#I think they wouldn’t be beyond trying to dance with their victim before they die!

[camping-with-monsters]

“AND WE DANCE WHILE THE SKY CRASHES DOWN~!”

[wandering-travesty]

Call Me By Your Name

    You weren’t sleezy. That was just a word idiots used to try and pull you down to their level. Yes, your hair was slicked back. Yes, your eyeshadow was dark as the night. Yes, your suit jacket barely covered your chest. Yes, your nails were painted black and sharp as daggers. But, no, you weren’t sleezy. You were dressed for your job. What was your job? Well, that was a bit more complicated….

 “I need you to get close to him.” Erwin said coolly, stubble covered chin resting on his strong hands.

 “I’m sorry?” You asked, genuinely hoping you had too much wax lodged in your ear canals.

 “You heard him.” You met the glare of the midget standing behind your boss.

 “Okay, smartass, I did. But you can’t be serious, boss! He’s beyond dangerous. Shouldn’t someone like,” you gestured in Levi’s direction, “one of the Ackermans take care of this? I’m not discounting myself or anything, but fucking with a Yeager is basically a suicide mission.” You were actually shocked Erwin asked you to do something so important. More so, dangerous. You weren’t exaggerating when you said it was a death sentence. You’d lost enough comrades to know that.

 “Listen, he’s the key to taking down the Marlian Syndicate.” You knew that, but still, this seemed out of left field. “The Ackermans are strong, yes, but they lack a certain…”

 “They’re not ready to whore themselves out. Just say that, Smith.” You understood now. The Ackermans were cold blooded killers ready to strike at any moment. However, they were awkward and completely inept at things like lust and heated and frankly revolting rendezvous. That was how he wanted you to get information for him.

 Erwin wanted you to fuck the leader of the Marlian Syndicate.

 “I wouldn’t use that wording exactly, but your assumption is correct.” Levi couldn’t seem to meet your gaze, but Erwin continued to stare straight into your soul. He was the leader of La Peste Eldienne (The Eldian Plague) for a reason. Strong, debonair, charming, and slightly insane. He could down a beer in one swig, sip a martini all night long, or abstain from alcohol completely. Whatever he needed to do, he did. He murdered, sent the idiotic young and the hopeless old to their deaths just the same, and could absolutely wine and dine a stranger until their clothes practically flew off their body if it was for the cause. You needed to be like that. Especially at a time like this.

 “I’ll do it. And I’ll do it well.” You assured your boss and his partner. Yeah, this would be easy. You could go low as the scum you were about to completely fuck over. You had been climbing up the ranks as of late, so this would be easy as pie.

Before going on your little date: you made a mental note of the main players you would have to deal with. The list you had went something like this:

Porco Galliard: Complete idiot. All brawn, no brain. Basically a bouncer with a fancier jacket and a higher salary. No worries about him doing anything funny.

Pieck Finger: The sweet little thing they kept around for good reason. Part of you wished you had to deal with her instead. She was witty and had a surprising amount of control over the shipments of cocaine and ammunition that went on about the city. Her pretty face and calm demeanor hid her true genius. She was one of the more concerning figures at tonight’s gig, but also one of the one’s more willing to hear you out before killing you.

Colt Grice: Basically a smarter but weaker version of Galliard. He was really only part of the Syndicate to learn from the best and become a great mafioso one day. You had high hopes for him, despite yourself.

Bertholdt Hoover: A freakishly tall mix of the last three members of the gang. So sweaty and shaky he wasn’t allowed to handle guns under any circumstance. That told you all you needed to know about his threat level.

Annie Leonhardt: Tiny, quiet ball of rage and skill. Could murder you in an instant, but would only do so if ordered. Not a concern unless someone else found you out, or you didn’t like being glared at all night.

Reiner Braun: His personality changed with the passing minutes. Could be calm and almost kind, or could snap your neck like a twig in his giant ass hand. He was a wildcard, and a dangerous one. Though he was obsessed with following orders and being the perfect little soldier boy, so you didn’t need to worry about him if no one told him to start shooting.

Yelena: Even more freakishly tall than Hoover. Also freakishly obsessed with the gang leader and his “master plan”, whatever the hell that was. Maybe you would find out tonight. Anyways, she would only do anything if you threatened the boss in any way. If you did your job right, that wouldn’t be an issue.

Eren Yeager: Easily the most brash and idiotic member of the gang. His problem was that he was trigger happy. In this business, trigger happy meant dozens of dead innocents piled up on the club floor in an instant. You had to be careful around him. Unlike most of the others, he would kill you without thinking.

And the top dog. The man of the hour. The man you had to seduce:

Zeke Yeager: Think Erwin but with more wit and charm. Not to mention more of a sadistic mindset. His favorite game was cat and mouse, seeing how long it took before he had a good excuse to have someone drawn and quartered. His expertise was slow torture that the victim didn’t even really know was happening before the barrel of the gun was already pointed to their temple. And you had to fuck him so stupid he leaked confidential information.

 The only other issue with Zeke was his habit of sleeping around. Yes, he was a tramp by most standards. A harlot with exotic tastes. You had heard stories of him seducing women and men alike, and god only knew what they did once he succeeded. What that meant for you was he would be hard to impress.

 So, you were here to beat him at his own game. And if you were found out, his younger brother would most likely shoot you on the spot. That was, if one of the others did it first. Or even worse, Zeke decided to be a tried and true asshole and torture you to death. The options were endless, and you hated them all.

 So there you sat, ass perched on a bar stool, sipping on a gin rickey and waiting for your opportunity. The room smelled strongly of tobacco, rum, and cinnamon. At least you would die surrounded by what you loved, you thought, laughing grimly to yourself. Men and women danced to slow songs you faintly recognized. The air buzzed with haughty laughter and upper class small talk. You barely had any idea how to interact with high society shitheads as high and mighty as the ones Yeager surrounded himself with. You weren’t often sent out to jobs like this. You were like Levi, born in the slums and never taught how to properly behave. You knew what you had to, much like your knowledge of the goings on of La Peste Eldienne. You knew your gang traded drugs, ammunition, and whatever else was a hot commodity at the time, but nothing other than that. You were actually quite glad to know nothing, since that made you a pretty unimportant person to rival gangs. Not as many death threats and kidnapping attempts came your way, unlike the ones Erwin, Hange, and Levi got every day. You were quickly pulled out of your thoughts on the gang hierarchy.

 “Excuse me, miss. The boss wants to chat with ya’ real quick.” A man with greasy hair and green, catlike eyes softly gripped your shoulder. Considering what you knew of Galliard, you figured that grip wouldn’t be soft for much longer if you didn’t do as he suggested.

 “Oh, alright. Did he happen to mention why?” You were genuinely curious. Porco didn’t offer you any solid answer, but there was a reasonable explanation.

 Zeke wanted to get his rocks off. Parties could be interesting, with the right people, of course. The right people hadn’t happened to show up that night. You, on the other hand, seemed interesting. To be frank, you were gorgeous. Even from a distance, he could tell there was something behind your eyes that spelled trouble. He loved people like you. Vicious, cunning, witty, all hidden behind an uninterested and bored demeanor. Those were the people he wanted around him. The best examples were Pieck, and surprisingly, Levi. They seemed to be completely different people than the ones hiding behind their eyes, and Zeke loved to see how long it took to break them down. Well, he was a bit kinder to Pieck, but you and Ackerman got the rough treatment.

 “Zeke, what the hell’re you doin’?” Eren pulled him out of his rather disgusting thoughts of…things better left unsaid.

 “I’m going to talk to a woman, Eren. What does it seem like I’m doing?” Zeke had a sharp tongue and quick wit, which he didn’t spare even his brother from.

 “I get that, but why that one? She seems…shady t’me. I wouldn’t let ‘er get too close, y’know?”

 “Eren, please be rational.” Zeke held a palm out in front of Eren, as if to physically stop his train of thought. “You and Yelena will shoot at the first sign of danger, so inviting this lovely woman to join us for a harmless chat isn’t a danger in the slightest.” Zeke reassured his brother, neglecting to tell him his true intentions. He was sure that would just make him more upset and skittish, which was dangerous for everyone there.

 “’Kay, boss. Got the dame ya’ asked for.” Porco trudged to the brothers’ secluded table with you in tow. He had kept one hand on your shoulder and the other right above your ass. The two main reasons being: one, he didn’t want someone so seemingly important to escape his grip, and two, you had a nice ass.

 “Ah, thank you Galliard…you can let her go now.” He gave Porco a knowing smirk. He let you go immediately and walked away, cheeks slightly reddened. Zeke didn’t want someone else touching his new toy.

 “I’m sorry if this comes off as rude, but did you need something from me? That man made me leave my gin at the bar and I would like to finish it at some point.” Oh, Zeke was going to love you. You weren’t flighty or scared in the slightest. He knew you had seen some serious shit. Not to mention how you cared more about your alcohol than a dangerous mafia boss and his younger brother ordering you over to their table. You were attractive and relatable. What a catch.

 “My apologies, Galliard tends to be a bit, how do you say, brutish. Feel free to order something new and sit down with us.” He gave you a smile that told you it wasn’t a suggestion. This guy was already just as bad as everyone had told you. He hailed a waiter over to the table. You knew that wasn’t some kind gesture, rather a show of how much power he had over everyone there. His long, thick fingers and suave smile also showed you how easily swayed you could be by dashing looks and raw power.

 He held himself like a king but talked like a philosopher. At the same time, he was down to earth yet still slightly condescending. You never knew where you stood with him, and he liked it that way. His flaxen hair was parted down the middle, and unlike most of the men there along with yourself with their hair hardened with pomade, it was fluffy and moved as he gestured wildly when he spoke. He tended to talk with his hands, once again drawing attention to just how attractive they were. His face was indescribably beautiful. His eyes were like stormy oceans cascading with passion and intrigue. His lips looked soft and plush with a wonderful roseate hue. His beard was well groomed and framed his sharp jaw perfectly. His gold rimmed glasses had a habit of hiding his eyes when thrown into direct light, which often happened with how he talked with his whole body. The way he constantly made direct eye contact with you had you lost in a daze of desire and fear. Was this all some sick ploy to get you to slip up and get everyone you loved killed along with yourself? Or was he seriously that interested in you?

 Eren was quiet most of the time, unless Zeke spoke to him. He didn’t like you. You were too similar to Zeke for his tastes.

 “Say, Eren, could you pass me a smoke?”

 “Oh, so you do have vices. See, you never ordered a drink for yourself, so I assumed you were a man above pleasures of the flesh.” You flashed a toothy grin at him, signaling that it was just playful banter. You two were both rather good at that.

 “My dear, the more you get to know me, the better you will understand just how enthralled with earthly pleasures I am.” He winked, and it sent you to the moon with want. How could a man be so gorgeous, charming, dangerous, and sadistic all at the same time? And why did you have to deal with it? You needed him out of his right mind, but it seemed like that could never happen. Whether it came from alcohol, drugs, or sex. You planned to use a mixture of all three. As you continued your playful jabs and taunts at each other, you found your opportunity to seal the deal. One sniff of the white stuff and he was putty in your hands.

 “Now you know, Mr. Yeager, gin isn’t my only vice.” You kept your usual sly tone.

 “Oh really? That is quite the interesting thing to say.” He matched your energy perfectly. This was too good.

 “Have you ever happened to try, well, what do they call it these days? Well, I tend to call it blow. Snow, stardust, snort, sugar, crack, whichever you prefer, I suppose.” Oh, how brave of you to mention your own trade to your top competitor.

 “Why, yes, I have indeed partook in snorting blow. Is there any reason as to why you’re asking me that right now, darling?” You wished he would stop with the pet names. Or rather, you wished you would stop loving them so much. It felt dirty to enjoy your enemy’s company to this extent.

 “Well, I was wondering if you might like to sneak off and try some of my personal mix.” You leaned in close, covering the side of you mouth with your hand. Eren wasn’t a bad kid or anything, but he’d mess with your plan, and you couldn’t have that. Especially not with his slippery ass trigger finger.

 “Your own personal mix, eh? Don’t tell me you’re involved in the trade, now.” He leaned in just shy of touching your lips. “That wouldn’t be very good for either of us, sweetheart.” That’s it, you were fucking this man if it was part of your plan or not. The entire thing could go south, and you’d still want this man’s dick in your mouth. You didn’t really care anymore. He was too hot to handle, and you were this close to cracking under the pressure. Zeke was right, you were fun to play with.

 “Not at all, I just happen to know the right people.” You grinned at him, knowing you technically weren’t lying. It was your own little inside joke, or so you thought.

 The next thing you knew you were in Zeke’s penthouse, smashed up against the wall with a hand around your neck. By all accounts, this is what you wanted, but it was also quite the opposite.

 “Dearest, I find it insulting that you think I would fall for that pitiful act.” He had you figured out from the moment you walked in. Zeke Yeager never forgot a pretty face. He’d wanted to have you naked in his bed for months, and here you were, all helpless and needy. You were adorable, thinking you could get whatever you wanted from him.

 “Smith was a fool to send anyone, let alone a little minx like you.” You hated how good being insulted by this bitch felt. How did he make it so that your panties got wetter every time he called you a different synonym for whore? It was so awful and so amazing.

 “I’m the slut, yet you’re the one actively trying to fuck me? Do I have that right?” You quipped the best you could from under the pressure of his strong hand.

 “Alright then, we’re both sluts. But the difference between us is that I admit it, yet you pretend to be this perfect little princess in order to fuck powerful men like me.” His grip on your neck tightened as if to add injury to insult.

 “Don’t insult me,” you had to catch your breath between each word, “I fuck men ten times more powerful than you.” But, god was it worth it. You figured he might slap you or otherwise reprimand you, but no, the bastard just smiled wide. What a fucking asshole.

 “Maybe to you.” He widened his cheshire grin. “Maybe you think Erwin’s more powerful. That he has a bigger cock and sucking it will get you further in life.” He pushed you further into the wall. “Or maybe letting Ackerman smack your ass will earn you some cash. Or having Zacharius sniff around your cunt instead of your neck will rise you up the ranks, hmm?” You just grimaced at him, knowing none of it was true. “Or maybe,” he let out a chuckle, “letting Zoe do whatever the hell they’re into will get you more coke and gin.” He was mocking you, ruthlessly, with no signs of stopping, and without letting you get a word in. You were starting to see black spots in your line of vision.

 “Well, fucking with me will get you much more, angel.” He finally let your neck go, letting you fall to the ground, left to look up at the devil in front of you.

 “You fucking suck.” You glared at him, not necessarily trying to hide how much you were enjoying this. As it happened, you weren’t some innocent angel. No, you weren’t a sadistic maniac like Zeke, but you knew what you wanted, and it wasn’t necessarily vanilla. As if reading your earlier thoughts, he bent down to your place on the floor.

 He slapped you, and it wasn’t gentle.

 “You’re a sloppy whore on your best days, now get up and strip.” Well if worst came to worst, you could say that you got him where you wanted him…just not exactly how you wanted him, or with a guarantee you would get what you wanted out of him. Honestly, you felt kind of flattered by his attention and apparent need to fuck you.

 “God, do I have to do everything for you, sweetheart?” Apparently you had been standing around catching your breath too long for his liking. He had made quick work of his own jacket, shirt, and dress pants, leaving him in a black pair of boxers. You hated admitting how magnificent he looked. He was muscular, but not in the same way someone like Reiner or Erwin was. Every single limb on him was lengthy and wiry, thus the bruise marks forming on your neck. While on the subject of length, from what you could see, it applied to his cock as much as it did his other appendages. If it looked that good through the black fabric, you couldn’t even dream of what it would look like out in the open, slapping against his defined v-line and abs.

 You hadn’t even noticed him getting closer to you, completely forgetting about his earlier demand turned complaint.

 “Not only are you a harlot, you’re a useless one, as well.” He came close enough for you to smell the hints of smoke, pine, and black tea that wafted off of him. He started playing with the collar of your shirt. “But damn if you aren’t a pretty one…” He said that more to himself than you, clearly not being comfortable complimenting you. He saw you as a toy, a pawn in his game of chess he was playing with the rest of the world.

 You decided that would be your last deep thought as he began to undress you. Nimbly moving his fingers down each button of your dress shirt, until it came completely undone and bore your chest to him. You were by no means flat, which seemed to entertain the man in front of you.

 “I knew you’d be the perfect slut for me.” He groped your breasts through your bra, hands greedy with the clear goal of making you yearn for him. “Perfect tits, soft skin, pretty face, nice ass, strong will. Yeah, you’ll be fun to break.” He gave you one of his signature smirks, making you want to crush his windpipe and deepthroat his dick at the same time.

 You shrugged your top off your shoulders and let him snake his arms around your chest to undo your bra and expose your tits to the cool air of the room. He didn’t waste time kissing your filthy mouth, and instead skipped straight to your sensitive neck. He slowly dragged his soft lips down your throat, kissing his way over to both sides and under your jaw. He licked and sucked at any area that made you gasp or let out some embarrassing little noise you tried to desperately to hide. He hated how you hid, he needed you to need him, to want him at a level beyond human comprehension. He wanted to destroy you, do break you down to your most animalistic and pitiful form. You were strong, that was for damn sure, but he wanted to fix that.

 He took all this into account as he began nipping at the tops of your breasts. He moved from one to the other with no clear pattern. He dragged his tongue down to your right nipple, only touching the tip of his tongue to it, making you shiver in anticipation and let out a small whine. Yes, that was the progress he wanted to see from you. He swirled his tongue around it, slowly making his way to the center, harshly sucking it into his mouth. He pulled his sinful mouth away from you, leaving a trail of saliva connecting him to you. He quickly made his way to your other nipple, doing the same and driving you just as wild.

 “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to make more noise, darling.” He teased, sounding genuinely annoyed with you.

 “Well, maybe if you did a better job, I would be louder.” You had discovered your talent of keeping up with his smart mouth, and you used it to your advantage. You wanted to rile him up; to get a rise out of him. As previously stated, you didn’t want a vanilla little love making session, you wanted to fuck.

 “Alright then, if you’re so keen on keeping quiet,” he put his rough hands on your bare shoulders, pushing you back onto the ground, this time on your knees, “how about I stuff that mouth?” You hated how good he was at turning you on.

 He pulled his dick out right in front of your face, letting it lay on his toned abs, just as you had envisioned it. It was easily 10 inches long, 5 inches thick, with a slight upturn that could drive you insane if it hit the right spots, which it would. It was flushed pink and dripping pre-cum; it was pretty.

 “Well, are you just going to gawk at it or are you going to make yourself useful, slut?” The sweet pet names were out the window, swiftly replaced with the most debasing insults he could think of. To avoid any more of his smart ass remarks, you took his thick cock in your hands. You slowly stroked it, taking in exactly how big it was. You moved your plush lips closer, giving it a few small kitten licks to test the waters. You kissed the head and gave longer licks up the side, earning a grunt or two from the man above you. As you began to swirl your tongue around his tip, his strong hand came down and pushed on the back of your head. It wasn’t gentle, forcing you to take him down your throat. Considering his size, it was no shock that you choked on it at first, but he kept his hand on your hair, forcing you to stay on him.

 “That’s it, sweetheart, keep that dirty mouth on fat cock.” Tears starting pooling in your eyes as you struggled to breath around his length. “Aww, are you actually crying?” He cooed, taking sick pleasure in mocking you. “How pathetic of you, darling.” His words send shockwaves of shame and pleasure down to your core. You abhorred how badly you needed him inside of you. As he let out a low moan, he pulled you off his cock, tugging your hair just enough to make you even wetter.

 “Alright, angel. I’m not a big fan of blowjobs, so we’ll leave it at that.” You coughed a little as he bent down to your heaving form.

 “Really? That’s a shock.” That was your genuine reaction. You were far too fucked out to be a smart ass at this point.

 “Yeah, you’re not the first to make that observation.” Much to your surprise, he picked you up bridal style, barely breaking a sweat in the process of getting you to his bedroom. Though the lights were on, you couldn’t take in many details, your cock drunk state making it difficult to process anything other than the warm, bare skin of the monster you tried so hard to vanquish.

 “Now, lets get these cute little panties off, hmm?” You had forgotten him taking off your pants in the heat of the moment. His menacing figure loomed overtop of you, slowly sinking down to your thighs. He placed licks and kisses all over them, leaving a few bite marks along with them. You moaned louder than before, feeling too blissed out to care about your pride. You felt large, tepid fingers hooking themselves between your legs and into your panties. He pulled them to the side, wanting to really take you in. Despite his lust for power and dominance, he much preferred giving head to receiving it, especially when it came to women and their soft, tender pussies. You were no exception to this rule.

 “Goddamn you’re fucking wet.” You looked up at you, making you lean your head back to avoid his gaze. “You must like me more than you care to admit, sweetie.” Just after saying this, he ran one long finger up your dripping slit, coating his fingertip in your slick. He looked at it shimmering in the low light of the room, grinning before taking it into his mouth and tasting what your cunt had to offer.

 “You taste like heaven. Surprising, considering what a nasty girl you are.” Unlike you, he could keep that smartass act up for hours on end, no matter how lost in your sex he was. He landed a chaste kiss to your throbbing heat before flattening his tongue to lick a fat stripe up the middle. He began to devour you, making the lewdest noises you had ever heard in the process. You felt amazing, and disgusting, and just about every other emotion you had ever felt in your life. He was a god at eating your pussy, feeling no remorse in having his lips and beard dripping with your juices. To hell with the burn marks he left on your thighs and the burning sense of guilt you had for moaning so loud and creaming all over the face of your greatest enemy. Shame and guilt were for foolish children with no place in the world, Zeke wanted to enjoy every last second of destroying you.

 As he continued to lick and suck at your most sensitive spots, you began to feel your stomach tighten, signaling your closeness. Zeke noticed as well, taking note of your erupting moans and groans and tugs at his silky hair. He moaned on your clit, the vibrations sending you over the edge. You came all over his face, arching your back of the soft sheets and making you scream his name. He kept his lips attached to your clit as you came down from your high, keeping you ensnared in his trap of bliss.

 “God, you moan like a fucking whore, you know that?” The way he insulted you felt disgustingly good, especially coming from such a obnoxiously handsome man.

 “And you eat pussy like a god.” The veil of hatred came off in one foul swoop. You couldn’t hold back how you truly felt about Zeke Yeager. You were in love with the way he treated you, and spoke to you, and ate you, and soon enough, fucked you. He was so damn good, and you just hated to love and loved to hate him.

 “Oh, do I now?” He let out a low chuckle, taking pride in how helpless and stupid he had made you. “Does that make me your god, pet?” It wasn’t a real question. He knew the answer, and he loved that answer: yes.

 “Now, how about I partake in some earthly pleasures and fuck your brains out, sweetheart?” He questioned, moving his arms up to rest on both sides of your head. His face was right above yours, lips hovering over your breathless, panting ones.

 “Yes, please.” Your eyebrows scrunched together as you grew impatient and needy as all hell. Zeke had a sinister idea. God was a nice term, but he could think of a better one.

 “How about you beg daddy for it?” He was such a disgusting pervert, and he relished in it. You mustered all the strength you could in order to speak.

 “Please fuck my pussy, daddy.” That was all he needed to push himself inside your tight heat. Your walls clenched as he thrusted balls deep inside of you, not caring if you needed to adjust or not. Luckily, you didn’t, despite his size.

 “Fuck yes, angel. You’re so goddamn tight.” He thrusted into you with reckless abandon, using you more than making love to you, which is exactly what you both wanted. Your walls clenched and throbbed as he brought you to orgasm once again.

 “Cumming all over my cock, sweetheart? Such a dirty whore.” He teased, continuing his motions, hitting your g-spot over and over again without much issue. His dick was perfect, reaching every inch of you that made you scream out in pleasure and overstimulated bliss. All of this for a few bags of cocaine and bullets. You weren’t even thinking of that as he pounded into you, getting rougher and sloppier than before. He was getting close to his own high just as you were about to reach your third. No one had ever made you feel like this. You never wanted to let him go. Fuck everyone you cared about, this was too damn good to throw away.

 “Where do you want my cum, slut?” He asked seconds before climaxing.

 “Wherever you want it, daddy.” That was exactly what he wanted to hear. You had been molded into the perfect toy for him, even if it was just for the moment. He had debased and perverted you, like putty in his hands. You thought you could just waltz in there and take what you wanted from him. But no, instead you were writhing around on his bed with his fat cock filling up your pussy while you screamed for your daddy. You were filthy, slutty perfection. He quickly pulled out of you and shot his cum on your stomach and chest. Noticing you were still squirming around, he pushed his thumb to your clit and rubbed circles as two of his fingers entered you and hit your sweet spot.

 “Come on, slutty girl, cum for daddy.” This time felt different than the others. You were completely out of your mind with pleasure and lust, and he was hitting just the right spots. You came around his fingers, squirting your juices and ruining his sheets. As if he could sense it, he had moved his face down just in time for it to reach his mouth, coating yet another layer of your cum on his beard. He licked his lips, savoring you taste and the blissed out, fuck drunk look on your face. He wished he could keep you like this forever. No, he would make sure to keep you like this forever. You were going to be his for the rest of time, no matter what it took. Even if he had to play the long game and pretend you had a choice in the matter.

 “Well, sweetheart, I’m afraid you have to go home empty handed. I’m sure those tarts will just pat you on the head and congratulate you for trying your best. That’s why they’ll never surpass me, and that’s why you will come crawling back to me.” You couldn’t respond, too disappointed and drained to say a word.

 “I have a shower that I recommend you use.” He looked down at you, your eyes hazy and barely focused on him. You were completely exposed to him. You looked beautiful. “In an act of civility, I’ll let you sleep here tonight. On a different bed, of course, considering the damage you’ve done.” You laughed at that, and he followed suite.

 “You know Zeke, for a monster, you’re not too bad.” You looked at him, admiration clear in your eyes.

 “You’re not too unbearable either.”

[my-bated-breath]

Closing Thoughts on Vincenzo

No one asked, but here you go.

I watched the last two episodes of Vincenzo yesterday, but even in the midst of my viewing experience I was able to synthesis and analyze what I was enjoying and not-enjoying, what worked and what didn’t work (for me), so that itself says something about how immersive it was. Of course, Vincenzo is a great show — the action is sharp and satisfying, the schemes are elaborate and spectacular, the humor is cracky yet genuine, and the characters are so, so lovable. And I loved the romance side plot, because yes, I am weak. Still, the last 2-4 episodes strained some of that, and this is my take on why I felt not exactly disappointed, but underwhelmed in the final stretch. I’m also including what I did like at the very end, as that makes sense with how I’m structuring this kind-of-analysis.

spoilers below

Tension, Stakes, and Pay-off

The tension in Vincenzo has been ramped up ever since the death of Vincenzo’s mother, loudly and painfully declaring in that moment that “this is not a game” (contrary to Vincenzo telling Hanseok in jail that he’s toying with him). This leads to a chilling confrontation between Vincenzo and the antagonists while also uniting the residents of Geumga in all-out, unapologetic war. And there is no more game of chess — just one of cat and mouse, with Vincenzo descending upon his prey.

Hence, Vincenzo is noticeably less soft, and he strikes Babel with the steel of his resolve. His schemes feel much more sinister than mischievous as they had been before; he is ending this, once and for all. So, how does the show amp up the tension and stakes from there?

Well, it’s all in what I said before. The tension is teased out in Vincenzo stealing everything Hanseok has ever treasured and then taunting/threatening him in prison, and then with the Babel villains descending into chaos and desperation. The stakes, however, are less noticeable, because Vincenzo is kind of obviously winning. The stakes have already been established with Vincenzo’s mother, then paid off with her death, and then paid off even more with Vincenzo mercilessly seizing the upper hand.

That’s why I feel like Myunghee and Hanseo’s death just... happened. Because it’s been 3 whole episodes since Vincenzo has founded this new resolve, that sort of dragged out follow-up loses its thrill and gratification. They’ve been defeated now, completely and totally. But so what? They’ve been on the losing end for more than 3 hours of screen time now, and even their last resort of a counterattack didn’t hold much narrative weight (which is something I’ll get to later). Their deaths are not boring to say the least — I saw a post that said something similar to “Myunghee, a woman who danced to the music of others’ pain, died dancing to her own” and “Hanseo, a man with no heart, has a hole drilled into that empty cavity.”

But their deaths also happen very isolated from everyone else, not just physically, but emotionally as well. It’s almost as if Vincenzo’s clapping his hands and saying, “Let’s wrap this up now, I’m getting a little tired.” And while I wouldn’t say their deaths are unnecessarily cruel, given everything they’ve done, I don’t think Vincenzo does this in response to anything particularly substantial. Is this for his mother’s death? For Chayoung’s injury? For everyone else? Well, maybe, but it sure didn’t feel like he was contemplating that during or after torturing them. If I put the Vincenzo from the beginning of the show there in those two scenes vs Vincenzo from the end of the show, post character development and all, I think the only difference would be that beginning-of-the-show Vincenzo would still be unfamiliar with Babel’s crimes and see this as a waste of time.

A sort of side note: Now, one of the strong points of this show is its use of comedy in its otherwise very serious schemes (I still thinking about episodes 8 and 15 all the time). But with the impending climax and increasingly serious tone, there was no comedy to make said-serious schemes as engaging to watch. So now unable to rely on one of its greatest strengths, the show must rely on emotional impact. Or similarly: narrative weight.

