#and hurl the exact same accusations at each other

[troonwolf]

actually I have one more thing to say and it’s that the tone of all these posts are like “stupid ignorant antis and their stupid moral crusade, always thinking they’re on the moral highground. they dont realise that actually the moral highground is MINE. they are evil and I am good <3″

like if I just change words in posts from “anti” to “pro” or w/ever, you would not be able to tell who wrote the post. in your extremes and your logical fallacies you re exactly the same. look within yourself. you know it to be true

[roseofithaca]

"What are you doing here, Dutch?"

"Same as you, I suppose." (RDR2)

"You're just like me, John. You can't change who you are." (RDR1)

Okay I'm currently hyperfixated on these boys and I gotta talk about how fascinating this relationship is.

Because while Dutch and Arthur's relationship is heartbreaking, there's something even more crushing about Dutch and John over the course of both games.

To start we're told by both Arthur and Bill that John is the "favorite", that he's "Dutch's pet", "the golden boy", even Micah brings it up in chapter six. Part of Arthur's bitterness over John's return is how cool Dutch seemed to be about it, how he was welcomed back with open arms. However nearly all the interactions we see (or rather Arthur sees) between Dutch and John are very tense and grow more heated over the game until they're outright screaming at each other - and of course things get as bad as they can be in rdr1. But how I imagine things used to be, pre-Blackwater or pre-John's gap year, was Dutch did dote on John and John worshipped him in return. John seems to have been found the youngest that we know of, twelve years old, so he was as much of a child as can be, which allowed Dutch to mold him into a younger version of himself, whereas Arthur was clearly more Hosea's son. Dutch taught John to sound smart without really saying anything, while Arthur learned from Hosea to be smarter than he appeared. To compare the two, I think Arthur was Dutch's joy (the mirror of his best friend, his first son) but John was his pride (his own reflection). It's very typical narcissist parent behavior to latch onto the youngest or one that most resembles you most as they're the most obvious extension of yourself. And for as long as John obeyed and adored Dutch, that fuelled his own ego - fitting then how Dutch's mental decline runs in parallel to John drifting away and learning to be his own person, a father in his own right, and seeing who Dutch is without rose tinted glasses. And the stronger John gets, the more Dutch feels threatened, like when he accuses John of "wanting to be the General". Dutch is a loving granddad to Jack and caring to Abigail, encouraging John to be a good father, but not if it means they become more important than the gang (ie Him). I also think a lot of the insults Dutch hurls at John later on are things he could be partly saying about himself, how he doesn't have the grit, how he's always been weak or blind. The more Dutch fails, the more he targets John as a punching bag for his own failures, to the point of wanting to leave him to rot as he admits in one hidden BH scene.

Side note, this also feeds into his resentment of Arthur, firstly of also no longer being a yes man, but Dutch also notes how much Arthur sounds like Hosea - except Dutch was ignoring Hosea right from the start of the game, even if he did help keep Dutch grounded to some sense of reality, Arthur is a reminder of Dutch's recent loss and also insulted at the idea of Arthur replacing Hosea - that's not Arthur's job, in his mind, it's just to be his big scary grunt. Once he's becoming weaker, he doesn't see the purpose in having Arthur around if he's just going to question and possibly (if he believes Micah) betray him. And he writes Arthur off as dead anyway once he starts getting sick, he already lost Hosea, he's not putting himself through that again so it's easy to just leave him for dead. But despite all that, Arthur still loves Dutch enough to ride back and try one last time to convince his "father" that Micah is out to get him, he even spends his last breaths begging him to see sense - not for his own sake, but the man who raised him.

But with John it's a different, more raw tragedy that Dutch's self-loathing and insanity grow in their time apart, despite both clearly having had Arthur's shadow hanging over them, eventually pushing them to the exact same destination on the exact same day with the exact same purpose - to kill Micah. John has been haunted by guilt that Arthur had to sacrifice himself for him, while Dutch has been haunted by (imo) the guilt of leaving Arthur to die as well as allowing Micah to manipulate him. But both men are also not killing "for Arthur's sake" here, more their own, as they both know Arthur didn't agree with revenge. But they do it to try to ease their own consciences. For John it works, for Dutch it just sends him off into isolation and his eventual fate.

And the saddest thing is, John thanks him. Even after everything Dutch did to him and Abigail, he makes an attempt to reach out. There was a brief glimpse from John of the boy who loved his adoptive father, but Dutch's ice cold stare and silence remind them they can never go back to what was. And John let's him go. But this moment seems to change something in John's perspective, as earlier he had always said he believed Dutch had been hiding who he was the whole time, but by the time of RDR1 he's saying similar things as Sadie that Dutch was a good man who "went insane". He now wants to believe that there was a part of Dutch that cared, long ago, but it's now gone.

The Dutch that John eventually has to hunt down is different than the one he last saw on Mount Hagen, the one who admitted that he didn't have much to say anymore, the man who still cared enough to spare John and leave him the Blackwater money. Dutch is now a complete bloodthirsty monster who kills for sport, who openly calls Abigail a whore and Jack a whore's son - the same boy he once doted on, found a puppy with, that he rode into hell for. His disgust for John, his boy, working for the government, being the "rat" he feared him to be, is enough to get him to not hold back on shooting him anymore, but I also can't help but think most of his words are egging John on to get him. "You'll have to kill me, John!" he yells. But when it comes to just the two of them, both on a mountain yet again, they both put away their guns. It's the closest thing we get in the first game to a hint of their past relationship, of father and son, rather than adversaries. John's name, his "golden boy's" name, is the last thing to leave Dutch's lips before he falls. The speech the same one he said with Arthur at his side. As insane as he was, he spent those last moments thinking of his sons, and possibly Hosea too, before he fell, how he wasn't able to fight his own cowardly nature to do right by them, you can't change my mind.

And while John would never talk about it openly, its just awful to think how this man had to watch the father he loved and who doted on him back, to slowly become a monster, to hating each other, trying to kill each other, then to see a glimpse of what was but being unable to save him. It also adds context to his own behavior to Jack, how he tries to be a doting father but doesn't discourage him too much from having his own interests, as much as they confuse him.

And then, the final nail in this angst coffin, walking out to face his own death knowing Dutch was right, that they did just find another monster to come for.

[hannahssimblr]

Michelle has been crying for a week.

Seemingly non-stop.

Tuesday evening, which was once about trigonometry and calculus, is when I currently find myself sitting awkwardly on Jen’s bed, alone, while she consoles her sobbing friend in the room next door for half an hour, and my iPod is out of battery.

“He’s here?” Michelle cries at one point, and Jen replies something gentle, muffled through the plasterboard wall. Probably a justification for my presence in her house, which is clearly not welcome even though I’m not actually forcing her to endure me when I’m in an entirely separate room. 

Jen comes back a few minutes later looking frazzled, bags under her eyes as if she has been the one kept up at night with a broken heart, wailing over the skinny emo boy who cheated on her with an even skinnier emo girl. This house has been like a battlefield for days, with even Rahim and Debra retreating to the relative safety of the conservatory in case their rampaging daughter decides to come into the kitchen for a snack and shriek at either of them for not replacing the Nutella she’s been living off or starts hurling around accusations that her white sliced bread has been purloined.

“You alright?” 

“Yeah, she’s just being Michelle. Extra Michelle. Michelle XL.”

“Didn’t sound like she was too happy about me being here.”

“Yeah well,” Jen steps forward and collapses sideways onto the bed, “She can get over it, I want you here.”

“I’m flattered,” I gently fix her fringe, “I’m just not really certain what I did wrong. I thought I did the exact right thing, actually.”

“Yeah but I told you before, there’s normal logic and then there’s Michelle Logic. That’s why I wanted you to be the one to tell her, she was bound to shoot the messenger.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s fair enough, I live with her. Can you imagine if it was me who broke the news?”

“...Do you think the end is in sight?”

“For this level of devastation? I dunno. She’s never been heartbroken before. First cut is the deepest, right?”

I shrug, “For me it wasn’t so bad.”

“Okay well, you haven’t been in love properly.”

“Okay…”

“Sorry but you can’t be an authority on this. Michelle properly loved Evan. He was her everything.”

“He was a fucking knob.”

“Yeah, clearly, but she didn’t know that, and she still loved him. Loves him.”

“He doesn’t deserve to be cried over like this.”

“Tell that to her. Or actually, don’t tell that to her. Don’t tell her anything. Stay a mile away from her until further notice.”

I sigh, “You can't keep us away from each other forever, like, eventually she’s going to emerge from her hovel of despair and find me sitting on the couch, or talking to her dad in the kitchen, it’s not like I’m going to be able to completely vanish from sight forever and ever. I also live five minutes down the road…” I shake her as she turns away to flip through a music magazine,  “and we go to the same school…”

“Yeah, I know, but all this stuff is girl stuff. You’re not supposed to be allowed to see it. You’re only here because you have special Tuesday night privileges.”

I scoff. “I’ve seen girls crying before.”

“Yeah, because of you.”

I toss myself down on the covers and wiggle my way into her eye line, “one day some horrible little bastard might break my sister’s heart, and on that day, when she’s crying and wailing over him, she won’t have anybody to talk to about it but me, and I’ll just turn to her and say ‘hey, sorry Ivy, this is girl shit! Can’t help you!’ Is this the future you want?”

Jen lifts the magazine and whaps me in the face with a full page spread of Amy Winehouse. “You’re so thick.”

I clutch my nose, “Ow! Fuck sake. I think you’re being stupid thinking like that, as if I’m not surrounded by girls at all times. You’re the one who always bangs on and on about feminism, but you’re the one creating a divide between the sexes, can’t you see that? You think I don’t care about girl stuff, like I can’t be around Michelle when she’s heartbroken? I do care.”

“The only girl stuff you care about is tits and fannies.”

“You’re foul.”

She giggles and goes back to her magazine at the same moment Michelle begins to blast a Paramore CD in the room next door. It’s so loud that it vibrates the walls. 

Debra’s screaming only adds to the chaos. “Michelle, my god, turn it down.” She pleads to no avail, and then I hear her thundering up the stairs and pounding on her daughter's door. “Not again! We’re trying to watch the news!”

“Well, there they go again,” Jen comments without lifting her eyes from her article. “You sure you want to walk right into her lair?”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[nyerus]

Hi, so I was curious about two things in the novel First is what were Feng Xin and My Quing screaming about on the snow mountain? And second is what exactly did Feng Xin and Mu Quing see in the Mural at the "Cave of Ten thousand Gods"??

Hello Anon!

Feng Xin and Mu Qing were just arguing about the past, like about what happened and why they left. They both hold a lot of guilt over leaving, but at the same time had their own reasons, and all they can really do it sort of take it out on each other by hurling insults and accusations like "well, you left too!" They were also dredging up stuff like how Xie Lian stole/almost stole/etc and just kind of rehashing everything that happened between the three of them during Xie Lian's first banishment. (Which is the part that angered Hua Cheng, and he didn't want Xie Lian to overhear or be bothered by it.) We don't know the exact dialogue between them, but that's the gist of it, based on what they mention later on!

About the mural: we do not know exactly, but it's implied that it was artwork depicting Xie Lian in a compromising position (and MXTX did not elaborate, only confirmed that it was sexual in nature). Most likely, it was a rendition of what happened during the Land of the Tender, as the rest of the murals in that particular part of the cave were depictions of all the moments/memories Hua Cheng had with Xie Lian -- good or bad. Regardless, Feng Xin and Mu Qing freaked out over seeing lewd art of Xie Lian -- who they already feel like they failed once, and still feel responsible over -- and dragged him away, fearing for his safety given that now they had "confirmation" of Hua Cheng's intentions towards him!

[cherienymphe]

Protect & Serve IV (Steve Rogers x Reader)

WARNINGS: Cop!Steve, cop antics, VIOLENCE, KIDNAPPING, NON-CON(FINGERING)

IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DNI

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

summary:  escaping an ugly past, you have no choice but to return home. While much has remained the same, Officer Rogers is a new addition who has won over the hearts of the town in your absence. And no one believes you when you start to see him for who he really is

~

You didn’t sleep at all that night. Not because someone was banging on your house and skulking about your yard, but rather…the opposite. He didn’t come, and you were left alone with no one but you and your thoughts. You didn’t even know why you weren’t referring to him by name.

Steve.

Steve Rogers.

Officer Steve Rogers.

Officer Rogers was the one who’d been making your nights a living hell for weeks, and the thought made you want to hurl. In fact, that was exactly what you did. As soon as you’d gathered yourself enough to stand, you’d run straight to the bathroom, throwing up for several minutes. Your vision was blurry, body trembling as you hugged the toilet.

Your mind whirled as you fought to make sense of everything. At first, you’d tried to convince yourself that your mind was doing that thing again. Coming up with the most outrageous theories, but the more you thought on it…the more sense it made.

Didn’t police respond to emergency calls based upon who was closest? Steve responded to every single one of your calls, and you remembered that sometimes he wasn’t alone. Was Officer Barnes in on it too? He had to be. They always came in the same car.

You suddenly jumped up, remembering that you’d given the dark-haired cop that blood sample. Steve’s blood sample. His best friend’s blood sample. You pressed your hand to your mouth, feeling like you were going to be sick again.

Officer Romanoff had said that the lab results could be back any day now, but… What if they had never been sent off to begin with? You wanted to cry, and with a start, you realized that you were. Tears were skipping down your face, and for the first time in a long time, you noted that they were tears from fear.

Should you go to the police?

You shook that thought from your mind. Your problem was the police, and what would happen to you if you ran in there to tell them about a crooked, possibly two, cop in their midst? Surely it would get back to Steve, and now knowing what you knew, there was no telling what the man was capable of.

You’d stayed up all night, stewing over what to do. You’d gone over every option there was, and it seemed that the best course of action was to simply leave town. God, you were so tired of running, but this situation was much different from your last.

Sure, Aldrich had money, and had definitely used it to his advantage when escaping the law, but even the luck of someone like him had to run out sometime. He wasn’t completely untouchable. Steve… Steve was the law. You could confront him, and he’d arrest you for whatever charge was believable, and there was no doubt in your mind who they’d be more inclined to listen to.

The thought that Steve could do whatever he wanted and get away with it was a terrifying one. Hell, he had been doing whatever he wanted and had gotten away with it. More tears collected behind your eyes, thinking about the fact that he’d been harassing you during the day and the night. He’d pretty much been in control of every facet of your daily life, and you wondered to yourself…

What did he want?

Was he truly so angry that you’d turned him down? You let out a humorless chuckle, thinking to yourself that you should’ve just gone on the stupid date to save yourself all of this strife. Another part of you argued against that, telling you there was no telling what would have happened on that date or what would have happened after.

It was in the early hours of the morning, and you were packing now. You’d finally made up your mind to just get the hell out of dodge. You didn’t have time to pack up everything and properly move, so a suitcase worth of clothes would do until you sorted everything out. You’d stay in a hotel for a while, whatever it took to get away from him.

