#OR feels like a sufficient expression of the insanity i feel when these things hit me

[fate-defiant]

something something rue who's been fed and sustained on blood since she was a baby something something two notable times we see her attempt to nurture her loved ones it's by offering them water

[melit0n]

EUCLID ANALYSIS.

Told you guys it was coming, didn't I? I apologise that this has taken a bit longer than expected, my mental health hit me like a bullet train, but I do hope it's sufficient.

Part one -> You're already here!

Part two -> Line by line analysis part 1

Part three -> Line by line analysis part 2

Part four -> Musical/intrumental notes

Part five -> The Night in Sleep Token

Part six -> Conclusion

Please note this is a general analysis. Although I do go into theories, both my own and others, this is just general thoughts. Also note when I speak of Vessel, I mean Vessel as a character, not the person, unless I specifically state so.

Tagline: @rilllvri @a-s-levynn @fivewholeminutes @euclidsvessel @tonguetyd @moonchild-in-blue @kkarmatic @branches-in-a-flood

+ Some people were worried about spam liking/reblogging the last time I did one of these big analysis posts, and I want to say please don't worry about that! I get happy when I see the same users pop up liking and reblogging my work, because it means you're interested in this enough to go through the whole thing. Feel completely free to add your own thoughts, correct any errors I've made etc. As per usual, my DMs are completely open to anybody wanting to discuss ST <3

Let's start off with the basics. ‘Euclid’ is the anglicised version of the Greek name Eukleídes (Εὐκλείδης), mainly known via the ancient Greek mathematician Euclid of Alexandria, who is seen as the ‘father of geometry’, and most famous for his work on symmetry. Its general definition is something or someone who is renowned and or glorious (A) and the lesser known definition is something that is a copy of the same (B) (taken from Euclid’s ideas on symmetry), which we’ll come back to in a bit.

However, there is another Euclid in history that we’ll be referencing; Euclid of Megara. This Euclid, similar to our mathematician, was an ancient Greek Socratic (having been a pupil of Socrates) philosopher. I’ll be taking part of a text out of his Wikipedia article since his ideas have been explained thoroughly there.

(we'll be coming back to him soon)

First off, this is an incredibly interesting choice of name for a song. Outside of someone's maths and philosophy class, this name doesn't exist to most, so the fact it's been chosen at all is intriguing.

Vessel has shown time and time again he enjoys sometimes elaborate references in his art, an example being chemistry and biology in TPWBYT (most notable would probably be ‘Telomeres’), so, I think it would be easy to say that, whether it be a reference to Euclid the Mathematician or Euclid the philosopher, that said reference is understood and intended by Vessel.

So, let's start with our mathematician, shall we?

What I find interesting about Euclid of Alexandria is that his life and existence outside of his work on geometry is almost completely unknown. There's almost nothing known of him, as a person, other than where he spent half of his career (Alexandria; Egypt, hence his title), where he may have studied (Platonic academy) and a general idea of when he lived (around 300BC). What is known about this insanely famous man who created the foundations of symmetry is incredibly barebones. People take Euclid at face value for his work, just like Vessel (both as an artist, and a character).

Further, we, as listeners, don't have much of an understanding of who Vessel is other than being a mouthpiece of a deity known as Sleep, someone once human now grasping at the threads of humanity and someone sharing some of his struggles in life (both with Sleep and unknown people). Like Euclid, he is barebones, we take him at face value; a vessel. He is both a mouthpiece for Sleep, a mouthpiece for his own emotions (obviously) and a mouthpiece for us. His experiences transcend being just his, due to his anonymity, therefore allowing us to connect and express our own experiences. It's music for the sake of music; expression.

Now, having talked through Euclid as a person, it's time to talk about Euclid and his symmetry. Symmetry in shapes is 'reflections, rotations, translations, and combinations of these basic operations. Under an isometric transformation, a geometric object is said to be symmetric if, after transformation, the object is indistinguishable from the object before the transformation- a copy of the same’. So, of course, this means shapes like squares, rectangles, parallelograms and circles. Circles are a representation of infinity, wholeness, unity and loops. What does Euclid do? Loop itself (starts and ends with B major, which also happens to be the same chord that TNDNBTG starts with), and loops the three albums together, musically and lyrically.

Now, onto Euclid of Megara.

Euclid was born in Megara, Athens and was a follower of Socrates (sneaking into Athens to hear him speak, and he was also present during his death). He is most known for his philosophy that good is the knowledge of simply being and that the opposite of good does not exist, aka evil. The Good is described to be a perfect, eternal, and changeless Form, existing outside space and time. A form of Heaven without a God.

This idea could be linked lore-wise with Sleep Token; Sleep could, in a way, be The Good literally. Bliss. Further, with the idea that there is no actual opposite of good, then how can anything be bad? How can Sleep, as a deity, have bad intentions if there is no actual evil?

So far, with these two notable figures in mind, we can perceive Euclid as one of two ways (and there are more ways to come). Euclid can be seen as quite literally being a form of symmetry; a parallel that Vessel lays his life on because it brings all of the produced albums, all of his stories, together. Or, we can think of Euclid as Vessel. This brings me to @euclidsvessel's post on their theory on Euclid; what if Euclid was Vessel’s name before he became a vessel?

The theory that Euclid could be Vessel’s old name is not only extremely insightful, but very plausible as well. They explained their points very well in their original post, and I don't want to repeat what they��ve already said, so I do implore you to go read that! It's not detrimental to needing to understand this post, but I highly recommend it. Despite this, I am here to both support their argument and bring my own comparison. Take a look at the cover art for Euclid:

Let me repeat the lesser-known definition of Euclid; a copy of the same. A clone. A replacement. Held in the right hand is the decapitated head of Vessel's old (2nd gen.) mask. Specifically, the one that covers his mouth; the version that relinquishes the most amount of humanity. The album art is a representation of change portrayed in a symbolically gory way. Beheading, depending on the era you’re working from, symbolises both vengeance as well as a form of purification. By cutting off the head, you remove any ‘unholy’ thoughts. It's also among one of the most horrific and humiliating ways of killing someone (since it was typically done publicly, and sometimes the heads were placed on spikes of battlements as a warning).

Furthermore, there's a theory that's popped up a couple of times, lore-wise, that Vessel is not the first person to be turned into a vessel of Sleep, and he certainly won't be the last. So, considering the literal album art illustrates a replacement of Vessel, I’d say that theory is pretty much confirmed. In conclusion, the album art can either be interpreted as how Vessel will eventually be discarded and replaced by another vessel, or how Vessel himself will change, for better or for worse; clawing out of his own skin to become “someone new”.

So, to compare the idea of Euclid being Vessel’s old name, and to create the third perception of what or rather, who, Euclid is, what if Euclid will be the eventual replacement for Vessel?

[buckybarnesdiaries]

a piece of cake

© @jamesbrnes

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Something happens at Shuri's birthday party that leads to a heated fight.

word count: 3k words. (fuck, it worth every damn word)

warnings/tags: nsfw, +18!!! angry jealous sex, let's start there. unprotected sex, oral sex (face fucking and ridding), fingering, brief daddy!kink, brief praise!kink, language, cursing, handcuffing, mention of bodily fluids, and probably i'm forgetting something else, i just lost my mind. bucky being the cutest and loving man on earth at the end.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

join the tag list here.

You had never been so quiet, but you knew that opening your mouth only could cause a storm inside the car, on your way back home. Believing you could have a pinch of luck, Bucky wouldn't notice that something was raving you mad since the moment you watched him letting another woman give him a spoon of cake. Straight to his mouth. You almost choked on your drink, talking to Shuri about how excited she was to celebrate her birthday in New York, when you witnessed the scene hearing their laughs and watching how they dared to touch his metal arm constantly. Your boyfriend was talking with some of his old friends from Wakanda, not even knowing he made friends there. He never said a word about it. Even so, they didn't have the right to flirt with him. Unless he didn't say anything about you.

But Bucky wasn't stupid. Or at least, not like you thought. Gazing you by the corners of his blue eyes, he was conscious that something was going wrong. He licked his upper lip briefly, slowly. He tasted the waters putting a hand on your thigh, which was your favorite gesture while he was driving, deriving with your fingers laced and him placing kisses on the back of your hand. But you didn't move an inch, still staring through the copilot's window with your elbow nailed there and your chin resting on your knuckles.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing”.

Your passive tone and the lie as a response caused him to frown, pulling over the car to focus on you. He turned on his seat and placed a hand behind the headrest of yours.

“Spit it”.

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow ironically, looking at him for a second. If he had to ask it was because he wasn't really seeing the dilemma there.

“I'm just tired and I wanna go home, James. That's all”.

James. James. You did it unconsciously, but he didn't take it as an innocent manner of calling him. Unexpressive, the soldier joined the highway driving faster than he used to. You had pissed him off, but it wasn't your problem. He had hurt your feelings with something he didn't give any importance to. The only thing you wanted was to take a shower, put on your comfier pajamas and go to sleep, probably you'd see tomorrow that situation differently than today and you could move on from your insecurities and the jealousy running through your veins.

You arrived at your apartment in record time, keeping the car inside the parking under the building. You removed the seat belt to wear your leather jacket and grab your purse on your feet, stepping out when you were ready. But Bucky stayed inside, just turning off the engine. He didn't have any intention of leaving it, maintaining his hands tightly gripped around the wheel. You ignored him as soon as you couldn't pretend you were just tired anymore. It was the first time something like that happened and you were having a strong desire to throw your guts up.

Three minutes later you were under the warm water with your forehead resting against the cold wall and your eyes closed. Maybe you were overreacting and the rational, mature behavior would be to go to talk with him, tell your boyfriend what made you feel upset. Sighing as you nodded two times, determined to put the cards on the table, you shut off the faucet and walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

“Oh, fucking hell!” You growled because of the scare of your life when you found Bucky already in your shared room.

He had his back supported on the wall, a leg flexed, and his hands behind himself. No expression on his face, but expecting an explanation from you. You were hoping for something from him too, maybe I don't know what I've done to make you feel like that, can you give me a clue? He just stared at you in silence, drying the pearls of water decorating your body before wearing a pair of black panties and your forgotten pajamas instead of one of his t-shirts impregnated on his scent.

“Com'ere”. Bucky whispered, stretching his flesh hand on air when you were about to go to sleep.

“No”.

Well, that wasn't the proper way to talk like grown adults. You crossed both arms on your chest, standing next to your side of the bed.

“What'd you say?” He squinted incredulous, slowly standing from the wall, pretending you hadn't uttered that word.

“I said no, you fucking punk”.

“The hell d'you think you're talking to, darling?”

“To the cretin who let other women flirt and touch him”. You replied with evident annoyance. “Why don't you go to show them your daddy's skills, uh? Sure I can find someone who respects me in the meantime”.

Suddenly, a grimace you hadn't seen before on him appeared like a thunderbolt. You weren't sure if you just made him feel more furious or if you just broke his heart. But before you could figure it out, Bucky shorted the distance between both in two fast strides and his hands gripped your throat and the back of your neck respectively, pinning you to the closest wall and tossing the lamp on your nightstand to the floor. You complained slightly —with his tongue wildly invading your mouth— because of the strength he used to put you against the wall.

You tried to push him away, to not fall into his charmings, but he made your mind blank when his fingers were firmly nailed in your ass and his body was accommodated between your legs. Your fiery provoked a bulge under his pants so painful that in every rock against your core he wasn't sure if it hurt or if it was some kind of pleasure he couldn't handle. Out of breath, Bucky attacked your neck, digging his teeth in your neck with so much passion that you screamed delighted his full name while pulling his hair. That gesture drove him insane, losing the less sanity he had at that point. With just a push, your boyfriend ripped off your shirt to strip you, in anticipation of your panties suffering the same fate.

Bucky threw you to the mattress on your abdomen, perfectly positioned to what was about to happen. He was so eager, so desperate for showing you what he was feeling that he didn't lose time taking off his clothes, just undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans to pull them down to his ankles along his boxers. You heard him spitting in his hand to use it as lube, although you were sufficiently soaked and ready for your Buck that neither of you needed his saliva. He rammed his dolorous erection into your cunt, crashing his pelvis and pressing it against your ass with all his strength, causing you to drown a loud cry in the sheets.

Tangling his fingers with yours and lacing your arms around your neck, putting all his weight onto your back, Bucky pounded you with an insanely quick rhythm, not giving you any chance to mold your throbbing walls around his length. Your pleased vocals echoed inside your room in total sync with the hits to your g-spot. Your body received with every one of them soft cramps mixed with pain and pleasure, making you roll your eyes and tear your throat.

“'S that wh— what you wanted, uh?” Bucky snarled against the back of your neck, totally gone, not giving you a break or showing any mercy.

“Fuck, no…” You replied, challenging him.

He swallowed a rough moan, wrapping his cold fingers around your throat while using the other to pull back your hair and arch your body. “Don' fucking… lie to me, doll… You wan— wanted your daddy to make you… feel desired over tho— those women”.

And yes, he was right. More or less. But you didn't expect him to react like that. Bucky was rabidly fucking you, moving the bed from its position with every angry thrust into your pussy. You knew you weren't going to last for too long if he continued impaling you against the mattress, just like that. But you both had to recognize that it was the best session of sex of your life.

“You were… fucking mad watch— watching 'em touch my arm… your arm, right?”

You whined at the brutality he used to push his hard cock beyond your limits, holding it there as he tilted your head to crash his lips on yours. Bucky devoured them until they were shiny, swollen, slightly ached because of the bit he left on your bottom one.

“If you don't tell me… the truth… I swear I'm not gonna let you come”. The whisper fell into your ear with such a raspy tone of voice, conscious of him being very capable.

“It was… your fucking fault, James. Not… Not mine”. You grunted, feeling him going a little deeper. “I di— didn't let anybody flirt with me… as if you didn't exist”.

That was the truth, but the wrong answer for him. Suddenly, Bucky pulled out his dick covered in your arousal, freeing you from any grip. A pause that only lasted the time he took to grab the handcuffs from your nightstand to place them in your wrists and secure them around the headboard. Now you were under his total control, defying him by strongly closing your legs and frowning at him, panting and sweating.

“Lemme tell you something”. Your boyfriend said, dangerously crawling over the bed till reaching your knees and forcing them to be separated, wide spread for him. “If you think I was flirting, but you didn't see… how uncomfortable I was… This situation is not my fault”.

The tables were turned as he finished his sentence, settling himself between your legs yet kneeling to raise your ass above his lap. “Not so mouthy now, are you, doll?”

You wanted to speak back, to say something after having a second to reconsider the reason why you were so angrier at him when Bucky pushed you down and rammed his dick back to the place it belonged. You forced unconsciously your hands gripped, wanting to put them on him —wherever—. As soon as he handcuffed you, your desire for touching him used to be suffocating. But you were the one who played from the start, instead of telling him how you were feeling about that situation at Shuri's party.

Bucky didn't even let you kiss him, stabilizing you on top with an arm around your waist and his cold hand holding the back of your head. His hips rocked straight to your g-spot once and once, making you lose any kind of control over your body as your boyfriend didn't have any compassion, needing to find relief to his sorrowful erection by cumming inside your clenching walls. You were driving him crazy, maintaining your eye contact at all moments and almost drinking your delighted, obscene crying, aware that only him could cause you to be so dirty.

“Feels good, uh…? You like it?” Your boyfriend brushed your lips with his, depriving you of his kisses or any other touch. “Bec— 'cause you take your daddy... so damn good, baby girl… So tight… so tight you could kill me”.

“Yes, da— daddy”. You whimpered nodding your head. “Only you… can fuck me li— like that… Only you”.

“That's it… that's it, oh, fuck… fuck, doll”.

You saw him roll that pair of beautiful blue eyes to the back of his head, feeling Bucky's thighs tensing under your legs. You didn't want anything else than making him cum, after overthinking about how he felt, and not about what you witnessed. He was right, more or less. He was still being so innocent in those kinds of situations that he used to feel like a scared kid.

You suddenly fell back to reality when the emptiness sensation invaded you. Bucky pulled out his length from you again, causing you to beg in silence for not denying you the orgasm you were about to reach. But he warned you. Bucky asked you to tell him the truth and you chose to challenge him. Letting you sit on the mattress, he flexed a leg to guide his twitching cock to your mouth, not needing to tell you what he wanted you to do. You just parted your lips, receiving him without protesting, curling your fingers when he forced your limits, and positioned both hands on your head. Twirling your tongue around his base as you could, with your cavity completely invaded, Bucky provoked you a strong gag. A gesture that led to his warm seed being spilled down your throat.

“Fuck my life, baby girl!” He couldn't help but howl driven by the pleasure as you coughed and made vibrate his sensitive skin.

Just holding his dick trapped by your lips for a second, he freed your mouth, taking his time to admire you swallowing his cum and showing afterward your tongue. God, you looked so beautiful disheveled, with teary eyes and swollen lips because of the effort.

“Want me to tell you something else?” Bucky asked while cleaning the sweat in his forehead with the back of his arm, taking the small key to liberating you with his free hand.

You didn't reply, not needing to, as he rubbed your wrists to comfort your skin before lying by your side.

“Com'ere”. He whispered, yet trying to recover your breathings. Bucky wrapped you with his flesh arm, rubbing his iron fingers up and down your tense belly, creating a contrast that caused you goosebumps. “'M so sorry for making you feel like that”.

He kissed you. Slowly, passionate, tasting his own juices mixed with your saliva. Caressing your tongue with the tip of his, and no rush. You felt his digits touring down your skin, till finding your throbbing and needed clit. You weren't able to hold back a sweet moan when he circled his fingertip over your sensible pearl, gladly drinking your vocals.

“When I wanted to react… she was putting that damn spoon into my mouth. It felt horrible, doll, I promise”. He murmured, venturing his long cold finger to part your folds and sink it inside you —moaning at the fulfill sensation—. “You always save me from those awkward situations… but you were having fun with Shuri and I didn't want to interrupt you”.

You were feeling like shit, looking at him through your eyelids as he curved a second finger into your cunt and increased the pace of the pounds with his hand made of vibranium. Bucky spread some gentle kisses all around your face, ending with a tender bite to your lips.

“When you told me you wanted to go home, I felt a huge relief… 'Cause that was everything I wanted. Go home with you. Maybe watch a movie… cuddle… fall asleep on the sofa”.

“Oh, God, Bucky”. You wept onto his mouth, as soon as a third finger filled you, nailing his hand in the perfect position to be moved up and down. “I'm so— sorry, Buck… I'm sorry”.

“Fuck, no”. He let out, thrusting you harder, faster, creating a melody of filthy sloppy sounds while your moans were louder and louder. “I should stop 'em, I didn't… I didn't. But I respect you more than anything, doll… I love you with all my heart. I care 'bout you, 'bout your feelings… Can you forgive me? Can you… Can you cum for me?”

You nodded your head running out of words, seeing your boyfriend snaking his body down the bed to between your shaky legs, yet having his fingers knuckles deep inside you. “Keep 'em open for your man”.

The blow to your abused cunt provoked you a lash up to your backbone, landing your hands on his head as Bucky sank his face straight to your center. His digits fucked you savagely, while his tongue took control of your swollen pearl —sucking, licking, kissing, pulling it back—. He wasn't going to deny that pleasure to you, quite the opposite. You pressed unconsciously his face a little closer to your pussy, swinging your hips and riding his mouth when his caresses and his pushes became too much for you.

Bucky made you cum harder than ever, crying his name till you didn't have any strength and you were just a sack of bones under his expert mouth, devouring you and drinking your juices as if it was the elixir of life. And when he was satiated, you glanced at him using the tip of his tongue to trail a path up crossing your abdomen, the gap between your breasts, your throat, until kissing you again getting comfortable on top of you. It was a kiss full of love, and guiltiness, and necessity, and pure devotion for you.

“Did I hurt you with what I said?” You murmured, still enraptured by the fireworks fluttering within your belly.

“This isn't 'bout me”. Bucky clicked his tongue, hiding his face into your sweaty neck. “This is 'bout what I let happen”.

“That doesn't answer my question, Buck… I'm sorry about what I said. I was just… I feel insecure". You confessed stroking his scalp and back with your hands, lacing your legs together. “I didn't mean it. I would never try to… find someone who respects me more than you do. That's impossible. And not talking about how much you love me”.

“I love you with every inch of myself”. He swore, he promised, raising his face to look straight at your eyes. “I can't imagine a life without you”.

“Me either… Your love makes me feel alive”.

Bucky left one last tender kiss on your lips before suddenly standing up and holding you onto his arms to carry you to the bathroom and take a shower together —wash your hair, worship your body again as if it was the last thing he was going to do—.

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[hermannsthumb]

nsfw prompt: hermann in lacy boxers. newt is verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry into it

Anonymous said: Follow up to the hermann's lacy briefs ask: newt wears tacky neon briefs and Hermann is Just As Into It

loosely inspired by a conversation I had with @k-sci-janitor the other night 👀 second part isn't AS incorporated, but, I did try. not sfw below cut! (but it's more of an M)

------------

“Well, shit,” Newt says.

As far as lab accidents go, it’s not as bad as it could be. Neither of them are bleeding, for one thing. All their limbs are still intact. And only a very small portion of the lab is on fire, not even anywhere near Hermann’s shit, and Newt manages to deal with it before it spreads by deploying the emergency fire extinguisher in record time. True, their clothing is splattered with a very mild (non-lethal!) amount of kaiju blood, and true, it does sizzle worryingly at first (kaiju blood will apparently eat through cotton like nothing), but Newt’s grown very adept with dealing with these sorts of things. (He kind of has to—they happen every other day.) “In ya go,” he says to a stunned Hermann cheerfully, tugging him along to the decontamination shower by his elbow. “Don’t be shy.”

It takes Hermann a few seconds of pleasant silence to get over his initial shock, and then he begins bitching. “This is the final straw!” he declares, along with stuff like “I can’t take your incompetence much longer!” and “I will be submitting several complaints to the Marshal about this!”, and even smacks Newt’s ankles with his cane a few times. Once he realizes that there’s now a neat little hole burned into the front of his sweater, though, and an even larger one spreading by the shoulder, his complaints fade away into weak sputters, and he doesn’t make as much as a peep when Newt shoves him under the freezing spray.

“Sorry, dude,” Newt says. “How was I supposed to know kaiju blood was combustible?”

