wait!” Dazai finally pulled his other hand from his back, revealing a freshly-cut bouquet of roses.

    Chuuya struggled to suppress his blush with a straight face. “Are you trying to distract me from the issue?”

    “What if I am?” Dazai mustered a sly grin with an apparent desperation.

    “Fuck,” Chuuya smiled rosily and tucked the knife away.

    “Did it worK?” Dazai asked as he hesitantly handed Chuuya the flowers.

    “I guess it did,” Chuuya smiled satisfied as he strided past Dazai. “It’s a good knife; I’m keeping it.”

    Chuuya could figure out Dazai’s approach when he heard the usual rhythmic footsteps on the floor. It was difficult for him to conceal his excitement, so he channeled it into his ceiling-pacing. “Why are you here, Dazai?”

    “Hey, Chuuya,” Dazai ignored the question and reached up with no effort to poke Chuuya’s head. As per usual, Chuuya fell from the air--and thudded into the hard floor.

    Dazai slowly extended his arms, only to notice the redhead had already landed below them.

    “Ow! Fuck!” Chuuya yelped.

    Dazai tripped over his words. “Oh sh--whoops--I--uh...” He stared at the ground next to his partner, unable to look at him. “I guess I was distracted. I’m sorry, Chuuya.”

    “Help me up, asshole!” Chuuya spat.

    Dazai carefully crouched down and swept Chuuya into his arms. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you this time. You can trust me.”

    “Mmmhmmm” Chuuya nodded sarcastically and leaning his head against Dazai’s shoulder. “I’m in pain, you bastard.”

    “I’m sorry, Chuuya! Would do like me to put you down?”

    “No.”

    “Are you sure?” Dazai mused, “I could drop you again.”

    “Fuck off.” Chuuya weakly pushed Dazai’s chest. “You wouldn’t fucking dare.”

    A swift kick to the ribs. One. A stab in the heart. Two. A punch through the chest. Three. Another stab. Four. A slash across the abdomen. Five. A winded lung. Six. A sliced vein. Seven. Chuuya heaved, watching the corpses accumulate around him. Hunched over, blood oozing from his wounds, he stared at the cluster of people approaching. He approximated about 10. He lifted a boulder and throw it at the blob of moving bodies. Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve. Only three remaining. Chuuya charged at one of them and flipped him to the ground. Standing on the man, he forced the air out of his lungs, turning to fight the woman nearby. Thirteen. With his knife, he slashed her neck, blood rapidly draining from the incision. Fourteen. He walks over to the last man, standing defenseless. Chuuya wrapped his gloved fingers around the man’s neck and, with his remaining energy, he pressed his thumbs, crushing the man’s windpipe. Fifteen.

    Victorious but feeling defeated, Chuuya lumbered away from the battlefield. He needed to cover his exposed wounds. Upon entering his dark apartment, Chuuya immediately flopped onto his couch, indifferent to the blood seeping onto and staining the couch. He closed his eyes, laid back his head, and hoped the solace of silence would dull the sting of his wounds, but it was interrupted shortly by the click of an unlocked door and a flicker of light.

    “Chuuya, what are you doing?” It was a soothing voice (but perhaps an unwanted voice). Chuuya groaned. He didn’t want to open his eyes to look at Dazai. “Chuuya, we need to treat your wounds.”

    “We?!” Chuuya snarled. “Where the fuck were you earlier?!”

    “Chuuya, I’m sorry, but I was called on another mission. Please let me help you.”

    Chuuya said nothing, indignant. Cautiously, Dazai approach the couch, a roll of bandages in hand.

    “Chuuya. Let me help you.” Dazai repeated sternly, to which Chuuya grumbled. Chuuya slowly sat up in his seat and removed his shirt with a gentle caution, but pain inevitably shocked him with every move. “Stay still. It must hurt. I can help you. I have been taught by a doctor after all.”

