#and I was slow to the uptake with this cause I only just ran across something with this footage

[kenobion]

Andrew Garfield at the GQ Men of the Year Awards

[queenshelby]

Just Friends – Part 10

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 3,412

Warning: Smut, Pregnancy

***Breaking the News***

After you told Cillian that you needed to talk, his heart skipped a beat. After bad experiences with his ex-girlfriend and ex-wife, he was prepared for the worst.

After taking a deep breath, he sat down right next to you on the lounge and, without words, he waited for you to say something.

But you struggled to find the words despite the fact that you ran over this scenario over and over again in your own mind all day.

Instead of saying anything, you broke out in tears again. Cillian immediately wrapped his arms around you and reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table in front of him.

‘Y/N, you are worrying me. You need to tell me what’s wrong’ he said calmly while holding you close.

‘I am pregnant Cilly’ you suddenly blurted out while you were still crying heavily and, as soon as you said it, Cillian sighed. But it wasn’t a sigh of frustration but, rather, a sigh of relief.

Despite his initial reaction, his words were caught in his throat. He didn’t say anything to you. He didn’t know what to say and it was clear to you that he was in shock.

‘Fuck’ he then simply murmured before abruptly getting up from where he was sitting. You could see his mind ticking over as he walked to the kitchen and returned with a glass of whiskey for himself and a glass of sparkling water for you.

You didn’t know what to make of his reaction as he sat back down next to you. He never drank spirits and the only reason you had a bottle of whiskey in the house was because he was gifted it for his 40th birthday.

The glass must have contained at least four shots, no ice and he drank almost half of it within less than thirty seconds.

His eyes were empty, looking into the unknown and you gently took his hands into yours.

‘Can you please say something Cillian’ you said calmly as you had stopped crying.

‘I am sorry Y/N, it’s just…’ Cillian said, unable to find his words but finally looking at you.

‘How?’ he then went on to ask as his mind kept working on digesting the news.

You couldn’t help but laugh about his question and responded the only way you could.

‘How do you think?’ you chuckled, causing Cillian to chuckle as well.

‘You know what I mean’ he then went on to say before drinking the rest of his whiskey.

‘I think that night at my parent’s house…’ you went on to explain before, again, losing your words. ‘I am so sorry Cillian, this is all my fault. I am such an idiot’ you went on to say, knowing that he made it clear to you that he didn’t want any more children.

‘Y/N, stop!’ Cillian responded, his hands caressing your face. ‘It takes two people to make a baby. I knew that you had forgotten your pill and, as hard as it would have been, I could have said no that night. So please, allow me to take some responsibility for this too, eh’ Cillian said calmly before attempting to kiss you, but you pulled away.

‘Babies…’ you said nervously.

‘What do you mean?’ Cillian asked confused.

‘I am pregnant with twins Cillian’ you said, laughing and crying at the same time.

Cillian’s chin dropped, his eyes widened and he began to chuckle. For about twenty seconds, there was an awkward silence between you while Cillian looked at you.

‘We need a bigger house and I need another glass of whiskey’ he then suddenly said, causing you both to laugh before, finally, sharing your first kiss in three weeks.

‘You know there are options Cillian. I know you said that you didn’t want anymore children and I am prepared to…’ you said, but Cillian silenced you before you could say anything else.

‘No, I couldn’t Y/N, please’ Cillian said with worry.

‘I love you, you know that?’ you said, relieved by Cillian’s decision and the fact that he wanted you to keep the babies.

‘I know and I love you and our growing family’ Cillian chuckled before pressing his lips onto yours.

The kiss soon became heated and you totally forgot about everything else but Cillian’s lips on yours and it wasn’t long until you climbed onto his lap and could already feel his raging erection against you.

‘Sorry…it’s been three weeks’ Cillian chuckled, knowing that you would probably not be in the mood for sex.

But, of course, he was wrong. You could never leave your hands of Cillian for very long and you were used to this sort of reaction from him as, usually, as soon as you kissed passionately, the desire between his legs grew. It was almost like he was in his twenties again, which often made you joke about it.

‘I need to have a shower Cilly’ you smirked in between kisses while you were grinding yourself against him.

‘Mind if I join?’ he grinned and, just like that, you took his hand and pulled up him towards the bathroom.

***In the Shower***

In a haste, you both got undressed and got inside the large shower, hoping that, this time, the hot water wouldn’t run out.

Pretty much as soon as you entered the shower, Cillian took the bar of soap and rubbed it gently across your shoulders and back. He lathered up his own hands, placed the soap back on the shelf, then went to work. Starting at your shoulders, Cillian massaged the creamy suds into your smooth skin, listening contently to your satisfied murmurings as his fingers worked their magic against your flesh. He worked every inch of your shoulders, pressing hard against your supple muscles, causing you to lean against the shower wall, your forearms now stopping you from falling forward.

Slowly, keeping to the same mix of massage and gentle caress, Cillian worked his way downwards, following the natural curve of your spine, across your midriff, towards your pert little ass. He grabbed the bar of soap once more and started to lather up your cheeks and upper thighs.

‘Hmm’ you moaned as Cillian finally ran his soapy hands in between your thighs.

You had spread your feet slightly and were pushing your ass out against his hands, trying your best to direct his attention to where you wanted it.

Cillian was never one to turn down an invitation and soon nudged his fingers gently against your now tingling sex.

He could feel you responding to his every touch. Intentionally, you were moving your body against his hands, moaning every time he touched your mound.

‘I missed this’ you moaned as Cillian continued, running his fingers against your outer lips, massaging gently at your puffy folds.

Cillian changed his position, pressing his hips hard up against your ass, his cock now pointing to the ceiling, sandwiched between your bodies. At the same time, he moved his hand around to the front of your legs, and once more delved between them, searching for your sodden sex. You were moaning continually, still soft but now more passionately, as he drew his middle two fingers along your innermost lips, tracing lines from your opening forward towards your clit. He would stay there for a moment, rubbing firmly at your hard bud, listening to your panted breath as you felt every nerve ending burst into life, then return to the gentle stroke along your sodden sex.

‘Cillian I need your cock inside me, please’ you moaned as he was teasing you. You were desperate for him.

‘Patience babe’ Cillian whispered as he worked his two fingers in and out of your sodden pussy, keeping a shallow but fast motion. He knew what you wanted, and that it wasn't his two fingers, but you were going to have to beg for it.

‘Cillian please’ you moaned as you were getting ever more desperate in your pleas.

He stopped moving his fingers and stood there for a moment, listening to your panted breath, feeling the tightness of your walls against his invading digits. You were trying as best as you could to rock your own hips against his hand, but Cillian held you firm.

‘Fuck me Cillian, please’ you practically screamed.

Cillian chuckled and removed his hand from between your legs. He couldn't resist a quick lick at his fingers, savouring the taste of your sweet juices, before taking a step or two away from you. Cillian placed a hand on each of your hips, then pulled firmly at them, forcing you to take your own couple of steps backward, your ass now pointing out towards him.

Cillian positioned himself, his cock now pointing straight towards your sodden sex, mere inches from nudging into your swollen lips. You still had your forearms firmly against the shower wall for balance, although now you had your hands together and your head nestled into them as you waited for his onslaught.

‘Ah, please’ you gasped as he brought his cock forward, letting his head graze gently against your sweet sex.

For a moment or two, he rocked back and forth, his cock simply rubbing against your slick folds, teasing at your inner most sex but never quite realising your desires. You would push back, trying to catch the very angle which would send him sinking deep into your waiting pussy, but never quite making it.

You had enough of Cillian’s games. You were panting hard and reached down with one hand, taking him by surprise. You took purchase on his cock, positioning it just where you wanted it, with his head right over your aching pussy. Then, before he had any chance to pull away, you pushed your hips backwards, gasping as you plunged yourself onto his waiting cock.

‘Now, fuck me’ you demanded as you heard Cillian groan behind you.

Cillian wasn't slow on the uptake, and as you pushed backwards, he in turn thrust forward, burying his cock to the hilt inside you. He took a firm grip on your hips, then slowly withdrew, all the way until just his head wedged into your opening. Once more, to the tune of a passionate groan, he plunged back into you. Over and over, he continued, pulling out slowly, then thrusting hard back in, listening to your moans.

‘Fuck yes’ you screamed each time he plunged into you.

Cillian soon picked up the pace, pulling out quickly then plunging back in, pummelling into you over and over again. You were meeting him, move for move, your ass slapping into his body with an audible clap. Faster and faster, he picked up the pace, his own breath now coming in pants as he worked your sex.

You could feel his every inch move within your tight walls, rubbing at your most sensitive spots, pushing you closer and closer to your release.

‘Yes, oh god. There, right fucking there. Don't stop’ you moaned, your walls tightening around Cillian’s cock.

‘Fuck Y/N, you feel so fucking good’ Cillian moaned in response, getting closer and closer to his own release. You were now both panting hard, moans subsiding as exertion took over. You could feel the ache deep inside, a tremble now in your legs as the passion grew in intensity.

‘Fuck Cillian, yes’ you moaned as, finally, your orgasm washed over you. A wave of pure pleasure engulfed you as you pressed your head hard against your arms. Your legs wobbled with the intensity of your orgasm, yet still Cillian continued, pushing on towards his own climax.

Your screams and the contraction of your tight walls sent Cillian over the edge as well and, with one loud groan and three more thrusts, he filled you with his warm cum.

‘Fuck I missed you’ Cillian panted as he pulled out of you slowly, causing some of his cum to run down your legs.

‘Looks like we'll have to freshen up once more’ you giggled as you noticed before kissing him passionately.

***Thunderstorm***

After you had passionate shower sex, you decided to take round two into the bedroom.

Just as you entered your bedroom, you could hear the thundering outside. The lightening strikes were evident through the window and you knew what that meant.

Just as expected, while Cillian was kissing you and your back landed on your large bed, you heard a loud cry from Max’s room following yet another loud thunder outside.

‘Oh no’ you sighed while Cillian chuckled, giving you another quick kiss before he got off you and quickly put on his pyjamas. You did the same and walked into Max’s room, comforting him just as a lightening strike hit a nearby house, resulting in a loud bang.

Moments later, you heard Charlie cry as well and Charlie instantly woke up his brother Hendrix.

Cillian was quick to check on them both and, before you knew it, both of you were carrying the youngest boys into your bedroom as the thunderstorm continued on. Hendrix quickly followed and you knew that you were in for a long night in a very crowded bed.

‘Dad?’ Charlie said quietly as Cillian put him next to Max and Hendrix, in the middle of the large bed.

‘Yes’ Cillian said quietly.

‘I missed you’ Charlie went on to say and Max was quick to tell him that he missed him as well.

‘I missed you too guys. Now we need to get some sleep, alright?’ Cillian said.

There you were, in your bed with three children, four doonas and five pillows when, what you were wanting so desperately, was a romantic and fun filled night with your boyfriend.

***Happy Birthday***

After a restless night, you woke at around 8am only to find that your once so crowded bed was now empty.

You quickly got up and walked downstairs and into the kitchen.

‘Oh my god, how good is that?’ you smiled as you saw that Cillian was making pancakes and Max, Charlie and Hendrix were helping him.

All three of them were already showered and dressed and a cup of hot coffee was waiting for you.

‘Happy Birthday’ Cillian and the boys said collectively and you quickly received a large box filled with artwork the boys had made together for you.

The boys then handed you flowers and another present which Cillian had bought for you.

‘Jesus Cilly, can you please not spend that much money on presents for me’ you said after you opened the present, revealing a beautiful necklace and earrings from your favourite shop.

‘I love you…thank you’ you then went on to say before giving him a kiss.

Over breakfast, you decided to take the kids to the museum that day and Cillian informed you what he had planned for the evening.

‘I asked your grandmother to look after the boys tonight so that I can take you out for your birthday’ Cillian explained.

‘Are we not taking the boys?’ you asked surprised.

‘No, just us’ Cillian said as he was cleaning up the plates and cups from the breakfast table.

‘Where are you taking me?’ you asked intrigued.

‘It’s a surprise’ he was quick to respond.

You liked surprises and didn’t dare to question him any further. Instead, you had a quick shower and got dressed while Cillian was getting the boys ready for the museum.

The day at the museum was exciting and you went to lunch thereafter.

By around 6 o’clock, your grandmother arrived to look after the boys and you got dressed in a beautiful short black dress.

Cillian was wearing jeans and a navy-blue buttoned shirt. You never told him but you thought that he looked incredible with his peaky haircut. It suited him.

***Another Surprise***

At around 7 o’clock you pulled up in front of a factory building in the new arts district of Dublin.

‘I’ve heard about this place’ you said with excitement as you had read about a new restaurant in the area a few weeks ago.

‘I know, you told me about it when we skyped last week’ he winked. Of course, he remembered, he always did.

‘Where are all the other people?’ you asked as you walked into the restaurant which is when you were taken to a private dining area.

The dining area was simply stunning. There was a single table in the middle of a wine cellar. The table was surrounded by large stands of candles and on top of the table there were some native flowers. In the background you could hear gentle jazz music.

You adored rustic places like this in Ireland and, whilst you had read about this particular restaurant, you didn’t know that it wasn’t yet open. It only recently had been refurbished.

‘There are no other people. The restaurant isn’t actually opening until next week’ Cillian explained.

‘Uhm, so why are we here then? There is food, right?’ you giggled but your question was answered as the owner of the restaurant greeted you and Cillian.

Cillian explained that he knows the owner of the restaurant from Cork. According to him, he used to date Cillian’s younger sister and Cillian had bought shares in the restaurant a few months ago.

After some short conversation, the restaurant owner explained the dishes he had prepared for you for the occasion before handing you the wine list.

‘I am sorry, I didn’t know that you won’t be able to drink’ Cillian chuckled as you pouted when looking at the wine list.

‘Still, this is probably the most romantic birthday ever. Thank you’ you smiled.

‘You are welcome’ Cillian smiled and, just as you began to talk some more about the recent news, the entrees arrived.

Over the course of an hour, you received plenty of delicious food to share and enjoyed each other’s company and, just after you finished your dessert, Cillian got up from his chair and took your hand quite suddenly.

‘Common, I show you something’ he said and you followed him through yet another wine cellar before he took you upstairs of the industrial complex.

‘What is amazing about this buildings is that you can see the whole of Dublin from up top’ Cillian said as you walked up three flights of stairs.

The building was located right on the Liffey and you could just imagine how amazing all the old buildings nearby would look from the top of the old converted factory. Usually, at night, all the old buildings and churches were lid up in different colours making it even more beautiful.

‘This is truly amazing Cillian’ you said as you finally reached the top and looked over the beautiful Dublin city landscape. But the city lights wasn’t what caught your eyes initially. What was even more spectacular than the city views was the fact that the rooftop itself was lid beautifully with candles and the floor was covered with rose petals.

‘You are such a romantic Cilly’ you giggled as you looked around and Cillian reached for both of your hands just as you were staring at him, thinking how lucky you were to have him.

‘I may have asked you up here under false pretences’ Cillian said quietly as his eyes gazed into yours.

‘What do you mean?’ you asked and, just as you did, Cillian dropped onto one of his knees while continuing to hold your hands.

‘I know that we haven’t been together for that long but I love you more than I have loved anyone else. I cannot imagine a life that doesn’t have you in it and I want to spend the rest of it with you’ Cillian said nervously as he reached for his pocket with one of his hands, causing you to take in a deep breath.

‘Y/N…would you marry me?’ he then asked as he held out the ring that Max had picked in Birmingham three weeks ago.

‘Oh my god’ you said as you broke out in tears. ‘Yes Cillian…yes, of course I will marry you’ you said with excitement, holding out your hand so that Cillian could place the ring onto your finger.

It fit perfectly and Cillian got up, pressing his lips onto yours.

‘I love you so much’ you said as your lips drifted apart momentarily.

‘And I love you’ Cillian smiled before giving you another kiss.

To be continued in August 2021 

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[justjen523]

Let’s Play (Part 2)

MC x Saeran

Rating E (18+)

WARNING: Explicit sexual content and depictions of violence. Rape themes.

Chapter 2

It was just after eight in the evening. I knew he would be stopping by soon, call it...intuition. This time I was ready for Mr. Prince Charming. This time Ms goody two shoes actually allowed me out of my cage. 

I stared into the mirror applying my ruby red lipstick when of course she just couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“You’re not going to really hurt him are you?”

“Who, little ol’ me? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Idiot. I have no idea why I even keep her around. What a pain in the ass with all her ridiculous feelings. It’s this kind of thinking that gave birth to me in the first place.

“Please don’t hurt him too much...Ray is still in there I know it!”