Hermann growls at Newt.

As per lab containment protocol, once the shower is turned on, the lock is engaged, and they’ll only be allowed to exit once they’re deemed sufficiently toxin-free by the...toxin-censors, or something. Newt's still not really sure how it all works. That, or, you know, if one of them punches in the override code. But that kind of takes a while, and Newt kind of did need a shower anyway, so he decides to just roll with it and let himself be sanitized. Better safe than sorry. Even though he’s pretty sure that blood was neutralized. Probably. It is a little worrisome that it was dissolving the fabric that fast, since Newt hasn’t had that happen to him before. “Okay, warning,” Newt says, “I’m gonna take off my clothes. You might want to, too. I’m not sure why that had the reaction it did but we probbbbably don’t want to get it on our skin.”

“No,” Hermann says.

“Tough luck, I’m gonna get naked,” Newt says. “It’s happening. You need to, too.”

“Absolutely not,” Hermann says.

“Safety protocol!” Newt shouts.

It’s hard enough to shimmy out of his skinny jeans bone-dry, but in the shower it may as well be impossible, especially since he forgot to take off his boots first. Also, it’s hard to move even a foot without bumping his ass against Hermann, and Hermann growls (like, seriously, what?) again each time he does. Newt finally succeeds in stripping down to just his undershirt and neon-green boxers, and since a quick once-over confirms his skin seems to be totally burn-free, and he can't feel any sort of excruciating pain that would suggest otherwise, he decides he’s fine to just stop there. No reason to needlessly flash Hermann his junk. When Newt turns around, he’s almost surprised to see Hermann in the exact same position as before: clutching the shower railing for dear life, his eyes fixed directly at the ceiling.

Oh—Newt’s dumb. Hermann left his cane outside. A wet shower is already potentially treacherous, but a wet shower without anything but a crappy railing to properly stabilize himself definitely is. “Okay, look, don’t take this the wrong way,” Newt says, “but can I help you undress? I just mean—it’ll probably be hard for you to do it like that.”

He points to Hermann’s iron grip on the railing. Hermann shakes his head.

“I would rather you not,” he says. He looks down at Newt's briefs, goes red in the face, and looks back up.

“Hermann, seriously.” Newt steps forward with a sigh and tugs on Hermann’s blazer. “It’s a safety thing. I promise I won’t look at your old man bloomers or long johns or whatever, you just seriously need to take this all off so I can make sure you’re not hurt.”

“Stop it, Newton,” Hermann grumbles, and then, when Newt gets the top few buttons undone, full-on snaps “Newton!” and pushes Newt away. "Get off of me."

Newt is not dealing with this shit right now. It's one thing for Hermann to be pissed at him when they have a whole lab between them and plenty of space to cool off, but crammed in to a tiny shower together where he's within arm's distance of a grumpy Hermann, who would probably joyfully throttle him at any moment, is just not how Newt wants to spend the next twenty or so minutes. Especially not when all he wanted to do was make sure Hermann wasn't getting literal acidic burns. It's a completely un-cool way to repay a kindness. “Fine!” he says, and throws up his hands. “Whatever! I don’t care. You always have to make everything weird."

Hermann glowers at him, which looks pretty silly, because it's hard to take him seriously with his hair plastered to his head like that. Then, (to Newt's surprise) he reaches a trembling hand up to his top button. “I will do it myself,” he says. “But please look away. I need—privacy.”

"Privacy," Newt echoes with a snort, but obliges. Anything to get Hermann to cooperate is a-okay with him. Once he's got his back to Hermann, he hears Hermann's clothing hitting the ground with a series of small wet splats against the tile. Blazer, sweater, button-down, pants. His belt jingles when it drops. Despite the chill of the water, Newt feels the back of his neck grow warm. Hermann is practically naked behind him. Newt doesn't think he's seen Hermann any nakeder than his pajamas before, once when they dragged themselves to LOCCENT at three in the morning for a kaiju alert system test run and he got an eyeful of Hermann in a dressing gown and slippers. Even that was almost too much for Newt. "Any burns?" he says over his shoulder.

"Er," Hermann says. "I think—"

"Well?"

Hermann is silent. "I'm not quite sure," he finally says.

Newt sighs. "Okay, just let me—"

Newt's scientist mode kicks in over his holy shit Hermann is semi-naked next to me mode (and, okay, maybe his protective over Hermann mode kicks in just a little too), and he turns to Hermann unthinkingly to assess any possible damage. And then freezes in place. Because, well. He's not sure what he expected—maybe Hermann scowling and shivering in some dorky little striped boxers and an undershirt, or maybe that he layers up on undergarments just like he does sweaters.

He is absolutely, one-hundred percent not expecting to see Hermann in a lacy blue pair of underwear and a matching bralette.

And, well. At least the water is cold. Newt doesn't like to think about what sort of physiological response his body might have otherwise.

As it is, Newt just sort of stares at Hermann. And his sexy underwear. Or maybe he gapes. He definitely does when he realizes that it's not just plain sexy underwear—both pieces have little gold stars embroidered across them—and it's simultaneously so cute and so much sexier that his knees begin to wobble, and he's worried he might pass out. Hermann stares back, chin raised almost defiantly, his jaw set hard. Neither of them speak.

Then Newt clears his throat and makes an attempt at it, because he's not sure what else to do if not play it cool. "Um," he squeaks. "Um. I don't—I don't see any burns." Newt does not look anywhere else on Hermann's body, so there's a good chance that's a lie. It's kind of hard to pull his eyes away. "Are you—do you—" He takes a deep breath. "Do you always...?"

"No," Hermann says. He works his jaw back and forth. "Well, go on, then."

"Go on what?" Newt says. Is Hermann sensing the (frankly) pornographic thoughts racing through Newt's head at a mile a minute and giving him permission to act on them? Because Newt doesn't have a problem with that. He 100% does not have a problem with dropping to his knees and begging Hermann to let him put his tongue on him through the lace, or groping Hermann's chest through the top...

"Tease me," Hermann says. In a sexy way? Newt wonders, because he can do that, and he's all set to start grabbing Hermann's ass or something when Hermann clarifies "I know you want to tell me how silly I look."

Oh. That's dumb. "Why would I do that?" Newt says. Before he can help himself, he blurts out, "Dude, you look fucking hot."

"What?" Hermann says.

The shower shuts off, and an alarm beeps twice as the door swings open. The emergency protocol seems to have ended. Neither Newt nor Hermann make a move to leave. "What?" Hermann repeats again, a little quieter. He's looking at Newt like he's grown a second head.

"It looks," Newt says, "um, hot. I like—" He feels himself blushing furiously. He's not sure where to stare—still at Hermann? Or does he force himself to turn his gaze to the floor or over Hermann's shoulder or something? He can see one of Hermann's nipples through the lace top. Oh, my God. "I like how it looks on you." (Insane understatement.)

Hermann falls silent again. "You do?" he says.

"Yeah," Newt says. "Do you—like, every day? Or?"

Hermann shakes his head. He's watching Newt with a carefully guarded expression, like he's still skeptical that Newt is telling the truth and isn't about to just start laughing at him or something. "Not at all," he says. "Er. This was rather unfortunate timing. It's—well, it's a way to feel more confident, I suppose, when I've had a rotten week."

Newt doesn't start laughing, of course. Newt inches closer. He likes the contrast of the dark blue against Hermann's skin, and he wonders how soft it is. He wonders if it would feel soft to him, too, if he touched it, or dragged his palms up and down Hermann's chest. He wonders if Hermann would like that. "I often," Hermann says, and then his voice trails off.

"Huh?" Newt says, somewhere to the vicinity of Hermann's belly button.

Hermann clears his throat. "I often think of you. What you would do, if you saw me this way, and..."

Newt finally snaps. "Can I touch you?" he says.

Hermann nods, the smallest, shyest little smile on his face. "If you'd like," he says.

[ilguna]

Malefic - Metanoia (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

warnings; swearing, BLOOD MENTION, angst.

wc; 500-ish?

NOTES; i give reader a last name to fit the world.

I WROTE THIS AT 3AM. IT’S NOT FANTASTIC. IT’S A BLURB. DON’T TAKE IT TOO SERIOUSLY. THANKS.

–

“(Y/n), just stop.” Finnick says, his entire face is twisted in anger, he motions for you to leave.

“Stop what?” You ask, stalking towards him, “I thought you knew what you were getting into. You said so yourself, you knew me.”

“No, that’s not what I said—“

“Really? Because I have a pretty good recollection of it.” You tilt your head, “You were the one saying that you’d be here through thick and thin. That you could handle whatever I dished out.”

“This is not what I meant.” He hisses, eyes snapping to you.

For a moment, you want to be angry. But you don’t even get a chance, because a smug sneer is crossing your face, “You thought I would be sunshine and rainbows?”

“Stop!” He says lowly.

“You thought that just because I’m dating you, is suddenly change like that—?” You snap your fingers, shaking your head.

“Shut—“

“You are by far the dumbest person I’ve ever fucking met. I even came with warning labels and you still managed to fuck it up.”

“Quit it.” Finnick’s face is straight and angry. You’ve briefly seen him angry, but not like this. This is different.

“Or what? You’re going to go crying to Johanna? Call me a fucking bitch and have her rub your shoulders and tell you that you deserve better?” You mock a sad face, “Have her tuck you in and read you a bedtime—“

Finnick shoves your shoulders hard, too hard. You stumble, arms reaching out behind you to catch yourself on the wall before it’s too late. It doesn’t work, your head slams into the cement wall, a white hot pain straight out of hell collided with your head.

You slide down the wall with no choice, fingers fumbling to the warm feeling that’s creeping down the back of your neck. At the sight of rich red blood, you’re looking back at Finnick.

You open your mouth, prepared to send him a snarky remark; a congratulations on him finally being able to hurt you in some way, since he can’t do it emotionally or mentally.

His voice overlaps yours, loud and roaring, “Don’t you fucking get it?! You’re so fucking manipulative!” He stands over you, seething rage, “You do this—all the fucking time and then wonder and pout about how no one wants you—

“This is why! You’re so fucking unbearably unloveable because of your stupid superiority complex!” Finnick’s lip curls, snarling, “You think you’re so much better than the rest of us, but the truth is, you’re worse. At least we figured out healthy coping mechanisms, you just sought out abuse.”

He doesn’t stay, he leaves immediately after. The back of your head is throbbing, gushing blood. You sit on the floor for a while, carefully leaning your head back against the wall while you try not to be bothered about the heat on your back.

At some point, the slightest head movement is enough to make you dizzy. You gently get off the floor, carefully placing a hand on the back of your head. There’s a good puddle of blood where you had sat before, and you find that you’re coated in it when you look in the mirror.

Smeared down the side of your face, around your ears and down your neck. You aren’t too focused on your expression in the mirror until you go to leave and catch how pale you’ve grown. You need to get help.

You’d take care of it yourself, be self-sufficient as usual. But they don’t keep medical stuff in the room. And if they do, you don’t know where to find it. So, you wander out of your room and down the hall until you find the elevator.

Its not empty when it reaches your floor. In fact, you’re face to face with Haymitch and Katniss. At first, they glance past you, until a voice that you hardly recognize as yours is leaving your lips.

“I need help.” You whisper, blinking to keep yourself awake, “Please.”

Haymitch sees you first, and snaps awake. Once the door is pulled up, he’s grabbing you to keep you upright, “What happened?”

“I fell. I blacked out and hit my head and when I woke up, I was covered in blood.” You look between Haymitch, and Katniss. Katniss looks less than thrilled to see you. You can’t blame her, “I’ll make it by myself, I think.”

“We should walk you—“

“No, you’re doing something important.” You pull away from him, “I’m not important. I’m nothing.” You make it inside of the elevator, pressing yourself to the corner to keep upright, “I’m sorry for asking. Don’t worry about me.”

You push the button to the medical floor, which has an asterisk next to the number. Haymitch looks like he still wants to offer help, and you think you see something different in Katniss’ eyes, that you easily play off as nothing, you’re just dizzy.

The elevator moved, leaving them where they are. You have to keep to the corner, away from the door since you didn’t pull it down like you should’ve. You go down for what feels like forever.

You’re motion sick at the bottom, but drag your feet long enough to make it. Black spots eat away at the corners of your eyes, white static taking over spaces where it shouldn’t be. You feel hands on your arms, and slump.

Whoever it is, follows you all the way to the floor, cradling you in their arms. You keep your eyes shut, hoping that the spinning motion will die out if you see nothing but darkness, but it doesn’t go anywhere. It feels worse.

“Hey,” the voice is gentle, and warm and too familiar, “(Y/n)? Please open your eyes for me, just real quick.”

There’s a pressure beneath your eyes suddenly, making you flinch.

“Look at me.” There’s a certain softness to it, too delicate, on the verge of breaking.

Your eyelids feel heavy, words barely forming in your brain long enough to form a lazy string of thoughts. Whoever it is, cares about you deeply.

What a waste, you think, you’d have a better chance at striking gold.

Your eyebrows draw together, and you struggle to open your eyes for a second to see who would be stupid enough to help you, much less care about you.

Oh. Of course.

Brown hair that looks golden in white light. Sea green eyes that used to catch the hearts of everyone in the Capitol, now filled to the brink with clear, wobbly tears. The lightest blink could send them over the edge.

Finnick, back so soon? What a surprise, you never learn.

“I’m sorry.” He says, slowly scooping you up, “I’m so sorry. I thought that you’d come down here sooner. I didn’t think...”

Taking the blame all on himself, as if you’re not the one that sat there knowing the consequences.

You blink, and struggle to open your eyes again. You think it would be better if you died here. If only you’d stayed in the dorm and let yourself wither away there. At least then you’d get what you deserve.

“This is a mistake.” The words are slurred, making no sense. Finnick looks down at you, worried.

“What?”

“Just let me go.” You turn your head, at the end of the hall stands bald Johanna. You think you can see the scar from when you slammed her head against the rock.

Now we’ll be matching.

“Shut up, don’t do this now.”

“Do you know the definition of insanity?” You murmur, eyes locking with his, “It’s when you do the same thing over and over and over and expect a different outcome every single time.”

You press your lips together, willingly closing your eyes now. Finnick’s saying something, you purposely drown him out, hoping that the usual coldness of the darkness, now replaced by warmth, is going to be enough to show Finnick just how good he’ll have it without you.

After all, you’re unbearingly unlovable. He shouldn’t be wasting his time on you.

[crashingmeteorz]

the tea shop fight probably wouldn’t happen in my ba sing se bimbos au, but IF IT DID:

jet sees mushi heating tea, and goes through an existential crisis. what’s worse is it’s JET’S tea, so he just has to. drink the firebended tea. and try really hard. not to throw up.

on the one hand, lee is one of the best friends he’s ever had and mushi is one of about two adults jet’s ever had any respect for (the second is song’s mother).

on the other, THOSE TWO MEN...ARE FIREBENDERS!!!!!

so as you can imagine, he has something resembling a mental breakdown.

(“are you okay?” song asks him one night when he’s particularly on edge. “you’re all...sweaty.”)

(“probably because it’s extra hot in here,” jet says pointedly, staring right at zuko, who just blushes a little because he, like everyone else, assumes jet’s just flirting with him again.)

(“but we’re outside,” says song, deeply confused.)

jet finally decides he’s just going to come out and tell zuko he knows he’s a firebender, and give him about 30 seconds to explain himself Or Else.

he stalks into the tea shop with extreme purpose, and doesn’t even notice song and jin sitting at one of the tables when he walks right up to zuko and says “we need to talk.”

“unless it’s about the couple by the window and how you’re going to cram this towel down their throats, i’m a little busy,” zuko tells him as he loads up his tray and turns his back. jet leans in hovering just over zuko’s ear, and at first, all zuko can think is i’m not making out with you NOW jet!

and then jet whispers: “i know you’re a firebender,” and zuko freezes. he turns around, hoping jet will have his signature smirk on, but his mouth is a hard thin line and his brows are drawn in a sharp v.

“do you have time to talk now?” jet asks him coldly. zuko narrows his eyes and says “no.”

from their table, jin and song watch on curiously. “why don’t you think jet said hi to us?” jin asks song. “probably saw lee’s ass and didn’t even notice we were here,” answers song. they both laugh - lee doesn’t have an ass.

all of the sudden jet’s yelling and drawing his hooks. “come on!” he shouts, pointing at zuko, “show everyone what you can do!”

“you want a show?” replies zuko, snatching a nearby guard’s swords, “i’ll give you a show.”

“what in the - if they’re not careful they’ll hit mushi!” says a thoroughly pissed song at the same time jin says “song - write this down, we need to get them into Street Rumble XI!”

(street rumble is the street version of earth rumble, and also the avatar alternative to yelling WORLD STAR!)

the fight is pretty evenly matched. in this au there’s more hesitation, but it’s still intense. they knock over tables, shatter dishes, and all-around make a ruckus.

iroh meanwhile, who has come to care for jet, is calling for both of them to calm down. he doesn’t know for sure what the fights about, but he’s got a sinking feeling, based on the fury written all over jet’s face.

the fight goes outside, and obviously song, jin, and iroh follow.

“if you’re in the market for a new relative to mentor, i make a great niece! song, tell mushi what a good roommate i am,” jin says cheerily as zuko and jet almost kill each other. “don’t ask me to lie,” says song.

then the dai li show up.

“oh shit,” says jin. “we’re too poor to pay their bail!” says song.

jet and zuko pause their fight after being told to drop their weapons (they do not drop anything.) jet points at zuko and yells “tell everyone who you are!”

“he’s a young man, just like you,” says iroh. “boys, please, it’s not worth this, let’s all go back inside.”

“i’m not going anywhere with you!” roars jet.

the guards and pao tell the dai li how jet attacked without reason, how the tea boy was just defending himself. the dai li move to take jet away. song panics, and does the only thing that makes sense at the moment.

“no! don’t! it’s my fault!” she cries. she remembers what her mother taught her, about people’s assumptions and using them for survival, and she begins openly sobbing. it’s enough to get the dai li to pause.

“don’t blame yourself,” says iroh quickly, not knowing where song’s going with this but helping anyway by gently patting her shoulder. “it’s hardly your fault.”

“it is!” she cries. “it’s me - they’re fighting over me!”

“song,” jet says irritably, at the same time zuko blushes furiously and says “uhhhhhh.”

“all this...over a girl?” the guards ask. the dai li still are still hovering over jet.

“i know, it’s ridiculous!” iroh agrees. “but you know how young men can be-“

“it IS ridiculous,” jin says dramatically, stepping forward. “because i thought they were fighting over ME!”

“you?” song blubbers, doing her best impression of a person who does not think this entire skit is ridiculous. iroh thinks they’re laying it on a little thick but the crowd seems sufficiently distracted. “but-but lee said he only loved me!”

“is this true?” yells jin, rounding on the boys. jet is, if at all possible, even angrier, while zuko is rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“jin,” jet says. “i am not dealing with this right now-”

“you started this!” cries song hysterically. “making a scene, just because i said i won’t kiss you if you keep eating grass-”

iroh, who has made his way over to the dai li, gestures broadly and says “as you can see, it’s just some teenage drama. please, we can handle this. i’ll make sure the boys clean up their mess.”

the two dai li look at one another, and then nod at iroh. “if we hear of any other disturbances in this area, they’re both getting arrested,” they tell him before departing.

the crowd disperses, not really wanting to deal with song’s crying and jin’s yelling. pao goes back inside griping about closing up early. finally, when it’s just the five of them, song takes her hands away from her face, which is completely dry.

“and, scene,” says jin, bowing. “song, you were brilliant, iroh, my muse, lee and jet - the stunts could use a little work.”

“why did you have to say all that stuff?” zuko mumbles angrily. jet, meanwhile, begins to stomp away.

“because we didn’t want you to idiots to disappear!” yells song. “but i’m already regretting it! and you!” she says, rounding on jet. “you’re not going ANYWHERE until you two clean up this mess!”

“you don’t understand!” says jet. “those two - they’re-”

“why don’t we all clean up together, and then we can discuss this at the apartment?” offers iroh quickly. they may be alone, but they’re still very much in public.

“great idea,” says jin, “i have to finish transcribing the fight anyway.” song takes iroh’s arm and says, “mushi, you’re not allowed to help, you had nothing to do with this.” zuko looks at jet and shrugs, entering the tea shop. jet splutters, making a series of strangled noises, before finally sighing in defeat and following the group inside and begrudgingly cleaning up.

when they get to the apartment, iroh serves the four of them tea. jet refuses.

“i don’t want anything made by a firebender,” he hisses. song freezes. zuko rolls his eyes. iroh looks deeply sad.

“that’s what this is about?” jin says in a bored voice, sipping her tea. “i thought we all knew by now.”

“what?” shout jet, song, and zuko. iroh looks shocked.

“seriously?” asks jin. “lee, the first time we hung out you lit up, like a hundred candles at once. do you think i’m stupid? is that what you think? that i’m stupid?”

“n-no!” zuko stutters. “you knew,” jet growls “and didn’t say anything to us?” song is still fairly pale.

“i thought we all knew!” jin says. “i mean, he screwed up in front of me, like, immediately. i just figured the same had happened with you two.”

“i can’t believe it,” zuko says miserably.

“besides,” jin continues, “what’s the big deal? there’s plenty of war babies in ba sing se. and lee’s our friend. has he ever used firebending to hurt us?”

“that’s true,” song says thoughtfully. “and, that scar clearly didn’t come from a waterbender.” she takes in zuko’s embrassed expression and adds, “no offense, lee.”

“i don’t believe this,” says jet in shock. “how are you all just okay with this?”

“well, what’s he gonna do?” asks jin.

“i - i don’t know!” stutters jet. “he could - he could be spying for the fire nation!” song and jin laugh heartily, and after a minute so does jet.

“okay, okay,” jet concedes, “lee could never make it as a spy. but still-”

(“could too,” grumbles zuko, arms crossed. iroh shoots him a “for once in your life SHUT UP” look.)

“but nothing,” song says, standing up. “jet, i understand. i’ve been hurt by the fire nation, too, remember?” she pulls up her skirt and shows everyone her burned leg. zuko looks away.

“but lee didn’t do this,” song says firmly. “and neither did mushi. and you destroyed a town, so you don’t get to judge them.”

jet’s jaw drops, and then he pouts bitterly. “i never should have told you about that,” he mutters.