You contemplated going by the diner first to see Wanda. You didn’t want a repeat of last time. You wanted to keep in touch, but you decided that your safety came first. You could always look the phone number to the diner up and reconnect with her later. You had just locked up your house, turning towards your car with your suitcase in hand, when a police cruiser pulled into your yard.

Your heart stopped, and you tightened your grip on the handle of your suitcase. Relief did not fill you when none other than Officer Barnes stepped out of the car. You swallowed, warily eyeing him. You were almost positive that he was in on it with Steve. You weren’t sure, but the evidence was damning.

He sent you a friendly smile as he approached you, and you did not return it.

He never smiled at you.

“Morning, Ms. Y/L/N,” he greeted.

“Morning,” you mumbled back.

He stopped at the bottom of your steps, lifting one foot to rest on the bottom step as he looked up at you, blue eyes unreadable. You watched the way they traveled from your face to your suitcase and back.

“Going somewhere?”

You thought about telling him the truth, knowing he’d relay it to Steve, thinking that it would make him happy to see you go, but… You didn’t exactly know why Steve was doing this to you. You didn’t know his motive nor his endgame, so maybe it was best to keep him in the dark.

“Not anytime soon,” you joked, forcing a chuckle. “I’m just going to drop some things off at Goodwill…”

The dark-haired man hummed, nodding as he studied you.

“What brings you here so early in the morning?” you casually asked, moving to walk past him.

“Truthfully…Steve,” he answered.

You frowned, heart skipping a beat, and you were glad that your back was to him as you made your way to your car.

“Steve?” you wondered over your shoulder.

Bucky hummed.

“He was worried about you. Said you seemed pretty upset yesterday…”

You slid your suitcase into the backseat, pursing your lips before shutting the door and turning to face him.

“Upset?” you repeated.

You didn’t like the way he eyed you, and it was then that you knew… Your suspicions were correct. There seemed to be an unspoken battle between you two, both of you trying to figure the other out, seeing who’d slip up first. You had been through this a million times with Aldrich…

“He said that you…seemed confused and distraught…accusing him of some pretty awful things…”

You blinked, lips parting before letting out a soft scoff.

“Oh my God, you’re right. I did,” you guiltily replied. “I’ve been so stressed lately, and Officer Rogers has been nothing but kind to me, and I completely misinterpreted it.”

Bucky appeared to be shocked by your response.

“I’m still working through things, trying to undo a lot of what my ex-husband did. I took it out on Officer Rogers, and I feel terrible.”

He didn’t respond right away, simply eyeing you before slowly nodding. You turned to slide into your driver’s seat, glancing up at him with a small smile.

“Will he be working today? I’d really like to apologize to him properly. If not, I suppose that I can go up to his house later,” you offered.

He ran his eyes over you, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards ever so slightly.

“No…he isn’t in today,” he eventually replied.

“Then I’ll stop by his house later then. If not later then definitely in the morning,” you told him.

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment before he smiled at you.

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. Drive safe, Ms. Y/L/N.”

He moved to leave, and you stopped him.

“I also wanted to ask you about the blood sample I gave you. Officer Romanoff said that the results should be back any day now, and I was wondering if they’d come in yet…”

He sadly shook his head.

“I’m afraid not. The ETA for these things are never exact, anyway. I’m sure we’ll get the results back soon though,” he answered, but you didn’t believe him.

You nodded, and he bid you goodbye one last time. He closed your door for you, and you looked in your mirror, watching him go back to his car. He sat in it for a while, but you sighed in relief when he eventually drove off. You closed your eyes, hands gripping the wheel as you forced yourself to take a deep breath.

Bucky was in on it too. You were absolutely sure of it. Forcing both him and Steve from your mind, you went to start your car, only to frown when it sputtered. You twisted your key again, but again, it wouldn’t start.

“No, no, no,” you murmured, forcing yourself to remain calm.

You tried again, and sure enough, you got the same results. You bit your lip, swallowing down a scream. Something within you knew why your car wouldn’t start, knew who was responsible. You took out your phone, looking up the number for the auto repair shop with shaky hands.

30 minutes later, you were watching your car being hooked up to the tow truck. When the man was finished, he approached you. A smile was on his face, and he was clearly trying to ease your worries.

“It shouldn’t take long to determine the problem and have it back here,” he told you.

“About how long do you think it’ll take?”

He hummed, thinking.

“There are already two other cars at the shop. After getting done with them and finally fixing yours, I should be able to have it back here no later than…7:30? 7:45?”

It seemed like you didn’t have much choice but to accept that, so what else could you do besides nod? At least you’d be able to get out of here tonight at the latest. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you watched the man drive away. You felt like a sitting duck, but you had no other option but to go inside.

The first hour dragged by. You tried to distract yourself with cleaning and then some tv, but eventually you gave up and just sat on the couch. You couldn’t believe that you were running again, that you had somehow found yourself in a possibly worst situation than the one you’d left.

By the second hour, you were restless. You grabbed your purse and rose from the couch, swiftly locking the door on the way out. You had made sure that all of the lights were off, and everything was unplugged. You wouldn’t be going back inside.

Ever thankful that the diner was within walking distance from your house, you strode into the establishment with a sigh. Still rather early, it was pretty empty inside. Wanda was nowhere to be found, so you took a seat in the corner. You’d been scrolling through your phone for about 5 minutes when the bell above the door dinged.

You didn’t think anything of it. However, you looked up when the customer spoke. He was at the counter, back facing you as he talked to Wanda who’d finally come from the back. A black leather jacket adorned his large frame, the color contrasting with his fair hair. Swallowing, you looked away just as he turned around, eyes falling to your phone.

Your heart went crazy beneath your chest as you heard him approach. You wondered if he’d talked to Bucky, because if so, that would alter how you interacted with him in the next 30 seconds. When he got close enough, you looked up, seemingly just noticing him, and you threw him a small smile.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” he greeted, demeanor giving no indication of what had transpired yesterday.

“Officer Rogers,” you replied. “I’m glad you’re here…”

He hummed, placing a hand on the chair across from you, the other on his hip.

“Yeah, I came down to pick up something to go. The boss is still forcing me to stay home.”

You swallowed, nodding.

“I actually wanted to apologize to you, Officer Rogers,” you said.

You didn’t register any type of surprise in his eyes. He looked completely unfazed, demeanor remaining the same, and you knew that he’d already spoken with Bucky, confirming what you’d suspected. Still, you continued.

“With everything going on, I’m just so stressed and stretching myself far too thin. Not to mention, I haven’t even been divorced for 6 months. There’s a lot that I’m still dealing with, and I took that out on you in probably the worst way possible,” you explained. “You’ve only ever tried to help me.”

He smirked, and you wanted to wipe it from his face.

“There’s no hard feelings. I completely understand,” he said, pulling the chair out and taking a seat.

You forced yourself not to frown at that. He reached out, with his left hand you noted, to brush a finger along your clasped hands on the table, and you tensed.

“I told you before, if there’s ever anything that you need to talk about, I’m here to listen. I want you to feel as comfortable around me as everyone else in this town,” he quietly added.

You slowly pulled your hands back to rest them on your lap, watching the way his brow twitched ever so slightly. You’d dealt with men like him before. Your ex-husband did that, usually when in public, a tell-tale sign that he was unhappy. They seemed to be more alike than you originally thought.

Before you could respond to that, Wanda was calling for him, letting him know that his food was ready. He sent you one last smile before rising and leaving you alone once again. Wanda strode over as soon as he was gone, a grin on her face.

“You two looked cozy,” she said. “What brings you by so early in the morning?”

“My car is in the shop, so I’m just killing time,” you answered, ignoring her quip about you and Steve.

“Hope everything’s okay with it,” she earnestly replied, handing you a menu. “So, are you going to order anything? I’ll make it on the house.”

“Oh, Wanda, you don’t have to do that,” you said, waving her off.

“Don’t be silly, Y/N, it’s nothing! You’ve had such a horrible string of bad luck lately, the least I can do is try to cheer you up…”

Reluctantly, you accepted her offer, and roamed your eyes over the menu.

When you strode into your yard it was around 7. Sure enough, like the man had said earlier, around 7:45 in the evening, your car was being parked alongside your curb. He mentioned that something had been wrong with the battery and that it hadn’t taken long at all to fix. He didn’t say it outright, but the way he spoke made you believe he thought someone had tampered with it. You believed so too, but you didn’t tell him that.

15 minutes later, you were on the road and making your way out of town. You didn’t exactly have a plan. For now, you looked to stay at the first hotel you could find in another city, staying in a room there for a while to consider your next course of action.

Never in a million years did you think something like this could happen to you, and in your tiny hometown no less. You shook your head, thinking about how Officer Rogers had everyone fooled. You wondered what else he’d gotten away with? Surely, he didn’t just wake up one morning with a change of heart and decided to torment you. People usually do what they know they can get away with, right?

You’d only been driving for maybe 25 minutes when your car suddenly stalled. Your eyes widened, and you rushed to turn the key, hoping that maybe it was a minor problem that would solve itself. You moved to turn it back on, but it only spluttered. Again, you tried, but the engine wouldn’t start, and your heart sank.

You glanced around along the long stretch of road, noting that no cars were around, and you doubted any would be anytime soon. It was getting dark, now, and worry filled you. You weren’t completely out of town yet, hadn’t even crossed the city limits, but there was no way you could walk anywhere. You were too far out, and you’d be crazy to.

You wanted to cry, but you forced the tears back, telling yourself that you had to think smart about this. You tried the ignition again, but like before, the engine wouldn’t start. You considered getting out to look under the hood, but you weren’t very familiar with the inside of a car. You knew to check the oil and knew when to put more freon in the car, but that was about it. Besides, you’d seen enough horror films to know to sit your ass in your car.

However, your location was a problem. You were, quite literally, in the middle of the road. Granted, if someone came up from behind you, it wasn’t like they couldn’t see you, but still. You didn’t like just sitting here. You took out your phone, thankful for your carrier because you actually had a few bars surrounded by all of these trees.

You were in the process of looking up the number to the diner, preparing to call Wanda, when red and blue suddenly surrounded you. Fear gripped you as you jerked your head up, confirming that there were definitely lights flashing from behind you. You dropped your phone in your lap as you turned around. A police cruise was parked on the side of the road behind you, and you felt your body grow numb for several different reasons.

What if it was Steve? You were alone out here, no one around to witness anything that could happen. The thought made you want to vomit. On the other hand, what if it wasn’t Steve? The thought still made you want to be sick because, again, you were alone out here…

You turned back around just as the door opened, taking a deep breath. Forcing your eyes up, you looked into the rearview mirror, only to sigh in relief, the tension easing from your shoulders. The cop walked up to your door, and luckily, your window was already halfway down when your car stopped. His dark eyes met yours, a friendly smile on his lips.

“Officer Wilson,” you breathed, hoping the relief wasn’t too obvious in your voice.

You’d never known him to be anything but nice. Besides, he never came with Steve to your house, so you long guessed that he wasn’t in on it with Steve and Bucky. You would’ve been more relieved had it been Officer Romanoff, but he would do. You wondered how he’d react if he knew what his friends were up to.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” he greeted. “Car trouble?”

“Yes,” you told him. “It just…it just stopped. I’ve tried to start it a couple of times, but nothing.”

He hummed.

“Going somewhere?”

You contemplated on whether or not to be truthful, but eventually you nodded.

“Just out of town. I have some things to do,” you kept it vague.

He nodded with a frown, eyes trailing over your car.

“You want me to take a look under the hood for you?” he offered.

“Would you? I’d appreciate that so much,” you answered.

He chuckled.

“Sure thing! Just let me get my flashlight out of the car,” he told you.

You frantically nodded, and he walked away. You wrung your hands together as you waited for him. You absentmindedly glanced around, and your eyes flickered over your passenger side mirror. You froze, frowning a bit as you questioned what you saw. Slowly, you flickered your eyes back to the passenger mirror, and they widened.

There, in the passenger seat of the police cruiser, was none other than Officer Barnes. Your lips trembled, heart hammering within your chest as you watched him talk to Sam, eyes on you. You could tell that he couldn’t see you looking at him through the mirror. You brought your eyes up to the rearview mirror, watching as Sam animatedly said something to him. You looked back to see Bucky doing the same. They seemed to be arguing about something.

Adrenaline on high, it took everything in you to keep your movements slow. You turned the ignition, but you were met with the same results as last time. You swallowed, tears collecting in your eyes now as you tried again.

“Come on, come on,” you quietly pleaded.

You looked up and watched in horror as both doors of the cruiser opened. Shaking your head, you turned the key again, hard, and gasped when your car roared to life. You heard Sam yell your name, but your foot was already pressing on the gas.

It wasn’t long before you heard the cruiser behind you, closing the distance. You were terrified to press your foot all the way down. You wanted to escape them, but you also didn’t want to die in the process. You forced your tears back, already hard enough to see as it is in the darkness. Your brights were on, but with the cruiser’s lights directly behind you, they weren’t much help.

You screamed when their bumper tapped the back end of your car. They did it again, and your fingers tightened on the wheel. You could see them coming up beside you, and before they had a chance to get level with your car, you slammed on the breaks. They flew past you before eventually slamming on breaks too. By the time they moved to turn around, you had already hit a U-Turn and were in the process of driving away.

Unfortunately, there was one thing that you hadn’t counted on.

Your car swerved when a gunshot rang out, the sound of your tire exploding not far behind. You struggled to take control of the car, realizing with horror that you were swerving off of the road and into the trees. You missed the first couple, but you shrieked when the side of your car grazed another. Your ran over fallen limbs and even a fallen trunk, roughly turning your wheel as not to come in contact with one head on.

It seemed that you were destined to do just that though. Your eyes widened at the large tree up ahead, and, in a panic, you jerked your wheel to the left, wincing when the right side of your car hit the tree instead, glass shattering. You released a shaky breath, pressing your hand to your head. Through the haze, you noted that you didn’t hear the cruiser approaching, but that just meant they were on foot.

With shaky hands, you struggled to open your car door. You slid out and fell to the ground, slowly pushing yourself onto your hands and knees, telling yourself to move faster. One hand on the car, you pulled yourself to your feet. Your vision swam as you stumbled through the trees, tripping over limbs and holding onto trunks as you passed them.

Your vision was starting to spin, and you shook your head, trying clear it. You could hear some fallen branches loudly snapping from behind you, and fear struck you. They didn’t even care to be stealthy, confident that they’d get you either way.

“Y/N!”

Your stomach churned at the way Bucky sang your name, the sound echoing around you in the darkness. They were closer than you thought, because you heard Sam say something to him that you couldn’t make out, and Bucky chuckled in response, that too echoing around you.

Unable to see where you were going, your foot landed in a hole, and you gasped as your ankle bent. You crashed to the ground, hitting your head, and your chest heaved. The footsteps were closer now, and you rolled over to crawl away just as a foot landed on your injured ankle.

