#also usually i draw shadow with an ear tag / a hole where it used to be. depending on the timeline.

[monotone-artist]

[id in alt]

i am obsessed with @smallpwbbles's biolizard shadow au

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Okay, this one’s been done already by other blogs and I understand that not every writer wants to do the same prompt as another so if you’re not comfortable with this then absolutely stay in your comfy zone. I just think it’s fun to see different interpretations

But basically, Civilian is unknowingly dating Villain (as in, Civilian doesn’t know that villain is a criminal), and Villain is introduced to Civilian’s brother, Hero. Hero is terrified that Villain is going to hurt Civilian the entire time, but Villain just keeps on showing lots of sweet affection to Civilian (Hero and Villain recognize each other but Civilian is clueless of both their “jobs”). It’s up to you whether or not Villain actually loves Civilian or is just taunting/threatening Hero :)

Wow that was long my bad

Sorry this took me like twelve years to get to... @glowing-alpaca it won’t let me tag you... idk why🤷🏽‍♀️

Ok yes I’ve seen a few of these, so I took the general principle and made it Civilian’s POV eehehehe

hope you enjoy:)

*special thanks to @im-a-wonderling and @watercolorfreckles for the beta reads and all your amazing help on this one!!*

———————————————

Civilian shifted from foot to foot, rubbing her left wrist as she tried to focus on the conversation swirling around her. Her limbs felt lead-heavy and numb, deadweights that she wasn’t sure what to do with.

She clasped her hands together in front of her, then let them hang by her sides. Then clasped them in front of her again.

Her breathing felt loud in her ears, and a few of the patrons glanced in her direction. Could they hear her breathing?

Her eyes darted to the entrance for the hundredth time. Her brother was late. Hero had promised to be here early—he knew how she felt about crowds. And since he was the one who insisted her first art show be public, he’d reassured her he’d stay by her side the whole time.

The show had started over an hour ago.

“Well, Civilian?”

Her eyes snapped away from the door and back to the circle of patrons around her. Her stomach sloshed cold. They were all looking at her, their stares burning holes.

“Sorry? What was that?” Her stomach continued to twist and writhe. Now they all knew she’d been distracted.

Did they think she was ignoring them? Had she been rude?

She’d only glanced at the door for a moment…

An older man shook his head as his companion repeated her question about her choice to use different mediums to portray the same image.

She answered the best she could, gesturing to the wall beside her, which was filled with a dozen paintings and drawings of the cityscape—some created with ink, other with oil, acrylic, watercolor, or charcoal—she’d used them all.

She rubbed her wrist again as she tried to explain how she’d used the different mediums.

A few in the circle nodded their heads, but her heart was pounding and doubt nagged at her as she spoke. Was she talking too much? Not enough? Was what she was saying stupid?

She stumbled over her words, unease crawling beneath her skin.

She looked down, unable to complete her thought.

“I think it’s a marvelous technique.”

Hero looked up sharply as the deep voice continued, covering the awkward pause she’d created.

“...to get to look at a wall full of paintings, all capturing the same image but each conveying a different mood or emotion.”

Her rescuer was sharply dressed: his dark hair carefully styled, his suit perfectly tailored, and his gold watch designer. Combined with his confident posture, his appearance practically screamed “lawyer,” same as her brother. But while Hero was a public defense attorney, crusading against a flawed system, the man in front of her was probably what Hero would call a ‘leech,’ a rich defense lawyer catering to the criminal elite.

And while Civilian sympathized with Hero’s cause, she also had enough experience as a starving artist to appreciate the luxury of not having to worry about how much money she had to spend at the grocery store.

Plus, he’d been so kind to save her; how bad could he be?

Her rescuer was still speaking, his smooth words and confident tone confirming his profession.

“... the kind of art that needs to be seen and studied to be appreciated.”

At his hint, the crowd began to drift towards the gallery walls.

Her rescuer met her gaze through the crowd, and she offered him a small smile of gratitude as the people around her shifted away.

She turned towards the wall of cityscape paintings, breathing a sigh of relief before stopping to analyze one of the city in the rain. She eyed the brushstrokes, mentally smoothing a line here, adding a shadow there. She shook her head and turned away. Now was not the time.

But her rather abrupt turn sent her careening into a wall-like something that wasn’t a wall, but a certain tall lawyer in a thousand-dollar Armani suit. She jerked back, horrified at her lack of grace, but tripped on her blasted heels. Hands at her waist stopped her fall, long fingers tightening around her as she regained her balance. When she was finally steady, his hands slid away.

“Thanks.” Civilian forced herself to look up into the face of the man who had now rescued her twice, rather than looking around like she wanted to to check who else had noticed her embarrassing almost-fall.

He was smiling warmly, and for the first time all night, her heart wasn’t pounding at the thought of speaking with a stranger.

“I’m sorry for running into you.” She felt breathless, but it must have been from her almost-fall.

He waved her off. “I shouldn’t have been standing so close. I just wanted to compliment the way you’ve captured my favorite view of the city.” He gestured to the painting she’d just been critiquing.

“I painted it at the top of the—“

“Capitol building, yes I go there often.”

“Because you work there often?” Civilian flushed as she spoke across him, but her heart steadied as he didn’t seem to mind. His smile widened, and he leaned closer.

“What gave me away?” His voice was deep, and he looked at her as though they were sharing a secret.

Her cheeks grew warmer, and she looked away, heart racing for an entirely different reason.

“My brother is a lawyer, so I usually can just tell. He was supposed to be here actually…” a frown came to her face as she remembered her brother’s promise.

She shook herself out of her reverie. Her rescuer was looking at her warmly.

“I’m sorry! You rescued me back there, and I don’t even know your name…” She looked at him expectantly, and he offered a bright smile that made her stomach flutter.

“I’m Villain. Pleased to meet you.” His voice was practically a purr, sending tingles across her skin as he took her hand, gently raising it to his lips. She looked down as her cheeks heated at the old fashioned gesture.

“I’m Civilian,” she said as he released her hand, returning his bright smile with a shy one of her own. “Although you probably already knew that since my name is on the program...”

He nodded. “I have to say, I’m quite impressed by your—”

“Civilian!”

A blur in a tan suit darted around Villain and grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

“Hero, what?—” Her brother was a mess. His suit was wrinkled, tie coming undone, hair mussed.

He continued to pull her back, eyes on Villain. “Civilian I need to talk to you—it’s urgent!”

She glanced back at Villain as Hero tugged her away.

“Sorry!” She mouthed.

He just shook his head, an amused smile on his face, before mouthing something that looked suspiciously like, “I’ll see you later.”

Her heart warmed, and she was still grinning when Hero pulled her around the corner and flipped her around to face him.

“What are you—”

“Do you have any idea who that is?” Hero’s fingers gripped her shoulders. “What he is?”

“He said his name was Villain? And so what that he’s a lawyer, Hero. I don’t get why you are freaking out!”

Hero’s hands shook her shoulders. “He’s not just a lawyer, he—”

Civilian wrenched free and shoved Hero’s chest. “He what? Actually helped me? When YOU failed to show up like you promised.” Her last words slid into a growl.

Hero had the decency to look ashamed for a brief moment before his face hardened. He lifted a hand, gesturing with one arm back towards where they’d left Villain. “His people are the reason that I’m late!”

Anger sparked in her chest, and she rolled her eyes. “Sure,” she scoffed, “blame some random lawyer for your broken promise. That’s a pitiful excuse, Hero, even for you.”

She shoved past him, heading back into the gallery.

“Wait, Sis!” He grabbed her arm. She shook him off and stalked away.

But when she returned to the main room, Villain was gone.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Evan’s 6✩ Inspiration: Umbrae Secrets [繁荫秘语] Date Translation (END 2 + 3 + 4: Call Out)

“This is such a remote area. Were I to do anything, it would be nothing more than a piece of cake.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Evan’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 6✩ Inspiration has 8 Endings!! *Reblogs and likes appreciated! *Evan’s tag will be #For Night, For Revolution *T/N: This card takes me out so quick I needed time to recover. Hunter and prey... MC triggered the Hunter... 

After pondering for a while, I finally decided to…

✥ Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

⊹ Ask Evan for his opinion ⊹

MC: Any bright ideas, Evan?

Evan: I'm thinking that maybe we can find a place to set up camp early…

Evan: Because you seem very eager to camp out.

MC: You got me. Let's go with that then!

❖☆———————————★❖

Evan was very experienced when it came to selecting a suitable campsite.

Eventually, we managed to find a fitting flat and cosy patch of grass that was both leeward and shaded, with a source of water nearby.

By the time we finished setting up the tent, the sky had already gradually darkened. The temperature of the forest quietly dropped as the occluding darkness surrounded us. But I had Evan with me, so there was no need to fear.

We lit the camp stove and roasted some food. The flickering firelight became the most dazzling thing in the forest, casting dancing shadows and lights all around. There was a certain romance to it.

For a moment, all I could hear was the crackling of fire and the soft chips and buzz of the insects nearby. It felt as if even time had come to a standstill.

❖☆———————————★❖

I inadvertently raised my head. The night sky above was adorned with stars, like fine scattered gemstones sewn onto an expanse of black velvet. Each and every one of them was equally lustrous, converging into a glimmering band of light and extending into the distance.

I watched the sky in a trance while lying on the grass. Evan sat quietly beside me

After a while, I tugged on his sleeve.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Look, the light of the stars only becomes much more apparent once all the lights have been extinguished.

MC: The grass smells good too, so why don’t you try lying down too?

He looked down at me with a smile and contemplated the idea. He finally agreed after a moment of hesitation.

Evan: Alright.

❖☆———————————★❖

He moved closer and laid down beside me. Now, another rhythm sounded in my ears: his gentle and steady breathing.

Evan: It is very beautiful.

MC: I feel like it's been a long time since I last saw a starry sky like this.

MC: No wonder those philosophers always liked looking up at the stars when they think. Now I understand why they would.

MC: The sight of an area this vast can make people forget all trivialities and let their thoughts wander further to the past and even the future.

Evan: So where has your mind flown off to now?

MC: Me? I’m thinking that since the forest is so beautiful, maybe I’ll go live in the forest next time, aha.

Then, a curious thought popped into my head.

MC: Right, Evan. Have you ever thought about where you’d like to live after having fulfilled all your goals?

❖☆———————————★❖

I waited for a long time, but Evan never replied.

Did he fall asleep?

I decided to gently call out to him…

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E2: If you fail to call him ⊹

I’d called out to him multiple times in a row before he finally turned his head, looking slightly out of it.

Evan: Are you calling me? Sorry, I spaced out.

MC: Oh, no worries.

Evan smiled at me but didn’t say anything more.

Some people are made of mysteries. Perhaps this was simply a question he didn’t wish to answer now.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E3: If you call him EVAN (陆沉) ⊹

Evan instantly snapped back to attention upon hearing me call out to him. He smiled apologetically.

Evan: Sorry. Your question's a little hard to answer. I lost track of myself thinking it through.

MC: Huh? Have you never imagined such things?

Evan: Hmm. That might be because the matters I always have on hand are more important, so I tend to focus all my attention on them.

MC: Right… I've been there and done that too.

MC: Back when I was schooling, I often found studying to be very dry and stressful.

MC: But, whenever I found myself unable to bear it anymore, I would fantasize about Summer Vacation and draw new motivation from it.

MC: Whenever I felt down or life got hard, I’d always dream about how much better life would be after I achieved my goals.

MC: Maybe you could think about it this way too?

Evan: After fulfilling my goal?

Evan: After that… I think nothing matters after that anymore.

His last sentence was so soft that it sounded as if he was mumbling to himself, and I wasn’t too sure if I’d actually heard him.

I turned to him in question, but he never answered, keeping so silent that it was almost as if he was one with the very ground.

I was starting to feel a little inexplicably worried when he then opened his mouth, as if the prior silence had never existed.

Evan: How about you tell me about it first? What’s your ideal life like? Maybe it’ll nudge me in the right direction.

MC: Hmm… Sometimes, I like lively Cities.

MC: But other times, I like someplace quiet; somewhere with mountains and water… I think that’s a pretty good place to live too...

MC: But there's no wifi there and I can’t eat my favourite ice cream… It’s a real pickle.

Evan: Perhaps what you like is change itself.

MC: Yeah… But some things will never change!

MC: Like, how I don't want to be too far from everyone.

MC: Without the people to share interesting things and breathtaking sceneries with, it'll certainly take the fun out of things.

His low chuckle sounded near my ear, close at hand.

Evan: I now know where I'd like to live next time.

MC: Where?

Evan: Somewhere not too far away from you. Would you welcome that?

MC: Of course I do. But, aren't you already here by me?

He turned his head over, watching me with a serious look as the light flickered at the bottom of his eyes.

My arm moved, inadvertently brushing against his cool skin, but also not shying away from it. He flipped his palm and encased my fingers within them.

Evan: You are correct.

Evan: To me, right now, life is perfectly fine as it is.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E4: If you call him HUBBY (老公) ⊹

Evan shot me a slightly surprised look. Suddenly, the realization of what I'd just done washed over me.

Then, he shifted closer to me; so close that I didn't even dare turn my head.

Evan: Are you trying to hint at something by suddenly addressing me in this manner?

Evan: This is such a remote area. Were I to do anything, it would be nothing more than a piece of cake.

I inwardly froze. Evan was different from usual today… His warm breath brushed past my ear, inciting a continuous yet faint ticklish sensation.

MC: Hahaha… You wouldn't...

Evan: And why are you so sure that I wouldn't?

MC: You're always mindful and courteous. You aren't… that sort of person.

Evan: "That sort of person"? What sort of person?

He lifted his head in interest, looking down at me in a condescending manner. I was so embarrassed that I couldn't even get a sentence out right as the temperature of my cheeks rapidly shot up.

MC: That… That sort… Evan, stop making fun of me like that…

He narrowed his eyes into a smile, suddenly flipping himself over and balancing himself above me!

Rationally speaking, I knew deep down just what sort of person he was, but my body still ran on instinct: It sensed danger.

His broad form, usually reassuring, looked immeasurably intimidating from this angle. I couldn't help but bite my lip as my heart sped off the charts.

MC: Evan, what are you… doing…?

Evan: I'm thinking about your question.

Evan: You asked me what sort of place I'd like to live at, correct?

MC: Then… what does this have anything to do with that?

Evan: I feel like your eyes might hold the answer I seek.

MC: That's a lie and you know it…

My voice grew softer and softer because Evan was slowly lowering himself down.

Watching those dark red eyes of his that hid a glimpse of a smirk in its depths gradually draw closer, I panicked, stiffening up as my mind went completely blank...

I frantically swiped his glasses from the bridge of his nose, turning over to keep them away from him.

MC: Any more, and no glasses for you!

Evan paused, a little stunned at the sudden loss of his glasses. He then moved away with a smile, lying back down on the grass.

Evan: Did I scare you? I apologize. I just wanted to poke fun at you.

Evan: Sometimes you’ll bite off more than you can handle when you think someone too simple.

I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief before angrily puffing out my cheek.

MC: Okay, okay, you’re not simple! Even more so to keep your glasses away from you!

Evan: Then I’d better stick close to you and let you lead me around. Will that be alright?

Evan: Hm? (Y/n).

I turned my back on him and felt him gently place a hand on my shoulder. The heat swiftly passed through the thin fabric of my clothes, making me unwittingly shudder at the warmth.

I could even feel his eyes digging into me. The area where he burned holes into me with his eyes was hot, the grass underneath me was no different, and neither were the glasses I held in my hands.

I couldn’t form the words to answer him; all I could do was to hope that he couldn’t hear how fast my heart was racing.

❖☆———————————★❖

The next day, early morning. I woke up to the melodious singing of birds.

Evan was already awake, neatly dressed and sitting on the folded chair at the entrance, sipping on a cup of coffee.

Evan: Good morning. Sleep well last night?

MC: Brilliantly! I was so tired from walking so long yesterday that I fell asleep the moment my head met the pillow.

MC: Oh, right. It’ll take quite a long time to go back where we came, so let’s eat something, pack up, and leave as soon as possible!

Evan set his cup of coffee down,

Evan: Aren’t you forgetting something?

MC: Huh?

Evan: I recall you wanting to see bamboo piths, but we have yet to see any.

I froze, awkwardly laughing it off

That had originally been an excuse to get him outside and I’d totally forgotten about it.

MC: Hehe. I’m not that adamant about seeing bamboo piths.

MC: I only said that back then as an excuse to get you out so that you can relax.

MC: I heard that you had things rather rough before that so I was a little worried about you.

He looked slightly surprised. Then, he lowered his eyes, a warm smile catching onto the sides of his mouth.

Evan: So it was because of me.

Evan: Thank you for accompanying me here. I’m certainly much more relaxed now.

MC: But considering how you were previously… Are you really okay?

Evan: Yes. It’s probably not as bad as you’re thinking. I was just thinking about some old people and old things and felt a little glum about it.

Evan: I never thought that I’d end up alarming others.

MC: Why am I “others” now?

MC: Don’t bottle your troubles up to solve them yourself. You need to remember to share them with people close to you as well!

Evan: Okay. I will keep that in mind.

I still didn’t know what he was troubled by, but I suppose this was still within my expectations.

From my impression of him, he has always been strong. It was almost as if he was shouldering a mission that no one knew about, walking down a similarly obscured path.

After finishing breakfast, we packed and prepared to leave the forest.

We idly chatted with each other along the way until suddenly, Evan stopped short while we were passing through an area.

Following his gaze, I saw a unique-looking umbrella-shaped thing growing within the shrubbery’s shade.

Evan: See? We still managed to chance upon it.

MC: Wow, are all of these bamboo piths?

We walked over together, squatting beside the small white fungi.

It had a small black cap and had grown out a long white mesh skirt.

This was the first time I ever saw a bamboo pith growing in the soil. I widened my eyes in surprise, unwilling to blink as I drank in the sight. After observing it for a while, I finally raised a finger, reaching out to touch its “skirt”.

MC: It’s so wet and soft-looking! It’s adorable! Have you seen it before, Evan?

MC: I can’t believe you managed to recognize it at a glance!

Evan: Yes. It was back during the first time I’d been driven into the forest as a child.

Evan: I witnessed the law of the jungle and escaped from the jaws of death of a snake. I felt like the forest was a place filled with danger and wanted nothing but to leave the place the faster, the better.

Evan: Then, just as I was hungry and exhausted, I saw a bamboo pith.

Evan: At that time, I didn’t know what it was and if it was actually poisonous.

Evan: Deep in the throes of despair, I thought “why not just take it, eat it, and see what my fate turns out to be”?

MC: Evan…

Evan: But guess what I saw while I was hesitating?

Evan: I saw it growing its fungus skirt. All it took was a little effort on its part, and its little skirt grew longer and longer.

Evan: I stared at it blankly, in a daze. I didn’t even notice that my legs had gone numb from how long I’d stared at it.

He retracted himself from his memory palace, turning around to face me with a smile.

Evan: It was as simple as a little young lady, capable of encouraging me with its adorability and enchantments.

Evan: It made me understand that forest, in all its gloom and doom, still has its own little interesting spots.

Evan: And that one is only capable of seeing it by living on, don’t you think?

His expression was quiet, but within those calm eyes of his, I could see that little boy who’d struggled his hardest to remain strong. I felt my heart constrict slightly at that and moved to hold his hand tightly in my own.

MC: Evan, that’s all in the past. You’re no longer that helpless little boy.

Evan: No, I’m fine.

Evan: I might have forgotten even this if we hadn’t seen the bamboo piths today.

Evan: It feels a little unbelievable when I think back on it now. It was a memory plagued by darkness, yet it still held its own beautiful moments.

I felt a pang of sorrow creep into my heart. Words of comfort were right at the tip of my tongue, yet I felt like they’d be completely helpless.

This man before me, strong as a warrior; someone who’d been forced to face life-or-death decisions from a very young age… Maybe he wasn’t as complicated as I initially thought he was.

There are many reasons why one would choose death, but to choose life? The reason was simple; just a little spark was required, and Evan was no exception.

MC: I forgot who said it, but someone once said that the meaning of existence that people spend their entire lives seeking out is actually hidden in the simple things.

MC: Evan, won’t you say that you might end up thinking similarly as well one day?

MC: You might not be able to find it immediately, but that’s fine. I will accompany you in your search for it, no matter how long it takes.

Evan fixed me with a profound look before stretching out his hand and reverently crossing it over my own.

Evan: Alright. Together we shall be.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 4 + 6 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 7 + 8 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ☆Light & Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Revolution⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

[thosewickedlovelies]

When Missions Go Right

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x afab!Reader

Rating: E for Explicit

Summary: After Frankie makes everyone believe he was killed during a mission, hours later you're still shaken from the reveal that it had been a ruse. You can't stand the idea that he might have never known how you felt about him, so later that evening, you go and check on him.

Tags: SMUT; minimal angst despite the summary lol; unprotected PinV sex (pls wrap it up irl); oral (f receiving); they briefly drink alcohol but are not drunk; swearing

Word count: 6,794 lmfao

A/N: Reader’s nickname is Mosquito- I wanted a nickname and my brain got stuck on this one once I thought of it sorry. It’s explained :)

---

You sit in your hut at your team's temporary camp in the jungle, fidgeting. You don't know why you’re so torn- there’s nothing weird about checking on a teammate after a stressful mission, and you and your boys had done it for each other countless times before. This time is different, though. This time had shaken you more than any other incident, after you thought Frankie had- No. You exhale.

