#I want to blame the lack of change in expression on being on mobile

[ase-trollplays]

I uh... Wouldn't refer to her an "heiress", Sayble. She really dislikes being seen as royalty :(

}}-I see. My apologies. I don't wish to offend.-{{

[writerlyhabits]

Scenario: Din’s crewmate works really hard. They’ll get so in the zone that they will forget to eat, or forget to stay hydrated, or will stay awake way later than they should. And Din HATES it. He wants you to take care of yourself, and it frustrates him to no end when he sees how exhausted you get only to find out you haven’t eaten today, or have only slept a few hours.

Hi, I'm so sorry this took as long as it did... it was another incident of 'big blank document & big empty brain.' And then once I started going with something I liked, BoBF episodes came out; I had to decide if I wanted to scrap the whole thing and start from a new angle with the content we were gifted, or keep going with what I had.

As you'll see, I went with what I started with because I really did like what @deceiverofgodss and I came up with, so with her seal of approval (thank you my love 💖) I present you something BoBF spoiler-free! Thanks for your patience friends, I hope you enjoy! 😘

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: mild cursing, lack of self-care, subjects of grief and parental loss, Bo Katan being a bitch, pre-established relationship, helmetless Din ... i think that's it?

“Please tell me you’ve moved since I saw you last,” Din asked as he entered the room, talking to the back of your head as he found you perched on the couch, silhouetted by the glow of the holo pad in the dark room. You didn’t respond, but he already had the answer to his question. He knew that if you had been mobile or at least conscious of the world around you, there would have been another source of light other than the screen in your hands.

Din moved through the small living space of the inn’s most expensive suite on Nevarro to get to you, a generous gift from Greef as you stopped by on your travels. Din knew it would be in exchange for help in some fashion, but he didn’t mind the work… it was a good distraction. That’s why he’d brought the two of you here in the first place; a distraction, a break from everyone and everything that had been consuming your life as of late.

The darksaber that had found itself in his possession came with a whole world of burdens and responsibilities Din had never planned on taking. He stepped into the role of Mand’alor when it became clear there would be no avoiding it and took you by his side, your marriage earning you the same title, much to Bo Katan’s chagrin. And she made her opinion heard loud and clear.

“Mandalore should never have fallen into the hands of a Child of the Watch and his aruetii,” she had sneered. He remembered seeing that your stone solid expression hadn’t changed in her presence, holding your tongue better than he did, Din having made a snide comment in retaliation that only riled up the redhead more. But what got to him was the way you broke once it had just been the two of you.

“She’s right… before you try and argue, tell me that these clans will take us seriously enough to help reclaim Mandalore when their leader doesn’t even wear beskar’gam. That they’ll give us the time of day when I haven’t even sworn the creed.”

“You said your vows, you live by them as I do. You are my riduur, as I am yours. That makes you Mandalorian,” he had tried, an attempt to reassure you, but he could tell you were hesitant. He couldn’t blame you though; as much as he wanted to knock Bo Katan to the ground for saying it, your fears had roots.

After trying to figure out what he had inherited in his new role, the planet of Mandalore was not only in physical ruin, but was shrouded in rumors of curses and uneasy mystery. The two of you had agreed that if you had any plans to reclaim the planet as the home of the Mandalorians, your strength would lie in your numbers. This was what had sent you traveling through the galaxy, set on tracking down Mandalorian clans and earning their support for when the time came.

These travels, of course, left you and Din in the near-constant company of Bo Katan and her cronies; while she may have been snide and hell-bent on power, one for changing terms as she saw fit… she was the most knowledgeable on the planet’s history you had encountered thus far. She proved herself somewhat useful, but was on thin ice with the snide authority she continued treating the two of you with, and Din was at his end.

As the Mand’alor, he felt it was in his power to take his wife on a well-deserved vacation, and had whisked you away to Nevarro to take a breather. Something you hadn’t gotten since before you’d gotten married, having defeated a Krayt Dragon within the same week. And you still needed time to properly process the absence of the littlest member of your clan.

His body was desperate for rest as he moved to stand in front of your position on the couch, weary with the work he’d put himself through to keep other thoughts and memories at bay. When you didn’t move, he removed his gloves and placed them on the table beside you.

“Mesh’la, when was the last time you ate?” he asked softly as he brushed a piece of hair out of your face, hoping to bring you out of your trance. He ran the back of his knuckles along your soft cheeks, hooking them under your chin to gently bring your focus up to his face, your eyes glassed over as you processed his question.

“How long ago did you leave?” Dank farrik, not again. He’d had breakfast with you before he’d left, a quick ration pack, telling him you’d make more after he left. This was the third time he’d come home to find that not only did that second helping never come, but neither did lunch or dinner.

“Gar shuk meh kyrayc…” he huffed as he took long strides to reach the kitchen as fast as possible, needing to give your body the proper fuel to continue functioning.

“You’re no use dead…” you translated, having been learning and teaching yourself the language during your travels in an attempt to relate closer with the Mandalorians you would meet with. This was where the holopad had first come in. “What do you mean?” While you had done a remarkable job in learning the literal aspects of the language, you were still frustrated and how far behind you still seemed to be since Mando’a was very figurative, few literal translations ever properly expressing the meaning of their statement.

“It means you’re working yourself to death. That you need to rest, and properly take care of yourself,” he explained pointedly, returning with a rehydrated ration pack. Not his ideal meal for this situation, but he knew you’d be able to eat it, and that was more important right now. “Give me the holopad so you can eat something.”

“No, I can eat while I read,” you argued, holding the pad in one hand while you opened up your palm for him to deposit the container.

“Cyar’ika please, you’ve been looking at that thing all day.” He set the food on the table just to the side of you, bracing himself on the back of the couch as he leaned in close to try to get through to you. “You’ve been working so hard, it’s time for a break.”

“Nu draar, Din,” you grumbled, using a Mando’a phrase that expressed a very hard no. You were too damn smart for your own good… He wanted to be proud of you for your progress, but he was busy trying to break through your stubborn determination to celebrate the small victory.

"You're not eating unless I sit down and eat with you, you haven't been sleeping. Don't think I don't notice that you don't move between the time I'm asleep and the time I get up,” he reminded, trying to be both stern and gentle to express just how worried about you he was. “Nothing you’re going to find on that holopad is worth all of this!”

"Okay, and then what? I put the holo pad down and hear criticism through one ear, skepticism in the other… And then when my head hits the pillow at night the only thing I can think of is him.” With your last sentence your voice broke, the emotion you seemed to be hiding behind endless nights of research and work finally breaking through. Your eyes started well up in tears as they came overwhelmingly fast, and he could feel his own do the same. “I know giving him to the Jedi was the best thing for him, I do… but I just want him back. My body wakes up in the night to cries that aren't there. My arms feel empty, and there’s a hole in my chest where he should be.”

Your body shook with the tears that had welled up inside of you for too long, and it took Din a moment to realize he’d frozen in place, wrapped in his own grief. It was one you shared, and one you handled in different ways; coping mechanisms more similar than you realized, throwing yourselves into work to distract you from the pain. But Din had someone to take care of, he had you, his beloved riduur. He played the big strong bounty hunter, the provider, as he always did. With his covert, with you, with your clan of three….

But you had been left with empty arms as your heart struggled to heal the gaping hole Grogu had managed to weasel himself into. He’d had you wrapped around his finger within moments, Din having been much the same. But your recovery was not in caring for someone new. You’d holed yourself away and worked yourself to death to numb the constant ache.

Din gently took the holo pad from your hand and set it aside so he could take your hands in his. He sat on the small couch beside you, pulling you into his lap and resting your hands around his neck before lifting his hands up to the rim of his helmet. Your breath caught when his helmet had been placed to the side, always quick to admire your husbands’ beautiful features when you were given the chance.

His warm brown eyes were watery just like yours, not the first of his tears shed over the loss. His brows were raised in sympathy as he looked at you, soft lips in a pout as one of his hands cupped your face in his palm to caress your cheek with his thumb.

“Almost every night since he’s been gone, there’s been this strange pull. It- I don’t know how to describe it, but there’s this feeling that just washes over me; it eases my mind, I know he’s safe, that he’s taken care of,” Din tried to explain, your turn to sort of freeze as you listened. “I don’t know how his powers work… but it’s him. It feels like Grogu.”

“How do you know?” you whispered, fearful your voice would break with any more strain. Din took a moment to look at you as he sorted through the thoughts in his head, the strange sense that would wake him in the night, and the different feelings they invoked in him.

“He misses you… just as much as you miss him.” He’d barely been able to finish before his voice began to betray him, something he’d only struggled with as of late, usually able to keep his cool exterior intact when he desired.

You had let his words linger in the air for a few moments, letting them settle before your body was wracked with a heartbreaking sob, doubling over to curl into Din’s body, your face nestled in the crook of his neck while your arms could do nothing more than hang onto his chest plate. He stroked your back comfortingly as tears fell down his face, your sobs muffled into the flight suit still underneath his armor.

The two of you stated that way for a very long amount of time, clinging onto your clan of two as the complicated emotions course through your bodies. After long enough though, Din had made sure you were hydrated, keeping you tucked up into him for comfort as you slowly got yourself through the ration pack, adamant in your need for basic personal care.

It was the first night in a long time that you had settled into bed next to your husband, both in soft leisurewear as you relaxed into the pillows. Though it came with its own struggles, a slow stream of tears across your cheek as you fell asleep on Din’s shoulder, experiencing Grogu’s pull for the first time.

He’s safe, he’s cared for… but he misses you, his buirs, every single day.

...

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[the-haven-of-fiction]

Not A Christmas Movie

Genre/Rating: Fluff and Sweetness of the holiday variety, T

Summary:  Tom and Astrid find themselves in a unique situation on Christmas Eve. 

Author’s Notes:  My first sappy romantic Christmas one shot, y’all!  Move over, Hallmark!  I tried to cover some of the best cheesy themes, I hope you enjoy it.  Thank you to Pillow Talk and Lolo for proofing.  

The sound of the wind and snow raced through the trees and whipped against the walls of the cabin, the remote mountainous location devoid of any welcoming lights from neighbors.  The two travelers dropped their luggage upon crossing the threshold and rushed to push the heavy door shut behind them.   

“When we get through this, neither you nor my sisters are ever allowed to make fun of my emergency preparedness again!  We’d be in major trouble without it!” Astrid declared, brushing snow off her jacket and holding up the lantern from the referenced emergency preparedness with her other hand as Tom attempted to lock the door.

“I think I can safely and assuredly,” he paused to run his tongue over his perpetually chapped lips in concentration, “give you my word as an Englishman that I shall never,” a grunt of effort, “allow either myself or your sisters to utter a syllable of criticism on that score.”  

She couldn’t help but giggle at his struggle with the lock.  

“Remember when you had the brilliant idea to build a set for one of our backyard holiday productions?  Was that when you played Scrooge?  Your word as an Englishman may be good as gold, but your complete lack of skill with anything slightly mechanical is something I wouldn’t swear by.”

Even in the dim light of the lantern, the slight twitch of a smile was visible on his face, the vision of the pathetic attempt so vivid in his memory.  

“No one is going to believe this,” she sighed, shivering and looking around for a light switch.

“Truth is stranger than fiction,” Tom quipped. “The best intentions of a Christmas surprise, a series of unfortunate events, a comedy of errors…”

“I blame my soon to be ex-mechanic, the weatherman, Anya and Arlyss and their crazy idea about trying to organize our families into coming out here to the wilderness to have some kind of storybook Christmas,” she huffed, fumbling along the wall, but finding the switch and flipping it to On in relief.

They both groaned when nothing happened.  No electricity, no heat.

“They must have disconnected the electricity during renovations, fantastic.”  He followed close behind her as they made their way around the cabin.  Although the snowstorm was in full force and there weren’t any outside lights on the driveway, they could see evidence of construction as they had pulled up a few minutes earlier.  

“Well, at least there’s a fireplace and I think there is actually a pile of wood next to it,” Astrid pointed as she spoke.  “How about that.  Must have been stocked by the same person who left the door unlocked. Remind me never to hire this company, whoever they are.”

“I could go outside and check for the…uhm…the…” Tom stuttered and gestured, making what she assumed was meant to be a square shape of some kind.

“The breaker box?” she asked dryly.  

“Exactly, yes,” he answered in a tone of false bravado, clearing his throat. “I was merely waiting to see if you knew the name.”

“Santa doesn’t bring presents to little boys who lie, ya know.”  She set the lantern on the mantle next to a small glass dish of matches.  “Especially little boys who grew up in a centuries-old estate and have servants who take care of locking the doors and fixing the electrical problems.”

“They are not servants, they are staff, Miss Sassy, and I doubt Father Christmas knows we are here, no one does,” he replied.  “Add the one forgotten mobile and the other with no service to the list of things that won’t be believed.”

“Well, anyways, Professor,” she went on in an exaggerated manner, “I may have a First Aid kit in my emergency supplies, but I am not equipped to perform any surgery on wounds you would most certainly incur from trying to play Electrician.”

He knew she was correct and they both smiled, cheeks rosy with cold.

“I suppose it was fortuitous that I ended up teaching Classics rather than embarking upon a career in carpentry.”

Astrid got a fire going and they were able to scope out their surroundings more thoroughly. A last-minute change of plans had allowed the visiting Tom and originally scheduled-to-work Astrid to join their families in the mountains for Christmas, but a quick succession of unforeseen events had brought them here, stranded close to midnight in a semi-livable cabin during a snowstorm on Christmas Eve.

The owners must have been undergoing some kind of renovations.  The cabin obviously had been inhabited previously, but half the interior wasn’t complete, including the kitchen.

“The toilet flushes!” she shouted from the bathroom.  “And there’s running water in the sink!”

“Unfortunately there is no sofa or chairs of any sort and only one bedroom,” he reported when she came back into the main room, “No fireplace, but it does have a bed with linens.”

“Well, my kit has extra batteries so we should be okay with the lantern in there,” she assured him, completely missing his point about the issue of a single bed.

He noticed that her shivering wasn’t decreasing as much as it should, looking her up and down in concern.  She was wearing an ankle-length corduroy skirt in a shade that matched her eyes, with a long-sleeved but thin sweater.  

“I think we should go through our luggage and put on a couple of more layers.  That centuries-old estate was a bit drafty, so I am accustomed to an indoor chill,” he informed her with a tinge of that irritating blend of both humility and privilege.

She rolled her eyes, but went over to her suitcase and started sifting through her clothes.  

“You and the twins have always been bossy. It’s a wonder how I have managed to get through life as an adult without the three of you hovering over me like you did when I was a kid.”

He pulled on another shirt and grinned at her.

“I still remember the day you were born.  I was visiting Dad and Roberta that year for Christmas,” referring to the alternating schedule their families had of who went to which country for the holidays. “And your sisters and I were old enough to be excited rather than jealous of a new child coming.”

Astrid turned away from him, hoping he wouldn’t see her reaction.  Why did it please her so much to hear him speak of her birth with such affection?  It must be this ridiculous situation.  And the holiday.  And her birthday.  And this sparkling blue-eyed man whose place in her life she had never been quite able to define.  Not a blood relation, but as close as a family member, certainly more than a friend.  But more than a friend, in that sense?  College and adulthood had made the unanswered question less important, as the shared summers and holidays of their childhood had grown fewer and fewer.  She didn’t let herself ponder why he hadn’t married and had a dozen children to help him keep up that manor. Any woman would be elated at the prospect of sharing her life with him; she knew he had a string of casual relationships, just as she had, but their age difference had made her sure years ago that he would be a distant memory by this time.  

“Born on Christmas Day to parents named Joseph and Mary, merely the beginning of my life’s trajectory of ‘You won’t believe this!’ events, continuing to this bizarre night that has practically every plot point needed for a cheesy holiday movie except that we aren’t secretly pining for each other.”  She zipped up the windbreaker over the thicker sweater before reaching for her parka, not seeing the brief flicker in his eyes.

“Did you know that Arliss wanted to call you Snowflake and Anya’s choice was Mistletoe?” Tom picked up her scarf and hat that he had placed on the hearth so they would be toasty and walked back to her.

“I hear that story every year, along with all the suggestions from everyone to aunts and uncles to the postman.  Thank God my parents went with something on theme, but not silly.”  She pulled on her boots after a second pair of socks and looked up at him.

His expression changed and he drew in a short breath.

“Do you like your name?”

The inquiry was brimming with something that sounded like hope to her.

“Oh, yes, I’ve always loved it.  In fact, I love it as much as I’ve disliked having a birthday on Christmas because it is beautiful and unique and it made me feel beautiful and unique.”

A wave of pure delight lit up his face and something clicked in her mind.  Her parents’ version of where her name came from was always that someone had mentioned it to them and they couldn’t remember who it had been.

“It was you, wasn’t it,” Astrid said.  And it wasn’t a question. “It was your suggestion.”

He worried at his lower lip, a tic she’d come to know years ago that was a sure indication of him being both pleased and embarrassed.

“Yes,” the soft affirmation punctuated by the crackles and pops from the fire. “And your description is precisely how I thought of it then, thanks to having just started Latin in school, and,” a heartbeat of silence, “it is how I think of you now.”

He was standing directly in front of her and paused to survey her face for a few seconds before tapping lightly under her chin.  

Without even thinking about it, it seemed, she looked up at the ceiling so he could wrap the heated scarf around her neck.  The warmth felt wonderful, although the feeling caused by this stunning revelation about her name and the look on his face was already warming her up in a way she tried to herself wasn’t happening.

He tucked her hair behind her ears and pulled the hat down while she argued with herself that he was simply being affectionate in the manner of a friend.

“Well,” she said, a little too loudly, stepping back from him, “That down comforter is calling to me, I guess we should be getting to bed.”

Good heavens, the bed, she thought.  As in one bed.  

As in here, as in they were stuck with a snowstorm swirling around them.  

In a cabin that was being renovated.  With no power or heat.  

On Christmas Eve.  

This couldn’t be real, it was not a Christmas movie.

“I suppose we should,” still in that soft voice.  

A distraction.  She needed a distraction.

“Oh!  I just remembered!  I have my favorite Christmas movie downloaded on my phone, we can watch it before we go to sleep.”

Less than two hours later, David Niven was giving his sermon and Loretta Young was gazing up at him while Cary Grant walked away in the snow.  Tom was propped up a bit against the headboard and had insisted on holding the phone so she could stay under the blankets.  Somehow she had ended up almost pasted to his side as the story progressed and his arm was around her.  About halfway through, they’d had a little tussle about whether or not he should leave the warm cocoon of the bed and get them another candy cane from her Snack Pack.  He argued that they had already brushed their teeth, but a sincere plea from her with an affectionate “Be naughty with me, Professor!” addition was something he simply couldn’t resist.  

She sighed and closed her eyes, contented and drowsy and finally no longer cold, too tired and confused to attempt to figure out what was happening, how years of ignoring what was just below the surface had nearly bubbled over.  It was impossible.  He wasn’t interested.  He was just being Tom.  Typical Tom.  Caring, attentive, making you feel like you were the only person in the room.  She wouldn’t think about this anymore right now.  Maybe tomorrow.  Or not.  

Tom closed the app on her phone and noticed the time.

“Hey there, it’s 12:01.”

“Mmhhmm,” she murmured, feeling herself about to drift off.  He was so familiar, so comforting, so exactly like Christmas itself should be.  She wanted to enjoy this moment before she went back to being the little kid and he the older…the older what?

“Happy Birthday,” he said and dipped his head to kiss her forehead, his breath sweet from the earlier candy cane.

She turned upwards toward him without opening her eyes to give him a peck on the cheek, almost without knowing what she was doing in her sleepy state, but she miscalculated and missed his cheek, her mouth landing on his.

He didn’t jerk back in shock.  Or horror.

It’s now or never, she thought, suddenly wide awake and ready to throw caution out the window that was probably frozen shut by now.

Ten seconds later, ten minutes later, she wasn’t sure which, he pulled back breathlessly and she opened her eyes. 

“What are you doing?” he asked in bewilderment, in surprise, but not in accusation.

“I’m kissing you, do you mind?” she responded, quickly pulling off her mittens and his beanie so she could sink her fingers into his curls.

“I, uhm…”

“Have no fear for your virtue, Thomas,” she teased in a low voice, tugging on a fistful of those ginger locks and causing a sharp gasp from him that thrilled her and gave her courage. “We are wrapped up like a couple of stuffed sausages in this icebox and there is a foot of clothing between us.”  

His gaze narrowed and focused on her lips.

Another kiss, sweet and shy, but sure.

“I thought we weren’t secretly pining for each other,” he quoted her words back to her.

“I lied,” Astrid admitted while placing a string of kisses down his nose and nipping the tip. 

The gasp changed to a growl, his grip on her upper arms tightening.

“Santa doesn’t bring presents to little girls who lie,” using her words against her, again.

She kissed him, again.  Longer, lingering.

They were side by side now, the blankets becoming tangled.

“Did you lie?” she whispered, not knowing what to do next if he denied it, but also feeling like she couldn’t let another minute pass without settling the matter.

He propped himself up on an elbow and raised an eyebrow at her.

“I don’t recall either confirming or denying your assertion at the time,” wanting to tease her in return.

“But,” he rushed to continue upon seeing her immediately crestfallen, “I will make it absolutely clear now,” each word followed by a brush of his lips across her jaw and down her neck, “that you,” lifting his head to smile at her, “are the one I desire.”

Tears of happiness welled up and slipped down her cheeks.  

“Happy Christmas, my starshine,” he whispered against her lips.

[lets-just-daydream]

If requests are still open please, PLEASE continue the reader is Moira's kid. I HAVE MCFALLEN IN LOVE AND I CANT GET UP HSHSHSHDHDHDHCIEK. I need more of my cowboy please, and thank you. Your blog always makes me feel better :)

Alrighty, I've had many requests for a continuation of the Moira's daughter reader and McCree fic so here I am! Sorry it took so long ^^

Also: not safe for work warning uwu

*

The following day, Moira brought you to her home with McCree in tow. You chatted with Moira, explaining what led you to leave, how your life had been, where you were living and you made it back to Overwatch.

"That's quite the story," she replied, hanging onto every last word you said. "I've missed you very much, dear."

"I missed you too," you sighed.

You played with your lower lip between your teeth as you agonised about what to do. You stepped into Moira's home and she gave you a quick tour and showed you to a room where you would be staying.

"Remember darling, you can stay as long as you'd like," Moira reminded.

"I know. But… won't you come back to Overwatch with me? Please?" you finally asked.

Moira stood for a moment, pondering how to address the situation.

"There's nothing there for me anymore," she started. "When everything went wrong and Blackwatch fell, I moved around many places until I found somewhere that would accept not just me, but my brilliant work as well. I could never go back there."

With the finality in her voice, you knew there was no convincing her otherwise.

"I understand," you wavered. "Could I have a moment alone, please?"

Moira nodded, gave you a peck on the forehead and departed downstairs to the kitchen to fix up dinner.

You wondered about staying here. Could you? You couldn't speak the language and you didn't know anyone. You would have to find a job and a place to live - you couldn't live with your mother forever.

A soft knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts.

"Come in," you called.

"How ya holdin' up, sweetpea?" McCree asked, entering your room. He dropped onto the bed beside you and fiddled with his own fingers.

"I don't know what to do," you began. "On one hand, I've missed her so much and if I leave, I don't know when I'll see her again. And on the other hand, apart from her, there's nothing for me here. Overwatch is important and I feel like it would be an insult to just leave it behind."

"Putting the details aside," McCree said, taking your hands in his. "What does your heart tell you?"

"My heart?" you asked, surprised. "Jesse, I didn't realise you were such a softie!"

McCree blushed and murmured an apology.

"Sorry, I know you're trying to help," you apologised. "Half of me wants to stay and half of me… wants to go back with you."

At your declaration, McCree gulped. He was excited that there was a chance that you would go back… with him.

"I think I know where I need to be," you confessed, gripping McCree's hands tighter.

Your gaze flicked up to McCree's face and he stared back, concern in his eyes. You leaned forward, your lips separating. McCree's look of concern switched to an expression of happiness as he leaned forward and met your lips in a soft kiss halfway. McCree's hand trailed up your arm and past your shoulder, coming to a rest at the back of your head, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss with a heated passion.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and McCree pulled you closer, sitting you on his lap and pressing your stomach flush against his.

