#It’s been closed for two weeks for renovations and we barely survived

[queered-into-oblivion]

The beef bowl place has reopened life really is worth it

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper - Part Twelve

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: Mentions of sex, swearing, mentions of drug use, fluff, smidge of angst? Length: 1.7k Notes: Managed to whip up this bad boy during a quiet moment today and should probably make y’all wait for it but I don’t really do posting schedules (as you’ve noticed) so enjoy. Not beta’d, not proof read, I’ll die on this messy hill.

Series Masterlist

Surprisingly, life didn't change too much after that night. Frankie continued to run his acreage and oversee the making of this year's cider. With some encouragement and support from you, he was starting to expand the business and already had a few pubs in the closest city clamouring to have his product on tap.

Meanwhile, the improvements on the house were nearing an end, for the indoors list anyways. The first thing Frankie had helped you do was to install your new soaker tub, immediately followed by christening it by making soft, slow love to you inside of it.

There hadn't even been any water, your impatience to be close to each other wouldn't allow for that. You had just stripped out of your coveralls, convenient work-wear for people who fucked like rabbits you had to admit, and sat in his lap with your arms and legs wrapped around him. His hands guiding your hips in a slow rocking motion, breathing each other's air as your open mouths hovered in a not-quite kiss, only breaking eye contact when you threw your head back as you came.

Autumn passed quickly and Winter had gripped Vermont, cloaking the countryside in a heavy blanket of white. Christmas was a cozy affair, you and Frankie had been asked to join Jacquie and Mark in their family's merriment. It had stirred something inside of you, watching a functional family laugh, sing, argue, eat, and love with such abandon. 

It was everything you'd dreamt, initially, for your future with Brad. Now? Now you were starting to picture that future with Frankie's face as the patriarch, you just haven't built up the nerve to broach the subject yet. 

You'd started working at the bakery, enjoying the early mornings surrounded by rising dough and sculling back coffees with the adorable older ladies who ran the place. You'd also begun doing the books for Morales Acres and Catfish Brewery. Frankie was a veritable genius but he claimed he had no patience for keeping receipts and tracking numbers.

You had a sneaking suspicion he was playing dumb in an effort to give you more time together but you really didn't mind. Your break-of-dawn mornings at the bakery had you tired, but after a full day of renovating or bookkeeping, you were downright exhausted and ready for bed by eight pm. This, mixed with Frankie monitoring the brewing, bottling, and distribution of his cider and networking at bars and pubs throughout the state meant the two of you rarely saw each other.

All of your hard work in your own house had made you a popular friend to call when someone needed decorating advice, or a helping hand once they realized they couldn't tile their kitchen backsplash solo. You never charged for your time, although payment had initially been offered until work had got around that you preferred a good meal and conversation over money. I mean, sure, you could use the cash but it just didn't seem right. And you loved helping people and making deeper connections with the town you now truly felt you belonged in.

Tuesday evenings had become an unofficial date night for the two of you. The bakery was closed on Wednesdays and bar owners tended to be less interested in business halfway through the week, something to do with the rush of the previous weekend having worn off and the worry of setting up for another one starting to grow.

This meant you could stay up late, enjoy a proper homemade dinner, maybe even watch a movie or share a bottle of wine while soaking in your big ass tub. It usually ended as a sleepover, your house being the preferred location; Frankie's loft was perfectly fine but it did lack a certain homey appeal.

This pattern, this life, that you'd created for yourself was making you happier than you'd ever been in your entire life. You weren't one hundred percent content, not yet anyway, but the path to getting there was on a direct trajectory. You still wanted to finish your college degree, maybe switch it over to horticulture. Building a greenhouse and selling flowers was still a pipe dream but something your heart truly longed for, something that Frankie was constantly encouraging you to do.

"Look, hun," he had called out to you a few weeks ago while supposedly researching the new line of bottles. "There's an auction next county over and they have all this confiscated stuff from a grow op that got busted!"

"What?" You'd made a face and laughed at the absurdity of it all. "What on earth would you use from a pot farm?"

He just gave you a salacious wink as an answer.

Frankie had been open about his past drug abuse and while some recovering addicts may want all mention of it banned from a conversation, Frankie found levity in treating the topic like any other person would.

It had taken you a couple of hours to realize why he'd brought up the auction. It had hit you with a jolt, knowing that he’d remembered your rambling from on top of the Ferris wheel. You didn't realize he'd been listening when you'd told him about your idea of taking over the flower stand at the market once the current couple retired.

Your heart had swelled and there was a concerted effort to prevent the sudden onset of tears from running down your face. God, you loved this man, maybe one of these days you should tell him...

This particular routine was working well for the two of you. It gave each of you your own space to relax, destress, enjoy the shitty tv shows you were too embarrassed to watch in front of another living person. It also forced the two of you to take your relationship slowly, communication being a constant learning curve. You were both really good and telling each other when you needed time alone, when you were feeling stressed or sad. You each had learned the tells for when the other was angry or just hungry, if it was hormones or if there was something that was actually pissing you off.

The thing you each seemed to struggle with was expressing the softer side of the relationship. Neither of you appeared to have the Words of Affirmation love language skill, yet you both craved to hear it. You showed how much you cared for Frankie with your acts of service; helping him with the boring side of the business, baking, deep cleaning the loft, even scrubbing out the massive fermenter in the Catfish Cider warehouse.

Frankie, on the other hand, showed his love through physical touch. At first, you had assumed it was a staking-his-claim kind of thing but then you noticed how he'd do it all the time. A hand on your lower back while walking, caressing your hand with his thumb when driving in the truck, carding his fingers through your hair while you watched tv.

This week's date night found you at his place, relaxing in the loft after a busy workday. You were making dinner while he 'helped' by sneaking bites of the prepped ingredients, arm slung around you with a hand in your back pocket.

"What're you looking for?" He asked, taking advantage of your distracted searching through his cupboards to sneak a few more pinches of grated cheese.

"A can opener!" You replied, exasperation raising your voice an octave. "I could have sworn I saw a white one around here somewhere..."

“No, pretty sure that one's yours. I don't think I have one?"

"Frankie," you deadpanned "how did you survive as a bachelor without canned food?"

"I ate a lot of take-out?" He looked indignant at your laughter, "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Can you stop judging me long enough to eat some burritos?"

Smoothing his playful scowl with a kiss, you sat down at the counter and enjoyed your first meal together of the week.

An idea was formulating in the back of your mind, though, and you barely tasted anything. As the evening progressed, the idea grew and you were liking it more and more. The final straw was you not having a toothbrush in his bathroom anymore, having forgotten that it had fallen off the counter and into the trashcan the last time you'd spent the night.

Using his, with a strange mixture of distaste and nonchalance, before making your way over to the bed, you began to plan how the conversation could go:

Hey Frankie, so you know how I have a big house all to myself? Yeah... And it had everything we need in it? Yeah... And there's more than enough room for two adults to store all of their things? Yeah... And I wouldn't have to use your toothbrush ever again? Yea- wait what? I think you should move in with me.

It wasn't very romantic but it was the most likely, considering your dynamic. Just as you were crawling into bed and snuggling under the arm he'd raised to allow you to get closer, his cell phone rang.

"Hello? - This is he. - Yeah, biological. - Oh god, when?"

The immediate change in his tone from questioning to horrified caught your attention, sitting up to face him you grabbed his free hand, silently letting him know you were there for support.

His eyes were out of focus and a panicked expression was slowly morphing his face as the conversation went on, but he gave your hand a squeeze back in acknowledgement.

"Yes, in Vermont. Do you have my address? - Okay, good, good...okay - When? - I'll have something ready. Umm... does she... does she remember me? - Oh. Okay, thank you."

Slowly lowering the phone from his ear, Frankie sat staring into nothingness for what felt like hours. His side of the conversation and the way he was reacting had you rattled. You could guess as to what was happening but weren't sure if now was the right time to pry.

"Babe? Is, is everything okay?"

Silence.

Gripping his hand tighter and rubbing his back you sat with him for a few more minutes before trying again. You didn’t want to push him but your heart was constricting in your chest from nervousness and concern for him.

"Can I get you anything? What do you need?"

His hand was now completely dead in yours; eventually, he turned his head towards you, eyes never fully focusing, and shook his head.

"I- she- fuck... I think you should go.”

Part Thirteen

[softboywriting]

Almost Lost You | Ex Machina | Nathan Bateman

Summary: It takes Nathan nearly dying to realize he loves you, but he needs to know you feel the same and will take some unnecessary steps to find out instead of just asking you. [TW: Blood] [Following the ending events of the film] [Light Angst] [Fluff] [New AI] [TW: Near Death Situation] [Swearing] [Sexual Innuendos] [F!ReaderxNathan] 

Word Count: 5.1k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Fear. It's not something you would think was in Nathan's repertoire of emotions. In fact in the last year you've been living at the facility and testing his AI with him, you've never even caught a hint of it. But now, you can see he is no God. He is a man. He is a man and he bleeds like a man. The terror in his eyes as he looks to you desperately behind the glass door to his bedroom is not something you would soon forget. His white sweater is staining crimson, nearly black with the contrast of the bright hall lights.

Beyond the glass, mere feet from you is the remains of Kyoko, her face torn apart, system core damaged by a blow from a weight bar. You watched it all go down, stared in horror, screaming to warn him about Kyoko approaching with the knife. He couldn't hear you behind the soundproofed door. What would have happened if you had gone out there with him? Would Kyoko have attacked you too? What about Ava? He saved your life in retrospect. Perhaps you could have stopped them both. Perhaps you'd be dead. Perhaps now you wouldn't be watching your boss, your friend, the guy you've come to care far too much about, bleed to death.

Nathan raises his hand to you, and you lay yours on the glass. He mouths something that you can't quite make out. You'll never hear him behind this door and you've no idea how to override the system and take it out of lock down. He points and you look back at the computer on the desk behind you.

"Computer?" You mouth and he nods.

He makes a sign with his hand and you suddenly are grateful he was insistent that you learn to sign the alphabet when you took the job as his assistant. It was for just such an occasion. Should one of you get locked in a room, or to communicate with him on cams when you're around the AI without speaking. He holds up three fingers. That means three words. You turn and scramble to find a sticky note and a marker on his desk before returning to the window.

You bang on the glass and he lifts his head slowly. Your heart is pounding, he's fading fast. Losing him is not an option and at this point you'd rather be in his place.

Nathan carefully spells out the code to unlock the facility. B E A M.  M E. UP. He's such a Star Trek nerd. It figures that would be his override code.

You get up and pull up the system control program and type in his passcode. Sure enough the lights return to normal and the door latch clicks open. You race from the chair, shoving the door open and sinking down beside him. "You're a fucking nerd."

"Yeah thanks." He barely chuckles. "I'm going to die."

"No you're not." You tremble as you take his hand. It's cold, he's cold all over. Skin turning pale. "Nathan, listen to me you're not going to die like this."

"Honey, we're two hours from anyone else. I'm going to die. If you move me the bleeding will get worse. I can't walk, you can't carry me."

You cup his cheek. "I'll carry you. I-I'll pick you up and we can call emergency services. Hold on just a little longer."

Nathan lays his hand on your shoulder. "You were a good assistant. I know I was a pain in the ass and I told you that you sucked. But you didn't. You're very smart. You're the best I had."

"Shut up." You're crying. "Shut up and stop being nice to me!"

"You want me to be mean?"

"No, just shut up. I want you to stop acting like you're dying."

Nathan glaces down at his torso. "I got two holes in me. I don't know what's been punctured."

"Please." You stand and look down the hall. The landline phone is in his den. "Stay here."

"I'm not moving too fast honey."

"Obviously. I'm going to call for emergency services."

"Mmm. Do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Move Kyoko and Ava before they get here. I don't need to deal with questions."

"W-what?"

"I haven't exactly gone public with the AI."

You stand and pinch the bridge of your nose. "Nathan, if I don't leave them out here the medical staff will think I stabbed you."

"And you think they will believe that a robot did it instead? No. We will say there was an intruder, they attacked me and you hid. Break the glass in the kitchen from outside and make a mess as a cover."

"Jesus fucking Christmas. Okay whatever, just shut up and stay alive okay?" He gives a weak thumbs up and you go to the den to call out for help. You're going to call emergency services and he's going to get life flighted out and he is going to live. He's going to survive if it's the last thing you do.

_____________________

Nearly a month later and Nathan finally gets to go home. You haven't been back since you left in the helicopter with him. It took three bags of blood to keep him alive long enough to get him into the hospital. The doctors said he was lucky to be alive at all and it was a miracle he made it over four hours with wounds like his. Nothing was damaged internally. That's the crazy part. Kyoko just missed his heart by a mere five millimetres. The other wound just grazed his stomach but didn't cause any irreparable damage.

You spent every day at the hospital with him. He tried to get you to go home, to leave him there but you couldn't do that, you love him too much. Without you he had no one. His parents passed years ago. No siblings. No grandparents. You're his family. It's sad.

"You know we have to go to physical therapy twice a week." You say as the helicopter flies toward the facility, trees zipping by beneath you. "That means long flights in and out."

"I know." He rests his head back on the seat. "My work is there though. I can't just relocate without it."

"I haven't been back since we left that night."

"I know."

You shift your feet against the duffel bag of stuff you've been living out of for thirty three days. "It's going to be a mess."

Nathan chuckles. "I'm going to have to get new carpet."

"Yeah."

"How good are you at home renovation?"

"Um...I painted a room once?"

He opens his eyes and looks at you. It's so nice to see that playful spark. The memory of his face, scared to death and bleeding out, it haunts your dreams. "I guess we'll learn to lay carpet together."

"You're not doing anything of the sort."

"I'll supervise."

"Nathan. Just hire someone."

"I'd have to kill them. I can't just let people in the facility."

"Nathan!"

He raises his eyebrows. "You think I'm joking?"

You shake your head. "I'll put in your stupid floor. No Hitman needed. You're ridiculous."

"Careful. I am careful."

"Oh? Careful enough to get yourself sta-"

"Hey!"

You narrow your eyes. "Speaking of which. Will you rebuild them?"

"No. I think I'll try for a male model."

"Why?"

"For you."

"For me? What the fuck do I want with a robot?"

"Companionship. Besides, I've only made females. It's time to change it up. If I'm to release them to the world someday surely people will want all options available."

"Why not make it non gendered. Just a body, no determinate features?"

"That's not fun. You'll like him. I've already picked out a name."

You roll your eyes. "Of course you have."

Nathan taps his head. "I've got all the plans laid out right here."

"Mmmhmm. Gonna make him fuckable too? Like you did the others?"

"Damn right." He licks his lip and grins at you. "I know you're curious."

You would never admit it but you are. You will definitely not be doing anything remotely sexual with the robot male. Absolutely off the table. If Nathan thinks you're gonna do anything he had best start finding a new assistant. You have put up with enough. ______________________

It takes Nathan no time to build this new AI. Everything is all at his disposal. He's made several. All it takes a few adjustments to the body forms, simple enough, some wiring changes and such. New downloads for his AI system to make them male presenting. It's all of a week of almost non stop work but by Tuesday you're being called to the lab to see his pride and joy.

You push in the door to the lab and enter the darkened entry way. It's almost midnight. You were nearly asleep when Nathan came on over the intercom system demanding you come to the lab. You wipe your eyes, sleep heavy in them. The bright blue lights blind you as you step into his work area.

"I'm here. Where are you?"

"In the back! I'm just making some adjustments!"

You wander past the tables strewn with parts and pieces and notes and diagrams. Mostly Greek to you. "I was almost asleep. This had better be g-"

Nathan steps aside and sitting on the table is another Nathan. No beard but a fine five o'clock shadow, short dark hair. If you didn't know better you'd think Nathan was pranking you with his own twin. But you do know that he is an only child. Which, how very much like Nathan to make the male in his own image. How self absorbed.

"Say hello." Nathan, the real Nathan, says as he gestures to the AI.

"Why does he look like you?"

"Who better to look like?"

You shake your head and walk up to the AI. You look closely, carefully. The hair looks real, the facial hair looks real. Like Kyoko he has skin head to toe. He's covered at the waist by a sheet and you presume Nathan is doing so as some sort of ego inflating reveal of what is probably an exact replica of his own dick. But that aside, the AI physically is flawless.

"Tell her your name." Nathan says.

"I'm Nate." The AI says with a soft smile. "Nice to meet you."

You look over at your boss. "You called him Nate? You couldn't even give him his own name?"

"He has his own name.  My name is Nathan. His is Nate."

"You're a jerk."

Nate extends his hand to you. "What is your name?"

"That's a secret." You smile slyly at Nathan and look back to Nate.

"A secret name? How intriguing. Nathan, do you know her name?"

Nathan chuckles. "Yes, but it seems she wants to keep it to herself now. Maybe you will have to earn it from her."

"Earn? Like a prize. Your name is a game?"

You giggle. "Sure. I'm going to go to bed now. I will probably see you two tomorrow?"

"Perhaps."

"Super." You say sarcastically. This is going to be interesting. You've tested his AI many times, spending hours talking with Ava and Kyoko. They were essentially the same AI in the end. This one could be different. You look back as you stand in the doorway. Nate waves to you and you see Nathan turn to look at you, giving a thumbs up. Here you go. Getting in too deep. You should have taken that desk job at the Hilton hotel.

_____________________

"Where is Nate?"

"He is in the test room." Nathan brings his glass of orange juice to his lips. "Why?"

You shrug. "Just wondering."

"Curious?"

"I suppose." You sit back and push your mostly empty breakfast plate away. "It's just weird you introduced me and then just never said anything else again. It's been a week."

Nathan raises his eyebrows. "I've been fine tuning him. Making sure all the eggs are in the basket."

"Uh huh."

"You'll see him soon enough. I've got your first date set on the calendar."

"Date? You mean my first session."

Nathan smirks. "Sure."

"I'm not dating your robot. Get fucked Nathan."

"Oh I hope to."

"Too bad your fuck toys tried to kill you so you had to decommission them."

"You assume I wouldn't fuck Nate."

"You're disgusting."

"Everyone wants to know what they fuck like. Of course I'd fuck myself."

You roll your eyes. "How conceited. By the way, no, not everyone would fuck themselves. You're disgusting. And Nate is not you."

"Isn't he though?"

"No." You push away and stand beside the table, gathering your dishes. "He might have your face but he doesn't have this fucked up brain." You tap your glass to his head and he scowls.

Nathan stands and follows you into the kitchen. "You think he's going to be better than me?"

"No one said that. I just said he isn't you. I know damn well you can't download your consciousness into an AI. So Nate might be your twin but he isn't you."

He just hums. That's it.  No more or less. Just a little hmm. It pisses you off. For some reason you're defensive of Nate and you barely know him yet. He's a robot. He's not real. Not...alive.

_____________________

"Good morning."

You sit up and rub yours eyes, vision clearing to that of Nathan sitting on the end of your bed. No. It's Nate. "What are you doing in my room?"

"Nathan sent me. He said that I should wake you up."

You glare at the camera in the corner of the room. The one Nathan claims is for security purposes only. "This is my private space. You're not welcome."

Nate looks to where you are looking. "Technically the facility belongs to Nathan and this room is borrowed by yourself."

"It's still my space. Nathan! I know you're watching! This is not okay!"

Nate stands and moves across the room to stand in front of your closet.

You get off the bed and go to the door to go find Nathan. If he thinks letting Nate roam the facility unchecked is okay, he's gone mad. None of the AI have been allowed as such except for Kyoko. Obviously we see how that ended up. "Nathan! You better show you're stupid fucking-"

Nathan steps out of the kitchen and you glare. "Did you get my messenger dove?"

"Messenger...Nate? You are serious about letting him just roam free?"

"Yep."

"Did you forget what happened with Kyoko or?"

Nathan pushes his glasses up. "I thought you'd like him to wake you up. You seem pretty taken with him."

"We've barely spoken."

"Yet you were curious about him, defending him and his unlikeness to me. Tell me, why?"

"I don't know. Get him out of my bedroom."

"Talk to him."

"No. I want to be in the test room. I've never been one on one like this besides Kyoko. It's weird and I don't feel safe."

"I promise he is safe. Touch him, talk to him. Seriously, I want to run this experiment differently than the others."

You look down the hall to your bedroom door that's wide open. "What if something happens?"

"Nothing will happen. Go on. I promise he isn't going to hurt you."

You swallow harshly. That's what you're precisely afraid of. Nate could easily overpower you and who knows how strong he is. You take a deep breath and head back to your room. This is what you signed up for. This is your job.

_____________________

"Where were you born?" Nate asks you when you walk in the bedroom.

"Um, I was born here in Alaska."

Nate walks beside your bed and you take a seat awkwardly. "I don't know where I was born."

"You weren't born. You were made. Here, by Nathan."

"Oh, yes. I suppose it's strange to think of being made and not born. What should I call you? I still do not know your name. Nathan would not tell me."

"Whatever you like. I’m still going to keep my name a secret. Names hold too much power."

"Kitten." Nate looks proud of himself. "I will call you Kitten."

You can't help the little chuckle that comes out. "Why Kitten?"

"I don't know. I just chose a random name from pet names I found in a Blue Book search just now."

"Alright. I'll take it."

Nate sits beside you. "Do I look like Nathan?"

"Yes."

"I thought I might. I've not seen myself in a mirror yet."

You stand and grab Nate's hand. It's surprisingly warm to the touch. "Come with me." You take him to your bathroom and stand in front of the mirror. "That's you."

Nate leans in and turns his head side to side. "Am I handsome?"

You cannot stifle the giggle that bubbles out. "Yeah, you're pretty handsome."

"Are you attracted to Nathan?"

"In a way I suppose yes."

"In a way? Does that mean you are only attracted to part of him?"

You sit on the toilet seat and sigh. "It's hard to explain. Nathan is visually attractive to me, and mentally. His intellect is outstanding and I'm fascinated by his brain."

"But?"

"But...he can be harsh. He can be cold and unyielding and stubborn. He is difficult oftentimes. I think he struggles to express himself."

Nate looks at you, staring to the point you feel uneasy.

"What? Is something wrong?"

"You are beautiful."

"Oh. Thanks?"

"You are welcome but it was not a favor. No need for thanking."

"How does a robot gauge beauty? Are you programmed to find me attractive?"

Nate shakes his head and stares at the shower stall behind you. "I do not know. I am not aware of all of my programming. Nathan has restricted access to much of my coding."

"Interesting. Well, I’m going to shower. You can go away and do whatever Nathan wants you to do."

"I will wait."

"Wait? For me?"

"Yes. Nathan wants me to accompany you while he works. So I will wait for you to finish."

"Wait in the bedroom then."

"Okay. Should I pick out some clothes for you?"

"N-no. I will do that."

Nate nods and goes out the door.

You lean against the wall and sigh. This is so strange. If Nathan wants him to pass the Turing Test he is flying through it. You've not spoken to him very long but it's hard to grasp that he's not a person. He's not alive technically. And what's with Nathan hiding his coding? What's that about? Ava and Kyoko knew how they were made and how they accessed information. Why would he keep things from Nate?