Just thinking of him emerging after the mission that day, appearing when you thought he was lost, causes another swell of emotion to rise in you, hot tears filling your eyes. You clap your hands over your mouth, force yourself to take deep, steadying breaths. Frankie had looked so surprised at everyone's reaction to his reappearance: stunned, relieved tears and a five-person hug that had pulled everyone to the ground in a tangle, with himself at the center. You don't know what he had expected. His impromptu plan hadn't been ideal, sure, but it had made their mission a success, and he was alive.

You smile a little at the memory. The quiet relief on Frankie's face, how soft and vulnerable he looked surrounded by affection, dust and sweat in his hair. Your smile fades at the remembrance of what had happened next. After everyone had untangled and straightened up, Santiago held out Frankie's hat to him, retrieved from where it had fallen during their dogpile. Frankie had secured it on his head, smiling cautiously at his friend. Then Santiago had punched him in the face.

“Don't you ever do that again!” Santi's voice had cracked. In the split second before he turned and strode away, you caught a glimpse of his eyes, turbulent and red-rimmed with emotion. Frankie, holding his jaw, had stared after him in shock. The Miller boys offered reassurance: “He'll be okay, Catfish. You guys are close. He was just upset.”

“We all were,” you added, stepping closer. Frankie's attention had focused on you for the first time since his return. Apprehension in his eyes, guilt and worry clearly visible on his face. You didn't let yourself think about what those dark eyes did to you as you flung yourself at him, hugging him fiercely. It was only partly to hide your face that you buried it in his neck. Santiago’s outburst echoed your own anger at Frankie’s deception, at him making you believe he was dead- but now was not the time to deal with it.

You had made no effort to stop the tears as you breathed in Frankie's scent, muddled with sweat and gunmetal. His arms wrapped around you carefully, one hand cradling the back of your head. Holding each other the way you were, his voice seemed to rumble through you, low and warm. “Hey, Mos. Thought you were gonna punch me too there for a sec.”

Memories flooded through you at the sensation- all the other times the two of you had been this close. Dancing to sultry music in some club, both of you too tired to pretend to mind lying pressed together in a cramped tent-

You exhaled, shoving the memories aside. Now was also not the time for that particular train of thought or its familiar destination.

Pulling back, you gave him a watery smile. “Nah, I think Pope did enough damage.”

You kissed him lightly on the cheek Santiago had just punched. Frankie's eyes were wide when you looked up at him, but you ignored the fluttering in your chest and turned your soft look into a glare. “But you'll get what's coming to you after that stunt.” His bulletproof vest was hard under your finger as you jabbed it into his chest.

You hardly held up the glare for a minute before it cracked, and Frankie chuckled in relief. “Whatever you say, Mosquito. Let's just get out of here.”

Skirting the edge of your team's small camp, you pause to scan for anyone else moving around in the dark. Briefly you find yourself distracted by the brightness of the full moon above, the beauty of the starry sky this far from any major towns. The remote location of this mission was why you were all still in camp tonight, instead of blowing off steam at some local watering hole. Usually some booze was brought along anyway, so you could unwind around the campfire, but you suppose things are a bit tense for that after today. Secretly, you're glad. You don't want to have to compete with everyone else for Frankie's attention tonight.

Now, you blink rapidly to clear the tears from your eyes. Taking a final deep breath, you stand. You had done enough crying since then; it was time for a different kind of release.

Mosquito. Sneaking around in the night like this, you're reminded of your nickname's origins. After a particularly successful mission, Santiago had been raving over your skills of infiltration. “...hitting 'em before they even knew they were there! Bam!” Crowing with laughter, their victory relaxing him as much as the booze.

“Like a mosquito,” Frankie had murmured, just barely peeking out from under the brim of his cap. The bugs had been particularly bad in that region, but the look in Frankie's eyes was anything but. Gleaming with admiration in the dim bar light, a knowing amusement quirking his mouth into a smile-  because Santiago's jaw had dropped. “Mosquito! Yes! ‘Fish, you're a genius!” Before Frankie could stop him, his friend had stolen his hat, ruffled his hair, and planted a kiss on his head with a smack.

You laughed as Frankie snatched his cap back. Santiago lifted his beer and spoke ceremoniously. “From this moment on, you will be known as: Mosquito.”

“Here, here,” Benny and Will had enthused, holding up their own bottles.

You shook your head, but there was no arguing with it. You clinked the neck of your beer with Pope's. “Mosquito it is.” The conversation drifted then, but you had looked at Frankie meaningfully. You lifted your bottle almost imperceptibly in acknowledgment. You're still not sure if the blush on his cheeks was from your appreciation, or Santi's smooch.

A buzzing near your ear reminds you that there are also bugs in your current environment, and that you've been standing here long enough. Certain there is no one around to see, you slip around the side of Frankie's hut to where a camo-patterned blanket hangs as a door. You knock lightly on the wood beside it. “Catfish? It's me,” you call softly. “Can I come in?”

There's a rustle and the sound of a throat clearing. “Yeah.”

You push aside the blanket just enough to step beyond it. It falls back into place behind you with a swish, and you blink as your eyes adjust. Contrary to the cool moonlight falling outside, the hut is lit only by a lantern sitting on the nightstand. In the dim, warm orangish glow, the figure perched on the edge of the bed is a study of shadows. You catch your breath as Frankie lifts his head.

Frankie “Catfish” Morales epitomizes the phrase “it's always the quiet ones”. But what he doesn't say out loud, you can always read in his eyes. Endlessly expressive, occasionally accompanied by an eyebrow raised to varying heights, they never fail to draw you in.

“Hey, ‘Squito. Come to take your shot?”

Your brow furrows. That wasn't what you expected. The guys only called you ‘squito' or ‘skeeter’ when they wanted to needle you. Buying time, you cast your eyes around the small space. A few square feet at the foot of the bed where Frankie had dumped some gear; the single bed that Frankie sits on, three feet in front of you; and the nightstand at the head of the bed, a surprisingly homey feature. On it sits the lantern, Frankie's dog tags, and- ah- a tall bottle filled with golden liquid.

“Only if that's tequila I see,” you reply.

Frankie looks caught off-guard for a beat. Then a huff of laughter escapes him. “Make yourself at home.”

So saying, he pushes himself backwards on the bed, loosely crossing his legs in front him and resting his head against the wall. His eyes drift shut.

You snatch the bottle up with one hand and use the other to maneuver onto the bed next to him, mirroring his position. Consciously, you make sure your knees touch. Despite your earlier anger and whatever Frankie seemed to be thinking now, you want him to know you're here for him. His leg hair prickles against your skin, pleasant and familiar and warm.

"How many have you had?"

"Just two."

“Easy catch-up, then.” You remove the shot glass resting upside down on top of the bottle, fill it up, and knock it back. You can't help but shudder as it goes down, warmth settling in your belly.

You turn your head to find Frankie's eyes open and fixed on you. You swallow reflexively at how close your faces suddenly are, how depthless his eyes look in the lamplight.

“How's the tequila?”

You blink, barely registering his words.

He nods down to the bottle resting on your knee. “It's a new kind.” His low, raspy voice, normally comforting, now feels like it's sliding along your bones, setting them alight and turning them to liquid all at once.

You blink several more times and resist the urge to clear your throat. You glance down at the bottle. The label looks vaguely familiar, but not as much as it would if it were a brand he or Santi normally bought. And you would know; you've drank with them both countless times, enough to know their preferences.

“It's good,” you say. You offer it back to him.

He takes it, moving at a leisurely pace as he unscrews the cap. You watch the deftness of his hands, your gaze traveling up his arms- perhaps not as defined as Santiago's or Benny's, but just as capable of holding you tight. The lantern's glow gleams on his brown skin, the line of his throat as he tips his head back.

Your gaze catches on the strands of hair that drift along his brow. Usually they're tucked beneath his cap, even after-hours- an easy target for teasing amongst the guys. But tonight they're free, and you wonder at how soft they look. If Frankie would let you touch them, the tiny curls at his temple.

One eyebrow raises into your line of sight, interrupting your train of thought, and you realize he's caught you staring. Flushing, you wordlessly take the bottle back from him and sling another shot, before setting it down on the bed next to you.

After a beat of hesitation, you lean your head on his shoulder. “What's wrong, Catfish?”

You can feel him struggling to decide what to say. “Benny and Will caught me by the campfire. Scolded me for pulling such an idiotic stunt. You know the drill.”

“But then they slapped you on the back for it working out so well, right?” That's how their “scoldings” usually went.

“Yeah. Just not until after a solid helping of guilt. And I still haven't spoken to Santiago.”

You sigh. How could he not understand? You reach out and take his right hand in your left, entwining your fingers and pulling them toward you. Both of you happen to be wearing old, standard-issue PT shorts as pajamas; short enough for Frankie's hand to be resting on bare skin where you hold it against your leg.

“Frankie.” He seems reluctant to look you in the eye. “Hey,” you say, softer this time. He lifts his gaze. “It was an idiotic stunt. Brilliant, and it worked, but…” Frankie looks like he's bracing for a blow. “We thought we lost you, Frankie. How could we not be messed up by that?”

For that had been part of what made his plan so risky. Frankie hadn't counted on his team being so upset and distracted by his apparent loss that they could have been caught for real.

Seeming agitated, Frankie runs a hand through his hair. “I know, I know. I heard it all earlier.”

You wonder if Benny and Will had mentioned, if they had noticed, just how uprooted you had felt. You and Santiago both; their unflappable teammates, nearly unhinged.

You wait until he looks at you again. All traces of moisture seem to have evaporated from your mouth. “I thought I lost you, Frankie,” you whisper.

He remains still as this realization unfolds, unfurling like a flower in the sun. Revealing in crystal clarity what you had both been carefully stepping around for months. Longer. His eyes rove over your face as if searching for any possibility of a joke, a catch; his breathing quickens as his gaze flickers over the rest of you, taking in your knees pressed together and your hands entwined above them.

He reaches out with his free hand and slowly, delicately cradles your face. His skin is callused where his thumb strokes your cheek. Slowly, as if this was a dream he didn't want to wake from, he dips his head toward you until he is only a breath away.

“That's never gonna happen, Mos.” The words hang in the space between you for a heartbeat, an eternity. Frankie's gaze drops to your mouth for an instant; you feel the glance zip through you with a physical certainty. One of you must lean forward, or both of you- but in the next moment, without any movement you're aware of, your lips meet.

If either of you had been unsure earlier, you weren't now. Frankie kisses you like you're the air he needs to breathe; your free hand clutches a fistful of his t-shirt in an effort to pull him even closer.

His lips are improbably soft compared to his pilots' hands. You lightly run your tongue along them and his mouth opens for you, warm and welcoming. Frankie lets out a muffled groan as he tastes you, his hand shifting back to grip the nape of your neck. A needy sound scrapes the back of your throat at the feeling, the discovery of how much you trust his hands there, and fuck, you realize- you’re in even deeper than you thought.

But as suddenly as it had started, it stops. Frankie pulls back just far enough for the two of you to look at each other. Your ragged breathing mingles in the space between you. A breeze outside ripples the bottom of the blanket-door, the cool air a welcome contrast to your heated skin.

Through the overwhelming desire hazing your thoughts, you realize you're still holding hands. You glance down your lap and laugh a little, easing some of the tension. Squeezing his hand, you look back up at him. He's smiling too, despite the fact that his torso is still twisted toward you, straining to be close to you.

“Are you...okay?” you venture.

“Never better,” he answers, almost absently. He disentangles your hands to rest his flat on your bare thigh, his thumb stroking the skin, and you close your eyes at the touch. That such a small motion could wash through your whole body, make you hollow with want...when you open your eyes again, Frankie is looking at you with such intensity it steals your breath. “I just want to be sure that you're okay. With this. Us.”

Gently holding his hand in place against your thigh, you shift your bottom half so it aligns with the top half of you, facing him. Tentatively, you rest your hands on Frankie's leg so as to still be touching him. “This isn't just about today, you know? What happened today may have...triggered it, but this isn't a new feeling. I want you, Frankie. I care about you.” You look him in the eye at the last sentence, praying you've said the right thing.

But oh, have you- because Frankie looks like he wants to devour you whole. “Fuck,” he growls, and surges into you, his mouth crashing into yours. He wraps an arm around your waist, bending you backward while hauling you against his body, which now kneels over yours.

Instinctively you throw your arms around him, clinging to his shoulders as he holds you above the mattress. Heat surges through you at such a blatant demonstration of Frankie's strength, especially as his lips continue to move along your jaw and his teeth tug on your earlobe. “No more words,” he rasps, and that's all the warning you get before he's crawling the rest of the way up the bed, one arm holding you to him the entire time. Your feet scramble to help propel yourself along with him.

You've felt tantalizing brushes of Frankie’s muscles before, and now his every motion introduces the same tortuously brief sensations. When he finally lowers you to the bed his body chases yours, pressing himself into you, and you both groan aloud, finally able to give into the desire to sink into each other.

There's a dull thud and the sound of liquid sloshing as the tequila bottle is knocked off the bed, but Frankie seems to have only one thing on his mind. He is everywhere at once while you writhe beneath him; his teeth sink into your shoulder as he sucks possessive marks there, his hands span your hips and slide up your skin in a way that has you seeing stars.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you gasp, and he hums, dark and approving, from where his nose is tracing patterns down your belly.

“I like you saying my name, querida.” His breath is hot on your skin as he presses kisses up your ribs, steadily rucking up your shirt. He's probably already guessed that you aren't wearing a bra: you never do when the team is officially off-duty, a question that was once asked and quickly settled the first time it came up, in a camp much like this one.

You spare a thought as to if you should feel self-conscious that you're also not wearing underwear. After spending so much time sweating in jungles, you like to let things breathe when you can. You didn't plan for this to be happening tonight.

But then you imagine Frankie's reaction when he discovers your single bottom layer, and you decide not to worry.

You're lured out of your thoughts by Frankie's voice, coaxing, asking: “Take this off for me, dulzura?”

Barely a glance down at his beseeching eyes has you moving with impossible eagerness. You half sit up to oblige him, thinking that you would do just about anything with him sounding like that. His voice as rough as his hands and just as tangible against your skin, just as capable of inciting the slickness between your thighs.

You pull your shirt over your head, arching your back a little more than strictly necessary for him. Your nipples harden as they're exposed to the air, exposed to him- because Frankie is staring, his lips parting like he's already imagining them being on you.

You give in to the urge to plunge your hands into his hair, running the soft strands between your fingers and then tugging, reminding him that he can do more than imagine. His eyes snap to your face and you have half a second to register their wicked gleam before he's on you. His hands grace your breasts first, callused fingers as capable directing your body as they are his machines. You wonder if it's the tequila or his touch that has your head spinning so- his mouth warms you better than any liquor, and the slide of his tongue on your nipples makes you cry out.

Your hands scrabble at him during his ministrations, determined to wreck him as thoroughly as he’s wrecking you. You roll your hips into his thigh, wedged between your own, but any thoughts beyond repeating that single motion fly out of your head when you feel the hard length of his arousal. You rake your nails down his back- gently at first- but the guttural noise he makes when you do convinces you to do it again, harder. He shudders above you, and when you continue downward to squeeze his ass, he exhales shakily.

“Fuck me, querida.” Frankie sits up, his weight pinning your legs, rendering you unable to  continue tormenting him.

“That’s the idea,” you say cheekily, before your jaw falls slack at the sight of him yanking his shirt over his head by the neck. He chuckles at the look on your face.

“You were saying something, Mosquito?” he quips, bending down to kiss you again. You both gasp at the sensation of your bare skin meeting. His kiss is searing, claiming, and you can’t get enough. How had you not given in to this before now? Every inch of him, every sound he makes, is familiar- you’ve gotten used to catching glimpses of him out in the field; you’ve heard him spill endearments and sweet sounds in your ear on the dance floor after one too many rounds (no matter that neither of you ever brought it up the next morning). But now, with the world tilted sideways and all your senses tuned to him at once- every sensation is utterly new, and you want them all.

You want Frankie to feel them too; you wrap your arms around him, caressing newly exposed skin as he sighs into your mouth. Your hands slip beneath his shorts to stroke the divots of his hip bones, but before you can reach for the maddening hardness between them he stops you, tearing his mouth from yours with a snarl.

“Not yet, dulzura,” he says. You've never seen his eyes so hooded with lust, the meaningful smirk playing on his lips. “Ladies first.”

Fuck, you’ve never been so turned on in your life. You whimper helplessly as his hands and mouth descend to the waistband of your shorts. Just barely coherent, you lift your hips so he can slide them off- and watch the smugness vanish from his expression.

“You’re not wearing- were you?” Frankie looks dumbfounded, his voice hoarse.

You almost laugh. As if you’d had a chance to slip off your panties without him seeing since you arrived? “I wasn’t, no. It’s an occasional habit.” It’s your turn smirk at him, broadly, as his expression immediately goes hazy, imagining the implications of that.

You squirm a little where you lie, your shorts pulled down just enough to reveal your sex. Laying there mostly naked, your bottom half restrained, you can already feel tension coiling in your core. Frankie’s attention focuses again at your movement. Everything feels hypersensitive against your skin: the thin sheets beneath you, Frankie’s knuckles on your thighs where he still grips your shorts. Even his gaze as he drags it down your body, coming to rest on where he’s just exposed.

He tugs your shorts down and over your feet. Sliding his hands back up you slowly, he eases your legs apart, pressing kisses as he goes. Each one warm and deliberate, soft and slightly ticklish from his facial hair. As he reaches the apex of your thighs his tongue traces hot lines toward where you want him- teasing, warning. He breathes your name, and your eyes meet.

You’ve been watching him make his way up your body, enthralled by the sight. You never imagined that sex with Frankie would be like this (to the point that you let yourself imagine sex with Frankie at all)- equal parts silly and smoldering, with an aura of reverence around the whole thing, like neither of you ever dreamed this would really happen. Now he refocuses on what’s closer to him: you, soaked by the evidence of just how much you want him. He circles your entrance with one thumb, testing, and spreads the wetness up to your clit. You gasp and buck your hips as he continues this circuit, back and forth, for several seconds.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan in a higher pitch, an unspoken plea for more.

In the time it takes you to register the satisfied smile and promising glint in his eyes, he’s lowered his head and licked a long, hot line directly up your center. Then he hooks his thumbs into you, spreading you open, and does it again.

“Fuck!” you swear and pant and grip the mattress as Frankie’s tongue works you, like nobody you’ve ever been with. You feel pinned down with the way he holds you open and you love it, like you’re for his pleasure and not the other way around. Like he could do this all night but oh, you’d never last that long. You have to remind yourself not to moan so loud as he sucks on your clit; the thin wooden walls of this hut feel too small for the feeling overtaking you as Frankie licks into you, fucking you with his tongue.

Thin walls, thin walls- “Frankie!” you cry desperately, all the muscles in your body contracting as his mouth brings you to the edge-

“Yes, querida please, let go for me,” he urges, and his rough, low voice combined with his mouth latching back onto you is all it takes for you to come, hips rearing, your body shuddering under him as pleasure pulses through you. With eager, steady strokes of his tongue, Frankie draws out your orgasm like he’s the one who never wants it to end.

As the high gradually passes, you move one hand to rest in his hair. “Stop,” you say weakly. You tug gently, but otherwise don’t move from where you lie with your eyes closed, still catching your breath.

You hear him chuckle; you don’t even want to think about how smug he probably looks. Frankie presses a last kiss to your inner thigh and then crawls up your body, pressing his still-clothed hips into yours.

“Is that all you can take, Mosquito?” he teases.

Instinctively you lift your hips to meet him- and your eyes fly open as his cock lines up with your center. Frankie lets out possibly the most erotic sound you’ve ever heard, a cut-off, huffing groan, and his eyes flutter shut as his face contorts.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip at the sight, and the feel of his length (because it is a length, you think dizzily) pressing at your entrance, even encased in shorts, jolts you right back to life, thrumming with want. Your lips curve into a smile. “If that’s your reaction while you still have pants on, Catfish, I’m not sure you can take much more,” you drawl.

He grumbles something unintelligible in Spanish, lowering his head to nip at your neck. His hardness slides against you deliberately as you giggle and then gasp. When one large hand grips your hip you whimper, and Frankie’s husky voice sounds in your ear. “Those are the sounds I want to be hearing right now, dulzura.”

His commanding tone makes you flush with need, and you whimper again, wondering how this man could possibly give you so much bliss and still have you aching for more. You tug at his shorts. “Take these off.”

“Oh, you’re giving the orders now, huh?” Frankie raises an eyebrow, but slides off the bed to oblige. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband, and you suddenly find it hard to focus on anything else.

“Well, I can’t let you have all the fun,” you say, your mouth forming the words while all your attention is on his hips, the incremental amounts of skin being revealed as he slowly draws down his shorts.

Your mouth goes dry as the proud length of him springs free, his shorts finally falling to the floor. His cock looks just as long as it felt pressed against you, the tip gleaming with moisture, and you feel yourself clench at the thought of taking him inside you. You run your eyes back up him, following the trail of hair to the dusting over his chest, the span of his shoulders. Lost in your admiration of his beautiful, soft, strong body, you’re almost startled when you hear him speak.

“Like what you see?” Frankie’s gruff voice draws your attention back to his face. You feel a pang of surprise at the trepidation there, and you wonder what that eyebrow means this time. Is he...shy?

A smile fights to bloom on your face, but you hold it back, just for a moment. “Oh, do I,” you purr, shifting smoothly to stand in front of him. The wooden floor beneath your bare feet is rough but not splintery. He watches you move, lust darkening his gaze as he rakes it over you again.

“Francisco Morales,” you say. Your grin flowers fully across your face then, and you try to channel every ounce of suppressed affection you ever felt as you aim it at him.