He continued kissing you, his tongue darting past your lips and sliding against your own tongue. He let out a soft groan and you separated, gasping for air.

"Jesse," you whispered, breathless as you held eye contact, not daring to look away.

He held you close, his obvious erection pressing against your own clothed core.

"Sweetheart, I-" McCree croaked.

"Dinner's just about ready!" Moira called from the bottom of the stairs.

You sighed leaned your forehead against McCree's, your limbs still entangled with his.

"I don't want to be without you," you whispered.

"I'm so glad to hear you say that," McCree beamed.

You made your way downstairs, McCree needing an extra couple of minutes to make himself decent.

"How are you settling in, dear?" Moira asked, serving you a dish.

"Good," you replied, unsure how to bring up the fact that you would be leaving with McCree tomorrow.

You made idle chatter and when you finished eating, McCree helped you clear the table as you started on stacking the dishwasher.

"Darling, have you decided wh-"

Moira's question was interrupted by her mobile ringing. She excused herself and answered.

"When are you gonna tell her?" McCree asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"I'll tell her when she gets off the phone. She needs to know."

McCree replied with a thoughtful hum as he watched you tidy up, enjoying the view down your shirt every time you bent down.

With a lick of his lips, he stepped toward you and pressed himself against your back, unable to keep his hands off you.

"Jesse, she's just in the next room!" you whispered angrily.

"Alright, alright. Sorry," McCree apologised, stepping back with raised hands. "You just look so s-"

"Sorry about that," Moira apologised, walking back into the kitchen. "I have to go take care of some urgent business. I shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. Then we can talk about what you're going to do, my sweet."

Moira placed a soft peck to your forehead and as soon as she had entered the room, she left the house.

"Well, well," McCree said with a suggestive grin.

"Jesse," you said with a roll of your eyes.

McCree picked you up and sat you on the counter, positioning himself between your legs, kissing and licking at your neck.

"We have two hours to ourselves," McCree whispered against your reddening skin. "I don't know about you but… I can't wait until we get back home to have you for myself."

McCree nibbled at your neck, eliciting a soft moan from you.

"Don't hold back," McCree encouraged.

He raised a hand and kneaded at your clothed breast, feeling your nipple harden beneath your shirt.

"Jesse," you breathed, feeling heat pool between your thighs.

McCree pulled you toward him, your clothed core being pressed against his erection sent a wave of heat through you and you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He picked you up off the counter and carried you out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into your room.

He dropped you onto the bed and positioned himself above you. He grinded his erection against you and you both moaned at the friction. You pulled his shirt over his head and flung it across the room, rubbing your hands all over his chest, abs and back.

"You like what you see?" he asked with a breathless whisper.

"I do," you praised, capturing his lips in a heated kiss.

McCree pulled your shirt off of you and dropped it, marveling at your breasts. You let out a breathy moan as he took one nipple between his lips and the other between his fingers. He licked and sucked at the sensitive skin until you were practically begging him to take you.

"Please," you breathed.

"Please what?" he teased.

You pouted and crossed your arms over your chest.

"Alright," McCree relented with a chuckle.

McCree moved to slide his pants off but a sound from downstairs stopped him.

"I'm back!" Moira called, the sound of the front door shutting behind her. "It was a false alarm."

McCree pulled himself off of you, scrambling to put his shirt back on and make himself presentable. You did the same, hurriedly dressing and fixing your hair, heading downstairs to greet Moira.

"I'm so glad you're back!" you chirped, embracing Moira.

“Me too, dear,” she replied, reciprocating the hug. “Now, if you would like to unpack your things, you can have the pick of any bedroom you like. Or I could help you find your own place nearby.”

Your heart dropped. You had to tell her you had made your decision; that you were going back Overwatch with McCree.

“Actually…” you started, squaring your shoulders.

McCree stepped behind you, fully dressed and presentable. He placed a hand on your shoulder and Moira stared at his hand like it was a rat. You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves.

“I’m going back to Overwatch,” you announced.

Moira squinted her eyes at you and McCree’s hand squeezed your shoulder in reassurance.

“You’re… not going to stay?” Moira asked.

You could hear the hurt in her voice as she stared down at the ground. “I just got you back and you’re already leaving?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “But just like you say there’s nothing for you there, there’s nothing for me here.”

Moira glared up at McCree, an accusatory snarl on her face. “I have you to blame for this.”

You stepped forward and took her arm in your hand. You could figure how she was feeling. You had disappeared off the years and then suddenly you found her in a random country.

“He didn’t have anything to do with this. In fact, it’s because of him that I’m here and that I found you. Please don’t blame Jesse,” you pleaded, rubbing her arm.

Moira only had one question on her lips. It was obvious but she needed to ask anyway. “You love him, don’t you?”

You stilled, your eyes widening and you felt McCree stiffen behind you.

“I... “ you breathed.

“You don’t have to say anything,” McCree murmured comfortingly.

“Thank you, Jesse,” you said, turning to face the cowboy.

"Well," Moira exhaled, regarding the sight in front of her. "I would love for you to stay but I understand. Feel free to stay as long as you like before you go back home."

Moira stalked out of the kitchen and upstairs to change. You and McCree stared, surprised at the lack of outburst.

"She took that better than I thought she would," you mused.

McCree pulled you into a hug and smiled. "A pleasant surprise if you ask me. Time for bed? We can look at flights back home tomorrow."

You followed McCree upstairs and plopped onto your bed, surprised that McCree flopped in beside you.

"Oh, Jesse," you giggled. "I don't know if… we should-"

"Don't be gross," McCree said with a chuckle. "I just want to cuddle ya. No ulterior motives here… yet."

McCree cuddled up behind you, pressing his front to your back and cradling you in his arms. It was probably the best sleep you'd ever had.

The following morning, the two of you wandered downstairs, the smell of a delicious breakfast in the air.

"Good morning," Moira greeted, gesturing for you to sit at the table. "Eat up. I have a surprise for you."

You and McCree exchanged glances and you sat down, the cowboy taking the seat beside you. He placed his hand your thigh and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I understand you've made your decision," Moira said, taking the seat opposite you. "I'm not here to try and change your mind… I just ask that you keep in touch and visit when you can," Moira said, her voice sad.

"Of course," you breathed, reaching across and taking your mother's hand in yours. "You're not going to lose me like that again."

Moira gave you a smile and brandished an envelope, handing it to you. "This is for you and McCree."

You took the envelope and opened it, gasping at the contents. Two first class tickets back home.

"Oh, m-mum this is… we can't accept this," you stammered, pulling the tickets out and showing McCree.

The cowboy whistled, not knowing what to say to the kind gesture.

"They're for this evening," Moira explained "However, they can be changed easily if this doesn't suit you."

You stood from your seat and went around to Moira, engulfing her in a hug. "Thank you."

You spent the rest of the day enjoying Moira's company and promising that it wouldn't be long until your next visit. Arriving at the airport, you exchanged tearful goodbyes and you waved at Moira as you walked along the glass bridge into the plane, hand in hand with McCree.

"I'm glad you're comin' home with me," McCree whispered into your ear, his nose brushing lightly on your skin.

"Of course," you breathed, trying to suppress the shiver that threatened to pulse through you.

You took your seats on the plane and a crew member brought you two glasses of champagne, placing them on your trays.

"Oh, we didn't order these," you frowned, trying to hand the drinks back.

"Ah, these are courtesy of a Ms. O'Deorain," the air hostess explained.

"Well, damn!" McCree chuckled. "I used to hate 'er but I gotta say, I'm warming up to your old mother."

You laughed and lifted your glass, clinking it against his and taking a sip. "She's great. And you're great… things are finally going right," you sighed happily, reclining back in your seat, hand in hand with McCree.

[chaoticneutralwriter]

Twice Fallen

I implore thy loving kindness,

that even as thou didst stand beside thy dear Son as He hung upon the Cross,

so wilt thou also stand by me,

a poor sinner?

guardian demon! Jimin x reader

word count: 6.2k (the longest 6.2k of my life)

genre: angst, romance, comedy, supernatural, drama, slow-burn

Related Works: See Masterlist under Guardian Demon!Jimin

A/N: There’s a lot of Catholicism and religious things going on because well... Angels and demons LOL This is all a work of fiction inspired from real places so that’s my disclaimer here. Also it’s like...half edited xD Other than that....NAE PI TTAM NUNMUL

As the days went on, you become more riddled with an anxiousness that had overtaken every nerve in your body as a multitude of thoughts swirl around your head like an endless whirlpool. First and foremost of course, was the fact that you had exactly five days before you and your friend were due to fly out to attend the BTS concert. That alone was enough to put you in a loop, it had made you so restless that you had gone out of your way to ask co-workers if they could cover your shift — a needless attempt; you knew you were only trying to trick yourself into thinking those were your only first world problems. You shouldn’t have been as surprised when Emily had told you she had already agreed to take your shift once you came around to asking her.

“You asked me that like last week.” She had laughed good-naturedly, patting you on the shoulder in a sympathetic way. “Now I really think you need those days off if you’re starting to lose your memory like this.”

You really don’t have any memory of this though.

But it wasn’t hard to recall Jimin’s words of him promising you that he would make this trip work, no matter what. Not that you had doubted his abilities, but it’s never like you to leave everything up to one person (supernatural or not); you blame the many botched group projects in college you’ve been through for that. More so, you have come to realize, is that a small part of you had done it in hopes of being able to do something for Jimin that would repay even a fraction of what he’s doing for you. This was probably a small, insignificant thing in comparison but it was something you had some semblance of control over that didn’t necessarily require any otherworldly intervention. You should’ve known it was a losing battle from the start.

With that being said, any thoughts of the aforementioned guardian demon these days automatically leads you back to the conversation you had with Jungkook. It hasn’t faded since those three days ago, merely sitting on the back of your mind and only growing in size. You catch yourself spacing out a few times just thinking about all sorts of things that involve him.

Like maybe —  actually — giving up your soul to him.

….Yeah that was quite the conclusion you came to but you can almost pin point the exact moment when you did. It came to you when you had spilled your guts about Jimin to Jungkook on that rooftop garden; never having been able to put into words your honest thoughts about him until the other demon had practically cornered you into doing it. Despite the embarrassment threatening to consume you whole, it was eye opening for you in which you’ve accepted that the only way you can come close to repaying Jimin was to give up your life to him or at least promise it in due time and… you’re okay with that idea.

Weird and concerning, rightfully so but it’s like the half of you that thinks this is utterly mad and the other, more nihilistic side of you had come into terms with one another in the form of one sole agreement that if it had to be any demon, better it be him right?

As they say, you’re only here for a good time, not a long time.

You exhale through your nose in a quiet huff of laughter, subtle enough that the lady passing by behind you doesn’t pay you any notice as you’re restocking the jewellery racks. Today is one of those rare moments that you’re given a task out on the floor away from cash for once and though you’re elated at being able to do something else for a change, your thoughts don’t revolve around whether or not you can fit just one more pair of earrings on this already overstuffed looking hook.

Even if you had settled on the idea of giving your soul to Jimin, the most important question is how? Theoretically, it seems simple enough, at least what you’re picturing in your head — you tell him you want to do it, he says yes and then gets you to sign it away in agreement in whatever form the contract is (maybe something similar to your contract with him now but altered? Who knows). Or maybe in your complete lack of knowledge in demonology, it’s way more complex than that. You could technically ask Jungkook…

Would that even be a good idea? You’re not sure, especially not after the talk you had with him — keeping that ‘good’ head of yours in tact and whatnot. But then again, you’re not entirely sure what he meant by it anyways. You pause your train of thought until a heaving sigh escapes past your lips, your shoulder deflating as your lips purse into a thin line when you realize; you don’t even have any means to contact Jungkook. He’s more of an entity who comes and goes with nothing to tether him to this world, so he’s expressed he’s never had the need for things like a mobile device.

Which means your other option for getting any type of information on this would be from the main demon himself; Jimin.

Except for two things.

One: how does one broach the topic of forfeiting their own soul over to their guardian demon? You suppose it’s not exactly an ‘over dinner’ sort of conversation. The closest thing to a timing you had in mind would be after the concert; fitting in a way where you get your wish fulfilled and now you must pay the price owed.

However, that leads you to two; you don’t have a single clue where the guardian demon in question had gone off to. The last you saw of him was when he had walked you home those nights ago and from then, you haven’t heard from him since. You’ve tried shooting another text and hell, even pushed aside your anxiety and pride to call him for the first time ever, only to receive no response for either occasion; just radio silence. And it’s not even on the matter of telling him you’re willing to give your soul up for him — he still hasn’t told you what your flight, where your tickets or your hotel is!

You force yourself to breathe in deeply before exhaling slowly. Relax, you still technically have time, you try to reassure yourself. Not as much as you want for not knowing some important travel details, but enough that you’d still be able to set off without a hitch.

You trust Jimin.

He hasn’t let you down yet, nor do you think he will any time soon.

You’re confident.

-

Rome, Vatican City

A sigh involuntarily escapes the demon’s lips as he takes in the view in front of him, having not imagined that he would be here, of all places after so many years. The city is alive even if it is late into the night, the piazza lit up to cast a romantic glow on the cobble streets as crowds of people continue to stroll around in leisure. It should be no surprise though; the mild spring weather is well under way here, so much that Jimin thinks it might even be above seasonal. That doesn’t stop him from wearing the long, black overcoat over his airy chiffon button down shirt and the way it billows out behind him as he strides down this Italian street has people turning heads thinking he should be in Milan rather than here, much less how warm he must be feeling underneath it.

It pulls a small smile from him, a small distraction from his purpose here and a last ditch effort to put himself in a better mood before he has to put on a cloaking spell, hiding him from any mortal eyes. Before long, Jimin is upon the entrance to the grand circular plaza. In the centre of it, he spots the unmistakable shape of the Egyptian obelisk, the tall monument sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the Roman-Catholic structures surrounding it. Strangely enough, the more he stared at it, the more Jimin begins to feel in-like with the structure — a nameless fixture in history that eventually had its roots erased, “christianized” and erected by some old fart named Pope Sixtus V to celebrate the triumph of the Church over paganism.

Ugh.

At least it was a witness to St. Peter’s crucification (or so it was apparently said).

Jimin rolls his neck, a twitch in the muscle that had it stiffen uncomfortably before he exhales loudly through his nose.

Right.

He reminds himself to be mindful of where he is, of what he’s about to do. He may have a get out of jail free card but it won’t be nearly enough credentials to win any favours here. So Jimin steels himself, squaring his shoulders and with much more effort than he wants to admit, he begins to make his way across the plaza into a demon’s lion den. He takes care in keeping pace, steps unfaltering and gaze hardened in resolution. Jimin maneuvers inconspicuously through the lingering crowds of tourist and locals alike with the grace of a seasoned dancer but no matter how much he ducks and weaves, he cannot escape the burning sensation of being watched like an ant under a magnifying glass by the figures that seem to close in on him with every step he takes to the basilica.

All 140 of them.

And they all seem to whisper in their harrowing voices, the same obtrusive word in his ear.

Demon.

Jimin is clenching his jaw and fists by the time he reaches the grandiose staircase, his nails digging into his clammy palms until they leave deep crescent indents. A ragged exhales passes his lips, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until now and it makes him chastise himself. He passed the Apostolic Palace just fine, not even a single sign of getting smote. If he’s breaking out into a cold sweat from a little bit of verbal intimidation here, then what good is he by the time he has to go inside?

Jimin’s eyes slide up to take in the building that has become one of the most symbolic landmark in the religious world and the reason for his odd visit to a place he should be avoiding at all cost.

The Papal Basilica of St. Peter in the Vatican, or otherwise simply known as St. Peter’s Basilica.

Its dome shape roof looms above him, an imposing shadow even if it is lit by a multitude of beams of spotlights along its base and all around the facade — the lights only adding to its size. Doesn’t help that at either ends of the steps are the statues of St. Paul with his golden sword and St. Peter, the man himself, as if they’re there to personally greet all those who enter this holy space; whether with open arms or a strike of sword in His name, Jimin is not sure.

The basilica is closed to the public, the hours of which it is open has long since passed but despite that, Jimin waits, fixed in his spot as he simply stares unseeingly, a myriad of events all leading up to this very moment passing before his eyes.

-

“I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen.” Jungkook states sternly after he knocks back his drink. He places his glass down on the sleek black marble bar top a little too roughly. For once, Jimin refrains from commenting, not wanting to anger the young demon who no doubt, has zero tolerance for banter right now. As they say, let sleeping tigers lie. So Jimin straightens more in his seat, giving Jungkook his full attention.

“First, you must seek the one who has been given the keys of the kingdom of heaven by His Holiness — the gatekeeper, St. Peter, at the place where he is buried. He will be your witness and judge.”

-

With a deep inhale, Jimin lets the cloaking spell encase him like a thin, dark veil and after releasing his breath, he finally takes his first steps upwards towards the basilica. The closer he gets, the heavier his feet seems to feel as if a weight is pushing down on him but he persists until he reaches the tall iron gate of the entrance. If he cranes his neck, he can just make out the relief of St. Peter being handed the keys by Jesus carved into the stone, below the central window where no doubt the pope had made his appearance to the masses. For the first time in his life, Jimin feels immensely smaller as he stands in-between the columns, their height seemingly never-ending as if they are reaching heaven itself.

He vehemently tears his gaze away, teeth chewing at his bottom lip as he works to loosen his muscles that have gone tense. It’s like his own body has developed a mind of its own and is screaming at him to leave, get away. But he pushes those warnings aside and within a few strides, he finds himself passing the threshold and into the atrium. Even though it’s only the entrance hall, he can already feel the grandeur of the basilica from its high dome ceilings and archways. Within this singular space, it embodies the old and new in its walls as ancient inscriptions and plaques commemorating popes who had seen the construction of this holy building and in the fine marble floor as coat of arms. To the right at the end of the portico, is the statue of Emperor Constantine and to the left is Charlemagne, both on noble steeds carved out of white marble that seem like they’ll come to life at any moment.

Jimin’s jaw clench and unclenches, a nervous tick as he surveys his surroundings and with a sweep of his dark eyes, they land on a pair of bronze double doors.

-

“When you enter the atrium, you will find five bronze doors; The Door of Death, The Door of Good and Evil, The Door of the Sacraments, The Central Door, and The Holy Door. You must past through ‘The Holy Door’ to evoke the passage from sin to grace — to show your willingness to make peace with God, restore what has been damaged in yourself and reshape your heart.”

-

It’s not hard to figure out which door Jungkook was referring to. As he stops just before them, Jimin can see the pictures in each panel along the length of it, depicting various scenes of man’s sin and his redemption through God’s mercy. His eyes trail from the infamous disobedience of Adam and Eve to Christ’s Baptism in the Jordan. They linger on The Need for Forgiveness for a while longer than he intended.

Just how forgiving can God be? Jimin wonders.

For all the times he’s heard angels preach about His benevolence, can God extend that mercy to even a demon?

Well, Jimin huffs a quiet laugh under his breath, God had forgiven man after all and he thinks that’s a bit of a stretch.

The door is normally bricked up, opened once every twenty-five years to celebrate the Holy Year but it will prove to be no issue for Jimin. It’s not a matter of how he’s going to pass through the doorway, more so it’s what will happen when he does.

-

Jimin sees Jungkook’s lips quirk up in the slightest and he gets the feeling that the grimace he’s trying to hold back still showed on his face.

“I’m telling you now brother, this is the easiest part of the process and even then, I can’t tell you what will happen when you pass through those doors.”

“So am I supposed to feel enlightened then?”

“More like I actually don’t know. When you’re a blank slate being indoctrinated into this, you don’t feel anything other than the feeling of having your soul bared. But you,” Jungkook pauses to point an almost accusing finger in Jimin’s direction, “you’re a demon, so it’s either going to tickle or you’ll have your soul ripped to shreds.”

-

All he knows is that he’s willing, and that has to count for something. At least, that’s what he hopes. His thoughts unconsciously drift to you briefly, finding himself holding onto the image like a beacon of light in the darkness and with a swallow, he steps forward. Jimin doesn’t get a face full of metal, in fact, not even so much as a shockwave of resistance like he expected that for a split second, he’s bemused at how easily he passes through.

But then he feels it.

Something spears right through him, an invisible force so strong that it leaves him winded, knees nearly buckling and he all but finds himself stumbling through to the other side, right into the central nave. He forgets where he is for a moment, trying to gather his wits as he takes in deep breaths, trying to calm his thundering heart but it seems almost futile. True to Jungkook’s words, the moment he passed through those doors, something had torn away not just the cloaking spell he had placed on himself, but almost everything about his being — the glamour that he wore, the face that he stole, his magic, everything. He’s never felt so exposed but as he raises a trembling hand to his eyes, it seems nothing about him has changed.

Jimin balls his hand into a fist, hoping to lessen the tremors but when they don’t stop, he kisses his teeth, slightly perturbed. He shouldn’t complain, rather he should be thankful that he’s still in one piece. After all, he only just crossed the first hurdle. Without wanting to dawdle or waste time, he boldly begins to make his way.

The nave is a sight to behold, the space so high and open with its coloured marbles, gold trimmings and ornate detailing of heavenly imagery. No doubt in the day, the place would be filled with people from all around the world wanting to be able to bask in the awe of the architecture, built by the hands of arguably some of the greatest artists the world has ever known, that embodies all of the majesty, strength and beauty of God.

But now, devoid of any life, it is enveloped in an eerie silence that the soft footsteps of his loafers on the marble floors seem magnified, his only source of light was the moon streaming through pockets in the high domes, casting a cool blue haze on everything, making it seem all the more like Jimin had entered into a spiritual realm.

He passes by pillars with their niches filled with statues of saints who had founded religious orders and along the perimeter of the transept and above the arches, are the twenty eight figures of the Christian and human virtues, staring down at him, watching as he makes his way further into the the nave towards the place he must go. Jimin keeps to averting his gaze downward, determined to push away the incessant itch that has begun to crawl along his skin, heart still pounding like he’s ran a marathon rather than walk at a brisk pace like he is now and he fears that it will give him away in this quiet atmosphere, the sound so much more defeaning to his ears.

Sweat begins to form along his hairline and soon he finds himself short of breath. It makes him slow to almost a stop, light-headedness washing over him and he has to blink away the dark spots that appear in his vision, feeling sick to his stomach. When he looks next, it seems like the long hallway ahead of him had elongated but when he looks up, he’s actually only a few metres away from being directly under the impressive Baroque Canopy. No wonder his skin felt like it was burning from the inside while he’s getting chills at the same time.

Running a hand through his hair, he hastens once again.

-

“If, by some miracle, you find yourself inside, make your way to the end of the nave, pass the Canopy and St. Peter’s tomb, until you reach the top of the cruciform. There you will find ‘The Chapel of the Cathedra’ where you will kneel before his throne.”

“Why not his tomb?” Jimin couldn’t help but to ask. It made more sense to go see the man directly where he was supposedly buried.

“It’s symbolic because it’s a place where St. Peter had always sat, teaching and instructing the faithful of Rome. It’s only appropriate that is where you will ‘learn’ about those teachings with the guidance of the Holy Spirit.”

-

The altar, for lack of better words, is grandiose — it’s structure solely created to enclose the wooden throne of St. Peter, displaying it in a manner to show the significance and worship of the holy relic. The chair is a combination of the original acacia wood and gilded bronze done by Gian Lorenzo Bernini. It’s richly ornate with bas-relief, the base which it sat upon is made of black and white marble with four gigantic bronze statues, making the chair look as if it was suspended in golden clouds. On either sides, there are statues of saints from the Latin and Greek Church. At the crown are the gilt and stucco of Gloria with a host of angels among the rays of light and billowing clouds.

And right at the centre is a window of Bohemian glass, divided into twelve sections, representing the Twelve Apostles with a single dove against it — the symbol of the Holy Spirit, the soul of the Church.