“Of course he is. Those two are just like us, a package deal. Stop complaining and let me handle this, we’re in my territory now. I know exactly how to handle little boys like Saeran.” An angry voice pierced the silence in the hall and a thrill ran through me.

“Showtime. Now be a good girl and run along.” I couldn’t help the smirk that followed the instant I felt her retreat. Hmm....time for some real fun.

The door swung open violently and in walked Mr Handsome himself with that delicious looking crazy all over him. When I didn’t even flinch from the forceful cracking sound of the door slamming shut, it seemed playtime was about to begin. 

I continued applying my lipstick without ever even batting a lash in his direction. A fact that had not gone unnoticed and was quickly degrading his already sinister and general unpleasant mood.

“HEY!” His voice startled me enough to mess up the application of the crimson stick swirling along my lips and that’s when I lost my temper.

*CRACK*

Shards of glass rained down around me from the shattered mirror I had just punched a hole in making him freeze wide eyed as I turned to face him.

“You made me fuck up my lipstick. I happened to really like that color... if you know what’s good for you, you better start thinking of a way to make it up to me.” I crossed the distance between us and stared deeply into his eyes. Heh. Confusion. Fear. Panic. I always have this affect on people. 

“W-Who the fuck are you?!” I blinked several times trying to feign my shock at such a ridiculous question.

“Why, I believe I’m your toy aren’t I? Isn’t that why I am here? For you to come play with me?”

“You’re not her...” Hahaha. Oh. Poor baby. Seems he can’t take when the shoe’s on the other foot. Too bad, you wanted to play, gorgeous, and I’m in the mood to play tonight. The predatory smile the spreads across my face makes him recoil a moment and that was definitely not the right thing to do. I don’t like that game. Not one bit.

“You dare recoil from me!?” I grip him by the collar taking him completely by surprise before kicking his legs out and dropping him to the floor. I laugh evilly as I crawl atop him. Straddling him I bring my face dangerously close to his, our noses practically touching. 

“What’s the matter handsome? Too much woman for you?”

“Fuck you! You have no idea who I am!”

“No? On the contrary, I know exactly who you are Saeran.”

“I didn’t give you permission to say my name!”

“Well that’s perfect seeing as I don’t need your permission doll.”

“You! Y-Your an idiot! A moron! Do you honestly think you can stop me?!”

“Hmm.....yes.” I smile confidently before kissing the tip of his nose. 

“I’ll kill you!”

“Oh please say you’ll try! I LOVE that game! I must warn you however, I am VERY good at it.”

“You’re fucking crazy!”

“Aww....too bad. Not very bright. That’s alright, I can work with this.”

“How dare you touch me!”

“Touch you? Hahahaha! Oh dear boy, I am going to do so much more than touch you...”

“What?”

“You heard me. You promised to play with me and I came all the way here to play.”

“You...you’re not her!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I offer with a perverse smile making his body go rigid beneath me. He could easily throw me off if he was so inclined, however, I think he’s enjoying the fact that he’s finally met his match. Figures. All men are pigs.

“You’ll pay for this!”

“You promise? Finally we’re starting to get on the same page. Tonight however is about what I want. See, you already came by and got what you wanted earlier. It’s only fair to you know....return the favor.”

“You...you’re insane.”

“You finally get it. Guess there’s hope for you yet. So....are you ready to play with the crazy girl? I warn you, I like to play realllllly rough you little pervert.”

“Fuck you!”

“Tempting, but not yet. You owe me first remember? You fucked my mouth, it’s only fair I fuck yours.

“W-What?”

“What’s the matter? Never eaten pussy before? It’s not hard, just use your tongue.” There it is. That’s the expression I fucking live for. Walking that tightrope of desire and terror. You got in way over your head little boy. 

“So how do you want to do it? Willingly and I show mercy or...” I reach over and grab a thick shard of glass.

“Hahahaha! You wanna kill me? Go ahead!”

“Haha no stupid, this isn’t for you. It’s for me.”

“You’re offering to kill yourself? You really are an idiot.”

“Slow on the uptake. Not kill, no. Cut up into a disgusting bloody mess? Oh yes please. I’m sure your savior will love how Saeran disobeyed her orders and went completely psycho. Oh my....you might need another...treatment.” The color drains from his face as his pupils expand a moment before narrowing back in on me. He bursts into maniacal laughter a few moments before gripping my thighs firmly and sitting up abruptly. 

“You’re a crazy cunt you know that?” A sexy smirk greets me before his tongue licks across my lips. 

“I’ll eat your pussy, if you can make me.”

“Heh. Challenge accepted.” We tumble around on the floor fighting for dominance and I eventually end up beneath him. He bursts into laughter.

“Yeah....that’s what I thought. You’ve got a big mouth. Guess you didn’t learn your lesson from earlier. Shall we review?” Oh you poor child. You really are too wild and undisciplined for your own good. 

*CLACK* 

The entire course of the evening shifts from one simple move. He looks at me like a deer in headlights frozen in sheer disbelief.

“Who...where....?”

“Oh don’t think too hard, you might hurt yourself. I always keep handcuffs on me. It’s not my fault that sweet young man never bothered checking the contents of my purse when I first arrived.”

“Release me, now.”

“Hmm......no.”

“RELEASE ME!”

“I believe I said...no.”

“SOMEONE, ANYONE, YOU OUT THERE! GET IN HERE AND HELP!”

“Hahaha! Awww, it’s okay. Don’t be afraid. Though I should tell you, I may have bribed the believers to give us some...privacy.”

“You crazy psycho bitch! Let me out of this now! NO ONE TIES ME TO A BED! NO ONE!!!!!!”

“You want out? Let yourself out.” I hold a small silver key in front of his eyes and he stills a moment looking at it desperately.

“G-Give it to me!”

“Come get it.” With a smug grin I hike up my skirt and spread my legs wide for him to see before placing the key deep inside me. 

“Well? How badly do you wish to be free? If you even think of using your free hand, the deals off the table.” His beautiful eyes are wild, his breathing erratic. He pushes me down and without a word wildly assaults my sex with his mouth.

“F-Fuck! Oh god yes......” The sensation of his slippery muscle swirling around my wetness has me writhing on my back. He kisses, sucks and licks at the tiny bundle of nerves causing my thighs to squeeze the sides of his head. Draping my one leg over his shoulder he fucks me with his tongue, my fingers digging into the plush carpet on the floor. 

“Nmmm.....yeah.....your mouth feels so good.” What happens next is executed so quickly and with such precision I’m actually surprised and nothing fucking surprises me anymore. His tongue claims the key, he unlocks the cuffs and throws them then straddles me holding both of my wrists to the floor above my head.

“Good game Princess. Looks like I won though.”

“Oh no, are you gonna hurt me now?”

“You’d fucking love that wouldn’t you?”

“From you? God yes....you make me so wet it’s practically unbearable.” His mouth greedily claims mine. A violent and desperate kiss from both sides. A clashing of tongues and teeth fighting for dominance. 

“Good, ‘cause I’m gonna fuck you till you can’t walk right.” Mmm...that’s more like it. That’s exactly the kind of fun I had in mind.

“You’re not gonna hurt me Daddy are you?” He flips me onto my stomach and a moment later slams into me. Not that I needed a warning, I’ve been ready for his cock since he walked through the door. 

“Yeah little girl, I’m going to fucking wreck you.”  

[miitgaanar]

@editoress asked:​ Bucky/Sigyn with "It's you."

thank you for giving me a reason to write for this stupid ship

***

The camp was swarming with activity.  A constant flow of jeeps and deuce and a halfs brought whatever supplies could be spared from ships off the coast, infantrymen offered up their meager stockpile of bandages and morphine from their own kits, and even members of the brass cleared out of their tents so they could be put to better use as much needed triage centers, choosing instead to plan their next move atop idle tanks and empty wooden crates.

The 107th, the infantry regiment assumed long dead and out of reach, had been rescued, brought back from behind enemy lines and to their grieving brothers in arms.

It was nothing short of a miracle.  Hundreds of men had been written off, assumed killed in action or a lost cause behind an electrified Nazi prison fence.  The letters had already been typed, filled with platitudes and assurances that their sons had died heroes, that their sacrifices were worth something, that their service to their country was something that could never be repaid.  They had been due to be posted within the next few days, sent off to families that prayed day in and day out for the safe return of their fathers, sons, and husbands, families that would likely have no body to bury, no grave to properly mourn.

But these letters now all sat scattered across the wet, muddy ground, soaked through and forgotten in the haste to get the camp ready for whatever aid the freed POWs would need.

In the face of this unbelievable good fortune, it wasn’t the tearful greetings that made Sigyn pause in her tracks on her way to collect a newly arrived crate of bandages, nor the celebratory cheers as the survivors regaled their friends with the tale of their harrowing escape.

It was a single soldier, dressed in a tattered, dirty uniform laying across an abandoned crate of ammo outside a newly commandeered hospital tent, his eyes closed with his rifle still clutched in his bloodied hands.  His face was smeared with dirt and his hair a matted, tangled mess, but it was him.  That same sharp jawline, those same full lips.  

“If one more person tries to poke and prod at me,” he grumbled, not even bothering to open his eyes. “I will take the barrel of this rifle and shove it up their ass.”

Sigyn’s heart skipped a beat as she struggled to hold back a near hysterical bark of laughter.  That smooth baritone, though gruff with the strain of overuse, was undoubtedly the voice of James Buchanan Barnes.  It was him.  It was really him.  He was safe.  He was here.

Clearing her throat, she tried her best to keep her voice even and steady, although her eyes blurred with tears she had long since thought ran dry.  “Quite a mouth you’ve got on you, soldier boy.  And here I thought I was dealing with a gentlemen.”

His eyes snapped open, a bright shade of blue she had thought she would never see again, and flicked toward her.  His eyebrows drew together in confusion at first, a deep crease forming along his brow that only accentuated the dirt coating his skin.

“Syl?” he murmured, as if still not quite sure.  He studied her for a long moment, his lips slightly parted, his gaze heavy and intent as he stared at her, but realization eventually dawned, like the slow rise of the sun over the horizon after a long, moonless night.  He sat up with a start, his gun falling into the mud with an unceremonious plop.  “It’s you.  It’s really you.”

She allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of her mouth, afraid that any more than that would cause an onslaught of emotions she wasn’t entirely ready to deal with.  “A little slow on the uptake, aren’t you, Sergeant Barnes?”

James pushed himself to his feet, slipping slightly on the sodden ground before he regained his balance, a small smile of his own lighting up his face.  “Well, ma’am, you’ll have to forgive me, I wasn’t sure if I was just having another dream about my girl back home.”

A laugh that was little more than a strangled sob bubbled up from her chest, those tears dangerously close to spilling over.  “Is that so?”

“Yeah.”  He took a step toward her, slow and deliberate, as if he feared that one wrong move would cause her to disappear in a puff of smoke.  “But I should have known better than to think she would actually sit back and wait for me to come home.”

“She sounds like an utter fool.”  Sigyn trembled with the effort to keep her sobs at bay, her hands fisted tightly at her sides.

“Maybe.”  James took another step, his hands sliding into the pockets of his stained, dirty pants, the olive drab looking far more brown than it probably should.  “But, then again, I probably wouldn’t be standing in front of her right now if she were anything less.”

She should have laughed.  That was what she had wanted, what she had meant to do, but it was an ugly, gasping sob that fell from her lips instead as that dam finally collapsed, unleashing a torrent of emotion she never could have prepared herself for, even in all the centuries she had lived.  She closed the distance between them in three long strides, throwing her arms around his neck in what was probably a crushing embrace as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, those tears at last falling with abandon.

He said nothing, merely wrapped his arms around her, clutching at her desperately, as if he still feared that she would slip right through his fingers and vanish into the gray, morning sky should he loosen his grip even a fraction.  He buried his face in her dark hair, slowly rocking them back and forth as a few quiet sobs of his own caused his shoulders to shake beneath her fingers.

[nominalbutler]

Thank you for the request! @azuresins

This is our first prompt request, and we hope you guys like it! This one was a lot of fun to do. Remember you can find all of our one-shots for these prompts with the tag “nominalhoplite prompts.” The next one will be posted to @chromehoplite ‘s account, so be on the lookout for that! We will post AO3 links as they become available. Enjoy!

Judging from the sky, it was about two in the afternoon, the low-hanging sun intensifying the smell of death and putrefaction that had hung in the air ever since the outbreak. Thankfully, the band of misfit survivors went unaccosted during their foraging mission. Though they returned to their base empty-handed, each breathed a sigh of relief that none of those things had crossed their path -- gray flesh peeling from their faces and limbs, muscles decaying, eyes cloudy white like spoiled milk as they shuffled towards Ciel Phantomhive and his party.

They had set up their temporary base in an abandoned office building that offered them elevated, unobstructed views of the surrounding terrain. Ciel, who was in the lead, halted the party just inside the perimeter of the parking lot when he noticed movement, a shadow in one of the upper windows.

“Don't,” he instructed, seeing Mey-Rin raise her rifle in anticipation. “Save your ammo,” he told her. “We can approach from all sides and take it down without wasting a valuable bullet.”

The crew moved into position with practiced synchronicity, everyone counting in their heads and waiting for the right moment to storm the upper floor. Ciel, born leader he was, took the first step into the room where the shadow had been seen, his shotgun with the sawed-off barrel held up in defense. Immediately, he realized their intruder was alive and well, a human just like him, and they were currently rifling through the file cabinets where Ciel had stored some of the team’s provisions, siphoning boxes of crackers and canned fruit into a knapsack of their own.

“Well,” Ciel whistled, cocking the shotgun for show, “lucky for you, you're no zombie, but I don't take too kindly to thieves now either. So I'd stop right there if I were you.”

Sebastian dropped the saltines next to his makeshift weapon, eying the baseball bat littered with nails at its far end with a certain amount of disdain. A melee with a mindless mini-horde, no problem, he was quick and lethal with the kind of brute strength that came with years of fighting fires; but he was no match for a human hiding behind a gun.

He’d studied the trio for a week now, holed up in and around the water tower less than half a mile away, keeping track of their schedule, planning to ransack their refuge. They shouldn’t have come back so soon, his watch told him so -- in fact they were two hours early. It didn’t matter now. Slowly, and still not facing the one who’d caught him red handed, he moved the bandana that sat over the bridge of his nose to hang loosely around his neck and brought his hands up shoulder height as he rose to his feet.  

“Don’t shoot,” Sebastian said, finally turning around, a smug little smile plastered to his face. He cleared his throat -- his voice had grown gruff from disuse, and his speech sounded more like a bear's growl than his normal baritone. “I’m not a thief. I’m just very good at acquiring things that aren’t mine.”

“Don't worry. Thief or not, you're not worth the bullet,” Ciel sneered, uncocking his weapon and dropping it to his side. It was mostly true. Ciel didn't really want to shoot him; it would pain him too much watch the life drain from such a pretty face. This man was the most beautiful thing he had seen in months, but if he tried anything, like rushing at Ciel with that gnarly baseball bat, he wouldn't think twice about putting him down.

Hesitantly, Sebastian lowered his hands and his eyes darted to the box of saltines by his weapon and back up the handsome face before him. This man, whom he had taken to be the leader, was by far more attractive in person than when viewed with a pair of binoculars. And while he’d broken into the office out of hunger for sustenance, he we struck with an insatiable craving for flesh that differed from that of the undead that roamed outside. The taste of salt was in his mouth as he considered the crackers again, but it was taking in the sight of the other man’s body that had saliva pooling along his tongue. He swallowed twice, then licked his lips, and hoping to kill two birds with one stone, offered: “What do I have to do to walk out of here with those crackers?”  

Taking note of the way the stranger ran his tongue nervously over his lips, Ciel cracked a little smile and answered, “Depends. Lemme see how wide you can open your mouth.”

A toothy grin spread across Sebastian’s sensual full mouth and his eyes lit up. With Ciel playing along coyly, he felt like finally something was going right in the world. He conceded to the leader’s request, opening his mouth and stretching his jaw, jamming his tongue just behind his front teeth. After five seconds, he closed it again and gave Ciel and his followers a knowing look. “So… Are we going to do this in front of them? Not that I mind or anything… but I’m giving you fair warning, I’m a little out of practice.”

“Oh, don't worry about that,” Ciel laughed, observing the mischievous gleam in Sebastian’s eye. “They don't mind. You see, we’re hard-pressed for entertainment these days,” he explained vaguely. Trusting Mey-Rin to cover him, Ciel stooped down right before the intruder and retrieved the sleeve of crackers he had dropped. “You can take the saltines,” he said, “if you can eat six of them in a minute.”