A shy smile flickers across his face as he absorbs your affection; he has the gall to look almost surprised by it. Your exasperating, wonderful man. Thinking about everything that led you here makes your eyes feel hot again; the idea that he might have been gone without you ever telling him, showing him, what he really means to you.

You step forward and wrap your arms around him, burrowing your face into his chest. Frankie stifles a gasp as your hips press into him, but returns the gesture, understanding. He strokes your hair with one hand.

“It’s okay, querida. I’m here. I’ll always be here,” he vows softly.

You tilt your head up at his declaration, blinking watery eyes. He gently catches your chin and lowers his lips to yours. You sigh-moan into his kiss, letting it melt your worries away, stretching up on your toes to meet it equally. Frankie’s tongue is hot in your mouth as it intensifies; your knees feel weak. Finally you tear away from him with a gasp, breathing heavily.

“You okay, Mos?” Frankie’s hand rests on the back of your neck again. After that kiss, it makes it even more difficult to think clearly, but you’re more okay than you’ve ever been.

“Never better.” With a smile, you echo his words from earlier. Your hands wander down the muscles of his back, coming to settle on his now bare ass. You look at him from under your lashes and bite your lip.

He answers your look with an equally sensual smile, his hands caressing down your spine to mirror your position. Thick fingers massage your rear before gripping firmly, fitting your hips to his. Your eyes flutter shut. Frankie’s body slots against your own perfectly, all its curves and contours molding to yours like pieces of a puzzle box sliding smoothly into place, holding something secret and wonderful within.

All the nerves in your body zero in on the hard length pressed between you. Frankie’s cock burns with heat, and you can feel every ridge and vein where it rasps against your skin.

“Dulzura,” Frankie says, his mustache tickling your ear. “How do you feel about taking this back to the bed?”

You giggle and nod your consent, eyes shining. Frankie groans in relief and bundles you backward. Your back hits the mattress and he climbs atop you, your limbs tangling, kissing and caressing with mounting fervor. Your back arches and a breathy cry scrapes free as his cock drags through your sensitive folds. Frankie lets out a guttural moan at the feeling, clutching at you like he can’t get close enough.

“Frankie...’Fish,” you gasp, through the chaos of your thoughts. You have just enough willpower to pull back and meet his gaze. “Flip us over?”

Desire flares in his eyes. In a blurringly quick move, he spins you, and then you’re atop him, the base of his cock nestled against your sex. Frankie groans again at the sensation, seeming beyond words. He palms your thighs, your breasts. You feel short of breath, consumed by the need sweeping through you.

You wrap your hand around Frankie’s cock, stroking firmly. He makes a choked sound and his hips buck up from the bed.

“Mos,” he grits out. “Please.”

All you can do is nod. Rising up on your knees slightly, you position yourself over him, grasping his cock and running the tip of him through your wetness. Thighs trembling, you line him up at your entrance.

Frankie reaches for your free hand and entwines your fingers, prompting you to look up and meet his gaze. His hand squeezes yours in a wordless question.

Your heart swells, and you feel impossibly fond as you smile at him. Your Frankie. Even as far gone as you both are, he’s checking on you. Making you feel safe. In answer, you lower yourself down onto him.

The effect is swift and immediate. Your moans are loud enough to wake the stars; you forget everything but each other’s pleasure, the absolute euphoric rightness of this feeling.

Then you clap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide. “Shhh!” you remind him giddily.

Frankie looks utterly gone, his lips parted, awe and adoration on his face. The hair on his forehead is damp with sweat. “Move for me, querida,” he says, and the strained, pleading rasp in his voice shoots heat straight to your core.

You set a steady rhythm on him, your eyes fluttering shut as Frankie’s cock fills you, stretches you so deliciously you can already feel a familiar pressure building. The sinful ease with which he slides in and out of you is a testament to just how wet you are. His fingers stroke and squeeze your flesh in time with his vocal gasps, and when they brush your cheek, you open your eyes.

“Fuck,” you mumble. You’ve always thought Frankie was beautiful, but this…the muscles in his arms flex and pull through your movements. The intensity in his dark eyes as they drink in every inch of you, like he still can’t believe this happening. The restraint he’s showing, letting you set the pace, is evident in the tension you can feel in his body beneath you. It makes you grind your hips down, squeeze him, wanting to push past his cautiousness.

Frankie chokes back a shout at your change in rhythm, throwing his head back and exposing the length of his neck. Immediately you lean down to trace it with your tongue, relishing the taste of salt on his skin. He swears.

He grasps the back of your neck for the third time that night, and you whimper, ecstasy thrilling down your spine. “Please, Frankie,” you breathe, not even knowing what you’re asking for.

“Yes,” he answers roughly. He kisses you and then tugs you back upright. This time he thrusts up into you, hard, and the sound of skin slapping on skin fills the air. You cry out, needy and desperate, and Frankie growls in approval.

“Fuck, yes, Mos. Want to hear you, want you to feel good…” his praise stutters, some of it in Spanish now as his pace quickens.

Only Frankie could make you feel this good, and you make sure he knows it. He grips your hips firmly enough to bruise, but you don’t care; you want it, want him to mark you. Claim you, so there will never be any question about it again. You are his, completely.

“Frankie, my Frankie..” Pleas and praise tumble from your lips.

“Fuck, yeah.” Maybe he likes the idea of being yours, too, because he moans loudly in response. His palm splays against your side, slides across your skin until his thumb presses down on your clit.

Your nerves jolt. Fuck, you’re gonna come. Frankie’s thrusts speed up- had you said that out loud? Your breathing quickens; you can feel the tension rising in you as surely as a cresting wave.

“Mos,” Frankie gasps. “Can I..?” His eyes flicker to where your bodies connect.

You understand his meaning and your eyes widen. “Yes!” And the idea of him spilling himself inside you, the sudden force of his thrusts, the pressure of his thumb- the wave breaks.

Blinding pleasure crashes through you, a roaring in your ears muffling everything else. Distantly you feel yourself shake and keen; your walls pulse around Frankie’s cock, and then a new heat fills you as his hips slam into yours and stay there, buried deep. He groans, long and low in his throat.

There’s a moment of stillness as you both recover, the only sound your heaving breaths. Feeling wobbly, you topple forward, catching yourself with your palms on Frankie’s chest. You let out a soft groan as aftershocks ebb though you, every nerve singing.

“...Mos,” Frankie murmurs, his eyes still closed.

“Mm,” you manage, words still beyond your abilities.

“That was fucking amazing,” he breathes out the words on a sigh. He releases your hips to cover your hands with his. His eyes open. “You’re fucking amazing,” he says with more strength.

You can feel yourself blush. “Frankie...” You duck your head.

“Uh-uh, dulzura,” he scolds. He tips your chin back up. “You know I’ve always thought that about you.” He holds your gaze, his clear-eyed certainty so unlike the careful distance he kept before.

You lean down and press a kiss to his heart before snuggling into him, nose against his neck. He’s still inside you, softening slowly, and you savor the intimacy and connectedness of it. “I know,” you respond. “I’m just sorry I never did anything about it.”

Frankie strokes a soothing hand along your back. The air is close and humid after your exertions, and your skin is faintly damp with sweat. “Nothing to be sorry for. I never did anything either,” he points out.

You chuckle, a bit nervously. “Well, we’ve done something now.”

You can feel his laugh rumble through his chest, comforting, like the reverse of a cat purring on your lap. “No kidding.”

You wait, sensing he has more to say.

“Querida,” he prompts softly. You lift your head to look at him. His hair is a mess, all sweat-damp curls, and though his face is serious, his eyes are as soft as you’ve ever seen them. Your heart squeezes.

“I care about you too. You know our lives are crazy, and dangerous, so I was scared to say anything. Scared you didn’t feel the same. But...I can’t go back to you not knowing. I’m all in, Mos. If you want this, so do I.”

Frankie’s face is open, vulnerable. How could he possibly imagine that you’d want to go back? You shake your head at him. “Well, there’s no way I can top that speech, ‘Fish.” It feels like he’s holding his breath. You level an exasperated, affectionate look at him. “Of course I want this. Don’t you ever think otherwise.”

Before you’re even done speaking he’s kissing you, his lips and tongue saying what words cannot. As it deepens you shift forward, and Frankie’s cock slips out of you, causing you both to flinch and then laugh. His face crinkles adorably, and the moment makes you indescribably happy- the kind of contentment that comes from realizing you know exactly what you want. And right now, it’s this perfect, effortless bond you have with Frankie.

He gives you a shy smile. You lay your head down on his chest, overcome by a wave of satisfied tiredness. Idly you trace shapes across his abdomen with a finger while you speak. “You know, Catfish, your chest is much comfier than my bed. Mind if just I sleep here?”

He chuckles, and you think hearing Frankie’s laugh through his chest might be your new favorite sound. His arms, still wrapped around you, squeeze you lightly. “Please; stay.” He reaches out and clicks off the lantern. Despite the darkness, you get the feeling that both of you are still thinking, absorbing everything that just happened, but gradually your thoughts lull towards sleep.

Until Frankie’s voice slides through the dark: “I can’t believe you weren’t wearing underwear.”

---

A/N: Thank you for reading!! This is the first fic I’ve ever written, pls be nice. Fun fact, I originally intended for this to be a Frankie x Reader x Santi fic, but then decided I was getting too into the Frankie x Reader feels to do that. HOWEVER, if anyone is interested and even if no one asks lol, I might still write a threesome AU of this scenario

[sugako]

friends help friends

suga x f!reader x daichi

sum: when suga finds about a secret desire you’ve been hiding he asks the person he trusts the most to help fulfill your fantasy 

cw: 18+ minors dni, nsfw, smut, watching porn, Dom/sub, threesome, pet names (angel, baby), thigh riding, face sitting/oral (f!receiving) spit roast, oral/face fucking (m!receiving), anal plug, spanking, degradation, anal sex/cockwarming, double penetration, all holes filled, squirting, sloppy, pearl necklace/cumming on you, creampie

wc: 3.5k 

a/n: very excited to post my first threesome i hope yall like it <3 

“Whatcha watching?” Suga’s sharp sing-song voice ringing from behind your ear jolted you out of your seat. On instinct, you snapped off your phone and shoved it between you and the chair.  

“Nothing!” You yelped. You hadn’t even heard him sneak up behind you, still thinking he was working away in his home office. 

“Oh, so you weren’t just watching a woman get railed by two big guys at the same time in the middle of our living room on your phone?” He smirked as he rounded the big chair, moving you over so you were cradled in his lap. You adjusted yourself so your red face was hidden, pressed against his chest and your knees hung over the arm of the chair. 

“Depends on what you count as nothing, I guess.” You muttered into him. 

When he cupped your already soaked center through your soft lounge pants, you knew his joking tone would vanish shortly. Your thighs struggled to shut around his wrist as he ground his palm into your clit. 

“You wish that was you?” He whispers into the crown of your head, placing a little kiss there. “I don’t even know why I’m asking when you’re dripping through your clothes like this.” His little scoff making you whine. 

“I just wanted to see.” You sigh into him as his hand travels back to your leg, urging you to straddle his thigh. Melting into his warm touch, you readily comply. 

When your hands wrap around the back of his neck, he sharply raises his knee against you. With a little whine, you start to hump yourself against him and kiss against the soft, pale skin of his neck. “You don’t even need a cock to get off, so why be greedy and want two?” His harsh words only served to encourage you as you ground against him harder. “Kinda hurts my feelings. My baby wants another man’s cock.” He fake pouted and pulled your head away to admire how your lust-filled eyes shimmered in the soft afternoon light. 

“N-no, you’re all I need.” You assured him, although his farce was obvious. 

“But you want two cocks?” He challenged. 

“I don’t-” 

“Don’t lie, angel, it’s not very nice of you.” 

You paused, distracted by the feeling between your legs. At this point, you knew the fabric of his pants had to be getting soaked with how you were dripping against him. 

“Yeah, but we could use a fake one.” You suggest, tightening your grip on his shoulders.

“Hmm, it’s not the same, you know that.” He grins at the confused look on your face, enjoying watching you struggle to respond appropriately. “I’ll find you someone, hmmkay? But first, you should probably be punished for being a little liar and holding back from me.”

Just as you’re teetering at the edge of release, he pulls you off his leg and lays you out over his lap with your ass in the air. 

“Don’t forget to count, angel.” 

That’s how, about a week later, you end up awkwardly sitting beside Daichi on your living room couch. The night he found out about your little secret, Suga had gotten to work right away. Originally, Daichi thought the texts were a joke until Suga added you to the group and sent a lewd photo of your fucked out body and a short audio clip of you begging for more. 

Suga was humming happily as he watched the two of you nervously sip your teas as he prattled on with meaningless small talk as if this was casual. Part of you wondered just how much he was doing this for you and how much he was doing for himself. Still, the excitement far outweighed any inhibitions you had about the entire thing. 

You turned to Daichi, who was currently keeping his eyes locked on the bottom of his empty cup, both hands firmly clamped around it. Seeing him like that, usually so cool and confident, actually boosted your ego. 

“Hey,” you said softly, putting a hand over his knee, “You wanna go to the bedroom?” 

His eyes flickered down the front of your oversized shirt. When he walked in it had been painfully obvious you weren’t wearing anything except a frilly pair of panties underneath, and although he was only over for one reason, he still felt a little bad when he got hard at the sight of your body. The way your fingers smoothed over his knee and thigh, trying to calm him down only added to his fluster. “We can go slow if you’re nervous.” You draw out, creeping closer to him. 

Suga watches, silently and carefully, seated adjacent to you. Daichi’s always followed the ‘rules’ too much and Suga relishes in watching him unravel under your pretty stare. 

“Th-that’s not, I mean I’m not-”

“She’s right, you’ll feel more comfortable in the bedroom. Take him, angel, I’ll be right behind after I take these to the sink.” Suga cuts off his sputtering before it can get out of hand and quickly swoops in to take the empty cups from the both of you. 

Daichi lets you take his hand and lead him. He knows where the bedroom is, he’s been over dozens, maybe even hundreds of times before, but now everything looks a little new for some reason. When he blinked again and finally took a breath to ground himself you were cocking your head up at him, waiting patiently beside the bed. 

“Here,” you said quietly, taking his cheeks into the palms of your hands, “Let’s start slow, huh? Kiss me.” Craning into him, you hesitate, wanting him to be the one to close the gap. After a long moment, he finally does. Still cautious, he hums against your lips, letting you lead him through the short contact before you pull away. “Kōshi will probably ask you again too, but are you sure you want to do this?” 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nods, realizing his arms somehow got bound up in holding you. “Yes, I’m sure, this is all just new.” 

“I know, it’s new for us too, but don’t worry, it’ll be fun!” You’re giving him a firm pat on the shoulder when Suga strolls in, barely rolling his eyes at the two of you. 

“You’re here to fuck her, not hug her.” He laments as he takes you into his arms, planting a firm kiss against your lips. “And don’t worry, she’s a slut, she can take whatever.” When he spins you around harshly and you let out a little yelp at the sudden twist, feeling a little more exposed now that he’s holding your back against his chest. “I think this is more than enough buildup, so why don’t we just get to it?” 

He scrunches up your long, shirt, pulling it over your head and messing up your hair in the process. His hands come around your front to palm your tits, putting them on display for Daichi. You’re already panting, watching him slowly reach down to the front of his pants and begin to unbutton them. 

“So pretty, isn’t she?” Suga beams from behind you, looking down at how you’re already squirming in his arms. “I’m so lucky she’s also such a perfect, little cumslut too.” With only a little force he pushes you toward the bed. “On the bed, on your knees, baby.” He starts disrobing and glances back at Daichi who’s thick tip is peeking out from behind the band of his boxers. “You want her to suck your dick? Just tell her, you’ll do anything, right baby? Always so obedient.” 

You’re sitting back on your knees, waiting for the two of them to finish undressing, but you nod quickly. “Yeah, just like we talked about. Want you to tell me what you want.” 

“Ahh, yeah, um alright.” 

Suga tried to hold back another eye roll. Daichi, usually so in charge and dominating, was nervously puttering before you - his sweet, submissive fuck baby, of all people. With a little huff, Suga fell back onto the bed behind you. Feeling the mattress dip beside you, you went to turn before he stopped you. 

“No, stay. Let’s just get these off,” he tugs down on your soaked panties, tossing them off the side of the bed, “and you can sit on my face.” 

Even though you don’t turn, you know he can feel your excitement growing. You turn your eyes back to Daichi, who’s standing a little more confidently in front of you even if his cheeks are stained red, gripping his cock with white knuckles. Balancing on your knees while Suga snuggled between your thighs, you reached out beckoning him to come closer. When your fingertips grazed over his, brushing up his head, damp with pre-cum, any hesitation he had left seemed to dissipate. 

“Please,” you didn’t know if you were whining to him or to Suga who was caressing your ass and slowly kissing up between your thighs, “want you.” Thighs pressed tightly against the bed to get as close to you as possible, Daichi held his breath as you gripped him harder and opened your mouth.

His girth was impressive, you had to admit, and the way his angry purple head stretched your lips made you silently whimper around him. In response, he let out a low groan, pushing into you a little more. You were so focused on holding and pumping him in time with your mouth you barely noticed how Suga had slowed his actions. 

Below you, he was admiring how your pretty cunt fluttered and clenched every time you took a little more of his friend. It hadn’t taken much for you to get soaked, so even in the shadow under your body, he could see the glistening slick seeping from you. But when he heard you whine more needily he couldn’t hold back. 

Your jaw tightened around Daichi as you let out a high-pitched moan, muffled by his cock between your lips, and your hand around him fell to the bed to keep you upright. Suga licked thick stripes up and down, smearing your wetness as much as he could, and pulling you to sit flush to his face. Your eyes teared up as he stopped the sloppy licks and started in on your clit. 

Daichi’s head fell back when his hips, on their own volition, started thrusting into you. His hand wrapped around the side of your head and kept you in place as he fucked himself into your mouth. As best you could while distracted by both men, you slackened your jaw to take more of him until his tip was prodding at the back of your throat. Suga’s tongue did not let up on you either, and in minutes you were a slobbering mess humping against his face as release bounded upon you. 

Overwhelmed, Daichi slowed his motions in your mouth, watching you come undone. Hot, little tears flowed over your pretty cheeks and your body twitched and spasmed, but you stayed with your lips firmly wrapped around him. The little whines and moans vibrated his length only adding to his own tension. 

Suga licked one last messy stripe up you, needing a last taste as you slowly stilled. He shuffled out from under you and got up on his knees, lifting your ass to meet his hips. Easily lining his cock up he slapped a harsh mark against your skin. The motion made you lurch forward, moaning again around Daichi. 

“Like I said,” Suga panted out, “You can be a little rougher with her, she likes it.” He kept his eyes on the two of you as you started bobbing your head once more, and reached into the bedside table to pull out a short, thick object and a small bottle - both of which Daichi recognized at once. When you heard Suga squirt the lube into his hand, you couldn’t help but clenching, knowing what was to come. 

He was too impatient to warm it up in his hands, simply coating your tight, puckered hole in it before easing a finger in. “Relax, angel baby.” He coos, voice far softer than before. You always got too excited, accidentally clenching when you shouldn’t be, especially with someone’s cock fucking your mouth so good. Slowly, he eases the plug in, rubbing your back all the while. 

Nose puffing wildly against Daichi, you relax as best you can as you feel the plug bottom out, knowing it’s only the beginning. Suga doesn’t give you a moment’s rest, landing another rough smack against your bottom before he pushes himself into your ready cunt in one smooth motion. You feel so full already, every hole being filled and fucked to the brim. 

Between the two of them, you’re barely doing anything anymore. Their thrusts effortlessly sync up and you’re suddenly being tossed back and forth, back and forth on their cocks. It’s more than you had imagined, being so full and so fucked out already.

“My cute little whore, you love this, don’t you?” Suga calls out hoarsely. “Your little pussy is just creaming all over me.” 

Deftly, you hum around the cock in your mouth, unable to actually respond. Daichi’s motions get sloppier and harder when you look up at his determined expression with your teary eyes. With a sharp huff, he pulls you off by tugging back your hair and takes a small step back from the bed. Your numb jaw stays parted as you gasp for air, spit leaking down the corner of your dry lips. 

“Didn’t… didn’t wanna cum just yet.” He puffs out, knowing Suga was gearing up to ask. You feel emptier, having easily gotten so used to being skewered by their cocks. 

“You want to fuck her?” Suga slows his rough thrusts, lazily rutting against you before he lets out a short laugh. Letting your front half fall into the mattress for some respite, you clench around him at the question. “I know you want that, angel, calm down,” he scoffs. “Besides, you haven’t even seen her perfect cunny, that’s what you’re really here for anyway.” 

You whimper into the sheets when Suga suddenly pulls out, unable to move. Daichi clears his throat and sits beside you on the bed, smoothing the hair out of your face. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, “I’m gonna fuck you now.” He says simply just as Suga wraps his arms around you, pulling you back into his lap. He keeps himself upright with his back against the headboard and reaches between your legs and carefully slides the plug out, only to replace it with his soaked cockhead. Not capable of forming a sentence you just moan and nod as his cock slips into you, aided by an ample amount of added lube. 

It’s not a new sensation, but the stretch aches each time, especially when he bottoms out and spreads your legs. His own legs are spread enough for yours to be wide enough to fit Daichi’s thick body. When you finally look up, haze clearing from your mind, you’re met with a dark expression etched into Daichi’s face while he positions himself between your legs. 