You cried out, and someone’s hand wrapped around your arm, turning you over onto your back. You could make them out in the darkness, and you kicked your uninjured leg, hands swinging as you fought them off. You heard Sam grunt as your foot connected with his knee, and he stumbled back. Fed up, Bucky’s hand found your throat, pinning you to the ground as he straddled you, and you spit in his face.

He tightened his grip at that, and you whimpered.

“He wants her unharmed, Buck,” Sam reminded him, and the blue-eyed man scoffed.

“Yeah, well, maybe he should’ve gone after a girl with a little less fire-.”

His words were cut off by his yelp, and you dug your nails deeper into his face. Your other hand swung towards his neck, but his free hand caught it before you could do any damage, slamming your wrist to the ground.

“Damnit, Sam! Her hand! Grab her hand,” he snarled, struggling to keep you pinned beneath him, the haze finally clearing from your mind.

Your other hand was ripped away from him and held to the ground. He let go of your throat, and you bucked against him as he reached for something in his jacket. You couldn’t see what it was, not just because it was dark, but because tears were blurring your vision. He pressed it to your face, and you cried harder when you realized that it was a rag. It smelled funny, and you could guess what was soaking it.

You renewed your struggle, but they simply tightened their grip, Bucky pressing down harder on you as he did the same with the rag. You found it hard to breathe, and your body started to feel light. Sam shushed you, and that was the last thing you heard, Bucky’s blue eyes the last thing you saw before everything went dark.

The next time you drifted back into the land of semi-consciousness, you could feel that you were sprawled out on the backseat of a car. Your head lolled to the side as the car curved, and you could feel that you were being driven up a hill. You must have gone back to sleep for a few minutes because the next thing you felt was hands sliding underneath you, lifting you out of the car.

Your arms hung limp in the air, as did your head, and you frowned as you heard some muffled commotion. A tv was on, turned to the highest setting it seemed because even outside, you could hear that a football game was being watched. There were a few loud cheers that reached your ears, and you groaned.

A door was opened, the commotion quieting down, and a shift in the air told you that you were no longer outside. Even in your state, you realized that this wasn’t good, and your heart raced, frustration coursing through you because you couldn’t move.

“Is that her?” you heard an unfamiliar voice quietly ask, the deep baritone reaching your ears.

You felt, rather than heard, someone stomp towards you, and you groaned when they grabbed your ankle.

“What did I say, Bucky?”

You felt bile rise in your throat at the familiar voice, lips trembling as this confirmed everything that you already knew.

“That wasn’t me. She stepped in a hole when she was running away…”

Steve heaved a sigh, and whatever happened next was wordless because you felt Bucky start to walk. You slipped back under again just as his first foot stepped up onto some stairs. Darkness greeted you, mind conjuring up images that had you frowning.

Your mind was plagued with thoughts of Killian, but he eventually morphed to Steve. Falsely warm smiles and eyes that hid true intentions. His silhouette stood in every corner, laughing as you spun with a gun in hand, always just missing him. His laughter grew louder until it was all you could hear, and you shot up with a gasp.

The room that you were in was bathed in low light from the lamp on the other side. It was a modest size, but not tiny by any means. Your head still felt fuzzy, and you blinked a few times, attempting to clear it as you shook your head to the side. Your fingers dug into the sheets beneath you, and you realized that you were sitting on a bed.

Laughter grabbed your attention, the same laughter you heard in your sleep, and you realized that must have been what woke you up. You slid off of the bed, careful to do so without making any noise, and you hesitantly walked to the door. You tried the knob, but it seemed to be locked from the outside. You pressed your ear to the door and frowned at what you heard.

“Touchdown,” that same deep voice from before yelled, and you heard a thud before a small crash followed.

You heard several cries of protest, and with wide eyes, you realized that the house was full of men.

“Really, brother. Must you always be such a brute,” a smooth voice said.

You swallowed, taking a step back as your jaw clenched, hands curling into fists. How could they be enjoying something like a football party downstairs as if you hadn’t just been kidnapped and carried through the room…minutes…hours before?

With a huff, you spun around, looking over the room. You still felt a bit out of it, but you were coherent enough to realize you needed to get the hell out of here. Fast. Your eyes fell onto the window on the other side of the bed, and you hurried towards it. You bit your lip as you confirmed that you were on the second floor. The room that you were in was on the backside of the house because your eyes landed on the lake, and you grimaced.

With difficulty, you opened the window and looked down. There was more than enough room to hit the ground without hitting the lake, and you looked around. With disappointment, you realized there was nothing for you to climb onto…until you looked up. You stared at the ledge of the roof for a while before making up your mind.

You pulled your head back inside and ran to the dresser across from the bed. Swiftly, but quietly, you pulled all of the drawers out, neatly stacking them on the bed. The dresser was much lighter and much easier to push in front of the door now. When you were done, you paused, listening for any indication that they heard you, but the television was blaring, and there was some yelling at the screen. You quickly slid the heavy drawers back inside.

Stepping onto the window sill was a struggle, and not just because of your bruised ankle. You held onto the house with one hand, the other reaching up to grip the ledge of the roof. Without hesitation, you swung and clasped your other hand onto the ledge too. Your upper body strength was severely lacking, but it was enough.

Somehow, you shuffled around the house, away from the back patio and living room. You could see a tree coming up on your left, the large trunk brushing against the house, limbs and branches sticking out over and against the side. You reached for one of the limbs with one hand just as you placed a foot on a limb beneath that one. You followed suit with the other hand and hissed in pain when your injured foot joined your other one.

With difficulty, and much slower than you would have liked, you climbed down, gently lowering yourself to the ground. Before you were nothing but trees. You could see the start of the driveway to your right, and the ominous lake called to you on your left.

Your best chance of escape was getting to the other side of the lake. If you could get to the other side without being noticed, you’d practically be home free. However, trying to swim across a lake that size with a drugged-out brain, injured ankle, and fatigue-ridden body was a suicide mission. You could easily drown.

With a grimace, you stepped into the thick trees before you. You needed to get back to the road, but eventually, when they caught onto your absence, the road and nearby areas is the first place they’d look. Part of you thought that there was no use in trying. Your body was weak, and you were currently limping through the forest. You were like an injured deer trying to outrun a pack of wolves as they slept.

Eventually…they’d wake up.

The night was cool, and you started to shiver. When you left, you’d only had on some jeans and a thin long-sleeved shirt. Your jacket had been next to you in the passenger seat. Had you known you were going to be kidnapped and then forced to escape your kidnappers, you would’ve put it on. You heard a howl far off in the distance, and with a start, you remembered that Steve wasn’t the only thing you had to hide from.

You didn’t know how long you had been walking, but when you reached a small clearing, moonlight shining down on you, you were forced to admit it to yourself. You were lost. It wasn’t like you had been walking in circles, so you weren’t concerned about accidentally making your way back to the house. In fact, you were proud to say that you’d made a lot of headway.

Just when you thought that your fatigue would get the best of you, spotted lights far off in the distance. They weren’t stars. You figured that the nearest neighbor had to be miles away, so it didn’t hit you how much you had walked until that moment. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, leaning against a tree. You pushed yourself off of it just as you heard a noise from behind you.

It was so faint, and you blinked, thinking that you had imagined it. You took a step forward, and you heard it again. Feeling like you’d been punched in the stomach, you realized that it was shouts. Several of them reaching your ears, yelling a name that was all too familiar to you: yours.

Paying no mind to your injured ankle, you took off into a sprint. Your fatigue was long forgotten, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You could hear the shouts getting closer, and you realized that they had begun running too. One of them was faster than the rest, footfalls pounding against the earth as they fought to catch up to you.

You wouldn’t make it. The realist in you knew this, and you bent over as you ran, swiping up a thick bat sized limb. You heard him just behind you, and you spun, swinging it across his face. His head snapped to the side, and he fell to his knees, clutching his face. You looked up, realizing that the rest had almost caught up to you now, and took off again.

The broken branch was heavy in your arms, slowing you down, and it wasn’t long before you were caught up to again. Only this time when you swung, it was caught in an iron grip. Bucky snatched it from you with one hand while the other swung at you. You brought your foot up in between his legs just as his palm connected with your face.

You both went down, but as you went to crawl away, his hand clasped around your injured ankle. You yelped, clawing at the dirt as he pulled you back. With your other foot, you kicked him in the face, and he let go with a grunt.

You pushed yourself to your feet, but you were knocked down again, this figure much stronger, and you knew that it was the first man you’d hit. You struggled beneath him, screaming as he pinned your wrists at the small of your back. He yanked you up with ease, and you kicked behind you, but he easily avoided your assault.

He jerked you upright, and the other hand fisted into your hair as he made you look straight ahead. Bucky was struggling to stand, blue eyes cold as they gazed at you, and you returned the look, chest heaving. Another unfamiliar man was slowly making his way over with Sam, his green eyes twinkling with mischief, a sly smirk on his pink lips. The man behind you chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through his chest and into your back.

“I like this one,” he finally said, out of breath. “She’s a fighter…”

He didn’t seem bothered by it though. In fact, you’d say he enjoyed the chase.

“Like this one all you want, but this one isn’t yours.”

You tensed at the sound of a familiar voice coming from the shadows. His footsteps grew louder, and you saw the white of his shirt through the trees first. You moved in the harsh hold you found yourself in, and the man behind you shook you, casing you to flinch and hold still. You licked your lips, tasting blood, and you threw a glare towards Bucky.

Steve took his time getting to you, blond hair in disarray as he approached. The tight short-sleeved tee clung to him, and you narrowed your eyes at the healing wound on his right arm. He caught your gaze, and a smirk fell over his lips.

“You did get me good, sweetheart,” he said once close enough, impressed. “You could’ve killed me. I wasn’t expecting that.”

You didn’t respond, simply glaring at him as he stopped to stand before you. He looked down his nose at you before his gaze flickered to that of the man holding you.

“Let her go, Thor,” Steve told him.

“But she’ll-.”

“She won’t run away. You guys go back to the house. You might still be able to catch the end of that last game,” he interrupted.

Reluctantly, the man behind you, Thor, let you go, and the blood rushed back to your hands. You almost wanted to beg them to stay. You didn’t know what Steve would do to you now that you were alone…in the middle of nowhere…

He reached for your face, and you jerked away. He reached for it again, quicker this time, and gripped your chin harshly in his hand. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, wiping away the blood there, and he hummed.

You glanced down just before bringing your leg up, but seemingly anticipating that, Steve closed his own legs around your ankle. He twisted his body, causing you to fall on your side. He grabbed your ankle and pulled you back as he lowered to his knees. You pulled against his hold, but you felt him press his knees to the back of your legs, keeping you in place.

One arm grabbed the back of your shirt and yanked you up until you were on your own knees, back pressed against his front while one hand slid around you to lock your arms in place at your side. It all happened so quickly, and you struggled in his hold. His heart beat perfectly steady in his chest while yours threatened to jump out at any moment. He brushed his lips over your ear, and you closed your eyes.

“You’ve got two options...,” he started. “I can give you this…”

You opened your eyes just in time to see him bring a syringe before your eyes, and they widened in fear, heart skipping a beat.

“It’ll help you sleep,” he murmured. “…and we both know you need the rest after the day you’ve had.”

You jerked against him, but he tightened his hold, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“However…if I gave you this, I could do anything I wanted to you. I mean, I won’t because that’s not really my style, but all you have is my word on that,” he whispered, breath fanning over your skin.

You stared at the ground, tears spilling over now.

“Or…we could stand up, and we could walk back to the house like two civilized adults. Its entirely up to you…”

“Why are you doing this to me?” you finally asked him.

He tsk’d at that.

“Make a decision,” he demanded, voice dropping.

With trembling lips, you told him that you’d walk. He sharply inhaled, seemingly pleased with the answer as he put the syringe away. He loosened his grip, but your relief was short-lived as he quickly snapped handcuffs onto your wrists. He tightened them, and you winced, gasping when one hand dug into your arm, the other sliding over your breasts.

A new fear clung to your frame as he fondled you, hands sliding down your shirt, fingers dancing along the edge of your jeans.

“No,” you protested, trying, and failing, to lean away from him.

He slid his hands past the waistband and into your underwear, fingers grazing over you. The hand that was on your arm slid up to your throat, tightly wrapping around it to pull your head back. His lips pressed to the skin just below your jaw, and you trembled as he slowly slipped a finger inside of you.

“Steve, please-.”

“Say my name again,” he groaned, sliding a finger in and out of you before adding another.

“Stop,” you choked out, fighting to put as much space between you as possible.

He simply hummed, pushing his fingers into you past the knuckle, curling them inside of your now slick core. You gasped, and he turned your head to the side, pressing his lips against yours and forcing his tongue past your lips. He moaned into your mouth as he worked his hand in between your legs, the lewd sounds reaching your ears.

The palm of his hand kept brushing against your bundle of nerves, and you felt yourself clench around him. Steve chuckled into your mouth, a grin on his lips. You tried to move your head away, but he kept you in place, moving his mouth against yours again.

You shook in his arms as your walls fluttered around his fingers, and your vision went fuzzy, a choked moan being pulled out of you. Steve swallowed it down, and you didn’t even notice that he’d released your neck, eyes widening when you felt a pinch.

He held you still as he pulled the needle out of your neck, and your reaction was instantaneous. You collapsed in his arms, and he was more than happy to hold you, blue eyes boring into your own as you fought to keep them open. You watched as he brought his fingers up and wrapped his lips around them. He kissed you, and you tasted yourself. His lips brushed over yours as he spoke, reaching under you to undo the cuffs.

“You don’t know how badly I want to take you, right now…”

You struggled in his arms now that yours were free, but your movements were sluggish, and you felt weighed down. He held you in his arms as he stood, your arms swinging limply.

“…but someone might think that I was killing you.”

Your head fell back as sleep claimed you.

~

tags:  @xoxabs88xox​ @darkficreposter   @mcudarklibrary @captainchrisstan​ @nickyl316h​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @harryspet​ @readermia​ @sebabestianstan101​ @villanellevi​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @coconutqueen21​ @briannab1234​ @stargazingfangirl18​   @lou-la-lou​ @izzfizzh​ @thatgirly81​ @autty0314​ @hinata7346​

[velvetmel0n]

First Time For Everything

Summary: Sleeping together counts as anger management, right?

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: It’s 3k+ words of smut, idk either ya’ll but uhhh penetrative sex, sex in a hallway, mutual pining?? Don’t know how that happened but we also got some good old fashioned thigh riding and a teensy bit of almost-but-not-quite-exhibitionism and Poe’s hot for it, fight me

A/N: Given my URL is anyone surprised I wrote for him first? No

The first time it happens it’s angry. Or it starts that way, at least. 

You’d been arguing about something, maybe nothing at this point because it seemed all the pilot had to do was breathe in your direction some days and you two were at each other’s throats, hurling insults and accusations back and forth and you think that you might hit him this time, actually hit him. Slap him across the face so that your hand leaves a red, stinging outline on his cheek or punch him hard enough to hopefully break his nose and not your hand. But that’s not what happens.