Narrative Weight

In episodes 19-20, Chayoung is shot, Hanseo dies, and Chulwook is stabbed (and you think he’s going to die but he doesn’t). Who said there was no emotional impact in these episodes again?!

Oh right. Me.

Beyond Hong Yuchan and Oh Gyeongja’s death, injuries and fatalities suffered from our protagonists’ side don’t really have that many consequences. You can argue the consequences of Hanseo dying is that we’re all very sad, but both we and the characters are barely given a moment to grieve before we have to move on. What does Hanseo die for? He dies as an abuse victim just beginning to break out of the cycle he was trapped in, and that itself isn’t necessary a bad narrative choice, and he dies as a warrior in this Mafia vs Conglomerate war, but what does he die for? If it’s for Vincenzo and Chayoung to live, they pretty much get lucky with Hanseo running out of bullets. If it is to show that he had changed, and that this tied into some greater theme of redemption, then his death really isn’t really given enough thought for it to resonate well. I would’ve loved to see Vincenzo reflecting on Hanseo learning to trust and love again, despite all the mistakes he made in the past, and how that influences his own decision to embrace his version of villainous justice. But no. This is something I only thought of after reading a few Vincenzo posts and trying to justify my own moral for the show.

Don’t forget that Chulwook almost dies too. Like I genuinely believed he was dead, shed a tear for the daughter he would never meet, and then the show went like, “Guess what? Psyche!”

I’m not very fond of that injury/pseud-death-but-not-really.

And now we have Chayoung, the person who Vincenzo is the closest to. Don’t get me wrong, I amso weak for her never giving into Hanseo and asking for death over Vinceno getting hurt, for guarding Vincenzo from the bullet, for Vincenzo’s shocked and empty eyes, for Chayoung’s glazed gaze, for him desperately and powerlessly hugging her tightly because that’s all he can do for her now. Afterwards, she’s in the hospital, her shoulder is recuperating, and there’s a nice Chayenzo parallel to episode 4 when Chayoung was waiting by Vinny’s hospital bed. But afterwards afterwards? She’s just in the hospital. Sidelined from the climax.

Vincenzo told her, “I will finish this, for you.” That could’ve worked, because we could’ve seen Chayoung emotionally or spiritually with us during the climax and Myunghee and Hanseo’s deaths. But like I mentioned earlier, it really didn’t feel that way. Ultimately, the narrative tells us that Chayoung’s injury just means she can’t strain herself for a couple of days, despite initially delivering it so dramatically and emotionally.

As one of my friends said while we were discussing this episode: Vincenzo is the titular character, but Chayoung has so much to care for too. Her father died because of Babel, and she said, “We should share the danger.” Instead, we got a decentish-but-slightly-underwhelming scene where she is driven to see Vincenzo off. Okay then.

Characters

Speaking of, Chayoung receives much of the short-end of the character development stick in the last 4 episodes. I found this to be acceptable in episodes 17-18, and she does have that moment where she looked uncertain and nauseated at the death of the “hunting dogs” before shoving down her misgivings, clinging onto a facade of strength as she says “this is what I wanted.” Also, even though it wasn’t episode 14, I wasn’t complaining about the Chayenzo moments either.

But still, this is the second most important protagonist in the narrative and nothing about her really changes in these last few episodes. Nor does she experience catharsis alongside Vincenzo, emotionally or otherwise. There had been some buildup about whether or not Chayoung can swallow the cruel path that she has chosen, but if she’s not even the given the chance to make her own decision on said cruel path, that’s just wasted set up.

(I know that during the Babel Tower party-fiasco Vincenzo told Chayoung that he originally wanted her to push the button that’ll kill one of the hunting dogs, but then decided against it upon seeing Chayoung’s wavering face, but like. Narratively, if she was the one to press it, and then we had some follow-up character arc about her coming to terms with her decision... Oh, we could’ve had it all.)

Another thing I want to point out is that Chayoung has been a foil to Vincenzo in that she represents the happiness, love, and innocence now unattainable to him. (This is just his view, by the way, since Chayoung isn’t exactly innocent herself, which he could’ve seen if the show had only taken this direction.) That is to say, Vinceno’s most interesting character moments are drawn out of him by Chayoung: In his apartment, when they are under the ceiling-stars, and she asks him whether he has ever killed anyone. On the rooftop, when they decide that Hanseok must lose everything before he dies, and he promises to her that he’ll stay in Korea to see things through to the end, in direct contrast to himself at the beginning of the show. In the highway pass, when she embraces him after a gunfight, the closest he’s ever grazed past death. When they drink makgeolli together and he tells her about what her father wanted to say to her. When they sit together by the riverside and she tells him that his mother would have been proud of him.

One of my favorite parts of episodes 11-12 during the gun fight is just how emotionally present Chayoung is, despite not wielding a gun herself, or even being anywhere near the action. I’m not sure if I’m getting this right, but I think this is the first time Vincenzo had killed people on screen, so to see Chayoung embrace him so tearfully afterwards almost felt like he was being reminded of his humanity. And this also shows that Chayoung, despite saying that she would feel distant towards Vincenzo if he did have blood on his hands, loves him closely, so closely it hurts.

We think about Vincenzo, what it means to be a consigliere, and his distorted flashbacks of flesh and blood and killing and losing himself, and that teddy bear, slowly panning out to a child, staring at him in fear. We think about how is it possible for him to love again? Can he even know what love is?

Then Chayoung appears, a woman whose very presence unraveled the mystery that is Vincenzo. But the moment that Chayoung’s development was stunted, that was the moment Vincenzo lost his foil, and we, the audience, lost the ability to see how his past, present, and future reconcile.

Themes: Loving in Sin

In episode 20, Vincenzo and the monks have a conversation about whether he was worthy of love or not before being told that he was Vaisravana — and though he could never be accepted by Buddha, he would be appreciated at times, and he would have his own role to play too. I like this conversation a lot in concept. In execution, it would’ve left much weightier an impact if only we had seen Vincenzo’s journey to reconcile his villainy and humanity play out more, if we had a glimpse into the moral conflict warring in his mind. The last time the drama showed that to us — not told it to us — was with the death of Vincenzo’s mother.

I would add more, really, but I feel like my review up until here says everything I want it to. In my opinion, there was no real epiphany that Vincenzo reached upon hearing those words from the monk because he hadn’t reflected on it enough for there to properly be one. And the ending to Vincenzo and Chayoung’s romance would’ve felt a lot better if it was Vincenzo choosing to love her despite his fear of himself, despite his belief that he could only hurt people. (Also that ending monologue wouldn’t have felt so tacked-on, like, oh wait this is supposed to have a theme right? Here, this is vaguely related, right?)

Because a lot of this emotional potential was not quite met, I think the finale also had to resort to some cheaper ways to make us feel for the romance, such as Chayoung rushing to see Vincenzo off and Vincenzo leaving the diplomacy-relations party early (he very poetically disappears while walking behind this sculpture, but I thought it was hilarious that if the shot didn’t get cut off there in another 2 seconds we could’ve seen him walking out of where that sculpture thing blocked him lol).

Overall though, I’m pretty happy with the romance’s ending, at least conceptually. The way they incorporated the story of cow herder and weaver girl and the bridge of pigeons (not magpies!) that will allow them to see each other again every year was so bittersweet, and as someone familiar with this myth, it made me very nostalgic. Also, I do think it works better with Vincenzo’s themes that he would be apart from Chayoung in some way. They each have their own lives to lead, but although they met by coincidence, they’ll remain by each other’s sides by intention. He is a villain, and so is she, but villains love tenaciously.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Hate (one-shot)

Synopsys: Bucky and reader have been stuck in the safe house for quite a while now, and the snow doesn’t seem like it will be letting off any time soon. New Year is creeping closer and closer. And it’s just the Reader’s luck that she’s stuck with a person who absolutely despises her guts.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Genre: fluuuuuuuuffff, soft angst 

Warnings: swearing, the reader is so dumb... like the last three brain cells she had, left the chat because of what an idiot she is

Word count: 2816

He hated her. Y/N was absolutely one hundred percent sure – Bucky Barnes despised her. The war veteran, the last serving Howling Commando, the longest-held war prisoner and the man who had stolen her heart hated her.

      She watched him from over the rim of her coffee cup, how his long brown locks fell over his high cheekbones, and he huffed pushing them away from his face. Y/N had to force down the groan of just how much she had to restrain herself from going over, running her fingers through his hair and maybe tying it back in a little bun. Fuck, if he ever did that, she was sure she’d die from the hotness that was Bucky Barnes.

      They hadn’t known one another for that long. Y/N had joined the Avengers a couple of months after the whole Thanos thing. For one, she had been one of the unfortunate ones to be dusted. She had been taking a warm, relaxing bath after a long day when her feet suddenly disintegrated in the water. The last thing Y/N had managed was to throw her book over the side, so at least that didn’t get wet.

      Sam had found her after everyone was brought back by Bruce. He was recruiting new people for the team as the new captain, and the first thing she had been there to witness was his try-on haul of the new star-spangled costume.

      “Don’t you think it’s a bit novel?” Y/N asked biting on her lip. “I think the shield would be enough to tell them who’s the boss.”

      “It’s a symbol!” Sam emphasized and turned around to look at his ass. “It’s supposed to send a message.”

      Y/N hid her smile behind her palm and shrugged. “Just… never picked you as the tights guy.”

      Sam groaned. “They are not tights!”

      That was the moment when Y/N had met Bucky, and that’s when all of her rational thinking flew out of the window faster than Redwing.

      He came sauntering into the living room, a grey T-shirt stained with sweat and clinging to his body, the fabric defining each and every muscle the man owned. When Sam said that Y/N started drooling quite literally, it might've been because of the fact that a little dribble of her coffee she had had in her mouth actually spilt out on her leg.

      “You look like the American fucking flag,” Bucky snorted and gulped down a large mouthful of water, cocking his hip out.

      Fuck, Y/N thought to herself, how in the absolute hell can someone drinking be the most sinful thing on Earth. Like holy hell when did sweat become a turn on for her? Especially when it slowly slid along his neck and disappeared down his chest. She had to close her eyes to remove the mental image of him panting on top of her. Sweaty, like in that moment, but because of different reasons.

      “Fuck off, tin can,” Sam snapped back, “or I’ll replace you with her.” He motioned with his head towards Y/N, and she ducked further down on the couch. “You’re not special with your sniping.”

      Bucky shook his head and threw her a quizzical look. “And what’s so special about you?”

      Y/N would’ve probably answered nothing, that she’s completely ordinary because actually talking about her abilities and giving herself some credit was way beyond her skill set, so Sam stepped in.

      “She’s an army vet and was in the Snakeskin program.”

      Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed. “Snakeskin?”

      “They were an elite ground force group of troops trained to be as stealthy as assassins. Her specialty is sniping. So, don't go on thinking you're something special. 'Cause you're not.”

      The super soldier now fully looked her over, and Y/N wanted the couch to cut open and swallow her whole, because holy fucking fuck, was Bucky’s gaze intense. It was like he was trying to carve out her soul just by looking at her. The only thing that came to her mind was to give him an awkward smile and a small wave. He gave her a nod and then looked back at Sam.

      “I’ll be out for the rest of the day. Steve said he wanted some help with repainting the fence.”

      “Yeah, you go be a good wife,” Sam waved him off and looked himself over once more in the mirror. “And please remind him he owes me twenty bucks.”

      “What for?” Bucky hollered from the hallway.

      “He knows!”

      They only heard a scoff before the elevator dinged, announcing Bucky’s exit.

      “So,” Sam looked at Y/N through the mirror. “That went well.”

      If only that was how she saw it. Y/N thought Bucky hated her, and Sam’s little remark about her replacing him was not sitting well with the woman. She wasn’t there to replace anyone, least of all one of her childhood heroes who was doing everything in his power to prove his worth to the world (even though she didn’t think he had anything to prove and everyone else could just go off and fuck themselves).

      She was just there to hopefully once again regain some sort of a sense to her life. After leaving the Snakeskin program, and being one of the victims of the Snap, it was hard to find where she belonged. Then Sam called Y/N up and told her they were reforming the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, and he wanted her to be a part of it, so she jumped on the opportunity.

      And that’s what lead them to that moment – Y/N slowly sipping her coffee as Bucky tried to finish up a crossword puzzle. From time to time she glanced up from the swirling black liquid to the super-soldier, but of course, he wasn’t paying any kind of attention to her. He never did.

      After their first meeting, their interactions were limited to small ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’ and communicating during missions. There was never any direct animosity, but the fact that Bucky talked to everyone on a daily basis except for Y/N – well, she didn’t need it to be spelt out.

      But it was just Y/N’s luck, wasn’t it? First, she got sent out on a mission with a man who can’t stand to even spare her a glance, then they get snowed in without a way out (even the jet was seven feet under the snow), and now New Years was right around the corner, and she would have to spend it all alone.

      Y/N looked out the window to the never-changing scene of swirling white flakes. They weaved and moved in a dance she couldn’t comprehend. But while she watched what was happening beyond the glass, Bucky was watching her.

      His eyes trailed the way her face curved and sloped, eyelids half-closed surveying the scenery, but mostly how her flannel shirt had slipped off from one of her shoulders. He so badly wanted to reach out and gently place it back to where it was, but he couldn’t.

      Bucky was no longer the same confident man in an army uniform that used to sweep ladies off their feet and make them dance the night away. This man woke up in the middle of the night in cold sweat and could barely keep eye contact with anyone that wasn’t Steve, Shuri or Sam for no longer than five seconds. So, pulling Y/N’s shirt back up was out of the fucking question. But he didn’t have to dwell on it for too long.

      “I’m gonna take a shower,” she announced, although she had no real idea as to why. Bucky only responded with a hum, which she guessed was more than what she expected to receive, but then again – it was more of an acknowledgement than she’d gotten in the three days they’d been stranded together.

      The stream of hot water pelleting her skin was a welcome change from the icy touch of being ignored and discarded. Although Y/N was stuck in a safe house somewhere in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere in Finland, it was a Stark-created safehouse. So, it was occupied by every possible piece of technology. Including the best speakers known to man.

      Because Y/N was a punk-rock emo bitch at heart (did you really think I wouldn’t put this in? Killjoys are back, suckers! Put on your fucking eyeliner and get ready cause it was not a phase, mom, it's a fucking lifestyle!), her playlist automatically switched from ‘Kicking-Ass’ that was designed to hype her up during missions to ‘Singing-Like-A-Rock-Star’ with ‘Gives You Hell’ blasting through the bathroom.

      It was like Tony had known that people would be absolutely jamming in the bathrooms because the floor was lined with a rubber mat, giving Y/N the freedom to go ham.

      And she sent up a little 'thank you' to wherever Tony was because she had needed that. She had needed to let go of all of the tension and thoughts that had collected in her body just so she could re-enter that same worrying state a second later. Just with clean hair now.

      Pulling on comfy grey sweats and a huge navy-blue T-shirt, she twisted the towel and plopped it back over her head to keep the wet strands away. The house was constantly warm because Bucky kept the fireplace stocked almost 24/7, but it was even warmer now as he had added a new pile of wood, though the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Which was fine by Y/N.

      With a huff and a roll of her head, she ventured into the kitchen, having decided that dinner needed to be had. It was halfway through her boiling pasta when the shrill sound of her phone ringing made her drop the sauce-slathered spoon.

      “Yeah?” She pressed the phone between her shoulder and ear and went to wash off the spoon, careful not to put the curved-inward part under the stream.

      “Y/N,” Sam’s warm voice invaded her senses. “How are you holding up? Fury and Maria says the storm’s still raging.”

      A glance outside of the window told her as much. “Any news on when it might stop?”

      “None at this moment,” Sam replied. “They’re checking every five minutes for an update so they can finally send an extraction bird out.”

      “Ooh, can you ask Maria to send the one with the bed?”

      “Sorry,” Sam sighed in mock sadness, “that one’s been sent out to Guatemala to pick up Wanda.”

      “Ugh,” Y/N groaned and threw her head back. “Damn Wanda and her mission. Could she not like manage until she got back to the Tower? It's not like she's had to sleep in the middle of the jungle or something?”

      Sam laughed, and it made her smile, knowing that he understood her joking tone. “Yeah, right? What a princess!”

      Y/N smiled and finally added the pasta to the boiling water. “What are you gonna get her for her birthday?”

      “Dunno,” her friend replied. “She’s been looking at that one perfume for a while, but we gotta figure out what Vis is getting first… speaking of other halves – you and Bucky getting on well?”

      Y/N huffed turning to face the boiling pot and stirring the pasta in it. A little vortex formed completely mimicking how she felt on the inside. “As well as two people who can’t stand to be near one another, but have to share a place, can.”

      She heard him chuckle. “Come on, it can’t be that bad! I still don’t think you’re in the right about this.”

      “About what?” her eyebrows furrowed. She took out a piece of pasta and chewed on it. Still wasn’t the right texture.

      “About Bucky. I think you’ve got it all wrong.”

      The scoff that wanted to escape her throat was blocked by the piece of food, and she almost choked on it. “Sam, he fucking hates me!”

      “I – I don’t hate you,” came a voice from behind Y/N, and she spun around, mouth left hanging open as her phone was clutched tightly by her ear.

      She could practically hear Sam grin through the phone. “I guess you gotta go.”

      Bucky stepped closer just as she lowered the now silent mobile. “Y/N, why would you ever think I hate you?”

      “Be – because you do?”

      “When did I say that?”

      She shook her head. “You didn’t have to.”

      Bucky’s whole face fell at her words. “What do you mean?”

      “I mean you talk with everyone else but me. You can’t look me in the eye one bit, and do I need to remind you when you actually left the whole Christmas gala thing right after I walked in, and I quote ‘I can’t be around her’.”

      Bucky’s eyes widened, and this time it was his jaw that hung open. “You heard that.”

      “Loud and clear.”

      “I – I,” he stammered and then cleared his throat. It was time to put all the cards on the table. “I only said that because had I stayed; I would’ve done something I’d regret.”

      “Like what?”

      “Like kissed you.”

      And there went Y/N’s breath. And her heart. And her sanity. And frankly, everything she’d ever known.

      “I would’ve most likely told you how I felt,” he said and stepped closer watching every facial feature of hers.

      “And how do I make you feel?” she breathed out.

      “Nervous. I haven’t had feelings like this for a girl in decades… and I didn’t know how to process them let alone act on them. Things have changed so much since I was chasing skirts… nowadays everything’s so complicated… and I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same. I mean, we have to work together, and we live in the same place, so if things didn’t work out… I just didn’t wanna risk it.”

      As he talked, she had started to pace. In stressful situations where she didn’t have to focus on pulling the trigger or if she wasn’t trying not to trip off a treadmill, Y/N paced. A lot. She was pretty sure there was a line in the living room floor where she had done her thinking before missions.

      “Wait, so you like me?” Y/N spun around and pointed at him. “Like really like me?”

      “Yeah,” Bucky chuckled as relief flooded his veins. He wouldn’t have smiled as wide as he did, had he not seen her lips quirk up. “Yeah, I really like you.”

      “And you don’t hate me?”

      “Not one bit.”

      Y/N stepped forward, head hanging low as she carefully grasped Bucky’s hand and intertwined their fingers, metal twining with flesh. “So, you like me?” she looked up at him, eyes intently watching his face. He squeezed her palm stepping closer as well, chest to chest at that point. He placed both of their hands right over his beating heart.

      “Yeah, I do... Happy New Year, Y/N,” Bucky muttered with a shy smile gracing his face.

      “What?” she had been so lost in his eyes that his words weren’t registering. His soft chuckle was like a melody designed by angels.

      “I said Happy New Year.”

      Y/N looked down to the worn watch on his right wrist and sure enough, the two hands were perfectly aligned to 12. A small chuckle escaped her mouth as she reconnected their gazes.

      “Happy New Year, Buck.”

      He was so close to her; she could smell the hot chocolate he had been drinking. Y/N closed her eyes, insides trembling as he leaned closer. But the kiss never came

      “I heard you in the shower.”

      “What!?”

      Bucky grabbed a spoon from the table and used it as a microphone, pointing at Y/N and wiggling his hips to the rhythm of the song. “’ Hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!’” She shoved him away from her and through a laugh threw her towel at him.

      “Ugh, I hate you!”

      “No, you don’t!” Bucky grabbed at her waist and pulled her to him. Together they plopped down on the couch, and Bucky didn’t hesitate to pull her in his lap, legs thrown over his and head resting against his shoulder. Y/N looked up at him, her hand leaning against his stomach as she drew gentle circles on the shirt clad torso.

      “Can I kiss you?”

      She chuckled and moved closer to Bucky. “Are you still going to make fun of me and my singing?”

      He looked like he was contemplating before he nodded, a wide smile on his face as he pressed his forehead against hers. “Yeah. Most definitely. For as long as you let me.”

      “And if I say forever?”

      She didn’t need to hear him say what was on his mind when the only thing that existed was Bucky’s smile. Y/N’s own lips widened, as he bent closer. The New Year and the new decade had begun quite a few minutes ago, but neither cared much because as their lips touched, a new chapter in their lives opened.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Bucky tag list: @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn​ @projectxhappiness​ @callmebucky-doll​ @coal000​ @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken​ @sophiealiice​ @raquelbc2003​ @watch-out-for-thorns​ @potentially-kinetic​ @thatonegirljessy99​ @proxinge @bbkenna @buckysclub​ @ulired @fangirlofeverythingbasically @mrsalh32611​ @horrorx570ximagines​ @the-nargles-made-me-do-it​ @pooslie​ @itsisabelanotisabella @httpmcrvel​ @purplebananatragedy​ @pxrrishly​ @parker-barnes-af​ @skulliebythesea​ @california-grown​ @stevehesaidabadlanguageword​ @belongsto-prachi​ @hello-i-am-insane @its-nott-my-problem

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A/N: Hi! so, quite a lot of things have happened. and the biggest thing is... I’m gonna be seeing MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE in JUNE!!! AAAHHHHH!!! I’ve been a fan of them since I was nine, and now I finally get the chance to see them perform live! I’ve never been so stressed in my life while trying to get tickets to something! I was in the middle of my 9 AM lecture and I was legit shaking. I fuffed about for like 3 seconds and those 3 seconds cost me the tickets... at first! and then it was like the emo gods were smiling down upon me, I saw there was another date added. I thought it was a glitch in the system because nothing was announced. so, obviously, I clicked off, only for my twitter notification to go off that they have announced they have added another date. I think it’s fair to say that I was barely functioning as I clicked furiously on my computer. And now I get the chance to see them... I am STOAKED!!!

[snazzwritesthings]

Hello! May I have some general hcs of Ibuki Mioda and Akane Owari and Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu (separate) with a younger sibling?

Or, if we wanna go down an A N G S T Y route, their sibling being a victim or a blackened in the Killing Game? (Or vice versa!)

Hello! Of course, you can have these headcanons! Thank you for requesting! ⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰

Ibuki Mioda Sibling Headcanons!

•Her younger sibling would have a musical ultimate talent.

•Ibuki would be hella protective over them. She'd make sure no one hurts or upsets her younger sibling.

•Ibuki loves performing with her younger sibling when given the chance to!

•Inside jokes. They'd have tons of inside jokes.

•Friendly sibling rivalry. Those two would have sibling rivalry half of the time but it's not harmful to the two of them.

•Ibuki would know how to calm her sibling down. She'd be the best at it.

•Ibuki would try and convince her younger sibling to try on her clothes to match the two of them.

•Ibuki and her sibling's favourite show to watch together would be Adventure Time.

•Their favourite song from Adventure Time would be either 'Everything Stays' or 'I'm Just Your Problem'.

•Pajama dance parties.

•Stupid bickering and arguments would happen between the two.

•Both Ibuki and her sibling would shout and be energetic around others.

•The younger sibling would likely be a victim in the killing game.

•Ibuki upon hearing/seeing that they're dead, she'd freeze right then and there, her eyes wide and her skin pale. She'd not believe that they're dead.

•She'd think that they're either sleeping or trying to pull a prank so she'd kneel next to their body and try and shake them awake. But what that doesn't work, Ibuki would know that it is true.

•Ibuki would lock herself in her cottage and refuse to open the door or speak to anyone. She'd need time to herself to mourn over the loss of her sibling.

•Ibuki would leave her cottage after an hour or two and be determined to find out whoever the hell murdered her sibling.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Akane Owari Sibling Headcanons!

•COMPETITIVE. Akane and her sibling would be hella competitive with one another.

•When she gets fired up or really angry her sibling easily calms her down.

•Akane and her sibling would have a good relationship with one another!

•Akane has 100% fought someone who was an a$$hole to her sibling. No one gets to be mean to her sibling and get away with it.

•She tries to always keep an eye on her younger sibling to make sure nothing happens to them. She wants to protect them.

•Is strict about the kind of people her sibling is allowed to date. (Akane has tried to convince her sibling to date no one, but that didn't work.)

•Will threaten whoever romantically likes her sibling and will threaten whoever her sibling is dating.

•A cartoon both Akane and her sibling would enjoy watching together would be Steven Universe.

•Their favourite songs from Steven Universe would be "Stronger Than You" and "Do It For Her".

•Akane and her sibling definitely make stupid bets with one another. Akane has won some bets and her sibling has won some.

•Dance Parties. Akane and her sibling would definitely schedule Friday night dance parties.

•Akane's sibling would likely be a victim in the killing game.

•When hearing the news that her sibling is dead, Akane would be filled with vengeance. She'd mourn the death of her sibling before setting out to find whoever the hell killed her family member.

•She'd threaten those she finds the most suspicious and even threaten to kill them herself due to the loss of her sibling.

•She'd make sure her sibling gets avenged and doesn't die in vain. ════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu Sibling Headcanons!

•Fuyuhiko would act like he doesn't like his younger sibling much. He'd tolerate them and talk to them but he wouldn't give them affection or adore them.

•However, Fuyuhiko does show his love for his sibling in different ways. This goes from him protecting them from others to threatening anyone who looks at his sibling the wrong way.

•If he watched a movie with his sibling, the two main movie genres they'd watched would be action and/or horror.

•Doesn't watch cartoons with his sibling but would watch live action tv shows. The main genre being action or horror.

•A series both Fuyuhiko and his sibling would've watched together and enjoyed would be Supernatural.

•His sibling would be the one to drag Fuyuhiko into their schemes and plans.

•Definitely has gone trick or treating with his sibling. (Some years with matching costumes some years with non-matching costumes.)

•Has threatened to kill someone who was talking about asking his sibling on a date.

•Is shorter than his sibling but is the older one.

•Fuyuhiko won't ever admit it but he thinks his sibling is cool and does actually love them.

•Usually listens to Set It Off with his younger sibling.

•He actually enjoys spending time with his sibling.

•Fuyuhiko sometimes keeps an eye on his younger sibling to make sure nothing happens to them.

•His sibling could either be a victim or blackened.

•If his sibling is a victim, Fuyuhiko would be beyond pissed. He'd threaten everyone and become extremely violent.

•He'd be mostly angry with himself for failing to protect his sibling.

•If his sibling is blackened, Fuyuhiko would demand to know why they murdered someone. He'd still view them as his sibling but he'd be extremely disappointed in them.

•When it comes to their execution, Fuyuhiko would try and find some way to stop them from getting executed, but it'd fail. •He'd watch his sibling be executed in front of him without being able to stop it. After this, he'd not leave his cottage. He'd stay in there for a few days mourning their death.

⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰

I hope these were to your liking and somewhat accurate to the characters! I had fun writing sibling headcanons for them!

[jon-sauve]

Disco Lights (full short story)

The helicopters are swarming everywhere. The people from the news are all around, waiting, recounting the same information again and again to new viewers as they come; the door will be opened in ten minutes. Nine minutes. Eight, seven, six, five...

The door had been found a week before by a demolition crew working on an old parking garage. It had been set inside the wall, under three or four inches of concrete. The original builders were contacted, the blueprints procured, but as far as anyone knew the door should not be there.

Everyone was prepared to ignore it. Break it down, they said, let’s get on with our jobs. But there were the sounds, and the lights through the crack. Anyone who got within ten feet of the door keeled over in pain. There were headaches, stomach aches. Dental fillings cracked, eyes began to burn, hands trembled.

The door was marked as a health and safety hazard, and a hazmat crew was brought in to deal with it. One of them made it all the way up to the door and actually touched the handle. He woke up in the hospital later, having suffered a mild heart attack, and claimed to have heard voices telling him not to open it.

Open it? How could anyone open it? There was just concrete behind it, wasn’t there?

Someone had the idea of sticking a camera in through the crack below the door, where the lights came from. The camera failed almost immediately. All it managed to capture was a single dark frame, smeared across the middle by a vaguely human form.

After that everyone took a big step back. Word had started to spread about “the door” and people came to see it. Civilians at first, then news agencies. Finally, two days before the door was opened, the government showed up on the scene and barred everyone from entering. For their own good, they said. But they recognized the need of the masses to see what lay beyond the door, and set up live cameras for the “grand opening,” as one reporter put it with a smirk on his face.

What might be behind the door? Nothing, some said. Just some Christmas lights and a set of speakers blasting out weird noises. Maybe some sort of microwave device that messed you up when you got too close. Just a weird prank by the builders, maybe by some disgruntled person who had quit right afterward and disappeared.