“i trust you three will keep our secret, then?” iroh asks at last. song and jin nod. jet looks between them, and then at zuko, who offers him something resembling an apologetic look.

“fine,” says jet. “but if i think for one second that you two are working with the fire nation, i’m not holding back.”

zuko and iroh nod aggressively, both thinking “if we so much breathed in the presence of the fire nation we’d be electrocuted by our insane relatives, but sure jet, we’re totally working with the fire nation.”

i know i said i’d post part 2 of the gaang and ba sing se bimbos meetup, but this was stuck in my head. since it’s an au of an au i’m just going to include it in my new masterpost rather than in any particular order. credit as always to the amazing @azenkii !

masterpost

[sunnybeas]

man or a monster

summary: Gavin discovers how scary a half deviated Nines can really be. 

He remembered the first time he had actually felt afraid of Nines. He had always been a little wary of him, because fuck he was sketchy as hell. He had no business looking like that, six something with a jawline that was insanely squared and sharp and eyes with the solemn intensity of some hardened serial killer. He was fucking jacked and insanely intimidating.

Not that Gavin would ever let him know either of those things. Because he wasn’t fucking stupid or currently suicidal.

He’d been intimidated, sure, but not necessarily scared of the damn android until about three months into their partnership. They’d been tailing a pretty prolific red ice dealer for about four weeks when they finally found a location and had enough evidence to book the guy for life.

They’d fallen on some shady ass crack den in warehouse, which why did all crackhead activities go down in shitty warehouses. The FBI had been involved, mostly because the amount of red ice being moved was substantial and moving out of Detroit jurisdiction.

They had hit them at two am and Gavin had been buzzing, bouncing on his heels eagerly. Nines had looked at him, just a flicker of a glance, before settling into his seat, finger tapping idly at his forearm. It was an oddly human thing to do, another indication that little Mr. I-can’t-deviate was more human than he let on.

“You ready for this?” Gavin asked. It was Nines first bust, his first real taste of hardcore police work since he’d been activated.

Nines looked up, the LED a consistent blue. “I think I’m sufficiently prepared.”

“Fuck sufficiently prepared,” Gavin scoffed, “we’re about to take down the biggest scum bag in Detroit. I’m fucking hyped .”

And if Gavin didn’t know better, he would have sworn he saw a little flicker at the corner of Nines’ lips. He was always doing that, smothering whatever even slightly human instinct he managed to have. Gavin wasn't sure if they were instinctual or a forced part of his programming, all he knew was that Nines had a good fucking smile. “I’m eager to finish it. This man is as you said, a scum bag.”

Hearing him say it was ridiculous, he said scum bag with so much disdain.

“Fuck yeah, let’s finish this.” Gavin lifted his fist up, knuckles towards him

Nines had blinked, staring at his offered hand.

“For fucks sake.” Gavin sighed, reaching forward and balling Nines’ hand into a fist. His hands were crazy big which was not something Gavin would allow himself to focus on for too long.

“Like this.” Gavin drew Nines fist forward and tapped it against his.

Nines seemed fascinated by the interaction, his LED spinning yellow. “What does it mean?” He asked.

“Uh, it’s kind of a stupid bro thing, I guess? Like, good job or….just something you do.”

“A bro thing.” Nines echoed dryly, his hand dropping to his lap.

“Fuck you, tin can, I’m not as eloquent as you.” Gavin scoffed, though he grinned.

And again, Gavin saw that just barely there twitch at his lips. It’s like he was trying to smile, just didn’t know how to fully commit to it.

Gavin kept a count of those little movements though, stored them away for a reason he was definitely not gonna look too deeply into.

Nearly an hour later, they were ready. Guns drawn, Gavin, Nines and an FBI team descended on the warehouse. It was chaos from the start.

They had definitely had the element of surprise, there had been workers stocking as they dropped and while they quickly detained a few, more split out the back and further into the maze of office spaces.

Gavin and Nines has rushed the corridor and just as he stepped through, Nines snatched him by the Kevlar vest and pulled him into cover like he was a rag doll. Cursing, he crouched beside him.

Gunfire shot off immediately and Nines raised his brow at him.

“Oh, shut up.” He hissed.

“I have a plan.” Nines said instead. “I need you to cover my back. I’m going to disarm him.”

Gavin blinked. “How the fuck-“

“I am going to do it whether or not you come with me but I would very much prefer if you went along.” Nines cut him off, evenly.

Nines waited a beat, did a quick scan of Gavin’s vitals. Heart rate was up, he was high off adrenaline. And he was at his best right now. Something flickered within him and Nines quickly blinked away the error notes that covered his HUD.

“You better know what you’re doing, tin can.”

With that, Nines shot up and burst from cover. He quickly took the majority of the fire, ducking and twisting like a fucking madman to avoid it. He was fast. He was insanely fast and the way he was moving was absolutely breathtaking and terrifying.

“Shit shit shit.” Gavin cursed, following but ducking behind debris to give opposing fire.

Nines took a hit to the shoulder and barreled through it, surging forward. Another shot to the abdomen that he moved through. Fuck. That should not have been as hot as it was. Gavin wasn't sure if that spoke to his danger kink or whatever and again, he wasn't going to read into that, but holy shit.

And then Nines was on top of the man and he fucking snapped and tossed aside the gun. The man shouted out as Nines descended on him. Nines lifted the man easily, turning and slamming him into the ground. It took a lingering moment for Gavin to realize his LED was bright red and almost pulsing. His expression was hard, completely blank.

Gavin would fucking hate to be in that man’s position right now. This was exactly what Nines was intended for and it was terrifying to see him in acting. Cold and ruthless like this. Gavin tried not to think about it often, how Nines was literally meant to be a war machine. And now he was a Detective, mostly kept on mundane desk duty. He wondered if those super soldier instincts needed to get used, if he needed to stretch those metaphorical murder-y legs every so often. Fuck, that was a scary thought.

And then those cold eyes turned to him, LED wheeling red.

“Detective!”

Gavin sprinted forward.

And oh fuck- Nines was crouched, a knee in the man’s back and looking more disheveled than ever- Gavin was unbelievably turned on by it. Hair ruffled, pieces of it falling over his forehead, blue blood splattered across his cheek, and his LED humming red- fuck, he was staring.

“Would you like to do the honors?” He asked, tilting his head to the suspect.

Grinning, Gavin strode forward. “Would fucking love to.”

Over the coms, Nines reported, “Suspect apprehended.”

Once the man was securely cuffed and read his rights, Gavin looked up to Nines. His LED was flickering between yellow and red now, which if Gavin remember frsom sensitivity training- was not ideal.

Red typically meant trouble. Yellow meant thinking, processing, whatever.

Gavin looked over him and with a startling jerk- remembered Nines had taken three bullets. Which for a human typically meant game over. And still wasn’t that good for an android either.

“You good?”

Nines eyes were almost clouded. “My thirium levels are low. Not critical but I am losing quite a lot.” He admitted.

“Quite a lot-“ Gavin echoed, incredulous at how cavalier he was being over bleeding to death. “I need a tech to my location stat. Nines took three bullets.”

“Roger, evac on route.” The Officer replied quickly over the line.

An agent moved forward to collect the suspect, who was shouting vitriol towards Nines, who did not even have the energy to blink at him.

“Shit, what can I do?” Gavin asked.

“Nothing, the technician will take care of everything.” He replied, smoothly, shifting to remove his Cyberlife issued jacket. He wore a black turtleneck that was unnecessarily tight on his perfect plastic chest and Gavin could see the dark patches from the bullets staining through.

Sighing lightly as if it were a slight inconvenience, Nines peeked the turtleneck off.

And wow- bullet wounds on an Android didn’t look any better than on a human. The one that had connected into the shoulder had ripped a clean hole through, blue blood pouring steadily from it. The one on his abdomen was more concerning, an open gaping hole.

“Shit.” Gavin said again.

“Detective, if it’s making you uncomfortable you’re more than welcome to wait elsewhere.” Nines said.

He probably read his vitals. Fucking plastic prick.

“I’m not uncomfortable, dickhead, I’m fucking concerned about the bullets in your body right now.” Gavin spat back.

“If it’s any help, it isn’t painful. A bit inconvenient and uncomfortable, but not painful.” His voice was wavering, mingling with static.

That couldn’t be good.

“Apologies. Thirium levels are approaching critical. I may go into stasis until the technician arrives with more.” He said.

“Fuck!” Gavin cursed. “Okay, did, c’mere.” Gavin beckoned for him to sit on the concrete floor and Nines actually followed.

He pressed his bare back to the wall, giving Gavin a full look at his exposed arms and chest. Cyberlife was meticulous. He looked so human like, down to freckles on his shoulders and moles scattered on his chest.

“Keep talkin’ tin can.” Gavin ordered.

“Your voice is exceedingly irritating.” Nines said immediately.

Gavin laughed. “That right?” He asked. “You feeling irritated?”

Nines squinted his eyes at the Detective, aware of the word play. Despite himself, his lip quirked up just slightly.

“I do not have to feel to know you’re exceptionally irritating.”

Gavin couldn’t even find it in himself to be offended by that, just stashed that little flicker in his growing collection.

Nines leaned his head back. Shutting his eyes, he ran another diagnostic.

“Hey, you were a fucking beast back there.” Gavin interrupted the process.

Nines eyes opened. “Was that a compliment, detective?”

Gavin’s cheeks flushed. That was an interesting response, Nines notes.

“Don’t get fucking used to it. I haven’t seen you like that before. You were like the Terminator or something. It was crazy.”

“Hunting deviants and criminals is what I was made for.” He responded.

“Yeah, but doesn’t it feel good? Like to catch a fuckin’ asshole like that just feels like justice, you know? Like a high you don’t want to end.”

Nines started, taking in the detective, before saying with a softness he did not know himself to possess, “I think I may understand.”

[kissjane]

Reposted from Ao3!

“I let you mooch off of my Wi-Fi and this is how you repay me?”

Lucas blinked.

In front of his apartment door stood a tall, lean guy with storm in his eyes.

“Sorry? Who are you?”

“I live next door, asshole, you don’t even know whose Wi-Fi you’ve been using?”, the stranger bit, as he pushed past Lucas and stepped inside Lucas’ flat.

Lucas stared at the man’s back. Broad shoulders. Sunkissed brown hair that spiked in all directions. And – Lucas whipped his eyes back up. He absolutely did not just appraise his very angry neighbour’s very nice ass.

“Uhm, sorry, but I don’t really know what –”

Mr. Nice Ass turned around, fuming.

“You don’t know about downloading all that shitty porn using my Wi-Fi? I got a fucking bill that’s about my monthly wages, you wanker!”

For a heart-stopping second, Lucas was afraid this guy somehow knew exactly what porn he’d been watching recently. The blood drained from his face.

“Yeah, that’s right, you asshole. You know, I knew somebody was on my Wi-Fi for months, but I didn’t really mind all that much, it was only a couple of gigabytes and it didn’t bother me. But this?”

He waved a bill in Lucas’ face.

“This is fucking insane! So I looked into it and you’ve downloaded half the fucking internet’s worth of porn! Maybe get a fucking girlfriend so you don’t have to jerk off to a hundred versions of ‘Barely legal with big tits’ and ‘Horny MILF’! You are going to pay this fucking bill, I swear!”

Huh? Lucas definitely had not downloaded anything in those categories.

“Look, uhm, you have the wrong guy. That was not me.”

His neighbour scoffed.

“Yeah, right. As if I’d believe a word out of your mouth.”

Lucas stepped closer, but the fury in the guy’s eyes made him retreat hastily, his hands up in a plea.

“Seriously, though, I mean it, I didn’t download those things you’re talking about...”

“Just admit it, fuck. You better have some hundred euro bills to spare.” He threw the invoice at Lucas, who swallowed at the amount.

Okay. He’d have to come clean.

“I swear. If it was me downloading porn on your Wi-Fi, it definitely wouldn’t have been anything involving tits or MILFs.”

The other halted, confused.

“Listen. My porn is situated more in the ‘Big dick’ category. I can show you, if you don’t believe me.”

Read on Ao3

or

Lucas figured his neighbour, like most straight men, would do anything rather than come anywhere near gay porn, so it was a complete surprise when after a moment of stunned silence his neighbour said in a somewhat calmer voice, “Okay. Show me.”

Shit. Lucas looked at the guy with open mouth.

“You want me to show you my porn history?”

The man shrugged.

“Either it is tits and MILF’s, in which case I already know exactly, or it’s not, in the unlikely case you didn’t just make up that to get out of paying for your jerking sessions. My money’s on the first option.”

Wow. Lucas knew his cheeks were burning red.

“I don’t… I can’t just show that to you! That’s private!”

“See? You are just making it up. I’ll be expecting my payment by next weekend.”

He stormed past Lucas. Lucas’ eyes fell on the invoice again. Fuck, whoever had managed to rack up this much on Mr. Neighbour’s bill must have seen every fucking big tit out there. Lucas really didn’t have that kind of money handy. Fuck. He had no choice.

“Stop!”

He sighed.

“Okay. I’ll show you.” He went to open his laptop, trying one more time. “Are you sure you want to look at this?”

“I won’t make you play the actual videos, don’t worry.”

Certain the blush on his cheeks was now rivalling a tomato, Lucas opened up his internet history, turning away resignedly.

Mr. Neighbour hummed.

“I see. Seems you are indeed not the kind of guy who watches 'Spring break bimbo'.”

Lucas whimpered, his hands in front of his face.

“Sorry. I really thought… you know.”

Lucas still didn’t face his neighbour, utterly mortified now.

“It’s fine… just… go away… Pretend you never were here, please!”

He heard the man pick up his invoice, and move towards the door. Just as he thought it was safe to show his face, close his laptop, curse himself for his lack of willpower and his lack of a boyfriend to take care of this stuff, and bemoan the fact that he could never ever look his neighbour in the eyes again – which was a shame in and of itself, really, because those eyes had been rather beautiful – he felt a hand on his shoulder. He shrieked.

“Oh my god! What did you do that for? You don’t have to creep up on me like that!”

“Fuck, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

They both stood frozen for a second, until Lucas became achingly aware of the hand on his shoulder.

“What do you want now?”, he asked, almost whispering.

“I just wanted to apologize again. I shouldn’t have made you show that.”

“It’s fine, really,” Lucas babbled. God, he just really wished this ordeal could be over already before he just died of embarrassment. “If you could just forget all about the past ten minutes, though, that would be great…”

“Hey. Would it help if I told you I have actually seen some of those videos?”

Wait.

“What?”

Mr. Neighbour grinned.

“I just thought… you seem so embarrassed; I’d thought maybe I could just let you know you do have good taste in porn apparently.”

Lucas groaned.

“God, please… This is just too awkward, you know.”

“I mean it, though. Don’t be uncomfortable. I’m not straight, so you don’t have to be ashamed about what you’re watching on my account.”

Lucas looked up.

“Uhm. Okay. Well, I’m still rather mortified, though. I mean, I never thought I’d be sharing my private internet history with some guy whose name I don’t even know… God. Fuck. This is just all way too much of a mess. How do I keep ending up in this kind of situation?”

“Oh, I’m Eliott. Please, just don’t be embarrassed! I should be the one who feels bad, I made you show me instead of just believing you. Hey, you know what? You can come over to my place and I’ll show you mine!”

Lucas managed a small smile.

“No need, thank you…”

“Seriously though! Stop feeling so bad. God, I feel terrible! How can I make it up to you?”

Lucas turned away and hugged himself.

“You don’t have to! Just… go away, I guess.”

“But I want to, please! At least tell me your name.” Eliott gently turned him around and looked at him with an expression that was completely different from the one he wore when he came in. Lucas now felt a whole other sort of awkwardness. Fuck, Eliott was hot.

“Lucas,” he begrudgingly murmured.

A smile appeared on Eliott’s face.

“Lucas. Nice to meet you. I did see you once or twice before, in the hallway.”

“You did?” Lucas certainly never saw Eliott.

“I did. And I thought you were cute, by the way. Which is why I didn’t mind so much when I thought you were using my Wi-Fi…”

“Whoa.” Lucas held up his hands. There was way too much information in that sentence for his befuddled brain to unpack right now.

Eliott seemed to understand.

“Okay. We can get back to that later. I wanna make up for making you feel bad, Lucas. Just let me get you dinner or something.” He looked at Lucas with such a pleading look in his sparkly eyes, that Lucas barely remembered why he’d refused in the first place.

And just like that, Lucas knew that Eliott was a whirlwind, a chaotic force of nature, against whom he’d never stand a chance. It was better to give in now.

~

I had taken the better part of an hour and a giant order of take-out Thai food before Lucas managed to behave somewhat normally after the whole debacle, but once his shame had died down sufficiently, he and Eliott had hit it off like fireworks. They’d talked non-stop, and at some point had opened some wine and started watching a movie Eliott had been adamant about, some foreign indie flick he swore was the best movie ever made and he now knew why fate had led him to Lucas, seriously, Lucas, it was my job in this life to introduce you to it, I swear. Lucas had lost track of the convoluted plot after twenty minutes – I can’t watch the movie and read the subtitles at the same time, Eliott, my brain is not equipped for this kind of multitasking – but he enjoyed Eliott’s ongoing commentary.

After a while though, he got tired, and he leaned back against the couch pillows, and closed his eyes, content to listen to Eliott talking about the photography, the scenography, and other things Lucas knew nothing about. He had a pleasant voice, Eliott, Lucas thought. He felt himself drifting off to sleep, and vaguely he thought he wouldn’t mind falling asleep to Eliott’s soft whispers every night.

Suddenly, a hand touched his face, and his eyes flew open. Eliott looked at him, his eyes soft and bright, smiling widely.

“Am I too boring for you?”

Lucas felt another blush creeping.

“Uh, no! It’s just… you know… the movie was complicated and… uhm. Yeah, sorry,” he finished lamely.

“The movie not interesting enough for you, huh? Not enough big dicks?”, Eliott teased.

“Oh my god!” Lucas slapped Eliott on the head with a pillow. “You are supposed to forget that ever happened!”

“Oh, no!” Eliott laughed out loud, and Lucas noticed with fascination how his eyes sparkled and his grin could light up the entirety of Paris. “I plan on telling our grandkids about that with great frequency.”

“Our… grandkids?”

Great, Lucas, way to lose all capability of speech.

Eliott nudged his arm.

“Yeah.” He kept staring at Lucas, but said nothing more. The silence stretched on. It wasn’t uncomfortable, Lucas thought, but the tension between them became more palpable the longer it went on.

“Lucas?”

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t want to talk about those videos you have downloaded…”

Lucas smacked him with the pillow again.

“How about we make one ourselves?”

Fuck.

Lucas almost wanted to ask Eliott to repeat himself, certain he misunderstood, but the smoldering look in his grey eyes was consistent with what Lucas thought he heard.

He gasped.

Eliott’s pupils went dark as they focused on Lucas’ mouth.

Then, Lucas laughed, loud and free. Okay, maybe they could tell this story to their grandchildren in fifty years, he thought.

“Are you sure you’re up for it, though? Remember we are talking big dick here…”

One second, Eliott gaped. Then he leaned over, caging Lucas between his strong arms and the couch, blanketing Lucas with his body, and with his lips a hair’s breadth away from Lucas’, he mumbled: “Don’t take my word for it. Discover for yourself.”

[aeipcthys]

╰ ❛   💉 — › samantha logan. cis-female. she/her.  ╯ have  you  met  victoria ‘vic’ dawson  yet  ?  this twenty six year old  aries  has  been  living  in the seattle  area  for  three years.  she  makes  a  living  as  media relations coordinator, which  is best suited for their adventurous,  independent,  reckless,  and resentful personality. someone to you by banners  is  one of  their  favorite  songs.

trigger warnings: depression, drugs, illness, cancer, death

full character page here

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: victoria rae dawson

Nickname(s): vic

Age: 26

Date of Birth: april 1, 1994

Hometown: tacoma, washington

Current Location: seattle, washington

Ethnicity: irish, trinidadian 

Nationality: american 

Gender: cisgender female

Pronouns: she/her/hers

Orientation: this is me we’re talking about what do you think

Status: single, dating

Religion: used to believe in god, has since abandoned religion

Political Affiliation: liberal

Occupation: a media relations coordinator in the pr department at seattle grace mercy west

Living Arrangements: shares an apartment with rebecca goldmann and stephanie edwards

Language(s) Spoken: english, american sign language

Accent: american

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Face Claim: samantha logan

Hair Color: dark brown

Eye Color: dark brown

Height: 5'7

Weight: 127 lbs

Build: fit

Tattoos: yes, idk what they are yet but they’re there

Piercings: ears/cartilage, got a nose ring in college because she thought it would be rebellious but really it was just uncomfortable

Clothing Style: either looks really put together or is wearing leggings and a large tshirt there is no in between

Usual Expression: a furrowed brow

Distinguishing Characteristics: 

HEALTH

Physical Ailments: none.

Neurological Conditions: depression

Allergies: penicillin 

Sleeping Habits: wacky

Eating Habits: she’s a snacker of all things, she used to really hate vegetables, still kind of does 

Exercise Habits: she likes those fun workout classes, zumba or dancing or something, also rock climbing for some reason

Emotional Stability: once again, this is me we’re talking about what do you think

Sociability: a mostly friendly person 

Body Temperature: i never know what to say for this she’s like average

Addictions: none.

Drug Use: yes

Alcohol Use: oh yes

PERSONALITY

Label: tbd

Positive Traits: adventurous, independent, honest, driven, confident, supportive

Negative Traits: reckless, competitive, tactless, moody, messy, resentful

Fears: being stereotypical, missing out

Hobbies: rock climbing

Habits: smoking, tbd

FAVOURITES

Weather: warmth, sun, sunshine!!! why she leaves in seattle we can’t say

Colour: shades of green

Music: anything, loves some bops

Movies: action/adventure

Sport: for watching, wrestling or hockey 

Beverage: the teas - sweet tea, long island iced tea

Food: cuban

Animal: she likes raccoons, they’re really cute just misunderstood 

FAMILY

Father: marcus dawson

Mother: colleen dawson

Sibling(s): abigail hayes (neé dawson), cormac hayes (brother-in-law)

Children: none.

Pet(s): none.

