#They will never get one more thin dime from me

[two-white-butterflies]

parallel lines | d. targaryen | part eight

Description: An ordinary middle school teacher moves to a desolate town with her fiancee. After suffering episodes of vivid nightmares, she realizes that his uncle looks exactly like the man in her dreams.

Pairings: daemon targaryen/reader, aemond targaryen/reader

Trope: Reincarnation

TW: Murder. Non-Con.

series masterlist |

"If you know it in one glimpse, it's legendary You and I go from one kiss to gettin married." - loml, Taylor Swift.

(TARGARYEN RESIDENCE. 2008)

It was a hail mary from the beginning. Two people who had everything to lose, plotting to have more than they could handle. "She must've known." Alicent breathes, playing with the rosary-styled bracelet on her left wrist. "- I told you not to cheap out on the assassins. We'll get the money back anyways." she scolded.

Her grip on the bracelet tightened. Viserys' took a deep breath.

"I did not hire mediocre mercenaries. It was a recommendation from the goddamn Governor of Texas. If you're searching for good mercenaries, you're not gonna find them because people who kill people for a living don't have a moral compass." he gritted his teeth. His anger doubling at every second he spent in his wife's presence.

"I couldn't care less about their moral compass. You should've hired someone who had a follow through." she hissed, glaring at him. "I'm sorry but I'm not the one who wanted Olivia L/N dead." he groaned, standing up and attempting to exit the door.

She stares at the side, the sight of a crucifix snapping her back into reality. "I don't like the role that you're giving me, Viserys." her voice cracked, her fingers dancing along every bead. Along every Hail Mary. Her breath hitched for a second.

Fearing the person that she's become.

He made her this way. He manipulated her, made her believe that the love that they shared was true. He made her fight for every scrap of his love. He made her a monster. Now, she was finally thirty, fifteen would never cross her mind. "You're the one who wanted to give your children part of Aemma's company. I was following your wishes." he tried to flip the table at her.

Our children. She wanted to correct him.

It might've been her idea, but he didn't give her a choice. Her children would live in poverty without the money that Aemma provided. Alicent didn't have a job. She didn't even finish High School, and it was obvious that Viserys wasn't going to be around for long.

"Don't worry about Olivia. She doesn't have the guts to sue us. I hope that you learn to be content with what you've been provided. Not everything has to be handed on a silver spoon." Viserys remarked.

Aemond breathes. "They're fighting again." he spoke through the landline. Fighting was a normal occurrence in the Targaryen Household, it was always about the inheritance.

"Mom ought to accept that the old man isn't gonna leave us a single dime." Aegon chuckled. His older brother long accepted the fact that Viserys hated all his children from his second-marriage.

"- Rhaenyra has always been the golden child. I don't know why we bother." he added with an eye-roll.

Aemond pressed his lips closer to the microphone. "Dad hired someone to kill Aunt Olivia." he dropped the bomb, and the other line answered with silence. "- Mom figured that if Aunt Olivia died, then all the shares would go to Dad, and there'll be enough for us." he whispered, careful not to be heard.

"He'd rather have someone murdered than give us a tiny piece of Rhaenyra's billion dollar inheritance? I study in New York. I should kill Aunt Olive, make Mom proud for once." his lips pressed into a thin line, seriously considering that random thought.

The younger brother responds with a chuckle.

"You won't do that Aegon. You're not actually a murderer." he laughed, thinking that it was his older brother's way of making a joke. Aegon licks his lips. Right, not a murderer.

OLIVIA L/N FOUND DEAD IN AN NYC APARTMENT WITH NO CURRENT SUSPECTS, POLICE SOURCES SAY.

NEW YORK -- Police sources are revealing more details about a murder in Manhattan. They say that the New York City Police Department is currently conducting investigations about possible motives for the crime.

It happened in Upper Manhattan, sources say that the first person that found the body was Ms. Olivia L/N's daughter, then a neighbor that chooses to remain anonymous.

Olivia L/N is the co-founder of Dragonpine Brewery, which has now expanded into different industries including real estate, technology, and pharmaceuticals. She currently owns 49% of Dragonpine Brewery, but all shares are expected to return to Viserys Targaryen, who too, owns 49% of the company.

The medical examiner ruled her death a homicide due to the blunt force trauma to the head, and stab wounds on her stomach.

Anyone with any information is asked to call the NYPD's Crime Stoppers hotline at 1-***-***-TIPS. ALL CALLS ARE KEPT CONFIDENTIAL.

(PRESENT)

Daemon couldn't stop pacing and forth. Luckily, the bullet didn't hit anything important. You could still use your ankle normally in the future, but it would take time to heal.

"It's a medical miracle. It's the first time I've seen it happen." he remarks, trying to calm himself down.

The entire thing was difficult to process. He found it hard to believe that Aemond suddenly lost all semblance of normalcy and broke. "The gun wasn't registered. He could face charges, unless Alicent drives by with her golden chariot and bribes the judge again." he rolled his eyes, unwilling to let his nephew live scot-free.

"I told her about Aemond's past, the case with the girl and Nick. She could've confronted him about it, brought memories that he couldn't handle. He could've been guilty." Rhaenyra suggested, shaking her head. "Where is he?" Daemon's eyes narrowed.

He peeked through the halls, searching for his nephew's familiar silver-gold locks. "Down at the police station. Jace tells me that Aemond's shaken. Unable to form any statement." she adds with a deep breath. Aware that the story was reaching its climax.

"Alicent won't let him speak anyways. Where's Helaena?" he paused, reminded of his youngest niece. "She's babysitting the kids. Daemon, role-calling everyone won't be enough to distract you from Y/N. She's a wall away, I can hear her heart monitor from here." she pointed out.

Clearly as nervous as he was.

"I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe that we're given a second chance at everything, but we're still making the same mistakes." he sat down on the bench beside her.

He wanted to be a better person. Make his life worthwhile, but with the people around him repeating the same mistakes over and over. "I feel like I'm trapped inside a paradox. We'll die, then we'll get reborn and repeat everything again. It's like that show we watched. Are we in the Bad Place?" his eyebrows merged together.

"I don't know, Daemon. It feels like hell, but then I see my sons and I wouldn't trade this life for anything else." she had a bitter smile on her face. A nurse steps out of your room.

Daemon rises to his feet.

"Is she awake?" he inquired.

"No. I don't think that I'm at liberty to say this but - being unconscious for this long isn't normal. They'll do some tests, but I'm sure she'll be fine." the nurse felt inclined to speak out, seeing Daemon's worried face.

"Are you her boyfriend?" the nurse asked.

Rhaenyra's face softened. "It's complicated." she bit her lower lip.

(HARRENHAL.)

TW: NON CON SCENE (WILL STATE WHEN IT'S OVER SO YOU CAN SCROLL DOWN TO IT)

You breathe in the smell of smoke. Harrenhal was a curse.

"You will die here." you whispered, the prophetic visions finally finding solace inside of you, like they've found solace in Alys.

"You dampen the mood." Aemond pours himself a goblet of wine. "- it will not stop me from having my way." he reminded.

"I know." you whispered.

"We won't be needing this," he stated, cutting swiftly through your gown. He was staring at your body with the intensity of a thousand stars - you could've sworn that it was love - but it was not. "Why are you doing this?" you whisper, covering your breasts.

He does not acknowledge the use of your tongue. He ignores you. He presses a kiss to your jaw, inhaling the scent of your jasmine perfume. A prisoner has never lived more lavishly than you. "Riñītsos," he answered, hands trailing down to pull yours away.

"You sleep beside my sister knowing such stain is upon your honor." you gritted your teeth.

"Stomach up." he commanded - eyes twinkling with lust. "Legs open," he added - seeing you in the vulnerable position.

You couldn't remember anything that happened afterwards.

(NON-CON SCENE OVER)

"I care not about what he's done to your husband. I care more about what you had to go through." Alys looked at you in a crestfallen way. She vowed to protect you, but her visions clouded her judgement. Made her believe that Aemond was their savior.

"It'll be the same tomorrow, Alys, unless you can remedy this curse then rid yourself. Leave my presence." you pleaded, unable to stare into her eyes. The same eyes that you looked at in the mirror. "You may think me cold, that all I've ever grown to love is him. I thought that I could control him, but he is like the wind." she shook her head.

"You cannot catch the wind, sister." your breath quivered.

"What I've done is payment for my sins," she started.

You snap out of the trance. Eyes finally meeting hers.

"What did you do?" you asked.

"I killed him." Alys admitted, only then did you realize the streak of blood of her cheek. "I'm sorry." she apologized, falling to the floor.

"I forgive you." you bite the insides of your cheeks.

You've watched your sister hold the enemy softer than she's ever held you. You watch her let peace slip through her fingers. You watch her betray you and you forgive her, because this is the role she must play. You cannot resent the dancer for the actions of the song.

"There will be a boat going to an island near the Ghiscari Empire. I hope that you find peace there." she handed you three dragons. "What about you?" you tilted her head, feeling the tears trickle down your cheeks. "I must stay." she reminded.

It was the last winter that you'd spend with this body. You lived sixty more years without your husband. Now, you were old and frail - there were lines on the sides of your eyes. Wrinkles that weren't there when your husband was still alive.

"Have some tea." Serenei's daughter beckoned.

You complied.

Feeling every bit of your consciousness slip away.

You had a vision the night before, that this would be your last life. You already broke the karmic chains and learnt all your lessons. There was no need to restart the pain and suffering.

But you sharply argued with the gods.

Told them that you had to be reborn. You needed to see Daemon. You needed a life where you could be with him longer, and happier.

The gods granted you that gift.

And thus, here you are again.

Your throat felt dry; like you haven't drank water in a thousand years. You hear the machine beeping beside you. A feeling of someone's hand on top of yours.

You opened your eyes.

"Daemon," you whispered.

"I remember."

next chapter>>

OK THIS LINE

You've watched your sister hold the enemy softer than she's ever held you. You watch her let peace slip through her fingers. You watch her betray you and you forgive her, because this is the role she must play. You cannot resent the dancer for the actions of the song.

WAS COPIED FROM @faiIwife on twitter. IT MADE MY LIFE IM SORRY.

[junekissed]

sunkissed

member — husband!jun x reader genre — fluff word count — 2.8k synopsis — this year for your anniversary, jun takes you on a trip down memory lane through the flowers of your past. warnings — the time skips between past & present, reader wears a dress at the end, some kissing, very brief cheol & seokmin cameos. nothing too extreme but they're a gross adorable happy married couple notes — this is for @svthub's secret garden collab! this fic is very special to me for many reasons but mostly because it's based on a little beach town where we used to go when i was growing up and i have so many fond memories of that experience (and also because i love jun hehe). i hope you enjoy :)

one reblog = one bouquet of flowers from jun 💐

“jun, can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

he shakes his head, a grin across his face. “nope! it’s a surprise.”

you frown and cross your arms, sitting down on the bed. “well, how am i supposed to know what to pack, then, if i don’t know where we’re going?”

jun pauses, his brow furrowed. “oh. yeah.” suddenly he pulls out his phone, studying the screen carefully, and you can’t help but laugh at him. 

“what are you doing now?” you ask.

he looks up at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “checking the weather,” he says. “it’s supposed to be nice and warm but the weather app says it’ll be windy, so pack a jacket.” he pauses, thinking. “maybe more than one jacket.”

you stand and walk over to your closet, pulling out two hangers: a long brown coat, and a thin cardigan. “which one?”

his face lights up and he laughs, pointing to the coat. “that one, for sure.”

“excuse me, do you need some help?”

ice cold drops of rain pour down around you as you stand underneath the overhang in front of the grocery store, cursing yourself for not checking the weather more thoroughly before you went out today. it had been a deceptively sunny day earlier, but during the rainy spring season you never know when the weather will flip on a dime and the skies open up like they have today. your outfit had been perfect for the sunshine, but now it’s nowhere near enough to protect you from the rain.

at the sound of a voice you turn and see a tall man coming out of the store behind you, a plastic thank-you bag sticking out from under his arm. “do you live far?” he asks. “you can borrow my umbrella, if you want.”

you start to tell him no, you’re fine thanks, but you pause when you study his face a little closer, realizing you recognize him. “you look familiar… do i know you?”

he nods his head a little in response. “aren’t you seungcheol’s friend? i’ve seen you at his parties sometimes— you were at new year’s, right?”

you give him a nod, relaxing a little now that you know he’s friendly, but you’re still surprised when he says your name. “yep, that’s me,” you say with a polite laugh. “but i’m sorry, i don’t remember your name.”

“don’t worry about it,” he grins. “i’m junhui, by the way, but my friends call me jun. you can call me jun.” 

you stick out your hand, and he shakes it enthusiastically. “well, it’s very nice to officially meet you, jun,” you smile. 

“so, about that umbrella,” he says.

“oh, no, i’m alright,” you say, waving him off. “i’m not far away. just working up the courage to sprint back home,” you say with a laugh.

“let me give you a ride,” he says. “a little bit shorter of a sprint for you, at least? i live at the apartments a couple blocks down, it’s not out of my way.”

“i’ll be fine,” you say, shaking your head as a gust of wind nearly knocks you over. “but it’s very kind of you to offer.”

he frowns a little. ���well, i can’t in good conscience let you go running around in the rain without an umbrella or anything,” he says, thinking. he shifts his bag of groceries to his other arm and starts shrugging off his coat. “here, take my jacket. your outfit would get all ruined in the rain.”

you want to tell him no again, but the rain continues to pour around you, and your shoes are already soaked in water. and his coat does look pretty warm… 

“okay, fine,” you say finally, accepting the clothing from him and slipping your arms into the sleeves as he tosses it around your shoulders. “but how do i get it back to you?”

“are you going to cheol’s housewarming party next weekend?” he asks, and you nod. “you can give it to me then.”

“alright. i’ll take good care of it for you,” you say with a smile, and he grins in response.

“i’m really sorry, i’ve gotta rush off to a meeting,” he says, checking his watch. “but it was nice meeting you, and i hope we see each other again soon!”

he gives you a little wave, then dashes off into the rain, holding his plastic bag over his head to protect himself. you pull the hood of his coat up over your head, feeling a little guilty for leaving him without a jacket; but he had offered, and you would see him again anyway. you’d have to figure out a way to repay him next time you saw him.

“now will you tell me where we’re going?”

the warm morning breeze brushes against your cheeks as you roll the windows down, resting your elbow out of the car. you lean your head back against the headrest and sigh, glancing over at jun in the driver’s seat. the wind blows his hair around in his face, a tousled flurry of brown against his tan skin.

you still have no idea where you’re headed for your anniversary trip, and it looks like jun has no intention of letting you know anytime soon. but that thought couldn’t be farther from your mind as you watch jun drive, buzzing in his seat with how excited he is to reveal his plans.

“nope,” he says, and you whine in response. “but you’ll see soon enough.” he grins at you and reaches across the seat to rest his hand on your leg, and you rest your hand on top of his, tilting your head against the seat to look out the window.

as he drives along the road, the city gets less and less dense until you’re out on a long back road, nothing but green fields and tall grass as far as the eye can see. eventually jun pulls off onto a dirt path and stops the car in a tiny parking lot. a small wooden sign announces the name of the park, along with a note that reminds visitors to pick up their trash. 

he pulls the keys out of the ignition and turns to you, grinning. you smile back at him, waiting for him to say something. “is this your big surprise… ?”

he laughs, leaning over the center console to kiss your cheek before opening his door. “no. this is just lunch.”

he gets out of the car and pops open the trunk, pulling out a small cooler and a blanket before shutting it again. he holds out his hand to you, motioning for you to follow him, and when you take his hand he squeezes a little, turning back to smile at you before leading you over to a shady spot in the grass.

he spreads the picnic blanket out and you start to open the cooler to help him set up, but he swats your hand away playfully. “let me do it,” he pouts, and you can’t ever say no to him, especially when he’s gone through such lengths to plan all this, so you let him continue on with what he’s doing.

he pulls out a bottle of sparkling apple juice and two plastic champagne flutes, handing one to you so he can pour yours out first, before pouring his own and setting the bottle down.

“we’ll have the real stuff once we get to the hotel,” he says with a grin, holding up his glass to clink with yours.

