#I want to me tall scrawny and pathetic

[c0smic-horrorwerewolf]

How many times do I have to explain this?!?

I don’t get gender envy from normal guys!

I get gender envy from the pathetic twinks in my fandoms!

IF I DONT LOOK LIKE ARTHUR LESTER AND CONSTANTINE I WONT BE HAPPY!

MY IDEAL FORM IS A MIX OF MICHAEL THE DISTORTION, CECIL PALMER AND GOTHAMS RIDDLER! THAT IS MY GENDER!

[misseviehyde]

SHADOWS

My ex-boyfriend James is sooooo fucking weak and pathetic. I hate and despise him with every part of my soul. He is everything that is wrong with men these days. Indecisive, overly sensitive, small and pathetic. What a fucking loser.

His twin brother Jason by comparison is a God. He is the man I now desire. Once I despised and hated Jason, but now he is everything I seek in a man. Tall, strong, rich, dominant... he makes me so fucking wet. My new boyfriend is a total Alpha. The longer I stay around him the more feminine I feel. I love what he does to me.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me explain how this all started...

Once I was the nerdiest girl at school. It seems insane to say it now, given how popular I am, but there was a time when I couldn't name six fashion designers or contour my makeup or suck off three boys at once in the cheerleaders locker room. I was a fucking loser.

Terrible skin, flat chested, nerdy glasses and goofy teeth. No. I was once plain little Melanie. I even had ginger hair. No wonder everyone bullied me. Popular rich bitch Madison didn't even exist. I was a fucking nobody.

My life consisted of science fairs, anime and role-playing games. Not the fun role playing games where you dress as a sexy school girl and get railed by a hot guy... no... the loser ones where you pretend to be an elf.

To my shame I was even into LARPIng. Live action role play. Each Friday night, me, James, Jason and our other buddies would go into the local woods to play.

We would run around the woods pretending to be on adventures. Fuckkkk it was so pathetic, I feel a major ick just thinking about it.

Jason wasn't the God he would later become at this point. He and James basically looked the same. I don't know why I had chosen James as my boyfriend. I guess he was slightly more confident and had asked me out first. He and Jason basically looked and acted the same though. Many people couldn't even tell them apart. Even me sometimes.

Then Jason found the shadow and everything changed.

As part of our role playing experience we sometimes brought props along and Jason had found this creepy looking glass bottle in a charity shop. It was opaque and stoppered with a wax cork. Perhaps it held a liquid of some kind? Sometimes it looked like there was something dark swirling inside, but it was kind of hard to tell.

We needed a prop to represent an evil demon that was trapped in a bottle so Jason had brought out the bottle.

As usual the group had split up. It was dark now and I was on my own. I had on my favourite druid costume (ughhh so fucking fugly) and I was creeping through the woods under the moonlight.

Suddenly I saw Jason through a gap in the trees. He was on his own too and carrying the bottle. I headed towards him, he hadn't seen me... in fact he wasn't really paying proper attention to his surroundings, which is maybe why he suddenly tripped over a tree root.

The bottle span from his hands and smashed against the ground with a musical tinkle.

I had a perfect view of everything. Jason was lit by the moonlight, his scrawny body shivering and his eyes wide with fear as a rolling mass of black shadows erupted from the smashed bottle and flowed towards him.

I wanted to scream but my voice had left me and I could only put my hands to my mouth like a parody of some dumb anime girl as the shadows flowed into Jason. Black smoke forced its way down his throat, into his nose. It wrapped and enveloped him, melting and merging into his body.

Then it was gone.

But the scene was not over.

Jason let out a cry, or maybe it was a moan. I watched in horrified fascination (and now I'm happy to admit a little bit or arousal) as I watched him change. Jason... my God... was being born.

Muscles rippled and swelled under his skin, causing his shirt to rip and his fantasy style breeches to bulge. He tore his top off to reveal a rippling six back and toned muscles as his skin flowed like wax and he changed and transformed. He grew taller and bigger, more handsome too as his face became more masculine and his hair cut more stylish.

Grunting and grinning Jason ripped off his pathetic role playing costume and stretched confidently. He was entirely naked now and I gasped in arousal as I saw his magnificent ass and his perfect cock. As I watched it was growing. Ten inches of thick white meat now hung between his huge thighs and I almost salivated as I beheld his perfect manly body.

Jason confidently stretched his body, clearly enjoying how it felt. He grinned perfect white teeth and his eyes, once mild and nerdy shone with ambition and dark desire. He clicked his fingers and there was a wisp of smoke as a stylish black shirt and designer jeans encased his new perfect body. He now looked like a male super model and he strode off through the woods chuckling, leaving me breathing heavily and wondering if I was losing my mind.

***

I ran through the woods. Back then I was ungainly and lacking athletic ability. Whereas now I hit the gym daily and can bend into nearly any position (especially when fucking) I was a fucking loser, so I made quite the noise as I crashed through the trees.

James and the others soon found me and I garbled what I'd seen, but they all thought I was still role playing.

"Babe, it's a cool story, but one detail that doesn't work. My stuck up bullying brother doesn't play with us. He thinks we're losers."

I gawped at James. I thought he was joking at first, but as we spoke it became clear he was serious. The shadow had changed Jason, but it also seemed to have changed everyone's memories of him.

I had no idea why I hadn't been affected. perhaps because I had witnessed his transformation directly or something.

James and the others couldn't understand why I was so upset and worried. The shadow had looked evil and I was worried my boyfriends brother was now under the control of something wicked. I decided I'd have to confront Jason directly and see if I could aid him, so I told the others I felt sick and left to go immediately to James and Jason's house.

James started after me, but I quickly lost him in the woods. I didn't want him to see what had happened to his brother. I was sure I could find a way to save Jason.

Haha, what a fucking idealistic moron I used to be.

***

I arrived at Jason's to find the house had changed. There was now a pickup parked at the front and the house was larger and clearly more expensive. Entering the house I found it was better decorated and I nearly had a heart attack as I entered the kitchen to find Jame's Mom and Dad.

Michael, the Dad was now a handsome looking business man wearing an expensive suit. Linda, James Mom had transformed from a homesy kind Mom into a haughty and beautiful MILF. She looked stunning!

Neither of them paid me much attention, they clearly recognised me as James girlfriend. The sneer and look of disgust Linda gave me left me cold. I can't blame her. Linda is now a major icon to me and we are the BEST of friends. She loves me like a daughter and I've learned so much about manipulating and using men from her. But back then I was a dork dating her loser son James.

But that was soon about to change.

I found Jason in a room I'd never seen before. A personal gym.

He was stripped to the waist, his muscles rippling as he pumped iron. He turned and grinned at me as I entered.

"Well well well. My brothers dork girlfriend? What the hell do you want Melanie?"

"I saw everything Jason. I saw that weird shadow enter you. We have to get it out of you. What have you done to your Mom and Dad? This isn't right."

Jason grinned. "Ahhhh. So you saw it? So you remember the old me? Haha you have no idea Melanie. No idea how good this feels. The shadow within me hungers for power and pleasure. It serves no other purpose but to give me what I want. It can change things, people too. Anything that falls under my shadow can be twisted to serve my whim. I am a fucking God now."

I watched nervously as black shadows seemed to spread around Jason as he spoke. The air rippled with potential and a cold numb feeling spread through my body and my soul. Jason grinned as the light seemed to be sucked out of the room and I was drowning in darkness.

"You could be so much more Melanie. You're such a fucking dork, just like my pathetic brother. I always wanted you to be MY girlfriend and now I have this power you can join me. I won't force you, I want you to join me willingly. A taste of this power and I think you'll want more."

I gasped falling to my knees as the shadows surrounded me. All the warmth and kindness and love inside me was suddenly numbed. It was like the shadow was feeding on my positive emotions... perhaps it was.

The dark shadows enveloped and wrapped my nerdy body. Tempting whispers invaded my mind and I felt Jason's presence beating down on me and willing me to give in. The shadow wanted to change and corrupt me, but it would only do so if I wanted it to. Jason hadn't lied.

I don't know if you've ever been offered something so fucking delicious and perfect that even if it came at the cost of your soul you'd jump at the chance... but when that moment finally arrives, it's pretty hard not to succumb.

I'd seen what the shadow had done to Jason. It had turned him into the perfect example of masculine perfection. It could probably do the same for me, but make me the ultimate girl. All I had to do was let it in and surrender to the darkness.

I'd seen girls in magazines, on TV, on teenage drama programs. I'd always wondered how it would feel to be a Queen Bee... a head cheerleader type. What must it be like to be so pretty you can get whatever you want? How would it feel to be a bitch?

"Yes... change me," I groaned. "But only a little... I just want to be a little prettier."

I gasped as my body suddenly ached and I felt the shadows begin to change me. I ripped my dorky glasses off and felt my brace snap as I spat out the metal to leave perfect white teeth. My red hair turned a sexy black and my pale spotty skin tanned as my body toned.

It felt so fucking good.

"Don't you want more Melanie? Don't you want to become a real fucking bitch? If it feels this good to go a little of the way, why not let the shadows take you all the way?"

Jason had a point. The more I transformed the more I wanted to transform. As I felt myself become more popular and beautiful, the further I found I wanted to go.

"Yessss mmmmore," I gasped feeling the shadows pour down my throat and into my body. I could feel Jason in my mind now, his fingers manipulating my pleasure receptors and his thoughts becoming my own.

"That's right Melanie. You don't want to be a dweeb anymore. You want to go all the way. You want to be a fucking bitch. Say it."

I shuddered as delicious throbs of pleasure pulsed through my body. "I... mmmmmh, ohhh yes, I want to be a bitch."

"That's right Melanie. Let's picture a girl. Let's call her Madison. She's everything you want to be isn't she? Thin, pretty, bratty and spoiled. She's the kind of girl that has a new outfit every day, that all the other girls bow down to. I want you imagine how hot she looks. Nice tits, a toned body, ultra-feminine body language. So different to the dork you are. Are you picturing her?"

I was picturing her. I was thinking of every mean bad girl and bitch I had ever know in real life or in the movies. I was picturing Madison and boy was she fucking hot.

"Now say it. Say you want to be Madison. You want to be the bullying popular Alpha girl."

My pussy was wet, my already partially transformed body felt so good. I needed more... I needed the shadows to corrupt me completely.

"Yessss I want to be Madison."

I screamed and orgasmed as I said it, feeling the shadows flowing into me and destroying Melanie forever. All the kind gentle nice parts of me were consumed and the shadows pumped me full of evil, mean bratty thoughts.

Melanie died in that instant and I... Madison... took control.

Long bitchy nails shot out from my fingers. My face became meaner and even prettier, soft pouty lips curving into a bratty grin. My clothing became designer, my handbag expensive and my personality became that of a spoiled rich bitch.

Reality rippled and changed. Only Jason and I would remember the old me. It was as if Melanie had never existed and only I had been born.

The shadows withdrew, but they left their mark. I was a fucking evil bitch now, devoid of mercy. I only cared about myself... oh and Jason of course.

"How do you feel baby?" he grinned, towering over me in his Adonis body.

"I feel amazing baby," I grinned. "In fact I want to thank you for being the best boyfriend ever."

I giggled and sank eagerly to my knees. My long nails looked so hawt as I unzipped Jason's fly and his huge ten inch dick flopped out.

Moaning I began to pump and suck his cock. This was who and what I worshipped now. Jason had taken me from that loser James.

"Yesssss, good girl," grunted Jason as he put his hands gently on my head and pushed me deeper onto his cock. "You're my slutty bitch now and I have everything I ever wanted."

I just gagged and gargled happily, I fucking loved my man's big cock.

I couldn't wait for him to cum. I needed to taste it...

***

And so that is how I ascended from being a fucking pathetic loser into a Goddess myself. Jason is the Master of the Shadow and so long as he holds that power I am his willing accomplice.

Soon after the transformation James came home. He no longer remembered I had ever been his girl, but that didn't stop me and Jason fucking loudly next door and laughing about the little simp jerking off in his room next door.

I felt so evil and perfect. Being Madison was like a perpetual state of orgasm. The meaner and nastier I was, the better it all felt.

Sometimes I wondered what would have happened if James had smashed that bottle instead of Jason? Perhaps he would be the Alpha stud with the delicious bitchy girlfriend.

But it was just idle speculation. The shadows answered to Jason...

And I answered only to the shadows now.

THE END

[hedgiwithapen]

dhd prompt: someone musing on the impressive height/size difference between lois and clark.

Clark's not used to feeling powerless.  He's been powerless, sure. When the General caught him, when Brainiac got the Black Mercy on him. But that doesn't mean he's used to it. 

There's a deep red light pouring from the light fixtures sunk into the ceiling, though, and he feels  heavy and sluggish and just bad. It's not like Kyrptonite spreading through his veins more like... well, like what he guesses his friends feel like when Lois insists that bodies were a mistake, or Jimmy said even his bones hurt after a nasty bout of the flu. 

Still, just because he's powerless doesn't mean he's going to just give up. He strains against the heavy metal shackles pinning him to the chair, but all he gets is bruises for it.  Just out of reach, he can see Lois doing the same.

"So, you're the Man of Steel," their captor--who has not introduced herself-- says, with judgment in her gaze that Clark capital D, capital N, capital L Does Not Like. "Yes, you'll do nicely. Tall, strong, even without access to all your abilities. Impressive, when you don't feign meekness." Clark narrows his eyes. 

"Let us go."

"No, I don't think I will," the woman says, her snake tattoo rippling in the red light. It looks almost alive, coiling around her arm and vanishing into her high collared dress. 

"Then think again," Lois snaps.

The woman doesn't quite laugh. "You, on the other hand. Tiny. My fighters could break you like a twig. How something like you caught his eye... well. It's pathetic, really."

"Don't talk about her like that," Clark seethes.

"Oh?" Now she does laugh. "You may be Superman, but here you are one of my dogs. And if you want your pitiful scrap of a reporter to not get torn to shreds, you'll do as I say."

"Pitiful?" Lois demands. 

"Scrawny. Weak. Diminutive." Creepy-snake-tattoo lady tosses over shoulder. 

Lois huffs. "You forgot a couple things."

"Oh really?" the woman leaves Clark's side to sneer down at her. 

"Yeah." Lois counts. "One, my Dad taught me a lot of tricks. Two, I'm resourceful. And three--" She yanks her wrists through the cuffs and angles her elbow up to connect with creepy lady's nose. "I've got really skinny wrists."

Clark beams as Lois unleashes all the feral rage in her five-foot-two body.

The fight is as brutal as it is short, Lois making full use of her bony knees and sharp knuckles and a fist her father taught her. Clark doesn't need superhearing to know when the woman's arm breaks--her scream is loud enough, or hear the jingle of the key Lois rips from the chain around her neck before slamming a palm into her solar plexus. The woman goes down in a heap. Lois grins, and Clark grins back. "Need a hand?" she asks, already unlocking his cuffs. "Let’s blow this popsicle stand."

[melodyofthevoid]

By The Skin of His Teeth

(Simone is @oriiduckko's big son Pitch and Nada belong to the lovely @cuppanova thanks bestie for letting me borrow them <3)

For someone wanted by so many, Simone’s target didn’t exactly make himself difficult to find. Sure, by all appearances this… Pitch could blend into a crowd. Scrawny and slight in all the ways that made an alley a welcome friend. Simone knew how to hunt, and the small ones loved their corners. As though that might save them from an attack from above and the ensuing drop to the ground.

Except- well.

Pitch stood tall on a table in the middle of the bar, flagon in hand and raucously joining in a round of “Pick a God”, though from outside Simone failed to make out her voice. Only the general rhythm and tone made its way through the walls and windows. The crowd within a regular mix of weary sailors and mercenaries who made enough money to cover up the scars. Whatever message  someone needed delivered here, well it couldn’t be that important.

The other one, Nada, if he recalled, was nowhere in sight, and considering that centaurs stood out just about anywhere, Pitch appeared to be alone. Alone, drunk, unaware. Not surrounded by any competition for the bounty either. None Simone recognized on sight.

He rolled his shoulders and shook out his wings, brushing past the window and taking to the sky to circle. Tempted as it was to barge in and snatch the debtor on the spot, that risked starting a brawl. A potential distraction.

No, he’d wait, and watch for his prey to emerge.