Family’s Financial Status: middle class

EXTRA

Zodiac Sign: aries (happy aries szn) 

MBTI: estj

Anything Else:

BIO

Victoria Dawson was born to Marcus and Colleen Dawson in Tacoma, Washington. She was the younger sister of Abigail Dawson (later known as Abigail Hayes). Abigail was about seven years older than Victoria, which set them up for an interesting relationship from the start. 

The girls’ parents had a great experience raising Abigail. She was easy-going, self-sufficient, kind, energetic, beautiful, and intelligent. She was everything you could hope for from a first child. The Dawsons thought Abigail deserved a sibling to go through life with, so they began trying for a second child. It took a few years, but eventually, along came Victoria, and she was far from what they bargained for. 

Growing up, Abigail was constantly looking over Victoria, being kinder and more accommodating than might be typical of a big sister. But Victoria needed it. From the beginning, Victoria had a clearly adventurous soul, and it made her parents and sister constantly fearful. 

Victoria was the type of kid to be at the playground and jump off the top of the slide instead of going down it. She would reach out to touch the flame on a candle just to see what it felt like. And that was the kind of spirit that drove her life. She always wanted to see what it felt like. It drove Abigail insane, and she constantly joked about wrapping Victoria up in bubble wrap and a helmet for the rest of her life. That probably would have done her some good. 

Although Victoria loved Abigail, she always wished Abigail didn’t always have to be so perfect. Everyone commented on it, including their parents. They would ask Vic ‘why don’t you try being more like your sister?’ Just once, she wanted Abigail to be the one to screw up or do something reckless, but that day never seemed to come. Even as they grew up and Abigail went off to school, she only seemed to climb higher and higher up on her pedestal. At least, through Vic’s eyes. 

It wasn’t until college that Vic really found the freedom she had always longed for. She specifically looked for a school far away from home, opting to attend University of North Carolina just to put some space between her and her overbearing family. Her freshman year, Vic really took that opportunity to try new things, which meant she was in and out of the student conduct office within her first year. But she just saw it as she always did--having fun, living a little, and trying new things. 

Her sophomore year, Vic decided to move off campus, putting up a random posting looking for a roommate. This is how she met Rebecca Goldmann. Although they were not exactly alike, Rebecca seemed to be the perfect fit to balance Victoria out a bit. They ended up becoming extremely close throughout college, despite the fact that they were clearly moving down completely different career paths. 

Throughout college, Abigail always made an effort to reach out and keep in touch with her sister, despite the fact that Victoria was extremely inconsistent in returning her calls and outreach. Abigail had been developing this entirely different life, falling and love with Cormac Hayes and having a couple of children. Vic wanted to be apart of their life more, and Abigail always kept the door open, but she always struggled with feeling like her “crazy little sister.” It wasn’t until she found out Abigail got sick that the floor dropped out from under her. 

Her sister’s illness hit Vic hard. Seeing the cancer slowly eat away at her made Victoria feel like it was eating away at her too. She was constantly angry, at Cormac, at the cancer, even at Abigail. It wasn’t fair, but she didn’t know how to process it. Even though there was resentment there, Victoria loved Abigail with all of her heart and soul. Abigail was her protector. Her guardian. Everything good about Victoria was because of Abigail’s influence. Losing her was the most devastated she had ever felt. 

The time after Abigail’s death was hard. Vic moved home, but even being around her family was difficult. Her parents were never the same. There was this huge whole in their lives, and it was one Victoria knew she could never fill. She also had a hard time looking at Cormac after. Being a doctor, Victoria always secretly wished that he would have saved her. That he could have protected Abigail from it all. But really, Victoria hated herself the most. When her nephews moved to Seattle with Cormac, Vic vowed that she would be a part of their lives, however hard it might be.

CURRENTLY 

Victoria has been in Seattle for years, but she only recently started working at the hospital, putting her media relations degree to good use. 

She is finding it very hard to accept that Cormac has already moved on with a new relationship. Finding out about their new baby certainly won’t be easy. 

If it wasn’t for being with her best friend, Vic would probably go crazy. Rebecca helps ground her and is always there when she needs to have some fun, cry, or blow off some steam. 

Despite what some might assume, Victoria has always been a bit of a romantic. Falling in love, after all, is the greatest adventure to her, and she is always searching for the right person to take it with. 

[smithereensbymaisie]

There was once a demon named Émond

A brief warning: This is an entirely fictional piece that is based on a dream of mine, but it does mention child trafficking and child labour, so please proceed with care. Your well-being is the most important. This is also written in the heat of the moment, so the subjects that this touches on may be poorly-researched or misinformed. If that’s the case, please kindly let me know. It’s uncertain whether this will have a follow-up, and although I will try my best, there’s no promises. Lastly, English is not my first language. With all that said, I hope you enjoy this weird dream of mine.

---------------------------------

There was once a demon boy. Well, not exactly “boy”, since demons’ age, sex, and gender just did not work that way, but he liked being a young boy, so why not? Wayward was the word that he deeply identified with, and it did not help that he also disapproved of certain rules and values of the demon world. After too many times refusing to perform his duty of being an “upright and devoting member of the community”, The Council of Demonic Society put limitations on his magic before casting him to earth as a punishment. The demon would not be able to return until he successfully tempted seven kings into wrongdoings.

He had no intention whatsoever to complete the task.

On earth, still in the form of a young boy, he decided to simply live on the street and went by the name Émond. His magic, though limited, was still more than enough to suffice, so his new life mainly consisted of magicking whatever food and drink he needed if he was feeling lazy, and stealing if he was feeling particularly bored or adventurous. He could no longer make money out of thin air, though, so that was a shame. He then decided that he would feel adventurous most of the time, which was terrible news for shop owners in the area.

That way of living lasted for about as long as the lifespan of a dragonfly. Wandering the land of the living without any permanent shelters, money or full power, Émond found himself being snatched from the street and sold to some kind of twisted organisation located in a desert faraway. All the manual labour was young boys who had to stay in tents. There were also adult supervisors who lived in brick houses nearby. The children were chained together at the wrists in groups of seven when they worked and forced to dress in uniforms at all times, which consisted of too big a shirt and a pair of baggy trousers that looked like they had been vomited out by an entity that solely produced eye-achingly bright red-colored clothes. There were about five groups of seven red-clothed children. Usually, they had to work in the desert under the sun, digging sand for wood, animal or human bones, and if they were in luck, scattering pieces of jewellery; in general, anything that was not sand and could potentially be sold for money. On special occasions, the boys were given the job to act like “feral cheerleaders” in a spectator sport taking place on a dune near where they put up their tents. The so-called sport apparently included gruesome murders performed by men on horses. They were told to scream, clap and jump manically whenever someone was killed or badly injured to “set the atmosphere”, metal chains clinking and air thick with the pungent smell of fresh blood.

Naturally, Émond did not get on well at first. He was made fun of by adults and children from other groups, as well as having to endure snickers from his own for his rather chubby body and long mop of curly hair, although he did not give a monkey’s about that. He liked this body. What truly annoyed Émond was the fact that he was expected to take commands from these ridiculous, violent, crude supervisors, whom he ignored out of spite most of the time, and just as often, they got furious and took that anger out on the children in his group. Whenever that happened, the demon would use the little power he was allowed to his advantage. He created a strong and urgent urge to fall asleep and planted it inside the minds of red-faced supervisors. Being in the thrall of demonic magic, they had to crawl back into their bed and slumber for the next hour; he then wiped their memory of his unruly behaviour, which oftentimes resulted in a dopey and silly facial expression when they finally woke up from the unnatural sleep.

Very quickly, other boys in the group started to pick up on the pattern and confronted the demon on one late afternoon.

“How did you do that?”, one child named Asher asked him when they had finished the work for the day. The supervisors had taken off their chains and retired to their brick shelters. Their tent had been put up properly for the freezing forthcoming night, and sunbaked wood and dry grass had been provided for each tent for fire.

“Do what?”

“Stop the adults from hitting us, obviously”, another small child, Neil, he recalled, turned to him, squinting his hazel eyes.

The demon soon found himself the object of curious and suspicious gazes from six little humans. Well, he thought to himself, they are going to stay with me for quite some time anyway, I may as well get on with it.

He told them everything, from the fact that he was not as human as it seemed and there was an entire world full of his kind to the event of his punishment and his life before being taken here. Émond also told them that his magic abilities had certain limits, and that yes, he could make the supervisors forget about his scornful attitudes and behaviour, but no, he could not do the same for memories concerning other people, the boys included. As that was the case, the demon could not wipe away the existence of six children from the minds of several supervisors and help them escape. Also, they were in the middle of a desert, it was not a very good idea to venture out without sufficient resources, knowledge of their current location or a map for direction. Émond had expected the boys to get terrified, accuse him of lying, or laugh in his face and consider him insane, but that assumption was quickly proved wrong. Apparently, the demon had not been very subtle with his magic, and as it was, he found himself surrounded by six fearless, inquisitive little creatures.

“Do you have horns?”, a boy named Alex, twelve years old with wide brown eyes and short hair of indiscernible color, asked him. “I heard that demons have horns.”

“Well, I can have horns if I wish to,'' came his answer, “but those things are just terribly inconvenient, are they not?”

“You can change how you look? That’s wicked awesome!”, exclaimed another child, Alfie, who was sitting cross legged next to Alex. The other children just looked at Émond with even more wonder evident on their faces.

“I wholeheartedly agree with you, child.”

“Wait, so are you really a boy, then? And how old are you, exactly?”, asked a fifteen-year-old named Victor, which made him the oldest of the six.

“No, I’m not really a boy, I’m a demon. We don’t normally categorize our kind into boys and girls, or anything like that, really. There are certain types that run The Council, but that place is full of stiff demons that know no fun, so let's not count that. Most of us just exist or don't. And it’s rude to ask people of their age.” Then, after a beat of silence: “Also, I don’t remember. It’s been a while since I last checked a calendar.”

“What about magic? Can you do magic now? I want to see it!”

The children looked at him excitedly. Happy to entertain, and also starting to feel a bit cold, Émond magicked a burning fire next to their tent. It crackled cheerfully and smelt sweeter than any scents the children had ever smelt before.

The last remnant of sunlight was starting to fade on the horizon. The group of seven shifted closer to the fire, basking themselves in the warmth, hoping that the biting cold of the desert night would not seep into their bones.

“Do demons have parents?”

That question took the demon by surprise. He contemplated for a while before settling on an answer: “You know what, I’m not sure. The first memory I have is waking up alone on the floor of a dimly-lit room with only one door. The knowledge of my power and who I was just…magicked itself there, I suppose. I then opened the door and found an entire world of demons on the other side.”

“Oh”

“Right, it did get a little overwhelming.”

“I have a mother,” said Little Henri, aged eight, after a while, “She’s still waiting for me to come back, I’m sure. I just hope she doesn't cry so much anymore.”

And so, the conversation turned to the life stories of each child. Henri was the youngest in the group. He loved visiting the park with his mother when she came home from work. The ducks in the park’s pond, in his opinion, had been the most interesting citizens he had ever encountered, aside from his mother, of course, and a source of endless entertainment. Alex and Alfie were of the same age. They were orphans and had lived together on the same street before being kidnapped. The A-Duo, or TAD for short, was how they had called themselves back in the glorious olden days of mischief. Mind you, they were still TAD and still full of shenanigans, but artfulness was now their main focus to avoid the beating from supervisors, whom they called “visors” because “really, it’s impossible there is anything super about them”. Émond found it funny. Neil and Asher were brothers, aged ten and fourteen respectively. While Neil was an energetic little boy and was often found conversing amicably with The A-Duo, Asher was rather reserved and quiet. They had lived in a loving family, although both knew that “sufficient” could hardly be used to describe their home. Neil had been snatched from a vacant playground on a humid summer afternoon. Asher had witnessed the incident and rushed to his little brother without thinking, which had resulted in him being rendered unconscious with a bat in the head. They had both been dragged away from view in an instant. Asher had woken up with a mild concussion to find Neil hugging him tightly, sleeping, cheeks still streaked with tears. The pair had travelled with a dealer for about a week before being sold to this place. The oldest among the children was Victor, who sported a perpetual grim face. He was reluctant to talk about his family, but the little information he provided was telling enough: he had been sold by the hand of his own kin. The pain of that memory seemed to etch on his brow, cling to the downward corners of his mouth and the dimmed color blue of his eyes. Sensing the unease, Asher steered the conversation away from Victor, asking Alex and Alfie about their latest mischief.

“Well, since you insist,” said Alfie before the duo plunged into every detail concerning The Sandy Bums Operation with obvious pride. Victor looked at Asher gratefully.

By the end of the conversation, Henri and Neil had been fast asleep. Alex and Alfie were struggling to keep their eyes open and failing spectacularly. Victor ushered the two inside the tent, meeting with little protest, and followed them with Henri in his arms, while Asher gently scoped up his little brother. For a moment, the gentle crackling of the fire was the only sound that dared to disrupt the quiet night.

“Why haven't you escaped on your own?” A hushed voice broke the silence. Asher seated himself beside Émond, hazel eyes fixed on his profile. “You know, you have magic and all that, and I reckon you also have better endurance than us humans. So why?”

Chuckling lightly, the demon turned to look at him: “Why do you ask? Do you want to get rid of me that much?”

“Not really,” Asher shrugged, letting out a sigh, “just curious.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. The flickering fire threw long shapeless shadows on the ground, unfailingly scented the surrounding air with its enticing aroma.

“It doesn't sit right with me, whatever that may mean coming from a demon,” Émond said after a while, still resolutely staring at the fire. “Leaving the children here when I walk free and wreak havoc to the world, knowing that I might have been able to aid their escape in some way, doesn't sound very fair, does it? It's bad for business, anyway, that not everyone is given the same chance to do evil.”

A smile grazed Asher’s lips. It was a small, fleeting thing, but in this harsh and unforgiving place, it was more precious than gold. “You know, I think I get why those stiff demons rejected you. You are terrible at being a demon.”

“Wow, thanks so much for that”, said Émond, feigning outrage.

“You would make a pretty decent lad, though, if you were a human being”, Asher carried on, unfazed.

That threw the demon into a lapse of silence. He looked in bewilderment at the child beside him, dirty face and matted blond hair. Then, softly, as if he feared the image of that boy might shatter before his eyes: “But I'm not, aren't I?”

“No, you aren't,” the boy gently shook his head, “but I choose to see you as such anyway.”

They sat in silence for some time before pulling the sweet air into his lungs, Asher patted Émond on the shoulders and stood up, stretching and yawning: “I don’t know about you, but I’m knackered. Going inside now. You coming?”

“The night sky is too beautiful”, Émond replied simply.

“Alright. Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

There was a soft rustle of fabric, and then, once again, Émond found himself embraced by the chilly stillness of the desert night. The sky was indeed beautiful. He might as well admire the stars while he could.

[the--sad--hatter]

Name Calling (10)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - BUCKY X READER (female reader, no physical descriptions)

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST.

DESCRIPTION -  In which the ongoing and bloody war of words between you and Bucky turns in your favor when a disgruntled one night stand of his lets slip a secret when you run into her in the elevator… Now you have all the ammunition you need to destroy your enemy but you don’t plan on killing him quickly. Oh no, Bucky Barnes was going to suffer and you were going to enjoy every second. You just didn’t count on how much you would enjoy it.

MASTERLIST

Chapter Ten - The Lies We Tell

A steady beeping pierced the air, rousing you from your sleep. You grumbled and reached out to find your phone without having to open your eyes so you could shut it up and go back to sleep but something grabbed your hand. Or rather someone. Everything came flooding back and your eyes shot open.

You wrenched your hand from Tony’s grasp and started frantically patting your chest.

“Whoa, whoa you’re alright. Calm down.” Tony assured you, grabbing your hands and making you look at him.

“I, but… I was. What’s going on?” You spluttered, your voice hoarse and croaky.

There were monitors and IV drips attached to you and you resisted the urge to claw at them, if Tony let them be put on you then you must need them.

He let go of your hands and held out a cup with a straw to your lips and you blinked. Water. That was a wonderful idea. You gratefully sipped at it and it soothed your dry throat.  You looked at him properly then. His skin was sallow, his eyes dark and tired.

“You were hurt, you’re in the med bay.” He explained.

“Then why do you look like the one who should be in this bed?”

“Well don’t tell anyone but I might have been slightly worried about you.” He joked.

You let out a huff of laughter.

“What happened?” You asked.

“What do you remember?”

“The mission. South Mexico. That’s the last thing I remember.” You said.

“That was three days ago. You got pretty banged up. you’ve been here since.” He explained.

“I… jumped off a cliff. I went full Vernichtung.”

“You did. There were Hydra agents scattered in the jungle, you stopped them from escaping. There was an earth controlling mutant on their side and she caused an earthquake that made the cliff collapse. You were hit by the rubble, just as you were coming back to yourself. It knocked you unconscious.”

“Ouch.” You muttered

“You should be fine now. You can’t suddenly speak French or anything though right?”

“J'ai appris à parler plusieurs langues quand j'étais enfant. Tant mieux pour conquérir le monde avec.” You snarked.

“Right you already spoke French. I knew that, I was testing you.” He covered.

“Bucky? Oh God Bucky was on the other cliff.” You remembered, sitting up in a panic and trying to get out of the bed.

Tony pushed you back down firmly but with care.

“Barnes is fine, not a scratch on him.” He muttered, irritation dripping from his tone.

You breathed a sigh of relief and looked him over again, noting how his eyes were rimmed red and he looked a little gaunt.

“You look like crap, I’m fine. You should get some rest.” You told him.

“So should you. Unconscious isn’t the same as sleeping.”

He was right, you did feel quite tired and as soon as you realized that a yawn broke free from your mouth and he chuckled.

“Get some sleep Kit Kat, you’ll need your energy for all your worried visitors in the morning.

You hummed gently in response and burrowed yourself deeper under the blanket, your eyes already closed. You felt a soft pressure on your forehead before Tony’s footsteps receded towards the door.

“Was it just my head?” You mumbled and he paused.

“What?” He said worriedly.

“I didn’t hurt my chest did I?” You asked sleepily.

“Why, does it hurt?”

“Hmm, no. Just feels like it should. Dunno why.” You muttered into the pillow and if he responded you didn’t hear it, you were already fast asleep.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Avengers, minus Steve and Bucky were all congregating in on the couches in the common area, a film on the flat screen that none of them were paying attention too when Tony walked in tiredly. All heads snapped up to look at him as he made his way over to the bar, pouring himself a glass of scotch and draining it in one gulp.

“She’s fine. Doesn’t remember a thing after being on the cliff with Barnes.” He told them.

“Are you sure?” Wanda pressed.

“If she remembered what happened we’d know about it.” Tony pointed out unhappily.

“Are we sure this is the best thing to do?” Sam asked, yet again.

“If I may Interject? Whether or not we think this is the best thing to do is irrelevant, it has already been done. Turning back now would only cause more problems.” Vision said.

“He is right, what is done is done.” Wanda agreed.

“We have much more pressing concerns right now. Hydra have made an alliance with Docherty, which considering his agenda is worrying.” Natasha reminded everybody.

“I’ll add it to the list of secrets I’m keeping from my best friend.” Sam snapped.

“If you want to be the one to tell her that she slaughtered nearly 200 Nazi’s because they made a deal with her tormentor to try and capture her then be my guest.” Natasha offered coolly, unphased.

“Nobody tells her a damn thing.” Tony snapped and they all looked at him.

“As far as she will ever know, she’s been unconscious for the last three days, Cap and his buddy are on a mission for Fury and she won’t hear the name Docherty again until I can deliver her his head in a basket.” He continued.

“Man that’s dark.” Clint remarked and Tony slammed the glass down and stormed out.

“Well I guess we have our orders. We lie to her and secretly hunt down the insane scientist without her knowing it.” Sam said bitterly and stormed out after Tony.

“”Anyone else have anything they’d like to storm away over or can we watch the movie now?” Clint asked.

Natasha cuffed him over the back off the head but nobody said anything and they went back to not watching the film.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next time you woke it was to the sound of footsteps approaching you in the medbay. You opened your eyes and blearily blinked up at the small unassuming man checking your vitals.

“Bruce?” You asked.

“Good morning, Miss Stark.” He smiled at you.

You sat up and grinned at him.

“You’re back!” You exclaimed, pointing out the obvious.

“I’m sorry I missed your party but I was very happy for you when Tony told me.” Bruce said.

“It’s alright Bruce, your work is really important. I know that.” You assured him.

“About that, I would like to talk to you later, when you’re feeling up to it.”

You frowned at him, what could Bruce want to talk to you about concerning his work? You weren’t a scientist, you didn’t understand most of what he said. You didn’t see what you could contribute.

“Ah, you want to run some tests don’t you? What do you need doc? Blood? Spinal fluid? Pound of flesh?” You joked.

He smiled fondly and shook his head.

“Nothing like that, the samples I took from you last time were more than sufficient. They were actually quite enlightening. I just want to talk about what I discovered.” He assured you.

“It’s nothing to worry about, I promise.” He added upon seeing your nervous expression.

You were going to press him for more information rather than wait until later but a familiar tread of footsteps was hurrying towards you.

“We can talk about it later, after Sam fusses over me.” You told the good doctor just as Sam came trotting through the door.

Sam wasted no time is clucking at you like a mother hen.

“If it’s not Rogers it’s you. Can we go one mission without someone ending up in here?” He demanded.

“A fucking cliff fell on me Sam, how is that my fault?”

“Don’t try and play innocent with me missy, do you have any idea how worried I was about you? I’ve been going out of my mind for days.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll try to avoid rubble hurtling at me from the sky in future. I promise.” You apologised with your best puppy dog eyes.

He visibly softened and leant down to hug you.

“You scared the hell out of me kiddo.” He whispered in your ear earnestly.

You felt incredibly guilty then and hugged him back as best as you could in the awkward position.

“I’m really sorry Sammy, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Sorry to interrupt this touching reunion but I actually woke you up to tell you you’re completely healed. You can leave if you like.” Banner said, looking uncomfortable but it was betrayed by the amusement and fondness in his eyes.

“Oh thank god, I’m starving.” You admitted.

Previous trips had taught you that while the medbay food came from the same place as the rest of the food in the compound it somehow tasted much worse.

“I’d normally recommend having something light to start but your enhanced metabolism can probably handle a real meal. In fact I insist you get some protein. Doctors orders.” Banner told you before he left.