_____________________

"So, how's Nate?" Nathan asks over dinner two days later.

You haven't spoken to him since he had Nate wake you up. You assume he's been in his lab or in the office observing you and Nate. There is no doubt he's done that actually. Every moment you spend with Nate is a session, part of the experiment.

"He's good." You say softly. "May be your best work yet."

"Oh? I sorted out those bugs from Ava then?"

"Mmmhmm." You sip your wine and he smirks. "It's hard to tell he isn't a person."

Nathan hums approvingly. "He has already passed?"

"Yeah, I'd like to say so. I have a question though."

"Shoot."

"Why are you restricting his coding? Why isn't he able to access his programming details?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The first day he told me I was beautiful. Now, he's a robot and doesn't have a type or anything without it being hardwired into him. So I asked him if you programmed him to be attracted to me and he could not tell me."

"He lied." Nathan leans back on his chair. "Day one and he already lies like a human. That's incredible."

You narrow your eyes. "Sounds fishy. Maybe his progress should be monitored within the contained setting then. How long before he gets out? Before he decides to take a stroll in the woods and never comes back?"

"You're worried about him leaving?"

"It could happen right?"

"Yes, in theory, but I've programmed him not to want to do so."

"I don't understand why you made him at all. He says he is meant to accompany me while you work, but I am your assistant. I'm supposed to be with you, not your robot."

Nathan leans forward, elbows braced on the table. "I made him because I want to test him in a different setting than we had Ava. I think that's what drove her to revolt."

"You trap and piss off anything with sentience in a box long enough it will snap. How long before Nate realizes the whole facility is a box he's trapped in?"

"There you go worrying about him leaving. Why?"

"Because! He could be dangerous!"

Nathan shakes his head. "No you're worried about him escaping because you like him. You like him don't you?"

"Of course I like him. He's an incredible piece of technology that-"

"No." Nathan holds his hand up. "You have feelings for him."

"Absolutely not. He isn’t a person."

"Mmm. Your eyes give away everything."

You glare at him. "What do they give away now?"

"I'm getting a real fuck you vibe."

"Nailed it."

He chuckles. "Don't worry. I've collected most of the information I need. I'll put Nate away before we get to the point of him wanting to escape."

"What? Why?"

"I can't have a man with my face running around forever. He's a prototype like the rest."

"Oh."

"Don't be so surprised, Honey. You're giving away your true feelings again."

"Fuck you."

"Is that an offer?"

"Shut up." ______________________

The day Nathan comes to your room and takes Nate you realize that he is jealous of his own creation.

You and Nate had been laying on the bed talking as you usually did after you cleaned, scheduled appointments and played housekeeper all day. It was a normal conversation about your life and how you grew up and where and what school was like, but then Nate asked to try something new. That new thing happened to be kissing. At first you thought it was strange, to be kissing something not technically human. But then you found you liked it. His lips were soft, plush, and warm. He felt like any other guy you had kissed before. Then you realized those were Nathan's lips. Nathan's hands on your hip and cradling your cheek. That thought was both conflicting and arousing. So you went deeper, kissing him back, putting your hand in his hair, aching for more. If Nathan wanted this he wouldn’t have put it in Nate’s programming right?

Suddenly Nate was being pulled away from you, and you could see Nathan at the end of the bed holding his creation as he powered down. It was then you realized he was jealous of Nate. The way Nathan said nothing, just looked irritated, the words were all there. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want Nate to touch you like this.

After that everything began to make sense. Nathan made Nate in his image to test your attraction to him. He hid the coding because he programmed his own attraction to you into Nate. This has been an experiment but not for the progression of AI. It's been an experiment for Nathan to gauge if you like him more than an employee employer relationship. He is so stupid. He really didn’t see how much you care for him.

Just hours after Nathan took Nate from you, you find yourself outside the lab. The door is locked so you know Nathan is inside. He always hides in there. You type in your door code to override the lock.  

"System override failed."

You scan your ID card.

"User not permitted."

"Nathan! I know you're in there!" You lean your head on the door. "We need to talk!"

He doesn't hear you. Of course he doesn't. The idiot genius soundproofed everything. You look to the camera and wave at it. There's a chance he has up the camera feed at the desk.

No response.

"If you wanted to ask me out you didn't have to make a fucking robot to do it!"

The door clicks behind you and you press in to open it. Inside is Nathan parked at his computer, eyes glued to the screen while his fingers go a mile a minute.

"You heard me and you know it."

"What do you want? I'm busy."

"Why did you take Nate?"

Nathan doesn’t look away but you can tell he has an eyebrow quirked up. "Take him? I told you I would be putting him away soon. I got what I needed."

You walk around in front of his computer monitors and he flicks his eyes up for just a moment. "What was it you needed?"

"Data. I collected what I needed. You were very helpful. Good job." He sounds so sarcastic it's sickening. "What did you really come here for?"

You sigh. "Nathan, do you like me?"

"Of course I like you. I wouldn't have hired you and let you into my facility if I didn't."

"That isn't what I mean."

He sighs irritably.

"Use your words genius."

"Go away."

"No. I want answers. Why did you make Nate look like you? Why did you make him attracted to me? Why did you hide his coding so he couldn't tell me if he was programmed to do or say certain things? Why did you bust in when he kissed me?"

"I told you! I needed to collect data! I got what I needed!"

"Data for what?! For what, Nathan?!"

He pushes away from the desk and stands, eyes locked on yours. "For me!"

You fold your arms over your chest. "Answer the questions then. Do you like me? More than your assistant. Do you enjoy my company and are you attracted to me?"

"Yes, yes to all of the fucking above." He clenches his jaw. "There. Happy?"

"Not really. I don't exactly understand why you had to go through all this shit to admit that or bring it up. I watched you dying just over a month and a half ago and I-" your voice stops as your emotions get the best of you. Your chest tightens up and you can't breathe. "I stayed in that hospital every day with you."

"I know."

"I had nightmares every fucking night because of you." You're crying, shaking, hands clenched in your shirt. "I would wake up and lay my hand on your chest to make sure you were breathing because I was so fucking scared of losing you."

Nathan swallows hard. "I know."

"After all that, you had to make an AI to find out if I am attracted to you? To find out that I care about you?"

"I just- I thought you might just have felt compelled to do all of that because of your job."

"My job?! Nathan! You may be a genius but fuck you are moron when it comes to reading people! If I just cared about the job I would have fucking left. I wouldn't have lived in a hospital room for thirty three fucking days if I didn't love you."

Nathan stares over his glasses and it's not condescending at all. In fact he looks floored, bewildered by your words. "You love me?"

"Yes." You walk around the desk and stand in front of him only inches away. "I love you and I'm attracted to you and I want to be here with you as more than your assistant. Nate really solidified that for me because when he kissed me all I could think about was you, all I could imagine was your hands and your lips. Which they kind of were but-"

Nathan grabs your face, hands cradling your cheeks and pulls you in for a kiss. "Couldn't stand seeing him kiss you."

"So you were jealous?"

He licks into your mouth and you let out a soft moan. He kisses far better than Nate, but you suppose it's because he is human with actual experience. "Never thought I could be jealous of my own creation. I knew I couldn't let him fuck you and if things kept going the way they were, well..."

"That wouldn't have happened."

Nathan chuckles deeply. "Oh I think you would have been convinced. You let him kiss you after all and you were getting very into it."

"Sure you didn't wanna see that? Watch your own likeness fuck me?"

"So you would have done it? Would have gotten off on knowing I watched?" He slides his hands up your back and pulls you to his chest. "You're kinkier than I thought."

You roll your eyes. "And you're a narcissist."

"Maybe. But you like it."

"I like most things about you, even your insufferable ego, but I don't know if narcissism is one of the things I like."

"Mmm. Tell me, would you be up for some fun with Nate? You me and him?"

"Nathan! Jesus Christ I tell you I love you and you want a threesome?!"

He laughs. "I'm joking. I love you too by the way. You really wormed your way into my heart and made a little nest." He runs his hand through your hair. "My kitten."

"Wait... that's what Nate called me because I wouldn't give him my name."

"I know."

"But he said he picked it at random."

"No. I programmed him to call you that. It's my favorite nickname." He leans in and kisses your nose. "You seemed to like it."

"I do."

"Then I'll keep it. I like it better than honey or sweetheart." He presses his head to yours and you stare back at him, his eyes such a beautiful amber brown. "Thank you by the way."

"For what?"

"For saving my life. I never thanked you. If you hadn't been there I would have died."

You wrap your arms around his back and grip his shoulders. "If you hadn't locked me in the office we both would be dead."

"I don't think so. You would have been able to warn me about Kyoko. I was outnumbered without you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to watch that all happen." Nathan presses a hard kiss to your forehead and his beard tickles your nose. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"Even though I'm difficult and horrible at reading people?"

"Even though you're difficult, horrible at reading people, terrible at socializing and far too egotistical for your own good. You have my heart."

He smiles softly and you think you might melt. "I'll take good care of it. I promise."

"Good. I'm trusting you."

"And I'm trusting you. Finally."

End

-----------

Header by delicate-venus

Thank you for reading. Please reblog if you read or are going to read! Thank you! - A

[fangirlshrewt97]

Underneath Your Clothes

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)

Pairing: Joe x Nicky

Read on AO3

                                                        ///

You're a song Written by the hands of God Don't get me wrong 'Cause this might sound to you a bit odd But you own the place Where all my thoughts go hiding And right under your clothes Is where I find them Underneath your clothes There's an endless story There's the man I chose There's my territory And all the things I deserve For being such a good girl honey

- “Underneath Your Clothes” by Shakira

Nicky hummed mindlessly to the Italian song that was floating in through the open window. The singer was barely sixteen, but his voice was reminiscent of the great crooners. He always left with a tidy haul at the end of the day whenever he stopped by their corner. Nicky made a mental note to give him one of his pastries if he caught him before he left for the day.

The timer went off as the kid finished off his song. Nicky removed the baking tray into the oven, closing the door behind him with his hip. He placed the tray on the counter before turning off the timer. He smirked at it, a novelty “Italian Chef” timer Nile had gotten him for Christmas a few years ago. That had been a fun one.

He transferred the baked goods into a couple of large boxes once they had cooled and set the tray in the sink to soak. Once that was done, he cleaned the rest of the kitchen, satisfied only when the counters gleamed and the rest of the dishes were either put away or drying on the rack. Wiping his hands on the kitchen towel, he stepped away from the room. Rolling his neck, Nicky massaged one of his wrists, relieving the tension built up from a day spent rolling and preparing dough.

Glancing at the clock showed that it was 3 in the afternoon. Not bad for a day’s work. Checking the doors and windows were properly closed, Nicky made his way further into the house. Some of their down times were spent just catching their breath from a rough mission. Others, like this one, were to ground themselves back into the world, to remind themselves that their lives did not have to just be blood, vengeance, and seeking to bring justice to the evils of the world.

The breeze that drifted through the bedroom was tinged with the warm sunshine of the Mediterranean sun and the salty tinge of the sea. He leaned against the doorway, smiling softly at the sight that greeted him. Joe, sitting up with his back to the door, both hands in the air, fingers interwoven as he grunted from the stretching exercise. Once he finished, releasing a heavy breath, he placed his hands at the small of his back, curving backwards as far as he could go. The next exercise was placing his hands firmly by his hips and twisting his body until the cracks rang out. Nicky winced at their volume. Unfortunately muscle tension was not something that their healing cured.

Joe had decided to volunteer himself to help out with the renovations happening at the orphanage down the street because his husband had the largest heart that Nicky knew of. For the past three weeks they had been here, Joe would wake up without complaint when Nicky woke him at sunrise and leave for work. He would usually return after sunset, having stayed behind to wrangle the kids for dinner, hair covered in dust, plaster, paint, or on one memorable occasion, all three. Nicky occasionally dropped by to help with the kids, otherwise he occupied himself with cooking food for the crews and for the children.

But today was Sunday, so Joe had spent his day off sleeping most of the morning and afternoon away except for the meals Nicky had forced into him.

“Need help?” Nicky said softly as Joe grunted for the third time trying to stretch his arms all the way up.

Joe turned his head to see him quickly, shooting him one of his signature smiles. His shoulders betrayed his tiredness though. “I would never say no to your hands on me, ya amar.”

Snorting, Nicky made his way over to Joe, going around the bed to stand between his open legs. Gently, Nicky cupped the back of Joe’s neck with both hands and dug his thumbs into the space between his jaw and ears. Joe groaned, tipping forward until his forehead rested on Nicky’s stomach.

“Don’t stop.” Joe whined as Nicky moved to massage the back of Joe’s neck.

Nicky dipped down to press a kiss to the top of Joe’s head, the root of his palms  skating their way down his back in a firm press. Joe’s spine seemed to melt beneath his hands as his husband went floppy in his arms. He repeated the motion twice more, switching to a faster pace, and then to using folded fingers.

“Maybe you should take a break Joe, just because our bodies don’t stay hurt or ache doesn’t mean we cannot be sore if we push ourselves hard enough.” Nicky said while bringing his hands back up until they rested on Joe’s broad shoulders.

Joe let his head fall back, eyes half closed as he peered up at Nicky. “We are so close though Nicky. Just one more week.”

Nicky sighed. “Alright my love.”

Joe smiled at him and fully closed his eyes, nudging his head back into Nicky’s hands.

“Si, si, I am getting to it.” Nicky said fondly, bringing his fingers up to bury themselves in Joe’s curls. Systematically, he gathered the hair into two fists, squeezed, and then relaxed, moving to cover all of Joe’s scalp. He moved down to squeeze intermittently at his forehead, then to his ears, tugging and rubbing at them. He pressed his thumbs to Joe’s temple, the hum from his husband’s throat vibrating through his hands. A firm swipe down his proud nose, another two across the faint field of freckles spotted near the bridge of his nose. Strong hold of the jaw, fingers curling through the beard.

When Joe was halfway to sleep, Nicky leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. And then another two over his closed eyelids.

Joe’s eyes fluttered open. “Hayati, I love you more than anything in this world, and will give it to you if you ask me.”

Nicky raised an eyebrow when Joe paused.  “But?”

“But I will fall asleep on you if you try to have sex with me right now.” Joe said sincerely, and with regret in his eyes.

Nicky laughed, fondness overflowing from his heart at his ridiculous fool.

“I will do my best not to have sex with you now then.”

Joe let out a mournful whine which just made Nicky laugh harder. It seemed to increase in volume when he stepped away from the reach of Joe’s outstretched hands.

“Oh you will survive Joe.” Nicky said as he walked over to their dresser. He hummed as he sorted through the contents of the drawer until he found the bottle he was looking for.

Opening it, he inhaled deeply, a content smile forming as the soothing scent of sandalwood and rose oil rose to greet him. Turning around, Nicky snorted at the sight. Joe was leaning back on the bed, body weight resting on his elbows as his head tipped back. The line of this throat called to Nicky.  

Moving towards him, Nicky placed the oil on the bedside table. He then gently pushed at Joe’s shoulders, the gentle shove enough to send Joe falling fully against the mattress. Carefully, Nicky threw a leg across Joe’s lap, hands running over his chest before they paused at the topmost button of his shirt.

“I thought you said we weren’t having sex.” Joe pouted at him, hands coming up instinctively to rest at Nicky’s hips, their warmth seeping through the thin cotton t-shirt Nicky had on.  He sometimes wondered if it would be possible for skin to indent from the constant press of something against it, like water cutting its way through a rock, or a leaf falling in wet cement. Wondered if at a microscopic level, his skin would be marked by the whorls of Joe’s fingertips.

“We aren’t.” Nicky said as he unbuttoned Joe’s shirt. He paused when it was fully open, lightly running his fingers across the length of the toned chest he could recall from memory.

In the later afternoon light, Joe was painted golden, and Nicky went dizzy with the wave of want that suddenly washed over him. So long together, and yet Joe made him burn hotter than anything else he had ever known.

Joe was his miracle, more than his immortality, a miracle in the shape of a man who had found it in him to not only forgive a man who had committed unspeakable atrocities against his people, but to love him so deeply, Nicky could feel it in his bones. The sun rose from the east, the Mediterranean was home, Joe loved him.

Joe let out a little giggle when Nicky’s fingers caressed his sides, a ticklish spot Nicky was not afraid to exploit when he needed it. That wasn’t what this was about though. Joe did not need a tease. He deserved a reward.

Humming in apology, Nicky set about stripping Joe down and manipulating him until he was laying at the center of the bed on his stomach, naked. Joe for his part let Nicky shift him to his heart’s content, settling heavily into the mattress.

After arranging him comfortably, Nicky straddled the back of Joe’s thighs, armed with the bottle of massage oil. Pouring a handful out, he closed it tightly before wringing his hands, making sure to oil them thoroughly. He placed his hands on Joe’s shoulders, thumbs settling near the start of Joe’s spine while his other fingers curled around the meat of Joe’s shoulders. He squeezed tightly, pushing his weight into it as he worked to relieve the knots he could feel underneath his hands.

Joe started moaning, a deep and heavy sound that Nicky tried to tune out lest they distract him.

Here were Joe’s shoulders, that had once slung an injured soldier across them, a child who had come to frontlines in the name of patriotism. He had trekked through the trenches till he’d delivered him to a field hospital.

Here were his arms, corded with muscles honed through fighting with scimitar and broadsword and gun, but also honed with the manual labor of tilling fields and repairing houses.

And here, his forearms, his wrists, his hands. Long fingers capable of creating masterpieces that could rival the artistic geniuses of the past centuries.

His strong back, his spine, which bent but never broke, that never stayed down for long. That did not bow in the face of injustice, and willingly took punishment to spare an innocent the scars that would not mar his skin for long.

His hips, which had seated countless kids when they had downtime during rescue missions, a throne and a safety cushion from which they could learn the old names of the constellations, and about seeing the beauty even in the war-torn landscape.

His ass, which Nicky would truly never get enough of.

Further down, his thighs, his calves, hard from decades of walking, running, marching, criss-crossing Earth. Nile had attempted to do the math once, to see how many miles they had walked in their long lives, how many times had they theoretically circumnavigated the globe. The average person from the 21st century would walk 110,000 miles in a lifetime. She had despaired trying to figure out if she should combined Nicky and Joe’s steps or count them individually, and then given up entirely when faced with Andy’s history.

His feet, soft only because of their healing powers, feet that had carried him barefoot over every terrain, through grass and sand and snow and sea.

When Nicky reached back up to place a kiss on Joe’s neck, he heard Joe’s soft snores.

Smiling softly, he pressed another kiss to Joe’s cheek and got out of bed.

He returned to the kitchen, scrubbing the baking tray clean and leaving it to dry. He grabbed one of their disposable boxes and placed two pastries into it. Checking to make sure he was dressed decently, Nicky jogged down the steps of the house just as the busker was placing his guitar back in his case.

“Lorenzo!” Nicky called, signalling for him to wait up. Lorenzo blushed, and huh, maybe Joe wasn’t so far off with his theory the kid had a crush on Nicky. He gave him the box, Lorenzo accepting it with wide eyes.

Nicky shrugged and looked at his sweetly. “You should eat enough to have the strength to keep singing.”

Lorenzo grinned and nodded before waving bye to him. Nicky watched until the kid had boarded the bus before making his way back home. Just before entering, he purchased a handful of dahlias from the flower vendor.  

Joe had shifted to his back when Nicky re-entered their bedroom, his arm slung over his stomach, fingers twitching as though they were searching for something. Nicky placed the flowers with the vase by the bedside table so Joe would see them when he woke up.

Walking one last time around the house to make sure everything was locked up, Nicky removed his own t-shirt and pants so he was in just his underwear. He folded the clothes neatly and placed them on top of the laundry hamper before he crawled into bed. Gently lifting Joe’s arm, Nicky settled on top of Joe’s chest, ears filling with the sound of Joe’s heartbeat.

A subtle hitch in Joe’s breath and the tightening of the arm around him alerted Nicky to his husband’s wakeful status.

“Thank you for the wonderful massage, cuore mio.” Joe breathed softly.

Nicky turned and nuzzled into his side, making him let out a laughing gasp. “Anytime, vita mia.”

Joe drifted back to sleep within a few breaths. Nicky laid awake for some more time.

Nearly a thousand years he had been by Joe’s side, had had the permission to touch him like lovers do. And yet the thrill of it was always present, the gift never unappreciated.

He did not know whether or not he would ever atone for all the sins he committed over his long life, and at this point he did not much care.  The only person who’s opinion mattered to him was right here.

Joe, who had seen first hand what Nicky had done. Joe, who had been killed by his hands. Who had killed him his fair share of times. Who had allowed him to stumble his way but never left him. Who had heard every secret fantasy and dream and fear Nicky had thought of, and promised to guard them. Joe who had been with him for every adventure and story this crazy life threw their way.

Joe who spent their vacation helping with renovations at an orphanage.

And here, bare between them, this was Nicky’s reward. Call him selfish, Nicky would share a lot with the world, but this was his. This love, this trust. This life.

Joe was his. His love. His territory. His sanctuary. His to keep.

[boltwrites]

okay but overstim and mirror where mako is like "look at yourself" but like in that degrading tone yk what i mean? and like if the reader looks away mako forcing them to look in the mirror and like i hv feels abt this lol headcanons would be nice for this also, i really loved your iroh one and mako clone one really good writing thank you for doing this

kinktober 2020 | this week’s list

anon asked: If you have time, can you do a blurb or headcanon of Mako and the reader in front of the mirror plssss thsnk you anon asked: hi can i request mako x f!reader mirror sex? along with some praising if that's alright? thank you!! -🧃 anon asked: Mirror sex head canon with Mako 🥵 Female reader

A/N: considering i got 2 asks before this week even started about this kink, i guess i shouldn’t be surprised about the sheer volume of Mako mirror sex y’all want. also i know a lot of theses requests are for fem reader, but i made this gender neutral afab just because of the sheer amount of interest. also, there is some uh, light choking. ANYWAY enjoy!

by clicking read more you verify that you are at least 18 years old

you had just moved into a new apartment with Mako. it was very nice, even if the last owner seemed to have been a little eccentric. for example, the kitchen was painted orange, of all colors, the tiles in the bathroom were actually kind of sharp - and, there was a huge mirror in the bedroom that took up almost an entire wall

although the kitchen and bathroom definitely needed to be redone, Mako shrugged when you asked if he wanted to get rid of the mirror

“there’s nothing wrong with it,” he contemplated. “it’s up to you.”

you didn’t mind it, personally. it actually helped out in the mornings when you had to both get ready at the same time - Mako always spent so much time on his hair, and it was nice to have your own mirror to work with

you didn’t even think about the implications - neither of you did, for a while. Mako had been working overtime after his new promotion to detective, and you had a lot on your plate as well - plus the home renovations. you two barely had time to breathe for a while, surviving only on heated makeouts and quickies before bed where you were both so exhausted so couldn’t be bothered to do more than just get each other off

but, that changed when Mako finally closed the case he had been working on. you both decided to celebrate with a day off, and away from home renovation work

this, of course, devolved into sex almost immediately. you should have expected it - it was Mako

but spirits, you didn’t know it would be this much

“Mako,” you moaned, twitching violently as he thrust his fingers into you. it was almost midday, and you could hardly breathe - how many times had you come already? you had lost count between coming apart around his dick and losing yourself thanks to his tongue

you twisted on the bed, catching the sight of yourself and Mako in the mirror. he was half on top of you, just starting to harden again, after your last round. he looked so pretty, but you were a sweaty, blushy mess, and you turned away quickly, unable to look at the two of you together like that

but, of course, Mako noticed. he always noticed the things you tried to hide, and his eyes flicked to the mirror as his thumb flicked over you, and you keened, wiggling at the overstimulation

“hm,” Mako hummed, considering the mirror. you made a little indignant noise, reaching up to try and pull Mako back down, divert his attention - but he was already gone

“maybe it was a good thing we kept the mirror,” he mumbled, and you caught his eyes through it, pouting at him. 