The cameras were set up. Four people stood there, ten feet from the door. Medical personnel were on standby, ready for anything.

“If one of us suddenly explodes,” said one of the openers, “cut the cameras, alright?”

They approached the door. At eight feet the woman on the right started to feel it, even through her lead suit. Just a weird sort of feeling, like you get when going through a loop on a roller coaster.

As they got closer they all felt it. Waves of something hitting them. There were the sounds, and the lights, stabbing out from under the door.

“Opening in ten... nine...”

Thus went the countdown, and the openers kept going. Four of them, fighting a sudden and extreme sensation of illness and foreboding. They did their best, and reached the door at the count of two. They lingered for five or six more seconds. Someone reached out tentatively for the handle, then let their hand fall back down.

“I can’t,” he said. “You do it.”

The woman on the right seemed to think he was talking about her. With a spasmodic flick of her hand she grasped the handle, turned it, and pulled.

It was all darkness beyond. The city followed into darkness an hour later. But for several days afterward, there were screams as the last of them died.

 ---

They should not have opened the door.

Four days after, a man named Lonnie Howell was crouched at the foot of an escalator in a department store. He was ranging far right now, way too far; his shelter was six blocks away, six long and shadowy blocks. He had to wait here, staring out through the huge windows at the front of the store, and pick his time to run.

The wraiths kept going by. Invisible flying men, who cast a shadow of dancing rainbow lights. That was the only way to see them. Their shadow.

The wraiths went past, flying along the street, lights curving up and over cars and bus stops. They were stalking the dark city, seeking out the final survivors. For all Lonnie knew, he might be the last.

Maybe it would be good to get out of the city. Maybe not. Lonnie had climbed up some of the taller buildings around, getting onto the roofs and looking out. All dark beyond the city, too. Even now, at about eleven in the morning, just darkness. Except for the wraiths.

Lonnie hadn’t seen one for a little while. He’d been timing them. It seemed like one passed by every ten minutes on average. So he would wait for the next one, let it go by, wait a little bit longer, then make a dash for it. It could work; it had worked before.

Here came the lights now, flashing and blinking down the street. Lonnie froze, pulling back a little behind the potted plant he was crouched at. He twitched a little, and the cans in his pack rattled against each other. The wraith kept going. Lonnie counted ten Mississippi, got up, and booked it.

The cans rattled and rattled. They sounded ridiculously loud, especially when he got out onto the street. Lonnie weaved around cars, hopped over downed bicycles, skirted the messy remains of his fellow men. Back to sanctuary. Eventually, they would find him even there, but maybe he could live a bit longer. Maybe he could even think of a plan.

They all screamed when the wraiths got to them. Every last one screamed their heads off, as if that would save them. Lonnie bet the wraiths liked to see fear in their victims, and so he had decided that, whenever they got him, he would clamp his mouth shut and just act all bored. That would teach them.

Actually, no it wouldn’t, but Lonnie wasn’t going to die that other way.

There was a peculiar twilight in the city. Objects were only visible at a distance of ten feet. It helped that Lonnie had sharp reflexes, or else he’d be tripping and falling four times a minute. Plus he had traveled this way a few times, and sort of had a feel for it. Had it really only been four days?

Lonnie let himself go into his thoughts. It was either that or lose his mind with fear, alone like he was on the dark street. He started to imagine what he might eat tonight. He’d found a can of pasta sauce, and he already had a few packages of instant noodles. They were Asian flavor, but he could dispense with the seasoning packets and do a sort of spaghetti instead. There was that little bottle of grape juice, too. He could pretend it was wine. There were liquor stores, but those were farther away than he really dared to go.

Here was the laundromat, and the little restaurant across the street advertising four mini burgers for two dollars, plus a beer or a soft drink for an extra fifty cents. Good deal, Lonnie thought. The landmarks meant he was close to his hideout.

He slowed down a little. The road right up here was almost impassible; a bus had tipped over and a bunch of cars had crashed trying to get around it. Lonnie gripped his pack tight with one hand and, with the other, began to scale the cars. How fast could they have been going to end up all piled on each other like this?

At the top he paused and looked around the street ahead of him. Empty and dark, no screams to indicate another survivor gone and a wraith nearby. Just below was the little staircase leading down to a basement video rental place. That was his spot. Home sweet home. He started to climb down.

Weird, he thought. Maybe his eyes were just adjusting, but the street seemed kind of bright now. And maybe a little colorful.

Lonnie froze again. A cold, creeping feeling went up his spine. He looked back slowly, and saw the disco lights coming behind him. The wraith was still a block away, and Lonnie was hidden behind a car. But that didn’t matter. If he was on the street, the wraith would find him.

He had a couple of cars to go down yet, and that was a noisy affair. And also the cans in his pack. Lonnie made a quick decision. Caution and quiet be damned, he was running for it. Speed over stealth.

He stuck out a leg and leapt. The street rushed up out of blackness. He could only really see it a few inches before he hit, and had no way of timing his tuck and roll. And it turned out there was some object there, dark and hidden. His foot hit it and folded over. Pain burst in his ankle. Lonnie tried to stand up but his foot wasn’t having it. The lights were getting brighter. They were halfway down the block, maybe more. Brighter and brighter still. The wraith was swooping lower now. It knew someone was around.

Lonnie dragged himself along, as fast as he possibly could. He reached the stairs and peered down them. Fifteen steps of cold, hard concrete. Screw it. He grabbed hold of the railing and threw himself down. Rolling, crashing, flipping. His knee slammed against one of the supports for the banister, and the back of his head slapped down hard on one of the steps. His hand twisted under his back. He felt a pop and a rush of hot pain in his shoulder, and a throbbing as his hurt ankle jostled around.

Act bored when they got him. That had been his idea. He forgot all about it now. He was seeing stars, unable to tell what way was up. He was already at the bottom of the stairs, but he still felt like he was spinning around. All he saw was disco lights, dancing around him.

He screamed. And that was the end of Lonnie Howell, last man in the city.

THE END

---

If you want to read more of my stories, click the link to my Amazon page. The story you just read is featured in Universe in Despair.

https://www.amazon.com/Jon-Sauve/e/B00UXJGK3O

[yandere-sins]

Oh please please please a continuation of your fae story!!! I think I have a newfound love for fae lol And the ending like the last paragraph?? Its so good BuT HOW CAN YOU STOP THEREEE I kind of want to see his evil, malicious side now and how he treats the reader as his posession love you!!!

Aww, I had a lot of fun with it! I am really glad you guys enjoyed it so much you’d want a second part ^-^ I don’t want to drag stories out so I had to stop them on some point, sorry for the disappointment, lol! But here we go, the second part:

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

Giggling, you danced along to the gusts of winds that lead you through the grass. How many days had it been that you joined the fairies? You hadn’t counted, maybe a week or two. You still dreamed about your fears, but admittedly, it had become much easier. Now, there was just you, the different creatures on the clearing and - of course - the fae, ever so watchful on his trunk.

You two were long beyond the questions of who was who, and though you did not know his name, he knew yours all too well, calling you when he wanted your attention, but otherwise leaving you to do whatever you wanted. Mostly, you just danced with them, listening to their whispers, telling you tales of old days, and what was going on in the forest all around you. And when you weren’t occupied with having fun with the creatures you could not see but knew they were there, you rested at your fae’s side, letting him brush through your hair, feed you water and berries when your needs acted up, and slept on his lap when the sun went down after another long day.

Exhausted, you sank down next to the tree trunk, back leaning against it as the creature hummed, long finger brushing over your head. “Tired?” he asked, and you nodded, wiping away some sweat from your brows. Admittedly, you were getting weaker by the day, the amount of time you spent on dancing and singing slimming down with every night that passed, but you didn’t want to bother anyone with your thoughts, after all, you were probably not noticing just how much you did every day. It was only natural that you’d get worn out after a while.

It was too much fun as that you could stop, though. Even with your body burning up from the heat of moving around and growing more and more shaken, you didn’t even think about quitting. This was a dream come true, a really good one at that. Never before had you experienced quite the same amount of euphoria and happiness than you did here, even if sometimes, bad thoughts returned to your mind, despite you canceling them out.

The wind rustled through the grass and the leaves on the tree while you took deep breaths, feeling the fingers separating your hair gently. This was peace, you decided. Nowhere on earth would it ever be close to this feeling of serenity, listening to the singing of fairies, watching animals cuddle, and the sun shine on you without burning your skin. Letting your head fall back onto the trunk, you kept your eyes closed for a few more seconds, feeling the fae rub your cheek affectionately before you looked up to him.

“When… do you think they will come back?” you asked him, keeping your voice low as not to gain the curiosity of anything else around you two.

“Who?” he asked, it’s head tilting to the side. “My friends…”

For a moment, silence befell you two, and you almost felt bad for asking. As if you were demanding something, you really shouldn’t, but the fae only hummed in contemplation, breaking the eye contact with you. Lifting your head, you felt a little woozy, making you blink a few times. One time you opened your eyes, seeing only black spreading out in front of you instead of the clearing, but with the next blink, it was back to normal again, and you blamed it on the strange feeling in your whole body that made you blackout there for a second.

“Who knows…” he sighed eventually, shrugging a little. “Are you unhappy?”

“Wha-? No! No, that’s not it! I was just wondering, that’s all…”

“Is that so, little Human?” he chuckled, and you gave him a smile before getting to your feet slowly. “I’m… going to dance some more,” you proclaimed, and it nodded in encouragement, your hand reaching back to it. “Want to join me?”

The surprise was prominent in his face, but just as quick, he laughed, shaking his head. “Not now, Human.” Shrugging, you told him about his missed chance while you got back to your imaginary friends, being welcomed back into their dance with much applause.

You were so adorable- no, the MOST adorable one until now.

Trying to invite him to your dances, sitting by his side. It was a wonder you were still walking after all these days going hungry. He knew you had seen them, the glimpses of his realm, the few times your body was able to separate reality from illusion. It must be because you were growing weaker by the minute, a fae’s victim never surviving long. But still, you were so cute, always thinking of him, even being considerate with your words.

It had only been a short time for you two, but he knew that he liked you better than any of the others before you. The ones you were now dancing with, and would be for all eternity, they had been boring in comparison. After all, it was unlikely anyone would be able to find you, you were completely at the fae’s mercy and only your behavior having saved you from a fate much worse than the one now.

Yes, maybe you were slowly starving from the fake berries he made you imagine, but at least you had fun and laughter on your way there. And he? He had you, all of you. You were his. In this endless darkness, with no sound and no heartbeats to count, you were a welcome change, something he could admire all the hours that you were there. The fae had done right choosing you, had you seem like the most cheerful of your group.

Everyone else had managed to lose hope, die a terrible boring death. But you were entertaining enough for centuries to come. If only you could have seen yourself, bone-y, dehydrated, big bags under your eyes. You didn’t even notice the muddy feet from the dark substance all around you, bleeding nails from how often you had accidentally hit or scratched on some wall or resistance. In your dream world, you were probably looking just fine to yourself, but it was clearly visible that it was going down with you.

Truth be told, your friends had long started and ended their search. Whenever he had called for you, so did the fae, making sure you wouldn’t hear them when they had managed to come close to his hideout once or twice. And you had been so cooperative, telling him your name beforehand. Your trust was your biggest downfall, but it made you all the more wonderful. It was only a question of time that you’d succumb to the fever you developed and starve, but until then, the fae was sure to make the most out of the time you two had. It would be lonely with you, he knew that. He already missed you, and you were still here.

But at least you were his until the end. He would have never handed you over to anyone ever again.

[shesclearlya3]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever P.4

pairing: Xavier Plympton x Reader

word count: 2,313

warnings: language, sadness, fluff, slight angst

not entirely proof-read. *title inspired by Ben Platt’s song*

part 1 part 2 part 3

Life was fucking weird. 

If it wasn't apparent to you then, you definitely realized it now. 

Camp Redwood should just be burned to the ground, you thought to yourself. Your body felt like it was floating; nothing was holding you, you were just floating. Your eyes would not open, no matter how many times you attempted it. The air around you was cold, gently ruffling your hair and tenderly brushing against your skin. You had been there for a few moments, you thought.

In the real world, you were gone for weeks. 

The day you died, everyone had come running back to the cabin, their arms loaded with supplies to take care of you. The sight of Xavier holding your dead body would haunt them forever. His cries of agony could probably be heard in Los Angeles as he begged you to come back. 

The boys attempted to pull Xavier away from you, but he refused, picking up the dagger Richard Ramirez had left behind when he was dragged out. Your blood had already started to dry, and the others held their hands up, promising they wouldn't touch you. At least, not yet. 

Montana sat next to Trevor outside, Ray and Chet leaning against some trees. They sat in silence, unable to hear Xavier as he forced them out, slamming the doors in their face. 

"She has to come back, right?" Chet asked.

"It wouldn't make sense if she didn't," Montana frowned, "All of us did, he needs to calm down,"

Ray glared down at the blonde, straightening up. He knew nothing about you other than your name, and you were friends with Xavier. Yet, he still felt the need to defend you, to defend Xavier. You didn't deserve this. 

You were here to grieve, not die. 

"Why are you so miserable all of the time, hmm?" Ray snapped, prepared to fight a girl. Montana could probably beat his ass if he let her, but he was tired of being unheard in the group. 

"What the fuck is your problem?" Montana asked, standing up. Trevor rubbed a hand over his face while Chet watched excitedly. 

"You have nothing nice to say about anybody! You have no respect, did you know that, Montana? What the fuck did y/n ever do to you?"

Montana remained silent, sizing up Ray from head to toe. Maybe she wasn't in love with Xavier, but she liked him enough. All he would talk about was you, before and after 1984. It pissed her off that nobody loved her like Xavier loved you.

"You only care about yourself, an innocent person just died! You're Xavier's friend, right? How about you go in there and say what you just told us, see how fast he knocks you-"

A loud slap came from nowhere, his head whipping to the side. Trevor's mouth dropped open, slightly turned on by what just happened. Chet was speechless, looking at Montana with concern. 

Montana was never one to apologize for her actions, and today was no different. She turned and stomped off, heading in the direction of the kitchens. Nobody bothered to go after her, knowing it would be a death sentence to disturb her. 

"You okay, man?" Chet finally spoke up, placing a hand on Ray's shoulder.

"I'm fine," he said, blinking away the slight tear that formed in his eye. "I just, I did a lot of screwed up shit in my life, I want to be a better person." 

"It's not too late for you," Trevor spoke up. The two boys turned, giving him a quizzical look. "We uh, we need to go in there, Xavier shouldn't be doing this to himself." 

The boys agreed, slowly climbing up the steps and opening the door. It was silent in the other room, and as they joined Xavier, he was still holding you, his head resting on your head. Your eyes had already glazed over, the beautiful orbs now dead to the world. 

"Xav," Ray said, holding out a hand. Xavier glared at them, his eyes still glassy, but no tears fell. "We need to move her,"

"LEAVE us alone, please!" Xavier said, his voice cracking. 

Chet took a step forward, mimicking Ray's actions, "Plympton, she wouldn't want you doing this, we have to get her somewhere, they need to find her and bring her home."

Xavier couldn't argue with that, he knew Chet was right, damn him. You would be upset with him if he made himself suffer like this.

Xavier pressed a final kiss to your forehead, before slowly climbing off the bed. Ray kept him in place as Trevor and Chet gently grabbed you, wrapping you in a blanket and carrying you out.

Since nobody could get beyond the gates, they had to come up with a solution. The chances of you being found right away were slim to none. Xavier stayed back, his blue eyes shedding tears like a broken faucet. 

You were one of the purest souls in the world, the most genuine Xavier had ever known. Would you come back to him? Would he be stuck for eternity in a world where you ceased to exist?

Xavier permanently residing in Camp Redwood was not easy. He managed to have a lot of good days, his new friends, and the things they did daily kept him grounded. But when it came to you, he had missed you dearly. It was more comforting to know you were alive in Los Angeles, leaving your mark on the world.

Now that you were gone, and that you might not return is what killed him the most.

_

Some poor souls found you while going on a hike.

They ran to the nearest payphone, calling the police, and once again, the camp was a crime scene.

Xavier and the others made no appearances, for the time being, Montana surprisingly honoring Xavier's wishes. The slight bruises and cuts along your body were clues, but it baffled the on-site coroner who was trying to figure out how you actually died.

Your car was then relocated, possibly going into evidence or to your parents who had filed you missing within two days of not hearing from you. When authorities questioned them, asking what business you had being there, they immediately brought up Xavier Plympton.

They found no substances in your system, obviously. Your injuries weren't deadly, so suicide was immediately ruled out. It brought some comfort to your parents, though. Your mom knew how distressed you were about Xavier, but the knowledge that a monster took you away stuck with them.

Eventually, Richard Ramirez was finally caught. Now that his count was to fifteen, he had no trouble admitting that he was the one who killed you. Though it was a freak incident, he took credit much to the horror of your parents and the family of the victims. Richard would eventually die in prison from cancer.

Your apartment was cleaned out, everything going to auction, or with your parents or the Plympton family. A framed photo of you and him was now hanging in your parent's house. They didn't just lose a daughter, they also lost a son.

You guys had known each other for years. The birthday parties, sleepovers, school plays, eventually going to homecoming dances together, (though Xavier had better things to do, he went because you did). Your mother wiped her tears, thinking of the more innocent times as they lowered your body into the ground.

-

December 1985

Your body slowly stretched as you woke up, yawning loudly. Your eyes were crusty, and you wiped at them with a slight grimace.

Your memory had been a little foggy, but as you sat up, you remembered where you were. You visited Camp Redwood in June, to see Xavier. He showed up, somehow, and then-

You slowly ran a hand down your torso, before feeling your legs that were clad in shorts. There were no cuts, no bruises, nothing as you started to observe your body. You knew you had died, and now you came back as a ghost?

You sat up and went to a dusty mirror, your hands touching your face. You looked flawless; any blemish, freckle, anything you hated was gone. It was like passing over made you into your most beautiful self, and it confused you.

You lightly smacked yourself in the face, seeing you could still feel pain. Your knuckles cracked when you flexed them, and your hair was silkier than ever. You looked and felt entirely human.

"This is crazy," you mumbled to yourself. Did everybody else react like this when they came back?

Since the sun was out, you decided to venture out. The air was crisp, telling you it had to be Fall, at least. Los Angeles never got cold, just a little nippy during the Fall and Winter seasons. You wondered why you woke up wearing shorts, but the long-sleeved top you wore (did you buy this in Heaven?) kept you warm. It was a plum purple, and it looked lovely on you.

You were hoping to run into somebody, just to feel like you weren't alone anymore. The last few months in what seemed like a dark, cold chamber left you isolated. You just wanted human interaction.

You remembered the others, Chet, Ray, Montana, Pornstache? You thought about calling their names, knowing they were around somewhere. You were anxious to see Xavier again, you remembered his words to you right before you died.

Even if you guys had the rest of eternity, you were dead. It was weird to think about.

"Hello?" You called your voice bored. "Somebody? Any help will be appreciated!"

Crickets.

You huffed, continuing on your trek until the sound of a twig snapping caught your attention. You looked around, the last time this happened, the Night Stalker abducted you. You still didn't see anything.

"Ray? Montana? Chet? The guy with the porno mustache?" You asked, refusing to step into the woods.

"Did you forget about me already, babe?"

Xavier poked his head from behind a tree, giving you a cheeky grin. You smiled at him, feeling as if an electric current was madly sparking between you two. He took a quick moment to observe how bright you looked, how beautiful you were. The past six months of endlessly waiting were finally here.

You were home.

You wished you could say the reunion was perfect, but you nearly stumbled into him as you overlooked a small hole in the ground. Xavier caught you, holding you up as the two of you giggled.

"I'm sorry!" You gasped, your hands fisting his now white shirt. He shook his head, cupping the back of your head and allowing your face to hide in his neck.

"I don't care, y/n, I'm just happy you finally came back to me," he whispered.

Xavier really didn't mean to say that last part out loud. His cheeks turned red as you looked up at him, your hands cupping his face as you smiled. His blue eyes were uncertain as they glanced from your eyes to your lips.

"I love you, Xavier Plympton," you stated proudly, loving the comical way his eyes widened. "I've loved you for so many years,"

Xavier's tear ducts were a work of art as he struggled not to cry. "I wish I hadn't been so stupid when we were alive, to tell you how I really feel,"

You nodded, "I was stupid too, Xav," his cheeks warmed up at your nickname. "I guess we have eternity now, huh?"

"You better believe it, babe," he said before he smashed his lips against yours. You gasped in surprise, squealing like a little girl in your head.

Your first kiss with Xavier was the best kiss you'd ever had. Even in death, he was a total babe.

It was quite a sight, the two of you making out in a wooded area. Xavier's hands stayed above your hips, running along your back, eventually sliding up your side to wrap his hands around your neck, just feeling you.

"GET A ROOM!"

You jumped from Xavier, but he didn't seem surprised. You hadn't had the chance to perfect the powers you now had as a ghost, but Xavier felt their presence before they even turned the corner. You hid your face from them, burying your head in his shirt.

After that steamy session, Xavier had a permanent smirk on his face.

"Well, I never thought I'd say this, but it's going to be nice to have another lady around here," Montana sighed, her arms crossed over her chest. The others were all smiling at the sight of you and Xavier.

"At least one of us can get laid around here," Chet mumbled. You gave him a surprised look, this time your cheeks becoming cherry red.

"My name is Trevor, if it doesn't work out with Plympton, I'm your man," he said, joking more than anything. Xavier glared at him, squeezing you tighter.

".. Joking," Trevor mumbled.

"How do you feel?" Ray asked, kindly.

You smiled a little, shrugging, "It kind of feels like I'm still alive,"

Montana grinned, the first time she really seemed genuine with you, "It's great, isn't it?" 

"Is it still 1985?" You asked, and they nodded.

"Almost into the new year, actually," Xavier said, "They need to restore the power out here, give us a chance to have a New Years' kiss," he said, ignoring the fake gags and whistles coming from the others. 

You gently nudged him in the belly, smiling at him. 

"Well, I guess it's time we show you how things work around here, y/n," Montana said, stepping forward. She yanked you from Xavier's grip, poking her tongue out at him when he pouted. "It will be fine, come on," she said, dragging you along. 

Maybe being dead wasn't that bad.

*if I missed anyone, please let me know! if you want to be added to my taglist, you know the drill. only one part left!*

taglist: @thexmancometh​ @the-walking-daryl​ @trichy-knitts​ @shydragonrider​ @thefandomzoneisdangerous​ @lemonwhiskers​ @jetblackpayne​ @langdonsvcrd​ @okoktrinity22​ @uwonman​  @stefanmikaleson1864​ @sevenwonderwitch​ @rubbrninja

[buuttercup]

My laziness needs to end and this weekend needs to absolutely not happen. I do stupid things when I'm bored. I dangle my carrot in front of anyone I can as if that will make me feel okay. When I speak to anyone about B and I, I say I'm doing better than I am; I don't say we've fucked, obviously, because that's fucking laughable; I say I know I'll be able to find someone better for me, even though I don't think that's true; I say I'm never going back to him, even though I want to every day and every second. Everything I say is the antithesis of what is actually true. And that's fucking typical.

This new guy I've been talking to must find me so cringe, always posting vain photos and videos of myself now. I can't be bothered with what he thinks of me other than his opinions on my appearance but I want to see him again just to see. It's kind of funny how calculated and predictable it all is, my process of trying to heal after a breakup. I reduce myself every time. Feeding off attention from people that do not matter serves no one. Fucking randoms, promising things I can't keep, frivolous spending, painting myself to be more okay than I am. It’s all methodical.

I'm so fake on top of my shit and drowning in responsibilities I'm avoiding, but I don't really know what I'm waiting for? I wake up and run through a list of the things I need to take care of, but I'm still in the mindset I was when I was in 4th grade: convinced I will die at a young age, so why bother? I can't explain why I used to feel this way but I always felt I was meant to die at a young age, almost like I wanted that for myself. An escape to avoid the pain adulthood and wisdom bestows on you.

Myriad relationships with past friends and lovers have been reemerging as of late. I should be gracious of these people reaching out, as it comes from a place of love, but I actually hate it. These people from the past are all reminders of a version of myself that had less fortitude and self respect. That version of myself has admittedly become a victim of the harsh voice I speak to myself in. How stupid could you be? To be convinced that I found my one and only so early in life, right under my nose. I held onto him because I thought his lack of experiences would guarantee his loyalty and devotion. I thought, "I'll show him all that he hasn't seen or felt. I'll make him obsessed with me. I will secure my place in his heart." Naive and reluctant to the idea of him stepping outside of me. I am so tired of feeling not enough and making myself to be this diminutive version of myself that does not exist.

I have nothing to hide... except all the things I have to hide. Such as the shame and degradation I bring onto myself.

My life is sickeningly ironic at this point. Laughably, actually. My roommate has started up with a new boy. It's heart eyes, cuddling, and coffee made by 7am type of love right now. I'm not jealous. I don't want the guy. I'm not bitter about the fact that she keeps comparing her experiences with this guy with me and B. (I miss the ring 'me and B' had to it.) I'm really not. What I have been clinging onto however, are the parallels in her feelings and spoken words about this guy in comparison to my guy. Memories of excitement and lightheartedness can only be recalled as though it was another person living through them. I can't imagine myself boo'd up, laughing, secured... enamored with someone at all. Much less B. It's like, who was that that was living through all that sweetness? The irony lies in me knowing that that sweetness is what I'm holding onto. They are my favorite scenes from my favorite movie that I keep rewinding. Experiences unique to me n B. Although I'm broken, I can't dismiss the love and care B showed me. There’s a reason why I stuck by him for as long as I did, and there's a reason why I was more than happy to for the rest of my life. To make myself ashamed of the love I experienced with this person is wrong of me to do. I won't lie; it does hurt to see her so happy and nonetheless compare my happiness and optimism to what she feels. I promised to myself that I wouldn't project any of my own negativity and cynicism onto her.

This season isn't about he and I. It's about me.

Every moment I spend not working or working out feels like a waste. Even when I’m deep in my most depressing and lonely thoughts, I feel like I should be working out.

I think sick things. I think sick things to convince myself to be okay with what he did or.. the exact opposite.. to convince myself to banish this person from my heart forever. I asked him, when did you do this? Where? Did you show yourself? Either situation feeds into my insidious thoughts. If he showed himself, he shared his beauty and had that connection with someone else. They saw him and he saw them. I try to put myself in his shoes in that moment, I think, "well at east if he showed himself, I know human tendencies and that everyone looks at themselves during most of a video call, right?? At least he was probably looking at his own dick part of the time?? Yeah, at least he wasn't entirely focused on another body during that entire time.." The other option is that he wasn't on cam, and that is was only her. Still shit. To think of him being so primal and lusting for other parts, another body, anther person, kills me. I am too obsessed with the superficial connections he had with other people, but that is only because I feel THAT IS ALL I HAVE TO OFFER! I fooled myself into believing his lack of experience would minimize his hunger for other women, because I assumed he didn't know what else was out there. I assumed he would see me and have me and that that would be enough. We told each other about our past; I was his first serious girlfriend, I thought at the time, so I felt safe in the delusion that I wasn’t competing with memories of someone before me. I ransacked all parts of him in search of safety and fidelity. Nothing I thought about him was true.

And yet, I’m the I am still so hungry for him. He is more than his beautiful exterior; I crave his voice, his comfort, pragmatism, and his warmth. I have never given love an honest go like this. All my time spent with him was always sweet; I never felt blessed in my life, but I felt that way with him. I am convinced I won't ever be able to find what I found in him in anyone else. The narrative that there is only one person made for us is naive and impractical, but I really do feel that way with him. He checks my social media often; I know that. I am scared for the day it all ends because I know that when that day comes, I will not be in the same place. I will still be waiting. Perhaps it's my self cruelty speaking for my whole self, but I honestly believe I will always be waiting for him. I thought I'd be the same way with Leo. I was scary scary obsessed with him. Hastily convinced that this is the person for me; there are still times I think that... but all those fallacies are crowded out the second I think of B. Am I missing being loved or and I missing being loved by this person? How could I have aggrandized someone so small and immature? Who am I even talking about?? All of them.

Hearing of my mother's heartbreak is more painful than listening to my own. I don't think B has any idea of the ripples of pain he's caused around me. When I speak to my mom, I hear the hopeless romantic in her. She is waiting for this guy to prove himself in ways my father never could. She speaks about he and I as if she knows and wants for us to get back together again. She is waiting for a grand gesture, as was I. She is waiting to see if this guy will prove to be different, in ways my father could never be. I think she wants that just for my own sanity, so I don't go off to asume every man will only disappoint me. It's too late for that. Although I already believe that of men, part of me is still holding out for this person. Why was I robbed of my happiness and future experiences with this person??

