#absolutely insane. i like don’t even have anything to say WAILING that was just wild

[unknownarmageddon]

its called!!! youre so creepy!! (2013 remastered) by ghost town!!

yippee!!!

[scuttling]

Stay at Home DILF

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 5,863 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Insecure Hotch, Oral sex, Fingering, Unprotected sex, A little angsty by accident Summary: Aaron retires from the BAU when the new baby is born, but a year later the lack of structure, sleep, and time for himself means changes to his body he's not very proud of. When the thought of having another child is brought up, how will he and his wife work through his insecurities to make the perfectly imperfect, happy family? *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! “Honey, I have to get going—do you need me to drop Jack off at school, or are you good?” Professor Hotchner slides her foot into a flesh-toned pump, leaning against the kitchen table for support and stealing a grape from Jack’s fruit salad. He narrows his eyes, then sticks out his tongue, and she does the same. “Do you want me to starve, Jackrabbit?”

“You won’t starve. Get your own grapes.” So full of sass, that one. Seven is such a fun age. She decides to blame the mixture of Aaron’s genes and Haley’s, and she pulls out her phone to send Haley a quick text.

Your son is a menace in the morning.

Haley: Gets that from his dad.

Aaron enters the kitchen, holding their one year old daughter Mia, and he sticks her in her highchair, puts her breakfast in front of her, and leans toward his wife.

“I’m good, I’ll take him,” he says, and kisses her lips. “Mia and I will take big brother Jack to school, won’t we?” Mia is obsessed with Jack—her first word was Jack, or rather, Ack, which was super cute—so she giggles happily, and her mother can’t help but smile. Their little family is absolutely perfect.

She leans in for another kiss from Aaron, and then another, and then maybe one more...

“You’re getting distracted,” Jack says, and she looks over at him with a raised eyebrow, then back to Aaron. He shrugs.

“It was on one of his vocabulary sheets.” Figures.

“Well, maybe I find my boys distracting. Let me give you kisses and we’ll find out!” She launches herself at him, kissing his head and his cheeks, and he laughs, and she knows she’s going to be late for work, but she can’t pass up moments like these, she just can’t.

She gives him a hug and tells him to have a good day, then she kisses Mia, and then she puts her arms around Aaron’s neck and kisses him goodbye. Before she pulls away, something comes over her—the warmth of this perfect morning, the overwhelming love for both of their sassy, silly kids, or maybe the fact that they’ve been too busy for sex lately and she’s constantly horny for him—and she looks up at him and whispers, “we should have another baby.”

Aaron grins immediately.

“Yeah we should.” They kiss a few more times, quickly, smiling against each other's lips, and he pats her hip because he knows she has to go. “We’ll talk more later, but yes. I want to. I love you.” He takes her face in his hands and kisses her deeply, and she sighs, grabs her bags, and heads out the door. Work is work; as the youngest professor in the English department, her schedule is jam packed with classes, lectures, morning office hours, but despite all that, it seems that Aaron is having the more difficult day.

They both love that he was able to retire from the BAU early to be a stay at home dad when Mia was born—he does consult for them occasionally, but has no official title, doesn’t have to travel—and he’s amazing at it, but she knows her baby can be a handful even on a good day. The texts she’s been getting all morning only solidify that knowledge.

Aaron: FYI - Mia hates bananas this week.

Aaron: What do they put in this applesauce, crack? She’s tearing around here like a bat out of hell.

Aaron: Okay, she’s your child, I officially renounce her. I put on The White Album and she started crying.

Maybe she prefers Abbey Road?

Aaron: No. Unlike her mother, she has taste.

You wound me, Hotchner.

She works through lunch, grading papers on The Call of the Wild, but when Aaron’s name lights up the display on her phone, she puts her pen down and smiles, puts it on speaker.

She’s sorry she did, because Mia is wailing in the background, and it’s very clearly her, I’m exhausted, asshole, leave me alone, cry, which makes her wonder why she’s not taking a nap. She knows she resists Aaron sometimes, doesn’t want him to leave her alone in her room, which is so sweet and also so, so annoying.

“Hi, sweetheart. Are you having a little trouble over there?” He takes a deep breath and sighs.

“She won’t go down, baby, even if I sit in the rocking chair beside her. It’s been twenty minutes.” Wow. He put up with it longer than she would have.

“Put her in her crib with Stuffy Bear and just let her cry; I know you hate that, but she’ll give up eventually.” He groans softly.

“I can’t; I feel so bad.”

She smiles. Her warm-hearted man.

“She does this because she knows you’ll give in and do whatever she wants. I promise you, she’ll be happier for it; she sounds miserable.”

“I don’t know…” he says, and she can tell he’s not going to do it. She picks up her pen and skims the paper she abandoned.

“Are you tired?” She doesn't wait for an answer, because she knows he is: Jack had a bad dream last night and woke them both up, and Aaron went to lay with him until he fell asleep because he knew she had an early morning. It was almost time for her alarm when he made it back to bed. “If you want to try to nap, she’s going to have to nap. Do it for her, yourself, me, a combination of the three of us. She won’t be mad at you; she won’t even remember.”

“What if I give her abandonment issues?” he presses, and she closes her eyes for a moment.

“Aaron, I love you so much. You’re such a great dad, and our kids are lucky to have you. But you have to loosen the reins just a little, especially if… if we are going to have another baby.” The thought makes her smile, and she can tell he’s smiling down the line, too.

“Right. Loosen the reins. Just put her in her crib,” she can hear that he does that, “and give her Stuffy Bear, and let her cry.” He blows out a breath, and she can hear the door click shut behind him as he leaves her room. She’s proud of him, but she also knows he’s going to sit in front of the video monitor and watch to make sure she falls asleep, and that he’ll probably work on laundry after that and not actually take a nap of his own.

He insists he’s doing fine when she brings it up, but the way he sacks out like a corpse when they get into bed doesn’t exactly have her convinced.

“I love you, and miss you,” he says when it’s slightly quieter, though she can faintly hear the cries through the monitor. “It made me really happy this morning when you said we should have another baby. We make perfect babies, have you noticed?” She hides her grin behind her hand, because if anyone walked by her office they’d think she’s insane with how widely she’s smiling.

“I have noticed, but since we only have the one and I can’t take any credit for Jack, I figured we should probably make another. Maybe the same way we made Mia…” They’re both convinced it was a weekend when Jack was at Haley’s and the two of them went to town on each other, true marathon sex where they only stopped for food and water and she coaxed him to hardness so many times she felt like a damn sex goddess.

“Hmm. I remember that with fondness, and would love to do that again. You know Haley said she’d take Mia on one of Jack’s weekends if we ever needed her to.”

Her life is pretty damn perfect, with her gorgeous, caring husband, and her two awesome kiddos, and a job she loves, but the most unexpectedly sweet part is that Haley is so comfortable with her, and that she and Aaron were able to get past the ugliness of their divorce to eventually become friends again. It’s not something they take for granted.

“Maybe we should take her up on it this weekend,” she says, trying to sound a little sultry. “We’ve both been so busy; it’s been a while since you pet my kitty.” For some reason, this particular phrase makes Aaron blush and get insanely horny, and she’s hoping to tease him so much the rest of the week that their weekend is one neither of them ever forget, so she’s pulling out the big guns.

“It’s been far too long, and I’m sorry. I can’t wait, baby. I’ll call her here in a few; I know you have to get to your next lecture.” She looks down at her watch, and it is about time to clean up and head over. She sighs happily down the line.

“Okay, I love and miss you; try to take a power nap. I promise, she’ll be fine.”

“I will.” He won’t. “Talk to you soon.” When she gets home, Aaron has dinner ready; she told him to hold off, that she’d help when she got there, but he has always been an overachiever.

Mia is already in her high-chair, waiting patiently for once in her little life; she kisses her forehead, breathes in her sweet baby smell, and then makes her way to her husband.

“Looks good, honey,” she says as he sets the table, and she leans up for a kiss, but when she presses her hand to his stomach like she always does, he pulls back a little. “Is everything okay? Did you have a bad afternoon?”

“No, it wasn’t bad after the nap fiasco,” he responds, but he sounds distracted. Maybe he was asked to look at a case, or something, and that’s still on his mind? She leans against his shoulder, puts a hand on his back and attempts to push up his t-shirt, to skim her hand up along his spine, which always comforts him, but again, he shifts away from her touch. She sighs and steps back.

“You're going to give me a complex, Aaron. If I did something to upset you, please tell me so I can apologize and try to make it better.” He turns to look at her face, and his formerly tense jaw softens a little; he presses his lips to hers, just a peck.

“No, you didn’t do anything. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” He smiles softly, and she’s sure he is tired, but this seems like something more.

“You’d tell me if something else was bothering you, right? You know I’m here for you.”

“Of course I would, and of course I do. I love you,” he breathes against her mouth, and then he goes in for a longer kiss and she gets, as Jack said earlier, a little distracted. When the kiss breaks, she sighs happily.

“I love you. Missed those lips,” she murmurs, and then she runs a hand over his hair. “If the kids wake up again tonight, I’ll get them. You need to rest.” He shakes his head.

“You have another full day tomorrow,” he counters, and it’s so sweet that he keeps up with the schedule she has posted on the fridge, but still. She puts her hand on her hip.

“And you don’t? It’s my turn. Let me help.” He looks like he wants to argue, but she gives him the glare he knows means she will talk about this all night if he doesn’t agree; she’s not the sponsor of the university’s debate team for nothing, and even his prosecutorial ways have nothing on her.

“Okay,” he sighs, and she smiles and kisses him and then goes to get Jack and make sure he’s cleaned up for dinner.

That night when the two of them are getting ready for bed, she’s surprised as hell when he stops her from pulling one of his t-shirts—her typical sleepwear—over her head. She sets it down, arches her brow, and he guides her back onto the bed with a grin and puts his hands on her hips.

“What’s happening right now?” she asks, because before Mia, sure, Aaron would treat her to all manner of orgasm-inducing behavior at random, and she would do the same, but since Mia—especially in the last six months or so—their sexual encounters have been few and far between. It’s no one’s fault, and they’re both very clearly still attracted to each other; it’s just one of those things that falls by the wayside when you have a new baby and a hectic life and you don’t get enough sleep.

Needless to say, she is a little confused by this turn of events.

“I’m attempting to worship my gorgeous fucking wife,” he murmurs, and he leans up and kisses her stomach, licks a long line up from her belly button. Her breath hitches. “Gonna put another little baby in here—but it’s always beautiful.” He slowly moves his lips higher, over her ribcage, and holds her there. “You’re perfect, you know?”

“Aaron.” Her fingers come up to sweep through his hair; her heart aches with love and tenderness. He moves up, presses open-mouthed kisses to each of her breasts, then covers them with his hands and squeezes. She’s a panting, dripping mess, and more than anything she wants to strip him naked, pull him closer, get him inside her.

“I love you just as you are; I want you just as you are. Always have, always will.” He smooths his hands up over her throat, and brings her mouth to his for a deep, soulful kiss. She hadn’t even realized she’s been feeling repressed, but his touch tonight makes her feel so beautiful and special… It's incredible how close she is from only that.

“Make love to me,” she whispers, and he kisses her again, but then he slides back down her body.

“Want to taste you,” he says instead, and he gets his hands on her hips again and his mouth on her pussy, looks up at her while he licks and sucks like he’s gone without for ages—which he has, she figures, but it’s blowing her mind, her fingers scratching at the sheets, her neck arched. He massages her hips as his tongue works, as he grinds against the bed, and she comes with a whimper, because her body is so overwhelmed by how good she feels that she can’t even properly vocalize it.

Aaron comes up, just a little, rests his head on her stomach, and she smooths her hands over his hair and his shoulders, since that’s all she can reach.

“Come up and let me touch you—or you can come inside me.” She will happily take either option, but he just kisses her belly and shakes his head.

“No, I’m good. Just really tired.” She frowns, can’t recall a time in her life when they didn’t both get off during sex; he catches her expression and runs his hands up her body. “Really, I’m okay. I just wanted to do that before I passed out.” He smiles, and she doesn’t like it, but he climbs off of her and goes to the bathroom, and she pulls on the t-shirt and crawls into bed. Two days later, she’s sitting in her office grading tests when she hears a knock at the door. She looks up, and it’s Aaron, of course, looking so gorgeous in a black polo and jeans.

“Hey, what are you doing here? Where’s Mia?” she asks with a smile. He leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“She’s with her Aunt Penelope for a few hours.”

“Why? Is everything okay?” Penelope is at work, she knows, because she texted her earlier about something unrelated and she’d mentioned that she and Spencer were having coffee and that he said hello.

“Everything‘s fine,” he assures her, and he enters the room fully, closes the door behind him… and locks it. “Can’t your husband come visit you during your super secret not-really-office-hours?” She raises an eyebrow, both at his question and the fact that he locked the door. What exactly is he planning to do, she wonders?

“You can, but you don’t. I guess I’m just surprised.”

“Well today I decided to. I missed you so much.” He walks around her desk and leans over her for a couple of kisses. “Have you missed me?” She rolls her eyes, smiles.

“Of course I missed you. I miss you every second I’m away from you.” She reaches out, wants to hug him, pull him closer, but he takes a step back and crooks his finger, encouraging her to follow him.

He’s being really weird, but he’s also being really hot. She decides to play along.

She stands, walks over to him, and he carefully clears a spot on her desk, knows she has a system and doesn’t like a mess; when she’s within reach, he puts his hands on her waist and lifts her up onto it, her ass where a stack of tests had just been. Fuck.

“I want to get this dress off of you,” he says, voice low, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses her, rough and deep. “Can I take it off, baby? Can I make you come?”

Everything is happening so fast her head is spinning—it’s not like him to just show up at her office, to try to have sex with her there, especially when their dry spell has been, up until recently, like the damn Sahara.

He must sense her confusion, her apprehension, because he kisses slowly along the side of her throat, down the v-neck of her dress, making her eyelids flutter.

“The door’s locked, and no one even knows we’re in here. Can I take it off?” She pants, thinks about this for a second, but then he slides a hand over her thigh, pushing her skirt up, and she gets a little distracted. She nods, and he kisses her hard and unties the sash of her wrap dress, pushes it off her shoulders. She’s glad she wore a matching set of bra and panties, because this is like prime fantasy material and she wants to try to remember every detail.

He kisses her mouth, soft and sweet, then tugs the straps of her bra down her shoulders, pulls the cups down so her breasts fall out of them. She moans, a little startled, and he dips his head to mouth at her nipples, rests one hand on her lower back and one on her stomach—probably because she looks like she’s about to slide off the desk and onto the floor like a blob of jelly. She knows that’s how she feels.

When he’s gotten her thoroughly worked up, almost trembling with the need for more, he pushes her panties aside and presses a finger into her, and she whimpers, wraps her hand around his neck for support when he starts to pump it deeply inside.

“What has gotten into you?” she breathes, and her hips chase the pleasure he brings; the hand on her back moves to her ass, squeezes it.

“I love you and I want you. I want to make you happy, I want you to feel good.”

“Me—me too,” she gasps as he moves faster, staring right into his eyes. “I love you, want you. Want to make you happy, feel good.” She cards her fingers through his hair and stretches for a desperate, eager kiss. “I want you so badly, baby, please.”

“I’m right here. You have me,” he murmurs, but that’s not what she means and he has to know it. Just in case he doesn’t, though, she makes herself loud and clear; relationships are all about communication, after all.

“I want you to put your cock in my pussy, I want you to come in me. I want you to fucking ruin me, Aaron, I want you to shove your dick in me and keep shoving.” She sounds unhinged, but she can’t stop.

He adds a second finger—not what she wants—and roughly gropes her breast—it feels so good, but it’s not what she wants. Why won’t he give her what she wants?

“Shh, just come on my hand, it’s okay. I’ll fuck you later, in our bed, baby,” he promises. “Just come now, okay? Right here, right now for me.”

She does, because even if he’s being unnecessarily aggravating, it’s still Aaron. She’s desperate for him, always has been, always will be. She comes loud and high and she clutches him tightly and he kisses her and coos words of love and affection into her ear. She gets cleaned up, and they go for lunch, and they can’t take their eyes off each other.

Something’s very wrong, and she can’t quite put her finger on it.

That evening when she gets home, Aaron is feeling guilty. She’s not sure why, but he’s executing all of his patented guilty trademark behaviors: he offers her a glass of wine, runs her a bath, rubs her feet, even though he’s been the one home with the baby all day. She’s tempted to ask if he’s cheating on her, as a joke, but that’s never funny, especially when she knows he’s being shifty and weird about something.

When they’re laying in bed, he sets down his book and looks over at her.

“I meant to tell you, Haley isn’t able to take Mia tomorrow. Maybe the weekend after, we can have our special alone time.” She won’t say she’s not disappointed, but she doesn’t want to inconvenience Haley, when she’s already being so great. She smiles softly, covers his hand with hers.

“That’s okay. It was short notice, anyway. I’ll still enjoy my weekend, with you and Mia.” He smiles too, but it doesn’t quite touch his eyes.

The kids sleep through the night, but she doesn’t. On Friday, she picks Jack up from school and takes him to Haley’s, who sends him to wash up so she can make him a snack. When he’s gone, she smiles warmly and invites her into the kitchen for coffee; she takes a cup, and they make pleasant small talk like they always do.

“Are you sure you don’t want to bring Mia over?” Haley asks after a few minutes. It sounds like she’s double checking. “It’s really no trouble.” She frowns, sets her cup down.

“I thought you weren’t able to watch Mia this weekend. I thought… I thought that’s what Aaron said. I must have misunderstood him.” That’s the only logical conclusion, because Aaron wouldn’t lie to her. He wouldn’t.

“He was being a little weird on the phone the other day. He asked me if I would watch her, and I said yes. He told me about your plans,” she says with raised eyebrows, “and then I told him, you know. That he better treat you right, because you just had a baby not that long ago and you might be a little self-conscious about jumping back into the sack like that; not that you should be, because you look amazing.” She racks her brain for the first time he started acting strangely, pulling away from her, and it would have been after his conversation with Haley. She asks, just to confirm.

“Is that when he got weird?”

“Actually yeah. He changed his mind, said you might not need me to watch her after all, but I told him the offer stood. He was pretty quick to get off the phone after that.” She would sip her coffee, but she’s pretty sure her hands are shaking. Why would he lie about that?

“You know, I should go. I’m sure Aaron’s pulling his hair out with her, she’s been a devil today. Tell Jack I love him and I’ll talk to him tonight, will you?”

“Of course. If you change your mind about Mia, just let me know,” Haley says, and she gets into her car with tears stinging her eyes.

When she gets home, Aaron is playing with Mia on the living room floor. He looks up at her with a smile that abruptly falls when he takes in her facial expression.

“What’s wrong?” She composes herself, takes a deep breath. They vowed a long time ago not to argue in front of Jack or Mia. She tries to sound conversational.

“You lied to me. You said Haley couldn’t take Mia this weekend.” He swallows and looks properly guilty. She’s not sure how he was able to lie to her in the first place; he’s never been any good at it.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I just didn’t know how to say it.” She looks up, shakes her head, wills her eyes not to water while she’s trying to have this conversation.

“You didn’t know how to say what? What is it that’s made you distance yourself from me?” She recalls him physically pulling away, then doing a complete 180 and initiating sex, but never penetrative sex, never letting her touch him or return the favor in any way. “Haley told me about your conversation. So do you think I’m unhappy with my body, or are you unhappy with my body?” He has the nerve to look confused, gets Mia set up with some toys she can play with safely on her own and stands up, comes close to her. She’s not sure she even wants his touch right now, which is saying something; when she’s unhappy, that’s usually all she wants.

“Neither of those things. I swear to god. I love you and I love your body; you’re so beautiful. Too beautiful for me, you always have been.” He’s looking down at her so seriously, and she wants so badly to believe him, but how could she, when faced with the evidence?

“Okay. If it’s neither of those things…” Her voice is small when she says the one option that hurts her most. “Did you change your mind? Do you not want to have another baby with me?” He sighs, deflates, and she takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“No, listen to me. It’s not that I don’t want that; I want that more than anything, but it will… further complicate, things...” He trails off, and she tries to follow what he’s saying. “The problem isn’t you in any way. It’s me.” She huffs, squeezes her eyes briefly shut.

“You? How can it be you, when you’ve been the only man to catch my eye for years? From the moment you set foot on my campus looking for your bad guy, I’ve been attracted to you, aroused by you, wrapped around your finger. You’re so perfect for me: perfect husband, perfect dad, perfect lover. My best friend. Never a day has gone by where I haven’t wanted you.” He wets his lips, sighs.

“Surely you’ve noticed that since I quit my job and started staying home with Mia, I… I don’t look the same. I’ve… let myself go.” His brows are deeply furrowed, and he’s clearly struggling with this; she reaches for him, no longer angry—at least for the time being—puts a hand on his arm.

“I’ve noticed that you don’t quite look the same. Doesn’t mean you’ve ‘let yourself go,’ or that I’m not still attracted to you; you just have a dad bod now instead of an ‘FBI guy who punches people for a living’ bod.” Her other hand hovers, then comes to rest on his stomach, and she smiles. “I’m actually really into the way you look now. I’ve been fantasizing about it for ages. I wish I’d known you were feeling self-conscious.”

“I’m not used to feeling… self-conscious, vulnerable,” he breathes, but he presses into her touch, so she considers that a good thing. “I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“I get that baby, I do, but this is me. I would have done anything I could to make you feel better. You didn’t have to hide it from me. You didn’t have to lie. We could have talked about it.” She moves the hand on his arm to his face, guides him down for a loving kiss. “We’re equally to blame, because I know you haven’t been getting good sleep, and I know you barely have time for yourself, and I didn’t step in; but you never let me help. If roles were reversed, and it was me staying home with Mia, you would never expect me to do all the cooking and cleaning and homework and bath time without your help. So you need to let me help, Aaron, please.” She looks up at him, eyes warm and sincere, and he nods, bends to press a kiss to her lips.

“I’m sorry. I still don’t feel great about… myself, but maybe I could. If I let you help. If I took some time for me.” She nods and wraps her arms around him—finally—for a hug.

“I love you so much. Just like this. Big, cuddly papa bear, taking care of our babies, making our home a safe and happy place for them. How could I not love the body that brings me so much happiness? That makes me excited to get in my car and come home at the end of every day?”

They kiss some more, deep, healing kisses and soft, sweet kisses, but she doesn’t get distracted by them. She’s very focused, caresses him and brushes loving fingertips over his chest and arms and sides. But speaking of distractions…

“Were you doing all those sexy things to try to distract me from wanting you to get all up on me?” she asks, pulling back, and at least he has the decency to flush.

“Kind of? I figured if it was sex you wanted, you’d be happy to get off however it happened; it was great for me too, don’t get me wrong, I just didn’t really want to be touched, feeling the way I felt.” She frowns, rests her head against his chest and holds him tighter.

“That makes me sad. What I wanted was an intimate moment with my husband, and while yes, what you did for me was great, because you’re super hot and very capable,” she says, leaning back in his embrace with a soft smile, “it’s not what I’ve been wanting. I want you all naked and sweaty and heavy on top of me, going to pound town.” He presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows.

“Pound town? What are you, twelve?” She grins, shoves his chest, and he laughs.

“I’m surrounded by college kids all day, please forgive me. I think it got my message across though.” She touches his cheek, looks up into his eyes, and sighs. “Can we take Mia over to Haley’s and give it a shot? I’ll do anything to make you feel happy and comfortable, any position that makes you feel better—though what I’d really like most, if you’ll trust me, is to suck your dick, and then hop on your dick, and then later when we’re ready to go again, we do the pound town thing and make another goddamn baby.”

She’s so serious, and he looks so serious, and then he kisses her and says yes and they pack up their kid and take her to his ex-wife’s so they can get it on, which sounds so much crazier than it actually is. She gets him out of his clothes, doesn’t move slow or spend lots of time focusing on what he thinks are flaws; instead, she proves how desirable he is by practically tearing his pants off and pushing him against the bed and swallowing around his dick just so she can hear all those delicious moans she’s been missing.

After that, she rides him hard, kisses him harder, plants her hands on his chest and stomach and moans and groans against his mouth. “So fucking hot, seriously so fucking hot, Aaron—if I saw you across the room today I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing, I would still pursue you, I’d make you blush like I did back then. I’d be so forward because I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about how good this would feel.”

She’s rocking his world, no doubt about that; it’s written all over his face, in the hardness of his hands on her hips as she grinds down on his cock, in the way his chest is heaving despite not actually doing any of the work at all. He comes first, and then rubs her clit while she continues to fuck him until she finds her own orgasm; she scratches her nails down his stomach, and he leans up and grabs her face for a rough, perfect kiss.

They take a break, cuddling and kissing and enjoying the feel of bare skin, comfy bed, soft lips. Aaron touches her cheek, tells her how much he loves and appreciates her.

“I’m so sorry I’ve been keeping this inside, and not being truthful. It’s hard, when you’re as perfect as the day I met you, and I’m…” She presses a finger to his lips, shushes him, kisses him.

“You’re as perfect as the day I met you, too. More perfect, even, because every day since then you’ve chosen me, and our family. I could not ask for a better man. Simply could not, Aaron. And if you want me to come home early so you can go to the park to run, or to the gym, then that’s what I'll do, but if you look like you do right now, forever, I’ll be happy with that too. Whatever makes you happy.”

They snuggle and kiss and talk and laugh, and then laughing becomes sex in that way everything becomes sex when you’re genuinely obsessed with the person in your bed.

He gets her on her back, kisses all over, teases her—“mmm, rubbing your kitty, baby, how does it feel?”—and then puts her legs over his shoulders, plants his hands, and fucks, taking every ounce of his pent-up frustration out on her, and it’s incredible.

“Yes, Aaron, yes, baby, oh, god.” Her head is thrown back, and she’s torn between laughing, because she’s been wanting this for months and it’s exactly as awesome as she’d dreamed it would be, and crying, because she fucking loves him, so much it puts a lump in her throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, speeds up, sweaty and gorgeous and smiling. “You’re going to come with me—not just for me, but with me, so my come gets deep inside, so it works and we get another perfect baby who never lets us fucking sleep.” She nods frantically, presses her hips against his, and it’s not simultaneous, but it’s a near damn thing, when they both come groaning each other’s names. A little less than a year later, they have Mason. Aaron is at home in his dad bod, Mia doesn’t cry at naptime, Jack is still a menace in the mornings, and their perfect little family got a little more perfect. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul

[lord-explosion-baku]

Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.  