Jimin stood, stuck at the very borders where the pews begin, overwhelmed with apprehension but shockingly, entranced as well. He would imagine the two windows situated on either side of the apse would let in brilliant streams of warm, golden light from the afternoon sun, giving the place an even more mystical look that would easily ensnare anyone into becoming a believer. Now though, with the light of the moon, it appears just as ghostly as the rest of the basilica — sombre yet still hauntingly beautiful. Jimin swallows once, running his tongue along his dry lips before he summons the strength to force his legs into motion.

They were by far the hardest steps he’d ever taken, his feet feeling like lead as he drags them one excruciating step at a time until he all but collapses onto his knees once he reaches the dark wooden prayer bench. His skin feels like it’s breaking out into hives, the itch becoming so unbearable at this point that he thinks he’ll go mad and resort to ripping away his skin himself. Every muscle in him is tense, any small movements causing them to twitch and spasm painfully and when he finally cranes his neck to look up at the altar, he hears his bones crack.

The fog in his head threatens to overwhelm him, stun him into a stupor until he can do nothing but slowly wither away into ashes. He fights to stay alert and with much effort, tries to remember Jungkook’s next words.

-

“From here, it’s pretty simple… If you can call it that.” Jungkook says a little too off-handedly, as if he was discussing how to change the battery to a remote. “You take Him into your heart and say His prayer.”

“….There are a lot of ‘prayers’.” Jimin deadpans. He may be a demon, but all demons are aware of the ridiculous amounts of prayers said in His name or in any of the other holiness, whether from being hissed out in angry fury by crossing paths with angels or in more unlucky cases, through exorcising.

Jimin’s only familiar with the sign of the cross, uttered to him by a man who couldn’t have picked a worser day to piss him off (he almost felt bad for the police who had to find him the following morning).

Jungkook flips his pretty raven locks out of his face, lazily reaching to pour himself another glass as he reclines back into his seat.

“You’ll know the one.”

-

The younger demon said he would know the prayer once he’s here but his mind is drawing blanks, unable to even begin searching for any hints. Through his hazy vision, the dove appears to have a halo of light surrounding it, pulsating as if it had life. He stares, fixated on that one point, waiting for who knows what. Just when the silence became too stifling, he hears a sound. It’s so soft that he can’t decipher it, much less if it was real or something he hallucinated in his delirious mind. It sounded like a whisper but he can’t make out any words, at least, not ones he recognizes.

It comes and goes, flowing like it’s being carried by an invisible breeze and before him, the dove seems to glow even brighter. It compels him to close his eyes and past a dry throat, he takes in a breath and from his lips, the first lines spills forth.

“Deus meus

ex toto corde poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum…”

The words burn like a hot poker being pricked along his skin, a poison pouring from his own mouth as every line was another stabbing pain. Jimin speaks until his knuckles turn white from gripping the bench so tightly, nails digging into the wood and causing small cracks to form in the grain but still through gritted teeth, he continues the prayer faithfully.

“…. Ideo firmiter propono, adiuvante gratia Tua,

de cetero me non peccaturum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum.”

As he reaches the final verse, his once porcelain face is drained of any colour, marred by fissures and cracks, the flesh burnt at the edges like paper caught on fire with spidery veins snaking along the surface, revealing him for what he truly is underneath. His body shakes uncontrollably and with one last sharp inhale, he utters.

“Amen.”

-

“So I say the ‘prayer,’” Jimin reaffirms, resisting the urge to use air quotations. “And then that’s it? Done?”

Jungkook throws his head back with a laugh, his bunny teeth flashing as he tries to reel himself back in. He shakes his head, almost out of pity. Jimin doesn’t miss that, nor does he like it and his narrowing eyes prompts the younger demon to elaborate.

“You can very well be ‘done’ right on the spot, granted if you even make it that far — I’d honestly be very impressed if you do.”  Jungkook pauses to take a sip of his drink, smacking his lips a little when he swallows the dark liquid. “What’s more important is what comes after you say the prayer; if your will has yet to be broken, it will appear.”

“What will?”

“The Chalice.”

-

Jimin’s eyes, which had been shut tightly, snaps open with trepidation as they wildly scan before him. He tries to collect himself but only just as a gold shape catches his eyes. A hoarse chuckle escapes him unintentionally, the sound a mixture between disbelief and immense relief.

The chalice sits unassumingly on the ornate communion table a few steps in front of him, as if it had been there the entire time. It doesn’t shine with lustre nor is it bejewelled with any precious gems, Jimin was surprised that he had noticed it at all. But nevertheless, he’s relieved to see it there; the fruit of his labour thus far. He takes a moment to just breathe, inhaling and exhaling deeply, damp forehead pressing into the wooden prayer bench. His legs feel like stone, as if anchored down on the spot but he knows he has to eventually get up.

He’s so close.

Jimin grunts, hauling himself up on shaky arms by using the bench as leverage. He leans back heavily on it, limbs protesting as his eyes lock on the gold cup that was still there, beckoning him. He takes another minute to steady himself, running his tongue over his dry, cracked lips and once he’s sure he’s stable enough, he begins to make his way. He nearly falls over from that one step alone, arms flying back to catch himself on the prayer bench just in time. Shutting his eyes, it takes everything in him not to curse aloud, given where he is right now so Jimin settles in letting out a frustrated growl instead. Once the feeling passes, he clenches his teeth and tries again.

This time, Jimin manages, keeping his steps to a minimal with one arm clutching around his midsection as if to hold himself upright. It’s a slow process, feeling like he’s travelling at a snail’s pace but eventually, he limps his way there. When the table is within reach, his hands slams down onto the surface to brace himself, a loud bang reverberating throughout the basilica. The force of it disturbs the chalice slightly, causing it to slosh the liquid inside and spill over on the white tablecloth. Jimin recoils on instinct at the sight.

Up close, he can see the finer details of the cup; how dull and worn it actually looks as if it had been used for over centuries but despite the scratches and scuffs, it had withstood time.

But that’s not where the focus of his attention is.

-

Jungkook’s taken on a more morose demeanour, now only fiddling his half empty glass lost in his own thoughts —  or perhaps reminiscing, Jimin’s not sure. Suddenly, he breaks out into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as his gaze flits to meet Jimin’s.

“The Chalice will appear to only those who are deemed worthy. It is the final act you must do in order to prove your faith and commitment, to cleanse your soul and begin anew.”

A beat passes, wherein Jimin sits in turmoil with his own emotions. This entire ordeal was a lot to take in, the things Jungkook had told him sounding crazier than the last. Everything could go wrong so easily and so quickly that at some point, he questioned the validity of Jungkook’s method but shoot those doubts down when he reminds himself that not just anyone would know the particulars of this in such great detail.

“So do I baptize myself in the holy water? Get a new name and everything?” Jimin asks jokingly in an attempt to break the tension but even he hears the uncertainty straining his voice.

“You’re not going to anoint yourself with it.” Jungkook sighs, taking his glass in his hand if only to scrutinize it against the light. Then, he gestures it towards Jimin.


“You’re going to drink it.”

-

He stares unblinkingly into the pool of water inside the chalice, watching it as if at any second, he’ll see a vision within its depths. But all he sees is the faint glow of his irises reflected back at him —  two crimson drops that threaten to transform the pure water into blood.

Jungkook’s words continue to echo around in Jimin’s head, the audacity of it all never leaving.

Drink it, he says.

Of all the crazy things Jungkook had told him that night, that one takes the cake. It’s no myth that holy water to a demon is like arsenic to a human; a drop of it would greatly weaken even the strongest of demons, burning skin and bone like acid, anything more and you’ll be nothing but ashes.

So to go as far as to consume it.

A bead of sweat rolls down Jimin’s clenched jaw, a million thoughts running through his mind. A part of him admits he’s terrified of what will become of him should he choose to drink the holy water, this being the closest he’s ever been to staring death in the face. He’s lived without fear of anything for so long because he was the to be feared and even death didn’t scare him because he had nothing to lose.

Now, that’s all changed. Now, he has everything to lose.

The memories, the sounds, the scent, the warmth….

He doesn’t want to lose you.

Jimin draws in a shuddering breath, eyes slipping shut if only to escape to those feelings for a moment of reprieve. It brings a strange sense of comfort to him, a balm to his aching muscles and a moment of clarity to his hazy mind. He longs to go back to your little home, to catch just even a glimpse of your face but he’s here, a million miles away, battered, vulnerable and probably looking like every bit of vermin angels think demons are.

Yet by some miracle, he’s alive.

He’s alive when he should’ve been dead from the moment he walked through those doors.

Which means he has a chance.

Slowly, Jimin opens his eyes again, takes in his final moments and tentatively, he reaches for the cup.

-

“It’s supposed to be a painless process, which is why it’s foolproof — angels being ‘ethical’ and all that. But you’re a demon so if you die, you can’t blame me.” Jungkook disclaims, shooting back his drink and immediately begins to fill it up again. The younger had long opted to just have the bottle beside him rather than needing to wave the bartender down to ask for a refill every time. Jimin doesn’t complain as he too needed to refill constantly; he’s lost track of how many glasses he’s downed in order to swallow this hard pill the younger demon had just given him. They’re about halfway done with their second one.

“But now that you know, do you still want to go through with it?”

Jungkook’s pinned him with a hard stare, more serious than Jimin’s ever seen him but it’s with very good reasons.

He’d basically been told he has a fifty-fifty chance of killing himself in the process on three different occasions, willingly.

A humourless laugh passes through his full lips, wondering briefly if he should’ve taken his chances on the fellow he cancelled on. Then again, Jungkook’s someone he knows and trusts, so he thinks the odds are better, if only slightly. Jimin leans over and takes the bottle, pouring more liquor into his glass until it was about half full before placing it down on the bar counter.

Lifting his glass, he swirls it once and then holds it out towards Jungkook to toast.

“Then can I get an ‘amen’?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, mouth dropping a little, completely appalled and Jimin is prepared to catch the other’s glass should it slip from his loosen grip. Thankfully, the younger demon snaps out of his shock before that happens, resting the crystal glass on the tops of his muscular thigh. Then, as Jimin’s words finally sink into him, Jungkook cocks his head, looks him dead in the eyes and says.

“You’re a crazy son of a bitch.”

Jimin can only laugh in response because he can’t disagree there before he brings the glass to his lips.

-

There’s a strong metallic taste that reaches his tongue first, one he can probably attribute to the old cup, but then comes the first sip.

The effect is immediate.

Jimin begins to choke violently, gasping and retching so hard that he doesn’t realize he’s dropped the chalice until he hears a resounding clang of metal hitting marble. The rest of its contents spews out, soaking the floor and table but he doesn’t have the mind to think if he was meant to drink everything because all he feels is the burning.

A white hot pain racks through every nerve in his body as if he’s being incinerated from the inside out. It makes him keel over, clawing at his throat until they leave deep red marks in their wake and a guttural, agonizing scream finally tears past his clenched teeth. Jimin writhes and convulses, eyes screwing shut and trying desperately to drown out this torture but his limbs feel like they’re being torn apart and his head is about to split open. He’s so out of his mind that above his own sounds of torment, the ringing in his ears begin to sound more like the notes of an organ being played.

He doesn't know how long he lays there, slowly suffocating to death but he can’t stand this any longer. With wild abandon, Jimin’s eyes shoot open, searching for something, anything, anyone, only to meet the serene gazes of the numerous saints and heavenly hosts painted into the stucco ceiling.

Please. He cries, pleads, begs.

Make it stop.

He feels his body seize before all strength leaves him, his hands falling limp to his side and his vision blurs until they can no longer see past the inky black tears that begin to stream from his eyes.

Everything falls silent.

And then he feels nothing.

[hypnotixstorm]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* to do list *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Key

Normal Text = Have NOT started working on the request

Bold and Pink Text = I am CURRENTLY working on the request

Once I have completed a request it will be REMOVED from this list

Can I get an imagine of Hiei from Yu Yu Hakusho? Maybe an AU hundreds of years ago where he ends up caring for a human woman and teaching her how to defend herself. If you don't like that one, anything you think of.

Character: Kanda from DGM NSFW Prompt: "Make me." Love youuuuuu 😘

How about a NSFW scenario of Kakashi coming home to his sweet little naughty civilian S/O? 😜 A bit of role play where they call him sensei while he's doing them on the kitchen table?

Thanks for the Soi Bean Post! This gonna be my last Soi Fon request. Sorry for being quite a Soi Queen freak. For my request can you Soi after shower decides to wear s/o clothes. S/O tries to take picture of her. Then she tells that she has falling in love with you. You have changed let me take care of you. You can be very very very sluff on this one. Thanks!

ok ok so i have a few requests 🥺🥺 so! first could you maybe do an “I missed you.” with Rukia? 🥺💗 just fluff for my baby girl aaaa

Ichigo kissing his s/o in the rain 😆😆😆 Headcanons or scenario is up to you! 💙

ANYTHING SHIKAMARU. Deadass anything

Hey! I was wondering if I could request some Rukia x fem!reader relationship headcannons? Only if you're able to! Tysm! 💖

I hope requests are open but I was wondering if you could do something with byakuya and his s/o being like a very intimidating couple but his s/o is actually very sweet to everyone?

Kakashi x reader and instead of team 7 its now y/n tryna see whats under the mask and eventually she just asks and he actually reveals it adfhsjjs

Can I please get rat dad Ging being seduced by a younger woman who refuses to take “no” for an answer until he finally gives her what she wants? NSFW please! 💖

ok so please don't feel pressured to write this birthday imagine 🥺 i know u have a lot of requests rn ah. but! if you're able to i really would love another toshiro one bc i'm a sucker for him 😭 maybe one where he's really overworking himself so the reader helps him relax and it just ends in cuddles 🥺💓 only if you're able to! ilysm 💓💖💓💖💓💘💓💘💓

ok i swear this is the last one i feel bad requesting sm 😭 but maybe a “Do you wanna, maybe, go out sometime?” with toshiro bc he really is best boy 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

OKAY SO ANOTHER ONE WITH SABURO WITH UHHHH GOING ON A FIRST DATE WITH HIS S/O ICIXHAJGSSHSSUSKSU he'll probs driving his van around with the music blasting out 👀👀

honestly i would kinda die if u wrote some renji smut 😳😳 literally in any situation, i'm just needy rn 😭

ok ok i'm here hehe. how about, the reader gets really injured during a battle and shiro's kinda blaming himself for it. kindaaa angst into a super fluffy ending if that's ok hhh 🥺

Hi 🥰 Can I get a headcanon for Kakashi with a really seductive s/o, like she likes to tease him in public and whispers dirty things in his ear and calls him daddy? Nsfw pls? 😊😁

“make me” and hisoka??? thank you

hehe this is for the 🦋🦋 event! congrats on 200 bb!! so, i saw attack on titan on your list and i'm experiencing a severe lack of my best boy marco 🥺🥺 if you don't write for him that's fine hehe, but if you do, could i please maybe get a lil scenario where marco helps the reader out with her training and then they accidentally confess their feelings and it's just rlly fluffy and cute? 🥺 i need marco being happy in my life rn sbdjdhdjr 💓💓

“If you keep biting your lip like that, I’m holding you accountable for my actions.” for Kakashi please! I love him 🤤

If your requests are still open, can i ask for some domestic kakashi fluff? Ty

Hi mommas❤️❤️ CAN I PWEASE request some Guren (seraph of the end) relationship headcanons ? Not nsfw but maybe a little steamy 🥺🥰 I LOVE UU -🍒

Hi Chloe 🥰 Can I have some spicy nsfw headcanons for Yami where his s/o is acting really bratty during sex and he puts her in her place? 😪😂😊

Kageyama wirh Oikawas sister reader? there just chillin Nd stuff and toru comes over and picks y/n up and they hug and kageyama is like “eXcuSe mE???” forgive my spelling im on mobile lmao

Hiii❤️❤️ Can I request an imagine where you live in a small town and work at a cafe and Bakugou is your cliche small town boyfriend? Or headcanons! The idea is so cute and I love your writing 😊

okay so uHHHHH you can just go for Mephisto sharing some food with his s/o owo;; take your time on it too because i know it's gonna be really great either way!

A reader insert saved by vampire! main YYH crew from a pack of werewolves

Since you said requests are open maybe.. suga subbing for you? Idk he's just always appeared like someone who would love to please you in anyway possible.

V A M P I R E LAVI!!! DO IT GIRL!! 👌👌♥️♥️♥️

Fake dating with Lavi!!!!! Need more of the DGM boyz!! 😂

can I get an itachi x reader fic where it's itachi's birthday and the reader decides to give him a special night (👀), wearing lingerie, lighting candles, etc. for him to come home to? I love your work (and you!!) sm btw 🥺💞 - nina!! (@kunoichihatake)

hello ✨💕 it’s me, ryn 😘 if it’s okay, can i request a nishinoya x female!reader? perhaps a first date at the boardwalk with like the rides and carnival stuff? then at the end of the date he kisses her and it turns out the karasuno squad was following them the whole night hehe?

Hi! Can I request a prompt of some soft Kakashi, maybe some cuddles, perhaps it gets a little heated... a lil' Nsfw never hurt nobody👀👅 Thank you so muuch!~😍❤️

If I had kakashi in front of me I would tell him “aren’t you tired of being the most handsome man here?”

Hi! I saw that requests were open for the Haikyuu!! boys so here I am! I was wondering if I could request a Tsukki x reader where Tsukki has a crush on the reader but doesn't know how to express his feelings other then throwing insults. it can be angsty or fluffy I just really love Tsukki as a tsundere lol. (also btw I LOVE your theme and blog aesthetic its very pretty!)

Hey wifey😚 so Ichigo has stolen my heartttt can I get the strawberry boy with an S/O who gets super shy with with physical contact? Tyy💗💗

Fake dating with Lavi!!!!! Need more of the DGM boyz!! 😂

NSFW Vampire Squall (FF8) for very obvious reasons because UUUUUUGH

Hello there miss, my name is kandaxxx. Nice to meet you since I have definitely never requested from you before and this is definitely my first time and i am definitely not taking advantage of your bomb writing skills to ask you to write a “Choke me, daddy.” for Seymour from FF (love you forever and always!!!!!!)

hey butterfly 🥺 can you please write a story where the reader and (any character) are fighting and it turns out it was just about something stupid? like chicken nuggets? thank you 🥺💗

Eek! DGM! I was wondering if you would do a request for a general Allen Walker relationship HC? I don’t see him on the character list, but I’m just curious *bows* Thankyou senpai!

Spin The Bottle with any of the DGM characters that you're comfortable writing????? (but like obviously when Kanda spins the bottle it has to land on the reader [me] because YOU KNOW WHY OK????????) ilysm!!! 😍

I’m thinking a smut scenario of some kind that uses the prompts “Perhaps I need to remind you of your place.” and “Let me show you what happens to little brats who don’t follow the rules.” I feel like those are very Nozel Silva things to say. 😈 -bakubabes-hatake

Omfg HI mommy, Can i request really fluffy and soft itachi after he comes back from a mission? Non-massacre AU and you’re on the same team as sasuke lolol thirsty for them age gaps ❤️ thank youuuu ily -🍒

Can I get a fake dating with Kand--Roy Mustang (hahahaha) 👉👈🥺

Is this okay to ask for? Egor taking care of s/o who has period cramps... Ty!

can I get an itachi x reader fic where it's itachi's birthday and the reader decides to give him a special night (👀), wearing lingerie, lighting candles, etc. for him to come home to? I love your work (and you!!) sm btw 🥺💞 - nina!! (@kunoichihatake)

Hello! Can I please request some headcanons for Kiba with a S/O with a praise kink? And for Shikamaru with a S/O with a choking kink? Thank you so much.

Wow. Here is me putting in a request. Shocker, right?? 😂 I want some Greed, baby 😈 as for the prompt, it's not in your list, but could you maybe do something based off of "Oh my god. Did we just break the bed?" ???? 👉👈

It's a shame u only have one ling request, so could I request some Ling x Reader where they're both absolutely oblivious until Lan Fan or Ed or someone finally just tells them for them? Sorry if I didn't make any sense ❤️❤️

ok idk if you write threesomes but 😳😳 if you could write one with daichi and suga n maybe some dp, i'd probably die 🥺💓 only if you're comfortable with that tho ♡

Tyki flirting with his crush in his native language of Portuguese? I really love your work and please have some candy 🍬🍭🍫

hi butterfly! 🥰 i hope you're doing well! you already know what i'm going to ask you for — a request! i just feel really down in the dumps lately. can i request headcanons for an s/o that takes graduation pictures on their grandmother's 3 year death anniversary with kenma, nishinoya & kuroo? i hope you can do my request! you don't have to do it if you don't want to!

hehehe kuroo, tsukki and kageyama headcanons of their s/o sending them a nude while they at training and them making an excuse to get home and fUcK yOu SeNsELeSs - 🌊

Hello may I request itachi x reader. People learned the truth and he can finally return to his wife and children in the village 🥺 and they don’t have to be in secret anymore

holy shit,, i am starved for the squall content,,, if you don't mind, catching you wearing their clothes?

S/O walking in on kakashi masturbating? 👉👈 💕

[so-langdon]

Crave - Michael Langdon x Fem! Reader

Summary: Michael has a nightmare about losing Y/N and she comforts him.

Summary: Story-line change, angst, some swearing, emotional! clingy! needy! Michael, fluff

A/N: I needed some hella needy/clingy Michael so soz for this, it’s probably overkill rip. Also, I wanted the first half of this writing to be italicized to represent it’s a dream, but tumblr is being so weird and is only italicizing some parts on mobile no matter what I do??? So, sorry about that!

Also sorry for the lack of posting/writings. I started a new job and it’s been so crazy busy! 😩

Tagged!: @hecohansen31 , @sarahandthejets , @michaelsapostle , @rocketgirl2410 , @saltyshaggymeme , @1-800-bitchcraft

“What do you mean you’re leaving,” Michael asks sorrowfully, feeling a stinging in his eyes as he follows Y/N into the kitchen. His vision begins to get blurry, blinking the sudden tears away as they fall down his face and he wipes them quickly off before they can be seen. A heaviness grows in his chest, a pang forming and causing Michael’s breathing to become more shallow.

“I mean, I’m leaving. Leaving here,” Y/N says carelessly, looking down at her phone, texting back a friend who’s on their way to pick Y/N up. A couple of suitcases were rested on the floor by the door while she was waiting for her ride to show up. “Where are you going?” Michael asks, taking a deep breath to keep himself as cool, calm and collected as he can. “To Madison’s. I’m going to stay with her,” Y/N says, putting her phone away and looking up at Michael, ignoring the pained expression on his face. “Can I come with you?” Michael asks hopeful. He didn’t want to accept the fact that Y/N was leaving for any other reason except maybe Madison wanting a friend to stay with her for a bit, Y/N just going for a sleepover or something else, anything else besides the harsh truth. “No,” Y/N states simply, cold and impassive. Michael swallows, blinking as his eyes blur with tears again again. “Well. When will you be back?” Y/N stares at him. She sighs, almost annoyed and shakes her head. “I’m not.” Michael bites his lip. “Like, this week, or--” “I’m not coming back ever,” Y/N states. “I’m tired of it here,” Y/N explains. “B-- But. If you don’t like how things are set up here we can change it then,” Michael gestures. “We can fix this place up to how you want if you don’t like how things are,” he offers, trying to convince Y/N to stay here with him. “I don’t mean I’m tired of it here as in this house,” she gazes around. “I mean I’m tired of being here with you, Michael,” Y/N states coldly. Michael takes a step back, body lightly trembling. He knew that was the route things were heading considering Y/N’s behavior. But he was still trying to deny it until actually hearing her say the words. And now that she had, it felt like everything inside of him was collapsing. “What do you mean?” “I don’t want you anymore,” she shrugs. “I don’t want to be with you, I don’t love you,” Y/N says.

Michael blinks, shaking his head lightly, trying to process what she’s just said. He was trying not to believe that Y/N was leaving because of him. He wanted it so badly to be because of just visiting a friend or something more innocent, that she would be coming back at some point. Not leaving for good and because she didn’t want him.

He had been through this too many times. With either being given up on, unwanted, or used and forgotten. He thought he had finally found someone who would never make him feel alone, that he had someone to love and to be loved in return. But now, it was happening all again -- being given up on, rejected -- abandoned.