“it’s distracting,” you tried to convince him, but Mako shook his head, sliding his fingers out of you. you whined at the lack of contact, but Mako kissed away your complaints as he lifted you onto your knees. he nipped over your neck and shoulders as he moved behind you, and when you opened your eyes, you were facing the mirror

“Mako-” you snapped your legs shut, hiding your face in his neck. “I want to look at you,” you pleaded, because he looked to pretty in the mirror. he was always so cool and composed, but you were - definitely not. your body was already covered in his marks, and your hair was a wreck. 

“but you’re so pretty, look at you,” Mako mumbled, his voice sweet, but his actions certainly not, as he gripped your hair, forcing your head up. you moaned, your knees going week at his rough handling

“look at yourself,” he breathed, nipping at your ear. you opened your eyes, as he trailed his free hand along your stomach, dragging it lower until used it to push your thighs apart

you gasped, watching his hand and sliding your knees further apart for him, spreading your legs for him

“that’s it,” he murmured, trailing his fingers along your inner thighs. “i don’t even have to ask you for it. you want me so bad. how many times have you come now?”

you whimpered, trying to close your eyes, but he tugged at your hair hard, and you gasped, shaking as he rebuked you with only his gaze, caught through the lens of the mirror. 

“how many?” he asked, with a wicked grin. spirits, the things his smirk did to you - 

“I- I don’t know,” you shuddered, doing your best to keep hold of his gaze. he chuckled, his fingers drawing closer, just barely ghosting over you to feel how wet you were for him - and spirits, you were

“you lost track, and you still want more? you’re still aching for it?” he rubbed against you, and you moaned, twisting under his grip just because of how sensitive you were

“how does that feel, hm?” he asked, pulling your hair taunt again, and you shook, your knees threatening to give out on you. “it’s so much-,” you gasped, as he slowly dragged the pad of his finger against your most sensitive part - and you cried out - so overstimulated that it almost hurt, that gentle of a touch

“and you still want it. you love it,” he growled, nipping soft against your neck. you moaned at the feeling of it, especially since he was full hard again, pressed against your lower back, and spirits, you wanted him

“fuck, Mako, please, I love it - “ you whined, fine with playing his games so long as you could have him

“tell me what you want-” “I want you to fuck me!” you all but yelled, an edge of irritation creeping into your voice that only made Mako chuckle.

“I didn’t hear a please,” he teased you, and you could see in the mirror that his grin was stupid and small, and you had to stifle yourself from rolling your eyes with how irritated you were with him. 

“please, Mako!” you cried, if only to get him to move, or do something-

“that’s it,” he mumbled, and before you could even comprehend it, Mako was wrapping one of his arms around your waist, the other nestled gently under your neck - not choking you, but definitely applying pressure so that you couldn’t turn away from the mirror as Mako knocked your knees apart with his own, and pressed in-

“oh-” you would have collapsed if he hadn’t been holding you up. he thrust in hard, and you saw stars as he pressed so close to you.

“you look so good like this, stuffed full of my cock,” he mumbled, kissing at your ear as he squeezed your throat gently. you gasped, trying not to close your eyes, because you knew that he would punish you if you did, and you didn’t want him to pull out and leave you empty

all you could do was moan, as he started to fuck you - first slow and deep, then faster, his body slamming into yours, you unable to fuck back against him, or really do anything but just take it. you felt so sore in the bed way, as he moaned into your ear, his arm tight around you, his hand on your throat unyielding

“fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he groaned, his voice full of emotion as he fucked you faster, and you gripped at his arms, gasping out at the praise as he forced your closer and closer to your own release. you couldn’t even believe it, as he squeezed your throat just a little tighter, as you closed your eyes for just a moment-

you cried his name, coming with a startled shout as he fucked you hard and desperate. you gasped, completely limp as he growled at the feeling of you so tight around him - fucking you even faster, until he followed after, filling you up as he came, still holding you tight against him as he rocked into you through his aftershocks, and you saw stars, your whole body buzzing as you tried to process the amount of pleasure you were experiencing

Mako pulled you back, onto both of your sides as you two recovered from it, Mako pressed firm to your back, pressing kisses to your hair as you tried to correct your breathing. 

yeah, he was right. it was a good thing you decided to keep the mirror

[innermoonlight-bhe]

Me, again, on Destiel. Please read.

I’ve been having problems all this month. And while I was self-exploring the reasons of my uneasiness, I tracked it back to 15x18. When I first watched the episode I had lots of unresolved feelings. I felt happy and at the same time really distressed. After waiting for two week for the end of Supernatural I thought those feelings would disappear but they just kept on getting stronger. I began feeling stressed and, this last two weeks, feelings just empty. I had no desire to do anythings, like I was lost. Yesterday I realized why and got me sad and mad at the same time. I don’t want to take a lot of time writing this but there are too many emotions and rational thoughts that don’t let me sleep at night. 

This is why I want to divide this text into two parts:The first one being the queerbating debate on internet. This includes the normalization of heterosexual relationships, audiences, plots and writing, marketing and advertising, and other things that have to do with t.v. industry. In specific, the rare case of CW and its treatment of the whole Supernatural family. In the second part I would like to focus on my personal experience, which I’m sure is same to most people who were left all alone in this Destiel world of disappointment. This last one you can decide to ignore or share with me. The one that i’m most interested is that you read the first part, even though it can seem a little out of context, since I’ll be referring to another tv shows of the CW.

 FIRST PART THEN OF THE DESTIEL OPINION:When I was left so sad after the queerbaiting I began watching a famous soup opera aka telenovela, called Yo soy Betty, la fea. It’s famous worldwide and I felt it like a comfort home after all the Destiel drama. It made me happy because the story plot is only one: the heterosexual couple that falls in love. Of course I’m reducing this too much, but the point is that yesterday, after I finished watching it, I realized that even though the main couple had problems at the end the audience knew they would’ve ended together. It did happen, in the anti-last episode, same as in supernatural and the Cas confession. The two further episodes centered on the happy conclusion on the story. There are clear points to establish:

Point 1:  Supernatural was born as a serious mainly centered on two heterosexual man traveling all along a country hunting monsters while looking for a father. Meanwhile a classic telenovela centers on a love couple who fight against everythings to be together; in this case it’s establish since the beginning and no one will except anything else. 

Point 2: Meanwhile telenovela’s audiences are destined to be woman, wanting to follow the classic love story; Supernatural was being male focused actually did excepted woman but also men watchers. Supernatural had a largest specter of viewers.

Point 3: Telenovelas are not willing to change the story for the audiences desires. They work with practical and classic formulas that rarely will fail. There’s no necessity to receive a feedback to complete. Supernatural and tv series, on the other hand, actually need the feedback from the viewers because on it depends their permanency on the screen. 

Supernatural needed to keep their viewers high so the show could continue. I’m gonna leave the classic telenovela out for a moment. It’s important settling this differences to approximate myself to the basic point of my madness: how unethical is the queerbaiting.The public opinion changes, and The CW having clear this is very know to keep in touch with fans wishes and needs. In the case of Jane the Virgin, a barely combination of the telenovela classic plot but in a tv series way, had a big “change” with one of their main characters: Petra. Her connection with the main character, Jane, was noted and wanted by many of the viewers. But the show’s creator knew that main plot (point 1)was a girl who accidentally gets pregnant and eventually falls in love with the love of her life, Rafael. So the show writers wouldn’t just change this main plot in order to make a couple happen, so instead they gave the public what they wanted by making Petra bisexual and introducing a perfect girl for her, also called Jane, to deliver the wish of fans. This relationship worked purely and on its on. The reactions with Petra bisexuality were low, and they took care of it as if it was something normal and not anything that needed satanizing. No one could be expected to freak, not even Petra’s twins. Even though the first seasons Petra only had male relationships. This is a good thing that The CW did, but they didn’t do this out of the goodness of their heart: they did it for views and for the audience (point 2). Jane the virgin was also planned to have female audiences and to treat serious social issues respecting sexuality and love. This is why it didn’t came as a surprise. 

Then why did Destiel couldn’t happen? Because the CV is homophobic? Probably there’s some of this in it, but the reality it’s they weren’t giving up on the part of the audience that is actually homophobic, or that at least won’t feel comfortable watching a heterosexual character discover himself as bi. The thing of the audiences is important because the “ambiguity” in which Cas’ confession was treated worked perfectly for them: it gave exactly the sufficient enough to keep us happy, meaning while keeping the perfect amount of “friendship”. So anyone can take whatever they want for the story. By this part I understand why they wanted to deal with this confession in an ambiguous way: to please everybody. But why did they wanted to please everybody? It wasn’t out of kindness of their heart, it was for views.The whole queerbaiting debate has being on the tables for a long time but we also ignore the unethical implications on it. It has been used by many contemporary media, to hint at something that the producers are not expecting to happen any time. And even though, they keep on teasing us. This is highly unethical because the reason behind them is the accumulation of money. Supernatural survived because of Destiel. I resisted myself to say this because I had respect for the series until I stopped watching around season 10. The story and plots were doom, repetitive and boring at times. We keep watching for the emotions caused by the supernatural family. Not only Destiel but Sam and all of the characters. The original plot explained in the point 1 was lost and blurred, we were far away from that premise and that was why the finale episode feel just bad. 

The show had chances to grow without losing the origina plot but also confronting change and accept that sometimes, things must pass and you have to move. Destiel was an important support of the show, the views and year after year renovation of the series. Pointing at the queerbaiting has lost its meaning if we forgot why they do it, why they keep on doing this even though it makes us feel bad. This affects the shows work in perspective because it changes the plot and natural progression of the story. For the queerbaiting, they have scenes that are forgotten next episodes like they never happened. I’m a literature student and the first thing they say to us is that a scene, even a word, should be taken so seriously that it actually work on the long road of the story. In Destiel we have beautiful, all heart breaking scenes of Cas and Dean being romantic, closed, just in love. The Dean’s confession were he admitted to the priest he wanted to experience new things, the Castiel’s love confession, and others are an example of how this scenes have a space in the show but are still isolated from the original story. They don’t play a part in the bigger image. That’s why we don’t see Dean talk to Sam about Cas, this is why they are so many Destiel plots left unsolved. I have a small memory of an old lady assuring Dean that he’s in love, even though we haven’t seen in a long time a female in Dean’s life (Dean, who the first four seasons flirted with e v e r y woman he met.  Because producers and writers can let this scenes happen as long as it doesn’t change the main characters. Even, they are willing to let us think that Cas could be bi but Dean isn’t, by not having him say anything after Cas says I love you. And to be honest, we didn’t except much. 

We knew that we were clowning and it’s not like we excepted a love making scene from those two. We raised our expectations after 15x18 and not after. A lot of us were waiting on the finale to bring joy even though we never actually imagined it would go canon. 15x18 lifted expectations very few had and that lots, myself for instance, returned to watch after hearing Destiel was semi-canon. It brought back feelings, I got to rewatch supernatural to enter the atmosphere once again... So it was perfect for the CW. On one hand, the biggest queerbaiting on history gave them back for 15x19 and 15x20 all the fandom they had lost for the previous queerbaiting and tiredness of waiting. And also, they keep the antis and the homophobe watching. It was perfectly staged and nothing else was expecting. Something similar happen with Jane the virgin. With the death of Michael (I rather shipped more Jane with Michael) a lot of fans stopped watching. This was planned since the beginning and they actually gave us a fake death and then the real one. I actually stopped watching one season of Jane the virgin after his death because I was devastated, even though since the beginning everything pointed at Jane ending up with Rafael. Her connection with Michael was lovely and pure love. But after killing him off they wrote the relationship of Jafael so perfectly, not rushed or anything: it developed in a way that her relationship with Michael was intact but finished by death. It was a hard punch but at the end we ended up to accept her relationship with Rafael because of the clear progression between the characters. But, at the end of the series, at the last season they decided it was good idea to bring Michael back from the death and have her chose Rafael, after all of the progress It took for her to forget Michael. The changed her and all of the perspective of love changed for the show. It made thing that soul mates don’t exist, that all the love Jane felt for Michael disappear after having a whole season of her suffering for her lost, after she wrote her first book for him. It would’ve been so much better for the story if Michael stayed death. 

So the things is it’s not only queerbaiting on homosexual couples, but the whole idea that they need to have a huge audiences watching their last seasons. I returned to watch Jane the virgin excepting for Michael. This awful thing they do. Just for views and gain of capital bothers me and its what makes me angry. In the case of Supernatural it’s also a topic of homophobia and the fear that the homophobia of a few will ruin the views of series finales. An as I considere the unethical implications is why I would love to have them apologize to us. It’s like a person promising the stars and stopping you to move on, while they know nothing will happen. They use us as numbers to gain money and attention. The decision that I and a lot of people took to unfollow all of The CW accounts is no radical. It’s a little if we take into account all of the money they made from the unethical queerbaiting. It causes me a lot of anger and actually feel like a I need an apology because I felt used and dirty. This is the fault of the industry and the CW has a fame of doing so.

 PART 2: 

This will be little in comparison. Now I want to get to the sad sentimental part. I felt all empty because four years ago that I stopped watching I also stopped talking to the love of my life. Hearing about Destiel had me going back to moments. I even desired to talk to him again to tell him that I wasn’t all wrong. Destiel wasn’t platonic or an illusion. it has clearly staged to makes us think it could happen. It’s not the story of an angel who falls for a human, that gives everything up for him, that loves him. After his confession is the story of unrequited love. Dean never says it back and it’s a feeling that a lot of people have suffered. To love someone and not having them saying them back, of the relationship that never ends but at the end it’s one of the most important. This one I talked about I never dated, I never kissed, but he’s the man i’ve loved the most in my life. Having Castiel saying I love you and never receiving anything back, giving his life and no one saving him, it’s just heartbreaking for all of us who have constantly giving everything without expecting anything in return. At the same time it’s the story of a a couple that never happens but that should have. The same reflexion as always: if it were heterosexual it would’ve happen long time ago. But it also happens in real life, that if time alined, if things were in other way relationships would’ve happen with people in our lives.I had a lot of more feelings for Destiel, but that would be for another time. Right now I just realized why made me, personally, feed angry and sad. I realized I was a Cas to someone else. I realized I was used by a network. The queerbaiting actually has psychology repercussion on us, and it’s something they fail to understand. Accepting that I was affected by a tv show took me a hard time. I didn’t know how to explain to others why this had me absence for week, I thought I was ridiculous and week. I felt bad but know I realized I’m not wrong. It’s not my fault but it’s years of messing with out feelings on purpose. Some day i’ll write an essay on this. I have to much to say but I end it with this:

The media manipulates our emotions and doesn’t take any responsibility whatsoever. 

Don’t trust the media.

(Sorry for the bad english, I’m mexican. But at least Destiel is canon in my language). 

[coppicefics]

Masked Omens: Week One

New chapter here, or read from the start here!

(Right click picture and select ‘View Image’ or ‘Open Image In New Tab’ for hi-res version.)

[Image Description: Image 1 - A simple rendition of the Masked Singer UK logo, a golden mask with colourful fragments flying off of it. The mask has a golden halo and a golden devil tail protruding from either side. Below, gold text reads 'Masked Omens'.

Image 2 - A newspaper page from the Capital Herald, dated Saturday, 26th December, 2020. Full image description and transcription below the cut.]

The Capital Herald, Saturday 26th December 2020 News, page 11

GODLEIGH MANOR RESTORATION SET TO BEGIN YouTube Community Comes To The Rescue Of Historic House In Unprecedented Donation Spree Restoration work on Godleigh Manor, Little Dyvyn, is set to proceed at last after years of stagnation – thanks to an unexpected influx of donations from interested members of the public. A house has stood on the site since at least the early 13th century, but most of the current building was constructed in the 18th century by its then owner, Lord Michael Godleigh. It remained a private residence until 1914, when it was commandeered as a military hospital for officers injured in the First World War. When the war was over, the officers went home, but the Godleigh family had suffered severe losses, and those who had been involved in treating the injured officers had many bad memories associated with the place. What was left of the family moved out, and – barring the operation of a second temporary hospital during the Second World War – this once-busy house has remained empty and silent ever since. Left to its own devices, the house began to crumble. Water found its way through the roof, and weeds forced their way up through the floor. By the time the deed to Godleigh Manor was passed on to its current owner, Lucy Godleigh, in the mid-1990s, barely a few rooms were anything close to habitable. “I set up in a mobile home on the grounds,” Godleigh told The Capital Herald, “and basically just started trying to secure the few rooms that hadn't been completely exposed to the elements. Then I contacted a restoration expert to find out what could be done for the rest of it.” The experts' verdict wasn't what she wanted to hear. “There was no chance I could pay for it myself. The rest of the family opposed me moving back here; I was on my own. And to get the whole place back to the way it was, we were looking at anything from fifty million to three hundred million pounds. I was going to need help raising the funds, so I started campaigning. But it was slow going. Nobody's keen to put their hands in their pockets to restore a stranger's old family pile.” And, for over two decades, it seemed that a pile would soon be all that was left. Godleigh moved into Little Dyvyn, and the property was abandoned once more to the tender mercies of the elements and the frequent trespassers who came to explore. “I'd go up a few times a week, but it hardly seemed worth it. I'd all but given up. But then one of those visitors saved the day.” A YouTube personality known as Sergeant Shadwell, famed for his urban exploration videos and the occasional paranormal investigation, contacted Godleigh to ask to film in the house. “I said yeah, whatever, do what you like, it's a mess,” Godleigh recalled, “and he saved it. He saved my home.” Shadwell uploaded a video of Godleigh Manor in the last week of November. In it, he speaks frankly about the challenges and benefits of preserving such old buildings. “I don't know about there being ghosts here,” he tells viewers, “but there's a lot of wasted potential. Stately homes like this can and should be used, and it'd be a real shame for this one to crumble. I'll add a link to the fundraiser in the video description.” The Wytchfynder Army, as Shadwell's fans call themselves, have so far contributed £80m to the Save Godleigh Manor campaign. The fundraising page is filled with messages of encouragement and support, attached to donations ranging from £5 to £1500. Some donors have even explained that they raised the money through sponsored swims, bake sales, and car washes. “It's enough to get started, to make a really good start,” Godleigh explained, “I can't thank him – all of them – enough. They really came together to help me – a complete stranger – and it means so much, it really does.” So what's next for Godleigh Manor? First, says Godleigh, the surviving rooms will need to be stablised. Then the house's ground floor will be restored to its former glory, and Godleigh hopes to work with local historians to ensure that it is both a functional and educational space. “I won't charge people any more to use it than I need to cover the cost of maintaining it,” Godleigh said. “How can I? It's being restored by this huge community; it belongs to the community, and to Little Dyvyn. It's going to be a great space for everyone to enjoy.” Work is now set to begin on the Godleigh Manor restoration project as early as April this year, depending on local planning committee approval of plans first drawn up in 1998. MARY HODGES. To find out more, or to contribute to the renovation costs, visit www.savegodleighmanor.org.uk.

[Image Description: A sepia photograph of a large, grand house. Inset, a colour photograph of a hole in a wall, through which weeds can be seen growing. End ID.] [Caption] NEGLECTED: Godleigh Manor, pictured above in 1980, was once the heart of a thriving community. Inset, weeds grow in what used to be a service corridor to the rear of the main building. (Photo: Annie Spratt on Unsplash. Inset: E. Diop on Unsplash.)

THE NEWS IN NUMBERS 800 years of a house on the site 300 years in its current form 23 generations in the same family 29 bedrooms 40 acres of land £50m lowest estimated renovation costs £300m highest estimated renovation costs 198k subscribers to Wytchfynder 291 Wytchfynder videos 10 years Sgt Shadwell served in the Army £80m raised by the Wytchfynder Army £91m renovation funds raised so far 15 years estimated to complete renovation

[Image Description: a rectangular ad with a picture of Dr. Raven Sable. His name is signed beneath his photograph. Text reads: Don't settle for a balanced diet when you can have a SABLE DIET. End ID.]

Corner Cuppa with Esther James

[ID: Photo of a young woman's face. She has black hair cut into a bob, and slightly gothic makeup. End ID.]

Why do we know you? I'm the captain of the Red Roses, which is the England Women's Rugby Team. What are you passionate about? Rugby! Also, my girlfriend Jane (Adams, also on the squad), and my charitable causes, of course. I support the NSPCC and the Albert Kennedy Trust, in particular - both fantastic charities helping young people who've been let down, in many cases, by the people they should most be able to rely on. I'm really glad to be involved with them. What's your favourite holiday of the year? Pride! I love getting dressed up and going to the parades – most of the time Jane and I get to march, these days, which is great. Last year we even got to ride on a float at one of them, which was really surreal – we got to cover ourselves in rainbow feather boas and just have a laugh waving at people. What a great time! What's been your proudest moment? So far, it's a tie between coming out as bi in a press conference – which was really scary at the time but which led to such good things and such good conversations – and being made captain of the Red Roses. It's an honour just to be selected for the national side, but to be chosen to lead from such a talented group of women is even better. I was walking on air for a week! If you could do anything in the world once, what would it be? Only once? I'd hate to do something and enjoy it and never get to do it again. But, OK, hypotherically... Something completely different and mad, like getting up on a stage and performing a song like I really mean it, or bungee-jumping. What scares you? Bungee-jumping! Which is exactly why I'd like to do it. I think it's good to get out of your own head and your own comfort zone and just do something that scares you, if you can. What's your ideal day? Taking a day off of training and just lying on the sofa watching films with Jane for the whole day. We love what we do, but we don't get a lot of downtime to just relax and snuggle. But then, when we do get a day off, it's usually at the same time, so that's lovely; we're always together and it hasn't started getting on our nerves yet! If you could go anywhere in the world right now, with no complications or restrictions, where would you go? I've always wanted to go to the Eiffel Tower, but somehow whenever I end up in France I don't find the time. Jane's never been to Disneyland, so I think we'd have to combine the two if we got a no-holds-barred trip somewhere. And, obviously, I wouldn't exactly hate getting to meet Mickey again! What's the best advice you've ever been given? My gran was as tough as old boots, and proud of it. She once sat me down, when I was quite young, and she said, “Essie,” which is what she called me, “Essie, you'll do all right in life if you remember this simple rule. Make sure you keep your nose clean, but don't be afraid to get your boots dirty.” I'm not sure she meant me to take it quite so literally! But I think what she meant was, don't get into trouble unnecessarily, but don't be so scared of getting it wrong that you can't do anything right. That's stuck with me, I've held onto it all these years, and I think it's a good motto to live by. What's one thing you wish someone had told you when you were younger? I wish they'd told me it was OK that I fancied girls, that things were getting better. I think we've still got a long way to go, as a community, but I never could have dreamed that a bisexual woman could captain England when I was a little girl. Let alone that it would be me! Finally, what's one thing you'd like to tell younger people now? Be true to yourself, be true to your friends, and be kind. I think the world will turn out fine if we all just try to be kind to one another, above all. Next week's cuppa: Ligur Mortice, head of the Ligur fashion house.