    Even with his pain and anger, Chuuya couldn’t stifle his laugh. “Pfft! ‘Cause that’s the reason!”

    “Ah…” Dazai sighed, “you’ve figured me out.”

    “I figured you out a long time ago. We’re partners!”

    Dazai softly wiped Chuuya’s wounds and wrapped them tenderly until Chuuya was thoroughly covered. “Hey, you look good like that.” Dazai whispered.

    “That’s because because I look like you.”

    Dazai placed his hand on Chuuya’s cheek, but he winced in response. “Chuuya,” Dazai spoke softly.

    “I’m sorry.”

    “No, it’s alright. I think we should move from your soiled couch anyway.” Dazai scooped Chuuya up from the couch. “How’s that?”

    “It hurts, but it’s fine. It’s much better now.” Chuuya attempted to laugh through his grimace.

    “You’re a liar.”

    “Shut up.” Chuuya put his finger over Dazai’s mouth before planting a kiss, the bitter taste of blood disappearing under the sweetness of Dazai’s lips.

    A bitter taste met Chuuya’s lips--a perfect balance of flavors from the vine, the soil, the age, everything. Savoring each sip, Chuuya let the wine roll over his tongue. He sighed and reclined into his seat. Is this what heaven was like? He was alone, drinking his best bottle of wine. Dazai was gone. A bitterness lingered after each sip, whose origin Chuuya was determined to uncover. It was not the Petrus, whose smooth sweetness blended over the bitterness. It was a taste which consumed not only his mouth but also his mind. It was a taste which Chuuya had been trying to drown with his merlot. He was happy about Dazai leaving, and he wouldn’t accept any other possibility.

    The wine slowly seeped in Chuuya’s brain, and he began to daydream about the opportunities which just opened to him. His mind drifted from becoming an executive to getting revenge on Dazai, but his mental promenade was swiftly interrupted. The harsh tremor of the ground woke him from his drunken trance. He stumbled outside only to find what might have been a car--his car--at one point. Flames had since devoured the car, eating away until it’s metal bones were clean. “Fuck...” Chuuya stared in a delayed reaction before fumbling for his phone. Despite several misdials and his incomprehensible speech, Chuuya managed to call over the fire department.

    Any thoughts of Dazai’s departure, good or bad, had escaped Chuuya’s mind. He was going to need another bottle of wine if his evening was going to be like this.

    Slowly the vibrant blue sky lit up as Chuuya opened his eyes. Beneath him, the soil had compacted, but there were piles of displaced dirt scattered around the numerous craters. Chuuya’s earthen bed meant one thing: he was betrayed again. Perhaps he was a fool, expecting Dazai to carry him back. It was a naive, romantic desire. He growled and stood on his feet. Death loitered in the still air. Chuuya breathed death all his life, but, this time, it felt like the death was his own. His whole body ached. Pain shot up from the ground to his to fingertips, to his head. A headache buzzed, rattling his skull. With every step, his entire body rocked. To lie on the ground was tempting but not an option.

    Observing the cleared field, Chuuya almost could not believe the sight he had beheld yesterday night. His memory had been obscured by the darkness, but the monster was imprinted in his mind. The lingering image was enough to power up his adrenal glands, and Chuuya hoped that was enough to power his walk to his apartment.

    “I trusted you,” he had said. Was he an idiot?! He remembered vaguely punching Dazai and could only hoped he had punched him hard, although he had doubt. Regardless, next time he saw Dazai, he certainly would punch him harder; in fact, he would do more that--he would murder him. Or so he swore under his breath.