“You can’t do this,” Michael pleads. “It’s already done, Michael,” she states. “Madison should be here any minute.” “No,” Michael says. “You can’t be doing this.” “I’m sorry,” she says apologetically. He shakes his head. “It’s for the best. We both deserve what’s best and what makes us happy.” “You’re the best there is,” Michael enunciates. “You make me happy.” Y/N hesitates, “I’m sorry.” “This honestly -- This has to be a joke,” Michael shakes his head again, pushing a hand through his tussled blond curls. “This isn’t real.” “This will be a difficult transition for us, but we’ll get over it.” “Get over it?” He narrows his eyes. “What, just like that?” Michael looks at her in disbelief. Y/N stays quiet, looking at him impassively. “You make it sound like what we have together is so easy to throw away,” his voice trails off. “Because it is. There is nothing between us,” Y/N states. “Don’t say that,” Michael begs, wincing from her hurtful words. “It’s true. At least for me,” she shrugs. “No. Don’t say that,” Michael repeats, voice strained. “Look,” Y/N starts, sighing, “We had a good run together, but we–” “’A good run’? A good fucking run? That’s what you’re going to call it?” He says, the hurt in his tone being prominent. Y/N stays quiet again. “We’ve been through so much together, you helped me, and – and – we love each other and now you’re done? You’re giving up? Just like that?” He furrows his pained blue eyes. “I can’t help the way I feel,” she shrugs again. “I don’t want you. I don’t love you anymore, and there’s no point in trying to force feelings when there’s nothing there,” she says.

Michael was suddenly on the verge of a breakdown. The emotions running through his mind, through his heart, it was seeming unbearable. His world was falling apart, breaking into tiny pieces before his eyes. His world was leaving him. “But we’re so good together,” he breathes, trying to control his heavy breathing.

“…Not anymore.”

Michael swallows, having to use every fiber of his being not to blow up into a crying, screaming mess. He felt as if he could feel his heart being ripped into smaller and smaller pieces until nothing was left. He felt like the room was closing in on him, making it harder for him to breathe. He felt as if the air he was breathing around him was escaping from him. But who could blame him? The love of his life was walking out on him.

“I’m sorry for doing this to you,” she says, less than apologetic. Y/N picks up her belongings, opening the front door and taking a step towards it. Michael grabs her wrist, refusing to believe this. “Wait.” “Michael, let go of me,” she looks back at him. “Please don’t go,” he says, his voice sounding straining and becoming shakier from how upset he was getting.  “Don’t leave me. Please.” “You need to let go of me,” Y/N says monotone. “Don’t do this to us. We can work through this,” he pleads, voice straining more than earlier. “Let go of me, Michael.” “We can talk about this,” Michael tries, not wanting to give up, “I’ll do anything, we can–” “There’s nothing for us to talk about anymore. Now let go of me.” “No, Y/N, I – I can’t. I can’t…” Y/N tries pulling her hand from Michael’s but he doesn’t let it happen. She tries again, but if anything he just holds tighter, holding onto her and pulling her closer, back into the room and hoping she’ll change her mind. “Let go of me,” she says a bit louder. “Please, Y/N, please don’t do this,” he begs. “Let go of me.” “Don’t do this to us,” he begs. “Michael, let go of me right now. I’m leaving, and you need to deal with it.” “No, no I can’t, I can’t. I love you so much,” he says, voice trembling, his sorrowful blue eyes watering, “please don’t leave m–” “Let go of me!” She calls, pulling her hand away from him harder. “Let go of me right now!” She yells, pulling harshly away from him.

Once out of his hold, she grips her suitcase tightly, and she fades away as she walks out the door. The door slams shuts in front of Michael, him shaking his head as he tries to process what just happened to him.

He was finding it more difficult to breathe as the seconds ticked on; his breathing getting more and more heavy. He wasn’t going to accept this. She always promised she would never leave him like how everyone else in his life had. There was no way this was happening. He loved Y/N with all of his heart, did everything he could to make her happy, and yet, it wasn’t enough and she left him. She was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.

Michael leans forward, resting his head against the door. He slams his fist against it, shaking his head on it. A string of quiet and desperate “No’s” leaving his mouth, his eyes welling up in constant tears. He didn’t give a care in the world about his behavior in these moments. He couldn’t believe what happened, he couldn’t believe he had lost his world. The best thing to ever happen to him just walked out of his life for good and the space around him was crashing down like a ton of bricks.

Michael let out a few low cries, leaning his head down more against the wall. He steps back, shaking his head and ruffling his hair. He pushes his hands through his hair harshly, making his already ruffled hair more messy and tussled. He brings his hands to his face, shaking his head in them.

“No, no, no,” he whined, feeling the water flow into his hands. “No!” He yelled, dropping his hands. He breathed out heavily, having to take a deep breath, but only to keep taking deep breaths as it felt like he had no air to breathe anymore. “This isn’t happening,” he yelled to himself, covering his face again. “No! Y/N, I need you!” He yells as if she was in front of him to hear, hoping somehow she would hear his cries and change her mind.

He turns around, leaning back. He slides down the wall, sitting on the ground, feeling all of it ten times more, every second hurting a hundred times more than the one before, feeling utterly and completely alone and abandoned, all over again like he had his whole life until he met her.

When his eyes snap open, he’s breathing harder than he would be normally. His body is in a trembling state, his heart seeming to be pounding against his chest. He instantly turns onto his side, facing Y/N, reaching over for her.

He was never shy to cuddle into her. She seemed shy sometimes to cuddle into him during the night in the fear of disturbing him from a nightmare or something. But he never minded or got upset if she did. He rather her wake him up in those kinds of moments. He never minded being closer to her, or taking care of her. And when it came to him cuddling up to her, or waking her up over something, he never hesitated, knowing she never minded either.

But as he reaches over for her, he feels nothing but the cool sheets of the mattress and blankets. His eyes widen in alert, his pulse quickening, his heart beginning to pound ten times harder than it was when first waking up.

He feels around in the bed more so, doing a double take to make sure Y/N really isn’t laying down beside him. The fear, the panic, the heartbreak begins to set in for him and he’s already on the verge of an actual breakdown.

He tosses the blankets off of him immediately, jumping out of bed. “Y/N,” he calls, turning his nightstand lamp on. He calls her name again, racing for the door, turning on the hallway light and rushing down the hall. “Y/N,” he calls once more just as she turns the corner a few feet away from him.

“Michael, what’s wron–” she starts, voice soft and concerned. But she stops as Michael rushes for her, grabbing her and pulling her into his arms. He pulls her tightly into his body, his arms wrapping securely around her in the fear that if he let’s go, she’ll leave and disappear.

Michael breathes with relief when she wraps her arms around him, holding onto him just as tightly.

“Are you okay,” she asks. “You’re breathing so heavy and gosh, your heart is beating so hard against me. Are you alright?” She asks again, more concerned, arms holding around him protectively.

“You left me,” Michael gasps, breathing a deep breath in as his chest hyperventilates.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, “I was just getting some water,” she pouts a bit.

“No, no. You left me,” he says, voice strained, on the brink of tears. “You didn’t love me anymore. You didn’t want me and you packed up and left. You were done with us and you were done with me. You didn’t love me, you didn’t want me, you left. You were gone, you were never going to come back,” he panics, his hold tightening on her, and maybe a little too tight. But she wasn’t going to say anything.

“Michael,” she pouts more sadly, voice gentle. “No. I’m here. I’m here with you. That was just a bad dream,” she says, realizing he’s woken up from a nightmare. “It wasn’t real,” she brings a hand to the back of his head, pushing her fingers through his cute curls in the hopes to soothe him. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

He exhales deeply, her words flooding through him, bringing him relief of his fear and panic, but his hold not loosening up.

“You mean everything to me. I would never walk out on you,” Y/N adds.

“…It was so hard to believe in the dream. You were – it was like you had no emotion of what was happening. You just wanted out and you were almost too cruel about it. Just wanting to leave, wanting to get away from me for good. You wouldn’t even talk it out, I couldn’t do anything,” his eyes widen a bit as he replays the dream in his head, his anxiousness returning.

“Dream version of ‘me’ sounds like a bitch,” Y/N says quietly, trying to defuse the situation with some humor. But feeling the way Michael still shakes, feeling the way his heart still pounds against her, breaks her heart, making her frown. “I’d never do that to you, Michael,” she continues to push her fingers through his hair, and she leans her head into the crook of his neck, pressing her lips against his skin. “I don’t have enough words to describe to you how much I love you, and how I would never abandon you. It was just a dream,” she says kindly.

He swallows, his hold still not letting up. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. But the image of her leaving him replays over and over in his head. His body calms a bit but still trembles in her arms, his heart rate refusing to slow.

“Baby, relax,” she coos, voice gentle and soft. “I’m not going anywhere,” she tells him. His hold around her is already tight, with her arms around him being tight too. But with his behavior, she tightens her hold on him, bringing him impossibly closer to her, there being virtually no space between the two of them at all.

“Y/N, please don’t leave me,” he whispers, voice shaky. “I love you, I love you more than anything in this world,” he begins to panic again. “Don’t go, please don’t ever go away, I’ll do anything for you. I know I was a monster, b-but I’m better now, you’ve helped me, and I’ll do whatever to make you happy, just please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me,” he whispers, pleading and voice full of worry and panic. “I love you, I love you so much.”

“Michael,” she begins as she let’s go of her hold a bit. Doing this panics Michael more and he keeps his hold around her even tighter, refusing to let her leave like in his dream. She tries again, but it doesn’t work. Michael just doesn’t loosen up on his hold. It wasn’t like she was going to let go of him completely, she just wanted to look at him. But she decides on staying put. She wraps her arms around him again, burying her face back into his neck for a moment again.

“Don’t go, please don’t go,” Michael whispers again, him leaning his lower face against her shoulder, his lips pressing to her skin. “Don’t leave me,” he whispers against her.

“Listen to me, Michael. Look at me,” she starts gently.

Michael pauses, but does as she says, letting go of her just a bit to look down at her face. But he keeps his arms around her still.

She pulls her arms away from his body, only bringing them up in between them. She uses her thumbs to wipe under his eyes which are a bit wet from tears. She smiles a bit, her eyes scanning over his face carefully. She leans closer to him, pressing her lips to his, lightly at first. A simple, sweet kind of kiss. She pulls back, giving little space between them. She leans back in, kissing him again, still being just as sweet, but a bit more than the first, assuring him of her love for him.

When she pulls away, she reaches up, grabbing his face in her hands. “I’m sorry you had that kind of dream. I know how awful they can be. But that’s all they are. Just dreams,” she says comfortingly, her thumb brushing under his eyes again. “There would never be a reason for me to leave you. You’re the only one for me,” she smiles a bit. “And you’re not a monster. You never were. You needed some guidance and love, and you got it and now look at how far you’ve come.” She drops her hands, moving to grab Michael’s arms around her.

He figures she’s going to grab him to let go of her. But he’s glad she only makes him tighten his hold, her pressing against his body as she wraps her arms around his torso again. “Never worry about me leaving or abandoning you. It won’t happen. I’m yours.” She leans in a bit, “And you’re mine too,” she smiles. “So I’m never letting you go either. I love you.”

Michael presses his pouty, plump lips together, closing his eyes and leaning forward to rest his forehead against her shoulder as a rush of relief flows through him. “Even though it was just a dream, the way I felt.. It was horrible, unbearable, I – I don’t, I don’t want to even imagine it happening for real,” he shakes his head against her.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not going anywhere,” she says. She brushes her fingers against his back gently. “Let’s get back to bed, okay,” she says. “Let me take care of you.”

Michael takes a quiet deep breath, but lifts his head, looking at her. He nods, mumbling, “Okay.” He hesitates but he let’s go of her as her arms fall from him.

She grabs his hand, her other hand grabbing theirs together as she walks off down the hallway. She leads Michael to the bed in their room, letting him crawl in as she turns the nightstand lamp off. He sits down, laying his body down and getting comfortable. She brings the covers up on him, tucking him in. She places her hand at his head, pushing some of the blond curls out of his face and leaning down, kissing him.

When she stands back up, Michael quickly grabs onto her hand before she walks off, telling her to stay with him.

“I’m just going to turn the hallway lights off, I promise,” she assures. “I’ll be right back.”

Michael hesitates a second but let’s go of her hand, giving her a nod, trying to calm himself down and taking another deep breath.

After Y/N turns the lights off, she kneels onto the bed, crawling over and standing on her hands and knees over Michael. She sits down on his lower waist, straddling his body. She leans over with a smile on her face, kissing him, first simply like earlier, but quickly transitioning to a deep and fuller kiss.

She pulls back barely, Michael feeling the smile on her lips. She presses her lips back to his, pulling back once more and kissing him again, and slower. Slow to where as she leans in each time, it causes a type of craving, a yearning in Michael as he impatiently waits for her lips to touch his again and again, not wanting her to ever stop.

She sits up after, moving her hands to rest on Michael’s collarbones. “I love you,” she states to him, wanting to make sure he’s reassured.

Michael’s hands move, grabbing onto her waist. He holds onto her, sliding his hands down slowly, feeling the curves of her body, a solace flowing through him. His hands slide down to her lower hips, gripping her in a secure fashion.

Y/N leans down, pressing her chest against his. She rests an arm beside Michael’s head, her fingers playing with his hair. Her other hand comes to his face, her fingertips tracing over his skin gently. “You’re okay,” she says in a reassuring tone.

He nods, feeling better than he had before when first waking up from that nightmare.

Y/N’s fingertips continue to trace over his skin softly, her eyes staying on him as they’ve adjusted to the darkness around them. His eyes don’t leave her face either, his focus being solely on her, as it always is it seems. Never wanting to miss a glimpse of her beauty, of her contact, of her anything.

Michael smiles, leaning up and pressing his lips to hers. He uses his hands to help push him to sit up, then leaning over Y/N and turning her to switch their positions, causing her to lay against the bed as he rests against her body.

He kisses her again once adjusting his body between her legs. Y/N’s hand on his cheek stays in place as their lips move sweetly and deeply together. He keeps his lips to hers, yearning for her, never getting enough of her, Michael knowing he will always crave and need her.

~

Thanks for reading!! Any and all feedback is very appreciated <3

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

Deca-Dence 4 | Maou-jou 2 | Fruits Basket 2 24 (49) | Magatsu 1 | IWGP 2 | Koi to Producer 11 - 12 (FINAL) | HypMic 3

Still chugging away at these summer and spring anime...sorry for the delay...(LOL, that rhymed without me meaning to.)

Also, I’ve been on the fence about whether to keep Golden Kamuy, since almost no one I read the reviews of follows it now and it’s a week’s wait (when accounting for my AniList challenge)...so I’m putting it on pause so I don’t have to suffer later.

Deca-Dence 4

“…who possesses the will to fight.”

…Great. Kurenai is absolutely tethered to Kaburagi in a one-sided love. Just when I thought Natsume had an independent role model to look up to.

Maou-jou 2

Oh, this is from Shonen Sunday? Didn’t know that until now.

“Demon Shroud: A demon with 99 clans. A cloth demon that puts on airs that it won’t be used before it’s finished off, due to its wonderful fabric. It is full of beautiful ghostly power, so its skin is smooth. However, the hero (who commonly uses things he finds in his surroundings) caught one, so now the princess has zeroed in on them. The princess doesn’t need the hands or the head of these demons, so it’s a cycle of killing and taking revenge for them. Their fighting style is squeezing the life out of things.”

Apparently, the teddy is acceptable, LOL.

I like how the window stopped displaying text at one point.

I saw someone with a huge plait in the ED. The queen, maybe���?

I noticed the laughs dropped off significantly in comparison to last time, but it’s still good. I can flex my translation skills even if I can’t laugh at one part.

Fruits Basket 2 24 (49)

…jumping to the 2nd-last episode in a season is pretty unprecendented, but I’m going to watch this for the sake of Jon’s Creator Showcase…then again, I need to finish this anime anyway, so it’s just cutting and changing the order for something I already know the outcomes of.

I used to lose myself in movies so much that I would lose all sense of who I was and would have to “regain the bearings of myself”, so to speak. I would have to reconstruct who I was, even though I technically hadn’t “been broken” and I knew once I did that, it felt different. Like I’d travelled through time and past me would never be the same as present me. That’s why I kind of get what Machi means.

Oh, I didn’t listen to this OP much…probably because I’m emphasising bingeing the spring and summer series I left behind and now that I can skip the ads on most of my anime, I’m leaving behind the anime I’ll be slower on.

The manga was written when there weren’t as many cell phones around, much less smartphones.

Rin’s on bad terms with everyone…

…if I remember the year of the dragon correctly, the last one was 2012, then the one before that is 2000…around the turn of the millennium, huh? Froob is showing its age here, albeit unintentionally.

Now that I’m closer to the Musketeers’ age, I can kind of empathise with their scenes a bit more.

“If I always blame someone or something, I’ll never change.” – True. I realised I’ve been a bit too haughty lately (what with the HypMic anime going on and it being the first thing I could research extensively before the anime’s debut, my feelings are of course reaching fever pitch – combine that with continued COVID lockdown and you get me being all defensive of HypMic, for better or for worse) and so I may have acted like a jerk to someone, but since I only know them online and generally when I try to apologise to people online they don’t see the things I apologise for as things in need of apology, I know the fault lies with me to rein myself in. I guess this means changing yourself is the only way to move forward.

I wonder how Hatori did his doctor training while avoiding hugs from girls who aren’t Sohmas…?

Shigure vs. Gentaro (of HypMic, of course)…a writing competition! That would be fun.

…Crow’s note here makes sense (<- this is why I changed the order). Shigure was clearly asking a question there.

Come to think of it, HypMic and Froob have some similar characters. The stoic doctor is Hatori/Jakurai, the energetic smol one is Momiji/Ramuda, the teasing author is Shigure/Gentaro…that could make for some good fanfic material, really.

Magatsu 1

…that title is an absolute killer, man. Anyways, I’m here for the director, who also worked on Hataraku Maou-sama.

Is this a no guns thing, like IWGP is a no drugs thing?

…this OP has lyrics?! I just hear strange squeaky noises, the kind you hear on some autotuned sogs to make them seem more ominous (I can’t remember if there’s a similar sound in G-Anthem of Y City or Yokohama Walker, but one of the MTC songs has similar noises).

I kinda guessed Leo’s package was the one Schaake and her partner were looking for. I was right.

That CGI (on the truck) is…kinda conspicuous.

These backgrounds are gorgeous.

“The definition of in dubio contra reum is "in doubt, against the accused", meaning that, where there is doubt, the accused in a trial is not given the benefit of that doubt; they are assumed guilty.”

I wonder: how many protagonists start out as absolute wimps, unwilling to fight because they either know or don’t know their own power? It’s a pretty standard introduction for things with fights.

This battle track is nice. I listened to some of the Magatsu music under Masaru Yokoyama’s name on Spotify and it’s pretty cool, but since it’s background music, there’s not a lot of demand to listen to it (from me or anyone else, I don’t think).

Why is there only a single shield if they know the enemy has heavy artillery?

…what the heck is a Zeits? Update: You can see a “Zeits” (or however it’s spelt) in the credits list, suggesting Zeits is a character in this.

I knew this was my last premiere and this might have made or broken my entire watching schedule, but this is just a pretty down-to-earth premiere for a fantasy mobile game. While that cliffhanger compelled me to continue, I don’t think it’s good enough to beat its competition in the long run.

IWGP 2

I know I said Magatsu was my last premiere, but just to be sure, I’m watching this one.

This dance scene is beautifully orchestrated. The fact there’s no music means you focus entirely on the motion.

The OP seems to trade more in colour and spectacle than actual “cool factor”.

…wow, $2.90…? That’s some cheap food.

You know I hate 1st person cam with a passion, right? So…uh…

Eyyyyyyyy…this is basically McDonald’s, curry style.

I think I can almost see Ichiro of HypMic in how the G-Boys seem to mostly be reformed delinquents or actual delinquents.

…yeah, but what’s your name, random messenger guy? Update: We find out later his name is Isogai.

“It’s because I suck at working and communicating.” – Yep, that me.

Ikebukuro licence plate. I still have no idea exactly what places get licence plates in Japan.

There are actually 2 characters before “Hospital”, but no one confirms the reading of those characters…which is probably why they’re omitted.

…oh gosh, if this were a BL, Mitsuki and Masaru would be star-crossed lovers…*sigh*

Maybe it’s an unrelated 3rd party??? (In mysteries, you can never dismiss the work of a 3rd party.)

You can tell exactly which group is which based on the colours they wear. Makoto isn’t affiliated with anyone, so he’s wearing black and had yellow earlier.

I think an anime is cowardly – or trying to save budget – if they deliberately choose an angle where they can’t show the moment of impact clearly.

E! News, LOL.

Archangel, huh? So like a 2nd in command?

I think IWGP is moving in the direction of pushing the gangs against each other in the way Makoto describes in ep. 2.

As for what I think of it now, it's decent if you want something down-to-earth, but it seems to be missing some kind of "wow factor". Like it's afraid to commit to deeper characterisation, even though it has Makoto as the ostensible lead/viewpoint character.

Koi to Producer 11

“Cognitive Science Association” - I thought it was the Cognitive Psychology Association…? (Psychology is shinrigaku, science is kagaku.)

My boy (Lucien)…why must you be so evil??? Why do I keep falling for the tall but mysterious doctor??? (<- guilty as charged re: Jakurai)

…that’s some funky seatbelts.

What’s that look in Victor’s eyes…? Fondness, or something more…?

…ah, so there is “Science” in the place’s name. It was just being less loosely translated then.

Oh dang. Stuff escalated really fast, huh?

You actually set this in 2020, huh, staff? What happens ten years from now and people watch it, only to realise 2020 and 2030 aren’t so different? That’s what happened when people had the Y2K bug.

That yellow sign on the side says “exit”. It’s not of any use.

That’s not a recoloured Kiro, is it? It’s not Shaw, either (who I think we saw somewhere in the previous episodes)…so then who is it?

…geesh, they even changed Helios to Ares. I guess it makes sense: Helios is the god of the sun, but Ares is the god of war.

Koi to Producer 12 (FINAL)

I read on the wiki Lucien’s power is copying powers. No wonder I couldn’t get a solid handle on it!

So that Helios wasn’t a mistake in the credits list in the previous episode???

Can we even hear what Helios says when Protag-chan is pulled away? Based on the lack of subs, probably no, but I wanted to ask anyway. (Or maybe he said “Watashi”, since that’s the pronoun Protag-chan goes by?)

…so that really is Kiro, huh?

Military…what? When did Protag-chan’s father have a military squad???

LOL, at the very end you can see Gavin gesturing at Greenie (the pot plant, presumably a succulent). I logged on to the game 7 days straight (they have a Discord channel!) and got a Gavin R card with Greenie on it, which is how I know about it.

Anyways, that was a fun show. Not the best, but still fun.

HypMic 3

*snickers* Just look at my boi! He’s so tall, he has to bend down for kids! (I don’t mean that teasingly, I mean that endearingly, but lately I’ve been no good at expressing myself…Must be the lockdown.)

If TsudaKen was a guest last time, then Degarashi and Irihatoma could be voiced by guest seiyuus too…

What is Jakurai, hmm? (A Transformer, LOL?...I’m kidding, of course.)

All I knew about this episode going in was that it was an MTR episode. Maybe they’ll cover the stalker story from the manga…?

More literally, Hifumi’s sign says “will you monopolise me until morning?”. This reminds me of the MTR truck one of the servers I was in was talking about…it looked like a giant billboard.

“The most notable thing about Doppo is that he has no notable characteristics.”…and yet, he’s still one of the most popular characters of the series.

Suddenly, HypMic becomes a mystery…? I’ll take it!

Yup, “Doppomine” is now confirmed as “Doppo-chin”.

If all the mysteries I’ve consumed say one thing, it’s “never forget there might be someone out there with a grudge against you willing to pin a crime on you”…or alternatively, “never forget there may be an unrelated 3rd party who would be willing to pin a crime on you”.

These guys (Tom etc.) are just food critics, I swear…(LOL)

Oddly enough(?), googling “Shinjuku waffles” reveals there are several waffle places in Shinjuku…you wouldn’t expect so many waffles away from the home of waffles (probably Belgium), but there you go.