“Did you hear him say you have to make me breakfast, cause that’s what I heard?” You asked Sam.

“Yeah yeah, that’s what he said.” Sam said with an eyeroll.

“Come on sleeping beauty, you shower, I’ll cook.” He said, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Sam I can walk!” You protested.

And kept protesting until he dumped you on the floor outside your room and jogged away.

“I hate you.” You grumbled.

“No you don’t.”

No, you really didn’t you thought with a fond grin.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The concussion hadn’t left any adverse effects, the pounding in your head was from Thor’s booming voice. As soon as he had spotted you in the kitchen he had roared with joy and picked you up, crushing you against his much larger body and yelled about his joy at your recovery.

You massaged your temples and scowled. Stupid big blonde teddy bear. You had eventually extracted yourself from his grasp and escaped the kitchen and your chattering team mates. You loved them, you really did but they were acting like you had never had a concussion before. Yes you were unconscious for three days but that wasn’t a huge deal. They were acting like you had nearly died, what with all the shouting and hugging.

You padded through the halls towards Tony’s lab, planning on hiding under his desk again. You saw him and Bruce through the glass and remembered Bruce saying he wanted to talk with you and your curiosity rekindled, pushing back your mild headache. The doors opened automatically for you, courtesy of Friday and you strolled in.

Bruce looked up and waved at you as Dum-E whizzed over, spinning around in circles excitedly.

“Hey little guy, guess you missed me as well.” You chuckled, leaning down to pat him on the head.

Dum-E patted your knee in return and scooted away, returning a second later with a chair he was pushing along the floor towards you.

“Hey, what did you want to talk about?” You asked Bruce, throwing yourself onto the empty chair and rolling it over to Tony’s desk who ruffled your hair in greeting and went back to his tinkering.

Bruce looked at Tony who nodded. Bruce picked up a bunch of papers and came over and stood in front of the desk.

“The files on you we extracted from project Vernichtung weren’t complete, do you remember?”

You nodded.

“Your father and I have been curious as to what Docherty had taken the time to remove from them before he made his escape that day. We think we might know now. I’ve been doing extensive research on your genetic make up, trying to understand it. Would you like to know what I have found out?” He asked.

Bruce had asked you a while ago if he might study you. While you weren’t entirely comfortable with the idea you had acknowledged that Bruce wasn’t like any other doctor you had been subjected to. Tony trusted him and you trusted Tony implicitly so you had agreed.

He had promised to be honest with you regarding whatever he might discover and assured you that you could say no or change your mind at any point. Knowing he was the hulk had gone a long way in getting you to trust him, he was the only person who could possibly understand how you felt about Vernichtung and was your best shot at finding out if there was a way to remove it.

“I want to know. But keep it simple, I don’t understand any of the big words.” You joked.

“Your files said that you were created from a unique blend of several individuals DNA strands, all spliced together and implanted in a fertilized egg. Your embryo was then grown in an incubator and subjected to gamma radiation and injections of a knock off super soldier serum. Scientifically a lot of what was in those records was dubious at best, especially since there was nothing to back it up. No evidence or explanation.” Bruce said.

You knew all this already, you were well aware you were grown in a lab.

“You weren’t the first attempt. You were the first and only fetus to survive.” He told you.

That wasn’t surprising but it was still made you feel ill.

“Why me? What made me so special?” You whispered shakily.

Bruce looked apologetic.

“Because of the serum. It was passed down genetically to you, not injected directly. Your fetus wasn’t subjected to Gamma radiation directly either, your host was.”

“My host?”

“I’m sorry. Docherty lied to you, you weren’t artificially grown in the laboratory like his other attempts. You were born, like any other child. We, myself and a trusted associate of mine found two sets of genes in your autosomal chromosomes. Maternal and Paternal.”

He pulled off his glasses and wiped them nervously, looking to Tony. Tony took a deep breath and turned to look you in the eye.

“You have a mother and a father. You have biological parents.” Tony told you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The lot thickens! And I swear, I’m not doing some weird,gross plot twist where Bucky or Steve is her dad. 

@dugan365 @fluffeh-kitty @memanda17 @krystallynx@theonelittleone @piscesbarnes @free-as-fishes@tarastudiesalot @captainamericasbeard @buckybearbabe98@nerdandproud-86  @clarkesardothien @harrison-shot-first@chook007 @thejourneyneverendsx @thelostallycat@inquisitor-selvala selvala

@the-corruptor @iover  @buckitybarnes @kendrawr-kitkat  @Pheonix-Whiskey-Tears @the–real-wombat @fairislesheets@angiept

@pizzarollpatrol @payformycollegepls  

[myhappylittlesideblog]

The Party

A/N: Every couple months, I remember Cole Sprouse exists and can’t get him out of my mind. Therefore, here’s some nice Jughead for you.

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Word Count: 1,908

Warnings: alcohol, partying (not reader, but those around her), jealousy, harassment < angst because of this, ends in fluff because all I write is fluff basically

Summary: You and Jughead go to one of Veronica’s parties and guys end up hitting on you, making you uncomfortable and your boyfriend, Jug, very jealous. 

(Y/N) - your name, (Y/N/N) - your nickname if you have one

“Do we really have to go to this party?” Jughead asked. He and his leather jacket were leaning on the door frame of your bathroom while you finished getting ready.

You set your curling iron on the counter and tuned to him. “I don’t really want to go either. But we were invited, and Veronica is definitely expecting us to come.” You continued your debate silently. “We could just go for an hour?” you said with a wince.

“One hour. And not a minute more,” he chuckled.

“You won’t have any trouble pulling me away,” you said, unplugging the hot curling iron and giving your hair one last run through with your fingers. Your eyes fell to the reflection of your shirt in the mirror. The lacy fabric had ridden up again.

“(Y/N).”

You hummed in answer, pulling down on the shirt’s hem and wishing it would stay in place.

“You’re beautiful.”

You shot him a bright grin. You were sure you’d never get used to his affection, it always sent you spinning.

But you were still bothered. “You think this shirt is okay? Veronica got it for me, so I wanted to wear it tonight, but I think it’s a bit… much?” You faced the mirror and fidgeted some more.

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to,” he said.

“I know. It was nice of her to think of me, but the lace and everything, it’s just not me,” you said, deciding to wear something different to the party.

On your way to your closet, Jug stopped you. “Hold on,” he said. He untied the blue flannel shirt from his waist and secured it around yours. “Now, that is you.” He took your hands in his and kissed them, winking at you.

You already felt more comfortable, feeling the tight knot of the heavy material covering your midriff that was left exposed by the shirt. You squeezed his hands. He always made you feel safe.

“Thank you,” you said kissing his cheek.

He stepped aside and swept a hand out in front of you. “Off to the ball.”

When you arrived at the party, you thanked god that Jughead was with you. You hated parties almost as much as he did and you were dreading this one before you even entered the front door. Already, the bass of the loud music inside was shaking in your chest. When you heard a loud “WHOOOOOO” coming from inside, you looked at Jug and confirmed the plan. “One hour.”

“If we even survive that long,” he said.

You chuckled and opened the heavy door. Even though the place was practically a mansion, you doubted there was space for even two more people. Every inch was covered in couples dancing, bros doing keg stands, and shrill girls yelling about how much they’ve missed each other. You didn’t recognize a single person.

“Come ‘ere, there’s Archie,” Jug said to you, his lips close to your ear. He led you through the guests, his large hand sprawled out over your lower back. Familiar red hair flashed as you dodged the drunks.

When you reached Archie, you met Betty and Veronica as well.

“There they are! Welcome! You guys actually came,” Veronica said.

“I told you they’d come,” Betty said with a smile.

“Of course we came,” you said. Both the girls knew you were lying, but you laughed with them as they shot you teasing expressions.

“This party is insane,” you heard Jughead say to Archie.

Before you could chime in, Veronica cooed over your outfit. “(Y/N), you look hot!” Seriously, I knew that would look great on you. And I knew Jughead would like it too, she said with raised eyebrows.

You felt Jug’s arm reach further around you and his thumb hook into the front belt loop of your jeans. You felt his voice rumble through his chest. “Yeah, the shirt’s great, but I like who’s inside it.”

Veronica groaned and you heard Archie laugh, but you were too busy with the wink Jug gave you.

“Thanks again for giving it to me, Ron,” you said over the music.

“Of course! What are gal pals for? But, I gotta say, when I thought of it on you, I didn’t picture it with Jughead’s flannel,” she said, scrunching her nose.

“Oh, I just didn’t want to be cold,” you said, pushing into Jug’s side.

“(Y/N), it’s hot as hell in here, I think you’ll be fine,” Betty said.

“Well, when I got outside, ya know-”

Your sentence was covered with Veronica���s giggles as she ripped the flannel away and threw it at Jughead. She took your hand and spun you around yelling, “You’re sexy, baby! Show it off!”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile. You were fully aware that you were a little too quiet for Veronica’s taste and this was her way of getting you to have some fun.

Jughead was watching you carefully, ready to return his flannel to you if you wanted it.

You threw your hands in the air and yelled “Alright!”

“Atta girl! Now, come on, let’s leave the boys to themselves, we’re going to dance.”

She pulled you and Betty through the crowd and into the middle of the room where the music seemed even louder. You jumped and twirled until Veronica pulled you close to her and moved her hips with yours. Betty too danced close to you, all in good fun.

Once the three of you were sufficiently danced out, Veronica and Betty left the dance floor to grab some drinks.

Your nerves returned to you when you were no longer distracted by your friends. The moment you stopped swaying to the music, you felt a hand graze across your lower back. You turned to see Jughead grinning at you.

“Did I miss your distress calls?” he asked with a wince. He pushed your hair to the back of your shoulders while your hands slipped inside his unzipped jacket and rested on his hips.

“No,” you laughed. “It was actually fun.”

You looked around for Veronica’s return and saw a couple guys watching you. Your brow furrowed and you stared at Jug’s chest, pulling at the hem of the short shirt again.

“You want this?” Jug asked, tugging at the flannel around this waist.

“Yes, please,” you said sweetly, ignoring everyone around you and concentrating on Jug.

He pulled the shirt away from him and leaned down to kiss your neck as he tied it around you. You hummed in pleasure, but he pulled away too quickly for your liking.

“You want something to drink?” he asked.

“Just a water, or soda or something?” When he nodded you added, “I’ll be over here,” pointing to an open spot on the wall next to a bookshelf.

“No more dancing for you?” he smirked.

“Absolutely not,” you laughed.

You found your place next to the bookshelf and leaned your back against the wall, crossing one heeled boot over the other. You watched the party unfold, wincing at a particularly loud song that made your ears ring.

“Hey, (Y/N/N), where’s Jugs?” Sweet Pea had appeared out of nowhere and startled you.

“Hey, Sweets. He’s just getting some sodas.”

He stood next to you, leaning on one shoulder. “Saw you with the girls, looked like you were havin’ fun.”

“Oh, a blast,” you laughed, making him smirk.

“You don’t normally come to these things,” he said.

“Well, Veronica-”

“Oh, Veronica. She likes to get us all together, doesn’t she?” he asked.

You nodded.

He leaned closer to you. “Ya know, I had to hit a few guys tonight. They were talkin’ about you, askin’ who the new party girl was.”

“Really?” You winced as you thought about the guys staring at you on the dance floor.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “But I took care of ‘em. You’re safe with us.” He crossed over you, about to leave when he stopped before you. He placed a finger under your chin and said, “You do look smokin’ tonight.”

Before you could reply, you heard Jughead’s low voice. “Get outta here, Sweet Pea.”

“Jug.” You got around Sweet Pea and placed a hand on his chest, pushing him toward the exit. “Let’s just go. I’ll explain.”

“Hey, man, I’m not the one you gotta worry about here,” Sweet Pea slurred. “There’re a lotta other guys around here you should beat up before me.”

Jughead put the cups of soda on a table nearby without taking his eyes off Sweet Pea. He pressed Sweets against the wall and threatened him, growling, “You stay away from her. You don’t talk to her like that.”

“Alright, Jug, alright,” Sweets said, his hand raised. “(Y/N/N), I’m sorry.” He walked away and disappeared into the party.

“Jug, let’s just go,” you said.

He nodded and wrapped his arm tight around your shoulders as you headed for the door.

When you passed Archie, he said, “You guys leavin’ already?”

Jug paused and pushed a finger into Archie’s chest. “This is why I don’t come to your stupid parties.”

You pulled him away. “Jug, it’s fine, come on.” You gave Archie an apologetic look as you closed the door behind you.

Jug stormed down the steps and into the road. “How could he talk to you like that? What, he waits until I’m not around and then makes a move on you?” He wouldn’t face you. He rambled and yelled to no one, throwing his hands about, the serpent on his leather jacket moving up and down.

“Jug, come on. Sweets was drunk! He’s our friend, he didn’t mean it like that,” you said.

He turned to you, his brow furrowed and face red with fury. “You didn’t see him looking at you.”

“You didn’t see a lot of guys looking at me tonight. Sweets beat ‘em up out back for it.”

He stopped, his face now filled with concern. “Guys were bothering you tonight?”

“Of course they were.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. You reached for his cheek, your thumb gently rubbing across his skin. “There’s always gonna be guys bothering me.” Your free hand slid inside his jacket and rested on his back. “But when I’m with you, I always feel safe.”

His eyes met yours and the deep color of them seemed to grow. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed you forehead.

“And when you’re not around,” you continued, “I know the Serpents are there. Especially Sweets. I would hate for us to lose him.”

Jug sighed. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”

He untied his hands and his flannel from your waist and slid it on you. He took his time buttoning it for you as you ran your fingers through his dark hair. When he reached the last button, he gently pressed his soft lips on yours.

“Pop’s?”

He shook his head. “Let’s just go home.”

He took your hand and led you toward his motorcycle.

“Wait. Do you hear that?” you asked.

He stopped and listened. “What?”

You tilted your head and turned away from the bike. “It sounds like… there’s a milkshake calling your name.”

A smile broke into his features and she shook his head at you.

“Now he have to go,” you said.

His large hands framed your jaw as he grinned brightly at you. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, Jug.”

[halinski]

Where’s Your Spidey Sense?

For my wonderful muse and friend @alphawitch21​ <3 sorry it took so long and hope you enjoy!!

Things I strived for: alpha derek, bamf stiles, omega/pack mom stiles, magical/emissary/spark stiles, glasses derek, happy derek, confident derek, like smoldering derek, very much beardy derek

Thanks to @livinginfictions​ for the detailed beta, and everyone who supported me in the process!!

(I really was gonna try to write some sexy times for you, C, but... this is the best I could do xD)

read on ao3

Stiles sighed in aggravation and slumped back in his chair, sliding down a bit and kicking his legs out, successfully not hitting Derek in the shin. "Pass the coffee, will you?" He prompted, making grabby hands toward the metal travel mug without actually making an effort to reach it. Derek made a face beneath his black rimmed glasses, acting like his eyebrows were a sufficient reply.

"Oh, come on, my head is bursting over here. I need something to keep me going or I will fail my midterm and it’ll be all your fault for not doing something so simple as just passing the coffee over here. You don't want to be the cause of my failure, do you, Derek? Hm? Do you?"

Apparently Stiles was not beneath holding a conversation with Derek's eyebrows. Though, he had to point out that the werewolf probably had the most expressive eyebrows in the world.

Just like he had the firmest abs, and strongest shoulders; traits he never failed to show off, be it by taking his shirt off for pack training 'because otherwise he'd get all his shirts torn' (yeah, right, like he couldn't actually dodge most attacks by the betas) or by wearing sweaters that miraculously showed off his muscles as well. Stiles had been practicing his magic but he didn't know what kind of dark mojo Derek was using. Maybe he'd sold his soul to the devil so he could always look hot like burning. Stiles almost felt tempted to ask him about it. If only that wouldn't reveal his probably already obvious (to a werewolf at least) major crush on the current Hale alpha. A major crush that was not being helped by that beard he had going on. Not at all. It made him look like the hottest history-slash-english professor ever in the history of the earth. That’s all Stiles had to say about the matter, and say it he couldn’t.

"This is my coffee," Derek says, like he'd never heard of this concept called sharing. Stiles had thought growing up with siblings taught you that sharing was caring but apparently it had the opposite effect. Derek actually pulled the travel mug closer to himself.

"Caffeine doesn't even work on you! I don't know why you drink coffee in the first place," Stiles exclaimed.

"I like the taste. And the warmth is soothing."

"You like the taste? That's straight black coffee. It's so bitter. No one drinks that for the taste alone."

Derek jutted his chin out defiantly. "Well, I do. Besides, you’re not even studying."

“Hey, I am absolutely studying. I am studying all the different disastrously dangerous things that could swoop in at any moment and kill us. It’s quite literally studying like my life depends on it, so no judging. Just because you’re not top of your class with minimal work like me doesn’t mean you have to be as bitter as your coffee.”

Stiles realized that last comment might have been a little too unfair by the way Derek’s expression dropped. He bit his tongue, hands coming up as his brain raced for an apology but all he could do was watch as in retaliation, Derek raised the mug to his lips and chugged the rest of the liquid, up till the very last drop, while staring Stiles down. For some reason - Stiles simply didn’t understand how his body worked sometimes - he found that hot. Impressive. Like his coffee chugging skills could possibly be used in some sexual way. Stiles had to keep his mouth clamped shut before he blurted anything out that Derek would rip his throat out for.

Derek smirked victoriously at the look on Stiles’ face, who then huffed petulantly and turned back to his laptop.

“You know, you should just take me up on my offer to help you with your term papers. I mean, we both know you’re insanely smart. You just aren’t used to structuring and formulating things the way they want you to. Which is freaking normal with all you went through and the fact that you haven’t been to a class in like years. There’s no need to be ashamed,” Stiles grumbled under his breath, knowing Derek could hear him just right and trying at the very least to make it up to Derek a little bit. Somewhere along the line, he was pretty sure he saw Derek’s face soften a little bit, and Stiles prided himself in knowing Derek enough to be able to read him like that.

He was proud of him, too, really. They had succeeded in talking Derek into going to college with them after Stiles had found out that had been one of those things Derek would have wanted if his life was normal. They were all trying to pretend they were normal, even if Stiles currently had the beastiary pulled up on his laptop - their own one, not the ancient, illegible one - and even if they had to pull some strings to all get accepted to the same college so the pack could stay together. But it was quite the experience to all have this together, even with their older alpha. It obviously couldn’t be easy to be starting the year with a bunch of teenagers, while babysitting a rowdy bunch of werewolves. As the emissary, Stiles considered himself a co-babysitter. The pups did turn to him, after all, if they were ever a little intimidated to go to Derek. Like the time Jackson had come to Stiles to help him plan the perfect date for Lydia.

“You guys are the worst,” Isaac suddenly proclaimed, standing up with a loud screech of his chair that even he winced at. Stiles barely had time to recover before the boy had picked up his stuff and walked off.

“Not as bad as your scarf kink!” Stiles called after him. It only got him an unimpressed eyebrow from Derek and a middle finger in the distance from the retreating form.

“What? He started it,” Stiles muttered.

“And I’m ending it,” Derek declared. “Get your schoolwork done,” he added, giving a nod toward Stiles’ course book.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be-”

CRASH - and a scream followed soon after.

“What was that?!” Stiles asked, jumping out of his seat. Derek’s nostrils flared.

“Downstairs!” Derek called back in a clipped voice as he rushed past him, which really wasn’t much of an answer at all.

Stiles threw a glance back at their stuff - his precious laptop wasn’t allowed to get stolen, he needed it - but Derek’s reaction indicated that their first priority was saving lives. He couldn’t believe that whatever magical beacon-like force Beacon Hills had, followed them to the college one town over - which Derek still insisted driving to and from every day. But he was ready, sprinting after Derek, hands starting to spark in a faint orange glow.

“Der’k! Wait!” Stiles tried to call out as he struggled to catch up but of course the self-sacrificing werewolf didn’t listen, leaping down the flight of stairs. At least this time he propped one hand on the banister to support himself. Werewolf-super-healing powers be damned. Stiles couldn’t help worrying about Derek. He could still twist his ankle, jumping around like that just to be dramatic, and Stiles couldn’t stand his carelessness. Pain seemed to be Derek's best friend - Stiles had yet to top it but he was working on it.

Just as miraculously, Stiles made it down the flights in full health himself and burst through the next set of doors. At first all he saw were more bookshelves, and everything appeared just fine until one of the bookshelves came crashing down next to him. His reflexes were now fast enough to let him jump back in time to avoid getting his foot shattered by the heavy wood and hundreds of books.

But suddenly, he was staring down, right into the face of a vaguely humanoid creature with two too many eyes. All of the eyes had two pupils with irises that merged in the middle. Albeit spine-chilling and captivating, that was one of the less horrifying attributes of the monster of the week. Stiles had seen many things in battle at this point. Many things. But never this. The top half was covered in mottled skin that look like it could burst at any moment and was connected neatly with the hairy bottom half, which carried six huge spider-like legs. It was… a were-spider? Half human, half spider.

It screeched at Stiles, fangs bared wide, and Stiles swore he could see a liquid dripping off the tip of one of the teeth.

“Oh my god,” he pressed out, his body jerking into motion. With a flash from his hands, he created a small magical barrier around himself as the spider-man - which NOPE, that was so wrong, on so many levels, if any spider-man existed, it would not be something as horrendous as this - the spider-person took up chase. It jumped at Stiles but crashed against the barrier, sending him sprawling to his knees - that would be an ugly skid mark.

“Stiles!”

“All good, buddy,” he called back to Derek, who came rushing to his side and grasped his elbow to help him the rest of the way up to his feet. “I mean, not all good. Not all good at all. Because that thing. That is most definitely not okay, okay?! Fuck, I’m ready to bring this little bugger down,” he rambled.

Meanwhile the creature screeched again loudly, taking a few steps towards them and then stopping, staring at them with its bizarrely bright green eyes.

“What is that… thing doing?” Stiles raised his hands, ready to raise another barrier, arms shimmering vividly.

“Arachne,” Derek breathed next to him, eyebrows pulled together over his red burning eyes. He had his thinking face on, which was insanely adorable in peaceful moments. Stiles could watch that forever when Derek sat there, full focus on the matter at hand, while his literal hand would come up to scratch his beard- which Stiles really, really wanted to feel (all over). But that was a thought for another day, when they didn’t have a venom spitting thing loose in front of them.