“I'll tell you what, short stack,” Sebastian said pointedly after the other male clearly misunderstood what he’d meant, “if I eat more than you can in a minute, I get to leave with my knapsack and everything that’s inside.” He held his hand out, in what he thought was the universal sign for let’s make a deal, but with the way this kid was so slow on the uptake, he couldn't be sure Ciel would actually catch on. In case he didn't, Sebastian turned towards the sword-wielding blonde and smiled at her roguishly, “What do you say miss? Wouldn't it be more entertaining if your little leader got in on some action?”

The young woman rolled her eyes and gave Sebastian a bemused smile, like he didn't know what he was getting himself into. And maybe he didn't. Ciel rested a hand on his cocked hip and spoke in an almost dangerous tone. “Don't test me. You're in no place to be making deals.” The smug look on the man’s face was beyond irritating, and Ciel couldn’t stand to back down from his challenge. “But fine, I could use a distraction.” He popped open the white plastic package and tore it to expose the neat line of bland crackers. “If I win, you leave the crackers and your bag, and everything that's inside it.”

Sebastian gave Ciel a curt nod and pushed the hair out of his face, only for it to fall into place again. He gratefully accepted the nine or so crackers that were placed in his outstretched hand and smiled inwardly; already, his mouth was watering, both from the sight of the salt grains adorning the crackers and from not having eaten in over eighteen hours. This, he thought, was going to be a cakewalk. “Ladies, do I have your assurance that you won't be interfering?”

“Of course,” Mey-Rin said, adjusting her splintered spectacles for show. “We’re here to keep things fair -- make sure neither one of you cheats and stuffs ‘em down your pants or something.”

“Yeah, there’s much better stuff you could be putting down there,” Lizzy chuckled, giving Ciel a shove and causing him to shatter one of the crackers in his hand. He turned and funneled the crumbs into her mouth, a furious blush climbing his neck and cheeks.

“Shut up and keep count,” he growled.

Sebastian took notice of how the colour enhanced Ciel’s appearance by softening his countenance and making him seem more youthful. He winked at his adversary, deciding then and there to use his bashfulness to his advantage, then leaned back against the filing cabinet, setting the stack of crackers on the desk to his left and waited for one of the girls to give them their signal.

Once go had been uttered (by whom he couldn't tell, right now he had eyes only for the lovely flushed face before him), he stuck two crackers onto his tongue and began to languidly chew and suck the stale squares. His fingers found the topmost button on his shirt and unfastened it with ease, then went onto the next and the next, each time revealing more of the hard planes of his well-defined torso. By the time he reached just below his belly button, he added another cracker and continued, eyes boring into Ciel’s with a wicked glint.

More than once, Ciel nearly choked on his crackers while watching the stranger undress. Chewing on the tacky mass in his mouth gave him something else to focus on besides the warm ache in his cargo pants, but that did not make it any easier to swallow down. A lump formed in his throat as a neat trail of dark hair appeared just below the man's navel, and Ciel sputtered on his sixth cracker. How long could a minute be?

Shirt shrugged off and left in a crumpled heap on the dirty linoleum, Sebastian added another two crackers in his mouth. He knew he was trailing behind Ciel, but he could hardly care at this point; the blue-eyed leader’s ogling was reward enough. He wiped the crumbs at his fingertips on his taut belly then fingered the waist of low-riding jeans. He made work of the persistent button and zipper and shook out of his jeans, letting them pool around his boots.  

A distinct ridge in his underwear gave evidence of his growing interest, which was slowly winning out over his common sense. Entertainment versus sustenance; but with the blandness of the crackers and how his mouth felt like he was churning plaster and water, did he really want to win more of this stuff? He crammed another three crackers just to try to keep up, and his right eye twitched as his mouth went bone dry.

“Time! No more gentlemen,” the blonde cheered. “Mey, how many did our handsome visitor get?”

“I don't know how many to count,” Mey-Rin replied, “‘cause he shoved a few in there at the last second but I know he didn't eat them. Without those, he'd be at six.”

“Well shit. Ciel’s at six, too,” Lizzy announced over Ciel’s triumphant hacking and spewing. “How do we handle that?”

No hunger or thirst was worth the continued effort of masticating the mushy, half-viscous, half-gluey lump that stuck to the roof of his mouth as much as it coated his tongue.  Sebastian leaned over as discreetly as possible towards the small garbage bin and spit out what was left, trying to summon the will to swallow the remnants. “Fuck. Those are no prize, you can keep them. I guess I’ll be taking my leave then,” he said, smirking at the leader as he bent to pull up his jeans. “You know, Ciel, as far as first dates go, this wasn't the worst one I've had.”

Ciel had to chew a few more times before he was even able to consider swallowing the sticky sludge that plastered the interior of his mouth. With a cough, a hack, a heaving breath, he got it down, and then cleared his throat and looked at the stranger, whose name he was now desperate to know. “No, definitely not the worst,” he agreed. “But after all that, you’re just gonna spit it out?” Ciel feigned shock, hand to his heart. “That's a shame. I pegged you as a swallower. I would offer you something to wash it down with, but you'd probably waste that too...”

Ciel stopped the man as he made his way past the leader and his cohorts, hand wrapped tightly around his bicep. Ciel was immediately impressed with the toned muscle he pressed his fingers into, and considered how advantageous it would be to have such a nice pair of arms in their party. Instead of extending an invitation, Ciel snatched the backpack and looked inside.

Canned fruit, peanut butter crackers, squares of baking chocolate, a box of bandages, and the single warm cream soda that had been pilfered from their supplies were all shoved down into the bottom of the bag, haphazardly hidden under a gray long sleeve shirt that didn’t look like it could fit around the man’s muscular arms. Ciel shook his head in admonition as he removed one item after another and stacked it on the desk beside him. After a moment, he picked the package of softened milk chocolate up and dropped it back into the bag before handing it over to its owner.

“Here,” he said smugly, “something sweet to remember me by. Next time we meet, you’ll owe me one.”

[jbankai89]

Kittens and Kings [4/5]

Chapter Four – Neko

When Yuri woke the following morning, it was in a warm embrace that made him feel slightly giddy and comforted all at once.

JJ's post-sex cuddling was as intense as everything else about him. Where Otabek would hold onto him tenderly, like he was made of glass, JJ clung to him like he was determined that Yuri would not be able to escape his clutches.

Not that he'd want to, but it was certainly a switch from what he was used to.

The only downside to this was that Yuri really had to pee, but JJ was just not letting him get up.

“JJ,” Yuri hissed when he'd tried to get up for the third time, and JJ had shifted to compensate, making it feel more like he was in bed with a grabby octopus instead of a human. “JJ, wake up.”

“Sleepy...”

“Wake up, asshole, or I swear I will pee all over you.”

“What?” JJ asked as his grip slackened a little, and his head lifted off the pillow as he gazed blearily at Yuri. Yuri did not wait to explain, but instead took advantage of the gentler grip as he wormed out of JJ's arms and ran to the bathroom.

When Yuri got back, his bladder blessedly empty, JJ was stretched out in bed, one arm under his head as he grinned at Yuri.

“Sorry about that, Kitten, I had no idea I was on my way to giving you a UTI.”

“You're like a limpet in sleep, has anyone ever told you that?” Yuri groused as he got back into bed, tugging the blankets across his hips, while JJ reached out to urge him closer.

“How am I like a limpet?”

“You cling to things and don't let go.”

“What can I say?” JJ purred as he leant in for a light kiss. “I see what I want, and I grab hold of it, damn the consequences.”

“That part I know,” Yuri replied with a humourless smile. “That's sort of how we got into this mess.”

“Well it didn't turn out all bad, did it?”

“Not really, no, but...”

“But you still feel guilty?” JJ asked, and Yuri nodded a little, his mouth twisted into a grimace.

“Otabek's still tagging me in the occasional nasty tweet, but now that he's not shitfaced it's more passive-aggressive.”

“That sounds more like him,” JJ remarked as he coaxed Yuri to lie down, and JJ immediately spooned around him. “He's never been all that...vocal.”

“Yeah, I just...I didn't mean to hurt him...he's usually a good man, right now he's just hurting.”

“Usually being the key word,” JJ replied with a sour note to his voice. “He can't switch on and off, that's not how people work.”

“He was never like this before,” Yuri mumbled sadly, “it was my...our stupid affair that made him like this.”

“No one made him turn into a Grade-A douchebag,” JJ replied simply, “that was all him.”

“But—”

“—no,” JJ interrupted sternly. “Don't go blaming yourself for his shitty attitude. He decided to flip out on you over this, and there are a million ways he could've reacted, but he chose to get royally pissed and kick you out. None of that is your fault.”

“It feels like my fault...”

“What will make it not feel like your fault?” JJ asked while he leant in to nibble at Yuri's ear, which caused him to squirm and rotate his shoulders at the tickling sensation.

“I don't know...a lobotomy?”

“What about brunch?” JJ asked, “Crêpes with whipped cream and strawberries and more coffee than you can drink, or omelettes and orange slices, or eggs and toast and sausage...”

“Are you hinting that you want to go out for brunch?” Yuri asked dryly, and JJ grinned.

“See? You're already reading my mind, Kitten. We were made for each other.”

~*~

After getting dressed and layering on their jackets, scarves, and boots, JJ slung an arm over Yuri's shoulders as he escorted him to the elevator and down to the subterranean garage. Not one but three spots were reserved for JJ, in which there was a black mustang, a red corvette, and a shiny black motorcycle. The latter made Yuri's stomach twinge with regret, but thankfully JJ was not stupid enough to ride a motorcycle around in the dead of winter, and chose the corvette.

“It's the only one with winter tires,” JJ explained after he got in and fished out his keys. “I never got around to doing to mustang.”

“This is fine,” Yuri replied, “I normally bussed everywhere, I never got around to getting my license...”

“It's expensive as hell out here, so probably better that you didn't,” JJ replied with a short laugh as he backed out of the spot while Yuri fiddled with the radio, eventually settling on a station that claimed to be oldies rock, but played stuff from the late nineties and early two thousands like The Killers, Green Day, and Avenged Sevenfold.

They didn't go far, and after a ten-minute drive they pulled into a diner called Chez Cora. The 'o' in Cora had been replaced by a rising sun, and the parking lot was packed with cars.

“Saturday morning,” JJ said with a wince, “I hope we don't have to wait...”

“We could always go somewhere else...”

“No,” JJ interrupted stubbornly, “it's in the rulebook, Chez Cora is the only brunch place worth going to. If you suggest we go to McDonalds, I will divorce you.”

“We're not married, you moron,” Yuri replied with a snort of laughter, which JJ answered to with another one of his obnoxious 'winning' smiles.

“Come on, even if we have to wait, it's so worth it.”

JJ promptly dragged Yuri from the vehicle, pausing just long enough to lock it before he threw his arm over Yuri's shoulders again and led him towards the restaurant. Despite JJ's stubborn insistence, Yuri was somewhat inclined to agree with him. He'd been to Chez Cora once or twice with Viktor and his Katsudon, and the food was always good, if a little blandly Canadien.

Yuri followed JJ inside, where he jabbered animatedly with the hostess in French, and she plucked two plastic-encased menus off her stand as she chatted with him.

“See?” JJ purred in Yuri's ear, switching to English as the hostess turned and led them away. “JJ charm is all we need to snag a table.”

Yuri snorted derisively, but at the same time put an arm at JJ's back, leaning into his embrace.

“It's amazing to me how humble you are,” Yuri replied dryly, and JJ chuckled. They wove through the restaurant, teeming with families, couples, and groups of friends all enjoying weekend brunch, and distantly, he heard the smash of some kind of glass or ceramic hit the floor—a kid—presumably.

After they were seated they were brought a French Press of coffee and two mugs, along with a tiny basket of plastic creams and packets of sugar and splenda. Both Yuri and JJ ignored the dairy and sugar products as they poured their coffee black.

“This is...loud,” Yuri remarked, and JJ chuckled.

“Popular place, Kitten, of course it's loud.”

Yuri kicked JJ under the table at the nickname, but it was halfhearted, and the small smile on his face never wavered. The Canadien ignored him as he buried his nose in the plasticized menu and sipped the hot coffee. Yuri mirrored him, just as a waitress sidled up to their table to take their orders. JJ asked for some sort of crêpe monstrosity that was more dessert than breakfast, and Yuri asked for the Cabane special—a Québecois symphony of meat products and beans, with toast. The waitress noted it down and took back their menus, and at the same moment Yuri felt a foot hook around his ankle as JJ smiled warmly at him.

“See this is so nice. Just you, and me, and brunch,” JJ said, his voice once more dropping to that warm, decidedly un-JJ tone of voice that he seemed to reserve only for Yuri. Yuri felt a flush creep up his neck at the words, and hid behind his mug in an effort to conceal his embarrassment, because despite all the other shit going on, JJ was right—it was nice.

“What are you enjoying more,” Yuri asked as he reached for one of the complimentary packets of jam, and fiddled with it absentmindedly, “the brunch or me?”

“Oh the brunch, definitely,” JJ teased, offering Yuri another grin before he picked his coffee back up and sipped it. “I can eat brunch in public, you, I have to wait til we get home.”

“I dimly recall a few public blow jobs...” Yuri replied with a small smirk, and JJ snorted.

“Yeah, well...” JJ trailed off, and Yuri's smirk widened as he registered what he was seeing—JJ was blushing.

Yuri logged that bit of information away for later use just as their platters of food arrived, and the pair dug in.

Yuri genuinely had no idea what everyone thought was so great about this place, but he thought better than to voice it as he broke the pastry of his miniature tourtière and the sweet scent of spiced meat hit his nose. The food was okay, all things considered, but boring. And yet, the place was overloaded with customers. JJ himself seemed to be enjoying his crêpe monstrosity that seemed to be more whipped cream than anything else, so much so that he seemed more keen to eat than engage Yuri in conversation.

“God, I'm being a terrible date, stuffing my face and not talking to you,” JJ said suddenly, as though he'd read Yuri's mind. “Want to try a bit?”

Yuri glanced up from his own meal to see JJ holding out a forkful of crêpe, strawberry, and whipped cream. He wasn't much for sweets in the morning, but the hopeful and endearing look in JJ's eyes was impossible to say no to, and instead Yuri offered up a small shrug.

“Sure, why not,” he said as he opened his mouth to accept the bite.

And, of course, that happened to be same moment that Yuuri Cockblock Katsuki had to intrude on their meal.

“Oh. My. God. Yurio? Is that you?”

A string of choice Russian expletives slipped from Yuri's mouth after he'd swallowed the forkful, and he turned to see Yuuri with Viktor in tow, both of them staring at Yuri and JJ like one might regard an alien from outer space.

“What?” Yuri asked, his voice a little thick from the cream clinging to the inside of his mouth, while JJ busied himself with his coffee and miraculously, did not say a word.

“Who the hell else would it be?”

“But why are you here with JJ?” Yuuri asked, while behind him Viktor pressed his lips together to hide a smile. Clearly, Katsudon was still a bit slow on the uptake.

“We're going tenpin bowling,” Yuri replied sarcastically, and JJ snorted. “What do you think?”

“It's our first real date,” JJ offered, and Yuri kicked him under the table.

“Date?” Yuuri sputtered, his eyes almost comically wide. “Date?”

“That's what he said,” Yuri said, caught somewhere between embarrassment and amusement at Viktor and Yuuri's wildly different reactions.

“So you must have been who Otabek was bitching about on Twitter the other day,” Viktor said with a warm laugh. “That explains a lot.”

“So, you two...” Yuuri trailed off, the comical surprise never fading from his eyes as he glanced from Yuri to JJ and back again. He did this several times, as though his brain and eyes couldn't agree on what they were witnessing. “How long?”

“Um...” Yuri looked over to JJ, who offered him a small shrug, and went for his coffee.

“Depends on what you mean by how long,” JJ said, and Katsudon frowned disapprovingly at the response.

“I mean how long, what do you mean?”

“But do you mean how long Yuri and I have been hopelessly, madly, infatuatingly in love, or do you mean how long have we been secretly fucking?”

Yuri rolled his eyes and kicked JJ under the table again, while Yuuri flushed a deep scarlet, and Viktor seemed to be trying to keep from laughing.

“Technically, it's our first real date,” Yuri said, and JJ grinned at him. The simple explanation made Yuuri flush again. “What?”

“But...Yurio...Have you thought about Otabek at all?” Yuuri asked, “he's all alone and you're just...living it up?”

“Otabek is the one who threw me out,” Yuri replied, “he practically yanked off my ring and tossed me out onto the street, then got hammered and spread it all over Twitter. So why exactly would I think about him after all that? Yeah, JJ and I were in the wrong doing what we did—I'm not stupid, I know that—but Otabek went way too far. One tiny indiscretion turned him into a raging asshole, and that's not right, either.”