What happens instead is that he crowds you, pushing into your space and you’re wishing you had the Force because you would knock him back into last Tuesday and- and then he’s kissing you. His mouth comes down hard against your own like he’s trying to wordlessly continue the argument, chapped lips working yours and demanding a response from you.

Maker help you, you give him one.

You dig your nails into his shoulders, scratch them down the arms that he’s using to yank you closer to him when he licks into your mouth because you’re still angry with him and the stunts he pulls. He shoves you harder against the wall in response, hard enough for your breath to stall in your throat, hard enough that your skin prickles and something twists in your belly, heat suffusing your body.  

And…and that might be the precise moment when all that anger you kept stoked for Poe Dameron starts to spiral into the type of lust that you can’t ignore, can’t just pretend like it’s not burning a hole through the pit of your stomach. Not when his tongue is down your throat and his hands are in your hair, on your hips, grabbing fist fulls of fabric and pulling. 

Your head is starting to spin from the combined effects of lack of oxygen and the feel of his stubble abrading your skin and you can’t quite remember why kissing him is such a bad idea. Why you had always tried to cut yourself off from whatever feelings you may or may not have for him like they were a gangrenous limb. But for as hard as you tried to push them away you still got nervous whenever he took off, knowing he was a good pilot but also knowing he had no problems almost killing himself for the possibility of saving the galaxy. It happened before and it’s bound to happen again; it almost happened today for crying out loud and if you were the self analyzing sort you might think that that’s the reason he got on your nerves so easily. 

But he keeps eating at your mouth, nipping at your lip and a groan, quiet and rough, slips from him when your fingers twist in the curls at the back of his neck and you nip him back. And just like that you aren’t able to think about anything else that isn’t getting him to make that sound again.

His mouth finally breaks from yours and then he’s at your throat, mouthing at the sensitive skin under your ear and swirling his tongue against your flesh like he wants to see how you taste here, too. One of your hands move to grip the collar of his stupid, bright orange flight suit like a lifeline when he continues down the column of your neck, only dimly aware of the fact that you two are in some shadowy alcove and caring less and less about the chance of someone catching you two. 

Then he shoves a thigh between your own and you don’t care at all.

You stop breathing for a moment, suspended in time before your hips stutter into a roll and all that air you’d been holding whooshes out of your lungs in a long sigh. “That’s it,” They’re the first words he’s said since corning you against the wall, his tone dark and low. Almost…soft. At odds with the way he’s been working your neck over with his teeth, no doubt leaving marks that you’d find later after you’ve come to your senses.

 “Thaaat’s it,” He praises again, one of his big hands falling to your hip to wrench you harder against him until your clit is mashed against the meat of his thigh. Heat floods your system, his name little more than a puff of air leaving your lips and you’re helpless to stop yourself from grinding down. Your hands scramble to grab something, anything, ending up catching his face and pulling him back up to you, muffling your moan against his lips.

You feel like you could melt into a puddle right here against the wall, reduced to some quivering mess, and you want nothing more than to drag him down with you. He’s palming your breasts through your shirt now, finding your nipple through the fabric and pinching. You can feel the bulge of his cock against your thigh and the heat of it makes your mouth start to water and you want to go to your knees for him and take him into your mouth because… Well because you want to make him shake and pant and moan. 

And then you hear the voices.

 And instead of breaking apart, of doing the smart thing and running away before anyone catches you, the bastard grins at you. It’s a sharp, almost devious slash of white teeth in the shadows as he replaces his thigh with his hand. 

“They won’t know we’re here if you don’t make any noise,” He mutters at your ear and the urge to hit him is back as the voices draw closer, panic rising in your chest just as fast as the whole aroused, willing-to-jump-Poe-Fucking-Dameron-in-a-hallway thing had. 

“Let me go!” You hiss, afraid even that would alert whoever was coming, but to no avail. You try to stand on your tippy toes, try to crane your neck to see if they’ve turned down the hallway yet, and all the while Poe is working his hand into your pants with a renewed sense of urgency, like the threat of being caught excites him. 

Because of course it does.

This was insane; ridiculous, dumb, quite possibly the worst decision you have made in the past three months, maybe longer. You hate him and you hate his stupid, reckless- oh. The breath leaves your lungs when a single, calloused finger runs along the length of your slit. You hadn’t been expecting him to completely fucking bypass your underwear, hadn’t been prepared for the feel of it. 

Poe’s mouth falls open as he watches your expressions, watches the way your eyelids almost slip closed and your teeth sink into your lip. “I knew you liked me,” It’s a taunt, but it’s breathless and there’s no real venom behind it, the pilot too wrapped up in how wet you are for him. How soft, how hot. You’re practically dripping into his palm at this point and if he’s being honest with himself he wants to drown in it.

“You’re such a bastard,” You’re rocking your hips towards him all the same though, trying not to whine because he’s- he’s playing with you now. Just spreading your slick around, avoiding your clit entirely might you add, like he can’t get over the fact that it’s for him. You grab at his flight suit again, needing to hold onto something as he keeps petting you, dragging his fingers along your slit and over your lips, acting like he has all the time in the world despite the voices growing louder and clearer and you think you might actually cry if he keeps this up. 

Your head starts to loll back against the wall as he keeps rubbing at you, giving you just enough stimulation to set your teeth on edge, but then he’s grabbing your jaw and leaning closer, pressing his forehead into yours. “Look at me,” It’s stern, more of a command than anything else. If this was any other time, if you weren’t in a hallway and if his hand wasn’t between your legs, there’s a good chance you would tell him to fuck right off on principle. But here you are and his hand isn’t stopping, and, embarrassingly, something about his tone is just…just working for you.

So you manage to pry open your eyes, vulnerability rocking through you when you meet his gaze head on.  His eyes are dark and hungry, pupils blown out and flickering around your face like he’s trying to catch every little bite of your lip, every flinch when he touches you in just the right spot. He looks so absorbed in what he’s doing, staring at you hard like he’s trying to read your fucking mind or something and it’s affecting you just as much as his fingers are.

“Poe,” You try to appeal to him again, hearing footsteps now and your voice is high and tight from fear and the fact that he’s decided that pushing a finger into you at this exact moment is the best course of action. And, inanely, you think that nothing has felt as good as this. Then he presses the pad of his thumb against your swollen clit and begins to rub little circles into the bundle of nerves and you stand corrected; nothing has ever felt as good as this. You desperately try to suck in enough air, a whine building in your throat.  He shushes you, giving your jaw a short squeeze you take to mean as him telling you to shut up and, miraculously given the current set of circumstances, you manage to swallow back any noises you’re attempting to make. 

 You’re unable to look away from him when he begins to feed another finger into your soaked pussy and starts to leisurely pump them in and out, never once breaking eye contact with you. Dimly you realize that the footsteps have turned down some other corridor before they reached you and you really want to say that that’s the main reason you start sagging against the wall, hips rolling as best they could with the somewhat awkward positioning.

He seems intent on dragging your pleasure out for as long as possible but the chance of getting caught is still very much present and despite your hazy brain, you know you might not get lucky the next time. 

You tackle his suit with shaking hands, trying to remember how to breathe because he keeps filling you up to the knuckle with his fingers and you can feel the rough drag of them against your walls. You fumble the zipper once, twice, yanking it down on the third try- and you can’t stop the disappointment that bubbles to the surface when you see he’s wearing a shirt underneath.

You lean forwards and begin to mouth at his neck all the same, smiling against his skin when you feel the hand between your thighs stutter, stalling for several moments while he’s distracted by your mouth on his skin before he resumes fucking you with his fingers. You keep going, sucking and nibbling marks to match your own while your hands run over his torso appreciatively, wishing you two weren’t in a hallway so you could take your time to explore him. 

Instead you keep heading towards your destination, tugging his zipper down further so you’re able to push your hand into his underwear. You decide to forgo any teasing and wrap your hand around the hard length of him, preening when he makes a noise that sounds somewhere between a choke and a moan from low in his throat. His free hand comes up to brace himself on the wall beside your head and he leans into you, breathing harshly while you stroke him.

Stars, he’s thick. Thicker than you imagined he’d be- not that you imagined this, not like you fantasized about what his cock might be like when you were keyed up and couldn’t sleep, or at any other time of day for that matter. No, not like that at all. 

You peek down and you’re just able to catch a glimpse of the tip between your bodies, and fuck he’s pretty too. Ruddy and weeping underneath your palm as you twist and pull and swipe your thumb through the beads of pearly fluid collecting there, wishing they were on your tongue instead.

“Let me fuck you,” He breathes, thrusting into your first. He presses his lips over yours before you can answer in an open mouthed kiss. “Please let me fuck you,” It’s a ragged plea against your mouth and how could you possibly say no to Poe Dameron begging?

“If you don’t I swear I’ll stran-strangle you,” It’s less threatening than you wanted it to be, your voice keening and needy, but it got the job done and that’s all you could ask for given your current state. He slips his fingers from you and you can’t stop yourself from whining with the loss, with the promise of what’s about to replace them. 

He doesn’t waste any time, his hand replacing your own and the anticipation of it all has your toes curling in your boots before he stops short, the blunt head of his cock just…Just slipping across your folds, coating himself in your slick. You can’t help but squirm because yes, it feels amazing because the head of his cock keeps sawing over you clit but you want him inside, dammit. You’re about to goad him more, wanting to tell him that if he doesn’t get on with it you’re going to blast him in his pretty face, when he finally pushes into your weeping cunt.

You stop breathing, sure that you’ve never been more full in your life, and he’s making another of those choked off, moaning sounds from somewhere in his chest. He mutters something you don’t catch over the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears and then he’s moving, slow and steady at first but picking up steam until he’s pounding you into the wall. Thankfully he still has enough sense to slap a hand over your mouth because honestly, you shouldn’t be held responsible for the sounds you’re making right now.

You claw at his shirt, his suit, trying to keep him as close to you as possible. He moves his hand from the wall to slip under your leg, hitching it up as much as he could with your pants pulled tight around your knees and something about that slight shift in angle has you locking up when he hits some magical spot that you didn’t even realize you had, squeezing your eyes so tight a tear leaks out because now he’s slowed down again. Letting you feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he drills it into that spot over and over again and you really, really do not have time for this but it just feels so good.

You try to tell him you’re about to cum, you really do. But he still has his hand over your mouth and the most you can do is let out some pathetic whimper against it. The muscles in your abdomen tighten and he shuffles impossibly closer to you, not so much thrusting as he is grinding into you now and keeping delicious pressure on that one piece of you that had you seeing stars and your clit is pressed up against his pubic bone and just like that it’s over. 

Your eyes flutter and roll back into your head while you claw at him, sobbing into his hand as your body melts down around him in a rush of heat and wet. His head pops up from where it was resting on your shoulder, watching you through almost delirious eyes while he works you through it, hips doubling down until you almost can’t take it anymore.

He isn’t going to last, not after that. Not after the sounds you made, how absolutely wrecked you were as you shook in his arms. “Wh-where do you…where do you want it,” He slurs, trying to keep it together for just a little bit longer. He doesn’t remember to take his hand away from your mouth until you mumble something against it.

“Insi-side,” He can’t exactly cum anywhere else and expect to keep this little tryst a secret, but you think it’s nice that he still asked. Maybe there is a gentlemanly side of Poe hidden somewhere after all. Hallway-fucking not withstanding. 

At your words he makes a noise that sounds almost painful and hunkers over you, curling his body around yours and goes to town with his hips plowing into yours. You wrap your arms around him and hold him close, catching his jaw with your hand and dragging him into an open mouthed, sloppy kiss. 

Something twists in your gut then, pulling tight like an electrified wire that runs the length of your spine and you have a moment of disbelief. The only sounds are harsh breathing, Poe’s hips slamming into yours muffled by the thick fabric of his flight suit, and the obscene sounds of his cock disappearing into your body, and you think that you might actually cum again.

Again.

In the hallway.

This couldn’t be real. You had just gone too long without getting laid and are having some sort of hyper realistic fever dream to compensate. But then Poe shoves himself as deep as he can go and fucking stays there and the wire holding your entire body together at this point just snaps. Your pussy clenches around his cock and then it’s just bliss, complete bliss, because you feel him jolt against you, how he’s throbbing and wow you really didn’t think it would feel this good to have his warmth coating your insides but it does. You’re still trying to regain the ability to breathe properly when he starts talking. 

”Fuck,” You’re consoled by the fact that he sounds as wrecked as you feel, but he keeps going, murmuring like he was in a daze while he mouthed at your skin. Not really doing anything in particular, but like he wanted to just…feel you. Ghosting his lips over your pulse point, running his tongue over the corner of your jaw. Kissing your shoulder. He tells you how good you felt, feel around him because he hasn’t pulled out of you yet, how perfect you are at taking him. 

You soak up the praise like a sponge, the words going straight to your head and making you want to purr. You have to return to reality though, and you’re only allowed a few moments of being blissed out with a complimenting, affectionate Poe before you snap out of it. 

“Okay get off, get off, get off,” You chant, trying to push his shoulders and pull up your pants at the same time. “We need to go.” His cock slips from you with all the jumping around you’re doing and you aren’t prepared for how empty you feel without it, how fucking bereft. Nope, you aren’t dealing with that right now. No way. You’d deal with your sudden, apparently emotional attachment to Poe Dameron’s cock when you aren’t at risk of getting caught with your pants down. Literally. 

The pilot can’t help but chuckle at how frantic you are, unceremoniously yanking your pants up and trying to smooth out the wrinkles, trying to make yourself look as presentable as possible. All he has to do is tuck himself back into his pants and zip his flight suit, meaning all of his concentration can be on you. Warmth blooms in his chest and he wants to kiss you again, just kiss you. 

He really didn’t plan on this to happen when he followed you, honest. He was just continuing the fight, dogging your heels in a way he knew would have you seeing red. Maybe he’s a masochist -or a sadist, considering- but he loves it when you’re angry. Not because of anything real or meaningful; the kind of anger that comes from pushed buttons and butting heads, the kind that makes your eyes light up and all your attention focus on him and him alone. Schoolyard tactics sure, but it was the one surefire way he had of monopolizing your time and he wasn’t above using it to his own selfish reasons

“See you around, Dameron!” You toss the words over your shoulder as you speed walk away from him, trying not to break into a run back to your room in your haste to get away from the scene of the crime… and your feelings, but that’s neither here nor there.

He frowns at your retreating back. A few minutes ago he was Poe. He was Poe and you couldn’t get enough of him, were almost climbing him like a tree in an effort to get closer and if it wasn’t for your pants getting in the way, he was sure you would have. 

But he doesn’t start to follow you again. As much as he wants to, he just stands there in the hallway, looking lost before he collects himself. You’d talk about this later, whatever this had just turned into because he doesn’t want it to end. Not even close.