I get so bitter when I start to think of everything I missed out on with B. Every relationship I see makes me think of what could’ve been. I'm like, that fucker didn't even get to see me dance, get to feel me grind on him while we were out, he didn't get to feel me eat his ass and suck him raw like I wanted, he didn't get to see me actually dolled up in that dress I saved for just him, he didn't get to feel me fully, we didn't get to vacation together, he didn't get to have the full me. Is that why this all happened? I get so angry at all that he didn't get to experience with me, as if it's my own fault that he's not trying as hard as I want him to be. A larger part of myself is convinced that he didn't get to experience these things with me because he didn't deserve to. I am so ready to put myself on display, to serve myself on a platter. The second I am made to be the fool, I carry the blame on my back as if it was my own faults that put us here. I feel this is the only way someone will see me and want me and only me. This will never be true; it's not like I want this to be my narrative, I really think it is though. If I'm not waiting for B to be at my door, I'm waiting for the day to be fully healed; neither seems reachable. Am I feeling this way because he is actually the one that is meant for me or because I've never been betrayed to this degree, and I'm yearning for an absolution? Way beyond the clouds is where I'll find my answer, by the time my head is light and empty enough to float high enough to find these answers, I think it will be too late. Every day, every second I have to fight myself to call him, to tell him to come over, to let him know about his secured spot in my heart. I can’t do that because I know it’s not true. It was not true with Leo, and although I know it’s unfair to compare B with L, both are in the same category; undeserving of me. A part of me wishes I could rush his growth so that it would alleviate some of the shame I might receive from getting back with him but I know that’s selfish. More of me wants the whole process to be rushed because I believe what we had was unique and beautiful and that it was the security that he and I deserved. The idea that he still wants me too makes it all worth it. I will be taken for granted again if that were to happen though. My feelings of heartbreak aren’t unique; I know I have felt this way before, and I might feel this way again.

I feel the ghost of his hand on my waist all the time.

[anoesjkaax]

Dance lessons from Hobi

Best friend! Hoseok x YN, Idol! BTS

AN: So I decided to give writing another go seeing as I am temporarily unemployed because of the Corona measures in my country. If you like this please leave a message and/or a like 😊 If you’d like me to continue writing please let me know, it has been years since I last wrote and it is a new fandom I am now writing for. Feedback/messages are always welcome 💜

“Y/N, I found an amazing club, please come with me next time.” Before you could even open your mouth and object Hoseok turned around and gave you his best attempt at doe eyes. “It is not the same without my best friend.” He pleaded. “Yoongi would be happy to know he is being missed so much, maybe you should ask him if you want him there.” You said as you sat yourself down on Hoseok's desk chair. Hoseok lowered the shirt he was holding up and gave you a glare that made it hard to hold your laughter. “Are you considering a career in the Comical arts much?” He returned his attention back to the mirror as he continued his preselection of outfits for the next day. “You know I meant you, Y/N. I got as much of a chance getting Yoongi to go to a club with me than Jimin swearing off alcohol.” You chuckled at the idea.

“I’m serious, Y/N, why don’t you want to go with me?” you grunted and let yourself fall back against the backrest of his desk chair. “Just because…” You tried hoping he would let go. He turned to face you looking you straight in the eyes. “Just tell me why you don’t want to go to the club, and I promise I will never ask again, I just want to understand.” You let out a heavy sigh. There was no getting underneath it this time. “I can’t dance.” You muffled in the sleeve of your oversized sweater. “Keep eating your sweater, Y/N. I still want to know, you can tell me, I won’t judge.” He said, slightly getting concerned. “Okay, okay, okay. I can’t dance. There I said it. I can’t dance.” Hobi just dropped the two shirts he was holding for comparison and stared at you blankly. “You told me you wouldn’t judge me!!!” You said trying to hide behind your sweater. “I was expecting something bad!” He tried to save himself. “This is nothing, nothing I can’t try to fix. If you would like of course.” “I don’t know Hobi, I think I am a lost cause.” Hoseok dropped to his knees next to you, holding up a shushing finger to your lips. “If the Hyungs can learn how to dance when they said they couldn’t, then you can learn as well. We will meet tomorrow at the studio at 9am, okay?” You just sighed. “What have I gotten myself into?”

The next day you arrived at the Big Hit studios, with your gym bag in hand. The staff let you up, already knowing you from the visits you make bringing the boys lunch as they tend to forget it sometimes. I arrived at the dance studio and saw Hoseok doing a routine to a number you know didn’t belong to them but that was all that you could tell. You leaned back against the wall and just watched. It took him until the song was over to realize you were there. “Ya! How long have you been standing there? Liked what you saw?” Hoseok said trying to catch his breath. “Not long, and yes sure, but that isn’t a surprise seeing as I was watching the dance Captain himself.” You tried to casually say, pulling up your shoulders, while trying to hide the fact that him dancing like that scared the crap out of you. Damn, he was going to have a field day with you. “Oh nice, then we can start, so did you see the beginning, or should I recap so we can start?” Hoseok looked at you seriously. You froze in the spot. “Yah! You serious? Hobi you were going to teach me to dance at a club, this looks like one of your choreo’s. I am new at this, Hello?!” All of a sudden Hoseok bursts out laughing and falls on the floor. “Oh, you should have seen your face! Priceless!” You ran over ready to hit him with your towel for playing you like that. He was quick to catch on and you both started this cat and mouse game in the studio. “I’m going to kill you!” He just laughed while you tried to catch up with him. “Great warm up don’t you think, but next we should also work on your running because you are slow.” And right at that time, you managed to whip his ass with the towel. A clear slapping sound echoed throughout the studio followed by a typical Hoseok cry of receiving painful justice. “Serves you right, you shouldn’t laugh at me like that. I am fragile.”

After a few hours, a lot of “pa pam pa pa ba”s, what seemed like blood, sweat and tears, a bruised butt, and more dance moves than you can count, you demanded a break. “But we still got 7 more moves to cover. We should keep going you are getting there!” Hoseok tried while handing you a water bottle. “Damn Hobi, are you trying to help me blend in at the club or push me up the stage… or just kill me in general?” You said spending like what felt like your last breath on it. You let yourself fall to the floor and just laid there, trying to find your breath again. “I thought Tae could be a drama queen or even Jin, who studied to be an actor. We’ve only been at it for 2 hours, Y/N.” Hoseok said kneeling next to you throwing you a towel. “You are so damn lucky you are my best friend and that I have like no energy anymore or I would whip your butt again.” Hoseok just merely chuckled at you. “You are cute sometimes when you want to be a badass.” “Just let me die and live with the fact you murdered the best thing you have in your life… ME.” At that Hobi fell next to you on the floor laughing.

At that moment Jin and Namjoon walked in, being a bit confused by the situation. “Oh, my bad, we didn’t know this room was being used. We will come back later.” Jin said. “Oh no, it is fine, you can stay, we don’t take up much roo-” Hoseok tried before you cut him off. “No, RUN guys while you still can, save yourselves!” You tried to persuade them. “They just laughed. “The amount of times he killed us off are beyond us. Welcome to Bootcamp Sis. We’ve been expecting you.” Namjoon just chuckled. You let yourself fall down again with a heavy sigh. “Thanks…”

A few days after

After an extensive dress rehearsal and outfit check, we arrived at the club. “Can you stop pulling at your skirt. We checked it; your buns are safe! Now let’s go have fun.” Hoseok said slapping my hand away. “I still don’t see why I couldn’t have worn the skinny jeans.” You said with a pout. “Y/N-ah, you look more than fine! Use that pout to sip some soju, so we can party! Come on.” Taehyung said pulling your arm, dragging you to the bar. “Bring something for us as well!” Jimin shouted after us.

When Taehyung and you were about to place your order Jungkook came running in your direction. “Have you ordered yet?” He said when he reached you. “We were just about to. You want something as well?” You asked him. “Let’s prank Jimin. Please?” Of course, Taehyung was instantly all for it. You sighed. “Sure, I guess. What did you have in mind?” You asked, curious about what the Maknae was up to. “But nothing to mean!”

“Jimin here is your drink. I got you a glass of water because they didn’t have any decent beer.” You held up a glass with a clear liquid in it. Jimin just looked at you with a look that was wondering if you were kidding, or if he should kill you. “You are kidding, I hope?” The two youngest behind you obviously started laughing. “Of course, Jimin, it is Vodka, don’t worry.” You said winking at the easy victim.

Jungkook and you had been sitting at a table with a clear view of the dancefloor. Jimin, Taehyung and Hoseok were giving a performance some girls could find illegal. At some point you saw Hoseok approaching the table with you in his cross heirs. You know how late it was. “Come on Y/N. We didn’t spend all that time in the studio so you could sit on your butt all night.” Without even getting a chance to answer you were getting dragged to the dancefloor and Hoseok had backup because Jungkook was pushing you from behind.

You decided to just let go and have fun. You got lost in the flow of the song quite fast when you saw the positive feedback from your best friends. At some point Hoseok was dancing with you and the Maknaes stood there hyping the both of you up. You were laughing so hard; this is so much fun. You really thought of all the fun you missed so far.

After five songs you went back to your table to take a sip of your drink. “This is actually so much fun, thanks Hobi.” You said giving Hoseok a finger heart. “Most welcome, you already look like a natural! Certainly, looks like you are having fun!” He said giving you a finger heart back.

“Y/N, you were killing it out there!” Taehyung said as excited as ever making you blush. “Come and dance with me! Now I have a dance partner I can make the entire club jealous with!” And with that you got dragged to the dance floor again. Hearing Jimin huff “He wishes! I’ll show you later who will make the club truly jealous with her!”

It ended up being the best night of your life so far. A true dancing machine was born, who loved having a good time dancing with her friends!

AN: this ended up being longer than planned. Hope you still liked it ^^

Of course, I respect my superiors and always take their advice into account. Thank you for the help with the ending Katie and for taking the time to proofread it! You are an amazing friend! 💜 @bangtan-sonyeonddaeng

[existtolaugh]

B.W.F. - Raw - 11/23/20 (Chapter 01)

SPOILERS AHEAD FROM RAW

Asuka & Lana vs. Nia Jax & Shayna Baszler

How could they let this happen? How on earth could Nia Jax and Shayna Baszler find themselves in this situation? They weren't even scheduled to wrestle tonight, and here they were, strapped down and about to be tickled. Shayna, tied down extra tight, arms spread wide on the bed, ankles stocked and mouth gagged as she glared daggers into the Empress of Tomorrow. Nia did not have that luxury, as she was blindfolded and in a similar state to her fellow partner, though Lana had all the intention of wanting to hear her beg. With the current Women's Tag Team Champions locked in the stocks on the hotel bed side by side, they had no choice but to accept their fate.. No matter how much they would despise it..

Asuka chuckled to herself as she examined her prey. Shayna Baszler, not everybody had the luxury of tormenting the tormentress herself. She was going to enjoy this greatly. Straddling her prey, who tugged as fiercely as possible against her binds, Asuka began to wiggle her nails above Baszler's bare belly.. Trying to not show weakness, she huffed at the threat.. That is, before those nails began to attack..

Quaking in her binds, her huffing quickly turned to chortles behind the gag, eyes shut tightly to compose herself.. But Asuka was far too skilled.. Her nails danced across the surface of that tummy, stroking every nerve to perfection, eliciting squeals of desperate attempts of freedom from her victim.. Baszler was ticklish, and Asuka knew it..

Lana had the widest smile on her face at Nia's helplessness. Oh, how she waited for this day.. Nia had been making Lana's life a living hell for the last two months, and how the tables had turned.. The sweet, glorious unbroken announce tables..~

"You have been quite the thorn in my side..~" Lana teaser as her nail jabbed at Nia's bare side, forcing a squeak from her lips.. "..But I think.. We can come to an understanding.. You put me through nine tables.. So.. I'm going to torture you until you break nine times..~" She spoke as Nia tugged a little at her binds.. "I swear.. Tables will be the least of your worries when I get my ha-hahahands on y-yohohou..!" She was unable to finish her sentence without laughing as Lana's nails found themselves squeezing into the pudgy and adorable belly of her victim.. "Oh misha.. Soviet interrogator already has hands on you..~"

Baszler was starring at the ceiling, huffing and puffing into her gag as she suffered the cruel fate of Asuka's nails poking and prodding every spare inch of het midsection. Shayna was not holding up well, and whenever Asuka hit that belly, it forced an agonizing lunge to try and stop the empress.. But the binds forced her to endure that sickening torment.. "You.. Not ready.. For Asuka..~" She teased before jabbing a curious nail into Syana's navel.. This forced the bed to move with how hard she tugged..

She hated how easy it was to break like this. Why was she cursed with such unbearable sensitivity? She never did anything wrong! Except for.. Well.. Beat people up.. And tickle them until the pass out.. But still..! Life was as unfair as that stupid nail swirling ground in her belly button! What she wouldn't give to have Asuka's neck locked around her arms right now.. But no, she had to lay here.. And accept her punishment like the ticklish girl she was..

"Tell me where you hide the microfilm and tickles stop." Lana was in full Russian mode right now.. Sitting on Nia's waist as her manicured nails dug and drilled into the exposed and unprotected armpits of her prisoner. Nia was absolutely losing it, too. She knew Lana could be a mean tickler, but this was unbearable! Be it the Russian roleplay or the sharp nails, she was a mess right now! "G-GOHOD STAHAHAP! THEHERE IHIHIS NOHO STUHUPID MIHICROFIHILM!"

"Then you leave me with no choice. If you refuse to reveal the location of microfilm, I must resort to drastic measures.." Lana was having the time of her life right now, but poor Nia.. As soon as she heard the buzz of an electric toothbrush, she tugged fiercely at her binds.. She knew what was coming.. "W-Wait just a second..! Lana.. I.. We've been friends, right? All those tables I put you through was.. We were just kidding around..!" She waited behind her blindfold.. The buzzing stopped.. She sighed in relief.. Before her cheeks were gently grabbed by the interrogator.. "Failure to provide results earns punishment.~" She spoke in that thick accent before slipping that toothbrush right into Nia's belly button and turning it on..

The reaction was as explosive as you would imagine..

Shayna wasn't sure if she could handle this much longer. She blinked back tears, yet Asuka would not care. Shayna couldn't even find pleasure when Asuka hoped off of her, because she knew the worst was coming. Her feet.. Toes curled tightly before that luxury was ripped away by Asuka securing each toe individually.. The hands of the Raw Women's Champion caressing baby oil into those terrified arches and toes.. Shayna blocked out the world around her.. Eyes closed.. Focussed on anything but what was about to happen..

She lasted half a second before bursting into a screaming fit when Asuka dragged a hairbrush across her arches.

Every curse word, every threat, every promise to annihilate Asuka was suppressed behind that gag, and Asuka didn't need to be fluent in English to know that Shayna was suffering, as it was beyond what words could describe. And that was before the second hairbrush..

Nia wished she was nicer to Lana. Nia wished she hadn't put her through nine announce table. Nia wished she had just kept her hands to herself on Raw, because she would not be in this situation if she had. But no, she had to "disclose location of previous Soviet microfilm or face consequences." and boy was she facing those consequences now.. "L-LAHAHANA! JUHUST STAHAHAP AHAHALREHEADY! YOHOU PROHOVED YOHOUR POHOINT!" She pleaded, which earned some squeezing to het soft hips as a response. "You have learned nothing. But you will.~" And after what felt like an eternity, shut off the toothbrush..

Nia panted and tried to regain her composure, but it all flew out the door when Lana started to tie back some toes.. "L-Lana! Lana please no..!" Nia didn't know where to start with her begging. Lana would not care either way, however, as she ensured the tootsies in front of her were firmly secured.. "You leave me with no choice.. Prepare to suffer..~"

Slowly did her nails caress Nia's soles, forcing a loud gasp to escape from her mouth. Fingers twitching, her feet were here one spot where soft, delicate tickle torture would annihilate her. Lana's nails were sharp and shapely, perfect for turning any pair of feet into a quivering mess of nerves, but for Nia, it was hell..

Shayna wanted to die. She wanted to die and never be tickled again. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her soles were subjected to the fierce scrubbing of Asuka's hairbrushes, as well as the occasional comb sawing between her toes. She wanted - no, she NEEDED out of this situation, but Asuka knows no such mercy.. Shayna, glaring death into the eyes of the warrior at her feet, began to feel light headed as if a merciful god allowed her to pass out.. Asuka had successfully broken Baszlerz, and was satisfied..

Although.. Wait a moment.. This all started when Asuka had a match with Lana.. And Asuka was attacked by Nia and Shayna ending the match.. Which means that Asuka had won by DQ.. Asuka wasn't finished tonight..~

"I WIHILL NEHEVER PUHUT YOHOU THROHOUGH AHANOTHER TAHAHBLE AGAHAHAIN! PLEHEHEASE! JUHUST STAHAHAP AHALREADY!" Nia didn't know what was worse; the sharp and devilish nails slowly raking up and down her arch or the flossers slowly buzzing between her toes in random patterns.. Tears stained the blindfold covering her eyes.. She was losing her mind and would never put Lana through another table again in her life if it meant mercy from the Ravishing Russian..

"I have all night to play with you, my little prisoner.. In fact, I think we will try-" She could not finish her sentence, however, as Asuka's nails found themselves pressed into her ribcage.. She had forgotten they had a match earlier.. But Asuka hadn't.. "AH-AHAHAH! N-NYEHET! NYEHEHEHET!~" Lana squeaked adorably, though Asuka had no intention of wrecking her tonight.. She owed Lana one from earlier, and besides.. They were friends now.. Lana would have it easy tonight, Nia would get it from both Asuka and Lana later, Shayna would dream her revenge.. And Asuka? She proved it once again tonight..

Nobody is ready for Asuka~

[ultimaa]

TRUTH

Eren & Mikasa / 1992 words / Canonverse.

Truth is always simple, but we usually get there by the most complicated path.

George Sand.

Shigansina was chaos, a rumble, the first victim of the apocalypse. Eren Jaeger had sworn to end the world, and in his words there was as much anger as determination.

"That bastard has condemned us," were Jean's words.

They had taken cover, but the noise was such that they barely got to hear each other. The walls had fallen and the colossals walked the earth, like a walking chaos, like death incarnate.

"It's worse than that day," Mikasa thought, and she put a discreet hand on her head. Armin looked at her sideways, worried, but he said nothing.

"We'll talk to Eren," Arlet decided.

"Are you crazy, Armin? That dude no longer attends to reasons," Connie seemed to have abandoned her hope. Maybe he lost it with Sasha. He simply dropped to the ground, downcast. "It's the end. Commander Hanji and Captain Levi aren’t here. Everything is lost. How could we think... that everything would end well, that we would achieve peace? We are destined to die. Since Bertolt and Reiner appeared ten years ago, from that moment, I had to imagine that it was only a matter of time," And the tears gathered in his eyes. "Sasha's death was useless."

Armin wanted to tell him something, encourage him, slap him gently on the back and assure him everything would work out. However, hope was beginning to fade from his blue eyes. Eren was on their side, he was the protector of Paradise Island, but what was the price? If Eren devastated everything beyond the sea, they would become the devils that the world repudiated. No man could stand up to a situation like this, so Armin simply clenched his fists and thought of the old Eren, his good friend, and he wondered where that child was, that impetuous young man, but excellent in friendship.

To everyone's surprise, Jean Kirstein's face was tinged with an inexplicable anger. He approached Connie and lifted him, grabbing him tightly by the shoulders.

"What the hell are you doing! How can you say that!" the man relaxed a little, but remained serious. "You're a soldier, Connie, damn it! We can not give up. We know that suicide bastard and, in addition, it turns out that he has now gone mad and unpredictable. He has gotten into my head, the moron. Every time he got into trouble, we had to save his ass. We are used to it. We've done it before and we'll do it now, because that bastard…” He looked at Armin, and then stared at Mikasa," he has many things to say."

"What do you want us to do?" Connie sipped her nose. "Approaching him is very dangerous and we don't know if he wants to talk. God, Jean, the last time he spoke with Mikasa and Armin he behaved like a bastard, with his lifelong friends! What makes you think that now it will be different?"

"Mikasa," Jean called, "what did Eren tell you?"

The woman squeezed her lips.

"He hates me... he hates me since we were children. He has always hated me. I am nothing but a slave, my Ackerman blood chained me to him."

Kirstein let out a sardonic laugh and released Connie.

"I'm gonna have to talk to him about women's hearts, who would say it," then he turned to Armin. "Let's do it. Armin, you and Mikasa will approach him while Connie and I distract the Titans. We will clear the way. Make him right, hit him if necessary. You know him more than we do, I'm sure he will listen to you."

Jean drew his swords. Connie, after wiping the tears away from his face, did the same. Both men stared at each other, as those who will face the last and toughest battle.

"Are we gonna die, Jean?"

"I don't know, nobody knows. I have spent all these years fearing my body ended up burning in a pyre, like Marco. That's why I should have joined the Police, but I didn't. Eren convinced me not to. If I had, I would probably have finished drinking the poisoned wine, becoming a titan like all those miserables. That would be unfortunate. I joined Legion and I’m proud. If I have to die today... at least it will be fighting," he smiled slyly. "And if we die today, Connie, lots of women will mourn our death, the death of two heroes."

Mikasa put a hand on Kirstein's shoulder. He tensed for a moment.

"Don't die, Jean," the woman asked. "You neither, Connie."

And then they threw themselves into the jaws of chaos. The Marleyans fled in terror. As Mikasa moved forward, her mind was lost in the past, on that trip to Marley, and it was as if a lightning struck her. What am I to you? Why hadn't she been honest? She was not even with herself. No…

"Mikasa!" Armin shouted.

When she left her thoughts, a large hand hovered over her body. Mikasa dodged it, but she rushed into the desolate streets of the city which saw her grow. When she came to realize, she was getting up from the paving, stunned by the blow. A giant was approaching her, slow, smiling, as it was five years ago, in Trost. Why did she keep fighting? Why Eren? What part of Eren had she seen? Was it his true face, or just an illusion? She tilted the head and saw Louise lying across the street. The young girl was dead. She approached her with slow steps, feeling the presence of the criature on her back, and removed the red scarf from the neck of Louise, who was a girl so many years ago. She fell to her knees, the garment in her lap, and touched her cold face.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I could not save you."

Then, like lightning, Jean cut the hams of the titan that stalked her. Again, she was saved from imminent death.

"Come on, Mikasa!" Jean cried.

The woman, making a cyclopean effort, stood up and put the scarf around her neck. She rose again, like a wounded bird, and headed like an arrow towards that hulk of bones that Eren had created, that monstrosity which encompassed wherever the sight would go. Armin watched the scene from a roof, speechless.

"Where is Eren?"

Smoke and dust did not allow to see clearly. Mikasa, without thinking too much, went into that maelstrom. Surprised, Armin went after her. The woman discerned a loud roar between the screams and followed it. There were heavy blows, and a new growl, more pitiful than the last. Mikasa could barely discern the silhouette of Reiner’s titan being subjected to something much larger, a much taller and more bulky titan, but easily recognizable to her. It was Eren. That huge creature crushed Reiner without any difficulty. Braun fell so as not to rise again. Mikasa moved on, ignoring Armin's voice, and stood before Eren. The recognition shone in his eyes.

"Eren!"

Armin confronted him.

"Stop this, things don't have to be that way! Eren, listen to me!"

But Eren did not listen, so Mikasa fired her hooks and climbed him up to hang on his mop of hair. The big green eyes looked at her furiously.

"Eren, please..."

Don’t do this to yourself.

In a deliberate act, the titan shook and Mikasa held on tight, trying not to fall. She wouldn't let him go until they achieved their goal. Jean and Connie were giving their lives for it. For this man, whose good part seemed to have disappeared, lost in chaos, subjugated by the cruelty of the world. From the beginning, it was always the world. What had it turned them into? Mikasa knew: there was still some of the Eren she knew, the real Eren. The immense creature shook its neck again and roared, and did not stop until it got rid of Mikasa, throwing her with an unusual force. She heard Armin's stark scream, but she still hadn't given up. So she clenched her teeth, wielded her swords and, with burning tears running down her face, she responded with a shout from the depths of her guts.

Fight! You have to fight! If you don't win, you will die! You can't win if you don't fight! Fight!

My head is going to explode.

She descended like divine justice and laid a kilometer slash on the titan's back. The blades barely sliced the skin and Armin's thunder spears didn't inflict great damage either. The blond gave up and considered the possibility of transforming, but Mikasa continued in her private dance against Eren, who simply dodged her and regenerated the few wounds she made in a matter of seconds. The power of the Founder ran through his veins; He was invincible, Mikasa knew it, but she didn't want to beat him. She wanted to talk.

"Eren, I know you can listen to me! You have to stop all this! Remember when we went to Marley! There are innocent people all over the world, we can't blame them all... for the evil of a few!"

For the first time in a long time, Mikasa Ackerman was filled with an animal fury because of Eren's indifference. The screams, the gigantic steps that moved away in the distance, Armin's voice, Jean's words, Sasha's death, Reiner's fall. All that surpassed her, and in her movements was engraved an agility that exceeded human capacity, something that had only been seen in the missing Levi Ackerman. It was hard for Eren to dodge her, and, finally, Mikasa gave him an accurate cut in the right eye. The pulsations of her heart touched a dangerous limit; every muscle in her body burned and howled in pain, but she had perfect coordination. Move on. Up and down. Attack, protect. However, it was a matter of time before that state was over. Fatigue, like her strength, was monstrous.

"Mikasa," Armin shouted. "Take cover, I will transform!"

I can not anymore.

The woman hung on Eren's hair, at the nape. The shattered blades fell to a vacuum of more than twenty-five meters. Mikasa stood there, hanging, feeling her hand slide slowly due to sweat. She was soaked in blood, in dust and dirt. She was the vivid image of who had already given all of herself. Only the word remained; even if they were the words of a slave, Eren would have to listen to them. He would have to listen to them while he captained the catastrophe. Inside the titan, in the entrails, he took refuge, calm, with the look of a man whose life has become an unhappy existence. A man who had condemned his soul.

"I understand you don't want to hear someone you hate," she began, dragging each syllable heavily. "It's fine. I've always... been selfish. I wanted to be by your side, protect you, but I wasn’t able to... I wasn’t able to see what was happening to you. You were suffering, and you still do. I wish I had realized before because I would have tried anything, I would have done whatever it took to avoid all this, I would have given everything for you to stay with us, with me."

Mikasa remembered the good times before the invasion of Marley, the parties with the guys. She could die with that in mind.

“You gave me a family when I lost mine, you reminded me that the world is not only a cold and hostile place, but it can also be beautiful. It was thanks to you. Thanks for showing it to me. This world is cruel, but undoubtedly beautiful," she closed her eyes and her consciousness fade little by little. "I am a liar; I couldn’t be honest even with me. You... aren’t my family. My family died a long time ago, but... I would like to start my own family with you, because the truth is I... have always loved you."

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

Love How You Hate Me - Sam x Reader

A/N: I guess the drabble didn’t post? I’ll have to fix that later. For now, have this. I’m going to have a busy end of the week. So, we’ll see when I post the next bit. But, hopefully this holds y’all over. As usual, feedback is always incredible. If you want tagged, please send an ask or message so I for sure see it. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Show level violence. Injured Reader. Makeout session.

Word Count: Roughly 3,700

The shadowed being was doubled over. Breathing raggedly as she held her middle. Too absorbed in the bombardment of her new senses to hear you approach until it was too late. A single hiss left her as she poised to attack. Finally zeroing in on the thump of your heart. Bloodthirsty, as most were.

Without a moment of hesitation, your arm lifted. Sending the red hair rolling across the room with a single, heavy blow. Blood splattered over your the skin of your face. Warm and sticky. Letting the smell of iron drift up to your nostrils.

You stood there for a moment. Simply basking in the strength that seemed to settle into your bones. It didn't matter who she'd been. Only who she'd become. A danger. One that wouldn't be free to slaughter anyone else.

Straightening your shoulders, you prepared to go to work. More at home in your skin than you'd been just a moment before. Letting the adrenaline take away all the lingering negativity that danced in your mind.

One by one, the other five vampires fell under your watch. Almost too easily. No loud cries. Only a few scratches lined your arms. Their arrogance being their ultimate downfall. The craving for a decent fight danced in your veins. You were desperate for the sense of control that came with the hunt.

As the last body on your wing collapsed at your feet, you stood quietly. Listening for anything more. Short of your own whispered breathing, nothing stirred the air.

With a heavy sigh, you wiped your blade on the shirt of the corpse on your feet. Moving out to the doorway to meet the brothers. Believing that all would be needed was destroying the evidence.

Your footsteps weren't nearly as light on the way back. Daring something in the building to find you. To give you a real challenge.

Half of you wondered if it'd goad Sam into lighting into you. The thought made your lips curl to one side. At least he could be counted on for that.

Just as you got close to the entrance, a loud scream echoed through the halls. Your head jerked up to the noise. Attempting to decipher where the sound had originated from. Tightening your grip on the machete, you were on the move.

Sam blinked awake. Everything blurred together as he tried to focus. To remember what he could. A single tap against an empty can had opened the eyes of the vamp he'd been about to hack up. Another must have been behind him. After that, everything went dark.

Female voices talked over another as he made sense of where he was. Rope bound his arms behind him in the morgue. Being watched by hungry, tired, pissed off women with jagged points emerging from their lips. When he turned his head, he found Dean awake. Trying to undo the knots, quietly.

Twisting his fingers, Sam glanced around. Trying to see where you were. When he realized you weren't there? That the surviving members of the nest only mentioned them? He couldn't help the relief that swept through his body.