“Oh, but...” Yuuri looked from Yuri to JJ and back again, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his expression deeply troubled. Thankfully, Viktor seemed to sense that they were intruding on a private moment, and now was most certainly not the time for an intervention from the Morality Police.

“Come on, Yuuri,” Viktor said as he wrapped an arm around the other man, and spoke in a low tone that made Yuuri blush, “let's leave them to their date, and we can all talk about it later, okay?” Viktor shifted his gaze to Yuri, and offered the fellow Russian a fatherly smile, which made Yuri scowl. “Cкоро приедете на yжин?”

Yuri scowled.

“Ты не мой отец, Виктор,” Yuri replied sourly, and Viktor laughed.

“What are they saying?” JJ hissed at Yuuri in a stage whisper.

“Viktor's doing the fatherly thing again,” Yuri filled in before Yuuri could answer.

“Well your grandpa and parents are allllll the way over in Russia, it's the least I can do to show some hospitality to your new boyfriend!” Viktor said as he fingered a wave at Yuri. “Think about it, Yurio, we'd be happy to have you over.”

Without another word, Viktor wrapped an arm around Yuuri's shoulders and led him away.

“I'm suddenly feeling like I never got the full Viktor and Yuuri experience before just now,” JJ remarked as he dug back into the remnants of his brunch, spearing a glazed strawberry and holding it up at eye level. “Are they always like that?”

“If you mean, are they always acting like my fathers, then unfortunately, yes,” Yuri replied grumpily. “I'm not that much younger than them, but they still insist on treating me like I'm ten. It's so stupid.”

“I dunno, you get this...patchy blush thing then you get really mad, it's adorable,” JJ teased, and began to laugh when Yuri glared at him.

~*~

After brunch, Yuri was far too full to even suggest something ridiculous like going to practice, and instead JJ dragged Yuri back to his condo for mint tea (which he claimed would help them feel less full) and he learned something about JJ that he did not expect.

The man was a total weeb.

“Look, JJ, I don't care if you insist on making me watch this shit, but can you please make it something other than this Magical Girl stuff? Nobody loves Cardcaptor Sakura this much.”

“Yuri, you're so mean!” JJ cried from the floor where he was sifting through a stack of Blu-ray discs. “Everyone loves Cardcaptor Sakura!”

“I bet you're the president of the Cardcaptor Sakura Fan Club too,” Yuri mumbled, and JJ laughed.

“Co-founder. Too busy being the president of the King JJ Fan Club to devote all my time to Sakura.”

“JJ Girls are so annoying, Yuri Angels are way better,” Yuri replied on reflex, and JJ laughed out loud.

“You're adorable when you're all defensive of your rabid fans, Kitten,” JJ teased as he finally settled on a disc and popped it in. Thankfully, it turned out to be Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children instead of more Cardcaptor Sakura. JJ got off the floor and snuggled up to Yuri on the sofa, dragging him close as he draped the woven blanket over them, and Potya curled up at the opposite end near their feet.

Outside, large puffy snowflakes fluttered past the window as Yuri curled up with JJ. Normally, movie nights (or afternoons, in this case) Yuri found painfully boring; he had always enjoyed spending time with Otabek (prior to his wild attitude switch) but he always got antsy when they did anything low-key, like an evening of movies or board games.

With JJ, Yuri was amazed by how much he liked it. He felt none of the old lack of attention span resurfacing, only a strange sense of peace.

Maybe this is a sign that Otabek and I really weren't meant to be, and JJ is...the one?

Yuri felt himself blush a deep scarlet, and grabbed the mug of herbal tea to hide the reaction. When had he gotten so cheesy?

“Oh, this is my favourite part!”

JJ's voice drew Yuri out of his musings, and he watched as the older man, childlike, grinned wildly and pointed at the screen. This time, Yuri didn't have a caustic or sarcastic remark for him, but instead smiled indulgently as he snuggled into JJ's side and turned his attention to the movie.

A/N: “Cкоро приедете на yжин?”(Skoro priyedete na uzhin?) - “Come for dinner soon?”/“Ты не мой отец, Виктор,” (Ty ne moy otets, Viktor) - “You're not my father, Viktor.” This is according to Google Translate, and I didn't have time to have it double-checked, so if the grammar is off, please let me know so I can fix it! :)

If you like my work, please consider throwing a few bucks into my Digital Tip Jar. I am a starving artist, and I like not actually starving to death :P

K&K Masterpost

[ellawritesficssometimes]

Just a Tat Too Much (FrUK One-Shot)

Summary: FrUK ONE-SHOT- Arthur runs a tattoo parlour, one that he's very proud of. If only he didn't have to be outshined by a flamboyant, over-the-top flower shop across the street. Don't even get him started on the insufferable git who runs said shop. (Punk! Arthur). Fic Exchange with browsofglory :)))

Word Count: 6214

Let me enlighten you with a tale of just how shitty and ironic my life is. My college years had brought me unprecedented wonders; I excelled as one as the top students in my business school. Unfortunately, this endeavor had also entailed the acquirement of a rival, Francis.

Francis was a stuck-up Frenchman who I could only handle in small doses before having to suppress the urge to throttle him. He was arrogant, nosy, and knew just how to get under my nerves. He was bright and lively in both appearance and personality, whereas I preferred to wear dark colors and drink bitter tea to match my cold, 'soulless' heart. We were like day and night, if you want to get figurative with the descriptions.

For some reason, Francis found our differences to be part of some bigger picture. A picture where we would someday be lovers. I humored Francis in our final year of college, teasing him on occasion, but never really taking him seriously. In all honesty, I thought that I would never see him again after we had graduated.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

I branched off to open and run a brand-new tattoo parlour of my own. All was swell and business was booming until a certain effeminate fiend from the past conveniently decided to open a flower and chocolates shop across the street from me. For those of you who are slow on the uptake, that effeminate fiend was none other than Francis. He followed me everywhere in college, so it was really quite foolish to have believed that he wouldn't have done the same in the workplace.

My shop looked utterly ridiculous next to his. Where my parlour was dark, gothic and, full of blacks and shades of crimson, Francis's shop was a hue of rosy reds and pinks, smiles, and sunshine. The folks leaving his shop would gawk at my parlour in horror – admittedly, this was one of the most amusing parts of the job – taking in the skulls, crosses, bones, and demon decorative designs as if they just seen the gates of hell.

Nothing felt better to me than watching 'ordinary' people get flustered over my shop and those who worked in it. So what if we had more piercings, scars, and ink on our bodies? I've often been mistaken for a demon or Satanist, as absurd as that may seem. Perhaps the pentagram designs on my arms didn't help with that impression, but what can I say?

I didn't give a rat's arse about what people thought of me. I owned my business, and I would conduct it however I pleased to. I didn't have to worry about 'being unemployable' because of my tattoos; my work life revolved around them. The only people to please were my customers; certainly not a snide Frenchman who thought that he could woo me over to the 'vibrant side of life'.

I had taken the early morning shift today, which meant that I wouldn't be dealing with too many customers. Most people came to the parlour at night, especially when they were drunk. Who was I to refuse service? Money was money, and even if the tattoo a customer had chosen was ghastly and horrid, as long as they signed the release forms, my workers would happily adorn them with their mid-life existential crisis tramp-stamp. We did offer tattoo removal services, after all. One drunken mistake could easily be rectified with a fat wad of cash!

Oh, don't give me that pissy look. Yes, yes, I recognize that I'm a complete asshole. Get over it, darling. It's a brutal world out there. A gentleman's got to survive somehow.

Currently, I was sprawled over the glass front counter, face cupped by both hands. I began to bite off the black nail polish from my nails, knowing that I had a long day ahead of me. I looked outside the window, spotting a little girl peering inside my shop. I shed her with a cryptic grin, revealing the fake pair of fangs that my co-worker Vlad had insisted that we all wear. Apparently, it added to the 'aesthetic' of the parlour.

The little girl licked her strawberry ice cream cone, green eyes wide with curiosity. Curiosity quickly became terror when she spotted me grinning at her. "Hullo, dear," I mouthed, running my tongue over my lips.

"Big bruder!" the little girl gasped, dropping her ice cream cone on the pavement, the ribbon in her hair flying behind her as she ran away in the opposite direction. "There's a mean monster who wants to eat me!"

I chuckled to myself. "Monster, huh?" I mused. "Well, that's certainly a new one."

Pleased with causing childhood traumatization so early in the day, I went back to lounging lazily on the front counter. Usually by now Francis would have visited to tease and/or flirt with me. Just what was he up to today? Oh well, can't say that I cared all that much.

BRING!

I looked up, expecting to see said Frenchman, only to scowl when I realized that it was my half-brother, Alfred. The oaf looked absolutely miserable. His wheat-blond hair was sticking up more than usual, his blue eyes puffy and wide with fear. He reminded me of a cornered animal who had nowhere to go…the defeated expression on his face was concerning.

He was wearing a Hawaiian print blouse that was tucked into a hideous pair of quesadilla print leggings. Yes, you heard me correctly, leggings. The guzzler hat that he wore on his head made me roll my eyes so far back that I was nearly blinded.

The twat had gotten black-out drunk again.

"Artie! Artie!" Alfred wailed, running towards me, figurative tail hanging between his legs. "I fucked up, man! So bad! So fucking bad!"

I jumped a little when Alfred slammed his massive hands on the counter.

"Get your filthy hands off the glass!" I snapped. "I just cleaned it this morning. And you know how I don't like talking to people until I've had at least three cups of tea in me!"

Alfred gave me an incredulous look. "Dude! I know you have no soul, but could you at least pretend to be concerned for your little brother?!"

"Oh?" I hummed, crossing my arms. "And why should I be concerned? What could you have possibly done that's bad enough for you to abandon your pride and come crawling to me for advice?"

Alfred whimpered, looking like a vulnerable five-year-old child. "Okay, first, screw you. Who shit in your morning bowl of blood of the unborn? And second, I got drunk…"

"Congratulations, twat-face," I scoffed. "I think the quesadilla-themed leggings already made that obvious enough. What are you trying to do? Protest Trump's wall by ignorantly perpetuating harmful stereotypes? Oh, and very funny."

Alfred sighed, still too intoxicated to come up with a clever rebuttal. "Look, you jackass," he scowled. "I really do need your help."

"Whatever happened to 'I'm fine, Arthur. Stop worrying. I'm not going to party in college. Stop sticking your pasty finger up my butthole?'" I smirked.

"Okay, Christ!" Alfred cussed. "Do you always have to be right?"

"I wouldn't have to be right all the time if you hadn't grown up to become such an insufferable moron," I retorted, only to falter when Alfred leveled me with an unamused glare. "All right, all right. I think you've suffered enough. What happened? What did your drunken arse decide to do last night?"

Alfred pushed himself off the counter, turning his back to me. He pulled down his pants before I even had the chance to say anything. "Just look," Alfred whined.

I covered my eyes, nearly knocking over my mug of tea. "Fucking hell, Alfred!" I snarled. "You could have at least warned me!"

Alfred stifled a sob. "Just look at it, will ya? You can lecture me later."

This job didn't pay me enough for what I was about to see, or rather un-see.

Through the spaces of my fingers, I peaked at Alfred's bum. There on his right cheek, was a palm sized tattoo of an eagle.

"Did you see it yet?" Alfred asked, no doubt on the verge of bawling his eyes out from the shame of his drunken mistake.

"Just one moment," I bit my lip, suppressing a snicker. I pulled out my phone, snapped a quick picture, and saved it to drive. "All right, I've seen enough." Hello, new Christmas cards…

Alfred pulled up his pants and turned around. It was a good thing that no people were outside to witness this potential, not to mention unwanted, flash. "So," he said, his voice jittery and nervous. "Can you fix it?"

"Fix what?" I asked, despite knowing exactly what he meant.

"You know," Alfred whispered. "Remove my tattoo…?"

"Do you have a spare three grand lying around?"

"Arthur!" Alfred shouted.

"Fine," I relented. "You can come in tomorrow at 8. Lukas will be working then. You might need several laser treatments though…"

"Why can't you do it?" Alfred blushed.

I shook my head in disbelief. "I've seen your bum enough times when I changed your diapers. You've really pushed it this morning."

Alfred sighed, bowing his head. "I wanted freedom for this country, not an invitation for guys and gals to grab my ass," he muttered.

"Please," I grinned, hoping to cheer up the poor sap. Being sad didn't suit him. "The only time your butt is ever free is when you've had an unhealthy dose of Chipotle."

Alfred laughed, only to have his stomach growl, and loudly at that.

I shook my head in disbelief, opening the cash register to pull out a twenty. "Go get yourself some breakfast," I scolded, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "Mum isn't going to be very happy if she finds out that you've been skipping out on your classes again."

Alfred's expression brightened considerably. "Does this mean you won't tell her about the tattoo?"

"Of course not! She already doesn't approve of this parlour. The last thing I need is for something to justify her prejudice."

Alfred skirted around the counter and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. "Thanks, Artie!" he exclaimed, bellowing into my ear loud enough to cause my piercings to rattle. "You're the best!"

"Sod off, and go brush your teeth!" I grunted, pushing Alfred's much taller and heavier person away. "I can still smell basic bimbo and tequila on your breath."

"HAHAHA!" Alfred cackled, blowing me a smug air kiss before opening the parlour's front door. "Nice one. And thanks a bunch. I'll remember this the next time you're looking for an excuse not to come to a family outing."

I smirked. "You know me so well."

Alfred said his goodbyes, slamming the door shut, despite how many times that I've told him not to do that.

With the parlour empty again, I took a relaxing lunch break, enjoying the silence save for the rock metal softly playing in the background.

The sound of voices outside the parlour a half hour later prompted me to eavesdrop – I looked down so that they wouldn't catch me staring. I had very little entertainment during the day. The only interaction I could count on was an infuriating visit from Francis. Uh, not that I wanted the frog to visit me…of course not!

I stand corrected. Francis's moronic friends often visited me too. Except usually they were with Francis, not alone like they were now.

"But I don't want to go in," Antonio whined. "He's rude, and I don't like him."

"Stop being such a little bitch, Toni," Gilbert deadpanned. "We're doing this for Franny. Sometimes you've got to take one for the squad. Even if it means dealing with a scary, grumpy old man hiding in a 20-something-year-old-body."

The hair on the back of my neck prickled.

Okay, ouch.

Us 'demons' had feelings too, believe it or not.

"Fine," Antonio pouted.

BRING!

Gilbert and Antonio strolled into the parlour, pathetically forcing grins on their faces.

Antonio's green eyes widened into saucers when he spotted the iron maiden prop lying on the wall to their right. His tanned cheeks flooded a faint pink as he nervously twirled the cross pendant wrapped around his neck. He was a very devoted Catholic.

Gilbert pulled up his sunglasses, nestling them in his chalk-white hair. "Arthur, mein sassy man. How goes business these days?" he asked, his crimson red eyes nervously flitting around the parlour.

"No business during the day, I'm afraid. Just nights," I mused. "Unless you two are interested in getting some tattoos?"

"Dios mio!" Antonio swore, jumping back like a spooked cat when he 'accidentally' poked and prodded at a mechanical skull prop. He hadn't been expecting it to shout: "The power of Satan tempts you!"

I pulled out a notebook, grabbed a pen, and crossed off a tally:

Antonio shits his pants for the 47th consecutive time upon touching that skull prop.

Poor bloke keeps forgetting about what it does.

While Antonio motioned the sign of the cross, Gilbert walked over to the front counter. "And what if we were interested in getting tattoos? What would you say to that?"

Gilbert leaned a friendly arm over the counter, causing me to pull back in disgust. I fancied my personal space, thank you very much. "I'd say you were lying," I answered, narrowing my eyes at the German in suspicion.

"On the contrary," Gilbert smirked. "I hardly have any brows as it is, being an albino and all. Perhaps I'm in need of something more…prominent…"

I caught Gilbert looking at my eyebrows. "Is that a crack at my eyebrows?" I leered, gritting my teeth.

"Nein, nein!" Gilbert waved his hands back and forth. "Your brows are glorious, truly," he winked.

I gave Gilbert a sour look; I didn't believe him at all.

Antonio yelped when Gilbert grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the counter. "Stick to the plan, and stop fucking around," Gilbert hissed through his teeth.

"You said we would get ice cream," Antonio whimpered, his mood reminding me of a puppy who had just been kicked in the stomach.

"Hmmph," I crossed my arms. These two were definitely up to something.

"So…" Gilbert drawled, his voice cracking awkwardly. "Those are some cool drawings you got there," he remarked, pointing behind the counter.

I glanced over my shoulder at the various drawings that were pinned up on a clothing line.

"Indeed," I hummed, winking at Antonio when I caught him childishly ogling at my gages. "Those are custom tattoos that clients draw up for us."