[bungamawar001]

Murder Mystery

this is supposed to be for Cubetober day one, but my mind blanked out in the middle of it, so i finished it late. also i wrote this in three different times of day with three different states of mind, so if it's inconsistant that's why.

anyway, this is set in my au that i made when i was 13, so i apologize to anyone reading this if it's scuffed, but it still holds a very special place in my heart, so here it is.

~~~~~~~

Sparklez was talking. Jesse wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying, but it probably wasn’t anything he didn’t already know. What he was more interested in were the rest of the people seated in front of him. Their bubbles (or auras as was the proper term, apparently) to be exact.

Because the ones surrounding these people were strange. They were denser than the average person’s back in his home dimension, which usually meant they were physically stronger, but none of them looked like they could lift more than any other average person. A likely explanation was just that was how people were in this world, and that was all fine and dandy, but the one that concerned him the most was, ironically, the most normal of their group.

Alright, not normal, but her gold blinking aura was familiar, and to top it off, it was dense and had range. The only times he’d ever felt a bubble like this was with the members of the Order of the Stone. And even if they couldn’t lift more than their own body weight in the best of days, they still had their abilities. Which Jesse found out was the reason for the density and range.

This girl, however, (Cassie Rose, his mind supplied for him) was supposedly from this world. And yet, she had the aura of a person with the same sort of abilities as the old Order of the Stone and himself. Which, if that wasn’t suspicious-

He snapped his attention to where Dan’s fizzling started leaning more towards curiosity than anxiety. It could be something Sparklez had said, but no one else’s mood had shifted quite like his… also, he was looking under the table. Interesting.

“-whoever invited us-”

“Whatcha got there, Dan?”

Sparklez started as Jesse abruptly cut him off, and the entire table turned their attention towards him. Jesse nearly staggered at the weight of the scrutiny, but he managed to keep his gaze on the dual-colored aura.

“O-oh, um, it’s just this button, see?” Dan pushed his chair back and stood up to reveal that there was indeed a button under the table. “I was just thinking that it was an odd place to put one…”

“Dan!” Lizzie looked at her friend incredulously, her swirls now had a hint of exasperation, but the anxiety seemed to multiply tenfold, “Don’t tell us you were about to press it!”

“What?” He was quick to defend himself as his fizzling shifted to fear and embarrassment. It was mostly the fear, though. “No! No, of course not-”

A quick glance around the table to the rest of his friends seemed to drain his resolve, “W-well, I-I mean - “

He stumbled around his words for another second before he threw his hands up and covered his face, “You guys know how I am with buttons! Give me a break!”

Surprisingly, despite how wound up they looked, they did stop glaring at him. And yet…

‘They’re all suspicious of him now’, Jesse thinks to himself as he glances around at the rest of the auras around him. ‘Well, all of them. Except for one.’

Cassie’s gold blinked in anticipation, satisfaction, and a hint of regret that kept coming and going. Which, combined with her odd aura was a dead giveaway that she was the culprit, one hundred percent. At least, that’s what Jesse thought, in any case-

“Oh, hey. I have one too.” Everyone turned their heads towards StampyCat just in time to see him press the button on his side of the table.

“Stampy, DON’T-!”

Jesse wasn’t sure who yelled, but it didn’t matter. Because one second, Sparklez was standing right beside him, and then the next his chair tipped backwards towards a gaping hole that had opened up in the floor.

His reflexes had gotten better ever since a year ago, when they were still in that treehouse, but even then, he could do nothing but watch as his fingers brushed against Sparklez’s sleeve before he dropped into the abyss down below. He thought he felt someone whizz by him as he watched Sparklez fall, but there wasn’t any time to think about it before sand fell from the ceiling and filled up the hole.

At this point, everybody’s auras were swirling, fizzing, popping with fear, anxiety, grief. It was getting harder and harder to keep the forigen emotions at bay along with his own. It didn’t help that Cassie Rose (because she was a damn good actor, but she sure as hell can’t mask her inner self), aka White Pumpkin, aka the current literal bane of his existence, decided to put on a show right after the goddamn murder.

So when the lights turned on again, Jesse found himself kneeling on the floor and clutching his head. It took all of his power to not hurl his guts right then and there. Petra and Lukas, the godsends, seemed to be hoarding everyone out of the room, while Ivor had somehow ended up beside him with his hand on his head. He hadn’t been able to sense Gabriel anywhere since the sand fell, and he would’ve been more concerned over it if he were in any better shape.

As it was, he felt his nausea gradually receding as he felt the effects of Regeneration wash over him. Or maybe it was Health. He vaguely remembered Ivor trying to teach him something about that, although he can’t quite remember at the moment.

“Jesse? How do you feel?” Ivor’s voice cut through the fog in his brain, and he mentally thanked the man for keeping his volume down.

“I’m- I think I’m okay now.” He stayed on the floor for a second. Just to try and fill in the gaps in his memory after Sparklez…

He was instantly overcome with guilt at that thought. So much so that Ivor’s hand left his head as he recoiled from the intensity of it. It came back a second later, and Jesse could feel the other’s concern from where Ivor was sitting next to him.

“Jesse?”

“It- the- the sand- Sparklez…”

Ivor’s royal blue aura shimmered with relief, and Jesse looked at him in confusion as the older man lightly shook his head.

“Sparklez is fine, Jesse. I activated Speed and caught him before he fell.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. It’ll be a pain to try and explain that to the newcomers, however.”

Well. That’s a relief. Not the explaining part. But at least no one died this time. He’ll probably still have nightmares about this incident though. Bummer.

~~~~~~~~~

When Jesse and Ivor finally stepped out into the main hall, they took a double take at the scene in front of them.

Stampy was hiding behind Gabriel and Petra; Dan and Lizzie were in an argument against Stacy and Cassie; and Sparklez and Lukas seemed to be stuck in the middle failing to act as mediator between the groups.

“This is Stampy we’re talking about, guys! He didn’t do it on purpose!” Lizzie’s pink was swirling with anxiety and it seemed like her resolve was faltering.

“He still pressed the button! After all the grief we gave Dan for thinking about it, he still pressed it!” Stacy’s navy was the opposite. There was fear there, sure. But her anger and betrayal was burning much stronger and more decisively than Lizzie’s.

It would probably be a smart idea to diffuse this situation sooner rather than later.

“Hey! Hey, guys?” Jesse tried. They seemed to be too caught up in yelling at each other to have noticed the new arrivals.

“I would’ve pressed it! If Jesse hadn’t stopped me I would’ve! I was curious about it, and Stampy was too!” Dan’s blue and white aura was a sight to behold. Not because of the dual colors, Jesse's gotten over that while he’d been questioning him. His anger was making his bubble fizzle and spark, and his desperation was thick in the air.

“What Dan said!” Stampy’s aura was chilly with fear and betrayal. Which was valid, since two of his friends were vehemently against him..

“So you admit to being the White Pumpkin?” Cassie Rose. Her gold aura was bleeding with victory and even more regret. There was also a sort of desperate relief much closer to her core that almost had Jesse wondering why she was doing this..

Almost.

“Guys, I have-”

“Allll right! Let’s not start accusing people with doubtful evidence-”

Stacy whipped around to face her friend, “You were the one who fell because of him, Sparklez!”

“Yes, I know that, just- just hear me out, okay?” CaptainSparklez’ bright red aura had been calm, for the entire time that Jesse had been around him. Even now, after his brush of death, and the layers of anxiousness and fear within him, his aura didn’t send wave after wave of emotions like Jesse expected.

He didn’t know if that was the reason everybody settled, or because Sparklez was the one who nearly died this time, but finally, Stacy’s angry burning mellowed down to a smaller flame, and Dan’s sparks grew less intense, although his anger was still fizzling quickly and quietly in his own bubble.

“I- I know this has been a very stressful evening for all of us, but Stampy’s our friend. I know we haven’t known him as long as Lizzie and Dan have, Stacy, Cassie, but I know him well enough to be positive that he wouldn’t do something like this on purpose.”

“...fine,” With that, Stacy’s anger disappeared, and in its place was a mix of doubt and regret. Maybe she wasn’t really angry at Stampy in the end? There were only so many people to blame, after all. “But if you’re so sure he didn’t do it, then who did?”

Cassie’s bubble started to blink rapidly in desperation, and Jesse rushed to interject before she could say anything, “I know who it is.”

Before anyone could react and without missing a beat, Cassie responded, “Is it you?”

“Wha- No! I’m not going to say names without any further proof, but it’s not me!”

“That sounds like something a suspicious person would say.”

Jesse’s had just about enough of this ginger, honestly, “And how would you know what a suspicious person sounds like?”

“Like you, clearly.”

“I am not-!”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Gabriel grabbed Jesse’s arm and pulled him away. “We have more important things to worry about.”