    One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten… Chuuya surveyed the area around him--there were too many enemies to count. He cautiously produced his knife, which had long since lost its original sheen from when he received it. The faceless men marched towards Chuuya, standing alone. Surrounded, he charged at one randomly, jabbing his knife through the man’s lungs. The man sputtered out blood and stumbled into the crowd--One--but another enemy had already lunged at Chuuya, spilling blood from his side. Electric pain raced through his limbs as he roundhouse kicked his attacker. Although he had knocked the wind out of her lungs and broke a few ribs, he slit her throat as a precaution. Two. Another charged, grazing his arm. He grabbed his assailant's wrist and slammed him into the ground. Three. From behind, Chuuya was restrained by a large, muscular man while another plunged his fist into Chuuya’s stomach, forcing him to hack up blood. Using one free leg, Chuuya kicked the man in front between the legs, and with his other leg, he tripped of the wall of muscles behind him. As the man fell, Chuuya, his arms having been freed, sliced his abdomen. Four, five.

    Wounds and bodies accumulated, yet Chuuya could see not end to the onslaught. Another punch, another kick, another stab. Chuuya’s stamina drained like blood. His vision began to disappear at the edges, but that was unimportant. As long as he could see his enemies, he would fight them.

    Chuuya fumbled with his knife in his hand, both dripping crimson. Even if he could barely hold his blade, he would keep slashing and stabbing. When he could finally see the end of the ranks, he let it fall, splashing in the puddle of blood below. He would take out the rest with muscles. Wiping sweat and blood from his brow, Chuuya prepared to punch the first of that last opponents. He uppercut the woman, knocking her to the ground before stomping out any remaining air. He kicked the next one, nearly falling--but he couldn’t fall yet. Falling meant death.

    Slowly he knocked over a few others, until he was facing his last opponent. His opponent smirked down at Chuuya (who was swaying on shaky legs), beckoning him to attack. It was a risky move but the final move before he could rest. He stumbled weakly towards the assured man and throw all his weight on him, clasping his neck tightly in his fingers. He felt the sharp knife puncture his abdomen, but he would not let go, tightening his grip. The man’s withdrew his smirk as he spattered out saliva, gasping for any air.  He pinched harder, channeling his gravity until he crushed his enemy’s trachea under his thumbs.

    Finally, he was finished. He rose, struggling to stand briefly on his wobbling legs. Finally, he could rest. As his vision faded, the words ran through his mind--those cursed, assuring words:

    “You can trust me.”

    He stared down at the incarnadine sea which had swallowed the ground and cloaked his body. Dazai would be able to treat his wounds. No, Dazai wouldn’t come, and Chuuya hated him for it--and he loathed his idiotic heart, which yearned from Dazai to soothe its wounds.

    His legs gave way. As he fell, he imagined Dazai’s soft embrace catching him at the bottom. He imagined Dazai carrying him like royalty in safety. He imagined leaning into Dazai’s warm chest, finally allowed to rest.

    Chuuya fell and crashed into the cold, merciless ground.

[worldsandcenturiesfunposting]

Trump’s Bad Day : ( A Political Fanfiction for Intellectuals

It was another day in the White House and President Trump was not happy. As per usual, he woke up before the sun even rose to take his routine shit and Twitter time. Unlike those loser Presidents from the past, Trump knew the best method of proclaiming his word to the masses was at 140 characters at a time. If that’s how much he’s able to read, certainly it must be how much the rest of the country is capable of as well.

He looked around the historic building, clenching his butt cheeks in hopes of making it to the restroom on time. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find his phone! He looked under his high chair but couldn’t find it nor did he find it on his desk underneath the multitude of crayon’d in pages of the 2016 election results. It wasn’t even in that special spot in Ivanka’s room that coincidentally gave whatever’s placed there a perfect view of where she changes. 

The excruciating exercise he went through searching for it was draining his limited life force. His hands sweated greatly, unable to even grasp the big boy little spoons he uses to eat his delicious two scoops. The dye in his hair was starting to run down his face, making him look like an orange/lemon blend. 

At last, he couldn’t take it anymore. He slumped over on the floor and had to finally release himself. It was the same feeling he got when he passed legislations.