It didn’t take long, it seemed Pitch’s singing (or something else, the skies only knew) got him thrown out of the building, the human rolling in a flailing wheel until he hit the pavement with a bounce. Simone snorted. How pathetic. No wonder she ended up to her neck in debt if this was how he spent his days.

After a moment, Pitch staggered to his feet, looping towards the wall for stability and rubbing the blood away from his nose.

Simone dove.

Pitch barely got a moment to scream before Simone’s hand engulfed his throat, a choked gasp leaving him as he flailed. Simone pressed him up against a wall, wings flared out wide enough to eclipse the moon above. Casting them both into shadow. Out of some small mercy, Simone eased up enough to allow him to speak.

Given how easy this was, he was allowed to play somewhat.

“W-who-“

“None of your business. All you need to know, is I’ve got a job to do. Nothing personal.”

Whatever blood remained in Pitch’s face drained further, the words ringing a familiar tone.

“Ah.”

Simone almost laughed again, always the same with these types. Thinking the consequences would never show up and panicking the moment they did. From behind the thick bangs, Simone almost saw her eyes darting back and forth, desperate for a way out.

“So- so uh- I’m guessing I can’t ask nicely for you to let me go?”

Pitch’s voice raised higher in- well. Pitch. A shaking smile wobbling across his face.

“No.”

“Worth a shot- haha.”

He leaned in closer, drawing a knife out from his side and pressing it to Pitch’s throat.

“Anything you’d like me to tell the boss when I give her your body?”

“Uh- I uh- ha- uh… not- not really?-“

Simone raised his brow, but brushed off the stammering. No use in delaying. 

A weight slammed into Simone’s side, sending him to the cobblestone with a crack. He wheezed, feeling bones crack and pop. One of the downsides of being an avian. Once he regained his footing, and the world stopped spinning around him, he watched as Pitch clung to the back of a… Centaur. One Nada, who took off at full speed through the barely populated streets. 

“Fuck”, he wheezed. 

He stretched out his wings and winced, the shooting pain keeping him from extending to his full wingspan, let alone chase after them. 

He got careless. Of course Pitch’s partner in crime wouldn’t be that far away, not for that long. Simone grit his teeth, and slid the knife back into its holster. 

One way or another, he’d get his target. 

He always did. 

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

Lowly Desire Epilogue

Yandere! Gellert Grindelwald x Reader x Aurelius Dumbledore

    Aurelius blew a big exhale of breath as the fog formed then disappeared inside the oxygen mask he was wearing. It was strapped to his mouth. Dying really hurts. It was painful and slow. He was only twenty one. He was born a sickly babe then grew to be a scrawny adult. No magic in the world can cure his weak physical heart. It can slow death but can never stop it. His thoughts came back to your lovely face. How beautiful you were. Were? Yes. Past tense. It has been two long lonely years since you were accidentally murdered by Grindelwald. You took the killing curse for him by putting yourself in the way. You miscarried your fetus then perished in his arms. Grindelwald watched the cried like an infant before he committed suicide by jumping off the Bhutan Pyramid building. Grindelwald was buried next to you but your baby boy was placed in the same casket as yours. Your family and friends were informed as they arrived at your funeral. Mother weeped her eyes out. Father was too numb to speak. You were missing for almost a year then the call of your death came. Crushing all his hope. Aurelius simply stood tall and strong to his full height for the sake of your memories. He had to put on a facade of power and not weakness. He failed you. It was his fault. Why did you take his killing curse? He was not worth saving. He was pathetic. But, he felt guilty to admit it. He felt happy knowing you loved him. He doubted you at first. You proved it to be true. Now, you were a skeleton. Your lovely eyeballs must be mere dust by now. What a beautiful young lady you were. You captured the evil heart of a great Wizard which caused him anger for humiliating him. Thus was why he kidnapped you in the first place. 

"How are you, my son?" Aberforth's voice broke Aurelius' train of thoughts. 

"Fine, Father. Just tired."

Aberforth nodded solemnly then sat on the edge of the hospital bed. He rubbed Aurelius' knee cap. "Still thinking of her?"

Aurelius felt a tear drop as he nodded slowly. He licked his dry cracked lips. "Always."

The monitor began to make beeping noises as the lines slowly were turning flat.

Aberforth's eyes widened in realization of horror. He quickly stood up then ran out of the room yelling for the Doctor.

Not a bad end. Aurelius thought. He loved then was loved in return. His Mother did not want him but his Father, Uncle, and you did. So far he has had a good life. He regrets nothing except your early death. He will now join you in the afterlife. He will see you always smiling and never frowning. The line of the monitor finally went flat.

She loves me. I know she does. What a wonderful feeling. We were meant to be. I believe in God. Before her I didn't. She changed me. I see her waiting for me. There she is. Smiling at me. What an Angel. Tears leaking of what I assume to be joy and not sadness for once. She holds out her hand. I take it. 

    "Welcome home, my Love."

[multishipperofgaydeadwizards]

Hii, im back (again)

So i always keep talking to my brother about the fandoms im in and he created a ship that made me question his sanity:

Remus x Alice x Narcissa

Guess what? i want your opinion, again

(I hope you dont mind me (and my brother) creating stupid ships 24/7)

babe, my entire thing is making up crazy stupid ships. I'm the creator of a bunch of weird crack ships lmfao. don't worry, I could never be bothered by that

remusx narcissa x alice are certainly a combination. I love the idea of them

remus, who has a bit of a crush on the nice prefect showing him around on his first day. he starts following her around, trying to impress her... only to find out that she's dating a slytherin girl. my man gives straight up. I mean, alice is a woman, and he's everything but a girl

alice thinks he's cute when he follows her around and tells narcissa who like get's jealous. alice tells her to calm down bc the boy is like eleven. he's really not a threat

narcissa and remus never really interact during their hogwarts years

after hogwarts (in a peaceful au bc I don't have the energy to think abt the war rn) alice and remus end up working together. one day, narcissa comes to visit her fiancé and meets this tall, scrawny, pathetic ass, nerd looking man, and she goes like: oh. perhaps I do like men

she tells alice about it and she finds it fucking hilarious. like narcissa was so jealous of remus only to develop a crush on him when she meets him again?? funny

narcissa is surprised that alice isn't bothered by it like at all, and alice is just like: nah. you can flirt with him if you want

so, remus starts getting paid visits by this pretty blond that is dating one of his coworkers. he doesn't know that cissa (as narcissa introduced herself) is narcissa black, aka the fiancé of his friend and coworker alice

another interesting addition: alice starts flirting with him too???? remus is so confused, and he tells his best friends all abt it while he's panicking

sirius puts everything together first. he tells remus that cissa and narcissa are probably the same person, and he can end up part of a polyclue if he plays his cards right

noblemoonflower as a ship name :D

[lemonmoonlavender]

What exactly is so bad about Varian growing tall?

hes scrawny and pathetic and hes just like me fr, theres enough tall people (cringe) and i want to keep the pathetic little rats i can get

[whumpsical]

Jay

contents: flashback to a minor whumpee, homelessness, discussed homophobia, bio family blues

Some sweet comfort from one the rockiest eras of Jian's past <3 the gays stick together <33

sometime in 2014

taglist!!! @yet-another-heathen @much-ado-about-whumping @minerscanary

🌲🌲🌲🌲

“Come here, Jay.”

Jian bristled.

He was only sixteen at the time. He didn’t like nicknames. He’d never liked nicknames. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; no one had beaten or bullied him out of a taste for them, and he had no past relationships to any particular nicknames to turn him off to the concept. He just didn’t like them.

But at Casanova, one of the many gay bars in Jian’s early rotations, the owner liked to call him Jay. And Jian found that it didn’t grate on his nerves the way it usually would, not coming from Cal.

Cal first caught Jian sneaking into Casanova on a chilly, rainy night. It wasn’t the first time Jian had gotten in. He’d just had a harder time blending with the partygoers that night: waterlogged and shivering, too exhausted to even talk, sitting by himself on a leather couch near the bathrooms. His clothes were damp, leeching all the warmth from his small body, but even shedding his wet jacket didn’t feel like an option. He was convinced that the moment he slipped his scrawny, narrow shoulders free, his age would be made even more pathetically obvious than it already was. It was better to keep still and try to pretend that he wasn’t there at all.

Cal was on the floor that night, covering for a sick bartender. He’d wondered how he’d missed the obviously underaged kid’s entrance into his bar. It was a Tuesday night. Not very busy at all. Maybe it was the rain. The patio sat empty, everyone instead gathering inside and cluttering up Cal’s view of the front door.

Jian flinched when Cal approached him. He was a tall, hefty man, comfortably in his fifties. Though with age his ratio of muscle to fat had shifted, he still had an intensely intimidating power in his stature, especially from where Jian was sitting.

“Hey,” Cal said, with just a hint of the stern edge to his voice which he only fully put on for the handsy creeps and mean drunks.

Jian looked up at the man, numb in the face. He had nothing to say, and was too shocked with cold and fear to even try to squeak out a word.

Cal stood tall, unyielding. “You wanna show me some ID?”

Jian looked at his shoes, a lump growing in his throat. His head was too misty to comprehend much, but he understood enough to recognize he’d been caught, which meant that he had to find somewhere else to hide from the rain. He already couldn’t remember how many times this had happened that night. All he knew was that he didn’t want to go back to the shelter, but he was quickly running out of options. With stiff, freezing hands and a weak, trembling effort, he pushed himself off the sticky seat and started on his staggering trek to the exit.

Cal’s large hands stopped him, butting against his shoulders. Not grabbing. Jian couldn’t even muster any awareness of the act, just pushing his empty body against Cal’s hands like they were an invisible wall in a video game. Cal pushed back a little more firmly, and Jian’s feet tripped to a halt. He stood in place, blinking through confused sparks in his eyes, feeling lightheaded.

“Hold on, hold on. Hey,” Cal said, stooping down to meet Jian’s eyes, and, as twenty-something year old Jian suddenly realized with fondness, to shield him from the activity of the bar around them. “Do you need… Would you like something hot to drink? A warm meal, maybe? Someplace dry?”

Jian had no clue what his face was doing. He remembered his body as a hollow wooden vessel. Still, something must have come across in his silence, because Cal softened even more.

“Look, I don’t know your situation,” he said, squeezing Jian’s shoulder. “But I can tell enough that you need help. I have the means. Come on, honey.”

Cal started to usher Jian towards the bar, and a volatile switch flipped in Jian’s gut, instantly rubbing every inch of his skin raw and sucking the air from his lungs.

“No,” Jian managed in a desperate whisper, shrugging his way out of Cal’s hands and stumbling backwards a few feet before blinking the blind terror from his eyes and halfway remembering where he was. Cal’s hands hovered in a deliberately non-threatening airspace, allowing Jian to retreat as far as he needed.

“Okay,” Cal said quickly, in a peaceful, hushed tone. Jian’s focus still whipped around the bar, but Cal let that manic vigilance die down in its own time, keeping his own body still and distant. “Okay. You don’t have to. But I really don’t want to send you back out there, to who knows what, without at least getting you dried off. You can stay here, honey. You don’t have to go.”

The vividness of Jian’s memory drained to an uninviting mist. He knew that at some point he’d started to cry, and that Cal had led him with an open hand -- so broad it nearly spanned Jian’s entire waistline, at least in those days -- to a more secluded area behind the bar, where both Cal and the small kitchen crew could keep an eye on him while he ravenously devoured a warm plate of various bar staples and a few Casanova specialties. Jian remembered being offered an offensively sugary Shirley Temple in that same spot, but that may have been on another night.

Sometime later, a shift change freed Cal up to drag a second black painted chair over to Jian’s, where he’d been working on drying himself off with an only slightly ratty towel, having adamantly refused a change of clothes from Cal’s apartment above the bar.

“Hey there, kiddo. You feeling any better?”

Jian nodded sheepishly, embarrassed at all the drama he’d become the center of tonight, now that the terror had mostly passed. The heat from the crowd and the food had long since stilled his shivering, and an almost contented sleepiness was taking over instead, a feeling so unfamiliar that he was struggling to guard against it, finding himself nodding off every now and then. He’d been focusing his energy on staying upright in the chair, and was glad for Cal’s interruption.

“I’d like to have a little chat with you, if that’s okay,” Cal said, leaning forward in his seat to match Jian’s height. Jian visibly tensed, swallowing nervously and breaking eye contact. Cal’s voice only softened more. “Sweetheart, you’re not in any trouble with me. What’s your name, honey?”

When Jian only gulped again with considerably more effort, his eyebrows starting to knit with growing anxiety, Cal nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

A rush of cool air flowed through Jian’s chest, relief unclenching his jaw before he’d even realized how tight he’d been squeezing it shut.

“I would like to know how old you are, though,” Cal continued lightly. “But don’t tell me that either. I want to guess. Flex my skills. Is that something the kids are saying today?”

One corner of Jian’s mouth lifted a bit.

“See, I’m out of the loop. This’ll be fun,” Cal said. “Hmm,” he hummed, one hand rubbing his chin as he made a show of scrutinizing Jian’s scrappy appearance. “I’ve got nieces in the eighth grade, but they’re all shorter than you. They definitely eat better, though.” Jian couldn’t help but chuckle silently under the heat of the spotlight, feeling himself becoming invested in the game, despite everything. “Fourteen, maybe? No, fifteen.” When Jian shook his head to both, Cal leaned back, worry overtaking his expression. “Oh, sweetheart, please don’t tell me I started too high. I don’t think I could handle it.”

Jian shook his head again, an easy smile finding its way onto his face. “Sixteen,” he said, his delicate voice all but confirming his answer.

Cal nodded, solemnity gently wafting away the air of humor that had eased them to this point. He leaned forward again, hands clasped in front of him, and looked into Jian’s eyes as he spoke. “It was a long time ago, but it was tough for me when I was that age, too. I can’t speak for your experience, honey, but I know what it’s like to feel alone in the world.”

His defenses down, Jian felt the words hit him square in his chest. Fear and apprehension prickled at the edges of the impact, but the crater was deep enough that genuine empathy was what struck Jian the most. He felt breathless and fragile as he listened, but he didn’t look away.

“I’ve seen some very good friends go down dark paths because of that feeling. And it’s hard to find your way back out. It’s hard out there, baby, I know. But no matter how lost you feel, you will never be unworthy of love, and safety, and peace. Do you understand me?”

Jian wasn’t sure that he did, but Cal spoke with such an urgency that Jian felt he should at least nod, though unease was building in his stomach again. Cal watched him with earnest conviction as he waited for Jian to answer, but Jian shied away from the intensity of it, breaking off eye contact and betraying the gnawing guilt he suddenly felt. Cal sighed, too softly to hear beneath the noise of the bar.

“I know that look, sweetheart. Your family?”

Jian hadn’t realized how obvious it could be. His stomach dropped and a flash of heat pushed tears behind his eyes as fresh wounds burst through their haphazard stitches. He could feel the metaphorical slam of the door all over again, the pain of his father’s violent and consummate rejection only compounded by the past year he’d spent trying to stitch himself back together without him. Failing miserably. He bit his cheek to keep the rest from spilling, and locked eyes with Cal to silently implore him to continue.

Cal didn’t falter. He wrapped Jian’s restlessly clenching fists between his warm hands and leaned in.

“There’s not a lot I can do to change the truly fucking awful things that happen in this world,” Cal said. “But what I can do is help lift some of the burdens that fall on us. You are welcome here, honey.” He accented this with a squeeze of Jian’s hands, then paused, blinked a few times, and made an undecided gesture with a tilt of his head. “Not in the bar, mind you.”

At the gentle chiding, Jian found himself laughing with him, vaguely relieved to be acknowledged as something other than a novelty or a criminal. Cal looked at him without hunger. Being the object of someone’s worry instead of their hatred or desire had faded to a memory from another world, and Jian didn’t know what to do with or even how to identify the bubbly feeling which sat high in his chest. The release of pressure set free a cold crop of tears that he had been clinging to. With grace, Cal let them fall without address.

“But any time it’s getting too heavy,” Cal continued, holding Jian’s hands tight, “if you’re ever hungry, tired, need someone to talk to, anything, you come to Casanova and you ask for Cal, okay? I mean it. We make our own families here.”