“A-what?” Stiles asked.

“Arachne. That’s what it is,” Derek said, voice pressed. “We can’t let it bite anyone.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t planning on letting it anywhere near me.” Stiles shuddered upon the thought.

“No, that’s not what I- shit!”

The arachne took off running, but in the opposite direction, Derek on its tail - not literal tail. That would be too weird for even Stiles to comprehend at this point. Noting the pointed end at the hind of the creature though, he assumed there might be some web-slinging involved. It was something to look out for.

Stiles lost the other two again within seconds but could easily follow the sound of screams that came from the hallway out the side of the room. He ran out into hallway to see Derek facing two arachnes. Fuck, were they multiplying or what? If so, they had a big fucking problem. It was two against one now as Derek relentlessly attacked without Stiles. Derek would've been torn to shreds if he were all alone. But, as always, Stiles was here to save the day - or well, save Derek. That was what mattered most, after all. The rest they could deal with later.

Widening his stance on the ground, Stiles raised his arms, the sparks around his fingers crackling. His powers seemed to consist of some form of energy, between electricity and fire, something not really definable. Despite its unknown origin, it made Stiles far more effective in battle than a baseball bat had. He just had to be careful not to hit Derek at this distance.

He created a whip-like energetic beam and threw it out to wrap around one of the arachnes' legs. The creature cried out on contact, which Stiles considered a victory in itself. He couldn't exactly knock it off balance seeing as it had five more legs but pulling at the one leg with all his might sure did get its attention. It scurried over toward him and just the way it moved made the hairs on Stiles' nape stand up. For a split second he couldn't move. Then he pulled his hands back, letting the beam dissipate into thin air.

"Derek!" And the werewolf followed the unspoken command, allowing Stiles to thrust forward with a wave of power, throwing the arachne backwards, right into the second one. Both of them slid down the aisle back to the far wall. Derek ran off after them right away. This time Stiles was right beside him.

“We can’t kill them,” Derek said tight-lipped.

Stiles let out a dry laugh. “You can’t just say that and not give me a good fucking reason why.”

“Because at least one of them is still human inside.”

“Nothing about them is still human! Look at their eyes- their legs- their… everything! How can they ever turn back?”

“Stiles,” Derek pressed out heavily, prompting him to look over. He met Derek’s eyes, where he could see a sense of urgency. “I know we can turn them back. We have to turn them back."

They stopped in front of the two creatures, who were still wrangling themselves back onto their feet. Stiles sighed heavily, slumping, as he watched the hairy feet scuttle on the wooden floor.

“Fine,” he muttered, raising his arms again with a hum of magic, the orange substance arching up with his fingertips. "But don't blame me if someone dies." Stiles knew Derek wouldn't. Even if Stiles did something incredibly stupid and it was clear that he was the reason for someone's death, Derek would still find a way to reason that it was his own fault. It was simultaneously annoying, as well as something Stiles could absolutely relate to.

"Also, like, do you have any idea how we're supposed to capture and restrain these things so we can find out how to turn them back?" Stiles added.

The arachnes were hissing at them viciously and yep, there was definitely some kind of most probably poisonous liquid frothing right around their sharp pincers. And they were both looking straight at Stiles, eyeing the crackling static around his hands warily. It was simultaneously empowering - being perceived as the bigger threat - and also fucking terrifying.

Naturally, Derek stepped on up right around him to stand in front of Stiles to protect him. And he growled that low, warning growl that for completely insane reasons made something in the pit of Stiles’ stomach stir. Stiles hoped to all the gods that the all the other scents around them covered that hint of arousal. Though, Derek must have been used to it by now, too.

"Derek," Stiles warned - and he'd never get tired of saying that name. But it was always a gamble if Derek would go or not. Were Stiles still making dog jokes, that’s what he would compare it to: like calling a dog off, you had to catch him at just the right second, otherwise it was all over. And this time Derek didn’t listen. With a jump, he launched himself at the two creatures, meeting their hissing with an amplifying growl.

"Shit."

There wasn't much time left to contemplate the best course of action now that Derek was in the midst of the frenzy, two vicious arachnes trying to wound, bite and possibly kill him, while he was being extremely careful to not hurt them badly.

It wasn’t Stiles’ style to throw himself blindly into battle. Well, it was sometimes. But he liked to have a plan. There was no time now, and that was basically plan B. When it came to it, Stiles was down for some quick thinking and gut instincts. But the thing was, it all happened so damn fast. Next thing he knew, Stiles was on his knees, wiping the sweat from his eyes just to see Derek get thrown down with a flash of red and curling in on himself.

That was it.

Stiles grasped blindly at the mountain ash vial around his neck, sending the energy from his fingertips thrumming through the glass casing so that it exploded into pieces where he threw it at Derek’s feet. In the same movement, he lifted his hand again for momentum and punched it down hard, sending the crackling vibrations out toward the settling ash so that it formed a clean circle around Derek. And just in time. Derek could only just about look up as one of the arachnes crashed into the invisible wall with a screech. The other scrabbled to a stop in front of the ash warily, looking down at it and then promptly at Stiles.

He pulled himself to his knees, breathed out and wiped some of the blood off his lip and met their stares head on. They squared up in front of him, and Stiles knew: this was it. The ultimate showdown. Drawing his arms to his sides, palms up, sparks jumped from fingertip to fingertip, dancing across Stiles’ skin.

It wasn’t clear what he was dealing with here at all, but Stiles knew one thing. He could trust in his spark, that pleasant hum in his ears and warmth in his chest. And he knew he wouldn’t give them another chance to lay their creepy ass hands on Derek again. Derek’s ass was staying where it was, even though Stiles could vaguely hear him demanding to be released, saying he couldn’t do this. He was using his alpha voice, the one he never seriously used on Stiles, wrenching himself at the mountain ash as if he wasn’t bleeding heavily.

Stiles narrowed his focus down on the arachnes. This was between them now.

“Come and get it,” he yelled out, his throat reverberating with the power contained inside him, almost like a growl, like he was finally one with the pack. And the arachnes listened, hissing and racing forward. Stiles mirrored them.

The last thing he heard before he crashed into them with outstretched arms and a shout, was a desperate, “Stiles!” before everything around him burst into orange.

-------------- Derek was being stupid.

That is, Derek wasn’t talking to him and that was incredibly stupid because how were they supposed to figure out what to do with the arachnes that were currently being held captive upstairs in the loft - which again,  a totally stupid thing Derek wasn’t listening to him about - as quickly as possible if they didn’t friggin communicate? They couldn’t. Stiles could research day and night and and he would still be missing the passed down knowledge Derek obviously had.

Together they were unstoppable… and Stiles knew Derek knew that. Now he just needed to stop being a dick.

“Derek,” Stiles said, for probably the 50th time in the past 2 hours. They were both stubborn. And while Stiles prided himself in being particularly strong-willed, he’d never met anyone else who was as determined as this tall, angry werewolf. It wasn’t really a surprise. It had been clear from the start that Derek had walls up all around him, hard as diamond and thick as the earth’s core. Stiles had thought he’d softened them a little, relieved some of the pressure. But apparently he’d made a mistake. He had a nagging feeling he knew what it was.

Okay, so maybe Stiles was the dick here but they couldn't move past it if they didn't talk about it.

“Come onnn, please. I’m dying here. Will you just say one word to me?”

Silence.

“I’ll even take a growl at this point.” Stiles stepped in front of him.

Derek just turned his back on him again, shoulders hunched, drawn in.

“Hey! Don’t be such a sourwolf, man-”

“Don’t!” Stiles jumped as Derek suddenly whirled around to jab a finger in his direction, eyes ablaze even while they remained their usual hazel gray. It was the kind of anger Stiles hadn’t seen directed at him for a long while now. “Don’t you fucking sourwolf me.”

His tone was hard and cold, making Stiles swallow tensely.

“I, uh… Okay,” he nodded, wringing his hands together. “This is a start. You acknowledged me, this is good. This is good.” Though the heavy coil in his stomach resulting from the way Derek had raised his voice felt like anything but good.

The thing was- Derek never swore. All the deaths and pain and bullshit he had been through, and Stiles had never heard him say a single curse word. Now here he was, dropping an f-bomb.

Derek’s stare on Stiles was unwavering. His lips pursed like he wanted to speak but was contemplating if Stiles was worth it. Stiles hoped to the moon and back that Derek concluded he was. He really didn’t want things to go all downhill from here. The tension between them manifested in his chest, pressuring Stiles as if he was back in the pool at Beacon Hills High, treading water and hoping not to drown. Except this time it was him who was paralyzed and Derek was the one in control. Derek decided if their… companionship sank or swam for a little while longer.

Then again it was probably Stiles who had them thrown overboard, trusting in Derek to trust him back. But Derek didn’t owe him anything, not when Stiles had gone against him. Derek had every right to leave Stiles stranded and hurry off to safety. Stiles wouldn’t blame him.He was panicking. He knew he was but he would have to control it. Falling apart in front of Derek right now would not help their delicate situation. He would just have to-

Stiles flinched at the pain that shot through his damaged lip when he subconsciously bit down on it. The gasp it drew from him not only reminded him to breathe but it broke Derek's concentrated stare. Unfortunately, it just made his facial expression shut down. The room went cold and Derek straightened like a board, like he was unbothered by anyone and everyone in the world.

"I'm sorry!" Stiles let out - unplanned and unrestricted, hearing his own desperation all too clearly, "I had to! You were..."

His hands found their way into his hair, pulling at the strands as he struggled to express his reasoning.

Derek sighed, looking away for a second before meeting his face again.

"Stiles, calm down."

"I'm calm, I'm calm. I'm-

"You're not,” Derek said dryly, like that unhappy edge to his voice would in any way help the situation.

"Well, neither are you! You put on this facade like you don't care about anything but you're simmering on the inside, just waiting to explode - waiting for a fight so you can let your anger consume you and risk your life by throwing yourself to the enemy on a silver platter! We’ve talked about this before like a million times! But you never change!

“You talked about it! I don’t see what the problem is. I survive, we win, I heal, all’s well that ends well.”

“I’m the only one talking because you refuse to engage! And you know what, Derek? One day, one day it will not end well and then what? What if you die? Then what, huh?”

“If I die, I die.” Derek had the callousness to shrug.

“Really?” Stiles spat, the bitterness sneaking into his tone. “If you die… What am I supposed to do then? Where does it leave the pack? Huh?”

Derek crossed his arms, trying to appear unbothered by Stiles’ hard stare but he couldn’t hold it, looking away. “You’ll be fine,” he grunted.

Stiles laughed, hard and without amusement.

“A pack of young wolves, bitten if I may add, without an alpha. Yeah, that would be great. So wonderful. You know what, maybe we’d be better off, and we’d celebrate without a hard ass alpha on our asses the whole time-” Stiles hoped the sarcasm wasn’t overshadowed by his growing anger.

“It still doesn’t give you the right-”

“Oh, we’ll be so much better off without you,” Stiles continued in a high-pitched fashion. He had worked himself into it, a wildfire set to his tongue. ”You know I don’t know if anyone would ever really mourn you. We would just set up a party here.” He threw his arms up, melodramatically. “Dance on your grave and sing a victory song!”

Derek threw his hands down on the table between them that he’d maneuvered himself behind, and growled harshly.

“You took away my agency!” He yelled. Stiles’ jaw shut abruptly, and silence descended like a sudden overcast. Derek took a heavy breath, finally holding Stiles’ gaze again, eyes a whirlwind of hazel. “You trapped me. You took away ability to do anything.”

Derek was finally, speaking and Stiles listened, taking the brunt of his words - like he deserved.

“You took me out of the fight. You can’t just… you can’t…” and Derek deflated with a small huff because obviously Stiles could, and he had.

Stiles had utterly betrayed him. Derek took a breath.

“I’m the alpha. You’re my emissary. You can’t go against me like that.” Stiles swallowed heavily, looking down.

“I know. I know, I-”

“Did I ever take you out of a fight?”

“No, but I-” Stiles didn’t even know what he was trying to say. All he knew was that his feelings still had him by his throat like he was drowning. There was actually a sting in the back of his throat, at the top of his nose, between his eyes, so that he was left to blink rapidly.

“I trust you, Stiles,” Derek said and the gravity of that statement hit Stiles like a brick. “But you cannot do anything like that again.”

Stiles fidgeted, unsure he deserved to hear this statement right now.

“You still trust me?” he asked quietly, barely daring to give him a chance to take back what he had said.

Derek looked at him, almost gravely, with the slightest hint of fear. “I do.”

How long had Stiles been waiting for this moment? So long, it seemed, it'd been an eternity since he'd first demanded said trust; so long, he'd forgotten to dare hope for it. But here he was now, the only sound in his ears the rushing of his blood with every heavy beat of his heart, his gaze zeroed in on Derek's parted lips. There was a crackle in the air, but this time it was not coming from Stiles' fingertips.

"But you can't do anything like-"

"I won't," Stiles quickly agreed breathily, trying to stay focused to prove his sincerity. But it was Derek's lips, bearing the sight of his adorable bunny teeth, that little sliver of openness, of opportunity, that kept snagging his attention. "I promise."

"Good," Derek let out, although the the tension in the room didn't drop the way Derek's gaze did; down somewhere -maybe to Stiles' lips. Stiles wondered if he could feel this, too. This… everything.

"Will you… will you think about- not using yourself as a human shield?" The words came to him and out of his mouth slowly, like tar. Derek watched him for a minute.

"If you give me a good reason to," he then said.

And Stiles' brain sparked and shone and every bolt led to one single conclusion. He stepped around the table, trapped in this daze, like he had no choice in his actions anymore, like he was being led by a string of fate. And he let their yearning lips finally meet.

Stiles might have expected kissing Derek to be a fight, to be met with a push and pull- that is if he were ever to have imagined what it would have been like to kiss Derek, which he absolutely had not done. Ever. Not like it was anyone's business, anyway.

Instead, Stiles' lips fell into place smoothly, like just the right puzzle piece slipping in to complete the picture. And it was unimaginably soft. There was warmth and compliance, like they were melting together. It had been a while since Stiles had wanted to press pause, freeze frame, to observe and enjoy, for a while, if not forever. So he could believe that for once life wasn't trying to pull a prank on him.

But as quickly as the moment came, so quickly it left. Although everything seemingly happened in slow motion in his head, it was over like the snap of fingers. And here they were, reality.

Stiles pulled back when he realized what was happening, his heart threatening to pound out of his rib cage. He cleared his throat, not knowing where to look, and quickly snatched his hands back from Derek's chest.

"I uh…" he said in a squeak, motioning over to his right, planning his great escape, "-gotta go pee!"

And Derek let him scurry off without a word of protest, without a single noise, not even a breath.

------------ Stiles made no attempt to make a big entrance. In fact, he tried hard to slink back into the room somehow without attracting Derek's attention. He had a chance, he figured, with the way Derek's face was buried in his textbooks. Unfortunately for Stiles, being a student didn't negate the fact that Derek was a werewolf and fully well knew that Stiles was stepping in.

Derek shut his book with a pointed thud the moment Stiles' body was entirely engulfed in the room. Stiles froze.

"We need to talk," Derek said and if Stiles didn't know him better -  if he hadn't notice that little V between his eyebrows - he might've missed the slight frown and interpreted his expression as… well, expressionless.

Stiles may or may not have debated how quickly he could turn around and make it back out the door before Derek caught him. He cleared his throat.

"Um, I mean uh… I don't know what there is to talk about. I can't think of anything, you know. It's just…" He stopped wringing his hands and let them swing down to his side. "It's just that… we're already talking so everything I was starting to say really doesn't matter because we're talking and I suppose that's… the only real option because obviously I can't just disappear forever and like ehm never talk to you again. Because hah, yeah, that'd be… that'd be- I've gone through all those scenarios and I just… yeah."

Stiles pursed his lips, his brain catching up with his rambling and finally letting his mouth come to a rest. Except that pulled the focus to the exact area that had touched Derek… intimately earlier that day and so he pulled them inward and out of sight.

Derek on the other hand wasn't really doing anything at all except for… something else with his face that Stiles couldn't quite read because he couldn't quite see through his own thoughts right now. It must have been exasperation.

"Why do you let me just keep talking? Can't you just shut me up… somehow…" Stiles continued, his body deciding that he had been keeping still for long enough.

He realized it was a mistake when Derek dipped his head to hide a smile.

"Okay, don't-"

"Like with a kiss?" Derek asked.

Stiles groaned, throwing his hands up to his face. He shook his head. "I hate you. I truly, really, absolutely, most unquestionably-"

"Are a liar." Derek's voice was suddenly so close that Stiles couldn't help but jump a little and peek over his fingers. How the fuck did he move so quietly?

“Tell me this,” Derek then said, Stiles being successfully shut up by the hammering of his heart all the way way up in his throat. “Do you regret it?”

There was no use pretending Stiles didn’t know what Derek was talking about so he let all decorum fall, along with his hands back to his side, and shook his head.

“No, I-I… I mean, y-yes?” And it felt like a whole journey to get those few words out, his thoughts everywhere like the biggest ball of jumbled yarn, and his hands everywhere, falling and rising with his heaving chest, and his gaze scrambling all over the place, over Derek, a sturdy wall in front of him, who had that cocky half-smile on his face one second and then on and across the room and to the floor and back to Derek, who was suddenly frowning in confusion.

“How did you manage to make both of those sound true?” he asked and Stiles had to swallow hard because he hated himself for the way he always had to make everything so awkward? And also make such stupid mistakes in the first place?

“Because I…” he closed his eyes and wrung his hands. “Because I don’t- I shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have kissed you… without your consent.”

And Derek huffed like it was no big deal, like Stiles hadn’t gone against the very principle they had just been talking about about making sure Derek was comfortable and wasn’t being forced into anything he hadn’t agreed to. It was the last thing Stiles wanted to do - make Derek feel… used.

“Listen, I’m sorry! I just keep messing up, I keep-” and his hands were in his hair again, tugging, because of course he had been trying to grow his hair out to try and appeal to someone, which was totally just another mistake. But Derek took hold of his arms gently and lowered them, sliding his hands down until he held Stiles’ hands.

"Ask me now,” Derek prompted.

“That’s not how it works-”

“Ask me,” Derek repeated with all the patience of a saint, his steady palms warm against Stiles’ as he gazed into those misty green eyes and it was all he needed to focus on the eager beating of his heart, letting out the crackling tension with a breath.

He wondered for a moment if he even had enough courage but when hadn’t Derek been there to catch him when he fell and threatened to break? And sure, they provoked each other sometimes but Derek wouldn't set him up for humiliation so cruelly, right?

Where he usually has no problems talking whatsoever, now his throat felt as dry as burnt toast and Stiles had to swallow multiple times, looking down at their conjoined hands, fingers tightly holding each other to resolve any shaking. Then he looked back up, up to Derek's soft smile - a smile reserved for him alone, a masterpiece - and into eyes that simultaneously held the future and home and-

Everything fell into place.

Suddenly the question rolled off his tongue like silk.

"Can I kiss you?"

And Derek didn't waste a single beat answering, exhaling the "yes" so quickly Stiles almost missed it, like he'd been waiting forever for that one little sound. The giddiness burst in Stiles' chest like a sparkler and when Derek kissed him this time, Stiles could feel it all the way into his toes. The tingling of something new but all too familiar, something that felt just right.

Stiles' eyes opened again when Derek pulled away and he watched with wonder as Derek laughed, unguarded and with heart.

"Really, Stiles?" He asked, turning his head to follow the golden sparks that danced around them, lighting up the room like fireworks.

"I wasn't- It… shut up," Stiles huffed at him, cheeks hot - but then again, so was the rest of his body. Nothing spoke for any containment of the bursts of happiness that bloomed like daisies from his chest though, especially with the way the lighting made Derek's face glow, eyes bright and teasing, lips stretched wide with more laughter.

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" Derek asked, turning back to Stiles. All that left Stiles' lips the moment he parted them though was, "Can I kiss you again?"

Derek dipped his head again, almost as if he was the sheepish one, lifting it with a gentle gaze, just to say, "Yes. A thousand times yes."

Moments later Stiles was stepping into his space, lured in by the warmth, his hands brushing over the beard he'd been ogling for months. It was incredibly soft. Derek's hair was even softer and Stiles didn't think he ever wanted to take his hands off Derek. Derek, who was peppering kisses to his lips and nipping them to coax quiet whimpers out of Stiles before he traced a path down to Stiles' neck. It was clear to Stiles just exactly what this was as he bared his throat for Derek and clung to his shoulders for dear life.

Stiles shuddered at the tender ministrations, lips smoothing over his skin, the beard tickling, feeling Derek breathe him in and out.

"Der…" He breathes, too weak to finish the name and too powerful all at once, placing a hand on the werewolf's chest so he could lean back a little.

"Yeah?"

"I just want," Stiles started, losing himself in the way he could feel Derek's quickened heartbeat against his palm, quick and so alive. He looked back into Derek's eyes to properly convey his sincerity, breathing out. "I want you to be comfortable. With everything. Like, I want you to tell me when you're not, so I can stop. I don't ever want you to feel like I'm pushing you into something you don't want or don't feel good about at the moment. I don't want you to just do whatever will make me happy. I want-"

"You remember I could literally throw you across the room if I wanted to, right? Physically, you couldn't possibly compete with me if I wanted to stop you," Derek threw in.

"Yes, of course. But I don't ever want it to have to get to that. I just… I want this to be as good for you as it is for me."

Derek knew what he meant and took a breath so he wouldn't argue and hide his insecurities. It wasn't necessary in front of Stiles.

"Okay." He nodded. "I will be open and honest. But you have to, too."

"Deal. Pinky promise?" Stiles raised a fist, pinky outstretched.

Derek hummed, tugging Stiles closer again. "How about we seal it with a kiss instead?"

"Look at you, coming up with the ultimate plan." Stiles grinned and fell back into Derek.

------------ "There is NOTHING!" Stiles groaned loudly and slammed the book shut, his hands flexing above it, trying to restrain himself from picking it up and throwing it across the room.

From across the table, Derek reached over to take his hand gently because that was a thing they did now. Immediately, Stiles deflated, all his energy converting to the heat in his cheeks. Derek rubbed his thumb over the back of Stiles’ hand and looked him over.

“We should call it a night,” he suggested.