He might not have been your biggest fan, but being turned was a fate worse than death. Beyond the endless hunger, and inability to be human in the ways most strove for, it was sentence to Purgatory. He wouldn't wish it on anyone. Not after seeing it himself. Not after hearing what Dean and Cas had endured in the pit of it.

Everything stopped as a slam sounded out in the hall. A low, heavy thud sounded. Too familiar to be missed. Someone's body had fallen. Sam's chest rose and fell rapidly as he waited to see you being carried in. Sure that you'd fallen.

Instead, when the door opened? It was you standing on the other side. Wearing that damned smug grin on your lips. Blood speckled across the exposed skin. It pooled on the floor from what was carried in your hand. The dark hair blocked the face, but did nothing to hide the fact you held a decapitated head. Is she insane?

Dean's eyes were wide, but nowhere near as frantic as Sam felt. Certain that you'd just signed a death warrant in blood. That you didn't stand a chance against the nest. Knowing Dean would witness it made his gut twist further. 

He didn't know how they'd take it. But, that didn't seem to matter to you. You didn't even look their way as the vampires straightened up to take in their new prey.

“I believe this belongs to you.” The head rolled towards the blonde woman in the middle. Assuming she was the head of the nest. “You really need to invest in better guards.” All tease and no bite. There didn't appear to be any tension in your body.

Doesn't she realize she's in danger? Sam was going to have a stroke. He was sure of it as he watched your calm demeanor.

“Someone like you?” Blonde haired and bloodshot eyes, she stood tall. Eyeing you up as if you were a prize to be held rather than a meal. Sam's heart kicked up as he imagined the fate you'd set yourself up for. “All guts and glory...you'd fit right in.”

“Yeah... I don't know about that.” It was only a second. But, he hadn't imagined it. Your E/C gaze flicked over to him. “I'm not really into the whole blood drinkin' business. I'm kinky. Just not that kinky.” Sam almost laughed at the jab. Knowing it was meant for him. Just as bratty as ever.

You scanned the room as you moved in deeper. Exposing yourself to the vampires as your hand reached down into your pocket. If they didn't kill you, Sam decided he would. Giving you the death you clearly wished for.

It all happened in a blur. The rush of an impatient, overly cocky vampire your way. Flesh slammed into flesh. Knocking you backwards from the strength of the attack. Sam forgot to breathe as he was forced to witness it.  

A scream filled the air as a body fell backwards. Huffs of air left both the brothers when the needle was spotted. Deadman's blood. Curling up, the vamp wailed in agony. Lowering the number you were up against effectively by one.  Your eyes remained planted on the other threats around you while you fixed your balance.

“You're fast. Strong...but you could be so much better.” The leader purred your way. Only seeing a warrior for her cause. Someone to replace those she'd already lost. “You'd never fall victim to a man, again.”

“Again?” It was said, flippantly. As if you didn't really care. “You know my life story?” But something flickered in your eyes that Sam didn't like.

“Downside to being female, honey: we all fall victim to a man at some point or another.” Came the scoff. Dismissing the idea that it had never happened in your life.

“You know,” Your bloody blade spun in your fingers as you played with it. Standing taller than Sam had ever seen you. “I'm all for women wanting to feel empowered.” There was a 'but' hidden in your tone. Sure enough, it was just a breath away. “But, you take it to the extreme.” Your chin lifted as you took her in. “I prefer a nice, happy medium. I'd tell you to try it sometime...But, I don't think that's going to happen.”

“You're making a mistake.” She promised. Fangs slipping down as she prepared to strike. Furious at someone challenging the authority she'd worked so hard to gain.

“Nothing new.” What you lost in strength due to being one handed, you made up for in momentum and the sharpness of your blade. The body closest to you hit the floor with a sickening plop as your other blade came out to sink into the throat of another.

Sam dug his rope against the sharp point sticking out on the pole, struggling harder to get free. Needing to assist. Give you a chance. Dean struggled to find something to tear his own rope apart.

You were fast, but not fast enough. The four newer vampires struck at once. Grabbing onto your arms and weapons. Disarming you in a sweep.

“Don't touch her.” The command sounded as a set of teeth scraped against your jugular. Prepared to rip it out. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared defiantly at the leader.

“So, what?” You bit out, jerking your body forward in an attempt to escape. A pointless, but instinctive reaction. “You can't convert me, so you kill me?” Your chin was still lifted as you were forced upwards. A bloodied heretic willing to die for her cause, Sam thought. “Classic.”

Sam lunged forward as if he could stop what was happening. Ignoring the way his wrists strained at the same time Dean finally called out, “You're really going to kill her? Someone that strong? She just took out two of you in a single sweep.”

His way of trying to give you a chance. To come up with something. Anything.

“Enlighten me,” You fought the hold on you even more as the leader moved towards Dean and Sam instead. Your eyes growing wild. “How does someone so attached to males benefit me?” He didn't have an answer. A short, bark of a laugh left her. Then, she lunged.

Dean's shoulder popped audibly as he rushed forward. Roaring your name as the pained cry filled the air. Sam jerked his head away. Refusing to watch the end of you. So certain he'd been right all along. Hunting would kill you.

Another, higher scream filled the air. He looked up to see you'd pulled another blade from somewhere on your body. It lodged into the head of the nest's throat. Separating the spinal chord from the skull. Another needle was lodged into the one in the back's leg.

Your body dropped from the leader's grip as the corpse fell. The weapons that had been pulled away were rearmed. As you stood, you slashed out at the legs of the women standing by you. Giving them no chance to hold themselves up. Whimpers filled the air. But, it did no good. Their heads rolled unforgivingly.

Not a word left you as you took care of the final two. Cutting the misery of deadman's blood short. Blood rolled down along your throat. Yet, you didn't once reach up to check how bad it was.

Instead, you moved over to Dean, “You alright?”

“You're asking me?” Came the pained chuckle. “I'm fine...thanks.”

“Any time,” A ghost of a smile played on your face as the rope fell away from his arms. He stretched the muscles. Wincing at the pain in his shoulder as he got to his face.

“Told you,” You dropped down behind Sam. Not quite smug. Simply matter of fact. “I refuse to be a victim.” He didn't say a word as the tightness around his wrist faded.

Your small blade was pulled from the leader's throat. Cleaned, and placed away inside a small wrap underneath the back of your shirt. It was thin enough that he hadn't noticed it, but enough to keep the blade away from your skin. You loaded up your machetes. With that, you walked out of the morgue. Not another word leaving your lips.

“What the hell just happened?” Sam asked his brother. Still in shock as he looked around the room.

“I'll take care of this. Set this place up to burn. You go check on her.” Dean rubbed at his wrists, looking at the carnage. It wasn't a question. It was an order. A way to avoid answering the question.

With a sigh, Sam listened. Turning to follow after you. He didn't bother to try and catch up. Instead, he stayed back as you practically ran back to the car. Stewing over every detail of what had happened.

“You're something else, you know that?” The sudden fury surprised Sam more than it had you when he finally caught up.

You kept your attention on what you were doing. He found you sitting beside the Impala. One leg out, the other curled up to your chest as you cleaned your weapons. The wound on your neck was raw and bloody from the bite. Not appearing to be deep enough to kill you. Still oozing slowly from the recent trauma.

“You say it like it's a bad thing.” You didn't look up at him. Focused in on what you were doing. As though you didn't have a care in the world. “I saved your ass.”

“We would have gotten-”

“You two are the best.” You looked up to him, finally. That damned cool mask on your face. “Don't give me that look, Sam.” The dry tone made the surprise turn back to anger. “You've survived against some of the biggest, baddest, things to run in this world.” You turned back to your blade as it didn't matter. “But, you got caught in a bind. And needed help. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You think that's what my problem is?” An easy shrug was your answer. “I expected you to die in a hunt. Maybe even this one.” He blurted out. Trying to get a little bit of something out of you. To get that mischievous glint back into your eyes. To work you up as much as he was.

“Boy, you were wrong.” You threw out, making your brows raise his way. As if asking him if he had a point.

“I figured you were going to be another one on the list.”

“The list?” That made you set down the blades, and look at the younger Winchester. You pulled up your other leg and rested your arms across your knees. “What are you talking about, Sam?”

“The list of the people Dean's lost.” Sam looked down, pushing away the sadness before letting his eyes meet yours. Dean was a weak spot for you. He expected you to get more riled. To give him more of the fight he craved.

“Dean's not the only one who lost people, Sam.” You leaned your head back against the metal. A knowing look in your eyes as you looked up at him carefully. You'd caught onto his game, and refused to play by his rules. After all, you got your fight in already. You were too drained to give him more. “You were there, too. You've lost just as much. If not more.”

“More?” He didn't like how easily you shifted the conversation. Zeroing in on his own insecurities.

“Dean knew your mom. You never did. He was old enough to remember at least a little of the normal life. Your earliest memories are of being raised by your brother as you bounced around the country. You were in Hell for a considerably longer period of time. Trapped with Lucifer himself.” You let out a small laugh, “Sam, you're so blind to yourself, it's unreal.”

“Oh, and you know me so well?” His voice hardened as he looked down at you. Forgetting that it was supposed to be you worked up. That it was you who should've been on the defensive over the way you'd thrown yourself to the vampires.

“Let's just say that I have a unique perspective.” It wasn't said with malice. Simply that easy, blown off kinda way that got under his skin. Almost immediately, you shifted away from it. “Dean burning the place down?”

“Yep.” He relaxed considerably. A deep, steadying breath left him. Until he realized he'd been played, again. You'd turned him every direction you could, until he'd forgotten why he was mad in the first place. Thoughtfully, he watched how carefully you handled your weapons. “I'll give it you, you're good-”

“Not interested in your approval, Sam.” You got to your feet, almost angrily. Something finally digging underneath that empty exterior. “In fact, I really just want to be alone.”

“No can do.” He leaned against the closest tree. Comfortable with the newest shift. “Dean wanted me with you.”

“Since when did that matter?” You turned back to the car, opening the door roughly. Growing angrier by the second. “He's wanted us to be a big happy family from the beginning. It didn't work, Sam.”

“Because I didn't give it a chance-”

“Not going to argue there.” You shot back, reaching inside bag you'd stored there. “But, somehow I don't see you in the brotherly light. So, there's really no point in trying now, is there?” You pulled out a new batch of clothes and a first aid kit.

“Never said I wanted to see you as a sister, Y/N.” Sam had no control over the way his voice lowered. In fact, that's the last thing I want. His eyes slid over your form. Taking in the way the jeans outlined your ass.

Slowly, you turned to him. Forgetting what you'd been about to do. Catching the way the deep hazel raked across your body.

The blood still dried to your skin should have been a turn off. Instead, it drew him closer. It was proof that you were everything he'd never expected.

You weren't weak. You could handle anything he could throw at you. He was sure of it in that moment.

“You are the single most frustrating human being I have ever had the displeasure of meeting.” You turned away, shaking your head. Refusing to give into the urge to lean in.

His hand came out, gripping your upper arm. Forcing you to turn his way. Your hands came out, pushing against his chest. Keeping some distance between your bodies. Eyes filled with heat. He didn't know if it was anger. Or desire. But, it was something he couldn't resist.

“I could say the same thing.” Was his quiet, rough response. His hand came up to your head, pulling you in to press his lips against yours. If Sam had thought about what he was doing, it never would have happened. He just wanted- needed- to taste the stubborn lines of your mouth.

The lack of response made him still. Forcing him to realize the colossal mistake he'd made. Immediately, his hands left you. Backing away, he acted as though he'd been seared.

He didn't get far before your hand came up, wrapping itself in his hair. Your body pressed flush into his as you yanked him back down. Molding those once stiff lips against his greedily. The other hand dug into the meat of his shoulder. Not letting him run like he'd intended.

Sam didn't hesitate once he had his opening. One hand held your hip as close to him as he could get it. The other pressed deep into the middle of your back. His teeth tugged at your bottom lip. Demanding entrance. As soon as he got it, he deepened the kiss. His tongue stroking lightly against yours.

You'd imagined a lot of things. But, nothing could have prepared you for the actual feel and taste of Sam Winchester. The heat of him. The way his long fingers held you so firmly.

Everything about the man was overwhelming. It let him get, and stay, in control of the situation. Leaving you content to follow his lead. To just give for once instead of fighting. Instead of being cold, you were just as heated as him.

It only got better when you were lifted, and pressed against the muscle car. His mouth devouring you. One of those too large hands dug into the meat of your thigh to hold you in place. The narrow hips pinned you to the metal. The other hand slid roughly up the side of your body; pulling your shirt with it. Eager to feel skin instead of cloth.

Your own hands moved between you two; trusting him to support you, instead of clinging to him. His skin felt impossibly warm as your touch slowly moved upwards. Sam sucked in a breath before his mouth jumped to your neck- opposite of the forgotten wound.

A small moan left your lips as he bit lightly at the tender skin at your throat. Primal growls left him at the contact before he pressed an open mouthed kiss against the tender skin to soothe it. You continued to explore his body. Appreciating the bunching muscles as he repeated the process in another spot.

“It's done!” Dean's voice broke past the passion. You pushed Sam away from your throat immediately. He practically dropped you in his hurry to escape once he realized what- who- was coming.

“Good!” You yelled back, fixing your shirt. Searching to ensure your best friend hadn't witnessed your downfall. In the distance, his shadow moved through the brush. You were safe. “Hurry up, and let's go before someone comes to check out the smoke!” The puffs of black danced up into the air. Signaling the end of the hospital.

“We're not done.” Sam promised, drawing your attention back to your most damning problem. You should have been more apprehensive at his words than you felt. Not feeling a thrill shooting through your body as you watched him reach down to fix the tent forming in his jeans.

“We'll see, Samuel.” With that, you climbed into the backseat of the Impala. Shutting the door behind you roughly. Using it as a shield between you and him.

You couldn't deny you'd enjoyed it. Wanted it to happen again. But, the glaring truth stared you back in the eyes. You'd given Sam Winchester a well honed- toned- weapon to use against you. Himself.

Part Eight

Tag: @burningmusicmachine @missmarrinette @sherlockedtash88 @rathersuspiciousbumblebee @sasbb23 @nothinbuttrouble2 @baby-bunker-pie @neii3n

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger

[motherofwoofers]

Chapter 9 I’d Rather Be Hibernating

Rena Rouge was a powerhouse. Curves built with muscle. Eyes assessing and cunning. She could escape nearly any situation and was almost impossible to trap in the first place. Her illusions had become so intricate that many held some form of physical quality. Mirage walls suddenly dense. An army of swarming projections, allowing one or two punches to actually connect. With a reporter's eye she was quick to find akumas, with her older sister a boxer, she could take a hit and give one back ten fold, her younger twin sisters teaching her patience in chaos.

Rena Rouge was simply a force to be reckoned with.

Instead of opting for darker guises like many of the team, she had taken color in stride. The orange turned metallic and ombre, a hot rod against a grey winter day. A small pattern of interlocked pentagons, like a turtle's shell lined her boots, the pattern nearly invisible, with barely there pin striping, ghosted along the deep black. Rena's deep connection to Carapace displayed. The way Chat had black matte spots hidden within his dark suit once upon a time.

The fox hero was battling a mom? Perhaps? A purple themed hero in pajamas wielding a giraffe baby toy was terrorizing the neighborhoods nearest to the bridge where the alert had sent them. A trail of bodies lead Ladybug, and soon Viperion, to the akumatized villain. They had been terrified at first, thinking the people had been struck dead, only to find they had been sent into a deep sleep, wherever they had been standing. Viperion stopped to see if they could be roused, while Ladybug moved ahead, following a bounding shadow along the rooftops.

She caught up with Chat Noir when he came to a stop along a building's roof, watching Rena easily dodging the victims blasts. Ladybug stood behind him, hands on her hips, as she watched the two in their dance. The villain hadn't proclaimed a self righteous name yet, but *had* sobbed angrily that she just wanted to *sleep*.

"Just a few minutes! That's all I needed!" Tears streamed down her face, in an unending stream. "All of Paris just NEEDS TO TAKE A NAP!" She let out a crazed scream.

"New mom?" Viperion's smooth voice came from Ladybug's otherside, and she turned to greet him, just as Chat nodded as well.

"Looks like it," Chat stood and stretched his back. "I almost feel bad for her. Good news, her kid is probably out cold right now. Sleeping. Bad news… her kids knocked out with akumatized power. And Mom here, is still awake."

"Chat!" Ladybug admonished. But he merely shrugged, before walking backwards off the building's edge. She sent him an eyeroll as he two finger saluted them.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty!" She could here him already taunting, before he leapt back into view. "I thought the saying was 'Sleep when they sleep?" The mom swiveled so fast, anger boiling in her eyes, and completely forgot about Rena Rouge, who took the opportunity to join her team.

"Hey girl!" She panted lightly, but her eyes were bright with the thrill of the fight. "Scales!" Viperion tilted his head at her and flashed a smile. "Sleep deprived mom, obviously." Then she turned to watch Chat giving the akumatized victim the run around. "I haven't seen anything beyond the Sophie in her hand. Which as you can see, sends the lucky fools it hits into a deep sleep."

"Sounds pretty straight forward, for once," Viperion stepped up. Ladybug took the opportunity to study his form, what she had taken for black on his suit, was deep grey. The color allowed for more depth in his shape, highlighting his sculpted body in ways she had conveniently ignored previously. A sharp jab in her side, snapped Ladybug's eyes to Rena. The fox gave her a sly knowing look.

"I wouldn't ogle too much. That one's got eyes for someone else," though she spoke in a lowered tone, she wasn't nearly quiet enough to avoid over hearing. A deep red colored Ladybugs face, nearly matching her mask, and she had to look away as Viperion turned his head just enough to see them from the corner of his eyes. She felt an unfamiliar stutter catch in her chest, and instead of sticking around she moved off, deciding to leap off the building as well, flipping over herself easily. The sunny day was cold, but not debilitating in the way the storm had been. It was freeing to stretch her limbs again, if even for a day or two before the freeze came back.

Ladybug hit the pavement in a smooth landing then joined in the cat and mouse game with Chat Noir.

"Hoarding all the attention, Kitty?" She smirked, spinning her Yo-Yo to deflect an errant nap beam.

"Can't help it if they all want a piece of me, M'Lady," his baton extended right as he swung it, taking the sleepy akuma to the ground. She surprisingly rolled back into a stance, Sophie la Girafe sending out a few rapid fire beams, causing the heroes to somersault and leap back. "Nimble."

"It's those Mom reflexes," Ladybug chuckled. "Never underestimate their abilities."

"Dualy noted."

A bright purple light blasted out, then some of the people who had been sent to bed, began to rise and stir. They all began to angrily cry and advance on wobbly legs. Strong hands gripped around Ladybug's leg, yanking her down, before the pressure released as she hit the ground. Viperion was at her side, having removed the attacking man.

"I figured I'd join the fight, since you left me up there," he laughed loosely, as he leaned down, hand offered. She gripped it tightly as he pulled her up, Yo-Yo flashing out to knock back another attack.

"I was going to die from embarrassment if I stayed," she hooked an arm with him, as he moved towards her, rolling along her back before he kicked another sleep walker.

"I wouldn't have faulted you - hrng - the Ladyblog says I've got a nice ass," Viperion turned his smirk to her, as he caught the hand of another assailant within the strings of his Lyre, twisting, and then sending them rolling. "What was the term they used again?"

Ladybug rolled her eyes, smiling and turned away, Yo-Yo flipping out around a nearby lamp post, securing a trip wire.

"I think someone said you could *coil around them anytime*," her Yo-Yo zipped back to her, as Rena launched over them, winking as she did. She was pulling her flute out as she landed.

Viperion's deep laugh, edged with a wheeze, as he turned away, flipping the trash bin into the roadway, slowing the procession of walkers that were beginning to filter into the road from the previous streets they had passed.

"Still have more fan art of my ass than yours, Scales!" Chat Noir slid in, a cat-got-the-cream grin on his face. "Ladybug, we need to move in to get the akuma." She nodded as he dashed off, flicking a hot smile to Viperion before following suit. "I thought my ass was the only one you stared at, M'Lady." Chat's wide grin swept her way.

"Jealous?" A purple beam brushed past her face, and she dodged last moment. Before she could catch sight of the Sleep Deprived akuma, hedges shot up around them. Little fox statues hidden within the leaves. Chat Noir reached out to touch one, and his hand phased right through it.

"Should keep the masses back, though," then he kept moving, leading them towards the villain. An exasperated crying finally reached her ears. "It's in the teething toy, if you hadn't guessed."

"Just need to snag it then, and get back to our day," she paused as they got close to the opening of the center of the maze, the akuma likely only a few yards away. "Business today? LUCKY CHARM!"

"Unfortunately. Audrey is in town, so with Queen Bee in Africa, dealing with the terrorism, I don't have a buffer. Only a luncheon, though. A baby monitor?" His green eyes settled on the black and red radio in her hands.

"You know, you ask me everytime I get something. And honestly, I never know what I'm going to do," she clipped it to her belt, and prepped her Yo-Yo. "I gave up on simple forever ago."

"I could be Mr. Bug again," his cheeky grin, caused her to roll her eyes.

"Alright, let's do this. First to snatch it, gets a point." Her challenging grin matched his own.

"I've already got three on you, M'Lady," then he dashed out of the hedges, gaining the woman's attention. Her deeply bruised lids and red shot eyes, instantly landing on him. She whirled on Chat, Sophie's purple beam zeroing in, but the black cat was already moving. Always one step ahead, able to twist and shift mid air.

Ladybug, sent her Yo-Yo out, catching the woman's ankle, yanking her down to the pavement. She went to twist the cord and truss the akumatized victim quickly, but the woman had already sat up and aimed her sleeping ray at her. Ladybug dropped quickly, without releasing her hold on the woman's leg. Chat moved in, sinking behind the villain, baton capturing her arms to her chest, as her back braced against his. The akumatized item dropped to the ground.

"What was that about never underestimating a mom?" A fang poked smile.

"Hmpf," yanking her weapon back, she stalked forward and picked up Sophie la Girafe. She went to snap it in two, before a crackling came over the baby monitor at her side. "What the-"

"Congratulations, heroes!" A distinct female voice came through. "Was a little worried after that last battle, but back on your game it seems."

"*Monarch*."

"Clearly, who else would be calling in the middle of a battle," Monarch's voice edged with sarcasm. Ladybug went to snap the item once more, but was stopped.

"WAIT! Wait, wait, wait," Monarch's voice came through quickly, and Ladybug lifted the monitor from her side. "You've already won, not going to try to stop you."

"Then why contact us at all?"

"Can't a villain just want to have a conversation with her enemies?" The voice purred on the other end.

"Could always just show us your face," Chat snapped out from behind the woman, who had stopped struggling.

"Now, now. Not yet. You couldn't handle my beauty anyways, *Kitty*," a quick laugh. "No. I just wanted to say I won't be in town for awhile. I've got things to do. Butterflies to catch… looking into some new species by the way. Anyways. I know you've got team members spread out in a few different places. I've got no interest in interfering with that. I'm going to go spend some time with family for the new year. Also, Nooroo is pretty dang tired in this weather. So we're going to head out. Not sure when we'll be back, so don't get lazy." Monarch drifted off for a second. "But enjoy yourselves for a week or two. Villain's honor to not cause trouble for a bit."

"Like that's even remotely believeable," Chat Noir bit out. Ladybug's fist tightened around the akuma.

"Take it as you will. I gave you my word," then the monitor went quiet. Ladybug snapped the toy, capturing the butterfly within. After purifying it a small blue butterfly fluttered off into the cold. Likely to freeze somewhere by nightfall.

She sent the Lucky Charm into the sky, allowing the pink swarm to fix the world around them. Waking the sleeping victims. Soon after Rena dropped the hedge illusion, and they all stared at each other momentarily.

Chat helped the woman off the ground, Anna, and stood next to her while she gathered herself.

"I'm just so wore out. She never sleeps," Anna dropped her face into her hands, wet tears streaming out between her fingers.

Ladybug reached out and pulled the woman to her, "It's difficult in the beginning. Don't be scared to reach out for help from friends or family, even services. Talk to your doctor about your options, too. You're not alone." The sirens of assistance vehicles were growing closer. Ladybug was still waiting for Paris to officially create a post akuma task force. Someone to pick the victims up; help them.

"I need to get back to my, Ella. She's home alone now!" Anna was immediately frantic and alert. "I can't wait for the police!"

"I'll take her. I know what area we started in," Rena Rouge had moved in, flute tucked away, gentle smile on her face, as she lifted the woman into her arms. Ladybug paused her for a moment, as Viperion stepped up as well.

"We need to discuss things later. Team meeting. I'll send details out," then she stepped back as the woman began to urge them, insistently. Rena nodded then headed off.

"Something happen?" Viperion asked, looking between Chat and Ladybug.

"Apparently. Send me the details, I need to get back to work." Before Chat Noir leapt off though, he made eye contact with Viperion, a hard stare that they both matched, before Viperion closed his eyes and nodded briefly. Then Chat bounded away, baton launching home over the nearest tangle of buildings.

"Do I need to ask?" Ladybug ventured, looking up at him.

"Just a warning," he smiled, looking down. "Are you short on time?"

"No, the cold isn't as draining today. Probably have another half hour. Why?" She smiled back, pulling her Yo-Yo out. "Do you have something in mind?"

"I was on the phone before I left with a beautiful woman, and she was threatening me about finding someone else to warm her up. I thought we could pay her a visit."

"You dont have other reaponsibilities to attend to first?"

"Those reaponsibilities can hold their horses."

"How sweet of you. Lead the way to this mystery woman of yours then," she laughed. Viperion gave her bun a gentle tug before he ran off, scaling the wall of a business building easily. Ladybug was after him before he could reach the roof, a self satisfied smile gleaming at him, as she stood waiting.

"Not all of us can just swing around town like Spider-Man," he grumbled teasingly. She grabbed her stomach and laughed whole heartedly.

"Okay, okay. No web shooters this time, I promise," she crossed her heart with a finger and winked. So he led her on a run of the city, in a circumventing manner towards there part of town, but neither direct nor destined for their homes. He took the opportunity to jump and move powerfully for fun and not in a need to conserve energy. In a way that made the soul sing.

She adored the way his face lit up as he moved. The way his muscles bunched and drew taught, flexible in ways only the skilled or miraculous could move. A true masterpiece of the human body, as they all were. But this particular body wanted to play and tease her own, and she let the fun envelope her.

He snatched her out of the air at one point, arms circling her waist easily, as he took her out of her own momentum, with his size and force. Spinning her as they moved to reduce the jarring stop.

"Lu-Viperion!" She shrieked, before they landed. Then he carried her once more, moving into an open window. It took Ladybug's eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, but a patched together lounge eventually came into view. Countless posters of shows old and recent, lined the walls. Spare cables were stacked and wound in all the corners. A few mismatched amps, two couches and an assortment of chairs. A fridge and small cabinet occupied one corner, the door another.

Viperion set her down gently on her feet, before turning to close the window and drop the blinds. Then his bright de-transforming teal light encompassed the room.

"Eggs in the fridge, Sass, like always," Ladybug turned to see the snake kwami zipping away.

"Spots off," Tikki popped out from the transformation quickly, and looked around the room, before Luka gestured toward the cabinets. Then she too went off to investigate.

"I play with a band in the club below, before you ask. This is their lounge of sorts. No one's here yet. Way too early," he laughed before dropping into one of the larger cushioned chairs. His fingers crooked towards her, before he curled them to himself, beckoning her. She moved without even thinking about it, but she stopped short and perched on the arm instead. Luka slid his hands away, allowing one to prop his head up on the other arm, giving her the space she needed.

The buzz of the refrigerator and the humm of traffic and people outside filled the room, in a way only the city can. The silence between them was easy, but also teetering in a way that required something to shift. This is where Luka shone best. In the in-between moments. Where people needed to think, make decisions, breathe. He'd learned the importance of peace and quiet young, even if he had lived in noise and chaos. Maybe more so because of it.

A deep breath, and Marinette leaned back, crashing into his lap, feet still dangling over the over-stuffed arm. Luka brushed her messy hair from her face gently, and tugged at the laces of his hoodie. She had transformed quickly after the phone call ended, and changing her attire was last on the list. She still wore pajamas from days passed.

"Monarch contacted us," she whispered. Marinette slid her feet up and braced them against the worn out fabric, nearly curled up in his lap. Luka shifted his legs slightly so that she settled comfortably against him.

"How so?" He kept his voice low as well. Creating a small intimate bubble within their chair, in the run down room, in the middle of a bustling city.

"Through my charm. She spoke to Chat and I." She kept her eyes on his hand as he toyed with the strings of the hoodie. Winding them between his long dexterous fingers. The moments ticked by, and they sat in silence. Luka began to run his fingers through her hair, picking at the tangles gently, and she closed her eyes to his touch.

"She says she will be out of town for awhile. Whether or not that's true is to be determined. She gave her word… But what's bothering me," her brows furrowed, lips pursing before she continued. "What's bothering me is that she knows we have team members on missions outside of Paris. I'm not sure if she knows of them all, and if not, which ones she does."

Luka didn't pause in his movements, didn't speak, and she opened her eyes to look at him. His eyelids were shut softly, hair hanging loose without a tie. The ends curved a bit, some of it brushing against his nose. She marvelled at his face in the light. It had been a long time since she had been so close. Able to see the darkness beneath his eyes, the cheekbones that had finally won out, shaping his face, the angle of his jaw cut, even if it lacked the squareness for modeling. He was beautiful. She had always thought so, but a beauty that some couldn't see beyond his exterior style. Then there were those who would willing throw bras and themselves on stage if they could, to entice a punk rocker.