“oh, so we’re staying at a hotel?” you say, raising your eyebrows at him as you take a sip.

he scowls. “you’re not getting any info out of me until we get there, so don’t even try!”

you laugh, laying down on your side on the blanket, and he pulls out paper-wrapped sandwiches from the cooler. he looks at them both and then hands you yours, with your name printed in careful but messy lettering and little hearts drawn around it in sharpie.

it’s so cute you almost don’t want to ruin it by opening it, and you look at it fondly for such a long time that by the time you finally start to unwrap it, jun is already halfway done with his. you call his name, holding back a laugh when he looks up from his sandwich with mustard smeared on one corner of his mouth and up his cheek. “what?” he asks, mouth full.

“nothing,” you giggle, reaching over to wipe the mustard off his face with your thumb before wiping your hand with a napkin. “i just love you.”

“number 36, two ham and swiss for jun?”

the barista calls out the order, and jun jumps out of his seat to go grab the food. despite being the middle of the day, there isn’t much of a lunch crowd in the cafe this afternoon. 

after seeing jun again at your friend seungcheol’s get-together, you’d really hit it off, and you’d casually offered to get lunch with him sometime. and as luck would have it, your schedules lined up so that you both had a free afternoon the very next day. jun had recommended the cafe down the street owned by his friend seokmin, raving on and on about his chocolate chip muffins, and you’d been convinced. 

he comes back to the table a second later holding a little wood tray with two sandwiches, carefully handing you yours before sitting down again. 

not only does the sandwich end up being great, but the company you’re with ends up being the best part of the lunch. getting to know jun is more fun than you’ve ever had, and when you look down to check your watch and realize that you’ll be late to work if you stay any longer, you’re honestly disappointed it has to end here.

“do you wanna go out again sometime?” jun asks nervously as you both stand up. “maybe… dinner or something, next time?”

“yeah.” pushing your chair in, you give him a bright smile. “i would really like that. dinner sounds great.”

he grins, and you can almost see his cheeks flush a little as he follows you out of the cafe. walking back to your car parked next to his on the sidewalk, he tells you all about the new recipes he’s been wanting to try and how he can’t wait to show you his favorites, already eager to cook you dinner.

being around him feels like you’ve known each other for years, and in that moment you realize this lunch is only a first date with jun. he’s already making plans for a second, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

he helps you into your car and gives you a wave before walking away to get into his own. and long after his car has pulled away and you’re still sitting in the parking lot, you can’t help but smile, thinking about how wonderful today has been and how much you’re looking forward to seeing him again.

“we’re here, baby, are you awake?”

jun’s soft voice pulls you out of your nap and you blink slowly, sitting up and massaging the kink in your neck from sleeping against the window. you had wanted to stay awake to see where jun was taking you, but with the excitement from packing you hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, and the feeling of warm sunshine on your face and the rolling of the car had put you right to sleep.

rubbing your eyes, you stare out the window to see what he’s talking about, but it only takes you a few seconds to immediately recognize where you are. “jun!” you gasp, looking over at him, and he beams back at you with the brightest smile you’ve ever seen.

“surprise,” he giggles, watching your giddy reaction as he drives along the familiar coastal highway. it’s the same little town you spent your honeymoon with him years ago, that you’ve always said you’d wanted to visit again but between both of your busy lives you haven’t had the chance to.

you roll down the window, sticking your head out of the car and inhaling the fresh, salty sea air.

jun pulls into the hotel parking lot: a little inn that, by the looks of it, hasn’t changed much since the last time you were here. you hop out and come around to meet jun at the other side of the car and he gives you a kiss on the cheek as he stands up, shutting the car door and taking your hand to lead you to the front office to check in.

when you pull open the door, the front desk is decorated just like how you remember it. paintings of ocean scenes hang on the walls, and driftwood and seashells sit atop every antique wooden table. you walk across the room to pick up a magazine off one of the tables, flipping through it to see advertisements for local restaurants, wine tastings, and local art shows.

you’re so invested reading an article about the owner of the inn, that you don’t notice how jun lowers his voice talking to the man at the front desk, whispering and nodding quickly before he hands the room keys to your husband. he grins and shakes the man’s hand before calling your name, and you turn around and grab his hand again, ready to go see your room.

jun hands you the keys and lets you lead the way, tugging him after you. muscle memory comes back to you as your feet carry you up the stairs to the same room you’d stayed in so long ago. he follows after you, unable to hide the smile on his face as he sees your excitement. it’s not often you get to go on vacation together, and he’s determined to make sure this anniversary is one you won’t forget.

outside the room you unlock the door, but when you see what’s inside you nearly drop everything you’re holding. the entire room is covered in flowers, with pink rhododendrons and pretty white blooms in vases on every table and rose petals scattered across the bed. by the mini refrigerator there’s a bottle of champagne resting in a bucket of ice, a little note attached with a bow around the neck of the bottle.

you turn around and jun is right behind you, beaming like a little kid that’s just been told they can have dessert before dinner as he watches your reaction. it had cost him a lot to get the owner to do all this extra stuff, but when jun had talked to him on the phone he was more than happy to help him plan it all out for such a special occasion.

you throw your arms around him and he giggles, walking you backwards into the room. the luggage in the open car trunk is long forgotten as his lips press against yours, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

“are you ready?”

jun asks from the driver’s seat as you sit beside him in the car. your dress bunches up around you as you turn to look at him, pushing the fabric out of the way so you can lean across the cupholders to kiss him, the first of many kisses today and over the years that will come.

he smiles against your lips before pulling away to start the car, and you look out your passenger side window one more time. all of your friends and family stand outside the car, waving and cheering and holding bouquets of bright pink rhododendrons.

jun twists around to look behind him at the rear window, where the words “just married” are written in chalk marker, as he reverses out of the parking lot.

once everyone is out of sight, you begin to relax into your seat, kicking off the shoes that have been hurting your feet all night. you’re leaving before any of your guests are, having stayed at the reception just long enough to cut the cake and have your first dance, so it’s still early enough in the evening to have some time to yourselves

“where are we going?” you ask, reclining the seat a little with a sigh as you gaze out the window. the stars are beginning to come out, little twinkling lights in the sky, and you smile as you think about today, finally a moment to relax and reflect on everything.

your new husband grins and shakes his head, sliding one hand across the seat to intertwine his fingers with yours. “nope. it’s a surprise.”

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[buckets-and-trees]

Consort

Characters/Pairings: Namor x female!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Summary: Diplomatic fraternization is never easy and situations can turn on a dime. When you accompany your father to negotiate future ties between your two underwater kingdoms, one mistake changes everything.

Content Warnings: SMUT, thigh riding

Additional Notes: Before this week it had never even as a WHIM come across my radar to write anything Namor. But two-almost-three-days ago @artsynellyyy shared a ridiculously gorgeous unfinished piece of art she was working on, asked for some input, and it spurred a plot concept that just GRIPPED my brain and had me feeling THINGS. I don’t think I will be writing a lot of Namor, but I do know there’s certainly a part two to this because…there’s more story for these two in my head. There’s a particular moment that exists for them that as this developed, I knew could not happen yet for them, it would’ve been too rushed. So… just… Happy fourth installment of the 2022 Holiday Extravaganza!

A/N 2: Be gentle! This is my first attempt at Namor. I did some canon diving and research, but I did not dive deep into the Namor fandom because I didn’t want to get too influenced about established patterns or too intimidated about what’s already out there. Honestly kind of terrified to publish this one, so just... jumping out of the airplane and pulling the parachute okay bye.

“Let us speak without pretense,” the king of Talokan’s voice resonates powerfully through the throne room. “Tell me why you sought private audience with me today, Hamal.”

Standing at the right hand of your father, you observe the way he draws his shoulders up just a fraction more, the way his nostrils flare just before he speaks again. “Fine, I will speak plainly, Namor. Your recent dealings with the surface, particularly with the kingdom of Wakanda, is concerning to the kingdom of Fourchon.”

“Why should it concern you?” Namor patiently humors the conversation further, but you can read that the patience is wearing thin.

“King to king, I find it concerning because it calls into question whether we are moving into a state of volatility for all who dwell in the oceans, and I have no wish to see my people drawn into hostilities or war of any kind.”

“And you are here to ensure continued peace between our nations?”

“I am.”

Your heart isn’t racing, but the beats thrum more swiftly against your chest as you will this to go well.

“And what do you propose, Hamal? What does the kingdom of Fourchon possibly have to offer Talokan?”

There’s a moment of silence that hangs between the two rulers, then your father answers, “Her.”

Every muscle in your body seizes with dread, your heart skipping a beat. Your eyes widen, but every bit of diplomatic rearing mercifully allows you to keep your mouth from dropping open in complete shock.

“My daughter.”

You cannot look at either king, looking straight ahead to keep your composure, but you register the sharp change in Namor’s voice. “Fourchon is neither enemy nor ally to Talokan, and yet you come to my court with the arrogance of demanding peace between our countries when for more than three hundred years there has been nary a quarrel. Indeed, your small kingdom has meant nothing to me, an inconsequential player amongst underwater realms. We have maintained social civility only because you were not worth any more or less to me.

He pauses, and you can feel the tension rolling in waves off your father.

“Your offer is horrible, but I will give you what you came here to bargain and secure today for the sake of your people, despite the prideful blunder of their king. Now leave.”

You are desperate to acquiesce to Namor’s command after the humiliation of being offered first as a trinket or some form of tribute and then receiving by association a political rebuke, and you turn immediately to depart with your father.

“Not you, Princess,” his voice halts you.

You watch your father leave; he doesn’t look back at you or Namor.

“Come here,” the king of Talokan says.

You turn back to face him, squaring your shoulders and looking straight at him as you approach. Your father had asked for a private audience, and you are grateful for that as no one else saw the disaster that just took place.

He regards you openly. You focus on breathing evenly when all you want to do is flee from this room and let your emotions rage. When his gaze meets yours again, he tilts his chin and narrows his eyes ever so slightly.

“Do you not kneel for your king?”

Heat rushes from your chest up to flood your cheeks, and your throat feels thick with anger, but you manage to speak. “You are not my king.”

“Did I not accept the terms offered?”

“An offer you called horrible,” you say as you sink to your knees and bow your head as is customary.

“The offer, not you.”

Your head snaps back up at these words.

“And the offer was horrible in relation to you, not me.”

Your brow furrows in question.

“When your father made the overtures for this meeting, I asked my ambassador to share with me his outlook on your kingdom and your court.”

“You said we were inconsequential.”

“But an element that still exists.”

He evaluated the full landscape. You were under no illusions that the kingdom of your birth was small in comparison to Talokan or Atlantis, but  he was a ruler who wasn’t fool enough discount the smaller players.

“My ambassador said,” he continues, “that your people love and respect you and that it is a loss to Fourchon that you were both second-born and a daughter of the throne instead of a son.”

Resentment spreads through your veins at these words. You’d fought the unrest of what you would not be able to do while also feeling confident in your brother’s ability to rule, that he’d proven himself worthy of his birthright.

“He said you were your father’s favorite.”

You had thought that, too. And yet… “How easily he would bargain me away would say otherwise.”

“It was clear you had no indication of his intent.”

A bitter laugh escapes your throat. “Truly. I thought he valued my presence, my counsel, even perhaps my help in diplomatic relations, but I was only a pawn.”

“No.”

You narrow your eyes and cock your head to the side.

“I think you are wrong. Stand, Princess.”

You rise slowly, with as much grace as you can.

He moves from the throne, stepping over the jaw that frames his seat of power, and moves down the steps toward you.

“In future you kneel for only me, no one else.”

You remain in your place as he slowly circles you.  

“I did lecture your father for his arrogance on an improper read on the state of affairs, assuming Talokan would turn on Fourchon. However, as a king, I do not fault him for caring for the welfare of his people, or for overestimating the value of his kingdom,” he states, his voice warming with this admission. He comes to a stop in front of you. “And to negotiate safety and peace for his people?” He raises his right hand and draws his fingers down reverently along your jaw. “He offers you, his greatest treasure. He insinuates you are worth more than an entire kingdom.”

You open then close your mouth, unsure how to respond to this interpretation. Your eyes search his, but all you can see there is a resoluteness that he truly means what he’s just said. It’s disarming, and with the way your world fell out from under you only minutes ago, you’re unsure of what to trust now.

Namor radiates confidence, it rolls easily off him in waves, but when he takes a step closer, you can feel the heat of him. His fingers move over your shoulder and down the length of your arm, and you shiver but keep holding his gaze. Your instincts tell you that every moment in this room has been significant, it’s determining your future, every movement, every word, every observation.

He takes half a step closer, only a whisper of space between you now, and you hold your ground. He almost smiles, then he turns away, seizing your hand and leading you up the stairs of the dais, and you quickly lift your skirts so you can ascend quickly behind him. Up close you can admire the artistry of the jaw that encases his throne. Like him, it’s charming, beautiful, and dangerous, each intricate designs carved into the bone, and the teeth replaced with jade stones.

“Your father was right to anticipate a shift in my rule.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been king of Talokan for centuries, but my dealings with Wakanda have me considering eventualities of the future.”

Namor takes steps over the jaw, then draws you carefully in with him, still holding your hand as you step over the mighty frame, before finally releasing it. He turns back to look out over the throne room and further the drop off to look out over the kingdom of Talokan, but angles himself slightly toward you as well, and you mirror him. It’s a breathtaking view, and you imagine it is an altogether different manner of beauty with the court or an audience of people called to convene. But like this, still and quiet, it’s ethereal.

“You will be my queen.”

“That’s a bold declaration.”

“You’ve been offered to me in exchange for a promise of peace for your people, would you renege?”

You close your eyes briefly but square your shoulders and shake your head.

“Now you can choose your course in this.”

“Enlighten me,” you can’t hold back, though you do manage to keep your voice even.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, but he’s speaking again before you can decipher it. “If I’m to have an heir, to secure the future, ensure stability for my people, I need a queen; but whether you merely bear my child or become my consort is something I cannot determine for you. I would prefer the latter.”

In the next second, he’s pulled you to his side and captured your lips in a kiss that is altogether slow and searing. His arm winds around your waist, bringing you flush against him, and your hands move of their own volition to rest on either side of his neck. Heat runs through your veins, and you know without question he could consume you.

You break off the kiss, but he respectfully retreats. He takes a seat on the throne, and you see he’s as breathless as you are.

But you broke off the kiss to ask the question that will haunt you if you don’t ask it.

“You’re truly ready to bind me to your side, just like that? You don’t even know me.”

“This is not a marriage of convenience. This is a marriage of opportunity.”

“I’m not–“

He holds up a hand to silence you, but it’s not in impatience, you can see that in his face, and he immediately says, “I will grant you that we do not know each other yet, but I know enough to know who you are. I have the trusted insight of my ambassador, but I also have accounts from people who have served and interacted with you here in my own kingdom these past two days, and biologically prolonged life or not, a king also doesn’t keep his crown or the respect of his people for as long as I have without being able to judge those around him well. You were taken by surprise today, but you are not naïve. You came to my court to be of counsel, serve, influence. Why should that not still be your fate?”

“A foreign princess?”

He shakes his head and holds his hand out to you. “A queen consort.”

You search his face again. This was the moment. You could not read any falseness, arrogance, or cruelty. Indeed, though he was surprising you with this swift and forthright proposition, your intuition doesn’t question him or his intentions.

You take the hand he presented, and he pulls you forward, placing his hands on your hips once you are close enough and guiding you to sit astride one of his powerful thighs, the rich fabric of your dress sliding up your legs. You place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

“I want your mind, your body, and your soul,” he says, sealing it with your name, not your title.

“I want the same,” you say.

“You’re sure?”

“I need the same.” Being this close to him is both invigorating and steadying. The way he is looking at you, the way he is holding you, it’s also intimate and heated, and those feelings are amplified as he pulls you just a little closer.

“Then take what you need,” he commands in a tone that makes your heart soar and desire bloom in your stomach. He flexes his thigh against your core, and it spurs you to lean in and kiss him again, hungry for more.

He matches your eagerness. When his tongue seeks entrance, you open your lips, moaning. He begins rocking your hips back and forth over his thigh, and you know he can feel the heat and the wetness of the desire he’s stoked within you seeping through the silk of your underwear. As you take control of moving against him, his hands travel up your sides until he reaches your breasts, and his thumbs brush over the tender flesh. You both moan, him in approval, and you with pleasure. You’re swept away completely in all the sensations, in his passion, your body singing for him. He is a powerful force, one you will have to be sure to meet with your own spirit and fire so you aren’t lost. This union is for fulfilment for you both, not to be destroyed, diminished, or tossed away.