Stiles shook his head. “No, we don’t have anything yet. We’ve made no progress. And we can’t keep them chained up forever. Like, we can’t.. we don’t know what to feed them. We don’t know what to do with them period. And they’re up there making those terrible nightmarish sounds and you’re supposed to sleep here - which we both know you won’t even though you’ll pretend and… no, stop looking at me like that.”

Stiles pouted.  “Seriously, stop it. You are not making sense with that face.” Derek’s eyebrows only rose in that weird manner only they could.

“You know what, okay, no. No, hand holding for you with all the judgement.”

And when Stiles started tugging, for the first time ever Stiles saw Derek pout.

“Okay, fine. Fine. We will do the hand holding. But you need to stop… I just want to solve this problem,” Stiles sighed, giving his hand a squeeze. “We want to save their lives you know, so I think this is more important than sleep, more important than the 9 am class. We can make it up with extra work.”

Stiles shook his hand back and forth lightly. “Hm? Hmmmmm? Come on, Der.”

“Der?”

“I don’t see you fighting it. All I see is a smile,” Stiles said in a sing song voice. Derek sighed, all heavy and dramatic and defeated and Stiles jumped up with a happy grin.

“Great! And for that…” he said, skittering over to the other side of the table to smack a kiss to Derek’s cheek. “You get a kiss. That should wake you right up.”

“I was awake the whole time. I was saying it because of you.”

“Mhm,” Stiles said, grinning as he walked over back to his spot. “I see you blushing.”

“Shut up, Stiles, and get to work,” Derek muttered, pulling his book closer again and burying his head in it.

“You can keep trying to hide it but I’ve seen it and it’s engraved in my mind now.” Stiles folded his knees underneath himself on the chair, pulling the book back to himself and flipping it open.

“Go back to researching, Stiles,” Derek said.

“I’ve ne-”

“How to turn arachnes back human after they’ve been bitten,” Derek continued relentlessly, trying to drown Stiles out. “What reverses arachne poison? Transformation potions…”

Stiles rested his chin in his hand, looking over thoughtfully, silent for just a second. “And you’re sure that it’s possible? This might make me sound dumb but what if they’re like you?”

Derek paused in the middle of turning a page. “Because their bite is actually poisonous. And it has to be reversible… since it doesn’t kill them, just transforms them. They’re not like us. They will feed off… anything that moves, even humans. It’s the poison in their veins that does that to them. We have to be able to extract it somehow.”

“That makes sense, I guess. Like Jackson turned back human. Or well, werewolf. Normal,” Stiles hummed, looking back down at his book. “There’s seriously not enough about this anywhere though, like… all I could find was the Greek myth with Athena.” He sighed. “Although Lydia is kind of a goddess, unfortunately we don’t have an actual goddess to just turn them back human with her otherworldly, almighty power… You know, that would actually be the perfect addition to our pack. A goddess. That would be awesome.”

Stiles looked up to find Derek looking at him.

“You do know that the Greek gods had all kinds of stuff going on, right?”

“No, Derek. I’m the dumbass you take me for. I know nothing about any mythology anywhere.”

“Oh my god, Stiles.”

“Relax, I’m not mad,” Stiles threw at him. “But if you’re not sure you can always kiss it better… Oh my god, again with that judgy look. You’re in a mood tonight aren’t you? Too flustered by my presence?

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“Some things really never change.”

--------------- “I feel like a real witch here,” Stiles said, mixing the purplish milky liquid in the salad bowl with a wooden spoon from Derek’s kitchen.

“You can shoot energy bolts from your hands but this makes you feel like a witch?” Lydia questioned from beside him, leaning on the table with one hand, while holding a little glass vial with *something in her other hand. “You’re just stirring.”

“Okay, no. I did like at least half the work here, okay?” Stiles argued.

“Uh huh,” Derek threw in from the other end, where all the books and papers were, far enough from the bowl to avoid any unhappy messes. Hopefully. He was watching intently from afar, ready to jump in and save Stiles from his own clumsiness. Stiles could see the tenseness in his crossed arms. Upstairs, the arachnes were scratching at the floors again. Stiles hadn't been upstairs to check on them, letting the werewolves take over that task, but he kept imagining they were about to come dropping down on their heads any second.

“You all are just haters. Meanwhile I’m here brewing the meanest potion ever like I just graduated top of my class from Hogwarts,” Stiles said, proudly ignoring everything and everyone around him trying to bring him down.

“I can’t believe I forget you’re a nerd sometimes," Lydia sighed.

"You say that like it's an insult but right now it makes me the most powerful person in the room." Reaching over, he took the vial from Lydia's hand to add a drop to the weird mixture. She gave him a look but let the vial slip through her fingers easily.

"That's a bold statement," Lydia said, off-handedly. It prompted Stiles to look between the two other people by him, the badass banshee and the goddamn alpha - who his gaze naturally hung on. He smiled.

"Except for Derek," he threw in then, averting his gaze from Derek's eyes after a moment, when Lydia let out a contemplative noise. Stiles glanced over to see her look over from Derek to him, a curious look I'm her eyes.

"Because he's the alpha. Obviously," he added. "Also, are you sure we're doing this, right? I mean, I'm loving this alchemy shit but this is just… goop. It's not a drinkable potion like at all."

"The thinner it is, the more we actually have to get in them and I don't know about you but I don't want to have to be around those fangs longer than necessary." Lydia shook her head.

Stiles froze and turned to Derek. "And just like that she makes me feel like the stupidest person in the room."

Derek smirked in his oh-so-smug way, like he was saying 'well, duh, Stiles, way to finally catch the fuck on to the damn truth' only in so much less words. Not less sass or cockiness or pushing at Stiles' buttons though and Stiles hates how it makes something in his torso tingle. It was unfair how much more of an effect it now had knowing that there was more meaning behind it. A very kissable meaning.

He almost missed the "All hail, Lydia!" that came from across the room and Stiles quickly ducked his head.

"Shut up. All of you."

"I didn't even say anything," Derek replied and Stiles didn't even have to look to recognize the fond, almost smiling tone.

"You said something with your face," he countered, waving a hand in his general direction, knowing that if he dared look that way his mushy, yearning feelings would all be out there for everyone to see.

"You're still staying something with your face," Lydia then interjected quietly and Stiles glanced to her sharply, seeing the narrowed eyes directed at Derek. Oh, she was definitely catching on - which, totally nerve wracking and scary because whatever this thing between them was, it was very fresh and possibly quite fragile.

Derek, however, met Lydia's scrutinizing gaze with one of ease and confidence, closing the case with a simple, unspoken 'what about it?'. The quick hint of a smile the alpha then threw Stiles' way did nothing to calm his racing heartbeat but everything to make him feel settled and… just right. "This isn't too easy, right?" Stiles asked half an hour later when they had the whole pack upstairs, his own hands wrapped around a small bottle, filled only halfway up, while the others had their arms wrapped around the arachnes, like they were wrestling, trying to hold them down without getting bitten or wrapped up in a sticky, somehow foul-smelling web. It was like something had died in there, if you asked Stiles. He didn't dare ask what if was like for the wolves.

In afterthought - when he received nothing but glares and frustrated looks, even from Lydia, who was simply here to observe for scientific purposes - it had not been /that/ easy... Especially when it was time for Stiles to get all up close and personal with the appendages these creatures called mouths, pincers moving incessantly. He grimaced, now wishing they had thought of finding a way to sedate them. Then again, who knew if it might have counteracted with the spell.

"Come on, Stiles. How long do you expect me to keep my body all up against this," Erica complained. It was quite intriguing how she didn't even need to try so hard anymore to sound like Derek and instead of getting stressed by the pressure all he felt was pride at the proof of Derek's progress as an alpha. They were looking up to him, taking on his mannerisms. Stiles felt like a proud parent himself - NOT that he was implying his relationship with Derek was in any way that serious or anything, it was just-

"Stiles!"

"Right, right, I'm on it!" He said with a quick shake of his head and a sigh and then he was off, stepping forward to face the threat.

Somehow, it was entirely more challenging to get this task done than it has been to subdue the arachnes in the first place and Stiles wished he didn't have to intensely stare at the stomach-turning chops. Unlike the werewolf canines, there was absolutely nothing sexy about this and he never wanted to find out what it would be like to be bitten by them. He would prefer it if no one ever tried to take a bite of him, thank you very much. Except, well, if Derek wanted to use his teeth for some hot and steamy times, Stiles would probably be very into that.

Alas, those were thoughts for another day, or at the very least other time of day, because Stiles did not want the pack to smell any kind of arousal in a situation like this. That would just make for a supremely awkward situation. So, no. Stiles got in and out as fast he could, pouring what would hopefully be enough potion into each of the two mouths. It was only a matter of seconds then, after he stepped back and they made sure the solution wasn't about to be spat up, that the entire pack was on the other end of the room, just... waiting?

The seconds ticked by in silence - of course, aside from the hissing and clicking and struggling and scratching of the arachnes. Really, Stiles didn't get where they got all that energy from.

"So, uh… are we sure this spell is actually gonna work or…?" Stiles after a good minute or two, the nagging, impatient fear of failure gnawing at his stomach.

“Unless we actually have one of the queens,”  Lydia muttered, her arms crossed  as she gazed at the unchanging scene before them.

Derek shook his head. “No. They would be bigger, more powerful. More… non-human.”

“Wait, this is the kid-friendly version?” Stiles shuddered.

“Shouldn’t we go out and find the queen then and kill it?” Isaac threw in with a confused expression.

Again, Derek shook his head. “If it was close we would know it. We’d have a lot more than just two of them on our hands. This one must have just gotten close enough to feel the Nemeton’s pull and wandered over. The queen should be nested somewhere discreet and safe, laying her eggs. We’re not going to go chasing after a problem we don’t need.”

Looking round at the pale and stricken faces, Stiles could tell that everyone instantly agreed with their alpha. They had enough things to worry about here with the Nemeton after all. And college. Which… they would have some catching up to do this weekend.

“Look! Something is happening!” Erica exclaimed, throwing out an arm to point at the the arachne that had stilled and was now started to shake.

While they had all gotten used to werewolf transformations at this point, this one was all too different to not be intriguing - even if Stiles could once again feel his stomach turn over.

Relief swept through the room when it was finally done and dazed very human eyes blinked up at them. Stiles grabbed one of the prepared blankets and approached the poor young brunet male he had seen in psychology class before. Meanwhile Boyd was already loosening the binds they had restricted him with.

“You’re good,” Stiles reassured him, laying the blanket around his shoulders with a soft smile. He turned to give Derek a look, who appeared just as pleased their plan had worked. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

------------

They’d agreed to part ways and take care of themselves for the rest of the evening, after giving the two poor bite victims some story they would be able to recover with and sent them back on their way home. Derek and Stiles had specifically agreed to get some sleep.

But Stiles knew the sourwolf all too well.

As he pulled open the loft door open, he found Derek standing right behind it, arms crossed and a stern look on his face.

“What are you doing here? It’s past 1 am." Derek asked, as if Stiles was just one of the pups he could boss around. Like they hadn’t just kissed a few hours back. He wasn’t moving out of the way even when Stiles tried to urge him back by walking forward. Stiles just ended up close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of Derek and suddenly all he wanted to do was get even closer, to feel Derek against him.

As unwavering as Derek’s body was, his eyes softened with interest. Stiles’ lips quirked up, immediately advancing on the ground he’d won. He inched closer, so there was just barely a sliver of space between them.

“Is it past my bed time, alpha?” Stiles asked, voice lowered and breathy, nothing but suggestive, while he gave those ocean eyes a faux innocent look. “Are you going to send me to bed?”

Stiles tugged at the neckline of his shirt, as if he was fixing it, watching Derek’s gaze flicker down as his jaw clenched. “Undress me…” he continued, biting down on his lip and dragging it out from between his teeth with an audible breath. “Tuck me in reaal tight-”

Suddenly Stiles found himself being shoved back with a hand in his face.

“Ooomph!” Stiles staggered back for a second but Derek’s palm was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

“You are the worst,” Derek told him as he turned to walk away and Stiles could have taken it to heart if it wasn’t for the fact that there was definitely a tinge of pink at the tip of Derek’s ears and he was inviting him in instead of shutting the door in his face.

“That was my face, asshole! It’s my best feature. Luckily, you can’t ruin perfection.” Stiles stepped in with a successful grin, drinking in the sight of Derek’s soft look, consisting of sweatpants and a worn T-shirt. He closed the door behind him and followed Derek into the room, over to the windows under the crescent moon. Stiles knew what the not-so-sneaky alpha was doing.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “That’s your best feature? That’s unfortunate,” he muttered.

“Jokes on you. You’re the one attracted to this.” Stiles shrugged, countering with an easy smile to Derek’s relenting sigh.

“Touche,” and Stiles couldn’t help the way his stomach tingled at the way Derek was so openly admitting it. “Why are you here, though? You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Mmm, right,” Stiles nodded, turning away so he could head over to the dining table, which clearly had Derek’s open text- and notebooks, as well as his laptop. He set down his bag next to them, pointedly. “Because you’re obviously holding yourself to our agreement yourself.”

Derek withered guiltily beneath the look Stiles threw him. He shrugged, walking closer and tapping a finger on the tabletop.

“Getting back into all of this… isn’t as easy as I thought. I have to work harder to keep up,” he admitted. “I can’t just treat it lightly.”

Derek was clamming up a little. Stiles could tell by the way he lowered his gaze and the corner’s of his mouth pulled downward. The air around him just screamed awkwardness and discomfort. Derek had come a long, long way from when Stiles had met the werewolf, all hard lines and glares and- not that he didn’t still have hard angles like those of his jaw and cheekbones and muscles and- but the point was, he’d grown more into a cocky, self-assured jock, Peter had told many a story about Derek in his teen years. It was great to see him become more in tune with his emotions, accepting them the same way he accepted his wolf - wholeheartedly.

He was stable now, a great alpha, who knew to pause and reflect and do the best for his pack, rather than run on anger and sacrifice himself any chance he got.

Stiles wasn’t going to make a big deal about this insecurity. It was a big deal after all, starting up school again, after everything he’d been through. It just showed how far he’d come. Derek was allowed to feel scared. Stiles hopped up on the table casually.

“I think you’re treating this too heavily,” he said, wise-old-man-style. To which, of course, Derek rolled his eyes.

“That’s not a thing.”

“Of course it’s a thing!”

“It’s not a thing you say.”

“But it’s a thing you do,” Stiles pointed out and it was not something Derek could dispute. Even though he didn’t make it as obvious as Stiles with his non-stop rambling and infinite possibilities and plans, Derek would overthink just as badly, if not worse, allowing it to overwhelm him and render him silent and immobile.

“So, what, you came here to send me to bed?” Derek asked, parroting Stiles' words but not bothering to try and seduce Stiles in retaliation - which was kind of a bummer, if you asked Stiles.

Stiles straightened. “Is that a possibility? Because if so, then yes. Absolutely.”

“So you can join me there?” Derek taunted, crossing his arms, as if he was so sure Stiles only wanted to be with him to get into his pants.

“Ideally, yes. One day. Absolutely. Or now for uh, strictly sleeping purposes. Of the unconscious kind. No physical contact necessary. No dicks involved." Stiles bit down on his bottom lip, this time just to shut himself up, feeling the embarrassment and excitement - should one call it embitement? - that specific, giddy feeling he got when he looked into Derek's eyes to find them already taking him in, pulling him in like a whirlpool. And Stiles didn't really have anything to hold him back, ready to jump, ready to drown.

Derek must have felt the same thing because he stepped closer, solidifying the electricity between them. Stiles' fingers were tingling again and he resisted the urge to hide them under his thighs. Here Derek was, staring at him with such emotion, such trust - and if that wasn't the thing that made Stiles' heart leap most of all, that Derek was willing to give himself to him, to offer himself up, weaknesses and strengths alike, just for Stiles. Well, then Stiles could let his magic light Sparks around them and give their romantic scenes some Hollywood flair. There was no reason to hide their special powers. Not from each other.

"Does that mean you're not a cuddler?" Derek asked, amusement framing his words so snugly as if he'd never spoke a serious syllable in his life.

Stiles snorted. "Oh, I am an octopus in bed. Once I've got my arms around you, you're not going anywhere."

"Octopus in bed, huh?" Derek asked, and Stiles could already hear the giggle that was about to come out of his mouth.

"Don't you dare start with-"

"You must have been holding out on me. I didn't know you could shape shift... Or that you were into that kind of thing," Derek continued relentlessly, close enough now to lay a hand on Stiles' knee. The jolt that ran through him was deliciously warm and that hot as hell smirk on such a gorgeous face and all that cocky confidence was so not fair, but two could play that game. Stiles was nothing if not competitive (when he wanted to be that was).

"-that. Okay, you know what, you're the one who seems surprisingly into it, seeing as you're the one digging deeper into it. Is it telling about our relationship that you're trying to seduce me while talking about tentacle porn before out first date," Stiles asked, cocking his head.

"You said it, not me." Derek quickly shook his head, the slightest bit horrified, but in the next moment they were both laughing lightly.

"I guess nothing about our relationship could be considered normal, though, seeing as we're not," Stiles then said thoughtfully.

Derek shuffled closer, having Stiles part his knees so he could stand between them, his second hand also finding a thigh to rest on.

"Does that bother you?" He asked, shifting to sincerity in the blink of an eye, making Stiles smile softly.

Stiles lifted his arms to wrap them around Derek's neck, pulling him closer.

"Nope," he replied easily. "I mean, come on. There's literally magic in the air around us, how cool is that?" Stiles motioned around before smiling mischievously. "And also I can't wait to make you lose control, maybe give me some of those steamy Alpha eyes with my great powers of seduction."

Stiles arched closer, bringing them nose to nose. Derek hummed, flashing said eyes at Stiles for just a second.

"You think you could make me lose control?"

"Oh, absolutely. I'm your kryptonite, Hale."

But Derek shook his head. "You're my anchor. You make me stronger, not weaker."

"Just you wait, oh great alpha," Stiles mused, wrapping his legs around Derek's for more contact, reveling in the soft exhale he felt Derek make. "I'm totally going to make you weak in the knees."

With that he surged forward for a kiss, a slow one but not without intention, showing Derek just how much he meant it with a little nip. He let Derek pull away a minute later, breathing open-mouthed, watching those fractal eyes flicker down and up with the small shake of his head.

"I would never hurt you," Derek breathed, hands coming to grasp Stiles' waist, holding him fast with a caring grip, proving how safe and secure he could keep him.

"I know." Stiles' smile widened in full reassurance as he trailed his own fingers against Derek's nape and felt a shiver run through the man, the red glinting through in his eyes. He grinned successfully. "I win."

Derek let out a light growl, which only really supported Stiles' point, and Stiles knew he would definitely make sure to win more often if this was the prize he got, Derek pulling him flush against himself and kissing him like he had something to prove, like there was a hunger in him only Stiles could sate. It was like being set on fire - but in a good way - his body burning up with endorphins, adrenaline, blood rushing, pleasure sparking and best of all, knowing Derek felt the same with the urgency of his lips and tongue, the little sounds he made and the roll of his hips.

It wasn't long before he was swept up, body curling around Derek's, strong arms securely around him and he was being carried off to the bedroom. Not quite a happily ever after on a horseback into the sunset, but a happily ever after nevertheless, one Stiles wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

[challengerbmxmag]

Go Fund Us? an Interview with Professor Lauren Berliner

Paul Smith by Joshua Lucero This interview originally appeared in Challenger BMX Magazine Volume 2, Issue 4. Winter 2018/2019. Interview by Nick Ferreira When I first donated to someone’s GoFundMe medical campaign, I thought it was an innocent idea: Someone is in need and they don’t have enough money to pay for it. Seems like a no-brainer. But as I began to think about this concept of a private web site acting as a safety net for healthcare (not to mention the countless other types of campaigns, but we’re talking medical here), it all started to feel incredibly troubling and confusing.* Luckily there’s people out there researching this stuff. People like Professor Lauren Berliner, a faculty member at the University of Washington Bothell. Berliner works in the area of critical media practice and with the anthropologist Nora Kenworthy, co-authored the paper, “Producing a worthy illness: Personal crowdfunding amidst financial crisis.” This paper, published August 2017 in Social Science & Medicine, discusses things like media literacy, the idea of “deservingness,” and how GoFundMe perpetuates the inequality of the US healthcare system. Professor Berliner talked with me about her research and how it intersects with our small world of BMX

One of the things you discussed in the article is this idea of “deservingness.” What is deservingness and what do you think some of the more troubling aspects of deservingness are that came up in your research? In general the idea that we are bombarded with so many campaigns at this point. Our attention is just not split amongst medical campaigns. On social media we have campaigns competing for lots of different issues. You might have one on your feed looking for funding for medical or another one that is really compelling for car repair funds. It’s not like you are only comparing medical campaigns when you are thinking about deservingness. In talking to crowdfunders and looking at the ways in which people write about their needs in crowdfunding campaigns it became very apparent that people are trying to frame themselves and their stories as deserving of funds. We live in a country in which asking for money is often associated with shame and self-sufficiency and the “bootstrap mythology” really prevails. When you have to ask for money it’s very hard even if you can point to a million systemic failures to say well, “yeah we actually still really need this.” So people who have very discrete, concrete asks: “we have everything we need but we need money for this treatment that is possibly going to save this child.” The campaigner might be imagining that the reader is looking for reasons why this person should not get the money. Because we hear a lot about fraud in campaigns. And people tend to approach them with a bit of suspicion if they don’t know the people involved very well. And so deservingness is, at least from talking to people who want to prove it in the healthcare arena, that they’ve done all they can to take care of themselves, and therefore they are deserving. There’s two modes of deserving: “I am deserving” and then there’s the flip side: “There’s nothing I did to deserve this.” Where, when you think about certain kinds of cancer linked to smoking or sexual transmitted illnesses or other kinds of health conditions that have been linked to stigmatized practices, it’s much harder and we see much fewer of those kinds of cases.