Right. Finding proof.

~~~~~~~

It was a hassle, trying to get everyone to agree to stay in the same room while Jesse, Ivor, and Petra took a look around. Eventually, they reached a compromise when it was brought up that Ivor was the one who saved Sparklez. Unfortunately, part of that compromise was they had to bring Cassie with them.

He risked a glance at the golden bubble blinking rapidly with determination and sighed. This was going to be a long night.

[whatsyourcolor]

Dragnet - Chapter 9 - Kingdom of Thieves.

Read on Ao3

Thank you to those of you that are still reading Dragnet! In previous chapters Kogami and Akane conducted a mission that resulted in technology malfunctioning, suspicions arising and Akane almost getting killed. Kogami broke up their short-lived (or so he thinks) association for reasons and emotions still confusing to him. Here’s Chapter 9:

KINGDOM OF THIEVES

Pliable, suspiciously warm, the sofa's leather cushions in the analysis lab sank underneath Kogami's weight, comfort suffusing his tense limbs like an anxiolytic. Undoubtedly, Kunizuka had made a routine pitstop here prior to heading to the interrogation room with Ginoza for another round of fruitless grilling. Which would explain the mellow, secret melody Shion was humming as she typed away on her keyboard. At least someone in Division 1 was having fun. Banished from the interrogation room and having severed the only connection he had to that other world, lulls of silent anticipation such as this had become nearly intolerable for him because, like a stray dog, his mind would go—insistently, shamelessly—back to her.

If only his ruminations had been centered in the pragmatic aspects of their relationship (what was her exact link to the syndicates? When did it start? And why?), he could have forgiven himself more easily. But it was the way his name sprung from her direct mouth, and how it meant she was not cross with him (as opposed to Inspector), and that furrowed brow each time she sermonized about things not unlike those he’d spend hours perusing in books—things he had strictly forbidden himself to linger on; things he’d never dream to speak about out loud. It was her scrutiny, never sub rosa. Not when she looked at him with unabashed eyes, not searching for a weakness or a fault—he suspected—but for something like a virtue, something that would warrant their unlikely partnership in her eyes.

So what did it mean for him to be sitting here while she was still out there, meandering in the dark? Stubbornly continuing this, insisting on this, and she would lose more than her hue. Kogami palmed the cellphone inside his pocket and then thought better of it because—what right did he have to care? To ask anything from her? Who was he in her life but an accident of chance? Or, perhaps, had his threats managed to compel her, and had she gone back to an ordinary life where she didn’t want to change the world? No, he thought sullenly. Even I know that about you. But it’s not like you’re alone either, is it, Tsunemori? Not that it makes you any safer.

On a large screen, a corner-side vantage of the dark interrogation room. Light spilled from a lamp above onto a table as a cuffed man swaggered in like a circus bear that's figured out the master's whip is made of hay. A braggart's smirk splashed across his face as he flumped on a chair. Kogami perched his elbows on his legs, interlaced hands under his nose to summon all his objective focus on the screen, but all he could think about was how much he'd love to pummel that sneer off again.

"A different species of inspector today," proclaimed the Arumajiro man, all affected bravado to Gino's bespectacled, sober professionalism. Still bearing the marks Tsunemori had gouged on his tattooed skin, he slammed his arms on the table, presumably to stir a wince from Ginoza, who only blinked with imperturbable disdain. "And you even brought a woman to protect you. That a habit of Sibyl's dogs?"

"The type of technology found in the interior of the truck you and your comrades were riding on is not something that can be built with metal scraps scavenged from Ougishima,” Gino said with no inflection in his voice. "Who is funding your association?"

The man acknowledged the question with a caustic snort for answer, a sort of growl. His eyes slithering over the less illuminated corners of the room—methodically, as if searching for something.

“He’s watching, ain’t he?” he eventually muttered. “He wouldn’t miss this.”

"You'll have enough time to look at walls when you go to the isolation facility. No need to strain your eyes so hard on these,” Gino spat back. “Answer the question. Your syndicate knew about the crackdowns by the MWPSB. How did you acquire a signal jammer? Who programmed it?"

"Inspectors in the blocks," the man began in a low voice. "You lot stick out like a pack of wild hens running around with your dominators. Of course, everyone always knows when you're there, with your holos and your drones. You’re not exactly low-key, you know? The eyes of Sibyl might see us only when they want to, but we’re always watching.”

"And so your syndicate figured they'd try to go undetected and invest on an illegal piece of technology impossible to acquire within the abolition blocks.”

"Impossible,” the man echoed as if mulling the meaning of the word. As if, Kogami thought, what a Sibyl detective would deem impossible, even preposterous in his world, was something that acquired a different value where he came from. A perverse grimace spread on the man’s face, a sort of smiling frown full of certitude. "Nothing is impossible in the abolition blocks. Not anymore.”

“Not exactly a charmer when he finally decides to talk, is he?” Shion drawled with a slow plume of smoke, her profile silhouetted by blue light in the haze. “What could he possibly mean?”

"At least he's taunting us now,” Kogami murmured dryly. “But I don’t perceive urgency in his behavior. No negotiation or surrender. If he’s decided to talk it must be for more than dull temporizing, though I don’t think his objective is to necessarily give us what we want.”

“Hmm. Who knows.” Shion gave an affected gasp. “Could it be he likes Ginoza better?”

Kogami chuckled softly, and Shion smiled, proud of herself. He figured he probably had been looking as dismal as he felt.

“Definitely,” he acknowledged with a cool sigh, lifting himself up from the softness of the sofa, and starting to hanker for a smoke. He shoved the flaps of his navy windbreaker aside and thrust his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Gino can be a darling when he wants to. But I should head over there now. Might as well put some pressure now he’s talking.”

“I thought Ginoza said—”

“I know. I know he instructed all of you to keep me at bay. But this case might be bigger than we think and I can’t just wait idly by.”

Shion exhaled coolly, swiveling her chair toward her station again. “Very well. Just be careful.”

Freely, brashly for an interrogation, the man went on blathering on the screen. “But impossible things have been happening. People disappearing. Tunnels hidden behind holo. Miracles, even. The last of which involved a woman intercepting a truck in the tunnels, armed with nothing but a bat—so what I’ve been wondering is, how did the excellent and competent MWPSB get a double-crossing bitch to do their job for them?”

Doors glided open in front of him as Kogami’s step came to a standstill. Jaw clenching, he whirled round to face the grainy image of the man again.

“You’d do well to remember I’m the one asking questions here,” Ginoza retorted impatiently, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t an exchange of particulars between two commensurate parties. This is an interrogation, and your time is running out.”

The man leaned in over the table and Kunizuka’s back went upright, her hand circling around her waist as a warning. “You see,” he said. “I can’t help but be intrigued as to how a single woman gained the trust of the underground resistance and helped them against the syndicates, all while working with the police.”

Kogami stiffened. Was that the reason behind Tsunemori’s ironclad secrecy? Did the man not kill her only because he was working information out of her? Even if Kogami had entertained a similar notion before—with her overt spurning of the system and her criminal consorts—something in him refused to admit that she could be, for lack of a better word, his enemy. But if what was being said was true, then the accusations he’d hurled at her—the same ones that had been tormenting him since he’d said them—may have been wholly understating.

“Justice for traitors and informers, know what that is? That wretched girl hanging from a wire in the ports of Ougishima where anyone else with funny ideas can see. Or worse—No. Better—her chained to a bed in the filth of a brothel. See that pretty hue turn black.” The man spoke slowly but without pause, in his visage a pained expression that evoked menace in lieu of sorrow. “Imagine, if you can, in a place crawling with people both desperate to cleanse their sins and itching for something unsullied to defile, just what coveted merchandise a clear-hued Sib would be. Not just any Sib, no. A plant by the MWPSB. A traitor. Hell, for all we know it might be her own people that get her first.”

With clenched fists, Kogami made his way back toward the screen. It wasn’t that the man’s tirade didn’t incense him greatly, considering to whom his poisoned darts were being aimed. But there was something else: the fact that he spoke as if he wasn’t in Sibyl’s claws. In his claws.

“That brat is too smart for her own good. Messing with things she don’t understand. Stealing things that don’t belong to her. Out of all the crummy chumps the so-called resistance has produced, this one might be the trickiest one. Should’ve snuffed her out when I had the chance.”

“This resistance,” Ginoza cleared his throat, “is it an anti-governmental group?”

The man stared superciliously, almost amused. “You Sibs think the blocks are seedbeds of chaos where the scum of society oozes like a weeping blister in your clean world. It’s not for me to deny it. I’ve seen men rip out each other’s guts over a cigarette. I’ve slain many more myself, men and women, for less than that. Why? You worried the pus might spill onto your streets? You afraid hearing these things will make you catch that disease?” A spark of relish in his eye. “What if I told you there’s a cure for that?”

“A—a cure? A cure for what?”

“The illness of evil—the illness the Sibyl system diagnosed for the rest of us. In fact, I’ll prove it to you right now,” the man invited with an almost affable tone. “Point your dominator at me.”

“What? What are you talking abou—H-Hound 2! No one ordered you to withdraw your dominator!”

Kunizuka, arm fully extended next to Ginoza’s face, had her sights aimed directly at the space between the eyebrows of the Arumajiro man. “I’m sorry, Inspector. This is the only language men like these speak.” A heavy mute second was filled with Ginoza’s eyes flitting from the dominator, to the man, back to Kunizuka until at last, haltingly, she lowered her arm and her jaw dropped with shock. “Th-There has to be a mistake. We checked his hue this morning and it was—a-and besides, he just said—”

Kogami didn’t wait to hear the rest. He bolted out of the analysis lab and down the corridor in the direction of the emergency stairs. His mind raced. One victim found dead in a factory. A second victim mauling herself to death in Nona Tower. Disparate timelines and intervals in both casualties, as if the pill’s dual mechanism could be detonated at a distance, at will. It made no sense. He hurtled down endless flights of stairs many floors below, gnawing despair lodged deep in his stomach. He’d seen him strangling her. He’d tried to drown him. No doubt he was a murderer. It couldn’t be. Nausea and doom had overtaken him by the time he tore past the doors of the last hallway and turned the last corner, silvered walls bouncing all around him as he caught sight of his mark leaving the interrogation room behind Ginoza and Kunizuka. He couldn’t see or hear until his hands were on the man. Until he felt other hands trying to pull him away.

“Shepherd 2! Get a hold of yourself!” Ginoza thundered, forcefully jostling against him. “Stop this right now! Kogami!”

“You fucking bastard,” Kogami growled, both hands yanking the manacled Arumajiro man by his threadbare shirt. “You know about the pill. You know what it is. You’re gonna tell me everything even if I have to kick it outta you!”

“Seems like someone’s found the antidote to Sibyl,” the tottering man hissed back, reveling in Kogami’s stunned expression. “Whatever it is you want to call it.”

“Yeah?” Kogami’s grip was taut on the collar around the man’s neck. “Then you must know about its side effects. Does that make you smile also?”

“I’d be more worried about that hue of yours, Inspector. I’d even go as far as advising you to choose your friends and allies wisely. Before she ruins you.”

A sobering shudder ran through Kogami.

“Search for her,” he rasped with bared teeth, “touch her again, and I swear I’ll find you and kill you with my own hands!”

“That’s enough of that!” Masaoka shouted from somewhere. Next thing he knew, Sasayama was there too, shouldering his way between them, tearing Kogami off as Kunizuka and Gino pulled the man away. Still, Kogami shoved and kicked and cursed as the man crossed the threshold of a door shutting closed, and then his vision went askew as a sharp pain had him hunching down and looking at the ground, immobilized.

“You need to cool down, son.” Masaoka tightened his armlock and Kogami heard himself pant helplessly, his forehead beading with sweat.

“Don’t you realize,” Kogami grunted through the pain, “that’s the one lead we have in this case?”

“And what good will it do if you end up in a rehabilitation facility?” Sasayama’s shoes came into view and Kogami was just able to shift his head up to shoot a glare at him. “How is pulling this bullshit gonna help you catch him then?”

There was the slow squeak and hush of a door opening and closing again.

“I hope you know this is all your influence, Sasayama,” Ginoza roared. “And if you think I won’t have a few words to say about you in the report of this incident, then you’re awfully misguided.” Masaoka loosened the grip of his metallic arm, and Kogami yanked his own free. He straightened up to meet the withering, unforgiving gaze of his partner. “Masaoka, go assist Kunizuka in the discharge of the witness. Kogami, you and I need to talk.”

“Gino, we can’t let him go,” Kogami protested with a gruff voice. “You saw what just happ—”

“Would you rather we do this in the presence of the Chief?”

Kogami squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to steady himself, but rage still boiled inside of him. “Fine,” he grumbled with frustration. “Fine.”

---------

Outside of Nona Tower the sun had set but the city was blazing like it was the middle of the day. A shine as artificial as that of the abolition blocks, though sleeker, clearer, new. Not the dizzying red and yellow twilights that led the way through the narrower, angular alleys of the abolition blocks, nor the darkened hollows and crannies where eyes and knives glinted. From a holographic billboard the large face of a woman donned in traditional garb gazed at him, her pale face dissolving into a pink forest, carpeted with what looked like pink snow. The next thing he noticed was that there was no distinct smell.

He walked the stretch of the plaza. Guardedly. Drawing near to where another hologram had attracted a multitude, but still keeping a cautious distance, he stood to watch. Three large fish swam in a hoop, floating in sync until one of them broke the formation to playfully pursue the others, making a squealing sound similar to that of rats, but louder and full of delight. Something like a fog, a vague sensation taking form, disturbed him. A nebulous recollection from years ago, of childhood in the blocks. A discoloured picture of animals like these nailed to a cracking wall. A wrinkled old lady calling him evil before falling with a thud. He remembered her body being warm even after he’d withdrawn his knife more times than he could count. The eyes in the eyes of his first kill looking deep into him and then…nothing. It’s cold, he thought, and that’s why I’m shivering. He peered at the crowd. Oblivious onlookers and their marveled profiles. His gaze drifted upwards and behind the surrounding skyscrapers. They didn’t know a few kilometers from here people burned. Soon they would.

He pivoted to two pairs of gawking eyes pegged on him. Youngsters. They approached him with slimy passivity, before gushing admiringly.

“Woah, mister, you really went out of your way with that cosplay! See? I told you the tattoos weren’t holo!”

“Of course they’re holo! How do you think he’d show to work with those tattoos? But isn’t the convention until next February though? If it was today I’m sure he’d win first prize!”

He snarled at the two pests, which only seemed to excite them more. A flashing light blinded him for a second, and before he could curse them out, they were scuttling away. It was then he took notice of the woman wearing a red long coat standing beside him.

“Do you actually know where you’re going, Igarashi-san?”

Unblemished skin. Long, silky hair. Almond eyes evenly shaped with a strange green sheen to them, and a thin, pointy nose. An enigmatic smile that could’ve been wider but wasn’t.

“Choe Gu-sung?”

“I knew Makishima-san was right to put his trust in the Arumajiro.”

“Your holo is too perfect,” Igarashi answered with blunt disdain. “No one looks like that.”

“That may be true in the abolition blocks, but as you can see, people love illusions here.”

Minutes later they were driving through the elevated highways of Tokyo. A light rain fell aslant, pins of purple and pink hitting on the windshield of the driverless vehicle. Igarashi kept a wary side-eye on Makishima’s lackey sitting beside him, though underneath that stupid holo he was more unreadable than usual. Not that he didn’t understand how such concealment was necessary for serious matters, but it pissed him off that important work should fall on the lap of a foreigner out of all people.

“I hope your doubts about our plan are settled now, Igarashi-san,” said Choe Gu-sung as if reading his mind, the faintest hint of mockery in his voice.

“Our plan requires certain arrangements we’ll overlook for the moment, but I know the Arumajiro won’t be so sparing afterwards.”

“It’s precisely that ruthlessness that Makishima found so compelling for this project to start with. In this brave new world of Sibyl, few men are willing to go where the Arumajiro go, and so your clan is instrumental for what needs to be done.”

All the sickly ass-licking made Igarashi turn his face toward the city flashing past. “To think you’re the first person to

address me by my name since I was arrested,” he muttered with disgust.

Once they had arrived at the high-rise hotel, an elegant wooden door embellished with the metal knocker of a spider admitted them into a vast suite decked out with fine furnishings. A low gray sofa with plush cushions half-mooned around a glass table where a steaming cup of tea had been set. An open book rested onto the lid of a black piano, and above it, a strange light fixture glittered from the ceiling like a dancing bride. Igarashi was becoming acutely aware of the thick, green rug underneath his tatty boots, but unlike him, the silver-haired man contemplating Tokyo out of the ceiling-to-floor windows fit into the room perfectly. Deceptively.

“I’m glad you made it out safely, Igarashi-san.”

Obscured on the reflection, Makishima’s features betrayed his otherwise harmless semblance as a truer, more sinister face smiled at Igarashi from the glass. Long gone was his first impression of a wealthy, over-spoilt child uttering words of revolution because, where the pointless, clumsy violence of the blocks rose and fell with no consequence or significance, Makishima had given them the means to overthrow an evil bigger than all the gangsters of the underground.

“The MWPSB has an informer in the blocks. That’s how they were able to get us. It’s Lemonade Candy.”