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards  the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

[your-nerd-is-showing]

I should have just made a damn fanfic of this Headcannon it's long enough! Lmao.

Enjoy

Satoru X Reader: Losing Virginity

Credit to artist on Twitter

~ Can you say cocky mother fucker?

~ Dating Satoru you have already done everything but have sex and damnit he is more than ready to have sex with you!

~ He made you go on birth control because he plans on being very sexually active with you.

~ Plus he HATES condoms.

~ The two of you have been dating for a while now and he has been bugging you to have sex all the time.

~ You finally give in and say yes.

~ You're pretty sure Satoru has told almost everyone that you finally said yes to having sex with him.

~ Tonight is going to be amazing so be prepared for a long night of wild sex.

~ Even though he hasn’t had sex you best believe he knows what he is doing.

~ Being ‘The Worlds Strongest Sorcerer' he has amazing stamina.

~ He is convinced he will be able to last for a long time and fuck you into oblivion. (But he doesn’t know just how tight and juicy your pussy really is)

~ He takes you out on an amazing date to a very fancy restaurant for dinner and a romantic walk through the Park.

~ You and Satoru go back to his place to ‘watch a movie'.

~ Satoru just picks something really random because honestly he doesn’t give a shit.

~ He lays down on the bed next to you.

~ Before the movie has even started he is slipping his hand up your dress grabbing at your ass and making out with you.

~ Fuck you can’t resist Satoru he is so gorgeous.

~ You would let him do just about anything to you.

~ That's one of the many reasons why he loves dating you, you aren’t one to move slow. (I mean who could say no to Satoru?) ((I would be in that mans bed within like 5 minutes))

~ He starts taking off your dress as you straddle him taking off his shirt.

~ You always get so turned on when you see Satoru shirtless.

~ That gorgeous God-like body.

~ A eight pack that you just wanna bury your face in and lick. (Shut up this is my headcannon and I would lick those abs!)

~ He bucks his hips against your lace panties driving you insane as you let out a loud moan.

~ He smirks and snaps his hips again as he is getting harder by the second.

~ He unhooks your bra burying his face in your boobs he licks and bites them all over marking you, making you whimper.

~ He knows every way to get you turned on.

~ It’s a blessing and a curse because you’re always a puddle in his hands.

~ He looks at you fire gleaming in his eyes as he grabs you pinning you to the bed, he growls at you nipping your neck.

~ Satoru leaves steamy kisses down between your breasts trailing his lips showering your stomach in kisses as he makes his way between your legs.

~ Slowly he rubs outside your panties massaging your clit with his thumb.

~ “F-fuck Sa-to-ru!” You moan out.

~ You’re completely under his control as he pushes his palm against your pussy making your hips buck uncontrollably.

~ “That’s a good girl, I love the way you respond when I touch you, you submit to me so willingly (Y/N).” He leans into your ear.

~ “I have you whipped baby girl and I love it.” He bites your neck as he slips his hand in your panties.

~ “God damn you are soaking wet (Y/N).” He pulls his hand out of your panties showing you his hand completely covered in your juices. (Like I said a fucking puddle)

~ He licks your juices off his hand.

~ “Oops.” You say not so innocently. “What can I say you turn me on so much Satoru.” (But who wouldn’t be that way like seriously!)

~ Satoru's hand travels back down into your panties.

~ Inserting two fingers making you moan out as the thrusts them in and out of you.

~ He kisses you one last time before trailing his lips down your torso again, making you shudder.

~ He nips and kisses your inner thighs while he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you.

~ Every little touch is leaving you breathless as he works up every part of you.

~ He wants to make your body beg for him.

~ He finally decides to take your panties off tossing them on the floor.

~ He pulls back marveling at how beautiful you are right now. (He always does this when he gets you completely naked he worships your body)

~ To him you are perfect in every way possible.

~ He loves to lightly touch your most sensitive parts making you squirm beneath him. (Like lightly run his fingers down your sides or gently grab at your butt, it drives you mad how just a simple touch turns you on so much)

~ He finally goes down on you encircling his mouth around your clit as he fingers you again.

~ Instantly you cum squirting into his mouth.

~ He keeps licking your clit getting every last drop from you.

~ “Satoruuuuuu!” You cry out in pleasure as you grind on his face, tugging on his soft white hair.

~ Your head rolls back into the mattress as he continues to finger you going deeper with every push.

~ He nips at your clit making you squirt again.

~ “F-fuck Sa-to-ruuuuu!” You cry out in pleasure.

~ He finally comes up with a huge smirk plastered to that gorgeous face.

~ “I think that is the wettest I have ever made you baby.” He says smugly before he kisses you deeply.

~ He bucks his hips pushing his bulge against your wetness.

~ Your hands move down tearing his pants and boxers down.

~ He gently rubs his tip at your slit teasing you. (This man could edge you on for hours without even realizing what he is doing to you (yet))

~ You moan out as he continues to tease you making your body tremble beneath him.

~ “You don’t get him quite yet baby girl.” He whispers into your ear slipping just the tip in.

~ “You’re so meannnnn!” You wine out as you smack his arm.

~ “Don’t worry love he will be in you soon enough, but first” He traces your lips with his thumb. “I want you to use that amazing mouth on him.”

~ He stands up and you get on your knees.

~ You lick the pre-cum off slowly sucking the tip as you look up at him. (That turns him on so much when you look him in the eye while sucking his dick)

~ You keep looking at him as you deep throat his entire length taking him by surprise. (He's not the only one giving it their all tonight)

~ You continue to lick and suck deep throating him every so often making him as hard as a rock.

~ “F-fuck (Y-Y/N-N).” He moans out as you go faster while you play with his balls.

~ You suck him for a while, he finally pulls you off.

~ “Baby girl I could have you suck him all night, but I want you so badly now.” He says eagerly as he throws you on the bed.

~ You wrap your legs around Satoru. “I’m ready for you to take me Satoru.” You whisper into his ear.

~ He has made sure over the past few months as the two of you have explored each other that you were ready for tonight because you knew Satoru wasn’t going to be gentle, but you want it that way.

~ He kisses you passionately as he slips in.

~ Moaning into your mouth as he fits inside you feeling the tightness of your pussy makes him shudder.

~ His kisses go from long and passionate to sloppy and needy as he snaps his hips into you.

~ He didn’t realize just how good you would feel on his cock.

~ He feels like he is losing himself as his kisses become more and more sloppy.

~ Satoru is completely lost in your pussy.

~ His thrusts are erratic and slow because he feels like he is going to cum already.

~ He finally catches himself and starts fucking you hard.

~ “F-fuck you’re so tight, baby you feel so good on him…. I almost lost myself in your amazing pussy (Y/N).”

~ “Sa-to-ru! Just like that oh-oh my God fuck that feels so goooooooooood!” You moan out as he pounds into you.

~ “Yeah? You like that baby?” He asks as he lifts your legs up in the air going even deeper inside you.

~ “Take him all this dick is all for you!” He shouts out as he rails you.

~ “F-fuck Sa-Satoruuuuu I'm-I'm cuuuuummmmiiiiiinnnnnggggggg!” You moan out as your pussy sucks his cock in squirting all over the two of you.

~ “I want you to ride him baby girl.” E says as he pulls out and lays down on the bed.

~ In a flash you’re on top of him rubbing your clit on his cock making him moan out.

~ “Ohhhhhh f-fuck (Y-Y/N-N) you naughty girl teasing me like this.” He says looking down at your soaking core as you squirt all over him.

~ “Baby please put him back in…. He’s getting cold.” Satoru begs you. “He needs to be inside you.”

~ You smirk at him. “Of course baby because you asked so nicely….. Just answer one question for me, okay?” You say as you buck your hips making your slit rub all over his cock.

~ “Yes I’ll do anything!” He moans out.

~ “That’s a good Satoru.” You lean into his neck. “Do I have you pussy whipped already my dear Satoru?” You ask him as you mount him.

~ “YESSSSSSS!” He moans out as you slam down on his cock making it echo.

~ “I love your pussy so much (Y/N)! I-I can’t get enough of her!” He wails out gripping your sides as he snaps his hips into you.

~ “F-fuck Sa-to-ruuuuuuuu!” You scream out as you bounce up and down on him.

~ Mr. Cocky is losing his cool as he pounds deeper and deeper into you, your tight pussy is just too much for him.

~ He's going to cum any minute now.

~ His deep thrusts are slowing down.

~ “Are you going to cum for me baby?” You say in a sultry voice as you run your finger down his chest making him shiver.

~ With one final snap of his hips he thrusts deep into you cumming.

~ Your pussy clenches around his throbbing cock as you release your final orgasm.

~ You collapse on his chest still connected to him your breathing heavy as you find his lips wrapping your arms around his neck pulling him in for a deep passionate kiss.

~ You lay there in stillness holding each other close.

~ Finally you catch your breath. “Satoru baby that was absolutely amazing!”

~ He rolls you over so he is on top of you.

~ He leans into your neck. “Yes it was my love.”

~ You fell his member become hard again as he bucks his hips.

~ “Are you ready for round two?” He asks smugly.

@mguqiis @ivorylyon @sassyeahhhh

[css1992]

I absolutely love all of your stories and was hoping to give you a prompt! I haven’t seen you write Tony or Peter as superheroes, but I would love a story where the team goes on a mission that goes wrong and they think Peter is dead. A few months pass, and Spider-Man pops up in a different color costume next to a big baddie (Quentin? Rumlow? Whoever it is def has a crush or Peter lmao). If you can’t write the prompt, no worries.❤️

(...)

“Thank you so much for taking my prompt omgggg! To answer your question, Spider-Man pops up as a baddie, and he works with/for another baddie”

You’re too sweet and kind, my dear, thank you so much! I’m so sorry this took so long, something happened in my personal life and I was too heartbroken for love stories for a while there hahaha Everything’s fine now. I hope you’re still out there to read this and I really hope you enjoy it! <3

[*]

This takes place a few years after Civil War.  A few details were changed – Peter was recruited at 18, while attending MIT; Endgame never happened, they defeated Thanos in Titan; Tony and Pepper never got back together after their break-up somewhere between IM3 and CACW.

TW: Mentions of blood, alcoholism, grief and death. I guess that’s it, let me know if you find anything else triggering!

[*]

“It’s him.” Tony stood there paralyzed, staring at the hologram projected from Nat’s phone, heart pounding, ears ringing. “It’s him,” he repeated, running his hands through his hair, trying to get a hold of himself, trying to make sense of what was happening, of what he was seeing. It was too surreal – impossible! – he had to be hallucinating. Right? Maybe dreaming? Had he drunk himself into a stupor again? Had he finally gone mad?

It was a regular day, Tony had been down in the lab for an unknown number of hours when Friday announced Steve, Nat and Bruce were at the door, which was unusual. Usually, they’d visit one at a time, an unspoken agreement not to overwhelm the engineer, but that particular day they all marched into his house saying that he needed to see something. He was too exhausted to tell them to fuck off, so he just poured himself a drink and shrugged, gesturing towards the living room.

Nat proceeded to project a video from her StarkPhone and what he saw took away the ground from beneath his feet. He tried to sit down, but he didn’t make it to the couch, his legs were not responding, he fell on his butt in the middle of the living room. The blood felt like ice in his veins, his throat was closing up, his eyes were burning and his hands were shaking so fucking badly. He was boneless and petrified all of a sudden, as he watched him swing from building to building on his webs, a black and white blur.

Peter.

He felt Steve and Bruce on either side of him, trying to help him up, but he didn’t take his eyes off of the projection. It was him. My Peter, you’re back, you came back to me, you’re okay, you’re alive–

“Tony, it’s not him.” Steve’s voice brought him back to the real world, and he looked around. Natasha and Bruce both stared at him with worry in their eyes, like they agreed with Steve.

“What, are you fucking insane? Of course it’s him!” His voice was firm, angry, even though his hand was shaking when he pointed at the hologram, to the short video that kept replaying on a loop.

“Tony, he robbed a bank. He put civilians at risk. How could you think this is Peter? Are you insane? Don’t you know him? Look, we had to show you this because it’s going to be all over the news soon and whoever this is, they’re trying to tarnish Peter’s memory and we can’t allow it, but this – this isn’t him, Tony. I’m sorry.”

The older man stopped for a second, taking a deep breath. Was he going insane? Was he seeing things, was his mind playing tricks on him again? It wouldn’t be the first time in the last few months. He focused on the images. The bank’s alarm was sounding loudly, as people started running wildly out the front door. Seconds later, someone wearing a cape and a – helmet? Fish bowl? – on their head walked out, then finally him.

Not him, Steve said, but how could it be anyone else, when Tony could clearly see it was Peter gracefully swinging around on the webs. Not him, Steve said, but how could it not be him when Tony recognized every inch of his body? The long neck, the narrow, yet strong shoulders, thin waist, round ass, strong thighs, small feet, long hands and thin, wiry arms. How could it not be him when Tony could recognize the way he moved, the way he leaped and landed effortlessly, the grace with which he swung back and forth?

“It’s him, Steve.” Even as the words left his mouth, his eyes were fixed on the boy in the video. The suit looked a lot like the one Tony made for him, but it was slightly different. Black, instead of blue. White, instead of red. But it was him. Alive and breathing. “It’s Peter, I know it is.”

***

It was supposed to be an easy mission. Even though it called for every Avenger in town, it was just a security measure, Steve told them. They intercepted a terrorist group communicating online, planning a coordinated attack on Stark Tower, the Avengers Compound and Times Square. They were professionals, but only human. They thought they’d be enough: Captain America, Black Widow, Iron Man, Spiderman, Winter Soldier and even the Hulk as a safety net.

In a way, they were sufficient. They were able to avoid the attack and arrest almost every single one of the terrorists that weren’t killed during the mission. But the cost was high – way too fucking high.

Peter.

Tony knew what happened the exact moment when it did. He knew there was no saving him when he opened his lips and tried to call out his name and instead of words, blood came out. Thick, dark blood. He saw the life leaving his eyes when he looked at him one last time, eyelids drooping and then closing. There was no saving him, Tony knew that, and yet he tried. He flew as fast as the suit would allow him, even though he had no idea what he would have done if he had reached him in time. Which he didn’t.

Peter disappeared before his eyes, along with the man who had put a knife through his heart. And not just any knife, not any metal would have been able to pierce the suit. It had to be vibranium. Whoever that man was, he knew that, maybe he had Peter in mind all along. The only thing Tony remembered about him were his wide, blue eyes. Cold and wild. The sadistic smile when he heard Tony’s wail of despair. Tony thought he knew him somehow, but couldn’t be sure.

They just disappeared. One second, they were there, right within his reach, the next, they were gone. He’d lost him. The person he’d sworn to protect at all costs, at the cost of his own damned life, but he was useless the moment Peter needed him the most. Gone. Disappeared before his eyes, Tony couldn’t even bring his body home.

He remembered crumbling to the ground, broken and unbelieving, staring at the empty space where Peter once stood.

“Tony...” Steve crouched down next to him, looking pained and devastated, and the older man broke down.

“I lost the kid, Steve. I lost him.”

He didn’t remember a lot of that day, he’d passed out drunk in his room for the first time in ten years, woke up hours later in the med bay with Steve, Rhodey and Pepper speaking in hushed voices. He didn’t care what they were saying, because the first thought he had when he opened his eyes was that he’d lost the love of his life. His Peter.

***

“Boss, I was able to acquire the footage from the bank’s security cameras.” Friday’s voice brought him back to the present and they all jumped up, all eyes turning to the huge screen facing the couch.

“Good girl, play it,” he answered quickly, taking a seat because he knew he would need it.

It started with a normal day in a bank, people walking around, standing in line, talking to each other, nothing out of the ordinary. Then the guy they’d seen leaving the bank in the other video – Fish-bowl-guy – appeared out of nowhere, levitating above the patrons, slowly floating down.

“My fellow citizens, do not fret, I mean you no harm.” Of course, New Yorkers wouldn’t take his word for it, not after everything they had gone through over the course of the last decade. People started screaming and running, trying to get to the exit, but Peter stood there by the door. When they tried to push through him, he webbed some of them to the walls and the others froze, slowly stepping away from him. “This will all be over soon, I promise.”

Fish-bowl-guy demanded the tellers filled bags with money from their drawers as Peter guarded the exit. He didn’t say anything and it was driving Tony crazy, because he was dying to hear him. Both because he wanted Friday to run the audio through a voice recognition software to prove once and for all that it was him, but also because for six months he hadn’t been able to even look at pictures of Peter, let alone hear his voicemails or watch his silly videos. And he had several of them, the younger man sent him at least a video a day – his daily vlogs, he called them – even if they were just in different rooms.

But Peter didn’t say anything, he just stood by the door as Fish-bowl-guy talked to the patrons.

“I know we seem like the bad guys right now, but I promise you, we’re not. We’re the heroes here, really,” He started, overlooking the tellers as they filled the bags with cash. “We’re here to take the city back from those who took it from us. You know what I’m talking about, right?” The man looked at the patrons as if he was expecting an answer, but no one said a word. “Tony Stark and his little army. He took over his daddy’s empire, now he thinks he can just take anything and claim as his own. He’s done it to this city, even if some people haven’t realized it yet. We’re his hostages. He built himself an army and they control this city, the country, even! They fake threats and then come to ‘save us’, they destroy our homes, they kill our loved ones, they don’t care about collateral damage! Some of us have lost everything, because of Tony fucking Stark and his minions. But it will all be over soon, I promise you. I will set you free.”

He took the twelve bags full of money that the tellers placed on the counter and gestured for Peter to come closer and the young man webbed his way to him, until he was standing by his side. That was the moment people started running out of the bank, the moment they saw from another point of view in the other video. As they watched people leaving, Fish-bowl-guy placed an arm around Peter’s shoulders, pulling him close in a very friendly way, it made Tony’s blood boil and his heart sink.

“You’re doing great, honey. You’re doing the right thing. Come on, now.” He stroked his shoulder softly then walked outside, followed closely by Peter and then the video was over.

The room was silent for a few seconds after that as they tried to understand what they’d just seen. Tony didn’t want to read too much into it, Peter was clearly not in his right mind if he was robbing a bank, but still – the guy called him honey. He was… comforting him. And Peter let him.

“We have to find him.” Tony quickly ordered Friday to do a thorough search on the web, check surveillance cameras all over New York, police database, anything that could give them a clue on  where they might have escaped to – or where they had come from. The news said they were followed by the police for a few blocks, then they simply disappeared before their eyes. It brought back terrible memories.

“Yes, we do, but not for the reasons you want, Tony.” Bruce frowned, coming to stand next to his friend. “You have to agree this – it’s just not possible. Peter is dead, he would never –“

“Then where’s his body, Bruce? Huh? Can any of you answer me that?” He looked around the room and they all avoided his gaze, as if worried they’d break him if they dared to say what they thought. “He disappeared. Right before my eyes, Bruce. Friday couldn’t connect to Karen, we have no idea what could have happened after that.”

“Tony, his heart was pierced.” It was Natasha’s turn to try. Tony could see it was hard for her too, she had a soft spot for Peter, from the very first time Tony recruited him, when he was still an eighteen year-old kid. “He couldn’t possibly –“

“He was enhanced!” He yelled, annoyed they were all so ready to discard the possibility that the person in the video could be Peter when it very clearly was. “Is! He is enhanced! I was never able to measure just how far his healing factor went, Friday could only estimate with the amount of information we had at the time, but clearly–“

“Tony, listen–“

“No, you listen! You listen to me, okay? That’s my fiance! I’m telling you this, that is the man I love, the man I sworn to protect and then abandoned for six fucking months assuming he was dead, when I didn’t even try to look for him! I just fucking drank my days away when I could be looking for him and now he needs my fucking help! So you can either help me find him, or you can fuck the fuck off, ok?” He was breathless by the time he was done, and they all looked at him like he’d gone insane for good.

“What do you suppose happened?” Steve asked quietly, and Tony frowned. “What do you think could have happened in these past few months that would turn Peter into that?” He pointed at the screen. “If he was alive this whole time, why not look for you?”

“I don’t know, Steve, we’ll have to ask him.” Truth was, Tony was terrified of the answers to those questions. He couldn’t think about it at that moment, he had to find him first. “What happened to Barnes? You of all people –“ He didn’t need to finish the sentence, couldn’t. He sighed and Steve flinched, eyes growing wide as the familiarity of the situation seemed to dawn on him. “Do you think you could’ve mistaken him for someone else? Ever?” Tony’s eyes were burning, but he didn’t shed a tear, he didn’t have time for tears. He needed to find him.

Steve was stunned silent after that, watching Tony with huge, watery eyes.

“Tony, we just don’t want you to get hurt,” Bruce intervened again, approaching him carefully. “We don’t want you to go through the pain of losing him again in case...”

“It’s doesn’t get any worse than this, Bruce,” Tony sighed, because he knew that nothing could hurt more than the thought that he’d failed Peter. That he didn’t try to look for him. That Peter had been held captive by a fucking terrorist organization for six months because he was too drunk to get out of bed and fucking try to look for him. Because he just lost hope and never thought Peter might be out there, waiting for him to come, to save him. “There’s nowhere else to go but up, from where I’m standing.”

Nobody said anything else after that, but later that day he got a message from Steve saying they would find Peter.

***

He was in the hospital for three days after Peter’s death. He was a fifty-year-old man with a shitty heart, after all. He was sedated for most of it, whenever he woke up he was so out of his mind with grief that they put him right back to sleep. When he was finally able to go home, he insisted he was left alone, but to calm Pepper and Rhodey down, he activated Friday’s babysitter protocol. It was Peter’s creation. It would let them know if Tony wasn’t eating well, or if he harmed himself in any way. If he tried to deactivate it, it would notify them immediately.

So he was left alone, at least most of the time. He spent his days in the lab, drinking, working, crying, thinking. The memories came and went unsolicited, specially when Tony was too out of it to control them. Suddenly, he’d be back in the boy’s dorm room in Boston, looking at that ridiculous onesie that he hid in a box of books under his bed, watching him stutter as he tried to explain it was just a cosplay.

“A cosplay of some dude who does stunts on Youtube?” Tony raised a brow, amused, and Peter’s face grew red as he scrunched up his nose and frowned in annoyance.

“He’s not some dude doing stunts, he – he’s helping people!” He argued, taking the “suit” back from Tony’s hands and stuffing it under his tiny bed, before sitting on top of it.

“Sure, if you consider doing back flips for the camera helping people, then Spider-boy is doing great,” Tony shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets nonchalantly, only to watch him grow even more irritated.

“Man! Spider-man! And I don’t just do back flips, I– He...” He stuttered and Tony took pity on him. His expression softened and he sat next to him on the bed, feeling the tension coming in waves from him as he muttered a quiet “fuck” under his breath.

“Peter, I know. I know. Okay?” He clasped a hand on his shoulder and the young man looked at him with huge, round eyes. Scared. Unsure. “I’ve been watching you for years. Your secret is safe with me. I’m not here to expose you.”

“Then why are you here?” He raised a brow and Tony took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts.

“I kinda picked up a fight with Captain America about signing some papers and then he met this friend who was supposed to be dead, like, eighty years ago, but is somehow alive and possibly a mass murderer? Now I need all the help I can get to fix it.” He winced and watched the boy’s face for his reaction, but he just raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

There was silence for a few seconds as Peter looked around the room, then back at Tony.

“So when do we leave?”

That was the thing about Peter. He trusted Tony blindingly, he never asked too many questions before jumping headfirst into whatever the older man proposed him. No matter how crazy, how inconsequential, how inappropriate. So he wasn’t too surprised when the boy said yes when he asked him out.

They had just arrived at the compound after Strange teleported them back from Titan, they hadn’t even showered yet, they were both covered in bruises and blood, but he looked at Peter and couldn’t help but think he could have lost him. They could have died, and he would have died without knowing the answer to the question that had been sitting at the back of his throat for months by then, which was–

“Yes,” Peter nodded, a faint blush taking over his dirty and bruised cheeks, and Tony blinked a few times.

“Don’t you want to think about that for a minute?” He asked, tilting his head to the side, and Peter frowned.

“Um, no? Why?”

“Because you’re twenty and I’m twenty-seven years your senior, kid.” It was terrifying to say that out loud. Peter was twenty. Tony was forty-seven. Twenty-seven years separated them. Tony was full grown man when Peter was swimming around in his father’s testicles.  

“You just asked me out, you can’t call me kid anymore, I’m sure that’s written in some rulebook somewhere.” Even though he was still blushing, he found it in himself to be sassy and annoying. Tony rolled his eyes playfully.

“Fair enough. So, should I call you later?” He pointed over his shoulder, signaling that he was going to his quarters to shower and rest for a few hours. Peter frowned.

“For what?”

“For your answer? About that date?” Peter just looked at him like he’d asked the most stupid question ever.

“I just said yes.” He said, raising an eyebrow, and Tony sighed.

“I thought we agreed you’d think harder about it.”

“Uh, no, you just chickened out for a second there, but my answer is still yes.” He shrugged with a playful smile on his lips and Tony gawked at him.

“I didn’t chic – ugh, you’re such a brat.”

“I’m sure brat is off-limits, too.” He winked, walking away towards his quarters.

Tony worried about their relationship – as did everyone else, specially their close friends and May. Peter was so young and, to make matters worse, he sort of worked for Tony. Ever since Germany, the older man paid him a hefty salary for being a part of the team – he was always on call, after all, and always trained at the compound whenever he was in New York.

But as it turned out, his worry was unnecessary. Although young, Peter was mature beyond his years and acted more like an adult than Tony did most of the time – they sort of met in the middle. As for the power imbalance, it actually felt like Peter was in control more often than not. It was subtle, though, Tony only noticed because Rhodey pointed it out once.

“That kid’s got you wrapped around his little finger.” He laughed into his beer bottle as he watched Peter walking away. Tony blinked, having a sip of the tea the younger man had just brought him. Peter was dead set on getting him on a healthier diet and tea was somehow involved. The young man insisted it would help with his sleeping schedule, so Tony just agreed, even though he thought most teas tasted like dirty water. “If he says jump, you ask how high.” Tony was going to argue, but then stopped himself. He tried to think of the last time he’d said no to Peter, the last time he’d denied him anything, but not a single memory came to mind. “I’m not judging, it’s a good look on you. Whipped boyfriend.”

Tony noticed, then, that he was. Whipped, that is. Peter was always telling him what to do – gently, of course, and always with his best interests at heart. And he listened, because, as it soon became apparent, Peter was usually right about most things. Tony was more practical, he was in charge in the lab, what with decades of experience over him, as well as in the battlefield, for the same reason. But when it came to their personal lives, Peter called the shots. And it was fine. It was good.  He felt loved and cared for like never before and he loved it. He loved Peter.