Yeah and that’s part of what I’ve been thinking about in regards to BMX, skateboarding, snowboarding, etc. It’s a risk adverse activity. I think a lot of people think why would I give this person money if they knew what they were getting into. I don’t know if there’s a right answer to this—it seems like a moral question, but also seems like a slippery slope. What’s the difference between someone who went for a run and got hit by a car vs. someone who is riding BMX because it’s healthy and fun? When you first contacted us, I had the same thought. You are dealing with a sport that a lot of people would stay away from because by virtue it seems risky. I’d imagine in the realm of BMX related cases, where the person has an injury due to the sport, not if they are in the community and get cancer, but if it’s something injury related. Or, even someone who does have cancer and their goal is to get better so they can do BMX again, there’s a way in which that might potentially be a hinderance for them. But the flip side is that their network and community are people who are part of the community. And probably, I would imagine, from what we’ve seen the more the campaigner ties themselves to an already in place community the more likely they are to get funds because they have that sympathy across networks.

You are completely right. And I think that us something that BMX prides itself on that. Which is really kind of beautiful. I think that’s an aspect of crowdfunding that is quite nice. But to speak to your article and your research, I think it does take away the conversation from the fact that a better health care system would mean we wouldn’t need to be doing this. Right or when we talk to people in countries where they do have universal healthcare and the things people are campaigning for are not the actual healthcare. It’s the stuff around it: travel to a care facility, the kinds of nice things to have when you are bed-ridden, travel for family. Not the actual  procedures and medicines, etc.

I think that leads to this next question, people talk about shows like Black Mirror and how we are one step away from dystopia. But this idea of self marketing, to me seems like it is already a super dystopian scenario. You have to prove yourself to get your healthcare paid for on a web site that takes 5% of your costs. Yes. Well at this point they aren’t taking 5% anymore but they do have this tip model which is super confusing to people, even to myself, and I work on this topic. I was giving to a campaign and it said “Would you like to give a tip?” and when I see “tip” I think of the service model and people who are working class who are trying to get tips on top of low wages and my do-gooder instinct is “Oh yeah, provide a tip” (laughs). And then I thought about it and I thought “this tip is not for the person, the tip is for GoFundMe.” And the word tip—I find the word tip very manipulative personally.

For sure. I donated to a friend’s campaign not too long ago and I thought ,"Hell no. Why would I donate to GoFundMe. That seems insane." It’s interesting because we are at a point, you mentioned self-marketing, but self-marketing and branding has been increasingly part of our popular culture and our social theatre for, I would say, 10 years with the emergence of web 2.0 and people engaging in different forms of self produced media like YouTube channels and Facebook pages. And so the idea of cultivating a unified brand or expressing one’s values and needs through social media, is something that we’ve been slowly naturalizing ourselves to. So it’s not like crowdfunding comes along and suddenly bam—we’re self-marketing. We’ve been self-marketing but it’s being applied to different concepts. So the dystopia is part of a larger, I mean there’s so many things connected to the dystopian vision of our world right now, everything from climate change to all the different events happening around the world. This is just one piece. And you can see the ways in which the “goodness of the crowd” or sharing economy is continually pointed to as a way out of social and economic ills. So like “Oh, help the migrants that came through San Diego.” Everyone get behind this with money or send blankets. That kind of approach is super well intentioned and very impactful, most of the time, but that’s where the energy is going.

Totally and that brings me to my last question and I think the problem with a lot of these campaigns is that it continues to undermine these public and social institutions that, I think, should be the things that are taking care of people in a first world country and if they aren’t “profitable” they are the devil. I feel like, to that point, in the past 5 years since Nora (Kenworthy) and I have started working on this project, the idea of crowdfunding has become so popularized to the point of becoming part of most people’s everyday experience. Whereas when we started, we had to explain what crowdfunding meant. It was a very new area.

That’s so interesting. Yeah. There’s ways we’ve become naturalized to its existence as a means of survival. It helps to further obscure super abstract areas of our healthcare system in general. So knowing how much your hospital or doctor is going to charge you is generally a mystery until you get the bill. And even when you get the bill it’s still pretty much a mystery unless you track down how much this Tylenol is and the adjustments your insurance company will make, if you’re lucky enough to have insurance, is also really confusing. And most people, if you’re like me, just kind of  lean back and go “okay, I’m going to sit and let the bills collect and then figure it out” and so then on the flip side asking for funding is equally abstract. People who set up Go Fund Me’s we talk to are like “I don’t know how much to ask for. We don’t know how much this is going to cost.” Just even doing the math and then deciding what are people willing to give. There’s a lot of economic reckoning people are doing that is not guided by whatever resources are available for people in need or should be available for people in need. But really just trying to dance around or with this really abstract, weird medical care system that does not put people’s health first.

*Big Editor's Note: In no way would I ever blame someone for using GoFundMe nor do I think it is bad if you make a GoFundMe campaign. I want to emphasize that this is a critique of the US healthcare system and the techno utopia we are often told will save us. I don't know the answers but I'm trying to learn more. Thanks to Lauren Berliner for taking the time to discuss this stuff with me.

[dregstrash]

"bones" by alexandra savior for zoyalai (hopefully set in the grishaverse?) 💞

oh hey there fellow lovely mutual, you ask? Definitely receive. And I love this song btdubbs???

I just can’t pretend I’m not in love with you

Crack. Whoosh. Boom. 

The imaginary enemies were surrounding her, and Zoya wasn’t taking any chances. She clapped her hands in front of her and the resulting knife of wind shook all the leaves from the trees of the grove, and still she went on. 

Focusing on the heat in the air, she felt sweat form on her brow as she moved her hands in a slicing motion, summoning a line of fire that consumed the tree in front of her. She let herself enjoy the blazing heat for a moment, before taking another deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling for the water of the lake. 

A twitch. A cool sensation. A supporting wind, and she doused the flaming tree in a sudden rush of water.

You’re improving, Juris said from the recesses of her mind. She tried to push him away as she took a sip from the flask she brought out with her. 

Your control of water is too slow. Draw it from the air if you can. You know that all the orders are–

A circle, She growled, I know. There’s no need to be a nagging mother, Juris. 

You’re in a mood. He pointed out. And she ignored him. Even if he was right. 

Could it have something to do with–

“General!”

Zoya stiffened as the owner of the voice approached. He was the last person she wanted to see right now. She was the last person that she could stand to be around. But here he was. Standing next to her, looking at the destruction she wrought with an amused expression on his face.

“Did a bird look at you wrongly again?”

“The bird had it coming.”

“Probably should have known better.” He said back.

“What do you want, Lantsov?” Zoya sighed. She should have probably addressed him a little more formally as her gaze flicked over to the assigned guards to protect him. But her muscles were aching from her earlier exercise, her clothes were lined with sweat, and it really wasn’t the time for pleasantries.

“Now that’s a question. Shall I list my wants alphabetically or by priority?”

A glare was more than sufficient as a response, and Nikolai’s smile only widened.

“I’ll take that as a no. But I did want to discuss something rather serious.”

“I had no idea you were capable of such a thing.”

Her mouth moved automatically, and the twitch in her lip happened involuntarily. She wasn’t supposed to be talking to him alone. She wasn’t supposed to be falling into this easy banter anymore. She wasn’t supposed to feel a squeeze in her chest when he stepped in front of her and pinned her with his golden eyes. 

“Ehri has requested to be moved from the palace.”

Zoya rolled her eyes.

“She’s been asking for that ever since you trapped her with the engagement.”

Was that bitterness in her voice? She hoped that he didn’t notice. 

“But I’m of a mind to grant her request.”

Now this caught her attention. Before she could ask what he meant, he went on.

“The Fjerdans are getting restless, and having a public wedding could only open us up to an ambush, a surprise attack, or something equally as delightful, so I am moving her to some property I have in Kerch until we can safely unite our bond.”

“Kerch?” Zoya snapped, “Are you insane? That disgusting little island is crawling with mercenaries, thieves, and murderers.”

“I assumed it would feel like home to her.”

“Nikolai, I thought you were being serious.”

“I am.” The smile dropped from his face, and Zoya noted his posture changing and shifting to that of a king. “My betrothed’s life is in danger, and the insurance of Ravka is at stake. As you remember we have some dear friends can ensure her safety, until this mess is over.”

“You’re trusting the rat, Brekker to take care of your bride?”

“Kaz is the least trustworthy person I know, so he’s the only person I know to do the job. He knows it’s too much of a risk to expose her to the Fjerdans, and he has too much investment in attaining Grisha for his gang to involved the Shu. He’ll do what I ask cause I have the most to offer.”

“Offer?” Zoya paused for a moment, and bit back a curse, “Tell me you did not give him one of your ships.” 

He shrugged, “It’s done. That was his price as well as a favor from me.”

“You certainly enjoy getting into bed with the wrong people.” Zoya said.

Nikolai’s earlier demeanor returned slightly, “I hear those are the best kinds of tumbles, Nazyalensky.”

The air suddenly sparked with heat, and Zoya instinctively wanted to step closer and challenge the look that was creeping in his eyes. For a brief moment, she imagined what it would be like. To stand in a place where she could be aware of how his breath would tickle the hair on her forehead. To see the bob in his throat when she would lean in and whisper her response. To know what it would be like to drag her lips across his jaw when she drew back. 

Then the moment shattered whens she blinked and looked away. 

“Anyway,” Nikolai coughed, “I want you to arrange some people to go with her. Brekker said that a ship called The Wraith to take her to Ketterdam. She’s scheduled to leave within the week.”

Zoya sighed, “I can arrange for a couple of Grisha and some soldiers to stay with her. I can go to see that she’s secure and to keep Brekker in line.”

“No.” He suddenly said, “I need you here. Send either Tamar and Tolya to go, but I need you.”

I need you. I need you. I need you.

The words were the balm and the poison of her mind and she felt the sudden need to hit something. This was the reason she couldn’t be around him anymore. She couldn’t keep imagining how his lips would feel against hers. Or what it would be like to be by his side during state dinners. Or even what it would be like to receive his smiles unrestrained. She couldn’t be the friend that he could fall in love with, if he ever wanted her. Because he had his duties, she had hers, and ignoring them would only cause their destruction. 

“Well if you insist, Your Majesty.” She said wryly. 

He gave her a smile in return and started to step away, “I’ll leave you to finish any other wildlife that has caused you offense.”

She watched him walk away, his careless words echoing in her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Nikolai was the most insufferable man on this planet, and if this inevitable war doesn’t kill her, the ache in her chest and the force of pretending everything was okay might.

[selenecrawford]

The Odd Pair 5

Warnings: Explicit language, Medical procedures, Drama a lot.

“Just because we kiss and made out in front of the Court of Justice doesn't mean we are going to fuck in bed.” with those words Shingen slam some of the papers he was working on the desk.

It's been two months since Selene told him that and still he can't get them out of his head. After sharing that intense kiss both were too flustered to walk around anyone. They waited a bit to calm down and then went to eat. Selene managed to regain some stability and was less stressed out. For Shingen kissing her was the best thing he felt in a while. Selene from time to time stole glances and he couldn't help but smile. Everything seemed going well until it was time for bed. Selene decided to go early to sleep. He decided sleep a couple of hours later, when he went to bed, he found the bed with two rows of queen size pillows creating a division in the middle of the bed. She even ducked tapped them to the bed just in case also. He waited for the next morning, he walked into the kitchen wearing only his pajama pants. Selene almost choke on her coffee and she saw him. Closing her eyes she counted to ten to regain her composure. Feeling better she opened her eyes only to find him in front of her with a sardonic smile. Selene started to glare at him. That didn't help much and things escalated. The next morning she was wearing a t-shirt that said “Not today Satan.”

Shingen decided to be the less problematic possible. After setting his office at the house he managed to work from long distance. Selene on the other hand was always cleaning or spending her time on an old storage near the house. He was intrigued since he heard music but when tried to ask Selene she evaded the question. So he tried to give her as much space as possible until he made the mistake of asking her about the pillows.

“We can't sleep separate so since I don't want any sneak attacks at night I decided to do this. At least  you did a good thing buying that big bed. Thank you.” Selene avoided eye contact at all cost.

“ I didn't agree to that.” reply Shingen complaining.

“Well I didn't agree to marry you, but here we are. Also just because we kiss and made out in front of the Court of Justice means we are going to fuck in bed.” the words kind of hurt his ego and soon he left the room.

After that he tried to have the minimum contact possible until he could regain some composure. Yeah, he was too full of himself thinking that getting married and just a couple of kisses will solve the situation. Frustration was something he hasn't felt in a long time if he had ever had felt it at all. He wished Tomas at least would had told him what he wanted to do. He usually sleeps on shorts but since the house is a bit chiller than his apartment he now wears long pants and a shirt. He got a little revenge on Selene. Her face getting so flustered only for her to get even the next morning with that t-shirt. Hiding his face on his hands Shingen couldn't think of anything else to do. What does he really wants to do? Does he really want her? Did she still wants him?

The sound of a basket falling next to him made him jump. Turning to look to the right Selene was folding her arms with a piss off look. “Takeda we need to talk.”

Shingen sighs resigned to see what now will be the new fight. “What now Princess?”

Selene found Shingen with his face between his hands. He looked troubled. For some reason her first instinct was to caress his hair and hug him. Giving a head shake, she regained her anger and let the basket of Shingen's dirty underwear on the floor. He jumped scared when the basked hit the floor.

“Takeda we need to talk.” the look on his face,his response, managed to hurt her but she took the pain back to the box and close it. Right now, staying all the time at the house was driving her insane. Being with him almost 24 hours without touching him added pure torture. And yet, she felt all this was her fault. Maybe if she had not left her father this might had not happened. If she was paying for any sins, this was how hell will be for her.

(Stop it Selene, you are not like this.)she thought.  Sometimes her self- esteem played her tricks, others she felt she was not enough. A sharp pain to the right side under her rib cage was felt. Taking a deep breath she managed to get it under control. Taking a few more seconds she started.

“We need to do something about the chores, I can't do all at home. Also I need a job.”

“OK what you do suggest? I'm all ears.” Shingen stood from his chair.

“Can we take turns or do you have any chores you don't like to do?” Selene sound uncertain, perhaps distracted. Shingen frowned something was not right with her.

“Look can you wash your own underwear?” That will be all. And the trash. As for the job Masam...”

“NO, you are not working at the dinner with him. Look for another job. But working with him is out of the question. I told you before and the answer is still no.” Shingen walk pass by Selene with the basket on his arms.

Once Selene was sure she was alone, she double holding her right side and biting her lip to prevent any sound to be heard. Taking deep breaths Selene managed to let the pain pass. Lately, she had been having pain but since her resources were almost gone. She didn't want to use Shingen's money. For her it was like selling her liberty to the devil. Years, of being self sufficient and independent were on her mind. Hard head, just like him. She will have to convince him fast. The pain was increasing a bit each day. And over the counter pain killers are not doing the trick anymore. She might have to get money to get a visit to Yasu as soon as possible. Another sharp pain shoot thru and this time Selene got on her knees. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When the pain passed she stood up and started walking slowly to the bathroom.

Shingen put the clothes on the wash machine, and smash a punch on it. He was frustrated, and took it out with Selene again. Ever since she told him politely that she will like to work instead of using his money...

“Dammit why she can't just,...” Shingen thought he had enough. They needed to sit and have a long talk, the situation was getting ridiculous. Defeated he went looking for Selene to have a long conversation.

“Princess, where are you? We need to talk.” Shingen continue looking for her until he found her on fetal position on the floor of the bedroom.

He felt his blood got cold, rapidly he approached her, upon touching her arm he felt it hot. Her face was red with fever and sweating. Her breath was labored, while her pained expression was hard to watch.

“Princess, what is going on? Are you OK? You are burning with fever.”

“My...,my right side hur....” instinctively, Selene bit her lip, tears went down her eyes.

Shingen took her in his arms. And put down on the bed. Taking his cell he dialed Ieyasu's number.

“What?”

“It's Selene, she is in pain and burning with fever. Can you come?”

“Take her to the hospital, I will be waiting.” Ieyasu hung up and Shingen took his wallet, a comforter and then covered Selene with it. Carefully he took her downstairs to his car a red corvette. The trip to the hospital was hell for both. Selene was crying silently meanwhile Shingen wanted to hold her but at the same time had to drive. Once they arrived to the hospital. Ieyasu took charge taking her to the examination room for triage and evaluation.

Shingen had to wait out, minutes went by. He wondered since when she was feeling ill and didn't told him something about it. How he never saw the signs. Selene never complained, she always was evasive if she felt unwell. Shingen started feeling guilty. He was pacing the room like a caged tiger waiting for any news. A Nurse gave him the documents to fill. He was still filling forms when Ieyasu went out to talk with him.

“Shingen.”

“How is she? Can I see her?” Shingen didn't care if Ieyasu notice his agitation, he just wanted to know if she was OK.

“We need to take her for surgery now, it seems is her appendix we need to operate to know if is still good to remove or if already burst.” Ieyasu's face was grim. He didn't dare to tell anymore so he went back to prepare for the operation.

But before that he called Nobunaga and the others. He didn't want Shingen to be alone on a time like this. Shingen didn't like Ieyasu's tone when he told him the news. He felt there was something else Ieyasu failed to tell him. This situation took his frustration up a notch. Pacing with his hands behind his head, he closed his eyes praying Selene will be OK.

The gang started arriving one by one. First were, Nobunaga and Mitsuhide. Shingen called his mother to let her know the situation then Yukimura and Sasuke. Mitsurani and Hideyoshi arrived being Masamune last. Nobunaga did it on purpose, he knew Masamune will be furious. And he was right when he tried to punch Shingen upon arriving.

“Easy Masasmune, he didn't do nothing to Selene. Her appendix is giving trouble. Besides that she as always never told him she was feeling sick.”

“No wonder, what had he done to win her trust? Nothing.” asked Masamune still agitated.

“No one call you, any of you. So why are you here?” Shingen bite back while Mitsihide hold him.

“I called Nobunaga.” Ieyasu spoke wearing his scrubs. “We managed to get Selene on time. We removed her appendix but there is a problem. When we started the operation her appendix was already burst. She was on early stages of Sepsis. The bacteria was spreading so we had to act fast. We managed to cleaned up everything but right now she will have to remain under observation on the ICU until we are sure she is out of danger. We started the protocol with antibiotics and see how it goes.”

Shingen cleared his throat but no words came out of his mouth. Selene might die? No, she can't. Mitsurani dared to ask when no one did.

“So in other words this is a preventive measure?”

“You can call that, but if the antibiotics don't kill the bacteria, it could spread and kill her. I will come back later I need to finish the paper work. For the moment visiting is not allowed.  Shingen right now if you can, go get some rest as soon as we allow visits I'll call you.” Ieyasu turned around and left. Shingen started to breathe when he felt his lungs crying for air. Feeling a bit in shock he started breathing, he needed to get himself busy. Instead he felt empty.

“Hey, let me take you home you are in no condition to drive right now.” it was Masamune who made the first offer.

Shingen shakes his head in a negative response. “Staying” was his only word. He turned around sitting on one of the chairs. He called Yuki once again to let him know the news. Shingen was still processing them himself. This morning she was defiant as always. She even glared at him. Now she is on intensive care fighting for her life.

Nobunaga and the others decided to take turns to be with Shingen, and making him eat and rest. Kenshin was the last to arrive since he was on business trip. Once he was there, he took Shingen home and made him sleep. The process was repeated for the following days. At the fifth day Ieyasu let him visit her.

Selene was sleeping peacefully, the only sound on the room were all the machines connected to her, monitoring her vitals and administering the antibiotics by serum at per schedule. Shingen took a sit next to her and touch her hand. It was cold, so he took it in his hands and try to give it some warmth.

“Princess, it's me Takeda. Ieyasu told me you need to rest and get well soon. So please, do that, the house is boring without you. I miss you.” he kissed her hand taking a deep breath he hold it until it was warm. When the time was over he gave her a kiss on the forehead and left.

Shingen went out and found his mother waiting for him. He felt powerless. The amount of emotions running thru his chest and mind were overwhelming. He was the one who found his father when the heart attack took his life. He managed to deal with it, but for some reason this was too much,  hugging his mother his breath was shaky.

“Mom, I don't want to loose her.” he buried his face on her shoulder. Breathing slowly trying to calm his emotions.

“And you won't son. She is OK, have faith. Selene is a strong woman, and I know she will come out of this stronger. Come on, let's get you home.”

Both went out and Shingen stayed that night at her mother's house. On his next update with Ieyasu he told Shingen that Selene's treatment was working and soon she will be cleared out of danger and moved to a normal room. Ieyasu saw the glitter on Shingen's eyes. The man looked relieved but also tired. “I told you to go home. Selene  doesn't need to get up only to go take care of you. Come on, doctor's orders, go.”

By now it has been two weeks since Selene's surgery, she woke up during one of Shingen's visits. Shingen took her hand and smile shyly. Selene complained about the pain but didn't let go of his hand. When Selene was moved to a normal room he started to stay with her keeping her company.

“How are you feeling Princess?”

For Selene it was a new experience. Shingen was attentive and caring with her. When she woke up, the pain was still there but she felt a warmth that help her managed. Shingen had fallen asleep at that moment holding her hand. Since then, he had always been by her side. Others had visited her but he had kept with her at all times. Ieyasu bit her head off as soon as she was recovered enough.

“I'm feeling better thank you Shingen.” she smiled at him shyly.

“I'm sorry, I might ruined any plans you might had.”

“Hey, you died on me is not ruining my plans. Don't sell yourself short Princess. Everyone had been dead worried about you, including that idiot Masamune.” Shingen made a gesture of disgust while saying his name.

Selene found that amusing and couldn't help but smile. “Masamune, had been a great friend. If I'm not mistaken you sound jealous.”

“I am, if I were less of dick this wouldn't had happen. You almost died Selene. I could not forgive me myself, if something had happened to you.” Shingen looked at her seriously. Selene felt a pang on her heart.

Taking her hand Shingen caress it softly. “You scared me to death Princess, could we stop this nonsense and start over?”

Selene looked at his face, he was sincere, Selene squeezed his hand and smiled. “So you are suggesting start from zero?”

“Yeah you could say that.”

“If that is the case. Hi, I'm Selene Crawford, nice to meet you.”

“Hi, my name is Shingen Takeda, I think you have something there that is mine.”

“Really, what is that?” Selene was amused with his response.

“My heart.” Shingen responded with a big smile.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes: Sorry for the delay, today’s chapter is a bit longer than usual. I have several stuff to do and I crashed last night. LOL. I’m really grateful for all the likes, comments and shares. It means a lot. I hope you like this chapter. Thank you. ^^

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