All the results on Shinjuku French toast point to this Café Aaliya (give or take an H at the end). Apparently, it’s so popular, people line up for it on weekdays.

Oh, so Tom’s a (street) photographer…what are Iris and Rex then?

The CGI on that car looks really bad, man. It may be dark to disguise it, but it still looks bad.

Jakurai’s dad car strikes again!...Was it white? I don’t remember, but I’m pretty sure it was a lighter colour than this.

I was quite worried about how much swearing they were going to throw in the MTC episode, but then…they kicked it down a week. So…start worrying about next week, folks!

I…thought he would call Jyuto for some reason. (giggles) I’ve never seen Samatoki look so happy in relation to Jakurai, but maybe that’s because he’s just chilling. (Or maybe he was meant to have a neutral but slightly happy face and they messed up the angle. I know I do that sometimes in fanart.)

There’s Jyuto, right on cue…LOL, that kick to the guts was so random it became epic!

Uwabami…what sort of snake is that, again? *checks* Giant snake. That’s no help. (That host could have a guest seiyuu too.)

Ooh, I’m fairly sure that’s an automatic car.

Jakurai went Jitsu wa kyoumi bukai desu ne?. “Fascinating” isn’t a wrong translation, but they did forget “In fact…” or “Really…” from the start and possibly the “?” at the end (depending on interpretation). Update: It might actually be Jitsu ni, but same deal.

They struttin’ down Kabuki-cho all fancy-like…Doppo sure does get a lot of punchlines, though.

This random guy at the club could also have a guest seiyuu…

…what’s with the random Tahoma?

…oh, hey. If Hifumi’s jacket acts as a security blanket of sorts against women and he gave it to Doppo for extra warmth (presumably), then…he’s trying to protect Doppo, even in his own sort of unique way.

Mimimi vs Hifumi? This is gonna get confusing…(hey, did they actually make a flourish noise when Hifumi put on his jacket? Does the distinction need to be that clear…?)

…see, never forget the presence of an unrelated 3rd party.Wait, so we have motive…what’s the relationship of Mimimi and the dude she killed? Who is that dude? Update: We find out later.

Notice Mimimi says “Hifumi-kun” – she’s still on an outside layer compared to Doppo, who just uses Hifumi’s name. Also, I noticed Mimimi called herself Hifumi’s “onna” – “woman” – explicitly, as if she belonged to him. The subs reflect that, but it seems to have less meaning in English because they outright translated it as such.

Well, they got to demonstrate Doppo’s snapping. I’m more than happy with just that. Also, Hifumi calls Doppo with a -kun here.

LOL, this song is gonna be known as “catchy”, ain’t it? Anything with an easy-to-sing-along chorus like “nananana” is. Update: Or maybe not even a chorus, it’s just lyrics.

Hmm…I noticed the “use Mr with me” line isn’t actually reflected in the subs, but the lyrics are so fast, I don’t know how they are reflected.

Did you notice the da in the lyrics in romaji?

…and s*** goes ka-blooey, as you’ve come to expect by now.

Mimimi-kun…?

Oh, so the background from Hypnosis Mics can get caught in photos? I never thought of that.

It’s almost as if they’re nodding at the Doppo fans through the 4th wall regarding his appeal.

It seems they’re not switching out this Buster Bros track, which is…okay, but I was hoping for an MTR ED. (Tofubeats was on this track IIRC and the anime website didn’t list a future ED, so that’s why I’m okay with it.)

…Okay, so Irihatoma is Mutsumi Iwanaka, who’s a rookie in the seiyuu world. *goes to consult Anime News Network*

Oh! Mimimi Hibakari! I get it! (It means “me, me, me all day” when written differently to her name.)

Uwabami was Shugo Nakamura and Degarashi was Mitsuaki Hoshino. I’ve never heard of these guys – except for Nakamura’s role as Teru in Idolm@ster Side M – so it’s interesting they contrasted TsudaKen with them…eh? Heilong? Whossat? (Probably the guy whose…parts…almost got crushed by Jakurai with a billiards cue.) This Hiroya Eto is even more underground than those guys.

A-hah! Today’s new song is “WELCOME U” (that’s how it’s spelt, don’t diss me for it!) by Kohei from SIMONSAYZ.

Update: I thought that kid at the beginning was Yotsutsuji, so it scared me for a second.

[imaginepirates]

Norri x Pregnant! Reader.

I am unmotivated and very sorry. This is for @elenawrit, now that I've gotten around to it. It's one where the reader is having a hard time telling James that they're pregnant. Sorry again for awful formatting; I can only use mobile rn.

2100 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had known for a week. The first morning spent kneeling over the chamber pot had been an awful one; you’d been afraid that you were sick. The third morning, your brain began to make sense of things. You should’ve seen it coming, being a married woman, and yet you had been utterly taken by surprise. 

Your husband didn’t know. James was off too early in the mornings to catch you retching in the bathroom, and he often came home after you’d fallen asleep waiting for him. He was worked harder than any man you knew. There had been more frequent pirate sightings in the last weeks, and the navy was taking every precaution. You hoped that James would be promoted for his extra hours. He worked hard, and came home worn out each night. 

What you wouldn’t give for him to have some time off. With the state of things, it wasn’t likely, but you desperately needed time to talk to him. With each passing day, you grew weary with keeping secrets from him. He needed to know of your pregnancy, but you feared that you’d never find the right time to tell him. 

With James constantly away, you went to your friend Elizabeth. She hadn’t married yet, and she had little knowledge when it came to children, but her company was sure to bring you some peace of mind. It always had, in the past, when you were afraid of this or that. You had been thick as thieves for most of your young lives, and she was the one you went to when you fell in love with James. 

Each time you found yourself at the sprawling estate, you looked up to the house sitting among the gardens. It was a grand place, to be sure; like a palace among the vibrant reds, yellows, and greens. Elizabeth reminded you of a princess, too. She was composed and put together, and there was nothing she couldn’t do with effortless grace. You’d envied her in your younger years, but she had always claimed you were the smarter of the pair, and many seemed to agree. 

It was one of the things you loved about James. He wasn’t deterred by intelligent conversation with a woman. Men tended to frown upon your interests in the studies of history and mathematics. James was different. He’d always indulged you, and lacking the classical education of the lords around him, he’d articulated his interest in what you could teach him. The navy didn’t take time to teach history, though James was perfectly proficient in sums and beyond. He would often talk of triangulating a ship’s location. Once, he’d actually taught you how to do it, and it was one of the moments you blamed for loving him. 

Standing under the balcony and before the great doors of the Swann estate once again,  memories melted from your mind. There was only apprehension left in you. Elizabeth could surely comfort you, but when you went back home, would worries worm their way back into your mind? Until you could speak to your husband of your condition, there would be no peace for you. 

The footman let you in and directed you up the stairs. Half way up, Elizabeth came out to meet you. She leaned over the bannister and called out to you. “Y/N! How are you?” She grabbed your hand, tucking your arm in hers as she led you back to her bedroom. 

“Sick with worry as usual. I’m afraid I’ll never see James’ face again with all the work he’s doing. Lord, I’ll be showing before I can even tell him!” You placed a hand on your stomach. 

“The navy can’t keep him busy forever.”

“I fear they will.”

“You should write to his superiors. They would understand.”

“I’m not sure they would.” You didn’t want to voice it, but the admiral in charge wasn’t a kind man, and he was the last person on earth you wanted to write to. Likely he’d burn the letter before opening it. “It’s lonely without him.”

Elizabeth held you by the shoulders. “I know. Hopefully, the pirate problem will be solved quickly.”

“Oh Liz, what if they send him away? I can’t bear the thought of him out on some ship fighting when I’m with his child. He’d return to find me pregnant, if he returned at all.” Something about your condition made you worry more about your husband. In all the years he’d served, nothing had happened to him. He was good at his job; it was doubtful that anything would befall him. 

Elizabeth laid a hand on your arm. You’d gone through it all before. For a while, the two of you sat in silence. You felt awful for putting your worries on your friend. Hopefully, you could return the gesture someday. 

“What should I name the child?” You tried to change the topic to something happier. 

“That’s your decision. And James’.” 

“What would you name your children?”

“I haven’t particularly thought of it. I think, if it were to be a girl, I’d name them after my mother.”

“I think I’d name her Charlotte,” you said. “I wouldn’t know what to name a son. I think I’d leave it up to James.”

“Would he name the child after his father?”

“I doubt it.” James hated talking about his father. Every word seemed a bad memory. 

You left Elizabeth’s estate feeling much better. Your house still felt a little empty when you returned, but you did your best to ignore it. You curled up in a chair with your book, sometimes looking up to watch the breeze blow through the flowers. You dozed off, and that was how James found you when he returned home. 

You vaguely felt hands lifting you from the chair. Bleary, you woke tucked against James’ chest. You shifted in his arms just enough for him to know you were awake, and smiled down at you. You kissed his jaw, and he set you down on the bed. Looking through the curtains, you watched the sun setting. 

“You’re home earlier than usual,” you said with some confusion. 

James’ expression soured. “It would seem that I have business to attend to on the open waters.”

You lifted yourself to a sitting position, a frown forming on your face. “How soon?”

“Two days,” James said miserably. 

“Two days?” You wrapped your arms around him. He was just as sad as you were. “I can’t believe it. They’ve never given you such short notice before.”

“Nobody’s happy. I’m sorry, Y/N.” He let his face fall into his hands a moment. When he straightened back up, he said, “It is what it is.”

“But you’re all so tired! It’ll put you all in danger is what it’ll do. You boys don’t have the energy you need to fight. You’ve been worked to the bone these past few weeks; I don’t think any of you have it in you to sail.”

“I’ve been tired before.” The look on his face spoke his displeasure. He didn’t want to go. 

You sighed. “At least come to bed with me. You need some sleep. Tell me, have they given you leave tomorrow before the voyage?” A little fluttering in your chest began. You would have to tell him on the morrow; you couldn’t put it off any longer. 

“I do.” He sounded a bit relieved. “I might have to go in a short while in the afternoon, though, to supervise provision loading. I am the captain, after all.”

“Of course.”

James didn’t even try to hide how tired he was. You combed your fingers through his hair and kissed his face, eventually settling down with your head on his chest. He toyed with the ends of your hair. He was stiff; he was always stiff when he had to leave. It reminded you both how lucky you were. 

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you awoke still curled against him. He snored gently, and you watched him for a while before calling a servant to get breakfast. You ate with the windows open, a fresh breeze carrying the sounds of singing birds and thrumming cicadas. The tropics were abuzz with noise. 

You spent the day relaxing, just the two of you. You discussed the latest news from London and the East India Company’s newest trade deals. It seemed that they had finally established a firm hold on some land in Africa, and that they were trying to get certain types of tea from China. Just like the British, you thought, to be so invested in new types of tea. 

It was a pleasant day, but a worm crawled through your stomach. You still hadn’t told him. You didn’t know why it was so hard, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You didn’t want to worry him more than he already was. 

The sun set too soon. James was just putting something in his office when you slipped into bed. Anxiety grasped at your chest. When he came into the room, he sat on the bed and kissed you. He was a sweet, gentle man, and his affections were always pure. 

Soon enough, his kisses had deepened, and he moved to unbutton his waistcoat. It had been a long time since you’d last lain with him. He hardly ever came home before you were asleep. 

You gasped when he sucked at the skin on your neck. “I hope you don’t mind,” he whispered. 

“I suppose I won’t be going out in public tomorrow,” you replied.  

He hummed. “I should buy you more dresses with high collars.” He smirked, which was maddeningly attractive, and something he hardly ever did. 

You feigned shock. “Why, you scandal!”

He chuckled, only to go back to kissing you. You curled your fingers into his hair, and he took it as a sign to begin unlacing your bodice. 

“James.” Your voice was soft, and you weren’t sure he’d heard you. “James.”

He looked up. The worry must have been evident on your face, as he cupped your check with a hand. “Yes?” 

“Can we talk?” You felt rather small and frightened, even though you shouldn’t have. 

“Of course.” His brows knit together. He shifted his weight, coming to sit beside you. 

You took a breath before continuing. “I don’t mean to worry you, and I know this is really the wrong time to tell you...” His face had grown only more concerned. You grabbed his hand, running your fingers gently over his knuckles. “I-” you faltered. “I’m with child.”

James’ mouth formed a small ‘o’, clearly taken aback. He turned away for a moment, processing the information. Watching him, a smile began to creep over his face, and he turned beaming towards you. He grabbed your face with both hands and kissed you excitedly. You laughed against his mouth, and you broke away smiling. It felt good to have gotten the news off your chest. 

His smile faded and he began to look concerned again. “Tomorrow... I don’t like to leave you here alone.”

“Don’t worry too much about me. It’s you I’m worried about. I want you to come back to me.”

“I always have.”

You stared at each other a long time before falling into a fitful sleep. You knew that when you woke, you would have to say goodbye. 

James left. He returned a month later, and you met him at the docks. People smiled at you, noting the swell in your stomach. You were showing, and it had become the talk of town. Waiting at the docks was torture. Even when the ship had been tied down, and the gangplank laid, the knot in your stomach wouldn’t unravel. It was only when James stepped off deck that you relaxed.

You could tell he was trying to keep his professionalism about him, but he was practically jogging over to where you stood. He had you in his arms in an instant, and his face was buried against your neck. It seemed like hours before he let you go, though you knew it had only been a few minutes. He pressed a kiss to your lips, and then, dropping to a knee, kissed your stomach. By the time he looked back up at you, there were tears in his eyes.

He stood again, taking your hands in his. “The admiral has been generous.” He planted a kiss on your nose. “It seems I have a month off to care for my wife. I’m rather looking forward to it.”

You gasped in delight. You hadn’t expected such a thing, and were elated. He smiled down at you, and you heard a few congratulations from other officers. 

You were just glad to have him home.  

[prettywordsyouleft]

A Dramatic Start

Prompt: #168 for anon – “Nothing’s wrong with you”

Anonymous said:

#103 and #168, for hwang minhyun please - thank you! :))

Pairing: Hwang Minhyun x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 1452 

This is set in the Don’t Take It Off world. You can easily read this without the previous stories but I recommend reading them for a little more context. You can check them out below.

Proposal Series: Don’t Take it Off // Lost and Found // Change The Date 

You sat up with a start, breathing heavily as your hand shot up to grab at your chest. Your heart was thumping erratically and you glanced around the foreign room, trying to decipher where you were.

Even as your brain rationalised your fear from the nightmare as unwarranted, comfort was nowhere in sight. You were safe within the plush bedding, yet you were alone.

And you shouldn’t have been.

Getting up out of the large bed, you padded around in the dim lighting, looking for signs of why you were here. A set of luggage bags were neatly to the side of the wardrobe and next to that was an armchair housing multiple garments. Notably, your wedding dress.

So that part of the dream had actually occurred.

The night before felt like a vague memory for someone who had just gotten married. Yet you couldn’t figure which had happened in real time or in your dream state, causing you to second guess everything. As soon as you found your husband, you would be able to relax.

Until then, your mind was on high alert, eyes peeling around every corner of the suite for signs of the tall man. He was nowhere in sight.

Returning to the bedroom within the hotel suite, you reached for your mobile phone on the nightstand with trembling hands. Your stare moved to the suit mingled in with the vast amount of fabric of the dress you had worn, convincing yourself that you hadn’t been stood up at the altar. Otherwise, why would the suit be there?

Before you could dial the number you required, you heard a door close within the hotel room and you dropped the device, rushing to find your source of much-needed relief.

Minhyun placed down the bags of food and coffee hastily before you collided into him, sobs racking your body. Instantly, his arms wound around you to support your emotions, holding you tightly. Securing you to him in a way that he knew would ease your worries. “Hey! Baby, what’s wrong?! Why are you crying?”

You couldn’t fathom stringing a sentence together with the wails that left you instead. You were relieved of course, but embarrassment licked at your mind just as much, leaving you mortified that on the morning after your wedding you could have conspired up such a ridiculous nightmare.

Your lack of explanation worried Minhyun further, and he pulled you back gently so he could look at you, your gaze avidly avoiding his. “I’m here now so no more tears, hm?”

It took you some time to settle and picking at your breakfast only made his brows furrow together further. Now that you were no longer an emotional wreck, Minhyun’s expression had changed. He was curious, but there was a knowing look within his umber eyes, apprehensive over whether he should ask.

After all, this was you he was dealing with.

“I had a nightmare,” you mumbled eventually and he nodded, encouraging you to express more about it. You sighed heavily and turned in your seat across from him. You were on your honeymoon! And already you couldn’t go a single day without causing some foolishness. You wondered if Minhyun was considering an annulment already. You seriously wouldn’t blame him.

“What was it about?” he prompted and you braved him a weak smile, shrugging lightly in response. Minhyun chuckled and steepled his fingers together. “Y/N, you were acting as if your life was over. Did I die in your dream?”

You shook your head.

“Was I gravely injured?”

Again, you refuted his suggestion.

Minhyun sighed himself. “Well, then what?”

“I don’t want to say,” you admitted feebly and for a moment Minhyun didn’t move. Then he tilted his head to the side, confirming your suspicions. He was judging you and you overly-creative mind.

Getting up, he walked some of the room before he turned around to face you. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “Okay, I’m ready to hear it now.”

You groaned. Minhyun was used to your antics. Your relationship had been tumultuous, much to your chagrin. You had always dreamed of a simple romance, where everything was soft and beautiful and complimentary. Instead, you were too imaginative, given that you were a writer; this trait was helpful for your career. But when it came to being with Minhyun, well, you didn’t have exactly the best track record of being the sweet and endearing partner you dreamed to be.

Still, he had married you, right? As you looked towards his left hand, there stood the vow he had made with you firmly upon his finger.

So you mustered up the energy to tell him all that had happened. Of course, you tried to gloss over some things, such as when you were certain that he had left you for your maid of honour overnight. Ashley was already happily married herself to Seongwoo, and the idea of Minhyun and Ashley together was almost laughable.

Except you had been sobbing over the thought earlier on.

When you came to the end of your outlandish wedding escapade within your slumber, you slumped back against your chair heavily, rapping your knuckles across your forehead repeatedly. “I think there’s something terribly wrong with me, Min.”

He shot you an incredulous look, still processing all you had told him.

You sat up straight, urgency taking over. “I mean, think about it. How could I not only paint you but Ashley as well at leaving me behind?! I would never in a million years think of that when completely lucid. So there’s something wrong with my brain.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” he refuted, rolling his eyes a little. You gaped at his reaction and Minhyun smirked. “You’re just dramatic, and probably had too much champagne last night.”

You nodded slowly, neither you nor Minhyun were fond of drinking, so the small amount you had downed during the reception would be enough to influence your mind to think of ridiculous notions.

Still, it wasn’t acceptable either.

You had promised Minhyun a married life full of absolute trust within him yesterday. You cringed at the thought of causing doubt within those words already.

As if he had read your mind, Minhyun outstretched his hand to grab yours, gently guiding you around so you were now seated within his lap. He hugged you firmly, swaying both you and him together softly. “What am I going to do with you, hm?”

“If you want a-”

“Don’t finish that sentence or I’ll consider it,” he warned and you swallowed the rest of your words down, unable to truly think of a world where he wasn’t in it. Resting his head on your shoulder, Minhyun let out a heavy breath. “Always trying to escape me, aren’t you? How many times has it been now?”

You laughed weakly, avoiding the answer despite counting it off in your head.

Minhyun readily answered for you. “Thinking I would leave you when I was planning to propose, losing your ring and believing I’d marry someone else, then thinking of cancelling our marriage… don’t you think out of all of that, if I was going to fall out of love with you, it would have already happened? How do I convince that crazy little brain of yours that I’m not going anywhere? I honestly thought the ring on your finger and the vows I promised to you yesterday would be enough. Y/N, I’m a little disappointed, I’ll admit.”

You slumped in his embrace. He wasn’t the only frustrated one.

“You’ll have to make it up to me.”

Glancing up at him, you blinked slowly. The smile that now spread across his lips was one you knew all too well. He always looked this wicked before stating his requirements. You pouted. “Go easy on me.”

“Why? In your dreams, you condemned me and Ashley to a life we’d never choose to take. And poor Seongwoo, what about his feelings too? Wait until I tell-”

You covered Minhyun’s mouth and shook your head, aghast. “No, no, no, I’ll do anything!”

Minhyun leaned back away from your hands, quirking an eyebrow. “Anything?”

You nodded.

Snuggling into you again, you felt his happy laughter vibrate through to you. “You’re so adorable, you know? I’m foolish for loving you but I can’t stop it either. Especially when you get like this. Life will never be dull, that’s for sure.”

“You’re not mad with me?”

“Why would I be? I married the most beautiful woman in my life yesterday. If anything, I’m all too happy.”

“Even though this is how I started our first full day of marriage together?”

Minhyun gave you another look and then chuckled. “I didn’t expect anything less.”

_________________

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[dramaticironyoflife]

Baby Bird (Fly Home) - Chapter 10: What Holds You to Your Past?

Virgil wants to stay with Logan, Logan wants to stay with Virgil, and Patton tries his best to provide for the boys everything they need. WARNINGS FOR PROTECTIVE VIRGIL, SLEEPY LOGAN, AND ATTEMPTED JUMPING OUT OF A MOVING CAR.

--------

Patton slammed the door of his car closed with his foot. He hummed as he juggled several bags of groceries in his arms and made his way inside. The door was opened for him and he flashed a sunny smile at the shy boy. Virgil returned it with a small grin of his own and hid beneath his bangs. Logan looked up from the homework he was doing at the dining room table. Upon seeing the man struggling to maintain his balance, he jumped up and ran forward, snatching one of the bags from its precarious perch. Patton followed him into the kitchen and settled the groceries on the counter. Virgil joined in putting everything away and began chopping vegetables for dinner. Logan tugged on Patton’s sleeve and quietly pointed towards his homework. The boy had yet to fully trust Patton, but he was trying, and that was enough for Patton. There were days when Logan would avoid Patton like the plague and other days when he would be brave enough to ask him for something. “Would you please give me an outside opinion on this assignment? I am not certain I understand it.” Patton nodded eagerly and rested a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder as he looked over the assignment. Unsurprisingly, it was psychology. Psychology was, in Logan’s opinion, a fascinating subject. The difficulty was when he reached chapters on emotions, especially ones that had to do with his own. Given his past, Logan was understandably, for lack of a better phrase, ‘screwed up’. The idea of delving into his own emotions was a terrifying and near impossible feat. Luckily, Patton seemed to understand this and would patiently help Logan sort through the assignments, explaining concepts in simple and easy to understand terms. Virgil smiled at the scene and went back to cooking. Patton glanced at him every now and then, making sure that he was using items safely. He was surprised that Virgil had such a knack for the craft. He wasn’t much for baking, though, leaving Patton in charge of supplying the trio with cookies, cakes, biscuits, and more. Not that Patton minded, he was happy to supply and spoil his boys with sugary treats and was always dragging Logan into the kitchen to help him experiment with new ingredients and combinations. Most of these experiments often resulted in failure and/or a disastrous mess. However, they also were more likely than not to get a laugh out of the wide-eyed youngling, making any amount of mess worth it in Patton’s opinion. They were a perfect trio. The happiest family that ever graced the earth. Patton smiled at the boys before letting out a heavy sigh. If only it were true. The day dream ended abruptly as Patton heard the click of a seatbelt and slammed wildly on the breaks, swerving sharply to one side as he heard the car door being wrenched open. He turned in time to grab the edge of the oversized hoodie, preventing Virgil from jumping out of the moving vehicle, “VIRGIL!”