But he’d lost him.

And he couldn’t help but feeling guilty. It was his fault, had to be. He was in charge out there. He was supposed to look out for him in the field, he was supposed to keep him safe, bring him home alive and well, but he couldn’t even bring his fucking body back. He had nothing left of him but terrifying memories of cold, dead eyes and bloody lips trying to call out his name.

Days and weeks and months went by, but he barely noticed, barely left the tower anymore. He was vaguely aware of people coming and going – Pepper, to check on him from time to time; Rhodey, trying to get him out of the lab; Steve, with constant reports on what the Avengers were doing, as if he cared; Bruce, with excuses about projects he was working on; and Nat, for unclear reasons. They never asked him to suit up, though, not for anything. Not in a Tom Ford three-piece, not in Mark L. They just let him be. Which was good, it felt good to be forgotten up there in the workshop, which used to be their favorite place in the world.

Over those three years they’d been together, Tony had taken Peter everywhere – and he meant everywhere. A boy who had barely left Queens before he met Tony got to see so may different cities, so many different countries, even if just for one night sometimes, just for dinner, before they had to get back to their hectic lives.

But they always went back to their favorite place, Tony’s workshop, filled with so many memories it sometimes felt like it was haunted by their ghosts. Both of them. Because some part of Tony must have died with him and sometimes, when he got distracted, he saw them. Specially on the floor by the couch, that was too tiny for the two of them and Tony kept saying he was going to buy a bigger one, but for some reason he never did and they always ended up on the fluffy rug on the floor.

“You feel amazing,” Tony whispered as his fingers enveloped Peter’s hips, pulling him down lower, and the younger man moaned quietly and smiled as the words left Tony’s lips. He leaned forwards to kiss him as rocked his hips in a slow, lazy pace. “You are perfect, my love.”

“If you keep feeding my praise kink like that, I’m not gonna last two minutes here.” He laughed quietly against the older man’s lips, who sighed when he felt the boy’s muscles tightening around him.

“I won’t complain too much about it.” He tightened his grip on Peter’s hips when he sat back up and started moving up and down in a way he knew would drive the engineer insane. “You’re gonna kill this old man someday, I swear.”

“I really hope not, I kinda like him a little.”

And their ghosts giggled together and disappeared into thin air, like dust in the wind, and only a half-dead Tony remained with a glass of whiskey in hand, staring at the rug on the floor.

***

Friday was monitoring the press and the internet for any sign of Peter, but there was none to be found. For the first couple of days, Tony was restless, but hopeful. Peter had been missing for six months, there hadn’t been any sign of him for all of that time, so the fact that he appeared out of the blue that day meant that something had changed. He was sure he would show up again at any second.

As days went by, though, his hope started to dwindle. He grew desperate by the hour thinking that he would have to go another six months without seeing Peter, perhaps even longer – perhaps he’d never see him again. Sometimes he wondered if he was wrong, if that wasn’t even Peter in the video, if maybe he was really dead after all, but whenever he watched the video again he was sure of it. It was him.

So he couldn’t help but think that he had to be locked up somewhere. It brought back terrifying memories of those three months he spent in that cave in Afghanistan and how he never really recovered from that – he still had nightmares about it, twelve years later. Peter had been gone for six months, seventeen days, four hours and thirty-three minutes. And counting.

He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, the only thing he could think about was Peter, and the cave, and Barnes’s sessions with BARF, and Hydra’s brainwashing methods. He drove himself mad with all the possibilities of what could have happened to Peter – what might be happening right at that second as he waited for answers.

He’d been awake for almost sixty-two hours straight when it happened.

“I think you should see this, boss.” Friday’s voice interrupted the loud music and Tony frowned as he raised his eyes from his latest project – a new suit for Peter, one so sophisticated and impenetrable, not even vibranium could pierce through it. Friday wasn’t supposed to interrupt him unless the world was ending or she had news about Peter, Tony was very specific about that, so, yeah, he was a little freaked out when he heard her voice.

She showed him footage of Stark Tower’s security cameras, Tony’s heart almost stopped when he saw the boy sneaking in through a window, along with Fish-bowl-guy.

“He’s here.” He whispered to himself, unable to move for a second. His first instinct was to run to him, but he couldn’t be irresponsible, there were lots of people in the building, he couldn’t predict what could happen, so he had to take a few precautions. “Friday, where’s Pepper?”

“Miss Potts is not in the building, she’s caught in traffic a few miles away, boss.” Tony nodded to himself, taking a deep breath, then he started moving.

“Evacuate the building immediately, but don’t cause a panic, I don’t want them to know I know they’re here. Call Pepper, tell her to stay away. Where are they headed?” As he barked out orders, he watched Peter climb into the vents.

“They seem to be heading to the mainframe, boss.”

“Revoke Peter’s access to the systems,” Tony rushed to the elevator, the mainframe was situated right below his penthouse, it took up the whole floor and there was no way in or out other than the elevators and the air vents.

“Done, boss.”

Tony’s heart was beating wildly in his chest, filled with mixed feelings. He was going to see Peter for the first time in six months, after he literally rose from the dead – he’d gone to his funeral, for Christ’s sake – but it wouldn’t be a heartwarming reunion. He knew Peter wasn’t himself. Something had happened to him and he wasn’t okay, he was worried about what might happen, but the anxiety to see him again in person after so long was stronger than anything else.

He activated Mark L and when the door to the elevator opened, the room was quiet. It was huge, the light was low and blueish, there were at list seventeen rows of processors from one end of the room to the other, and Tony knew that at the very back, in a corner, there was a computer. He walked down the aisles quietly until he saw them. Peter had his back to him, but there was no mistaking the line of his shoulders, his neck, the way he stood, his quick fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Peter...” It came out as a sigh, but it was loud enough for both of them to hear and turn to him. For the first time, Fish-bowl-guy had his helmet off and Tony could see his face – the same face that took Peter away from him months earlier. “You!” He stalked towards them, but Peter webbed his feet together. Tony could easily break it, but stopped in his tracks, he didn’t want it to escalate to a fight. “What are you doing, Pete?”

“How dare you talk to him, Stark! After everything you’ve done?” Those eyes were so familiar, but he couldn’t place them. Tony frowned, taking a step closer, breaking the webs around his ankles.  

“What– Pete –”

“You revoked my access?” Peter asked, exasperated and nervous when the computer announced his access was denied. That voice. That sweet, honey-like voice...

“So it is you.” Tony took yet another step closer, reaching out to him, but Peter got into a fighting stance.

“Why did you have to do that?” To Tony’s surprise, his voice trembled, like he was actually hurt by that. His heart broke in a million pieces. “You used to love me, you said–“ He shook his head, taking a deep breath. “You leave me no choice.”

“Peter, please–“ Before he could say anything else, the younger man leaped at him and almost managed to rip the faceplate off his face as he sat on his shoulders and started pulling it, but Tony was able to grab him and throw him away, but not far enough to hurt him. He stumbled a few feet and got right back up. “Pete, what are you doing, just stop!”

“No! You stop, Tony, please! How could you–“ He came at him again, and Tony flew out of the his way, but was caught by his web around his ankle. Peter swung him and threw him to the floor, but Tony quickly got up. “Please, Tony, you –“

“Don’t talk to him, Pete, he’s gonna try to manipulate you! We have to kill him, there’s no other choice!” Fish-bowl-guy was typing furiously at the keyboard, but Friday was keeping Tony updated. He was good, definitely above average, but he probably wouldn’t be able to hack into his systems. “Once we’re done, we can’t let him live, Peter.”

“What the fuck is he talking about! Kid, it’s me, it’s me, what are you doing?” Tony tried to reach Peter again, but he shot webs at him, trying to tie his arms to his torso, which was useless. The engineer knew Peter was going easy on him, he was almost as strong as Mark L and if the suit he was wearing was anything like the one Tony made for him, it had an instant kill mode. Still, he kept trying to bind him, not hurt him.

“I can’t let you release Extremis to the public! Please, I’m begging you, let me help you, we can–“ Fish-bowl-guy grabbed Peter’s arm, pulling him away and shaking him.

“Peter, stop fucking around! He’s dangerous!”

“Don’t fucking touch him!“ Tony had had it with him, he charged his repulsors and was going to aim right at his head, but for a short while, the room went dark, then when the lights came back up, only Peter was there. He had his mask off and, for a moment, Tony was free to breath. For the first time in months, he could fill his lungs up with air because his beautiful face was right there in front of him, within reach. Alive, healthy.

And staring at him with hatred.

“You’re disgusting, Tony. How could you do that to me? You groomed me, you sick fuck, I was just a boy, you molested me!” He started walking towards him and Tony blinked in shock.

“What?”

“You’re a good for nothing piece of shit, you left me for dead months ago, didn’t even come looking for me, I bet you found some younger ass to fuck, didn’t you? You old perv.” Tony took a few steps back, heart beating loudly in his ears. He’d never seen such hate in his eyes in all those years they were together.

“Pete...”

“You came after me because you couldn’t find someone your own age who would put up with your crap, right? The drinking, the nightmares, the fucking panic attacks, I was so fucking done with it! All of it!” He couldn’t believe his ears, Peter – he would never talk to him like that. Right? Or was that how he felt the whole time? “Give me access to EDITH, Tony.” He demanded and Tony frowned. EDITH was an AI that gave its users access to Stark Industries's global satellite network along with an arsenal of missiles and drones. It was only supposed to be used in case of Tony’s death, Peter knew that. “If you want to redeem yourself, you’ll do it, and I might forgive you.”

“Boss, I think you should see something,” Before Tony could answer, Friday activated the suit’s thermal imaging and Tony frowned. Peter was not standing in front of him. In fact, he was nowhere to be found and there was nobody where he stood just seconds ago. First, he panicked, thinking he had disappeared again, but it just took him five seconds to realize what was going on.

“Where is this hologram coming from, Fri?” Friday deactivated the thermal imaging and Tony was shocked by how realistic the Peter staring back at him was. So realistic that only one person in the whole world could have made it: himself.

“There are five drones projecting images in the room, sir.”

“Take them out.”

In seconds, five tiny missiles were launched from his suit and the drones fell to the floor, lifeless, and suddenly the whole room changed. It was still the same setting, but it somehow looked more real then, and of course, Peter had disappeared.

“Tony? Tony, where did you go?! What – what happened?” He heard Peter’s voice on the other end of the room and he rushed to get there.

Peter was curled up in a corner, looking scared and desperate as he looked around him in confusion. The other guy was kneeling next to him, trying to comfort him again.

“Pete, whatever he showed you, whatever you saw, it wasn’t real. He’s using BARF!” He tried to approach the young man, but his eyes were wild as he shook his head. He pushed the other guy away but kept crawling backwards, away from Tony as well.

“Stay away from me, please, don’t come any closer. I-I don’t wanna hurt you, please, Tony, please...” He was still looking around like he didn’t expect to still be there.

“Why do you always have to ruin every-fucking-thing, Stark? Why do you have to stand in the fucking way of every single thing that I do?” Fish-bowl-guy got up and started marching towards him, furious.

“I have no fucking idea who you are, you fucking weirdo.” Tony aimed his repulsors at him and the guy stopped, laughing incredulously.

“You hav – you motherfucker! You think you’re a God, don’t you? Above everything and everyone, literally wrapped in wealth and technology you’re unfit to wield. Like the holographic system I designed. A revolutionary breakthrough with limitless applications, that you turned into a self therapy machine and renamed it BARF! My life’s work, Stark, and you renamed it BARF! I told you it was a mistake, that my technology could change the world and then you fired me. You said I was… unstable. Ring any bells?”

It clicked, then. The crazy, wild eyes, the hand gestures, the insane world domination plans.

“Beck.” No wonder Tony had forgot about him, the guy was brilliant, but completely insane. He helped develop the technology behind BARF, but once he started talking about weaponizing it, Tony decided to let him go. “I didn’t steal it, it belonged to me, it was my idea, I made you head of the project because I thought you could see it through, but your ideas for what it could be used for were clearly unhealthy and a fucking threat to the world. So, yeah, not sorry for firing your ass, I was clearly right. What even is your endgame here, Beck? What do you want?”

“These days, you can be the smartest guy in the room, the most qualified, and no one cares. Unless you’re flying around with a cape or shooting lasers from your hands, no one will even listen. Well, now I’ve got a cape. And lasers. With my technology and with EDITH, I will be the greatest hero on Earth!” He spread his arms and laughed like the madman he was, and Tony frowned.

“Yeah? Where are your lasers now?” The guy looked at him like he had just realized he had nothing. Peter was curled in a corner, too confused to act, his drones lay limp on the floor, and he had no way out of the room. “Better luck next time, asshole.” Tony wanted to kill him, he did, but he controlled himself and just knocked him over the head. He fell heavily to the floor and Tony turned to Peter, who was still looking at him like the whole world had been turned upside down.  “Peter, baby, c’mon, it’s me, it’s Tony,” He tried to approach him, but he shook his head violently.

“S-stand back!” He panted, eyes flicking between Tony and the guy on the floor. “What’s happening, I don’t understand, I don’t… We were… Outside and you…You killed people, how…”

“It’s fine, it’s gonna be fine, I promise, just trust me, I will take care of you, I’ll take care of everything, I –“

“Stay away from me!” Peter got up and run towards the elevator, Tony had no choice other than shoot him with the tranquilizer he used on Bruce when he hulked out at the wrong time. He rushed to catch him before he hit the ground and carefully cradled him in his arms.

Finally, in his arms. Warm and alive, solid and breathing.

“I’m so sorry,  Peter. For everything. I’ll make it up to you.”

***

Tony startled awake when he heard screaming. His heart almost jumped out of his chest and he was on his feet in a matter of seconds the minute he registered it was Peter’s voice. He was distressed, possibly hurt, so he flew to his side, but was quickly pushed away by nurses and doctors that rushed into the room and Tony remembered the last 24 hours, where they were and why.  

“Tony! Tony!” Peter called as he gasped for air, and that was more than enough for the older man to force his away back to him, grabbing his shaking hand.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here, are you okay?” He asked in a rush looking into his wild, scared eyes, and the kid just looked back at him for a few minutes, blinking several times, before he nodded slowly.

“Are you – are you real?” He rubbed his forehead, panting, and Dr. Cho approached him to run a few tests. Peter had been out for a whole day after the Hulk-sized dose of tranquilizer Tony shot him with, even with his fast metabolism.

“I am. Do you feel that?” He brushed his thumbs across his cheeks and Peter closed his eyes, sighing and nodding slowly. Tony took his hands and pressed them to his own face, down his scratchy cheeks that hadn’t seen a razor in weeks, and Peter smiled. “It’s me, I’m here now, it’s over.” Tony explained to him as doctor Cho checked his blood pressure and his pulse, asked him a few questions, then once she was satisfied, she nodded.

“You’re okay, Peter. You just need a lot of rest, ok? Most of your wounds from the fight have already healed, but I’m going to keep you here overnight just to be sure, then you can go right home, ok?” He nodded and she smiled. “Welcome back.”

She left the room and silence took over for a second, but they still looked at each other, as if afraid that if the looked away the other would disappear. Nat had interrogated Beck and figured out his plan. The terrorist attack was an ambush, it was his goal to kidnap Peter all along, he knew he was the only person, besides Tony, who had access to EDITH.

He made them see Peter’s death as he kidnapped him with an illusion of Tony. He was holding Peter in a warehouse in Queens and the sad thing was, he didn’t even need anything to contain him. He kept him there with illusions. Peter thought he was at Stark Tower the whole tome, living with Tony as if nothing had changed.

Well, with a few changes. Beck’s Tony was slowly going mad, called himself Superior Iron man and planned to take over humanity by spreading a virus called Extremis 3.0. When Peter refused to help him, he was turned into a hostage. Peter was “Tony’s hostage” for months before Beck “rescued him” – by keeping him in the same warehouse, with different illusions. He managed to make him believe the Avengers were in on Tony’s plan and they had to stop them. The bank robbery was necessary to weaponize the few drones he was able to build after he left Stark Industries.

“How… How are you feeling, Pete?” He braced himself for the answer, because he knew it would be nothing short of horrible and he knew that whatever happened to him was his fault. The younger man bit his lower lip, frowned, and shook his head slightly.

“Confused. Scared.” He confessed, tearing up, but he kept holding Tony’s hand tightly. “Not sure if any of this is even real. If you are real.”

Tony could see that he meant it when he looked into his eyes. He was terrified. The older man took a deep breath and sat beside him on the bed.

“Do you remember our trip to Brazil?” He placed Peter’s hand on his own face again, kissing its palm. Peter nodded with a small smile. “Remember our last night there, on the hotel suite’s balcony? We had been together for, what, two, three months at the time? Remember what I said to you?” A tear ran down his cheek when he whispered yes. “I’m gonna marry you someday, kid.” Tony whispered back, joining their foreheads.

“And I said you couldn’t call me kid when you were making marriage plans.” Peter laughed wetly between tears, leaning up to place a gentle kiss on Tony’s lips, sighing in relief. “I should have known that could have never been you…” Peter’s hand slid from Tony’s cheek, to his shoulder, down his arm, until it reached the little cuts on his hands, the rough pads of his fingers. Peter took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “How long?”

Peter didn’t have to ask the whole question, Tony heard it, and he squeezed his hand.

“Six months.” He winced when Peter’s eyes grew large as saucers.

“Fuck... Fuck! Tony – I feel so stupid… I should have known, I should have fucking –“

“Hey, hey, don’t, don’t you dare blame yourself, you hear me? He fooled us all, Pete. The reason why I didn’t come looking for you before was because... For six months, I thought you dead.” He cradled his face in his hands and Peter gasped.

“Oh, God, Tony.”

“I saw you die, Pete,” He whispered, lowering his head so Peter didn’t have to see his tears. “I saw you die before my eyes. And I – I believed it, too. I never went after you, kid. I’m so sorry, I could have saved you, but I–“ before he could finish, he felt the boy’s fingers under his chin, lifting his head, and he was met with an equally wet face staring back at him.

“I’m here, now. And so are you. We’ll get through this together, okay?”

“Pete...”

There were no more comforting words to say other than his name. The name he hadn’t dared to say for so many months. He knew they had a long way to go, he could predict the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the anxiety attacks, the absolute terror of thinking of ever losing him again. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but they were going to do it together, they would heal together and relearn how to recognize each other blindly once again. One step at a time.  

[mediocre--writing]

Hey! I just read a couple of your drabbles and I LOVE THEM!💙💙

So if you don't mind, could you please do a Harringrove drabble/ficlet based on either of the two (or a mix of both, if you can) Twenty One Pilots songs "Tear in My Heart" and/or "Smithereens"?

Because, for me, Tear in My Heart is very Billy and Smithereens is very Steve👉👈

Thank you!!💜

Ok so love this and you have an amazing mind, just so you know.

This is like a 2 in 1 fic post so :))))

So smithereens and steve work so well together, like

“I go step to a dude much bigger than me/ for you I know that I would get messed up, weigh 153/ For you I would get beat to smithereens”

Like this is just Steve's personality. He got into a fight every season and barely ever wins without intervention. And like i could see him just being so overcome with emotions that he just does what he knows, which is self destruct.

Like with his fight with Jonathan, he almost accepts that Nancy was too good for him and thinks that he might as well take other people with him.

Then with Tommy in the parking lot, it’s not really a fight, but it shows that he has a conscience and fixes his mistakes.

Then with his fight with Billy, he only tries to protect the kids, even if he’s losing miserably.

I could 100% see steve having snuck into billy’s room during the night once (before he really knew about neil), not to do anything nefarious, but just that he had a really bad nightmare, because there was a small power outage, and billy is really good at helping him sleep afterwards.

And let's just say that Billy's alarm clock (which is always set for 5:30am, half an hour before Neil wakes up just to give him peace of mind) doesn’t go off because of the power outage.

And Neil comes to wake up Billy for school because he hasn’t woken up yet, and sees Billy spooning Steve and both boys are snoring and pressing bare chest to bareback, and so deep asleep that Neil lets them sleep, letting them wake up on their own.

And they do. Billy wakes up around 8am, feeling insanely well rested. He smiles and squeezes Steve before turning to sit up from his bed to look at his alarm clock, that’s blinking on and off and reads 3:18am, but the sun’s up and… the house is quiet.

Billy feels the dread settle deep in his chest, and swears he could cry if he were .000000001% more worried.

He hears the creaking of work boots walking around the house and knows, just from the tension lingering in the air, that it’s just an angry Neil pacing in the kitchen/ dining room and waiting for Billy to wake up.

He doesn’t know whether to wake Steve up and tell him to escape out of the window and run or just let him lay there anyway, it’s obvious that Neil already saw.

He let’s Steve sleep and throws a shirt on and slowly walks out of the room into the pits of hell, seeing Neil turn to him with an angry face a brighter shade of red than a firetruck.

As slurs are screamed and Billy is thrown into the walls and has family tchotchkes launched at his face, Steve wakes up after a particularly painful shove makes the wall shake, pushing a single picture frame fall off the wall on the other side.

Steve shoots up after that loud bang and hears a wail and muffled yelling before something else hits the wall. He grabs his shirt and puts it on as he walks out the bedroom door, seeing glass shattered on the hardwood leading to the family room, but what he sees around the corner is so much worse.

Billy’s bleeding in about twenty different spots, body curled in a ball in the corner of the kitchen, Neil standing over him, but turning to Steve with a grin.

Steve feels his blood boil as dots connect and loose ends are tied up, making the connection between Billy's bad nights and the new bruises he’ll sport under his shirt. The way he tries to hide it when he flinches at loud, authoritative men who are bigger than him. Why he told Steve to never call his house and why he is the way he is.

So Steve doesn’t think for another second before launching himself at Neil, slamming him into the floor, but that’s about as much as he wins that fight, because Neil is slamming him back and beating him the same way he did his son.

And billy, let’s admit it, is probably much stronger and a better fighter than his dad, but it’s so hard to fight back against an abuser that has controlled your life for so long. Even when you know you could win and that they deserve it, neil hargrove is still his dad and he could never get it into his head to hit him back.

But Steve was trying too hard to take him down because he was doing the wrong thing and losing terribly, never having won a fight once in his damn life.

Billy’s sitting up against the wall, ribs in excruciating pain and vision blurry, but he sees Steve getting up and kicking Neil once before backing up, and Billy sees his camaro keys in the dish by the front door.

So he stands up as fast as he can, ignoring the dizziness as if that would make it go away, grabs steve’s arm and shoots to the door, grabbing the camaro keys and shooting outside

He takes the driver’s seat, despite his dizzying head, just knew that he’d have to drive for a few miles then they could reevaluate, and Steve was clumsily getting into the passenger side.

Billy had only just started the car when Neil came rushing out the door, screaming threats and slurs as if that would make them stop their escape.

The camaro backed out of the driveway and shot down cherry lane in record time, going to the center of town, the least likely place Neil would cause a scene.

It isn’t until Billy puts the car in park that he can bear to look at steve.

He’s got a bloody nose and his shirt sleeve is torn off, hair disheveled from both sleep and the fight.

But billy looks so much worse.

He’s still hunched to the left from his ribs, he’s got tons of cuts along his arms, legs, and face from, what steve suspects, the broken glass on the floor. He’s also got this wild-animal-look in his eyes. One that screams, I escaped alive, but at what cost?

“Bill-”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Why-- I’m sorry are you asking me why I attacked your dad when he was kicking you while you were, literally, on the floor?”

“Ye--no, I-- but you got hurt, why’d you do that?”

“Billy, what did you expect me to do?” a shrug is all he gets in response--”If you saw my dad doing that to me, can you honestly expect yourself to stand there and watch it happen, or walk away and let it happen?”

Billy turns to face the grocery store--Melvad’s-- that they were parked in front of.

“It’s all weaving together in my head. All the bruises, the jumpiness, how you like to control things, it all makes sense, but what doesn’t make sense is why you wouldn’t just tell me, Bill,”

“And what exactly would you have been able to do about it, huh? You gonna take care of the situation or some shit, Steve? Trust me, I’m used to it and--”

“But you shouldn’t have to be ‘used to it,’ Bill, that’s abuse, and you don’t deserve that shit, not ever,”

Their conversation is halted by a tap on the glass by Steve's window, and the boys turn to see Joyce Byers looking more motherly than ever.

Steve rolled the window down.

“The hell happened to you boys?” she asked but corrected herself with a shake of her head, “Doesn’t matter, just come in to clean up, we’ve got bandages and antiseptic, free of charge,”

Billy wiped away the tears he didn’t know had formed and nodded to her, “We’ll be out in a minute, Mrs. Byers.”

“Joyce, please,” she demanded softly.

“Joyce, of course,” Billy offered a subdued smile.

She walked off and Steve rolled the window back up.

“Thank you,” Billy spoke quietly after a moment. “I’m glad he didn’t hurt you worse,”

“Billy, for you I would get beat to smithereens,”

“Well of course you would, you weigh like 100 pounds, not like you could put up much of a fight,”

“Hey! I gave him a black eye, thank you very much!”

“Oh, well, my bad, baby, then maybe you weigh 150, huh?”

Steve grumbled from the passenger seat, “153,”

Billy chuckled and grabbed Steve's hand over the console, locking eyes and smiling at each other, enjoying their small moment.

“We should probably get in there before Joyce comes out herself?” Steve sighed as he moved to take his hand out of Billy's.

“One more minute, please,”

Steve just tightened his grip on Billy's hand and moved towards the center of the car to rest his head on Billy's shoulder, Billy's head falling onto his.

-

Billy and Tear In My Heart thooooooooo

Like it fits him so well, again this is amazing.

I also see billy as a resident hater of america and it’s fucking government becuase, well, they have a history between his myriad of speeding tickets and, oh what was it, oh yes, the tentacle monster that impaled and possessed him.

And in California, there’s no cold weather where he lives, so there’s not exactly potholes to avoid.

The first time he drives into the cooler states and has to avoid potholes, he decides that his car deserves a vacation after this.

But the potholes become the biggest issue after he and Steve start dating.

He’s absolutely enamoured by this boy, because who wouldn’t be. He respects Billy's limits and can hold his own in arguments, and they fit together like missing pieces of a puzzle.

Steve has changed Billy, not that he’d admit it, but he’s softer now and all of his sharp edges have been baby-proofed. They’re still there and dangerous, but they’re more difficult to be stabbed by.

All the cracks in his heart have been filled with gold, like Kintsugi (a Japanese technique of repairing broken pottery with gold).