An awkward silence fell between the three of us.

Antonio's attention span was quick to fall elsewhere. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "That's a cool design!" He gestured towards a drawing of a crystalized rose.

Gilbert and Antonio exchanged suspicious glances.

Gilbert's cheeks spread into a shit-eating grin. "I never took you for a flower person?"

"I'm not," I huffed.

"But, you draw them on people? Surely you must like them?" Antonio asked.

"Ja, what's your favourite?" Gilbert chirped.

"I already told you, I'm not fond of flowers," I deadpanned.

Antonio pursed his lips. "How about chocolate? Your perfect idea of a date? Are you a top or bottom? Favourite sex pos-! Ay!"

Antonio yelped again when Gilbert elbowed him in the rib-cage. "Haven't you ever heard of being subtle?!" he spluttered.

"Oh, so that's what this is all about?" I rolled my eyes. "Well, you can tell that disgusting amphibian jerk friend of yours that if he truly wants to know the answers to those questions, then he can grow some balls and come here himself."

"So, you do like him!" Antonio exclaimed, beaming from cheek to cheek.

I picked up my favourite pen, which was styled as a decapitated finger. "I'm about two seconds away from shoving this down your happy-go-lucky throat," I warned. "Now, if you two imbeciles aren't here for tattoos, quit wasting my time and get the hell out!"

Antonio's eyes watered. "Okay," he sniffled.

Gilbert wrapped his arm around Antonio. "You monster!" he scolded. "You know how emotionally fragile he is. He doesn't like to be shouted at."

"Not my problem," I said, sticking up my nose.

"Lovi yells at me all the time," Antonio moped as Gilbert led him out of the parlour. "Why doesn't mi tomatito like me anymore? Am I not husband material?'"

Gilbert consolingly rubbed Antonio's arm. "Of course not. You're perfect husband material. Some people just don't appreciate how sweet and adorable you are."

I ignored Gilbert when he looked over his shoulder to glare at me.

When the front door shut, I drummed my nails against the counter, a devious smirk on my face.

I wonder what Francis would do next? After all, it was always good fun to make him flustered.

I had that pretty boy wrapped right around my finger.

…

I didn't have to wait long before Francis strolled into the parlour, his face smug with an infuriating smirk. He was wearing an open collar white blouse, loose denim capris, and his hair was kept in loose blond curls that fell to his shoulder. I felt a nerve in my temple twitch when I spotted the bouquet of roses that he had tucked under one of his hairy arms. He was like Gaston from Beauty in the Beast, save for the muscles, but was twice as grating and arrogant.

The heels of Francis's dress shoes clacked obnoxiously loud as he pranced over to the front counter. The smooth, purring tone of his voice did absolutely nothing for me. Nothing. "Would you like to explain to me why poor Antoine is sobbing? Or rather, explain to me what you did?"

My nostrils flared; the scent of Francis's rose perfume was suffocating. "He came here on his own free will. It's not my fault that he's a sensitive twit."

Francis rolled his eyes. "Oh, mon Dieu. That attitude is exactly why you're going to end up alone in life."

"The bouquet of flowers you're holding points otherwise," I huffed, lazily puffing out a few strands of fringe from my face.

Francis's expression lifted. "Does that mean you'll actually accept them this time?"

"Sure," I smirked, grabbing the bouquet of roses from him. "I'm always in need of something to burn. I can't have people finding out about the corpses we have stored in the back."

"Haha," Francis laughed dryly, placing on elbow on the counter. Shrewd blues eyes were met with an unforgiving forest of green. "Very funny. Let me guess, as soon as I leave, those will be going in the waste bin?"

"Hardly," I answered. "I forgot to get my mum something for Mother's Day. These should do just fine. Thanks, truly."

I was hoping that Francis would have given up and left by now.

But, oh no. No, no, no. Francis was just as stubborn as I was, remarkably.

Francis's eyes widened as we watched me tuck the bouquet in a cubby underneath the counter.

"You dyed your hair pink!" he blurted out.

I raised a heavy brow at him. "Why, thank you Captain Obvious. Oh, relax, it's just the tips."

"Wait!" I fumed. "Why am I telling you to relax?! It's my hair, I can do whatever the hell I want with it!"

I felt my face flush. Unfortunately, I wasn't wearing any concealer or foundation today.

Francis gasped, and in a blur of blond hair, he was suddenly behind the counter, looming over me. "Why?" he whimpered. "Why do you taint your natural beauty with these crude, unnatural colours?"

I grit my teeth. "I'll have you know that-! Oi! Geroff!"

Francis cupped my face with two warm hands, tilting it to the side as he shamelessly inspected me further. "Pink hair? Thick eyeliner? And is that a new brow piercing? Tsk! Tsk! And what is this?"

Francis used one hand to tug at the fish-net long sleeve shirt that I was wearing as a bottom layer.

I growled lowly under my breath when Francis let go of my face, instead opting to grab my right hand. "What am I, a bloody zoo animal?" I snapped. "Is it really that shocking that I have a different sense of style from you?"

Francis ignored me completely. "At least let me trim your nails. Hmmm. Or perhaps those unruly eyebrows of yours…"

"I'll h-have you know that I do in fact trim my eyebrows," I spluttered, feeling my face redden further. There was always something about Francis that caught me off guard and I hated it. I hated how warm his hands felt; how gentle his touch was; how he hummed softly under his breath when he was around me. He was a familiar face that intruded my personal space as if it were child's play.

But, for reasons inexplicable, I let him.

"All right, all right! That's enough groping out of you!" I huffed, shoving Francis's eager hands away from me.

Francis pouted, but gave me my space nonetheless by walking over to the other side of the counter, where he damn well belonged.

I sighed, knowing that he was expecting me to fill the gap in our conversation. Honestly, he could be such a child sometimes. "What did you come here for?"

Francis met my gaze, lips puckered in a stubborn grimace as he spoke. "You know why, Angleterre," he muttered. "I think we'd make a wonderful couple."

"That's why," he grinned, his expression suddenly becoming excited again. "I've come here to prove once and for all that I'm serious about you."

I bit my thumb, a nervous habit of mine. "Oh?" I asked, feeling as if I had just been winded. "And how are you going to do that?"

Damn him for making me feel this way. We've known each other for so long, and yet now he'd rendered me completely speechless. There was something about him today that was different, I could sense it. Behind the teasing look on his face, there was solid determination. And, to be perfectly honest, it frightened me terribly.

I didn't let many people this close into my life. Why Francis stuck around after all these years still boggled my mind. Being rude was a defensive mechanism. I hurt others before they could hurt me. Francis, however, was one of the few people who bit back with insults of his own. I never knew what to expect with this man. Perhaps that's why I was so afraid to let him in…

"I came here to get a tattoo!" Francis declared proudly.

I blinked several times, contemplating his words. Then, like the emotional porcupine that I was, I went on the offensive. I would call Francis out on his bluff. Surely, he didn't actually intend to get a tattoo…right?

"Oh God," I feigned shock. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Of course I am!" Francis chuckled, azure eyes burning holes into my own. "You're stubborn, and this is the only way to make you believe me."

"Fine," I relented, smirking as I bent down to grab a stack of freshly printed release forms. "What would you like? Do you have a drawing for me to imitate? Or perhaps, you'd like to pick a design from our catalogue?"

I licked my lips, waiting for Francis to cave. So far, he wasn't budging. I'd make sure to change that soon enough.

"How about I let you pick one for me?" Francis suggested, batting his lashes. "I'd like one on my forearm, just like you," he purred.

"I don't see how this is proving anything," I muttered. "Give me your arm."

Francis let me take his right arm. It took an immense effort on my part to keep my hands steady as I pushed up his sleeve.

"Pity," I remarked, running my fingers over the smooth skin of his forearm. "I can hardly imagine tainting such pearly white skin with permanent ink."

Francis wavered. "Well, as they say," he smiled weakly. "Lovers should be willing to dedicate their body and soul to their partner…"

"Did you just imply that I'm your partner?" I asked, biting the inside of my cheek. Bloody hell. The cringe was just too strong for me not to be embarrassed. How could he be so brash and open like this? If I wasn't so perturbed, I would have felt admiration for him…

"Surely, you'll have to go out with me after this, non?" Francis smiled, his eyes filled with strain.

I couldn't bear to look at him, otherwise my own bluff would be called out. Instead, I poked and prodded at his forearm with my nails, making sure to dig them in occasionally. "Those are some bold words," I smirked. "Perhaps we should match that with some even bolder tattoos. I know the perfect design for you!"

"Sign those forms, I just have to get the machine ready," I smiled, baring my fake fangs.

I plugged in the chord for the liner machine, the familiar hum of the monstrous contraption sounding like music to my ears. From the corner of my eye, I saw Francis fill out the release form, his entire body stiff and his face paler than milk.

Satisfied with his reaction, I turned around, determined to make him sissy out before it was too late. Francis was merely trying to impress me. I was going to make him crack. He cared too much about his appearance to willingly let something blemish his 'flawless' appearance. "Done already?" I asked.

Francis weakly nodded his head.

"Well then," I drawled. "Roll up your sleeve. I was thinking of giving you a skull and roses tattoo. Just like that one," I pointed to a drawing hung up on the wire behind me. "It's one of my favourites…"

"H-how wonderful! I'd love that!" Francis just about squeaked, his lips trembling. "It'll represent my 'dying' passion for you~"

Cheeky bastard.

We were both too prideful to give in to the other. At least, not yet anyway.

I grabbed Francis's arm again. "Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed. "Loosen up, will you?"

"D-desole," Francis apologized.

I shook Francis's rigid arm, but his tense muscles refused to uncoil themselves.

We both fell into a stubborn silence as I marked up his arm with a fine sharpie pen, sitting him down in a chair.

"You know," I mused. "It's not too late to change your mind."

"N-non!" Francis refused. "I want this…I want you…"

My face burned again. Thankfully, Francis was looking anywhere but me.

I grabbed the inking pen. "Last chance?" I taunted.

Silence.

I clicked a button, causing the pen to vibrate.

"I'm really doing it."

"O-Oui, I know."

"It's going to hurt…"

"Love demands pain sometimes…"

"Here it comes."

Francis swallowed heavily. "I can't wait."

I brought the vibrating pen closer and closer to his forearm, my eyes flickering towards Francis. The Frog was showing no signs of backing out. He had his eyes shut tight, his jaw clenched in nervous anticipation.

Damn it. This has gone too far.

I turned off the inking pen. "For fuck's sakes, Francis," I deadpanned, letting go of his arm. "Did you really think I'd force you into getting a tattoo that you didn't want? You bloody, stupid, stubborn bastard."

I despised how I had been the first one to give in.

Francis slowly opened his eyes, breathing for the first time in what must have been minutes. He muttered something in French, most likely a prayer of gratitude, before he fainted, his head lolling against the back of the chair.

"Fuck," I cursed.

I grabbed the bouquet of roses he had given me, sticking them under his nose. "Here Frenchie, Frenchie, Frenchie," I cooed. "Here's your daily fix of flamboyance and sunshine."

No response.

I quickly lost my patience.

"Come on you effeminate scoundrel, wake the fuck up already!"

I then took it upon myself to slap his cheek, scowling at the roughness of the stubble peppering his jawline.

Francis spluttered awake. "Q-quoi? What happened?!"

"You wanted to get a tattoo, I called out your bluff, and then you fainted," I muttered bitterly, crossing my arms.

Francis's cheeks became pink. "Oh," he murmured. "That sounds like something I would do."

Francis stood up, wobbling to the side.

I grabbed his arm, steadying him. For someone so thin, he sure did weigh a lot. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You need to sit down and wait until the dizzy spell passes. And lay off the wine and bread, will you? You're not going to stay thin forever," I grumbled.

Francis laughed, shrugging of my arm. "Silly Arthur, I'll be fine. My pride is what needs to be salvaged. Besides, wine and bread is good for the soul. I won't ever give up those luxuries, just like I won't ever give up on you."

I watched him in stunned silence as he staggered towards the front door. "I'll be back, Mr. Kirkland. You can count on it."

"You're never going to leave me alone, are you? Idiot."

Francis chuckled warmly, sending chills running up my spine. "Oui. Not once have you ever said that you didn't want me. It's only a matter of time before you realize that I'm the one you need."

"I-! Just wait a minute!"

BRING!

Francis left the parlour, leaving me speechless once again.

I cupped my flushed face, burying it in my hands. "Damn him. Fuck me," I cursed.

I paused, realizing the double meaning of what I had just said. "FUCK!"

…

Lukas came in a few hours later to take over my shift.

"Arthur?"

"Wot?!"

"Why is your face so red? Do you have a fever?"

"No, why do you ask? And what's that smug look on your face for?!"

Lukas sighed, an unreadable expression on his face. "Looks like that Frenchman finally got through to him," he muttered to himself.

"Wot was that?!"

"Nothing."

…

One week later…

I was beginning to grow worried. I hadn't seen Francis's ugly amphibian mug for close to a week now. Don't get me wrong; I enjoyed the quiet. But, I couldn't help but wonder: What if he did decide to give up on me? Had I really been that awful to him?

I couldn't explain it, but I felt empty. As a man of routine, I expected things to run according to schedule. So when they didn't, I felt…off.

As if the God's were testing me, seeing how long my patience would wane, a familiar face in an unfamiliar get-up walked into the parlour. My jaw dropped, and I burst out laughing.

Francis had 'gothed' up. His blond hair was replaced with a black wig, making his blue eyes appear to be sharper than before, despite the copious amounts of eyeliner and eyeshadow that covered his eyelids. His shallow, slender nose now had a ring embedded at the tip of it, with plenty of other lip piercings to complement it underneath. His face was much paler, so pale in fact that I suspected him of wearing face makeup. His lips were painted a matted black, tight and held in a firm 'stoic' grimace. For his outfit, he was wearing a graphic Metallica t-shirt, tight black skinny jeans, and matching combat boots.

"Dear lord!" I guffawed, wiping tears from my eyes. "Did you just come back from a ritual of sacrificing virgins?"

Francis's 'stoic' expression lifted, his painted lips curling into a predatory grin. "What, do you not like my outfit?"

"Of course not!" I wheezed, bending over to clutch my rib-cage. "You look bloody ridiculous."

Francis furrowed his brows. "I don't understand? I'm dressed just like you?"

And then he became angry.

"Mon dieu! You're impossible to please!" Francis snapped, raking his hand through his fake black locks. The piercings were also fake. "It took me several days to make myself look like…like this!"

I faltered. "No one asked you to do this for me."

"But I wanted to!" Francis threw his hands up into the air.

"Sorry to shit on your emo parade, but not everything can go your way, you know," I smirked.

"I dyed my hair for you!"

Oh bollocks.

My mouth parted open in shock. Francis's hair was the thing most dear to him. "Francis," I began, swallowing heavily. I was still stunned that he had taken things this far. And what for? To impress me? To win me over?

"Don't tell me that dye's permanent," I croaked, biting my lip. I felt downright awful.

Francis groaned, looking up at the ceiling. "Oui, it is."

I left the front counter, walking up to him. "You're such an idiot," I scoffed. "I don't even use real dye."

"You don't?" Francis asked.

"My Mum would disown me," I smiled weakly. "She's an uptight and traditional sort of person."

"Oh," Francis breathed, winded by his own shock. "I see…"

"Well fuck," I placed both hands on my hips. "What now? This is quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

Francis finally met my gaze, hope sparking in his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, really," I huffed, thoroughly embarrassed to be admitting something so personal. "Now can we get back to the part where I lecture you for being an idiot?"

"Oui," Francis bowed his head.

In response, I reached over and placed my hand over the back of his head, ruffling his hair lightly.

"You looked better before," I said gruffly. "If I can't spell it out to you, then I'll just be outright with it. You don't have to change anything about yourself to please me. I wouldn't have kept you around if I hadn't liked you. Likewise, you don't have to prove anything to me. The fact that you stayed all this time is enough proof in itself."

"Arthur...?" Francis looked up at me finally.

I sighed. "Fine. I'll go on a date with you. I've finally succumbed to the realization that I'll never truly get rid of you."

Francis squealed, surprising me when he pulled me into a hug. "Oh, mon petit hedgehog!" he cooed. "So you do have a heart~!"

I awkwardly patted Francis's back, blushing furiously. "Yes, yes. I think that's already been established. Now if you could please remove yourself from my torso and let me breathe, that'd be very much appreciated."

Francis pulled away, straightening his posture as he beamed down at me.

"I'll go pick up a packet of hair dye from the drugstore. It's painful looking at you like this," I muttered.

Francis cupped my cheek, batting his mascara coated lashes. "As a true French, I'll do anything for love. Eh, perhaps I did go a bit overboard with this look though…"

I leaned into Francis's touch, sighing contently.