He doesn’t look directly at you, eyes fixed between your puffy spread folds and the sliver of where he can see how Suga is nestled inside of you. From behind, Suga’s hand comes up around your chin, forcing you to look back. His thumb taps against your cheek and, on command, you open your mouth and stick out your flat tongue. Daichi can only watch as Suga spits down into your bruised mouth and immediately presses a burning kiss against your lips. 

Daichi doesn’t even realize he’s frozen until Suga pulls away from you, forcing you to look forward. “Come on then, she’s been good, don’t you think she deserves your cock? She’s squeezing me to death here.” 

Blinking hard, Daichi comes out of his stupor. “Yeah, you’ve been a good girl.” He echoes back. “You wanna be filled up by these two cocks?” 

It’s barely a question, but you stutter out an answer anyway. “Please, yes, please, please. Want you so bad.” 

He eases between both of your legs, putting his hands on either side of Suga to keep himself steady as he prods at your hole. The little sigh you let out when his tip slides in makes him shudder and force himself in deeper. His fat cock burns you, and with Suga’s lodged deep in your ass, you feel like your being split. Along your thin wall, you can feel the two of them nestled against one another as Daichi slowly enters you. 

Suga pants across the back of your neck, holding himself back from fucking your tight hole that only grows tighter as Daichi eases into you. For what feels like forever, he looms over your whimpering mess of a body, inching in little by little until at last, he bottoms out. 

“Good, baby? Both your cute, little holes all filled out.” Suga whispered against your ear. 

Already shaking, you feverishly nod. “F-feels so good, ah… uh, both so big.” 

Daichi’s hips are vibrating as he holds back from fucking into you, choosing instead to shallowly rut against you. “So tight,” he sighs, “but you’re taking us so well.” For once, not silently pleading for Suga’s permission, he pulls out most of the way before slamming back into you. The way his cock drags against your stretched walls and the hardness of Suga’s closely centered cock is completely new to him, but it makes his mind go feral. 

All you can do is sit back against Suga’s smooth chest as Daichi fucks you into him, both of them moving to kiss any bit of you they comfortably can. It’s a sloppy mess of tongues and teeth and skin slapping and scraping while you’re crushed between them. After feeling Daichi’s cock rub so manically against his, Suga can’t help but thrust up into you, holding back as much as he humanly can. 

The only noises that fill the air are a garbled mix of broken sobs and moans intertwined with the loud slaps of skin and wet squelch between your legs. A tight knot ropes itself in the base of your abdomen, between being stuffed and the way Daichi’s hip keeps battering your still-sensitive clit you know you’re not far from the edge. 

“Gonna cum on our cocks?” Suga manages out from behind you. 

“Uh… uh-huh, c-close.” 

“Come on, cum all over my cock.” Daichi groans into your shoulder, the way your shake under him giving him the confidence to slam into you harder. The added pressure is enough to unravel you. Orgasm violently crashing down, Suga holds your thrashing body still, watching where Daichi’s cock was still pounding into your fluttering cunt. You felt the pressure keep inside of you as the waves continued, and then a sputter of wetness came from between your legs, soaking Daichi’s abdomen. 

“Good girl,” Suga sighed and stilled completely. 

He couldn’t even try to hold back a loud moan as he looked down to watch you squirt all over him. That was the end of the line for him. Despite what his heart wanted, he pulled out of you, sitting back on his knees and furiously pumping his weeping cock. The emptiness made you feel exposed, but you could only needily whine and grind back in Suga’s lap.

“Gonna cum on those tits. All over you.” Daichi’s eyes are flickering between yours and your empty pussy. Before you can get a simple ‘please’ in, his cum is shooting all over your abdomen and across your chest. A broken, breathy moan shatters out of his mouth when he clearly looks at you. “So pretty like this.” He whispers as he relaxes. 

Giving him his moment, Suga waits until the gentle smile finds its way back onto Daichi’s face to lift you off his throbbing cock. The sudden motion makes you squeak as your back on your hands and knees again and Suga’s pushing you into the comforter. 

“Let me help you.” You manage, looking up into Daichi’s eyes just before Suga rams into you, starting at a blistering pace immediately. Your entire body is rocked, the bed creaking under you. 

Daichi gently takes your chin, scooting up so you can take his softening cock into your mouth and suck him clean. Just as you finish, leaving a little trail of saliva between his tip and your lips, you feel Suga’s hips stutter and slow. His cock twitches inside of you one final time before he shoots his load deep into you, holding your hips flush to the front of his thighs. Purposefully, you clench tightly around him, sucking him in and milking him dry. 

He stays tucked inside of you until he starts to soften, then flops back onto the bed, dragging you along with him. You paw out for Daichi, pulling him back to lay on the other side of you. The three of you pant silently for a minute, cooling down. 

After a while, Suga clears his throat. “Everything you dreamed of, angel?” You hummed softly and often a small nod. Looking over your head, he made eye contact with Daichi and grinned. “Same time next week?” 

[captainrexisboo]

In A Single Night

Here it is, my lads and ladies and lovers. Only six hours after posting the promo lmao. Sitting at 1685 words, this is the first chapter to my WereRex AU (accidentally prompted by this ask), as well as my first installation of my Monster!Clones series (because apparently I have no self control).

This specific AU takes place during some vague historical time period, outside the Star Wars universe. More supernatural and magic than sci-fi. It is a romance! But, I don’t think it’ll be explicit. There will be very loose reminiscing of lovemaking, but no detail will be shared (yet- I mean c’mon, it’s me).

In this chapter, there will be warnings such as: body horror (not gore tho), the act of pinning, An Anxiety Attack, and An Actual Attack (again, no gore), and ANGST

Tag list will be in the replies, let me know if you would like to be added! Thank you all for your support, and as always any comments are welcome!!! Happy reading!!!

Edit: link to pt2

“Rex!”

Your whispered shout cut sharply through the still night air, not daring to be any louder. You’re not sure what you were afraid of, there was nothing in the woods to fear- except for the reason you were there to begin with. The pressure of the task at hand made your head swim, and the anxiety from terror made your hands shake, thinking of what you witnessed, your grandmother’s age-old guidance, and Cody’s blessing, it all came crashing down onto you in frantic waves.

You forced down a breath, the air scratching down your dried throat. Eyes frantic, you glanced in every direction, praying you found him before he found you. Your grip tightened on the rim of the helmet- of his helmet- and you stared into the blue jaig eyes that graced the front of the dome. It was the only bit of armor you brought with you, the most familiar to use, the only other clothes being his nightwear. The entire armored set and flowing blue mantle that he wore about the castle would’ve been too much to carry, too heavy. You needed to be able to move quickly, which was already proving difficult in the dense underbrush of the overgrown forest that he had escaped into, the leaves and low branches making your trek much noisier than you would have preferred. Dried twigs snapped under your boots, and every rustle from a night critter or chirps from various insects made you spin around with shoulders raised, terrified but ready to commit to the mission at hand- bring Captain Rex home.

~

You couldn’t believe it when only hours ago you witnessed the esteemed Captain fall into a frantic heap into the grass, a terrible aching cry ripping from his throat at the edge of town, the giant archway of the tall brick barrier that surrounded the village framing his crumpled body. He had been waiting for you, he had asked to meet under the light of the moon tonight while he was on break from patrol, just outside the town gates. You were about to run to the aid of your lover when something cold ran down your spine. An instinct to stop, stay out of sight- you’re unsure if it was the force of the raw wail or the way he seemed to be moving under his jacket...as if the muscles formed underneath his skin were realigning, morphing, writhing...growing. 

You stood back, frozen, breathless. You couldn’t tear your widening eyes away. Especially when you saw the thick fabric of his pristine white coat begin to tear and rip, partially from the swelling of his form, but also shredding from the clawing of his shaking hands, as if the material were burning him and he needed it off as soon as possible. Underneath, instead of the tanned expanse of scarred skin you thought you knew so well, was a coating of shining blond hair, almost a soft golden in the glinting moonlight. His screaming had subsided, but you could still hear his rough, ragged, deep breathing, even from how far away you were. His grunting and groaning were painful, you could tell his throat was already scarring from the harmful strain of voice, and yet he still found it in himself to howl into the night sky, throwing his head back in a gruesome, bitter ballad to the full moon above you. As the furious sound waned from him, you could see his form slacken in relief. His breathing was heavy, laced with an outraged growling. He moved from being lurched over on his knees to gaining onto his haunches. Where you thought he would be shaky, you noticed him channeling whatever was left of himself into standing up with his signature battle-ready grace. 

He stood tall, like usual...but with an extra two feet added to his height. The blond coating of, not hair, but thick, coarse fur, extended over his limbs, bristling in the cool of the night. His form not only stood taller, but also gave him a wider stance, even with hunched shoulders he was hulking, skin nearly ripping at the sudden growth. He rolled his neck and shoulders back, the sudden crack of settling bones finally bringing your lungs back to life as you took a gasping breath, a single stumbling step backwards- you were too loud. He whipped his head around to face you with a wild snarl, bounding to you, covering nearly two hundred meters in a matter of seconds. You shrieked, falling back onto the uneven cobblestone as he was suddenly on top of you, caging you beneath him in his new massive form, your heart hammering as whimpers stuttered past your quivering lips, his hot breath washing over your face, claws cracking into the hard rock next to your cheeks, threatening to cut at your hair.

His plush, bow-shaped lips curled over to showcase protruding fangs, mere inches away from your face as you flattened yourself against the cold hard ground, practically trying to will yourself beneath the surface before the unthinkable could happen. His face kept most of his shape, nose a little longer, a little pointed upwards, and jaw widened as if to take mauling bites out of anything- no, out of anyone. His normally cleanly shaven face was covered in the same fur as the rest of him, except for where his brows had been. The fur there was almost forming something like a dark mask, making a T-shape over his eyes and nose. All of this you could take in stride as he sniffed over you, you could stand any of this transformation as he kept you trapped below him, but it was his eyes that had you quaking. 

His kind, honeyed stare, the irises that held such adoration and desire for you as you whispered promises of love and devotion to each other behind dark corners and between soft bed sheets- that was gone. No trace of your dearest paramour to be found. Instead it was a fiery golden gaze, a purely carnal type of hunger, and for what you couldn’t be sure. His pupils had shrunk into pinpoints, surveying you like a piece of meat, like a meal. He opened his mouth with a throaty growl, baring his teeth to you even more, craning down to your neck with thick saliva dripping from his maw. As his teeth skimmed over your flesh, just before they could pierce through, is when you finally found your voice, previously dammed from terror, choking out a broken, “Rex, please…”

He paused at his name. Holding over you, as still as the hanging moon, upright ear twitching in response to your begging. Your breath shakes in anticipation, tremors running through your otherwise petrified body. He rears his head back harshly, suddenly, letting out a grim bark, and you screw your eyes shut tight to brace for the searing pain of your ripping flesh...that never comes. After a thick moment of watching the synapses of nerves spark behind your eyelids, you blink them open, slowly shifting up onto trembling elbows just in time to see him disappear into the shadows of the trees.

You’re terrified.

You want to cry.

You don’t understand what’s happening, so you stay lying on the ground, curling in on yourself as you silently sob out his name. You roll to your side, letting fat tears stream down your face, throwing your hand over your mouth as you push out heaving breaths, seeing the sharply pierced stone next to your head, splintering cracks coming from each hole at the force with which they were made. You laid there for what felt like hours, alone, shaking, small under the laughing moon. Emotion wracked through you, storming through your mind and body until you were left rasping for precious oxygen, completely emptied of your tears, the streaks having marked their pathway down your cheeks and neck to under the collar of your shirt.

Something whispers at the back of your mind as you’re coming down from your rush, a suddenly clear vision of your childhood, your grandmother telling you stories of shapeshifting beasts. Simultaneously man and monster, both in body and soul. You had asked her before she tucked you into bed once, while you were throwing on the covers and trying to blink away fatigue to finish the tall tale, “Is there any way to change them back? Aren’t they still human under their fur?”

She looked wistful then, staring out the window of your bedside, looking up into the moon. A sensitive shine came across her gaze, delicately reflecting the candlelight as she spoke so quietly you had to strain to hear her, even in the hush of your bedroom.

“If there’s someone who loves the beast enough, despite knowing their cursed form, underneath the light of the stars they can present the fanged horror with clothes-”

“Clothes? Grandmere, that doesn’t sound very-”

“Very what? Extravagant? Magical?” she chuckled, a little broken, wiping away sitting tears on her lashes, “Child, love is the most magical thing in the world. If it’s love in the purest form, telling the beast to come home, it will leave it’s brutish whims behind and dutifully follow it’s love back to the safety of a warm bed.”

She touched the garish scar you knew hid under her blouse, drawing in a sharp, shaking breath as her fingers traced the marred pink flesh of her shoulder, “If it’s not true… they’ll leave you. They’ll lose their last bit of humanity in that moment. Make you wish you had spared the energy you’d used to find them to begin with.”

You crash back into reality, her warning sitting heavy in your mind. You finally sat up, still in the middle of the empty road, surrounded by the dark windows of closed shops showing you your ragged reflection. You dusted off, getting onto wobbling legs before stalking off towards the castle. More specifically, the soldiers’ dormitory.

If the memory held any truth, then you didn’t have much time. You had to find his brother.

[crystalessenceswrites]

Shadows- Chapter Four

Shadows

A modern monster AU Pairings: Din Djarin x fem!reader Rating: T (at the moment- subject to change) Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence, dark themes, death of unnamed and background characters, descriptions of blood, descriptions of a dead body Summary: Crypto- concealed; secret. You have always lived your life in the shadows; after all, you’re one of the creatures who go bump in the night. He has sworn his life to a creed that aims to protect the world from monsters like you.

[Masterlist] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] Cross-posted to AO3

Why was it always vampires?

It seemed like the bounty lists were chalk full of them these days, more so than normal. Which was not awful for slayers. They were generally high paying jobs, considering most of them were wanted for the murder of the humans or cryptos they’d been feeding on. You just preferred to stay away from the fangs. The superhuman abilities of a well-fed vampire were difficult to match in a fight, even for seasoned slayers. While you had the training and equipment to deal with them, the bounty was not always worth the medical bills after the fact. You specialized in the kinds of bounties that were more brains than brawn. Preferring the chase over the actual fight. Today you did not have much of a choice, apparently. You’d come into the office later in the morning and arrived to find all the new non-vampiric bounties had been promptly snatched up by the early birds. Leaving you stuck with the fangs. Great.

Your target was a vampire named Qin. He was active and was not doing much of anything to cover it up. A serious threat to everyone if left unattended to. The urgency in needing to deal with someone like him had bumped his bounty up fairly high, even for the usual vampire fair. There were plenty of breadcrumbs to follow, making your afternoon much easier. He was holed up in the old industrial district during the day. Most of the old neighborhood was being retrofitted for industrial lofts and modern condos, so there would be plenty of construction sites and condemned buildings for him to hide in and a steady stream of workers to pick off for food. Sightings and intelligence had his location narrowed down to a three-block radius. The was all easy enough. Killing him would be another story.

Vampires did not have any one magic bullet weakness- they aren’t susceptible to iron or silver- making them harder to handle. Staking one through the head or heart was usually the best way to incapacitate one, until their body was burned and ashes were scattered. That required getting closer than you were comfortable with. The last thing you wanted was a fanged creature with arms reach of your neck. You really should have just taken the day off. Too bad your landlord never took a day off when it came time to collect your rent.

Starting with the largest warehouse on the southside and moving north until you got lucky, or rather unlucky, enough to run into your bounty, seemed the best course of action. And today kept proving to be an unlucky day for you. You’d barely broken into the first building when you came across two completely drained corpses left out in the open, bodies still cooling. Your bounty was here and full of fresh blood.

Well shit.

Sword drawn you continue to sneak through the abounded building. Vampires were natural predators; their sense of smell was leagues above your own. It was more than likely he already knew you were here-unless he was occupied with another victim. That must have been the case, considering he hadn’t jumped out at you yet. On high alert you continue farther into the warehouse with a white-knuckle grip on your weapon. The main body of the building is split into two storage areas, the first dark in the overcast afternoon and empty. There are signs someone’s been around, a mattress and blankets in a corner, duffle bags and a pile of dark clothes next to a tower of take-out boxes. Odd.

You drop to the floor as the crack of a gunshot splits the silence. Mind reeling you wonder what vampire needs a fucking gun. Another scan of the space confirms you’re still alone, no shooter in sight. It must have come from the next room, too loud to have been outside the building. As you approach the partition the familiar metallic sting of fresh blood reaches your nose. Vampires don’t bleed.

Three more shots ring out, definitely from the other side of the partition.

Vampire’s don’t use guns.

Another deep breath draws more of the scents in, the dust and mildew of the building, the spark of gun powder and the overwhelming musk of human. Your bounty was not alone and wasn’t with anyone friendly. It wasn’t another slayer- once a bounty gets picked up its pulled off the lists- and most slayers didn’t smell so strongly of human, so the next logical assumption was a lone hunter. Not that it would have been hard for any human to pick up on this vampire’s trail, but if it had been law enforcement to find him the building would be flooded with cops.

You truly had the worst luck today.

Odds were probably one to four against the hunter. Humans rarely stood a chance against vampires unless they caught one out in sunlight.

A loud crash, like something heavy collapsing, shakes the silence. As a slayer you’re obligated to help the human but considering all that’s gone on in the last few weeks you’re feeling much less inclined to do so.

“Come on Mando! I thought you freaks were proud warriors and all!”

Fucking hell. Kira was right, you are a Mando magnet. The vampire’s taunt is not reassuring in the slightest. You did not need a dead Mando on your hands. Creeping into the next room you’re quick to find cover behind some dust covered work benches. Surveying the space leads you to believe the Mando and Qin have been at a while. The space is trashed, boxes toppled over and crushed, shelves up ended, and bullet holes are scattered throughout the space.

The Mando’s back is to you at the moment while he and the vampire stare each other down. You don’t need to see his face to know who you’re dealing with; you’d been on the look out for this particular mop of curls since your last run-in. How was he everywhere you needed to be? Why couldn’t you shake him?

He suddenly springs into action again, drawing the spear he’d been carrying on his back, swinging it in a wide arch at the vampire. Qin��s too fast and easily dodges the attack before going in for his own, trying to get within arm’s reach. Mando doesn’t let him, blocking each attack with deadly precision. Neither gives in, pushing back against the other, jumping around the other in attempt to land a hit.

You’re hesitant to say you’re impressed by Mando, but only out of spite. He moves like a well-oiled machine, despite not having the upper hand he does not give up control of the fight to his undead opponent. This is the most dressed down you’ve seen him, baring the silver tac vest over a dark colored shirt. You can safely assume its beskar, the metal harnessed solely by the Mandalorians. Just one of the things that made then unique to other hunters. As he circles around Qin you catch sight of blood dripping down his sharp jaw, the hair just above his ear dark and matted with it. He’d taken a pretty serious hit already.

Now you really had to help him.

This was the kind of opportunity you never had when dealing with vampires. Qin’s attention was solely focused on the hunter. There was no indication from either that they’d noticed your silent arrival. You had one shot with the element of surprise, and you needed to make it count. If you could incapacitate Qin, stun him long enough for you and Mando to finish the job you could make it out of here in one piece. Mando in close to one piece.

Although there was no magic bullet for vampires, a bullet wound did still require time and energy to heal. Even though vampires and the like were technically “undead,” they still felt and registered pain to some degree, meaning bullets also provided a certain shock factor. You lose the sword, reaching for your thigh holster instead. While you were not a fan of guns, you weren’t willing to risk a fight with a vampire for your pride. You always came prepared when dealing with a bloodsucker.

Qin and Mando continue to circle each other in their tense dance. Despite the dark look in both their eyes, Qin has a smug smirk plastered across his face, probably under the impression he was going to be having a Mandalorian for lunch. Too bad you couldn’t allow it. All you needed was a clear shot. You mentally will Mando to put some distance between him and the bloodsucker, as if that would actually work.

Your breath catches in your throat as Mando sweeps his spear in another wide arc, forcing Qin back. Maybe you were lucky today after all. The moment Qin lands back on his feet, far enough away from the hunter, you jump out from your cover and take the shot, tagging Qin in the temple.

Damn good shot.

Mando jumps as Qin’s body crumples to the ground, face drawing together in confusion. That feeling akin to satisfaction returns. You could get the jump on him and a vampire. Third time would not be his charm, you are sure of it. You would not let it.

His brain catches up with the situation and he swings around, staff pointed at you as you vault over the workbench. Next comes the recognition, his jaw dropping just a bit at your sudden materialization. You’re thankful his first reaction isn’t to attack as you’re quick to re-holster your gun.

“Focus Mando,” you quip, directing your attention back to the vampire beginning to move on the floor.

“Fuck!” Qin curses, already starting to come back to it. That seemed too quick, even for a recently fed vampire.

Mando snaps into action, kicking Qin down before his spear finds its way through the vampire’s rib cage. Judging by the ear-splitting screech Qin let’s out, Mando found his mark, staking Qin where he lays. Mando does not move as you approach with sword in hand. He does not move as you bring your blade to rest on the bounty’s neck.

“You have one chance to surrender or I collect the bounty on your head, Qin.”

“You bitch!” He snarls, thrashing around the pole shoved through his torso. “Working with a Mando, that’s low- even for a slayer!”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“See you in hell one day, bitch.”

Smug even in death. Ugh. You don’t feel much as you chop his off with one swift swing. Not after you saw those two innocents on your way in. People like him were the exact reason humans called your kind monsters.

“Sunny disposition on that one,” you grumble, stepping back from Mando and the decapitated bounty. The hunter doesn’t even offer you a curtesy laugh. Stick in the mud.