And Billy can complain and complain about Steve's clinginess, about his intrusion into his life, and his persistence to stay, but deep inside Billy's never felt more loved or cared for in his life.

But these damn potholes might just make him lose it.

Because billy is anything but a bad driver, he can control the car even when it’s going 45 over the speed limit, but now that steve falls asleep after their movie dates or when they’re coming back from barbeques with the party, Joyce, and Hopper, he’s driving the speed limit.

Which is just appalling.

But some of these potholes are so deep you could dive into them and not hit the bottom.

Like what the fuck, Indiana?

And, one time, Max is with them after a barbeque when Steve falls asleep and Billy slows the car down to what feels like snail speed, but is just the speed limit.

“Why are we going so slow?” Max asked as she leaned forward from the backseat to whisper to billy.

“Steve’s sleepin’,” he said, as if it was the obvious reason.

“You’re whipped,”

“Shut up, Shitbird,”

Max leans back into her seat with a grin on her face at the absolute mush her big, tough brother has turned into for Steve Harrington.

[tunemyart]

Now, I know what you’re thinking - Amy, are you ever gonna get off your bullshit about XWP S4? NOT TODAY, FRIENDS.

Bc S3 ends all dramatic-like, Gabrielle grabbing her daughter and throwing the both of them down a hole and into a lava pit where they would, presumably, die. Like - don’t tell anyone lest I get kicked out of fandom, but that level of drama was just a tad high for me. (A lava pit?? A lava. pit.)

But you know what really fucking wasn’t?

Like that shit… is so good, I will eat it up and beg you for more. Here you have Xena going actually, certifiably insane because she believes Gabrielle is dead. She’s killing animals, she’s drinking their blood, she’s hearing voices, she’s wailing on the empty steppes, she’s talking to her dead lover, she’s dissociating from and leaving her own body. All of the boundaries she’s put so tightly around herself have been lifted. She’s somewhere between the living and the dead. It’s primal, it’s ugly, it’s weirdly beautiful. It’s right on the line between hyperreal and unreal. it makes the hairs on your arms stand up straight.

This Xena is so far removed from everything about the Xena you’ve seen for three years that all of this is a punch in the gut. And sure, you’ve seen Xena evolve (or devolve?) slowly from the rigid, restrained, extremely careful reformed woman of S1 into an actual person over the course of S2 and S3, and now you look at Xena and see someone who knows how to feel, how to have fun, even how to love. 

And ofc she’s brought back from the brink - but absolutely no further - by her realization of the change that loving Gabrielle has wrought in her. (”I just realized what it was you gave me - a light of my own. I love you.”)

And then she finds a purpose to ground herself to (”If she’s dying in my future that means she’s alive!”) and hey, presto - you suddenly recognize Xena again. Her entire bearing has changed. She’s confident, purposeful, dominating, larger than life.

I won’t get into her incredible body language in Poteidaia, esp around Gabrielle’s family, other than to say omg Lucy HOW ARE YOU SO GOOD, but I do want to point out the thing that really kills me at the end of Family Affair. She’s finally, finally reunited with Gabrielle. They’ve had their tearful reunion, wherein Xena did a lot of handholding and handkissing and hair touching - all my faves.

But then, when everything’s normal, when it’s Xena + Gabrielle the way it’s meant to be, the open road imminently before them and promises made between them to look for answers together, Xena can only bring herself to sit in Gabrielle’s embrace: Rigid. Restrained. Careful. She’s spent so long unhinged, letting her burning soul fly in all directions, wild and unheeded. And now here is Gabrielle, gentle and kind, so very near, so easy to burn. Of course Xena’s careful. Can you blame her?

But it’s okay. Gabrielle understands. She’s not asking for anything other than for Xena to let her close - she can take it from there. After all, she’s done this before, and she knows how to weather a few burns.

[heartsywritesthethings]

Urgent (-ish)

Heartsy’s Input: Babe. This is so wonderful. Holy Shit. This is Babe’s amazing Part 2 to Urgent she wrote a bit ago. Lemme tell you. I’m blushing about as much as Ed. Give it a read and let her know what you think!

Submitted by Babe!Anon

~~~~~

He could leave. The option was always there. Edward Elric could just jump on the next train to Central and not have to be here anymore. He was always working, always hot, always sweating, and always…on the look out. 

After reading that letter, he had bolted out of that tent as fast as his legs could carry. Dust had picked up behind him and so many Ishvalans had stared at him as if he had three heads. He made his own transmuted tent on the opposite side of the camp and hid from everyone for what seemed like weeks, months, even years.

It was only twenty minutes.

Eventually, someone knocked on the wall and Ed made a small peephole that he could peek out of. It was an Ishvalan soldier. Ed considered the threat and let himself out, brushed himself off, and tried to get rid of the blush on his cheeks.

“Uh, are you the Fullmetal Alchemist?” the man asked, towering over the boy and covered in grime and sweat. He looked as if he were expecting someone a little…taller to say the least.

“Yeah,” Ed snapped and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. “What do you want?”

The man looked taken aback for a moment before he cleared his throat and shrugged a little. Weirder things have happened he supposed.

“You are needed in the captain’s tent.” He said, gesturing towards where Edward had just run from. Edward tensed and his blush returned full force. He looked away quickly from the man.

“Ah, those guys? They’ll find me if they need me! I’ll just-just-uh…make some buildings! Yeah, rebuilding, right?” Ed said, plastering a smile on his face and heading rigidly in a completely different direction. 

“But you–sir?” the man stammered, not knowing what to make of this. He had been told that the matter was urgent. Ed just waved without looking back at the man.

“I’m sure they’ll be okay!” He called out, looking around for something–anything–to keep him busy.

~~~~

There is only so much you can do in the middle of the dessert. Edward had been making buildings left and right as soon as he had the general ideas or blueprints from fellow Ishvalans. Most people around him thought the spirit came from the fact that he was so young, but Ed knew that those two captains wouldn’t attack while he was working, so he kept busy.

It was Miles who had gotten the first point.

Ed had made the mistake of walking back to his little tent alone at night. After a long day of work, everyone had retreated back to their own beds and cots. With how tired he had been, he hadn’t noticed his old friend following close behind him.

“You’ve been doing a lot of work lately, full metal.” Mile’s voice said and a heavy hand landed on Ed’s shoulder. The small alchemist froze and a shiver ran up his spine.

“Y-yeah, just doing my job.” Ed replied, trying to move away but the hand on his shoulder tightened. Slowly, Ed turned his head to look up at Miles. There was a smile on the man’s face. That smile that meant that he was in for a heap of trouble. Miles took a step forward, closer to his old friend and just went in for the kill. 

Before Ed could react, Miles had yanked the boy’s arm over his head with one hand and started tickling wildly with the other. His fingers danced over Ed’s sides and ribs. Ed didn’t have time to even protest before giggles escaped his lips. He crumpled in Miles’ grip, trying to pull his arm away. When the captain began pinching at his sides, Ed went wild and started flailing like a fish on a hook. 

“WAAHAHAHAHAHAHAIT!” Ed wailed, looking around frantically. Someone would definitely hear him if he kept laughing like this, but he was too tired to fight back.

“Say Uncle,” Miles said, smirking a little bit. This had been a fantastic plan of his. Ed was definitely a wiggly runt, but his laughter made it all worth it. He could see why Mustang had sent him that letter. He shifted his grip a little and set his hand to clawing ticklishly at Ed’s stomach.

Edward went crazy, trying to slap his hands together and transmute at least something to get out of this mess. He was kicking up dust and dirt, and his laughter was very quickly going hoarse. 

“MILES! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!” Ed wailed, his face scrunching up as he laughed more and more. He started to see lights come on around him. His heart caught in his throat.

“UNCLE! UN-cle” Ed said, but before he could repeat himself, Miles had already dropped his arm. Ed flopped down onto the ground with an ungraceful thud.