Jian nodded, with emphatic gratitude this time. His head felt too fuzzy and exhausted to really comprehend the mess of emotions that writhed and tangled inside him, like a rat’s nest of colorful yarn choking his heart, but the mess itself was colorful and soft, and that had to be enough for now. He took a steadying breath.

“My name’s Jian,” he said, feeling shy under the usually anonymizing glow of the blacklights. But Cal beamed.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Jian,” he said. “Now, the big questions: Do you have a place to stay tonight? Is there someone I can help you call, to let them know where you are?”

“No,” Jian said simply, and the scalding, mortified blush that would’ve normally flooded Jian’s entire face and neck just wasn’t there. Instead, Cal’s hands landed on his shoulders, blanketing him in steadiness and warmth without suffocating.

“Now you do, Jay. Now you do.’

From somewhere in the comfortable fog of Jian’s distant memory, Dickass Lee’s voice wormed back into his ears.

“Come here, Jay.”

Jian bristled.

“Ugh, yeah, no. No. I get it,” Dickass Lee said with a comically exaggerated shudder, mimicking the tension in his captive’s shoulders. “I’ll stick to ‘Jian.’”

[shintorikhazumi]

My name is not Destiny.

My name is not Destiny.

A/N: Merry chrism, Ex!!! @exphelk :>> SURPRISE! I’M YOUR SANTA. ALSO SORRY BECAUSE IT’S CLEAR I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ZELDA AND WENT OFF A FEW SYNOPSIS PAGES, BUT ANYWAY. :>> I HOPE U LIKE IT. SORRY FOR THE RUSTY WRITING :’>

ALSO I CAN'T DRAW THAT WELL, BUT FOR YOU, I STILL WILL.

ENJOY?

~Shintori Khazumi <3

She huffs, gripping the master sword by the hilt tighter, a desperate attempt to keep her grounded as she flees far and away from her anxieties and the shadows that have quite literally given chase.

“Damned Ganon…” She curses under shaky breaths, running after the barely visible peeks of light at the end of the forest. “I’m almost- Almost… Agh! There!”

Taking a leap of faith, she finally stumbles onto the clearing, barely keeping herself upright as she spots the tower she’d been hoping for and none of the beasts that had chased her for the better half of an hour.

“Finally. For the love of all Hyrule…” She gasps, taking gulps of air and straightening up, brushing debris and leaves from her tunic before taking the short walk up the path to the tower standing intimidatingly tall- all walls and no doors. She looks around in confusion, circling the ground. “Now where in the world is the entra-?”

“Psst!”

With a flinch, pointed ears struggle to find the source of the momentary sou-

“Psst! Up here, silly~.”

Whipping her head up, she sees her: All brown hair and dignified dress, legs casually hanging out of a window she infers is no less than five stories up.

“Only took you forever and a day to get here, and even longer to spot me.” She rolls her eyes, faux annoyance on her face, quickly betrayed by giggles and kicking feet. “How was the trip?” She asks it so casually, the hero almost- no, scratch that- definitely feels insulted.

“Maybe if you’d be kind enough to tell me where the door is, I’d be more inclined to make small talk after just escaping my demise… Princess Zelda.”

‘Zelda’ audibly gags at the comment, making a show of her disgust to the petrified blonde down below.

“Did you know, I hate that name. Princess this, Zelda that. Descendant and ruler and responsibilities blablablabla-“

“And did you know you could potentially be just a blot of red on the ground if you keep on hanging out over the- BY THE GODDESSES WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOI-“

Without much time to think, the hero braces herself to catch the suddenly and very quickly falling princess from the tower-

“SIKE!”

She hadn’t realized it then, but she discovers her eyes had actually foolishly closed in her pathetic attempt to catch a Princess Zelda floating in air- all happily suspended above the ground amongst the sound of giggles.

“I gotta say…” ‘Zelda’ clicks her tongue, giving the hero a once-over. “Had to catch myself in case I broke you.”

‘What?’

“I mean… You are a rather scrawny looking Link.” She whistles appreciatively however as ‘Link’ instinctively retaliates with a subconscious flexing of her forearms. “Though I could be wrong.” She shrugs, eyelashes batting slowly at Link in blatant flirtation.

“And you are the least dignified Zelda that has ever come into existence…” ‘Link’ retorts, gathering her composure and fixing the sling of her bag that had fallen off her shoulder. Brushing the dust from her clothes, she quips inaudibly, “-and certainly not the wisest tool in the shed, if I have to say anything about it.”

“Hey! I heard that!”

Well, Link thought it was quiet enough. She deftly dodges a stone chucked her way.

“Well, y’know,” ‘Zelda’ runs a hand through her hair as ‘Link’ contemplates that she, does not, in fact, know. “If you have to live out some predetermined fate over and over, wouldn’t you want to add some spice from time to time?”

“Catching a falling Princess from fifty feet is not the kind of spice I’d like to have at the moment, Zelda.”

The princess groans, swatting at the hero’s arm, but missing by a few inches. “I seriously hate that name. Like, can’t you call me something else?”

“But that is your name, Princess Zelda. Though if you’d prefer I refer to you as ‘your highness’, I would not be opposed-“

“Blegh- Zelda this, Zelda that. What the hell, call me anything but that. I don’t wanna be named after some lady who’s died like, a hundred times. Heck, I bet you don’t even like the name, ‘Link’.” She settles onto her feet, no longer hovering around ‘Link’ like the annoying bug the hero is quickly associating her to be.

“First of all, that ‘lady’ who constantly dies and is reborn again is none other than you. Also, I…” She pauses, actually thinking about her following statement, deep down unsure of its actual honesty. “I don’t mind the name, Link. I think I like it.”

“You think.” She receives a pointed stare.

“Fine, I do!” She huffs with finality.

“Aww, so quick with the wedding vows, we haven’t even gotten to know each other yet!”

‘Link’ goes in for a tackle that has her stumbling forward as ‘Zelda’ smoothly floats out of the way.

“Ooh, is the pretty hero getting a little shy?” She grins teasingly, poking at ‘Link’s’ cheeks, to which her response is to try to bite those offending fingers off. “Feisty.”

“Enough.” ‘Link’ huffs, already physically, and now even mentally exhausted. “Just spit it out.”

“Spit what out?”

Was this coy princess playing games or genuinely clueless?

“Your name. What your actual name is, or preferred name… or whatever it is you want to be called. Just. Get it over with so we can leave this place and return you to the kingdom.”

“Eehh, I thought I had successfully distracted you from that. Then we could fall in love and elop-“

“Name.” ‘Link’ was no royalty, but the authority in that voice compels the princess herself to obey.

“Akko.”

“Huh?”

“It’s Akko.” She gives in. “Well, Atsuko. But Akko sounds cuter and more up-close and personal, you get me?”

“No, I do not get you, Princess Atsuk-“

“Akko.” Link rolls her eyes at the insistence. Well, two can play the hard-headed game.

“Princess Atsuko.”

“AK.KO.”

“Let’s compromise and I call you Miss Atsuko?”

‘Akko’ or Atsuko, or whatever the Princess Zelda’s name is looks as though she is pondering over the offer-

“Akko.”

Link clicks her tongue, turning around on her heel and prepares to march forward, a difficult princess in tow. She is annoyed; she is exhausted, and bruised and battered, and fed up.

“You know what? Let us just… go. I am frankly tired of your shenanigans. I’d like to get this quest over and done with and return home to-“

“To what?”

Link turns wide-eyed at the princess’s interruption. “Pardon?”

“What will you be doing after this, my dear Link?” Akko looks solemn; sounds the part too. Link might almost buy that she is. “After you fulfill this damned, repetitive legend- A curse of a cycle, I would call it- what is it that you can return to?”

There’s a bitterness in her tone, sprinkles of hopelessness and the knowledge of something Link has never tried questioning before in all her years of knowing and realizing that she’s been living- and dying- a never-ending tale of a hero who foolishly charges on, into the constant pull of their destiny just because.

And yet, she does not want to admit to that. She does not want to say she is aware; that she agrees with the one person who probably understands this situation the most.

So she bristles, fixes a hard look. She dons a mask of indifference, cold and resolute.

“What are you implying, ‘Zelda’?”

Said lady scowls, hands noticeably balled up into fists, clenching tighter and tighter, desperately holding her anger at bay. “All I’m saying, LINK, is that you’ve trained your whole life, dedicated, DEVOTED every bit of it to one day maybe going on some wack-ass journey to fight the big bad man with your oh-so-special sword, find the princess, save her, restore balance to the world, and then…? What. Happily ever after? Fight more villainy? What more is there for you to do beyond this, Link? What life awaits you? Have you ever thought of that? Do you even have one?”

Link hasn’t. Link doesn’t.

Link cannot speak.

“I sure as hell don’t. Raised as a princess, taught to learn this, learn that, do magic, be wise, be proper and prim, then get locked up in a tower I could so easily get out of and wait like the damsel in distress I’m meant to be while the hero saves me from a villain I’d rather shoot with a beam of magic and call it a day.”

“Then-“

“But then what? What do I have, Link? What do I have after that? I go back home, back to the kingdom, be the queen and eventually rot and die without having seen the world, without having known it, but having the audacity to call myself the bearer of wisdom for the triforce.” Her voice is raw with emotion, with desperation. “Wisdom for fools, is what it is. How can it be wisdom I understand when all I’ve known is what they’ve fed into my mind: A fate inescapable with nothing beyond it.”

Link can only stare. Stare for moments and moments more.

Only sudden terror-inducing howls in the distance, accompanied by reddening skies can pull her out of this stupor. Duty over the heart. Mind over matter, she believes.

“Let’s go. We will talk about this later.” She announces, hand already wrapped around a thin wrist, tugging as gently, but as decisively as she can.

“Will we?”

She pauses.

“Let us leave, Zelda.”

With much more force than what she’d normally deem okay to use on any royal, all-the-more on a princess, Link pulls the lady along, steps growing more and more rushed the longer time ticks.

An abundance of time that she now no longer knows what to do with.

//

The next few days are spent in battle; both against the darkened forces of ‘power’, and Link’s internal conscience. They never get to talk about ‘it’, but Link is certain that she’s gotten on Akko’s nerves to be given such hostile silent treatment.

Or that is, until the bored princess begins chatting away.

And not in the most preferable of situations.

“Have you ever thought of what it would be like to go beyond this land we’ve always been in? Cross a sea so vast you’d think it endless, but SUDDENLY. Suddenly there’s land and a whole new people you’ve never met.” The princess sketches a picture out in Link’s mind’s eye.

She chuckles joylessly, grunting. “M-Maybe I will. Think of it. Later when I’m not fighting a damned minotaur of all things!” She hisses as she pushes her sword back at the heavy axe bearing its full weight upon her, calling upon the power of courage to assist her to no avail.

“Fine, fine.” Akko sniffs, assisting lazily with a flick of a hand. And just like that, the beast is collapsed on the floor, none of the mounting intimidation it had pressed on Link left.

Link curses the ease at which the princess defeats all monsters they had encountered, putting her years of practice to train.

Alas, they tarry on. Onward to the city.

To their home.

//

“Hey, dude?”

“Link.” Link insists through gritted teeth, slicing through the thick overgrowth to pave a way for her ‘princess’. “What.”

“So prickly.” Zelda- no, Akko, comments, swatting away at a fly that happened to cross her line of sight. “Anyway, how much longer are you willing to keep up with this boring schtick?”

“What schtick? And what is so boring about it?” Is the response, ‘boring’ being punctuated with two slashes of the master sword cutting off a particularly large vine that falls to their feet with a dull, wet thud into a shallow puddle.

Akko rolls her eyes, full of ire. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do.” The princess pushes.

“I do not.” Link halts, aggressively turning to Akko, brows furrowed. “So would you drop it and come quietly?”

She is not graced with a response- only an exaggerated huff and an angry princess marching off ahead of her into what Link has not yet realized to be her last fit.

//

“Here.”

“Wh-what’s this?” Akko barely manages the question through her chattering teeth, form shivering all the more as a particularly strong gust of wind reaches them via the wide cave entrance. The fire does little to stave off the biting cold, and they are ill-prepared in clothing for this trip, Link has come to know.

“It will help. If you eat something warm, you’ll feel better.” She says, taking Akko’s frozen hands and delicately inserting the skewer stick. “The soup is almost done. Just give me a moment more.”

“…”

“What? Why are you staring at me?” Link doesn’t have to look up to know, with how that gaze bores deep into her, its weight heavy.

“Do you like me now?” Akko spits out, blunt, tactless. “Just saying since you’re much, much nicer than when we first met.” She lays out her observation.

Link sighs, spooning some soup into a cup she’d brought with her.

“I tolerate you now, if that’s what you’d like to know. We’ve been together over a month now, travelling, searching, lost.” Link has no idea where they went wrong on their journeyed path back, but they’ve long since been wanderers, unable to find their promised home. All they’ve uncovered were trials and tribulations, and battles hardly won- No solace in sight.

Princess Akko’s gaze flickered to the cave’s opening with a dash of melancholy, quickly masked into her usual dumb demeanor as she bit on the juicy piece of meat offered.

Link pretended not to have seen a thing, continuing on with her words. “And while I do not particularly hold any dear feelings towards you, time has taught me that we can get along; and I don’t have to like you to be civil, nor to be kind. I am still your ‘fated hero’, regardless of you hating that notion.” Link hands over warm gold that seeps through Akko’s skin, pleasantly thawing the ice over everything, even her heart.

“I don’t.” She murmurs.

“Pardon?” Hands spooning more soup into a wooden mug pauses mid-action.

“I don’t hate it.”

“Hate what?” Link tries to clarify, lost.

Akko clicks her tongue, growling and glaring and… pink?

Link has to strain her ears to pick up her next words, heart doing strange things in its cage.

“I don’t hate you being my hero.”

There’s something in Akko’s eyes that Link doesn’t really get. She doesn’t understand. She still nods as though she does however, something telling her that she must not respond negatively in this one moment.

“I see.”

The princess seems to want to say something still, mouth opening and closing, lips pursing together, eyes darting about.

“Yes?” Link encourages, curious.

“I-if I had to say…” Akko looks away, that initial light pink dusting her cheeks deepening, crawling to her ears.

Link thinks she looks much warmer now.

“…I like the thought. Of you as my hero.”

Link thinks she feels much warmer now.

//

Time does strange things to one’s perception of another. It twists and confuses and plays silly games with one’s heart.

It taunts the poor Hero’s heart with each passing day.

Zel- Akko, Link must remind herself, is not all she’d thought she’d be at the beginning. Which is to say, she hadn’t thought much of her, to be fair.

Akko is actually wisdom- and even courage- personified, enough to put Link’s title and bearing of ‘Hero’ to shame. She’s faced each of their enemy encounters with grace, tactic, power, experience, and bravery.

Link finds that Akko is what she has always believed the Tri-force should be.

It astounds her.

It pulls her in, entrancing.

And one day, she simply discovers herself in a spell, cursed? Blessed? By a face she’d once found irritating, now only mocking her with how beautiful she’d catch herself finding it.

Is it their because they are fated to be together? The hero and the damsel, the Knight and the princess? Are these feelings, too, dictated by Link’s pre-prepared destiny? One that Akko so ardently tries to break free from?

She does not know.

Nor does she know when or why Akko has begun to look at her the way she does now, and smile at her like the sun so warm and comforting in the spring.

She cannot fathom the butterflies she feels when Akko patches up her wounds after another battle, holds her hand as they walk in the dark on their way to set up another camp far and away from home, while they speak of what they will do next from that point onward.

Link cannot even hope to begin understanding how Akko’s screechy laughter had converted itself into the most soothing melodies in her ears the more she hears it.

Link does not remember when they started to share one another’s warmth at night to stave off the darkness and the chill when the moon was naught to be found- but though she refuses to admit it aloud… she likes it. She hopes it continues on, even when they’ve fulfilled the rolls they have to play as pieces of this game they’d come to awaken to.

And as she brushes her fingers through brown bangs, another quiet night flowing into the dawn, she hopes that at least this newfound scene in the play they act out does not get erased by destiny.

//

“AKKO!”

The smoke in her lungs does little to hinder the scream wrenched from the depths of her heart, twisting and churning her insides inconsolably as she crawls forward with her one remaining arm.

No. No. NO.

This can’t be how this story ends.

They were supposed to return to the city. Akko was to be crowned queen, and Link was to be dubbed a triumphant hero for all the land to see!