“Why are you here?”

He doesn’t bother to hide the suspicion. Did he think you were following him now? That was rich.

“Doing my job. I took on the bounty for this one.” Pulling your messenger bag off, you begin to organize your supplies, “which I’d like to finish up if you have no objections.”

Mando just steps back, leaning against his staff. You can feel the weight of his gaze boring into you while you work. His eyes tracking your every move, detailing each item you pull from your clean up kit. You didn’t spot any bag of his lying around, you wonder how he had been planning on dealing with the body.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Why did you help me?”

Questions, questions.

“You let us go last time- I owed you for that at least,” you shrug. Now you were even. Well, as even as you could be with a human Mandalorian.

He’s silent for a moment, watching as you pull a few jars and a water bottle out of the bag. One contains a small collection of thistle bulbs. Mando doesn’t ask but you can see the curiosity growing as you stick the sharp plants into the vampire’s wounds.

“Vampires are weak to thistle, introduce it into the body and it halts their healing abilities. Aloe vera works too, it’s just not as flammable.

“Aloe vera and thistles?”

You chuckle, “what, did you think garlic would work?”

Mando scoffs, his sharp eye still following your hands. Next comes the burning of the body. You want to get that done as quick as possible. Thistle was not an end all weakness and even decapitated vampires could regenerate. You douse the body and head in gasoline from the water bottle.

“Light?”

Eyebrows raised you gingerly take the lighter he offers, catching the edge of Qin’s shirt with the flame. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the corpse to catch. The flames cast shadows over the Mandalorian’s face as you watch him from the corner of your eye. The air is heavy between you and not with the smell of burning flesh.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to let him kill me?”

“Why would I want that?” Had he not come to the realization that you couldn’t kill him?

“You get rid of nuisances, right? So one of you will have to kill me eventually.”

It takes all your will power to not burst out laughing. There was no way he was getting anything from an inside informant if that’s what he thought slayers did. You had this Mando pinned down about as wrong as he had you figured out. No wonder no one had been able to find a turn coat when one didn’t exist to begin with.

“I don’t know where you’re getting your info, but you need to find a different source. Trust me. As much as most slayers want to get rid of hunters, we can’t without very good reasons. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be any better than the ones we hunt.”

He quirks an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest, “so what? You’re just monsters hunting other monsters?”

“One,” you hold up a finger, “we use the term crypto.”

“Crypto? Like cryptid?”

“Where do you think humans got the word from?”

Mando scoffs at that but doesn’t press.

“Two, most of us don’t actually qualify as cryptos. Slayers are primarily half-bloods.”

You revel in the confusion on his face. Never did you think you would find yourself completely altering a Mandalorian’s understanding of the world. This was priceless.

Why were you telling him all this?

“Half-bloods?”

“You know, half human?”

“That’s possible?”

Now you cannot hold back the laugh this time, “human genetics are surprisingly adaptable.”

A look of disgust washes over his face and your heart drops.

“I just want you to know we’re not so different… our job is to stop those who hurt or take advantage of humans, to stop those who threaten to expose us. I imagine that’s not so different from what Mandalorians want…” after all, they couldn’t want to kill you all, could they?

[redevenir]

living alike (pt. i)

joshua x reader

wc : ~ 3800

a/n : It all started with @tearsofsyrup ‘s suggestion for the made-up title fic game and here i am... So thank you! I took the liberty to use the title again, hopefully it’s ok with you? Otherwise just tell me! I have said it before, but I think  shua and dark au... it is the thing, you know. Which is why I strongly encourage you to read paradigm shift (apocalypse au) as well as you hide; i’ll seek (both sexy titles by the way) and to check on these two writers’ other work because they’re excellent.

« I feel entirely dehumanised by the sun now and wish for fog, snow, rain, humanity. » from a letter to Edward Sackville-West, Virginia Woolf.

The soft clunks of water droping from the leaking sink behind you make your hair stand on end. You should be used to it by now, but you aren’t. Like everything else, it makes you uncomfortable. You wanted nothing more than to be buried deep in the swamps of the Administration. Hidden. Except you were a little frog on a desert, except everyone has seen you, and will remember your face. Hiding is no longer an option for you, the only way out is to disappear.

You take one last look at your ransacked room. You break a window for good measure, and head out, living the door open.

The soft thuds of rain against the cars’ glasses. Tight heart, empty lungs, he is the silent audience of an artificial show. A shadow wandering around the streets, the ghost of a ghost. Counting his footsteps. Counting the people on the sidewalk. Counting the cars. Counting the officials around the Prefecture. Thirty more steps to go. Joshua takes a deep breathe into his scarf. It seems no one is paying attention to him. Grey car, blue car. His hands are soaked, buried deep inside the pockets of his rain coat. Nothing can protect him from the summer rains. He takes a brief look above the ground, checks out the position of the sun, goes back to his feet. He needs to move faster. He cannot afford to be out during office hours. Twenty steps. He spots the door to his place and restrains himself from going faster. One excruciating step at a time. All around him, people move, people go from places to places. They listen to the speeches, they read the speeches, they learn the speeches, they believe the speeches. It is already hard for Joshua to breathe, let alone act. A small field mouse trapped in a gigantic machine. There is no room here for him, he feels it, fears because of it. Knows that in an instant everything could spin around him. Field mice are preys. There are so many predators around him, it is only a matter of time. Light turns green, the cars stop. He goes his way. Unsure, uneasy. Five steps. He reaches his door, doesn’t look back, and goes down the stair to his tiny underground studio.

Once he’s inside, finally, he lets out an exhale he didn’t notice he was holding. Double locks his door, puts the chair against it, and turns the light on. Here, underground, there is no sun light to warm up the air. He crosses the only room as he gets undressed, leaving his soggy coat for the clamminess of his quarter, and rummages through his clothes to find a change, replaying his stroll of the day. Nothing new. They are still agitated. Until they calm down there is no need to contact anyone, he decides. He reheats some unsavory stew for the fifth time this week, cleans up his plate, and crashes on the single bed, hoping for time to pass quickly.

He spends an agitated day, running after sleep, running from his thoughts. Even though he never sleeps well, there is always a part of him which foolishly hopes for a good rest. Remembering the kind of sleep he relished as kid, when he didn’t have to think about falling asleep. When laying down in bed was enough to dive deep in a warm unconsciousness, full of foolproof dreams. No matter where his drowsy mind takes him, he feels overwhelmed, on the edge of being assaulted. Faceless and formless assailants gathering in the dark to slaughter him.

Rising up, he picks a bottle of drinking water, ignores the remnants of the garbage stew, plans his wandering for tonight. He never follows the same path twice, in case someone might notice him. He puts on his parka which hasn’t dried, shivers when it brushes against his neck. There is nothing to do about it. Most of the time, Joshua tries to ignore his apartment. It is a disgusting place, filthy the minute he finishes to clean up. It is never warm, nor dry, nor hot. He never sees the light of day, never feels a breeze, for there are no windows down there. It is the best he can afford this close of the Great Palace. A miserable rat hole, nothing close to a nice burrow. It is the price to pay for a night cashier to get involved in bigger schemes. His eyes are priceless now that he has sold their sight. It is the only comfort he has found in doing so. The thrill of being useful – for whom? He has no right to know. But every morning after his shift, he goes out for his stroll, looking for anything out of the ordinary, and when there is, he reports it. One of them comes to the shop every week. Usually, though, Joshua tells nothing to his contact. Things do not change that often. But recently there has been movement. Why, he does not know, but they’ve been agitated, walking faster. Even though no one, of course, will tell him why, he knows something has happened. Something bad enough to be noticeable, bad enough that there has been no announcement on TV.

This is life now, he knows. Waiting and waiting and waiting for something which might never come. Joshua hesitates, then goes out without looking back. Maybe today, he’ll see something worth reporting. It’s raining as usual, but the sun is still up, somewhere behind the gray sky. The street lamps are not lighten yet. As usual, he goes right, then waits for the traffic lights to let him cross. He could not live closer to the supermarket, yet the path still bothers him – the ugliness of the streets, the noises of the city, the sickening smell of corruption and silent violence. He goes his way to the store, spends his night registering meaningless shop lists for night owls craving sugar or salt. His curved lips draw an empty smile to every customer while his mind goes through various scenarios of what might bother the authorities. He has no clue. What could indeed bother them? He is as ignorant when his shift ends as he was when it began. It is not a life. He could find out more, if he were a bit more audacious. But any step out of his supposed way is a risk he might pay with his life. Maybe, walking around the Palace’s streets is enough for now.

He puts his hands deeper in his pockets and waits for the lights to turn green. From the corner of his eyes, he notices a figure running in his direction. They storm before him, and throw themselves on the road. The sound of the car hitting your body is horrifying.

You spend an eternity drowning. Lungs full of mud, every living minute is a suffocation. The crushing weight of an undisturbed blackwater river is grinding your bones into mush, entangled between the roots of indifferent trees. You barely see the light, on the rare moments you emerge from your drowning, vision blurred by silt burning your eyes. You fight and you fight, and every new moon, every new tide brings you a new death.

In flashes you see faces, and you try to remember who pushed you into the river. A thin string of lost rooms and half forgotten conversations torments you, sending you in every direction. You lose yourself into a labyrinth of bewildered and electrifying memories. You try to scream for help but the dark water suffocates you more.

You cease to fight.

You let yourself flow, descending quietly in the abyss, a faint contentment when you touch the ground. An unusual corpse for shellfish and crustaceans to feast on. The soft pulse of your heart clawing his way out of your defeated chest. Far above you, you feel the lazy current going its way, ignoring you. There, cocooned in a silence older than a lifetime, it is easier for memories to come back to you. Faint lights above the school’s playground, burnt smells from the overcooked plum jam, a terrifying voice on the intercom freezing you to the core. You remember the pointy hat of the master, the piles of administrative sheets in his warm office, its walls painted of a deep, ancient red. You remember his whispers in your ears, which you tried so hard to ignore. His discreet threats disguised as indecent offers. Your remember going for his grocery shopping every four days, in the late hours of the quiet city. You remember knocking one of the piles over, and reading them against your best will. A pale breeze of rage brushes your cheek, unable to harm you.

You remember taking it with you, the vivid proof of the crime, on a hasty decision. You remember destroying your dorm. You remember the streets.

The moment you wake up you immediately regret it.

Every inch of your body is aching a thousand burn. You cannot open your eyes, the throb in your head makes you nauseous. Your throat is parched, and the feeble whine you manage to cry out is a pain in itself. Miles away you feel movement, in the distance you hear a voice filled with concerned, asking you words which you can’t separate from each other. It seems a worried litany of disquiet. Suddenly you feel cold and wet on you forehead, a divine relief to the pounding. The voice comes closer and takes your hand. You feel your hand. You have a hand. Panic rushes through your body like it never felt it, you try to move away, to get out, how can it touch you, what is touching you when you can’t even feel yourself?

Weirdly the voice seems to understand. It becomes quieter, soothing almost, ushering things you don’t understand, but it appeases you nonetheless. You feel it close to your hear, you feel its breathe against you. You’re sensitive and it has you tensed immediately, but it doesn’t last for long. A few seconds, the promise of safety. You pass out again.

The next time you wake up, everything is much clearer. You manage to open your eyes despite the soreness of your head. What you see when you do has you freezing up again, afraid you might have lost part of your sight. It is all black and gray. Gray ceiling above your head, a worrisome pattern of cracks. Gray walls, empty of any embellishment. Even the duvet cover is a dirty white. You try to straighten yourself, leaning on your elbow. It has you wincing but it is worth it. You take in your surrounding, even in the darkness of the unlit room. Someone has put your right leg into a splint of fortune, and did the same to your right elbow. You hold your breathe a minute, until you are assured to be alone. Nothing about it is familiar. There is a strong smell of menthol ointment that might come from you – the scent is overwhelming, and you cannot be sure. Your attempt to sit properly ends up worsening the piercing pain in your brain, and you resolve to wait until someone brings you water or food. Without any indication of the passing of time, you lose all notion of it, examining each clue of the room. You have never come here, and it makes you uneasy. You are facing the door and it reassures you a bit, whoever comes here will not have you at their mercy. At last, you hear the creaking of a key into its hole, which makes your heart racing. The door opens behind you in a squeak.

The man is tall, his shoulders wide as he bends a bit to come inside. The youth of his face strikes you the most. He might not be older than you are – and you are rare. The both of you belong to the last generation of children – it is also why, now that all of you are grown-ups, the officials are monitoring each and every one of you carefully. The last trace of unpredictability in the country. And, well, looking at the current situation, maybe they are right. It takes him a while to notice you, and you quietly observe him locking the door, putting a chair against it. Breathing, eyes closed, he relaxes before you. When he turns around, you see him immediately checking on the mattress – checking on you. And his face lightens up when he sees you facing him, rushing to you.

« Oh! You’re up! Are you okay? Do you need anything? Water? Hungry? Space? He chuckles. Take your time, he adds with a smile. » He exudes relief. Your throat hurts too much, so you mimic drinking and he’s on it, handing you a full glass of water. Then you point at him.

It is not going well. Your convalescence is endless. Your are weak and shattered to unclean pieces and every morning he comes back from work wondering if you will still be in this coma or if he’ll have to dispose of your body. In retrospect, it was a mistake, but even though he thinks it over again and again he does not see any other outcome. He would never have left you there to rot. What if you weren’t doomed to die? Suicide is forbidden by law. You are suffering enough as it is, despite Joshua’s best efforts to take care of you, he cannot even imagine the tortures the officials would have given you, had they been the ones to find you.

Yet here you are, at the end of a frustrating shift and a lousy stroll. Sitting up in his bed, watching him coming back. An unmatched joy floods through his body as he comes to you, taking a good look at your conscious face. A belligerent stranger, eyes empty and circled of mauve. Clearly distressed and looking weak. Joshua thinks that you being awake is a wonder, he remembers the poor bag of raggedy bones and torn flesh you were when you arrived. When he brought you to his basement. The clothes he has given you hide most of your skin, but he knows your body looks just like your face. A battlefield of bruises and scars and a timestamp to the day you met. For weeks, he has imagined what your first words would be, were you to wake up. What you would do, what your voice would sound like. He would fall asleep to the sound of your haunting rattles next to him, praying they wouldn’t stop before his wake. Nonetheless he has outdone himself. He has brought you back to life. You look bad, but you’re looking at him and he can’ t help but smile in satisfaction. When you point your finger at him, two things hit him.

You can’t talk and you haven’t lived with him for the past week. You know nothing. You don’t know him. He feels foolish to realize it just now. He sits down by your side, filling up an another glass for you. Ponders a bit – in your place, what would be his priorities ? But you’ve thrown yourself under a car and he never has, so he has no fucking clue.

« All right then I’m Joshua. I live here, obviously. Alone. Well, not anymore, since you’ve been there for a while now – the surprise in your eyes aggrieves him. I work at a supermarket down the grand avenue. I brought you here after you… You know. Wait, do you remember what happened to you? You answer him a simple nod. Okay, then, this car hit you, and, well, I brought you back here. You forget your soar throat but he doesn’t need to hear you to read the only word on your lips.

«Well… I know, I know, we are not supposed to interfere but… His eyes roam you, looking for all the mending he has done you. His voice is only a whisper when he finishes his sentence. How could I leave you there? » You clear your throat with pain. Clearly, the water did you do good. Joshua looks up eagerly, to see what you might say first.

«Who else knows I’m here? » Your words are a cold shower. You don’t trust him one bit. He tries to reassure himself, of course you don’t, you’ve just met him.

« Only this one guy – you scoff. I’m serious! There was barely anyone that day and, the driver died, I believe. I didn’t stay to check on him. But, turns out, something else happened that day and we managed to… slip through the cracks, I guess. »

«What? What happened? » He picks his words carefully.

« Someone bombed the Blue Palace. » You remain silent at first. Eyes closed, you take a deep breathe, then another one, until you look at him again, your facial expressions are still too knew you for him to read them. So he asks you. «What? What? »

« You’re saying someone fired a bomb on the Blue Palace? Quick, the shadow of a smile crosses your face. You close your eyes once again, licking your lips as if it’ll help you collect your thoughts. A bomb. On a palace. A bomb. On the exact day I had an accident? He hums in agreement. You lay back on the wall – he hadn’t even noticed how you had bent yourself closer to him, eager for news. Who did it? »

« I don’t know. »

«Wait, you’re saying someone attacked the blues and they haven’t been caught? »

« I don’t know, that’s what I’m saying. You may have not noticed yet, he gives a brief look around him. But I have no TV here. All I know is that they haven’t made any announcement about it. But if you ask me… » He bites his lips, unsure how much he can tell you yet. You give him a short moment, expecting him to go on. You let out a sigh when he doesn’t.

« Listen, Joshua – that’s it, right? From what I see, you could be sentenced to death as much as I do. I have spent hours in the dark, waiting for someone to show up. I don’t care if you did it, I don’t care if you work for the Palace, but please give me something. I need to know. » He comes closer to you.

« I think they have no idea who did it. They’ve been on the lookout for weeks. If they knew, there is no way someone could hide from them that long. He stays quiet, letting you register the information. And I didn’t do it, I swear. »

« I’ve been there... for weeks? » There is no use in lying to you but he hears the miserable realization in your tone and his heart aches too.

« Seven, to be precise. You’ve been really sick, you know. I patched you up as good as I could, and goodness! That DK guy knows a thing or two but even he can’t put a splint on your ribs. You say nothing. You don’t have to tell me everything, but I think it’s better to tell you right now. You… Said things when you were sick, he says. You work, hm, worked for the governor. You were his maid or something. You did his groceries. I have seen you before. » He is not asking.

« That’s right. » You ignore the elephant in the room that is the question on the tip of Joshua’s tongue. Maybe it is too soon. Maybe he doesn’t need to know now. Maybe your action was self-explanatory enough, and the details don’t matter. For today, Joshua decides he won’t push you.

« Who’s that guy you mentioned? » The way you don’t miss a word he says reassures Joshua – at least your head is fine.

« DK? He’s… Well, I don’t know much about him, I give him my reports. » You frown.

« What reports? You need to make report at a grocery shop? »

« I… Joshua shifts. It is going too fast to his liking. You should take it slow, and so should he. He wished to get to know you, and to make both of your comfortable before diving into such matters. He takes a deep breathe. I… Watch the Palace. Well, no, he stutters, I, hm, well, I go for walks around the Palace. Every day. Well, I work night shifts, so, after that, I go for walks. Every morning. And, hm, once a week, more or less, someone comes to the supermarket, and if I’ve seen something interesting I tell them. Usually it’s DK but sometimes someone else comes. I asked him for help when I saw how sick you were. » You chew the inside of your lips for a while and just when you’re about to speak again you close your mouth right away. This goes on for a few minutes, until you hum in acknowledgment. The silence between the two of you is only broken when Joshua hears your stomach grumble and jumps on his feet. « You should have said something! Of course you’re hungry! » He walks the few steps separating him from the cooking area of his quarter – he decided long ago he could not give the name kitchen to it. Kitchens were warm and full of promises. This was neither, just enough to eat some tasteless soups. He swears to himself he feels you watching him as he fumbles in his cupboard. When he turns back to ask if the soup is indeed fine for you, he notices the life back on your cheeks.

You eat dinner together for the first time. It is not quite lively but it is comforting and Joshua pretends he doesn’t notice the few quiet tears on your cheeks as you savor it. You fall asleep shortly after and as usual he lies down by your side, replaying his day.

No one can ever find out about you, he realizes. Not the officials, not his contact. He is playing a wild card which could backfire in so many wrong ways. The easiest way out would be to run away from the city, but it would involve so many people just to get you out, not to mention he has no idea of what he might find there. Joshua is dubious, but even he somehow believes the Palace’s tales. Maybe it is just a desert outside. Then what? What good would it do to them, to die of ignorance on foreign lands ? How much better would it be, to make all this vain efforts, when you might as well be sentenced to a much quicker death, without the discomfort of plotting an escape? Even if it is miserable, and he has even less room that before, Joshua still finds it better to sleep in his own bed. He is good at keeping secrets anyway.

Times passes slowly.

[artificialqueens]

What Happens At DragCon... (Biadore) - Miss Alyssa Secret

Biadore shenanigans at DragCon, involving Roy hiding in plain sight (and fishnets and a thong) and Raja’s terrible timing.  

Technically Roy is 150% busy with Jamie in London, but let’s pretend he managed to sneak away ;).  Standalone from the Not Casual At All series, parallel but not strictly a part of it.

Anonymous prompts: 1) Roy dresses up in bad drag (so he can avoid being noticed) and visit’s Adore’s dragcon booth - up to you if she recognizes him immediately and what shennanigans they try to get up to without the fans knowing.  2) Biadore enjoy the fact attention’s off them at dragcon because everyone’s watching Branjie & take the opportunity to get frisky behind the scenes..

I’ve had a couple of requests on AO3 for a second part, and am trying to decide if it should be a backstage quickie before/after Adore’s runway performance, or full on hotel room smut.  Let me know your opinions! -MAS

********

Getting through LAX incognito was easier said (texted? tweeted?) than done, particularly on this specific weekend.

Roy felt justifiably paranoid, peering around corners and keeping carefully non-descript, hiding in plain sight amongst the countless number of other men in slim fit suits with sleek carryons and garment bags.  Instead of his usual baggy all-black ensemble, he’d traded the oversized hoody and skinny black camo pants for a blue button down and fitted dove grey blazer with dark wash jeans.    Ditching the black-framed glasses was more difficult, but if contacts and hair gel were all it took to move through the crowds of eagle-eyed fans on the lookout for queens arriving…

Slipping on a pair of less conspicuous sleek Ray Bans, he hailed a taxi and directed it to his hotel for the weekend.