“Keep up the good work, full metal,” Miles said with a smirk on his face. Ed lay on the ground, twitching a little. That damn Mustang.

~~~~~

Scar was a little more subtle.

“Wake up.” the previous convict said, standing over the smaller alchemist in his tent. It had been quite easy to infiltrate, almost like Ed was challenging them.  Ed’s eyes flew open and he sat up quickly.

Well, he tried to anyways. That son of a bitch had tied him up. Ed’s heart almost stopped.

“Uh, Scar?” He said, shifting a little on the ground uncomfortably. 

“I don’t quite understand what the message was for, but I cannot afford to lose,” Scar said with a very serious expression on his face. There was a moment of silence.

“Are you kidding me?” Ed yelled, looking at Scar as if he were absolutely crazy. Scar just nodded solemnly.

“I was informed last night that I was behind a point.” Scar said and looked him over. 

“Mustang is just pulling a st-stupid prank on you two! This is insane! Let me go!” Ed said.

“Fullmetal, we have been enemies longer than we have been companions.” Scar said, casually cracking his knuckles. “But I have been doing this far longer.”

Deadly Ishvalan fingers descended upon the boy’s body with merciless fury. Scar’s fingers danced upon Ed’s body, making the boy twist and writhe underneath the touch.

“SCAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAR!” He squealed, his fists clenching and unclenching. This wasn’t like the night before. Ed was absolutely helpless here. Surprisingly, the Ishvalan stopped. Ed took a few deep breaths.

“Do you like to be tickled, Fullmetal?” Scar asked, looking over at the boy. Edward turned red. Beet red.

“What? Are you kidding me? No!” Ed squeaked, his voice jumping up about an octave. Scar shifted down a little bit…towards….

“Wait! What are you doing? Scar, come on!” Ed protested, but it was too late. The shoe was already off. Ed squeezed his eyes shut, ready for another onslaught of intense ticklish feelings.

“What I have learned in war…” Scar started, slowly dragging a finger up the length of Edward’s good foot. Ed squeaked and he tried to jerk his foot back.

“Is that if you want information from someone…” He continued, gently tickling the bottom of the boy’s foot. Ed giggled like crazy, wiggling on the ground and shaking his head. Scar allowed a small knowing smirk to pull at his lips.

“You have to start out slow.” He said, his voice low. His fingers found a spot right underneath Ed’s big toe–the same place that used to drive his brother wild–and found the same result.

“AHAHA Scahahahar! No! NO! Ihihihihit–stahahahap.” Ed said, his laughter jumping up and down as the fingers danced over his foot. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the intense tickling from the night before or this gentle tickling with the addition of Scar’s emotionless teasing.

“Do you like to be tickled?” Scar asked, pausing so that Edward could respond. The alchemist only breathed heavily and shook his head. Scar shrugged and moved up, pushing Edward’s shirt up to expose his stomach. Edward’s eyes bulged and he shook his head frantically. 

The gentle tickles from Scar were probably the most maddening thing that Ed had ever experienced in his life. The coarseness of his callused fingers drove Ed wild. They danced ever so gently on Ed’s stomach, slowly making their way to Edward’s bellybutton.

“Excuse me? Is Captain Scar and Fullmetal inside?” a voice asked from outside, a gentle knocking on the transmuted rock wall. Scar paused and gave Edward a look.

“Yes. We are discussing blueprint plans, what can we do?” Scar asked.

“Captain Miles requests both of you at the tent immediately. There’s a meeting about the new church to be built today.” The man said. Scar nodded and started to untie Edward. Ed pulled his shirt down frantically and scrambled to pull his shoe back on. Scar used his tattooed arm to blow out a wall and he stepped out, looking at the man.

“Sounds urgent.” Scar said, not even bothering to look at the disheveled boy behind him. 

[notbang]

gimme the commentary for you're the fire and the flood, anything you have to say about the section starting with "He wakes to the acrid burn of smoke in his nostrils and his throat, one of the overhead smoke alarms apparently clinging to the last of its battery power long enough to sound a pathetic wail in warning." and ending on “Drink some three year old tequila with me?”

send me a scene from one of my fics, and I’ll give you the equivalent of a dvd commentary on it! - you’re the fire and the flood

He wakes to the acrid burn of smoke in his nostrils and his throat, one of the overhead smoke alarms apparently clinging to the last of its battery power long enough to sound a pathetic wail in warning. His first foggy thought is Rebecca, his arms reaching for her out of repressed habit but coming up empty, and when he pushes himself bleary eyed up onto his elbows on the couch he can’t see her on the bed, either. Once he discerns the soft grey haze is filtering out from the kitchen he scrambles to his feet in a panic.

Since one of the central conceits of this fic is that Rebecca has been in jail for the past three years -- and Rebecca has cut off all communication with everyone for the past two -- something I was playing around with was the jarring sense for the both Rebecca and Nathaniel that they’ve gone from zero contact to being trapped not only together but in this fucked up time capsule Nathaniel has left of their stuff in his apartment after moving out (dude, get some fucking therapy, stat). So for Nathaniel in particular, the memory overload is wreaking a little a havoc on his dreams (which may or may not also have something to do with those pesky Santa Ana Winds). He’s just spent the night dreaming of a moment they shared back when they were together, so when he’s pulled from slumber Rebecca is immediately on his mind.

She’s flattened against the wall when he finds her, eyes wide and vacant as she stares at the sink where the flames are already starting to lick up the wall. When he calls her name she’s unresponsive. He tries again, rougher this time.

“Rebecca.”

She snaps out of it, then, coughing and crumpling against him before mirroring his movements and tucking her mouth into the crook of her elbow.

“The water,” she chokes out, batting helplessly at the smoke. “There’s no water coming out.”

Since it’s the apocalypse and all, we had to up the stakes a little beyond trapped in an apartment with someone you don’t want to be trapped inside an apartment with and cut off the water supply. And the most [in]convenient moment for that to become apparent was of course when Rebecca decided lighting a small fire in the sink was a good idea.

He nudges her aside and goes for the rug in the entryway, pushing past her to get back to the sink and slapping at it with the heavy fabric until he’s managed to smother most of it out, the sides of it singeing in the heat but the lack of oxygen ultimately winning out. When the smoulder is contained to the basin again he returns with one of her saucepans of water, extinguishing the remnants with an angry hiss against the stainless steel.

I just... really liked the idea of Rebecca being accidentally prepared for the apocalypse? Being in jail for three years has affected her in different ways, and I think she’s learned to hone the more manic aspects of her personality into a very specific brand of survival. The apartment ends up fully stocked with food because she goes kind of overboard hoarding all the things she’s missed out on eating for the past three years (and incidentally, things Nathaniel wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole, which was hilarious to me). They still have water because she took some advice she heard on the news (which she’s been obsessing over as a means to reacquaint herself with the world) to the extreme. Plus I enjoyed the mental image of this already ridiculous mishmash apartment being added to with a minefield of miscellaneous vessels filled with water.

He drops the pot in the sink with an aggressive clank before turning back to face her.

She hasn’t moved from the spot the entire time, still stood frozen and numb, and he grunts in annoyance before hoisting her into his arms and carrying her out of the smoky kitchen over his shoulder, finally waking her up.

“Put me down,” she growls, pummelling him angrily with her fists. “I’m fucking serious. Put me down, you asshole.”

He deposits her unceremoniously back on her feet near the foot of the bed, sidestepping before she can hit him again and raising his hands defensively.

“Are you insane? What was that?”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I was stupid. I wasn’t thinking.”

“What were you even doing? Did you start that fire on purpose?”

So this entire fic is basically just one continuous fire metaphor for Rebecca’s inner tumult. I’ve always been intrigued by her association with fire in canon, and in a way this was a 22k extrapolation of that. As we know, Rebecca has a tendency to set things on fire when she wants them seared out of her life, and apparently being stuck in the middle of a wildfire apocalypse is no exception. In fact, I kind of imagine she drew inspiration from the wildfires raging outside when she made the very deliberate decision to start her own fire in the sink. This time, she’s not burning her ex boyfriends’ stuff, though -- she’s burning a stack of photos from Darryl of this universe’s equivalent of Hebecca, because she’s struggling with much the same multitude of emotions we saw her wrangle in 4x09. (As an aside: in this universe, the baby is named Bianca, meaning ‘white’ -- a reference to Whitefeather and White Josh.) The baby was born the night she was arrested, so even more so than what we got in canon Rebecca has been happily pretending she doesn’t exist for the last three years. Add to her internal unrest the fact that half the town has already gone up in flames -- she’s not just dealing with the existence of her biological daughter, but the fact that her life could very well be in danger. So almost understandably, Rebecca decides to Nope out of that mental mess in typical destructive Bunch fashion.

He notices the way she’s favouring her left arm, tucking it into her chest and his nostrils flare as he snatches at it, yanking her closer so he can see.

“Ow!”

“You burned yourself? Jesus Christ, Rebecca.”

Grip like iron around her elbow he drags her over to the dining table where she’s been keeping her collection of makeshift water vessels; tripping over her own feet from the angry force of him Rebecca yelps, aiming a protesting kick towards his shins in self-defence but stumbling in the process, coming to an abrupt stop when he shoves her forearm down into the portable foot spa Valencia had gifted her as a pre-wedding present so many moons ago.

“Stop it, you’re hurting me,” she snaps, and only then does he let her go, her skin imprinted faintly with red where he’d been holding her.

“Oh, sorry, I’m hurting you? You seem to be doing a pretty good job of that yourself.”

She scowls, but keeps her hand submersed in the tub anyway, the room-temperature water for the most part ineffectual at soothing any of the sting.

Nathaniel closes his eyes and tries to calm himself, tries to breathe through his heart beating hard like it’s going to break through his chest on overdrive. They’re both a little panicked, he knows; fraught with fire-related tension and highly strung, and as his pulse slows back to a steady throb he feels the shame creep in at adding to her distress—it’s never been his intention to frighten her. His own brief flare of terror still strums insistently in his fingertips, though, and he can’t keep the accusation out of his voice.

As we find out a little later, once the tequila gets involved, the last three years haven’t exactly been kind to Nathaniel. He left West Covina to move on, but he’s still very much affected by the pervasive sense that he’s doomed to feel like he’s losing Rebecca over and over again -- when you take her suicide attempt, their two break ups, her pleading guilty and then later taking him off her visitor’s list into account and add all to that the fact that the way she re-entered his life was in a hospital bed, the dude’s understandably got a bit of a complex going by this point. I hesitated at having him get so (however briefly) physical with her, but I think the important distinction here is that it’s nothing to do with anger. She’s just scared the absolute shit out of him, again, and he’s course-corrected a little too hard in trying to protect her.

“What the hell, Rebecca?” he demands. “You are crazy. You could have gotten us both killed.”

“I know! I am crazy. I’m losing my fucking mind, Nathaniel. Because I’ve spent the last three years of my life behind bars and now I’m finally out I’m just trapped all over again. I just want to start over but I can’t, because I’m stuck in this stupid town, and now I’m stuck in this stupid apartment with all this stuff, with you, and with all these reminders of everything I’ve missed and I feel like I can’t breathe.” She pulls her arm out of the flooded foot spa and gestures erratically at her chest, sending out a spray of dislodged droplets, eyes wild and wide and welling with tears. “I’m suffocating and I don’t want to be in here anymore. I can’t…”

If Nathaniel’s feeling the cabin fever at being trapped, Rebecca’s feeling it tenfold. If it weren’t a violation of her parole, she wouldn’t even be in the state right now, so her current circumstances are A Lot. So while it was mostly about her complicated feelings regarding what she’s missed out on in her absence, her starting the fire had an undercurrent of self-sabotage to it, too. 

She lets out a strangled sob before promptly bursting into tears, crumpling forward, collapsing against him and burying her head in his chest. Force of nature that she is it’s so easy to forget how small she is until she’s tucked against him, over a head of height difference and two years of uneasy silence between them.

“Please. I just—I just want to get out of here,” she hiccups into his shirt, hands fisting in the fabric. “I feel like I can’t—”

“Breathe,” he says quietly, cradling the back of her head on autopilot. “Hey. Just breathe.”

He’s never really consoled anybody before but it seems like he’s doing something right; her hand not nursing the burn pulls tighter at his shirtfront but her choked sobs ease somewhat, her breathing eventually slowing into synchronisation with the gentle back and forth of his palm across her shoulder blades. For a half-second he thinks he should be disgusted by way she’s snivelling into his shirt but the disdain never comes; all he feels is an unexpected rush of latent tenderness for her and the overwhelming urge to encase her firmly in his arms.

Hugs!!!! Emotionally overloaded hugs!!!! An R/N staple. That is all.

She’s embarrassed, so embarrassed, not just about the fire but the hopeless way she’s clinging to him and she can’t bring herself to let go because she doesn’t want to see his face or let him look at hers, doesn’t want to look at anything in the apartment for a moment longer. Her nostrils fill with the familiar scent of him as she inhales deeply, shakily, and crushes her nose into his collarbone.

“You’ve been through a lot, Rebecca,” he murmurs into the crown of her head. “You’re going to survive this too. I promise.”

It’s the softness in his voice that finally gives her the courage to pull away, rubbing the back of her palm across her snotty nose and glancing up at him with wet, abashed eyes.

He steps back but moves his hands to her waist, holding her gently as if he’s not entirely convinced she can keep herself upright.

Up until this point their every interaction has been rife with tension -- a mixture of unavoidable sexual tension and the resentment they’re each carrying over how certain things have played out between them -- but here they stop and take a breath together, and it’s kind of like the fire in the kitchen was the high-pressure crucible that’s made reforging their dynamic possible. Rebecca’s letting herself be vulnerable, rather than angry, and Nathaniel -- dumb smitten dweeb that he is -- has just melted at their physical contact.

“Truce?” she surprises herself by offering with an ungraceful sniff, not much more than a mumble but he hears it all the same.

There’s a beat, and then he drops his arms away from her and nods. “Truce.”

His eyes don’t leave her back as he stands there mutely, watching her make her way across the room to rummage through some boxes in the corner until she finds what she’s looking for and turns back to face him.

She sniffs again, and raises the bottle.

“Drink some three year old tequila with me?”

Because adding alcohol to the mix is always a good idea!!

[askmydarksides]

Who killed Cruelty? And how?

Warning: Blood, choking (in a violent way), biting, hints of future suicide, blindness, and fighting.

“Say it!” Cruelty sneered, his sharp teeth glinting in the lighting that his bedroom cast into the hallway, he tightly gripped the front of Deceit’s shirt giving him a rough shake as he did. “Tell him that you hate him! That you don’t love him! A relationship with deceit is only toxic Snake, so tell him you want to break it off!” He demanded, staring down into the terrified heterochromic eyes, tears clung to the bottom of Deceit’s lashes and while Cruelty would have reveled in that any other day, today it only infuriated him. “SAY IT!” He roared, snapping the fist that was clenched with Deceit’s shirt, shaking him again.

A whimper of pain burst free of Deceit’s lips as his head connected to the wall behind him, the demanding force above him, however, was ever insistent and unyielding in everything that he wanted. In this case, being something that he just couldn’t bring himself to do. Perhaps he was being selfish, and perhaps he should have given in a long time ago, but…Selkie was the one good thing he had. The one person who could hold him on those rainy days, Selkie was…he was the one he loved more than life itself. He couldn’t just let him go.

“Do it! Repeat the words back to me.” Cruelty demanded, and staring up into those pitch black eyes, those eyes that were like the inside of a black hole, Deceit had his answer.

“No.” Perhaps he was selfish, but if that was the case, then he’d be selfish for the person he loved.

The result was almost instantaneous, as the freezing cold hand locked around his throat, lifting him a few good inches off of the ground. The grip was crushing, unrelenting, and…out for blood. A deep chuckle rumbled in Cruelty’s throat, as those hungry eyes gleamed down at him, the light from Cruelty’s bedroom giving an eerie reflection on the other side’s eyes.

“Wrong choice.” Cruelty chuckled madly as he grinned, those shark-like teeth gleaming, a grin that promised Deceit many things. But most of all, pain.

“Ple..Ple..ase…” Deceit rasped out, terror, unlike anything before gripping his entire body as Cruelty’s fingers gripped his neck, making it impossible for a single breath to escape him. Black dots danced before his eyes, obscuring the image of Cruelty looming ominously over him, like a predatory laying in wait for its prey to lose consciousness before devouring it whole. Cruelty’s sharp bared teeth gleamed down at him, and as darkness encroached in the peripheral of his vision Deceit couldn’t help but to feebly claw at the other dark side’s wrist in one last attempt to get free from him.

“You’re so pathetic Deceit, you can even do what you were created to do.” Cruelty sneered, flashing his razor-sharp teeth one last time as Deceit fought for consciousness, but ultimately was teetering a very dangerous line he was about to fall off of. Even Deceit’s legs had given up on him, to the point of where the only thing holding him up was the very hand that was strangling him. “Maybe when you die a more accurate Deceit will take your place, rest assured. No one will miss a mistake like you.” A wild chaotic giggle escaped Cruelty’s lips, as his thumb sadistically pressed into the Adam’s apple of Deceit, and all while the last panicked flicker of life slowly faded from the dishonest side.

Until he just hung there in Cruelty’s grasp, as limp as a ragdoll. His hands slipped from Cruelty’s wrist, swaying lifelessly by his side as his eyes finally slipped shut, and his mouth hung open. Still stubbornly trying to breathe in one last bit of oxygen that the sadistic side had denied him.

“That’s better, you’re much less annoying when don’t talk.” Another giggle burst free from Cruelty as he just looked at Deceit’s body that no longer breathed, and no longer put up a fight against him. A giggle that soon morphed into an absolutely mad cackle that rang through the calls of the dark commons, alerting everyone that something was not right, or rather someone.

Looking up from his own carpeted floor, Selkie felt an intense welling of fear grip his heart, the cackle itself set all of his senses on red alert. He no longer paced as he just stood there, a part of him expected Deceit to come rushing in at any second, to tell him that Cruelty had finally lost it, or something of that matter, but… With as many seconds turned to minutes, Deceit never came. He never heard his feet thumping up the stairs, and he never heard the dishonest side’s labored breathing on the other side of the door. He never heard him reaching for the doorknob like he hoped.

He waited, until he couldn’t wait anymore.

Selkie honestly wasn’t sure what he expected to be downstairs, at the source of Cruelty’s mad laughter. He never could tell with him, and yet whatever he had expected, whatever he had guessed would be there entertaining Cruelty was not what he got.

Everything, absolutely everything came to a screeching halt as soon as Selkie skidded into view. He could feel his heart literally slamming against his chest, as if fighting to break out from his ribcage like some monstrous beast. His lungs felt as if they had been trapped under the weight of an entire cargo ship, and his limbs felt as if they had been severed from the strings of his mind. Deceit, his Deceit. His beautiful scaly snake, hung there within Cruelty’s grasp like a dead man on the gallows swaying back and forth with his feet not even touching the ground.

Within in an instant, he saw nothing but red.

“How dare you!” The destructive side’s snarled voice came out garbled and distorted, sounding more like a beast than anything. And without even giving himself time to overthink it, to think about the very possibility of Deceit being dead, of being gone for good. Selkie lunged at Cruelty, his fist blindsiding the other as he slammed it as hard as he could into the others face. But even then it wasn’t enough, even as Deceit’s body slammed onto the ground, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough for everything that Cruelty had done to his snake, and with that in mind he stormed over to the fallen side before he could even get a chance to stand.

“How dare you touch him! How dare you lay a single finger on him!” Selkie practically screamed the words out, as he pinned Cruelty down. His fists reined down, again and again, he felt the pain of his knuckles splitting open, and he felt the warm rush of blood washing over them. Yet he couldn’t have cared less about it, all there was, was red. All he needed was that red, the warm tanginess of blood on his hands and it running down Cruelty’s face.

He was going to paint Cruelty in shades of red.

Selkie’s chest was heaving, even as his arms ached with exhaustion, and rearing his hand back to land yet another blow Cruelty lunged upwards at him. Like a caged beast swiping its claws at its only available target, his razor-sharp teeth buried themselves into Selkie’s shoulders and another loud scream rang through the dark commons.

Red hot blood gushed from the open wound as Cruelty opened his jaws, just to brutally bite down again and again. He couldn’t help but to grin to himself as his sharp teeth scraped against the bone of Selkie’s shoulder, even now, as strong as Self-Destruction himself liked to pretend he was. He could still bleed, that fact alone just garnered another insane chatter of laughter even as the crimson blood gushed along his tongue. Tasting only of copper and wetness.

“Enough!” Self-Destruction gutturally growled aloud, and within seconds he was gripping the sides of Cruelty’s head. A scorching burning heat lingering just below the flesh of his fingers, as soon as they connected with the other’s flesh Cruelty’s entire body arched as he released Selkie from his crushing bite. A soundless wail of agony making Cruelty thrash within Selkie’s grasp. “Thomas is not a cruel person, you are no longer needed. Remove yourself from the equation. Self-destruct.” He sneered down at the thrashing dark side, now Cruelty would know, now he would get to experience everything that he had done to Deceit. Now Self-Destruction could really do his thing.

No no no no no! The words rang in an endless loop around Cruelty’s mind again and again, as the burning heat sank into his bones, and into his mind as well. As much as he thrashed and as much as he moved. In the end, it was useless.

In the end, he could only obey.

Selkie’s every breath came with a rasp and shudder as he fell off of Cruelty, watching him stand slowly, robotically even before he started to walk. Each step was slow and steady as a blank empty look filled the once insane dark eyes that had once scared all of them into submission. He watched as Cruelty walked away, towards his room where the inevitable would occur.

“What have you done?” A harsh but utterly heartbroken whisper sounded from behind the destructive side, and snapping his attention over to the source. The sight of the pale-faced horrified looking Apathy stared back at him.

Struggling up to his feet Selkie hesitantly reached out, just to immediately stop as soon as Apathy stumbled back away from him. “Apathy ple-”

“You killed him, you killed Cyran.”

The name hit Selkie like a sharp slap to the face, making him reevaluate just about everything that he ever knew. He Apathy…knew him? As in knew him, knew him? Apathy had known Cruelty’s true name? If that was the case then…how much did he truly know about him? How much did Apathy know, and how close was he to Cruelty? If that was truly the case…then why did he seem so upset? It all sent his mind into a dizzy blur, of course, he’d never seen Apathy and Cruelty fight. But he had assumed…he had assumed.

“I..I had to! He..He…” Now of all times, Selkie found himself stumbling over his words, something which would be his undoing.

“You killed him.” This time Apathy’s tone took on an icy cold feeling to it as his back straightened, and his once horrified expression faded away, bleeding into an impassive state that he knew all too well. Apathy’s fingers slowly but surely curled into fists before he stepped forward, his stance and entire posture spoke of someone who was not and would never ever hesitate. “You killed him!” And with that, his fist lashed out.

It was the only time that Apathy had ever lashed out, even when he had endured Cruelty’s tough love he hadn’t been this upset about it. He hadn’t fought back, but with this…this was something worth getting upset over.

An icy prickling stung the palm of his hand before it connected with Selkie’s face, a sensation that rushed all the way up his arm. By the time he had even though to question it, it was far too late by then.

Slap.

The sensation of icy needles driving inwards towards his skull was all that Selkie could feel, his eyes themselves felt like Apathy was attempting to scoop them out of his skull with a pair of frozen spoons. And god it hurt.

It hurt so damn much.

His scream before was nothing in compared to the absolute shriek of agony that rang through the walls, as Selkie gripped his face, his hands covering his eyes as the world faded slowly and then all at once into a blanket of darkness. His eyes were open, they were open. So why couldn’t he see anything?! What had happened?!

Myheadmyheadmyhead…my eyes! I can’t see! I can’t-

A strangled sob escaped his lips, as his knees thudded loudly against the floor, “What did you do?! What did you do?!” His voice cracked as Apathy stared on in a sheer horror at the sight before him.

You are strong, Cruelty had purred to him one night, as his pointy tongue traced one of the dark bruises on his shoulder. Stronger than any of them, one day you’ll see that. One day then, you’ll properly deserve me. Until then… Cruelty’s rough calloused fingers yanked and pulled at his hair, and pain was all he felt that night. Along with the need, the need to be good enough to stop it all. The need to be good enough for Cruelty.

“I don’t know…” He whispered, and before he even realized it he was stepping back, again and again, looking down at his hands he couldn’t help but to feel a sick twisting feeling in his stomach. Was this what Cruelty was talking about? Was this what it meant to be strong? If so…then he didn’t want it, he didn’t want to touch anyone like this. “I don’t know how to help…I just don’t.”

As the pain started to dull and he felt his body growing heavier and heavier as his body started to sway, Selkie could acutely hear the hurried footsteps of Apathy as he fled. Running away in fear of the very thing that Cruelty had been training him to do, pain for himself was one thing, but this…this was something else entirely. So as he listened to fading footsteps until they were completely gone. All that came next was darkness and unconsciousness, as his body fell, thudding right next to Deceit.

Together even in pain.

[p-artsypants]

Boy Toy (Act X)

FF.net | AO3

After Valka reluctantly agreed to return to the palace, she was seen by several doctors and placed in one of Stoick’s chambers. After some medicine, a bath, proper food, and rest in a warm, dry environment, Valka would likely make a full recovery.

Still, Stoick didn’t know about this great news. But Astrid was about to rectify that situation. She knocked on his office door.

“Yes?”

“It’s Astrid, may I come in?”

“Yes.” There was a note of confusion in his voice, since she usually barged right in.

She entered, a nervous look on her face.

“What did you do?” He asked.

“Something good, I hope.” She was excited to reunite her guardian with Valka, she really was. But there was a gnawing feeling of doubt in her. What if he didn’t want to see her?

He merely raised an eyebrow and waited for her to elaborate.

“I…we have a guest,” She finally stated. “She’s ill, and she needed a place to stay.”

“Hmph.” Said the Tsar, going back to work. “It’s been a while since you’ve picked up a stray. I thought the twins were the last of that trend.”

“I have a feeling you’ll be happy to have her here.”

Stoick looked up from his letter, intrigued.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

So he followed her to his chambers, to Valka’s old room when she lived in the palace. He gave her a questioning look, but she did not respond. Instead, she knocked gently, “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” said the soft voice within. “Come in.”

Astrid opened the door, and led the Tsar in. Then she watched his face as his phlegmatic stare wilted into what she could only describe as heartbroken shock. “Valka…”

“Stoick…” She whispered back, tears on her cheeks.

“How,” he looked at the Princess, and then back at his wife, his words nowhere to be found.

“I know it must be difficult to see me again,” said the woman. “I was gone for so long…I’ve probably interrupted your life. I…I wasn’t going to come back. I couldn’t.” Her brows scrunched up. “I didn’t mean to embarrass or scare you by leaving. I was your wife, your queen…but it wasn’t safe, not for me and Henry, I had to leave.” At this point she was just rambling, trying to come up with something coherent to say. “I know that you don’t have the same feelings for me, but I…I love you, Stoick. I did when I left, and I still do. And I left because I love you…that doesn’t make any sense, does it? I was just scared for you. I just…will you say something?”

As she spoke, he had been staring at her, partially in disbelief and mostly in awe. When he finally found himself, he reached out a quavering hand and caressed her cheek. “You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you…”

She didn’t feel beautiful. She was sunken, malnourished. Twenty years had passed, and time had not been kind. But he studied her, like she was a piece of art, while tears gathered in his eyes.

She couldn’t respond and just broke down into sobs as he kissed her lovingly.

Astrid watched from the door, her heart clenching. Seeing Stoick happy to tears made her feel good, and to see that Valka, the poor woman, was safe and loved...she just felt like she had done a great deed.

She even got to hear Stoick’s sweet whisper of, “I love you, too. I did since the day we met.”

Finally, Stoick leaned back, his face full of concern. “But wait, if you’re here, then where’s Henry? Is he—?”

Valka glanced at the Princess. “You didn’t tell him?” She asked carefully.

Astrid shook her head.

“What? Tell me what?”

Astrid stepped forward, answering for the mother. She had made enough shocking revelations the evening. “Do you remember when I said that...Hiccup had been revived? That he had been alive at one time?”

Realization hit him like a brick. His eyes blown wide, his mouth hung open as a choking gasp fought its way out. Stoick stumbled back a step, his face pale. “Hiccup is—?”

He fell to his knees. Fists clenched and eyes sewn shut, he made small whimpering sounds. “No...no...no...”

Astrid didn’t even know how to comfort him. There was no comfort to be found.

Suddenly, he pounded his fists on the floor. “How did this happen?! How the hell did this happen?!”

Valka shrank at his anger, terrified. But as he looked at her, she only saw pain.

“You said you were scared. Who did this to you? Who did this to him?”

Using great strength, Valka pushed off the bed and crouched in front of her husband, holding his face. “I’m sorry,” she said earnestly. “Chancellor Osvald gave me the choice to save either you or Henry. I choose to leave with him to keep you both safe.”

Stoick’s nostrils flared.

“I should have sent a note or—or...I was just so afraid.”

“Where have you been all this time? How did we not find you?! We looked everywhere!”

“We were in the Narrows…”

“The Narrows!” He moaned. Stoick hugged her tightly, hushing her cries as her tears fell on his shoulder. “Oh Val, it’s not your fault. Love, I’m not mad at you. You had to—“ His words were cut off as he kissed her again. “You kept him safe...for awhile at least.”

That seemed to be the words that broke the dam, as she began to wail into him. “He was such a good boy! He didn’t deserve—he starved because of me! He was worried about me and gave me his food—!”

“Where is he now?” Asked Stoick.

“He’s in bed, I didn’t wind him up today.” Answered Astrid.

Stoick coaxed his wife to sit up and look at him. “Val...we can’t tell him who he is.”

“What...?”

“Did Astrid tell you about what Bludvist did to him?”

“He…doesn’t have much time left,” Valka provided. “And so he should spend it with us, his family.”

“Or should he continue to think that he was just made to make Astrid happy? Does he want to die knowing he’s leaving so many people that love him behind? That they’ll be sad when he’s gone?”

Valka glanced to Astrid, “what do you think, honey?” She asked softly.

The tone was motherly and full of compassion, and made Astrid’s bleeding heart burst. “I—I don’t know,” She answered. “Maybe—I have his journals!” She remembered suddenly. “He’s the one that created the system in the first place! If he can read and remember, maybe he’ll figure out a way to fix himself! Then he won’t have to say goodbye!”

Valka and Stoick looked to each other, and then back at her. “Well, it’s worth a shot.”

“But first,” said Stoick, getting to his feet. He went to the door and called for a guard.

Snotlout was the first to appear, hand raised in a salute. “Sir!”

“Fetch your father for me, son. We have an arrest to make.”

—

That night, Astrid had trouble sleeping. Despite having an exhausting day of running around, her mind was frantic with wild thoughts. She rolled over to look at Hiccup, her husband, her confident…

The Crown Prince.

It was bizarre, and down right insane. This whole time, he and Valka were alive. They had been suffering, but they were alive.  

In another universe, if they hadn’t left, maybe she would have married him on her own. Or maybe Stoick would have arranged it when she was taken in. Maybe she would have never courted Dagur. Maybe her family wouldn’t have been killed.

So many ‘what if’s and ‘maybe’s.  

Astrid snuggled closer to him, pressing her head to his chest. There she was met with the familiar, soothing ticking sound, the soft whirls of gears. No heartbeat, the sound of a machine.