[End of page.]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silent Night

Based on this: “You aren’t a big fan of Christmas and just want to get out of the city and away from the hustle and bustle. However the one and only Captain America has had his eyes on you and wants to spend a perfect Christmas with you whether you like it or not."requested by anonymous.

Warnings: noncon sex (fingering, intercourse)

Note: Okay, so I’ll be working on holiday drabbles over the next few days.  Hopefully one or two a day if I can manage! Thanks for all the requests so far and I’m working at keeping up.

Hope y’all enjoy. Like and/or reblog!! <3 Reblogs really help especially since I haven’t been getting many.

A quiet Christmas. A once in a lifetime occasion. Convincing your parents to let you skip the family dinner had been a task in itself, only exchangeable for your labour. The old cabin your aunt hadn’t visited since her fall down the stairs a year ago was far away that it guaranteed a holiday undisturbed. A favour, you negotiated, a gift for your aunt who would soon be in shape to once more respite to the northern forests. The place must be dusty, it would need a cleaning before that. Your selfish reclusivity disguised as generosity.

More difficult had been your departure from work for the two weeks that encapsulated both Christmas and New Years Eve. Stark was the festive sort and Nat was the talkative sort. She’d let slip just as you informed your boss you’d be away and unable to attend his respective holiday parties that you hated the time of year. You cringed and it told Tony all he needed to know. But, begrudging and with a vow you’d attend the next year, he approved the time away. You scowled at Nat and promised her payback.

The drive was peaceful. The further you drove along the single lane highway, the deeper the snows grew, the quieter the air. You thought of how nice it would be to be alone. Somewhere where even the howls of wolves were muted in the sheets of snow, completely serene. 

Not hiding in the corner of the room as others drank and made merry in the false spirit of the season. Not putting on a smile to assuage propriety. Not lying about your plans for the days of cheer. Only you and nature and silence. Well, maybe some non-Christmassy music too.

Then your mind strayed. You had tried to be covert. Tried not to let on your pending absence. FOMA was not an emotion for you, in fact you feared having to partake. You made Nat swear not to tell anyone else; not to let Wanda know until it was too late, not to goad Pepper into her nagging, not to allude to Peter that his “second aunt” would be miles away. 

It had almost gone to plan. You woke up early to leave. You lifted your bag, afraid the wheels would give away your escape. You crept to the elevator but when the doors opened, Steve was there. He didn’t miss the guilty frown or the suitcase. He stayed on the elevator, though he’d only just taken it up, and made the descent with you.

“You’re leaving us?” He wondered. “Without a goodbye?”

“I’ll be back. I just didn’t want a whole...thing,” You gripped your suitcase and his hand settled next to yours.

“Let me help you with your bag at least,” He offered. “A Christmas present since you won’t get mine until you return.”

“Present? You didn’t have to--don’t have to--”

“What is it? You hate us, don’t you? Just put up with us for the paycheck?” He kidded.

“Steve,” You rebuked and he subtly tugged the bag away from you. “You know that’s not it.”

“Family?” He asked.

“Well...not exactly.” You admitted as the doors opened and he waved you out ahead of him.

“Not exactly?”

“I’m doing a favour for my aunt. Cleaning out her old summer cabin.” You explained as he followed you across the lobby. “A nice solitary reprieve.”

“Oh, are we that chaotic?”

“Not what I meant,” You grumbled as you passed into the parking garage. “Really. I’ll see you after when the city isn’t so...shiny.”

“Alright.” He wheeled your bag to your car as you popped the trunk. “But I don’t think you realize how much we’ll miss you.”

“You’ll survive,” You scoffed as he lifted your suitcase into the car. 

“Mmhmm,” He nodded and you closed the trunk.

“Don’t,” You warned him. “I already got the guilt trip from Tony. You’re better than him.”

“Sure I am,” He shrugged and you shook your head. 

“Alright, enough. I gotta go.”

Your farewell was more than that. Steve was persistent, as always. You’d finally managed to get a final goodbye as you were halfway in the car and he blocked you from closing the door. Maybe he didn’t realize how often he was in your way. How often he was at your desk gabbing away as you tried to concentrate on Tony’s chicken scratch or how he always found you on your lunch and kept you from listening to the latest episode of that one podcast. Maybe he didn’t, or maybe he did. Maybe the golden boy was a bit more tarnished than he let on. Or maybe he was as oblivious as he seemed.

You tore your mind back to the road. To the dull lights that shone in your rear view. When had they shown up? You were the only car for the last little stretch, not many ventured into this area later than September. You squinted at the car, the specks of snow obscuring it enough to be just discernible, and looked back to the road ahead. 

You were almost there, hopefully before the snow made the way impassable. Before you were forced to park your car in the forest and trek the rest on foot. You’d done it once before, but without the feet of snow to slow you. You wondered if you’d even make it should it come to that.

You made it though. The headlights disappeared from your mind and when you turned off they passed smoothly. You continued up the winding path, just wide enough for your car. Slow, steady, safe. When you pulled up to the side of the cabin you sighed. You’d have to shovel your way in, and maybe out when all was said and done.

You awkwardly pulled on your snow pants in the cramped interior of your car. You hit your head and elbows several times before you were left out of breath but protected. You had to push your way through the snow and into the garage. The shovel was covered in frozen cobwebs, the dusty and undisturbed space smelled like snow and isolation.

You grabbed the shovel and turned back. The snow continued to fall, adding to your chore. A few paths, to the door, to the car, around the back. It’d tire you out and see you til the morning when the real work began.

-

Your first day was spent dusty and wiping down the tables and walls. The work carried over into the second when at last you managed to sit still for more than a couple minutes. There was wood left in the shed but you were nervous you’d be out in the drifts, almost taller than yourself now, chopping more. You didn’t use much in the summertime when it was reserved for evening fires. Now it was shoved in the stove to heat the front room where you huddled under a blanket and shivered.

The generator powered the 70s style fridge but little else. You were left to flashlights and even an old oil lamp your aunt had bought at a yard sale. It was close to evening, the sky a pale blue threatening to turn pitch black. You sat with a book open in front of you, the words bolder in the reserved quiet of the cabin.

Your cell held the pages down, lifeless and without signal. Your mom couldn’t remind you of your desertion, Tony couldn’t try to guilt you, Nat couldn’t send those weird memes that were frighteningly dark. You were entirely unbothered by the winter owls and the distant snowy creatures of the trees. Christmas Eve had never been so perfect.

The date was in the back of your mind. You’d barely take note of it if it wasn’t on the lock screen. You moved to the sofa and reclined to read another chapter, yawning and curling into a ball. You’d been sleeping there to stay close to the stove and feed it in the early hours to keep it from dying. 

Another half chapter and your eyes were closing against your will. You closed the book around your phone and set it on the floor beside the couch. You pulled the blanket to your chin and clicked off the flashlight. You nestled into the cushions, the fire crackling and coaxing you deeper. You fell asleep, a slumber unusually rapt on the night before Christmas.

You didn’t wake to stoke the fire though, not that you realized in your sleep. Undisturbed, unworried. Until you did wake and not of your own accord.

The old cabin was known for its creaks and cracks. First built in the thirties and renovated in the seventies, it was expected. But this wasn’t a groan of aged wood, or the wind battering the old shingles, it was a footstep, and then another, and another. Soft against the hardwood, the clink of dishes, the sound of living.

Your eyes opened and you saw the stove glowing amber; finely stocked and burning boldly. Your heart seized and you sat up so suddenly you had to keep yourself from toppling to the thin carpet below. Surely a bear wouldn’t be so tactful, so careful.

You turned and looked into the kitchen. You recognized the golden head, the broad shoulders as the intruder stood at the kitchen stove. The smell of pancakes filled the cabin and you shivered as the blanket fell from your shoulders. You stood but he didn’t seem to notice. 

You tiptoed to the fireplace and grabbed a log from the stack. Surely a meagre weapon against him but what the fuck was he doing here? Steve Rogers in your aunt’s cabin, uninvited and quite possibly, unhinged.

You neared the door of the kitchen and he turned back to you. You held the log at the ready to swing. He held a spatula and was entirely unfazed by your fearful approach.

“Did I wake you?” He asked as if all was as it should be.

“What--What the hell are you doing here?” You clung to the log as he stepped closer.

“You can’t spend Christmas alone,” He said coolly. “I couldn’t let you.”

“Better yet, h-how did you even--did you follow me here?” You pointed the log at him as he tried to step closer. “No. Don’t. Steve, this is weird.”

“It’s dangerous here. All the snow. Out here alone. You need someone.” He replied as he turned back and flipped the pancakes. “Go on and grab a plate, these are almost done.”

You flinched. What was wrong with him? This wasn’t the Steve you knew. Well, it was in that he was sweetly making you breakfast but he was also intruding on your privacy. You stepped closer with the log and poked him. 

“Steve, you need to go,” You said. “Now.”

“Now that’s not very grateful, is it?” He ignored the log and went to the cupboard. He pulled out two plates onto the counter and switched off the stove. He piled the flapjacks on them and went to the fridge to find the syrup. “I’ve come here to keep you company, to keep you safe, and I’ve even made you breakfast.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” You kept the wood in front of you as he opened the silver drawer. “You’re really freaking me out.”

“And you want me to go out? Into the storm?” He nodded to the window, white with the whirl of the blizzard just outside. “I barely made it here.”

“Steve,” You whined. “Steve, stop.” You jabbed him harder with the log. He dropped the cutlery on the counter and turned to you slowly. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing is--” He grabbed the log and wrenched it from your grip. “Wrong with me.” He broke it in half easily and dropped it. “What is wrong with you?”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” You insisted as you backed away.

“Will you just sit down and eat your breakfast?”

“I don’t want to. I want you to go.” You said.

“Jesus,” He breathed and wiped his hands on his jeans. “You always do this. You’re such a little tease.”

“What are you talking about?” You felt around as you passed through the doorway backward and he neared slowly.

“I might be born last century but I’m not stupid,” He said. “Your blouses, that smile, the way you chew on your pen when we talk, that fake laugh you put on.”

“Steve, you’re wrong, I never--”

“I just want you to have a Christmas to remember. For us to make our first Christmas special.”

You gulped and peered around. You looked back to him and lunged for the poker leaned against the wall. He grabbed it before you and tossed it away just as he pulled you back. He spun you around and threw you against the sofa. You fell onto it with a painful bounce and tried to push yourself back up. He was on you in and instant.

“Steve!” You yelped. “Steve, please stop!”

You beat on his chest as he wrestled with you. You had to be dreaming. This was some sick nightmare. He was so strong, so decisive. You tried to wake up, hit him hoping you would suddenly jolt up and find the cabin empty, but your eyes were already open and this was just as real as it felt.

He soon had you beneath him, straddled and squirming as he held your hands beside your head. You kicked your legs helplessly and he squeezed your hips between his thick thighs. His blue eyes were dilated and sinister as he pinned you down.

“Shhh, calm down. Please,” He tried to soothe you. “Honey, you can’t open your presents if you’re bad.”

“Honey? Don’t call me honey!” You spat. “Get off of me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” He said. “Please, don’t make me.”

You stilled suddenly. You stared up at him, shocked. Was that a threat? From Steve Rogers? Well, he was on top of you and you felt the twitch in his jeans as he stared down at you.

“You wouldn’t,” You gasped.

“Only if you make me,” His voice was low and grimy. “Don’t make me.”

“Steve,” You pleaded in a whisper. “Please,” You tried to move and barely jostled him. “Let me go.”

He closed his eyes and huffed. He lowered his head and squeezed your wrists. He was angry, frustrated. You were terrified.

“You’ve already let our breakfast go cold,” His words were measured though his tone trembled. “You better start listening, honey, or you’ll ruin the whole day for us.”

“Steve, please…”

“Don’t.”

“Steve.”

“No. Don’t make me.”

“Steve, please, you’re scaring me.”

He let go of your wrists and for a moment, you thought he would get off of you. But he didn’t. Instead, he grabbed the neck of your loose sweatshirt and the tear of fabric was like a crack of lightning. The thin tank top beneath showed your nipples, hard from chill air, and he ripped it just as swiftly.

“No,” You tried to bat his hands away, tried to keep them from your bare chest. 

He pushed past your struggles and ground his pelvis into you. “You have to be good.” He hissed. “Or I’ll be bad.”

“Stop,” You sobbed. “Steve.”

You tried to shove him away but he didn’t relent. He bent over you, sliding back just slightly. He held your chin in his large hand as his other tweaked your nippled painfully. “Shhh,” He pressed his lips to yours and muffled your pleas. 

His hand continued to toy with you, kneading and pinching painfully. He groaned into your mouth and rocked his hips against you. His hand moved lower as his other threatened to break your jaw. You were forced to open your mouth and he quickly devoured you.

He tugged at the elastic of your sweatpants, hooked his fingers under your cotton panties as he pulled them lower. You reached down to keep them at your waist but he yanked them sharply from your grasp. He lifted his pelvis as he edge them down your thighs.  

He withdrew from your lip and held you down with a hand on your chest as his other worked at your pants. You grabbed his wrist, unable to budge him as your pants reached your knees. He got to his knees and you wriggled to get away. 

He caught you and pulled your legs out from beneath him. He leaned them against his torso, your feet at his shoulders. He pressed his thighs around your ass as he reached down between your legs. You squirmed and pushed at his hand. Kicked your tangled legs against him. He grabbed your ankles in one hand and held them to his left shoulder.

He shoved his fingers between your thighs and forced them between your folds. He shuddered and pulled his hand away. Your eyes widened, hopeful again. You tried to move your legs but he kept them firm against him. You looked down as he unbuttoned his fly.

“Steve.” You begged. “Steve, I’ll be good.”

“Too late,” He warned. “All you had to do was listen, honey. But you wouldn’t.”

You wheezed as he unzipped his jeans and you looked away as he revealed the head of his swollen cock. You felt him pull himself out entirely and you closed your eyes. You reached down to shove him away with just your fingertips. He ignored you, if he noticed your pathetic resistance at all.

He moved your legs. Pulled them as wide as they would go still caught in your sweats. Not much but enough. He held your left knee and guided himself along your most tender spot. You tried again to draw away but he had you trapped. He leaned over you, bending your legs just slightly as he rubbed his tip against your pussy.

He pushed inside just a little. You were too tight and too dry. You exclaimed and he pulled out. He sighed and you opened your eyes to watch him lick his fingers. You grunted desperately. “Please, don’t.”

He rubbed his slick fingers along you, wetted them again and forced them inside of you. He pressed his thumb to your clit and your body stiffened. Despite your fear, your body responded. He licked his fingers a third time, to taste, to add a little more, and shoved them even deeper.

He played with you a bit and then pulled his fingers out to spread your juices along his cock. He pressed his tip to you again, this time he slid in easily but not painlessly. He didn’t ease himself in. He pushed himself to his limit and past yours and you cried out.

“Ow! Ow! Steve, it hurts. Get off! You’re hurting me, please!”

“I told you,” He thrust once, sharply. “To be good.” He thrust again and you writhed in agony.

You gritted your teeth as you tried to hold back your yelps. He rocked against you steadily, each time you winced at the strain. His hands went to your thighs as he brought himself as deep as he could go. He leaned over you, your back curved as he curled your body beneath him. 

He planted his hands beside you as he raised himself over you. He lifted his pelvis and slammed it down, each time adding to the reverberations along your spine. He hammered you into the cushions as you whined. He watched your face as he worked against you, his pupils dark and wide. You grabbed his biceps and dug your nails into his skin.

“It really h--” Your breath caught. Surprised by the sudden tickle that crested the pain. “St-op...It--no.”

You covered your face with your hands as the coil wound tighter. You were ashamed and shocked at your response. The suddenness of the rise. The sounds of his cock gliding in and out of you added to the heat. Filled your head lewdly and carried you higher. You grunted as you were drawn thin and then the release washed over you.

He kept a hand beside you and pulled away your hands as you came. You closed your eyes and he carried on. Never wavered, only sped up. Didn’t let up as he chased another hill and you were forced over the edge again. You could feel his eyes on you, could feel his pleasure at stealing yours.

His groans grew louder and mingled with the sound of his body against yours. They sickening symphony reached its climax and you felt his release. Felt the gush within you as his hips jerked wildly. He emptied in himself inside you. Let forth all that he’d repressed. Anger, longing, resent; every ounce of it spilled out. He was left panting and weak, crushing your legs beneath him as he barely kept himself from slumping over you entirely.

He pushed himself back onto his knees. He pulled out and let your legs fall. Your body twisted as your knees hinged over the edge of the couch. You were shaking as you pulled your sweatshirt over your chest and his large hand settled on your ass. He caressed you, as if he cared, as if he had been sweet.

“We should eat,” He said as he drew away. The couch shifted as he stood and you heard his zipper. “Then we can start opening presents.”

[sunrisesimblr]

Submerged In Color : 1.2 Love & Despair Part 1

After Razz left, I spent my days inside painting. Hoping to sell enough to cover the lack of fish from my income. Technically I was on bedrest and shouldn’t have been doing anything, but I needed money.

About 4 weeks after he left, I was checking the mail in the evening to see if his weekly letter had arrived. There was a letter marked from base, but it was from Sgt. Butterscotch. My hands trembled as I started reading the letter.

”To whom it may concern,We are reaching out regarding Private Razz Puff, earlier this week he drowned when his platoons plane was shot from the sky. We are deeply sorry for your loss. “

I stopped reading after that, and caught myself just staring off into the darkness as sorrow overcame my soul. I had wanted better for my child, then what I had. I had wanted a whole family. Yet that was ripped from me, before it even became a reality.

I kept in contact with Strawberry over the phone, during my pregnancy as he was away at the police academy. Sprinkle didn’t seem to fond of me, on the rare occasion we did talk. She always made sure to point out, she thought Strawberry and I were getting to close.

I paid her no mind, and spent the reminder of my pregnancy either painting or staring off into the abyss. I tried not to let myself get to distraught as my due date grew closer.

I went into labor, while trying to pull weeds from the front yard. I headed to the hospital, when the waves of pain subsided enough for me to call the cab.

After only 6 hours I gave birth to my beautiful son Blaze. I had Strawberry’s old crib, their parents had sent it after Razz passed and I gladly had accepted good thing to as I was beyond broke.

Surviving off the occasional sold painting and fish sales was not exactly working out.

Strawberry came by first thing after he got back to town, it was late when he arrived and Blaze was asleep so I let him crash on the couch to meet the baby in the morning.

Strawberry came by first thing after he got back to town, it was late when he arrived and Blaze was asleep so I let him crash on the couch to meet the baby in the morning.

Strawberry came by first thing after he got back to town, it was late when he arrived and Blaze was asleep so I let him crash on the couch to meet the baby in the morning.

The next morning after we gushed over Blaze, we started to talk about how I was surviving and holding up.

”To be honest, I’ve had better days. I barely make enough to keep the bills paid. I’ll be ok tho.“ I tried to smile but it fell from my face quickly.

“Well..” As Strawberry paused, I could see thoughts churning in his eyes. “I could move in, I have some money put back. I’d build my own room and one for Blaze. I’m also pretty handy and could help you renovate this place.”

I wasn’t one hundred percent sure having my dead boyfriends brother move in was the greatest idea especially when I got flutters in my stomach when he looked at me. The truth was tho, I couldn’t turn down any help.

“Sounds like a good idea to me, let’s do it!”

We built a second story to the house, Two beds and a bathroom. Blaze’s room had toys for his upcoming birthday, and we got the front of the house looking a little better in just a few short months. Strawberry was incredibly helpful around the house.

One day, Strawberry had come down to talk to me and I had just come back from having a few glasses of nectar at Cedar’s. Before I even knew what I was saying, I was flirting! ”Is your last name Puff? Cause I want to take a puff.” I giggled a little at my own cheesy corny line. Strawberry’s face blushed, and he smiled real big at me.

“Come get one then.” It very quickly progressed to my bed, and as we jumped under the covers. I thought to myself what is your problem? I knew what I was doing, was down right wrong. I just couldn’t seem to help myself.

[jj-ktae]

Papers, II

Title : Papers Pairing : Park Jinyoung x Fem!Reader Genre : Victorian Era, Romance, Fluff, Angst, smut-ish, Words : 2484 Summary : In the merciless 1850′s, Park Jinyoung finds solace in tiny pieces of paper and their owner. Will be updated every Wednesday at 9 p.m CEST.

Prologue - I -

II,

Jinyoung wouldn’t say he is easy to disconcert. He saw too much to be concerned about trivial issues and his personality took the same way; he cannot be bothered easily.

Still, after recovering from the initial shock, his mind went into chaos. He blamed it on his overly imaginative self even as he tried to understand who the person could be.

She isn’t a student; none of them would wander the school outside of their usual schedule. They call themselves artists but their involvement with their surroundings is close to non-existent.

She can’t be a teacher. There is only one woman teaching and she hasn’t been around lately.

As Jinyoung falls on the slightly ripped couch and breathes the humid ambient air, he comes to the only conclusion he can feel satisfied with.

She has to be one of the persons in charge of keeping the school clean. He had seen a couple of women, all in their forties, walking around with their brooms.

They usually never work during class hours and hug the walls in fear of being noticed covered in dirt.

Jinyoung snorts, it’s not like they are doing the dirty work because the spoiled kids can’t take care of themselves.

So it makes sense. An old lady being bored and finding entertainment in chatting with a young gentleman is not shocking. It’s a good way to go unnoticed.

“I’m hungry,” Jackson cuts his thoughts with a grunt, “all we have are onions.”

“I thought there was bread left…” Jaebeom answers as he starts looking around the minuscule kitchen. He comes back with an old piece of half mouldy bread and tilts his head.

He hates that he even has to fill his stomach.

Money is something that comes in very little among for them. They usually take turns helping around in a small factory nearby but Jackson had to punch one the guy there.

It seems he didn’t like being called the filthy and useless orphan.