His face was serene as he touched her gently. Reverently. As if he was savoring a moment he wasn't sure would happen again. Her breath caught as she watched him, and his eyes cracked open at her quiet noise. She gazed at him and he met her eyes evenly. He was open to her, she could see it. Anything she wanted to ask, he would answer.

Reaching up, she brushed his dark hair back from his face, letting it tuck behind his ear, fingertips brushing the shell of it and then down, loosely tapping her nail against his black gauge. She felt Luka's breath pause within his chest as she touched him. His fingers had stilled in her hair, and there was so much hope and question within his eyes. The confident flirting set aside to reveal himself.

Marinette slid her hand away, back to her chest, a blush blooming under her fading freckles. Then she frowned to herself.

"I think Juleka and Rose are impatiently waiting for you," her voice was quiet in the room. Still caught in the small bubble they had formed. "And Maman will notice my absence soon. Dumplings and all that." She waved her hand in the air, as the jitteriness of her nerves finally took hold.

"Hmmm. You're probably right. Man slaughter and all that," he teased, a smile taking over his lips, but the disappointment in their moment ending clear in his eyes. He helped her to her feet, and watched as Tikki came to settle against her shoulder, Sass sliding his arm against the red Kwami in farewell before hovering over Luka's head. She could see there was something he wanted to say, but kept it to himself.

"Will you," her voice sounded loud to her in the room all of a sudden, and she startled, embarrassed. But he waited. "Will you come by tonight. You don't have to come if you don't want too. Maybe try some of Maman's dumplings for dinner, or even just stop by for leftovers. I mean, you dont even have to eat them, you just mentioned you were interested. And I know she would love to see you. Of course I would love to see you too, its just-" Luka smiled as he brought two fingers to her slips to silence her.

"Yes, I will come. I'm not sure if I will make it in time for dinner. But I will see you tonight. If you want me too."

"I do. I- I mean, I want you too," she stuttered to a stop, taking a deep breath. "I want to see you tonight, Luka."

"Then I'll be there. Fully clothed, of course."

-------

(((I'm going with the idea that as they get older, the ability to wield their miraculous becomes longer and more powerful. Instead of just whump, youre an adult now. Since we know from canon that when they're adults, there isn't a time or power constraint )))

Chapter 1- 21 on AO3

AO3 link here.

[entomancy]

Fic: A Dawning realisation

Another worldbuilding one-shot. A different night, and another incident for Denis Joplin, Sheriff of Vegas Below - but this time it’s much worse than mutant vampiric housecats.

Title: A Dawning realisation   (Wattpad) Setting: VTM-with-the-serial-numbers-filed-off. Also, Vegas. Warnings: Gore. Words: 1912 Summary: It’s three in the morning, and there have been at least two murders. You’d think that would be the worst part of the night.

-

There certainly was an impressive amount of blood.

Ducking under the hastily-installed barrier of crime tape – and feeling a shiver in his fingertips mirrored behind his eyelids as the glamour fell away – Denis Joplin found himself stopping short at the revealed scene.  This far into Fremont and two alleys deep behind a derelict convenience store, it’d be reasonable to expect at least something nasty lurking around the dumpsters.  But this was way beyond even cynical assumptions.

The alleyway itself was less of a single passage than a collision of other spaces – one leading north, half-blocked off by the rusting carcass of a long-fallen fire escape; one going west that seemed to be where pallets came to die; and a sagging hole in the southern wall that opened into more rat-runs beyond. Garbage was ankle-deep, except for on the pathways newly torn by desperate footfalls and scrabbling fingers.  One body – still at least roughly the shape it should be, except for its angles – lay cradled by the bashed-in side of a dumpster; a gory, inverted waterfall of crimson splattered up the wall behind it. The head lolled against its uneven chest, barely held on by naked tendons and raw flesh, and the jaw had been torn clear away.  

The second body was more… dispersed.

Yet even that wasn’t the strangest part.  Sure, it looked like somebody had tried to pressure-wash the walls with arterial spray, but what really drew the eye were the weird, congealed blobs of black-scarlet scattered for a storey up the walls. They looked like something out of a particularly nasty fungus documentary: glistening and swollen with half-solid bubbles of wet scab.  There were a lot of them, too.

Je-sus.  It had been one of the bike-lads that called this in, and Joplin made a mental note to check in on the kid later.  Hell of a thing for someone to walk in on.

Of course, some of them were more used to this kind of shit than others.

“Bad night,” he said, partly in greeting, as his attention shifted to the other upright figure on the scene: clad in baggy forensics white, squatting down over a scattering of viscera with a camera in her gloved hands.  She took the picture and made a note before straightening up and turning to him.  One neat eyebrow arched as she pulled her mask down, revealing pale lips set into a tight line.

“Worse for some,” Dawn replied, sweeping a disapproving gesture around at the alley. “Honestly.  I have fourteen active cases right now; the last thing I need is someone breaching like a Screamfest wet dream all over my Thursday night.”

Joplin hesitated – but this was Dawn, after all.  Dawn Miller: Senior Forensic Investigator for the City of Las Vegas (Above and Below), five foot three of permanently-caffeinated brunette; most usually found within a baffling subterranean lair of sterile worktops and extremely expensive scientific equipment that just so happened to have no external windows whatsoever.

“Definitely not just someone with delusions of Dahmer?” he asked carefully.  Dawn sighed as she placed her camera back down then pulled out a small laser pointer, with a hint of dramatic flourish.  The tiny red light danced like a forensic firefly across the stained walls, sketching and circling in after-images.

“It’d be very difficult to get this sort of pattern any other way.  Now, tearing open an artery will do that.”  She gestured towards the crimson mark that was a bit higher than the dumpster-corpse’s head would have been.  Then she jabbed a latex-cased finger further up, towards one of the dripping clots wedged against a drainpipe.

"That? Not so much. I mean, I’ve got my suspicions about your blood pressure, Sheriff, but I figure even you’d have difficulty getting that far up on irritation alone.”

Joplin looked back down to the neatly-circled sections of corpse, tilting his head this way and that as he tried to work out what each bit had been.

“Any clear weapons?”

“Not lying around.” Dawn pointed at a piece of arm. “I need to get this all cleaned up to be sure of anything.”

“Thinking teeth or claws?” Joplin pushed, and recieved a cold stare in return.

“All I’ll say before he’s on the slab is that it took significant force to do some of this.  Arms don’t pop off Barbie-style for just anyone – present company notwithstanding.”

Joplin snorted.

“I ain’t a wookie, y’know.”

Finally, a flash of amusement made it onto Dawn’s face.  It was probably possible to be a science type without being able to spot a Star Wars reference at forty feet, but Joplin sure hadn’t met many.  Hell, she’d probably seen them on release.

“Yub-nub, Sheriff.  Anyway,” she continued, and her brows dipped again as she pulled a fresh swab out of her pocket. “I’ve put this off for long enough.”

She uncapped the plastic tube and Joplin caught The change in her eyes.  It wasn’t in anything so crass as pigment or reflection, but nonetheless the sheen there had altered, struck through now with very familiar sharpness.  She undid her mask, placing it carefully down on top of her kit, and moved over to the bloody wall with the swab raised.

When he’d first heard they had a vampire in forensics, Joplin had imagined she would employ a much more gruesome methodology.  He hadn’t figured that maybe she’d want to lick an alleyway wall about as much as he did.  

Dawn swiped the blood, then brought it back and pressed the stained cotton tip into the roof of her mouth, accompanied by an expression of contemplative disgust.  It had to go past the teeth, she’d told him once.  Something about how the whole vitae situation actually worked.

After a moment she withdrew the swab, slotted it into her clinical waste pot, and spat in after it.

“Yup, that was live when it hit. Initial attack either non-feeding, or the idiot’s never tried to drink a shaken soda.  But that…” she trailed off, looking up at the weird blobs overhead, and her lips twisted again.  “Give me a leg up, will you Sheriff?”

Joplin obliged, cupping his big hands together into a platform, and Dawn hoisted herself up onto a level with one of the congealed lumps.  Swab – suck – and this time she gagged, clapping the back of her hand over her mouth as she did so.  Joplin quickly put her down.  She threw the swab away like it had burned and began aggressively gargling bottled water. Once the dry heaves had stopped she looked back up at him, wiping at her eyes.

“Yuck.  I mean, yes, obviously, but – yuck.  No, that was dead on impact.  I’d say refractory emesis, but that’s – ” she hesitated again, glancing between each blob “- a lot.  Even if they were trying to dry them out, just eyeballing it, I’d say there’s enough blood mass here for a minimum of two victims.  And this guy might be a jigsaw, but I’d say we’ve got all the bits for him.”

Joplin sighed, and leaned back against a cleanish piece of wall.  So there might be another body to find tonight.  Which meant someone on a frenzy, because nobody needed two-and-a-post-spray-remainer’s worth of blood in one night for any sort of legal reason.  And someone with their faculties intact wouldn’t be out massacring by the bins.

Dawn pulled out her second kit: the much smaller, black metal box that had neither insignia or visible method of opening, and blew gently on its surface.  Faint patterns swirled under her breath before the lid popped and she drew out a different set of vials, and a set of small, oddly-shaped tools.

“Taking the specialist samples,” she muttered, half to herself as she selected one and crouched back over the remains. “Because of course, developing anything field ready that isn’t ‘suck on the corpse’ is never at the top of the funding lists, is it?”

Joplin shrugged.

“Don’t ask me.  I ain’t sure what any of you lab goblins do with half the stuff you collect; I ain’t gonna notice if you take a few more weird prints.”

“Liar.” She didn’t look up from whatever she was doing at the head end, but Joplin could hear a smile around her words.  He let her get on with it, instead returning his attention to the utter mess of a scene.  There was a time when this would have upset him a lot more – and he knew this sort of thing tended to get to Mitch in ways the cheery lad was crap at dealing with – but this wasn’t just the normal revulsion and muted horror that settled on him now.  Something about the sheer splatter of the scene was unpleasantly familiar.

He waited until Dawn had clicked the lid back on her little box of vampire tricks before he spoke again.

“Got a theory for me?”

“Always have a theory, Sheriff,” Dawn replied, stowing the box. “The trick is finding evidence.”

“So… if I were to say ‘Bel–’” Joplin started, but cut off as Dawn held up a finger warningly.  The look she gave him was old; far, far older than the ever-stilled thirty-ish of her face.

“I’ve confirmed a potential breach. I’ve got samples.  You’ve got another body to find, and I’ve got analysis to do.  Then, and only then, will I stick my neck out over that block.  Clear?”

“Y’always are,” Joplin conceded, and let out a long breath as he felt some of the sudden tension drop. “Want the rest of the crew in?”

“Oh hell yes.  I’m not scraping this all up by myself.”

Joplin left her to it.  He gave the nod as he passed the glamoured tape, signalling to the waiting figures that they could go in.  Dawn had finished the secret-squirrel bit of her work, and the crew understood enough about trouble Below to know what they were dealing with.  He made his way back to the car and slid in, resting his head back against the seat as he let out a long sigh.

Dawn was cagey – had to be, given who was not-breathing down her neck – but she’d said enough.  Frenzy either meant an orphan, a bastard or a break, and none of them were exactly appealing prospects.  Joplin drummed his fingers together, considering.  Orphan was unlikely – the clan-pires were real careful these days about their new bloods, and the loony market was still depleted from last time someone tried something Big And Stupid.  Bastard seemed most likely, since there was always some little fucker unable to keep it in their gums.

The idea of it being a break…

Joplin felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and tried to shake off the unease.  Okay, so there had been a familiarity to the scene, but it wasn’t like a signature.  Brutal, sure, but too messy.  Too much feeding. Any feeding, really.  But the way the bodies had been torn apart like that – that, that was setting off unpleasant shivers of recognition.

Not a break, then.  Not that particular potential nightmare and the shattering Breach it would entail, but… something related?

Bastard’s the most likely.  Jesus-Christmas; can he even sire anymore?

Joplin stared out through the windshield, at the distant fever-dream glitter of Vegas’ early morning, and felt the ghost of a few old wounds twinge.

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

He was going to have to question fucking Belton.

-

[sadlittlenerdking]

Hi, so here’s a masterpost of all my Magicians fic. Complete with summaries and warnings for angst. If there’s no excerpt, it’s just a drabble. 

A quick key for you: 

Italics means Angst.  Bold means Fluff.  Both means Hurt/Comfort.  Nothing means crack. 

to love to die - Quentin & Eliot through the time loops.

The first time Eliot Waugh sees Quentin Coldwater, it feels like a bucket of ice waters been dropped over his head. It's almost as if his life resets itself, readying itself and settling in on this moment as his rebirth.

Truth - Quentin uses a truth serum on Eliot following Mike’s death.

Quentin’s ashamed to admit it takes him a week to realize something's wrong. Eliot’s barely conscious, lying on the couch, mumbling about some lizard man watching him, when Quentin walks into the cottage. He doesn’t think anything of it for a moment, because this is Eliot, and Eliot likes his drugs and copious amounts of booze. Except, on closer examination, Quentin can see the tear tracks that Eliot lazily swiped away, and it’s enough to make it click in his head.

Nausea comes crushing through him in an intensive wave, and Quentin barely makes it to the bathroom before the bile forces itself out of him.

Home - Quentin misses Eliot. 

Quentin Coldwater fucking misses Eliot Waugh. And it’s more than the, ‘he’s my friend and he matters’ kind of missing. It’s the full body ache, migraine inducing longing kind of missing. He wakes up missing him, he falls asleep wondering if he’s even alive. Every day, every moment, every thought is of Eliot.

breathe it in - post season two finale angst.

The first time he sees the cigarettes, he’s sitting on the couch in the cottage, feeling himself fading away almost like he had in the fictional mental ward. Part of him wonders if Penny’s going to pop up here as well. Of course, he doesn’t, because magic is dead - Penny might very well be too, for all he knows - and it’s Quentin’s fault.

Even when he does the right thing, he fucks everything up.

The Death of Magic (Rains Hell On Us All) - Eliot & Margo realize Quentin’s not coming back.

They don't get a warning when it happens. They're in the throne room, celebrating their victory, stressing over what the hell they're going to do now that there are no gods to run Fillory. Now that they have to do everything on their own.

And then the flames all go out at once.

Magicians Moon - Eliot’s a secret romantic. 

The thing about Eliot, Quentin thinks as he’s quietly dragged through the cottage by his right hand, is nothing he does makes sense. It’s all carefully planned out, but he doesn’t explain anything until he absolutely has to. So, Quentin being pulled through the Physical Kids Cottage at two in the morning by an invisible force, while wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and socks - is clearly Eliot’s doing, but it makes no sense.

Not even two hours ago, they’d curled up in bed, and fell asleep. Quentin to Eliot’s soft snores, and Eliot, well, to put it gently, Eliot was fairly spent after the nights events. For once. What? Quentin’s allowed to be smug every once in a while - it takes a lot to wear Eliot out.

Which makes this even more confusing.

Project Seduce Quentin Coldwater And So Lift His Spirits - (WIP) Eliot is definitely not falling in love with Quentin Coldwater, he’s simply fulfilling a promise. (There’s some fluff in here too.) 

Morality. Eliot scoffs, pulling his flask out of his jacket pocket and spilling a fair amount of this weeks alcohol into his coffee. Who the fuck needs morality? He’s happy with general debauchery and a mild case of alcoholism. Who wouldn’t be? Just a week ago, Margo had been on the same boat as him, planning to float off into an actual universe of nothing but sex, drugs, and alcohol. But then she found out he’s been kind of, maybe, definitely, stalking Quentin, and practically kicked him off of the Ibiza trip.

She’s going to regret that decision when she comes back and finds all her clothes are cursed to make her look fat.

Soulmates - Margo realizes Quentin is a part of her and Eliot. 

It's not that she doesn't see it coming. It's just that its so fluid, and natural, that it kind of hits her long after it's happened.

It all started when Eliot got assigned to get a first year to his entrance exam. Kid was late, but he was cute, and Eliot had nothing but good things to say. Well, on Eliot and Margos terms of good - it probably wouldn't be seen the same way if he'd said any of it to someone else. Not that he would have, it's always been just them. They don't confide in, or really bother getting close to anyone.

Misguided - Quentin starts getting texts from a stranger. 

The first time it happens, Quentin’s walking across the quad, head in the clouds, desperately trying to figure out a plan to defeat the beast. But his phone dings in his pocket, making him remember he actually has a phone, as he passes through the tech areas. He stops, pulls it out of his pocket, surprised the battery isn’t dead, and reads the text.

Angst and Anger - Penntin. Takes place at Brakebills south, Penny doesn’t want to admit he likes Quentin. 

“What are you doing?" Mayakovsky demands, “You think you choose partners? No. I choose partners.” He glares at them, walking around the table with slow, careful steps. “You,” He points at Quentin, “Failure waiting to happen. You will work with tall, dark, and angry.” He points a finger at Penny. "Go."

Quentin looks at Alice, sighing as he pushes himself up from the table and makes his way out of the room, Penny just a few steps behind him.

Denial ain’t just a river - Penntin. Sequel to Angst and Anger. Quentin wants to talk about the kiss. 

“Quentin,” Penny mutters, slamming his book shut and squeezing his eyes closed, “If you don’t shut up, I am going to bash your face into the wall until you literally can’t think ever again.”

Quentin looks up from his own book, “No you won’t,” He says before looking back down at it and turning the page. ‘Just like you won’t talk about what happened,’ he thinks.

Whole - Quentin’s an oblivious idiot, and Margo’s a schemer. And Eliot’s just a victim, damn it. 

“I don’t think it’s us,” Alice says, gaze barely glancing away from the books stacked in front of her. Her pencil taps along the edges of her paper, eraser dancing along the outline of one of the spells she’s studying.

Quentins brow furrows as he lets his eyes trail from the pencil, up her arm, to land on the curtain of hair she’s using to hide her face from him. “What isn’t us?” He asks. It’s the first thing she’s said in hours, since Eliot and Margo left the library to go do something less boring. Whatever that means.

“Us.” She answers after a moments silence, before looking up and setting the pencil down. “I think Mayakovsky was wrong.”

Sing Me To Sleep - They defeat the beast, but something goes horribly wrong. 

Alice has the beast in her grasp, when the beast fires off a spell and Quentin goes crashing against a tree. Eliot rushes to his side, kneeling next to him, one hand on his shoulder, one on his thigh. Quentin shakes his head, “Go - I’m fine. Stop the beast.” But his words are singed with pain as his eyes squeeze shut, and he takes a deep, shuttering breath.

“Q -,” As he speaks, the battle disappears through the brush of the woods.

Quentin opens his eyes, but Eliot can tell it takes more effort than he’s letting on. “Do - do you want to be the reason the world ends? Go help Alice!” He yanks his arm out of Eliot’s hand, and sits up, “I just need a second. I’m fine. I’ll catch up. Go.”

There’s This Idiot - Quentin accidentally eavesdrops, and Eliot’s the idiot. 

Quentin doesn’t even remember falling asleep in the nook. But here he is, waking up, curled in on himself, with both of the sliding doors shut almost all the way. For a moment, he’s confused, mouth smacking together with sleep and thirst. He’s not sure what wakes up him up, but there’s a soft hum of voices beyond the doors. For a moment, he’s tempted to push them up and reveal himself, but the familiar sounds of Eliot and Margo’s laughing, followed by Todd’s disgruntled, confused grumbling, stays him for a moment.

Expectations - The morning after the threesome. Fix it fic. 

Eliot expects a lot of things to happen when he opens his eyes. He expects Quentin to be freaking out, but too much himself to risk waking either Eliot or Margo by running out of the room. Or for Quentin to be gone, and this warm, Quentin like shape under his arm to just be a pillow spelled to keep him from waking up. He expects a lot of things, none of them pleasant.

Well, none of them pleasant for him.

No Mercy For the Living - Quentin’s dying and nobody knows why. 

They’re working on a solution to bring back magic when it happens. Not Julia’s sparks, or any of the other stuff she can do that nobody else can. They’re - Quentin, Julia, Josh, and Kady - in the library working on one of Dean Foggs essay assignments. Quentins reaching up, arm stretched out, standing on the tips of his toes, when all the air comes rushing out of him in an angry gasp. He falls to the ground, knocking books off the shelf on the way, most of which come tumbling down on his head and shoulders. He’s reaching up, grabbing at his chest and throat, gasping for air. The taste of iron floods his mouth as he bites down on his tongue and his knees crash down on the ground with an aching crack.

Hold On - Hey look I killed Margo in this one. 

Quentin knows something’s wrong when his bedroom door crashes open, slams against his dresser, and nearly closes again with the force. But Eliot’s hand reaches out, stops it with a small thump, and takes a slow, staggering step into the room. He stares blankly at the door, jaw slack and eyes wide and misty.

Quentin sets his book aside, pitches his legs over the side of the bed, hand coming to his side to push himself up. “Eliot?” He asks, tentative, as Eliot takes another, slow, clumsy step into the room. “Eliot, what’s wrong?”

Power - Eliot’s a Niffin. 

Eliot’s hands pause mid-cast as a blue flame erupts around him. Quentin tries to run towards him, screaming his name, but Margo pulls him back, unusually silent, as Eliot screams out in pain, the blue light engulfing him whole. Quentin struggles against Margo’s hold, but her arms wrap around him, and she holds her ground. Eliot’s eyes dart across the clearing towards them, then up towards the sky as he screams the rest of his soul away -

And then he’s gone.

“No!” Quentin screams, finally pulling free from Margo. He whips around, glares at her as tears well in his eyes. “We could have stopped him!”

Self Sacrifice is Bullshit - Quentin tries to sacrifice himself, and Margo’s not having it. 

Margo slams her fist into Quentins shoulder with a glare. “What the fuck!” She exclaims, punching him again. “You fucking idiot!”

Flinching, he backs away from her assault, “OW - Margo, stop! Why - ow! Stop punching me!”

“You! Could! Have! Gotten! Yourself! Killed!” She emphasizes each word with another punch. She advances on him with every step he takes backwards, until Eliot rolls his eyes, taking pity on Quentin, and gently pulls her away from him. “Let me go!” She exclaims, eyes following Quentin’s movements as he moves backwards, and bumps into the nook.

Got a Bad Case of Loving You - Quentin’s dealing with memory loss, and is confused by a photo he finds in his drawer. 

The picture is clutched tight in his hands as he makes his way down the stairs, back to the living room of the cottage. It has to be a manipulation, or a spell, but he checked it. There’s no spell on it. There’s no evidence of any kind of tampering. He’s just spent fifteen minutes raking over every inch of the damn thing, and nothing came back positive - other than the picture being genuine. It doesn’t make sense. As he steps off the last stair, Alice and Margo turn to grin at him, stopping short at the look on his face.

Margo slowly stands up, “Q?” She asks, “Are you okay?”

Eliot turns around, then, as well, eyes tracing Quentin as he looks him over. His eyes stutter to a stop as he sees what’s in Quentin’s hand and he stumbles to his feet as well, turning around. The drink in his hand nearly spills as he tries to set it down. The cigarette on his lips vanishes, spelled off to wherever garbage goes, and his mouth falls open. He knows exactly what it is before Quentin has to say anything. His mouth works open and closed like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

Game On - Eliot’s a flirt, and Quentin doesn’t have a chance. 

He’s struggling to reach the cereal on the top shelf of the pantry when a warm presence appears behind him. Heat runs all up and down his back, even though the person is a few inches away from him. Static shoots through the air, and the hair on the back of his neck stands up. “Need help?” Eliot asks, voice soft and gruff and sleep laden.

Quentin inhales, nodding, and Eliot moves forward, until he’s pushing up against his back, and reaching up for the cereal. Quentins eyes close as the warmth washes over him, sweet and summery, as the smell of Eliots woodsy aftershave fills the whole of the pantry. His eyes trail up Eliots arm as it extends past him, breathing quickening as long fingers close around the edge of the box and lift it from the shelf.

Prickly Like a Porcupine - Let’s pretend Quentin and Eliot are allowed to be happy. 

Eliot opens his eyes to find Quentin staring at him. His eyes are soft, and one of his hands is running through Eliot’s hair, twirling his curls. He smiles as he realizes Eliot’s woken up. “Morning.”

Eliot nods sleepily, curling in closer and humming, "Morning. Were you watching me sleep?”

Quentin shakes his head, “No, I woke up a few minutes ago.” He twists a curl around his finger and gently tugs at it. “Was gonna go make some breakfast. But your hair is so . . .”

I’ve Got You Cared On My Heart - post it communication. 

The first one Eliot sees is on the throne room floor. He furrows his brow, bends over and picks up the bright yellow post-it note ambiguously thrown to the floor. Part of him wonders how it got here because post-it notes don’t exist in Fillory, or at least, not that he’s aware. But another part figures Quentin dropped it sometime before Magic disappeared, and it’d somehow been swept through the castle to find itself to him. The theory seems even more valid when he unfolds the crumpled ball, and reads, in Quentin’s handwriting,

There has to be a solution.

He checks to make sure there’s nobody else in the throne room before silently slipping the post-it in his back pocket and heading down the hall.

The Price We Pay - The Gods are willing to bring back magic, at a cost. 

The gods are willing to give magic back. But Quentin must give something to them first. A punishment for what he took from them. The cost of killing a god.

"Q, don't!" Julia calls from her place, where two celestial hands hold her back. "You don't know what they're asking of you!"

But neither does she. None of them do. But the whole of the magical community is depending on them. Eliot and Margo are depending on them, and quite frankly, Quentin would give his own life if it meant bringing magic back. And getting Eliot and Margo back. Nothing else matters. Not himself, not the price, nothing. He will pay whatever he has to.

This Moment - Quentin and Eliot are finally reunited. 

Something changes when they’re together. In the air, in the world - in Quentin. Before they figured out how to get magic back, there’d been a point where he convinced himself Eliot was the magic. The absence of magic, and the absence of Eliot somehow held the same weight over his heart, now that he didn’t have grief over Alice clouding everything. Eliot is a part of what made Brakebills what it is, magic or not. And living there for five months without Eliot, learning magic they couldn’t practice -

It made Quentin realize a few things.

Hot Chocolate - There’s been some confusion. 

A steaming mug of … something suddenly appears in Quentin’s line of sight. He frowns, following the length of the hand and arm holding the cup out in front of him, up to a shoulder and oh. It’s Eliot. “What?” Quentin asks, eyeing the mug warily.

Eliot sighs, “It’s hot chocolate,” He says, shaking the cup slightly at him, “Drink it before it gets cold.”

“Hot … Chocolate.”

Insanity - Quentin accidentally casts a spell that makes the entire Brakebills campus fall in love with him. Except Eliot, oddly. 

“Eliot…”

Quentin sits down on the couch and stares at him with wide eyes, until Eliot sighs and looks up at him. “What, Quentin? I’m busy.”

Quentin makes a face because that’s clearly not quite true but shakes his head because this is more important and Eliots the only one who hasn’t lost his god damned mind. “I think everyone’s gone insane,” he nods erratically as if it emphasize the statement.

Eliot sighs again, leaning back on the couch with a roll of his eyes and a wave of his arm in a go on motion, “And how have they gone insane?”

“Well,” Quentin kicks his lips, “Penny pushed me up against a tree this morning -,”

“Sounds pretty par for course, Q.”

“– and kissed me.”

Wake Me Up - Eliot’s pretty sure Quentin keeps dying. 

Eliots eyes flutter open, and for a moment, he’s startled by the TADA sign blaring bright and beautiful in the peripheral of his gaze. His right hand comes up to block it, and he groans as he attempts to push himself upright. But a soft, calm warmth holds him steady and he looks down.

Oh.

He smiles softly, sleep riddled and stares down at him for a moment. His head is on Eliots lap, while his legs are dangling off the couch, and his arms are wrapped tight around Eliot’s waist. Eliot reaches down and lets a hand cart through Quentins hair softly, careful to not wake him up, as he tries to remember how they got here.

The Mad Royal Family of Fillory - (WIP) A timeline where they do defeat the beast, but are driven so far beyond the brink of insanity that Jane has no choice but to reset.

When Martin Chatwin dies, Eliot falls to his knees, drained and broken down. His vision is etched red with the blood of a popped blood vessel in his right eye and his chest heaves as he takes in his surroundings. His hands shake as he looks over his friends bodies, gaze sweeping across the clearing in search of any sign of life. A careful breezes brushes his hair out of his face, cooling the sweat and blood in its place.

A moment later, there’s a soft groan from Margo, stuttering into a hacking cough that wracks her whole body. And then a wheezing inhale from his right indicates Penny’s not dead, either. Alice’s fingers twitch at her side, and Julia and Kady are already starting to stand.

Twenty Five - Quentin’s inexperience is a problem. Jane has a solution. 

Jane looks up as Henry enters the office. She attempts a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach as he makes his way around the desk and sits down. They sit in silence for a moment, Jane watching Henry, Henry staring down at his desk, a glare faint in his gaze.

“They’re going to fail again,” he finally says, eyes darting up to hers. “Three of them are dead already.”