And yet.

“ganoONNDOORRRFFFFF!” Link rages, pushing herself upright on that sole upper limb, blood trickling from her lips as she charges with blurry eyes to the grotesque figure waving the princess’s limp body as a victory flag before tossing it to the disarmed hero who catches her barely, falling onto her own back onto the flame-filled ground.

“Goodbye, bearers of wisdom and courage.

… May we never meet again. In this life, or the next.”

The voice booms in Link’s head, it adds on to the nauseating feeling. She barely registers the blinding light from the magic text that encircles them, bright red and glaring. All she can think of is the body atop hers, still warm, still breathing, still alive.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She says while she knows Akko can still hear. Barely, but she feels a hand squeeze her own, a kiss pressed to her collarbone as she tries to roll them over, to shield the princess from the blazes falling upon them.

She feels that hand come up to her face, brushing away the tears she hadn’t noticed had already fallen.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Link repeatedly apologizes through a cracking, wobbly tone of voice, drops clear and red falling onto Zelda’s stunning face.

The hand cups her cheek, a scratched up voice consoling her very soul, muted, but still heard even above the rumbling of the heavens. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Link shakes her head, crumbles onto Akko’s frame, embracing tight. “N-no! No, it’s not- you’re not-!”

Link heaves a deep breath, sobs wracking her frame as she tries not to scream, especially not when the lights in the princess’s eyes begin to dim, growing less and less focused on her.

“A-Akko?!”

It’s a tiny whisp, it’s a barely present kiss.

Link is choked up as the next words are her Princess’s last breath.

“May we meet sooner in another life. May this life never be this way again-…“

“Diana.”

‘Huh?’- goes unspoken, and yet Link knows, wants Akko to know to.

“My name…” She murmurs, pressing closer, lips sealing their goodbyes.

The lights around them flash brighter, consciousness waning and giving into white as they release their souls from this world’s confining shackles.

“My name is Diana.”

//

She fixes her tie. It’s important to make a great first impression at any time. Moreso at an interview.

Being a bodyguard may not require her to be all that smart, but over the years, she’s learned that some amount of wisdom and knowledge does not hurt one’s chances. And so she walks into that hall to meet her hopefully soon-to-be-boss.

“Come in.”

Something about that voice tickles her ears in an odd way. Why has it always sounded so familiar?

She’s sure it has nothing to do with constantly seeing this prominent figure on television, watching all her shows faithfully. It definitely has nothing to do with that.

It’s just, ever since the first time she’d listened to her on the radio… something just-

“Hurry up, next applicant!” The angered manager calls, and she squabbles about, near-running into the room.

The door swings open, the bodyguard steps in, eyes meet…

And all memories come rushing in as fast as her feet had carried her into the conference.

Wide eyes melt into a familiarly smug smile, one that should irritate her, but it doesn’t. It’s so warm. It’s so beautiful.

Just like it was destinies ago.

Her heart stutters then leaps to full throttle, making her chest ache as she drinks in the next few words.

“So, Link. What shall we do in this lifetime?”

She swallows the lump in her throat, nerves or tears, she didn’t know what caused it. It was irrelevant anyway.

She couldn’t help the grin forming on her face, tears stinging, but not falling. Squeezing her fists, then walking forward and holding a very present hand out, she gives her introduction.

“Well, Miss Zelda. To start,”

Akko, Zelda, the princess, her boss- laughs so hard, tears come out. She grasps Link’s hand, holding it tenderly tight.

“Why don’t you call me ‘Diana’?”

END

A/N: MERRY CHRISM EX I LOVE U YEY <3.

Sorry I could only do a little sketchy thing because I'm out of practice and time ;-; <3 HOPE YOU LIKED IT

~Shintori Khazumi

[angelmavmurdock]

Lock & Key: Part Three

WARNINGS: ANGST, their backstory and some emotions. 

-

The next morning, you and your Dad got ready and biked out to base like you had the previous day. Your Dad didn't tell you what you'd be doing today so you were excited for what lay ahead. Last night after the bar, you tried to pry the thoughts of Rooster out of your head. But that was a task that seemed impossible.

He had really grown up since you last saw his relatively scrawny body in high school. You hadn't seen much behind the flight suit or the polo shirts but you definitely noticed his larger arms and thighs last night. He was always tall. He grew to 6 feet when you were quite young but apart from his height, he seemed to be a late bloomer.

The last night the two of you shared together was after prom, when he decided not to take you and to take one of the gorgeous girls in his gym class, despite him knowing that you were leaving the next day. So, you had to go to prom alone (because your Dad forced you to go), and you sat and watched Bradley dance with Jessica or Jane or whatever her name was, as you wallowed in a corner.

Eventually, you had enough and ran out the school doors as fast as you could, the bottom of your pale pink dress dragging on the dirty concrete. You remember standing outside in the cool air, wrapping your arms around yourself and just crying. All you wanted was to spend a night with him. With Brad. Your supposed best friend. And he was so pissed at you leaving, he took another girl to prom.

But, he ran out after you, and saw you sitting on a bench, hiding from the summer rain that was pouring down a few feet away from you. You had your arms squeezed tightly around you and your head was leaned back against the brick wall, breathing in and out.

All he remembers about that moment was how gorgeous you looked and how much he missed you. He had never revealed his feelings to you because he didn't want to complicate things. Your Dad had a 'no pilots' rule and you and Bradley had wanted to follow in your fathers' footsteps from the moment you both saw a fighter jet. But he couldn't hold his feelings back. Not when you were moving London and your Dad was moving to Nevada. He had to tell you.

He walked up to you tentatively, his footsteps light and unsure of how to approach you. You opened your eyes and looked to your left, seeing Bradley walking slowly towards you as if he was scared. You sniffled and wiped your nose, clearing your throat before you spoke.

"If you're going to sit and tell me about how great she is at dancing then I don't want to hear it, Brad." You told him, your voice shaky from crying.

He shook his head, his eyebrows scrunching together in regret as he moved towards you and sat at the opposite end of the bench. Great. More distance.

"I'm not. And you know how good you are at dancing." He tried to joke.

You didn't laugh or smile. You just glared at him with black eyes.

"If I was such a great dancer then why did you ditch me to go with her?" You asked, feeling another wave of sobs rising in your throat.

He stuttered, unsure of what to say. You just scoffed and leaned forward to rest your elbows on your knees. You wiped your eyes and stood up, looking down at him.

"You always told me you'd take me to prom. And listen, I get that it's shit that I'm moving, but London is my dream and I'm not going to let the opportunity slip through my fingers, Brad." You raised your voice, trying to balance out the shakiness with volume.

"Why couldn't you have stayed here with me?" He asked you, looking up into your eyes with a certain hopefulness.

You wiped away the new stream of tears from your cheeks, "I never wanted to be here while Dad was here, and you know it. You know how many people already tell me I'm where I am just because of Dad and his connections? I want a clean slate."

He hung his head and tapped his foot in annoyance. You bit your lip, trying to stop yourself from letting out any more pathetic sobs. Bradley fiddled with his fingers, trying to figure out something to say.

But he stayed silent for a while.

You scoffed, interrupting the silence.

"You know what, I'm done. I'm going home. I'll let you know when I'm off the plane tomorrow."

You turned on your painful heels and started walking away, around to the side of the school where you'd have to eventually make a run for it in the rain to get to your bike.

"y/n, stop. y/n!" You heard him call after you as you walked as fast as you could from him.

You turned the corner and you could see your bike through the rain and the dim streetlights. Once you got out of sight from Bradley, you leaned against the wall, listening to the rain and the muffled sound of Britney Spears from inside. You took deep breaths and tried to gain the courage to step out and into the rain.

"y/n."

The voice behind you boomed like thunder, causing your heart to drop. You didn't want to hear what he had to say, you just wanted to leave and go home. You just wanted to go home.

You didn't even look behind you as you started running to your bike, soaked to the bone in about 2 seconds of being in the rain.

"y/n! What the hell are you doing?!" Brad shouted after you.

"I'm going home, Bradley. That's what I'm doing!" You replied as you ran, nearly slipping in your heels at one point.

You heard splashes of footsteps behind you and you cursed to yourself, knowing you'd never outrun him. So you stopped and spun abruptly round to meet him face-to-face.

"What?" You spat.

He was now standing with you in the rain. His hair was black now, and dripping onto his face and down his neck. His white shirt had begun to go see through and his black jacket looked heavier and heavier on his broad shoulders. The dim lights of the street and the vague moonlight hit his face, highlighting his cheekbones and the few scars that peppered his skin.

"I think I'm in love with you." He blurted out, raising his voice over the noise of the rain.

His confession hit you unexpectedly, knocking the wind out of you, causing you to only reply with, "What?"

He nodded, "I think I've been in love with you forever. And I just never told you because I didn't want to ruin us and what we have. But you're leaving and I can't stop you, but what I can do, is tell you the truth."

You stared into his dark eyes, his long eyelashes bunching up into separated clumps with the water. He was telling you something you've been waiting to hear for your whole life. But it was so late. Why was he only telling you now? You couldn't tell if you were overjoyed or pissed off.

"Brad, I don't know...I can't..." You stumbled over your words, seemingly unable to form a cohesive thought.

"I'm leaving tomorrow! What do you want from me?" You managed to say.

He looked dumbfounded at your question.

"I want...I want you."

Your mouth hung open at his reply. He wiped a hand over his face and groaned.

"That's all I've ever wanted my entire life, y/n. All I've wanted is you. And I know how shit this timing is but I couldn't have told you any other day-"

"Yes you could have! Brad, I've loved you since you gave me your stupid cowboy hat in pre-school. You could have told me yesterday, or five years ago, or 16 years ago and I would have said I love you, too. Because I do! But...but now it's too late..."

His heart stopped in that moment. The fleeting moment of joy rushed through and past him and then he was hit with absolute dread.

He wasn't going to let you go that easy.

"No it's not." He said, shaking his head and placing his hands on his hips.

You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion, "Yes it is, Brad."

He kept shaking his head, "No it's not."

You scoffed, "Brad-"

He lunged forward before you could get another word in. One of his hands clasped the back of your neck, the other reaching around your waist. Your lips crashed into each other's, your hands instinctively going to his face. You both stumbled back for a second before you gained control and balance. You couldn't even register what was happening until you started moving your lips against his, tasting him for the first time after yearning for it for so long.

The rain poured down on you, and Brad moved both of his hands to your waist, pulling you in even closer to his soaked chest. One hand cradled your back, his fingers dipping into the crook of your spine. His tongue licked into your mouth and that's when the realisation hit.

You slid your hands to his shoulders and pushed him back from you. He hardly moved but he had to regain his balance. Confused, he looked at you as your fingers ghosted over your lips.

"Did I...should I have...fuck, y/n, I'm sorry." He apologised, running his hands into his hair.

You looked shocked. And you were. You weren't about to tell him that was your first kiss. It's not that you didn't want to kiss him, because you had practically waited your entire life to kiss him. It was just all happening so fast.

"y/n, just forget about it. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

And he was apologising. Clearly he regretted it. Now you felt shit because he was just caught up in the moment. Did he feel bad for you? Is that what it is? He was going to miss you so he just threw in a kiss in hopes of getting something. Fuck him.

"I'm going home, Bradley." You said quietly.

You turned away and walked to your bike. He ran his hands through his hair again and cursed.

"I've got the car, I'll drive you. It's pouring with rain and it's at least a 15 minute ride. Come on, it'll be quicker and drier if I drive you."

"You've been drinking, Brad." You said, trying to remember where you put your keys.

"And you haven't?" He retorted.

You paused.

A dry, warm car ride did sound more ideal than a depressing bike ride back. You sighed and debated your choices before turning around.

"You can drive me."

You both ran to his car and you got in the passenger side, slamming the door shut. Bradley got in after you and put the key in the ignition, starting up the crappy engine. He turned the heat up all the way and you both put your seatbelts on before he drove out of the car park.

The car ride was silent. Only the lashings of the rain hitting the car window and the sound of the windshield wipers screeching back and forth filled the quiet. Brad's fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel. Clearly he had some sort of song in his head or maybe he was just trying to distract himself.

You twiddled your thumbs and looked down at your ruined dress for the whole car ride. You pulled the bobble out of your hair and any pins and clips you had in there so your hair could fall down naturally. You sighed, massaging your sore scalp before looking in the passenger wing mirror. Your hair was drenched and returning to it's natural form.

After an agonising fifteen minutes, Bradley pulled up outside your house, turning the engine off and sitting with you in more silence.

You shifted in your seat, getting ready to leave but he jumped in.

"I'm sorry about the kiss." He said, gulping nervously.

You finally managed to look at him and his stupid puppy dog eyes.

"Why? Was it that bad?" You replied.

He stuttered over his words, unsure if he should take a sarcastic route or a serious one.

"N-no, it wasn't bad at all-"

"Relax. I'm kidding." You exhaled.

He hummed in defeat and nodded.

"I've been waiting for that kiss since like 1st grade." You said softly, looking down at your lap with a fond smile on your face.

Brad shifted in his seat.

"R-really?" He cleared his throat.

You nodded, looking up and ahead out the window, unclipping your seatbelt.

"I've always wanted you to be my first kiss."

You looked at him. And he looked at you. His eyes burned into your soul. Something about his deep brown gaze tore into every part of you.

"That was your first kiss?" He asked quietly in disbelief.

You smiled, "Yeah. And I'm glad it was you."

You waited for something to happen. And then it didn't. Your words disappeared into the air and nothing was done about it. You chewed the inside of your lip, knowing that this was it.

Your hand reached for the door handle but you stopped when you felt his hand lay over your lower thigh. Your skin burned, heat rushing from your thighs to your core, your breath escaping your lungs in shock.

"Can I be your second, too?" He asked lowly.

-

The night ended with you losing your virginity to him in his car and the agonising goodbye that came swiftly after it. When you tell people you two didn't leave on the best terms...it was the truth. Because the goodbye was so painful, neither of you knew how to deal with it correctly. So it ended up with Bradley begging you to stay, and you begging him to come with you. But you were both too ambitious to let your education slip away. So, you left. And you hadn't heard from him since...now.

When you got to base, you slipped off your bike and tucked your helmet away, your Dad doing the same. You both walked inside together, chatting about how last night went. You had told him you and Rooster had a short discussion that ended with him paying your round. Dad was very amused by that.

You parted ways as you made your way to the locker room to get changed into your flight suit.

You and Phoenix got ready and walked out onto the tarmac together, greeting the rest of your team.

"How hungover is everyone?" Hangman asked as you two joined the circle.

There were mixed answers amongst the group, but generally everyone felt okay. Pilots always had limits with drinking if you were flying the next day.

"Let's all say a huge thank you to Locket for tattling on Rooster." Phoenix added, comically bowing to you.

You laughed, "Don't thank me, thank the guy that disrespected not only a female, but a female pilot."

Rooster smirked and nodded, taking his defeat. You both shared a look before averting your eyes to Cayote.

"What do you think mad man has in store for us, today?" He asked the group.

You snickered at the nickname. He wasn't far off.

"I don't know. He is crazy, though. I've never experienced an instructor do anything like he did with us yesterday." Fanboy said.

"How is he not fired yet, is my question." Payback commented.

"He's a legend." Bob added.

You were biting your lip, trying to stop yourself from smiling. You didn't know why it was so funny being in a group of pilots that didn't know who your dad was to you. You hadn't experienced that since London.

"You don't like him?" Hangman asked you.

The group went silent. You swallowed and looked at him in confusion.

"Why would you say that?"

He shrugged, looking around the group, "You don't say much about him."

"Just because I don't voice my opinion of him doesn't mean I don't have one." You retorted.

Hangman hummed, "Just weird you've literally said nothing about Mav any time we talked about him."

You kept direct eye contact with him, not letting him catch you in the act.

"Sometimes it's better to keep quiet, Bagman. Maybe you should try it some time."

Everyone smirked around you, attempting not to laugh. Hangman stared you down and nodded, appreciating but not necessarily enjoying the words that came out of your mouth.

"Good morning, aviators." Your Dads voice echoed from behind you.

-

You were briefed on the training mission ahead. You and your fellow pilots were doing a simulation of the mission you were training for. The GPS had all the information on it and the planes were ready to go.