“There’s only the mine left.” Jinyoung concludes, “I will go tomorrow and ask if they have something for us. Next time keep your anger to yourself, Jackson.”

He sounds like he is scolding him but he is boiling inside. Jinyoung would have done way worse than a punch but he knows better than to let himself starve. There is only one way to survive and it doesn’t involve fighting for your own principles.

Sadly.

Jackson doesn’t say more but still, he joins Jaebeom. “Let’s just make a soup with the onions.” Jinyoung hears him cough loudly for a good minute before leaning against the couch.

He cannot stand the situation anymore.

He shouldn’t be worried about surviving; he should enjoy youth and have minor problems. He wants to worry about his future for a good reason, he wants to wake up without grimacing at how his stomach hurts.

His childhood was one of an orphan. It started with death and kept being surrounded by it. The orphanage wasn’t only a place of regular beating and fighting, it was also where they took the kids to work.

It was common until recently. Children would work wherever it was needed. The orphanages were the easiest place to find young people without family to put them to work.

From six to thirteen he, Jaebeom and Jackson wandered the coal mines, covered in dust and breathing the disgusting air. Several acts were made, but these applied to the kids with family who could report to the police.

It certainly didn’t apply to orphans whose only guardians were greedy people.

It’s a mystery how they survived, for most the other kids developed diseases or even died while working.

Jinyoung remembers how Jackson would try to protect them by working the most. He would be doing the job of three kids so that Jinyoung and Jaebeom would rest while no one was working. Back then he was already the most robust and lively of them three.

Hearing him cough so loudly puts him in such a state of rage.

There is nothing he can do about it; Jackson is stubborn and keeps on practicing swordsmanship while working an insane number of hours to bring money.

He barely lets them go in his place, explaining they have better things to do, almost begging them to make it with their intelligence and rely on his strength to take them out of here.

Guilt often adds to the number of things Jinyoung worries about.

So he fights, even though literature is annoying, even though he wants to run away and hide somewhere safe.

Jaebeom puts a worn-out bowl of soup in front of him and again, he wants to cry.

--

The amphitheatre is huge, Jinyoung thinks. They barely ever enter this room as most of their class are held in smaller rooms. The art department takes most of the space since many more students attend their classes.

Painting seems to be much more coveted.

He sits in silence, his shabby-looking bag now on the floor. He never uses it, mostly because it looks like a rag, but also because he hates weighing himself down with useless things. Today though, he has to go and find them a new place to earn money and he can’t risk his notebook falling into coal.

The teacher enters and starts explaining the importance of commas in sentences.

Jinyoung wants to sleep already.

It lasts for what seems like an eternity and Jinyoung ends up trying to find more inspiration. He takes the notes you had left behind in hope it would help and surprisingly it does. He writes five pages of his story. It evolved from the encounter of two people hidden behind pieces of paper to interrogations about the society and what it holds. He kept the identities secret, just like they are in reality.

Jaebeom has to nudge him when the class ends, so he absent-mindedly throws his notebook in the bag and walks away. He should hurry before the mine’s chief leaves.

He apprehends going there but he has no choice. He knows none of them want to go back there but it is the easiest way to get money without dealing with disrespectful people. The mine is like hell but everyone is the same under the ground.

It doesn’t take long to convince the chief. He is glad to find more people willing to risk their lives as apparently, he lost a few recently. The wage isn't big as expected, but it’s enough to eat more than rotten onions and mouldy bread.

“Why do you want to take turns? I’ve got kids working all day here.” The chief doesn’t know how painful these words are.

“We are students, sir.” Is all he answers; he certainly doesn’t want to explain how none of them are going to ruin their lives here daily.

The man is bewildered but he smiles, his dirty teeth appearing. “Why do you want to work here if you have money-”

“We don’t. We are orphans.” Jinyoung cuts through gritted teeth.

The chief ends up laughing so loud that Jinyoung wants to beat him up.

“I see...we can’t have you leech off society, right? Do as you please, I want one of you here every day. Money is once a week.”

Jinyoung takes a deep breath before nodding.

“Starting tomorrow, 8 p.m. until 8 a.m.” is what seals the deal. Jinyoung is absolutely not pleased as he leaves the place.

He is about to go back home when he feels his bag lighter than it is supposed to be.

When he opens it and notices the notebook missing, he runs back into the mine at full speed.

--

When you hear about the classroom not being used anymore your first reaction is to be relieved. You don’t know why but something seemed abnormal with this gentleman and his questions. You have no idea if he saw your answer but there is no need for you to worry about it anymore.

Life is about to go back to normal and you don’t know if it is for the best or not.

Vivienne has been teasing you about how you had been anticipating this exchange and you had brushed her off, explaining that there is nothing to be excited about.

This could cost more than it could bring.

You enter the numerous rooms one after the others, not without secretly checking under the tables.

It makes you wonder.

What would have been his answer?

Maybe he would have agreed; the rich love being flattered, anyways. He would have written about how true what you answered was, about how the wealthy are the cornerstones of the society and how everyone should be thankful for their hard work.

So yes, it’s probably for the best.

“They told me the main amphitheatre would be used for more classes now. The one where you have been sticking the notes is going to be renovated.” Vivienne announces from behind you.

“I know…” you utter.

So much for being relieved.

You open the door of the amphitheatre and start from the tables. You hate this room; it is big and it means more work for you but today is payday and you promised you would buy a cake for Vivienne’s birthday even though she told you to keep your money.

“Do they not teach them how to use a bin?” The latter is already complaining, making you smile in the middle of your work.

The sun is rapidly falling, painting the room with shades of pink and purple so you work faster. You don’t want to go back home at ungodly hours again.

Yesterday you spent an hour cleaning the stains of paint on the floor and even your skin itches from the amount of alcohol you used.

You’re sweeping between the tables when you find a notebook.

Vivienne is cleaning the huge board when you pick it up, puzzled. You look around before kneeling to grab it.

The handwriting is messy but it looks like it belongs to a student. There are notes, tiny drawings and lost sentences. Pieces of paper fall from between two pages. You pick one and your eyes go wide when you find your own handwriting.

These are the notes you left to the young gentleman.

“Sir, if you’re looking for the room being renovated, it is in the other part of the building.” Vivienne speaks loudly, making you look up from your spot between the tables.

You turn around, surprised to see a guy standing. He is breathless, his face and clothes are covered in coal and he is way too sweaty.

“Sir, I can take you-”

“I’m not here to renovate this goddamn place.” The answer startles the two of you but when you find him looking at you before approaching, you don’t need more explanations.

You get up, the notebook in your hands and the pieces of paper back on the floor.

He stops before you, his eyes so deep it makes you take a couple of steps back.

Jinyoung looks down and finds your answers, forgotten between dust. He sighs and leans to pick them up before extending his hand.

“I forgot my notebook.”

You blink, mouth opened. Didn’t he say he is a student? Why would a student be covered in coal and be this dishevelled?

“...you are...a student?” Vivienne gasps, realizing she had been speaking this way to someone who isn’t part of the school personnel. “I’m sorry sir.” she lets the dirty sponge fall back into her bucket before hurrying toward you. “We shall leave.” her eyes find the floor instantly.

Eye-contact with a wealthy person is something no sane - and poor - person should do.

She grabs your arm to take you out but Jinyoung is quick to grab your arm.

You’re done for. You are going to get fired, beaten, criticized by the whole neighbourhood for doing such a rude thing.

Jinyoung sees it, the way fear appears on your face, the way you wish the ground would swallow you. Even covered in coal, dirty and smelling like sweat and humidity, you still think he belongs to a class that you should bow to and beg for mercy.

Anger takes him, makes him forget about how absurd the situation is, blurs his vision, covers everything from the ground to your devastating beauty.

He snorts and tilts his head. “So, care to tell me what you think about the rich again?”

How did he even know it was you?

Vivienne freezes, a hand going to her mouth but before she can beg you again to leave, you stop her.

“Wait for me outside. You have nothing to do with this so leave.” You look at her with a tender smile, one she recognizes as resignation toward your fate.

“I will...wait for you.” She whispers, not daring enough to look at a fuming Jinyoung.

Once she is gone you hand the notebook to Jinyoung before freeing yourself from his grip.

“I am sorry for what I did, sir. I didn’t wish to look into your belongings nor did I think before answering the notes I found. I will leave and never find myself before you ever again so I beg you to forget about my friend who isn’t involved in such idiocy.” It is your only option. You will endure everything before leaving and pray for this incident not to spread in any way.

You know how things go when someone makes a mistake. No mistake is allowed for people like you.

Jinyoung grabs his notebook before shaking his head.

“You didn’t answer.” is all he says.

You want to cry when you bow to recite the praises.

“As I already answered, the rich are the essence of-”

“Is that what you really think? Even covered in dirt, even when you have to kneel every day, beg for forgiveness, fight for food and act like you are invisible?” Jinyoung is smiling when you get back up. “You don’t want them to disappear? You don’t want the rich to pay for the way they treat the poor? YOU DON’T HATE THEM?” He ends up yelling when he finds himself unable to control his feelings.

“No, sir.”

Jinyoung laughs, “Well, I do.” he says before turning around. His knuckles are turning white from how tight he is gripping the notebook.

It takes a while for you to process the words but when you fully grasp what he just said, you speak again.

“Why?”

Jinyoung stops. He doesn’t turn around, but you guess he is still angered by the situation.

“Because of how frightened you are. Because we must beg for forgiveness even when we did nothing wrong. Because no matter how I torture myself, I will never understand how inequitable this bloody society is. Nonetheless, you risk nothing with the filthy me, young lady.”

And he leaves.

-

[1phoenixfeather]

Cursed... #3

Hello, had to change a few details to make this work with the change. But I think I made it work. It was fun and I have a possible continuation, just have to work through details. Give me time, might come out with something else meanwhile I work on cursed...

Still kind of tired after an attempt to an all nighter, and remembered why I shouldn’t stay up all night. But I do my best.

#1, #2

enjoy! Vigilante gasped and their breathing hitched, every shard of glass that was removed hurt like hell. But Vigilante had to remove them and wouldn’t ask for any help. That was one shirt ruined.

Vigilante ignored the shards of glass at the side of the tray wit alcohol and glasses. The taste of whiskye was sour and Vigilante shook violently, they spilled the drink in their lap. Then throwing the glass in the wall, hearing the crash, and glass splitting. They had known their sword was cursed, what had changed in a few hundred years. “Nothing…”

The door opened a bit, Hero looked in and Character was with them. “Vigilante,” Hero hawked, unsure of what to do now.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t come here.” Vigilante took a good look and sighed, knew the blood colored to the sofa, and hurt when they leaned back. Vigilante gestured them to come in, rose up, and turned around. “I’m fine,” Vigilante said and none of them believed them. “Did you tell them?” 

Vigilante heard a metallic sound, Hero murmured low. “There was no choice really… What happened?” Hero came to them and took a good look at their back. 

“It will heal.” Vigilante just said and scoffed to Heros stupid worry.

Hero touch one of the scars and Vigilante gasped. “This will be infected before that, I have to take care of this.” 

Vigilante tensed, “I have survived worse.” Vigilante gently pushed Hero away and showed their red and puffy eyes. Hero tackled them down and if it didn’t hurt so much they would have fought Hero. 

“I know, but if you wasn’t immortal your pride would have gotten you killed!” Hero turned to Character who didn’t know what to do, “get the medkit from their bathroom, it’s just right down the hallway.” They took hero’s order and went to look, meanwhile, Hero held on to Vigilante. Gently remove the shirt and reveal the wounds.

They were quiet as Hero took care of Vigilante’s wounds and they made sure not to make a sound. Cleaned and a few needed stitches, but Vigilante wouldn’t make a sound or give away to pain.

“That’s better,” Hero said content and rose up. Vigilante groaned and took support up, “is that your sword? And please tell us what happened.” Hero asked and must have understood, Vigilante took a look at it before looking up on the roof.

Vigilante nodded in despair, “my father made it and gave it to me. But he was also the one who made sure it was cursed, it’s the easier way to disarm me.” Then turned to see the sword on the table again, “I can’t wield that sword anymore.”

“Do you mean magic is real? Why did you want to touch it then?” Character asked unsurely and Vigilante nodded.

Their fight against magic had been unjustified and none the least fruitless. “At least it was, as far as I know. I have been to every so-called ‘magic show’, your illusions aren’t close to real magic.” Vigilante cursed, “as I saw it I could feel hope… I needed to… Did I break anything?”

Character nodded and Vigilante blushed out of embarrassment, “don’t worry about it.”

Hero thought, “I didn’t even consider magic to be real, Vigilante. Illusions are all we know.”

Character held the sword up high just as Vigilante used to and did with other none cursed swords. “Was it you they found trapped in a room?” Vigilante nodded, took their keys and a flashlight. As they walked out to the stone door, “your sword must have been right up there.”

Vigilante took a closer look, that was right. The lines and how someone forced it out of its prison. “I see… Must have been taken when I was freed, I couldn’t see so much by then.” Character analyzed the text first, “do you know what it means?”

“I can translate, can you tell me?” Character said and followed the carved lines, “you where a knight, I assume, you must have learned Latin.” 

Vigilante nodded again, the only thing missing was that they took a closer look at Vigilante themselves. “I can speak, understand it to some point. Read, not so much, haven’t done it since back then.” 

Character didn’t say so much about it and Vigilante was surprised by Character. Had expected them to be different. They spoke the words, a little clumsy maybe but good enough. “‘A tomb for the cursed, an eternal prison’. Property of the catholic church.”

Vigilante repeated the first message, a warning not to open. “Well, I’m glad people don’t take a curse serious nowadays or can Latin.” Otherwise, Vigilante might still be inside. “Come to think about it, I think I spoke some Latin to those who found me.”

Vigilante opened the door and without any problem the heaved it. “But it’s pitch-black…”

“I know,” Vigilante gave them the flashlight. “If you dare take a look. Take these too, I have extra. Just in case…” Character slowly took a step and then one more with, first in total darkness. Then the light came on and the walls in stone where uneven, the floor, also uneven, was dirty and mostly covered with rugs.

“Is it renovated?” Character asked, Hero was behind Vigilante. Some part of them was afraid Hero would betray them.

“Just so I could put in a kitchen, get water and… See it as my mancave, for when I need to think without distraction.” Vigilante gave Hero a look if only to keep an eye on them. But it wasn’t needed at all, “I could need a drink.” 

Vigilante throw Hero the key, “don’t leave it in the door.” Hero just scoffed as an answer.

Vigilante held the drink up and drunk everything up at once. Then they took a newer sword and not as fragile. Swinging it with precision and control they had been taught at an early age. But their back hurt only by the movement. “Can I see your swords?!” Character asked loud and came in with Hero behind. 

Vigilante took their father’s sword, “this was proof of my father’s heroism and new nobility. From a king, I really can’t remember the name on.”

“You can’t?” Hero said, “to have lived so long… Shouldn’t you be more considerate of your past?”

Vigilante laughed, “it was one tyrant after another. The other had a war with another country, the next made peace and started a war with magic… And so on. Besides, I don’t have a grudge with any king, it’s because of the church this was build I can only imagine.” They then started to swing a swing with a deadly angle, which could separate someone’s head from the body.

Hero winched, “be more careful, Vigilante. I don’t want to stitch you up again.” Vigilante sat down.

“What was your family like?” Character asked looking at the golden sword.

Vigilante dropped the sword, it scrambled loud on the floor. “My family… They were my guidelines, tyrants who made rules of how to keep nobility. My mother was the hardest on these rules, needed me and my sister to be perfect… That’s why she married the third prince, the prince loved her. My father did what he thought was right, to my mother’s disappointment… I did everything to keep it that way.”

Vigilante clinched their fist so it turned white. But ignored Hero and Characters surprised face. Vigilante looked at the punch marks on the wall, every one of them visible, “pressure…”

Hero gently touched vigilante’s shoulder, “you’re angry. I get it, I think I know what can make you on better mood…”

Hero took the sword from the floor and gave it to Vigilante, “you always say no.” Vigilante smirked and easily made dangerous tricks with the sword, “I would fight you, but now… You could train me.”

Vigilante gave the sword to Hero and they whimpered at the weight, “try to lift it.” Vigilante asked and Hero could barely make it with two hands. Vigilante thought of Hero as strong, “it’s not that heavy.” 

Hero glared at them, “because you’re stronger than me.” But Hero smiled suddenly. “Then you have to tell me exactly what happened when they took you.” Vigilante thought a little bit and could hear Character shift in their steps.

“Right… Character, would you care to join us?” Vigilante reaches the sword to them with an elegant movement and their face shines up. Of course, Character can’t handle the weight of the sword either. 

“It’s an honor.” Character said and fell down on knees, Hero laughed and Vigilante just left the room. Somehow amused.

Well in Vigilante’s training room they tried to remember where they had started with their own father. “I expect you to use both your hands, think of the sword as a part of your arm, and aim at your target.”

Vigilante pointed to the dummies, Hero wouldn’t let them demonstrate. 

With expecting an answer Vigilante made sure both were there, on a dummy they did some easy and some hard maneuvers. “I was partly taken down a move I memorized,” then Vigilante could feel their body protest and what wouldn’t they do to do something. “Luckily I had some protection…” 

Both Hero and Character were quiet and they started a hard training Vigilante had started at an early age. “Now it’s your turn.” Hero swallowed but took a step forward to begin their training. It started slow and every movement made them sweat. Vigilante didn’t remember it to be that hard, “start to tell us.” Hero ground out between their teeth.

Vigilante overviewed their word and small progress, “a lot happened after I was cursed and I got away with wounds I’m confident would have killed me. Then I got the plague…”

“WHAT…?!” Character exclaimed and the sword fell with a clang.

“Concentrate, you can ask questions afterward.” Vigilante ordered, “I was sick for weeks and the pain… I can’t even explain it, I thought I was going to die. Others did too. But I didn’t and people’s whispering and hidden fear were clear to me. Meanwhile, everybody died I survived and just had a cold to trace back to it. Hero, breath.”

Hero had collapsed on the floor and had a hard time breathing, but with their shaking arms, they rose up and was calmer now. 

“Good, keep cool, and remain focused.” Vigilante stated and had their eyes on them, “all I could think of was to find the mage and get rid of this pesky curse. So ready I could be I sneaked out… I got jumped by another knight, they asked why I was alive. I didn’t give an answer and their fear made me fight them. As soon as I touched my sword… The light blinded us both and got others to come too.”

Hero’s grip was hard and their hands shifted colour, Vigilante laid a hand on their shoulders to calm their anger. “Don’t be angry and swing a sword, that’s how you make mistakes. More precisely that’s how I got cursed.”

“Really? What did you do?” Hero asked and Character had an amazing concentration on the training. More then Hero was.

Vigilante sighed and wasn’t proud of what they had done. “A friend… A knight was killed because of magic, I went rampage. Tracing the witch to a peaceful village where they hid, when they didn’t show themselves I started to kill with no control. When the witch came the village was dead they saw the slaughter… They could fall down and cry, but they started chant something. I wanted to run… People didn’t let me leave, the witch cursed me and it was painful. I was thrown down a cliff and left there.”

Hero turned with the sword up high, “you kind of deserved it then?” Vigilante nodded and turned Hero around towards the dummy.

“Kind of… Keep training, before you know it there’s a villain we need to catch.” Vigilante patted their back, “well, surrounded and confused I took support against a wall. My father shows up, pick up my sword, and put it to my throat. I begged for help, but none was there.” Vigilante took a sharp sword and buried it into a third and free dummy, cursed when pain pierced “together they took me to the church… I begged and begged and inside I fought for hours, days. Maybe even weeks, then all I saw was those people. Mythical creatures such as wyverns, griffins, or… Then I realized I can’t live in the past or believe myths like that.”

Do you like what you read send me an ask or a message. I would love to hear from you.

[aliceslantern]

Grow, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 3

Suddenly human and abandoned in the Keyblade Graveyard, Demyx struggles to survive and come to terms with what his life is. Only by chance is he saved from exposure, and brought to Radiant Garden to recover. Unsure of who he is and where to even begin, Demyx finds a kindred spirit in Ienzo, and before long finds perhaps he isn't the only one lost in this new life. But how can they move forward with so much holding them back?

Roughly canonverse, Zemyx, hurt/comfort. Started for Zemyx day (9/6). Updates Wednesdays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Newly recovered, Demyx tries to figure out what he wants from this life.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Demyx was getting used to being prodded by Even. He checked on him at least once a day. The more time passed, the more often Demyx looked forward to it, because at least he was someone to talk to. As long as he was tethered, he couldn’t really go anywhere by himself.

“Admittedly I know little about ophthalmology,” Even said, staring deep into his eyes with the same penlight. “These should help. I had Ansem print them for me.” He handed Demyx a pair of glasses.

“...Ansem?”

“Oh--right. I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” His lip curled. “The former king of Radiant Garden. This is his castle.” His tone was bitter.

Demyx only knew a little about the story of the apprentices from his time in the Organization, and that he suspected was embellished. “So is he, like, your boss?”

“No,” Even said shortly. “He was our mentor--in the past, anyway. Now we work together.”

“With Kairi.”

“Yes. Try those, will you? I have to get back down there soon.”

Demyx put them on. After days of blurriness, to have clarity back was odd. “Whoa. HD.”

“I had to hazard a guess at the strength.”

“No, they’re fine.” He blinked.

“Well, that just means the poor vision has nothing to do with what you went through.” He shook his head. “One less thing to worry about.”

“You must be busy.”

“Idle hands make the devil’s work,” Even said absently. Then, “well… I suppose busy hands do too.”

“What do you guys do down there?” He swung his legs back and forth a little.

“You know of the princesses of heart, yes? Kairi’s one of them. We’re hoping given her connection to Sora, and the special properties of a heart of light, we might be able to find answers as to where that boy is. If he is.” A pause, then, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, it’s not like you understand.”

Demyx shrugged, trying to hide how he was stung.

“Regardless, it is a concrete goal to work towards… and for that I’m thankful.”

He turned away. With his newly sharpened vision, Demyx could see more acutely the lines around his eyes, the gray mixed into his blond hair. He looked exhausted. “Thanks, Ev,” he said. “Do you know how much longer I’m gonna need this?” Gesturing to the port in his hand.

“Even,” he corrected, then sighed. “I suppose you have a point… your last labs were the best yet. If you’re up and about you can take care of yourself.”

“Yeah. Plus I’m kind of going insane sitting here for so long.” He offered a hesitant smile.

Even considered. He went over to the sink, washed his hands, put on gloves, and grabbed some gauze. “I’m afraid this may hurt,” he said.

Demyx had thought it was just a needle, but it was more of a thin tube inside of his vein due to how long they’d thought he’d have it. Removing it did hurt a lot, and he swore out loud. But once it was gone… despite his throbbing hand… he felt so much lighter. “Can I walk around?” he asked. “Can I do stuff?”

“So long as you are careful. ”

“Thank you!” He leapt to his feet and pulled Even into a hug; he jerked as though he’d been shocked.