When the sun rose and the rest of the staff attended to their duties, Mike Pence found both Trump and Bannon sleeping on top of one another. At some point while it was still dark, the head of Brietbart drunkenly stumbled in, tripped on his boss, and fell asleep as well. When trying to remove the ungodly mix of alcohol and adipose tissue of of the President, Pence once again smelled a horrid odor that was all too familiar with him after these 100-something days of Trump’s presidency. 

“Donald, again?” He sighed. 

Even in sleep, Trump giggled.

It wasn’t until an hour later that Trump was dragged back to his room, cleaned, changed, and given a set of new clothes. Pence insisted he wear a normal tie that day but Trump refused to abide.

“I want the long one!”

“You can’t wear the long one, Donald. It’s too long. You’ll trip over it!”

“I WANT THE BIG BOY TIE!”

A familiar site to the electroshock therapy enthusiast, Trump started jumping up and down in a fit of rage. At times, he’d run over to the wall and start pounding on it, making such little noise, it was as if a fly had slammed into it. 

“BIG TIE BIG TIE BIG TIE BIG TIE BIG TIE-”

He droned on and on, and tears started to stream down his face. finally Pence threw his hands in the air and said “Alright! Fuck it! You can have the big boy tie!”

Like a flick of a switch, Trump stopped his tantrum and beamed a huge grin in Pence’s direction. “I’m a bigly good deal maker, Pence. You should know this.” He pointed at his VP and snatched the tie from his hands. 

“If only you could negotiate a law to kill the faggots, Trump.”

“I’ll make that deal when the dems stop obst-obstric-ob-ob...blocking me!”

“The dems are the minority in everything, Trump. They have no real control over congress or the senate or anything!”

“Killery’s emails say that the deep state is actually controlling them. Don’t you read Bread-bart?”

--

When they walked out, they found Bannon in the same spot on the floor. Somehow in his sleep, the man managed to gather dozens of bottles of gin seemingly out of thin air. Groggily, he started to get up.

“Uh bu ughuhu...are the fuckin’ kikes dead yet?”

“No, Bannon.” Pence replied dryly. 

“Thosuh fugg fuking guh hook noses th-I ughu I wish the Holocaust was real fo then uthu would be gon!”

“That’s nice, Bannon. We need you to help Trump sign a bill for our corporate masters.”

“It’s going to be a biiiiiiigly bill, Uncle Bannon!”

Bannon complied. He pissed himself first, but ultimately he stumbled behind the two which made Donald giggle over how silly his uncle was being. All the while Bannon was trying to tell Donald about how the white race was being bred out of existence and how to use secret code words like ‘N1gger’ or ‘k1ke’ to trick normies into spreading nazi propaganda. his words weren’t at all clear and Donald simply giggled most of the time, but somewhere in Trump’s mind, he was absorbing that information.

Before Bannon could call for a race war, he slumped over again and threw up on the back of Pence’s shoes before falling sleep entirely.

“Uh oh, Uncle Bannon had an accident!”

Pence remained silent, seething to himself that one day congress will stop worrying about what a bunch of frog posters thought of them and impeach Trump. How much longer must I endure this? Dead God! Dear mother! Someone help!

They continued on. Trump skipped the whole say singing ‘Bigly bill’ over and over and occasionally telling Pence he had to sing along. 

When they arrived in the oval office, Trump ran over to his seat, lost breath half way, sharted, and then walked the rest of the way. With a wet plop, he sat down and banged his fist on the desk.

“No more fun and games. It’s time to put my big boy pants on and do some work!”

Pence walked up behind Trump and reached into a drawer, brushing aside many drawings of Trump punching Hillary and pulled out the bill his boss was supposed to sign. 

“What’s the bill, Mike?”

“Fuck the poor, take away their health care and let them fucking die by Paul Ryan.”

“Paul Ronald? I love that guy!”

Pence’s eye twitched. In his mind, he was at a cross roads between screaming about homosexuality and letting Trump’s little outburst slip. He knew his pussy grabbing boss was a good Christian who didn’t approve of gays, but what he said disturbed him on a spiritual level.