But that didn’t stop her from seeing him as a man now. A man worthy of her affections, a man worthy of the crown. More worthy than anyone, really.

And if it wasn’t for Bludvist, he could have been the greatest ruler they’d ever had.

Odd how things change. She didn’t want to be a Princess and all that came with it, but to be an all powerful Queen? That much power to make anyone do whatever she wanted without being bossed around was a dream. Mostly she wanted it to rid the kingdom of Bludvist, but since that was crossed off her list, she found herself lacking in desire for absolute power. It didn’t feel like a goal anymore, just a perk of the title. She’d rule one day, without him. Without any other man at her side. Maybe she’d be allowed to pick a child as an heir instead.  

Astrid put these thoughts away as she held his hand. It was callous and cold, but still soft. It fit hers perfectly, as she wove their fingers together.

“What to do, what to do…?” She whispered to herself. She had admitted it to him before she acknowledged it herself. He was her best friend, maybe something even more, and she really didn’t want him to leave.

Right, his journals! He would read them, and then surely his memory would return, and he’d figure out a way to fix himself, right?

Right?

Astrid glanced over to the table with the books on it. She knew next to nothing about his old life, except that he was stupidly self-less and dirt poor. It wasn’t her business, but still, her thoughts were rapid and her heart uneasy. She needed a distraction. Go to the library, she told herself, or go to the kitchen! But the pull to the unknown was far too tempting.

So, she untangled from his hand, and tip-toed over to the table. There was no reason to be quiet, she wouldn’t wake him, but she didn’t want to disturb the sacred silence of their secret. If she was quiet, she could pretend he didn’t have a key in his back, that he was just sleeping, and that all this was just a bad dream.

She lit the oil lamp on the table, sending the room into a soft light.

There were about ten journals in front of her. Some of them were notes on inventions, not even toys. Some were just sketchbooks, filled with still-lifes and rough portraits.

Then, she found the book filled with his thoughts, his day to day activities, and interactions.

This wasn’t her business. She didn’t need to know. But the urge to dive into his brain was too strong to stave off. Astrid glanced at her husband once more, as if he had moved, and opened the journal.

“Just one,” she told herself. “I’m only going to read one.”

And so, biting her lip, she flipped through the book. The entries weren’t frequent, and often skipped days in between. But the dates on the pages counted up until…

November 12, 1897

I’m having a hard time thinking straight. This hunger is unlike anything I’ve dealt with before. It’s gone past an aching stomach, now I’m so sick, I don’t even want to eat. I have stuff I need to do, projects for Gobber, tools to fix. Not to mention mom’s still sick.

God, I’m still so angry about that mugger. I worked those long hours, took on that second job at the fishery, and I had everything we needed to get us out of this piss shed, and now I have nothing. I haven’t told mom yet…I don’t know if I have the heart to tell her. I’m just so tired.

Honestly, I want to die. This is no way to live. Is it awful for me to think like that? Probably, but who cares? Who cares about us down here? I’m listening to my mom cough up blood three feet away from me, and all I can do is shrug. My own mother, who has given up so much for me, the greatest luxuries and riches in the world, and the crown, just to save my sorry ass, and for what? To die in the dirt. Disgusting. She’d be better off without me. I’m the one holding her back from returning to Stoick.  

I hate this. I hate my life. I hate this kingdom. Please God, just let me die.

Maybe that’s just the hunger talking. I am really tired, though. I think Gobber will let it go if I skip work tomorrow, just once. He’s been worried about me ever since that little slip on the ice. Besides, tomorrow night is the Princess’s birthday ball, and I don’t want to miss it. Her majesty has the most beautiful smile, when it’s sincere. It’s the only thing in this life worth living for. Pathetic, isn’t it? I just hope one of these days, I can gather the courage to admit I’ve been the one making her presents for the last few years. Maybe then, she’ll give me a genuine smile. I might even get a thank you. Who knows? Wouldn’t that be something?

Astrid’s hands trembled as she reached the end of the page.

And then what? Everything will magically get better? The Tsar will somehow know who I am, and we’ll all live happily ever after? God I wish I never knew! Why did this happen to me? What did I do wrong?

He knew. He knew that he was the Crown Prince, and yet he never tried to claim it. Had Valka warned him of the plot? That could be the only reason.

And now I’m coughing up blood. Fine, I’m staying home tomorrow. You win, cruel world. Up yours.

There was such raw emotion in his words. He spoke of hatred, and love. Anger and hope. He was real, true, and passionate. And these were his dying thoughts. In his final hours, he thought of her, and her smile. She brought him some semblance of happiness. If only she had known, she would have followed him around, beaming, just to ease his pain.

Astrid knew she was crying, since the words had gotten blurred through the tears, but she went back and re-read the entry again and again. This was Hiccup, really and truly, him.

She just hoped she could see this version of him before he stopped working. More importantly, she hoped he wouldn’t suffer this time.

[ikonislife]

Little One.

-Jinhwan x Reader

-Fluff, parent au, mentions of sex

Being the eldest to 6 rowdy boys count as parenting right? Jinhwan questions himself as he stares wide eyes at the piece of black and white paper you had just handed him. His brain had suddenly decided to take a vacation leaving your poor man singing a high pitch wheeze that honestly sounds a lot like a dying cat choking on a hair ball.

"Baby... Husband? Jinhwanie? Mr. Kim?" You had half expected him to faint or scream to the God above but this stone statue vacated of a soul in place of your husband had left you utterly confuse. Shit... you thought. What if, what if your worst fear had finally come true... He didn't want the baby.

"Is this what I think it is? Is it just me or did you just said there's a 4 weeks old wee little peanut baby in your belly." Eyes surveying your face for any sign that this was some elaborated prank you pulled, a stunt to get back at him for pushing you into the pool fully clothed not too long ago at Bobby’s house warming party... But alas, all he could fine was solemn. Jinhwan chuckles dryly, a bit like a mad man talking to the air and his spirit floating about the room rather than directing the questions at you.

"I- yea..." you sigh dejectedly, your nightmare had truly become reality because why else would he be in this state of shock, of disbelief when you had been “practicing” making baby for as long as, no even way before he had called you girlfriend. How would you do it without jinhwan, does all this mean a divorce is imminent? Eyes no longer on him, you stare at your lap, finger fidgeting out of sorrow and anxiety. What would you do without him. for so long it’s just you and him against the world... Could you really handle this world alone, single with a baby in your arms? You let yourself sink further into the couch, doing your all to hold back the tear threatening to spill.

"Aww, baby girl. Was this what had been stressing you out do much? Come here, sweetheart." Jinhwan's arms already around your shivering body even before the sentence was over, hot kisses pressing delicately on your features and it seemed his soul had finally pulled itself together judging by that bright smile on his lips. "You've been picking at your nail again, haven't you?" His hands prying your clasped ones apart, finger smoothing over the redden and frayed skin around your chipped colored nails before a soothing kiss chases the discomfort away.

"Yea... are you angry? I'm sorry." Face digging deep in the crook of his neck, your heart revels in the soft passing of his gentle hand on your back and the tight hold he has around your waist. 

"Why would I be angry?" Befuddlement evident across his handsome features, eyes squinting in hope of deciphering your strange question. Why would he be angry, you had just told him the best news ever yet your expression so pained then revelation hits him like a freight train.   "Wait the minute... Oh my Lord, did you think I don't want our little peanut? No, baby. Don't think that." He near shriek when your words and action finally registered in his euphoric brain. “Why would you think of something so awful. You and the little one are so important to me, how could I not want either of you.” His words brought out the tears you had been trying so hard to suppress. You let all the pent up emotion go, sobbing into his chest. Jinhwan shushes your whimper with words of love and reassurance, “I will never, ever leave you or our baby. My wife is so silly.”

“I- you just frozed when I handed you the ultrasound. You went JPEG on me! I thought you didn’t want the baby or me anymore... It’s not like we’ve ever really talked about babies, I just thought it’s not time yet...” You huff out the sentence, ending it with a wail of relief but it sounded more like a dying whale if Jinhwan has to be truthful. Nevertheless, it made him smile seeing you all pouty and clingy.

“Never! I froze because I couldn’t process what you were telling me. I literally felt like I had an out of body experience. My ghost was dancing around watching me sit here like a dumb ass staring at you.” He pulls you even closer to his chest, fingers threading through your hair doing his best to calm you down with the rocking of his body. “I love you, wifey. I think you just gave me the best present in the world, I don’t know how I’m gonna ever top that. You win best spouse in this relationship.” No words could express how over the moon your man is feeling, he’s a father, a freaking father to a real baby for god’s sake. “When did you find out?” He questions, the picture of your tiny baby clutching tight in his hand as he stares in a happy stupor.

“I was late so I took a test a week ago, but I didn’t want to say anything till I was 100% certain. It was so hard hiding it with you constantly checking up on why I was so upset. I’m so sorry, now I wish I had told you sooner.” Pressing a soft kiss onto his neck, your brain could finally revel in the happy news - you’re expecting a child, with the best husband in the world, how freaking awesome is that! A dumbstruck smile on your lips as you snuggle closer to your husband, whom you dare say even more intoxicated in this joyous occasion than you are. Certainly there’ll be trial and tribulation to come in his future but for now, he’ll settle for that light buzz he got from being so blessed, from having you and your baby in his arms. 

Tour had always been grueling but perhaps it had always been a bit easier when Jinhwan didn’t have anyone at home waiting for him. It used to be a blur of stumbling in and out of the dorm to pack, a quiet ride to the airport then just random shenanigans with his brothers while waiting for the flight. Sure he got to travel places, and eat foods the next ordinary Joe might not get the chance to but the long hour of practice and insane cycle of rehearsal than stage enervated whatever energy Jinhwan got to properly enjoy the rare day off he get to wander the city. Then before he knew it, it was back to the plane for another long haul home - jet lagged and exhausted.

Then like a little miracle, you crashed into his life like a little ray of sunshine he didn’t know he needed, lightening up his days just a bit more with your silliness, laughter, and the adorable little comments about everything and anything. His heart ache to part way with you even if it’s just temporarily yet the trip itself so much more tolerable knowing in the privacy of his hotel room, he had someone to vent to and laugh with about how his day had been. Late nights when he’s worn to the bones were no longer dull because he could always count on you being a video call away, waiting to lift his mood. No longer were he sleeping endlessly in his hotel room nor eat just for the sake of eating. He began to enjoy the little things in life, getting an ice cream down the street or just a walk with the other boys. Jinhwan found himself bookmarking restaurants and jotting down names of attractions, letting his imagination ran wild as he think of the gleams of excitement in your eyes when he can finally bring you to the places he loves most. Best of all, he finally had someone to share his interests and disinterest without having to worry about being embarrass. At the end of it all, he knew once he returns home, it wouldn’t be to an empty bed and the same faces he had seen all tour long. He loves his band brothers but once in awhile, Jinhwan just needed a change and you were exactly that for him. The way you danced in elation when he finally returned home after the first time paring way for a 3 weeks tour was unlike any experience he had before. You had cried for nearly 10 minutes out of missing him and finally getting to hold him again, he couldn’t say he was any better clinging onto you for the rest of that week.

With the little Peanut growing bigger everyday, Jinhwan finds it hard to even leave the house to practice or record let alone going on a long tour. It was harder and harder for him to leave you and the bump at home, even with Hanbin nagging his ears off every day to go do his job, anything at all other than adoring his baby and wife. The second work was done, he’d bolt straight home, never mind the dinner or the occasional night out drinking with the team, all Jinhwan wants was to be home singing to the Peanut and holding you close before all three of you falling asleep. 

“Honey, you gotta get going... Hanbin is going to nag my ears off again if you’re late. Kim Jinhwan! I know you heard me.” You scream from the kitchen, throat sore from the half hour long wake up call he had you do on this morning, feigning ignorant and refusing to budge an inch.

“WHAT?! that little brat called you? He nagged at you? Uh uh, he’s gonna get it today.” Poor Hanbin, by the way your dear husband putting so much emphasis on the way he enunciated “nagged”, someone is about to get a spanking or at the very least pester till he cry of frustration. 

“Seriously, of all the things I said, that’s all you caught? You’re late, Mr. Kim. Get, before Peanut and I kick you out of the house.” Trudging over with his duffle bag in hands, you almost faint from the ear piercing scream Jinhwan let out accompanies by the shock spreading over his face. 

“Mrs. Kim, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Drop that. DROP IT!!” Jinhwan rushes over, bag yanked away from your hand before carelessly landing across the room. Jinhwan bending over, pressing light kisses on your tiny bump before pressing his whole face onto it. With arms tightening around your waist, he peers back at your cold expression completely done with his antics, sharp eyes glaring up only got sharper when he saw the absolutely nonchalant expression on your face.

“Your mama never listen to me, Peanut. Do you see what I have to put up with? Shaking my head, I told her heavy lifting isn’t good for you but she did it anyways.” Goodness, the sass in your smol man. Kneeling on the floor, Jinhwan coos at the baby that was no longer peanut sized but nevertheless the endearing nickname remained. 

“You did not just say ‘shaking my head’ out loud. Seriously, baby, the bag wasn’t even that heavy. you have like 3 shirts in there. You worry too much.” Pulling him off the floor and into your arms, you exchange a sweet chaste kiss spending the last few minutes before parting way just gazing at each other. How lucky are you to be with someone so wonderful, swaying to the music only you two seem to be able to hear... well, make that three.

The world forgotten, Jinhwan lets himself get lost in your smile and the way your eyes sparkle so brightly with love even if you keep insisting that somehow you’ve turned into a rag doll after a hurricane. Finger tracing out the line of your face delicately, he thought of those single days when this seemed so impossible, to have a loving family. Then he thought of those days where shy kisses being peppered on the first few dates and feeling the force of thousands butterflies raging in his stomach. Sure your relationship with him had started out ass backward after foolishly sleeping with each other, result of a fun night with a few too many drinks. Boundaries were gone even before they were established yet after all the difficulties for you both to acknowledge you had feelings for each other, it just felt like innocent first love and first kiss all over again.

After all this times, after all the late night of cradling your worn out body in his arms while you cried on the bathroom floor from the sheer aching of morning sickness, even after all the random outburst of fury from not having enough nutella and cheetos in the house resulting in a grumpy Jinhwan braving the cold 3AM street, you still is the best woman in the world in his eyes. He hates so much when you’d whine that you’re no longer as pretty or couldn’t compete against the other wives in his friend group because Jinhwan honestly couldn’t see how. You’ve only gotten more stunning, ravishingly, astronomically prettier since Peanut decided to grace you both with his or her present.

“I love you so much, you know that baby? I only want the best for you and the little one.” Jinhwan could feel the tear threatening to spill now, it was once again like the first time leaving on tour after claiming each other hearts all those years ago. He just didn’t want to leave, simply couldn’t.

“I know. We’ll be okay, I promise.” Your hand unknowingly travels to smooth over the tiny one, a reassuring smile on your lips chasing his own to wash away the worries on his face. 

He might seems cheeky and low key sassier than Junhoe but he’s the best man you’ve ever met. The past few months hadn’t been easy and you weren’t the best version of yourself with the constant hormonal mood swing but he took it all with grace and not a peep of complaint. 

“I just wish the appointment wasn’t when I’m oversea. I hate the thought of you being alone... I’m so sorry, honey. I-I just, I just want to be here. I feel like I’m not doing my job.” 

“But I’m not alone. I have you and I have Peanut. It’s just one appointment, baby. there’re plenty more, I’m sure of that.” Your suspicion was on the dot, Jinhwan had been lagging on packing and far more brooding over the tour because he somehow thought he’s not being a good dad by leaving you and your baby. Lips locking once more, your heart ache now that you had a glimpse of his concerned heart. You want so badly to tag along but it’d just be a distraction, and you have your own life to worry about. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll call you as soon as they get the goop off of Peanut. Plus, our moms will be there. Yeah?”

“Yea...” He replies half heartedly, sadness lingering still.

“Smile for me. Come on, let me see that fairy smile.” He forces a smile but as seconds tick by, it turns into a small genuine giggle when you poke and prod at his side. “There we go.” Your fun cut short by the nagging ringtone you had assigned to Hanbin’s number. “That should be the van. I’ll see you in a week, okay love?” Jinhwan nods before letting a lingering kiss sends him off, but not before a few soft ones on your belly.

It wasn’t until Jinhwan had sent you one last goodbye text before boarding that you let your emotion run wild - crying because you miss him, then getting angry at yourself for being so dependent. The moment he found out you were expecting, you need not lift a finger. Honestly, you were sure the queen isn’t getting treatment this good, and you doubt any servant would be as doting and adoring  the way your husband is. With him gone, every little task just seemed so impossible until you just gave up and nap. Night time is even worse without his sweet singing lulling you and baby to sleep, nor was his warmth there to keep you toasty and comfortable all night long. 

With much struggle, the big day had finally arrived, the day that had Jinhwan at the edge of his seat all month long. You awaken to 20 messages from your husband and the boys alike, ranging from just incoherent keyboard smash to hyperventilating in text form. 

With Jinhwan being the first to get married in the group, no one is more excited for a new member of the iKon family than the rest of the boys, each showing their affection in their own way, their very own extra way if you might add. Donghyuk had claimed the spot of best uncle, declaring his love for Peanut with endless gifts, even tagging along to parenting class whenever Jinhwan couldn’t. Vying for the same title, Yunhyeong had done all the research he could, perhaps even more prepared than either you nor Jinhwan is at this whole parenting thing. At one point, the old YunDong ship had literally fought each other till near sinking because they both claimed to be the best. Little did they know, uncle Chanwoo had solidified his standing with pampering you with as much food as he could, even going as far as studying up on what food will be good for the baby, always on the look out for easier way for you to be healthy without giving up too much freedom. As expected of your food buddy after all, only he’d be worry about you having alternative to give up your favorite food in avoidance of gestational diabetes. He might be a child but for sure he’ll one day be one of  the best father there ever existed one day. Hanbin had taken on the role of mother hen, nagging you to sleep, nagging you to eat, then nags you the whole way to your doctor appointment. You’re no longer allowed to be near a microwave, nor trekking across the parking lot alone without one of the boys accompanying. Strange enough, Junhoe whom usually has no part of Hanbin’s antic had also turned into a overly paranoid freak over every little thing, playing into Hanbin’s safeguard persona. Every whimper, every second your face contorted in the sheer aching of accommodating two lives in one body, He’d be right there asking all the right question and offering all the solution he could. Bobby although not taking the route of diving into books and parenting class, he was all hands on deck the moment you had announced a makeover for your house. Everything from the cot to the paint on the wall, Bobby did it himself not trusting an outsider to be handling the essentials that will nurse iKon’s “precious cargo” as he fondly refer to Peanut with that cheeky bunny smile of his.

Pushing the delightfulness of your wonderful brothers in law to the side, worrisome plaguing your mind as your car racing down the familiar streets. You didn’t hate going to the hospital without Jinhwan, you know just how hard he works for a better future for your little growing family so your heart long accepted there will be times where he won’t be there to hold your hands. Yet there’s still a lingering sadness as you walk by the waiting room, watching as women of all ages snuggling close to their significant others, their little bump happily resting in between their bodies. 

“He’ll be home soon, Y/n. Don’t worry!” Your mom speaks up never once look up from filling out the many forms prepping for your future delivery, no doubt reading your worries without even needing to face you. All the while your mother in law had already got an embrace around your shoulders, pulling you close with a reassuring smile. This must be what they called mother intuition, they always seem to know what’s wrong and what’s going on long before you feel the need to voice your concerns.

“I know, mom. Just, he really wanted to be here...” Sadden smiles shared among the two women you have so much respect for, they watch with bated breath as the familiar black and white picture playing on the small screen.

Half an hour comes and goes in a flash as the doctor wiping away the goo smeared over on your belly, eagerness and joy bubbling near the surface you couldn’t stop smiling and neither could your moms. 

“Mom.” You call out but they were already both waving you off, shoving your phone back into your hands, knowing smiles on their lips.

“Don’t worry, we’ll finish up here.”

Not a second to waste, you hastily, as hastily as a 4 months pregnant woman wadding like a duck swallowed a planet would allowed, rush toward the exit, elation no longer contain as you squeal in happiness. One ring then two, you’ve never feel so impatient before waiting for Jinhwan to pick up as your feet dance in one spot.

“BABY! YOU FINISHED, HOW’S PEANUT, HOW’RE YOU, WHAT’D THE DOC SAID?” No time for greeting, your husband near screamed your ears off the second your “hello” sounded off in his speaker. Behind his overexcited voice, a  ruckus of overlapping calls for your name and muddled up questions that sounds more of some dead language than anything that’d make sense. A cuss left your husband lips before you could hear the leader’s voice booming out, simmering down the commotion.

“So, baby is fine. She’s super healthy... Just a bit of a brat. Sigh, she’s only four months old but already taking after her dad, being a pain in the butt for mommy. I guess she’ll be daddy’s little girl.” You muses, hinting at the long time coming answer to Jinhwan’s anticipation. You couldn’t contain your satisfaction in being able to share the moment with him (and the boys) even if it’s just over the phone, loving every second you get to say ‘she’, and ‘little girl’. Quite a strange feeling finally being able to put somewhat of an image to Peanut. Thus far your dreams had all been of an faceless, mystery baby that wasn’t really yours. Now you could really let your imagination wander in details and it never felt better. If the pregnancy hadn’t feel real up till now, this was the moment that solidified it all, you’re having a baby girl, your own daughter.

“That’s really good to hear, babe. What about the important news!!!” Clamors of agreement and chants of “boy or girl” erupt in the background.

“I said, She’s only four months old but already giving mommy a headache. Definitely daddy’s little girl.” Lord, what will you do with this man child.

“Aw, is our little baby giving you a lot of pain again? I’m sorry...” He coos out apologetically, completely missing the way you’re dragging out the important words.

“Jinhwan, are you even listening to what I said?”

“Yes, yes I am. She’s giving you a lot of trouble. Daddy’s litt- NO, NOO. Seriously? for real?” Midway through that sarcastic voice he does whenever you scold him for not listening, Jinhwan suddenly caught himself smiling like an idiot, disbelief spreading all over the joyous soon to be dad. For the next minute, loud screams emanating from the speaker, uproar of confusion and Lord knows what else went on before a calm Junhoe finally picks up the phone.

“Hey, noona. So Jinhwan hyung is having a meltdown and everyone else is... excuse me.” A torturous sigh left the young boy’s lips before a muffled “Will you all shut the fuck up!” could be heard over the speaker.  “I don’t know why, he’s not even saying anything but they’re just all screaming together. So what’s the prognosis? What are we having?” He returns to that dead tone, no doubt over everyone else’s shenanigans.

“What are we having? jeez, these boys. It’s a little girl, you’re having a niece!” 

“YAH! WE’RE GETTING A NIECE!!! YA’LL CAN GO BACK TO SCREAMING NOW” By the sound of things, Junhoe had also now lost in the celebration as the ruckus only grows louder from iKon’s noise pollution yelping. Hanging up, you shake your head at just how crazy they get but contentment spreading all over your body much like the comfort of a warm hugs thinking about little Peanut, your little daughter is so lucky to have 7 men in her life that will go through whatever length to protect her. You can’t wait till Jinhwan finally arrive home to you and his baby girl. 

You feel like a whale, no, you feel like a whale corpse washed up on the beach, bloated and ready to blow at any freaking second. Why did you agreed to this, why in the world did you agreed to put on a bathing suit even if it’s in the privacy of your own hotel room. You stare then sway back and forth, turning sideway then turning back, there’s nothing you could do to look less like a puffer fish.

“Wow...” A swim trunk clads Jinhwan casually strides in, jaws on the floor as he shamelessly stare in amazement. His eyes boring holes into your body as they shift from head to toe, lingering just a bit too long on your uncomfortably swollen breasts all the while licking his lips as if you’re something delectable. 

“Don’t you dare start, Kim Jinhwan...” You warn with a finger up, hand pulling a throw over your near naked body.

“What? I can’t admire my beautiful, gorgeously hot wife now?” Ignoring the daggers from your eyes, he inches closer, cold hand trailing gently along your bare belly sending shivers through your body. Pulling you closer to his chest, his lips crashing against yours as if you hadn’t kiss in months. 

“It’s mortifying when you stare at me like that.” Mumbling against his lips, you pull a pout that though he loves, Jinhwan hates the reason behind it. You were never one to care about exposing yourself to him, never shy away from embarrassment when he’d just ogles at you in that sinful black dress you wore for his birthday a year ago, in the cheeky little yellow bikini you wore the first beach date, in the giant pizza stained white t-shirt you stole from him in baggy sweatpants when you first moved in together... He just loves to gape at you, unabashedly, a lot, all the time. Yet ever since little Peanut arrived, he’d walk in to find you pulling a bathrobe over yourself, getting annoyed when he’d barge in the middle of your shower as he always did. 

“Why, huh? Is it really that humiliating for you? Why do you keep covering yourself up around me? Baby, If you ask me to describe in detail your lady part, I could probably do it. So why all of the sudden you wouldn’t let me see you naked.” Parting way from the hug, his expression scowl when he looks down to see your hands rather than embracing back, still holding onto the piece of fabric shielding your body away from him tightly. The red throw rips away leaving your bare skin to bask in the warm sun of paradise, Jinhwan pulls your back against his chest in a soul crushing hug, nudging you closer to the spotless floor to ceiling mirror. It was now your turn to sour as you gaze upon your pudgy body, your vulnerably naked pudgy body. “Look at you, smoking hot as a mom.” He pauses for a second, hissing in enjoyment as a finger trailing the valley of your breasts. A soft kiss tingles its way from your nape to your shoulder, before stopping at your collar bone. “I don’t understand, do you not see me shamelessly staring at you all the freaking time? You turn me on so hard even when you’re in that ugly preggo night gown my grandma gave you. Did you know that, baby?” Much to his dismay, you hum a soft “no”. 

“No? Good gracious, I haven’t been doing my job then. I love you no matter what, baby.” His hands left the hold he had around your now nude breasts, tiny red bikini ripped away moments ago just so he could revel himself in the softness of your curve, basking, near moaning as he gives them light squeezes. Nails delicately scrapping along your side, kisses dotting your skin like stars blooming night sky, Jinhwan whispers praises, luring out a whimper from your lips that tell him he had won this battle. He was in a trance, so enthralls in the way your parted lips gasping softly at his every touch, your hands atop his, guiding the pleasure to places you’d crave to be touch for so long. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Don’t you miss this?”

No word could be form aside from a ragged yes, you could feel yourself shaking in anticipation of what to come. You hadn’t realize how wonderful this was nor how long it had been since you got intimate, after all, being the size of Mars really make sex difficult. Hand smoothing over your stomach, you gasp from the way his erection flushing so pleasurably tight against the curve of your ass, watching with half closed eyes that devilish smirk blooming on his lips.

“Jinhwan!” 

“Yes, baby, I know. Let me take care of you.” Sultry oozing from his tone but right now, you’re not gasping because of the hand he had snaked into our soiled bottom...

“No, no. Babe, stop. Stop for a second.” Your frantic calls tear his heart apart and the worst scenarios rummage through his brain. 

“What’s wrong. Is Peanut okay? Are you okay, baby? Let me call the hospital.” 

“No, I’m fine.” Perplex, he stands there staring at you as if you had just said unicorn is real, you waste no time grabbing his hands in yours, pressing them against your belly. “Feel that?” Still in a confused haze, he cocks his head aside for a second before a smile breaks out on his lips.

“Oh my God, oh my God. Is that... Did she... Holy shit, I’m freaking out.”Hopping in one spot, coitus forgotten, all he could focus on was that strange yet magnificent buzz in his heart feeling your baby move for the very first time. Peanut is the product of you both but thus far, Jinhwan couldn’t help but feel unreasonably jealous being the third wheel to you and your connection with Peanut. He knew there was nothing you could do to let in in but now, he could finally have a moment to himself. 

You had felt tiny bump here and there but always chalked it to your imagination, never once did you tell Jinhwan afraid of how disappointed he’d be not being able to feel anything. Right now, this moment, it solidified yet another big step for you as parents as Peanut rolls and kicks her way into both your hearts. “Hello, little one. It’s dad!” Nothing brings you more joy than watching Jinhwan interaction with Peanut, the way his eyes sparkle with glee as he coos in adoration. “Babe, babe, feel. She kicks more when I talk to her. Hello, baby. It’s daddy. i love you so so much” You chuckle at his reaction, probably too happy to remember the little one is inside your stomach and every kick, every turn you could feel. 

“Move your hand around, she’ll follow.” You suggest, joy breaks out in your heart when he follows and screech in elation when the little rambunctious Peanut’s movements follow. 

“Wait, how did you know that trick? Have you been hiding things from me again. Babbbyyyyy!!!” 

“I’m not, I swear. I’ve never gotten her to move much until today. I didn’t wanna disappoint you that’s all.”

With a fake disapproving scowl, you were completely ignored as your man get back to the important task at hand, getting his little princess go ham with him. Pulling the bathrobe over your naked body, you settle onto the bed and let your husband have his fun. Oh well, at least the little one will have a good sleep after tiring herself out from playing.

“JINHWANNIEEE. Baby!!” 

“Breathe, love, breathe. Like how we practiced.” 

Huffing and puffing over the phone, Jinhwan mentally curses at himself for not taking the management’s offer to sit out of filming for the talkshow when he had the chance. Now riding to the airport listening to your scream of pain, he blames himself for being so careless. Leaving was always hard but this time, something about it bothered him so, perhaps because your range of mobility is that of a 3 months old, perhaps it’s because Peanut arrival date a mere few weeks away. He was antsy, itching to return when he barely boarded even when you had did your absolute best to persuade him everything will be fine until he returns. Well look how it’s all blown up in his face now. He’s so crazy for actually believing his almost 9 months pregnant wife that everything will be fine, everything is not fine! “Love, I’m boarding now. I’ll be back to you and Peanut soon okay? I love you both so much. You’re the toughest woman I know, you’ll be okay. Love you.”

“I love you too. Hurry, babe.” 

Phone thrown aside, your hands rubbing your stomach as if it would sooth the unbearable pain that showing no sign of subsiding, never mind the mess you had made on the living room couch. No class, no advice could possibly have prepare you for the real torturous waves of contraction, to make it so much worse, Jinhwan isn’t here to hold your hand, to tell you that everything is okay. Were you stupid to push him off to work when you knew Peanut could be here any seconds? Who would’ve thought she would come two weeks early with her dad being away of all thing. 