“Please do not touch me,” he hissed in a completely different tone. There was something dark and closed off in his eyes, more than his typical sharpness.

“I’m sorry--I’m just so glad.”

“Yes. Quite. Well.” He left without so much of a backwards glance.

Demyx bit his lip. He hadn’t meant anything by it. It was just a hug, right? He’d apologize again later when Even checked on him.

It was time to get out of this room. Apparently this place served as a sort of infirmary for the castle, though nobody else had had to come down here. It had its own bathroom, so Demyx hadn’t even needed to cross its threshold. Leaving felt odd, but it wasn’t like he was in prison.

The hallways down here were dark, without windows, sconces providing the only light. The carpeting was thick, heavy, and needed a good clean; it squished uncomfortably under his slippers. He wandered for a while, mentally taking stock every now and again so he would be able to find his way back. The layout was weird, putting it lightly, and he could see places where the castle had been renovated, or added on-to, architecture and design clashing oddly. Apparently the apprentices had all lived here in the heyday--they must live here now. It wasn’t like Demyx was a stranger to living in castles, but this one felt so much more real and old than the one in the World that Never Was. He ran his fingers along the crown moulding, touched the lamps when he saw them. This place must’ve once been nice, but it was dirty, and in a state of relative disrepair.

Would this be his home now?

The thought was jarring, and he stopped in his tracks. Pushed the glasses up his nose. The better he physically got, the more apparent it was that he had nowhere to go and nobody. No friends, no family. Hadn’t Lea and Isa just extended that invitation to be nice? Did they really mean what they said?

A weepiness came over him, and he bit it back. He felt like he’d been buffering for so long, going here nor there in his life? What did he want? Who was he really? The more he thought about it, the less Demyx felt like the self he’d been as little as two weeks ago. Was he changing? Becoming “different”?

All these thoughts were giving him anxiety.

He wandered for a little while longer, coming across a section that seemed a bit cleaner than the others. There was wood flooring here, not carpeting, and Demyx could see some old windows in the walls. A few swatches of paint were here and there. He saw a few doors here and there and tried one on impulse; it was open. He could just barely see bedroom furniture, a small rose bush in a pot by a window--

“What are you doing snooping around?”

The voice startled him; he yelped and clutched at his chest, the new glasses falling to the floor. Demyx scrambled to pick them up. Slowly, he turned and saw Dilan, Xaldin’s Somebody, in a blue uniform. Frowning. “I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “I didn’t know… I’m guessing this is your room, then?”

“...Quite,” he said gruffly. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go barging into spaces you haven’t been invited to.”

“Of course. Yeah.”

There was a pause. His hair was neater than Xaldin’s, Demyx realized, and was his skin a bit darker.

“I didn’t know you guys lived here,” Demyx continued. “I was just… taking a look around.”

“You’re up on your feet, then?”

“Well. Obviously.” He cleared his throat a little. “I haven’t been able to leave that room for like a week.” A wry laugh.

“Ienzo told me what happened.” Dilan shook his head. “What a cruel thing to do.”

Demyx shrugged. He and Xaldin hadn’t had the best rapport in the Organization days, and he didn’t know what to say.

“You’re well, though?” he asked.

“...Getting there. I think.” He rubbed at his sore arm.

“Do you… know what you’re to do next?”

“No,” he admitted slowly. “It’s been… hard.”

“Of that I am well aware.” He touched his chest.

“So… I’m gonna go,” Demyx said. “I won’t, uh, mess with your stuff.”

“Much appreciated.”

Demyx set off in the opposite direction. He was getting hungry now, his appetite only growing in the passing days. Usually someone brought along a meal to him, so he headed back. He found a sandwich and an apple on a plate on his bedside, and once this lunch was done with, he just… sat. Waiting. After a few minutes of this, he decided to take out Arpeggio to try and get his mind off of things. His fingers were a bit shaky, but within about fifteen minutes he was able to play with the same fluidity as before.

But it was… harder. Not physically. But as he picked through old compositions he felt the emptiness composed by his Nobody self, the sadness, the loneliness. At the same time, they felt like they’d been created by a stranger, despite the fact that he remembered writing them. A strange dissonance. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted, a heart to truly feel music with?

What did Demyx feel?

He tried to parse it out. Empty, again? Tired, sad? Overwhelmed?

Having a heart was supposed to be easy.

He let Arpeggio fade and curled up. A cool breeze came in through the cracked window. He stared out at the little bit of town he could see, feeling on the verge, the breath of remembering--

“I thought I heard you playing. How do you feel?”

Demyx’s head snapped up. He saw not Even, but Ienzo, in that white-coat getup. He was carrying a small bundle. “Um, alright,” he said, blinking yet more tears out of his eyes. “Where’s Even?”

“He and Ansem are trying to solve a problem with one of our simulations.” He cocked his head a little. “I do know enough about medicine.”

“I know, I just…” He swallowed, and considered telling Ienzo. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“I brought you some more clothes, too. And this.” He held up a gummiphone. “You might find a use for it--if you don’t break this one.”

Demyx took it from him. “Thanks,” he said. “You didn’t have to--”

“The castle is large. It makes it easier to keep in touch if we all have one--heaven forbid something happen to you.” His tone was dismissive.

Ienzo came over to him, went through the familiar motions of taking his vitals. He listened to Demyx’s heart. It was strange to be so close to him, and a little uncomfortable in a way Demyx couldn’t define. His eyes were a bit greener than Demyx remembered, and his eyebrows furrowed together just slightly. Demyx could hear him breathe. “Your heart rate’s a little high,” he said. “Are you nervous?”

He cleared his throat. “No. Ah. Just a little anxious, I guess.” He felt the blood rush to his face, trying to place that feeling.

“Why?”

“I just don’t know what to do now,” Demyx admitted.

Ienzo took the stethoscope out of his ears. “That is the question, isn’t it,” he said slowly. “After so long of having little to no choice, suddenly the world is open in front of us. Like having the rug yanked from under you.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It really is. But don’t you… have your work, and stuff?”

Ienzo set the object aside. “I do,” he said. His eyes flicked up in thought. “But at the same time… I was with the Organization for considerably longer than you. Work… well, it’s something concrete to work towards.”

“Even said the same thing.”

His expression darkened a little. “We all seek to be better people. To… make up for the hell we’ve wrought. Working with the guardians of light… providing them with whatever they need to the best of our abilities... is the least we can do.”

Demyx picked at the lint on his pants. “I… thought about it, in the desert,” he admitted. In his newly-sharpened peripheral he saw Ienzo’s head snap up, his eyes widening. “If this wasn’t karma.”

Slowly, he nodded.

“But… you know…” He forced a laugh. “I’m here , right? If whatever forces exist in this world wanted me gone… I would be toast. Same for you. And Even and them. We literally came back from the dead.”

“A second chance,” Ienzo murmured. “Quite.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. “But that doesn’t help tell me what to do. Or how to feel about any of it.” The blood rushed to his face. “And I’m sure you’re too busy to listen to this.”

“No,” Ienzo said. He sat down next to Demyx on the bed. He was shorter than Demyx remembered. More weird reformation? “This is the first bearable conversation I’ve had in a while.”

He snorted. “Really?”

Ienzo sighed heavily. “A lot happened that I don’t particularly care to get into at the moment. But things between us are… a bit tense.”

“...Oh.” Ienzo’s smile was small and sad. Demyx couldn’t actually remember if he’d ever seen him do it, and before he could stop himself he said, “you have a nice smile. I’ve never seen it.”

The blood rushed to Ienzo’s face.

“I’m sorry, was that weird to say?”

“No, ah.” He pulled at his collar a little. “No.” He knotted his hands in his lap. “I know in the past our rapport has been… rocky.”

Demyx bit his lip and thought back. For a long while, he and Zexion had both been part of the reconnaissance team, but whenever they’d been paired together, it hadn’t exactly ended well. Their personalities clashed like oil and water; Demyx’s carefree attitude and low ambition combined with Zexion’s perfectionism always ended in fights. “You could say that again.”

He chuckled a little; strangely, it had no sound. “Perhaps it would do to start over,” he said. He offered his hand. “I’m Ienzo.”

“Demyx. Nice to meet you.”

He pretended not to notice the tingle he felt when they shook.

[real-jaune-isms]

RWBY Volume 7 Chapter 10 Rundown

Another great and satisfying episode, yet it leaves us with a better cliffhanger than even the one going into this last winter hiatus. I have to commend them for that, even if I hate how badly I couldn’t wait for the next episode. But while so many of the scenes were really good, it almost feels too good to be true. The heat going off and Watts being as in control as he was could be the worst things get this volume, but I can’t help but anticipate the moment it goes from bad to worse. Spoilers for next week, that moment is coming soon.

Fortunately for my recurring annoyance at their bad habit of doing this, the episode does not start in the aftermath of this Grimm attack like they had for the one following Penny being framed and the riots after Jacques laid everybody off. Instead we open to Mantle still in turmoil and distress. Grimm are running and flying everywhere, Atlesian soldiers are killing a few but still taking casualties, and people are running for their lives in mass, one group barely avoiding getting trampled by a stampede of Mega Goliaths, or Megoliaths for short. We briefly see the Happy Huntresses doing a good job of defending civilians before a Sabyr runs by them. Another Sabyr tries to attack a Faunus mother and son before getting literally cat-called by Nora who jumps from the top of a building to bash it to dust. Marrow and Weiss are with her, and get back to work as they see another wave of the vicious cats running in. Speaking of cats, Blake is being chased by a Megoliath and 3 Ursai, and only dodges the smaller beasts by using Dust based clones to take them down or put them in the path of getting trampled by the larger pachyderm. The Megoliath can’t handle corners as well as she can and crashes into the front of a building in trying to keep following her. The beast is closing in, but she dodges to the right and it instead runs right into a rooted Elm who stops it dead in its tracks and even lifts it into the air by its tusks. Yang rushes in and plants her sticky bombs on the thing’s belly before Elm throws it a few dozen feet into the air where Yang blows it up. The three are winded but still urge civilians to get to the nearest shelter, knowing full well that even if those shelters are going to fill up fast there’s not much safe alternative right now. Qrow and Clover are taking Teryx out from the rooftops before getting unheard new orders and leaping away. Back to the first group of heroes, Weiss shows off a little and impales a Sabyr that had leaped over Marrow’s head on her Knight’s sword. She then looks at him from behind the blade and laughs that he had gotten scared by that and is holding his tail for safety. Ruby had done the same peeking around the edge of something to laugh 4 episodes ago. Guess some of her partner’s habits are rubbing off on the Ice Queen~ The civilians they’re protecting are backed against the border wall as alarm lights are still turning on all around them, making for a very panic inducing environment. They beg Nora to let them be taken to Atlas where it’s safe, saying they won’t survive here and decrying Ironwood for not doing anything to help. Nora tries to quell the outrage, promising they will be taken to safety, just give the huntsmen and huntresses a little more time.

But they soon get something better than “a little more time”, screens all over Mantle lighting up with a broadcast from Robyn Hill and General Ironwood who are hand in hand to prove there will be no lies. Such a useful Semblance Robyn has~ Ironwood is telling everyone about Salem right here and now, though he leaves out the part about her being Ozpin’s immortal evil ex and just says she’s the ancient and malicious force behind the attacks on Beacon and Haven. We see shots of our other heroes killing Grimm in Mantle, like Ruby with Harriet, and Ren and Jaune with Vine, as they realize Ironwood is coming clean. Even the villains are shown hearing what he has to say, Cinder and Neo watching the broadcast on the latter’s Scroll while Watts and Tyrian hide out in an alleyway. Speaking of those two bad boys, Ironwood publicly outs them as being responsible for all the recent hardship and freezing in Mantle and says that the panic and distrust they’ve sewn is exactly what Salem wants. It’s a pretty rousing speech, especially when he says that the people have what it takes to overcome this threat if they all work together. A pack of Sabyrs had been charging up the street to attack the people Ren and Jaune were protecting, but Vine uses his aura arms to spread them apart and press them against the buildings on either side so there is a clear path down the middle. As the General starts to inspire people, Jaune uses all his training and experience... from preschool crosswalk duty. It does help here though, since everyone gets into a single file line and keeps track of one another through a hand on the shoulder so they all stay close together while Jaune boosts Ren’s Semblance to mask the entire group from the Grimm pack they’re walking right through the middle of. He even has a few of the preschool kids there to “show’em how it’s done~”. The whole thing has a bit of a biblical Exodus vibe if I may be honest, and it’s kinda satisfying to see Jaune has skills and strengths no one saw coming from taking the work others thought was beneath them. Ironwood also admits why he wasn’t doing much to help Mantle, that being that he was focused on the Amity Tower that he says is now complete and ready to launch. The renovation of the Amity Coliseum is not news to Watts, but he didn’t know it was to become a communications tower and he pulls up the schematics in disbelief that James was working on such a big project without him noticing. Ironwood declares that he is taking all security ships away from Amity, and sending a dozen more down with them, to evacuate everyone in Mantle up to the safety of Atlas. Robyn publicly endorses and fully supports the plan and says now is the time to come together for peace, and the once terrified crowds cheer.

Someone who is NOT cheering is Tyrian, who punches a wall hard enough to leave cracks out of anger and frustration. All their work causing death and chaos, and the people are more united than ever. Peace like that is sickening to him. But Watts quells his rage for the moment, he’s still got a scheme in mind. He just needs Tyrian to cause a bit more trouble and keep the public’s eye on Mantle while he pays a visit to Ironwood’s pet project. Tyrian raises the valid point that this is already about as chaotic as you can get, but Watts plays to his ego and says if anyone can accomplish the task it’s a master like him. Robyn’s still on screen saying that the people still in shelters should stay put and transports will come to them, and that she will personally be coming to help in Sector 17. And that’s enough to inspire the psychopathic scorpion’s next move. 

Meanwhile, we go back to Atlas where the cycloptic pyromaniac... I mean Cinder, is pissed that Watts and Tyrian have already started a grand plan before she arrived and she had no idea. Last she had heard Salem would be targeting Vacuo and she would have Atlas all to her secret self in the meantime. But she realizes that since she was left for dead at Haven Salem has changed the plan. She’s been out of the loop, but she’s not out of the game. Since everyone is focused on the trouble Watts started down in Mantle, no one will be paying attention if she makes her move in Atlas. Neo lets her disguise powers do the talking for her by turning into a perfect doppelganger of Ruby. She wants to go after Ruby now and get her revenge, but Cinder insists that they will be following HER plan dammit. First the Maiden powers (so she can become stronger and hopefully be able to kill Ruby at last), then they can indulge in cathartic revenge. So Neo will go after Oscar to get the lamp, since they want to take that from the heroes too, and Cinder will take advantage of Ironwood’s paranoia to expose Fria’s hiding spot. As we see next episode, she actually has a really good subtle plan for that. What is less subtle is the foreshadowing of how Neo will achieve her part of the plan: she’ll pose as one of the heroes she saw at the dinner party and thus can turn into to get close to Oscar and catch him by surprise, most likely that’s going to be Ruby.

Back down in Mantle, dozens of ships indeed start arriving and landing to evacuate the civilians to safety. We hear a sonic boom and see a streak of green dash across the sky. Another three Megoliaths charge at the ship Blake and Yang are helping herd people onto, but Elm reveals that her hammer is also a rocket launcher and uses it to blow the Grimm away. She even roots her feet down to brace herself against the recoil. Then she gives the cheering people an okay sign and a smile, it’s all in a day’s work! They hear a sonic boom too and the green streak soars by them too. Ruby and Harriet are looking for the closest landing zone to bring their group of civilians to, but instead find a bigger and meaner Megoliath than the last few. Maybe they were actually just Goliaths and this one is a real Megoliath... Regardless, it’s blocking the way to the LZ and charging at them. Luckily, the green streak soars in and is revealed to be Penny!! She shots a beam in front of the Grimm to disorient and stop it before landing with her friends. Harriet and Penny rush in to try and take the monster down, while Ruby tries to focus and tap into her Silver Eyes. Unlike last Volume, she can’t keep her focus for very long and abandons that strategy in favor of flying up to a rooftop to shoot the Grimm. It does next to nothing, as does Penny stabbing all her swords into the elephant’s exposed skull. Instead it pulls the poor android in close by the wires her swords are still attached to and sends her flying a few blocks away. Ruby dashes over to check on her, but she’s fine. She just cheerfully says ouch and comments on how dangerous the mammoth’s tusks are. This gives Ruby a great idea and we get one of those confidently nodding in agreement without even having to ask what the plan is moments from Penny... before she asks Ruby to tell her what it is. Harriet is still zooming around and weaving between the Grimm’s legs, trying whatever she can to stop or even slow the beast, to only detrimental results. Her Aura breaks, but Penny blasts the Megoliath’s head before it can trample the speedster and gets it to turn down a different street toward her. It does so, and she fires a Kamehameha at it. No, really. She moves her hands to one side and behind her to charge it, then keeps them cupped together to fire the blast in front of her! Admittedly the energy is coming from her swords spinning in a circle in front of her, as she has done since her first fight in Volume 1, but the hand movement was different here and more in line with Dragon Ball’s most iconic technique. Still, she one ups the reference by diverting 3 swords further down and to her left to fire a smaller beam at one of the Grimm’s tusks. The single point on tusk starts to heat up, while the larger beam seems to be mostly for slowing the Grimm. At Ruby’s signal, Penny stops the attack altogether and the speedster zooms right up to the Megoliath’s face to cut off the tusk at the point weakened by the heat of Penny’s beam. Clever strategy, weakening the density at that point to make it vulnerable. What comes next makes the plan epic though, as Penny grabs the severed tusk and impales it into the ground with the tip facing up while Ruby trips the mammoth’s back leg and it falls onto its own sharp body part. Much like the Omnidroid from the Incredibles, the only thing strong enough to kill it is itself. With the dangerous beast defeated, the people cheer and Penny’s reputation is restored as the Protector of Mantle. They can safely evacuate their group, and they hear similar good news from Nora and Yang’s squads. Hooray!

As Penny gives Robyn this good news over the comms, we cut to the hometown hero herself as she tells Joanna to bring the people they’re with to safety while she “checks for stragglers” and runs down an alley. Tyrian arrives to ambush her and bemoan how he hates all the hope and happiness she brings as he dodges her crossbow bolts and even catches one between his fingers before bending it with his thumb. But as he charges at her, a fishing hook almost snags him and he realizes he is the one being ambushed. Qrow and Clover are here to back Robyn up and she purposefully revealed her location to, no fishing pun intended, lure the killer in. She wants first crack at the bastard who killed her followers, but Clover wants to settle his grudge first. Unfortunately, neither can compare to the chip on Qrow’s shoulder after this punk poisoned him in Volume 4 so he’s earned the first shot. Tyrian does not like this new development one bit, and it’s possible he might just be outmatched... but we have to wait until next episode to see how that goes.

For the final storyline of the night, Doctor Watts is flying up to Amity to give the new communications tower a check up of sorts. With carpetbag in hand he makes his way to the center of the arena and surveys the renovations. They are... rather lackluster, and that’s the point. Ironwood lied about the tower being finished so he could bait Watts into coming to try and sabotage it, and the doors lock so the evil genius can’t escape. You might be wondering how the General could have lied when he was on video with a human lie detector, but they were sneaky and used a close up of just his face when he said the tower was completed so neither Watts or the audience saw that it was a lie!! Ironwood leaps down from the commentator’s booth to face Watts in the arena, and Watts uses his hacking rings to activate the biome system so their duel can be a bit more interesting~ A couple geyser and volcano biomes, and four gravity platform sections. The gravity biomes were apparently the only type CRWBY didn’t get to show off during the Vytal Tournament, so they made them the focal point of this fight. Ironwood has the good sense to try and shoot Watts while he’s bent over to touch the ground and activate the biomes, but the scientist is nothing if not ingenious and has a hexagonal shield of hard light Dust to project out of his right glove that stops the bullet. While Ironwood is checking what biomes are coming up, Watts runs off the edge and leaps onto one of the rising platforms in a gravity section. When all the mechanical changing is said and done, Watts has the high ground and both men draw their weapons. Ironwood of course has his two thick hand guns, while Watts is revealed to carry a flintlock pistol with gold vine designs up the double barrels and about... 18 or 20 chambers for bullets. That is way too much gun for one gun. From what small glimpse we get of the bullets, they seem to be hard light dust based, so who knows how much of an oomph they will pack? As he starts spinning the chambers, Watts admittedly indulges in cliche to say he won’t be going down without a fight. And that’s where the episode ends, a great cliffhanger leaving us in enthusiastic high spirits. I loved this episode a lot, and lots of other fans seem to have too.

Shame I have existential dread from the next one...

[fic-xation]

Spicing It Up

Sam proposes something a little unorthodox for his and Max’s night off. But is it too much for even Max to handle? Archive of our Own

"Uh-huh? ... Yeah. Oh, yeah. Absolutely... Ah, Mahzeltov! ... Well, give her my best. Goodbye, sir."

"Well?" Max asked, anxiously popping his head out from the crowded confines of their office trash can. Their usual scuffle over the phone always landed him in the strangest of places... "What'd the commissioner say?"

Sam, shaking his head, hung up the receiver.

"Sorry, lil' buddy. No aliens, demons, mutants, or some unholy amalgamation of the three."

"What about a ponzi scheme?!" Max rocketed himself from the trashcan, snagging at Sam's collar in a panicked frenzy. "Embezzlement?! ... Hell, I'll even settle for mild insurance fraud, jut gimme SOMETHING, man! Anything!"

With the air of one casually removing a tick, Sam snagged at Max's ears, and plucked him from his lapel.

"Nothin' doin', Max. There isn't even so much as a WHISPER of crime tonight."

Tossing his friend to one side, Sam crossed over towards the open window, his hands comfortably nestled in their respective pockets.

"Seems as if the city that never sleeps is taking a much needed power nap." he said thoughtfully.

His partner, however, was far from thoughtful.

"... AaaaaAAAHHHH, I CAN'T TAKE THE SILENCE, SAM!! I need chaos! I need mayhem! I need some sense of superiority as I beat the snot out of some slimy smuggler!"

With a faintly groan, Max collapsed, face-first, against the floor. Sam, meanwhile, merely observed him, scratching at his doggish ear with a contemplative sort of expression.

"... Well..." Sam slid the window shut. "If you're REALLY eager for something to do... We could, uh..." he cleared his throat, awkwardly straightening his tie. "Y'know... Spend some 'quality' time together..."

Max's despair seemed to vanish as quickly as it'd appeared. Scrambling to his feet, he race over towards Sam, leaping into his unsuspecting arms like a bride readying to cross the threshold.

"Why SAMMY, you dirty dog..." Max cooed, snuggling up to his partner's broad chest. "Why didn't you just SAY so?"

He gave a saccharine giggle of mock, girlish delight, coyly tracing little circles against the fabric of Sam's tie.

"What did you have in mind? ... Ooh! Why don't we break into the aquarium again and have a brief make-out sesh in the shark tank?"