Jane nods solemnly, “I know.” But she leans forward, crossing one leg over the other. “But, I think I know the problem.” Henry raises an eyebrow, prompting her to continue. “It’s Quentin.”

Got Your Back - Eliot links up with Quentin’s emotions.

Linking up with Quentin’s emotions did spur Eliot on to try harder, though. The only way he’d been able to get through that particular week was with a heavy —er than normal—dose of narcotics. And Quentin got through every day of it with nothing more than pessimsm and sad, puppy dog pouts directed at nobody in particular.

So, maybe Eliot spent six months perfecting a spell that allowed him to be there for Quentin whenever he experienced any sort of negative emotions. So what? Eliot’s a perfectionist.

And he also kind of, really, cares about Quentin.

Magnetic - Quentin and Eliot see something else when they touch the Truth key.

“Did you see anything?” Eliot finally asks, leaning his head back against the headboard and turning to look at him.

“Huh?” Quentin blinks away memories, returning the look.

“When you touched the key. Other than Penny.” He shrugs a shoulder, “You said it makes you see the truth.”

God, did he see anything?

How does he say, Yeah. You were shimmering gold and ever since all I can do is feel your lips on my skin, and your fingers in my hair. All I can see is you, Eliot. Jesus Christ I was so blind before—

“Not really,” he says instead, swallowing thick. “Just Penny.”

The Test - Rupert set up a test for the final key. 

The last thing they expect is for Quentin to die immediately after acquiring the last key.

Something happens when he touches it. Something Eliot and Margo can’t even begin to try to explain. Though it’s like he’s talking to someone who isn’t there. For a moment they think maybe it’s like the Truth Key and is showing him something hidden.

That Which Binds - Eliot expects Quentin to stop the wedding.

He keeps expecting the doors to the throne room to burst open and for Quentin to stand there, huffing and puffing as he yells, “Stop the wedding!”

But Eliot says I do, slow and cautious, with his eyes locked on the door rather than on his soon to be husband.

Idri squeezes his hand and pulls him closer, gazes at him in the way Eliot just wishes Quentin would allow himself to. It’s not even sweet, not really. Maybe it’s loving. But Eliot can’t be assed to care. Isn’t sure he could even identify if he did care. “I do.”

Fifty Year Break - Quentin and Eliot have a meddling son.

Quentin shakily climbs to his knees, silently cursing his aching joints and holds out his arms just in time to get two armfuls of grandchildren. He laughs into their hair, ruffles the youngest and looks over their heads at his son. “You came.”

But Rupert just shakes his head with a laugh, and says, “Of course we came, dad.”

Even now, it’s so strange when he says it. When he calls him dad. His eyes well up and he lets go of two of the grandkids to wipe at the tears before they can fall. The last thing he needs is his son worrying about him. He’s already made him worry about Eliot. “I missed you,” He says, grateful smile on his lips as he brushes away the tears.

Sacrifice - Eliot finds out about the depression key. 

“You did what?” Eliot hisses, rushing forward to grab Quentin by his elbows. One hand slides up Quentin’s left arm to cup his jaw. “Are you okay?”

“Y—Yeah. No, no. I’m fine. El, really. I—Benedict was the one—“

Eliot shakes his head, his hand moving around to grip the back of Quentin’s neck. “We’ll talk about that later. Where’s the key? You got it back?”

“Yeah, I—“

“Give it to me.”

Sharp - Quentin accidentally cuts his finger. 

Cooking is Eliot’s thing. Especially in Fillory, where he can experiment with new recipes with strange and exciting ingredients. Where he can tests the limits of cooking and magic—together.

But they’ve been here for five years, and dammit, Quentin wanted to do something for him.

Warm Kisses - There’s a reason Quentin isn’t the one that does the seducing. 

They’re working on the mosaic in the dead of winter, and Quentin should be focusing on the way his fingers go numb with each tile he presses into the sand, or the way his knees ache with each tile he accidentally crawls over. Or the snow that crunches beneath them. Hell, he should focus on literally anything other than what he is.

Which is the length of Eliot’s fingers, and the lithe movements of his body. He’s graceful like a cat, but sexy like—well, like a man. Every tile he places, shuffles his shirt up a little higher, and Quentin catches a glimpse of the V forming on his hips, and he’s clearly got a warming spell to keep him from freezing to death like Quentin is. Quentin could cast a spell and warm himself up, too. Could do a whole lot to end his misery. But he’d kind of hoped Eliot would notice how pink his skins gone, and the way his spine shakes every few seconds. But, nope.

Date - Quentin and Eliot need a break, and Rupert knows just what to do. 

When Rupert grins at them, all mischievous and dangerous, Quentin and Eliot prepare themselves for the worst. No teenager with that look on their face should ever be trusted, and they learned that years ago. And then again and again and again. Because teenagers are fucking difficult.

Eliot is the one to narrow his eyes suspiciously. “What are you up to?” He asks, pointing a finger, “You’ve got that look.”

Cry - Quentin’s had the depression key for too long. 

They’ve been passing the key around. Alice had it for a while, then Josh, then Julia and then Quentin again. He’s curled up on the floor of his bedroom at the physical kids cottage when two pairs of shoes appear in front of him. And then two pairs of knees, and two sets of hands. And then he’s being manhandled until there’s a large warmth at his back, and a smaller warmth at his front.

Margo wraps her arms around his stomach, rests her head on his chest. Her shampoo is a somewhat familiar comfort as her legs tangle in his. Behind him, one of Eliot’s hands come up to comb through Quentin’s hair, soft and easy. His breath is like fire on Quentin’s chest.

Proposal; Take 1 - Eliot’s proposal to Idri is back on. Quentin’s not a fan.

Penny expects a lot when he walks into the the throne room. He doesn’t expect his friends to react, they’d done all their reacting after Julia gave him a new body, but he does expect a hello from one of them or something. He expects chaos now that the fairies are dead. He expects hustle and bustle. He expects a lot.

But, what he finds are three of his friends, Kings and Queen, sitting on their thrones, just staring out at nothing. Quentin’s hairs fallen all in his face, and jesus, he’s still got the fairies blood, dried up where it dripped down his cheeks. Margo’s toying with the ends of her hair as she stares listlessly. And Eliot’s staring at Quentin like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Too Late for Goodbye - Quentin makes a horrifying realization.

It’s three days after they remember that Quentin makes the realization. He’s sitting in Eliot’s room in the castle, flipping through the quest book. Every page is replaced by a memory from their other life, and it plays like a movie in his head. Stupidly simple words bring another memory on, and then he’s lost in it.

But this is the first real one of his—their—son. It’s not long after Ariel died.

Maybe thinking about her is what makes him realize.

No Fear - Eliot takes to being a father surprisingly well. 

When Quentin pulls Eliot aside, Ariel watching them with careful eyes from a distance, Eliot figures he has plenty reason to be afraid.

Somewhere deep down he knows he’s been afraid of Quentin leaving him—and the quest—for Ariel. And it’s only confirmed when Quentin tells him Ariel’s pregnant. He grabs his hand, though, squeezes and says with more emotion than Eliot knows what to do with that he’s not not going anywhere.

Eliot and the key - Eliot gets his hands on the depression key.

He doesn’t mean to touch it, but his life sucks and the universe hates him. He’s shuffling through the stacks of papers Quentin’s left on the table in the dining room, trying to figure out where they’d left off so he can at least help Quentin in that aspect. Since he won’t pass the key to anyone else, or come out of his room.

Rupert - Quentin and Eliot have the best son.

He’s fifteen when he realizes. Honestly, he’s always suspected that his dads loved each other, but growing up, they’d always just been there. And they’d always just been . . . them. Close and somehow, not. He’d had moments before, obviously, where he expected Papa El to lean in and kiss Dad, but then, he just leaned passed him, and picked up a new mosaic piece, and in all honesty, Rupert’s attention span has never been long enough to really pay too much attention to his parents beyond that.

Todd - Todd gets to have a backstory too damn it. 

Todd’s always been an outcast. As far back as he can remember, he’s had to fight to be a part of any sort of social group. He’s always been too enthusiastic, too permeable. Too willing to flex until he’s the guy people want to be around. Or, as his step dad likes to say—He’s always been too much. It’s not like he means to be. It’s just, he wants so badly to be a part of something, that he’ll say or do whatever he needs to. He’ll be the guy people need him to be, even if it kills him.

No More Goodbyes - another marriage proposal. 

Quentin is so fucking sick of goodbyes. Every other day for longer than he has the energy to remember, he’s had to say goodbye to the people he cares the most for without knowing if he’ll ever see them again. First, it’s all to defeat the beast. Then it’s to deal with bored gods. Then it’s a fucking quest.

He’s done saying goodbye.

Not Today - let’s pretend Quentin and Poppy didn’t sleep together.

“No, Poppy–” Quentin says, pushing her away and taking three, steadying steps away from her. He holds one hand out between them, like a lion tamer. “I can’t–I can’t do this.”

She tilts her head, “Why not? It’s not like it has to mean anything.”

“But it will–”

“Look, I’m amazing and all, but, I’m not the type to get attached.”

“I’m kind of–I’m. I’m seeing. Someone?”

Dark Places - Even Quentin’s capable of doing something awful to save the people he loves. 

He climbs to his feet shakily. The world goes wobbly for a second, dizzying and dancing until it balances itself out and Quentin remembers he hasn’t eaten or had anything to drink in days. But it’s okay. He can eat and drink and do whatever the fuck else when he fixes this. He blinks away the blurry vision, shaking his head slightly, as he takes a wobbly step towards the doors on the opposite side of the throne room. He takes another step, pulling the key in and clutching it to his chest. This is the only way. This is his—their—salvation.

He follows a map he’d written lifetimes ago. He’s not even sure how he remembers it. But it’s there, stuck in his mind, vague but just strong enough to outshine the memories he doesn’t want to access.

She’s not even surprised when he stumbles through the barrier.

Holding out for a Hero - Todd’s time to shine. (WIP)

He knows the minute magic comes back. Feels it when the cancer returns. Scorching pain through his veins that leaves him lying on the kitchen floor, curled up in agony.

He’s not sure how long he lies there, before everything settles, and he falls asleep, too weak to get up or call for an ambulance. All he knows, is he wakes the next day, to the sun shining in through the kitchen window. He finds the strength to pull himself up on shaking legs, using the counters as leverage, and forces himself to the table, where his phone and wallet are.

First, he calls Quentin.

“We’re sorry, but the number you have dialed has been disconnected.”

Promise Me - The monster gives Quentin his memories back. 

“You’re sad.”

Quentin looks up from his book, heart jumping into his throat at the sight before him. It’s been four months, but he’s only had his memories a few days. Before, he was just a stranger that pulled him into his life. Now... it’s so jarring. Because he knows it’s Eliot. He’d recognize him anywhere—Which is why it’s so strange seeing something new beneath his eyes.

He’s not sure what hurts more: having had been by his side all this time without knowing, or Looking into his eyes and realizing that while it looks like Eliot, it’s not him.

Happy Birthday - Margo & Co., throw Todd a birthday party.

Kady sets down the cake on the dining room table and crosses her arms, “Remind me again why were doing this?”

Margo barely looks up from her place of directing Eliot on where to hang the banner, “Because you heard what he said.”

“Yeah, his life is pathetic. That doesn’t exp—“

“No, El. Two inches higher.”

Eliot sighs and lifts the banner another two inches, shooting Margo an exasperated eyebrow raise. “Here?”

“Perfect.” She turns to Kady, then, tilting her head. “The reason we’re doing this, is because whenever we need help or information, he’s always there for us.”

Patchwork Love - Quentin’s grand romantic gesture. 

He’s not even sure it’ll work. But Kady mentioned it once, absentmindedly, from her place at the center of the couch in the physical kids cottage. And they’ve (once again) successfully stopped another disaster, and beat the library, and got magic back.

The only thing that’s not how it should be is entirely Quentin’s fault, and even if this doesn’t work, he has a back up plan. Because things are finally going to be perfect. They’re all going to live, no more monsters are coming to kill them or fuck shit up, and they’re going back to Fillory. For good. He just . . . needs to make something as abundantly clear as is possible, so nobody (read: Eliot) gets it into their thick skulls that what he’s asking for is less than what he wants.

Three Words - Brian’s still regaining his memories, but there’s one thing that comes in clear.

They told him to sleep. That they’d distract his gate keeper, and he could finally get some rest.

Maybe they’re all dead.

The creature doesn’t like strangers. Then again, maybe they’re on it’s list of enemies. One of those it wishes to punish for imprisoning it, torturing it, abandoning it—whatever the reason.

He doubts they’re alive.

Maybe that’s why the creature is suddenly kneeling next to the couch, like he’s the prisoner needing comforting, and placing a gentle hand on his elbow. Maybe it knows something he doesn’t. Who these people were to him when he was Quentin. If he ever was Quentin.

and it’s no sacrifice - Todd sacrifices himself.

He wishes he could say goodbye to them. But he doubts they’ll even notice he’s gone. He doesn’t mind. He’d have helped them no matter what; they’re his friends. Even if he’s not theirs. They’ll probably never even know it was him; that he sacrificed himself for them, for magic.

Lifeboat - (70k words) Todd is a time traveler set out to save his family. 

He stumbles across Jane Chatwin’s little clearing in the Fillorian woods shortly after being crowned king. The crown dangles from his fingertips, vague memories of it resting atop his father’s head flitting across his mind the closer to the tips of his fingers it gets, as he crosses the barrier. He only recognizes her because his family had described her and their heroics practically all his life. Remembers his father, former High King of Fillory, sneering at the ground and proclaiming her, “The ultimate anti-hero.”

And when she looks up at him with shining eyes and a gentle smile, his other Dad’s words ring even louder. “Anti-hero or not. She’s the only reason we’re alive. So we’re thankful, El.”

He can practically hear the two of them bickering as if they were standing right beside him, facing their past with him. But, of course they’re not. He’ll never stand side by side with them again. The crown in his hand, digging into his fingertips, is an unwelcome reminder of that fact.

thus with a kiss, i die - Quentin kills the monster to save his friends.

He’s lying on the ground, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Unseeing.

The knife slips out of Quentin’s hand and falls to the ground with a clatter. His mouth falls open on a staggered exhale. There’s a noise behind him—someone getting up, crunching their shoes on the broken glass.

“Is—is everyone—“

He’s not sure who’s speaking. They sound like they’re underwater, or far away. Maybe both. Quentin’s legs give out from beneath him, and he falls to his knees in front of the body. A large piece of glass digs into his knee—punctures the skin. Be Quentin can’t feel it. Or he can. But it doesn’t hurt. Not like this. It’s deep, can feel it in the skin of his knee, cutting through skin. Stinging.

Comfort - Eliot and Margo realize they’re all in. 

“You need to tell me what the problem is,” Eliot murmurs, running a hand through Quentins hair.

They’re sitting on Quentins bed, Quentin curled up in Eliots lap, head on Eliots thigh while he shakes. He hasn’t spoken in hours.

“Q,” Eliot says, leaning down, ignoring the way his spine practically screams at the angle, “I don’t know how to do the comforting thing. I can’t say what you need to hear, because I don’t know what you need. Tell me what you need. Please.”

You Push, I’ll Pull - Quentin’s there for Eliot after the mike debacle. 

Margo comes to him one night, terrified and not at all herself. She doesn’t even say anything, completely ignores Alice, who is sitting with him. She just grabs his arm by the wrist, and drags him up the stairs and to Eliot’s room. He looks at her, confused, as she stares at the closed door. “Talk to him,” She whispers, “I can’t get through.”

“But you’re his best friend.”

She gives him a face, “We both know he and I don’t talk, you can stop pretending you think we do. He’ll talk to you. He won’t talk to me. Not about this.”

Spoon me like you mean it - In which Quentin and Eliot spoon. 

Quentin & the clock - Post season two finale. 

i can hold you - Quentin has a bad day

Teaching Quentin to Bake - in which Eliot teaches Quentin how to bake. 

Eliot’s secret - Eliot has a secret. 

R & R - Quentin needs a break. 

An Evolution of kissing - Quentin and Eliot’s kisses. 

Glasses - Eliot has another secret. 

Teach Me - “Do your lips move when you read?” 

The Banning of Public Displays of Affection - Quentin and Eliot get caught a few too many times. 

Waffles - Penntin. Quentin’s useless. Penny’s gotta help.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Penny asks, walking into the kitchen, half asleep. Quentin’s standing on top of a chair, waving a dish rag over the smoke detector, while smoke billows out behind him on the stove.

He looks at him guiltily as the incessant beeping finally stops. His arm stillw aves frantically, as Penny rushes across the kitchen, grabs the pan off the stove and throws it in the sink, turning the water on. “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Quentin says, breathless.

Can’t Stop This Feeling - Eliot resets the loop. 

Margo and Quentin are dead. Alice is going to defeat the beast, he can see the tremble in Martin’s hands, the way he eyes the spell Alice is working up. Something inside Eliot snaps as he looks across the field at Penny and Kady. They’re watching Alice intent, waiting for her to finish the spell.

If she finishes the spell, there won’t be any more loops. If she finishes the spell, the beast will die, and Eliot will have to go on with his life without Margo or Quentin. If she finishes the spell, Eliot realizes, he’ll be completely alone. They’ll have won, but at what cost? Is he really willing to sacrifice them for victory? If he ready to take that leap into the world without at least Margo at his side?

I Won’t Let You Go - Eliot’s never been good at being alone. Neither has Quentin. 

Eliot approaches, murder in his eyes, and Quentin takes a deep breath, swallowing. His breath quickens with each slow step he takes towards him. He looks around the cottage from where he’s pressed up against the wall, searches for an answer, but all he see’s is blue dancing across his vision. And then his jaw drops, and he looks back at Eliot.

He pulls away from the wall, and starts casting the most powerful spell he can think of, can remember.

Eliot tits his head, “You think a spell will save you?”

The Woods - Who thought hiking was good bonding activity?

“Okay, that’s it,” Eliot pants, shaking his head as he comes to a stop, hand waving in front of him as he doubles over, trying to catch his breath. “That -,” He raises his head enough to look at Quentin, pointing at him as he gulps down air, “Is it!”

Quentin frowns, crossing his arms across his own heaving chest. “We’re just a little … lost. We’ll find the trail -,”

Margo steps in between them, pointing a perfectly manicured nail at both of them, “No,” She says, breathless as well, though she doesn’t seem to be sweating at all. Quentin wonders if it’s because she cast a no persperation spell or something. “We’re done,” She growls between gritted teeth. “Do whatever - you do to summon Penny so we can go home!”

Diamond Kisses - “Did you steal that $100,000 diamond?”

Quentin runs a hand over his face before eyeing the bulge in Margo’s skirt pocket with disdain. His eyes dart up to her face, which is a bizarre mix of smug innocence, and then over to Eliot - her clear accomplice, who also has a ridiculous mixture of elite smugness and something that Quentin figures is the closest Eliots able to come to innocence.

“Margo,” Quentin says, slow, as he drags his eyes back over to her. She tilts her head, lips twitching as she tries to hold in her grin. “Did you steal that $100,000 diamond?”

Little Lamb - It’s Quentin’s Birthday. Never underestimate Eliot’s willingness to make him happy.

Remarkably, it’d been Margo’s idea to head into the city and take Quentin to an arcade for his birthday. “He’s a nerd,” She said, “Nerds like games. And if it’ll make him laugh, at least, why not?”

And Eliot wasn’t about to argue, especially with Quentin curled up on the couch downstairs, pillow tucked up against his chest and gaze lost off in some fantasy of Fillory. At least with this they were able to help get him out of his head.

Petrichor - Quentin and Eliot have a moment alone in the rain. 

“Q,” Eliot murmurs, leaning into the doorway, shoulder up against the hard wood. “Why are you standing in the rain?”

Quentin looks over his shoulder at him, shrugging with a soft smile. “I love the rain,” he whispers, the sound barely making it to Eliot over the rushing water. He turns his gaze back on the backyard, watching the rain fade into the ground.

Stupid Tattoo - Quentin has the dumbest tattoo. 

Roots - (WIP) Soulmate AU.

“What did you do?!” Margo cries out from her place next to the coffee table, curled up with her arm hugged tight to her chest. She hefts herself up over the table to glare at Quentin, “You absolute baffoon, what did you do?!”

He’s pressed up against the bookshelves, head digging into the door of the secret nook, where he’s holding his own arm against himself. He works his mouth open and closed for a moment, before shaking his head, dumbfounded. His eyes work around the room; Penny’s passed out by the front door, Eliot’s just now coming to on the sofa, and Alice is still unconscious on the jean chair. The sound of pounding footsteps and panicked screams above him tell him the rest of the house is starting to wake up as well.

Read Me To Sleep - prompt: who reads to who? 

Home - Eliot’s finally home. 

i been looking at the stars tonight (and i think, oh how i miss that bright sun) - Quentin and Eliot acknowledge they missed each other. 

Operation Friendship - Todd has a puppy. 

Fillory - Margo takes Todd to Fillory. 

Purple - A spell reveals all. 

Quentin’s an idiot.

It’s what everyone’s thinking, but god, he can’t help but agree. Because, while practicing his class work (which is somehow he always finds himself in ridiculous predicaments) he manages to … accidentally nab everyone in a spell that has nothing to do with his classwork.

Which is to say.

He may have accidentally cast a spell that makes everyone turn the color of their current mood.

oh my god they were roommates - Quentin and Eliot are roommates.

“Oh my god,” Margo says, smirking at Penny as Quentin lifts another box.

He doesn’t expect Penny to play along, but he does. “They were roommates!”

Quentin narrows his eyes at both of them, as he moves past them to set the box on the counter in the kitchen. Eliot closes the door of the refrigerator, and grins all cool and ease. “You could help,” Quentin mutters, heaving out a breath.

Eliot shakes his head, “Oh, no, dear. I don’t move. I observe. Manage. But I don’t move.”

The Path We Follow - is Eliot even alive beneath the monster? 

The day they all find out is a harsh juxtaposition to the solemn heartache in the air. The creature is off playing a game with Quentin, to give them a chance to get their answers. But the sun is shining, and there’s a soft breeze blowing through the trees surrounding the playground they’re huddled up under.

“You’re sure?” Kady asks, soft.

Julia nods, wrapping her arms around herself tighter. “I asked. Then I asked again, and then I asked two more gods. They all say the same thing.”

Because - Quentin gets his memories back and makes a realization. 

It’s Margo, because of course it is, that helps him remember. She practically flips a switch, and the parts of his mind–the Quentin within–that were off, are back on, and everything he was and isn’t is all there. Like it’d just been waiting for him to remember.

And he looks between her, and the creature, and back.

There are a lot of things to process. So many of them, in fact, that it’s overwhelming on literally every front his brain even tries to approach. Except one.

codependent - Jane and Fogg set the loop further back. 

Jane and Henry realize three of their group of idiots are somewhat intrinsically linked. So much so that they hatch a plan. It’s dangerous, and so much more than either of them have ever planned—but going back twenty three years and rearranging their lives — while a hassle, isn’t so much so that they can’t do it.

And, honestly, Jane loves a challenge (that doesn’t risk her life).

never send me roses - Eliot discovers a surprising allergy. 

Quentin’s curled up on the couch in the cottage when Eliot bursts in, nose red and runny, eyes puffy. He looks positively furious, as he slams his way through the cottage to the small kitchenette to drop off the take from the village. Quentin watches him, unmoving, opting to let him work out the hissy fit of anger before even thinking to ask him what the fuck happened.

Rupert’s off at a friends in a village down the stream, and they’ve opted to take the weekend off from working on the mosaic. It’s been weeks without a break, and ultimately, the world has waited this long, it can wait a little longer for them to live their lives around it. He glances at the stack of tiles on the table by his socked feet, tilting his head for a moment. Maybe Eliot’s angry that the mosaic isn’t done.

Holiday Blues - Quentin’s got a classic case of the holiday blues. 

Eliot peeks out the cottage door, tilting his head at Quentin, who’s solemnly sitting in his chair, staring off into the distance. It’s a very Quentin thing to do. Pretend to be okay when Eliot’s near, but as soon as he thinks nobodies looking, he lets all the sadness and everything take hold, and capture him like–well, Eliot’s not sure like what.

All he knows is it’s Quentin’s first christmas without Rupert since, well, since Rupert’s first christmas.

Eliot clears his throat and makes his way out, holding a cup of tea in each hand. Quentin jumps, forces a smile on his lips, and quickly wipes at his eyes like he doesn’t think Eliot will realize he’s been crying like the sad sap he is.

Walk With Me - Inexplicably, Quentin wants to go on a hike.

“You want to do what.”

Eliot shouldn’t be surprised that Quentin’s finally cracked. They’ve been out in the woods for six months, and of course he’s lost his mind. Honestly, it wasn’t ever really completely there in the first place. Look at half the shit he’s done at Brakebills, and his history, for an example of how not there Eliot’s second favorite person in the world is.

Okay, he’s tied for first, but for the love of all that is good in the world don’t tell Margo. The last thing he needs is Quentin’s death on his hands. Though, if he’s being honest, Margo wouldn’t hurt Quentin. He’s her second favorite person, too.

stargazing - Quentin wants to comfort Eliot. 

Eliot wakes up to Quentin leaning over him, a soft, sad smile on his lips. He wants to be angry for being woken up, but then Quentin moves away, and he can’t help but sit up. And then Quentin’s hold a hand out to him, eyes hiding something tht Eliot can’t quite decipher. But, as always, he can’t really say no to Quentin, so he takes his hand, and allows himself to be lead through the Physical Kids cottage, through the backyard, and across campus, until they’re right there where they met for the first time.

He doesn’t realize Quentin has a blanket, until he silent lets go of Eliot’s hand and flaps it open until it falls flat against the grass, right in front of the stone BRAKEBILLS sign, Eliot spent twenty minutes trying to get the perfect pose all the months ago on. Eliot blinks down at the blanket, sleepily looking between it and Quentin.

TADA - They’re about to graduate from Brakebills. 

The cottage isn’t where it’s suppose to be. Which isn’t weird, exactly. But usually, Eliot can just, kind of … sense where it’s at. Find his way to it. But it’s gone. The front and back lawns are still here, with the fire pit and the grill and the flowers and walkways. Almost like the cottage is still here, just invisible.

But it’s not, because Eliot’s walking through the big gaping space at the center of it all and he hasn’t walked into any invisible walls yet.

He’s not going to admit it, but he’s getting frustrated. This is his last day here. All of their last days. They’ll get alum keys, but it won’t be the same. They won’t be apart of the cottage anymore. He won’t be a part of the cottage anymore.

Take Me Away - Quentin and Eliot give up magic for a chance at happiness. 

They meet in a little coffee shop. It feels set up, when a tall man with curly hair bumps into Quentin, and spills his both of their coffees all over them. Quentin can’t even freak out, beyond staring at the stain seeping through the mans white shirt, and the soft, billowing curls of his hair.

There’s somebody about him that seems familiar. But it doesn’t matter, because the man is freaking out.

“Fuckity fuck fuck!” He spreads his arms–his long, long arms–wide, and shakes off the coffee clinging to his fingertips.

Rainbow Sprinkles - Quentin hates rainbow sprinkles. 

Rainbow sprinkles? I asked for chocolate.” Quentin looks up at the ice cream bar with a frown.

Margo snorts through her spoonful of mango sorbet. She twists her spoon as Quentin looks up at her.

“What?”

Her eyebrow quirks. “What, what?”

“Why’d you make that sound?”

She smirks around the spoon before pulling it out of her mouth with a soft pop, and reaching for more sorbet. “Oh,” she says as she scoops some into the spoon and eyes him mirthfully, “I just think it’s funny.”

The Point (of No Return) - Quentin doesn’t take well to getting his memories back. 

There’s a point, Quentin realizes while everyone’s off doing their own thing. There’s a point to all the pain and anguish they have to go through. All the loss. Magic comes from pain, right? To be strong they have to lose everything. He gets it. As much as one can really get that they have to lose everything to amount to anything.

But there’s a point beyond all that. A point that he can’t hide from.

He’s sitting on the roof of Marina’s building, staring up at the stars, wondering how they all got here. The monster is off masquerading in Eliot’s body who-the-fuck-knows-where, and Quentin’s got to find the strength to face off with him one day. When the others track him down. When they figure out how to kill it.

Let These Hard Times Pass - fuck the season four promo. 

Crossroads - Eliot and the Suicide Fountain 

They open it back up in the spring. When Sunderland makes the announcement during class, Eliot merely rolls his eyes, and carries on pretending to do his work while a first year finishes up both of their projects. But he saves it. He’s not sure why he does, isn’t even sure it’s a conscious decision. But it’s there, ticking like a time bomb at the back of his mind. He finds himself staring at it as he walks across campus. They’re all trying to pretend everything’s normal, but he killed Mike; Mike didn’t even know—He’s not doing it consciously. Really. It’s just . . . there’s something about it that pulls him in closer. Something that makes him see it, in a way that he never has before. Maybe that’s the danger of it. It wins.

These Goodbyes (Dance Like Fire) - Eliot visits a grave. 

Eliot walks down the path, careful to avoid stepping on the grass, with a clear destination in mind. The ground beneath his feet is wet, and gives way with each step, but it doesn’t deter him. Only urges him forward, even as mud cakes the sides of his shoes.