Max ceiling was 300 feet and the time to target was only 3 minutes. Your Dad wished you good luck and sent half of you on your way. Rooster was chosen as team leader for the first group. You were his wingman and Bob was your backseater.

You and Rooster looked at each other with a sense of dread that you were put together. You'd rather be Hangman's wingman at this point. You looked to your Dad and he nodded, giving you the 'it's now or never' look. You and Rooster didn't say two words to each other until you were in the jet.

The flight started out good, the g-force was a strain but you and Rooster were doing fine so far.

"Increase speed, we're 20 seconds behind schedule." Bob informed you.

"Rooster, increase speed now." You repeated, grunting as you turned a sharp corner.

"Negative, speed is good. Stay on track." Rooster replied.

You cut another corner with a grunt.

"Locket, if we don't increase speed now we'll not make it." Bob reiterated.

You sighed, "Rooster, we are not gonna make it! Increase speed!" You raised your voice.

"Just trust me! Maintain your speed, we can make it."

The rest of the group were listening to your comms on standby. Everyone was silent, listening in with their gear on. Hangman was throwing a ball up and down in his hand and Phoenix was listening in carefully while Cayote and Payback sat looking out the window.

Hangman shook his head, already aggravating Phoenix.

"He's too slow."

"He's trying to get to the target, Hangman." Phoenix spat.

"It doesn't matter. He's dead if he doesn't get there on time."

"Yeah and he's dead if he crashes and burns." She retorted.

Hangman turned to Phoenix sharply, "Do you not think it's weird? Rooster and Locket's relationship?"

"No. Shut up and listen."

"Rooster, we're 30 seconds behind schedule!" You shouted through your comms at him.

"We'll get there, Locket!"

"Behind schedule! We're dead if we're late."

"We'll get there. Do not increase speed."

The group heard you grunt in frustration. Hangman smirked at Phoenix and she rolled her eyes.

"They don't get along, it's not anything more." Phoenix defended.

He shook his head, "I can tell there's something else going on."

"Rooster, I swear to God if you make us fail this-"

"I've got it, Mitchell! Stay on track, we are not increasing speed!"

"Mitchell?" Hangman repeated, looking to Cayote and Payback who's ears perked up at the name.

"As in Pete Mitchell?" Payback questioned.

Hangman stood up and walked to the wall across from them with an array of photos from different graduating years at Top Gun.

He spotted Maverick first. And then noticed Goose behind him.

"Guys, come look at this." He waved his hand.

Cayote and Payback walked over to the picture Hangman pointed to.

"Oh shit." They said in union.

"What?" Phoenix piped up from behind them, giving up with the comms.

She walked to the group of guys, holding her tactical vest and looking down at the picture. Hangman pointed to the photo and then the names of everyone.

"Lieutenant Pete Maverick Mitchell. And Nick fucking Bradshaw. Goose." Hangman spelled it out.

"Locket wasn't lying when she said their Dad's used to fly together. Her Dad is Maverick."

-

Taglist: 

Strikethrough = I couldn’t tag you :(

@mak-32 @anolddayslover @alana4610 @n3ssm0nique @daryldixonstorm @livychan @luckyladycreator2​ @justatiredhuman​ @wtferista​

[babybluebex]

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 | 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | even though you can’t afford to break rules, you manage to with your own asset, the nerdy genius that created the zephyr. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | simon feck (knight and day, 2010) x fem!reader 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 | smut— handjob, loss of virginity, sub!simon, slight dom!reader, mommy kink 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | WHY IS THERE NO CONTENT FOR OUR NERDY BABY SIMON IM MAD ANYWAY HAVE THIS | follow @cremebruhleewrites to be notified when i post a new story!

You had one objective for the night, only one thing that Roy had told you to do: keep an eye on Simon. Make sure he stays in the hotel room. He could do whatever he wanted, but he needed to stay there. It was similar to how Roy was supposed to watch June; “Just make sure he stays safe,” Roy had told you. 

You stood next to Roy as he explained to Simon the situation, and as he gave the younger man a pin that said Hall & Oates. Wherever Roy had procured that pin in Salzburg, Austria was beyond you, but your boss and trainer often seemed to do impossible things. He had only briefly told you about Simon— how he was the genius who created the Zephyr, how he was just out of high school and smarter than any scientist employed by the government today. 

You had expected a scrawny, lanky kid that had nothing going for him. Instead, you met Simon Feck. Six feet tall, ginger hair hanging at his shoulders, wire glasses perched on a pert nose, with the most pathetic excuse for a mustache and goatee you had ever seen on a man. Simon had been quick to try to rectify some of the information that Roy had given you. “I’m 21,” he told you on the train, over the sound of the hydraulics pumping. “I don’t know why Roy said I was just out of high school. And I’m not as smart as he says. I-I did come up with the battery, that wasn’t a lie, but I’m not Einstein or whatever.”

On the train, you and Simon had gotten along. He had a small iPod stashed in his pocket and, once he was finished with gawking and admiring the train and speaking to the conductor in clipped German, you sat with him and, sharing his earbuds, listened to music with him. He was funny when a song he liked would come on, he’d bob his head and mouth the words, and it made you smile. Then, as always, June’s presence seemed to fuck everything up, and suddenly your own presence made sense. Roy was the muscle, and you secured the asset. 

But the hotel was calm, and there wasn’t a lot to do. Sitting in Simon’s room wasn’t very eventful; he sat on one end, reading and listening to his iPod (Hall & Oates, no doubt), and you sat at the other end, trying to watch television but actually watching him. It was dull, truth be told, and you sighed. You had left a little space between you and Simon, just in case he didn’t like you sitting too close, and he looked up from his book. His cheeks were just a little pink, almost like he had been outside and gotten a little sunburn, and he said, “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you told him. “Don’t worry about me. What’re you listening to?” 

Simon grappled with his book to retrieve his iPod, and he clicked the screen on. “Hall & Oates,” he said simply. 

“I figured as much,” you giggled, reaching out and playing with the pin on his shirt. “What song?”

Simon smiled softly as he looked down at where you were messing with his shirt, and he said, “Do you like Hall & Oates?” 

“Not as much as you do,” you told him, and you let your hand drop off and into your own lap. “But I know the big songs. Maneater, Rich Girl, Out of Touch, you know.” 

“You’re Making My Dreams Come True,” Simon told you. “I-It’s one of my favorites.” 

“That’s a good one,” you said, and you folded your legs up underneath yourself as you got comfortable. “Do you like all 80s music, or just Hall & Oates?” 

“Just Hall & Oates,” Simon chuckled. “Since high school. I’d be in my little lab, working on the Zephyr, listening only to them. It makes me feel safe, y’know? My mom listened to them a lot.” 

“I get that,” you told him. “I’m the same way with Elton John. It’s just comforting to me.” 

Simon nodded, and he pulled out one of his earbuds and offered it to you. Just like on the train, you moved close to him to listen, but something felt weird. It didn’t feel like the train anymore. Maybe because you were alone now, the energy felt different. Your thigh touched his with the proximity, and you watched his hand come down onto your thigh gently, almost as if he didn’t realize what he had done. That was the final straw for you, and you whispered, “Hey, Si?” 

Simon looked at you, silently prompting you to speak, and you pulled the earbud out hastily. You couldn’t. Roy could sleep with June all he wanted because he was Roy and he operated under a different code than you did. You could not do that with Simon. The heat in the bottom of your stomach betrayed you, though, and you couldn’t help but sigh. “I need to go,” you mumbled, but, before you could properly get up to leave, Simon grabbed your hand. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked. “You were fine a second ago.” 

“Yeah, I was,” you started. You couldn’t tell him that you had to leave because he turned you on. The smell of his soap was enough to trigger it, and you stepped back, away from him. “I-It’s not you, Si, I just, paperwork, y’know? Government entities run on paperwork.” 

Simon watched you with his big eyes, examining you, and he said, “I did something wrong.”

“No!” you told him quickly. “Simon, you did nothing wrong, believe me. Please don’t think you did. This has nothing to do with you.” 

“Is it because I touched your leg?” Simon asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you said quickly. You sighed, your chest heaving with it, and you looked at the door, where you had last seen Roy before he left. “Okay, it kinda was that, but not how you think it is. I… Simon, you’re just really attractive, y’know that?”

He looked surprised to hear you say that, his eyes widening and his eyebrows raising, and he shook his head quickly. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbled, and you sat back down, squeezing his hand.

“I’m not,” you insisted. “Simon, c’mon. Your big green eyes and your smile, you’re just so cute. I kinda… My heart races when I see you.”

“Really?” Simon asked. He looked down at his lap, and, mumbling, he added, “People in high school used to…”

You frowned. “I’m sorry, Simon,” you told him gently. “That sucks. People kinda suck in general. I was teased a lot in high school too.” 

“Most people have their first kiss by 17,” Simon told you, and he pushed up his glasses. He seemed to have a habit of fiddling with his glasses whenever he was nervous. “And here I am, I’m 21, and I doubt it when a girl calls me pretty. It’s just… It sucks so bad, being hurt like that, y’know?”

“I know,” you told him. “I’m sorry, that really does suck a lot. I-I wasn’t teased like that, but… Fuck them. You’re better than they’ll ever be, okay? You’re a bigger man than them.”

“A bigger man,” Simon repeated. “That all means so much, thank you. But I can’t help but feel just so inadequate. You know what I mean? It feels like nobody wants me, and that shouldn’t hurt so much, but it does. It hurts really bad.”

You shrugged, squeezing his hand again. “”I think you’re handsome, Simon,” you told him. “I think you’re adorable, actually.”

“You’re just saying that,” Simon said, and you watched a flush come over his cheeks, accentuating the tiny freckles he had on his face.

“I promise I’m not,” you said quickly. “In fact, I’d really like it if I could kiss you… Can I?”

“You…” Simon began, his flush glowing deeper in his cheeks. “I’ve never—”

“I know, baby,” you told him. You gently smoothed his wild hair out of his face, and you watched his bottom lip tremble in anticipation. “That’s why I asked.”

Simon readjusted his weight on the sofa, and he shyly mumbled, “I… I really like when you call me that.” 

“What?” you asked. “Baby?” Simon nodded, and you smiled sweetly at him. You had figured that he was a virgin, but his blush made it all the more obvious that he hadn’t ever felt the touch of a woman. “Aw, you’re cute. Can I kiss you, baby?” 

Simon nodded quickly, his shy nature keeping him quiet and mellow, and you quickly moved closer to him. Your thighs touched again, and his hand landed on your leg once more, and that fire returned to your belly. It was stronger than before, now knowing everything you did about Simon, and suddenly a different fire emerged. You wanted to ruin this poor man. You wanted to help him explore and discover himself. You needed to. You carefully leaned into him and touched his burning cheek, and you gently pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth. You heard his beautiful gasp as his breath caught in his throat, and he whimpered, actually whimpered at you. “Please…” he whispered. 

“Please what, baby?” you asked. “Use your words.” 

Simon seemed flustered, and you almost worried that you had taken things one step too far, but he finally sighed, almost lovingly simple and soft. “Please kiss me,” he whimpered. “Please.”

You couldn’t help but oblige his begging, and you finally pressed your mouth to his. He was soft, and he sighed as you kissed him, and it made your heart melt. Your hand on his cheek titled his head a little so you could better kiss him, and Simon made a soft sound as he finally kissed back. It was obvious he didn’t really know what he was doing, but his inexperience was cute. His hands twitched next to his body, and you smiled into the kiss before breaking it. “You can touch me, if you want,” you told him. 

“O-Okay,” Simon said, and he pushed his glasses up his nose. “Umm, actually, can we… Can we stop?”

Your heart sank, and you quickly shifted away from him. “Of course,” you told him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” Simon told you. “I-I just…” 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. “Are you okay?” 

Simon swallowed thickly, and he mumbled, “I-I’m just…” He paused and his blush grew deep, creeping into his ears and neck, and he added, “I-It’ll go away in a minute, I’m sorry.”

“What will go away?” you asked. “Si, if you don’t want to kiss me, that’s okay.”

“No, I do!” Simon groaned. “Y-You just can’t make fun of me, alright?” 

“I would never,” you told him, and Simon wordlessly took your hand and settled it on his pants. It took you a moment to understand what he meant, but then you felt him through his jeans. “Oh, Si. Are you hard?” 

“I-I said it’ll go away in a minute,” Simon stammered.

You chewed your lip for a moment as you thought. You definitely wanted to be able to help him, and he seemed like he would be open to the idea. “I could help you,” you offered. “If you’d like that?”

“Help me?” Simon echoed. “Y-You’d want to touch me?”

“Yes, of course,” you told him. “You’ve masturbated and stuff before, right?” Simon nodded, adjusting his glasses again, and you leaned forward and kissed him again. “Have you ever cum?”

“No,” Simon told you. "I could never make myself..."

“Oh, my poor baby,” you said gently, kissing him once more. “I’ll help you cum, if you’d like.”

“Yes,” Simon said, choking out his answer through a thick throat. “Yes, please, t-touch me.”

You took his hand and led him from the sofa over the large hotel bed, and you sat down first, kicking off your shoes and taking off your trousers and shirt. You figured he would be greedy for the feel of your skin, and you pulled him close to you and kissed him. You edged a little closer to him, pressing your chest to his, and you took his hands and settled them on your hips. “If you want me to stop, just tell me,” you said, and Simon nodded. “I’m gonna lay back and you’re gonna put your back on my chest, okay?”

His skin was warm against yours as he settled himself between your legs, and you took care to remove his glasses from his thin nose and set them on the table next to the bed. You softly blew on your hands, trying to warm them up for him, and you lightly reached around and touched his chest. Despite your gentle and slow movements, he still jumped, and you shushed him softly. “I know, baby,” you whispered. “Tell me to stop and I will.” 

“Don’t stop,” Simon said, his voice a little higher than before. “Please don’t.” 

“I won’t,” you told him. Your fingers itched in his shirt, tugging it up a little high to expose the happy trail of thin hairs on his belly, leading down to where his hard cock strained at his jeans. Carefully, you helped him tug his shirt over his head, and you kissed the side of his face as you discarded his shirt. He was incredibly thin, his chest pale with just the sparsest hair speckling his skin, and you gently smoothed your hand down his chest to his jeans. He sighed heavily, almost like he was comforting himself, and you kissed the side of his head again. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” you whispered, and Simon shook his head quickly. 

“I want to,” he said. “I-I’m just nervous.”

“That’s alright,” you said. “I’ll be good to you.” You were quick to undo his jeans, and you snaked your hand inside his pants and down past his boxers to feel the burning skin of his cock, so impossibly hard. You sweetly kissed the side of his face as you withdrew your hand, and you pushed at his pants, trying to move them as far down as you could.

Simon got the message, thankfully, and he shoved his pants down his legs, kicking them off hastily. He seemed eager, and it eased you to know that he did really want this. Your hand lifted to his cheek, and you turned his head to look at you as you sealed your lips together again. Simon moaned softly, deep in his chest, and his hands lifted as he turned slightly to face you better. You expected him to go for your face, just how your hands were, but he quickly pawed at your tits instead. 

“C-Can I?” Simon asked, and you smiled. 

“Yes, baby, you can,” you told him, and Simon turned fully around and settled himself just above your tits, and his fingers worked to push your bra down. You went to help him, but he did it fully by himself, and his mouth attached to your nipple in an instant. You gasped in shock, but you still writhed beneath him when he sucked hard. “Oh my God, Si…Yes, baby, just like that. Do you still want me to touch you?” 

Simon grunted softly, nodding as he sucked at you, and you licked your palm before lowering your hand down to his cock again. This time, you wrapped your hand fully around him and slowly started to stroke him, and Simon’s mouth faltered around your nipple as he moaned.

“Good boy,” you whispered, smoothing his hair out of his face. Each stroke of his cock made Simon moan and buck his hips up into your fist, and you loved seeing the flush in his cheeks draw down onto his chest. “Here, baby, turn around,” you told him, and Simon gave a high whine when you tried to pull him away from your tits. “I know, baby, but I’ll be able to touch you easier if you turn around.” 

You almost didn’t hear what your baby said in response, something muffled against your tit, and you smirked when you finally understood it. “Say that again, baby,” you told him. “Because it sounded like you called me Mommy.” 

“M’sorry,” Simon said quickly. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, baby, don’t worry,” you told him quickly. “I liked it. Call me that again.” 