As an Englishman who worshipped clever wordplay, I couldn't dream of missing out on this opportunity to make a good pun. "Just a tat too much," I mused. "Now c'mere, you. Let's rub off that lipstick of yours."

Francis and I exchanged smirks before he bent down and kissed me.

Although the smudge of his lipstick on my lips wouldn't last, his unconditional love had forever marked a place in my cold, bitter heart.

Tattoos weren't the only things that could be permanent, after all.

~The End

A/N: Make sure to check out browsofglory’s one-shot. They’re an amazing author :D You can find their one-shot here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12592784/1/Arthur-and-Francis-Go-to-Couple-s-Therapy

Thanks again. Have a great day/ night :D

[xensilverquill]

Under the Desert Sun: A Voltron Fic

Slow-burn moments in the budding romance between a Galra emperor and an Altean alchemist. 

A little oneshot inspired by the new season. I love these two as a pair so much, and I wanted to explore their relationship leading up to their courtship/marriage. Hope you enjoyed! c:

Few things in the known universe were half so terrifying or bemusing as a Galra's passion.

Or so Alfor had once explained to him, only half-joking. The emperor had simply brushed it aside as an outsider's perspective. It was in the nature of his people to throw themselves wholly and completely into everything they did. Neither word was spoken nor act performed without the utmost conviction. Their clerics spoke of how Zaal, the fierce Mother-Goddess, had created the first tribes by ripping Her own body asunder, down to bare bone and marrow until Daibazaal itself turned rust-red with her blood. To survive and to battle and to conquer -- these were the war cries that had sung in their blood since the most ancient days of his race. It was hardly his concern if other races were put-off by the natural disposition of his people. He would oversee the personal affairs of his own kind. Alfor and the others could do the same, dear friends though they were. For what Altean had ever been born that could understand the fire of a Galra, much less match it?

On the fateful day he met her, Zarkon could not shake the feeling that some god or another had taken that as a challenge.

Alfor had mentioned the Galra in general could be a bit stiff when it came to the mingling of castes. Honerva had always assumed that was an exaggeration on her king's part. Her own brief interactions with them, however, were beginning to prove otherwise.

Their emperor, for instance, would never deign to hold a casual conversation with her for more than a minute. In her regard, he was a veritable master at the art carrying a metal rod up his back-end. That certainly seemed to be the case when it come to discussing anything outside of her work in the lab. She could not figure whether he had a personal dislike for her or if it was the general disdain he had for all people he considered of a lower class. (The latter of which seemed to include, well, everyone.)

"-- and if I am to continue investigating further, I am going to need at least twice the energy input. With your permission, of course, your majesty." Only silence followed in the wake of her request. She glanced up from her readings to stare expectantly at the Galra emperor. "Sir?"

"... Hm? Erm, yes," he grunted articulately, shifting his posture so that he was leaning away from her. "Permission granted."

Looking at him, Honerva was reminded of their first meeting. He had the same distant, thoughtful expression that quickly snapped to one of surprise and alarm. (Or what she assumed was surprise and alarm. It was difficult at times to read any Galra's face, and Zarkon's doubly so.) And then as now, he seemed just as keen on quitting her presence.

"As I said," he continued woodenly and turning his gaze pointedly away from her, "I will provide any support you require. Now if you will excuse me..."

At least no one can ever accuse him of being chatty, she thought dryly as she stared after his quickly retreating form. Or having a single friendly bone in his whole quiznacking body...

The training yard echoed with the pounding of his fists on the training mannequins. Sweat beaded between the plates of his crest. Zarkon huffed as he lashed out with a left hook here, a disemboweling kick to the abdomen there. Still, even as he ran through the traditional forms and stances, his mind could not help but wander.

A Galra's instinct and temper were quick to pounce; their head was sometimes slower on the uptake. It was little wonder then he could not pinpoint the exact cause of his fixation when it came to the little Altean alchemist.

Walking into the same room as her made him feel like he was about to face down a charging, rabid klanmüirl. Except the beasts never set all three of his hearts pounding like the tattoo of a war-drum. They certainly never struck him speechless as she did, as if he were a kit again and his mentors were scolding him.

She was all he could seem to think of lately. The way her golden eyes would flash when she pushed past some block in her research; the way no movement of her body, however minute, was wasted as she flitted about her lab; the way she carried herself with all the self-assurance and nobility of a Galra warrior...

"Rah!" His last kick sent a mannequin flying to hit and shatter against the far wall of the armory building. By the five freezing hells, that was the sixth one today, and his skull was still buzzing with thoughts of her! Huffing and legs trembling slightly, he fairly bellowed to his attendant, "Bring me another!"

"Kova!"

Her voice echoed through the apparently deserted halls of the facility. Honerva heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. It figured that there were always forty-seven androids and servants within shouting distance, but the moment she actually _needed_ their assistance they all disappeared into the ether.

"Kova!" she shouted again. "Kova, please? Mama's sorry she's been so caught up in her work lately!" Only further silence answered her. Altean felids were somewhat notorious for throwing tantrums if neglected for so much as a tick, but this was ridiculous!

"Mama's got a treat for you! Bovyn milk and spiced flarkl fillet: your favorite! Now come ba-- Huh?"

As she rounded the corner, a curious sight stopped the scientist in her tracks. Well, she had found Kova -- and he was not alone. The felid sat perched on the arm of a chair, and directly across from him crouched the Galra emperor. Kova's tail twitched back and forth as he gazed unblinkingly at Zarkon. The monarch stared back with an equal intensity as they engaged in what appeared to be a life-or-death staring contest. Neither so much as blinked or twitched.

Nor did they seem to noticed Honerva as she knelt beside them. She waited one, two, three dobashes for either of them to acknowledge her. When it appeared that man and beast intended to continue until the heat death of the universe, she coughed loudly in the back of her throat to rouse their attention.

"Ah!" Zarkon yelped and stumbled backwards in a distinctly undignified fashion for the ruler of the Galra empire. Eyes darting back and forth, it was a moment or two before his gaze settled on Honerva. "Ah, it... it is only you."

"So it would seem," the Altean replied wryly, diplomatically keeping her lips from twitching up in an amused smile. Kova took his customary perch on her shoulder as she stood, primly licking his paw and grooming at his mane. She extended a hand to the still-prone emperor. "Need help?"

He did not answer her directly so much as he chuffed and took a sudden interest in a speck on the adjacent wall. All the same his claws came up to almost-delicately clasp her forearm as Honerva helped to haul him to his feet.

"Would it be too forward of me to ask what Your Majesty was doing with Kova just now?" she asked lightly, trying to bring a bit of levity to the incident.

"Yes-- I mean, no, it is a reasonable question." He crossed his arms and brought himself up to his full height, still resolutely refusing to meet her gaze. "I had business with my soldiers in this sector, and I happened to find your--" He gestured vaguely at the felid as he appeared to search for the appropriate word in his mind.

"-- your companion-beast. I meant to have a servant return it to you immediately, but it seems that it will obey none but its mistress. I was attempting to... impress my will upon it when you arrived..."

The more he spoke, the more hard-pressed she was to repress a chuckle. She hid her smile behind her hand as her body shook a bit. Years of diplomatic training chose to forsake her in just that moment, however. A peal of laughter escaped the scientist, and it only became louder when he turned to her with an incredulous raising of his brows and tightening of his jaw.

"Forgive me, sir," she amended breathlessly, sides aching a bit now. "I mean no offense. It is only, erm, that I wished I could have saved you a bit of time and grief. I might have told you: felids are not the sort one can simply 'impress their will upon,' as it were. Kova simply does as he wishes; I am more his caretaker than his 'mistress.'

"Though I am... flattered that you would consider me the latter." She tried to better compose herself as it dawned on her that she had been laughing at the quiznacking leader of the entire Galra race. " And it is certainly a valiant effort on your part to make him obey for my sake."

"... Yes, of course." She was not sure whether to be worried or relieved as he pulled back into himself again. After a long silence, he turned his head to glance at her out of the corner of his eyes. "You have done a great deal for the Galra in your short time here. My only wish-- My _people's_ only wish, is to honor our alliance with Altea and her most esteemed alchemist."

The tatyn beneath her eyes pulsed with a sudden warmth, and it was her turn to at a loss for words for a few moments. Before Zarkon could attempt to excuse himself again, she reached out. His ears, smaller than that of most of his kind, flicked with a metallic _ping_ against his helm.

"Please," she said as she lightly placed a hand on his vambrace, a tentative smile on her lips, "call me Honerva."

In the vargas that followed, one could often find him walking the halls of the lab above the fissure more and more. Many of the more the observant aides noted the emperor always timed his visits when their lead scientist was on the premises.

"Just imagine it!" the alchemist piped, eyes alight and fingers dancing across the control panel. "Self-sustaining energy sources! Generators that can run tirelessly and endlessly! Starships that never have to stop and refuel! And that's to say nothing of the possibilities of the ore Alfor extracted from the comet! For instance, we have reason to believe that the metallic bonds on the molecular level here--"

"Hm." He nodded for her to continue.

Zarkon leaned over the console, one hand propped on paneling and the other against his side. He nodded every now again as she explained the readings scrolling in endless lines across the holoscreen. As the briefing drew on, though, his attention kept drifting in her direction. So distracted was he that it took him several moments to register a light tapping on his arm and to realize Honerva was addressing him again.

"-- Sir. Sir?"

"Yes?" His brows furrowed a bit at the gleam in her eye, at the small smile curling on her lips.

"Nothing," she replied, turning back to the screen with that same smile. "Just wanted to make sure I hadn't bored you into a doze. Shall I continue?"

"As you will," he rumbled, eyes shifting back to the task at hand.

To himself, he added, And I doubt you could ever bore me.

"And here I thought you Alteans were a diplomatic sort by nature," he mused conversationally, as if he had not just thrown half a dozen punches at her on the same breath.

"Well, diplomatic work can get dodgy sometimes," she countered, feinting a kick to his abdomen before catching him lightly on the shoulder. Sweat dripped in a fine sheen down the back of her neck, turning her found hair a darker gray."We are diplomats, Your Majesty, not pacifists. I'd have thought spending any amount with Alfor might have made that clear."

"An alarming tendency to land oneself in trouble should not be confused for the mark of a fighter." A smirk flashed across his fangs as he dodged a sharp blow to the chin. "I mean no offense to your king, of course."

"None taken, and I suppose you have a point." Her lighter body enabled her to step lightly out of the way of his next blow, but she was not quite fast enough to avoid the clawed hand that pinned her against the wall of the sparring room. "Oof! I thank you again for giving me a worthy sparring partner. I am liable to lose my edge if I stay cooped up in that lab too long."

"If it facilitates your ability to lead the project, then it is a service I gladly render," he replied, chuffing lightly and send loose tendrils of her hair flying. "That is three out of five rounds in my favor. Do you yield?"

Giving a quick shove against his chest, she chuckled, "Never."

"No, m'fine..." He watched with no small degree of amusement as she squinted her eyes at the screen in order to focus on some bit of data. The alchemist's fingers fumbled with the keys, and she jerked her head up as it began to droop. "Jus' a few more... minutes..."

Weary and overworked as she was, it took little effort to pull her away from the console. To her credit she attempted to stumble ahead on her own for a few steps as he pushed lightly at her back. When she walked face-first into a wall, however, he took it upon himself to intervene on her behalf.

"This is the third night in row you have gone without sleep, Honerva," he chided, though not unkindly. Zarkon hooked one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulders. She was light in his hold as he brought her up against his chest. "I am no expert on Altean biology, but even I know you will become ill at this rate."

"Close... to another... break... through... Can't stop... now..."

Her words came muffled as she turned her face against his cuirass. The faint maroon light of her _tatyn_ reflected off his armor. The Galra's hearts stuttered more than a little in his chest as she sleepily pushed her head under his chin. Clearing his throat, he pulled her body closer against him. The light draft in the hallway pulled his mantle more snugly around them both.

"You can, and you will," he rumbled as she nodded off. After a quick glance around them, he leaned down to lightly bump his temple against hers. "Emperor's orders..."

Though she would sooner go alone into the belly of a weblum than admit it aloud (no sense in further feeding the Nalquodian's ego), Blaytz arranged the _best_ parties. The great hall of the palace was practically bursting with guests and and the buzzing of their chatter. The food was second-to-none, and the music was lively enough to even have the more-reserved Galra nobles swaying to the beat. Not to mention the rather strong drink Gyrgan had imported from his own home planet that was fast mellowing the whole crowd, their hosts included.

Which, she supposed, was how she and Zarkon had ended up out here on the dance floor.

"I see you are familiar with the Dance of Swords," the emperor remarked with a raising of his brows as they shifted together to the fast tempo. "Impressive, for one not raised in the courts of the Galra High Imperium."

"Well, when on Daibazaal, do as the Galra do," she quipped back with a small smile.

Raising her arm right, he did the same as they brought their wrists together. They spun in a tight formation with one another, the dark violet silks of her attire and the dusty red of his whispering beneath the beat of the drums and the hum of the strings. They were nearly a blur to the others in the hall, so swiftly did they move.

The Dance of Swords was fast-paced, chaotic, just a hair's breadth from choreographic anarchy by Altean standards. They moved less like refined dancers and more like a pair of seasoned warriors testing one another. It turned out their regular sparring sessions served them well in this regard. "You seem to make it a point to learn much about my people," he mused as they went through another tight spin. "Moreso than I would expect from a foreigner, even for the sake of that Altean diplomacy of yours." The slight shifting of his fangs and the gentle narrowing of his eyes are telltale signs that he was teasing her, something he seemed to do more and more lately. "One might think you were trying to get a bit closer to my people than propriety would allow. Should I be worried?"

"For your people? No." She laughed as the next step brought them chest to chest. "For Your Majesty's own sake, though? I would keep a wary eye yet."

Companionable silence spread between them as they continued. By now most of the party-goers were staring at the Galra and Altaen as the dance floor cleared for them. Or at least what she thought was companionable until he spoke again.

"... Why do really do it, Honerva?"

"I'm sorry?" she murmured, tilting her head to one side when he glanced away. When he turned to meet her gaze again, his expression was drawn tight, thoughtful, almost in pain.

"I mean, why learn the ways of the Galra at all? Tomorrow, the varga after that, or even in a deca-phoebe, your research on the rift could be completed. That is the only true obligation that ties you here. And when that is gone..." Even as they moved into another spin, his digits held hers tightly. "What is there to keep you from returning home? Why become so familiar with the customs of my people if this is only temporary? Is it only out of politeness, or..."

Her two anterior hearts felt as if they would leap into her throat. She gulped as her mouth suddenly went dry.

"... Or what, Your Majesty?"

"... Can I dare to hope it might be for another reason?" The music faded around them, and the room fell quiet. His question hung between them in the silence, and she could not help feeling something like a desperate hope hung there as well.

"Perhaps..." Honerva's gaze dropped a moment. She pulled one hand away from his grip briefly, only to bring it up stroke lightly along his the exposed part of his jaw beneath his helm. When she found her nerve again, she tilted her head steadily up. "Perhaps it is because I simply wish to become to closer to your people. Or rather -- one among them in particular.

"You have honored me, time and time again, since I arrived on your planet. What can I do but respond in kind?"

The widening of his eyes was his only response for a moment. In the yawning quiet she thought she could hear his hear his three hearts racing right along with her own five. Then, with an aching slowness, he brought his forehead down to press against hers. Several Galra in the room gasped audibly; understandable, as the gesture was the equivalent of a kiss among their kind.

"Honor is as honor does, and none moreso than you," he rumbled so that only she could hear. He covered her hand with his own, holding it to his face. With the other, he brushed her cheek, gently pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Honerva of Altea... Will you allow me to court you?"

A smile flashed on her lips, and she could only laugh as Zarkon answered with one of his own, rare but just as bright.

"I was beginning to wonder when you would ask, Your Majesty." She pressed herself against him, arms wrapping around the Galra. "Yes, you may."

[syndianites]

Nurse Dianite

Ship: Syndianite (Tom x S1 Dianite)

Summary: Tom keeps getting hurt. His injuries don’t stop him from pursuing more stupid ideas. At one point, Dianite had to put his foot down.

AN: Hmm, I’m still trying to write Graveyard, but first, let me scroll through Tumblr, think of ten other fic ideas, draw, play blightfall, and let’s just go ahead and write a different fic. I don’t know why I can’t write the darn fic, it just teased me, and then ran away laughing. ALSO. This is early-ish season 1. Pre-purge. That was the only way I could make this make sense in my mind. I don’t even know my own timeline at this point. I mostly try to keep it up in the air, letting some details stay vague enough to refer to more things (houses, layout, etc). I’m thinking of adding a purge fic though.