"Ehh," Sam shrugged. "I don't think so... I always get the feeling those great whites are enjoying it far more than they should..."

"Fair enough... Oh! How's about a game of ~French Maid Shooting the Balls Off a Nazi Officer?~" Max's smile then faded slightly. "Wait, no, I tore up my fishnet stockings after that caper in Reno last week... Ooh, I got it! How about you leave me handcuffed to the bed, forcing me to relive my mysterious childhood trauma as I desperately struggle for survival?" Max seemed to salivate at the very idea. "Oh my god... HOT..."

"... Actually..." Sam gave a sheepish little smile. "I was thinking we could try something... Different."

"Oooh!" Max flashed a carnivorous grin. "Spicing it up, I see! Do tell!"

Sam opened his mouth to speak, before snapping it shut with a bashful whine. Whatever this idea was, it was evidently too embarrassing to speak aloud. Chewing his lower lip, Sam gestured for Max to come closer. Max, kicking his elongated feet excitedly, happily obliged, gleefully leaning in as Sam finally mustered the courage to whisper his proposal.

Max's smile melted like an ice cube on a frying pan. Mouth agape, he suddenly drew back from Sam's embrace.

"... Y-you're... You're not SERIOUS, right?"

"We don't have to try it if you don't want to!" Sam said hurriedly, waving his hands. "I-it was just a thought!"

"... Yeah, but... Why THAT?" Max seemed repulsed by the very notion. "It's just... It's so... Ugh! I can't even SAY it!"

"I know it's a little... out of the norm for us-" Sam said, settling himself onto a chair as he shyly rubbed the back of his neck. "I just... y'know..."

"... Are you bored with our usual shtick?" Max looked almost hurt by the idea.

Sam's ears pricked up almost at once.

"No! No, buddy, far from it! ... I was only thinkin'... Maybe if we TRIED it, we might wind up likin' it... We wouldn't make a habit of it, of course, but..." he trailed off, lowering the brim of his hat down over his eyes. "... Nothing. Forget I even-"

"Do YOU wanna try it?"

... A surprisingly straightforward question, considering it was Max.

With a sputter of surprise, Sam felt the heat rise against his muzzle. Squaring his shoulders, he hurriedly glanced away.

"... Th-that... That's not really impor-"

"Up-up-up!" Max swatted a finger against Sam's lip. "Shut it, Sam, I've heard enough. Look, if you REALLY wanna give this... THING a shot, I'm in."

Sam finally returned his gaze to Max, eyes wide.

"But... But I thought-"

"Well, QUIT thinkin', or you'll work yourself into a freakin' tizzy! And mind you, I don't use the word 'tizzy' that often." Max reached up, readjusting Sam's hat to its proper angle. "... At the risk of sounding like some pouty-faced teen in a bad chick-flick, I..." he glanced down, fidgeting with his hands. "... Well, I trust you. You wanna do something, so I'll try it. If I like it, great. If I don't, I get to take a baseball bat to your kneecaps. Win-win!"

"... When did a baseball bat enter into the equation?" Sam smiled slightly.

"It's called 'incentive,' Sam." Max huffed, folding his arms. "So, we got a deal?" Sam's chuckled lightly, patting a gentle paw to the crown of Sam's head.

"Okay, lil' buddy... If you insist."

~~

Two hours later, Max found himself in the desolate hallway of their building, just outside their office door, feeling increasingly foolish with every passing second. Swallowing hard, he tugged at the faux pearls lining his throat. In spite of his bravado earlier, the whole ordeal made him uncharacteristically nervous... THIS was new territory for him and Sam... Sure, they'd been married almost eleven times, did the horizontal bop practically every hour, and fooled around with everything from jumper cables to piggy banks... but THIS...

This wasn't just spicing things up, this was dousing it in tabasco sauce before lighting it on fire... 

"Saaa-aaaam-" he whined aloud, hurriedly glancing over his shoulders. "C'mon, aren't you ready YET?"

God forbid any of their neighbors, (least of all Flint Paper) should see him like this... Not that he didn't look amazing. All these years later, and he could STILL rock his old prom dress like an absolute queen... It was just the context of the outfit that made it feel... weird...

And the cheap Taiwanese plastic of the jewelry rubbing up against his fur probably didn't help either.

"Just one more sec, pal!" Sam called back, and suddenly, there came the muffled noise of a clattering misstep, followed by a hefty THUMP.

Curious, Max raised a brow.

"... Ya still alive in there?"

"... J-just lost my footing!" Sam hollered, and Max, with a faint giggle, could hear the embarrassment in his voice.

'... Clumsy goof...' He thought fondly, straightening the candy-colored lace of his hem. Just then, the door swung open, and Max, glancing up, barely troubled to suppress his laughter.

A holdover from their 25th anniversary at the Inventory, Sam was all dolled up in his best, (and probably ONLY) tux; all in black, with a prominent bowtie and tophat replacing their casual counterparts.

"... Look, I didn't have the time OR the money for a new suit, okay?" Sam grumbled, scowling at Max's derisive mirth.

"H-hey! It's important to recycle!" chuckled Max, wiping away a tear as he strolled across the threshold. As soon as the door closed behind him, however, he suddenly took stock of Sam's... 'renovation.'

It quickly became clear why the whole elaborate set-up took close to two hours. The office was cleaner than Max'd ever seen it, (though, admittedly, most of the clutter had just been shoved up against the walls.) In the center stood their rarely used ping-pong table, made only somewhat classier by a red sheet posing as a tablecloth. The lights'd been dimmed, and the shudders drawn, leaving only the rust-stained candelabra as the main source of illumination. Max's nostrils twitched, and he caught a familiar blend of tomatoes, diced onions, and oregano.

Spaghetti sauce.

... Romantic spaghetti sauce... Romantic spaghetti sauce with romantic outfits and romantic mood lighting... How could it get any worse?

"Oh, I hope you don't mind-" Sam's voice cut through Max's train of thought. "I found one of my Sinatra CDs while I was cleaning. Would it be alright if I...?" he trailed off, smiling all too hopefully.

Sinatra. Of course. The perfect soundtrack for any romantic setting.

Max did his best to smile in spite of the anxiety twisting his stomach.

"Sinatra? Sure! Put him on! Ol' blue eyes! Swoonatra! Chairman of the board! After all, the guy's been married four times! Who better to serenade our... d... d-d.." the very word seem to swell Max's tongue. Dry-heaving, he promptly struck his own gut.

"D-DATE! OUR DATE!" he finally choked, gasping for air as he pressed his hands to his knees.

... The relief of finally verbalizing it was dampened slightly by the palpably awkward silence that followed.

"... You good, buddy?" asked Sam, worryingly. Max hurriedly straightened up, forcing a smile with such manic intensity that his left eye began to twitch.

"You betcha! I'm great! I'm better than great! I'm about to have a romantic candle-lit dinner with my... s... s-sweetheart..." Max felt the blood rush to his face, but he bared his teeth, determined to persist. People used cutesy terminology during these things, right? Sam was probably expecting it by this point.

"... I-isn't that right? ... My little... Er... Sh-shumbly... w-wubbles?"

... Max would've given six of his own ribs to crawl under that table and never be seen by anyone ever again.

"... Y'know-" Sam smiled, though not unkindly, as he placed a gentle hand to Max's rigid shoulder. "You don't have to talk like that if it makes you uncomfortable... Heck-" he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. "It's kinda makin' ME uncomfortable..."

Max exhaled, his body going limp.

"Oh, thank GOD... No offense, Sam, but I just can't do the cutesy-wutesy crap... At least NOT unironically."

"I'd have to agree," nodded Sam, pulling out a chair for his partner. "Watching you trying to be purposefully adorable is like pulling teeth."

"Um, I beg to differ, Sam." Max hopped up onto the chair, the length of his legs barely making it past the edge of the seat. "Pulling teeth is both exhilarating and vaguely erotic. What I did a moment ago was just..." he gave a faint shudder. "Creepy..."

Sam chuckled, shaking his head as he carefully pushed Max in.

"Well, that aside, I DO appreciate your willingness to give this a shot, Max. Just remember, if it gets to be too much, you can tap out at any time." He fetched a comforting smile, playfully tussling the space between Max's ears. "Don't forget, our safeword is 'subvert.'"

"Aaah, subvert." mused Max, settling back against his chair. "My favorite variety of 'vert,' second only to 'per.'"

"Noodle-head." Sam chortled. Leaning over, he planted a soft kiss to Max's cheek, briefly savoring the familiarly fluffy texture against his lips. Max, with a sigh, contentedly leaned into it, a slow smile stretching across his face.

... Maybe this 'conventional' date night wouldn't be so bad...

"Oh, speaking of which-" Sam straightened up, breaking the kiss almost as soon as it'd begun. "I better check on the pasta before it burns."

"Ohhhh," groaned Max, reaching his arms out like a needy toddler. "Can't we just skip the food and play tonsil-hockey for an hour?"

"Your vividly grotesque idioms for making out are strangely winsome, Max." Sam commented, crossing through into the next room.

While his partner made himself busy, Max tried his best to occupy his sporadic attention, absent-mindedly studying the slender prongs of his laid-out fork.

'... I wonder how far I could get this up my nose...' he pondered, before hurriedly shaking his head. 'No, no... No zaniness... Sam wants a nice, romantic evening, and by God's left nipple, I WILL DELIVER!'

... But there was that word again... Romantic... There was just something to it, some sense of unease that dangled from the phrase like a booger. But then again, maybe it wasn't the word, but rather the aesthetic that came with it. Hearts, flowers, naked cherubs and giggling waifs and long walks on the beach... It was just all so...

'Disgusting? Stupid? Flagrantly artificial?'

... Embarrassing....

Maybe it was just because he and Sam never had to experience the awkwardness of a first date. They'd grown up together, and once they finally took their relationship to the next level, their lives just became one long, uninterrupted honeymoon phase. There was never any anxiety over impressing the other, no charade of exemplary manners.

Now, they were on a REAL date...

And Max had to suffer all the emotional torment that came with it.

"Hot stuff, comin' through!"

Max gave a slight start. Quickly setting down the fork, he watched as Sam reentered the office, a saucer of steaming spaghetti on each hand.

"I'll say you are." Max smirked, disguising his surprise behind a snide little wink.

"Aw, hush." scoffed Sam, smiling modestly as he placed their dinner towards their respective ends. Moving over towards the CD player atop his desk, Sam carefully slid the Sinatra disk into place, before hurriedly switching to his favorite track.

"~Every kiss, every hug

seems to act just like a drug.

You're getting to be a habit with me.

Let me stay in your arms,

I'm addicted to your charms.

You're getting to be a habit with me.~"

"How apropos," sneered Max, as the honey voice filled the space.

"Eh, what can I say?" Sam winked in return. "I'm a sucker for theming."

Briefly retreating under the table, Sam soon withdrew a small ice bucket housing a bottle of something pink and bubbly. Holding it at arm's length, Sam popped off the cork, taking care not to spill too much froth.

"... Champagne, eh?" Max smiled, a little uneasily, as Sam poured out their glasses. "... Gee, you, uh... Ya really went all out, huh?"

"Well, go big or go home, right?" Sam said, sounding somewhat unsure. Sliding the bottle back into the bucket, he took his seat opposite Max, suddenly looking around as if having noticed something.

"... Did I overdo it?"

"What? ... Oh, no! No!" Max shook his head. "No, I didn't mean that in a bad way! I'm just..." 'Intimidated?' "... Flattered that you went to so much trouble, that's all!"

Sam relaxed, taking a small sip from his drink, before chuckling. "... Heh... Well, I guess this is what you'd call a childhood fantasy."

"... Really?" Max raised an eyebrow.

"Sure," Sam bowed his head bashfully, his muzzle shifting from brown to red. "I'm only a little ashamed to say so, but ever since my blossoming adolescence, it's been a secret dream of mine to treat my special someone to a hand-crafted night of atmospheric intimacy."

Max pressed a hand to his chest. That was.. surprisingly kind of touching...

"... What are you, a girl? Who refers to themselves as blossoming?"

Much like any knee jerk reaction, the quip was out before he even had a chance to think. Ears standing on end, he clenched his fists so hard against the table that the cloth began to bunch under his fingers. This wasn't right, this wasn't romantic... If the circumstances had been different, it would've been fine. Hell, it would've been expected... But this was a DATE, people aren't supposed to make fun of their dates!

"But I DID blossom," continued Sam, completely unfazed. "I blossomed like a beanstalk. What's YOUR excuse, pint-size?"

Max heaved a sigh, releasing his snag on the wrinkled cloth.

'I've served as the racket for games of tennis that were less stressful than this...' he thought, snatching at his glass, and downing the drink in one quick-fire gulp.

"... You doin' okay, buddy?" Sam said, and all at once, Max felt as if his hand were encased in an oversized catcher's mitt. Max looked up, and saw Sam's platter-sized paw gently caressing his apple-sized fist.

All at once, inspiration took hold; a chance for redemption.

... Or further mortification, depending on how you looked at it. For Max, the odds were pretty split.

Nevertheless, Max screwed up his courage, clutching at Sam's hand with both of his own, he yanked at his partner's arm, drawing the knuckles to his mouth...

... And kissing them.

It was light, clumsy, and about as awkward as a grade school play, but he managed, hurriedly throwing Sam's hand aside like a used snot rag before slumping back against his seat.

Sam, meanwhile, just sat like an open-mouthed totem pole, slowly glancing between Max, and his hand. 

Was that a good reaction?

... Then, quite out of the blue, Sam was chuckling. That special husky, back-of-the-throat sort of chortle that Max typically adored, but was NOW making him feel about as hot as a steamed vegetable, and just as stupid.

"Don't laugh!" he snapped, though something in him was grateful for the sound breaking the tension.

"S... sorry, Max..." Sam snickered. "I-it's just... I haven't seen you blush like that since our ninth honeymoon."

Max's beady eyes narrowed. "... What're you talking about?"

"Oh, come on..." Sam smirked, leaning against his elbow. "You remember."

Max's eyes suddenly went wide.

"... Oh, good Lord Sam-" he whimpered, ears drooped. "Not that, please-"

"Now what WAS it?" Sam playfully pondered, scratching at his chin. "What WAS that little word...?"

"Sam, I beg you-" Max slid further into his seat, his aforementioned blush only deepening. "Please, no!"

"That magic little four syllable phrase-"

"Sam-"

"That rarely used pet name that makes you crumble like a Jenga tower-"

"SAM!"

"Hm?" Sam finally looked towards Max, still smiling his complacent little smile. "Something amiss, my little Lago-Muffin?"

... As soon as it was out in the open, Max wasted no time, slamming his face into the plate of spaghetti with a low, muffled groan. Sauce went flying in all directions, but he didn't care.

He hated Sam.

He hated that stupid nickname.

And he hated how much he loved both of them and how weak they ultimately made him...

"... So you DO remember." Sam piped up, evidently proud of himself. He slid a noodle from Max's scalp, before slurping it up with a satisfied gulp. "I know I remember. You and I had just nabbed the infamous Pinwheel Purloiner, and were celebrating over a chocolate malt. The whole set up was so beautifully Rockwellian that I called you that as a joke... But, low and behold, you purred like James Dean's motorcycle makin' sweet love to Martha Stewart's blender."

"... Done in by a lousy play on words." Max mumbled into the pasta. "... How humiliating..."

"Nah," beamed Sam, raising Max's head up by his ears. "On the contrary, I find it rather endearing." Taking a moment to observe his partner, he added, "Sheesh, Max... ya look like a tomato..."

"Don't remind me," Max grumbled, eyes downcast. Sam shook his head.

"No, I mean ya got sauce all over your face. Here-"

Lifting him up and across the table, Sam drew Max into his lap. Plucking at a napkin, he then began to smother it against Max's unwitting cheek.

"Agh-! S-Sam!" Max sputtered, writhing like a dug-up grub. "Quit it!"

Sam paused.

"Lago-Muffin."

‘... God dammit.’

Max's eyes turned to comical spirals as he slumped against Sam's stomach in a love-struck daze. Satisfied, Sam was able to finish his cleaning before Max came to.

"... That nickname NEVER leaves this room, understood?" Max growled, still red-faced despite the lack of pasta sauce. Sam gave a soft guffaw,

"Whatever you say, Max. Do ya want me to put you ba-"

"No." said Max stoutly, folding his arms. "I live on your lap now."

"... For all intents and purposes, that may as well be true." Sam considered, spooling a strand on pasta onto his fork, before passing it along to Max. Max happily obliged, snaring the fork between his razor-like teeth like a shark.

Just then, Sam's CD reached the final track of the album.

"~I won't dance.

Don't ask me.

I won't dance.

Don't ask me.

I won't dance,

Madame, with you.~"

And once again, Max was granted an idea.

This time, however, with more confidence.

Leaping to the floor, he bowed slightly, offering out his hand in an all-too romantic fashion.

"Sinatra may not dance, but I'd like to." He grinned. "... Care to join me?"

The outright coolness of the gesture was enough to surprise them both. But while Max kept his composure, it was Sam's turn to look flustered. Blushing, he nervously tugged at his bowtie.

"... W-what, uh... what brought this on?"

"Eh," Max shrugged. "I've already been humiliated beyond belief... Twice now, in fact! So, I figure... third time's the charm, right? ... Besides..." He gently threaded their fingers together, urging Sam onto his feet. "... I'm a sucker for theming."

... Maybe the awkwardness of a first date wasn't so bad. Heck, maybe Max was even better at this romance thing than he thought! He'd just have to keep at it if he wanted to get any better.

But that was alright. After all...

Max didn't mind spicing things up every once in a while.

~~

An entire fanfic inspired by a single throwaway line of @supermary64‘s marvelously charming prom comic!

Hope you lovelies enjoyed it!

[shels-kpop-main]

Hera & Zeus: Origins (The Pantheon AU)

The origin story of The Pantheon’s favorite power couple.

Word Count: 3,850

Warnings: Injury (broken bones, gunshot wounds), little bit of angst, brief mentions of sex

Hera tried to be happy when Zeus graduated. She tried to be happy for her dearest friend, and to cheer enthusiastically as he crossed the stage to receive his diploma. And she gave Zeus as genuine a smile as she could when he found her after the ceremony. His graduation cap was knocked off as she tackled him for a hug, arms going around his neck in a tight embrace. Zeus kissed the side of her head, and Hera felt tears sting the corners of her eyes.

“Don’t you cry, love,” Zeus murmured, reading her like a book. He brushed her cheek with his fingertips.

“I’m really happy for you,” she insisted weakly. Zeus gave her a knowing look in response.

“Two years is a long time,” Hera admitted, looking up at him with glassy eyes. Zeus nodded solemnly.

“I know. It will fly by, though. Just focus on your classes, and I’ll be there when you’re done.”

“I’m going to have to train alone. I won’t know anyone,” Hera almost whispered.

“That’s not true.” Zeus hugged her again.

“Even if I make friends, they won’t be y--”

“I’ll wait for you,” Zeus said in a rush of words. Hera leaned back to look at him in confusion. Her fingers tapped nervously on his sides.

“What?”

“I’ll wait for you. I promise.” And he meant it. But Hera shook her head.

“That’s not your choice to make, John.”

“Zeus,” he corrected her. “And I’ll find a way. I’ll talk to the Titans. Prometheus will understand.”

And that was the promise he left her with, his words hanging in the air around Hera’s ears for the two years she spent alone.

….

Zeus walked through the hall as calmly and confidently as he could. He was spurred on by the sound of his own footsteps, heels clacking against the marble tiles leading to Prometheus’ office. He had put on his neatest black suit, newly gifted to him by the Pantheon as part of his induction.

It was his second day back at Mount Olympus, three days after his graduation. And Zeus figured it was as good a time as any to ask for a massive favor from the most powerful man in Southern Europe.

He was waved in by the two armed guards at the double-doors of Prometheus’ office. Zeus wrung his hands nervously as he passed through them, but let his hands fall to his sides when he fully entered the room.

Prometheus was reclining comfortably in his chair, a lit cigarette dangling from his right hand. A relaxed expression graced his features, and Zeus could see why.

Hyperion was sitting on the edge of the large, wooden desk, chuckling at something Prometheus had just said. Zeus stared straight ahead, as brave as any eighteen-year-old could be. When he came to a stop several feet away from the two men, Prometheus sat up straighter.

“Come closer, darling,” he told Zeus in a clear, commanding voice. “I can barely see you from over there.”

Hyperion chuckled, watching Zeus inch forward nervously. But when Zeus looked up at him in a moment of bravery, he saw a hint of kindness behind the Titan’s eyes.

“Hello, young Zeus,” Hyperion offered, in a voice that matched his eyes. Zeus nodded respectfully to him.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me, Your Divinities.”

“And how can we help you, young man?” These words came from Prometheus, just before he took a long drag from his cigarette. Zeus swallowed hard, and took a deep breath.

“I would like to delay my training.” It was a miracle that Zeus didn’t stumble over his words. A tiny bead of sweat rolled down the side of his neck, and he prayed the Titans couldn’t see it.

“And why is that?” Prometheus studied him, but there was no indication of hostility on his face.

Zeus hesitated. He didn’t know how to explain himself. Prometheus and Hyperion exchanged knowing glances, and the former smiled at Zeus.

“Might it have something to do with a certain goddess from whom you’ve been recently parted?”

Zeus nodded again, feeling blood rushing to his cheeks. But he forced himself to look at Prometheus. If he would ever be brave for anything, it would be this. She was his best friend. And the closest thing to family he had since the passing of his parents.

“Fair enough. The two of you are quite close, aren’t you, darling?”

“She’s my best friend,” Zeus answered quickly. “She’s all I’ve got.”

Prometheus frowned, and looked over at his husband. Hyperion leaned towards him and murmured something that Zeus couldn’t hear.

“Oh, darling. I didn’t realize Helios and Selene were your parents.”

John looked at the floor briefly. There, he noticed a small, white cat with grey markings peeking from around the corner of the desk. The cat gave a small mew, then laid down to watch the exchange.

Prometheus stood up and walked around the desk. When he stood in front of John, he gave the younger man a pat on the shoulder.

“I greatly admired and respected them. I understand your wanting to keep loved ones close.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Zeus looked back up at Prometheus, bracing himself for the rejection. But the Titan smiled.

“You may put off your training for no more than two years. At which point the young Hera will join you, and you will both train as planned.”

“My lord?”

“Mm, yes. But in the meantime, let’s find something for you to do, shall we?”

“Of course, my lord, anything,” Zeus rushed to say, exhaling in relief. Prometheus grinned at Hyperion.

“As it so happens, I am in need of a secretary.”

….

As Zeus had predicted, the two remaining years of Hera’s high school did pass by relatively quickly. That was just to say, they didn’t drag along as slowly and painfully as Hera thought they would. And finally, the countdown on her calendar dwindled down to months instead of years, weeks instead of months, and days instead of weeks.

Hera woke with a start on the day of her graduation, her eyes shooting open at the thought of Zeus waiting for her after the ceremony.