“Little one, come on. Just a little longer, mommy can hold out. Wait for your dad, okay? Be a good girl, wait for your dad.”

You whisper, hoping your baby will understand your desperation as another round on flesh searing pain radiates out. The second you were seated in the wheelchair, fate in the hand of the hospital staffs, you text Jinhwan again even if it can no longer reach the man, you just need for him to know you’re both safe. Somewhere above the city, Jinhwan prays to God to be with you and thankful the trip wasn’t over sea but a mere few cities over. The hour spent on the plane had been the longest hour Jinhwan had ever experienced, the hardest hour even with the long trainee period and two survival shows in his pocket. A throng of texts flooding his phone like a bad omen leaving the man running out of the airport, leaving all his belongings for the other boys to collect. All he could think was you.

“Hi, baby girl.” He whispers over the phone, although not sure why. 

“Jinhwannie... I’m so scare.” That’s why, he thought the second your wavering voice reaches his ear. He has to be calm, now is not the time to panic, not when you’re the one that’s about to shove a human being out.

“It’s okay, love. Listen to my voice, okay? breathe”

At the sweet sound of your husband, your worries and pain almost magically enervate, leaving a serenity to wash over your being. Suddenly the many needles poking at you, the nurse that keep staring at your lady part every few minutes just disappear. Your breath slow when your brain finally registers that soothing velvety voice, he talks about his day, then the dog he had saw, anything really but it calms you. 

“I’m almost there,sweetheart. How’s Peanut, is she being a bad little girl again? Hurting mommy?” 

“No, she’s perfect right now. The doctor said she’s right where she needs to be.” You gasp when another wave of contraction hits, hissing in an effort to hide your panic but as always, your husband knows better.

“Hey, hey, remember. Breathe, come on, do it with me. In and out. I’m at the front, love. I’ll be right there.” 

Phone shoves away, Jinhwan races agains the clock toward the source of his happiness. His heart beats faster with each step he takes but it wasn’t because of exhaustion, but rather the delightful on cloud nine warmth that was spreading over his body. 

“BABY!” he calls out with all the strength he could mustered up but you didn’t believe it at first, refusing to look away from the tiny human that already got both her mom and dad wrapped around her tiny fingers. Jinhwan couldn’t help but shed a tear at the wires attaching to your body, his mind couldn’t even dare to imagine the pain you were in so he did the only thing he could, the best thing he could. Jinhwan pulls your body into his, lips pressing against your slick with cold sweat skin. “It’s alright, baby.”

“Jinhwan! You’re here.” He’s here, he’s really here was all you could think about for a while, snuggling close to his chest. Your emotion run free as tears of happiness and of fear stream from your face leaving you a blubbering mess.

“Hey, shh. Don’t talk, just sit still. This might hurt okay? But it’ll help the pain.” You follow his sight to see a giant needle heading right for your back, jerking away out of instinct. Jinhwan lets you cling on him, squeezing his hands to a point of pain but he only responds with a smile. The small sobs from your lips rip his heart and soul apart but soon, it’ll be all over so for now, he’ll be strong for you.

The next few hours was a blur of the strange quietness of the drug blocking your pain away, Jinhwan watching over as you finally got a chance sleep then the ruckus of nurses and the iKon boys running in and out of the small hospital room. Yet even with all the confusion, all the insane things that was going on during birthing, he could  remember a few things very very clearly - the way your head leaning into his chest for support and that tired but content smile, how he wishes to take this weight off your shoulder watching your feature contort then twist as you use all your strength to push, when your body drop onto the stained bed knowing it was finally all over half crying half laughing, then the most beautiful sound he had ever heard when his baby cry out. 

He’s a dad.

Jinhwan thought little Peanut was the most perfect thing in the world even when she’s still covered in blood and guts. The cute little nose and the way her tiny fingers grasping so tightly around his unlike anything in this world. He hugs her close, settling next to your worn out form, smile never left his face even though his cheeks hurt.

“Look, mama. I’m here” He coos softly, being the pillar and support you need before handing the little bundle over into your arms. “She’s so beautiful, so beyond perfect just like your mommy.” His finger reaches out caressing her fluffy little cheek as Peanut gazes up with her cute doe eyes, a little smile at her lips when her dad voice enveloping her in love. “She has your eyes, baby. Look! even her smile, she got mommy’s smile. Lucky her!” 

“She has daddy’s nose, lips, and beauty mark though.”

Too spent to say much, you lean back and watch the way Jinhwan worship and adore his daughter before with a sadden pout, he hands her back for a bath as the doctor tends to your raw bleeding lower half but not before he presses another delicate kiss on her forehead with a quick “I love you” that had even the nurses melting. You couldn’t feel pain, not because of drug but because of Jinhwan and your daughter. Not once did he leaves your side, checking back every few seconds as you both being wheel into the private of your room. 

A gentle smile creeps onto your lips when familiar faces gathered in front of your room as you passed the threshold, with a wave, you let sleep lulls you into its embrace. Drowsy, worn, you whisper for Jinhwan to introduce the little one as the boys gather around the tiny couch before finally closing your eyes. As you drifting away with the sandman, you could make out a proud father cradling his baby to his chest as he smugly announces her arrival before darkness takes over.

“Uncles, meet little Peanut!”

[ghostbustermelanieking]

roaring like the ocean (1/2)

summary: Scully deals with her worsening cancer as tensions run high between her and Mulder.

spoilers for elegy and demons. part of my series i rewrite as i rewatch txf. warning for major angst/mention of suicide/slight suicidal thoughts.

Scully has dreams of the college girl's smooth throat being severed, her pleading eyes in the mirror. She fights off a nurse in the bathroom and wipes the blood off of her hands with scratchy paper towels while Mulder hovers nervously. He tells her, later, that Harold is dead and attributes his visions, his death to the lack of his medication. “Well, Harold Spuller wasn't dying, Mulder,” she says. “He-he was killed as a result of what that woman took away from him.”

“Is that your medical opinion?” he asks, and something in his tone hits her the wrong way, stiffens her spine. It has been a long few days.

They stop on the ramp and she turns to face him. Her hands are slick with cold sweat over the patches of dried blood. “I saw something, Mulder,” she says.

“What?”

“The fourth victim. I saw her in the bathroom before you came to tell me.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” he says, and the annoyance in his tone surprises her. Suddenly she is twenty-nine again, telling him that she followed the words of a psychic and he is mad at her for endangering herself. But at least that had made sense. At least he'd had a reason.

“Because I didn't want to believe it. Because I don't want to believe it.”

“Is that why you came down here, to prove that it wasn't true?” he asks, tension in his tone.

At the time, over four years ago, she'd been disappointed that he hadn't been proud of her for pursuing a supernatural lead, but now it just annoys her. Her life does not revolve around pleasing Fox Mulder. Except maybe it does, because she is here instead of doing other things, things that maybe she should be doing with her remaining time. “No, I came down here because you asked me to,” she says wearily.

“Why can't you be honest with me?” he asks, and she stiffens even more.

There are things she wants to say, harsh things, but she settles for snapping: “What do you want me to say? That you're right, that-that I believe it even if I don't? I mean, is that what you want?”

“Is that what you think I want to hear?”

She hadn't thought so. “No,” she says softly.

“You can believe what you want to believe, Scully, but you can't hide the truth from me because if you do, then you're working against me... and yourself,” he says.

There's more, she thinks, but she doesn't hear it. There's a roaring in her ears like the ocean, a kind of fury and incredible sadness combined inside her. He says something about being afraid of the same thing she is, and she swallows hard. She cannot do this, not now. How dare he. “The doctor said I was fine,” she says.

“I hope that's the truth,” Mulder says, and her stomach clenches.

Her eyes sting, her nose burning. She whispers, “I'm going home.”

Mulder doesn't follow her to her car and she's glad. She's going to cry and she hates crying and she hates crying in front of people. She climbs into the front seat of the car and clutches the wheel but she can't bring herself to start the car. She trembles, dissolving into brief, soft sobs. She can't put into words what she's crying over. The college girl in the mirror, maybe. Her doctor's appointment, the fact that she is inching closer and closer to inevitable death. She doesn't want to die. The fact that her best friend accused her of lying to him, of working against him. She sniffles.

Ahead of her, the ambulance carrying Nurse Innes springs to life, wailing as it pulls out onto the street. Her eyes follow it until they land on the rear view mirror. Harold Spuller stares back at her from the back seat.

Jolting in place, eyes widening, she turns around quickly. The back seat is empty. God, she thinks, trembling. I don't believe in ghosts. I don't. But she is dying, and she has seen the recently deceased. Just like Harold, just like Angie Pintero. She is dying.

Somehow she manages to drive home. She doesn't remember the trip; she just remembers staggering out of the car, unlocking her door and crawling into bed. She doesn't dream. She wakes up to blood sliding out of her nose, pain reverberating through her skull, and calls in sick. It's Friday. She can have the weekend to regain her dignity.

Mulder notices. Of course Mulder notices. He calls her near the end of the day, when she's wrapped up in blankets on her couch with a book her mother recommended. She answers without looking, and the all-too familiar, “Hey, Scully, it's me,” makes her stiffen from head to toe. “Are you okay? You were out of work today.”

“I'm fine, Mulder,” she mutters, setting the book face-down on her lap.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and his ton is exactly the same as last night. She closes her eyes, resting her head against the side of the couch, and resists the urge to snap at him. “You don't seem fine. Last night, this morning…”

She sighs heavily. “I don't want to talk about this right now, Mulder. I'll see you Monday.” Her thumb goes towards the button to hang up.

“Scully, wait,” he says, and his voice is urgent enough that she doesn't hang up. Silence for a minute before he says, “Look, I… I know I screwed up. I'm sorry. I just… There's a lead I'm following this weekend, and I wondered if you'd want to…”

“I'm not particularly interested,” she snaps, more viciously than originally intended. “And I'm not sure why you would want my help. Not if you can't trust me. Not if I'm working against you.”

Silence again. She can hear his breathing, can hear the hurt in his inhales and exhales. “I'll see you later, Scully,” says Mulder finally, quietly. Defeated. He hangs up before she can decide whether or not she wants to say anything.

She puts the phone down on the coffee table. Wipes her eyes and opens her book.

---

She should've expected the phone call summoning her to Rhode Island at five a.m. Sunday morning. Things are never simple with Mulder, and she can't just go the weekend without seeing him and go into work on Monday. The sound of his voice--disoriented, feverish--is enough to sway her, but her mind is made up when he says, “I've got blood all over me.” His blood or not, something bad has happened and she is the only one who will come.

She forgets the fight on the way up there, forgets almost everything of the previous weekend. She finds him in the shower in the hotel room, wraps him in a blanket and checks him for injuries. He doesn't remember anything after their conversation Friday. His gun has been fired.

They track Mulder's movements to Amy and David Cassandra, to the Mulders’ old summer house. Mulder has something like a seizure outside and they find two bodies inside. Mulder is arrested for murder. It happens too fast for her to stop any of it.

“I'm going to get you out of here,” she tells him, and she means it. She finds ketamine in Amy Cassandra and in Mulder. She works all night, autopsying, gathering intel on the Cassandras and a dead police officer. Her phone rings sometime around eleven; it's her mother, wanting to know where she is. She can feel the disapproval leaking through when she explains. Maybe she should feel the same way her mother does, maybe she should be upset at another weekend lost to some crazed goose chase. “I have to, Mom,” she says instead, stubbornly white-knuckling the phone. “Mulder needs me. No one else is going to help him.”

Her mother sighs on the other end of the phone and she pretends she doesn't hear it. “Just don't overexert yourself, Dana,” she says quietly. “And come home soon. I miss you.”

Scully clutches the phone so hard it hurts. “I will, Mom,” she whispers. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” her mother says sadly. “Goodbye, sweetie.” She hangs up and tears spring to Scully's eyes; she wipes them away firmly. After this is over, she'll spend as much time as possible with her mother. She puts down the phone and picks up the scalpel.

Finally she finds what she hopes she knew all along: proof of Mulder's innocence. A murder-suicide. By the next morning, Mulder's reached the same conclusion and is determined to track down the truth with no signs of stopping.

She's seen this look of absolute determination, of closing everything else out on his face before; a few months ago, she saw it in Allentown as he hunted down answers to why she was sick. He had wanted to keep going with the investigation, had brought it up for weeks ago, had a running file and everything, but eventually she shot him down. (The answers may be out there but they are unattainable, just as they always have been. And she knows better than to believe that there's a cure for brain cancer. She was too exhausted to look any further.) Maybe the reason he's plunging into these wild causes is because he needs a pursuit, and if it can't be her illness it might as well be the usual. Maybe it's a distraction. Or maybe it's just the way he is and she can't expect any different. He barely speaks to her on the ride to Warwick, and she can't tell if it's the fact that he's sick or because of everything that's happened between them as of late. She's not sure he's entirely forgiven her for what happened with van Blundht.

She starts to understand at Goldstein’s office: Mulder walked away from their conversation on Friday (from the things she said) and did something insane. She doesn't understand, she doesn't fucking understand. “Why would you do that, Mulder?” she demands as they leave the office. “Why would you undergo something as crazy and dangerous as this?” He doesn't answer. As soon as they step out into the sunshine, Mulder groans sharply, his hands to his head. “Mulder?” He crumples, nearly bent in half. “Mulder!” She's at his side in a second, touching his arm. “Mulder?” He's groaning and convulsing, hot and quivering under her hand. He finally stills, on his knees on the pavement next to her, and she strokes his forehead, prodding gently, “Mulder?”

“I'm fine,” he says, getting to his feet, and irritation courses through her. She's starting to understand why Mulder gets so mad when she says she's fine. He is not fine. Not at all.

“No, I am not going to take that for an answer,” she says fiercely as he walks away, right on his heels. “You do not belong at work. You need to be somewhere where you can be monitored.” No response. She tries, “You are a danger to yourself and a danger to me.” She thought if anything would get through to him it would be a threat to her, but he shows no sign of having heard her. “Are you hearing me?”

“Give me the car keys,” he says stubbornly.

“No, you're not driving. You're not doing anything until these symptoms go away.” She should have fucking come with him on Friday. Anything is better than this, this fucking mess.

Mulder turns to face her, says, “Scully, I don't want these symptoms to go away. Whatever's happening to me, whatever treatment I've received, is allowing me to go back into my unconscious. The truth is in there, recorded, and I've gotten access to it. What happened to my sister--the reason she was taken--is becoming clear to me, and I need to know that.” She exhales; there's nothing she can say to him that would change his mind. She knows him. “Now give me the keys,” he adds firmly.

She inhales, exhales again. “To go where?”

“To my mother's, in Greenwich.”

She should say no. She should demand that he go to a hospital, tell him they'll pursue this later. She should demand that he stop putting himself in danger, goddamnit, because she'd do anything to have a few more years, to live to see Christmas. But all she can hear is his voice saying, You're working against me. He'll go either way, whether she gives him her approval or not. The least she can do is make sure he's safe.

“Okay,” she says, wearily. “But I'm driving.”

---

It's a fucking cycle, she should've seen this coming. The Mulders disappear into a side room, and a few minutes later, Teena Mulder comes bursting out of the room where she and Mulder were talking, not giving Scully a second look before storming up the stairs. Thinking maybe she can comfort Mulder, Scully draws closer to the room, nudging the curtained doors open gingerly, and immediately sees that it's empty. She hears the clunk of a closing car door and comes to the window just in time to see their car speeding away from the house. “Fucking bastard,” she hisses through her teeth. “Goddamn fucking bastard.” She knows exactly where he's going, what he's doing.

Anyone else might say that she should leave him to himself, that he clearly doesn't care for his health or wellbeing. She can't. The tug in her stomach is too strong. She has no idea what he'll do, who he'll hurt--be it someone else or himself. She calls a taxi to a rental car place--her car is still back in Providence--and waits at Teena’s door anxiously, hands clenched around her elbows.

“Are you going to find him?”

She turns to see Teena Mulder standing on the stairs, looking distressed. “I hope so, Mrs. Mulder,” she says quickly. “I'm sorry for… I've called a cab, it should be here any minute.”

Teena nods. Her eyes travel over Scully’s face before she says, “You're bleeding, Miss Scully.”

She feels the trickle of blood too late. “Damn,” she mumbles, hand traveling fast to her nose. “Do you have, um… may I use your washroom?”

Mulder's mother shows her to the bathroom and stays in the doorway as Scully cleans up. She studiously avoids eye contact, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute. “Whatever Fox did to himself,” says Teena suddenly, “did you do the same thing? He was bleeding, too.”

A combination of irritation and worry comes up to the surface. Of course Mulder's mother wouldn't know. “I'm ill,” she says behind crumpled Kleenex. “Not the way Mu--not the way Fox is.”

Teena nods. “I slapped him,” she murmurs. “I am sorry for that, no matter how mad he made me. Will you tell him that?”

She slapped him? Scully stares at herself in the mirror, too pale, a wad of red-stained Kleenex held to her nose. She swallows hard before turning to Teena. “Yes, I will.”

The other woman nods, face unchanged, before turning and heading back down the hall. Scully can hear her footsteps on the stairs. When she exits the bathroom and goes back into the corridor, she can see the taxi waiting on the curb.

---

The police are already at Goldstein’s when she arrives. The police car is pulling away as the detective who headed Mulder's investigation looks on. She runs to him, demanding, “Where's Mulder?”

“He's not here,” the man says.

“Did you ask Dr. Goldstein?”

“Goldstein wouldn't say one way or the other.”

She focuses in on the police car and determination suddenly courses through her like a drug. “Hey, stop the car!” she shouts, running after them. She catches up to the car as it stops, as other officers crowd the car with her. “Open the back door,” she tells one of the officers. As soon as it's open she leans in, demanding, “What did you do to him?”

Goldstein turns his face away, closing his eyes as she continues harshly, “Look, I know he came back here. This is the only place he would have gone. Did you treat him?” Nothing. She seizes a handful of his shirt and yanks him up go meet her. “Damn it! Answer me!”

“Yes,” he says quickly, fearfully.

“Where is he now?”

“I don't know where he went,” Goldstein scrambles, shaking his head wildly as he looks worriedly up at her.

She shoves him back on the seat with disgust, watches as he gasps for breath, for composure. “What was the last thing he said to you?” she snaps.

“He said he was going to exorcise his demons.”

She knows where he's going to go. She turns away from the car, shoes clicking on the pavement. “Agent Scully.” The lead officer, Curtis something, is following her. “Where are you going?”

“I'm going to find Mulder.” She rummages in her coat pocket for her keys. “He needs medical attention.”

“That man is armed and dangerous,” Curtis snaps. “His actions are unpredictable. You're putting yourself and others in danger by refusing to reveal his location.”

“Mulder would never hurt me,” Scully says stubbornly. “He's hurt and he needs help. I can calm him down, convince him to go to a hospital. He doesn't need the calvary swooping in, it'll agitate him.”

“If you're certain he wouldn't hurt you,” says Curtis, in a way that suggests he doesn't believe her, “fine. But we don't know that he won't hurt others. We need to be prepared for the possibility that he will. We can't sacrifice innocent lives for one man.”

Scully bites her lower lip. She'd like to say she can take care of this entirely on her own, but she isn't sure. “Quonochontaug,” she tells him, feeling like a traitor. “His childhood vacation home. He'll go back there.” Curtis nods, satisfied, and she takes a step towards him, eyes hard. “I'm coming with you. I'm taking care of this. No arguments.”

Curtis nods absently, turns away from her, pulling out his radio. “It's an hour away, we’ll never make it. I'm going to send the local police on ahead of us.”

“Tell them not to go in!” Scully says quickly. “Tell them to wait outside. I don't even know if Mulder's there yet, I don't know how much of a head start he had. But they can't arrest him. They can't let him know they're there. Tell them to wait for me and I'll talk him down.”

Curtis studies her for a moment before sighing and saying, “You do seem to be the only person who can get through to him.” He turns and heads toward his car, calling, “Ride with me, we'll get there faster,” as he goes.

She can't relax the entire way up there, even with the added benefit of the siren for speed. Her fingers drum restlessly on her knee and she watches out the window, looks at the blur of headlights ahead. She can't stop picturing Mulder hurt, Mulder dead, Mulder gone before her. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. She thinks back to when Mulder had held her in the hospital and kissed her forehead, when he'd smiled goofily at her over a pink birthday cake and given her a key chain. Maybe it's selfish of her to want him to be that Mulder all the time, but she needs him. Needs his support. But god, crazy drilled-a-hole-in-his-head Mulder is still Mulder and she can't lose him.

She instructs the waiting police not to shoot before entering the house alone. She opens the door quietly, cautiously, and goes for her gun before she changes her mind, mentally berating herself. It's Mulder and he would never hurt me, she tries. But the statement feels void as she moves through the dark house like a character in a horror film. Two people died here while Mulder watched. A murder-suicide, and Mulder did the same thing to himself that Amy Cassandra did before her death. She hopes history doesn't repeat itself here, tonight. “Mulder?” she calls.

“Leave me alone, Scully,” he calls back harshly from somewhere upstairs. He sounds angry, on edge, unpredictable, but he is still alive and that's all she needed to know. She follows the voice.

She finds the room, finds him sitting in it, head tipped back and eyes closed, rocking slightly. “Mulder, it's me,” she says quietly.

“Scully, leave me alone.” He doesn't stop his motion, trembling in place, and he makes a sudden sound somewhere between a choke and a gasp. She sees the gun in his hand as she draws closer, as he shakes and rocks. He is falling apart right in front of her. “It's… all falling into place,” he says.

“Mulder, put down the gun,” she says calmly.

“No. Don't try to stop me.”

She thinks of Amy Cassandra and murder-suicides, and no, damnit, they are both walking out of this house alive tonight. “Please, Mulder…” she pleads.

He trembles and trembles. His hand suddenly shoots out to the gun, clenching around it, and he turns furiously and points it at her as if she is a criminal, shouting, “Get away!”

Modell in a hospital room and he's fighting against it, shaking with the force of not shooting her, telling her to get away but in a different context. Icy Cape and he wants to trust her and he's only doing it because she pointed the gun at him first. “Are you going to shoot me, Mulder?” she asks, evenly, and she never, never expected him to nod so determinedly like this. He's sick, she reminds herself, he doesn't know what he's doing, but that doesn't stop it from feeling like something inside her has shattered. Mulder, it’s me, she wants to say. It’s me. “Is that how much this means to you?” she continues. She is picking her way through the shards. She hears herself say, Mulder would never hurt me. “Mulder, listen to me. You have been given a powerful hallucinogen. You don't know that these memories are yours.” He doesn't lower the gun. Her eyes are burning and, oh god, she is going to cry. She cannot cry here. “This is not the way to the truth, Mulder,” she says softly, forcing her voice to remain steady. She's shaking her head a little, partially out of disbelief. Murder-suicide, murder-suicide. He may not shoot himself now, but if he shoots her she knows he will eventually follow. It's her biggest fear in her impending death, what will happen to him. “You've got to trust me,” she tries. The same thing she said to him all those years ago in a rainy hotel room; maybe it'll get to him.

“Just shut up!” he roars.

“Put down the gun,” she says. He doesn't move. He's looking at her and not really seeing her. For a second, she wishes he would pull the trigger. Her head hurts and she is dying and she wants it to end. Make it stop, Mulder, just do it. Would he end her pain by shooting her if he asked? Maybe she won't have to.

“Let it go,” she says. His fingers tighten around the gun. She closes her eyes and readies herself for the gunshot.

The loud sound is startling but she feels no pain. Her eyes fly open, terrified she'll see Mulder dead on the ground, but the shots continue and Mulder is standing, facing away from her. He is emptying his clip into the wall. She watches. She is going to cry. She swallows hard and thinks of her mother. Whatever happens to lead to her death, she needs a chance to say goodbye.

When he's finished, he crumples in on himself. She approaches him slowly, touching his arm. He doesn't move. She gives in to it for once, her unexplainable need for him, and wraps herself around him, resting her cheek on his back. He is warm and she wants to sob. “It's okay, Mulder,” she whispers. “It's over. It's okay.”

Feet pound the steps angrily. It's the calvary. She pries the gun out of Mulder's hand and throws it across the room before leaning back over him like a shield. The police burst in, guns drawn, scanning the room. “Don't hurt him!” she calls to them, tightening her awkward hold on him. “He's sick. He needs help. Call an ambulance.”

A few of the men lower their guns, but most do not. The leader stares at her incredulously. “Call a goddamn ambulance!” she snaps.

Someone pulls out their phone and starts dialing. The bundle of officers disperse, rattling around the room looking for evidence. “You're not going to arrest him,” she snaps at a few who draw closer, and they leave them alone after that.

Mulder is still unresponsive, stiff as a board under her embrace. He's hot and feverish. She sniffles and smooths his hair, rests her head on the strong surface of his back until the paramedics come.

She won't let them touch him; she coaxes him onto the stretcher herself. “We just want to help him, miss,” says one.

“I'm riding with him,” she tells them firmly and they don't argue. She lets them carry the stretcher, following right on their tail.

Ambulances always remind her of Leonard Betts now. She answers the paramedic’s questions as she takes a seat beside Mulder, gripping his hand in hers. “He doesn't know what he's doing,” she says again and again. “He's sick.”

“Are you okay, miss?” the paramedic in the back with them asks kindly. “You're bleeding.”

She clasps her free hand to her nose and feels the trickle of blood. She suddenly feels the exhaustion in every part of her body, in her bones. “I have brain cancer,” she mumbles. “This is normal. It's nothing.”

“I think maybe you should let someone check you out at the hospital, miss,” says the paramedic. “Along with your friend.”

Scully nods, barely knowing what she is saying.

Mulder's fingers tighten around hers. “Scully?” She looks down at him; he looks terribly confused, but responsive. He's actually responsive. His free hand comes up to touch her face. “You're bleeding. I didn't… I didn't shoot you, did I?” he says unsteadily.

She drops his hand. “No, Mulder,” she whispers. Tears are springing up to her eyes, finally. Murder-suicide, but they are still alive. They are still alive but she won't be. Not for much longer. “You didn't shoot me.”

The paramedic doesn't comment when she dissolves into sobs behind her hand.

---

The oncology department at the hospital recommends that she see her personal oncologist when she gets home. “And take it easy,” they recommend. Somehow, she doesn't foresee that happening. They tell her she can see Mulder, that they have him on sedatives while the ketamine leaves his system, but she doesn’t. She gets a hotel room and sleeps until the next evening.

Scully doesn't think of the backlash from the Bureau until Skinner calls, demanding answers. She explains warily, cross-legged on the bed and rubbing her temples. She leaves out the part where she really thought Mulder was going to shoot her. Skinner doesn't seem very satisfied with her explanation, but then again, it's the truth. “I'm sure Agent Mulder can explain it to you more fully, sir,” she says, palm pressing into her forehead.  

“I expect a full report from you, Agent Scully. In writing,” says Skinner sternly. She wants to protest that it wasn't even a case, not officially, that Mulder just did something stupid and she had to track him down and pick up the pieces. As usual.

After hanging up with Skinner, she is in no mood to go to the hospital and check on Mulder. She orders a pizza and manages two whole slices, lies in bed and watches rerun after rerun of I Love Lucy to clear her head.

She goes to the hospital in the morning simply because it is unavoidable. The nurses tell her that he is fine, that the ketamine is out of his system and the wound on his head is healing fine, that the seizures have stopped and so has his irrational behavior. They wave her on back and she tries to ignore the worry knotting in her stomach. The uncertainty.

Mulder is sitting up in bed while the TV plays quietly in the background. He looks up when she enters and she sees the shame spreading over his face before he looks away, quickly. “Hey, Scully,” he mumbles.

She's torn between hugging him and hitting him, so she settles for a neutral (if not slightly hard), “Hey, Mulder,” as she goes to sit in the chair beside his bed. He won't look at her; he picks at the hem of his blanket, brow furrowing. He's embarrassed. She's hurt. “What do you remember?” she tries. Maybe conversationally, maybe confrontational--she's not entirely sure.

“I don't… I don't know.” He rubs his face in distress. “I remember my mom and Samantha and… the smoking man… but I can't give any context to it all. Now that it's all stopped.”

“No,” she says, her hands fisting in the material of her coat. “I mean, what do you remember from the past few days.”

“Oh.” He swallows, staring at the blanket. A laugh track plays in the background. “I… I remember everything.”

She looks down at her hands curling in the dark material of the coat, at the pale, freckled backs of them. Remembers how they'd held Mulder not even two days ago, how she'd held his hand and wouldn't let anyone else touch him. He didn't know what he was doing, she reminds herself. He wasn't in his right mind. He wasn't…

“And how do you feel about… about everything that's happened?” she asks her hands.

“Are you kidding me?” His voice is sharp in the empty hospital room. “I feel like fucking shit, Scully.” He's still not looking at her but his shoulders are rigid, his hands clutching the blanket in the same way hers are clutching her coat. She thinks about taking his hand. She thinks about confronting him about the emotional roller coaster this past week has been.

She clears her throat instead, running her thumb over her fingernails. They're gnawed practically to the quick; when did that happen? “Are they discharging you today?” she asks.

“Yeah,” says Mulder bitterly. “Apparently I'm not a danger anymore. Any charges against me are cleared; I guess I should thank you for that.”

She gulps, squirming in her chair. She can't tell if he's madder at her or himself. “I'm planning on driving on back today,” she says. “Do you… do you want to…”

“My car’s still up here,” Mulder says. “I need to drive it back.”

“Oh.” She's caught a loose thread between her fingers; she pulls at it, frustrated. “Yes. Well… I should head on back, I guess.” She doesn't know why she's saying this. She's never left him alone in the hospital, not once, before now, but. She can't stay here and awkwardly talk to him. She can't do this. She is a coward and she is running.

She looks up at him and he doesn't look back at her. “Get well soon, Mulder,” she says softly, hating herself for sounding like a Hallmark card. “Drive safe. I'll see you at work.”

Scully drives home in a daze, listening to talk shows on the radio until the voices blur into a motionless rhythm. She doesn't go home right away; she goes to her mother's house. “Dana,” her mother says with surprise when she opens the door, like she wasn't expecting her. Of course she wasn't expecting her. “What a lovely surprise.”

Scully hugs her mother tightly and lets the weekend fall away in her warm embrace. She is not dead yet.

[hexusproductions]

The Museum

Summary: It’s finally time for Glimmer to fulfil her part of Magpie’s plan. Author’s Note: Jesus Christ, this is super late and also super long. I just got so excited while writing this (and ironically, it’s late because I couldn’t find any motivation to write it in the first place). This is the final part of the three-parter, following ‘Accessory’ and ‘Confidence and Confidants’. @couldyounottalktomethanks @lawful-evil-novelist

The museum. She should have run when she had the chance.

Glimmer tugged at her collar as she walked through the building, panic fluttering in her chest whenever she saw a staff member or a guard. She kept anxiously thinking that they knew, they knew why she was here and any second now they were going to grab her and throw her away to jail, or worse, Arkham. But she made herself breathe, think rationally, and then force her feet to keep moving. Just around the corner was where she was meant to be; two security guards, circling the room counter-clockwise.