Simon nodded quickly, and you swiped your thumb across the sensitive head of his cock to elicit a sound from him. Thankfully, he did as you wanted, and his words came in a mumble as he keened back against you: “Mommy, please…” 

“I will, sweet boy,” you told him, kissing his cheek. “Stop squirming, baby, let Mommy touch you all nice.” Your hand quickened on his cock, moving just a little faster, and Simon’s head fell back onto your shoulder as he moaned again. His hands were twitching by his sides, obviously wanting to touch you somehow, and your free hand reached down to take his. Your poor boy already looked close to cumming, what with the way that his hips bucked up to meet your hand with every stroke you gave him, and you squeezed his hand. “Are you getting close, baby?” 

“Yes,” Simon whined. “A-Are you gonna—”

“Just warn me before you cum, baby,” you told him, soothing whatever anxiety he had, and Simon nodded quickly. “You’re being so good for Mommy, such a good boy…” 

“This,” Simon started, and he moaned as your thumb smoothed over the head of his cock again. “Th-This isn’t how I thought this night would go.” 

“Me too, honey,” you told him. “But I like the way it’s turning out, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Simon laughed, and you let go of his hand to turn his face so that you could kiss him. His mouth was warm, already used to the feel of yours, and, as he kissed you, you could feel his cock twitch in your hand. “Mommy,” he mumbled. “I-I think I’m gonna cum.” 

“That’s it,” you told him. “Turn around, baby, I’ll let you suck my tits while you cum.” 

“Can I…” Simon began as he hastily turned back around to face you, his eyes zeroing in on your tits. “Can I cum on them?” 

You smiled at his boldness to even ask, and you reached behind yourself to undo your bra, and you tossed it across the room. “Be my guest, baby,” you told him, and you dragged him down into a kiss. He was open for you, your tongue pushing into his mouth in an instant, and he moaned into you as his own hand started on himself. 

“I’ve done this plenty,” Simon chuckled as he broke the kiss, and you giggled at him. “Never thought I’d do it with a pretty girl, especially one who saved my life earlier.” 

“You’re welcome for that, by the way,” you told him, and Simon smiled as one of his ginger waves fell into his eyes. “Your hair just won’t stay back, will it? Got a mind of its own.”

“You should see it in the morning,” Simon told you. “It’s all flat and it’s everywhere, it’s not good.”

“Maybe I will,” you said, and Simon’s eyes all but sparkled as he took in your words. 

“Y-You’ll stay?” he asked, and you nodded. He huffed out a pant as he neared his finish, and he said, “Cool. I’d like that.” 

“Good,” you said. “You gonna cum, baby?”

“Yeah,” Simon nodded. “And you promise you’re okay with…?”

“Yes, baby,” you told him, and you dragged him down into another kiss. “Please, Simon, I want it.” 

“A-And what would that be?” Simon asked, and you laughed. 

“Trying to be a little dominant,” you mused, and the blush in Simon’s cheeks grew deeper as he laughed with you. “Alright, we can try that.”

“Use your words,” Simon said, more of a caricature of dominance than actuality. “What do you want?”

The way that the same words had previously come out of your mouth made you laugh, and Simon smiled. “Cum on my tits, Simon. Please, baby, that’s all I want.”

“Good,” Simon mumbled, and his fist worked faster, hurrying to cum. “I-I’m… Fuck.” 

“Oh, you’re cursing now?” you laughed. “What happened to my sweet boy?” 

“Call me that again,” Simon said, his voice high with a whine, and you watched his legs and thighs jerk as he grew closer and closer. 

“My boy,” you told him. “Are you my boy, baby?” 

“Wanna be your boy,” Simon mumbled. “Wanna be your boy so bad.”

“You can be my boy,” you said. “If Roy gets to be with June, we can be together.” Fuck your code, you decided. If Roy could do it and not receive repercussions, then you could too.

“Yeah,” Simon whispered. “Oh, fuck, Mommy…” With one more tug on his cock, Simon’s mouth fell open and his eyes squeezed shut as he came. His cum spurted out in thick ribbons, landing on your chest, and the flush in his cheeks grew deeper still as he moaned. His breathing hitched in his chest as he gave you his release, and he finally fell down on top of you, exhausted and spent. You couldn’t help but smile in his mess of hair, and you kissed his temple. 

“Good boy,” you told him. “You’re my best boy, Si.” 

“Thank you, Mommy.” 

You were thankful that you and Simon were quick to shower and redress because, not even an hour later, Roy came into the room unannounced. Simon had fallen asleep in bed after his shower, wearing just his boxers and little white wife pleaser, and you had settled yourself back on the sofa, where everything started. 

“Anything eventful happen while I was gone?” Roy asked.

You shrugged, looking from the television to where Simon slept. “Nothing,” you told him. 

“What did you do?” Roy asked, sitting next to you. 

“Oh, you know,” you started, and laughed. “We fucked.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Whatever, you’re making fun of me, I see it,” he said. 

Then, from across the room, you heard the high whine of your best boy, and your body froze as he spoke: “Come back to bed, Mommy, m’cold.” 

[vintagegoodytwoshoes]

Brain Drain

Sergeant Kristof checked his flat top in the rearview mirror of his car. As always, it was perfectly level with a hint of the landing strip peeking through. Still, it didn’t hurt to check. He didn’t make it this far in his military career without being sure about everything. And yet, here was full of doubt.

He had a reputation for being one of the top recruiters in the service. One of his superiors joked that if it weren’t for him, there wouldn’t even be a Marine Corps. He had a knack for finding the boys who needed guidance, the firm hand of the United States military to give them purpose, and convincing them to enlist. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he got to shave their heads. After all, that was his favorite part. Watching an undisciplined young man with shaggy hair lose all those wild locks as he began down a path of extreme discipline on his quest to become a well-trained soldier in Uncle Sam’s military? Who could resist!?

But now he was full of doubt. He always brought in these young athletic men, straight off the football team or baseball team but now his division was facing what his superiors called a “brain drain.” All these hot hunky soldiers were good, but there was barely half a brain cell between all of them. Sergeant Kristof was tasked with finding someone who could actually think. And that’s how he found himself parked outside the aerospace engineering building of the local university trying to find the next perfect victi--errr--recruit.

There were certainly plenty of potentials. The campus was awash in scrawny, brainy types who would almost certainly bring up the average IQ of his unit but how to pick which one to target? Usually he sought out boys with rippling physiques (and long hair) but how do you know which spindly nerd to turn into a Marine? He got out of his Hummer to stretch his legs, go for a walk, and do some thinking.

Sergeant Kristof had barely taken a step when he collided with one of the student. The student, a tall, lanky creature, bounced right off of Sergeant Kristof with his tree trunk physique.

“Excuse me, sir,” the young man stammered as he struggled to find his glasses amidst the giant pile of books he had been carrying. “I’m so sorry! I was preoccupied with one of my textbooks and I wasn’t watching where I was going. I don’t mean to be so clumsy!”

The sergeant watched this pathetic excuse for a man flail helplessly on the ground and a grin spread across his face. The boy was a wimp, that much was clear. But he was clearly a devoted student, exactly the kind of brain his superiors wanted. And he was tall, too, had to be at least 6’5” though he couldn’t weight more than 160 pounds sopping wet. That was OK. That was what basic training was for. But what really got Sergeant Kristof going was the boy’s hair: an unkempt mess of ginger locks, greased and sideparted clumsily with a cowlick in the back. The hair was beautiful and messy… and boy would it look good shaved off on the floor.

Sergeant Kristof bent down and picked up the boy’s extremely thick aviator glasses. “Here you go, son.” He helped the boy up and gathered his books for him.

“Gosh, thank you so much. I just want to apologize again for being so--” Suddenly the boy stopped speaking. As he put his glasses back on his head, he caught a glimpse of Sergeant Kristof for the first time. No one this handsome had ever spoken to him before, let alone help him out. The nerd took in Sergeant Kristof and his rippling physique and his chiseled jaw. But most of all, he couldn’t take his eyes of Sergeant Kristof’s precise flat top. A smile formed on Sergeant Kristof’s face. This was the one.

“I’m Sergeant Kristof, USMC,” he said reaching out to shake the young man’s hand. He barely had a grip and the sergeant was scared he would break the nerd’s hand.

“I’m G-g-g-gilbert,” stammered the young man. “Pleased to meet ya!”

“Nice to meet you, too, son. Say, I was just exploring your campus and figured I could use a cup of coffee. Is there a cafe on campus you could show me to?”

“Well, I was supposed to be going to the library. See, they have the illustrated edition of Lord of the Rings on hold for me and it’s always checked out so I’ve been waiting for months to get them and I’m really eager to…” Again the boy fell silent. He was nervously rambling as he so often did. But when he noticed the warm fatherly way that Sergeant Kristof stared at him, he felt almost a sense of peace.

“Come on, you can pick your book up later. I’ll even buy you a cup as thanks!”

Gilbert fidgeted nervously. It would be rude not to take this man up on his offer after all! And the sergeant was right, he could always go later.

“Sure thing, Sergeant! We can go to the cafe in the student center!”

“I’d like that very much, son. Lead the way!”

The two cut quite the image strolling across the campus. Sergeant Kristof and his giant biceps, tree trunk legs, large chest and severe horseshoe flat top contrasted humorously with Gilbert, his greasy red hair flapping in the wind, his wrinkled button down shirt tucked in to his high waisted pants, his thick glasses askew on his face. The sergeant had to walk quickly to keep up with the tall, lanky geek who was rambling on and on about his studies as he fidgeted with his pocket protector. The poor kid almost tripped over his feet a couple times. This is going to be a challenge, the sergeant thought to himself. But it would be so worth it.

Over coffee, the sergeant got Gilbert’s entire life story. The boy sure could talk… but basic training would teach him when to shut up. His father had left at an early age and his mom had to work so he was left alone alot. He would watch Star Trek reruns on the TV and develop a lifelong interest in sci-fi and space travel. That’s what made him want to become an aerospace engineer. But while he enjoyed his studies, he found it hard to focus out here in the real world.

The sergeant reached out and placed his big meaty hand on the nerd’s scrawny one and Gilbert nearly spit out his coffee.

“You know, son, I used to have similar problems. When I graduated high school, I found the real world a bit disorienting. Believe it or not, I used to be a bit of a momma’s boy myself. But that’s when I found the Marines and they made a real man out of me. Gave me the focus and discipline I needed to become the man I am today. Have you ever considered enlisting, son?” The sergeant noticed the way that Gilbert was fixating on his flattop and the way his eye twitched whenever he called him “son.” Good, he was getting to him.

“N-n-n-no sir,” Gilbert stammered. “I’ve always been so weak and uncoordinated. I figured the military was for athletic types!”

“It takes all kinds to protect this great nation of ours, son. If we only took men in perfect shape, well, we wouldn’t get anyone. That’s what basic training is for. Why, even you would end up strong and athletic after basic training. But your brain? That’s what would set you apart, son.” He could see the look in Gilbert’s eyes. This promise of a brighter future combined with the sergeant’s dominant fatherly tone was getting to him. He checked his watch. “Listen son, I need to get going but I’ll be back on campus next week. What say we meet up for coffee again and we can talk about it then.”

“Gee whiz, sir, I’d like that. I guess I should get going, too. After all, I’ve got to get my book from the library.” The two men shook hands and Gilbert got up to leave, tripping over his own chair and taking a tumble. This would be a challenge, thought the sergeant.

The next week, the sergeant was waiting in the campus coffee shop, curious as to whether the boy would return. He was just about to give up and head back to the base when he heard some commotion behind him. There he was, that clumsy ginger-haired geek, struggling to get his backpack free from the coffee shop door where it had become entangled with the door handle. He finally got it free. He spotted the sergeant and waved, as the other coffee shop customers laughed under the breath. Poor kid, he definitely needed all the help he could get.

“Sorry I’m late, sergeant!” the geek said as he took a seat. “I was at the library!”

“Let me guess, you had some other fantasy novel you needed to check out?”

The boy snorted with laughter. “Gosh no! I never even checked out the illustrated Lord of the Rings book, sir! I went to pick it up last week and I noticed a display on military history and, well, our conversation peaked my curiosity so…” The boy spilled the contents of his backpack out on to the table. Tomes of military history, mostly focused on the Marine Corps tumbled out. “You know, military history is so fascinating! The tactics, the technology, the strict haircuts, um I mean, uhhh…”

“It’s ok, son. I understand your passion! And yes, the haircuts are pretty great if I say so myself.”

“They sure are,” said Gilbert, his eyes wide with admiration as the sergeant rubbed his hand instinctively across his wide, smooth landing strip.

“So are you thinking about enlisting, Gilbert?”

“Well, it’s certainly very tempting…”

“I think it’s a good idea.”

“I see the appeal, really I do,” said the nerd, hesitating. The sergeant knew he needed to turn up the heat. He pulled his comb from his pocket and ran it through the front of his horseshoe flat, making it stand perfectly at attention. Gilbert’s adam’s apple quivered as he gulped. The sergeant returned his comb to his pocket and reached across the table, taking the nerd’s hand in his own. The sergeant could feel the sweat on the boy’s flesh as he looked nervously into the sergeant’s eyes.

“You’re going to enlist, son. You’re going to make this country proud.”

“Yes, sir. You’re right. I want to do this.”

The sergeant smiled. Jackpot! He got up and embraced the boy (and noticed a prominent bulge in the boy’s high waisted khakis).

“We’ll go tomorrow and fill out the paperwork, son.”

“I can’t wait,” said Gilbert and he really meant it. An confident smile broke across his face, unlike any expression the sergeant had ever seen him make before. This boy really needed this.

“Although, if you want to make a good impression on the recruiter, there’s really one thing we should do tonight.”

“Really, sir? And what’s that?”

-----

The sergeant draped the cape over the trembling nerd’s body. His quarters were spartan--after all, the USMC had taught the sergeant that he didn’t need much to be happy--but he still maintained the beautiful vintage barber chair for when he gave his special recruits their first cuts.

“Showing up with your head shaved will show the recruiter that you’re ready to become a Marine and leave the civilian world behind. You want to show them that you’re serious, don’t you, son?”

Gilbert gulped. The sergeant took his thick glasses and the boy squinted helplessly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” said Sergeant Kristof. He pulled out his clippers and turned them on. The loud hum was a welcome sound for him but he could tell Gilbert was nervous. “Don’t worry, son, you’ll get used to these cuts.” The sergeant licked his lips as he approached the boy’s greasy red locks and with one swipe took out his first sizeable chunk. It trickled down the cape and into the boy’s lap. The sergeant recognized the look on his face: a mixture of regret and anticipation. He also recognized that telltale bulge under the cape. This would not be the last time he cut this boy’s hair personally.

With another swipe came another tumble of ginger hair. The sergeant rubbed his thumb along the freshly shorn bristles, ecstatic to see another one of these long-haired boys well on their way to becoming a properly groomed masculine man. He tilted the boy’s head back, almost too forcefully, and stared into his eyes as he took the next few swipes. Even though the boy was squinting without his glasses, the sergeant saw the ecstasy overtaking the boy’s mind.

“You’re going to make such a perfect soldier,” he told him as he took the next swipe. “The Marines will make a real man out of you. Just like they did to me. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Yes, sir,” whimpered the boy as another cascade of hair tumbled down his cheek.

“Now, you’re going to have to be more forceful than that when you enlist, son. Try it again.”

“Yes… YES SIR!” said Gilbert with a grin. He had never spoken so confidently, but he had never had someone who believed in him the way Sergeant Kristof did.

“Good boy,” said the sergeant. The boy’s hair hung in piles all around him. He handed the boy his glasses back and heard him gasp.

“I look… so bald!” he said.

“No you don’t,” said the sergeant. “But you will.” He took the boy’s glasses again and pulled out the shaving cream. He worked up a lather and spread it over the boy’s bristles. He grabbed the boy from behind to brace himself as he took out the straight razor and dragged it across his scalp. The little red bristles looked like cinnamon spread into the shaving cream as he wiped it off on the towel.  Scrape after scrape brought off more of these bristles until the job was done. He wiped the boy’s head down, grabbed the baby oil, and rubbed it into the nerd’s scalp until it shone brightly. Finally, he handed the boy his glasses back and heard him gasp again.