As you speed up, he drops one hand down to anchor on your hips, helping you grind down on his thigh. He keeps flexing it against you, and you whimper, head falling back.

“Keep going,” he growls against the column of your throat, kissing his way down to the sweet spot at the base of your neck. “I love the way your body is trembling; I can tell you’re so close.”

“Yes, Namor,” you keen.

“K’uk’ulkan,” he says, and your head snaps back up, eyes locking intensely with his.

“K’uk’ulkan,” you repeat – the invitation to use the more personal name drops the intimacy between you two to a deeper level.

You both move with a desperate frenzy now, you craving the release and him eager to give it to you, his lips searing every inch of the exposed skin available to him at your neck, collar bone, pulling at the neckline of your dress.

“So close,” you cry.

“Let go.”

And you do, tight coil of ecstasy peaking and releasing, you cling to him, and as your body begins to relax wish pleasure, you press your forehead to his, both of your eyes closed now, sealing the moment in your memory.

His hands are slowly running up and down your back. “Jach ma’alob,” he croons softly. “This is enough for now; there will be so much more, my queen.”

Jach ma’alob = very good

PART TWO: COMPANION

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

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[fleuntet]

A Mistake Made For You

Pairing: Miguel O’ Hara x GN!Reader

Summary: Miguel decides no more losses.

Warnings: none, really. just a bunch of angst <3

A/N: not proofread, sorry pookies. if you find any mistakes just ignore them. i’ll probably edit it later since i decided to quickly write this in the middle of the night bc i cannot get enough of angst w miguem

The wreckage was already coming. Screams were undeniable loud, crashes and clatter were crumbling down behind him. And just as fast as it started, “his” daughter was gone from his arms and now all that was left was nothing but thin air.

Looking down, he knew his mistake was coming following him. For what he thought was a chance to return back to his family, to somehow find peace in his life, he couldn’t have it. This was proof of if. The multiverse was more than capable of taking it all away.

Releasing heavy breaths, as he stayed in place, people rushed and pushed beside him. The only thing left he could think of now that his daughter was gone was you. Somewhere, around all of this chaos you had to be here.

And he had to find you.

Before he would lose you too.

Without a second thought, he rushed back to Queens, knowing shortcuts to get there quicker than he would have time.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this for the main reason he did this, to find his daughter, to be with her, was just the reason that this world was falling apart. Saving the life of “his” daughter without a father has just about broken this world, leaving it on a thread with life.

So running to you to save you? It just seemed as crazy as the last. But he couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t. He wanted to find solace in something, anything. Even if that meant the world would tear itself apart.

Swinging and swinging, he finally reached within your apartment. Glitches were starting to become more frequent, more visible as the buildings were falling down onto cars. It was awful the noises that surrounded him. Haunting.

Making it to the window of you apartment, he knocked as hard as he could. Within seconds of no response, he broke the window, sending glass scattering all around.

Going through the curtain, he heard your voice, loud and clear. “Stay the hell away!”

He froze to the sight of you. A knife in your right hand, a firm grip of VHS tapes on your left. He knew exactly what those were — voice memos. The ones he would record late at night when he attempted to explain his situation, updates on his own imposter as your friend, as a father and a husband.

He rose his hands, not sure how it would help exactly but he knew you wound possibly feel more calm with him doing that. Miguel shook his head, his eyes desperate for a chance to speak but your eyes, full of tears showed how much you didn’t want to hear his words.

Letting out a small sob, you inhaled deeply before quietly asking, “Why?”

This broke Miguel’s heart.

Seeing his the man you thought you knew, you thought you loved give you no response, you jolted forward, the grip of the knife becoming tighter and more threatening as your knuckles turned white. “Tell me!” you screamed.

He didn’t even dare to look at you anymore. He was defeated. He lost. What the hell was he thinking? Thinking that a damn wrist watch was going to help him get back to the life he wanted? He wanted it all, and knowing the consequences he still went through with it.

He just wanted to have it that badly. He ached for it. The feeling of being alone was not one he wanted. He wanted to feel happy, he wanted to feel free, he wanted-

Miguel’s train of thought was lost with a sudden earthquake occurring below him. Glitches reached your living room, vases and picture frames becoming more colorful than normal.

The two of yours attention on each other was lost for a brief moment. Your face mortified. Fuck.

“Miguel,” you whispered, your eyes back to him, full of hatred now. “What did you do?” He frowned.

“Miguel, mírame y dime que hiciste?!” Your voice cracking, your eyes hurt, you have never felt such anger like this.

He knew what he had to do. He didn’t like the idea of making the same mistake he was doing right now sign you but he knew he had no choice. He already lost too much. He couldn’t bear anymore lost. One more and for sure he would never be the same again.

So he grabbed your wrist, tearing off the gizmo from his wrist and binding it over yours. You tried to break away from his grasp, kicking and screaming, hitting him in the shoulder but he wouldn’t budge.

And before knew it, you were staring at the picture frame hanged on your kitchen wall of you and Miguel, happy faces you two will no longer have. That was the last thing you would look at before you found yourself blacking out.

[synergysilhouette]

An alternate take on "Tangled" (2010)

I've been on a roll with these lately! While I find "Tangled" underrated, there are some things I'd change to make it more enjoyable for me. BTW, I've never watched the animated series in it's entirety; I only know a few things, so I can't include much from that perspective.

In terms of Rapunzel, I'd wanna tweak a couple things, mainly nit-picks. One of them is making her older than 18; I feel like it shows that she's very young, and Flynn felt very mature by comparison, so it felt a bit off to me. I'd also love for Rapunzel to have another outfit. I love her OG one, but the concept art outfits are gorgeous as well. Maybe she packs a change of clothes. Plus I wish she looked a little bit less frail, given her athleticism. I'm not saying she's gotta be buff, but less thin than she was in the final product. Just my two cents. Plus let's think about her using her crossbow along with her frying pan. And I'd probably make her cynical about the world, reeling back on the naivete a bit. And controversial change: make her illiterate. I thought to myself why Gothel would go through the trouble of teaching her how to read, especially if it kept her docile. I could imagine her giving Rapunzel a lot of misinformation, which Pascal does his best to fix. Her love interest would teach her how to read, which I feel like would be a great bonding experience. Speaking of which...

2. Replace Flynn Ryder with Bastion. I find a lovable guy trying to get out of being a thief more interesting than the dime-a-dozen pessimistic thief trope (check out my post on that). He's basically Kristoff, and I love the size difference between them. And given that Bastion is a thief and had a rough life, it's likely he didn't learn to read much, either. Perhaps they learn together--or maybe he was taught how to read and taught Rapunzel. Either way, it makes for a romantic bonding experience. Plus Bastion trying to escape his boss gives him his own story arc; in the OG film, the Stabbington brothers pursue Flynn, but this amounts to nothing because of Gothel. Their biggest role was helping Gothel make Rapunzel think the outside world was dangerous. Bastion is eventually framed for his boss' crimes and blinded, and his dog Beau guides him back to Rapunzel. I did still want Gothel to kill him and Rapunzel bring him back to life, but maybe blinding and death is too much at once.

3. The powers of Rapunzel's hair has different parameters. Similar to the animated series, it is very durable and difficult to cut; this is revealed to be due to Rapunzel's subconscious nature to distrust others. As a result, it isn't until Rapunzel falls in love with (and thus trusts) Bastion that he can cut her hair. I think it's a neat metaphor for letting your guard down, a Samson and Delilah situation--except this doesn't end poorly.

4. Adventures in Corona are WILDLY different. Rapunzel and Bastion spend more time there in the film--in fact, I'd say they spend about half of the movie there. Rapunzel accidentally heals someone else while healing Bastion, and decides to use her powers to heal others in Corona, albeit anonymously because of Gothel scaring her about people wanting to manipulate her. This turns out to be true when Rapunzel's identity is revealed. She is further exotified due to her blonde hair while everyone in Corona has brown, black, or red hair (not sure if this is the case in the OG film, but in my version it is). Gothel makes this worse, revealing the decay incantation while Rapunzel is asleep, harming someone in the process. Bastion helps her escape before she is brought before the king and queen for a trial, and Gothel "rescues" her while Bastion takes the fall for it and his boss' crimes. Plus I'd want to use the demo lyrics for the decay incantation; they feel more haunting (albeit shorter).

5. More of Gothel's backstory is explored, and she is less overdramatic in this version, so that she comes off as more serious and concerned, and may even make the audience question whether she really cares about Rapunzel. Plus her gradual aging is more apparent, as when she visits Rapunzel, she barely recognizes Gothel at first, as she's aged a lot since Rapunzel left.

6. Varian and Cassandra are canon here, given that Rapunzel spends more time in Corona and forms platonic connections. I wanted to work in the moondrop storyline, but the film has enough going on already. I will admit I'm kinda torn about including Varian because of the sci-fi elements that come with him being an alchemist and the clash it makes with the magical and mystical vibes of the film, preferring instead for him to be a wizard to expand on the fantasy aspect--but that's probably an unpopular opinion since it's the exact opposite of who he is, to my understanding. Cassandra is kind of key to helping Rapunzel question Gothel, though--not in a direct way like Bastion, but due to the fact that Cassandra looks like Gothel. This is jarring to Rapunzel, as she first dismisses her as a descendant of Gothel (her mother does adore her youth, after all), though this only gives Rapunzel MORE questions to ask her "mother," especially as she now realizes they don't look anything alike. If anything, she at least wants to ask about her father, which does kinda pave the way for an updated version of the deleted song "Are There Girls In the World Like Me?" I also wanted to include a subplot where Gothel manipulates Cassandra (who in my version, never knew her mother, and doesn't see a resemblance due to her aged appearance) into being envious of Rapunzel for being raised by her mother, but I don't think there's enough time to fully flesh that out with everything else. Honestly, a part of me wants to remove Cassandra and Gothel's relationship entirely and have Cassandra exist independent of her show counterpart's history since there isn't time to really focus on it.

7. Bastion is royalty. Perhaps ripping off of Barbie's Rapunzel a bit, I'd take into account Flynn Ryder actually being royalty and making Bastion the kidnapped son of a neighboring royal, making him once again similar to Rapunzel; kidnapped and used for dastardly deeds. This threatens to throw the kingdom into war, and Gothel hopes it destroys any thoughts of searching for Rapunzel, as she tells King Edmund that Bastion was kidnapped by the Corona royal family. I do like the idea that Bastion does have a sibling or two just so he isn't first in line for the throne, though; it's tough enough that Rapunzel has never learned to rule a kingdom, and Bastion being the heir to his throne doesn't bode well, either--at least not in a practical sense. I love the idea that by the end of the film, everyone is left with introspective thoughts and able to start anew after all the pain they experienced.

Lemme know what you think! I thought hard on it, and similar to "Big Hero 6," I had a lot I wanted to include, but it may be too much for one film.

[burning-fcols]

"You are nothing without me!" ( ValAngel ) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴀʙʟᴇᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Things never should have escalated this far... Normally, Angel would be begging Valentino to calm down. Apologizing, appeasing, ANYTHING to ease the moth's fiery temper into a more controllable flame. One not at risk of incinerating him should the other man see fit. Yet since the incident in the club— the spark starting even before that, if Angel is being honest —the air has been tense between the two. Thick with words left unspoken and echoing with the venomous ones that HAD. Both men stuck in a silent understanding that things aren't over... not by a long-shot.

Yet neither willing to be the first to openly-acknowledge it.

Instead, Angel had been worked to exhaustion and then some. Decorated with all manners of bruises and fluids— some speckles of pink blood intermingling with the cum still caked onto his fur —the star looked about ready to collapse for the past few hours... Which must make it even MORE infuriating that the only reason he's on his knees now is because the moth had struck him, Angel stubbornly refusing to let his legs buckle until forced. Coughing violently, air knocked from his lungs as earlier events are faced ( thin thread finally snapped once they were alone ) Angel spits some blood onto the carpet before wiping at his mouth with an arm.

Breathing heavily, bleary gaze fixates on the moth looming above. Angel's head still swimming from the strike. Despite the ringing in his ears, Val's words chime clear as ever. Only this time, Angel's retort cuts through JUST as loudly. ❝ Then why don' ya get rid of me?! ❞ Shocked by his own question ( not the concept, but by being foolish bold enough to voice it ) Angel doesn't let this show. Sitting on the ground— lip split but voice strong, Angel not having been allowed any drink or drug on set today —the spider hastily spats, ❝ If I'm really so WORTHLESS— If this is all only 'cause of you, then jus' find some new slut off th' street an' do it again! ❞

Weakly trying to stand, Angel falls forward a bit as his legs give way. Voice shaking as much as his body, he tries again. ❝ I'm sick of it... I'm sick of you tellin' me I'm special— tellin' me I matta' one minute an' then sayin' I'm SHIT th' next. Bein' so goddamn POSSESSIVE, like ya can't even stand otha' people lookin' at me... an' then actin' like I'm jus' a dime-a-dozen whore ta you. ❞ Switching between condemning and something akin to a deep-seated HURT, Angel doesn't let himself dwell too deeply on it. Unsure what he's even looking for anymore aside from an answer...

Blinking back tears, Angel refuses to let them fall just like he refuses to let his knees give way. Standing in front of the moth, the spider looks as though a stiff wind could knock him over... but he's STANDING. ❝ So which is it? Eitha' I'm everythin' or I'm nothin'— but ya can't have it BOTH ways. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[joyfullyacat]

Mistakes and Miscommunication

haha woops happy belated valentines day (this got really wrong and its now officially the longest oneshot i've ever done!) legally beta'd, i think the formatting is alright? anyway, lots of stuff explored so a touch experimental glitch and design i describe belongs to @sleepykas (ty for letting me write for him ;;;)

CW: mild violence, slightly suggestive notes, a touch of angst but it ends fluffy and stupid (silly references and jokes ahead) word count: 8.3k on this bad boy -

There’ll always be a part of you that is ready for danger, a sliver of haywire paranoia that never quite rests when you enter the field of law enforcement. That sliver will grow and hairline cracks will form at will at the slightest wrong interactions and it’s… Problematic.

But it keeps you safe. Somewhat.

The itchy feeling in the back of your head you’ve learned to ignore causes you to learn a lesson time and time again it feels like - that lesson being you should always trust your gut instinct when it tells you something is off about a situation. Even if the paranoia is bad - your gut proves to be good.

If you did listen to it, you’d probably be in far better shape than you were currently.

It was supposed to be a simple patrol, a call about “suspicious activity” which you get  dime-a-dozen of day in and day out. Usually it’s a distinct bias against neighbors or particular groups of people, things that get settled with placating words and-or your thinning patience.

The setting sun meant you had to work fast and maybe that was where you began to slip up. Wanting to make it in time to clock out as you had been around the city and on your feet since before it even rose to greet the windows of your high rise apartment.

A show you had been watching recently was releasing its finale tonight - you had lots to look forward to! You were gonna order pizza and pig out, it was gonna be a good night.

However, the location given by the tip-off wasn’t the standard neighborhood or busy shopping district which meant you were in distinctly unfamiliar territory. Instead, you were at a relatively desolate port. An extensive strip of land that had towering stacks of cargo containers that seemed to form an endless maze in an array of colors and graffiti markings. 

Not to mention warehouses.

You parked a small distance away from the buildings and crates, noting the overall lack of traffic over in this area - how quiet it seemed silent for the soft natural ambience of the ocean nearby. With the distant echoing hustle and bustle of the city, it’s not like anything would really be noticed going on here.

The lack of people busying about should have been your first clue that things were not quite what they seemed here but, then again, you weren’t wholly sure how this business worked in the first place. 

Your shoes crunch against gravel before clicking against cement, you strain your ears to pick up on anything out of the ordinary.

The shadows casted by your surroundings are steadily growing and street lights are popping up, you fetch your flashlight from your belt and click it on, casually swinging it this way and that.

A developing sense of unease makes your stomach feel heavy, but you persist.