Glimmer glanced at the opening off to the side that led to the storage room before taking her fifth deep breath and standing in front of one of the many display cases in the room. She crossed her arms, but that seemed too tight so she uncrossed them, but then she wasn’t sure what exactly to do with her arms so she crossed them again.

Maybe she should just slap herself.

Glimmer glanced over her shoulder in time to see one of the two guards walk past. His card was in his back pocket, but there wasn’t much of an edge poking out of it. Glimmer frowned slightly and looked over to the storage room again before quickly turning her head to the cabinet again so she didn’t seem obvious. Aged vases and pieces of pottery, neither of which she was really interested in. Glimmer kept pretending to be interested until the other guard sauntered past, glancing at the time on her phone. Even when Glimmer took a step to the right as if moving to another display, she couldn’t see the keycard anywhere. Glimmer’s frown deepened. Her only choice was the man.

Time seemed to slow down as Glimmer stood there at the display cabinet, waiting for the other guard to come back. Panic built again. He knew, he must have known, he had seen right through her act and was calling her in. She was going to be arrested, a criminal record just like her mother, the same spiralling dive into the hellhole of crazy.

She released a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding when he finally appeared in her peripheral vision. And he still looked calm and bored. Glimmer waited tensely, as if standing in a closing iron maiden, before she turned around and started walking.

Less stiff, slow down, Annabelle.

Doubt was foremost in her mind even though she wanted anything but right now. Those last few seconds slowed again as she passed the guard, a wild mixture passing through her mind of leaving now, of her fear of losing those she cared about, of Ellie’s warning.

The guard walked on, and so did Glimmer.

The card felt snug and larger than normal in her palm.

Glimmer kept walking almost in a state of shock until she almost collided with the opposite wall. She looked down at the card in her hand and felt something building in her throat she couldn’t identify. A shriek, a shout, something. She glanced back over her shoulder and the guard seemed not to have noticed, the only thing different being the itch he was scratching on the back of his neck. She’d done it. She’d actually done it.

The moment was a tainted and bittersweet pride as Glimmer decided that if her fondness for sequins went anything beyond fondness, she’d have someone shoot her in the head.

Glimmer turned and moved quickly towards the storeroom. An arm shot out from one of the display cabinets and pulled her behind it, a hand closing around Glimmer’s mouth before she could shout. Glimmer struggled in her mother’s grip, murder in her eyes, before she held up the keycard and Magpie grinned.

“Fantastic work, jewel.” Magpie whispered, taking the card, “Come on.” She released Glimmer a second before Glimmer could do anything she was tempted of doing, and pushed her out to hurry past her. Glancing over to make sure no one was watching, Magpie went to the storage room door and the slot beside it, Glimmer begrudgingly following her. She crossed her arms and Magpie ran the card through the slot. There was a beep and then a buzz as the light changed from red to green, and Magpie grinned again and Glimmer turned around.

Good. Now she could go home and forget about all of-

Glimmer stifled a yelp as she was yanked into the storeroom after Magpie.

The door was closed behind them and Glimmer snapped her arm out of Magpie’s grip, glaring at her angrily.

“What are you doing?! I’ve done what you wanted!”

“You look over there, I’ll look in most recent deliveries.” Magpie instructed, pointing before scurrying off. Glimmer scowled again. She was being ignored. Again. Glimmer stayed exactly where she was as Magpie searched, shifting though the open metal shelves. Glimmer glanced at the door. She looked back at her mother before her gaze hardened and she went to the door and gripped the handle.

“Glimmer! Where are you going?!” Magpie snapped. It was less of a question and more of an order. Glimmer didn’t move for a split second before she stiffly stepped back and walked over to Magpie.

“You’re meant to be searching.”

“I didn’t want to be here. You made me take the card, I did, and now I can go.” Glimmer stated matter-of-factually. Magpie frowned before brightening as she reached across and pulled out one of the Fabergé eggs, and then grabbed the second with her other arm.

“Aren’t they just gorgeous, Glimmer?” Magpie beamed, “Beautiful things, so happy to be coming home with us.”

“They’re inanimate, Mom.” Glimmer told her, an edge to her tone this time. Magpie lifted her head, and her smile broadened.

“Just think, next time you may even find something for yourself as well.” She continued, but then paused before adding, “Within reason, of course.”

“Next time?” Glimmer exclaimed, before glancing at the door in fear and lowering her voice again, “This was a one time thing, remember? There isn’t going to be a next time.”

“Of course there will, didn’t you enjoy yourself?” Magpie asked.

“No!” Glimmer looked at her mother as if that were the stupidest and most insane thing she’d ever heard, and most likely it was. Magpie blinked before nuzzling one of the eggs, and Glimmer scowled for the third time.

“Next time, my little jewel...” Magpie promised, voice low and distracted. Glimmer felt herself grow tense and her hands curled into fists at her sides. Whether she’d come close to being caught or not, that short time in the museum was the most frightened and vulnerable she’d felt in her life.

Magpie didn’t even look at her daughter, only focused on the precious items she’d risked Glimmer’s safety for.

“Shiny shiny...” Magpie hissed lovingly, and Glimmer snapped.

“ENOUGH!” She snarled, striking Magpie in the chest. Shoved back, the eggs tumbled out of her grip and a wail escaped Magpie as they shattered on the floor.

Glimmer stared; If stealing the card had put her in shock, this had put her in a wide-eyed coma. She had hit her mother, the hand now hanging by her side.

What snapped her out of it was another shout from outside of the storage room.

“Who’s in there!?” A voice exclaimed, and the door opened wide to reveal both of the guards. Glimmer’s eyes widened and Magpie’s head whipped around, pieces of priceless eggshell still clutched to her chest. She jumped up and darted off, and Glimmer turned around in mild surprise before looking at the guards and sprinting after her. They ran after the two, still telling them to stop as one of them called the police. Glimmer was being fuelled by pure fear as she chased after Magpie, who took a wild path to two shelves together in a corner, scaling them before pushing open a small window and slipping through it. Glimmer didn’t even have time to think as she silently jumped up and followed, her ascent much clumsier. She yelped as she collided painfully with the window frame halfway before pulling herself through and quickly grabbing the edge of the roof above it, hauling herself up. Glimmer panted and glanced down over the edge, wished she hadn’t, and then made herself keep going. If they didn’t catch her, they couldn’t convict her. She kept repeating that to herself as she ran, barely noticing that she had passed her mother until she stumbled to a stop, the same way Magpie had stopped mere seconds before. A familiar dark figure was standing on the rooftop, blocking their path.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Glimmer was completely frozen in terror for at least a minute. She snapped out of it and immediately put her hands up in surrender.

“I’m so sorry.” Was all she could think to say, her voice catching. Batman looked at her before looking over her shoulder, and the absolutely furious look that appeared on his face made Glimmer take a step back. Batman walked forward, Glimmer expecting the worst, but he stepped around her with nothing more than a hand on her shoulder.

“Go home. Before the police get here.” He told her quietly. Glimmer blinked in surprise and turned around, watching as Batman approached Magpie with the same look he had before.

“Bringing your daughter into this?” Batman growled. Magpie glanced at Glimmer with a brief flicker of anger before fixing her gaze on Batman, a hand resting on her cocked hip.

“You know what they say Batman. Blood is thicker than water.”

“She has her whole future ahead of her, Magpie.” Batman continued, “Don’t force her to make the same mistakes you have.” Glimmer was still standing there, looking shocked and confused. Her idea of Batman had been the cold detective that sent most criminals to the hospital. She had never expected...concern.

“I haven’t forced her to do anything.” Magpie retorted, “She did it because I asked her to.” Batman glanced back, and Glimmer shook her head quickly.

“Even if I did believe you,” Batman stated, turning back, “Glimmer would never steal from anyone. She doesn’t want to.” Magpie’s eyes narrowed.

“She doesn’t belong to you Batman!” She exclaimed possessively, “I know her better than you do!”

“I doubt that.”

Magpie snarled and lashed out, but Batman quickly grabbed her arm and pinned it behind her back. Grabbing the other, he forced her to the ground carefully and handcuffed her. Magpie squirmed and wriggled ferociously as Batman tied her ankles together, and dragged her towards where he had come from. Glimmer almost took a step back again, but she stopped. Still wide-eyed, she stared in silent amazement as he passed her, before she quickly shook her head and found her voice again.

“How did you know my name?” Glimmer questioned, and Batman paused. A long silence passed, and Glimmer glanced away as she thought she’d crossed some unspoken boundary.

“I know it’s hard for you, living with someone like her.” He finally spoke, turning towards her again, “But you’ve been doing well. You’re strong. You know the others, don’t you?”

“Others?”

“Others like you, with rogues for parents.”

“Oh.” Glimmer nodded quickly, “Yes, I do. Sir.” She thought she was hallucinating when he smiled slightly.

“You don’t have to call me sir.” He took a step before adding, “Remember Glimmer, sometimes you need other people. Trust me, I should know.” Speechless again, Glimmer just nodded again. Batman continued on, Magpie pausing only in her struggling to look at Glimmer pleadingly. Glimmer’s amazed look immediately vanished when she looked at her, and she turned and started looking for another way down. She didn’t see the equally angry and betrayed look on Magpie’s face as she was taken away, but there was little chance that Glimmer would have cared regardless.

[omegatheunknown]

...In which I thoroughly (yet naively) survey Metallica.

More than a month ago I finished reading Masters of Doom, which in addition to being an interesting history of PC Gaming’s pioneering id Software and stirring nostalgia about the halcyon days of 90s first-person shooters, made frequent and compelling reference to the influence of heavy metal on the aesthetic sensibilities of John Romero (though he’s ultimately more of a Dokken fan, which I can’t speak to.) Listening to the actual soundtracks of Doom, Doom II, Quake, Duke Nukem 3D led me straight into a curious survey of Megadeth, then Metallica, briefly Slayer, Anthrax, back to Metallica, Exodus, Sepultura, Suicidal Tendencies, Overkill, back to Megadeth and then back Metallica, over and over Metallica. I am listening to Metallica now. 

Can’t say I’m sure why. Without meaning to sound condescending, I’d always assumed if thrash metal appealed to me, it might have happened when I was a teenager. Perhaps environmental factors were at play, but at my most susceptible and angst filled years, the garage rock revival was in full swing, as was something of a (perceived? I will never know if this was a widespread thing. I wasn’t nearly as online then) grunge renaissance. Grunge was locked in as tonal and aesthetic sensibility and my friends’ bands were grungy pop punk with a bit of emo sprinkled on top. As I said, the questionable excesses of youth, complete with pretension about what is good (The Stooges, The Pixies, The Strokes and NIRVANA) and what is silly and ridiculous (Nu-Metal’s relative strength and the silliness of bands like Korn and Slipknot did not help Metal’s esteem.) A respect but low level of enthusiasm for Deep Purple, Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden didn’t manifest anything serious any time in the last fifteen years. Thrash’s underground roots put some doubt in the mind re: whatever vague supposition my teenaged peers and I had about the opposing forces of punk and metal (though I do remember actual arguments with a fan of what I described as ornate but soulless arpeggios who thought PJ Harvey’s oeuvre was unsophisticated and boring.) There’s a lot of grunge’s DNA in early Metallica. Which kind of makes it all the more bewildering that I haven’t been here before. All that wasted time listening to Mudhoney! Also, not to spoil the ending, how bewildering it is that Metallica absolutely fell to pieces in the 90s.    Kill ‘em All is a stupidly exciting record. Had I been around to hear it in the 80s, it would’ve melted my brain. I assume if I heard it in the 00s it would’ve done the same. I think part of the issue with Metallica is that when I was a precocious kid/tween they were not nearly at their best and the only second hand exposure you get to a well-established but no longer thriving band is their hits, and even post-survey I don’t particularly care for ‘One’ or ‘Enter Sandman.’ (Then again, at the height of Metallica v Napster you’d think young Zaq would’ve been a little more curious... and those mp3s would’ve be right there...) Anyway, Kill ‘em All: devastating and fun. Imagine if Mötley Crüe was ever any good (were they?) No, that’s insane. And gives a person very little to go on. High energy from the jump, utter shred. Reminiscent only of a slower, hopelessly outclassed version of the same thing, which is to say I think if you slowed a track like The Four Horsemen down you’d end up with a dreary sounding Sabbath number but why would you want that? (A different day perhaps.) Definitely the sexiest of the Metallica albums, just a little bit of the electricity of hair metal bleeding in at the edges, though the most wicked excesses are in flurries of virtuosity. “Bass solo, take one” -- much as I enjoy ‘Hit the Lights,’ ‘Jump in the Fire,’ ‘Seek & Destroy’ (and other imperative calls to action,) I think the bass solo ‘(Pulling Teeth)’ that splits the album is my favourite bit. Ride the Lightning -- actually, speaking of Cliff Burton, he of the improbable bass solos -- supposedly he planted the seeds of music theory/actually thinking about the music in his bandmates’ heads, leading to acoustic guitars, curious instrumentals and harmonies winding their way into the sophomore album. This probably also led them to getting way ahead of themselves and veering out of their lane, but in the meantime, Ride the Lightning is a lot more varied to listen to than their debut. Yes, it continues to wail, but it wails in new and exciting ways. ‘Creeping Death’ and ‘Trapped Under Ice’ are the choicest tracks. ‘Fade to Black’ is a pretty good song by the standards of a power ballad and is a nice dimension to add to the album but I’d point out that it portends Metallica’s inevitable doom.  Master of Puppets is considered (nearly anywhere I’ve looked) the undisputed champion of thrash metal albums. I would kinda love to have a dissenting opinion here, but it feels impossible to deny. It is stunningly heavy and loud and kinetic. It’s definitely a twin to its predecessor, they share a layout, right up to track 4 being a power ballad. As a set they’re the Pokemon Red/Blue of Thrash. Anything other than the subtle evolution in the playing and production would’ve been weird as hell -- album number three and they nearly perfect the genre. On the subject of Metallica’s power ballads, I’d make the point that ‘Welcome Home (Sanitarium)’ is the pinnacle of their efforts -- gorgeous and grotesque in equal measure. And like Ride the Lightning follows ‘Fade to Black’ with an extra-heavy track, ‘Sanitarium’ is followed by the vicious gatling gun of ‘Disposable Heroes,’ as emphatic an anti-war song as one could imagine. Again special mention to a Cliff Burton feature -- ‘Orion’ is an oddity in the Metallica canon, can’t imagine there’s anything else like it that I’ve missed. It’s the most appropriate space marine soundtrack I’ve ever heard, it previews a much nerdier version of Metallica that starts writing about horrors from outer space. My impression is that long after I’ve moved on to another passing phase I’ll retain a fondness for their instrumentals, all five of the main ones are excellent.   ...And Justice for All just isn’t as good as the previous two. This is becoming less about Metallica and more a tribute to Cliff Burton, but fact is -- his phenomenal bass lines are the secret sauce, and in the absence of Burton (and apparently due to Ulrich’s hearing loss?) the bass is often lost in the mix. It still wails, though relying more on arpeggios and prog-y tempo changes and layered arrangements -- with ‘loud’ as the governing principle in the mix, the instruments all have a bit of a unnatural synthetic quality, the effect is much more processed than the earlier albums and it occasionally sounds like a flat wall of sound... which is about to become a theme, oh boy. Though it does convincingly sound like a mutant off-shoot of the Ride the Lightning/Master of Puppets aesthetic, just a shaggier and excessive cousin prone to wild mood swings. Seven of the nine tracks are at least six and a half minutes long. At 9:48, ‘To Live is to Die’ is the first song in the catalogue that I would consider straight tedious (Though the title track is about the same length and it’s quite good!) At the end of the album, ‘Dyers Eve’ appears as a great redeemer, probably the best expression of what they were trying to do here. Oh yeah -- ‘One.’ Honestly it gets there. It’s a very pretty song. I think what I don’t like about the ballads is Hetfield’s voice when he’s singing (as opposed to when he’s growling, yelling, barking) may as well be someone trying to do a Brad Roberts impression. Though maybe that’s not the issue, I always enjoy The Crash Test Dummies. Metallica/Black Album. I don’t like this. Or, I don’t like it very much but I recognize it’s pretty good. Definitely has its moments (’Of Wolf and Man,’ ‘Through the Never.’) Seems like an odd stumbling block. This was a massive hit. ‘Enter Sandman’ is a classic rock song. Of sorts. It ain’t thrash, though it’s definitely still a heavy metal album in the vein of Black Sabbath and the like. Reading about the composition I understand they were tired of what they had been doing, they felt like impostors and wanted to strip it back some, and in that sense it’s an accomplishment. It’s dark and heavy and somber and pretty sad in parts. I feel like if Metallica had collapsed into the sea and never been found afterward/gone their separate ways this would’ve been an interesting finale, but as it stands, through the lens of history I have to reckon with the fact that this is the first of four albums produced by Bob Rock and it’s easily the best of them. It’s going to get worse before it gets... less worse. Which is not to say I don’t appreciate the orchestra and the cellos and a bit more variation in the compositions but... whither Thrash? ‘Holier Than Thou,’ silly as it is, captures a bit of the lost spirit, Maybe it’s exhausting to be that band for too long. It’s a perfectly natural thing to want to progress and not make the same album over and over again, but I can’t help but feel like they abandoned their perch atop a style where they were the greatest of all time to be (at first) a pretty good metal band and then a ‘hard rock’ band. This is Jordan switching to baseball and then for some reason trying ice hockey. I’m reasonably sure ‘Nothing Else Matters’ sucks pretty viciously, though Metallica writing a love song has a conceptual appeal and I could understand people liking it. Load. Gosh, what an appropriate title. I think if you asked Chad Kroeger what his favourite Metallica album is, he’d absolutely say Load. Metallica skipped over grunge and went straight to post-grunge. It’s also so long! There’s so much of this very mediocre album.  Reload. What the fuck is this. It starts off with the Soundgardenesque (well, Rusty Cage-esque) ‘Fuel’ with its fun but asinine chorus, it doesn’t do anything particularly interesting after. Just like its sibling, it’s almost eighty minutes long of sluggish, middle of the road 90s rock.  Garage, Inc is amazing by comparison to anything else put out by Metallica in the 90s. Two discs, the second compiling covers from as far back as 1984, 1987′s Garage Days EP and the b-side to some awful Load song that’s just four Mötörhead covers. ‘Whiskey in the Jar,’ of course, but also ‘Am I Evil?’ Sabbath’s ‘Sabbra Cadabra’ and an exuberant cover of Queen’s ‘Stone Cold Crazy.’ It’s not solid gold but there’s a lot of stuff to like. S&M (Symphony and Metallica, but... you know.) Definitely has it moments, particularly with the older stuff -- ‘Call of Ktulu,’ ‘Master of Puppets,’ ‘The Thing That Should Never Be’ with symphonic accompaniment is very cool.   St. Anger is the big ‘comeback’ album that came out when I was 15 and thus acutely aware of big music releases. I feel like I could’ve skipped the opening paragraphs of this essay and just written that as explanation of why I didn’t care about Metallica. I’m sure there was some good heavy metal happening around the turn of the century but at the time this was happening, Limp Bizkit, Saliva, Staind, Kid Rock, Godsmack, Sevendust, Slipknot, Drowning Pool, Korn, Trapt and Linkin Park (probably the best of the bunch? right?) were the biggest things in metal. Hence, in 2003 we are gifted... Nu Metallica. The title track is very bad. There are no guitar solos to be found. There aren’t any ballads to be found (that’s mostly fine.) I’ve done three tracks. I’m not listening to the rest of this. It’s just not worth it. Death Magnetic was a big surprise as a I soldiered on. Bob Rock is gone, Rick Rubin is in. Say what you will about Rubin (another time, perhaps) but for whatever reason, after a twenty year hiatus (1988-2008,) the thrash is back. I was beginning to grapple with the idea that Metallica had been past their prime my entire life, and while that’s still probably true, here they are at least dabbling with the style that made them such a big damned deal. Which is not to say this is an amazing album. It’s good though! But you can hear, even on the opening track, how exceedingly compressed the sound is. Everything is loud on this album! Without exception! All the time! It’s all peak! Consequently it’s a tiring thing to listen to all the way through. Apparently there are different versions available that turn down the mix a bit, but the Spotify version is evidently the original, as it is just a brutal onslaught of noise. It’s not a great album to sit through, but individual tracks are welcome. There’s even an instrumental for the first time since ...And Justice For All. Lulu (with Lou Reed) -- Laugh all you want, I don’t think this is as bad as Load and Reload. It’s really god damned weird, sure, and it’s not ‘good’ by any conception of (what is ‘the good,’ etc) but it’s at least interesting here and there.  Hardwired... to Self-Destruct suggests a certain inevitability to the path. With or without the play-acting in the 90s (Hetfield has speculated that Ulrich and Hammett were interested in being a U2-sized band complete with the frivolous and monolithic pretensions) they might have ended up here anyway, a bunch of dudes in their 50s making a heavy metal record that is doomed to be nowhere near as vital and electrifying as the groundbreaking stuff of their youth, but is practiced, professional and what the fans have come to expect. It’s pretty good, but there’s no chance it’s their best work. Read a review that called it their best work in 25 years, which is... damning with faint praise, but definitely true. Anyway they’re in the zone. ‘Moth Into Flame’ is a pretty good example of what we’re dealing with here -- thesis, antithesis, synthesis, in this case, arriving at ‘generic Metallica.’ If there’s more Metallica on the way it’ll be pretty much like this, chugging along like Springsteen or the Rolling Stones. It seems super unlikely they’ll ever surpass their first five albums, but I think that’s true of just about every band ever.  In conclusion, I’m not doing this same process for Megadeth. :P

[weascleys]

Baby Steps: Chapter 4

Chapter Title: The Girl in the Bathroom Pairing: George Weasley/Donella Stirling (Original Character) Warning(s): none Words: 2195

Chapter Summary: Ella finds a spark to a new friendship in the girls’ lavatory.

“I’ll see you in Transfiguration, I’m just gonna run to the loo,” Ella said as her and Juni walked out of their Potions class with Katie. The other girls said goodbye to her and started to stroll towards the Transfiguration classroom. Ella made her way to one of the girls lavatories on the main floor. She strode into the bathroom and stood in front of a mirror over one of the sinks, trying desperately to tame her wavy red hair. She blew a stray strand out of her eyes and gave up on it entirely. That’s when she heard a small sniffle come from one of the bathroom stalls.

Ella’s ears perked when she heard the sound. She thought that no one was in the bathroom with her. “Hello?” Ella asked. “Is anyone there?” Her ears were met with silence and then she heard another sniff as if someone was crying. Ella bent over, checking to see if there were feet under the stall door, and sure enough there was. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” A shaky voice answered her. “I’m quite alright, thank you.”

But Ella knew that voice. “…Hermione is that you?” Hermione and Ella had gotten to know each other a bit since the start of term. Ella spent quite a lot of time in the library with Juni doing homework, and evidently Hermione liked the library a great deal as well. Ella approached the door and checked to see if it was unlocked. But, of course, it wasn’t.

“Hermione, please let me in.”

“No,” Hermione said stubbornly, “I told you, I’m fine.”

Ella rapped her knuckles on the door lightly. “Please, Hermione. I want to help.”

“Well, I want to be left alone!”

Ella sighed and pulled her wands out from her robes. She pointed her wand at the door and said, “Alohomora” and the lock came undone. Ella pushed the door open and saw Hermione sitting in the stall, tear stains apparent on her cheeks. Empathy flooded Ella’s heart. “Oh Hermione, what happened?”

More tears escaped down Hermione’s cheeks and she wiped them away with the sleeve of her robe. “Nothing, nothing happened.”

Ella sighed once more and sat on the floor in front of Hermione, her back resting against the frame of the stall. “Come on, you can tell me. Us bookworms have got to stick together,” Ella said with a playful nudge to Hermione’s leg.

A small smile broke its way through Hermione’s sullen expression. She opened her mouth to tell Ella what had happened but her eyes filled with tears again and she snapped her mouth shut. She turned her face away from Ella and said quietly, “He — he called me a nightmare.”

“Who called you a nightmare?”

Hermione crossed her arms and inverted herself even more. “Ronald Weasley,” she said.

Ella’s jaw dropped. “Ronald Weasley? Fred and George little brother, Ron Weasley? Why on earth would he ever say such a thing to you? You’re not a nightmare!”

Hermione gave another great sniff and wiped at her eyes. “He finds me annoying!” She said in almost a sob. “I corrected him in Charms, I was just trying to help, and he called me a nightmare.” She wiped at her eyes furiously. “And they make fun of me for always being in the library and being too eager in class and following the rules and —”

Ella held up her hands and hushed the younger girl. “Who is they?”

“Everyone!” Hermione wailed. “No one likes me! I have no friends! It’s always been that way, even in Muggle school. But I thought that maybe here it would be different…”

Ella scrambled up from the floor and wrapped her arms around the first year girl, letting her cry onto her robes. But Ella couldn’t care less if she had tear stains on her sweater, she just wanted to console Hermione. “It is different here, Hermione,” she said. “You do have friends, you have me and Juni! And I’m more than certain that Cho and Katie would be more than happy to be friends with you.”

“But those are your friends!” Hermione cried. “I want my own friends and I can never seem to make them.”

“Maybe not yet,” Ella said. “But you’ll find people that appreciate you just as you are, I promise. And you’ll always have me, okay?” Hermione nodded. Ella let go of her and squatted down in front of Hermione so that they were almost eye to eye. “And if Ron Weasley ever says anything like that about you again, you just let me know, alright? I’ll take care of it. I’m very good friends with his brothers, Fred and George, you know. They’d be more than happy to help me get him back,” Ella told her with a big smile.

Hermione laughed slightly and nodded. “Thank you, Ella.” The bell sounded and Hermione looked absolutely terrified. “Oh no! You’ll be late for you class!”

Ella got up once again and brushed off her robes. She moved back over to sink and grabbed her bag. “It’s alright, I’m sure Professor McGonagall will understand if I give her a good enough excuse.”

“Lie to a teacher?” Hermione asked her incredulously.

Ella laughed and paused before she walked out of the door. “Don’t tell anyone I told you this, because Fred and George will never let me hear the end of it, but some rules have to be bent sometimes. This was worth it.” Ella gave her another warm smile. “Don’t let stupid boys get you down.” And Ella left the bathroom to go to her Transfiguration class, thinking of an elaborate excuse as to why she was late.

Later that night at dinner, people were wondering why Hermione wasn’t there. Ella heard Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil saying that she had been in the girls’ bathroom all afternoon and didn’t want to be bothered. Ella shot daggers at Ron with her eyes and he looked very uncomfortable, which pleased Ella greatly.

She didn’t stay angry for too long though. She was quite busy with looking at the intricate Halloween decorations around the Great Hall. There were real live bats everywhere and the floating candles had been replaced with floating Jack-o-lanterns. Ella loved Halloween so much, it was one of her favorite holidays. And she hated to admit it, but she was looking forward to seeing if Fred and George had any Halloween themed pranks up their sleeves. When Ella had asked them about it they just sniggered and told her not to worry about it, which made her a little anxious.

“I don’t see why you won’t just tell me!” Ella said angrily.

Lee Jordan laughed from the far side of the twins. “I don’t see why you keep badgering them about it! They aren’t going to tell you.”

“If you do,” Fred said, “we might just have to make you the butt of the pranks.”

That shut Ella up.

Then Professor Quirrell shot into the hall looking more terrified than Ella had ever seen him, and that was saying something. Everyone’s eyes were glued to him as he scrambled up to Dumbledore and said, “Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know.” And then he passed out in a dead faint.

The hall went absolutely insane, people screaming and scrambling around. It wasn’t until Professor Dumbledore shot sparks out of his that everyone found enough sense to calm down. Dumbledore ordered the Prefects to take all the students back to their dormitories. Ella didn’t have to be told twice. She got up front the table quickly, extremely anxious to get to the safety of her dorm.

Before they could leave the hall Ella found Juni. “Be careful, it’s by your dorms,” Ella told her.

Juni nodded at her, Ella could tell that she was scared. “I will be.” Juniper left to go join her other friends, some of the nicer students of Slytherin house. Ella left with Katie and they clung together as if they were bound at the hips.

Percy led them to the Gryffindor dormitories and the boys and girls all filed up to their rooms. When they got up to their dorm Ella was surprised to find that there was food in the room! It seemed as though they were to continue eating in their dormitories. And that’s exactly what they did.

Ella, Katie, Alicia, Angelina, Lavender, and Parvati all gathered in the third year girls’ dorms and indulged themselves in mostly desserts. Katie was throwing grapes into Ella’s mouth from across the room and they were all having a wonderful time despite the twelve foot troll roaming around their school.

When that thought entered her mind, Ella choked on the grape in her mouth. She continued to cough and hack until her face was red and there were tears in her eyes.

“What the hell, Ella?” Angelina asked her, rolling with laughter. “You alright?”

“Hermione!” Ella shouted, her eyes wild.

“What about her?” Katie said.

“She doesn’t know! She doesn’t know there’s a troll in the castle! I have to go find her!” Ella said as she began to exist the dorm.

“No, Ella, you can’t!” Parvati said, catching her arm. “You’ll get in trouble!”

“I don’t care! I have to go find her.” She took off down the stairs.

“Ella but — the rules — what about — Ella!” Lavender sputtered after Ella as she ran down the stairs.

“Hermione is more important than the rules!” They heard Ella yell back.

Ella had made it halfway across the common room when she was intercepted by Percy. “And just where do you think you’re going?” He asked her pompously. “You are not allowed out of the dormitories!”

“Watch me,” Ella said as she continued to walk.

Percy was so shocked at Ella that he didn’t know what to say for a moment. “Stirling, I’m warning you, if you walk out of this room, it’ll be a detention for you!”

“Do it, Weasley,” She snarled at him as she walked out of the portrait hole and marched down the stairs. She was very pleased when Percy didn’t follow her out. He probably didn’t want to risk leaving his very important post.

She walked briskly and quietly through the empty corridors, trying very hard to be stealthy to avoid being caught. She was so anxious to get the the bathroom where she had seen Hermione earlier that she had broken into a full sprint. But when she arrived there, she heard voices. Oh, Merlin! It was Professor McGonagall’s voice! Ella dove behind a wall and slapped a hand over her mouth to make herself completely silent as she hid. Then Ella heard Hermione’s voice and she didn’t think she had ever felt so relieved.

“If they hadn’t found me, I’d be dead by now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn’t have time to fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.” Harry and Ron were there? They saved her?

McGonagall continued. “Well — in that case…Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?” Ella felt irritation flash in her veins. Hermione wasn’t a foolish girl! There was no way that she had tried to take on that troll by herself. Hermione was brave, of course, but not stupid!

“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this,” said Professor McGonagall. “I’m very disappointed in you. If you’re not hurt at all, you’d better go off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses.”

Ella saw Hermione leave the bathroom and Ella dashed after her, careful to make sure no one saw her. “Hermione!” Ella said in a whisper.

Hermione yelped when Ella ran up beside her. “What are you doing out of the tower?” Hermione asked her.

“I came looking for you of course! But it seems like some people already beat me to the job. You didn’t really try and take on that troll did you?”

Hermione scoffed. “Of course not!”

“Then why did you tell Professor McGonagall that you had?”

“Because,” Hermione said, “Harry and Ron did save my life. And like you said, some rules have to bent, right?” Hermione smiled at her as they entered the common room.

As soon as they walked in Percy sprang to his feet, ready to give Ella the lecture of a lifetime.

“Thank you so much for not giving Ella a detention, Percy,” Hermione said before Percy could even get a word in. “She came to find me and help me back to the common room seeing as my Prefect didn’t. If I were you, I wouldn’t want that getting back to Professor McGonagall.” And Hermione and Ella walked right past Percy, leaving him outsmarted and speechless.

Ella had to stifle her giggles all the way up to the girls’ dormitories. “Hermione,” Ella said, “I think it’s safe to say that you are one of the brightest girls I’ve ever met.” And they walked right into the girls’ dorms to finish their feast with the others.