Piqued by his words, Makishima looked briefly over his shoulder. “The mastermind of the resistance works with the MWPSB,” he said, turning again toward the city. “How interesting. It only makes it the more impressive for you to have survived such a predicament, being attacked, as you were, by both sides.”

“It was one of their own group who gave them away. An unregistered who’d worked for Bunzo.” Igarashi’s fingers trailed the soft fabric on the arm of the sofa without daring to sit. “Wanted to settle a score or somethin’. Went mad, and for a moment there I really thought we’d turned the tables on her.”

“Her, you said?”

“Lemonade Candy is a twenty-something woman. Small and thin as a reed. And still the bitch was able to take out our lights singlehandedly and then escape through one of their hidden tunnels. We followed, and for a moment I had her, until an inspector showed up.”

“She ensnared you,” murmured Makishima. “She used herself as bait knowing you’d follow her. What appeared like recklessness at a cursory glance, was a calculated gamble.” He turned around and ambled across the room, feathery and lithe, with hands in his pockets. “We’re not the only ones with the will to choose to bet, it seems.”

Again there was that mysterious smile on Makishima’s lips and, like an obedient disciple, Igarashi felt the irresistible urge to supply more. “The resistance is not our biggest problem. Getting the syndicate to get rid of her now that I’ve seen her should be easy. But there’s also the police. That detective, especially. He don’t seem the type to let go of things.” An ear-to-ear grin spread on his face. “And he’s a hot head for that woman. Nearly slugged me when I mentioned her to him. Threatened to kill me, even.”

“Are they not merely enforcers?”

“No,” Igarashi assured with a sharp shake of his head. “He’s the one who’s been interrogating me. Or trying to, at least. Today I heard his partner refer to him as Kogami. As for the woman…haven’t seen her since that night.”

“Kogami,” Makishima echoed with flash of eagerness in his amber eyes. “Are there still humans in this city who are not afraid of themselves, I wonder? And, if so, is it a coincidence that we happened to lure two of them out of hiding? Is this what the sentimentalist calls ‘destiny’?”

Across from him, Choe Gu-sung ambled over and sat on the other side of the sofa where he opened a laptop. He’d remained so quiet, Igarashi had but completely forgotten about his presence, and his appearance, now devoid of holo, glared like a sour reminder. He began typing something hurriedly.

“They’re vermin—that’s what they are,” crossing his arms, Igarashi commented while looming over Choe. “All those who can’t rise by their own strength deserve to be squashed like roaches. It’s the rule of the world. Eat or be eaten.”

“You know, Igarashi-san,” Makishima lingered by the piano, slowly turning over the pages of the book. “I’ve always admired men like you. The ones who agitate the whole world through the sheer strength of your desire. If the world sings blue, you’ll force it to sing red until it matches your vision. A common man in an uncommon world. Please,” his eyes rose from the page to watch him intently. “Understand that this is the deepest of compliments. You see, in this sterile, plastic world, that type of primal life force has been forgotten. The human animal domesticated, his soul depurated, sterilized, until he became nothing more than the ruins of what he once was—and ruins are only beautiful after a great war. Anything else is…mockery.”  

“Well, that’s the way of the blocks. The only way we know. And now, thanks to you, these things will be ours too.” Not until he said it did it seem true to Igarashi—that they would rule over this world just like they ruled over the underground. Dominators, cymatic scanners and drones could not stop them anymore, and the weak children of Sibyl would succumb just like their evil mother. “And even the enemies of the Arumajiro won’t mind it if it means destroying this system.”

“You are correct. Anger has an interesting way of vitalizing people in ways no other need or cause does, notwithstanding how pure or lofty. That vein those spurned by the system share is what the Sibyl system has cut off and anesthetized, to the extent where the masses can’t even recall it ever being there. Their senses lay dormant as if they could truly exist as humans without them. Others even claim to want to live forever. But what value does a life have when it’s benumbed and protected from the knowledge of its own mortality? When it loses all primitive instincts in a beautiful cage where there’s no danger? As in the yesteryear, we need men like you to remind us what it means to be alive.”

In more ways than he could understand, Makishima’s words made Igarashi feel strangely satisfied. Comforted, even. Never before had he thought of his life in any aspect beyond, well, living.  What for was a question that hadn’t occurred to him. But for all the things he’d seen and done, he never would have guessed it’d be this man the one to weave meaning into his life.

“Do you know what intrahistory is, Igarashi-san?”

Choe Gu-sung’s annoying typing made it difficult for him to hear the question. “Huh?”

“Intrahistory,” Makishima continued as he ran his finger down a yellowed page in the book, “Is the history that’s left outside of the books. Think of it as the blank margins on the paper. It’s the story of the nameless people who made history but who are never mentioned. Without them, History with a capital H is unconceivable.”

Igarashi gave a sly smile. “Is that the people from the blocks?”

“Indeed. The men who wrought the world and thrust it forward through blood and fire. You can see why the system made sure we never hear about them. Those who dare to be the actors of their own existence have no need for Sibyl.”

“Like the Arumajiro in the blocks.”

Makishima closed the book carefully. “Like the gladiators who died devoured by the lions under the impassive eyes of an Emperor. Or the soldiers in the vanguard bringing us closer to victory with their sacrifices. The anonymous martyrs who enrage the survivors. The strongest within the strong.”

It was quiet now. Choe Gu-sung had abruptly stopped his noise. A bizarre, undeniable aura of expectation hung in the air. Igarashi swallowed something he’d not felt in years down his parched throat, his mind scrambling to decipher what Makishima was getting at with his incessant blabber.

“Violence can be captivating, even beautiful. But like any art, when it’s empty, it’s hopelessly corrupted and vulgar. You do not need to worry about that, Igarashi-san. I’ll be sure to make your sacrifice meaningful.”

Dread surged in Igarashi like a freezing chill. “What the hell are you talking about?” he murmured. He’d kill the two of them. He could take them both easily, rip them apart with his hands, bludgeon them to death.

With a flourish, Choe Gu-sung made a single clicking sound on his keyboard, and Igarashi felt his body drop and crash into the glass table. A hail storm of white particles infested his vision, followed by a green crooked line and a tea cup rolling on the floor. Beyond that, Makishima’s feet trod toward him with the precision of a ropewalker, and he felt fear.

“I know you don’t like this gruesome part, Choe. You may go.”

Igarashi’s wild eyes tried to meet the mechanical eyes of the hacker, but he couldn’t move because a rumbling began inside his body; his blood boiling and searing and cauterizing from the inside. He clenched his teeth and grunted, his body growing rigid as pain travelled through his veins like a jagged marble—excruciating pain that made it impossible to think on anything except on it being over. With what little mind he had, he started wide-eyed at a slice of a window visible between Makishima’s legs, wishing with all his rotten heart he could jump from it. Then he heard himself howl a beast-like howl over and over again.

“’Alas, what is good and what is evil?’” Makishima said looking down on him. “’Are they both one single thing with which we furiously attest our impotence and passion to attain the infinite by even the maddest means? Or are they two different things? Yes…they had sooner be one and the same…for if not, what will become of me on Judgement Day?’”

[frozensriracha]

Could I get some HCs for the creeps celebrating Christmas please?

 Me?  Writing Christmas headcanons in February because I suddenly got motivated after months of unmotivation?  Why, how could you accuse me of such a thing?

So, I imagine Christmas is a pretty big deal to the creeps

They don’t really get presents or family time anymore, so whenever an opportunity to get present

Slender and Zalgo, knowing how important the holiday is to them, will call a truce and stop fighting in the weeks leading up to Christmas

Okay, maybe they’ll have a Christmas decoration war and an ugly sweater competition, but that’s the furthest it goes

The mansion used to do Secret Santa, but after the time E.J. got back at Jeff for eating his food by putting the exact same meal in his stocking (unwrapped,) Slender decided to rethink their Secret Santa privileges

He’s since given them back, but he’s put a few rules in place

Slender doesn’t like to have small Christmas trees, so every year, he sends out his proxies to find the biggest tree they can.

Slender Forest has no shortage of big trees, so it’s always a group effort to get the tree back to the mansion.

Everyone knows this, and usually, when the proxies and any help they may have enlisted get back, they always find a nice, warm pot of cocoa waiting for them in the kitchen.

Speaking of which, the tree is rather,,, interesting, to say the least.

Slender always has his set of ornaments and Puppeteer’s strings double as lights and tinsel, but everyone else tries to add their own touch to it by hanging a keychain on a branch or sticking a trinket (sometimes a victim’s body part) to the tree

Sally doesn’t know whether she likes getting gifts or giving them better, but she certainly Liu taught her how to knit, and one year, after watching the Grinch, she made a pair of horn cozies for Zalgo.  He’ll never admit it, but he loves them.

After one year, where Sally and Lazari got into a rather vicious fight over who would put the star on top of the tree, the two of them alternate.  They once agreed to put a mirror on top of the tree, and everyone died-

Christmastime is one of the few times the creeps are allowed to bring their human friends or s/os to the mansion

Toby’s mother also swings by!  Every year, without fail, she’ll always come over with a homemade side dish or dessert and small present for every creep and an overabundance of Toby’s embarrassing baby pictures

Although Sally and Mrs. Rogers make everyone a gift and the creeps might get someone else something one year, Slender mostly handles the gifts, him being the one with the money (come on the mansion’s gotta have utilities somehow-)

Jane and Liu are mostly in charge of the decorating, and Brian, Tim, Jill, and Slender are always in charge of Christmas dinner.  Slender, traditionalist that he is, always insists upon there being a roast turkey, goose, or duck.  However, he lets the others mix it up with the sides and desserts.

Jeff sometimes slips Smile a piece of meat under the table.  Slender didn’t approve at first, but eventually he let it go.

Speaking of our favorite smiley guy, Jeff absolutely spoils Smile on Christmas.  He gives him some meat from Christmas dinner, buys his a couple of dog toys, takes him on an extra-long walk in his little sweater that Sally knitted, and cuddles with him by the fire

One of the most beloved winter traditions in the mansion is the snowball battle royale

I mean, these people take it very, very seriously.  

They start picking their teams and making preparations the moment Halloween is over, and at the first sight of snow, regardless of how little or how much there is, they build their forts and hurl snowballs at each other with no mercy.  Slender has never really had an issue with this tradition until a few years ago, when a rogue snowball flew through the door when Slender opened it and hit him where his face would be, and another one put out his fire shortly thereafter.  He also discovered rocks in a couple of the snowballs.

He tried to ban snowball fights, but the creeps promptly went on strike for the next few weeks.  Slender lifted the ban, but some of the more sensible creeps saw where he was coming from, and the mansion unanimously agreed that putting rocks in snowballs was too far, and since then, they’ve moved the location of the snowball fights to near L.J.’s carnival.

Another time-honored tradition is watching two movies.  They’re not always Christmas movies.  The first of them has to be Sally- and Lazari-friendly, and is usually a Christmas movie.  It takes place right after dinner.  When they go to bed, however, anything goes as long as Sally and Lazari don’t get up and try to see Santa.

Bag presents: Jeff, Ben, L.J., Brian, Toby, Cody, Doby, Sally, Clockwork, Helen, Puppeteer, Candy Pop, Nina, Lazari

Wrap presents: Slender, Liu, E.J., Jill, Tim, Jane, Zalgo, Jason

[ofstarsandfireflies]

Moved this movie up the list because I was excited to write this one.

Please enjoy!

Mr. And Mrs. Smith

Two spies who are married don’t know the other is a spy also.

With the world as dangerous as it was, Tony is an Black Widow; a leader of a secret group willing to kill anyone who stood in shield’s way.

With the world as dangerous as it was, Stephen is a Sorcerer; a leader of a secret group willing to lay down their lives to protect the world.

But they can’t tell their husband that. What would he think?

Each day they pretend to go to their day jobs when in actual fact they are fighting one another on the streets, Tony in his armour his husband knows nothing about and Stephen using a hooded cloak to cover his face his husband knows nothing about.

And then they come back home, talking about their day as if nothing had happened, just like any other couple.

But their lives at home have become boring and dull, both too exhausted to do anything in bed but sleep and their relationship is suffering because of it.

It was never like this though.

Not when they started dating five years ago, six according to Stephen.

Tony was never good with dates.

No, back then, Tony and Stephen couldn’t get enough of one another.

Back then, there was little time between missions to become bored with the other.

Neither knew what the other was, just that they were what they had always wanted.

And not even three months into their relationship, Tony proposed.

The honeymoon phase came and went, and slowly walls were built between the other not only to cover themselves, but to keep the other safe and at a distance.

And now they were getting counseling.

Now the walls were built too high.

Now their jobs were getting more dangerous.

They should get a divorce.

At least if something happens, the other would be safe.

It was a hard reality they had to face.

Getting nowhere on either side, both are given the order to kill the leader of the opposite group.

They try, they really do, but don’t succeed.

Tony’s suit can withstand any magical attack and Stephen’s magic can withstand any rocket or projectile Tony hurls his way.

The fight lasts well into the night until they each realise they’re both late for dinner.

Their husband is probably waiting at home with a pissed look on his face and the last thing they want is an argument when their relationship is barley hanging on by a thread.

They run.

Stephen gets home first, quickly changing his robes to his regular clothes and walking into the dark house.

Maybe Tony went to bed early?

Calling out to him and walking up the stairs to their room, Stephen freezes when he hears the Iron Man suit land on their roof.

How had it found him?

How had it found Tony?

He quickly changes back into his robes, uncaring that his hood isn’t covering his face anymore.

If the Iron Man has already found out where he lives, there’s no use trying to hide his identity.

Ready to blast this intruder in half, he’s thrown back from the explosion of those bloody rockets, propelling him through the wall into the guest bedroom.

He makes a run for it, jumping through one portal to land above the Iron Man and wrestling him to the ground, trying to find a weak point in the armour to put it down for good.

He’s just managed to break the helmet off from the neck when the suit blasts up through the ceiling, Stephen letting go before he hears the repulsors heating up.

He manages to whip out a long rope of orange magic and snag it around the Iron Man’s leg, the blast from his gauntlet just missing Stephen’s head as he brings the suit down and they crash through the roof and first storey flooring to land in the entryway.

Both are up in the matter of seconds, the glow of Stephen’s magic from the suit of armour creating enough light between them that they can finally see the other’s face.

Neither of them move.

Neither of them speak.

Confusion.

Realisation.

More confusion.

And then hurt.

Stephen is yelling.

Tony is making snide comments. It’s only when Stephen begins accusing Tony of using him as a cover that Tony lets it known he’d thought the exact same thing of Stephen.

That’s why their relationship failed.

It’s the other’s fault.

Tony grabs Stephen and they almost come to blows again, each knowing that they have to unleash their attacks, yet each waiting to see what the other will do.

Moving at the same time to shed each other’s clothes definetly wasn’t what either thought they would do, robes and armour pieces fall to the floor in a jumbled heap together as their rekindled love for each other barley gets them half way to the bedroom before they just give up and decide the floor is as good a place as any.

But they were careless.

Stephen’s magical signature can be traced, as can Tony’s suit, and within the hour both have lead a new division to their location.

One sent to kill them both; Hydra.

They barley have enough time to get changed before bullets are flying through the windows of the house and destroying most of what Stephen and Tony hadn’t managed to.

Hydra agents are descending through the skylights Stephen had put in himself and bleeding all over the floors Tony recently had waxed.

And they just keep coming, both deciding now is the best time to be asking questions about what was actually real in their marriage while bodies keep dropping around them.

It’s cathartic and enlightening to be sure, perhaps a little too much seeming how Stephen learns Tony brought a paid actor to be his dad to their wedding and Tony turns one of his attacks onto Stephen when he tells him he’d actually been married once before, causing them to lose focus and almost be blown to pieces by some idiot with a rocket launcher.

Knowing they can’t fight like this forever, Tony offers Stephen an alternative.

They blow up the house with the agents inside and get away before they can get caught in the blast.

Stephen agrees it’s a solution, but not a long term one as his portal will leave behind a signature of where they went.

Tony knows this, but also knows they’ll have a little time before they’re found.

They can get help, information, and then take the fight to Hydra once they know where they’re stationed.

That’s all well and good but how was Tony planning on blowing up the house? His rockets aren’t gonna do much but put it out of its misery.

Much to Stephen’s horror, Tony tells him how there’s a bomb under the house, should something like this ever were to happen.

And no. He wasn’t planning on telling Stephen about it because it was on a need to know basis and now Stephen needs to know.

Tony activates the House Warming Protocol with a single voice command, and as it is acknowledged, Stephen drags him to the portal, barley making it a foot inside their new destination before what little remained of the house they had built together was blown sky high.

Wong isn’t too pleased about the visitors this late at night.

Especially when those visitors are bringing hell down upon his doorstep just from being here.

But he’s not one to turn down a friend.

Especially since Hydra hope to lure both sides into helping with the hunt after the bounty they just placed on their heads.

But why were they being hunted in the first place?

Because they were unsuccessful in their mission?