You shouldn’t be here for too long, there’s no reason to be here any longer than you need to be, yet there’s an invisible force that draws you to one of the warehouses.

Muffled voices steadily become audible, they’re rising at one another in a clear shouting match.

You stop at the wall, a small distance from the large overhead warehouse door that’s not fully closed and light peeps out from under it. This could either be some off-load workers getting riled up or it’s something far more nefarious going on.

Another moment is taken to scan the surroundings and your flashlight catches onto something shiny.

A very expensive looking car with silver accents and too dark windows peeks around the corner opposite from your own.

In another moment, in your peripheral, something gleams in the dying moments of sunlight in an elevated position. A keen whine forms in your ears as it feels like time slows in your fear.

Suddenly, you’re dropping to the ground and practically scuttle away, a bullet right where your head once was making a pretty, smoking hole with a startling clang as the metal is torn through like paper.

There’s a beat of silence, the arguing from inside coming to a halt.

Then the door starts to rise open and now you’re running to the crates, your car wouldn’t be safe, not with the sniper that’s thankfully a terrible shot and probably adjusting their sights with the early night darkness that’s settled.

With fumbling fingers in your adrenaline fueled fervor, you grasp at the radio clipped to your lapel, giving a hasty. “Send units, I’ve come across possible gang activity and have been, -” Shots ring out behind you and ding the crates that you round the corner of but you continue, in your pursuit of safety, you hear a confirmation buzz among the static of the radio.

You’re definitely outnumbered and now your only goal is to survive.

Maybe you should start to take a patrol partner no matter what, your usual wasn’t available - there was Glitch at the time but you were certain he hates you and you weren’t about to make a coworker suffer you.

Even if you think he looks quite nifty since his latest changes and would love to hear all about them. 

That was a matter for another time however.

Distantly you hear shouts of finding “the rat” and getting “the boss” out, there’s sharp clanging of chains and echoing barks of dogs and you internally cringe. Hoping they wouldn’t sic those on you.

“Bring them alive! I wanna know what dingbat has the balls to come here!” A hoarse voice barks out and his presumed underlings don't even have to give a word of acknowledgement, just immediately acting on the order as steps sound across the pavement.

“This night is turning out terrible.” You breathe out as softly as you can, trying to steel your nerves as you brace for what is to possibly come. The descending night air is soothing as a gentle breeze ghosts the nape of your neck, carrying the smell of the waters near.

Briefly, you consider praying to whatever god is watching this sudden turn of action movie-esque events that you wouldn’t end up in those waters against your will.

The weight of the pistol is distinct in your hands as you ready it, pulling back the slide until the familiar click rings out like a church bell, ringing for, ideally, not you.

You keep light on your feet as you weave around the cargo stacks, letting the aggressive stomps of your pursuers act as a muffle for your noises but it’s not long until you turn the corner and ram yourself right into someone’s back.

A note for next time, check around corners before taking them in a situation such as this.

They’re not a friend but neither you nor him have an opportunity to act as deafening too close shots ring out. An itchy trigger finger finally given reason to engage.

Bang!

The body you’re pressed up to jerks against you. 

Bang! Bang! 

In those next moments, you’re ramming the goon forward, shoving them into your shooter. Fruitlessly trying not to think of the terrible moral implications of the deed or the fact that they’re so desperate to get to you - that they’d kill their own to do so.

The situation suddenly becomes all the more real as you’re shooting over the shoulder of the fallen and splattering the crates around you in red before there’s two heavy thuds of bodies hitting the ground together.

At least they weren’t alone? That… Doesn’t make it better.

There’s a tremble that’s developed in your hands but you’re unsure if it’s from adrenaline or from fear. Have you ever done this before? No, the bits of blood that coat your hand and run down your face feels foreign and disgusting. 

Was this a you-or-them situation? You think so. Could you have simply disabled the shooter somehow? The two of them?

You don’t have much time to think that through as a flurry of racing feet begin to converge and get closer to your location, loud and steadfast, no doubt attracted to the rapidfire of shots and the only choice left is to run for it once again. Bob and weave through the environment, the location wasn’t that far from the station but traffic could hold support back from getting to you in a timely manner.

Granted, was anything timely when your life's on the line?

Distantly, you think you hear sirens. Maybe that’s just you being hopeful…

…Glitch was beside himself. Hands gripping tight on the wheel and making the leather creak as he sped along the road as legally as he could with his equally racing thoughts burning holes in his head in their loops. Every second felt like a minute and every minute felt like an hour and it all felt like you were rapidly running out of that very precious time.

You hadn’t updated the radio line since your initial call for help. 

The shots over the receiver set his inner workings on a frenzy, a distinctive rush of electricity that no doubt made his face appear unbecoming if the looks his coworkers gave him while heading out were any indication.

But it didn’t matter - none of it would if he - if they couldn’t get to you in time.

It was him with five other officers, three cars total, hopefully it’d be enough but if he had any say in the matter - he’d have taken more.

There was so much he would take and do for you and your safety and…

“Hey… Big guy?” His accompanying partner pipes up, snapping Glitch from his thoughts. Johnson was one of few coworkers that wasn’t naturally intimidated by his mannerisms, a somewhat grounding presence when ambitions went above capabilities. 

Except the animatronic wasn’t too sure if he could be leveled with at the moment. Just managing through his strain a deceptively polite hum of acknowledgement, head tilting towards the human in the passenger’s seat.

“...You’re bending the wheel.”

…

What? He’s what?

If he was capable of it, he would have started to break out in a cold sweat as yes, he was in fact contorting the steering wheel underneath his stress. The top half now held a noticeable curve inwards, towards himself that made his crushing grip clear.

Glitch made a vague sound, pretending to clear his throat as he relented his force almost entirely after that point. “I’m… Not quite sorry, but apologetic to worry you like that.”

All he gets in return is a disarming chuckle, “Not offended, if anything it’s cool, always wondered if those things could actually be damaged. They tend to survive wrecks outside of the air bags… Besides, I know why you’re worried. We’ll get to our fellow officer, it’s not much farther now.”

Not much farther now, that’s right.

It still feels like it’s been too long. 

Did you even have any more minutes to spare?...

…You’re not sure how much time has passed, it all feels like too long yet not long enough for what you’re waiting for. You’ve downed more goons than you’ve been struck and you’ll count every single one of your blessings if any are left after this.

But those sirens are feasible now, your pursuers have caught wind of them too.

You’re tucked in the midst of crates, trying your best to take in desperate heaves of air as quietly as you can. You were doing so well at surviving that you were cursing at how you pigeon-holed yourself now.

It felt like a rookie’s mistake.

There’s the repetitive clicking of a lighter before a deep, raspy woman’s voice sounds, “The fuckin’ leak got help, cops are closing in - what do we do?” A moment of silence, the individual breathing in a cigarette presumably before coughing some.

Well at least she wasn’t very fussed in finding you it seemed, a good sign.

“Seems we may have to cut losses ‘ere, we’ve lost quite a few as is - impressive but annoying.” The voice is cool, collected. Honeyed even, though it holds a drawl as if he watched just a few too many pirate cartoons and movies. This voice had been tailing you casually for a bit now, ever since the initial run in you had with some of his fellow gang members and left them in a heap in each other’s arms against your own volition. 

If him having a level head was supposed to be an intimidation tactic, well…

Consider yourself apprehensive, not a good sign. It seemed he always had a general idea where you were but didn’t want to clue the others in - maybe he liked the chase?

You didn’t like that thought remotely.

Distant shouts start up, orders being barked, there’s slams of car doors and people are clearly making their leave now. Your salvation must be real close, spotted on some not-so-distant horizon line.

“They’re calling a retreat, Tod.”

Todd?

You were being stalked by a guy named Todd?

“Mmm… So they are.” There’s a sigh that’s distinctly crackly, mechanical… This was an animatronic, “I’ll let y’go, I’ll be able to catch up - I wanna leave ‘em with a message.” His tone was firm, giving a resolute dark promise for your head to whoever they were prowling around with.

A choppy cackle breaks into a coughing fit, “Bring back a souvenir.” Another audible deep drag of a cigarette before pounding steps announced her leave.

A moment of silence.

A chuckle echoes out, warm and confident.“...Now s’just the two of us, lil’ pup.”

Oh that was a dubious nickname… You were unbelievably screwed if this Todd found you - but there was no moving from where you were, you couldn’t figure out how close the mafia member was. 

The back-up was so close now, you could practically see the flashing lights bounce around and reflect from various metal surroundings.

Screeeeech!

As well as soon smell the burning rubber of tires from vehicles stopping too harshly along the cement, car doors opening and shots echoing out across the way. Distinctly, there’s a loud crash that reverberates through the ground, someone knocked a vehicle into something it seemed.

“Hands up! You’ve no way to go!” A voice you vaguely recognize bellows out the familiar command. Help was right there…

They’d probably be occupied with stragglers for a bit.

You’re much too occupied with figuring out a way to run to your safe haven that you don’t realize the wandering steps of your would-be hunter had tapered off into very careful tip toes. How unbelievably quiet it had gotten in your immediate vicinity, the noise outside of this personal bubble that was your potential dead-end being an easy distraction.

A distraction that would be your downfall.

Click.

…Safety was just turned off. You look down.

It wasn’t your own, even if you had a gun in your hands aimed at your only way out as means of protection.

So you look over and up, craning your head back.

The towering figure above you has a gun aimed at your forehead. No doubt, he’d be quicker on the draw as he didn’t exactly have vitals for you to maim like his far fleshier counterparts.

The animatronic’s grin is outright predatory as he looks down at you, “There you are…” He all but purrs out, golden fang glinting in the low light of your surroundings. Piercing orange eyes practically sparkle at his discovery of you.

It’s then you realize that this was a fox.

Who’s name was not Todd but in fact Tod.

A male-presenting fox animatronic. Named Tod.

How wonderful.

You’d laugh if you weren’t staring death in the face at this point in time.

“Wonder who tipped y’off our way, did y’never consider it being a trap? Your sorts never wander around these parts.” Tod speaks casually, almost flippantly as he leans forward, pressing the barrel of his pistol to your temple with a little pressing nudge that had your hands going clammy. “You’ve cost us so much, it almost seems fitting we should return the favor to those friends y’called.”

Buy time.

You had to buy time - more time. How much debt were you in right now?

“Is your name actually Tod?” You blurt out without thinking, looking up at him with a wide-eyed blink.

Tod looks just as perplexed as you feel, the hold on his weapon falling slack just a bit. 

You could probably survive a shot to the jaw, right?

Belatedly, you recognize he has an eyepatch flipped-up at this moment, he really was a pirate wanna-be. “...I guess if the question is so burning…” He begins, unsure and still bewildered at your outburst, “It’s not Tod - I hold the name Foxy. We jus’ have aliases.”

“...Foxy the fox automaton.” You relay after a beat, helpless against the dopey grin that forms at the ridiculousness and very on-the-nose nature of his name.

This was even better than Tod and if you didn’t know any better, you’d outright giggle but you know just enough to just settle for your smile instead.

…Okay, a snort broke out. Ugly and undignified but could you be blamed?

Foxy just looks at you, positively floored at your sheer audacity… Or maybe it was your blatant stupidity - considering the current situation you were in with him. However you were frazzled, tired if you were honest. You were stained with blood that, while you sure wasn’t your own, couldn’t be too sure. You definitely had bruises if nothing else.

So you were going to find your entertainment where you could.

A few moments of silence pass.

Are those steps heading your way?

You’re not exactly sure what you or him are waiting for as the once tense air where your life was in peril subsides into something far more awkward.

It reminds you just a little too much of interactions you have with a certain other animatronic who works with you.

Finally, with an ear twitching in acknowledgement to outside noises, Foxy decides to cut through the silence with a sharp huff of amusement. “You’re something else y’know tha -” His words are suddenly cut off by a black blur moving past your hidey-hole and barreling into your captor. The gun held against you clatters to the ground, Foxy’s voice box breaks into something of an animalistic screech of static before an all out brawl starts between the two of them.

You stay right where you are. Getting in the middle of that is a good way to find yourself pummeled… 

…Glitch found you.

He finally found you.

He found you facing down the muzzle of a gun with a deer in the headlights look that you shared with your potential killer. He was already high-strung before.

It was safe to say that he saw red then and it wasn’t just the fur of the animatronic that he tore away from the fox at the base, exposing the endoskeleton and wires alike without care.

When the squad arrived, the criminals were scattering, getting into cars and tailing it out of there or trying to get away on foot. More enforcements were called in, cars were already noted and license plates were spread, the city wouldn’t be quiet tonight and probably not for some nights after.

Especially with the amount of members they were able to apprehend. Many new database entries would be added. New mugshots to be made fun of. The precinct would finally have things to do after what seemed like too long of crickets.

That wasn’t even going over the amount of members you had single-handedly felled. Even if every body he came across filled him with trepidation - there was unbelievable relief when they were turned over and it wasn’t your face. There was a growing sense of pride too.

Who knows how many operations you had interrupted with your actions this night.

It did unmentionable things for him that he’d have to unpack later but for now, all there was to focus on was you and you alone.

He - … They… No. He was so close to losing you just then and he would have been just… Seconds off the mark. Just mere seconds, a blink of the eye really. 

A moment of hesitation or if something else caught his attention, what could have happened to you?

…Very possibly, it’d be you in a bag with half a dozen others and that was a thought he couldn’t bear.

Even more shudder-inducing was the potential of you being captured and used.

All his worries, his frustrations - both with you and with himself, were unleashed in this one moment.

Metal groaned in protest as he forced limbs to snap and contort outside of their range, joints becoming useless at multiple points. Glitch was deaf to the cries of his fellow automaton - but he didn’t kill the bot. 

That’d be too good for them.

There was a final, keen creak of the fox’s arm before it came clean off with a shower of sparks, the very arm responsible for aiming a gun at you and it seemed his system forcibly shut down now to hide from further trauma as the beast-like animatronic fell slack beneath him. 

A pitiful play dead response.

“...Is he dead?” He hears you speak out brittley once it had all gone quiet, Glitch peers over his shoulder to look at you peeking over a crate and looking back at him with doe eyes.

You’d be cute if you weren’t painted with blood… But at least your vitals read normal.

This night was gonna haunt him for a bit it felt like. Rather - you’d be haunting him for a bit. That's more accurate.

“No, no he isn’t… Just out of commission. They’ll patch him up for interrogation.” He answers unsteadily, there’s definitely a drive - a wish to finish the job but he’s done enough damage and they need to find out all they could about what was transpiring here.

So he merely radios-in the stray before peeling himself from the fallen and heading over to you…

…You look up at the new too-tall figure, this time a friend that you finally recognized as your coworker, Glitch. 

Were all animatronics just built to be large? You didn’t think you were particularly short but you were beginning to see a pattern here. Though you were also on the ground currently.

He’s scratched up from his scrap and holds tears in his nice suit. Honestly it seems like he got more hurt than you did, if damages to his surface coloring counted.

“...Can you stand?” He asks after he lowers himself to a squat in front of you, probably trying to gauge your current state of being at a closer level… Or maybe he just didn’t wanna overwhelm you.

You were ready to be out of this terrible resting spot.

“I… Think I can?”

Though, at this moment, you’re not sure where to even start. You wanna put your gun away, you want to wipe your sweaty palms on your pants despite it being uncouth, you also still wanna get up and walk out and get back in your car and go home and -!

Hands carefully go over your own, plucking you from your adrenaline fueled spiraling thoughts. He navigates your fingers deftly with his own, nudging them to get the safety on and to unload the bullet in the chamber. Little clicks and rings being a very nice change of pace from all the chaotic noises you were surrounded by before.

Which, you realize morosely, that bit of ammo was your last one.

You truly were standing on your last leg just then.

The gun is guided back to its holster, Glitch leaning in and making you focus on nothing but him and all that was him in this moment. A hand settles at your hip and for a moment, you’re looking into eachothers eyes.

You don’t decipher the emotions dancing within them - you can barely figure out your own currently.

In a flash of bravery, you ask, “Could I bother you to pick me up?”

Golden eyes widen some - well, his left eye widens as much as it can. “...You could bother me for anything.” He replies with seeming breathiness without missing a beat this time, almost as if he was relieved you were back to your shenanigans with that request.