********

Groups of people wearing Alaska Thunderfuck t-shirts and bearing strings of Katya’s doll hands were all over the lobby, and avoiding being caught in the background of their numerous Instagram posts was exhausting.  

There had been a dicey moment at the front desk, trying to complete check in as quickly and quietly as possible.  Thankfully, the oblivious staff member’s cheerful, “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Haylock!” was lost in a fan’s excited scream on spotting Plastique on the sidewalk outside.  Smiling tightly, he palmed the keycard and walked briskly towards the bank of elevators.

Traveling with one roll-on suitcase was itself a luxury.  Roy so rarely went anywhere without having to bring Bianca’s bags or needing help loading luggage.  Propping the suitcase on the coffee table, he checked his phone for missed notifications.  There were the usual Instagram tags, but below he tapped on the message from “Pussyface”.

Miss you Willow.  Wish you were here this weekend.

Smiling, he sent a string of lipstick kisses and a selfie strategically engineered to conceal any traces of his actual location.

Thirty seconds later, he added a very unsubtle shot of him cradling his half-hard dick, licking his lips when Adore sent back a row of middle fingers.

Roy cracked his knuckles, shucked off the blazer, and opened his suitcase.  

He loaded a YouTube video just to check that his envisioned plan of attack was more or less accurate, comparing it with memories of what he’d observed in dressing rooms over the years.

Chuckling evilly, he sat in front of the mirror and set to work.

********

Roy blocked the outer half of his brows, waiting impatiently for them to dry.  They felt odd that way, but doing a complete block and drawing them in their habitual position halfway up his forehead wouldn’t look right.

Concealing the shadow along his jaw took a bit longer, covered under a thick layer of foundation a few shades lighter than normal.  He didn’t bother with any contouring on forehead and cheeks, instead concentrating on shrinking his nose down, changing its shape into something less narrow.  

Frowning, he skipped over the well-used primary colors in his palette before setting it aside and digging back into the bag for a rarely-used case.  The shimmering teal he applied around his eyes was as far from Bianca’s white and red-shaded smoke as possible.  A little white went into the corners, closer to the scale a woman might actually use to highlight her eyes.  

He reached into the box marked “eye pencils” for a mostly used up one, heating it with a hairdryer before smearing it thickly along upper and lower lids.  Satisfied with the effect, liquid liner was next, drawing thick wings where Bianca’s raccoon shadow would normally be smudged.  A single pair of lashes completed the eyes, and he practiced winking flirtatiously.

Nude lips were next.  He studied the effect critically in the mirror (it called too much attention to his damnably distinguishing dimples) before reaching for a bright red.  The lipstick was Adore’s, swept into his cases in a dressing room somewhere over the years and never quite returned.  Exaggerating a pout, he skipped Bianca’s pronounced Cupid’s bow for a rounder shape.

Setting the makeup cases aside, he peered into the bottom half of the suitcase with a wicked grin.  

Inside were items that would never be found in his or Bianca’s closet…but were awfully common among the fans descending on DragCon. 

Bianca’s bottom half always started with tucking his exceedingly masculine bulge (“fucking huge dick”, according to Adore) followed by generous hip padding that extended well down Roy’s thighs to create curves and four pairs of tights.  

Today, he didn’t bother tucking at all.  Tossing the snug briefs aside, he unrolled a small bundle of fabric and pulled it on.  The elastic bands hooked themselves over his hips and he adjusted himself, wiggling a few times until he was sure that there wouldn’t be any accidents.  A pair of fishnets were next, unshaven legs on full display.

Simultaneously self-conscious and excited to step so far outside his usual comfort zone, Roy buttoned on a shredded pair of cutoff denim shorts (‘borrowed’ from Adore’s wardrobe a few weeks ago and apparently not missed either).  The top rode well below the waistband of the tights, thong straps completely visible.

Biting his lip, he slipped on a crop top (also nabbed from Danny’s dresser) over his unpadded torso and a torn up Misfits t-shirt over it all.  The holes showed off both the dusting of hair starting to grow back on his conspicuously flat chest, and the fact that he hadn’t bothered to shave under his arms - and wasn’t that an indulgence during Jamie.  

Stepping up into shiny vinyl platform boots, he zipped them and examined himself in the mirror with a critical eye as the wig went on.  Without Bianca’s usual base, the dark-rooted mermaid green hair settled into place slightly askew.  He secured it with a handful of bobby pins, resisting the urge to detangle and blasting it with hairspray.

A spiked leather choker and enormous hoop earrings completed the look.  Concentrating on softening his voice, he made eye contact with his reflection.  A passable Adore cosplay stared back, and he grinned.

”Party.”

********

The DragCon floor felt vastly different amongst the crowds, not being escorted from place to place and no roar as a recognized queen.  Instead, Roy melted into the sea of pink wigs, frilly crinolines, and ridiculous heels.  There were dozens of others dressed as Adore, Trixie, Katya, and even a few Biancas that he had to give credit to for managing her face half-decently.

Most of the attention seemed to be focused on Brooke Lynn and Vanjie’s booths.  He steered well clear, unsure whether Brooke Lynn’s sharp attention to detail would blow his surprisingly effective cover.

Adore’s line was one of the longer ones, and he could hear her laughter long before the pizza-printed backdrop came into view. Spinning a VIP badge, he slipped into line and kept his face nonchalantly turned towards the floor.  He’d been complimented several times already on his “sick makeup”, which hadn’t required more than a smile in thanks, carefully controlled to avoid the dimples surfacing.  The makeup changed the shape of his face, but there was no concealing his voice.

He reached the front of the line, maneuvering so that the gaggle of blushing young women ahead of him blocked Adore’s view as they approached her.  The giggling and tears were simultaneously endearing and a little odd from this side of the table.  After sharing hugs, one of them presented Adore with a gift bag that proved to contain a sketch of Adore and Bianca from one of their many drag selfies.

”Oh wow, did you draw this?  It’s so good!” Adore kissed her cheek and beamed at her.  “I love it, I can’t wait to show it to Bianca!”

“Ohmigod really?” The girl’s voice was quivering with what Bianca assumed to be excitement, face flushed pink. 

“Yeah!  She’s gonna love it too.”

”We were sad she isn’t here,” one of the others chimed in, sporting a passable rendition of Shangela’s spiky red outfit.  

Adore paused in signing a photo, nodding.  “I miss her, but she’s busy being rich and all that in London.”

”We really like her too!  What’s she like for real?” 

Gesturing for them to join her in front of the photo backdrop, Adore’s smile softened a bit as they moved to either side.  “She’s the love of my life, like the most super amazing person ever.”

Roy lost the rest of what she said as the girls arranged themselves around her and several flashes went off.  Adore’s seemingly offhand comment filled his chest with a peculiar warmth, and it took squeezing the edge of the table to bring his smile under control.

”Hi baby!” Adore’s voice came from his right.

He kept his chin ducked down, messy curls obscuring most of his face.  

”I love your outfit,” she continued, voice gentle as he kept up the shy fan pretense.  “Wanna hug?”

She stepped forward with her arms held out, and he let her fold him into an embrace that was 100% Adore but lacking their usual full-body contact.  Unable to resist, Roy leaned in until his painted lips brushed her ear.

”Wanna fuck?”

Adore whipped her head around so fast that their noses barely missed colliding.  Under the cover of both of their wigs, her mouth fell open and she blinked rapidly.

”What-“

”Shhhhh!”

For once, Adore actually listened and pasted on a wide smile while talking through her teeth.

”What.  The fuck.  Willow?”

”Surprise, pussyface.”  As reluctant as he was to let go, they needed to separate before the length of their hug resulted in unwanted attention.

Holding onto his shoulders, she pushed him back to arms length.  

“Oh my gosh, I love you too!” she added a bit too loudly before firmly pulling him back in and pressing his face against her shoulder.  “Oh sweetie, don’t cry…”

Sure that he was leaving foundation on her bare skin, Roy nonetheless had to give her credit for fast thinking as she called out a “be right back!” to her staffer and maneuvered him behind the curtain at the back of the booth.  On the way, he caught a glimpse of the fans in line behind him, a mixture of envy and hero worship written over their expressions.

********

”What the fuck, Willow?” Adore repeated once they were alone in the narrow canvas-lined corridor between her booth and the one on the other side.  “You’re supposed to be in London!”

”You mean I can’t make a trip out to see my best girl?” He grinned, reveling in the shock.

”You…you’re…fuck!” she sputtered.

”That’s me.  In fact-“

Whatever he meant to say next was cut off as Adore crushed her lips against his, hands curved around his jaw.  He melted into the kiss for a moment before returning it with equal ferocity.  Their tongues met in a series of sloppy open-mouthed kisses, lipstick smearing as Roy bit at Adore’s full lower lip.  

“-fuck me,” she moaned into his mouth when they separated for air, eyes glazed over with passion.  “Missed you so much.”

”Missed you too.  You have no idea.”

Her gaze focused again as it traveled the length of his body.

”You look fucking hot as hell as me.”  Her hands caressed his exposed midsection, gliding down over his abs and the waistband of the fishnets.  “Holy fuck,” Adore groaned when she cupped him through the denim, “I can’t believe you’re wearing this.”

“They’re your shorts.”  It was the only thing his rapidly short-circuiting brain could think of, losing the ability to think as her fingers popped all three buttons with one pull and she stared hungrily at the thong barely containing his erection.

”I’m going to-“

”Adore?” The staffer’s head peeked around the curtain.  By some miraculous stroke of luck, her back was turned and body angled just so, concealing both her lustful stare and Roy’s open fly as she shoved his face back down onto her shoulder.  “Everything okay?”

”Yeah.” Her voice was shaky but firm.  “Give me a few?  We’re a little uhhh emotional right now…”

”Oh!  Of course.  Why don’t you take a break for a little while?  I can put the sign up for fifteen.”

Turning just enough to wink at the oblivious DragCon volunteer, Adore waved her thanks and waited until the curtain fell closed again before dragging Roy by the hand through the maze of metal supports and backdrops.  She didn’t stop until they were both safely behind a door marked Queens Only.  Glancing around quickly as she steered him into a corner, Roy realized that the much larger room had been partitioned into individual dressing room spaces.  He stumbled a little as she pushed him into one of the spaces, recognizing her beat up makeup cases.

The curtain closed with a snap behind her, and then she was backing him against the wall with a predatory expression.

”We’ve got ten minutes,” she murmured, the husky tone sending a bolt of lust straight to his balls.  “Which sucks, because I need to fuck you so bad right now.”

Roy’s head jerked to the side as the sound of rattling hangers came from the other side of one of the partitions.  “Adore-“

”Shut.  Up.”  Her mouth covered his again, fingers delving underneath fishnet and black elastic to grope his ass and squeeze his still-hard cock.  His own hands roamed over her in return, pinching a nipple through the gold star pasties and tugging the straps of her own thong.

“You know,” he tore himself free to whisper, “I can’t decide if the string up my ass is making me horny or if it’s the worst self-inflicted wedgie ever.”

”Fucking…B, if you don’t suck my cock now I’m going to bend you over this table.”

Adore looked every bit as serious as her threat sounded, and Roy sank to his knees, taking her pants down with him.  Mouthing the fabric straining over the head, he froze when a very familiar voice came through the curtain.

”Adore?  You in there?”  Raja sounded mellow as always, and a long-fingered hand pulled the curtain aside.  “I was wondering if you wanted to go have a- Oh, sorry!”

“Sort of busy right now.”

”I can see that,” Raja muttered.  “I’ll umm, why don’t I come by your booth later?”

”Yeah.” Adore’s hands kept his face pressed to her crotch, preventing Raja from glimpsing more than the top of his head.  

”…Danny.”  She turned to leave, but paused halfway.  Her voice was unexpectedly serious.

”…what?  I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

”Is he okay with this?”  Roy froze at the admonishing whisper.  While he was trying to be incognito, it wasn’t fair to let someone as perceptive as Raja worry about Adore’s behavior.  Tugging free from her restraining grip, he leaned around Adore’s hip.  

“He’s absolutely okay with this.” He smirked, watching Raja’s eyebrows fly up towards her hairline.  “But don’t tell anyone that.”

”Ahhh.  Good to see you, even if you’re not supposed to be here.”  Raja let the curtain slip back closed.  “You two better be careful,” she advised, “or else you know the rumors.  Carry on.”

In the silence as her footsteps receded, Roy sat back on his heels and met Adore’s crestfallen eyes.

”Well shit.  She’s right, you know, we probably shouldn’t be doing this here.”

”But-“

Roy hauled himself to his feet, brushing his fingers over her cheek.  

“Shh.  I want you just as bad, but I’m not going to start what we don’t have time to finish right now.”

Adore’s frustrated growl vibrated against his hand.  

“Fuck, I know.”

Reaching into the front pocket of his shorts, Roy pulled out a keycard and pressed it into her hand.

”Three ninety-six.  I’ll be there when you’re off the floor.”

”I’ve still got the runway show after.  Come see me?”  

“Wouldn’t miss it.  Now get out of here before someone else finds us.”

Adore pulled him into one last lingering kiss.

” ‘Kay.”

Tracing her lips with a finger, he cleared away the remnants of his lipstick on her mouth as best he could.  

“I’ll be waiting.”

TO BE CONTINUED?

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. Green deltas are for requested prompts.)

It's fine if I'm used to it.

Confession: I love Ichihoshi. I'm the first to point out flaws in Inazuma and, well, Orion is clearly not exempt from that. I know Ichihoshi's redemption arc isn't the best, that it has wasted potential (especially with Mitsuru being heckin' ded), I know. And even then? I'd protecc Hikaru. He falls into almost all of my favorite character credentials: hardworking, good-meaning, pretty intelligent, cool motif, (most likely has whump stuff attached to them in canon...). Oops. About this oneshot, it's abstract on purpose because, well, you've most likely read the tags. It's almost a cryptic character study because, man, I want to write more about this stardust boy. Most likely won't be this abstract next time. It's also much softer than the previous one because I felt softer and sweeter this time, enjoy the calm before the storm, before the storm before the calm. I've taken a lot of liberties with the actual nightmares Ichihoshi is shown to have in the anime, but hey, fanfiction is also for that, right?

-------

Wishing Upon a Shooting Star in the Twilight Sky

Summary: Hikaru, the eyes who slither in the dark, and an ever-changing corridor. Nothing out of the ordinary. (or: yet another feverish nightmare in the mind of a boy who used not to have people to rely on)

Fandom: Inazuma Eleven: Orion no Kokuin (spoilers for up to episodes 13-16) Relationship: Ichihoshi & Inazuma Japan

Wordcount: 2K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

-----

A pair of eyes welcomes him as soon as his lids open, shining in the dark, viciously staring at him wit the intensity of a thousand stares. He remembers the story of the poisons of poisons and wonders if those aren’t the eyes of the eyes, those who can see through walls and peek behind the curtains of the mind, those who ignore the skull entirely.

He’s too used to them to be scared of them anymore, so he gets up and running for the day, dressing up as the red irises still dissect his anatomy from where they stand, shrouded in the darkness of the corners of the bedroom.

 It always feels cold, his skin shivering, hair dressed on his arms and legs before he puts on a jacket and decide to ignore the chills. The eyes don’t leave their prey, the shine of a fang piercing through the shadows like a claw tearing through a curtain, but that’s to be expected. There’s still a hinge of fear in the back of his mind, the non-null risk that he could get eaten alive, but he shouldn’t let that phase him. He’s not a prey worth the effort anyway.

He exits the unfamiliar room, ready for the day, leaving the creature in the shadows as the day finally shines upon this country again, sunlight bathing the corridors through the windows. It’s soothing, somewhat.

 The faces around him ignore his presence entirely. Far away, his brother, his beloved older brother, glaring at him, surrounded by people whose language he suddenly doesn’t understand anymore, whose alphabet reads like drawings on old stone walls. He’s lost and getting scared, the place changing constantly, and he’ll never get used to how the colours and noises keep transforming each time he tries to focus on one sound or object.

His forehead hurts from how many things his brain analyses at once, trying to give sense to the nonsensical maze of sensations swirling around him. He feels smothered, wrapped by a snake that doesn’t exist, head like a nebula who cannot settle for one star and instead decides to confuse him even further. He’s in the eye of a tornado, watching its curves surrounding him with nothing but confusion and a headache.

 He manages to peek through the wind curtains, handing his hand outside as to try and catch his brother’s attention, yelling but never hearing his own voice doing so. His brother’s name is missing from his boggled memories, those trying to claw at his wounded throat during this moment of vulnerability, so he calls out in vague manners, words running away from his mind. And yet, despite the dread, despite the panic and despite the horror, it feels like a déjà vu.

He’s been here before, he realizes, as he notices the patterns the walls’ changing forms adopt. They switch in cycles, colours succeeding each other in disharmony, unsynchronized among themselves to create a nauseating vertigo, whose dazzling lights blinded his eyes used to the darkness, rendering him dizzy. And, even then, he can still notice the cycles and how they function, using what’s left available of his brain to clear his way out of the mess.

 His brother glares at him from the outside, defying him with a smirk to get out of the tornado. Closing his eyes as not to enforce his migraine, he steps blindly forward, hands trembling and eager to find a wall to find some new failsafe support. His fingertips don’t quite touch anything of note, brushing against the temperature-shifting air he breathes. He continues on anyway, now aware this is a place he knows, a corridor that makes sense if he stops seeing it.

He needs to exit this place, this is all that comes to his mind. The creature will soon get used to the dizzying sparks of the outside. The storm will let down only once he’ll have found a room of calm and serenity. He’s used to it, he knows where he should be heading: the dark blue door, the one decorated with starry-like white dots that reminds him of the night sky. He remembers it so clearly.

 He trips on a misplaced carpet and scratches both knees and palms in his attempt at stopping his falls. It stings, but he’s used to such small pains, and he continues walking as the wooden floor under his feet starts catching on fire behind his back. It smells like ash and smoke, going into his nose and down his trachea, making him cough as he tries to still breathe. His sense of smell is neutralized, with his earing and touch all he has left to guide himself. It’s fine, he’ll manage: sensory deprivation isn’t an unfamiliar feeling.

Around him resonate double, echoing laughter. He doesn’t recognize the voices enough to tell who they belong to, yet they’re familiar: they sound like former friends who turned his back on him once upon a time, people he’s wanted to forget the faces and names of, who’ve only stared at him with vengeful eyes since then. Some sound more common than the rest, others are more recent and he can swear he hears accents in some of the whispers thrown his ways. It’s fine, he’ll manage: being told he’s useless and getting threatened for being ineffective isn’t an unfamiliar feeling.

 He falls again, but this time, his eyes open. Before him is the bloodied hand of his brother and blue irises staring right into his, daggers planting themselves in his flesh as wooden shards search for a way to pierce through his legs’ skin. It hurts, he thinks he may have sprained his wrists and ankles in his fall. The hand is unwelcoming, the smoke invades his vision, makes his eyes tear up and blurry, water running down his cheeks. He still takes the offer nonetheless and tries rising to his feet, only to fall back down as he gets thrown backwards.

His brother sneers, words unintelligible, but hurtful anyway; and, in a moment of solace, he witnesses his own past self get engulfed by the snake who slithers in the dark of his bedroom, until the fangs throw themselves at him and he stops feeling anything.

 It’s fine because he’s used to the acid inside this deadly jaw, it’s fine because he’ll wake up in a sweat, just like he does every time. It’s a loop he’s not found the hole to yet, but this time, he finds back the hope spot before he can—

 Not unlike every other night before, Hikaru wakes up in a bolt, drenched in sweat, light hurting his eyes from how suddenly they’ve snapped open. His vision is blurry at first, but then clarifies, and he notices something strange right from the get-go: he isn’t alone.

Hanging right over his is the face of Endou, looking right at him. By sweeping across the room with his glance, he recognizes other faces: Nosaka, Hiura, Mikado, Asuto, Nishikage in the distance. It’s not his bedroom either: it looks like they’re near the pitch instead, if he can trust his sole vision of the ceiling and vague patch of green on his left.

 “Ichihoshi, can you hear me?” Endou asks, looking somewhat concerned.  

He tries smiling as an answer (that’s kind of a weird reflex to have), but chooses to also add a weak “yes” to his reply.

“Thank goodness!” Asuto sounds relieved. “We were so scared when you just collapsed like that!”

Ah, he’s forgotten to wonder how he even ended in this situation. On the other hand, is there really a point in asking himself questions he can’t find a reply to? His head is a mess.

 He feels something cold and wet being put on his forehead. He tries to put a hand on it to identify that, but his wrist won’t move, and he wonders if he’s not sprained it. Of course, it’s not possible: that was in his dream. He’s wide awake now, as he can tell from the lack of eyes trying to peek into his mind’s stained secrets.

“Take some rest,” Endou continues speaking, this expression not leaving his face.

“W-wait… What happened…?” He manages to ask.

 Endou’s face gets pushed aside by Nosaka’s, whose eyebrows are frowning and usual smirk has made a hundred-eighty. He looks less than pleased.

“Like Asuto just said, you suddenly collapsed during our usual training regimen. Technically, you merely fell asleep, so we were relieved until you started thrashing in your sleep.”

“Ah, yeah,” Asuto chimes in, “that was scary! Are you sure you’re okay?”

Good question.

“I guess…?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Nosaka comments, arms crossed.

“You have a fever,” Mikado ends the sentence.