When he arrives, he stands there for a few long moments, gazing down at the one thing he’s been too scared to come face to face with. He’d missed the funeral, in his grief. Missed the wake, when the stone replaced the little plaque--too guilt ridden to even get out of bed. Margo came back after both, shedding her little black dresses, and climbed into his bed. She didn’t say anything, but when she curled up around him, he felt her silent sobs shaking her.  

Even now, he’s cheating. He’s here, but not really.

He licks his lips. “Hi,” he says to the plot in front of the stone.

Oh, Brother - Todd is Eliot’s brother.

He sits at the bar in the kitchen. At least here when he looks out over the kitchen, clutching the coffee cup close to his chest, while he feet dangle over the side of the chair, he isn’t faced with an empty house. The steam floats up, fills his lungs with sweet, sugary warmth, and he lets his eyes fall closed.

His jaw clenches unconsciously.

They left him again.

Ease My Mind - rarepair challenge -- Todd/Eliot

Look. When your friends, who are too socially maladjusted to admit they’re your friends, ask you to watch your not crush while they go conquer some great evil across the planes of existence—you do it.

You just. Need to ask more questions than Todd did.

“When will you be back?”

Margo’s hurried response of, “Can’t say. Just—read him what we wrote. He’ll start remembering when the fairy spell wears off and then demand you leave his presence for all of eternity. Just like normal.” hadn’t really been all that helpful when it comes to calming Eliot down.

And it figured that Quentin and Margo had dashed back into the portal before Todd could even raise a finger to point out that maybe he’s not the best person for the job.

--

Prompt: Character A gets temporary short-term amnesia. Character B gets bored of constantly updating them on what's going on, so they start telling bigger and bigger lies to see what they'll believe.

Familiar Taste of Poison - Quentin’s reaction. Post 4x05 drabble. 

Coming Home - Post 4x05 Eliot decides to be brave.

It’s over. It’s finally over.

Quentin stands in the doorway, watching over Eliot’s sleeping form, still somehow at awe of the rise and fall of his chest. There’s still a stressed furrow between his brow, even though he’s been unconscious for hours. But, Quentin’s sure it’s something that’ll fade with time. Or, he hopes, it is. He crosses his arms, and rests his head against the door frame. God. It’d been so close.

He swallows thickly, and tries not to think about all the times he almost lost him.

Always and Never - Quentin tells Margo that Eliot’s alive (and other sad stuff)

Quentin twists at the waist, side to side, slightly swaying, before mumbling, “We need to talk.”

Margo closes her eyes for half a second, exhaling slowly, before saying, careful and concise, “Q. I have an entire world to rule over. I don’t have time to help you mour—“

“Eliot’s alive, Margo.”

She stops. Sets down the pen in her hand, and turns to face him full on, clumsily reaching up to cross her arms. Whether it’s a way to defend herself, or because she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, Quentin doesn’t know. “What do you mean, he’s alive?” Quentin’s gaze darts away as her lip twitches. “You told me he died.”

Unhinged - Todd finds out Eliot’s alive.

Too Much - Quentin has a panic attack. 

The glass shatters in slow motion.

Quentin feels the world shift, something cold and dark and familiar settling in his chest. Heavier and heavier the closer to the ground the glass gets. The further the pieces of glass spread. Time stops being linear, flashing forward and back—between the moment the glass slipped out of his hand, and the second it hits the ground. As the bourbon seeps into his pant legs, and the sound finally breaks through—it’s like something else snaps.

Something he’s been fighting to keep a hold on for months.

It cracks, and webs up through his heart, his soul—his chest, fast forward and aching. Blistering agony seeping through his veins at the speed of light. And he finally hears it—

The startling cataclysm of the base of the glass crashing into the floor—finally feels the warmth of the bourbon on his pants. Finally feels.

Feels everything.

how to dance in time - Eliot and Quentin are very in love. 

A rush of warmth shoots up into his heart, and his feet move of their own accord. Quentin must sense him enter the room, because he looks up, and his chest heaves as he breathes in a big gust of air, and the small smile on his lips slowly softens to just a tiny uptick of the corners of his mouth. But his eyes are wide and shining, and he’s not moving. Just. Watching Eliot approach.

Julia makes a face, smiling but not really, and as Eliot comes to a stop beside them, she clears her throat and shoves up from the couch. “I’m just gonna—“ She breaks off as Eliot shakes his head, barely able to take his gaze off Quentin.

“No,” He says, waving a hand at her, “We need some privacy, anyways.” He glances at her, even as the thought of looking away from Quentin feels like too much of a loss. He reminds himself that he has another lifetime to do so. That this isn’t the end. That they finally managed to solve the problem, and that there aren’t any more apocalypses on the horizon. That he and Quentin have another chance to spend a lifetime together. That he can spare a few seconds without looking at him, because he’s got billions left.

She quirks an eyebrow, but shrugs a shoulder, dropping back down onto the couch. “All right,” She says, turning to look at Quentin. Eliot follows her gaze, feels his breath hitch.

Quentin’s hair is just as messy as it always is. But for once, instead of forcing down the fondness, Eliot embraces it wholly. Feels his cheek twitch with it. He reaches out, holds a hand out for him, and tries not to look too expectant.

with no space between us - Quentin and Eliot are reunited and a little desperate.

Quentin drops to his knees, wide eyed and awe struck. His chest heaves as he tries to catch a breath, but that’s all automatic, because he can’t care less about what his lungs are doing. Because there’s a glint of simmering hazel peaking out from beneath curly black hair—there’s a nose and a mouth. And before Quentin can really be sure he’s done it, long, lithe fingers are pulling him in by the lapels of his shirt, and clumsy arms are making their way around the back of his neck and around his waist. He freezes, just a moment of hesitation, before all the air his lungs keep trying to collect whooshes out of him in one big burst and he’s collapsing against a familiar chest. All warmth and ease.

He squeezes Eliot with all the strength he has in him. Grips his fingers into the back of the monsters jacket, holds on for dear life. All the desperation that’s stacked up on his shoulders moves down; seeps into the air around them as Eliot pulls him in impossibly tighter.

“You did it,” Eliot whispers into his ear, twisting his chin around and catching it on Quentin’s hair. He inhales, deep, and breathes him in.

Quentin shakes his head, but makes no move to pull away. “El,” He mumbles, his words dancing along the skin of Eliot’s collar bone, lips dragging in their wake. “If you think I’m letting go—“

“Don’t,” Eliot interrupts, shaking his own head, closing his eyes. “Don’t let go. Not yet.”

not said to me - quentin’s favorite color is purple.

Quentin’s favorite color is purple.

It hasn’t always been, but there’s a lifetime between when it wasn’t, and now. Years upon years, and moments upon moments.

Quentin’s favorite color is purple. Not just any shade of purple, though. Not like the plums Arielle used to bring to the mosaic before she became a part of their lives. Not the pale, pastel of the magic mushrooms Eliot once found lining the river. Not even the deep royal purple of Teddy’s first girlfriends dress. It’s a particular purple. He doubts anyone else even remembers it.

on a sunny tuesday afternoon, with the sunlight glowing in your hair - Eliot relives a memory.

He’s hit with the taste of opium, and the sweet, hickory scent of the Fillorian woods. Magic swells up within him, dances along his fingertips, and up into the air all around him. He feels his smile inch wider; even more so when he looks to his right and see’s the meadow. And beyond that—the cottage. Three little kids are running around chasing one another in the front of it, and Quentin’s sitting on the ground with a baby, smiling hopelessly at her, while she gurgles and laughs, tugging at his beard. Teddy comes from around the side of the cottage, holding a stack of freshly washed mosaic tiles, his wife trailing after him, content smiles on both their faces.

This is Eliot’s happy place.

He swallows, before making his way over. The leaves and twigs beneath his feet crunch and crack, giving him away. And before he knows it, three excited screams are directed at him, and he’s got a child attached to each leg, hugging him tight like a viper, and one holding her arms up at him, hands opening and closing; yelling for him to pick her up.

The laugh bubbles up out of his chest of its own volition as he leans down and picks her up, pulling her in. She tucks her head under his chin, giggling breathlessly and wrapping her arms around his neck, while he secures his hold on her by wrapping his hand around her thigh. It’s almost too tight, her hold on his throat, but in a good way. Content suffocation, is what he calls it. Not enough to strangle, just enough to remind him that he’s here. Enough to make him think he’s alive, and that this is real.

as a hello - Eliot makes a wish. 

El . . .” Margo says from behind him. She’s being cautious, which is fair, because he’s holding a coin over the most powerful magic in all of Fillory, ready to make his wish. “Just—remember. That these things never turn out how you expect.”

He knows. His thumb brushes over the face of the coin, his eyes fluttering shut. ‘Be careful,’ the questing dog had said, ‘for the wishing fountain grants the wish in the way it so chooses.’ Not like the winters doe—who’s gone missing—but with a twist. Sometimes it grants what’s beyond the words, resting on the veins of the wishers heart. Sometimes it senses evil, and grants the opposite if not worded precisely. It’d been the only reason Martin Chatwin stayed away. One wrong word, and Eliot could blow up the entire universe and every living thing that inhabits it.

So, of course, the entire trek up he’d thought about his wording. Simple. As few words as possible, but clear enough. Precise. No room for the fountain to take it the wrong way. Made sure to keep all his feelings about Quentin’s death bubbling up on the surface so the fountain can’t even think that his heart isn’t in it when he makes the wish.

Truth be told, Margo and Julia had spent the entire quest sharing side eyed glances as the tears quietly slipped over his cheeks. He’s sure they’ve wanted to tell him to turn back a dozen or more times. But they got to say goodbye. They got closure.

so we keep waiting (as restless as an avalanche) - Penny and Quentin have a chat. 

“Uh, hey.”

Quentin looks up from the book, blinking away the sleep dark that threatens at the edges of his vision, and narrows his eyes up at Penny standing in the doorway. He’s got his arms crossed like he’s uncomfortable. Which means Quentin’s about to be uncomfortable. Well. More uncomfortable. He hasn’t not felt uncomfortable in weeks. Months. Years, even.

The one time he can think back on being comfortable is on the worlds most uncomfortable couch, filled to the brim with easing spells, straw sticking out the sides, while he lay across it horizontally with his legs dipping over the side, and his head in Eliot’s lap. Eliot’s fingers scratching mindless patterns in Quentin’s scalp, getting tangled in the unkempt mess. All while their son laughs in the other room, a giddy little manic joy that only a child can possess. The comfort, then, had been easy and real. Especially when he opened his eyes and found Eliot watching him with a soft smile that he’d reserved solely for moments like these.

hot water on wool -- Quentin takes a shower. 

Like the fucking world is doing to him.

He steps out of the his pants, and toes off the wet socks. Looks at himself in the mirror again.

He’s not—emaciated. Unhealthy. No, he’s just. Pale. Shivering. Even as the steam settles on the edges of the mirror, spreading in. Like a tunnel closing in on him. He lets it. Let’s the steam fill the room, fog the mirror. Let’s himself fade away beneath it, until he’s nothing more than an unrecognizable blur. Then he turns, reaches into the shower. His hand settles beneath the spray.

Hot.

Hot, hot, hot.

Too fucking hot.

He—he feels like it’ll set him aflame.

(i’m) coming back to you (wip) - turns out Penny made a bet with Hades that quentin wouldn’t go through the archway.

Quentin stops just outside the archway, and looks down at the metro card in his hand. He mattered to them. It’s okay. They’ll be okay. He just needs to--to walk through the door.

But.

“Something wrong?”

He blinks down at the card, turning it over in his palm, and quietly says to it, “You never did answer my question.” He looks up from the card, and twists around to turn his gaze on Penny. His hands are tucked in his pockets, and he seems mostly surprised that Quentin hasn’t gone through the door yet. “Did I? Kill myself?”

Penny stares at him for a long moment before taking a half step towards him and rolling his shoulders. “Does it matter?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? His friends were mourning him--he mattered to them. His life wasn’t this meaningless disaster he’d always thought it was. And for once, his brain isn’t compounded by countless thoughts of ‘what if I--’s. For once in his entire life, it’s all just silent, and it shouldn’t matter how it happened. He should just turn, and step through the door and--

“Yes.”

rage, rage against the dying of the light - Eliot’s pissed after (4x13) and rightfully so.

“Where are you going?”

He pauses by the refrigerator, tries not to notice the sticky note with Quentin’s handwriting stuck to a menu on the freezer door--though, it hasn’t worked the other six times he’s been in the kitchen, so why would it now? “Well,” he says, reaching up with only a minor twinge in his gut, to scratch at the edge of the menu. “Everyone’s getting their happy ever afters. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.” The words come out softer than he intends, but he’s too busy following the anxious loop on the y of Friday with his eyes, while the crisp cardboard of the menu falls into the crook between his nail and skin.

“Eliot.” It’s all command seeped in worry.

And if he weren’t already so sick of people pretending to care, he’d play along.

--

Or, Eliot's sick of the "pretend everything's okay" game.

Lucidity - Eliot’s mourning, the others are Questing. Cupid makes an appearance. 

Margo barges into his room on the eve of day ninety, glares at him with a trembling jaw and says, “We’re going to save Quentin Mother Fucking Coldwater from the other god damned side, and you are going to help us.”

He blinks owlishly up at her, before the words finally register and he scrambles so he’s sitting upright in his bed, wincing only slightly along the way. “What?” He asks. “How? What?”

“I’ve respected your mourning period because I’m a great fucking friend. But Julia and Josh and Penny and I have taken this as far as we can. It’s your turn.”

She looks kind of angry, and he’s just. He’s confused.

Clarity - missing scene from Lucidity. Quentin and Eliot talk shit out.

They’re curled up together, lying face to face in Eliot’s bed with their hands interlaced in between them. Eliot blinks quietly, index finger tracing the vein overtop the back of Quentin’s hand, and swallows heavily as Quentin’s lips tilt upwards, eyes following the motion. It’s been a week of this. Of warm beds and soft skin and calm ease. Of reacquainting and allowing themselves to say everything they’ve spent years too afraid to even acknowledge.

He swallows again as his palm flattens out over the whole of Quentin’s, edges extending out onto the boney expanse of his wrist, and fingers curling over the tips of Quentins. Quentin’s eyes flutter shut, and Eliot weaves his fingers in through the space between Quentin’s. It’s strange, still, how easily and perfectly his hand fits in Quentin’s. How even after a lifetime of memories of doing nothing more than this for near an hour every morning, it still sends an electric shock down his arm and spine, and jump starts his heart for the day.

to love and back - Eliot rescues Quentin from the afterlife.

It’s not what he expected to lie on this side of the door. For the peace and ease of it all to be so all consuming that he’d just. Not want to go. But, the door’s still there, can feel the rope wrapped around his waist scratching at the corner of the doorframe whenever he moves, and he doesn’t even care, because he’d walked through, and Quentin had just been standing there. Almost like he’d been waiting for him. And for the past however long it’s been, if he can even quantify time in a timeless expanse of everything, they’ve been unable to unravel from one another.

“Is this the afterlife?” Quentin asks, a moment later, breath gushing out of him, and forming a small cloud above them. It’s not even cold. It’s just this place; everything they do creates color or planets or clouds. Every breath, and every movement. There’s a tree forming at the edges of the clearing--which stills feels eerily similar to the one Quentin and Eliot spent a lifetime together finding the beauty of all life in—creaking and crackling; Eliot pretends not to see the fresh bark as it crackles to life, and flutters to the ground; not quite ready for the growth spurt that spawns it.

(i’m) coming back to you - fuck you, Quentin’s not perma-dead.

Quentin stops just outside the archway, and looks down at the metro card in his hand. He mattered to them. It’s okay. They’ll be okay. He just needs to--to walk through the door.

But.

“Something wrong?”

He blinks down at the card, turning it over in his palm, and quietly says to it, “You never did answer my question.” He looks up from the card, and twists around to turn his gaze on Penny. His hands are tucked in his pockets, and he seems mostly surprised that Quentin hasn’t gone through the door yet. “Did I? Kill myself?”

Penny stares at him for a long moment before taking a half step towards him and rolling his shoulders. “Does it matter?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? His friends were mourning him--he mattered to them. His life wasn’t this meaningless disaster he’d always thought it was. And for once, his brain isn’t compounded by countless thoughts of ‘what if I--’s. For once in his entire life, it’s all just silent, and it shouldn’t matter how it happened. He should just turn, and step through the door and--

“Yes.”

Anything (& more) - Eliot’s a big ol’ romantic. 

Two days after everything settles down, and a week after they get Quentin back, Eliot tells Margo to have Quentin meet him where they first met.

He’s wearing the same outfit, though he’ll never admit the fit has grown a bit snug, thanks to the monsters dietary habits. He’s in the same position he was when Quentin first came stumbling back up to him—lit cigarette in one hand, a hastily made card with Quentin’s name in the other—while he lounges across the stone. All poise and confidence—even, if he’s being honest, right about now his hearts definitely arguing the confidence of it all. If the way it’s pounding anxiously in his chest is anything to go by, that is.

But, it doesn’t matter, because he remembers that first day perfectly. And for the bits he didn’t, Margo had been gracious enough to cast a remembrance spell, because, ‘Like hell I’m leaving this all in your hands, El. You have a tendency to screw up when it comes to Q.’

Happiness Begins - Eliot of the future barges in on Quentin’s first moments at brakebills.

“Quentin Coldwater?”

Quentin blinks up at the man in white, an angel in his own right, as he glares down at him, contempt and mild interest battling it out on his face. All Quentin can do is nod with a, “Uh-huh,” because the words can’t seem to find him anymore than his heart seems capable of slowing down.

The man’s eyes narrow, before his gaze sweeps over Quentin’s body, sending a chill down Quentin’s spine, and a malease of how beautiful the angel is, and what he must see when he looks over him. He swallows thickly, and the man jumps down from the stone, a soft little smirk settling on his lips. “I’m Eliot. You’re late.”

Quentin blinks again, not quite sure what to say, but the man turns on his heel, and Quentin stares after him. He’s talking, but he can’t quite register any of the words with the sudden summer sun blaring down on him, and the cool breeze ruffling his hair and sweeping away the nervous sweat building along his hairline. He takes a step, moves to follow after the man, not quite ready to let him go, when a warm hand wraps around his arm from behind, and spins him around.

Dancing in the Dark (WIP) - Eliot recreates the happy place for some time with Quentin, but not everything it as it seems. 

“Hey, old man.”

Eliot smiles softly to himself, glancing across the room. “Q,” he murmurs. He hadn’t meant to conjure him just yet, but he’s not exactly upset to see him, either. Especially like this. Happy, and old. And, god, that’s more than he probably could have even hoped for from this spell. Exactly like his final memories of him from the life that never happened.

Quentin grins; his smile lines are deep enough to hide a lifetime of laughter. It pulls at something in Eliot’s chest, the way the wrinkles and grey hair only seem to make Quentin all the more endearing. “You seem surprised to see me.”

(this is not a) Temporary Love - there’s a use for the vial of blood. Also, letters. so many letters. 

There’s a layer of dust coating everything in the cottage, like nobody’s been here since them. A thick white film, almost the perfect representation of what their lives ended up being. He swipes a finger along the counter as he goes, a thin streak left behind, as he marvels at the fact that it’s exactly how they left it — despite never having actually been here. Even the lines along the doorway to the kitchen, where Quentin had insisted on marking Teddy’s height; Eliot pauses here, to press his nail into the tallest mark, a soft smile dancing along his lips at the memory of Quentin pouting when they finally had the proof that Teddy had officially grown taller than him.

He swallows down a lump and moves down the short hallway. The door to the bedroom is closed, and he hesitates for a moment, before reaching out and wrapping his hand around the knob. He freezes, a memory flashing of Quentin.

Uncle Jerichos boat - (this is James/Q) James shows off his uncles boat.

Written for the covenant house drabbles thing. 

First Date Flirting - Margo & Alice go on their first date.

written for the covenant house drabbles thing.

Quentin’s Wards - Penny overhears something in Quentin’s head. (Penntin)

written for the covenant house drabbles thing.

if not by fate, then by fire (not to me) - another i love you.

There’s a webbing of magic there, glinting in the sunlight. He squints his eyes and tilts his head, moving to sit on his knees to get a closer look. It looks like wards; ghostly equations dancing in the air and letting the wind gently guide them back and forth. Like a flag on a gentle summer day. He watches it, almost like he’s caught in a trance, for a moment. Almost starts swaying with it.

And then he gets up, and follows it.

Lets it lead him. And when he approaches it, settling a hand in the air a breath away from making contact, he takes a deep breath, and looks up over it towering over him. Still swaying, like a dance to say hello and remind him he’s alive. His lips falls into a soft smile, and he presses forward. Expects a shockwave or for the magic to refuse his entrance. But his hand pushes through, and then his wrist with it’s magic rune, and then his arm and shoulder and before he knows it, he’s blinking up into a cloudless summer sky.

Relief - Quentin and Eliot have a talk (andthensome)

“You’re missing your own party.”

Quentin startles, flipping around so his back against the balcony wall, and bringing a hand to his chest as Eliot steps out onto the balcony with him. He’s watching him expectantly, a strange little smile on his lips, and Quentin swallows, attempts a sheepish shrug. “It’s a lot,” he says after a moment, carefully turning back around to look over the city view the penthouse grants. He reaches up and clutches the bars on the wall, fists tight and knuckles burning white.

The sound of Eliot’s shoes tapping against the concrete beneath their feet fills the silence, until Quentin can feel him, warm and real, standing just behind him.

In Case You Don’t Live Forever - Quentin and Eliot decide to get Help. 

“I had a dream,” he murmurs, letting the words drift, directionless into the air around him. He doesn’t expect Quentin to reply. How could he? He hasn’t said more than a handful of words since Eliot woke up, barring the quiet, ‘I’m glad you’re not dead’ whispered into his bed while he thought Eliot was sleeping.

Eliot twists his neck, catches the tail end of a too quick movement of Quentin purposefully looking away—back up to the sky. Swallows down the hurt that suddenly fills him up with the residual panic from his dreams. “I think it was more a nightmare, actually.” He pauses, but Quentin only blinks, his Adam’s apple bobbing; the barest hint of a shadow movement beneath the moonlight. “Can I tell you about it?”

Tell Me You Love Me - Penntin, the first i love you.

Quentin Coldwater realizes he’s in love with his boyfriend on a Tuesday in the middle of June. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t be an issue. He could keep it tucked up in his head, this quiet little longing all for himself forever if need be.

Except his boyfriend can read minds. And Quentin’s wards, despite his best efforts, are crap. Add to that his inability to tell a decent lie, and well.

Penny Adiyodi finds out Quentin loves him on a Wednesday morning in the middle of June.

timekeeper - Eliot uses stoppards machine. 

(written for the covenant house drabbles)

“How the fuck did I agree to this?”

“I think the better question is why didn’t we stop Eliot from knocking Stoppard out,” Julia murmurs, staring down at Stoppard's sleeping body. “That’s definitely something we could have done.”

Eliot looks over his shoulder at them, his hand slipping from the edge of the window. “Would you two stop wasting time and tell me how to work this fucking thing?” When Penny turns a glare on him, Eliot simply offers a glare right back and motions towards the mirror. “Please.” He adds obligingly, when Julia pointedly raises her eyebrows at him. His hand slowly falls until Penny sighs and moves around him, gently shoving Eliot out of the way.

in awe, the first time you realized it - another i love you.

They’re lying on the grass not far off from the mosaic. Quentin’s laying on his back with his arm tucked up under his head, pointing up at a cloud, claiming it’s making a shape it most certainly isn’t, and Eliot’s lying next to him on his side, a fond little smile on his lips as he lets him ramble. He’s making up a story about the cloud, how it’s a fierce dragon, fighting its way to victory across the skies, seeking out its mate. Or the knight meant to slay it. Quentin adds this bit with a slight shake of his head, glancing at Eliot just long enough to make sure he laughs. He does. Because it’s ridiculous.

Eliot plucks a blade of grass from between them and rolls it between his fingers. His knuckles brush up against Quentin’s stomach, and Quentin stumbles along what he’s trying to say. Smirking, Eliot leans in and quirks an eyebrow. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, Q. You’ll have to start over.”

a whisper in the ear - another i love you.

Quentin’s sitting in the living room, reading a book — something new that Kady had tossed to him when she came back from the library to help him “find a new obsession preferably not created by a pedophile, yeah?” — with his legs tucked up underneath him. His hair falls from it’s place behind his ear, and he reaches up to tuck it back into its place; a fruitless task but a habit that he’s not likely to break unless he cuts his hair. He shuffles further into the cushion of the couch, brow furrowing as the protagonist in the book hears a strange noise and decides to follow it. He shakes his head at her — never fucking following the strange noise, Patrice, god — but turns the page anyways.

The sound of the front door opening and closing fills the room, but it’s not enough to break his concentration. The books great, and the characters in it don’t make the best life decisions, but he can’t help but think that that’s why he relates to them. He still jumps when a creature jumps out of the closet and bares it’s teeth at Patrice. Still tries not to cheer, when a couple paragraphs later, she jabs the broken leg of a chair through its chest.

Still I come back to you - 4x13 never happened, but Quentin and Eliot still manage to be disasters.

He’s able to sit up for the first time on a Thursday. Has been weaving in and out of consciousness for the better half of a week. Flanked by Margo on his left, Quentin on his right, and a revolving door of characters at his feet. Visitors who come and go and sometimes come back. Like Penny and Alice and Julia. Or who come once, stay for a few minutes, and then disappear to never return. Like Dean Fogg and Kady. Nothing more than courtesy drop by.

He doesn’t mind. Quentin squeezes his hand tight like he thinks he might, though, so he just nuzzles his cheek into Quentin’s shoulder and opts not to mention that he has all he needs right here. Pretends not to hear Margo’s judgement when she huffs out an amused breath. Squeezes her hand as if to say not now, Bambi.

dance with me - another i love you

What was it he’d said in his happy place all those months ago?

Oh, right.

He promised to be brave.

One moment of bravery for a lifetime of happiness. Quentin had been brave, back in Fillory, when he’d kissed Eliot that first time. And the culmination of that one moment had been fifty years of ups and downs and — Maybe Eliot just has to be the one to take that leap this time.

Family Ties - Eliot finds Quentin’s mom after his death. (WIP)

They’d spent nights under the stars, lying beside one another, revealing little bits of themselves in ways they’d never felt safe before. Until every part of their lives laid out, open and bare for the other to hold and protect.

It’s why when Julia and Alice both each volunteered to do this, he couldn’t let them. Why when Julia, watery eyed and jittery, sitting beside him in the infirmary, said, “I have to tell his mother.” He squeezed her hand.

And said no.

here’s to the so much better - another i love you

They’ve lived the so much better. They fought and died for the so much better. They literally went to hell and back and if that wasn’t for so much better than what the fuck was it for? Longing glances across the room but an unwillingness to act on feelings they both know are there? A lingering touch in the kitchen when Eliot reaches the top shelf and hands the cup to Quentin? Falling asleep on each other in the living room because they’re too comfortable and too cowardly to go upstairs together?

Fuck. That.

Golden - Quentin pines. Eliot’s oblivious.

“What do you think it looks like?” He asks, voice barely loud enough to pass over the soft rustling of the trees.

“It’s called the Golden Tile, Q. I imagine it’s golden. And a tile.”

Quentin rolls his eyes and looks back up at him. “I meant the beauty of all life. What do you think it looks like?”

delicate - Quentin just really loves Taylor Swift.

Quentin blanched, eyes going wide as he took an annoyed step backwards. “Taylor Swift released two new albums while I was gone and you didn’t tell me?” A hand came up and rushed through his greasy, unwashed hair as best it could with the tangles, and he shook his head. “How dare you.”

perspective - Quentin and Eliot have a talk after Quentin’s resurrection.

Eliots down here somewhere — he knows, because he’d checked his room first. Because not long after Margo went to bed last night, Eliot, beautiful, kind Eliot, lit by the glow of the dimming fire set by Quentin’s magic-clumsy hands, and in a searing moment of deja vu, pulled Quentin in and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Now That the Chips are Down - Quentin claws himself out of a grave. (WIP)

He’s bleary eyed, stumbling along the sidewalk, lights from the city glaring down at him, chest heaving with every aching, heavy breath. He can still feel the dirt between his teeth, the coarse texture of it lining his throat from where he’d breathed it in. His fingers ache, cuticles bleeding and tender where the dirt lines them. He glances down at them, vision going dark for a moment before phasing back in. His hands stretched out in front of him, palm out. Hands are so dirty.

Ghost of You - Eliot keeps seeing Quentin die. Resurrection fic.

“I see him,” He says, voice crackling like a fire struggling to stay lit. “Every night when I go to sleep. I see him die. It’s never the same. And then I see his ghost, and he never goes away.” He offers her a wry smile, finally looking away from Quentin to meet her eyes. “I’m literally being haunted by the ghost of my past and there’s no escape. Sleep only makes it worse. Being drunk makes it more vivid. Being high makes me nauseous. I can’t fucking escape it or him or how much it fucking hurts.” He waves a hand. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He half expects the world to burst into flames around him. But no fire singes his skin. Kady just narrows her eyes, lets go of his knee and stands up. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He’s too tired to move. “Couldn’t if I wanted to,” he says.

Too tired to breathe, sometimes.