The hand at your hip suddenly grips you firm and is matched with another hand on the other side before you’re picked up like you weigh no more than a couple of grapes. You only have time to gasp as you’re not held like a ballerina waiting to be held overhead for long, instead carefully maneuvered to be in a bridal carry and held protectively to him.

This is the closest you’ve been to the bot and frankly, you’re unsure what to do with yourself.

Your hands seem to dance between wanting to rest against him on his chest - or resting against yourself in an awkward cradle to your own chest. A need to comfort your savior but also not wanting to overstep whatever was sat between you and him.

“...You’re tense.” You note after a small while, you hadn’t realized how far you went into the maze of crates in your digs for survival.

Glitch hums above you, “I am also made of metal, there’s not much of me that isn’t rigid.” His words are teasing but his tone doesn’t quite match up, it’s distant. Not all there. His thoughts have his attention more than you do.

“You know what I mean…” 

“I’m sure I do.” Without further word, he paws at something along your belt line and you squawk at the sudden prodding.

“What are you-!”

The familiar jingle of keys to your patrol car sounds and is tossed recklessly to another officer on the scene. 

Your hands finally know what to do with themselves then and that’s flail, all outstretched in front of you in a pathetic attempt to take your keys back, “I need those!”

The animatronic holding you pointedly ignores you, as do the rest of your fellow officers, too busy snickering and likely spreading gossip for the image Glitch and you offered them tonight.

“Take the patrol car left over on the gravel, officer…” The animatronic announces your name before holding you up like some prize and you feel your face burn in embarrassment at some of the snickers that ensue afterwards. “Here is unfit to drive in this current state.”

There are cheers at your safe recovery but of course the statement draws some concern.

The coworker who has your keys, Johnson, you think it is. Someone who commonly teams up with Glitch only gives a curt nod before gesturing to you. “Do they need medical attention?”

“I don’t think so. Not emergency at least.”

You squirm, “Do I get a say in this?”

“Not currently.” Replies Glitch without so much as a second thought. It’s amusing how adjusted the others seem to his antics.

Your current escort splits from the rest of the team present after that, you wanna laugh and coo at how he tries his absolute damndest to keep you in his arms. Like a toddler unwilling to let go of their favorite soft toy or blanket that needs to be washed. Going as far as leaning a bit too far forward at his height, just to be able to open the door before putting you in the front seat without so much as an inquiry to your state of being. 

There’s a part of you that wonders how much of this is for you and how much of it is for him.

You’ve just gotten your seatbelt clicked into place by the time he gets into his seat and it’s not long after that where the two of you are off, the soothing hum of being on the road allowing you to fully relax now.

“...Has that always been screwy?” You gesture to the bent wheel a few minutes into your return to the station with him.

“...Not quite.” He admits after a moment of hesitation, “I, ah… Got worried on the way here. Everyone heard the shots over the radio.”

Oh.

“Is that why you’ve been so…?” You gesture vaguely to him and barely spot the way his gaze flicks to you before going back to the road that stretches ahead.

Eyelights flick to you, “So-? I lied when I said I was able to get what you mean.” This time there was an actual teasing lilt to his words, a little curl to his teeth in a clear smarmy grin that has you huffing.

“...Touchy? Protective? …Comforting?” The last word is said with a moment’s worth of hesitation, unsure if that was quite the word to use. “...Maybe reassuring is the better word all together there.”

“Comforting?”

Before you can even note the small way he echoed one of your words - if you had blinked in that moment, you would have missed it. The screen of his face, for lack of a better word, glitched much like his namesake. Turning into a reflective black void of nothingness for a moment before flickering back on and being loudly silent.

Yeah. He had a way of making silence audible. Where no words needed to be said.

Impressive and intimidating. Just a touch annoying.

Then, like nothing happened at all, he bobs his head in a half nod. “So I have - is this… A problem?” He notes, clearly toeing the topic line of boundaries without outright asking.

With a snort, you’re unable to stop yourself from pointing out the obvious interaction you just had with him, “...I let you carry me, didn’t I?”

“So you did.” He confirms.

“And it was nice…” You say, genuine, but also as a test as you keep a close eye for his reaction.

Glitch doesn’t disappoint as he noticeably grips the wheel with a strength you’d know would crush your hand without so much as a batted eye, yet funnily enough he actually manages to straighten out some of the contortion he subjected it to earlier. Pushing it back into place a fair deal.

His strength was known around the station but still… Poor steering wheel.

It’s not long after that when you finally arrive with him at the station, tumbling out the car as soon as he’s parked safely and stretching obnoxiously with your hands over your head, a number of your joints popping with satisfaction… as well as pulling at some strains you gained over your terrible adventure.

Glitch snickers from the otherside of the car at your theatrics and you look back at him and his tattered state.

With a grin, you ask. “Could I bother you for something again?”

“You can bother me for anything.” He responds much like he did before, this time more like a quip and far more impish with a for-show roll of his eyes to boot.

You turn towards him, throwing your arms over the roof of the car and stretching your hands out for him to take with, what you hoped was taken as, an inviting wiggle of the fingers. “Let me help patch you up? You kinda got all… Scratched saving me, thank you by the way - I can’t say that enough, I can’t remember if I did or not already, but thank you.”

He meets you with a stare you can’t quite place. It’s heavy and questioning, unsure but accepting, like you’ve given him something he thinks is too good to be true yet wants so badly to trust in it.

“...Can I help get the blood off of you first.”

“Oh. Yeah, I should probably get myself cleaned up before handling anything…” You note the patches of dried red on your sleeves with a whine in the back of your throat. “It’s gonna be a pain getting all this cleaned up.”

The animatronic finally takes your hands into his own - only to push you off the car with his reach that surpasses yours. “Don’t you have spare clothes?”

“I did in the patrol car that was left in someone else’s care…” You sulk, looking at him beneath your lashes in a momentary pout as you're pushed away, “I typically keep them with me.”

You miss the way he falters at your look towards him, too busy being full of loathing at the days of cleaning and soaks for your apparel, maybe you’d have to pay extra this month for dry cleaning.

“...borrow one of mine?” Is all you catch as you’re brought back to the present when he’s standing in front of you, hand on hip and head tilted to the side some.

So, in all of your brilliance, you offer in reply a dumb, “What?”

He clears his throat despite the lack of need. “Would you… Like…” Glitch holds a hand over his mouth for a moment, looking away as if your distracted attention was the only reason he prompted this to begin with. “Would you like to borrow one of mine?” He finally gets out, looking at you briefly only to look to the side again and pretending to be far more occupied with the nearby road.

“...Borrow one of your shirts?”

“Yes.” 

Both you and him ignore how eagerly he replied to that inquiry.

“Sure.”

“Ah, it’s alri- wait what?” He shoots a look at you of shock, shoulders straightening with rigidity.

“I said sure, I’ll borrow one of your shirts. They’re probably nicer than mine anyway and you dress nice.” You point out casually, making a motion towards his nice leather belt.

“...Right. Yeah - thank you.” 

Both you and him also ignore how clearly flustered he was over the compliment and clear fact that he was, in fact, a dapper dresser.

With a toss of your chin, you gesture to the station. “Should we head inside now?”

“We should, yeah…”

He doesn’t move. He’s just looking at you with rounded eyes.

Neither do you. You’re looking back at him with growing curiosity.

You wonder if you’ve had him pinned all wrong as you take the initiative to move, the animatronic moving wordlessly and seamlessly out of your way to follow obediently in step with you. It was… Odd to see, coming from him.

Glitch opens the door for you and the moment you step a foot into the station, there is a sense of disappointment when nothing occurs, you’re not sure what you were expecting but at least some fanfare? A check-up?

It’s unbelievably quiet, you’re not even sure if anyone is available. Someone could be having a meeting or maybe there was an interrogation in progress but still.

At least the front desk worker pays you mind with a nod and a smile.

“Think most of them are now busy with catching runaways and the like…” The animatronic chimes in suddenly as if sensing your drop, just guiding you along with a hand by the small of your back to his office. “Cabinet in the back left corner, bottom drawer should have shirts.”

You look over and up at him, “Do you have spare everything?”

“It pays to be prepared.” Is all he says as he peers down at you with mischief before letting you into his office and nudging you inside, following through and closing the door behind himself.

It’s not that you didn’t realize, it’s just that you didn’t care as you begin to unbutton your top after removing it from its tuck, going from the bottom-up while taking yourself over to the cabinet.

And just as fast as you began to do that - the door abruptly opens and closes behind you, Glitch effectively showing himself out without a second word of input.

“...Sorry!” You half-heartedly bark over your shoulder, not knowing if things were soundproofed but you might as well be courteous as you shrug off one shirt and tug on a new one.

Of course, it’s large on you. You have to tastefully tuck it in where it’ll count and still have a fair amount of room left over, the sleeves also get rolled up to your elbows for sake of ease.

After a final tug to your collar to ensure everything is nice, you call to the closed door, “I’m decent now!” Your old shirt is in a haphazard ball in your hold and the automaton comes in with a plastic bag in hand that he passes to you shortly after.

He also holds a rag and a bottle of water which you look at, puzzled.

“For your face.” Glitch confirms, opening the bottle of water with one hand using his index and thumb. An act that enamours you far more than it should as the cap is dropped off on the desk, some of the water being poured into the hand towel before he begins to dab at your forehead and cheeks.

It’s not a long process but it’s an oddly pleasant one, just being fussed over like this. Occasionally he guides your head to move this way and that with his thumb at your chin.

You get to admire the subtle changes in his expressions. Especially when he finds an area he missed by your hairline and carefully brushes the locks away to get to it, you could practically see a tail wagging behind him in self-satisfaction.

If he notices your staring, he doesn’t comment on it.

By the end however, the sweetness is gone as he drives the cloth hard into your cheek as if getting a particularly stubborn spot before pulling away altogether. 

“You’re clear, you should properly make yourself squeaky clean later however.”

Poutily, you rub at your cheek with a withering, weak glare that has him chuckling but with the most pressing matter out of the way, one of them at least, you look around his office before looking back at him, “So how do we fix you up, hm?” 

“Well you can’t help with my clothes, for one.” He notes dryly, snickering at how you dramatically gasp in clear mock-offense.

“Why, I never! Just because I’m quick to dress myself down does not mean I don’t respect you enough to attempt to dress you down just as fast!” 

“But you wanna dress me down at all?” Glitch goads, peering down to you, evidently humored by your theatrics if the pleased glint in his eyes was any indicator.

Though at this rate, perhaps he should learn that you desperately need a filter as you reply without missing a beat, “I would actually love to see your model as a whole, yes.”

Silence.

His face did the thing again. Becoming blank and eerie just for a heartbeat before coming back to life in full force.

The stare he’s giving you now is… Intense, putting it kindly. “Are you joking?” 

“I’m not, plus you’re probably gonna have to remove your shirt anyway if nothing else because you’re covered in scratches. Do you have something for those? Anything?”

“...Top right drawer in my desk, little jar. There’s a brush in there too.” He moseys over to the chair at said desk, sitting himself down in it and beginning the process of getting his shirt off.

This feels oddly domestic as you fetch the items needed, looking at the name of the color with an obvious, obnoxious hum.

“What?”

You waggle the jar playfully from side to side at him, “Obsidian bulwark, really?” you jest before opening it up to reveal the glossy dark red, almost black paint within. 

“I can’t help what companies name their products.” His pout is so blatant it has you giggling.

“Mhm. Arms out now.” Glitch does as he’s told and so the long process of touching up all the imperfections commenced. Of course you couldn’t paint all of it, some of the metal was actually torn through, but you could at least make him presentable.

In that time, you spend a fair deal just… Admiring, that felt better to say than ogling, his make. The details of his chest, the two shiny gold buttons that stood out starkly compared to his dark body and you find them absolutely adorable. “I have to say this kinda feels like painting nails.”

“I suppose it’s not that different…” He’s been silent for the most part, just watching how each of his little marks are erased from sight, even ones you’re sure he didn’t get during his time at the harbor but instead sometime in the past that he just never saw. You’re thorough, minding the gradient on his forearm that goes from the almost-black of his body to a carnelian red towards his wrist. 

You lift his arms, you turn them this way and that, you get his palms and in-between his fingers.

When you get to his chest, there’s a desperate need to speak so you feel less like some handsy lecherous artist getting too personal with their latest muse.

“Glitch.” You begin, pulling the brush away for the possible outburst that could come from your new, seeming friend.

He looks at you quizzically, probably wondering why you’ve stopped his free pampering treatment of touch-ups. “Yes?”

“This is probably a bad time but I totally thought you hated me.” There’s an absolute one-eighty in his visible emotion, the unknown tension in the air dissipating in seconds when he levels you with a deadpan look that has you doubling over in laughter in record time. It was a good thing you pulled away as the little jar of paint clatters on his desk.

“You thought I hated you?” Glitch echoes your words with bewilderment, almost sounding offended by the sheer notion as he puts his hand to his chest, gesturing to himself. “Me? How?”

“Okay - hold on… I think - maybe this was a miscommunication.” You try to placate through your shoulder-shaking mirth, “But… You never - talked to me really. Not like this. We especially have never interacted like this.” 

That gets his attention. “We didn’t?”

“No, if I tried to talk to you - you’d get all like… Awkward and stiff? You’d act short with me. Kinda made it seem like you were looking for the soonest opportunity to stop talking with me.” 

Every example you begin to point out afterwards, his apparent inability to interact with you before, makes him visibly recoil more in on himself.

“I - Okay I… I get it.” Now he’s gesturing with his hands to have you stop, “I hope my actions today have shown you otherwise that I very much do not hate you.”

You nod, “Which is why I’ve been very confused for a better half of this whole time spent.”

“Suppose I should try to explain myself but…” He fidgets before ultimately going for the move to make himself comfortable, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. An act that is far too tempting considering his shirtless status. “Easiest way to put it, I could not figure out how to… Act around you, Wildfire.” 

“Wildfire?”

“Mhm. That is how I see you, a burning wildfire. Beautiful and necessary in nature, scary and destructive, going by its own whims or following the winds. You are capable of so much as showcased earlier with how you handled yourself, surrounded by enemies. You’re vibrant, brilliant,” He stops suddenly, slowly blinking at you before tilting his head quizzically, “Your heart rate is startlingly fast, are you alright?”

No. No you very much weren’t. There’s a heat behind your ears and you’ve never felt so flushed in your life before - save for when you were severely sick. Maybe he didn’t recognize it, the way his face steadily shifted the longer he spoke. Sickeningly sticky-sweet fondness and utter adoration in his eyes, his ever-sharp grin softening into a genuine smile.

All for you.

All for what he apparently saw you as.

He called you wildfire. Like you were his wildfire, to bask in its warmth and never fear its wrath.

When you don’t answer in a timely manner, he reaches out to gently brush your cheek with knuckles that hadn’t needed to be painted, the coolness of the metal surface bringing you back to the moment.

You try to get your thoughts in order with little success, “So… Earlier. When you said you were worried for me - so much so you bent the steering wheel…”

Glitch’s laugh is light and airy, a bit embarrassed at his actions being brought up again. “I was worried for you, yes. Not just as my coworker, my fellow law enforcement, but you as an individual, your person. I was worried that fire would be put out and I would be left cold for quite some time.”

This was the same man… Animatronic… Robot. Man. Who struggled to ask if you’d like to wear one of his shirts for a very clean and very honest reason.

You feel blindsided by this development.

“...When did this start?” That was probably the most burning question that needed an answer right now.

At least he has the decency to look thoughtful now, not giving you the “since we first met” spiel that you were expecting. You don’t think your heart would have been able to handle that. 

“Do you happen to remember the first times we were out on the road and so on together? When you first joined the force.”

Ah, your green days… You remember those well, you got one of your first and really one of your only major scars on duty back then. You’ve since learned your lesson of course but… Oh.

“You mean when I took on that madman with you?”

“Yes, when you took a wild stabbing for me - quite literally on that note. Despite your very fleshiness compared to my metal being.” He carefully prods your side where the scar sits, it was far nicer than what it used to be a few years ago. “You didn’t even look agonized over it - you smiled at me in reassurance despite you being the one injured. Most typically put me on the front lines for a reason.”

Damn it all. “...So basically when we first met?”

“It would seem so, yes.”