That makes sense, he supposes… It’s just weird that he has no recollection of ever getting this fever in the first place, even if it doesn’t sound too out-of-place for a thing like this to cause his memory to

“I’ll fetch Sekiya,” she adds before leaving.

 Despite the tension and the concern, these stares are comfortable, and he surprises himself to catch his eyelids closing on their own again. While this isn’t foreign, it’s been years since he’s felt this way. Strange and yet soothing, his brain doesn’t know what to make of it.

“You’re sure you’re fine?” Asuto asks, insistent. “You really looked in pain when you were asleep!”

Hikaru sits up, now that his body finally responds, making sure the cloth doesn’t fall off from his forehead. He still feels hands in his back, most likely Endou’s.

“It’s fine… I’m used to it.”

“Used to it?!”

 Both Asuto and Endou look horrified. Well, he should have seen it coming that others wouldn’t find it that usual, but it’s not worth this sudden appal.

“That makes it even less okay!” The former yells, drilling a hole through his already thumbing skull.

“I agree with Asuto,” Endou adds. “You should have talked to us about these. These absolutely can’t be good!”

“I know, but really, I’ll be fine…” He doesn’t like all the fuss, especially when he considers what he’s once done to them. “They’ve gotten better with time too.”

“For how long have they lasted?” Nosaka then asks again, not letting himself display the same kind of horror as their other teammates.

“I don’t really remember… I think they started when I joined Orion, but I forgot when exactly. They come in and out…”

 Everyone still looks appalled.

“What are those about?” Endou eventually speaks out.

“I don’t really know… They’re about my times at Orion, I’m sure of that, but they’re usually so abstract that it’s hard to tell. I think that’s why there’s always eyes glaring at me whenever I have those nightmares…”

He giggles at himself, “today was just worse than usual. It’s calmed down considerably since joining the team and… that’s why I’m convinced they’ll go away, eventually.”

“You’re still overexerted,” Nosaka comments, not without reason. “Even if we’re fighting Orion, you shouldn’t do that again. Having you collapse during a match would be a disaster.”

“I’m with Nosaka,” Endou adds. “You need rest, or else you won’t be able to do anything on the field!”

“B-but… If I’m not playing, are you going to…” Abandon him? No, he can’t say that out loud, not after what he’s done… Instead, he goes silent. He just can’t say that.

“Don’t worry for us, we have your back!” Asuto sounds as confident and happy as ever, even if he can tell his teammate is worried.

He laughs again, softly, to himself. “Thank you…”

 To his numbed surprise, Hikaru falls back asleep almost immediately, energy dragged down the well of the thoughts and wrapped in warmth again. Passing out like this in full daylight is but a weird experience he isn’t used to, but that’s fine: change needs to happen and, for once, he isn’t scared about losing something if he goes unconscious for a couple hours.

May the nightmares stop, now that he feels safe and sound.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Hi!! Thanks opening prompts; I was wondering if anyone is interested in writing a Post TWS fic where the WS is on the loose and kidnaps Tony to be his new handler since he's good with mainteance for his arm and giving out orders and falls for him bringing sparks of Bucky back. While Tony alrrady knows (through Jarvis searches) that WS was responsible for his parents deaths and while he is angry he's tryibg to survive snd wants to help Bucky. Both see how damaged the other is. Xo, Katie

A/N: I tweaked it a bit so that I could turn it into a sequel for my story One More Light, which you might need to read for context.

Also on AO3!

Out of Ashes Chapter 1: Falling

“It’s probably just a coincidence,” Tony said out loud, back in his lab and spinning around in circles in his office chair.  In his pocket he was turning the dog tag over and over in his fingers, trying to resist temptation.

“What is, sir?”

“Nothing, JARVIS.”  Tony put the tag in the top drawer of his desk and closed it firmly.  He wasn’t going to look up Barnes, James Buchanan.  Because it was just a coincidence.

“I mean, lots of people probably have that name.”

“What name, sir?”

“Never mind, JARVIS.”

Tony lasted thirty minutes before he opened the drawer again.

It took him ten to determine that there has not been another James Buchanan Barnes in the US military since the James Buchanan Barnes; there was a James Brantley Barnes twenty years ago, but that’s all. There was a James Buchanan Barnes out of Little Rock (sandy-haired and twenty years old) and one out of Fort Wayne, Indiana (fifty years old if he’s a day).   The man he’d seen was the spitting image of Bucky Barnes, if ol’ JBB had gone on a week-long bender after growing his hair out.  But no way the man he’d seen was over ninety years old.

Tony rubbed his hands over his face and stared at the picture on the screen, the hat tipped at a jaunty angle, the confident smirk and the dark, guarded eyes.  He ran his thumb over the raised letters of the dog tag for a moment before he closed the windows on his computer and tucked the tag into his pocket.

“Alright JARVIS, open up the files on the palladium, we’re going back to the drawing board.”

Beware the read more

The next day, and then the day after that, and the one after that, until it became a daily habit, Bucky checked the newspaper - first the headlines, then the obituaries, just in case.  He knew it was kind of silly, because there was no reason for him to believe that if Tony did decide to go through with it, his death would even make the news, but he did it anyway.  Gradually it evolved into also doing the crossword puzzle, then the crossword and the Sudoku, until he realized that he had made himself a whole morning routine, complete with a coffee shop where they knew his order as soon as he came in.

The first time he realized he had become predictable he panicked and hid out for days, calling out of work and jumping at shadows.  He spent one whole day wedged into a corner under the Brooklyn Bridge with a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other before he finally calmed down enough to crawl out of his hiding spot in order to find food.  Eating made him sleepy, and as soon as he got to a safe place he crashed for twelve solid hours.  When he woke up his body felt shaky, fragile, but his mind was clear. And when he finally slunk into his coffee shop, still feeling vaguely embarrassed by his overreaction, the barista greeted him with a huge smile.

“I saved you the paper,” she said.  “Your coffee will be right up.”

Bucky smiled shyly and thanked her, taking his usual seat near the rear exit with his back to the wall.  He sipped his coffee and did both puzzles before he started flipping through the paper itself.

Then his brain stuttered when he saw the headline. STARK EXPO ATTACKED, it said in big letters, and underneath Iron Man and War Machine Defeat Rogue Robots. The main picture on the page was of the Stark Expo convention grounds mostly destroyed and still aflame, but above the fold there was a small picture of a man with a cocky grin and a distinctive beard, looking out at the camera over a pair of colored sunglasses.

“Tony…Stark?” Bucky read incredulously, hand drifting to the watch on his wrist. Jesus.  No wonder Tony hadn’t believed that Bucky didn’t recognize him. But in Bucky’s defense, he had pretty much been living under a rock for the past few years. He devoured the article, which took up the front page and half of one farther into the paper, not counting all of the related articles, one of which was about some guy named Justin Hammer and another about Colonel James Rhodes. “Rhodey,” Bucky said under his breath, folding the paper up neatly and draining his coffee.  Nothing in the paper talked about Tony’s mysterious not-cancer, but defeating a small army of robots almost single-handedly didn’t sound like the actions of a man on the edge of death so maybe he figured out whatever he’d been looking for.

Bucky let out a long exhale and relaxed back into his chair, feeling like a weight had come off his shoulders. Tony was ok.  He’d obviously made up with Rhodey and he was going to be fine. “Good for you,” he murmured as he grabbed his bag and tossed it over his shoulder.  He waved goodbye to the barista, feeling a real smile curl his lips for the first time in days, and when he went back outside he tilted his head up and inhaled deeply, feeling the crisp spring air filling his lungs.  He took a moment outside the coffee shop to close his eyes and feel the sun on his face, because, damn, he’d forgotten what happiness could feel like.

He didn’t realize someone had come up behind him until a voice whispered “Sputnik” in his ear. Bucky sagged to the ground, suddenly trapped in a body no longer under his control.

                                                               ***

Two Years Later    

“Who in the hell could do something like this?” Tony said, staring at the photos of the crime scene that was Steve’s apartment.  He studied the bullet holes in the brick wall, each the size of a quarter, and then pulled out the map with the shooter’s location marked on it. “I mean, that shot was just…unbelievable.” When he glanced up Rhodey was glaring at him repressively and Natasha was rolling her eyes. “What?” Tony said defensively.  “I used to sell sniper rifles, I know what it would take to make a shot like this!”

“All I know about him is that he was fast,” Steve said absently, staring down at the wooden table that dominated the SHIELD conference room. “Strong.  And he had a metal arm.”

If Tony hadn’t already been looking at Natasha he would have missed the way her eyelids flickered when Steve said metal arm, even as the rest of her face stayed impassive.  She was holding herself tightly in the way that people did when they were afraid they were going to fall apart. “Alright,” Tony said slowly, still watching her closely.  “Metal arm. That’s pretty distinctive, I’ll start digging.” Steve nodded, something else clearly on his mind as he stood.  “Natasha, a word?” Tony said, shuffling the photos and papers on Fury’s assassination back into the folder as the conference room emptied.  She raised an eyebrow but lingered, giving Interim Director Hill a brief squeeze on the arm as she walked by.

“What is it, Tony?”

“Not the first time you’d heard of a guy with a metal arm, Nat?  Because I gotta say, I stay pretty up to date with the latest technology, including prosthetics, and I’ve never heard of something like Steve’s describing.”

Natasha exhaled and looked at the conference door, making sure it was closed firmly.  “Look, most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists,” she said, voice low. “And the ones that do, call him the Winter Soldier.  He’s assassinated over two dozen people in the last fifty years.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “So he’s a ghost story. Or like the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

Natasha pressed her lips together. “Look, Tony. One time, I was extracting an engineer from Odessa.  The Winter Soldier shot out my tires, and then shot my engineer straight through me. So I know he’s real. But going after him is a dead end. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“But I haven’t.”  Tony offered her a crooked grin, tapping the folder against the table.  “You dig on your end, I’ll dig on mine.”

“You know Steve’s not going to sit still on this,” she warned.

“Uh, you think? After his boss was killed in his own living room by a mysterious metal-armed stranger?” Tony opened the door to the conference room, gesturing for her to lead the way. “Were you planning to babysit?”

“I was going to watch his six, yes.” Her heels clicked sharply on the tile floor as she pushed the button for the elevator. “And you? Are you going back to New York?”

“No.” As the elevator dinged and the doors opened, Tony texted Happy to bring the car around. “Something strange is going on at SHIELD and I’m going to find out what.  Let me know if you need backup, ok?”

“Sure thing,” Natasha said with that small smile of hers that said either ‘I’m way ahead of you’ or ‘I’m going to agree and then do whatever I was going to do anyway,’ which more or less amounted to the same thing.

                                                                ***

“Son of a bitch,” Tony cursed as his call went to voicemail for the sixth time; neither Steve nor Natasha had been answering their phone for the past twenty minutes.  “JARVIS, where are Steve and Natasha right now?” He asked as he continued sprinting down the stairs to the garage, taking the steps two at a time.

“Sir, there has been no trace of Ms. Romanov’s since her last update in New Jersey, but the tracker installed on Captain Rogers’ shield indicates that he is in the middle of the Potomac.”

That made Tony’s steps slow in confusion.  “What?  Did he decide to go for a swim?”

“This may provide some clarity, sir.”  Tony glanced down at his phone at the footage JARVIS downloaded; it was a clip from a news channel showing three helicarriers emerging from the river next to SHIELD’s headquarters.

“Son of a bitch,” Tony said again, and continued down the stairs.  Thirty minutes ago JARVIS had finally broken through SHIELD’s encryption.  Twenty-seven minutes ago Tony’s search query started turning up decades and decades of documents relating to the Winter Soldier project and the man with a metal arm, including security camera footage of a gravel road that Tony knew very well.  Twenty-two minutes ago Tony realized the implication of finding all of this information on SHIELD servers, and fifteen minutes ago he started getting a really bad feeling about not being able to reach Steve or Natasha.

Tony was three floors away from the garage where his suit was stored in the trunk of his car when a shudder hit the building, making Tony miss the last two steps and hit the far wall of the landing heavily. “Sir, one of the helicarriers has hit the building,” JARVIS said.  “There is an emergency exit on the first floor, evacuation is highly recommended.”

“No kidding,” Tony said under his breath. “What about my suit?”  He held tightly to the railing as the building shuddered again; there were no windows in the stair well, and the concrete walls muffled any sound coming from outside.

“Sir, it is mathematically impossible for you to reach the emergency suit before the building collapses. Evacuation is highly recommended,” JARVIS repeated with emphasis.

As Tony hit the emergency exit door at the base of the stairs, he was greeted with chaos.  Two helicarriers were tilting drunkenly in the sky, cannons and rail guns still firing at each other with a noise like thunder.  The third cast a long shadow over the grounds of the Triskelion as it fell from the sky, taking the southeast corner of the building with it in a cloud of smoke and rubble. Helicopters circled at a distance, and the air smelled of smoke and fuel as debris rained from the helicarrier battle.   “Holy shit,” Tony breathed.

“Sir, you are still not at a safe distance,” JARVIS said disapprovingly.  “Please continue to-”

“Where’s Steve?” Tony said instead.  “You said he’s on one of those things, right?”

“Captain Rogers’ position has not changed.  Sir, I cannot recommend that you-”

“JARVIS, if Steve went up against that metal armed bastard he’s going to need back up.  I’m not leaving.” Tony swung a leg over the stone balustrade that lined the patio area he was currently on and dropped down to jogging across the parking lot.  It wasn’t long before he was in the woods that lined the Potomac, trying to keep an eye on the helicarriers as he approached Steve’s last known position.

“Any updates, JARVIS?” Tony asked, cursing under his breath as he tried to make his way through the underbrush.

“Captain Rogers’ signal has moved a thousand meters south of your position,” JARVIS answered, making Tony groan.

“I don’t suppose there’s a trail or something-” Tony was yanked backwards as an arm wrapped around his throat, tight and implacable, cutting off his air. Tony’s hands came up to scrabble at the arm around his throat as the edges of his vision went dim. He spent the last of the air in his lungs trying to twist out of the grip but it was fruitless; he might as well have been fighting one of his own suits. He felt his hands drop limply to his sides as the dappled leaves of the forest went black.

[merigreenleaf]

World Building June 2018 - Day 25, Pockets

I think the best way to answer “What do people carry with them on a daily basis in your world?” is by answering for each of my main characters. Like with the “fun” prompt, my dorks are a good cross section of the types of people in Concordia. A quick note: I'd mentioned before that Concordians are big on pockets. Lots of pockets, even when it comes to someone like Firedrake who wears ball gowns and fancy dresses constantly. Most of the population is going to just carry things in their pockets, but my characters are a little different because they all spend their lives traveling. 

Adair: Adair basically only owns what he carries on a daily basis. The most important is his favorite paintbrush which he usually wears tucked behind his ear; this is the focus for his magic. His pockets are crammed full of paint, brushes, sketchbooks, pencils, pens, snacks, bits of string for fiddling with, a yoyo or two, more snacks... He also has a sling bag with many pockets that he wears across his chest to hold the overflow. Adair's unusual for an Artisan in a lot of ways and one of these is that he travels a lot as a cartographer and only owns what fits into a backpack, at least until he moves in with Blythe and has more of a home, even if the home itself moves. His backpack has a few changes of clothes (that are in perpetual need of washing), some toiletries, more spices and cooking supplies than you'd expect from someone who doesn't possess a kitchen, oh look more snacks, and a small calendar. He uses this to keep track of his hormone healing, birthdays, when his map needs to be finished by (circled in bright blue ink, underlined three times...), and he tries to remember to put a list of things he has to do on it, but inevitably he forgets and just writes it on his arm instead. His cat always rides around on his shoulders or on top of his backpack, so I guess he carries her around on a daily basis, too.

Info about the rest of the characters is under the read more link.

Blythe: As a Protectorate she can carry weapons, but most of these she hangs on the wall of her wagon-home. Usually she just carries a dagger on her belt and a small knife for plant clippings. Adair and Etri eventually buy her a pendant necklace with compartments for holding seeds and plant bits that she finds. She always carries her healing kit, which is a large briefcase/hard box type thing that she wears on a strap over her shoulder. In this are herbs, pre-mixed healing pastes for common injuries and illnesses, a book of healing patterns (she uses this to record new ones she makes rather than looking ones up because she's well on her way to memorizing all of them out of sheer stubbornness), a mortar and pestle, and water. Sol contributed by placing a tiny sun-like light in there so that she can carry a growing plant with her at all times. If she ever carries something less practical, it would be a small skein of yarn and a crochet hook. Otherwise her pockets just hold things like money, a notepad and pen, a few keys (to her wagon, the lead healer's wagon, and the twins' wagon), and I'm pretty sure she also carries around small things that would get each of her friends out of trouble. Or possibly a squirt bottle to spray them with when they do something stupid. Hey, it got the cat to stay out of her yarn basket.

Firedrake: Dray always has their favorite props-- a pair of gold dance swords/long daggers with dragon-headed hilts-- strapped to their back. These are the focus of their magic like Adair's paintbrush is to him. These daggers are blunt, but Dray does wear a small sharp knife strapped to their thigh; this is less because of needing protection in Concordia, more because where they grew up they had more need of something like this and they feel safer with it. The pockets of Dray's skirts hold boxes of matches, maybe a book, some money, and a hairbrush. Like Adair, Dray lives out of bags when traveling, but owns more than Adair so Dray doesn't always carry all their possessions around with them-- generally Dray leaves most of their stuff behind in whatever inn they're staying at. These bags are full of dance/performance props, stage costumes, Dray's extensive wardrobe and makeup collection... and also a few books, some junk food, and a small stuffed dragon that their mother gave them when they were little.

Etri: He wears knives strapped under his clothing: on his thigh under his long coat, a longer one across his back also under the coat, one up his sleeve in a wrist sheath, one in his boot... probably more, but he hasn't told me where they are yet. He keeps these hidden because he isn't a Protectorate and also because they aren't normal knives. They're made of a special metal that's good for banishing malicious shadow elementals. Because he has worked as a reverse-thief who returns stolen or ill-gained art back to artists, he keeps a roll of lockpicks tucked into a pocket inside the front of his coat and usually extra lockpicks hidden in his hair in case he's in a tight spot or doesn't have the roll. He often has a book shoved into a pocket of his coat alongside the lockpicks. He does carry a messenger-style bag because he keeps hourglasses/timers in there for when he needs to cross over to the world of the shadow elementals. (Time doesn't exist there, so he uses sand timers to gauge how long time has passed in the real world because gravity does exist in the other world.) In the bag he also has another book or two or five, a notebook for poetry or observations (he got started writing these down when working as a reverse-thief to keep track of potential thefts), and some money. He wears the focus of his magic (a firebreathing torch) strapped to his belt and like the others he always wears the identification ribbons for his carnival troupe. In his case he's a member of two troupes and both ribbons hang off his belt alongside the torch. (Blythe ties her braid with hers, Dray wears one in their hair usually braided into a small section, and Sol wears his knotted to the button holes of his vest.)

Sol: Remember the love of pockets I mentioned that people in Concordia have? Yeah, Sol takes this to an extreme. His vest is mostly pockets, his pants have tons of pockets (when he remembers to wear pants), his underpants probably have pockets, and if he wore shoes he'd probably have pockets in those, too. He fills these pockets with bits of trash he finds that could potentially be useful as invention parts, things that he finds that just look cool, snacks because he's almost as into food as Adair is, things he borrowed from his friends and meant to give back, things he found that he thinks his friends might like, a comb and hair gel, pencils and bits of loose paper for doodling invention ideas, glitter, and tools like screwdrivers and pliers and tweezers. His torch also hangs from his belt-- he learned magic from Etri, so they have the same focus even though a torch isn't something that's traditional back where they used to live. He always wears protective goggles often pushed up on his forehead. (Fun fact: Blythe told him that the goggles look good on him despite looking absolutely ridiculous because she was counting on “looking attractive” being enough of a draw that he wouldn't put them somewhere and forget about them. It worked. Sol is a little vain and kind of an idiot, but at least his eyes are safe from flying bits of metal.)

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

Tagging my world building peoples. Let me know if you want on or off this world building list (I also have a separate list for short stories/moodboards if you’d want on that one) and please please feel free to tag me in any writing thing you share. I love seeing what people are working on! <3 @ageekyreader @lynnafred @worldbuildingwren @theguildedtypewriter @toboldlywrite @wchwriter @ghostsmooches @lady-redshield-writes @bluemartlet @reeseweston @dreameronthewind @forlornraven @pen-for-sword @homesteadhorner @shadow-maker @loopyhoopydrabbles @emptymanuscript @madmooninc

Day 1 (Intro to my writing/series) / Day 2 (Geography) / Day 3 (People) / Day 4 (History)/ Day 5 (Civilization & Architecture) / Bonus: Art Theft  / Day 6 (Gender & Sexuality) / Day 7 (Economy) / Day 8 (Government) / Day 9 (Religion) / Day 10 (Holidays) / Day 12 (Elementals) / Day 11, 13, 14 (Language, Plants, Food) / Day 15 (Technology) / Day 16 (Magic)  / Day 17 (Medicine) / Day 18 (Fashion) / Day 19 & 20 (War & Weapons) / Day 21 (Fun) / Day 22 (Work/Education) / Day 23 (The Sky)

[aphrodaisyacs]

Chapter Summary:

Bruce is racing towards the med bay, equal parts hope and dread pulsing through his mind. By the time he sees the familiar large figure hunched next to a bed, his chest feels ready to burst.