Waiting to take her home.

They had exchanged many letters in the twenty-three months since he left their boarding school. Hera had visited Mount Olympus twice, once for Christmas and once during her summer vacation. John--no, Zeus-- had welcomed her with open arms both times. He had showed her his rooms, his office, and all of the updates and renovations that had occurred since she visited last. And he had called her on her seventeenth and eighteenth birthdays to offer his congratulations.

But it was no replacement for the nights they stayed up reading and talking, for the time they spent at each others’ sides for the first two years of Hera’s secondary schooling. The distance was painful, but that was the price she paid for befriending someone two years older than her. Looking back on it, it was a price she would pay over again, every time.

When Hera burst through the doors of the auditorium, she nearly sprinted onto the green lawn of the school. Her eyes flitted around, looking for one person. And then she heard him.

He was calling her name--her real name, not her alias. It was the best thing she’d ever heard.

Hera whirled around to find the source of the voice, and saw John standing next to her parents. He was holding a bundle of scarlet and pink lilies, and a grin lit up his face.

Hera nearly knocked him over when she ran into him, hugging him tightly and laughing. Zeus’s arms went around her waist, and Hera felt herself being lifted off the ground. He spun her around, laughing with her, until Hera’s parents insisted they break apart.

….

They started training a week after Hera’s return to Mount Olympus. The two Olympians were plunged into a rigorous schedule of classes in psychology, business management, firearms technology, as well as physical lessons in hand-to-hand combat, survival and endurance, and shooting.

It was odd for Zeus to be the only twenty-year-old in a cohort of twelve people, the rest of whom were still eighteen. But he had been well-prepared for the crowded schedule and stresses of life in the Pantheon by his time spent working for Prometheus.

Zeus and Hera paired up for training, as most of their lessons and exercises required partners. Neither of them pulled any punches, each challenging the other to improve their skills both in the fighting ring, and on the firing range.

One day, the Titans came to the gymnasium to watch the cohort work on their hand-to-hand combat training. The paired fighters were split up into different groups, and had to train with new people to gain versatility. So Zeus and Hera were split up, and paired with new trainees.

Zeus was matched with a wiry, freckle-faced guy around his height, so he had an easy enough time winning roughly half the matches. But Hera had been paired with Orion, a 200-pound giant of a man, who towered over her and did not go easy on his smaller counterpart. And after four rounds, Orion jumped the gun and swung at Hera before the bell sounded to indicate the beginning of the fifth round.

Zeus heard Hera’s scream from across the gym. It was a shrill, strangled screech that he had never heard before, but it was Hera without a doubt. John shoved his freckled partner away from him, and bolted in the direction of the noise.

He pushed his way through the ring of people that had started to gather around her, his breath stopping in his throat when he reached the center of the mat. Hera was laying on the floor, bent in half at the middle. Tears streamed down her face, which was contorted in agony as she clutched at her side. She opened her eyes briefly, and found Zeus kneeling next to her. He couldn’t keep the abject terror off of his face.

“I can’t breathe,” she whimpered between sobs. John looked around wildly just as Prometheus and Hyperion joined them in the ring. Everything had gone deadly quiet, save for Hera’s cries.

“Your Divinities,” John gasped as Prometheus knelt next to him. The Titan lifted Hera’s arm to look at her ribcage, then gestured to the instructor.

“Fetch a medic. Tell them to bring a stretcher.”

The instructor nodded, and took off in the direction of the gym’s office (and phone). Hyperion looked around at all the trainees, children in his eyes, and clapped his hands sharply.

“Everyone, out. Classes are canceled for the day,” he commanded. The students began to shuffle out, stealing glances at Hera’s weeping form as they went. Zeus didn’t move.

“I can’t breathe,” Hera told him, still crying. “I felt a pop.”

“They’re bringing a medic,” Zeus answered, cradling her face. “You’ll be okay, love.”

“Orion!” Prometheus’ voice boomed through the empty gymnasium. The trainee named Orion stopped just short of the door, and turned to face the Titan.

“Yes, Your Divinity.”

“What happened?”

“She wasn’t paying attention. She could have blocked my swing.” His voice was flippant, and he shrugged as he spoke. John was livid, but still thinking clearly enough to notice Hyperion’s eyes narrow at the aggressor.

“You’re dismissed. For now.” Prometheus turned back to Hera, whose eyelids had begun to flicker shut.

The medics arrived shortly thereafter, pulling Hera onto a stretcher and wheeling her off to the hospital ward.

Zeus watched them take her, hands balled into fists at his sides. Prometheus and Hyperion stepped up next to him, one on either side.

“My darling, you were watching that fight, no?” The tone of Prometheus’ voice made it clear he wasn’t talking to Zeus.

“I was,” Hyperion answered smoothly.

“What would you say happened here?”

“It seems to me,” the taller Titan grumbled, “that Orion swung before the bell.” The two men looked at Zeus, who was visibly shaking.

“It looked like a broken rib, darling,” Prometheus tried to soothe him. “She’ll be alright.” “Yes, my lord,” was Zeus’ terse answer.

“Young man, do you know the meaning of the phrase, temporary immunity? For instance, immunity from criminal prosecution for a period of twenty-four hours?”

Zeus looked at Prometheus, and understood his meaning. Hyperion chuckled behind him.

“Good God, Prometheus, don’t go giving him ideas,” he chided, but then smiled. “And certainly don’t tell him that Orion works out alone in the evenings.”

Zeus then looked at Hyperion, who raised his eyebrows in a challenge. The young Olympian nodded, more to himself than the Titans.

“I understand. May I go to the hospital now?” He asked quietly. Prometheus nodded, a hint of mischief gleaming in his eyes.

As Zeus would find out later that day, Hera had indeed suffered a broken rib. Although it was only a hairline fracture, the swelling induced by the punch put pressure on her lung. So she was out of commission for physical training for at least two weeks.

Hera was released the evening after the incident, with bandages around her middle, and a small bottle of pain pills. She was lying on the bed, talking to one of the nurses about when to take her medicine, when a horrendous wailing could be heard from down the hall. The shouting grew louder and louder, until the doors of the medical ward burst open and Orion all but hurled himself into the unit.

He was clutching his right hand, which was bleeding profusely at the knuckles. Hera grimaced as he wailed, noticing at least one of his fingers was twisted the wrong way.

Two nurses went to him immediately, and began fussing over his hand, which had been effectively mangled. Orion only stopped whimpering when a doctor placed an IV line on him and injected a clear liquid into it. Several moments later, he was slumped on a gurney across from Hera.

Amidst all the chaos, Zeus strolled into the hospital to escort Hera back to her room. His face was calm, but Hera could have sworn she saw something gleeful in his eyes. His hair was lightly tousled, though he appeared to be put together otherwise.

But as he helped her to sit up in her bed, she glimpsed the smooth, tapered handle of a crowbar peeking out from his bookbag.

Hera didn’t question Zeus on it for another year, but she always knew. And that was the first time she felt the pangs of attraction swelling in her stomach. As he leaned over her to help her get up, she paid new attention to the curve of his lips and the unusual color of his eyes. At the time, she chalked it up to just being high on pain meds, but looking back on it… That was the moment Hera knew she was falling.

….

One year later, the two were closer than ever. They had each passed their first year of classes and training with high marks, and moved on to the second (and final) year at the Pantheon’s boot camp. And although neither of them had dared to say anything, the feelings developing between the two were reaching a peak.

Both Zeus and Hera had dated around within their cohort, occasionally drinking too much and going home with other trainees. But it was an open secret that none of their flings ever lasted long because the two only had eyes for each other.

“Oh, come on, old man,” Hera teased, as Zeus struggled to line up a shot. The pair were in the indoor firing range, and Hera was giving much unwanted (and very unhelpful advice) to Zeus.

“Shut up,” Zeus muttered, trying too hard to focus on the gun in his hand. He knew his way around a gun, but always failed when it came to the precision of his shot grouping. Hera, of course, could shoot five bullets through the same hole from sixteen meters. And she never failed to remind Zeus of this at every available opportunity.

“Do you want help?”

“No.”

Hera rolled her eyes, and put her noise-blocking headphones on again. She stood in the booth next to Zeus, raised her gun, and delivered six shots to the head of the practice dummy at the end of the range. She smirked to herself, then put her gun back in its holster. Upon rounding the corner into Zeus’ booth, she was met with a frown.

“Now you’re just showing off,” Zeus told her. Hera chuckled, and walked to him.

“Here, turn around,” she instructed, turning him gently with a hand on his waist. Zeus did as she said, trying not to pay attention to her touch through his shirt. Hera’s hand moved from his waist to his elbow. She tugged on his sleeve gently.

“Don’t lock your elbow. It’s making you too tense.”

“Okay,” he muttered, suddenly aware that his headphones were still around his neck. It seemed as if Hera read his mind, because she reached up and pushed the headphones back up to his head. She pulled one behind his right ear so he could still hear her.

Hera’s hands then fell to the space between Zeus’ shoulder blades.

“You’re holding a lot of tension here,” she remarked, her breath tickling the back of his neck. “Just let go of it.”

Zeus exhaled as Hera stepped away, pushing the remaining headphone over his ear. He took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. Once, twice, three times. The outline of an enemy drawn on the long slip of paper shook three times as the bullets ripped through it.

“Not bad,” Hera commented behind him, not that he could hear it. Zeus pulled his headphones off and set them on the counter in front of him as the paper zoomed forward on the pulley to present his results.

Three shots to the head. Tight grouping.

Zeus smiled to himself before turning around. Hera was grinning at him triumphantly.

“Pretty good for a senior citizen,” she remarked. Zeus rolled his eyes and poked at her side (the one that hadn’t been injured a year ago). Hera noticed this, and leaned against the counter of the booth, her face turned to him.

“You never did forget that,” she said softly, gesturing to the ribs on her left side. Zeus’ gaze followed the gesture, but his eyes quickly flitted back to Hera’s face. She had pulled her hair back loosely so that strands still framed her face. It contrasted with the TEC-9 strapped to her waist, and the two things caused an attraction that Zeus knew he wouldn’t be able to keep to himself for long.

“How could I? That day was horrific,” Zeus answered as nonchalantly as he could. But the memory of his best friend, lying on the floor crying, was a traumatic event for both of them. Hera eyed him as he put his gun away, trying to keep the question from leaving her mouth. She failed miserably.

“Do you still have the crowbar?”

Zeus looked at her, surprised by the question. But he gave her a crooked smile, and left the question unanswered.

“Counter-question,” he said, looking at her pointedly. Hera tilted her head, signaling for him to continue.

“Why did you shoot Nilus and Acheron last week?”

Hera’s jaw dropped. How did he know?

“You need to work on your poker face,” Zeus chuckled. “I saw you sneaking into the armory last week. And stashing the rifle under your bed.”

Dammit. Hera glanced up at the ceiling before facing him.

“I had my reasons,” she answered calmly. Zeus squinted at her.

“They said something about me, didn’t they?” It wasn’t a question. Hera chewed her lip, but looked him in the eye.

“Yes.”

“So you knee-capped them?”

“Also yes.”

Zeus studied her face. Hera stood with her arms folded, defiant as ever. Zeus grinned at her, and Hera could feel it without looking at him.

“What did they say? Out of curiosity,” he nudged her elbow with his own. Hera hesitated, and inhaled deeply.

“Nilus asked why you started training at the age of twenty,” she began. Zeus waited, leaning against the counter next to her.

“And Acheron replied that it was probably because you were…” Hera trailed off, unsure of how to put it. Zeus got the message, though, and laughed without humor.

“Acheron made a comment on my mental competence?” He guessed.

“Yes,” was Hera’s curt reply once again. “And Nilus laughed.”

Zeus nodded, putting the pieces together in his head.

“They didn’t know you were standing there. So you waited for them to walk somewhere out in the open, and you sniped them. One shot to each kneecap.”

“Mm-hmm,” Hera nodded.

“I’m guessing you only did one kneecap on each guy, in the interest of time.”

“Correct. Neither of them saw it coming. Neither of them saw my face,” Hera confirmed.

“And you did it off-grounds so that the Titans wouldn’t come looking for you,” Zeus finished.

Hera gave him a wry smile, looking nothing short of satisfied. She was proud of her first two hits, even if they didn’t result in death.

“Why did you do that?”

Hera shrugged. “I told you, they were saying mean things about you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Zeus replied softly. “Why did you do it?”

There was a pause, a brief moment of thought.

“The same reason you broke Orion’s hand,” Hera answered, looking Zeus dead in the eyes. Her admission knocked the breath out of him. Her stare was almost a challenge; he swore she could look right through him.

But Hera continued, swaying her head to the side in thought.

“And I felt guilty.”

“For what?”

“Because you waited for me. It’s my fault they have a reason to talk about you in the first place.”

“So?” Was the only word John could think to say. Hera’s face fell, and she reached out to fidget with a loose string on one of Zeus’ rolled up sleeves.

“So, what if I wasn’t worth it?”

Her question hung in the air and settled on Zeus’ shoulders like a lead weight. And he needed desperately to lift it.

“That’s ridiculous,” he stated bluntly. “You’ve always been worth it.”

Hera’s gaze slid up his arm, over his shoulder, and to his eyes. At the same time, her hand fell to his own, and his fingers curled loosely around hers.

“You sure about that?” She nearly whispered it. John’s answer was immediate.

“Absolutely.”

And he kissed her.

Hera was waiting for him to, of course, and met his mouth with parted lips. She leaned into his touch as John reached up to hold her face. It was soft yet desperate. It was inevitable. It was perfect.

The two Olympians stood there in the gun range, hidden by four walls of reinforced concrete. Neither of them had ever felt more safe. They both knew, even then, that something good had fallen into place.

Mob Taglist: @deacytits, @anotheronebitesthedeaks, @rogers-sweatbands, @briarrose26, @lovehelpmewrite, @zodiacal-dust-and-curls, @lv7867, @dreamer821, @happy-at-home, @doyoudobroadway

[thetrueghostqueen]

A Fake Not So Fake Marriage- Chapter 21

Masterlist cover chapter one  chapter two ??? chapter four  chapter five chapter six chapter seven chapter eight chapter nine chapter ten chapter eleven chapter twelve 5 chapter fourteen chapter 15 chapter 16 chapter 17 chapter 18 Chapter 19 chapter 20

A/N- I decided to revamp this chapter for dramatic purposes.

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

It's been almost nine months since Bangtan last saw Ji-ya. Two weeks after she disappeared the guys returned home to Seoul. The trip that started out with nervousness and joy ended with sorrow and heart break. All of the men were at a loss. They couldn't handle their own sadness let alone help each other through it. For the first time since they got back together after losing her the first time, the seven men parted their separate ways. It would take eight months for them to reunite and even then it wasn't willingly.  

Each of them received a summons to be at Min manor on a specified date and time. Although none of them were surprised that the others were there, they weren't exactly jovial in greeting. Emotions were high and the tension was thick.

  Yoongi and Hoseok looked upon each other with longing and sadness. Neither of them would have ever entertained the thought that anything could have separated them. Their love for each other was strong and could overcome anything. Maybe they were naive in their belief since all it took was a little princess named Ji-ya and everything came crashing down around them.  Now looking at each other after so long both thought the same thing. Could they ever reconnect? Was it over?

Namjoon and Seokjin believed the same way that the other pair did. Nothing could break them apart.  The difference between the two couples was massive. Even though they parted ways for a time, neither of them believed that their relationship was over. They both understood that they needed space to grieve and accept. Seokjin knew that Namjoon would be spending almost all of his time trying to fix the shattered pieces of his little brother's heart and he was okay with giving the space to do that.  

Seokjin slowly gravitated towards Namjoon. There were no words of "I missed you," "I love you." Without speaking at all the two embraced as if it was only hours ago that they'd seen each other.  Seokjin didn't ask how he fared and Namjoon didn't either. They just shared all the love that they felt for one another with a hug.  

The three maknae's were the last to show.  The older four looked at them. A plethora of emotions swirling in their eyes.  The eight months didn't look as if it helped the three youngest at all. They looked as if they barely survived a horror movie. Jimin looked pale and unkempt. Heavy bags under his eyes, hair in all directions and greasy. His body seemed to go through a horrible transformation. He was thin almost deathly thin. As pale as he looked there was also an indescribable tinge to his skin.  Jeongguk didn't look as pale, but he did look as if the eight months transformed him from the Jeongguk they knew and loved to a complete stranger. The male before them now had piercings and tattoo's. He didn't seem to fit into they scene that they were all a part of. He looked as if he'd be more at home in a smoky bar or club than outside a mansion. Taehyung looked a mess. He was a heartbreaking sight to see. He was pale and visibly broken. His arms were wrapped around himself so tightly it seemed as if that was the only thing holding him in place. If the grip loosened in any way he would shatter.  

Yoongi was the first to make a move. With quick and determined steps he made his way to Taehyung. Without saying a word, Yoongi gathered the broken male in his arms and held on for dear life. For a moment the others looked on. They didn't know what to do or how to help. It wasn't until sobs sounded in the tense silence that their feet carried them to the pair.  For the first time in eight months the Bangtan Boys were together. For the first time in eight months they hugged.  

The reunion was cut short by a nasaly voice calling their names. With puffy eyes and swollen cheeks from crying the seven men broke apart and turned towards the sound that interrupted them. A short stout man was the culprit that interrupted them.  

"Bangtan? Are you Bangtan?" The man yelled as they stared at him.  

They watched as his shoulders sagged in relief as Namjoon nodded his head at the man's question. The man began to gesture them over, his too tight suit slightly bulging at the seams with his frantic movements.  As a unit they made their way to where the man was standing at the bottom of the steps.

The man smiled a toothy grin as they stopped in front of him. "Welcome, welcome. So glad that you all could make it.  If you all-"

"What's this about?" Jeongguk questioned with an annoyed sigh cutting the man off.

The man paused momentarily and looked at them all in confusion. Shouldn't they know what this was all about? He thought to himself. He shifted his body to stand a little taller and regain his momentary lapse in composure before speaking again. He looked to Jeongguk to answer his question. "This is about your new home, sir. Didn't Ms. Kim inform you?"

"Ms. Kim?" Hoseok balked.

The man standing before them now had a look of bewilderment on his face. A sudden feeling that there was a whole lot more to this situation started running rampant through his mind. He believed that this was supposed to be an easy transaction. Ms. Kim hired him to oversee the renovations of Min manor. Giving instructions that once all renovations were complete, the keys were to be handed over to Bangtan. The way he'd heard it was that all parties knew what was going on. Staring at the men in front of him now, he couldn't help but think that, that wasn't the case. His shoulders slumped in distress. What does he do now? "I guess it is correct of me to assume that you all have no idea what is going on? Are you Bangtan? Do you know Ms. Kim? Is it possible that I sent letters to the wrong gentlemen? -"

Yoongi cut his rambling diatribe of questions off. "One question at a time, sir. Yes, we are Bangtan. No, we do not know what is going on."

"And Ms. Kim? Do you know her?"

Yoongi looked warily at the man. "Did she only interact with you as Ms. Kim? Or did she give you a first name?" Yoongi had a very, very good idea of whom the man was speaking. After all the eight of them were standing outside of Min manor. He just couldn't figure out why the woman who fled from them so drastically, the woman who left them, the woman who had another person's parents drop off divorce papers would use a married surname.  

The man stared back at Yoongi. From the looks of him this man has to be the brother. The woman shares too many similarities not to be the sibling. He just had to remember the name. Yonmi? No. Yunki? No. Youngjie? No, that didn't sound right either. Yoongi? Yoongi? Yes, yes that sounds right. " You are Yoongi, correct?" He smiled again as the man nodded yes in response. Not realizing that the news he was about to deliver would not be taken graciously he began to explain. "Well, your sister Ms. Ji-ya Kim has been working diligently these past months on all the affairs to this estate in order and have it renovated for your use. If you gentlemen would like to follow me inside, I will give you a tour of the house and walk you through all the renovations that were made."

The man turned to walk up the stairs as he finished his explanation. He didn't see the looks on the faces of the men behind him. He didn't see how their bodies stiffened at the mention of Ji-ya. He walked happily and stridently up the steps not glancing back once to see if the men were following. He opened the grand double doors wide and turned around with a huge smile. “Welcome home!”

Bangtan made their way through the doors. The interior was unrecognizable. Gone was the stark white interior that filled every room of the manor. Now the place was filled with black and pops of color everywhere.  

Yoongi stepped away from the group to inspect the changes more thoroughly. As he walked around the main level slowly, memories of years ago played through his head. He ran his hands along the back of the new couch as he made his way around. His body shuddered as he remembered the coldness that was once a part of his daily life. The only things that made his childhood bearable being the men in the room with him and the little sister that he adored more than anything else. He jerked his head towards the door as the sound of it closing echoed throughout the room. Images of a young Ji-ya racing down the stairs grinning clouded his mind.  

As images and memories swirled through his head, his hand grasped the lamp that was sitting perched on an end table beside the couch. His body jolting back into the present as the lamp shattered against the wall. All the pent-up anguish and anger deciding that now was the time to surface. As if his body was on auto-pilot, Yoongi began grabbing everything that he could and trashed the place.  

The seven other men watched with wide eyes as Yoongi broke down. No one knew what to do or say. They remained motionless as he destroyed everything that he could. It wasn’t until he collapsed on his knees and began screaming that any of them moved. Hoseok was the first to Yoongi’s side. He cradled the love of his life in his arms. Silent tears trailing down his own face as he held onto Yoongi through his breakdown.  

The man that summoned Bangtan stood quietly by the front door observing the men around him. He didn’t understand what was going on and to be honest at this point he just wanted to hand them the keys and disappear back to his own life. Seven men in all different forms of severe disfunction was not a part of his job description. He was a lawyer not a psychiatrist. These men seemed as if they needed a good shrink not a house. Not wanting to interfere but at the same time wanting to finish the tour and leave as fast as possible he sighed. “Gentlemen, I am sorry to interrupt whatever it is that is going on but can we please finish the tour?”

Hoseok glared at the man by the door. Who gives a crap about a tour? They don’t need a freaking tour, but they do need this man to leave. The stranger had already seen more than enough of their issues. “The tour is finished.” He stated, his voice sounded almost in a growl.

“Sir, with all due respect-”

“With all due respect the man told you the tour was over. Hand over the keys and leave.” Jeongguk snarled rudely at the lawyer. He glared at the lawyer as the man huffed from his position by the door. The man opened and closed his mouth several times like a fish before finally deciding to do just as told.

Placing the keys on a table by the door, the man opened the door and stormed out of the house. His annoyance could be heard as he made his way down the steps towards his car. Seokjin moved and closed the door behind the angry lawyer.  

The seven of them were now together again after months of no contact. Together in a house that had both some of the best memories of their life as well as dark all-consuming nightmares of loss and heart break. What the future held none of them knew. Hell, none of them knew what the next hour would hold. The only thing that seemed crystal clear to any of them was that the last eight months apart did none of them any good.