You deflate with a hiss through your teeth, hiding your face in your hands as you belatedly realize too late you still have the paint brush in your hand. Promptly smearing color across your forehead and into your hair. You could worry about that later. Maybe you’d just dye your hair with it.

You peer at him through a crack in your fingers. “...Are you also why we immediately stopped being paired together on duty no matter what after that?” You wanna cringe at the way you sound so pitched but your nerves are shot and you’re riding an unbelievable high despite how embarrassed you felt. 

To be so prized and valued? Right beneath your nose? For months? All because you wanted to respect a seeming unsung wish while he wanted to protect you?

This feels right out of a movie.

“Mhm, I couldn’t let you risk yourself for me in case of any more bad cases or calls. I know you are not fragile - but I am far more resistant to attacks than you are.” The corners of his eyes get sharper, that sweet smile he held turning back into the cheshire grin you know once again as he’s unbelievably smug about the reaction he’s pulling from you now.

It seems he finally understood why your heart was going a mile a minute.

“Are you satisfied over there?”

“Immensely.” He drawls. “Are you satisfied with your discoveries?”

You hum, “Two more questions?”

“Shoot.”

“Will the paint stain my skin?” You take your face away from your hands, noting the wet feeling across your forehead with a grimace as the brush falls away from you.

“Probably not, it should come off like any other paint. If it did stain, wearing clothes would be an issue for us.” 

Sound reasoning, that leaves you with your next question if he doesn’t pull the “but you already asked a question” thing which sounds right up his alley to do but… Well.

He’s looking at you patiently, kindly.

If a bit smugly.

“...What does this uh… Mean for us?” You point to yourself then to him, swapping it a few times before letting your hand fall limp at the wrist. 

Glitch reaches out to hold that hand in one of his own, the paint having now dried it seems, “I don’t believe it has to mean anything if you don’t want it to. I think we got over the obvious issues I… Seemed to have while interacting with you before.” His fingers find their place in-between yours, lacing the hands together seamlessly.

You can’t help it, the seemingly running joke between you and him now, “...Does it mean I get to bother you more often?”

He sighs and instead of giving you the reply that you expect by now, he draws your hand close and turns it towards him, pressing it to his teeth in a very clear note of affection.

“You will never and I do mean never be a bother to me. You will be yourself and I will admire you endlessly for it every time. Do not hold back on my account… Is this clear?”

The glare he gives you over your hand is plain as day. There’s some underlying threat there despite the tenderhearted words, that there’d be a consequence if you’d push yourself down again even jokingly.

You swallow thickly.

“Crystal… Crystal clear, Glitch.”

The animatronic pulls you in suddenly, pressing his face to your cheek in another kiss.

“Good. You look nice in my shirt by the way.”

“...It’s made out of boyfriend material so I’d hope it looks good.”

You’re unprepared for how he bonks his head to yours in admonishment.

Worth it.

[mountainscouts]

stary ideas ….. i feel like gary brings out the best in stan and makes him want to be a better person, while stan brings out the “worst” in gary by irritating him or something, haha.

just imagine stan being his usual self, and gary suddenly bursting out something like “god, will you just can it already!?” and then going on a large rant about how he doesn’t know how someone can be so self-absorbed, etc… and stan being… possibly completely enamored with this. idk, just think about it. thoughts ? would be fun to write about or just daydream of lol.

i would love to hear about what you think of their dynamic, though ! i really enjoy longer discussions on characters and their relationships with others, just because of how subjective and interpretive it is, therefore being more interesting.

i absolutely LOVE character/relationship analysis, honestly. like, urgh, yes this is south park but god sometimes the base personalities of these characters could be so interpretive like you said.

i also love this idea tbh, it totally coincides with how i picture their dynamic to be. stan definitely is inspired by gary to be a better person with how charitable of a person he is and how much hope he has in stan that stan cant say he has for himself. i feel like stan lacks plenty ambition and is relatively go-with-the-flow later on to a detriment, and gary can act as some sort of stable anchor in his life. it's no question that stan would put gary on some sort of pedestal, but not out of acute resentment or hardcore adoration— but because of the differences between them. in due time, i'm sure stan will realize his worth with the help of gary. but of course he will never stop being in awe of him and his actions. there will almost always be some sort of dissonance between the two, but because of how much they connect, they will work through it.

now for gary showing his "worst" around stan. i think i understand what you mean. gary, to me, is someone who was raised to stay composed and calm. those traits are very inherent to his nature, but his patience rarely ever runs thin— which may sound nice, but it's not. being taught that rash & negative emotions were bad, and to keep those emotions at bay, definitely damaged his psyche. he probably doesn't allow himself to get mad, and when he does— it's a whole thing for him.

imagine they get into an argument about stan's character, like you said, and gary bursts out at stan in similar vein to the piece of dialogue you wrote. stan is definitely caught off guard by gary's anger because it's just so rare of him to lash out like that. he's definitely mesmerized. it honestly parallels to the end of s7012, where gary tells stan how it is while he just stands there like :o

stan at that moment, would know he fucked up badly. and as much as hes shit at diffusing a situation, the need to make things right is more apparent than ever. obviously, stan can't change overnight and with the flip of a dime, but its situations like this where that aforementioned inspiration to be better comes from. while this may sound twisted, gary ends up appreciating what stan does for him— including getting him that angry.

that may sound... weird... but gary definitely has problems about showing how he truly feels, and while stan may bring out the "worst" in him, he knows that these intense emotions are from a place of deeply caring about stan and wanting to see him get better. of course, the two end up apologizing but i can imagine after their conversation gary goes, "thank you for being one of the only real things in my life." or something like that. idk.

[flowerfeast444]

you were a house on fire || h.s. {pt 7}

harry styles x oc word count: 3.5k chapter summary: harry and roe work closer to deciding how the kids figure into things series masterlist

As March crept along, Roe and Harry found themselves falling into each other's beds more often than not. Upon Roe's request, it was always at odd hours of the night or random moments in the day when the kids were at school. Not that this bothered Harry; he learned through his years in One Direction that exposure and exploitation really don't differ much. So, they let their secret moments be secret. Well, secret to the public and everyone in Harry's life, at least. Lucas knew of their situation, and therefore Aaron knew. Roe hadn't actually told anyone she was casually fucking one of the world's hottest pop stars- even Sara didn't know.

Lucas, despite Roe's indignation, could read every flick of emotion on her face. She didn't need to say anything- he drew the necessary conclusions from the few times he saw them together. She would divulge her brothers and best friend eventually. At least, she considered it. In terms of the kids, there was no doubt in her mind on how to handle the situation.

"There's no way they can find out we're seeing each other, " Roe declared. The topic had only been brought up by Harry because his clock barely read six o'clock on a Monday morning and she was fully dressed in her jeans and one of Harry's white long sleeve shirts- ready to leave for the unforeseen future. Harry, on the other hand, still bare from the night before was only covered by a thin silk sheet. Even his signature rings lay abandoned in the glass dish on his bedside table.

"I'm not saying we sit down and blab to the whole city, just tell your siblings that we're friends so we can see each other at normal hours."

"Plenty of people are up at this time." she rolled her eyes

"Fine, go be Supermom, leave me in the dust." Harry dramatically fell back onto the bed, allowing the sheet to pool at his bare waist. When Roe looked at him, a smile graced his features, and she knew he was only teasing.

"Hm, " she stepped up to the bed and straddled his waist. Harry instinctively grabbed her hips.

"Well, everyone knows that every superhero needs a dime piece waiting for them at home." They both let out breathy chuckles as Roe leaned down to connect their lips. Roe pushed into Harry as he tightened his grasp on her hips, but ended the kiss as soon as he attempted to deepen it.

"Seriously though, I don't want them to know. I know you don't spend a lot of time with middle schoolers, but they're fucking scary. Obsessive. Spread rumors like crazy. You tell one kid something, they blab to anyone they know. I don't think that's something you want. At least, that's what we agreed on when we started this."

"I'll tell you what I do want, " he smirked. Roe shook her head, laughing at him.

"Oh yeah?" she asked.

"Mhm," he drawled.

She kissed him again. "I wonder what you'll do about that. I have to get to work."

The next few hours of her day passed exactly as Roe expected. She opened the diner with Gretta and welcomed their regular customers with fresh cups of coffee and pancake and egg dishes. She fell into the flow of the workday and nearly forgot about her conversation with Harry that morning.

Days like these only allowed her appreciation to grow for such simple interactions. Sure, customer service always came with a stipend. A grown man would throw a fit because his fries aren't crispy enough, a parent would let their kids run circles around them without consequence. The positive moments, however, outshone the negative. At precisely ten o'clock, Ron strolled in every morning with a tip of his flat cap to the waitresses. He ordered a black coffee while he read war novels. Though he sat by himself at the front counter, he never failed to share a joke with whichever family sat close by. There was also Tina who brought her mother, Jane, once a week. Jane reached the point in her life where she asked every waitress if they were new there, no matter how long it had been. Nonetheless, she told each of them they were 'too pretty to be working this hard at a place like this' and gave generous tips. And of course, the students that bustled in after the final bell to work on projects, eat all of the diner's onion rings, and awkwardly flirt with each other. Roe looked forward to all of these interactions.

Sophie, she would admit, outshone her other regulars. Every couple of days, she came in during the mid-afternoon, sporting hot pink denim shorts and a Dora backpack. Roe asked her about her home life on a few occasions, but she shrugged her off telling her it was fine. And that was that. Sometimes, Roe helped her with her long division homework or helped her pick out her next independent reading book. She missed when the twins were that young, but knew it was only a matter of time before River got to be that big. Time melted through her hands. All she could do was hold on tight and hope some droplets remained.

By the time her lunch break rolled around that Monday, both Lucas, Aaron, and River joined her at the diner. The four of them sat in a booth in the back corner with a large plate of fries between them. Because of their heavy work schedules, they took advantage of the moments they were able to spend with each other. They tried at least. River, God bless him, was the most happy-go-lucky kid Roe ever met. It didn't matter where they were; as long as one of his siblings remained close to him and he had a toy car in hand, he was pleased. Roe celebrated this, as many kids his age had meltdowns, though she knew his speech and potty training paled in comparison. Given their circumstances, she chose to stay optimistic.

Today, River stood in the booth beside Roe, a french fry grasped tightly in one hand with a Disney princess coloring book in front of him. Lucas just finished a story of how a drunk guy tried to sleep in the warehouse he worked at recently. Though Roe was sure many details were embellished, it had the three of them in fits.

"So, I'm basically sitting on the guy, the police are on the phone, and after everything, he just vomits everywhere."

"Dude, we're eating-" Aaron tried to interrupt, his laugh dropping immediately.

"Anyway, so, I jump off of him and hit my back on a shelf so hard that I got this huge fucking bruise." He gestured to his side.

"File for worker's comp," Roe shrugged one shoulder with a smirk. She picked up a blue crayon and joined River on his Cinderella picture.

"I know you're half-joking, but I thought about it. That security job does not pay what I deserve, honestly." He shook his head and ate another fry. The three of them nodded, collectively watching River scratch a green crayon through Cinderella's dress.

"Speaking of injuries; Aaron, what's that little," Roe pointed at a deep purple mark near his collarbone with her crayon.

He rolled his eyes and shoved her hand away, "Yeah, yeah."

"Looks pretty bad, you want me to help you ice it later? Where the heck did you get it from, anyway?" Roe feigned innocence. Aaron gave her a middle finger as his only defense.

"You're one to talk, Rosalie. You've been sneaking off with this singer guy for like a month now like you're a double agent or something." Lucas said, his tone much heavier than Roe and Aaron's.

"A double agent? Really? Since when do I have to explain my sex life to you, anyway."

"Since you fuck off to his place half the week and leave us to take care of the kids on our own. You know Sara came looking for you this morning. Said she really needed to talk to you. And where were you?"

"Jesus, sorry, I didn't realize it was such a big deal. I only ever leave on the nights that you guys are already in charge, though, so, I thought it was fine, " she trailed off. "Can you stop bein' a jackass to me, and just go back to having lunch?"

Roe leaned back in the booth with her arms crossed. Aaron cleared his throat, and he and Roe shared eye contact for a moment, but no one spoke. River, oblivious to the table's sudden shift in mood, clumsily picked up his coloring book to show Roe the finished product. His pride in the messy scribbles brought her a smile despite the tense air around them still.

"Yeah, whatever. I gotta get back to work." Lucas picked up his denim jacket, kissed River on the forehead, and promptly left.

"Was that weird to you?" Roe turned to Aaron once Lucas finally left her line of sight. "Yeah, no, that was definitely weird."

They finished the plate of fries soon after and used the time to catch up on each other's lives. Aaron eventually divulged (with some pressure) that he started seeing a guy from work named Jalen. They had only been on a few dates, but he was hopeful it would go further. Roe teased him for being a secret lovebird despite encouraging him to pursue whatever made him happy. Someone in this family deserved it.

///

The next morning, the creak of Roe's bedroom door startled Harry awake. Lucas peered through the crack and frowned at the sight of them. Harry cautiously tugged the sheet closer to his chest and ran his fingers through a knot at the end of his hair, but it failed to change Lucas' disapproving glare.

"Is she asleep?" he pointed at Roe. Harry carefully shifted to his right to catch a glimpse of her face.

"Yeah. Do you want me to wake her?"

"No, it's fine. Just tell her I forgot I picked up an early shift this morning, so she's got the school run." Harry nodded, itching to pull a shirt on. "And by the way, Demi and River just woke up, so if you're looking to stay a secret much longer, I'd be careful."

He wasn't sure how threatening Lucas intended to be, but he muttered "thanks" anyway, just to be safe. The thought of sneaking out before Roe awoke crossed his mind, admittedly, for more than a few seconds. Ultimately, he decided against it. Maybe it was because he would feel guilty for leaving without relaying Lucas' message. Or, he simply hated the thought of leaving a warm bed. Roe stirred only moments after Lucas shut the door, and Harry placed a kiss on her bare shoulder, encouraging a smile to form on her half-asleep lips. He wrote it off as nothing more than a sleep-addled consequence.

"Good morning, love."

"Morning," She grumbled as she rubbed the crusted sleep from her eyes.

"Your brother came in a second ago. He wanted you to know that we have to take care of the kids this morning."

"We do?" she yawned.

Harry cleared his throat, "Yeah, he has to work early."

"So, you, " she paused- sitting up, she squinted and smiled at him, "and I, together, taking the kids to school?"

"No, that'd be silly, obviously. That is if you are still set on not letting them know. Which, at this point, don't they all already know?"

"The twins don't. Remember our conversation about preteens and rumors?"

Harry waited to respond upon hearing a door in the hallway swing open. Light footsteps trod past Roe's door and down the stairs before he continued, "At this point, don't you think it would be worth it to just talk to them? If we just ask them to keep us a secret-"

"They're my kids, and I'm telling you, it's not a good idea." Roe stood from the bed and wrapped a bathrobe around her bare body, avoiding eye contact with the man still beneath her sheets.

Harry rightfully declared himself a morning person on many occasions, but he suddenly questioned his mind's ability to follow the progression of the tone of the conversation. He understood why Roe often stood on the early defense. If anything, it's what he related to the most with her. He often needed to be cautious with strangers, a fair amount of time passed since he'd been with someone he didn't trust wholeheartedly. He understood Roe's defensiveness. Yet, his mind spun in conspiracies. It frustrated him. He hoped it wasn't obvious. He knew it likely was.

"Roe, I didn't mean to start an argument. I just think it will be easier for both of us this way." Roe pulled her hair into a ponytail, remembrances of bangs falling back to her forehead. Harry left the bed and joined her in front of her dresser where she stared straight ahead into the mirror. Leaning against the edge of the dresser, he reached for her arm and gently grasped her wrist.

"Will you at least think about it?"

"Yes, I'll think about it," she sighed and placed her other hand on top of their adjoined ones, but still avoided looking in his eyes. "In the meantime, we have to figure out how to sneak you out. Or, it might be easier for you to hide away in here while I take care of the kids? I can come back up here after I drop them at school."

Harry leaned forward and kissed her simply. "I'd like that," he said.