“I mean, he’s not me or anything, but Paul Renalds, I know him. He’s a great guy, believe me. I remember when I met him, I met him way back ago, he said I was supposed to be President because he knows a good deal maker when he sees one. I make the best deals, believe me, they’re the best. My deals with Paul Rogers, he looks at my deals and he agrees to them because they’re the best. Believe me, Paul Roomba, he knows my deals. This deal here, it’s the best. The best deal. And his eyes are cute!”

Pence finally had to excuse himself, leaving the President alone to sign the bill. It occurred to Trump how strange the situation was. Normally when he signs bills into law, he has everyone stand in the room with him so they can congratulate him on what a big boy thing he was doing. Where was everyone?

“This was supposed to be a bigly moment. I want my praise!” He whined and screamed and pounded, but no one came in. Not even his famous tantrumps would sway the universe this time.

Slowly the gears in his head started turning His buddies in the GOP really tried to push this bill through fast. Kushner said they were doing it before Hillary emails about it on her private server. What was so special about the bill?

He reached over on his desk and grasped it in his hands. Squinting his eyes, for the first time in years he tried to read. “F-f-fuuuuuck t-tha pooor, tac...tic? Take! Take away thi-thir? Heat-ha...”

Sweat dripped from his brow as he slowly stumbled through the title. “bie..Pool Reean...Oh Pool Ransom! I love that guy! I made a deal with him earlier, and he agreed to it saying I make the best deals. The best. I remember making a deal in Saudeyrabba with those darkies, I gave them bigly amounts of weapons for money. Such a good deal. The best deal, believe me. The un were mad for some crap about human rights or whatever, but they’re just liblosers who don’t know good deals. Not like me, I make the best deals. Like I made a deal with Bannon the other day, it was such a good deal! The best and...oh shoot! I lost my place!” He sighed heavily and moved his eyes to the top of the page. 

Hours later, Pence came in, having obtained written permission by his wife to be able to hear any vaguely homosexual things from Trump even if she isn’t there. “Have you signed the bill yet, sir?”

“By pool Reea-Mikey! You made me lose my place! I don’t wanna lose like Shillery!”

--

Ultimately the bill wasn’t signed that day. Trump got bored of reading and instead drew a picture of his magnificent wall on the back. Completely irate but trying to keep his cool, Pence congratulated Trump on the wonderful drawing and said they could try again tomorrow while he stuck the picture to the fridge with all the other bills Donald didn’t sign. 

Their moment was interrupted by Kusher whose voice I have no idea what it sounds like so I’m assuming it sounds something like Kermit the Frog. He came in and stomped his foot. “Daaaaaaaaaady! The feds are being mean to me!” 

In Trump’s mind, he was so flattered. Kusher reminded Trump of himself when he was younger and asking his own father for a tiny loan of a million dollars. Ivanka, that hot piece of ass, really knows how to pick a man. But wait! If Ivanka picked Kushner, then she didn’t pick him! He was getting cucked! Uncle Bannon was right! Kusher was a dirty penny pinching jew boy who should be shoved in the oven and turned into a cake!

“Now Kusher, you know what I told you about handling the deep state.”

“Daaaaad, sending my body guard over to fire their leader didn’t work for meeeeeeee!”

“Kushner, if it worked for me, it’s bigly good. The best idea, believe me. I remember when Comey was giving me trouble, trying to investigate me and Russia. My relations with Putin, I don’t have them. I may have talked to him and agreed to win the election for him so he can systematically destroy the US from the inside out by telling me to appoint the most egregiously incompetent and malicious cabinet in presidential history who have a vested interest in destroying the very organizations they were chosen to run thus ensuring the US has very little power or influence over the world and weakening the pressure put on Russia which in turn would allow Putin to gain more influence over others...buuuuuuut I never met him, believe me! Bigly no no on meeting him!”