 Tom’s revival wasn’t perfect. His heart had to be removed, the organ damaged beyond reasonable repair (Dianite could easily fix it, though there would be much more work in having the body accept the altered part. It was easier to forgo it, instead giving him a non-beating ‘heart’). Semi-vital connections in his body were incomplete, nerves didn’t fire as often, his senses weren’t as strong as the average human’s (Though his eyes remained sharp, often seeing people far outside the natural eye sight of humans. Writing words and reading them were harder though, in part due to the concussion he received before he died that festered over years, and in part due to his native language being different from the one he most often came across.), and his impulses held a tendency to fire faster than his logic and reasoning. (That, however, was debatably not a side-effect of the zombified injuries that remained unhealed, as he was known to act before he thought even as a human.)

The zombie never advertised these facts, preferring to keep his ‘weaknesses’ to himself. (One could argue that they weren’t weaknesses, but rather proof he was stronger than the death that tried to keep hold on him). This lead to him gaining injuries neither he nor anyone else noticed, the natural pain receptors failing to angrily notify him of the agony.

Today carried one such instance. The chaos champion had been making a tactical retreat (He muttered under his breath about Jardon grassin on him again, that little bitch.) when he miss threw one of his ender pearls. Instead of the lofty arc he had intended, it was launched at a nearly horizontal angle into the side of a cliff. This ended with him falling to the ground in a jumbled mess, body still buzzing with the sting of ender teleportation. At hearing Tucker’s laugh, he rapidly launched another pearl, and kindly flipped the Mianitee off.

He continued to flee, trying to throw the Mianitees off his trail, (In reality, Jordan was the closest to getting him, having downed a swiftness potion), flinging ender pearls in a mixture of airy lobs and beelining whizzing. As he widened the gap between them, he noticed a strange clicking sound. It stayed in time with his footsteps, and was vaguely reminiscent of a skeleton walking. The zombie couldn’t place the noise, but as he slowed the sound settled to a faint click. With a shrug, he wrote it off as him popping his hip bone in his earlier mistakes (His joints seemed to enjoy jumping from their places from time to time, finding ways to dislocate, which never really hurt, or pop in various situations). That was his first mistake.

~

Later that day he found himself back in the danger zone, bored. The aggravating sound was only noticeable in the silences brought by lack of companionship, and he knew exactly who could make that better. “Sparklez,” the zombie yelled out as he passed the priest’s house, on his way to the Ianitee’s home, “1v1 me!” The Captain heaved a sigh as the calls for battle drew closer. He knew the green man wanted to enact some sort of revenge for assisting the Mianitees in hunting him, but honestly, he was overpowering him.

“Why though,” he shouted out a reply from his balcony, resigned to the zombie’s pestering. This seemed to be the wrong approach, as it encouraged Tom further. “Because snitches get stitches!” He worked his way up the hill, a slight limp in his right leg. As Jordan inspected him closer, he assumed the zombie wasn’t aware he was doing it. It must have been an older injury, mostly healed, but enough to cause minute trouble. If the fight went south, that would be his opening. The Ianitee groaned as he begrudgingly realized he more or less accepted the invitation to duel. (Later, when he had seen Tom in better condition, he’d think back to his earlier observations. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but certainly not correct).

Just as Tom waltzed up to the Casa de Sparklez it’s resident walked out, suited up in his enchanted diamond armor. The zombie was sporting similar attire, though his set look a tad worse for wear. He grinned excitedly, though it came across more as devilish. (Jordan found himself making many comparisons to demonic figures when it came to Tom. In his head at least, the zombie seemed to embody chaos, even in his tamer moments). “Well, you sausage, we gonna do this or what?” He impatiently shifted onto his left leg, a potion gripped between slender fingers.

“Let’s do this.” He launched forward, no making the mistake of letting his agile opponent get the first hit. His sword whipped through the air where the Dianitee once stood, and he made a follow up in a fluid movement. Though his goddess represented peace, he knew he had to keep his combat skills sharp for when said peace was forcefully disrupted.

“Wait, shit!” Tom back peddled, stumbling when the next strike skidded against his chest plate. “Let me pot up dammit.” The Ianitee just chuckled, continuing his assault. “Now why would I do that,” he teased the zombie, who both narrowly dodged another blow and knocked back what seemed to be a strength potion. “Bitch,” the zombie bit out in good nature, flicking his blade at his attacker with the flick of his wrist. It chipped into his shoulder, digging into the armor in a shallow scrap. Then it burned, a fire spreading from the scratch with an added push breaking his balance. Fire aspect and knockback. In close quarters, especially with Tom’s quick and brutal attacking style, this could turn the tide in the zombie’s favor in an instant.

The hit took a staggering amount of damage, despite the remote location it was in. But the captain knew giving the Dianitee any opening would result in his loss, so he reciprocated the blow, taking advantage of the closeness his opponent set up. Though his sword lacked the extra damage Tom’s fire ascpect gave, his sharpness V, that he lucked upon, coupled with a measly knockback I would push for his favor if he played it well. As the zombie was forced back, he dove in for another hit. To his surprise, Tom pivoted around him, and from the sound of it, downed another potion.

(The zombie had learned that from Furia, having been on the receiving end one too many times. He was also accustomed to ducking between people’s legs, Furia once more, twisting a swing into another direction last second, Furia again, and was capable of fighting off someone behind him by purely feeling where there movements were going, thanks Furia.)

Jordan tried to turn before he was attacked, but Tom was quicker on the uptake. With inhuman speed (he had definitely taken a speed potion) he aggressively cut into the weaker points in his armor, drawing blood. (Though the zombie was vicious, he always made sure to keep his cuts shallow, whenever they sparred). With a curse, Jordan tried to regain his bearings, the fire creeping out from around the wound once more along with a staggering push. In a moment of weakness, he played dirty. Despite his shaky balance, he thrust his leg out, planting his foot against Tom’s right knee. The resulting screech was unexpected.

The Dianitee collapsed heavily onto his left side, barely avoiding skewering himself. He curled around his leg, seized in delayed agony. His hands hovered just above his shin, shaking. Jordan froze in shock for a moment. On one hand, the green man was known to play tricks to catch his more compassionate opponents off guard. On the other, the sheer anguish on his face belied his sincerity. He dropped to the ground next to him in an instant, fingers delicately tracing down from his knee. Though there were no protrusions from the leg, as he brushed over the middle of his shin the man convulsed, his leg only kept still by Jordan’s steadying hand above his knee.

“Shit,” the Ianitee cursed. “This is bad,” he mumbled to himself as Tom struggled to keep his breathing even. (This was not his first time fighting such pain, Furia had inflicted many harsh wounds in their previous sparring, though Dianite was always present to patch it up). Biting his lip, the Ianite champion looked over to the priest’s house, over the hill, but still far enough away. Declan was the only official healer of the land, both a neutral force and a well-informed one.

“I’m sorry Tom.” Was the only warning given to the injured man as he was lifted into strong arms. His leg jostled and another wave of pain raced up his leg. “Fuck,” he moaned, face going pale. “Hang in there buddy. Dec’ll fix you up. Promise. We just have to get over this hill, and it’ll get better.” Jordan continued to keep with the encouragement, focusing on getting his violent friend to medical help.

Dec was quick to assess the situation and act. His first order was to lay Tom on the single spare bed he had (he was still undergoing renovation), and to remove his pants as carefully as possible, as he went to get supplies. After removing the zombie’s shoes, Jordan worked on his pants, cringing at each choked whimper (even now, the Dianitee tried his best to remain strong), every gasp. For a moment, he wondered if he was feeling Tom’s pain. (It was ridiculous, but hearing and seeing the pain his friend was in gave him phantom vibes).

After painstakingly removing the garment, Tom rest on the bed breathing hard. Declan returned with a stranger in tow, not bothering introductions. For a moment, the strange dark-skinned male leveled a heated look at the Ianitee, his eyes a bright hazel that flashed a pure golden hue, before he centered his attention on the injured zombie. His face twisted into concern.

With a nod to Dec, he lightly pushed against Tom’s shin, receiving a groan in response. After poking at it for a moment, he relayed his observations, “Fractured tibia, a rough break that created a couple of separate pieces.” The priest considered this, before turning to Jordan. “This is a…. friend of mine. His name is D… Damien, and he is more medically proficient than myself. I suppose he’ll need to set the bone, and if it’s bad enough go through with surgery. We’ll want to give him space.” He wasted no time in dragging Jordan from the room. He managed one last glance before the door was shut.

~

“You are such a fucking dumbass.” The deep growl prompted Tom to open his eyes. Before him, the cinnamon hue to ‘Damien’s’ skin warped into a garnet splendor. The excess clothing dissipated in a cloud of smoke, freeing the figure to rise in height. With a final cracking of two horns curling from his head, Dianite stood before the zombie in his full glory.

“Well,” the champion quipped, “I’m your dumbass.” The god gave him an unamused look, clearly unimpressed by the tightness in his voice and the pinch of his lips. Dia took a proper look at the wounded mortal, sweat glistening on his skin, an attempted smile that appeared more as a grimace, his general lack of pants. With a wave of his hand the rest of his clothes were removed. (Though he let him keep his underwear for sake of modesty, he didn’t see the point. Nothing he hadn’t seen before).

“So, here’s what we are going to do,” Dianite began, maintaining eye contact with the pained man, “I will let your leg heal at an accelerated pace. In exactly twenty-four hours, it will be fully healed, all your bones set in place. Before you spout your entitlement,” Dia leaned closer into Tom’s personal space, “This is to punish you. Had you decided to be more aware, and not simply write off your injury, for your friend could not have snapped your leg in such a way, likely from your earlier escape, you could have treated this before it became painful.” He quieted for a moment, considering something. “In a way, however, your lack of pain in your retreat ultimately led you to safety, so it wasn’t completely bad. Tomorrow, you can tell your friend that you prayed for healing.”

He rolled his shoulders, before falling back into his human disguise with a series of pops and grunts. “For now, I’ll be moving you from here. If any are to ask, you were taken to a ‘more equipped site’ for better medical attention.” The god smoothly picked Tom up, carefully cradling his injured leg away from him. Toeing open the door, he was met with Dec, who gave a nod of respect. Though no words were exchanged, the zombie got the feeling the priest was aware that the one carrying him was in fact Dianite. (Later, he would learn Dec had called for him upon perceiving the injury to be severe. He was suspicious of whether the priest knew of their special relationship).

~

The first reaction Furia had was to laugh. He was on his way to give his lord information on potential new recruits when he stepped into the throne room. Before him sat his lord, of course, but with one unhappy, blanketed zombie settled sideways across his lap. The god’s arms were firmly wrapped around his waist, and his tail seemed to have snuck around one of his thighs. From where his chin rested on top of his head any one could see the smug smirk clearly. He decided to better of laughing.

“Milord,” the fire demon spoke, “I have the profiles you were asking for.” He eyed the couple for a moment, before letting an amused expression filter across his face. “I suppose I could leave it in your office, if you’re busy.” The champion fidgeted in his seat as the god responded, “Nonsense, I will view them here. It will be good practice for Tom to know who best fits my army. He will, after all, be leading a branch.” With a nod, Furia waltzed up to Dianite and handed over the documents. “If that is all, I have other matters to attend to.” Dia snorted, before dismissing him, “Yes, that’ll be all. You can attend to your garden now.” Glowering at the god, the fiery being stalked off.

“You know what,” Tom spoke up as he shifted in the god’s lap again, “Fuck you. I cannot just sit here all fucking day!” Mumbling, he added, “No matter how comfortable you fucking are.” Dianite hummed, lifting an arm, still tucked around Tom, to better see the documents, “No dear, I fuck you. As if you could top me.” The zombie spluttered, a blush rising to his cheeks. Turning his face into his chest, he sulkily muttered, “Why do you have to be a bitch all the time.”

(The god retorted, that Tom was in fact, his bitch, and he wanted to pray for the day to pass by faster. At the same time, he was just a little content here, in the arms of his lover)

(AN: That was longer than I thought it would be! I was working on finishing it last night, but it was 1 in the morning, again, and I needed to go to bed. I’m glad that the idea didn’t run dry though, I was afraid if I left it, I wouldn’t know where to go with it. *eyes Graveyard fic* Yes, I’m very happy I knew where to go with this.)

[blvirisms-blog]

I Think That God Is Gonna Have To Kill Me Twice [ Part II ] || SQUAD

naomi as soon as the scream was heard, harley started barking loudly which caused naomi to jump back and drop it "what the fuck is going on?!"

micah still not ready to admit there was something supernatural occurring, he reason, "probably just us picking up from a dif--what the hell?" his train of thought was cut off from the scream. "let's fucking head back." before the other two could comment, he was already shuffling towards the front door.

verena was hot on micah's heels, not wanting to be wandering around alone.

naomi was trying to get harley to calm down as the two ran off "i'll be there in a sec!" she yelled out, turning back to the dog. "not now, c'mon."

micah manages to get towards the front door, only to see it shut again. after failing to be able to pry it open once again, he banged furiously against it, yelling, "you guys okay?! fucking open up if you can!"

naomi catches up to them with harley finally under control. "how is the door locked? blair shot it open for fucks sake." she now began to pound on the door, "blair! daniel! damaris! open up!"

damaris it didn’t immediately register to her, that her body had been jerked backwards and was now falling through the air, crashing painfully against the wall across from the door that had since slammed shut, far too loudly. it happened too fast- she was slow on the uptake and then, there was that scream. maris looked from the door to daniel- lying dead still where he had fallen, so much so that her heart only began to beat even more fast at the thought that maybe he was- and the door and then, everything caught up to her and she realized things had gone very badly south. she struggled to her feet and disorientated, began to rush the wrong way- her intention was to get back to the door, to the others, to safety and help, but instead, she hobbled the opposite direction.

naomi groaned loudly, "someone open the fucking door!"

blair pulled the door open, panting.

naomi "what the hell happened?" she asked as she saw blair, pushing past her to enter the building, "why did you scream like that? where are daniel and damaris?!"

verena 's eyes widened when blair opened the door for them. "why did you guys lock the door?"

blair "something was- it slammed all the doors," she huffed leading them to where they'd been. "i tried to shoot it and it broke my gun! like broke it in half! then it threw me and the door unlocked," she gestured at the operating room door. "it threw them too, i don't know where they ended up."

naomi followed blair, "jesus christ, are they okay?" she asked, running into the operating room only to find daniel on the ground and damaris missing, "o-oh my god daniel," she crouches down next to him, "blair is he okay?!?"

blair "how the hell should i know! i didn't even know they were in here, all i heard was you guys banging on the door!"

naomi "how are you not freaking out right now? especially over daniel." she turns to look at blair, "and damaris is missing? no no no no, this isn't happening."

blair "i just got attacked!" she yelled, smacking herself in the chest. "it's called shock! jeez mimi, we're in a fucking hospital, grab a book and look it up."

verena eyed blair, noticing something was off. "blair, calm down. you yelling at us isn't going to help us find damaris and help daniel okay?"

naomi "wait..." she slowly got up, giving blair a look, "what did you just call me?" naomi hadn't heard that nickname ever since her and blair quit being friends.

blair 's head snapped in her direction. "what? who cares what i called you, my boyfriend is unconscious!"

naomi "you haven't called me that in years." naomi knew right now was not the time to talk about a dumb nickname but it was too odd to go unnoticed.

verena "okay, can we not do this right now? something really fucked up is happening and you two taking a walk down memory lane isn't helpful !"

blair "that's really what you want to focus on right now? it's not a big deal."

naomi dropped it, still having an off feeling about everything. "well we need to find damaris and... and see what we can do with him." she crouched down next to daniel, bringing her hand to rest on his chest.

blair "keep your hands to yourself," she snapped, dropping to her knees and putting her ear to his chest.

naomi backed away from him, turning towards verena, "she's acting weird" naomi whispered, "you caught on, right?"

blair sat up. "he's dead i think, that or mostly dead. not quite sure. either way, there's not much hope."

micah "anyone here know cpr?" he suggested, slowly backing away from blair and daniel. her lack of care was extremely out of character and he wasn't about to be wrapped up in it.

naomi at her words, naomi began to tear up, "how are you so calm about this?!" she forcefully pushed blair aside, "i kind of remember from high school but..." she laid her hands on his chest and began doing compressions. "oh, fuck."

verena nodded towards naomi, her eyes flashing back to blair as she nonchalantly said her boyfriend was dead.