“Sir, I’m bald!”

“Shocking isn’t it?” laughed the sergeant.

“It’s… it’s so manly!” the boy gasped as he rubbed his smooth scalp.

“You look great, son. Now let’s get you home and get you to bed. Tomorrow, you’re becoming an enlisted man.”

----

Boot camp served Gilbert very well, as it often does for boys who lack discipline in their life. He adjusted quite well to the strict schedule and though he struggled at first with the physical requirements of the training, whenever he felt like giving up, he would catch a glimpse of Sergeant Kristof out of the corner of his eye. There he was, this paragon of military masculinity, keeping a watchful eye over Gilbert. Gilbert knew if he kept at it, he could be just like this man who had placed so much faith in him. He had started to think of this man as a father figure and he knew he owed it to him to achieve no matter what. With Sergeant Kristof in his mind, Gilbert would always find his last reserve of strength and finish his training.

Pretty soon, the shy, scrawny nerd who had enlisted was well on his way to being a popular, beefy soldier. As with most men who have never worked out in their lives, Gilbert quickly began packing on muscle. The 160 pound weakling must have put on at least sixty pounds of muscle and it looked good on him. His frame filled out, his jaw became more chiseled, and at 6’5”, he was becoming quite the strapping lad. He even looked good in the black rimmed glasses he had been issued. He had always been singled out for his glasses as a youth but now, these were the same glasses the rest of the recruits wore. Gilbert was just one of the guys.

The sergeant always beamed with pride when Gilbert entered the mess hall with the other recruits. This once shy nerd had become a natural leader, laughing and rough-housing with the other men. Most shocking to Gilbert himself was discovering his own natural athletic skill. He was surprisingly adept at football, although Sergeant Kristof wasn’t surprised. The boy was always interested in tactics and now he had the physical prowess to follow through. The boy became obsessed with sports. During their weekly haircut sessions, the sergeant found himself laughing at how this boy who was once obsessed with Lord of the Rings now couldn’t stop talking about football, baseball, and hockey. Who could have guessed that this geek was always a jock deep down? He just needed a push.

“Thanks for the fresh shave, Sir!” said Gilbert with confidence. Even his voice seemed deeper. As he slipped his blackrimmed glasses back on his head and fastened the elastic strap that kept them in place, Gilbert smiled. “You really got my head smooth this time, Sir!”

“Happy to oblige, son.”

With the firmest handshake the sergeant had ever felt, Gilbert thanked him and headed out for a night of drinks with the rest of the recruits.

----

Gilbert graduated top of his class naturally. Sergeant Kristof knew he would excel at the tactical portions of boot camp but his heart swelled with pride when Gilbert placed top in the physical portions as well. Gone forever was this pathetic nerd, replaced instead with 250 pounds of pure American beef. He was going to be an excellent soldier.

That night, Gilbert came to the sergeant’s quarters for his haircut. The sergeant had been unable to squeeze him in for a few weeks and now the strapping young lad’s hair was more grown out than it had been since he started boot camp. Gilbert gave him a firm handshake and sat in the barber chair, handing the sergeant his glasses. The sergeant smiled proudly at what Gilbert had become, admiring his now 22” biceps and the new “Semper Fi” tattoo that adorned his left arm and the American flag tattoo on his right.

“Sir! I just want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I never could have imagined becoming who I am today and it is all because you believed in my. God bless you, God bless the USMC, and God bless the USA!”

“I always knew you had it in you, Gilbert.”

Gilbert laughed.

“You know, Sir, you almost always call me ‘son.’ Didn’t you know? I don’t go by Gilbert anymore. I just go by Gil.”

“I like that. Gil. It’s much tougher and more masculine.” The sergeant began clipping the soldier’s red hair.

“Exactly Sir,” laughed Gil.

“But if it’s all the same, I think I’ll stick to calling you ‘son.’”

Gil choked up for a moment. The Marines had made a hard man of him but it touched his heart to hear the man he respected most in this world call him ‘son.’

“Absolutely, Sir.”

The sergeant smiled. He grabbed a can of butch wax from the counter and began massaging it into the young Marine’s scalp.

“What are you doing, Sir?”

“I have a surprise for you, son,” he said. He grabbed his comb and blow dryer and styled everything to perfection. Once he was sure it was up to military standards, he handed Gil his blackrimmed glasses and watched as the young man strapped them back into place.

“A horseshoe flattop!” exclaimed Gil. “Just like yours!”

“Exactly like mine, except… well yours is red.”

Gil bolted up from the chair and examined himself in the mirror with glee. His hair was perfectly level, the extremely narrow shoe exactly the same height all over. Gil loved the way the straight line of the flat top accentuated the heavy glasses he wore. He tilted his head down and admired how even it was and how smooth the landing strip was. He grabbed the handheld mirror and checked out the back. The shoe was so high and tight that he looked totally bald from behind, only the thick elastic glasses strap showing against the smooth flesh. The haircut was so precise and perfect. Each nook and cranny of the Marine’s perfect skull was visible, as accentuated and perfect as his torso looked in the tight T-shirt he was wearing.

“Holy shit, Sir!”

“No cursing, son!”

“Sorry, Sir! It just looks so great.”

“You earned it, son. You’ve made me so proud.”

Gil’s eyes filled with tears as he searched the depths of his soul for what to say. He caught his reflection in the mirror and knew there was really only one response.

“Semper fi, Sir.”

“Semper fi, son.”

-----

Sergeant Kristof fanned himself in his Hummer. It was too hot a day for September but here he was, parked outside the local university’s engineering building. His superiors were so impressed with Gil that they had asked Sergeant Kristof to repeat his techniques. It wasn’t exactly challenging but when the military tells you do something, you say “Yes Sir!”

Suddenly, a shadow fell across the sergeant as something blocked the sun. He turned to the window and saw an absolute beast of a man standing there, his giant torso filling the entire window. The sergeant gasped before realizing who it was. Who else could it be? A strapping lad in formal USMC gear except for the hat. Upon the man’s head was a bright red horseshoe flat top.

“Jesus Christ, son, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry Sir, just thought you might like some coffee before we start the recruitment process.”

Sergeant Kristof snatched the coffee from Gil’s hand and took a sip. Blech, it was too hot for a day like this. Suddenly, the two strapping Marines noticed a young man trip and fall in the quad, spilling his books everywhere. The young man’s glasses flew from his head and he awkwardly fumbled to collect his beginnings. Sergeant Kristof and Gil both smiled.

“Target acquired, Sir.”

“Target acquired, son.”

[abundanceofnots]

Ian knows the boxes in the attic won’t most likely have anything useful in them for their new apartment, but he figures this move is as good a time as any to throw away their contents since it’s mostly his old notebooks, school textbooks, and a couple of not-so-discreetly hidden gay porn mags stashed inside his Soldier Monthly that he won’t ever live down in Mickey’s eyes.

He leaves through the notebooks first, trying to find if there’s anything other than scribbles and his chemistry notes. There’s a loose paper in one of them, crumbled and crisscrossed, and Ian takes it out to give it a quick skim-read, letting out an almost disbelieving giggle as he does.

„Ha! Holy shit. I remember this,” he tells Mickey, who stands over a different box across from him. “What the hell. I can’t believe it’s still here.“

„What is?“

Ian shakes his head, smiling over the memory.

“We made these stupid lists with Mandy one night when we were stoned. We were fifteen, I think. Fuck. I can’t believe I kept it. It’s kinda embarrassing.“

That seems to be everything Mickey needed to hear. “Oh yeah? Show me.“

Biting his lip, Ian stalls for a second, reconsidering. Then, with nothing more than a little shrug, he hands the piece of paper over.

„Yeah. Good luck finding that guy,“ Mickey comments through a huff of laughter, reiterating Mandy’s written words.

Ian mimics his little chuckle, then cocks his head, grimacing as his eyes narrow.

„Mickey,” he says as if he’s talking to the slowest person on the planet because, come on, it’s obvious. “I already did.“

But Mickey only looks more confused.

„Look, we were both fucking high off our tits when we made these,” Ian explains, “and I didn’t want Mandy to figure it out, so I threw in some bullshit, but this is about you. Obviously.”

„How are any of these obvious? I’m not fucking… tall.“

„Yeah, you are. In your own way, anyway.“

Mickey blinks back at him, his face still a mask of total comical incomprehension.

„In what way?“

„I don’t know,” Ian huffs in frustration. “It’s a metaphor. It makes sense in my head.“

“Really fuckin’ hope it does,” Mickey grumbles before he takes another look at the paper, snorting. “This shit’s hilarious. You were so damn pathetic at fifteen, man.”

“Oh yeah? Like you at that age was so fucking suave.”

“Yeah, well, at least I wasn’t making lists about the guy of my dreams—or doodling Mr. Mickey Milkovich all over my notebooks.”

“Asshole. I definitely wasn’t doing one of those things.”

Ian stacks the books back inside the box, the question aching to be said out loud.

“But if you ever did,” he starts out slow, “what would, like, be on your ideal guy list?”

Mickey cackles. “Definitely not: must be some scrawny ginger kid with a massive crush on me.”

“Right.”

Deflating a little, Ian focuses back on the task. It takes another minute of complete silence between them before Mickey kicks his shoe.

Ian looks up just in time to see him roll his eyes.

“Probably things like: Annoys the shit out of me every fuckin’ day. Unbearable soft bitch with a crippling mental disorder and self-confidence issues. Daddy issues. Mommy issues. A family of weirdos as a package deal. Sings out of tune and on the most inappropriate occasions. Great in the sack. Must stand me at the altar at least once. Best fuckin’ friend I ever had.”

Ian stares, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Thanks.” He smiles at his husband, giving him a tentative hip-check. “I mean, that was deeply offensive, but also kinda sweet. So yeah, thanks.”

Mickey smiles back. “Anytime.”

[yuichi-ro]

it’s stressful and annoying days like these were i feel bad where i simply long for someone like mikey. someone else who might even be more miserable than i am who i can just project my issues onto and then smother the hell out of.

mikey is so small and scrawny, how can you not want to make some good food for him that actually fills his stomach for once that isnt all sweets, wrap him in a blanket and engulf his tiny frame so that for once he feels safe and secure.

mikey who is just so eager to please, does anything in his power to please you as he loves you wholeheartedly, too scared to admit it as that was what took everything else away. at the same time, he cannot help but yearn for it, to hear your heartbeat, steady, alive, a rhythmic pattern reminding him that you remain.

fingers entangled into his choppily cut hair as you tut at him, telling him to take care of himself more but he can barely respond with anything more than a hum, far too gone in a blissful state where you and only you exist.

taking care of emotionally stunted and malnourished men who just need to be held and be given affection is my form of self care istg <3

why does mikey just gotta check all my boxes tho ugh mitsuya and draken are right there but no i want the tiny manchild to hold close ughhh

-🌌

it's weird, small tiny pathetic man who can't do shit for himself right? You'd think I'd be on that like stink on shit but...something about the "babies" in Tokyorev don't do it for me. Mikey, Chifuyu...I just...I dunno man I try but I can't. Gimme them loud stupid tall ones any day I'll mommy the shit outta them. But-

Mikey in your lap after a long day. Well, every day is long for him. Even when he's just at home. Collapsing into you is his end goal because he know you won't move him. Push him off or do anything really. Just entangle your fingers in his hair and let him simply be. No thoughts. No questions. He's got too many of them on his own so when you don't impose anymore on him is when Mikey can shut down.

It's the way you set warm meals out for him. Even though he might not touch them. The way you ask him if he ate today while booping him on the head. Draw him a bath without asking. Insisting that he's going to soak. It's not his decision to make because around you he doesn't have to make decisions.

Fingers combed through his hair. Tangles unraveled like the way you unravel his nerves. It's like one big exhale when you dote on him without him acting like he wants it. Because really he does want it. He wants you to envelope him and take it all away. Albiet temporary. Mikey still wants to slip into nothing when you hold all the cards. Do what you will with him because in those seconds he doesn't even know what to do with himself. He's a stranger in his mind. But the most familiar person in the world to you. And for that he's thankful for it all.

[serahlink]

Knight in Orc Armor // F!Orc x FtM!Reader

Summary : After being harassed by some transphobic goblins, an unexpected hero swoops in to save the day.

Word Count : 2,675

TW : transphobia (including slurs and misgendering)

The weaved basket filled to the brim with fresh fruit and various vegetables weighed down in your arms. The market you were leaving behind was always a lively sight to say the least. Goblins, humans and orcs alike ran about, hashing out meats and services to one another. It was the one thing you liked about being in a close knit village. People were brought together in a way. That same gesture wasn’t given or taken by just everyone though. Being one of the only humans in the village usually warranted you relentless bullying and if that wasn’t enough, the fact that you are a trans man was a thing that some people didn’t take kindly of.

Being trans has always been a journey for you, you’ve seen and faced countless discrimination and rejection. While it never ceased being an unrelenting pain, you’ve learned to let things like that roll off of you. You built yourself out of cold stone and you were proud of that. So when you spotted two mischievous goblins in your periphery, you were ready to ignore them and be on with your day. Then their squeaky voices began to taunt you.

“Why, if it isn’t ol’ (Deadname).” One cackled out on your left, easily keeping up with your patient steps. The question was an innocent one enough if you completely disregarded respect of your gender and how menacing their intent was. “Still an errand girl for your parents, are ya?”

The other one chimed in. “That’s how girls are, y'know? Maidens who don’t stray far from home~.”

Their voices didn’t fail to make you nauseous. Their raspy strained tones felt like daggers on glass and the urge to wring out their scrawny little necks only intensified. As if their transphobic taunts weren’t enough, one suddenly jumped in front of your way. Your once unfazed gaze was now bothered and stared daggers down at the creature, who wore a look you could only describe as sadistic.

“You’re no fun at all.” The goblin opposing your side pouted, yet held the same expression as the other one.

With papery hands folded over each other mischievously, the goblin blocking your path grinned a gross smile, baring his yellowing blocky teeth. His knobby hand outstretched to the food kept relatively safe in the basket and you caught a determined glint in his bulging eye. “Now, why don’t you be a good village girl and hand over a fruit or two.”

“Like hell.” You bit back, hugging the basket protectively close. Your response only brought an inquisitive look back from him.

“Really?” The goblin feigned shock, his curling smirk on his lips. “I wouldn’t take that a hero’s daughter would get that kind of attitude.”

“Son.” You corrected firmly, biting back the harshness in that statement. “Hero’s son.”

Just then, the small creature slowly made his way to you until you nearly fell backwards on yourself. He then swiftly hopped up on the basket and dug his chipped nails under your collar, bringing you in a distance that’s too close for comfort. “You will never be a hero’s son. All you are is a pathetic excuse for a daughter, you hear?” With each venom in his statement, he inched closer to where you could feel the musk of his breath. It was nearly suffocating.

Nothing was more suffocating than the heat from your building anger. You could tolerate most things, but slandering you under your own father’s name is something you would not ignore. With one shakingingly angry hand, you slammed down the goblin to the dusty floor and didn’t hesitate to get in its face.

“Listen here, you ugly fiend. You have some nerve to put anyone’s name in your mouth, let alone bring my fathers profession into this.” You spat. “You will not tell me what I will or won’t amount to because of my father going off and making himself a hero, you got that!”

Surprisingly to you, the goblin actually had a bit of fear in his eyes and you pulled up, a smirk on your face. “I think you need to get out of here.”

The goblin under you scrambled to its feet and ran past you, back into the direction of the village market. You then looked to the goblin, who was looking in a direction that wasn’t you. It’s wide eyes fixed on something tall that towered above you both and it was merely then that you realized a heavy shadow was covering your own. Whatever scared the goblins clearly wasn’t you but something much bigger.

Behind you, a muscled arm that appeared to have the bicep the size of your face reached past to pick up the sneaky small being, who yelped as the towering being picked it up. Immediately, you knew what kind of creature this was. An orc. If it wasn’t by the animal skins and steel armor you picked up on that told you it was an orc, it’s size sure did.

Slowly, you turned around. Your expectations told you that you’d be face to face with a savage beast who would rip out the spine of the goblin right in front of you, as if to send a message. You thought this was where you had to be prepared to fight all the fear pulsing through your veins and slay this monster but all that subsided like a cool storm when you saw her.