“Well if you don’t help me with this then I’ll I’ll I’ll I’ll I’ll tell Ivanka!”

Trump leaped in the air. “Not Ivanka!”

“T-That’s right! I’ll tell her about this, daddy!”

“Okay okay! I’ll help!”

He ran out of the kitchen and out of the White House doors. For the first time, he had enough energy to do so. The prospect of losing his daughter’s affection would drive a man to do anything. At least that’s what Trump thought. When he was on the White House lawn, he finally stopped and wondered.

“Where does the feds work again? Gosh, who knew government could be so complicated?”

--

Dinner in the White House was supposed to be a special time. Everyone was gathered around ready to congratulate Trump on signing the bill and ensuring thousands of people would die, but were sorely disappointed when the learned that Trump tried to actually read the bill, failed to get past the title, and gave up. Still, they had to congratulate him lest the man throw another tantrump and ruin the dinner.

“An amazing job, your highness!” Rence Preibus said, raising his glass. 

“Your leadership is the best! Way better than that fucking nigger was. One day, I’m going to go to his house and put a bullet in his nigglet kids, but your kids, you have the best genes. We’re the master race, Trump!” A keebler elf said. Most people call him Jess Sessions. 

“I...have to use the restroo-” General Mattis was about to say before getting cut off. 

“Those fucking niggers, can you believe they were in here? Once I roll back the war on drugs, all of those shit skins are going away. Every fuckin’ one of them!” 

“Anyways, I’m going to leave n-”

“And the mexicans? They’re nigger lite! They’ll get it too. I’ll fuckin’ arrest them all! I swear on me lucky charms, I’ll fuckin’ arrest them all like the rabid squirrels who attacked my magical woodland kingdom. Those squirrels were fuckin’ niggers!”

Kelly Conway was ready to speak up. She was assured that there were no microwaves in the room at the moment. However, Mike Pence stopped her. “Women are to be seen, not heard, Kelly.”

“I for one am very happy for you, Trump. Not even Hitler was able to pass legislation!” Spicer beamed.

Bannon slammed both fists on the table. “Are you sayin’ tha h- *hic* Hitler, MY FUHRER, isn’t good enough?” He was ready to crawl up and strangle Spicer. “M-I-ighguhu va da b-both of us u-ughnggh”

Not even able to present a coherent thought, he passed out on his mashed potatoes. Kusher rose from his seat and pulled out a sharpie from his pocket, drawing several Stars of David on the drunk’s face. 

A turtle spoke up. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to pass our health care bill, but you’ll get it next time! We’ll get rid of those poor people together, and it’ll be your victory!” McConnell tried his best to hide his burning anger. Those poors will get to live another day because of his. Paul Ryan looked him in the eyes and nodded knowingly. Both of their dreams were squashed. 

“I dreamed about taking away health care from poor people since my college days,” Ryan said, “with you in charge, we’ll surely do that!”

Everyone else sang their praises, and then began to feast. Only Pence and Trump didn’t eat. The former because his wife hadn’t given him permission yet and the latter because when he looked down, he noticed that his food wasn’t a well done steak with extra ketchup but instead a massive log of shit. 

“COMEY!” He shouted, flipping his plate onto Pence. “He did this! He’s always doing this! Why does he keep bullying me! I want him to stop now now now now now!”

Pence tried to comfort him. “How do you know it was Comey, sir?”

“Because he’s a fuckin’ meanie!”

“You fired him weeks ago. he doesn’t have access to our kitchen.”

“He used the deep state to do it! I know it! The whole thing’s rigged! Bigly bad!”

Trump started to straight up cry and rolled out of his high chair. Not even three scoops of ice cream would satisfy him now. 

“I want him to stop now! I want the feds to stop attacking me! I want my documents to stop being leaked! I want them to ignore Russia now! Putin said this would be easy but it’s not! It’s difficult! It’s not easy peasy lemon squeasy like he said!”