blair she smacked her head a few times as if she were trying to get water out of her ears. "alright you dumb bitch, i'll fix your fucking boyfriend if it will get you to stop screaming for five minutes," she reached out and put her hand on daniel's chest, reviving him. "now shut the fuck up or i'll snap his neck." a smirk spread across blair's face as all of the doors and windows slammed shut, sending them all sliding into walls and pinning them. "sorry, it's hard to pretend to be someone when all they fucking do is cry about their dying boyfriend," she grumbled, shrugging. “it was fun while it lasted though, i guess.”

verena furrowed her brow as she looked around the room, terrified of what was actually happening. " i always knew blair was a spawn of satan! i bet all of you believe me now!"

micah had no sense of self-preservation and the moment blair began to become obviously not blair, he lunged towards naomi and tugged her away from the situation. of course, the effort was fruitless because within moments they were all stuck to the wall. oh god not this again. quite nonchalantly, he spoke up, "so which one of the silverwood fuckers are you, not-really-blair?"

daniel a deep gasp feel from daniel's lips as his eyes shot open, but his body unable to move. "what the fuck is going on?" he choked out.

naomi tried to move but couldn't. "what did you do to blair?!" she asked, her head pounding from how hard it hit the wall.

blair "hmmm," she grinned, tapping her chin. "who to eat first. decisions, decisions."

naomi "e-eat?!" she looked over at verena and micah with a horrified expression, "daniel do something!" naomi called out as she saw that he was conscious again.

verena 's chest rose and fell as she began to panic as she was pinned against the wall. "how about the body you've so rudely inhabited?"

blair "ah, yes, because she'd be the first one you'd kill, isn't that true verena?" she beamed.

verena "yeah, she would." narrowing her eyes at blair's stolen body. "what? did you think we were all the best of friends or something?"

blair snorted. "actually, i really don't care. i just like to play with my food before i eat it, if that's okay with all of you? yes? good." she sashayed over to micah, running her hand on his chin. "i think we'll start with you."

naomi "leave him alone!" she shouted, trying to break free from whatever it was that was holding her against the wall.

micah still had no sense of self-preservation or reality of the danger they were in, though admittedly, a bit of fear did run up his spine. but, instead of actually acting on this fear, he chose a more....micah...route. "look, ghostie, i understand your desire. y'know, it's taboo and all. what i don't understand, is why you don't fucking eat a chicken. white meat is so much better for moving quickly. but hey, you do you, i guess."

blair smushed micah's cheeks with her hands, completely ignoring him. "you're just a shit show aren't you. so many issues. a little bit of mommy, a little bit of daddy, and you just play asshole to cover your pain."

micah laughed as much as he could with limited range. he was sort of amused with this demon. though hindered blair's hands, he contested, "nah, mostly i'm just an asshole. but hey, if you're going to kill me, can we fucking know who you are?"

blair she rubbed her hands on micah's head. "oh, that's better. what if i punched you?" she chuckled. "beat you up? would that make you feel more at home? like you're with daddy?"

naomi "what the hell is wrong with you?!" naomi cried as she listened to everything it was saying to micah. "just leave him alone, leave us alone."

micah grew silent. he was doing so much better on this trip too. speaking more, being less of an asshole, and this certainly wasn't going to help. after naomi spoke, micah's voice grew dark, "do it. punch me. hit me. kill me. see if i give a damn."

verena stayed silent, looking around the room for anything she could use to help them all escape once they weren't stuck up against the wall.

blair pet his face with the back of her hand. "being alive is enough torture for you, isn't it? i think i'll let you live. for now."

daniel stayed silent for a while before taking a deep breath and deciding to speak up. "hey!" he called out, trying his best not to sound absolutely terrified. "blair – i know you're in there and i know you're a hell of a lot stronger than whatever it is that has you possessed right now."

micah felt no relief as whatever the hell that thing was passed him by. his gaze turned towards naomi, verena, and damaris, nearly about to say something before daniel's voice echoed.

blair "she says... shut up or it will break your neck. oh look, your girlfriend's a smart one," she chuckled as she made her way to verena. "you're up miss perfect."

verena 's eyes snapped back to the /thing/ that was currently possessing blair. "who me? well at least you're right about something."

blair "oh no, see that's where you're wrong. this pretty girl," it gestured to blair's body, “thinks you're smart. i honestly do not care. nobody you love actually cares about you at all. your parents, your fake friends, your real friends..."

verena glared back at it, her emotions going wild the more it spoke. it took a moment for her to get her barrings, but once she did, vee chuckled softly before spitting in its face, a smirk on her lips. "hmm, i've always wanted to do that..."

daniel "if you let us go, we promise to get out of town." he interjected once more, doing his best to reason.

blair it laughed, wiping it's face. "you're a failure verena. nobody loves you, you're alone. and maybe, just maybe, i'll eat bryce and naomi and let you watch."

verena "how am i a failure? aren't you the demon who can't pass through to the after life? sounds to me like you're the one who's the failure.."

blair "i chose not to pass on, you insignificant twit. ah yes, insignificant. that's the best word for you. have fun watching all of your friends die, my love."

naomi started praying quietly in spanish as tears rolled down her cheeks.

verena glanced over to naomi then moved her eyes to everyone else in the room. "i have a question-- if ya don't mind. you said you were going to 'eat us', what does that mean exactly?" verena had no clue what she was doing. all she knew was that she needed to stall.

blair "it means, i'm. going. to eat. you." she grinned. "who's next?" it turned toward naomi. "ahhh, mimi, the bestie. you're running around her stupid brain like crazy."

daniel felt so helpless, /guilty/ that he was he reason they were in this mess. "just let us go and we swear we won't come back!"

naomi shook her head as blair approached her, desperately moving around but it was no use since she was stuck. "god just leave us alone!"

daniel "naomi, relax." daniel called out calmly. "if it was gonna hurt us, it would have done it by now." he hoped his words were true, seeing as they were just dangling bait in front of it. "please –" he begged once more. "just give us blair back and let us go."

blair "you know mimi, blair has a great big deal of guilt toward you. i bet you already knew, but daniel really wanted to be with you and not her. so you know what the bitch did? she threatened to kill herself if he didn't date her instead." she stroked naomi's hair. "he'd still rather be with you and she knows it. that's why she's so mean to you."

naomi wanted bit her lip harshly, "s-stop lying." her voice was weak and her eyes shifted to daniel, "is that true?"

verena "god, is this a shitty oxygen reality show or..? what the fuck do you want from us?" verena was more than annoyed with the whole situation. getting more and more irritated that she couldn't move.

blair "but then you went and fucked that guy in town!" it sighed.

naomi eyes widened "shut up." as if that was going to do anything. "if you're going to kill us just do it already you bitch."

blair "that old man psycho killer! how could you do that to poor daniel? and now-” it put her hands on naomi's stomach. "now you've got a demon baby in you!"

naomi started to shake her head, feeling her skin crawl as blair touched her. "stop talking, stop talking!" she shouted.

verena gasped obnoxiously. "you're a pathetic excuse for a demon, ya know that?" vee rolled her eyes as it continued to try and stir the groups emotions up. "if you were really anything to be scared of, you'd let us go so you could hunt us down like a real entity would."

blair grinned. "poor, poor naomi." it turned, "it's really funny to watch you be wrong all the time," it said to verena as it made it's way to daniel. "and last but not least-" it grinned, straddling daniel on the floor. "her favorite. though i don't get why when she cheats on you all the time with your best friend."

daniel purses his lips, his teeth clenched as it made its way over to her. "nothing your saying is true." he mumbled. "i'm not going to believe a word you said."

blair "oh really?" it grinned. "so all those times she said she had to hang out with her dad, you think that's really what she was doing? her dad is a workaholic, he doesn't want to spend time with her. and you, you're just not good enough. so she needed a bad boy. and to be fair, he had her first."

daniel "had her first?" daniel furrowed his brows. "you know what – what do you want from us?"

naomi saw a tray filled with surgery equipment in the corner of the room. she tried to get daniel's attention, motioning him to it. 'stab. her.' she mouthed, hoping he had seen her.

blair "oh you didn't know? blair was with cristian first. did you think you were the first to have this hot body?" it teased, rubbing blair's body.

verena caught what naomi was signaling to daniel, hoping he'd take the hint, but knowing that even if he did, he would never stab her regardless of if she wasn't blair at the moment.

daniel glanced over at naomi and then to the tray of supplies. it was the /last/ thing he wanted to do, but knew it was possibly the only way they could make it out. taking a deep breath, daniel reached over, grabbing the closet thing on the tray and jamming into blair's arm.

blair laughed and leaned forward. "that was cute, danny boy."

naomi "in the chest daniel!" she shouted, tired of being held against her will.

daniel closed his eyes before raising his arm again and hitting the side of her body, near her rib cage.

blair hissed. "ohh that was dumb. see, i can leave. she can't," it grinned. "good job, killing your girlfriend." then blair's head tilted back and black smoke poured out of her mouth. she dropped to the floor and the hold on everyone fell away.

naomi felt herself drop alongside verena and micah. she scurried to her feet, taking a step back from blair. "is she...." she trailed off, looking at the rest of them.

daniel immediately put his hand over the wound, slightly shaking her body. "blair - blair!" he called out as he lowered his head. "she's still breathing, but what do we do?!" he exclaimed, looking around at the group.

naomi "keep pressure on it. we're going to have to stitch it back up. verena, do you remember how blair did it last time? with daniel's leg?"

verena got up on to her feet, moving over to the others and dropping on her knees beside blair. "yeah, i actually learned how to stich a wound in preparation for this trip. yak know.. just in case."

daniel frantically looked at verena, hoping she knew what she was doing. "she won't stop bleeding," daniel choked out. "we've got to do something."

verena nodded in his direction as she pulled the kit from her bag. "i'm gonna need more tools, we have to seal her chest and i don't think this kit has anything to do that.." she continued to look, removing her jacket and covering the wound.

naomi "i'll go look for something. maybe i'll find damaris and bryce on the way?" she called for harley, not wanting to go alone.

verena "micah, can you go with her? i don't think anyone should be alone right now."

daniel "what do you need me to do?" he asked, trying his hardest to not let the tears drop from his eyes.

naomi "no it's fine. really i can do this." she just needed some time alone, "and we need to save blair."

verena gave naomi a look, not liking the idea of her being alone. "okay, fine. i need a chest seal-- it will be in a thin package. stitches aren't going to help-- she'll just bleed out so, hurry!"

[damescapades-parttwo]

#1

It's been a little over a week, and I don't miss ice as much as I thought I would. It only took four trips out of the country for longer periods of time for this acceptance to take root. How have you bettered yourself this year?

This blogging adventure will be a bit different than the past as WordPress has decided to turn my beautiful blog into a horrible modge-podge of broken photo links. I'm currently debating on trying to switch all of my photos to tumblr, but also... that's a lot of work! If you're new to my blog, go check out the past writing! (and whatever photos are left.) I arrived on April Fool's Day to Sweden with, potentially, the best long haul flight experience of my life. A few glasses of wine and a forensic scientist to chat with while drinking said wine, followed by a entire row of airplane seats to myself, a sweet, new Norwegian airplane, and a completely edible in-flight breakfast maybe set the mood. While here, I'll be working within the Center for the Future of Places at KTH Royal Institute of Technology on the beginnings of my thesis for concurrent Master of Landscape Architecture and Master of Urban Design & Planning degrees I'm set to complete this December. (almost eight years of post secondary education coming to culmination is exciting and unnerving.) I'm super psyched to be here and working around/with the talented researchers, PhD students, and professors at KTH and specifically within the CFP! EVERYONE wants to know what I'm researching and writing about... as do I. :) Psych, I kinda know. I’m exploring the concept of multifunctionality in relation to public space planning and design; specifically, how can public space be planned and designed with both the environment and social aspects as imperative? What can be learned from Stockholm’s historical approach to planning/designing its park system, but also is the future better addressing this discourse? Multifunctionality, in this sense, is alluded to with a sustainable design model of planning and development, but still, is not prioritized over economic aspects of public space. Spaces that have been deemed multifunctional (environmentally and socially) have not been as successful. I plan to analyze (hopefully two!) at least one project current project, the Royal Seaport. I am also looking at a few of the older developments, such as Hammarby Sjőstad. Hopefully, by analyzing Stockholm as a case study to the concept of embedding multifunctionality within the planning and design processes, more research can be established to further the sustainability and resilience (buzzwords, I know,) of urban spaces.

I have a feeling this will continually morph while I am here in Stockholm as I meet and speak with more and more people at KTH and across the city. I also have a whole proposal and powerpoint if you want to see either :) My first 10 days have been pretty uneventful for me personally, while the city of Stockholm has been affected by an act of terrorism. For those of you who do not follow the news, a beer truck was hijacked while unloading on Drottninggatan, one of the most populated and central shopping streets in the city, killing and injuring many before crashing into Åhléns, a large department store, adjacent to T-Centraalen (central station.) The incident happened Friday around 3pm, and completely shut down all public transportation for five or six (?) hours. It was quite shocking, as Stockholm is known for being very safe and welcoming. I unexpectedly walked by the memorials at Sergels Torg/Åhléns on Sunday while roaming; it was uplifting to see how many people seemed to be coming from all over via the tunnelbana with flowers to be placed on the steps and on police vehicles. I have one (lousy) photo; I didn’t feel very comfortable taking any (even though *everyone* was,) combined with the fact that there was a huge mass of people wanting to pay their respects.

On my end, I have walked quite a bit - my phone is telling me I’m hitting ~12,000 steps a day. I was taking the tunnelbana more the first few days, but the sunshine is so nice!!!! (Seattle-deprived ftw.) Safe to say jaywalking is a thing here, and pedestrians are truly put first. I’m usually a walker, but I have been much more aimless this time around as time is rarely an issue. Perhaps that is a highlight of my past week: I have not had this much free time, mostly light on the obligations, to enjoy a city like this; since, well, pretty much forever, I have stayed busy with LOTS of obligations. I’m enjoying walking around, mostly to different parks, and people watching, a favorite hobby of mine. I’ve made it my mission to explore one new park (sometimes public space, but not as imperative,) a day, and I’ve definitely experienced at least one a day thus far. (more on that below!)

For entertainment, most of you might have already heard via Facebook, but I have had the privilege of attending my first yoga class… taught in Swedish. It was a true wtf the moment as the class started and the instructor started moving and then speaking in Swedish; by that point, it was too late to run out, and, honestly, I think my brain was a little slow on the uptake that I would not be able to follow the movements without looking up constantly. I struggled, but am now signed up for (at least) weekly English yoga classes.

I haven’t had any grand stories at the supermarket either (which in the past has been a common occurrence.) I’ve stuck to whole foods, not processed or really any junk food. There are many supermarkets to choose from nearby where I am staying, of which are on the smaller side (normal.) This makes it easier when choosing items; I have less options to stare at for long periods of time trying to find English on the labels at all, consequently attempting to decipher Swedish (failing) all the while converting the price in my head to USD until giving up to go with a choice based on little real objectivity. It’s fun; I’ll keep you updated with more riveting stories.

Lastly, for another anecdote, I really enjoy running in parks: mostly because I love using running as a way to experience cities, but also because I really love croissants. I happen to be staying very close to a part of the Royal National City Park (above this post).

This is what I believe every city in the world must have: a park system! Of course, Stockholm has the first! (and largest? unclear thus far.) It’s on my list to bike it before I depart, but more about the system later. Anyways, running here is a DREAM. It’s the first time since living in Colorado, even compared to running to and along Santa Monica’s beach, that I have felt a weight lifted off my shoulders upon entering for a run. While living in south central Colorado, I could easily run at the base of mountains in the cleanest air imaginable. (The altitude was was also higher than anywhere else I have lived, and I was, therefore, in the best shape of my life.) Finding out part of the National City Park was so close was incredible! Not only that, but while running, I ended up starting in the middle, which caused me to immediately stop and just take a 360 degree turn to see the vastness I would be running through.

I don’t know how else to describe it other than

“****, this is awesome; I cannot believe I’m in Stockholm still //

just looking at any corner to run to makes me feel out of shape //

I should not have started in the middle //

Google lied or this was not to scale on the map //

OMG USABLE PUBLIC SPACE.”

It’s not like Central Park, with a mix of specifically-designed programming/space typologies, even though there are pockets of trees, playgrounds, etc along the borders; the small piece of this giant park system I am speaking to is a enormous open space covered in a combination of formal paths, informal paths, and grass. I’ve only ran a few times in the last week, but I guessing I will continue solely so I can run all of the paths! I’m also not a runner with my phone, so no photos yet. Can’t wait to talk about this so much no one reads my blog...

Shout out to the ScanDesign Foundation and Valle Scholarship for granting me this opportunity! I'm extremely grateful to work at KTH and truly immerse myself into life in Stockholm!

I hope to write more about a background on Stockholm, as I acquire more knowledge. If you have any questions or suggestions on places to check out, do let me know!

xx