Virgil growled as someone passed too close to Logan. The adult, who had been invested in his mobile device, started sharply and stared at the two figures. The darkly clad emo looked sleep deprived and was hiding terror behind a fierce light in his eyes. On his lap was a bundled-up hoodie that was acting as a cushion for the smaller boy. The stress of the night on top of being sick had left Logan exhausted. However, sleep proved to be an unrelenting foe and Virgil had eventually coaxed him to lay down. Moments later, he had drifted off. Deciding that the officer had been staring for too long, Virgil hissed angrily and held Logan a little closer. The smaller boy shifted and muttered something in his sleep. A frown creased his brow, and he squirmed a little harder, evidently displeased with how tightly he was being held captive. Virgil let his grip slacken but continued to glare at the man with cruel distrust. In an attempt to rectify the situation, he tried to offer a small smile only to receive another harsh hiss. The sound of a door snapping open caused the cold glare to fasten a different target. The man took the opportunity to retreat. The man and woman who entered looked like a couple out of a family magazine. The woman was tall with soft brown hair and her outfit was neat and simple. A necklace adorned her neck with beads that seemed two sizes too large. The man had a blue sweater pulled over his white collared shirt and wore tan slacks with brown shoes. His blond hair was brushed neatly aside, and the beginnings of a beard was evident on his cheeks. They both wore Hollywood smiles and Virgil intensified his stormy glare to counteract the cheery dispositions. The woman saw them and tripped over in her high heels. She thrust her hand in their faces. “You must be Virgil and Logan Storm. I’m Linda Strand, pleased to meet you.” She seemed unphased by the burning stare that Virgil was giving her. She sighed when her extended hand was not taken. Logan shifted in his sleep again, sensing a change in the atmosphere around him. Blinking, he tried to make sense of the fuzzy world that surrounded him. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and Virgil let him sit up and handed him his glasses. The big brother ran soft fingers through the fantastic bed head that Logan’s hair had managed to become. Logan hummed sleepily and slipped on his glasses. He started back sharply when he saw the strange woman in front of him. She reached out to steady him and Virgil growled at the hand. She froze and studied Virgil’s defensive stance. He was hunched in on himself with his head thrust forward. He was drawn up to appear larger and his teeth were displayed in a show of power. She turned as her husband approached. “Well, hello there, boys.” He smiled. Logan shrunk down and Virgil’s grip on him tightened. “We hear you gave the police quite a run for their money. Rumor has it, you almost jumped out of a moving car.” Virgil narrowed his eyes. It was true, unfortunately. Patton could confirm it. The kind landlord stood outside the room the boys were in and peered at them through the small rectangular window. He flinched as the man tried to touch Virgil’s shoulder. The teen’s eyes went wide and he tensed. He looked ready to either kick the man in the face or to throw himself and Logan over the back of the chairs. Knowing Virgil, either was highly likely. Before he could stop himself, Patton shoved the door open, “Wait!” All four jumped at the intrusion. Patton twisted the sleeves of the gray cardigan in his nervous fingers. He approached Virgil and Logan carefully. Virgil watched Patton approach them. He tried to remember that Patton had betrayed him. Was putting him here, in this situation. He should be mad at him. He was mad at him. He was furious! But…the soft eyes of the kindest man he knew were filled with sorrow and concern and a desire to help. Patton was familiar. He was safe. Virgil let Patton settle in the chair next to him and, before the landlord could do anything, Virgil let his head fall onto the other’s shoulder. The purple locks tickled Patton’s neck and he couldn’t help a small smile of pride that graced his lips. Virgil was still tense, but he had lost the glare for favor of hiding his face behind his bangs. Linda looked surprised and slightly annoyed, “Ummm, excuse me,” she tried to regain her composure and keep up her happy expression, “I’m not sure who you are, but, ummm, the boys are coming home with us so if you could…” Patton ignored her and tugged Virgil a little closer. He just wanted a few more seconds to pretend. Pretend that he was going to be the one to take the boys home, to keep them safe. Too bad dreams couldn’t come true. That was the thought that plagued Patton as he stood frozen on the concrete outside the building, watching the place where the car had disappeared. In the end, Logan and Virgil had gone along quietly. Seeing them both softly say goodbye and then disappear behind the tinted windows was the hardest thing that Patton had ever had to endure. He wanted to forget about it, to shove the horrific thought away but, like all painful memories, it refused to budge. It replayed on a loop in his mind’s eye, reminding him of what he had given up. “It’s for the best.” He whispered, attempting to comfort himself. His arms tugged at the sleeves of his cardigan and he hugged himself, seeking some consoling touch. He wondered absently if this is how Virgil had felt all alone and without any idea what the next day would bring him. Tears shocked him out of his reflection. He brought a hand up quickly to scrub the water away. It didn’t work. He sighed and let his gaze fall to the floor. He moved slowly back to his car and resigned himself to return to the light blue apartment building. It felt empty. The reception room was quiet, lights were out and there was a note from one of his guests about a noise complaint. He glanced over it without reading it. Sluggishly, he moved to make his way to his own room. The door was still unlocked from when he left. He pushed it open and stopped. The container of cookies was still on the table. Virgil’s favorite cookies. And with that single thought, Patton broke. Tears welled up in his eyes and his hands shook as he crumbled to the ground. He braced his hands on the soft carpet, tugging at it in his distress. There was no one to hear him. No one who would comfort him. No Virgil to offer his lopsided smirk, no Logan to look at him with careful curiosity, and no one to blame except for himself. In that moment, Patton felt very tiny, very insignificant, and very, very alone. 

Tag List:

@bunny222

[ficstogo]

Somebody Else Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Go With Your Gut

Summary: Sandra looks back on the beginning of the end.

Word Count: 3,650

Fic Masterlist

“Hey, Harold. Something big came up and I gotta go take care of it. I’ll call you when I get there, or you’ll call me. Whichever.” Shoving her phone back into her pocket, Sandra rushed her and her belongings into her car, preparing to take the long trip to the airport and complete an even longer trip to LS. She was completely livid. The news that Trevor brought had changed her mood from depressed to wanting to blast something in the face with a nailed baseball bat. Thinking back to the phone call the other night only made her fury even more potent than before. Sandra immediately went to find the earliest plane ticket there, buying it as she now had a mission to destroy Michael Townley at all costs. She would have loved it if the night had ended completely different. She would have wanted to keep on the gig of being mad at Trevor and then begin the process of getting to know each other all over again. Just like starting over. Pretend that they were long lost friends of better conditions. Either way, she would’ve continued on with chatting the night away with him with beer and laughter, pretending that he was in the same room as she was.

The night ended much differently though. After getting her things to fit in her suitcase, Sandra called Dr. Harvey about her mother being deathly ill, and having to visit her back home. She brought the rest of the leftover beers from her fridge to her bedroom and drank away. For a small while, the feeling of wanting to cry left her after that phone call. All she felt was anger, but it all came back to her at once when her angry thoughts turned sour once more. These were the circumstances that lead to Trevor calling her. If not this, she more than likely wouldn’t hear from him for another ten years or never at all and it broke her. She really had no friends. She really didn’t mean much to Trevor, except for the fact that she only helped to fuel the idea that he was in the right side of things for once. Sandra enabled that his feelings justified what he wanted to do because another person felt the same. Then thoughts led to her other friend. Her “dead” friend. Why? Why in the hell would he do something so god awful like that? For so long she blamed herself for what happened back at North Yankton. She remembered how nice Michael had been when Trevor freaked on her on not being on that last heist. How nice he was when she snapped at them. Because of that, she hated herself for so long. For letting her anger and pettiness be the reason that she never saw her friends again.

.~.~.~.~.~.

Sandra laid on her worn out couch staring at the ceiling with the television filling in the silence. She was waiting for a call to hear where the next race would take place and when. It was an easy way of making money, although at the moment, she had enough to make life easy for at least four more months, give or take. But that was far from her mind. She needed something to do, something to keep her occupied and racing was a productive way of doing that. Having enough of the noise, she turned off the small, shitty television and continued to lose herself in her thoughts. Although she would have loved to ring up the boys and see if they could go out for a night of drinking, they all had to lay low for another week. By then, Michael would be busy playing house and Trevor would be too busy hanging out with his best friend. A friend that seemed to overshadow her. Sandra didn’t mind Brad, but she couldn’t help but feel that as each day passes, she was slowly losing Trevor to him. He was a handful and she knew it, but Trevor was her mess of a man to deal with since the beginning. As for Michael, he had a family to look after as strange as that sounded. He was no family man, but when the news about Amanda’s pregnancy came out, the idea of abandoning his children was unbearable. He did not want to be like his father and so the decision to stay had stuck.

Thinking about Amanda led a frown to form on Sandra’s face. It was understandable that Amanda wouldn’t want the crew around Michael anymore, she got that. If she had a family, she would try to drop that life as soon as she could, but what grinds her gears was the way Amanda is. She acted so...privileged, so uppity, so above everyone as though she was queen bee. She knew Amanda viewed them as scum level, trailer trash, as though she had the right to say what’s proper living. She was a goddamn stripper-turned-prostitute who had a boob job and suddenly had a god complex. Then again, maybe she always had that. She lived in a trailer too for god sakes! Sandra’s way of making a living wasn’t honest, but she sure as hell was smart enough to avoid selling herself to strange men. That was something she made sure of. She has no right to treat any of them like shit. What was worse was that she always came after Sandra. She only assumed it was to assert her dominance in Michael's life like some small feeble minded animal. Maybe it was because she was one of Michaels female friends that he might have a thing for. As if. Either way, it was a classic girl-on-girl hate game that played on and she really really hated it. Sandra imagined clawing her eyes out and throwing a few punches here and there while saying things to ruin what little self-esteem she had left. The only reason she hadn’t gone full swing was because it was her friend's wife and she did not want to risk that relationship. At this moment, all her relationships were dwindling.

The sudden ring from the coffee table startled her away from her thoughts. Sitting up to see which phone was ringing, she knew it was the small black one informing her that this was a business call that needed to be answered. “Hello?” She said groggily to the other end.

“L’s, tonight, eight a’clock.” And the line went dead. Feeling buzzed from the call, she was happy that there was going to be new work to do.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Tying up her long dark hair into a ponytail, Sandra took a look at her bright brown eyes in the rearview mirror. They had bags under them from the lack of sleep the weeks previous provided her. She prepped herself for the excitement that this meeting would bring. She was happy that after this hiatus, she could finally get off her ass and do something to ease the boredom once more. Tugging on her jacket, she exited her car and walked towards the small, mobile trailer. With the light from the trailer blanketing her, she knocked a steady rhythm. Sandra took a look around her as the snow kept falling to make the bare area look like a winter wonderland. The sound of the creaking door in front took her attention as she now laid her eyes on a small, weak-looking man, with the iciest blue eyes she’s seen in her life.

“Glad you could make it.” Lester said as he moved to the side for Sandra to walk through. Peeking his head through the door, he takes a few seconds to look around outside as his paranoid self does whenever guests come over.

“Couldn’t possibly skip out on a chance to win some big bucks.” There in the room stood Michael, focused and out of touch with what was going on at the moment. He was more than likely thinking in great detail of the events that would unfold. Trevor stood with his god awful mullet and stache, having a frown to go with the threatening look that he’s pulling off so well. And then Brad, who sat on one of the small raggedy sofas with a bored look, a look that wasn’t new whenever he attended these meetings.

“So boys, what's the score?” Her voice projected in an amused yet confident tone. They all turned to look after her, happy to get this meeting started.

“North Yankton State Bank.” Michael said with eagerness in his voice.

“You’re serious!?” Sandra chuckled out with a quirked brow as she sat at the small table in the room.

“As serious as I can be. It may not be much but it’ll sure as hell cover us for a good while.”

“No complaints here.”

.~.~.~.~.~.

As Lester finished up with his presentation, there was the question that always came to mind when discussing any heist. “What are the chances we make it out clean?” With her hands clasped on top of the table, her eyes focused on the blueprint in front of her.

“Do you want the answer that feeds into doing this job or do you want my actual god honest opinion?”

“The answer that won’t send me to my grave early.”

Lester looked at each of the thieves with a nervous expression risen on his face and hesitated only for a second to answer. “...I don't think that this job is something you guys can go through.”

“Oh come on Lest! What do you mean we cant? We got the best the of the best here! We're gonna make it through it and we're gonna make it through it rich.” Trevor exclaimed. He wanted so bad to go through with this score and he wanted everyone to be apart of it. He’d cut Lester’s tongue out if this was going to change Sandra’s mind.

“And then we can finally end it here.” Michael calmly said with what sounded as if he let out a welcomed sigh.

“What do you mean “end it”?” Her head slowly turned to Michael as her eyes squinted in skepticism.

“You didn’t tell her?” Lester said in surprise, looking between his companions once more.

“Shut it, mole man!” Trevor yelled, only to see Lester squirm back from his outburst.

“Uh, Me and Trev have been talkin’-”

“We decided to end the partnership after this job. Sorry for you to be the last to know Sandy.” Trevor said as he looked away from her. He knew how much they meant to her because he felt the same with them. It killed him when Michael opened up about how he wanted to leave them and it murdered him when he decided for it. He was going to tell Sandra but for some reason, he always found something to distract him from doing that. He realized now how that could go wrong.

“Wait wait wait wait. I know that this job would cover us for a good while but are you guys seriously deciding on not doing this anymore?” Her dirt eyes looked back and forth between the two as her chest felt constriction.

“You know I got a family S, I can't keep doing this.” Michael said as he looked to the floor, not wanting to look at her. He couldn’t risk their lives because of him. He didn’t want his children to visit him in prison and know their father to be a pitiful loser who couldn’t do any better in providing for them. He didn’t want to be absent in their lives, let alone because he was six feet underground. Michael just couldn’t find himself doing that to them. He wanted to be better. For them.

“And I never said I was done. Me and Brad, we’re gonna go places.”

“Oh really? And where does that leave me, huh? Where am I in all of this? All four of you decided to have this chat and leave me out! Do I really not count in anything?”

“No! Sandy that’s not why-”

“Cut the shit! I noticed how I've been the last in anything nowadays. And you told Lester instead of the person who’s gotten your backs since the start! The person that almost slept her way to make extra cash when we needed it bad! The person who drives your asses out the heat before the cops could get on to us!?”

“San-”

“What’ll screw us over on this?” Sandra said in a firm tone as she turned her attention instantly to Lester.

“Uh, right of course. Our main problem is security and the time frame. I'm afraid that it's too short for any of you to make it to the van on time.” Lester flustered out. Even though Michael gave hints about it being the last job, he honestly thought that Sandra would be the first he talked to about it. They always seemed to be more connected but then again it was hard when all three of them were so close to each other. When Lester met them, it was like high school. The new kid meeting the clique and how it was hard to break through their barrier that they’ve built up together. Although this is all business, he did feel like the outsider with their group. Eventually, he turned to the person they always praised and respect. Well two of the three, he should say.

“Fuck security! They can’t do shit to us! And we’ll be fast! As long as we know the plan like clockwork, we’ll be home free!” Brad said with confidence.

“For once, Brad’s right. We’ll do this and we’ll do this with no repercussions. Sandy, this job will be like any other job we’ve done. There’s no way we can fuck this up!” Michael said. He could see that she wasn’t convinced and he needed her to see it his way. He needed this and he needed her on this job.

Only thoughts battled within her head. It was a good score but the fact that Lester wasn’t a hundred percent behind it like he usually is is what was really breaking the tie on what she should do. “I trust that you guys can’t fuck it up but I trust Lester more on this. You know I don’t go full on without Lester’s approval on it.”

“Oh come on Sandra-D!” There it was. The stupid nickname they used whenever they wanted her to do something that she was stubborn on. How Marty McFly hated being called a chicken, she hated being called Sandra-D. It had the same punch of being called a pussy and it always worked in their favor. She had too much of an ego and pride to back out, but she knew that nickname wouldn’t work this time. “You use to go into jobs head-on before we ever met Lester! Whatever it was, you never hesitated! What happened to the old Sandy!?” Trevor said in a passion with his hands slammed on the table, looking straight at Sandra, a desperate fire burning in his eyes.

“That old Sandy was stupid and almost got herself killed and caught more times than she can count because she thought it was a good idea to listen to you two fuck heads!” She said as she rose herself in the same position as Trevor. “Fuck you guys! I ain’t doing this job!” She yelled as she grabbed her jacket from the back of her seat and headed to the door.

“Are you fucking serious!? Are you fucking with me right now!? This is our last Goddamn heist together and you can’t help but fuck this up for us!? You’re a real bitch, you know that, Sandra!? You can’t even do this one thing for us without that stick up your ass!”

“Trevor!” Michael yelled.

“How about I get that stick that’s in my ass and fucking beat the living shit out of you, you fucking psychotic good for nothing piece of shit!” She yelled stalking towards him as a force that couldn’t be stopped. “If you wanna talk about who fucks up what, let’s talk about your fucking star moments, huh! At least I don’t fucking kill any of the goddamn hostages because they looked at me funny! At least I’m not the one that drives everyone into hiding because the cops are onto us for a fucking murder case! At least I’m not the one who tries to start shit up while we’re trying to lay low!” She continued on at his face. Everytime they were on a job, she always had to worry about him doing just that and it always made her more anxious than what she should be. She already had to worry about making sure she didn’t mess up. She had to make sure that the everything was going to plan. She had to worry about not getting in a wreck whenever they drove off. Sandra did not need that extra weight on her.

As she walked past the men, she felt a grip on her arm like their life depended on it and it did. “Sandra! Wait! We need you. I can’t get another driver as good as you! You’re the only one that I trust on anything and this is big! We’ll be fucked without you.” Michael was pleading with her. There was a desperate look in his eyes and damn, did she nearly gave into it but she needed to show them her ground and she needed to show how true his words were. They would be fucked without her. It was petty but she didn’t give a damn at the moment.

Yanking her arm out of his hand, she looked him straight into his true blue eyes and said, “Good.”

As she walked out the door, all that was left behind was Trevor yelling “I don’t wanna hear you begging for money from us, you hear!? You don’t get any of the damn cut! You don’t deserve shit!”

.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Sandra found herself staring at the ceiling once more as the anger still coursed through her body. This was complete bullshit. The feeling of being left out was just that. A feeling. Then being the last to know of some news that would change her life only made her feel even more distant from them than before. What happened? What suddenly changed their dynamic from sticking together like the family they were to not even speaking to each other like the way they use to, she didn’t know.

The sudden ring from her phone startled her. Rolling her eyes at her jumpy self, she picked it up and answered the call. “Yeah?”

“Hey…” Great. It was this smooth talking bastard calling. Probably to try and convince me into this job.

“What?” Sandra said with her attitude giving a hint about how she was feeling.

“I just called to...I just wanna know if you’re alright. After everything, especially what Trevor said, I just needed to know if you were alright.” That wasn’t what she was expecting.

Taking her anger down a notch she sighed and responded. “Um, yeah. I mean, I’ll be alright. I’m a little pissed but I’ll get over it.” Closing her eyes, Sandra tried to waver off the remainder of her anger so as to continue having a calm conversation with Michael.

“You got every right to be. Look, I wanted to call and say I’m sorry for being an asshole. I should’ve told ya what I was planning and I’m sorry about the shit Trevor said. You know how he can get.”

“Yeah, I know. I wasn’t expecting anything different from him.” She rubbed her forehead as she thought back about earlier in the night. She hated it. Hated how bad it got. “But he’s right. I shouldn’t be such a bitch and back off from what we got planned. It’s our last job and I can-”

“No, don’t worry about what Trevor said. Don’t let him guilt you into doing anything you don’t wanna do.”

“And what do you want me to do?”

“...To be honest, I really want you to be apart of this. It is our last. But we’ve always gone with our gut feelings. Mine’s telling me we can do this, yours is tellin’ you we can’t. It’s better if we went with how we feel. No hesitation.” That thought only made her want to laugh. The last time she went with how she felt things began to feel different between the two of them and when they finally fixed what was bothering them, it only left her a bit hurt.

“I’m sorry Mikey. I just...I can’t shake off this bad feeling I got. We always went with what Lester says and it always saves our skins but I get why you’re doing this. Just be safe.”

“Hey! Don’t worry about nothin’! We got this covered. And forget about what T said. I’ll slip you a couple grand under your door when we get back.” Michael said in a confident yet hushed tone. Probably didn’t want Amanda to overhear him.

“You always spoil me, you know that?” She chuckled. It always felt like playing house with those two. When one said no, the other said yes.

“Anything for you, Sandy.” She could only imagine him winking at her as he said that, like the smooth bastard he is. With their moment of laughing, Sandra’s ears perked at the faint sound of someone calling his name in the background. Of course. Typical. “I gotta go, Sandy. Just wait till I’m knockin’ on your front door. You’d wish you came along.”

“Anything you say, M.” She sarcastically laughed. “Prove me wrong.” and there, she hung up and stared at the ceiling once more but this time with a small smile on her face.

[boogiewrites]

A Girl Walks Into A Bar 5

Characters: Declan Harp x Bella Fiore (OFC)

Word Count: 5700+

Summary: Modern Declan harp AU.  Bella and Declan share a little about themselves to each other to both of their surprise. They stay in contact and end up hanging out again.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Drinking. Flirting, but she’s gonna act like she’s not. Same for him. 

Click on my screenname then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

You're currently feeling the cold wind against your fingers as you wiggle them out of the truck window as Declan drives you home. You aren't too deep in thought, mainly wondering if you'd bruise and have to explain yourself to your coworkers. Declan clears his throat and breaks the silence.

"So uh...do you hit guys like that often?" he asks with his usual naturally deep tone.

"Not anymore no." your answer with a deep and mildly amused tone.

"That hit made it seem like it wasn't the first time you'd done that."

"It was nowhere near the first." you let out a soft huff of air in amusement.

"You in a fight club or somethin'?" he glances your way, his face playful. "Well I guess you couldn't tell me even if you were could you?" he grins.

"No fight clubs, no." you shake your head.

"So do you do like, MMA or something?' he offers up for conversation.

Alright, Bella, you think, slowly blinking. He's trying to get to know you. Be nice. Being honest won't' be hard for you but being graceful about it might be. "I've taken plenty of self-defense courses but I've never trained to fight or anything." You pause for a moment, considering what to share with him. He'd told you a piece about his past, you suppose it's only fair to share something with him in return. "I hung around a rough crowd when I was younger. Lots of dudes and surging testosterone. The bad sort of metalheads you see in show parking lots that are fighting and crushing cans on their heads and screaming and acting like assholes." you shrug. "So... and I don't mean this in a self-absorbed sort of way, just in a self-aware one. I know what I look like, y'know? And...it used to not be as bad I guess, guys coming onto me and everything, but with the popularity of big asses in the past few years I mean...I've literally got a target on me." you make yourself chuckle. "So I fought a lot growing up, and now...I still have that fighting instinct when dudes touch me like that or won't take no for an answer I just fuckin' go for their throats. So to speak." you say with a weak gesturing of your hands.

"I don't blame you. I was more impressed than anything. You had some good form." he nods supportively and you're relieved. You were afraid he might be judgey about it, find it unladylike. Which was a phrase you hated because of the endless times you'd heard it. Especially from guys you thought were decent, but were just assholes in disguise.

"Thanks. I can kinda snap sometimes. I don't have the best temper." your voice dips lower and he hears the mild disappointment in it. "I can black out and go ham on someone if they push up on me. I mean, it's been years since that's happened but, I've also not put myself in situations where it could happen so...there's that." you say with a shrug as you look out the window. "I guess I just have no patience for men who can't listen anymore. If you touch women without consent and won't listen when they say no in this sort of society today, there's no excuse and I figure they deserve to get their asses kicked."

"And by a woman." he chuckles.

"Especially by a woman." his reaction makes you smile a little and you gaze out the window at the passing street lamps and strobing lights, the hiss from the wet road coming through the cracked window.

"I've been in my fair share of fights too." he says as he keeps his eyes on the road.

"You look like a guy who had been. No offense meant."

"None taken." he shakes his head and smiles. "Unfortunately it leads a lot of people to think I WANT to fight. And I don't. Just...when you try to protect people from bad people, there's gonna be violence to some degree."

"It's admirable of you. At least you're doing it for a cause. Unlike me, I just have a temper."

"Nah, you're doing it to teach people a lesson."

"Didn't take you for an enabler, Declan." you laugh.

"Well I've not seen a woman knock a man out like that in...maybe ever and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a nice change of pace from the usual way those situations go down."

"If I keep up this reintroduced habit of going out you'll prob get to see it again." you smirk.

"Assuming I'm with you. If not, I'll happily take an after photo." he laughs.