Most of them had fled the room save for Kusher and Pence who spent the next several hours trying to consolidate him.

--

It was the first time in a long while since he heard his father’s voice. Barron Trump was in the middle of building a massive wall in Minecraft in hopes that his father will notice him, and while every previous attempt failed, he was sure it would work this time. He’d bet his fidget spinner on it!

As if a miracle from God, Trump entered his room and called his name. 

“Barron, I need help with the cyber!”

“D-dad?”

“I need you to hack into the FBI and remove everything they have on me and Russia!”

“Okay, dad! I’ll do my best!”

Trump slammed the door shut and Barron got straight to work. The moment went so fast but it felt like forever. Finally, he was communicated to! He was acknowledged! Using every bit of skill he had, he remotely accessed the FBI’s database and scanned through the files, trying to find any that looked relevant to the investigation between Trump and Russia. 

“Let’s see... aliens, JFK, Atlantas, big foot, little foot, 9/11, the moon landing...”

So many files; it was enough to overwhelm a kid. But Barron was an expert with a mission in mind. He wouldn’t let anything stand in his way. 

“Wait, this stuff looks good.”

When he opened the data base labeled ‘Putin and orange retard’, he was treated to a page with thousands of different files connecting Trump, his administration, and the Russians. There were pictures, scans of documents, text files, and even videos.

“Wow, I wonder what dad was doing with them.”

He clicked on video titles ‘pee tapes’ and minutes later from the halls, the staff could hear his screams.

--

Trump was scouting through the different rooms in the White House. Inside one was his wife being triple penetrated by secret service members. “Melina or whatever, have you seen Ivanka?”

“No!”

“Ok.”

He left unaware that he was being cucked. In another room was Sessions pulling on a rope that was attached to the ceiling fan while some voice, distinctly black, was gasping for air just out of view.

“I barely recognized you in your white hood. Have you seen Ivanka?”

“No.”

“Ok.”

A third room had Spicer and Bannon wresting for alcohol. Spicer was ranting about wanting to make the pain go away while Bannon just made several drunken antisemetic slurs. 

“Hey have you seen Ivanka anywhere?”

They both shook their heads before Bannon finally snatched the bottle away, flipped it to its narrow side, and smashed it over Spicer’s head. The man was knocked out and the alcohol was spilled, forcing Bannon to crawl on top of Spicer and lick it off his unconscious body. 

“Boy, Pence would be mad at that!”

Finally, Trump entered a room and found Ivanka. She was dressed in the sluttiest attire she had and laying in her bed, leads spread apart. Trump was already trying to pull his pants down, having difficulty moving his gut so he can unbuckle his belt, but wasn’t even able to do that when he saw Kusher walk up and climb on top of his daughter. 

“Kushner, stop cucking meeeeee!” He whined.

Ivanka didn’t react. Her mind was incapable of processing anything beyond fashion design and money. She sat there with wide open glassy eyes and a mouth slightly agape while Kusher himself turned around and looked Trump in the eyes. 

“Stop it now, Kushner!” 

“No!”

“I said now! Now! Now! Now! Now! Now!”

Kusher walked over and slammed the door shut. Donald pounded on it with his tiny hands but couldn’t break through. He cried and yelled and rolled on the floor, calling for ‘Mad Dog’ Mattis to launch a nuclear strike against the room and kill Kusher but to no success. 

“I’m telling Putin on you!” He screamed again before finally leaving. Once again he crawled back into his bed all alone and could do nothing but watch the news. Fox, the only real news channel, was reporting on how Trump single handedly cured cancer while the fake news channels were talking about how Muller continues to hire the absolute best lawyers and prosecutors the country has to offer. Trump yelled at the TV to stop Muller from continuing, often mistaking Muller for Comey, but it was no use. No matter how much he cried, the TV didn’t show the investigation stopping. 

He knew that morning, he would have such a rant to post on Twitter. It was a bad day. : (