When Thor spots him, Bruce finds himself engulfed in a hug which he’s sure will bruise his ribs, but he can’t find it in himself to care because Thor is alive.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), Heimdall (Marvel), Wanda Maximoff, Bruce Banner, Thanos (Marvel), Stephen Strange, Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes, Guardians of the Galaxy Team, Steve Rogers, T'Challa (Marvel), Peter Parker Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Shitstorm with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, POV Multiple, Loss of Limbs, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence

Chapter 2 is here! 

Here’s part 1

If you prefer reading on tumblr, the full chapter is below:

Warning: Non-Canon Limb Loss

Bruce’s heart is pounding so loudly that on any other day, he would’ve thought it to be the Other Guy trying to punch his way out of his current body. But for some reason, on the one occasion where having the Other Guy in control would actually be preferred, that stupid green asshole decides not to appear.

What a dick.

Rhodey was the one to greet him when he stepped back into the Avengers Headquarters for the first time in three years. It is mind-boggling how much technology had advanced in that span of time‒ it felt like he had just blinked and suddenly there’s now there’s live, holographic, 3D projections replacing Facetime calls. But the first thing he had noticed upon returning was the contraption caging Rhodey’s legs.

It’s been a long three years, Rhodey had answered with a wry smile when Bruce asked about it. Then the other man dropped the bombshell that Thor is here too, he arrived with some blue guy who seemed to be in pretty bad shape, before he left Bruce alone for an important call.

Bruce is racing towards the med bay, equal parts hope and dread pulsing through his mind. By the time he sees the familiar large figure hunched next to a bed, his chest feels ready to burst.

Thor spots him, Bruce finds himself engulfed in a hug which he’s sure will bruise his ribs, but he can’t find it in himself to care because Thor is alive.

Even after the hug finally ends, Thor’s hand still lingers on Bruce’s shoulder, as if Bruce will disappear once they stop touching. Bruce can hardly blame him for it. He too, believed that his close friend had died.

When Bruce gets a good look at the blue-skinned figure lying on the bed, he frowns. He studies the other man, trying to place his features with the Asgardians and other aliens who’d also been on the ship. There are patterned ridges on his forehead, cheeks and chin. He has messy black hair, an angular face, sharp cheekbones…

Bruce blinks.

“Is that… Loki?”

It is fascinating how different yet similar Loki looks compared to his normal appearance. Bruce stops at the foot of the bed, even as his morbid curiosity urges him to have a closer look.

“Why is he blue? Is he‒ do you also…?” He waves a hand around his face.

“What? No,” Thor laughs. “He’s adopted, remember?”

They fall into a companionable silence, but the joy in the mood dissipates. It leaves the two of them a grim reminder of what they’ve already lost, and what they’ll lose if they don’t take action soon.

Thor’s got the Tesseract. He tells Bruce that he plans on using it to get to some place called Nidavellir, where he seems certain he will acquire a Thanos-killing weapon. Bruce is sceptical, of course, because going there won’t stop Thanos from chasing after the Space Stone. Something more permanent would be better‒ something like destroying it. Thor seems to think it’s possible, and he merely adds “Infinity Stone-destroying” to the list of features for his future weapon. Bruce has no idea how Thor is so certain that he’ll be able to just show up on some faraway planet and get the perfect weapon forged for him on the spot, but he’s learnt not to question such things when it comes to the God of Thunder.

Loki chooses that moment to wake up, as if he has a sixth sense for detecting his brother’s questionable plans.

“Ugh, please tell me this is a nightmare,” Loki grumbles, sounding more like a disgruntled cat than someone who had a foot on death’s doorstep not even half an hour ago. He blinks blearily at Thor’s overjoyed “Loki!” and Bruce is slightly taken aback at the blood red eyes.

“Remember what happened last time we tried to destroy an Infinity Stone?” Loki glares at Thor.

“It’ll be different this time! We have experience now!” Thor insists.

Loki winces, then glares at his blue hand.

“Well I can’t even shift back, so whatever you’ve got planned probably won’t work.”

Thor waves a hand dismissively.

“Oh no, it’ll work fine, because you’re staying here to recover. And help the Avengers, of course.”

Bruce feels his eyebrows shoot up at the boldness of the declaration. He doesn’t know how much Rhodey knows about Loki’s situation (probably not at all, if Bruce had to guess). He has even less of an idea of how the other Avengers would react to Loki, though as a former enemy it is doubtful he’ll get much of a warm welcome. He’ll definitely have a rough time around the others without Thor as a buffer.

“What,” Loki says, voice completely flat.

“Yeah! Banner’s going to be staying with you.”

Bruce gapes.

“I am?”

“He is?”

“Yeah,” Thor says. “Look, all I need to do is go to Nidavellir, get the weapon made, destroy the Space Stone, then kill Thanos. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

It shouldn’t be too hard, Loki mouths disbelievingly at Bruce. Bruce can only shrug helplessly.

“There’s two more stones on Earth‒” Thor continues.

“One,” Bruce interrupts.

“One?!”

Bruce clears his throat.

“Yeah, Fish Face took the wizard, Tony and some kid back to space with him.”

“Oh. Well.” Thor seems to quickly get over it though. “Help the others protect Vision. He’s sending that army after the Mind Stone, remember?”

“Yes, yes,” Loki says, rolling his eyes. “I lost my magic, not my brain cells. Look, if you don’t come back alive, I’ll personally go and kill you myself.”

Thor grins, and salutes them with the Tesseract.

“Deal.”

Knowhere is just as much as a shithole as it was the last time Gamora was there, swarming with beings who seem completely oblivious to the imminent threat of Thanos. The only one who seems to be aware of anything happening in the wider galaxy is the Collector, but he is extremely reluctant to part with the Reality Stone.

“Now I can’t just give it to you, because that will be bad business,” he insists.

“Yeah we got this limited offer, called ‘Thanos will come after us instead and leave your ass alone’. You can take it or leave it,” Rocket says, sounding like he’s seconds away from snatching the glass cylinder, consequences be damned.

The Collector purses his lips and frowns at the swirling red mass. Then, he turns to Heimdall.

“Where is he now?”

Heimdall’s eyes suddenly flash a startlingly bright orange, causing several of the Guardians to react with audible surprise and awe. A few moments later his eyes fade back to their usual gold.

“He’ll arrive at Knowhere within a few minutes.”

The Collector tsks.

“And how many does he have already?”

“Just the Power Stone.”

The Elder blows out a breath and clasps his hands together.

“Alright. I have a plan.”

Here’s what worked:

Thanos is greeted by the sight of the Guardians coiled in defense.

He doesn’t believe what he sees.

He unleashes a wave of energy from the Power Stone.

It wipes out the Collector’s Reality Stone-induced illusion through sheer force.

The “Guardians” are revealed to be black hole grenades.

The blast from the Power Stone triggers them.

Thanos is forced to wield the Power Stone by blasting back enough concentrated energy it becomes a shield against the black holes.

He’s distracted.

Here’s what went wrong:

They aren’t fast enough.

They jump out of their hiding places, but they don’t attack him quickly enough.

Gamora’s blade barely nicks him in the neck.

He doesn’t lose control over the Power Stone.

He doesn’t get swallowed by the black holes.

Instead, he perseveres.

The backlash tears the entire museum apart. Gamora’s ears are ringing and she feels her movements crushed thoroughly under the weight of metal and concrete. She’s barely able to turn her head and she tries to ignore the way the dust still settling is suffocating the small pocket of air she’s encased in. She spits out the taste of smoke and attempts to get her bearings.

There’s a small gap to her right. Good. Even if she ends up trapped here for hours, she’ll still be able to breathe. It also doubles as a small window to the world outside. Her vision is already blurring and on top of the haze of smoke and dust, she can barely make out the looming figure of Thanos in the far distance. He is towering over someone she can’t see, and his lips are twisted into that familiar half-pitying smile fuelled by pure condescension.

She hates it.

She hates him so much.

It’s enough to renew her efforts in squirming her way out of her heavy prison, and while she’s able to move her left arm a little now, her right arm still won’t obey her.

She catches a glimpse of red in the corner of her vision.

No.

Giant purple hands gently mould the glowing red mass until it slowly solidifies into a red stone pinched between his fingers.

The air shifts the moment he slips the Reality Stone into his gauntlet.

Gamora quietly draws in a shuddering breath. She’s next. He’s going to dig through the debris for her, because he’ll want the Soul Stone next.

And she can’t even move.

But Thanos suddenly stops. He crouches down, disappearing from the view of her narrow window. When he straightens again, he cradling whatever it was that had caught his attention. For some reason he seems to find it horrifying, the long tubular thing‒ it’s an arm, with a familiar-looking switchblade still loosely caged in green fingers.

Gamora’s heart stops.

That’s her arm.

That’s her fucking arm.

She couldn’t move her right arm because she didn’t have a right arm to move.

It’s as if the sight of her missing arm had drained the adrenaline from her veins, because the entire right side of her body is suddenly swallowed by white hot pain. Her vision dissolves into static, and she can barely make out the blurry, shrinking figure of Thanos before she passes out.

When Steve walks into the Avengers Headquarters, he expects to see Bruce, but what he doesn’t expect to see is a ragged-looking blue man with a glaive, trailing two steps behind the doctor.

“And you are?” Steve asks, trying to mask his bemusement.

“I am here to help,” the blue man replies simply. Then he flashes Steve a smile which sets off several alarms in his head. He’s seen this face before, he’s sure of it. But where would he have met a blue alien?

Steve turns to Bruce, who looks back nervously.

Huh.

“So,” Bruce begins, interrupting the silence before it becomes awkward. “Some of you have already met him before, but… a lot has happened and things have changed.” He inhales before continuing. “Loki’s on our side now and Thanos‒ he’s the one who sent Loki to attack New York. And we need all the help we can get against Thanos.”

Oh.

Steve gives the blue man (Loki) a more thorough once-over. The images of the Loki from his memory begin to bleed into the reality of the one standing in front of him‒ the shape of his features, the hair, his height, the way his fingers rest on the handle of the glaive (just like the sceptre), that voice…

But what Steve also notices is that Loki looks like he’s trying to remain nonchalant at being skewered by everyone’s stares, which range from disbelieving to judgemental. His face is impassive, but his head is slightly bowed and he isn’t meeting anyone’s eyes. It’s almost as if he’s steeling himself for rejection.

“Wait, Loki? As in tried-to-invade-New-York Loki?” Sam says in disbelief.

“Oh my god.” Rhodey gapes. “That’s who Thor brought back? I thought it was some new alien buddy.”

Steve also hears Wanda and Vision beginning to murmur behind him, and he decides enough is enough.

“Alright.” His voice cuts through the room and everyone falls silent. His eyes meet Loki’s disbelieving red ones. “What do you have for us?”

When they manage to settle down to talk, Steve finally gets a better sense of what the alien woman from earlier had been raving on about. According to Bruce and Loki, Vision’s stone is one of the Infinity Stones that Thanos is after, and the Mad Titan intends to send the largest army in the universe to Earth to get it.

It is a strange sight, seeing the two of them working together like this. Hell, the last time Steve had even heard about Loki, Thor had told the Avengers that his brother “died a hero’s death”, while pleading with his red-rimmed eyes for them not to rejoice in his death. Meanwhile, Bruce’s extended absence and radio (and satellite‒ Tony had checked) silence had led them to fear the worst for him. But it turns out the reason why they aren’t currently at each other’s throats is because they (along with Thor, who’d apparently checked in at the HQ then immediately left for another planet) had gone on a hectic space adventure which involved teaming up and saving an entire realm from an apocalypse. And now they’re here because they’re trying to prevent another apocalypse, this time with the universe at stake.

Eventually everyone agrees to separate Vision from the stone so Wanda can destroy it. The only way to do so is in Wakanda, so they all board the Quinjet.

After Steve tells Sam and Natasha the coordinates, he leaves the cockpit and goes looking for Loki. In the common area, Bruce and Rhodey are deep in conversation and Wanda and Vision are silently huddled together, but there’s no sign of Loki. Just as he turns to go to the rooms, he nearly walks into someone.

“Looking for me, Captain?” Loki asks, looking almost amused.

Steve pauses. He’s decided to trust Bruce and Thor’s judgement, and from what he’s seen so far Loki seems to genuinely want to help. A small voice at the back of his head (which sounds suspiciously like Natasha’s) tells him that Loki might betray them later, but Steve quickly shelves it away. As Bruce had said, they need all the help they can get. Instead, he focuses on how Loki subconsciously runs his fingers over the patterned blue skin on the back of his hands and the way his jaw tightens, as if he’s uncomfortable with the way it feels. As if he’s trapped in a form he isn’t used to.

“Are you alright?” Steve finally settles on. Loki looks at Steve as if he’s sprouted another head.

“Truly a man of righteousness, aren’t you.” Loki’s smile feels vaguely mocking, but Steve can also detect the underlying weariness. “Inquiring after my wellbeing. Aren’t you going to threaten me? Ask if I’m up to another one of my tricks, if I’m going to stab you in the back?”

Steve politely responds with a wry smile of his own.

“Are you?”

Loki holds his gaze for a moment longer, then scoffs.

“No.” The corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “But only because that would be too predictable.”

Steve only raises his eyebrows, amused in spite of himself.

“So why did you want to talk to me?” Loki asks, cocking his head curiously.

Steve sighs.

“I’m not going to forget what you did in New York. I don’t think any of the others will either. But whatever you do from this moment on is more important than what you did back then.”

“So, what?” Loki’s laugh is short and hollow. “Have I earned the good Captain’s forgiveness already?”

“This isn’t about forgiveness.” Steve crosses his arms. “It’s about second chances.”

“And you believe someone like me deserves a second chance?”

“No.” Steve doesn’t miss the hurt that flashes through Loki’s blood red eyes. “Because it’s not up to me to decide who deserves that. It’s not up to anybody. This second chance is just something you have. You’ve already used it to save Asgard. You’ve also used it to keep the Space Stone away from Thanos. I’m sure you can think of using it for other things in the future.”

Loki looks away, and Steve can practically hear the gears grinding in his head.

“I see.” Loki’s voice is quiet, thoughtful. “Well, I suppose I’ll look forward to working with you, Captain.”

part 3

[pristinepastel]

5 Things About Me Meme!

Tagged by @awakaru ! This time i’ll tag the last few people in my activity- @robtari , @tavros-tardis , and @boundtoanandroid ! 5 Things You’ll Find In My Bag: -My sketchbooks(two of them. same kind but one is vertical and the other is horizontal) -My art supply box, which is pink and glittery and used to be a makeup box that i got for christmas one year -This probly counts as two things, but my plusle and minun plushies! i also have a plusle keychain. -I have a calligraphy pen w/ multiple nibs that I haven’t used very much yet. I’ll hopefully start using it and improving when i start college this fall! -And finally, my tablet with bluetooth keyboard. No mouse or pen for it but that’s fine for now. One day though… 5 Things You’ll Find in My Bedroom: Too many things;; -I have a book bag that I only use when I travel. When I’m at home though, it holds most of my plushies! Including a pachirisu that lost an ear. Which I. Kiiind of fixed? I tore off a scrap piece of a purple scarf and sewed it over the hole with yarn. Maybe I’ll take a pic later, lollo -I keep a cat cube on my bed near my feet. It’s purple and pink, with a leopard print. The outside is a kind of messy texture, while the inside has a soft carpet on the bottom. The cats don’t normally use it but when they do i try to take pictures! -My favorite blanket! I use it to stim. When I was at high school I’d usually take it with me in my bag, as well as my scarves. It was helpful for taking naps during commons, especially after a bad insomnia bout. Also helpful during my depressive episodes- even if I’d still end up going home early sometimes. -I have various posters put up in my room- including some prints from juicyink on youtube, a kingdom hearts 2 poster i got from when borders was still around, a print of Vincent Valentine that I got in the Artist Alley at colossalcon last year, a print i got from a caricature artist i got on my birthday as well as the caricature he made of me, and some old fashioned prints made on corkbord which kind of remind me of lowbrow fantasy art. I don’t know how old they are, I think my mom got them for me at a flea market? -I also have some old drawings of mine on my walls. I used to have a lot more of my older older pics, but i took them down because I wanted to start fresh. These were from my senior year i think? So far it’s just drawings of Osiria and Dahteste so far lollo -I lastly have my desktop computer! It’s a p big screen. My dad got me a new screen, keyboard, and pc box for my birthday, after I told him I wanted mass effect andromeda once it came out. For the specs he said. He’s very enthusiastic about that sort of thing;; 5 Things I’ve always wanted to do in life: -Become a concept artist/character designer -Write a story/Draw a comic about my characters(sadly my imagination is more abstract and my minds not v suited for concrete scripting lollo) -Somehow meet and help my characters in real life. I know that’s impossible, shoosh -Become a side character in someone else’s story/video game. Not physically of course- I mean I want to play as the sort of character that supports the protagonist and helps them get a good ending. -Become a voice actor! I really enjoy the thought of my voice bringing a character to life. I’ve tried auditioning before, but I’m not very confident in online auditions like that cus my mics not the best;; 5 Things That make me Happy: -Philadelphia roll with smoked salmon, avocado, and cream cheese! My fav sushi yums;; -My cat Molly! her purrs sound like a pigeon or a dove coping and she’s so soft -Comforting and emotional characters!! Like Cole, Sandal, and Dog from Dragon Age, Jaal from me:a, Legion from Mass Effect, Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter, Lee from Naruto, Dogmeat from Fallout, etc. -My Mom gives really good hugs and she’s really good at emotional support! She understands what I go through cus she has depression and anxiety too. We even take some of the same prescription! I like her more than Dad cus he gets angry sometimes and I can’t really predict when that happens. He’s not hurting me or anything, he just gets loud and that makes me a lil nervous is all! -Conventions! I’m not really equipped for big social events usually, but these are usually the exception. You don’t really talk to people one on one, and you don’t have to be afraid of being the center of attention. Even buying stuff is easier cus no ones judging you for how much you’re buying or how long you’re at one booth! 5 Things I’m Currently Into: -My mutuals/followers may or may not have noticed the posts about witchcraft ehe;; It started with me researching stuff that one of my brain friends, Elisa, is into. She started out with just general tarot reading, which then developed into her actually being a witch, which led to me discovering i really enjoyed the subject lollo -Dungeons and Dragons podcasts like The Adventure Zone and Godsfall. that is too many capital letters;;; -Modern Girl In Thedas fanfics. I especially enjoy the ones where the protag discovers no one in thedas speaks english. Sometimes people write it so english is qunlaat, but my fav is that the protag has to work at learning common on their own. -I’ve gotten into playing more mobile games again, now that i have a phone that can support them;; I now have Love Live SIF, Fallen London, and the new ver of Kingdom Hearts X(fyi the x is pronounced cross in english- in japan its pronounce chi!) -I’ve been watching doodle videos lately. They’re vids where the artist just doodles random lines and patterns and shapes to fill an entire page. Sometimes there are mandalas too! Sometimes the artist talks quietly and motivationally during it like Bob Ross. if you’re curious one of the artists i’ve been watching recently is called Peter Draws on youtube! 5 Things on My To-Do List: -Finish prepping all the paperwork for starting college. I’ve been accepted, but there’s still financial paperwork to fill out lollo -Make a grimoire/book of shadows/book of mirrors. Atm, all my witchy notes are in my phone. I plan to make a cutesy decoden grimoire once i’m actually in school! -Start doing physical stuff like yoga and walking. School has a public yoga class available, and the campus has a lot of places where i can take breaks if i start feeling light headed due to the scoliosis. I’ve downloaded pokémon go preemptively to help w that -Prepare for june’s various activities! This year i’m not just going to colossalcon- I’m also going to volunteer at a convention in DC! ooo I’m so excited and i wanna pack immediately even tho i know it’s not for a month yet lollo;; my mom is also in this mood - Mmmaybe get a spirit companion? Dunno for sure yet. Not sure if my social anxiety also applies to the ethereal. A bit nervous about the constant-ness of the interaction. Need to research the subject a bit more lollo 5 Things People May Not Know About Me: -I’m really disorganized. So much so that i can’t close my closet door due to the clutter in front of it;;; -Physically speaking, I am only 5'6", I have a lazy eye, and mild scoliosis. My right canine tooth is broken as well.Im kind of self conscious about my teeth so my smiles are usually closed mouth. I also have problems with hygiene, for various reasons- for general cleanliness i just forget to shower sometimes/don’t have the motivation for it. As for the teeth, my sensory issues make it so i very much hate toothpaste. That’s why my teeth are so bad;; speaking of- -I have various mental issues. I have depression and anxiety, which has been clinically diagnosed. My psychiatrist also suspects i have mild autism or aspergers, but the test people never got back to us so heck if we know for sure. My mom, a couple of my friends, as well as me all agree i seem to have it. I also believe i have maladaptive daydreaming. This is a condition that makes it so I have very detailed imaginary worlds in my head- so detailed in fact that I get very attached to the characters in them, who I call brain friends. The daydreams get so detailed and involved that it’s sometimes hard for me to focus on stuff like reading or sleeping. Which exacerbates the insomnia i already have lollo. It’s easier for me to read fanfics than published stuff as a result, cus fanfics are basically written dreams in that sense? i’m also p bad at explaining myself with words lo l l,o;; -Despite most of my posts being happy ones, i tend to have p bad depressive episodes. I try not to vent on here though cus i’m self conscious about how others interpret that. It makes me feel manipulative. I also have trouble with asking my parents for stuff for the same reason;; -I started the positivity tag on election night. I was really shaky and anxious, but all of that was trapped inside and i couldn’t cry, so i just felt stuck there(i now suspect i was disasociating at the time?). I started reblogging all these happy posts to cheer myself up, and thanking all the people who were putting them on my dash. That’s why my positivity tag is ‘thank you’! :^)