But who would you be going out with if not him? Charlotte was really the only friend you had that you felt comfortable enough with and liked enough to do things with and she was incapacitated. The girls at work were nice, you liked them well enough but not in the way to go and do things with them outside of work. Plus you liked to keep work and personal separate, and all they ever wanted to do was try to pull information out of you about your private life and there wasn't anything to give. And even if there was you didn't want to share it. With your drive to your house coming to a close, you figure you're close enough to avoid painful embarrassment if he reacts poorly, but if tonight was any indication, you didn't think he would. You roll up the window, your fingers sufficiently numb.

"I can probably manage that. I'll pose like a hunter with a deer." you chuckle with a slight smile.  

"If it weren't incriminating evidence that'd be good for Instagram." he laughs with you.

He's a nice person, Bella. Accept it, you tell yourself. Why was telling someone you had a good time and would like to hang out with them again so hard? You weren't even dating or anything in the traditional sense, there was no reason to be so hesitant. Your ineptitude at showing vulnerability in any form was bubbling up and really annoying you. Couldn't even openly tell someone you wanted to hang out, it was as if you were saying you needed them around, which you knew was an illogical jump but your brain made it all the same.

"If you were down with it, if I do end up going out to something like this again...would you wanna go with me?" You propose, turning your face towards him, your eyes a little larger than you'd like them to be.

He glances over and see's your eyes wandering and he wonders if the overly cool way you asked, the lack of inflection, was a way for you to cover up your uncertainty to his answer. He wonders if he'd been giving off a vibe that too nonchalant tonight in his attempt to not scare you off or seem too eager. He hadn't meant to, he had a really great time and hoped the guy hadn't ruined his chances of getting to do it with you again.

"Yeah," he says with a lowering of his brow in an obvious tone, answering quickly. "Yeah I'd like that." he nods, turning his eyes back to the road to turn onto your street.

"Good." you say with a smile he can catch for a moment as the street lamp by your house illuminates it as he pulls to the curb. "I had a good time tonight." you say and want to curse at yourself. How cliche and overdone was that saying?

"I was hoping that guy didn't ruin the whole evening for you." he says, turning slightly to face you, you rest your hand on the door handle.

"Oh, no. They win if you let them ruin your whole night." you look down and smile with a closed mouth. "Take a lot more than that make this night a total wash." you admit, your eyes uncertain but a friendly expression.

"You want me to walk you to the door?" he asks, pointing in the direction of it.

"No that's fine, I got it." you rush out, fingers gripping on the handle. "Thanks though," you say finally pushing it open.  You stand with the door open but not all the way to not let all the heat out. You lean your head into the cabin of the truck. "I did have a good time tonight. Despite the guy..." you say with a huff of a laugh.

"I did too." he gives you a smile that's much more expressive. "We should do it again soon." he insists with a nod of his head.

"Yeah we should." you nod and finally give him a smile that shows teeth. "I'll text you this week sometime. We can....figure something out." you say with large, almost hopeful eyes.

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"I'll talk to you soon. Be careful." you say with a sheepish smile as you pull away from the truck.

"Only because you told me to." he grins, nodding a goodbye at you.

"Night Declan." you say, involuntarily tucking your hair behind your ear.

"Night, Bella." his deep voice hits you harder than you want it to.

You give him a nod and shut the door. He stays until you're inside the house, waving goodbye to him, like a gentleman. You watch him leave through the window in your living room, greeting Robbie's meowing face with a scratch to the chin.

"Yeah, I did have a good time bub," you say, looking back down once Declan's truck was out of sight. "Mama got to knock a guy out and hang out with a very nice man." you say with a smile that you didn't have to hide from anyone. It wasn't like Robbie would tell anyone. -------------- As you had before, you stare at the unsent texts you drafted up. But unlike last week you actually send them this time. You were relieved to find his way of talking through text wasn't annoying. No one letter or one-word answers where they weren't granted, no bombardment of lots of texts at once. He didn't demand any of your time and you picked up and dropped conversations easily throughout the week.

You spent some time on his Instagram, trying to figure this guy out. He seemed pretty straightforward and that seemed confusing in itself. You were so used to people pretending to be a better version of themselves on social media and he was just...Declan. You find the bar's page, which isn't super active and follow it too. You find pictures of Declan in his feed that span back years, lots of pictures with people in the woods, camping and bonfires, and keggers. It seemed he and Mike did go way back. Lots of half blurred photos of him smiling, clearly drunk. A particularly funny one with him holding Mike above his head and Mike's limbs a blur but you could see his mouth screaming. He didn't just take pictures with guys though, which was refreshing. He hugged girls just the same as he did the guys, pictures with kids with kool-aid mouths and big smiles peppered throughout.

His page is mostly him with other people, as opposed to yours which was mostly pictures like what was in your phones photos, Robbie, guitars, and a scattering of selfies. The last selfie you'd posted was months ago, up until the one you'd taken after you got home from the show. You'd shown your hand with your garnet ring on it, tagging the company you'd bought it from and bragging about how sturdy it was to stand up to an asshole's jaw after the phrase, "Got out of the house. Put on my acceptable female form for public consumption". It got some attention, which you didn't really care about it, you just thought it was clever, but you did notice that Declan liked it. And you did seem to care about that.

After you'd posted your selfie from that night, he'd posted one he'd taken while you were at the bar, it was him in the haze of lasers and dim lighting with you barely visible in the background, your back to the camera while you were getting drinks. "Big thanks to @hellsbells for actually getting me out of the bar for once." is the caption. You liked it. ------ You had plans on going by the bar and were even looking forward to it although the only person you'd admit that too was Robert, But your recording session ran long and you had to stay late. He seemed to take it well enough. By the way his face fell, Mike could tell from across the bar that he'd gotten bad news. But you couldn't see that. You told him you'd make it up to him. You got drunk at home alone that night, and to your surprise the next morning you'd ordered a handful of vintage records. Along with an automatic feeder for Robert, a pack of replica Pick of Destiny's and a Bobbie Brown biography. It was certainly not the worst drunk haul you'd ever purchased.

You'd slept in that next morning, waking up around noon and you didn't feel the least bit guilty about it. You're downing a Gatorade, eating dry toast and scowling in your oversized hoodie when your phone dings and you wince.

"Have a good night?" the message from Declan reads.

"I got home after 1 and drank Jameson on an empty stomach. I don't really know if the night was good or not." you send back.

"Ah. Well you seemed to have a good one based on your IG stories..."

"Oh God." you send before going to check.

"I'll wait lmao"

You find you talking over videos on your laptop of 80's hair metal bands. Cherry Pie, overrated but a classic. Van Halen vs. Van Hagar and singing, almost literally, the skills of Eddie Van Halen. "Well at least it's all on brand." you roll your eyes and rub your forehead, chuckling.

"That it is. I have never heard anyone with an opinion so passionate on Van Halen. lol"

"Well that's me in a nutshell. Full of useless passionate opinions. I was already aware I love VH when I'm drunk."

"It was impressive tbh. lol. And I won't hold it against you."

"I mean these explain the Bobbie Brown biography I bought."

"Oh no did you go drunk online shopping? lmao"

"I did. Which means I'm now the owner of a few new records. And a duplicate 1984. Guess I forgot I had an original print of that. Oh well."

"What was the damage?" he inquires.

"Overall not too bad. I got some original ACDC, Some live White Stripes, the Wombats, Rob AND White Zombie...we've had that discussion before lol, and Sam Cooke, aw, how sweet of me."

"Overall not a bad selection. No idea who tf the wombats are tho."

"They're on Spotify. idk if they're you're kinda thing, british indie pop rock. Speaking of, I bet my search history is going to be a mess. I've gone and fucked up my algorithm."

"Oh no how will you ever come back from that? lol"

"Shut up. lol I work hard on my algorithm. If you actually listened to music instead of wearing the shirts of bands you never listen to you'd have a heart and empathize."

"cry me a fuckin' river, Bells lmao."

You laugh out loud and a smile comes across your face for the first time that morning.  "How about you come get schooled by me in person instead of in my IG stories? I have a lot of stuff to listen to coming in soon apparently." you see an opportunity and you take it. You didn't feel up to going out tonight, you already knew that. You'd be here recovering and picking up the house that you'd neglected the past week.

"Only if Robert will be there."

You laugh out loud again. "I see. Invite a man over and all he wants to see is my cat. .... Waitaminute...I thought you were a good guy and it was all a ruse wasn't it? what an ass. "

"they don't call me a pussy hound for nothin'. it's just not the translation people expect"

"i'll get you one of those keychains like in kill bill. also no one calls you that. Mike told me you hadn't been on a date in 100 years."

"well i think a century is a bit of an overstatement."

"by what 1 year? lol"

"ya got me."

"same. big mood. etc."

"So when am I coming over to be harassed further? lol"

"i'm off early Monday since I worked for over 12 hours yesterday, can you get away from the bar that evening? I can make dinner."

"As if I weren't sold already."

"Man's gotta eat. (Me. I'm that man.)"

"Can this lady eat too?"

"of course she can, does she like ragu? I've been wanting to make some pappardelle, what about that?"

"Are you making up words? bc I seriously can't tell. lol"

"It's Italian food you uncultured swine! lol meat and tomato sauce, homemade thick pasta noodles. If I'm not too lazy I'll make garlic bread."

"holy shit are you serious?"

"I don't joke about food Declan. especially not pasta."

"I might not leave if you make all that...but if you're willing to take your chances I am more than down to eat homemade italian food. i don't remember the last time I had homemade food."

"Then it's been too long. Come over at like...7 ish? I'll need time for the sauce to cook down."

"gotta put my phone in rice bc i've drooled all over it sorry."

"Text me later so I'll remember to do the dough. I need to get my ass off this couch and clean this house. I've been a neglectful house mother this week. too busy."

"you're MAKING the bread? fuck dude, I'll remind you every hour on the hour for that!"

"Please don't. lol" you laugh and sigh, putting the phone into your hoodie pocket and shaking your head. You let it rest on the back of a couch and are quickly overtaken by a big yawn.

Mike watches this interaction go down, Declan with his elbows on the bar, thumbs moving quickly and ignoring the work to be done to set up for the early crowd. He wipes down glasses then moves onto the tabletops and floors but keeps his eyes on his business partner. He hadn't seen Declan so enthralled in a conversation since he'd discussed the range opening with his cousin Sokannon. Mike recognizes the smile on Declan's face because it's the same one that came across his face whenever he'd think about Sokannon. Although not being together in any official capacity, a few flings and years of friendship together had led him to being smitten with her for some time now. And Mike knew Declan and he knew Declan didn't get giddy, didn't get attached or talk about girls in his downtime. He knew something was clearly starting between the two of you, and he hoped it was mutual because he'd hate to see Declan lose that low key glow he'd had since your so-called not a date, night out. He didn't want him to go back to seeming aimless and dazed, he preferred this preoccupied Declan any day. ----------------------------

You spend the rest of your weekend recovering from drinking yourself under the table on Friday night. You certainly couldn't hit the hard liquor like you used to. After saying you were leaving the conversation to clean, you ended up taking a nap, but at least after that you kept your promise. On Sunday you finish up, do your laundry and prep food for the next week. You get your work in, you run errands and you end up going to sleep with everything checked off your to-do list, which was always a good feeling. You curl up with Robert to go to sleep and admit that you're excited about Declan coming over tomorrow. You ask him if he's excited and he does nothing but purr, so you take it as a good sign.

The only thing you change about your work outfit is going from jeans to leggings once you get home. You have your hair down, as usual, the waves formed from braiding it while it was wet falling around your shoulders. You forgo the leather jacket as you turn on the stove and oven, knowing it'll warm the house up enough to not need it. The men's style band t-shirt is long enough so you won't be self-conscious about any camel toe situation that may arise, and you exchange your plain socks for knee-high fuzzy ones with grippers on the bottom, foregoing the houseshoes.

You hadn't cooked for anyone but yourself in months, as Charlotte had been your buddy to do these sorts of things with. You figure you could do almost everything you could with Charlotte with Declan and that was a reassuring feeling to have someone to be able to do things with again. You didn't know where he'd stand on painting each other's nails and doing face and hair masks, and you certainly couldn't walk around naked with him around but overall the trade-off wasn't too bad. No offense to Charlotte, but Declan was more appealing to look at.

He's less nervous than last time as he drives over to your place. Wearing basically the same thing he had last time, he carries a box of your favorite Ale under his strong defined arm as he makes his way to your door, he runs his hand through his hair, a quick fluff before seeing you through the long thin windows that run up the sides of your front door.

"Hey, c'mon in. I just started cooking." you say, ushering him in.

"God, it smells amazing in here babe." he says, greeting you with a one-armed hug, a quick rub to your back you don't entirely mind. To be coming in from the cold he was awfully warm. You return the hug lightly, a slight upgrade from last time, slowly getting used to this casual physical affection he seemed to be so practiced in.

"Thanks. Your boyfriend Robbie is asleep in his bed in my room if you wanna go see him." you smirk. He follows you with a cheeky stare to your bouncing form as you make your way to the kitchen, grabbing the long wooden spoon from the countertop and going back to warming up the ragu sauce you'd started yesterday.

"I think I'll let him rest." he chuckles. "I brought your favorite." he says, holding the cardboard box out with both hands.

"Aren't you a saint?" you say, half turning and a half smile thrown his way. "Just set it on the table and put a few in the fridge for us, please." you say, motioning to the fridge with your spoon. "You didn't have to do that." you say obviously, shaking your head and stirring the steaming pot in front of you.

"Eh," he says shrugging and taking his coat off. "Wanted to." he says as an excuse. "You're cooking for me and I needed to bring something besides my winning personality to the table. Literally." he lets out a rumbling deep laugh that makes a smirk appear across your face involuntarily.

"Well that's very nice of you, thank you. But I've been looking for an excuse to cook, to be honest."

"I will be happy to be that excuse." he chuckles, sitting in one of the chairs at the table, hanging his coat on the back of it.

"Hold out your enthusiasm until you've eaten." you chuckle.

The house falls quiet while you take things in and out of the fridge, work the dough one last time before throwing it into the loaf pan as the sounds of Use Your Illusion I move through the air.

"This is Guns n' Roses, right?" he asks with narrowed eyes, his head tilted to the side like a puppy hearing an unfamiliar sound.

"Yup." you say with a nod. "Don't Cry." you elaborate. "One of the first ones they wrote actually."

"I think I've heard it before." he says, totally unsure if he had, but he didn't want to look ignorant when you knew so much it was intimidating. "Hard to miss his voice isn't?"

"Oh yeah." you nod. "Bayy bayyyy" you sing with the song in matching gravel and nasal to Axl Roses as you turn your attention to the now boiling water on the stove.

"You drunk order this one too?" he grins.

You let out a soft laugh, wiping the excess flour off of your hands, unknown to you creating two white handprints on your black leggings on your butt as he silent laughs and grins at the sight. He wonders about being able to joke with you enough to dust the prints off of you, thinking it'd be funny. But he decides not to even attempt it. Things were going so well so far he didn't want his natural inclination to be physical to ruin things.

"No I've just been listening to a lot of guitar solo heavy stuff, wanted to hear some Slash." you explain. "Been doing a lot of really basic guitar stuff lately and I wanted to hear something more elaborate."

"That stuff get boring? Since you're good?" he asks, looking at the guitars around your living room.

"Not boring really...just not super stimulating." you shrug.

"You ever get bored with making drinks?" you offer, relating it to something he'd be able to understand.

"Ah. I see exactly what you mean now. I mostly just pour liquor and serve beer."

"No one appreciates a good pour around here?"

"Not enough." he says supportively.

"You'd think people would be more grateful for someone who knows how to give good head." you manage to get it out before you start laughing quietly, your shoulders shaking. (Foam on top of the beer is called 'head')

"Oh she's got jokes." he says with a big laugh and smile that you turn and shrug exaggeratedly at him.

"I do. I have jokes." you nod and laugh before tasting the sauce. You bring the spoon over to him and hold it out. "Taste?" you ask with a sweet tone and almost innocent expression that make his smile spread up to his eyes.

"What jokes you got?"

"Don't you know you aren't supposed to put someone on the spot for a joke?"

"I do now." he grins. He leans forward closer to the spoon.  "But I had to ask."

"Alright...here's a really basic one. How do you know someone's a good guitar player?" you ask with a tilted head.

He pulls back from the spoon and with wide interested eyes he lilts "How?"

"Don't worry...they'll tell you." you roll your eyes.

"Ha." he says with a snort through his nose. "I appreciate some self-deprecating humor." he nods with pouted lips of approval. He leans forward and sips from the spoon and his brows shoot up. "Holy shit dude." he says, grabbing your hand around the spoon and bringing it back his way to lick the spoon and you laugh and his lack of grace about washing the spoon make your shoulders shrug and your eyes crinkle up as you shake your head and try to pull away.

"Down boy!" you laugh, using your other hand to lightly smack away at him.

"Fuck that's good Bella." he smacks his lips.

"It's usually a hit. Except with the vegetarians." you shrug.

"Is that beef?"

"And panchetta." you say, taking another taste. Yeah, it was pretty good.

"What's that?"

"Oh?" you ask, not used to people not knowing about meats with your Italian family. "Its Italian bacon basically, pork belly."

"Bella bacon then." he grins.

"Sounds a bit crude but..." you shrug and chuckle.

"Now you KNOW I didn't mean it like that." he says with a low brow and a teasing tone.

"I do." you smile and test the pasta.

"You just like giving me a hard time then?" he grins.

"Only because you're such a good target." you say innocently with a quick shake of your head.

"Only because you're a fuckin' sucker who walks into it, Declan." he says in a high pitched voice.

"Hey." you turn and point the spoon at him. "Your words. Not mine." you grin and move to the stove to plate.  

"You ARE mean!" he says in faux offense and it makes you laugh out loud. What a good sport he was. A man that could take your sense of humor was hard to find, they either truly didn't get it or took everything way too seriously. And the worst was taking all your dirty jokes as a direct offer to fuck. But Declan seemed to have a goofy streak a mile wide running through that distractingly large body of his.

"Nah. You can take it." you shake your head. "And this is done. Wanna eat and listen in the living room?"

"Whatever you wanna do Bells." He certainly did know the right things to say.

You set up camp on the floor in front of your entertainment system. You put on the Wombats, to see if he did in fact like them, and he did not. You were thankful he was honest about it. A man that wasn't afraid to have his own opinions was nice. As the hours pass, the plates long ago went to sit in the sink and you shared a pint of gelato, which he'd also never had. It was an interesting dynamic, hanging out with someone who didn't know you too well, like Charlotte did. Charlotte knew you when you were a shitty like punk ass teen and knew your family. There's a different sort of vibe when you hang with someone new but it didn't feel uncomfortable with Declan and you couldn't help but notice how he always responded genuinely to things whether they were in agreement or not. A few Ale's down you've sat almost on top of each other, thigh to thigh and arm to arm, holding a records sleeve between the two of you as you look at the art and you tell him trivia bits about the music. He seems interested, and that's more than you could ask for from someone who didn't work in your sort of career.

He notices how much more comfortable you get with him everytime he sees you and he's more than pleased with himself for getting you to warm up to him. You'd come in so cold and now you were sharing a spoon, your arm behind his back as he held a record and you happily rambled about rock and roll. You go off on tangents and he was happy to listen, always learning something when he was with you, and that was more than he could say about any girls he'd met, let alone dated in years. You clearly weren't looking for his approval or wanting him to make your life interesting, you made your own life interesting and you were inviting him into it.

He'd get distracted watching you sit up and bend over and reach out to lift the needle and find the perfect spot on the records. You were well into your remastered High Voltage, you bobbing and grooving with it, lamenting on Highway to Hell being possibly your favorite album ever, and this one being ridiculously underrated and not popular enough with the masses. You move to speak of sex, drugs and rock and roll, and fairly unfiltered, which he appreciates. He finds out you've done more than a handful of shady things in your youth, taking the moniker of sex, drugs and rock and roll a little too seriously and following a crowd that did the same. It was comforting to know you also were trying to move on from a past you weren't particularly proud of, but didn't deny was a part of where you came from. He shared the sentiment and you could tell from his intently listening eyes that he understood.

You wondered if he'd had a similar upbringing with shit head friends but you weren't going to be nosey and ask, that was his business. Maybe after you knew him a little better, but then again maybe he'd just tell you himself. You were surprised at how fast you loosened up around him. You normally didn't share, and not that you were oversharing, speaking in generalities, overstepping the particularly dark parts. But you liked how he listened. You weren't used to men listening to you. They mostly waited their turn to talk. But something about Declan made you feel comfortable, which was more than you could say for anyone you'd met in a long, long time. He didn't seem to have such a hard time being warm with people like you did. It wasn't your natural inclination. But Declan was a good time, good company and seemed to love your food and dare you say, even your company. You tried not to think too much into it as you sat inches from his face in silence for a few seconds too many after noticing how late it was getting.

But as he pulled back, stating, no matter how hesitantly he did so, "You uh...yeah you need your sleep, Bella." he clears his throat and sits back on his hands. "I'll help you clean up and I'll get out of your hair." he says with a nod before clapping his hands together and standing, offering you his hand to help you up. You knew you didn't need his help getting up, and your knee-jerk reaction was to refuse his hand and get up to show you didn't need his offering of help. But you didn't'. You looked at his hand a few seconds and took it in your own as he yanked you up with no problem what so ever as if you weighed nothing. You watch his shoulders shift as he walks into the kitchen with the empty carton of gelato, licking the spoon one last time. You knew you didn't need Declan's help...but you certainly didn't seem to mind it.

@vale0413 @littledeadgirlwalking @jaegeeeeer

[gumnut-logic]

A Little Chaos (Part 5)

Title: A Little Chaos

Part 1a | Part 1b | Part 1c & 2 | Part 3 | Part 4a | Part 4b | Part 5

Author: Gumnut

May 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: A little conversation in less than optimal conditions.

Word count: 2068

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, Scott/Em.

Timeline: Sometime after ‘Gentle Rain’

Author’s note: Yeah, I should be writing ‘The Bellini Incident’, but this was supposed to be a quick fic, but then so was Bellini. This one will not be anywhere near as long and I will be back to Bellini asap. I am now laughing at this last statement as the word count for this has now passed the 10K mark ::headdesk:: Also, the prompts below? Pretty much forgotten…though I guess they may rear their heads in the next chapter or so.

The prompt: From a series of OC prompts. Kylorr asked for 5. Have they ever cheated on anyone before? And 7. How many partners have they had? I don’t know if I’m going to answer either of them, but this is the fic that happened. I hope you enjoy it :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

“Virgil?”

The engineer didn’t answer. He sat staring at his hands, thoughts obviously miles away.

She was on familiar turf. They were back at Wellington Hospital, the site of so much last Christmas. This time, however, it was not Virgil, but Kayo who was being attended. That left Virgil and Scott sitting in the waiting room.

It was obvious neither did waiting very well. Scott was busy on comms with John, the Wellington police and the GDF. She had heard shouting over the line several times from his direction. Scott answered everything calm and business-like. Em had no doubt she would have to help unwind her man later. She could see the tension in his shoulders from here.

Thunderbird Two was once again parked on the hospital’s front lawn. The rest of the Tracy family was inbound, Grandma marshalling them. Even John would be dropping in as soon as they could contain the fallout from the incident.

Kayo was in no danger. She just needed the bullet removed and the wound tidied up. She would be out of surgery soon.

At the moment, Virgil was her concern.

“Virgil?” She reached out to touch his shoulder and he jumped.

“Huh?”

Scott eyed him from across the room, his brow furrowing.

“I need to check you over.”

It was Virgil’s turn to frown. “Why?”

“Kayo hit you rather hard.”

He shifted in his seat. “I’m fine.”

“Forgive me if I never believe that statement ever again.”

His eyes shot up, narrowed slightly and his lips thinned.

She shrugged. “Can you really blame me?”

He sighed, dropping his gaze once again to his hands. “Okay.”

Squeezing his shoulder, she smiled just a little. “C’mon, it will only take a moment.”

Without a word, he rose to his feet and picked up the green dress that lay on the seat beside him. Em cursed the lack of her ‘scoot, reduced to the basic hoverchair the hospital provided. Virgil was tall next to her. Scott was a bloody skyscraper.

Speaking of Scott, her boyfriend was beside them in a matter of steps. “News?”