Harry expected her to shake off their moment of intimacy and immediately finish getting ready, but she remained planted in his warmth for a few more breaths before finally swaying away. Harry returned to his spot on her bed and watched in silence as Roe went through her morning routine. Not only had it been some time since he had been with somebody he trusted, but it had been some time since that somebody was a woman. He wouldn't categorize Roe as extremely feminine. Watching her apply dots of concealer to blemishes on her chin and a thin coat of mascara before pulling up the tiniest pair of underwear and athletic shorts he had ever seen, though, definitely contrasted the mornings he had grown used to in the years prior. Despite the differences in these scenarios, one thing about his partners remained; they prioritized staying a secret.

"I won't be long." Roe slipped an oversized Cubs sweatshirt over her head despite wearing nothing underneath. "Try not to be too bored without me."

Harry smirked at her, and just like that, she left. Though he could hear the commotion of the kids in the kitchen below him, his solitude pressed in on him. Silverware clinked against dishes, chairs scraped against the floor, eventually, the scent of coffee wafted up to him, and still, Harry sat- stolid. It's not as if he minded, though. Roe's pale yellow walls recently began to feel familiar to him. They often met at Harry's apartment, which he accepted the reasoning for, but he secretly enjoyed their nights at Roe's. Every time without fail, she would apologize for the display of toys across the floor of every room or stacks of dishes by the sink. She would grunt, cheeks pink, at the seemingly self-growing pile of laundry at the end of the hallway. Harry found it charming. Sure it was messy at times (all of the time), but the house breathed so much life. The Byrne household was like lightning. He loved his cat dearly, but the two of them in his apartment made for a static home. Envy bubbled inside of him, for he knew hers was a life he could never have.

On the bedside table to his left, a picture of two young boys caught his eye. Gently, Harry picked up the frame of what he assumed were a young Lucas and the second oldest brother sitting on Santa's lap. Both boys, likely toddlers at the time, had their mouths open in dramatic sobs. Clearly, a family joke they were yet to live down. Beside the frame rested a tattered copy of Of Mice and Men with a post-it note sticking haphazardly out of the middle of its pages. He remembered having to read it in school, and though the details escaped him years ago, it brought a wave of melancholy over him. His heart twitched snooping like this- they rarely spent more than an hour at a time together anymore, this behavior clearly crossed a line. Yet, his hands continued their search. The sudden quiet air only encouraged him.

Before he could admonish himself fully, he pulled open the drawer to the bedside table. He immediately recognized the green pipe they shared the week prior. A string of condoms, a broken pencil, two loose batteries. None of these items stood out as particularly incriminating- not that he expected such to be the case. In the very back, however, a new lighter laid on top of what looked like hospital bills. Harry paused and tossed a glance over his shoulder, though the door remained shut and the quiet, uninterrupted. With a furrowed brow, he drew closer to the papers. Though they were folded several times over, he caught sentence fragments containing words such as 'overnight care' and 'late fees' accompanied by a number several digits too long. As much as he loved living in the States, he never envied their sheer lack of health care. He pulled the paper from its resting place in order to investigate further, arguing it was purely out of concern for his- for Roe. Few details of the reason for the bill had been stated. What Harry found most odd, though, was that the bill was not for Roe at all. Rather, the address line read 'Mrs. Margaret Byrne' above the number for the house he currently sat in. Unless Roe had some major explaining to do, this bill was for another woman entirely. Her twin sister perhaps? No, the names didn't match.

The sound of the front door slamming halted his inquiry from spinning any further. As nimbly as possible, Harry slipped the paper back to its place and closed the drawer. Seconds later, the bedroom door swung open revealing Roe just as she left, now with a dusting of snow in her hair and on her sneakers.

"Sorry, I hope you weren't too bored," she said.

"It's fine, I don't mind. It's not like I had much planned for the day."

Roe laid back on the unmade bed and closed her eyes with a hum. "You sure? You're always hanging out with me, working around my schedule. I would feel bad if you're canceling on friends."

"Honestly, I don't have many people I talk to that regularly anymore, besides my mum or Niall," he laughed before realizing how hopelessly embarrassing that statement sounded.

"Well, none of them live here, at least."

"Really? Big shot like you?" Her tone lacked any drop of menace. It's this, Harry supposed, that encouraged him to continue.

"If I'm being quite honest, I lost a lot of friends when the band split. You don't realize how many people you only get along with because you're forced to spend time together. Without it," he trailed off in thought. "Without it, there's no real connection, you know? There were also," he hesitated, debating if going down this conversation path was really a good idea, "some people who decided to stop talking to me on purpose. That was before the breakup- hiatus, whatever."

Harry knew his ambiguity made his confession less sincere. But, regardless of the pull he always felt around her to be authentic, the trained side of his brain won- things had to be this way because vulnerability meant weak spots. And that was bad for business. Roe leaned up on her elbows, allowing herself to enter his space. "Is that what led to the breakup?"

"Kind of. Not really. It's a lot more complicated than that. Around that same time, I- well, I was going through a breakup of my own." Roe saw by the downward tilt of his lips and crease in his brow that the wound was not fully healed. "I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter, I'm here to move on, anyway. Not here, like in your house, but in this city. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to drag us into a therapy session."

"Well, I'm no therapist, but we have the house to ourselves for at least a couple hours. I think I know of a few ways to lift your spirits," she drawled.

Harry sent her a teasing smile as she sat up to pull off her oversized sweatshirt. Harry didn't bother redressing after Roe left, giving her easy access to lean over him and kiss down the tattoos littering his chest. She took her time, letting each kiss linger before she traced a finger down his sternum. With each inch drawing closer and closer to where he craved her most, his breath quickened and a whimper escaped through his parted lips. God, he was done for.

[atomic-insomnia]

find the word tag

very late, but better late than never right?...tagged by @dotr-rose-love

world

The gears in the man's head were clearly spinning, and that was a good start--easier to throw a wrench in 'em that way. A healthy dose of confusion kept the world running smoothly.

--Beg, Borrow or Steal

space

A crack of gunfire–Ivan swings around, but there’s no one behind him, just…just empty black space.  The desert sand stretches indefinitely to the horizon with no sky but utter darkness.

--Orphan Signal

heart

Koko really had a talent; Amelia hated to admit it but it was true. A talent for cutting to the heart of an emotion, of etching it on a canvas in a minimum of shapes and lines and colors so that they were both abundantly, unmistakably clear yet slowly unfolding, like listening to a music piece play out and grow more complex.

--Beg, Borrow or Steal

lose

<<Wasting food and breaking dishes is not acceptable,>> Russia said with a toothy smile.  Inside his chest got tight again; that was an entire meal just wasted on the floor.  That was half the remaining food in the house.  <<If you continue like this I will lose my temper with your wastefulness.>>

--Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

little

Sometimes the nasty little voices in the back of Alfred’s head got to him, but he’d made it out of worse scrapes than this before.  Hell, remember ‘63?  He’d thought that might kill him for good, or at least leave him permanently split.  That was a scrape.  This was nothi–well.  It wasn’t nothing, but it wasn’t the end of the line.

--Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

garden

They talk about heading to San Francisco like they’re returning to the Garden of Eden, talk about reaching the Haight-Ashbury district like it’s Nirvana.  Steve rolls his eyes and scoffs, but Soda, dead tired in the middle of winter in 1966, listens, and when they roll out, he leaves with them.

--Pepsi Cola Tastes the Same in Every Possible Universe

dream

"Good news?" she said, smile going thin. "Yeah! Yeah. Of course, 'Melia-baby." The shining silver limousine pulled around and Rolls opened the door himself. "It's about the picture. Think they might have a part for you after all."

"Oh, bushwa." Amelia batted the air. The idea of being a moving picture star had been half a joke and half a pipe dream. She'd only brought it up to get in good with that snobby wannabe starlet from the Follies who'd had a big mouth about her big-time producer friend Donald Pennyroyal.

--Beg, Borrow or Steal

car

And Vinny had never been much for guiding a conversation. He usually blamed it on not speaking English. Unfortunately Nash already knew he spoke English just fine, so the long lapses into silence stretched awkwardly in the stuffy little living room upstairs from the pawn shop. That, and every time a car backfired on the street Vinny felt his heart do a somersault and the urgent need to start mumbling his rosary for the first time in five years.

--Beg, Borrow or Steal

why

"…But this was the final straw," he was saying. "Someone asked me to kill another stranger. An innocent girl I don't even know. And I don't even know why. Why are you supposed to die?"