Instead of meeting a snarling beast, you found a beauty in its place. The toned body of a female orc was plated by armor and draped with various skins, a bow resting behind her back. The strap of it hugged around her torso.. Angular features were broad and tense under dark hair that shaped her face. Her concentrated features glared down at the stammering goblin she held tensely under her strong grip.

All the goblin could spit out was excuses and frankly, the female orc wasn’t buying it. “Tell it to my bow,” She snarled, “or get out of here.”

She only gave a flick of her wrist at most yet the goblin ate dirt at the velocity he was thrown. Quickly, he was on his feet and sped back into the village without sparing a word.

In the sudden quiet, you could hear the quick beating of your heart rattling in your rib cage. It only occurred to you just then that she saved you. This random orc was literally your hero.

Suddenly, before you could even think, you were enveloped in strong arms and being swaddled by the orc bridal style. Her eyes looked everywhere, examining you as if to check for any marks or bruising. You flinched a little, hands scrambling to cling onto anything as to not fall; that very place being her chest and neck. “-! Uh, excuse me!”

Under you, the woven basket fell to the ground with some spare fruit catching dirt ground. “Dammit.” You cursed under your breath.

She looked down at you curiously, her eyes being all you could see.

“Can you, yknow, put me down?” You cleared your throat, fighting back your raging heart beat and flush in your cheeks.

“Oh. Oh! I’m sorry,” To your surprise, she was sheepishly apologetic. “It’s just, you humans are so fragile so I just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

Fragile? Since when were humans treated as a baby species?

Essentially, she let you down and joined you as you began to assist you in picking up the fallen goods.

“Thank you.”

The orc peered up when you spoke and you found yourself stammering slightly. “But you really didn’t have to do that.” You sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck, picking up the basket once more.

She grinned. “What for? They were giving you trouble and I couldn’t let them do that. It’s common courtesy. Besides, I don’t really like goblins anyway. Pests are all they are.”

She had a bit of an accent, you noticed, but you couldn’t place what kind. Her own was pretty thick but it was easy to make out what she was saying.

“How long were you standing there?” You asked.

It was her turn to become all sheepish. She shrugged, a soft frown began to befall her face. “Long enough to see most of it.”

You weren’t sure why, but something about that frown sort of made you feel guilty. After all, it was enough to be discriminated against. You didn’t want to be pitied.

Then, you cleared your throat. “Right, well, I guess I’ll be going now.”

She stopped you before you could go, practically snabbed the basket out of your reach by its handle. Just as you went to curse her, her cheeky smile stopped you. “Let me carry this for you. You’ve gone through enough trouble today, besides, I’m heading this way anyhow.”

In a way you did curse her. In your head, your voice mumbled curse after curse of her smile and how persuasive it was. Even worse, she acted all innocent, as if she had no clue that a dumb grin like that could make you fall to your knees. Either way, you couldn’t refuse her and against all odds you were walking home with an orc by your side.

“So, tell me about yourself.” The orc suddenly said and she was smiling when you looked up at her.

“Why don’t you tell me about you instead?” You offered. “I mean, you’re the one who swooped in and all. I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh, that’s right. I never introduced myself, did I?” She laughed. “I’m Snatha.”

When she looked at you expectantly, you reluctantly introduced yourself. Snatha looked surprised, yet immensely intrigued. “That’s a nice name.” Her eyes lingered you for a minute longer. “You look a lot like him, your father, I mean.”

Her compliment nearly caused you to stop in your tracks to take it in. You’ve never heard something so heartfelt directed to you before. All your life you shaped yourself to be just like your father and it all usually fell on the hushed ears of people who ridiculed you constantly. Yet this one orc who barely knew you spoke of you as if she believed in you. It meant more to you than any transphobic comments ever did.

By the time you two made it back to your quaint village home, it was getting to be the peak of the afternoon and before you knew it, it was time to part with Snatha. You peered over at the orc herself who gently brought the basket from her shoulder to the ground. “Your house looks empty.” She commented.

“Yeah,” You mumbled. “It’s been just me for a while.”

The orc gave a sympathetic frown, realizing what your silence meant. Before she could give a word of comfort, you walked over and gestured to her to come near, close to your height. She obliged and when she was close enough, you granted her a soft kiss on the cheek. You pulled back and she looked back at you, face flushed and eyes wide; baffled.

“Thank you, for everything.” You smile. You would’ve gone and left straight for your house but instead, you took Snatha by the hand gently. “Actually..would you want to join me for dinner? It’d be nice to have someone to share a meal with.”

Her eyes drifted to your hand that softly squeezed hers and back to your hopeful face, a face she couldn’t have resisted even if she really wanted to. Snatha chuckled, “Of course.”

Instead of bringing the tall orc inside like you would’ve done any other sudden visitor, the two of you took to the back of your village hut where steamed meat was the main course tonight. The fire was blazing, crackling with each lick of flame. It was beautiful, you noticed, the way the light of the fire incandescently lit her features. Even if she was practically shoveling the food down her throat, you found it very endearing.

She only left a cleanly picked bone on her plate, leaning back with a hand over her stomach which was without a doubt full. “I haven’t had a meal like that in ages.” Snatha let out a full groan, smiling contently.

Just as you suspected, she must’ve been off either adventuring or maybe in the war before hand, perhaps both but you didn’t think to ask. Instead, you chuckled. “Really? Well, if you’d like, you can always come by here and get one. I’ll just have to remember to get more meat this time around.”

Snatha looked like she really liked the sound of that. Red glowed under her cheeks and while you told yourself it was because of the fire, some part of you suspected that it was more than that. “I’ll just have to take you up on your offer then, but don’t complain once I get stuck to you.” She teased.

You quirked a grin, then chuckled. “What makes you think I will?”

You could only smirk more and laugh as that red color you saw grew brighter and brighter and all she could do is sputter, struggling with what to say to you unexpectedly teasing her back.

After that, the conversation headed in the next direction. Next thing you knew, you were hearing Snatha’s war stories, stories she claimed to be from her own father which you learned died in a war years ago when she was merely a child. Across from you, she was animated on that log of hers as she practically reenacted the stories like it were theater. She was basking in the bravery and bravado of her warrior father, and it only immersed you in. It was easy to imagine the tall brooding orc dawned in warrior clothing atop a stone ledge, blood hungry eyes narrowed before leaping into battle, throwing no caution into the wind.

It was just like how you saw your father.

Slowly the warm hues of the afternoon were replaced by the cool blues and purples of sunset. It surprised you to realize you’ve spent the whole day with this orc and that’s when it disappointed you to realize it was now ending so soon. The two of you stood at the end of the trail where Snatha would depart from you. Before she did, she paused to say something.

Her eyes averted your gaze and she smiled, arm sheepishly rubbing her neck. “Before we say our farewells, I wanted to thank you for a great dinner. It’s one of the best ones I’ve had.”

“Same here.” You agree, also smiling.

Before she could turn to fully walk away, she paused and turned back to you. She looked a little reluctant and sounded a bit nervous. “By the way..I was wondering that, if you aren’t busy, if we could..I don’t know, go out somewhere sometime?” Although nervous, she indeed looked hopeful.

Her proposal surprised you a little. You knew the two of you took to each other well but to have her also feel the same way was surprising but also, you were relieved. Of course you’d love to spend more time with her. With a soft smile, you nodded. “Of course.”

Snatha lit up from her nervous demeanor, also relieved. “Oh! Oh– that, that’s great!” Her tone told you that she was surprised you’d even take up that offer even when you thought you made it clear you liked her. After a silent shared moment, she cleared her throat. “I suppose I will see you in the ‘morrow then, Sir (L/N).” Snatha forced a formal warrior voice that made you laugh.

“See you too, Warrior Snatha.” You gave your best impression of her back, failing at the orc accent you tried to maintain. Afterwards, you again took her by the hand and stood on your tippy toes to jump up and kiss her cheek.

“Safe travels.” You said, leaving Snatha to place a hand to the kissed spot on her cheek and smile.

“You too.”

[blackteaandbones]

This scene has been rattling around in my head as part of a grander fic for ages, and tonight, out of the blue, I got the irresistible urge to write it down. It’s very rough and mostly unedited, but I had fun writing it, so I’ll share it here in case it might be fun for anyone else. No idea if I’m going to do anything else with it or not yet.

Clarke/Lexa

Winged Clarke AU - Basically, what if the sky people were actually sky people (genetic experimentation, mutation, whatever, this is rough, okay?) and instead of leaving Earth, had formed their own clan, loosely allied with the mountain.

*******

The commander was leading another hunting party.

Clarke watched her from the safe vantage point of a very tall, very leafy, tree. Trikru hunters had a bad habit of shooting trespassing Skaikru on sight. Their bows were small, but the arrows were poisoned. Even a scratch could kill. Clarke shouldn't even be here. The boundaries were clearly marked, and the penalties for crossing them well known.

But Clarke had a problem, and that problem was going to get her killed.

“You know she's going to shoot you, right?”

“Shhh!” Clarke hissed at Wells, perched on the branch beside her. They would have been sitting ducks if not for the protection of the canopy. Wells' wings were black against the silvery bark and green foliage and Clarke's were bright white and gold. Neither of them were dressed for camouflage either. The light, tightly woven fabric of their smocks and trousers was perfect for lazing around in their mountain-top aerie, not so much for sneaking around in Trikru territory. Clarke would have worn something more appropriate, but then she would have had to explain why she was in scout gear, and that wasn't a conversation she wanted to have with her mother.

“This obsession is embarrassingly one-sided. She doesn't even know you exist.”

That wasn't exactly true, but it might as well have been, and they both knew it.

Wells was the only person Clarke had ever told about the unexpected storm that had blown her off course when she was barely fledged, and the Trikru net-trap that had snared her when she tried to land. The last thing she had expected from the scrawny, big-eyed child who found her hanging helplessly from a tree in a  tangle of knotted rope was mercy. Trikru were the monsters in every story their parents told them about the ground. Clarke had been sure she was about to die, but instead of killing her the girl had used her tiny child's knife to cut Clarke free and let her go.

Clarke had flown away with her life and a hopeless crush on a nameless stranger who grew up to be the feared and ruthless Commander of all twelve land-bound clans.  

She doubted the other woman remembered their one meeting as fondly as Clarke did. Or at all.

“If you really want to die today, there are less pathetic ways to do it.”

“I agreed to let you come,” Clarke reminded him.“I didn't say you could talk.”

Wells snorted. “You didn't agree to anything. I followed you.”

“You're free to leave at any time.”

“And let you die alone?” Wells shook his head. “Sorry, I need to be there to say 'I told you so' right before she skewers you on that fancy sword of hers.'”

“Hah, ha.”

The Hunters were on the trail of a pack of Reapers. Clarke and Wells followed at a safe distance. If Wells had actually asked, Clarke would have struggled to explain why she kept coming back. Skaikru wasn't directly involved in the war between the Land-bound clans and the Mountain, but their treaty with the Mountain meant the other clans had condemned them as traitors and spies. Clarke shouldn't be anywhere near Trikru territory, but she could never stay away for long.

They smelt the Reapers before they saw them. Reapers fought in a pack, but beyond that very little of what made them human remained. The commander's group outnumbered them, and they were experience hunters. It should have been a rout, but before they could fall on the ragged group, an ominous horn blared in the distance.

Everyone froze.

And then a second pack of Reapers came boiling out of the trees, followed by a rolling cloud of poisonous green smoke. Clarke and Wells took off in a flurry of feathers. Acid fog was the Mountains weapon. Skaikru may have been their allies, but the fog didn't discriminate, and there shouldn't have been any Skaikru in that part of the forest. They rose to a safe height above the tree tops, and Clarke backwinged in place, waiting for the Hunters to break cover. The acid was coming from the North, and the Reapers were in the East. There wouldn't be time to fight through them before they got caught in the fog. South was the cliffs. So their only way out was back the way they came, to the West.

A second horn belled through the trees, and another blanket of fog started trickling in from the West.

Wells doubled back when he realized Clarke wasn't following him. “Clarke? We have to go, now!”

Clarke didn't answer him, searching the trees below them for any sign of the Commander.

“Clarke!”

There. A small group ran out of the trees towards the cliffs. Clarke swooped down before Wells could stop her, landing in a tree at the edge of the forest. She couldn't leave until she knew she was safe. There was still a way out, a rapidly narrowing path West along the cliff, between the forest and the drop off.. The Commander's group was nearly there, but then more Reapers fell on them from the trees. Clarke watched with her heart in her throat as the commander put herself between her hunters and the Reapers, drawing their attack down on her and leaving the others a clear path while she was forced back, step by step towards the cliff until the fog rolled in and cut her off.

First one Reaper, and then another fell under her sword. She took the last one out with a backhand cut across the knees and then kicked him over the edge. But by then the fog was all around her and closing in fast. One one side, Trikru, on the other, Reapers, and neither of them could get through the acid to save her or finish her off. Clarke could see her evaluating her situation, and when she looked thoughtfully over the cliff edge, Clarke knew exactly what she was thinking.

Wells landed beside her, turning her around to face him with a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, there's nothing you can do now.”

Clarke shrugged him off. “She's going to jump.”

“So what?” he snapped. “Clarke, I know she saved you once, but that was over ten years ago! And you were kids! You don't owe her anything.”

Clarke ignored him.

The rest of the hunting party was shouting and pointing, trying to find a way around the fog bank that had separated them from their leader. The reapers were jeering and laughing from the other side, shaking their weapons and stamping their feet, sharpened teeth bared in sickening grins. Clarke's stomach turned. She couldn't watch this.

“Hold this,” she unbuckled her small travel bag from the belt at her waist and shoved it into Wells' hands.

“What are you doing?”

Clarke opened her wings with a snap. “Don't follow me.”

“There's nothing you can- damnit Clarke!” Well's wild grab for her missed, and Clarke threw herself out of the tree before she could change her mind. The wind blowing down from the mountain lifted her up above the fog, but the rising gas still burned in her nostrils. She pulled her scarf up over her nose and flew higher, heading for the cliff.

The Commander was still there, balanced on the edge where the crumbling ground met the sky. She was nearly obscured by the fog, but her cloak was a bright slash of red against the acid green that surrounded her. Arrows sliced through the sky. The reapers had spotted Clarke. She heard a whistle and a thunk, and one of them dropped like the stone that had smashed into his temple at terminal velocity from a well-aimed sling.

Wells still had her back.

Clarke was going to owe him big time after this.

She flew faster. There was no time to take evasive action. Her only choice was speed. She took a deep breath of clear air and dove through the encroaching edges of the fog, hoping she could make it through this with most of her skin intact. It was, without a doubt, the stupidest thing she had ever done. And she didn't care.

She couldn't let her die.

She wouldn't let her die.

Burning feathers had a very distinctive smell.  Almost there. A spear tried to skewer her, and she tipped her wings to avoid it, losing precious time. There was a shout from the hunters. Clarke heard the word Skaikru, along with what she could only guess were several variants of let's get her!

She really wished they wouldn't. She was trying to save their infamous leader here.

The last thin curtain of fog cleared and then she was staring into familiar bloodshot green eyes that widened in disbelief in the split second before Clarke folded her wings and dropped, reaching out to catch hold of whatever straps and edges of leather armour she could wrap her hands around before slamming into the commander and carrying them both off the edge of the cliff.

It wasn't falling. Quite.

Clarke beat her wings against the added weight; trying desperately to slow their decent. Her shoulders and back burned, and pain shot through the muscles keeping them aloft. Even the biggest and strongest Skaikru couldn't fly with more than a light pack or the smallest child. They just weren't built for it.

Clarke wasn't particularly big or strong, but she was stubborn.

Her passenger only struggled for a moment before going limp. Clarke appreciated that. This was hard enough without flailing limbs to contend with. She really appreciated the lack of a knife in her gut too. Stabbing your ride when you're several hundred feet in the air might be a stupid idea, but there was no accounting for instinct in life or death situations, and Clarke was the one who'd done the grabbing. She was very glad the commander wasn't that dumb, and not only because it was currently keeping her insides knife-free.

She would have been really pissed off to find out she was in love with an idiot.

The ground was coming up a good deal faster than Clarke liked. She ignored the aching protest of her wings, flaring them out to catch the air in a last, agonizing bank before they hit the dirt together and rolled, landing in a tangled mess of bruises, burns and broken feathers.