Em reached out and caught his hand. “No, I’m just going to check out Virgil.”

“Why?” Immediate frown, immediate concern.

She arched an eyebrow up at him. “I know you know how hard a hitter Kayo can be and Virgil took a good one to his midsection today. I just need to check on him...considering his medical history.”

“Oh.” Scott swallowed and grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “Keep me informed.”

Virgil pursed his lips. “I’m fine.”

“Sure.”

The glare Virgil shot his brother was enough to light his hair on fire.

Em dragged the younger man away from her boyfriend before the argument could start. She wrestled him into an examination cubicle. “Top half of your uniform off. I’m going to grab some equipment.” A smile to soften her tone. “Be back in a moment.” She pulled the curtain and left him to disrobe.

She was caught in thought between Scott and Virgil when she approached the nursing station, but was thrown out of her thoughts at the mention of the word ‘Tracy’. Being so low in the damn hoverchair, apparently her presence hadn’t been noticed.

“...Tracy, look at those eyes. Wouldn’t you love to have them looking at you?” The voice belonged to a young nurse holding a phone talking to an equally young workmate.

Em frowned.

“Blue or brown?”

“Oh, I don’t know. They are both bloody gorgeous.”

“And both spoken for.” An older voice broke in. “Have you been taking photos? Jenny, do you want to lose your job?”

“These are worth more than my job, ‘Melda.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“So gorgeous though.”

Slipping back into the shadows, Em fingered the comms in her collar. “John?”

“Em? What’s wrong?”

John’s voice never failed to alter her heartbeat. A combination of long memory and the music it was. “Can you find a mobile phone about five metres...south-east of me, belonging to a Jenny?”

A moment. “Located. Why?”

“She has pictures of Scott and Virgil on it. She’s intending on selling them.”

The line went quiet. Ten seconds later there was a squawk from the nurses’ station. “What the hell?”

“Situation resolved.” John’s voice betrayed no smugness, but a female voice was laughing in the background. “Eos, subtlety next time.”

“She didn’t deserve subtlety.” Em’s phone pinged quietly and she pulled it out of the hoverchair’s inside pocket. The photos appeared on the screen.

The woman was right. They were worth more than her job. A photo of them entering ER. Virgil at Kayo’s side that naked love and concern on his face that had so circled the world the last time the press had hounded them, but behind them Scott was carrying her. The expression on his face spoke of his concern for Kayo, as well, but a flick over to the next photo and his head had turned to look down at Em in his arms.

Oh god.

He was different to Virgil. The two brothers were vastly different in so many ways. But the way he was looking at her...

Her heart missed a beat.

A text flicked up on her phone. These are the only copies. Keep them safe. John.

While the nurse, metres away from her, was swearing at her phone, Em had to blink to keep the tears at bay while looking at hers.

But Virgil was waiting.

She shook herself, straightened and without a word, barged into the nurses’ station and appropriated the equipment she needed.

She took no pleasure as the nurse exclaimed to her friend that her phone was possessed, that it was posting horrible things to her social media all by itself, that it wasn’t responding, that it swore at her. She did smile, however, when she distinctly heard Eos declare through the phone’s speakers that Jenny would be assimilated and resistance was futile. The AI had obviously been in John’s Trek collection again.

The phone was dropped to the hard floor. There was a sharp crack as its screen shattered.

Oops.

The woman was still swearing as Em headed back to Virgil. She had to swallow a laugh and straighten her expression before slipping through the curtains.

Any thought of humour vanished at the sight of the emergency responder sitting on the side of the bed. His posture was slumped and worn. In the middle of his bare chest a lovely bruise about the size off his fiancée’s fist was blooming.

He straightened the moment he saw her, facade falling into place.

Em pressed her lips together just a little.

“Virgil, she is going to be okay.”

“I know.”

“You and Scott saved the both of us.”

“I know.”

She sighed. He’d put a wall up that she didn’t have the trust yet to batter down. Only Kayo or Scott could do that.

As she reached for the scanner and fiddled with the primitive hoverchair in an attempt to get it to gain at least a little height so she could examine him, he slid off the bed and crouched down to her level. “How are you?”

She blinked. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t miss the curve of his lips at her parroted response. His eyes dropped to the touchscreen she was fighting. “Let me have a look at that.” And the next minute she found herself on the bed and her bare-chested patient pulling apart the control panel of her hoverchair. A muttered expletive, a whack with a screwdriver from his kit and the ‘chair hovered smoothly to a standing height.

He straightened. “There you go. Should behave itself long enough until Gordon arrives with your backup ‘scoot.”

His offered arms were gratefully accepted and he lifted her off the bed and placed her gently in the ‘chair, assisting her with the harness.

“Virgil, I have to say that you are the first patient of mine who has ever had me as a patient in return.”

A snort and he smiled up at her. “We each have our specialties.”

She returned the smile, happy to see it. “Now let’s check under your hood.”

A pair of rolled eyes and he climbed back onto the bed. A gesture for him to lie down and he complied. She activated the bed’s holographic system and an outline of his system appeared above him. Focussed on his rib cage, her eyes tracked the healed remains of his injury on his right side, searching for any aggravation. The bruise showed up, minor sub-dermal damage obvious, but his ribcage had managed to flex without issue. His lungs were clear and healthy, heart unaffected.

A sigh of relief she hadn’t known she’d needed.

She ran some basic obs, his brown eyes tracking her actions.

“So, was I right?”

A blink. “In what way?”

“I’m fine.”

Unable to let it completely slide, Em curled her lips. “Oh, I think Kayo thinks you are pretty fine.”

He snorted and the hologram rippled. A second later his expression froze and his heartbeat increased.

She frowned. “Virgil, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Lying under examination is futile. You know that.” Not to mention that she had learnt pretty fast that the man was rather crap at it in any case.

“It is nothing.”

“It most certainly is not. What is wrong, Virgil?”

His readouts changed yet again as he...well, she could only describe it as ‘squirmed’ under her gaze.

“Virgil.”

“Em.”

She couldn’t force him to tell her anything and she didn’t want to. She shut off the scanner. “You are fine. Just take it easy.”

He sat up, but he wouldn’t look at her. Something was definitely wrong. She frowned and dropped her hand onto his knee. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Just know I’m here if you need to talk. Patient confidentiality.” She fixed him with her gaze and he smiled at her just slightly.

“Thanks, Em.”

She held his gaze just a moment longer, frowning. His eyes darted away and she knew he wouldn’t tell her in this case and she had no doubt Scott had something to do with it. An involuntary sigh.

He looked up at her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Gentle fingers wrapped around her arm. “You’ve been through quite an experience.”

Okay, so she had her own facades. She was as bad as him. “I’m fine.”

“That talking thing is mutual, you know.”

“Thank you for saving me. Again.” It came out in all a rush.

A ghost of a smirk. “Anytime, Em, anytime. Besides, if I hadn’t, Scott would have likely killed the guy.” Virgil shuffled off the bed and started shouldering on the top half of his uniform.

She blinked, suddenly caught up in the moments before Virgil had broken through the wall and ripped the guy out of her personal space.

“Em?”

Caring brown eyes looking down at her in concern.

She put together something resembling confidence on her face.

He wasn’t fooled for a second. “You don’t have to worry. Our lawyers will put him away for a very long time.” He reached for his harness, buckling it on with practised fingers.

She shivered, remembering the slimy touch on her belly.

“Em?” And suddenly Virgil was too close. She flung herself backwards, the unfamiliar hoverchair colliding with her tray of instruments, sending several of them clattering to the floor.

His eyes widened in realisation...and horror. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, Em. Hell.” He stumbled backwards, catching the curtain of the cubicle and almost tangling himself in it.

Her hand shot up. “No! No, Virgil, no. It’s fine. I’m sorry. I know. I KNOW. You would never hurt me.” She flung the chair forward, grabbing his arm in desperation. “I’m sorry. Please come here.”

Both fear and anger flickered through those chocolate eyes and god she wished Kayo was with them. The man was massive, his sheer muscular bulk could be considered intimidating, but he had never intimidated her. And he wasn’t intimidating her now. It was just... raw memories.

Virgil’s hands flexed into fists and he refused to move closer. “I’m so sorry, Em. I should have known better. What that asshole said to you...” His knuckles went white.

She forced a grim smile. “Well, as you said, he is going away for a very long while.” A blink and a frown. “How do you know what he said to me?”

He froze, his eyes widening.

“Virgil?”

-o-o-o-

[frost-skyder]

Gaslighting, homophobia, harassment, etc.

This is a copy of a journal that was/is on deviantArt since the incident happened there, but I’m putting some of my records here when it involves harassment and art theft.

Warning: This includes harassment towards minors by a predatory adult, homophobic behavior, gaslighting, and other predatory behaviors.

Another Update:

Archived here for better viewing:

https://web.archive.org/web/20190704135920/https://www.deviantart.com/haleyc7995/journal/Harassment-and-Discrimination-About-My-Opinion-802306133

It’s one thing to harass me, but going out and threatening others isn’t okay.

Update, a freaking year later:

https://www.deviantart.com/haleyc7995/journal/Everyone-report-this-journal-for-harassment-802227692

Apparently I'm part of the LGBT+ Mafia because I said it's homophobic to go out of your way to say our existence is wrong? Not sure where they got that idea but they chose to dig up this old warning journal since they were harassing Queer people, and apparently think it's still okay to do so. 

 Also going to note that trying to use neurodivergency as an excuse for our actions isn't okay and is ableist, basically spitting in the face of other neurodivergent people. 

---

OH WAIT THERE'S MORE!

This guy has sexually harassed minors. Also much more disgusting rhetoric than I expected in stamps but also in other comments towards minors. Please be advised of the explicit comments when clicking on this journal.

[Journal redacted by minor]

It's one thing for him to harass me, another adult, but to sexually harass and target minors is beyond disgusting, and illegal. If anyone wants an example of what a predator is, here it is.

---

Nvm, not last update.

Due to more and more people coming forward, I'm going to keep updating this journal, and adding links provided to me. I'm going to state that I'm so, so sorry to all of those who have been harmed by the three perpetrators in this journal. Hopefully from awareness comes prevention of further victims.

It was also brought up to me that my journal skin was causing issues for mobile users, so since this journal is very serious in nature, I have removed it so no matter what platform it should be legible.

This Journal is being added because it provides more information. TW (Rapey Rhetoric, body shaming, harassment, etc)

[Journal removed]

---

Last Update (hopefully): Due to the garbage he keeps posting, I decided to block both his accounts because he's just rehashing what others have said about him, and now pinning it on victims lmao. When I told him I didn't tolerate how he was sexually harassing women and belittling sexual assault victims, apparently I'm the one harassing trauma victims now?? 

For the record...the only person I've blocked is him, which makes it funnier, but okay Chad™

Also going to state that being neurodivergent is not a justification for marginalizing others, ever, and is a spit in the face and throws other neurodivergent people under the bus. As I said, most of my friends with autism are in the LGBT+ community, and a majority of my friends are neurodivergent in general. So am I. It's never an excuse to marginalize others,

ever.

Apologies to everyone who had to deal with him, his nonsense, and has to deal with people like this in general.

And sorry, but marginalized groups speaking out against people actively trying to harm and oppress them isn't and will never be fascism. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

---

Very, very IMPORTANT Edit:

It is fairly easy to tell, but EmpatheticDesign is the same person as GrandtheftAutoOnline, and uses the duo of accounts to block evade.

I was made aware by others spreading my journal that this person is known for this behavior, has harassed others in the past, and belittled victims of trauma, including rape victims. It's one thing to be a homophobic garbage pile, but to go out of your way to harm and belittle those who have suffered through serious trauma? So yeah, please let others be aware so they are not harassed as well.

Edit: The second journal was removed at the request of the victim, who didn't want to associate with their abuser, or be found again. I was allowed though to give some details about what happened, so I think it's best that I post a screenshot of our notes, censoring the names.

 https://www.deviantart.com/uwugirls/journal/Stay-safe-guys-749736306

At this point, it's beyond just harassing the LGBT+ community, and they seem to harass, sexualize, and belittle victims and women in general. Please be aware of this and stay safe.

Triple Edit: The person mentioned below, EmpathicDesign proceeded to post homophobic garbage on other people's posts so yeah, they kind of just admitted to be homophobic which is why they are so bitter lmao.

Double Edit: Apparently pointing out homophobes is facist now lmao. This was a great magnet for homophobic garbage so y'all can also block GrandTheftAutoOnline while you're at it, since they are trying to compare facism and oppression to someone pointing out homophobia. Clearly they don't know what facism actually is, what oppression is, and just want to justify hate speech without consequences.

Edit: I'm going to put this here so others know to also bock/avoid this person, who has made a variety of stamps targeting the LGBT+ community, and decided to think it was a smart idea to defend this person's discriminatory and phobic behavior as an "opinion."

Suuuure it isn't...

Then this lovely stamp shows they don't even know what "safe" spaces refer to whatsoever and they'd just rather shame Queer folk. Ya know, besides trying to avoid admitting that they are just phobic.

So yeah, here's another person that blatantly discriminates if you want to add to your list of "people that don't deserve any of your time." ------

Being gay myself, and having to deal with this on far too consistent of a basis, I thought I'd do my part to warn others so they can avoid some of this in their lives.

Apparently HaleyC7995 has done these things before, but I wanted to warn others who are Queer and may want to block people who go about spewing homophobic rhetoric.

I don't suggest going to her profile if you are sensitive to fat fetishizing, vore, and sexualization of a potential minor character (the character is in high school so there is a large possibility that they are a minor). Also racist depictions of characters.

People tried to explain why what they were saying wasn't okay, how it was homophobic, but she turned it around to blame the victims for her actions and other inappropriate behavior. She continued to say she was "misunderstood" about what she said, despite multiple times saying how being gay was "wrong" and overall seems quite content continue to say such things.

 It started by saying something unnecessarily homophobic on an art piece, then when the artist made a status saying how people needed to stop being homophobic at them, they posted this on that status:

As you can see here, many people expressed how this was innapropriate:

 https://comments.deviantart.com/62/13481362/4588682762 

Apologies to the artist who was subjected to this person. You aren't the first victim, and hopefully you will be one of the last. For those who aren't Queer and don't realize this yet...you can't "turn" gay. She for some reason acts as if it's a choice lmao. 

And well, many people reacted angrily, and she decided to "apologize" which wasn't an apology at all, but once again shifting blame and saying that it was just her "opinion." 

 For future records, hate speech isn't considered an opinion. It's hate speech and bigotry. An opinion is that I don't like raisins in my carrot cake because they make the cake texture gross. 

Credit to this person who tried very, very hard to explain why this wasn't okay. This had to be the most patient person trying to explain why homophobia isn't an opinion. 

 People continued to be mad, because well...the obvious lack of empathy, blaming others, and continuing to persist with the idea that being gay was wrong and a sin. 

Other people tried a well, especially those who have dealt with this person before she was banned on a previous account. She was ban evading for a while but it seems the accounts were unbanned now.

 She continues even with me to say she's "unaware" of what she's doing. It's obvious she's not, and at this point she gets very gaslighty and trying to flip it once again on everyone else. 

I was blocked after this so I couldn't respond, though as an angry gay person I had choice words. Unfortunately, due to how she's behaving, and how she has a history to blame everyone but herself for her own actions, I don't expect she'll be changing anytime soon. If you are Queer, have Queer friends, or just are very tired of blatant phobic behavior I'd just suggest blocking her. She's not willing to change or learn, but that doesn't mean we have to subject ourselves to hatred.  I am so sorry for those she's already caused harm to, for those who tried so hard and had to put up with this, and for those who have had to deal with her even before this incident.

[abaikgirl]

Loki, Asgard’s UN Representative

So I had this idea of what if after Avengers 4, after Thor defeats Thanos, settles the remainder of Asgard on earth and brings Loki back to life, Loki becomes the right hand to the throne and handles all diplomatic and foreign relations for Asgard (because he’s so sly and silvertongued and Thor is actually perfectly awful at diplomacy). So of course Thor chooses Loki to represent Asgard at the United Nations meeting and Loki goes in guns blazing to make things better for his people and takes advantage of the fact that everyone is terrified of him to do whatever the hell he wants. Anyways, it was kind of a one shot I wrote in a hurry, so enjoy!

“And now we call attention to the newest member of the United Nations-the sovereign nation of Asgardia, represented by Loki Odinson, All-Brother and advisor to the throne.” Although the words were said with decorum, there was a quiver in the voice of the UN head that betrayed the fear all in the room felt at having a former super villain present with them. 

Loki rose from his seat at the back and gracefully walked to the microphone. Despite being a thousand year-old Norse god from space, he wore a simple but expertly tailored black suit that lacked any ornamentation except for a single gold lapel pin that had an elaborate knot design etched in it. His shoulder length hair was slicked back in soft curls and his smile was warm and gracious as he looked at the diplomats before him. Despite themselves, his refined appearance and elegant movements made many of the women and men in the room feel a rush of attraction. This wasn’t done by any magic because upon hearing that King Thor had appointed his brother Loki as Asgard’s UN representative, the leaders of the world reached out to Doctor Strange who was more than happy to put up anti-magic charms all around the main chamber to prevent Loki from getting out of hand. So no, this wasn’t magically induced attraction and trust, this was Loki doing what he did best—winning people over with his silver tongue and good looks. 

“Citizens of the world, leaders of earth,” he began. “I understand many, if not all of you, are quite disturbed at the thought of having me be a part of your council. Considering the horrendously bad first impression I made, I can hardly blame you. However, you may put your worries to rest as I come as a humble representative of the Asgardian people to work in unity to find solutions that not only benefit Asgard, but all the nations of Earth.”

Loki allowed a pause, smiling warmly at the representatives half of whom looked ready to eat out of the palm of his hand and the other half looked entirely unimpressed with his eloquent “I’m good now” speech. Undeterred by their doubting expressions, he continued. Looking down, he pretended to be consulting notes even though he had the entire speech fully memorized and prepared, but the need for assist made him look more human and thereby more accessible to the mortals around him. 

“The first topic Asgard wishes to bring before the United Nations is the abolishment of the Sokovia Accords.” For a moment, the contented lull he had induced on the crowd was broken and there was a flurry of urgent murmurs. Loki, undeterred by this rush of sound, continued. “Considering the fact that the accords seek to control and condemn Asgard’s leader, All-Brother Thor Odinson, Rightful King of Asgard, it cannot continue to be a functioning part of the world government and we move to have it abolished immediately.”

General Ross leaned forward to speak into his microphone. “With all do respect, Mr. Loki, the accords seek to prevent out-of-control vigilantes from running amuck in other countries. To abolish it is to put the world at risk.” Loki’s grin widened, turning colder and steelier as his bright green eyes settled on the general like a wolf that had spotted its prey. “And you would know all about putting people at risk, now wouldn’t you, General Ross?” There was a glimmer of fear in Ross’ eyes and Loki savored it as he continued to fix his gaze on the weak man before him. “After all, you were the one who led a military detail against an unstable and uncontrollable element, known as the Hulk, on a public college campus, endangering hundreds of innocent bystanders by your clumsy and bullheaded antagonization of said Hulk?”

Ross began to sweat and broke his gaze to look at the representatives around him for support. “That was—”

But Loki didn’t allow him to finish and plowed on. “I also recall you captured the Hulk after he had changed back into Bruce Banner only to release him on the unsuspecting population of Harlem to quell the rise of another unstable element—a member of your own team no less.” Loki let out a short, breathy laugh. “In all honesty, under the accords as they stand General Ross, you should be equally restrained and scrutinized for such reckless endangerment of human life that you accuse the Avengers to be guilty of.” Ross attempted to defend himself but Loki had already turned his attention back to the assembly. “Ladies and gentlemen of the United Nations, I am not here to say that my dear brother couldn’t use a bit of restraint. I, of all people know how reckless he can be. But as someone who once marched on the city of New York with the intent of conquering it, I can say with full confidence that the world is better protected with the Avengers and groups like them being given free mobility in emergency situations.”

This statement gained Loki some traction as the other delegates began to whisper amongst themselves that he had a very good point. After all, Thanos had wiped out half the universe only a few months ago and it was good that the Avengers had ignored the Accords and sprung into action to change that. 

General Ross could feel his position quickly slipping and stood up. “Now, hold on. We can’t just let this…super villain come in here and overthrow important legislation for the selfish reason of allowing his brother do whatever he likes.”

“First of all, these accords affect the leaders of two sovereign nations,” Loki interjected. “Both Asgard and Wakanda are led by those who have risked their lives to save the world, so this is not only affecting my brother, but also King T’Challa whom I understand has only recently opened the borders  of his country to the rest of the world. I would think it unwise to impose illegal and discriminatory legislation on their leader at such a delicate time. And second,” Loki gave General Ross a smile that dropped the temperature of the room a few degrees, “that’s reformed super villain to you.”

A deathly silence followed, broken only by Loki’s renewed cheerful tone. “All those in favor of abolishing the accords?”

No one dared to tell Loki he wasn’t authorized to initiate voting on a policy and it was almost unanimous.***

When Loki left the chamber, Thor was waiting for him and making conversation with T’Challa and his entourage. In all honesty, Loki adored Wakanda. Maybe it was the technological advancements, or the centuries of unbroken tradition or the all female royal guard—but it reminded him of home. Of course, the Wakandans did not share his same sentiment and as he approached they were guarded and reserved. It would take a lot for them to stop seeing him as the pawn of Thanos and start seeing him as a Thor saw him—a hero, a prince and an ally of Asgard. 

Thor saw him and gave him a wide smile. “Brother! I saw the recording of your meeting. A true victory!” Thor clapped him on the shoulder and Loki returned his smile.

Turning to the Wakanda leadership, Loki gave a small bow. “King T’Challa,” he greeted. 

“I appreciate what you have done for Wakanda and the Avengers,” T’Challa said, “But as I was just telling your brother, I still do not trust you to always do what is best for the whole.”

“I’m hurt,” Loki replied, but his playful smile didn’t match his words. “After all, I’m a diplomat now and that means I will always do what is best for Asgard and her allies. Are you one of our allies, King T’Challa?”

The Wakanda king frowned at Loki’s tone and stared at him for a few moments, appraising him. “I am an ally of Thor’s,” he responded in a careful tone. 

“Well then, it seems that, like it or not, you will have to learn to trust me.”

Thor nervously looked from Loki to T’Challa, waiting for some further arguing and when none came he laughed. “It’s good to see you’re making friends, brother.” Turning to T’Challa, he tried to look more serious. “I assure you Man of Panthers, I trust Loki with my life. He has fought by my side in many battles for the good of Asgard and the universe, and I know he would do it again. You have my word, he is trustworthy.”

T’Challa looked as surprised as Loki did. T’Challa knew how important and binding oaths were to the Asgardians and no matter how often Thor expressed his admiration and trust for his brother since the destruction of Asgard, Loki didn’t think he would ever get used to it. 

Brunnhilde approached them, her Valkyrie armor looking as out of place in the sleek modern UN building as Thor’s kingly attire, but if she noticed she didn’t show it. Loki watched how the crowd parted around Brunnhilde as she walked and he smiled, wondering how the UN would like it she were Asgard’s representative instead of him. After ten minutes they would practically beg to have him back. 

“All-Brothers,” she greeted, with a secret smile. Heimdall had coined the title, back on the ark. Thor was pretty sure he had said it in jest, but somehow it stuck and now that was what everyone called them. Thor and Loki, All-Brothers on the throne of Asgard. “If we plan to make all of the appointments of the day, we had better go,” Brunnhilde informed them. 

“Of course,” Thor replied with a boyish smile. “Until next time, my friends.”

T’Challa crossed his arms in the Wakanda salute which Thor, Loki and Brunnhilde returned. 

Brunnhilde led the way to the slab of concrete the UN had laid especially for them. It was still freshly singed from their arrival and there was no doubt it would only continue to be worn away with further usage. Loki thought back on his conversation with T’Challa and frowned. “They still don’t trust me, brother,” he grumbled.

“They will,” Thor replied. Lifting Stormbreaker to the sky, he opened the bifrost and with a flash of light they were taken home to Asgard. 

Thanks for reading. Should I write more? Let me know!

Special thanks to @the-spastic-pen for pre-reading.