--Beg, Borrow or Steal

~~~~~~

Beg, Borrow or Steal is an original WIP

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime? and Orphan Signal are Hetalia fanfiction

Pepsi Cola Tastes the Same in Every Possible Universe is The Outsiders fanfiction

I'll leave an open tag because it's been so long since I've really played a tag game--if you see this, try to find one or any of the above words!

[therooftopsofketterdam]

💞 ( from Kaz <3 )

five ways to say I love you - always accepting

The night had moved on to the grey of dawn, there was still light in that window high up on the slat. Inej ascended slowly. Partly because she was tired and sore from a night curled up against the shingles of a merchers house watching the comings and goings of the inhabitants below and partly because she was balancing a makeshift basket in one of her hands. Reaching the top, she quietly pushed the window open. Kaz was working, leaning over a thick ledger and refrence book. The same position she had left him in nearly eight hours prior. She set down a paper mug infront of him. It steamed, still hot and smelled faintly sweet of chocolate and vanilla, then placed the packeged omlette next to it. She'd asked them to put the topings he liked on top. No words were shared. Inej was tired, but still she walked back towards the chushioned windowsill, her own space in Kaz little kingdom. sat her basket down and placed her slippered feet up, taking a sip of her own hot chocolate before tucking into her food. (pre SoC - She brings him hot chocolate and food when he gets caught up in work)

"Dear Kaz, The last hunt was another success. The head of a slavers network is now safely in the hands of the Kerch government. I didn't stop by to see you this time. I wasn't here for more then an hour... and I found myself on West Stave, but I know Rotty will get this message to you. We're making out way to Shu Han next, thank you for the tip. When I return Specht wants to undertake some changes to 'the Wraith' that gives me some time to do better next time. May the saints watch over you," Inej *a little scribble of a crow behind her signature* (post CK - She leaves him letters and messages even when she can't bare to stay in the city more then an hour.)

They sat next to each other. The sun was just descending dipping the city, with it's coalsmoke, clouds and dark, stone houses into a deep godlen haze. Her hands lay open, left and right next to her legs, his hands were gloved and folded in his lap. There was a storm brewing, eyes the color of bitter coffee. The message had arrived this afternoon. Per Haskell relinquished a part of their hard earned territory to the Dime Lions of all gangs...in some display of proofing that the old man was still in charge of the Dregs. Inej only learned of it only after returning from her investigation that day and found Kaz sitting on the ledge of the slat, legs dangling over the abyss of busy Barrel streets below, the way she usually sat. His warmth was bleeding into hers, she could feel it through the thin fabric of her trousers, if she leaned over just a bit their knees would touch. But Kaz had flinched when Inej sat. This was all the comfort she could offer him, but she was happy to stay, silent and pretend it had never happened the day after. (any time - she sits with him, quietly, and doesn't force him to speak but let's him work through his thoughts in his own time, simply offering support.)

Her hands were shaking hard. "This is hard for me too..." The words echoed in her mind as she repeated them out loud now. Her eyes drifted close as she felt Kaz' hand rest against her cheek and gently brush over the ridge of bone there. A shudder ran down her spine... both pleasant and painful. It felt like ice water and a the crackling warmth of fire. His hand slid down, now brushing agains ther neck and she swallowed hard, heart fluttering against her chest excitedly and dreadfully. Inej could feel them... the hands that had touched her less gently then he did now. That had torn at her flesh, scratched her skin, squeezed places she never wanted touched again. He pressed into that small space of skin, she could feel her own heartbeat, stubbornly beating in double time... a steady rhythm of survivor, survivor, survivor. Her eyes opened, focussing on Kaz', who had taken on the amber warmth of dark tea. They held nothing but tenderness, not like the other pairs of eyes she had looked into while this close. Her hand reached up, wrapping around his bare fingers, both of them quivering, but she held them there against her pulse, a small smile tugging at her lips. (She tries to work through their trauma alongside him.)

Inej looked over at him, leg propped up on a low stool as he sat in the study up above the Crow Club, counting stacks of Kruge. Last night they'd chased some members of the Razor Gulls through the narrow passages of fifth harbour, Kaz didn't say it, but it had taken a lot out of him. Their walk to the Club this morning had been slower, he leaned on his cane more heavily then he had a few days ago. "Let me help you." Inej simply said, then, carefully, and under the shuddering breaths of concentration it took Kaz to allow her this proximity, she pulled his leg into her lap. Her fingers carefully danced across the fabric of his suit pant. She was sure to never come into contact with his skin. "Nina made me take her out for Waffles today. Did you know there's a place in little Ravka where they put Kvas over raisins and light it on fire? It was a spectacle." She kept up a line of happy chatter while Kaz flinched under her touch. "I know it hurts. Give it a moment. I actually injured my leg a lot when I was training on the high wire, Papa showed me how to recover quicker, how to relieve pain. Some days I miss the wire. The audience always gasped when I flipped on it in the middle of the performance." He slowly relaxed as Inej lessend the tension around his bones, helping to ease his pain with the warmth of her palms and the pockets of pressure she could make out this way. Her stories continued to provide a distraction, something for Kaz to hold on to, something for her to distract herself with. (She uses her knowledge of the body and injuries to help ease his pain.)

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

oye y q tal el concierto ? would you rate the performances + explanation :D ?

i made a thread on twitter so i'll start with that and then add any other thoughts / fave live performances maybe ? idk i have a very bad memory so i have no idea how much i'll be able to tell you shdsjdjsjd

so let's start with the thread:

first of all i'm so proud of the 16 !!!! they were all incredible vocally, also great performers and yeah, i'm just very proud! also they were extra emotional that night cause the wizink center which was the venue they played in is one of the most iconic concert venues in spain, and the largest in madrid (not counting the football stadiums) so it was a big deal and you could tell, they were all lovely

bea !!!!!! i'm in love with her, she's perfect and she was incredible!! i don't know if you saw it but as the resident madrileña she sung a bit of se acabó after her solo and she was just. brilliant.

cuando zarpa el amor is so beautiful... never getting over it. and salma makes it so so incredible, she's so insanely talented

cris is the most underapreciated contestant in ot history and that's just an objective fact. he was the best voice i would say, his performances were all 10/10, he was super cute and nice, just the best, i love him.

ruslana shocked me in a good way ??? like she was like more impressive live than in the concert, she had tons of magnetism and charisma, like in every performance where she was she shined brighter than the others, i cannot properly explain it but just. wow. you could see why she was top 3.

and just as an extra. you could see why the top 3 was top 3. i think they were just more polished than the others? like there was a different aura about them. an extra glow.

when the party is over !!!!! i'm still there in my mind, just wow. i always love in concerts that one song where everyone goes silent and just gets entranced with the song and performance, this was that song for ot 2023. he sounds literally perfect live, i got goosebumps and everything.

the only thing that prevented it from being my favourite performance of the night was that the people around me were being annoying lol (the girls in my same row screamed 'time to go to the bathroom' when he was announced and left their seats laughing, and the people behind me kept talking about whatever not paying attention to the performance. this was the only time they did this btw).

the songs where i had more fun were inmortal, la vida moderna, criminal and my personal favourite i drove all night (HUGE underrated performance)

during please don't go there was a mum that gave it her all and it made me very very soft <3

during dime i (of course) kept looking at paul and álvaro and i can confirm they kept looking for each other 😭

MILO J ????? it was so insane ???? THE FAST PART ????? i swear it was faster than on tv it was absolutely mental like i could not process it, everyone started screaming after it like holy shit. most insane part of the concert, paul thin the performer you are.

mía was sooooo beautiful, i almost cried with it and you could tell kiki was emotional over it as well

el patio and tómame o déjame were soooo cathartic to scream to, truly highs of the concert for me as well

LET'S GET LOUD ???? OKAY WINNER naiara just left me in shock with how good she was, she looked like a professional who had been doing this for years, absolutely slayed.

oh and also i think the otito who is much better live than on tv is definitely álex, all of his performances were SO fun and he was SO good, an icon.

so as for that; i'd say my favourite live performances were: when the party is over, cuando zarpa el amor, mía, la vida moderna, i drove all night, criminal, inmortal and milo j.

my favourite group song was quédate i think. sweet caroline was also super fun tho.

overall if i had to choose one performance to show people it'd have to be milo j, while the performance i personally enjoyed the most i think it was between la vida moderna, inmortal, or i drove all night. one of those three.

so, in the end, i really enjoyed it!!! it was very fun, as i said here after the concert, it really is like a giant karaoke orchestrated by people you've grown attached to and it's just. the best thing ever. always great to go to an ot concert.

[ouroboros-hideout]

Hello I come to you sir Boro to give you some numbers for the short story thingy: 8, 12 and 40. 👁💖

micro stories ask game

Better late than never, right? Right? Sorry friend, but I had fun with these after all, thank you for the questions! Hope you enjoy the little KEK and cheesy shit. Since you didn't wanted any particular for Aon or Vlad, I chose myself, hope that's alright!

8 sunbathing

Vlad sat on a woven armchair on the sunny balcony of Gishlaine's small apartment in Tangier and looked down on the glittering coast of Morocco.

"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?" the young woman asked as she put on her white leather jacket and joined him briefly to say goodbye for the day.

"Where are you going?" he asked in a soft voice, reaching for her thin wrist to pull her closer.

"I have a few things to do today," she replied soberly, but accepted his invitation and sat on his lap for a moment, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"A few things. Robbery, fraud and worse, for a dollar and a dime? You know, I could buy you the world, my dear."

She smiled mischievously at him and put more strength into her embrace as he pulled her even closer to catch the scent of the perfume he had gifted to her.

"I know that. But what do I want with the world? I want this. Something real. The hunt, the chase. The adrenaline. You should know that better than anyone. You may belong there too, but high society is not my world."

He chuckled and grabbed her chin to give her a brief but passionate kiss. "First and foremost, I belong to you, my beautiful Gazelle." 

"Such a charmer. But you can try as hard as you like to keep me here. I still have to go." She returned the kiss and drew away from him. 

As she neared the door, she turned around again, knowing that he would be watching her the whole way until she disappeared. "The world may be too much," she began, "but I wouldn't say no if you invited me to dinner tonight. And don't sit there all day, you'll get sunburnt," she added with a teasing grin before disappearing into the crowded streets of Morocco. 

12 candles 

Kurt was sitting relaxed in the lounge of the stadium, reading today's report on the current business and deliveries that Jago had brought him a few minutes ago, when the large door to his right opened and he heard an all too familiar mischievous laughter. 

Aon came striding into the room, shaking her head and grinning broadly, and beckoned him over.

"That's so good. You have to come and see it, please," she said, barely able to get a word out without laughing and without any further explanation turned around again.

Kurt gave her a confused look, put the tablet aside and followed her with an annoyed sigh. 

They walked down the corridor to one of the large storage rooms of the facility where new deliveries were stored, sorted and transported to the respective rooms and workshops. Aon led the Colonel to a large crate and looked at him with amusement.

"Here - open this."

Kurt still didn't understand what seemed so incredibly funny and first looked at the labeling on the crate. When he then lifted the lid, his face immediately froze and Aon burst out laughing again next to him. 

"So," she began again."I've seen quite a few things in the years I've been coming to this circus. But this is just..."

Kurt reached into the box which, according to the delivery bill, was supposed to contain "Handles". For handguns. 

But what Kurt now had in his hand were scented candles. He didn't know what to say and just stared at the botched delivery.

Aon, on the other hand, was still having the time of her life and also took one of the candles out of the box and smelled it. "Uhhh - vanilla, very classy. I wonder if the 30 other boxes look exactly like this."

"Can you just shut the fuck up?" was all Kurt said back, still outraged.

40 pet

Aon sat at one of the workbenches at the edge of the workshop, assembling what was now her tenth assault rifle, a cigarette in the corner of her mouth and the small radio beside her playing the tunes of Samurai's "Chippin´in". It was very monotonous work after a while, but it still gave her a lot of satisfaction whenever one component fitted perfectly into the other and she was finally able to put another weapon into the transport box next to her. 

An excited purring interrupted her trance before the old, red cat Bill jumped onto her table and crept past Aon on his velvet paws, passing the tools and individual parts of the rifle. 

"Well, do you want to help me, my old man?" she asked the elderly animal with a smile, watching him as he sat down curiously in front of her and sniffed on a screwdriver. 

Bill was practically part of the inventory of her little family. He had been in the clan when Aon had joined many years ago and was still a source of joy for many in this new environment. In the icy and surreal nature that surrounded the mine, there were a few wild animals to be seen from time to time, but a normal domestic cat was an absolute rarity. Aon had never had a pet and even if Bill occasionally deigned to receive a few cuddles, he was not a classic cuddly cat. Nevertheless, she had taken the old chap very much to her heart.

She placed the half-assembled rifle carefully on the table so as not to startle him with a loud noise and reached out to stroke him.

Until the last moment, old Bill sat motionless in front of her, seeming not to mind. 

Just as her fingertips touched his tousled red fur, however, he suddenly hissed at her slapping her hand a few times in anger, which of course couldn't have interested Aon less. 

Since there was no cry of pain and the cat could not achieve any satisfaction in his actions, he stalked across the table, growling slightly, and disappeared again as quickly as he had arrived.

Aon just chuckled at the silly little creature and turned back to work. "Well, too bad for you. My claws are harder than yours."

[foolhardi]

The Moors

I talk so much about desire because its hard for me to do fucking anything. "Executive dysfunction."

I don't like that term. I don't like the way psychologists use language or the way their language is imposed upon the culture by the ill and misinformed. It's not that I think that everything psychologists say is untrue- but it's language created by scientists to study their patients. There's a certain coldness to it, a distance that must be maintained between the doctor and the patient. I guess its necessary. The distance facilitates the cleanliness of the doctor- and for a psychologist this sterility protects their minds- a rubber glove they put on language to keep our illnesses out of their psychic bodies. Their souls? Maybe just their reputations.

But I just can't talk to you about what keeps me in bed because its beyond words for me right now. Crumbs in the sheets, grease in the sky. The window- the material physicality of space: furniture, chairs, walls, doors, all neatly meet but are not where I am. They're impositions on me and I'm already out of time. Always out of time- late for the deadlines small and unthought of. Socks washed, bills paid- late for graduation and missing the meeting. Missing when the hands sigh and twitch (Arbitrary markers!) When the sound effect hits- Arbitrary dates and their atonal rhythms, marking up my psychic body. Going wandering along the moors.

The moors. People are always questioning me about the moors. The moors is where you go when you're in an institution- It is a twelfth house place. You could say its where your mind goes but that is really only accurate at first. Because if you wander the moors for long enough, you begin to leave more of your body there. Not in chunks or slices- but transparencies of your body. Phases, gliphs, phantasms of yourself move into the moors like files into a folder. Like ash into an urn- like people in encampments.

And your real body stumbles through what appears to be your life- though you might not recognize it. Whatever you left in the moors has abandoned its position in your embodied life. You are now subject to slippages of time, missing objects, and memory delays. You lose face, you let your friends down. Your interface to reality is falling apart.

What can you do about it? The guy who repairs the interface is lost in the moors. You have some fantasy of being saved- receiving something, being obeyed.

Big cinema-scope screen of gray fog in the moors- the atmospheric projection surface that you watch in the moors. A movie of you sorting through the lugubrious file cabinets of your heart. Is anyone else watching? The fantasy films that play at the moors mostly revolve around you being saved. Someone really seeing you- the perverse alpha compositing layers of your self that flit around the moors like mosquitos. Ghosts scraping their pixel-thin bodies against the tall grasses and the long sky. Sort of like how nickels rubbed together never become dimes, the ghosts of the moors are never saved.

Because you first entered the moors (invented the moors) to rescue yourself from something unbearable in the waking world. However unbearable it was, you stopped checking if you could return, and you weakened yourself by abandoning hope, abandoning reality- and now mundane life itself is unbearable to you. You've lived your whole life in this dirty, imaginary waiting room, but there is no one to call your number. You have to gather your ghosts like wet sheets of paper and find your egress out of the moors. And you will re-enter the world, and fight and sweat doing ordinary things- calling your mother, drying the dishes, because they make you remember what is unbearable, they make your mind want to wander. Don't let it wander.

Because if you aren't present you are dead. A comatose-vegetable-thing that learns nothing, changes nothing, loves no one, obsessed with your own suffering. If you aren't here than you can never get what you really want, because you won't even notice when you have it. You will damage your pets and your children and abandon the people you love without moving at all. You can't bring anyone into the moors, and you are the only person who can bring yourself out. So bring yourself out.

[shannis]

wolfe.

I have only allowed two people to break my heart down to tears.

Today I thought of the 2nd one. He was a coworker, a part time actor and stock images model (seriously). I had just been in the middle of a long break with another boyfriend, who was emotionally and physically abusive. I was breathing for the first time. I needed a friendly face, and some kind words.

We hung out on a whim, mostly out of strong mutual attraction. It was an awkward subway ride to his subleted room in a boarding house under a skyway. I was nervous, I was anxious, I worried I was too ugly or too weird. Two facts that plague my mind in every relationship since my 1st boyfriend broke my heart.

He was nice enough. We laughed all night and sang along to Wu Tang together, fell asleep watching Twin Peaks. It was all fun. It was my kind of date. Perfect and private.

A night I honestly needed after the years of shitty times I trying to get dates.

Then he confessed that "I'm the type of girl he always wanted and could fall in love with because I get him and it felt natural" to him" then he sang me "I think I love you." Was I flattered, yes, but that's it.

He was weed hungover so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

It was our next date that he revealed that he was already in a poly amorous relationship with a girl whom he really loves. He told me how she is a rich nepotism baby, who spends her time as an actress in small budget movies (which he too starred). She was tall, thin, and blonde. (Running theme of my tortured love life is being told blondes are better).

I didn't want to share. I made me feel dishonest to myself. If thats how they loved, more power to you but I wanted the one. Someone who wanted all of me and gave me all of them. I wanted to be someone's everything.

At that point in my life, my live life was terrible. Only one guy in my whole life ever left me. The first one. Every one after the 1st was measured against him, as at that point I was still in love with him. I broke up with everyone else. I would never let anyone hurt me and I would never care about anyone that deeply again. I was ice, I was steel, I was a heartbreaker. Since no one lived up to the guy in my head, I was lonely. I agreed to date this new guy for a bit to fill the time and the void but all the while felt gross.

He would talk about seeing free concerts in the park. (I was never invited). He was talk about new restaurants, art galleries, markets, all these fun dates. None of which I was invited to. I offered up ideas and they feel flat and were never used.

I was just his plaything. His secret. When I asked him to come see my home he said "It's 3 rivers away, I don't know if you're worth that."

I hated him. I hated how he made me feel. I hated how little I was worth. I was depressed. The next and last date was an office outing before the whole team was let go. We went to Pig Beach. I watched him sort coke. I watched him hit on other girls and then look me and say "take that hurt look off your face, you know what this is." I watched him become his real self. I was disgusted who I saw. I was disgusted to be there.

We walked to his place in the hot, muggy air of Brooklyn in silence. I hate myself more than any other time of my life at that point. We went to his place, he half heartedly tried to be intimate but the coke backfired on him. I laid awake all that night on his bed, counting his ceiling tiles, looking at his books, feeling the gentle sway of the room as the cars drove overhead. I knew I would never be there again. I was taking it all in. Morning finally came, we at breakfast at the Sunrise Diner. It sucked and we ate in silence. He then proceeds to tell me how his dream girl and him are off to Mexico the next day for 2 weeks on her parent's dime. I feel sick, I wanted to go home. He walked me to the subway all the while with a stupid smirk on his face. He told me he would call me when he got home from Mexico and how he will think of me there. I told him not to bother and that I knew, I would never from him again. He laughed. Kissed my cheek and watched as I walked down the stairs all while with that stupid smirk painted on his face.

In that moment, I hated his face. I hated Brooklyn. I hated myself.

I started to cry, he saw me, and he just kept smirking. Nothing changed his mood. He watched me all the way down until I was out of sight.

I ugly cried on the subway and all the way home. I was crying for what I allowed myself to be used for. I cried for how low I sank. I cried for the guy that was a half world away and didn't know what his absence has done. I cried for the woman I became. I was broken that day, broken by hatred and self loathing.

I changed that day, I would never allow myself to be used again. To be the lesser, to be the other, to be nothing. I would always speak my truth and never suffer in silence again.

All thanks to a wolfe.

[quirkthieves]

He watches annoyance and embarrassment blot across Kaminari's cheeks in red. He watches, eyes round, unusually focused. He watches, with his pupils drawn into thin white slits, taught like the tightrope Kaminari didn't know he was walking on. The rest of his face is nothing, gives nothing, belies nothing, and that nothingness says everything; a pure and condensed type of anger, a dying star, coiled and ready to strike, which shows in the strain of two fists clenched at his sides, shaking slightly.

That sharp hatred is held at Kaminari's throat for a moment (oh, if looks could kill!), and then Monoma breathes deeply, releasing the tension from his shoulders with an exhale and putting on his best smile. He languidly closes the gap between them, and gives Kaminari a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Well done. That was quite bold, for someone like you." his friendly smile never wavers. "After all, you know how common electricity quirks are, don't you? Dime a dozen. It must be nice, to have that kind of job security. Tradesman jobs can be pretty cushy." His grip tightens, but not enough to be painful. After all, he wasn't here to start a fight; he was here to finish one.

"I can't say I'm envious, though. After all, once we graduate, you'll have a lot of competition. And let's be honest with ourselves; you aren't the best electricity user out there. Not the worst, certainly, but the drawback of your quirk and your already lacking wits leave a lot to be desired. You're going to find yourself awash in a sea of electricity quirks, destined forever to hit midrank on the hero charts. I commend your networking ability-- you certainly have the personality of a potential star, but riding Bakugo's coattails will only last so long, especially when you don't even have the spine to get him to remember your name." He doesn't let Kaminari get a word in edgewise, continuing ahead.

"That's what it is. Your personality is offset by your garish tastes, which exist because you already know you have to compete for attention. The only thing that's worked so far is making a complete fool of yourself, so you've deluded yourself into thinking that you can turn people laughing at you into laughing with you. It's desperate. You have no self respect, no spine, and the bit's going to get old. But you know that. You've given up on yourself already, but you just won't admit it. I won't say you aren't impressive now. That wouldn't be true! But you're impressive for a highschooler, and you won't be a highschooler forever. I think you'll hit, say, 22, and you'll realize your career was washed up before it even really started." this was only superficially like his constant provocations; but in reality, they couldn't be more different. These words were meant to cut, and they were meant to cut deep. No real showmanship or theatrics to it; the sword wasn't one that was meant to fold when stuck in the box.

"I'm sure you think of me as a nobody, and that's true. But I think you have it even worse-- you're a somebody, but the somebody you are is doomed to live out your life drowning in mediocrity, never miserable but never really happy, reminiscing about when you had famous friends and bragging about your biggest catch to whoever will listen, just so you can feel cool." He steps back a little, and brings his face close to Kaminari's, smile gone and brows raised once more into that terrible, patronizing look of disdain.

"I'll give you credit for the audacity. But don't ever assume again that you and I are rivals of any sort. I'm not competing with you-- you just happen to be one of the many little tools Bakugo uses, and you really ought to be more grateful that's the case. Trying to make things personal with me isn't a level little tools like you are able to handle."

@4heroes from here.

Monoma regards Kaminari with a cool look of disdain, mouth resting in a small frown. It was quite a far fry from his usual antagonism-- the buzzing, energized, manic laughter and provocation; this was nothing but frigid, and his almost-placid expression did nothing to give away the boiling rage under his skin-- at least not to those who didn't know him.

A quiet Monoma was not a good thing.

"I know you posture yourself as far more clever than you are, but this is just embarrassing." He looks at his nails, and then back at Kaminari, expression unchanged.

"Do you think that was witty? Did you win? Should we call Jirou? I'm sure she'd be surprised." His voice remains calm, but the contempt is palpable.

"I think you seem to be mistaken about the nature of our interactions. I humor you and your class. I play the back-and-forth out of a certain level of tolerance. Even now, I am telling you this to give you a chance to remember where we stand in this world and rectify what I'm sure was just a blunder on your part."

"Apologize, and keep my brother's name out of your mouth, and this can be water under the bridge."