Wong can’t believe how stupid they are.

Well, yes, he can, and in that aspect they really were made for one another, but this has nothing to do with their failed mission in killing each other and everything to do with them being married to each other.

Hydra had control of the Sorcerers and the Black Widows, and when they found out about Tony and Stephen’s marriage, they thought to see who was the strongest out of the two.

Tony couldn’t believe this.

He’d thought his whole time that he had been working with Shield, the good guys against Hydra, but instead he’d been working for Hydra itself.

They needed to find out where that Hydra base was, and the only person Tony knew who had ever been there, was Natasha.

One of the few people Tony trusted.

Nat was more than happy to help him and so was Wong, both agreeing to keep anyone who was following them on their toes.

As they made their way through the silent corridors, taking out any guard they came across silently so as not to sound any alarms, they thought they were doing pretty well.

Well, that is until they ran into Task Master.

One single agent with the training of a thousand.

No matter what they threw at him, no matter how they moved or what they thought was something new, Task Master seemed to predict what they were going to do.

They stand back to back. Stephen can feel the armour pressing against him as Tony fires at their lone enemy, all the while the magic Stephen had once used against his husband fights along side him.

But Task Master is evading everything they throw at him.

He’s dodging attacks Stephen has only used once or twice before, and Tony is faring no better as his missiles zoom around the room and hit everything but their intended target.

They can’t beat this guy.

Not this way.

Stephen looks to Tony and sees him already waiting to catch his eye, grinning as he’s had the exact same idea.

And when he feels Tony take his hand, he knows what he wants to do.

Lining up the shot, Stephen’s magic causes an almighty fireball to explode out of Tony’s hand, finally hitting their mark.

And then, once he hits the ground, everything goes quiet.

They look around, surveying the carnage around them.

They’re the only ones left alive.

They did it.

They don’t need to keep secrets from one another anymore.

They don’t need to fight each other anymore.

They can just enjoy retirement together.

Until they’re found again of course.

Gotta spice things up every once in a while, right?

Quotes

“Stop. Stop. You’ve only known the girl for six weeks.”

“I’m in love! She’s smart, sexy, she’s uninhibited, spontaneous, complicated. She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“You know I never do anything without thinking it through.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s in construction. Big-time contractor.”

“A server goes down on Wall Street. She’s there, anytime, day or night. She’s like Batman for computers.”

These two talking to their friends about each other.

“Why is it you think we failed? Cos we were leading seperate lives? Or was it all the lying that did us in?”

“I have a theory. Newly formed.”

“I’m breathless to hear it.”

“You killed us.

“Provocative.”

“You approached our marriage like a job, to be reconned, planned and executed.”

“And you avoided it.”

“What do you care if I was just a cover?”

“Well, who said you were just a cover?”

“Wasn’t I?”

“Wasn’t I?”

Tony and Stephen trying to figure out if what they had all this time was real.

“You know, sweetheart, you’re being a bit hypocritical. It’s not like you’re some beacon of truth.”

“John, my parents...they died when I was five. I’m an orphan.”

“Who was that kindly fellow who gave you away at our wedding?”

“Paid actor.”

“I said, I said I saw your dad on Fantasy Island.”

“I know.”

I love this line

Normal Lies

By day, they’re the enemy.

By night, they’re husbands.

And when dawn finally breaks, they have a choice to make.

Missed a Day? Catch up here!

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5

Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10

Day 11 Day 12 Day 13 Day 14 Day 15

Day 16 Day 17

[sapphosclown]

Snowball Fights - A Tyrus Oneshot

Cyrus loves winter and TJ Kippen.

———

———

Beams of sunlight poured through Cyrus’ blinds, causing his room to be lined with streaks of orange light. His eyes fluttered open slowly as the rays of light were lined up directly to where his eyes were. He softly grunted to himself and tossed himself onto his other side, facing away from the light. He grabbed his phone that was sitting on his bedside table with a charger hanging out of it and looked at the time.

8:53

Without a thought he put his phone back down and curled back up into his sheets. His comfort didn’t last very long though as he suddenly bolted straight up, wide awake.

8:53??

He had overslept. He was supposed to have been at school half an hour ago, why hadn’t his alarm gone off? Why didn’t his mom wake him up? The panic was starting to settle in as he scrolled though his notifications hurriedly. Just as he was about to abandon his phone and throw on the closest combination of clothes most readily available to him, he saw a text from his mom.

Mom: Snow Day!!! No school, I’ll be in my office if you need me! <3

He let out a breath of relief and continued to look at his notifications in a much calmer manor. He had texts from every one of his friends rejoicing about their day off. Cyrus jumped out of bed and ran over to his window like a little kid, pulling down on his blinds so only his eyes were peaking through. Sure enough, the ground had been coated with a thick layer of snow.

It was honestly kind of magical. The untouched snow glistening in the light of the rising sun, snowflakes falling delicately from the sky, tree branches covered in snow hanging above the roads, mimicking a tunnel of sorts. Cyrus loved it.

Frankly, Cyrus loved pretty much everything about winter. Well, he wasn’t too fond of the below freezing temperatures or midterms but other than those things, he loved winter. He loved the seasonal drinks, the holiday season, winter break, snow days. The overall energy surrounding winter never failed to put Cyrus in a good mood. 

A smile crept onto his face as he let out a small yelp of glee and pounced back onto his bed, phone in hand, messages already pulled up.

GHC + JB

Cyrus: be at the park at noon if you enjoy snow filled activities

The Buff ™: Slightly ominous, but I’m there!

Andi oop: count me in

JB: sounds fun :)

Cyrus smiled at his phone and bounced on his bed joyfully. He felt like a little kid again, it was a nice refresher from all the stress that had been swarming his brain as midterms approached.

His phone buzzed again.

Andi oop: is it ok if i invite amber?

The Buff ™: and Marty?

Cyrus: as long as they love snow filled activities

That reminded him, he closed the group chat and clicked on TJ’s contact.

Cyrus: happy snow day!! everyone is going to the park later for Snow Filled Activities™, you should come :)

Cyrus set down his phone and went to get ready for the day. He went downstairs and looked in one of the closets to make sure he still had all of his snow gear. He did, although he wasn’t totally sure how well it would fit considering he had grown since he last wore it, so he decided he’d be sure to wear extra layers. When he got back to his phone, he saw a message waiting for him.

Teej: sounds good underdog :)

Today was going to be a good day.

***

The cold air bit Cyrus’s cheeks as he slid down the hill again with Buffy and Marty following close behind. He had gotten a head start, kind of. Cyrus was just sledding down the hill on his own terms, his friends however appeared to be starting up yet another competition. Cyrus heard Buffy and Marty count to three in unison before they sped down the hill. He walked over to the swing set and laughed to himself as Marty accused Buffy of cheating. He took a seat on a snow covered swing and looked out at the park.

It really had snowed a lot that night, there was plenty to do. While Marty and Buffy continued to race each other down the hill, Andi, Amber, and Jonah were attempting to build a snowman. Well, Jonah was attempting to build a snowman, Andi and Amber were just wondering aimlessly around the park, occasionally picking up random items that could be used to decorate said snowman. Cyrus smiled sweetly at the sight of all of his friends enjoying themselves.

“Whatchya smilin’ bout there?”

Cyrus’s train of thought was interrupted as he swiveled his head to see TJ walking up to him, hands behind his back and an innocent smile on his face. Almost too innocent…

“Just enjoying the show,” Cyrus answered suspiciously, a giggle slipping through his words. “What about you?”

“Oh, no reason.” TJ answered, his innocent smile turning into one of mischief.

“Something tells me that’s not true.” Cyrus teased as he slowly rose from his swing.

TJ replied with a mere shrug and lowered his eyes to the ground, his grin still plastered on his face. Suddenly he looked up again. “Hey what’s that?” he pointed up past Cyrus’ head. The brown haired boy turned to where he was pointing, regretting it a moment later when he felt a thud against his arm.

He turned back towards TJ who was now sporting a large toothy grin, his gloved hands in front of him, dusting off snow.

“TJ Kippen, did you just throw a snowball at me?” Cyrus laughed.

“Maybe…” He shrugged, eyes pointed to the sky and a cheeky smile on his lips.

Cyrus felt a sudden warmth in his cheeks, despite the icy breeze, as he bent down and grabbed a fist full of snow, wearing a smirk of his own. He quickly hurled the snowball at TJ and by some miracle, landed him right in the chest.

The blondes face turned to one of playful shock whilst Cyrus plastered on his own innocent facade.

“Oh it’s on, Goodman.” TJ laughed as he bent down to grab another handful of snow, sending Cyrus running.

They chased each other around the park for a few minutes before finding their way to a clearing with no one around and nothing but a few trees and large rocks. Cyrus ducked behind an oddly large boulder and slapped his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” TJ sang as he crept through the field, snowball in hand.

Cyrus let out an involuntary squeak to which he cursed himself and prayed that TJ hadn’t heard him. When he thought the coast was clear, he sneaked a peak from behind the rock, but TJ was no where to be found. Cyrus stood up straight and looked around in confusion for a moment. His confusion turned quickly into fear as he felt a pair of arms being wrapped around him. The suddenness caused the both of them to loose their balance, a small yelp emitting from Cyrus as they fell to the ground. Before he could process what had just happened, TJ was laying on top of him.

They looked at each other for a moment before bursting out into hysterical laughter, tears forming in the corners of their eyes. Their amusement dyed down and they looked at each other again, smiles turning soft.

“Looks like I found you.” TJ hummed. 

“Looks like it.” 

And then Cyrus noticed how close they were. They were like, really close. Their noses were only a few inches away from touching. The smiles melted off of their faces, scanning every detail about each other.

TJ’s eyes look really pretty in this light. Cyrus observed. His eyes usually looked pretty, but the way the sun hit them today made them look glossy and gentle. Faint freckles popped up along the bridge of TJ’s nose and his cheeks were blotchy and red from being out in the cold. 

TJ looks really pretty.

He broke eye contact with Cyrus, his eyes flickering down to the brunettes lips for not even a second. Cyrus didn’t even realize he did the exact same thing. 

“I really want to kiss you right now.” TJ mumbled.

Cyrus couldn’t help the sheepish grin forming on his face. Feeling uncharacteristically bold, he whispered. “So kiss me.”

And he did. As if that day could not have gotten more magical, here he was, in the middle of the park, kissing TJ Kippen. Cliché as it sounds, Cyrus swore he saw fireworks. The kiss lasted for only a few seconds before they pulled away from each other and broke out into the dorkiest grins imaginable.

Just then, the cogs in Cyrus’ brain began to turn and an idea popped into his head. 

“Wait, what’s that?” He said, looking past TJ’s head.

The other boys face contorted slightly with confusion as he turned to face where Cyrus was looking, finding himself regretting that decision as he felt cold, damp snow pressed into his ear.

He turned back to Cyrus, who was biting back a prideful smile at his prank. A look of mock betrayal took over TJ’s face.

“I thought we were having a moment!” He pouted, only half serious.

“Oh, we were,” Cyrus deadpanned, “but before that we were in the middle of a war.” he smiled.

TJ smiled back despite himself. “Fine. You win.”

“Wow, I didn’t think you would give in so easily.”

“Well, if I’m chasing you around with snowballs I can’t do this,” He leaned down and once again connected their lips. Cyrus giggled when the pulled apart for the second time.

“Who would have guessed that TJ Kippen is such a sap.”

“What can I say, I enjoy a good rom com.” TJ shrugged, provoking a smile from each of the boys.

TJ clamored off of Cyrus and extended a hand to help him up, to which he gladly accepted. Once they were both upright, Cyrus kept his hand attached to TJ’s and they began to walk back towards their friends.

Today was a good day.

———

———

here’s some snowy fluff for this dreadful lovely winter season, you’re welcome.  winter tyrus is a mood i’m here for. full disclosure i wrote this story like back in august and then just now rewrote it bc i didn’t really like most of the first one. also i got this idea from a scene in Until Dawn but i made it soft and gay.

anywho i hope the 5 people still active in these tags enjoyed lmao. happy holidays :)

[gunsli-01]

So, some recent events had me looking back on Pandora Hearts again and 

like... I wanted to re read the manga but then I accidentally left volume one at my sister’s place. However, while I was looking into Xai stuff I also saw a lot of Jack and Oswald scenes. How they react to each other is just another great piece of this manga and I want to showcase it. Like how they both tantrum at the mere thought of the other and at the exact same time is fucking amazing. Like you can tell they’re seriously hurting over everything that happened. So i want to go through how they react in that moment.  

Let's start with Oswald the thing that really gets me even after all these years is his expression as he sits their being yelled at by people who frankly know nothing about the situation especially not of how it came to pass. Getting accusations hurled at him left and right. Being blamed not only for this current tragedy but for what happened back then to. How he flashes back to the them all hanging out when the guy accuses him of destroying those chains or whatever too. How he’s literally flashing back to their bond when the mention of destroying chains is brought up. I just, I just- I can't it's too much! His manic fit of laughter after at how absurd this all is. Laughter I believe to have two meanings like the first being this is absurd. Yet it also gives off such a “Is this what I was like blindly trusting in Jack believing in him even when I thought I shouldn’t have just because I wanted to. How naive, how stupid I was not to notice sooner this is what he does to people he makes you believe him completely submerges you in his fabrications to the point that you don’t even notice he’s drowning you. Manipulating you to his whims. Before you realize it you’re just another piece of debris getting pushed two and fro by his current. Well I refuse to be that again.” vibe before he said or did anything else.  Yet there's still something off about his words that is only showcased through Jack's predicament.

With that out of the way let's get to Jack. As soon as Oscar accidentally mentions Oswald he has a reaction. He twitches while his face is blanked off. A twitch that seems more instinctual than anything he's irked from jump.Than after Oscar says he's like a void he fucking loses it. You can see it in his expression after. His face just sort of screams okay now you've done it at first I was gonna use you to prove a point but now I'm going to kill you. Jack is a calm guy usually he hides his emotions we see him go off twice in the manga once here and when he's going over loathing Lacie. So for Oscar to get such an reaction because he sounded liked Oswald is telling in a lot ways. His expression doesn’t lie either.

Okay so what about this is weird. What about this scene makes what Oswald said off. It's what Oscar says. When he says Jack is like a void and Jack reacts in such a volatile way it's because he hit the nail on the head just like when Oswald said he was like water all those years ago. He looked at Jack for a minute and then said this is how you are and Jack knew he was fucking right and he hated it when Oswald did that it scared the hell out of him. Yet, here he isn't scared he's just pissed because he's reminding him Oswald. So again how does that make what Oswald said off? He's still comparing Jack to water these two scenes happen so close together for a reason. Oswald is a very empathic character he can sort of understand folks in a glance couple that with how long he's known Jack and no one should know Jack better than him. However, he's so blinded by his rage and the pain of Jack's treachery and Gil' s that he can't for a second even let himself believe that there was a point when Jack really was his friend. So of course he can't even tell that Jack isn't the same as he was before Lacie died. Jack tricked him so terribly that he doesn’t even want to be reminded of him in anyway. He doesn't want to hear his name or think back on their friendship because he doesn't want to make the mistake of trusting him again. While Jack on the other hand convinced himself after Lacie died that he not only lost her but that he loss Oswald as well due to how Oswald reacted to his suggestion to try to save Lacie. Yet even though he convinced himself of that he still had trouble hurting Oswald he was still conflicted about it to the point that he tried to have another person do it entirely. So now to not only have him around again attempting to stop him but have others stir thoughts of him as well. Of course it irks him it makes him recall those times just as much as he makes Oswald. Plus it's just a good progression of character for Jack overall. He's not water any more he's a void a black hole of sorts trying to suck in and destroy everything around. Yet there's no real ill will or malice behind his actions. He's just doing it because well it's what voids do.

[toast-the-unknowing]

Lmaoooooo “when I grow up I’m going to have so much amnesia” pls just post whatever you’ve written over the last ten years I am so INTRIGUED

Well, the subject line is a Futurama quote, I can’t take credit for that, alas.

I am fond of several of the jokes in that story, but at the end of the day, it’s a mystery and I wrote 20k words of it without ever deciding what the answer to the mystery is. The odds I’ll ever bother figuring it out now are slim, especially since I look back and realize...you know...I’ve become a much better writer than I was 10 years ago and most of those 20k words aren’t great.

But some of them I like! So what the hell, why not, here’s some of my favorite bits from a Star Trek 2009 fic that will probably never otherwise see the light of day:

The whole thing with Kirk and Spock losing their memories on the same away trip is funny for a total of three seconds before it becomes utterly terrifying.

Okay, maybe there's about five minutes of Hikaru making himself sick trying to hold in laughter at the stunned stupid look on Kirk's face as he steps onto the bridge, the way that Spock mutters "what an ingenious invention" after they're beamed back to the Enterprise, but hey, Hikaru's only human. And now so is Kirk, stripped of that cockiness that comes from knowing he's survived all kinds of crazy shit that he shouldn't have, and so is Spock in a way, since he seems to have forgotten all his Vulcan mind-master training along with everything else.

And that thought is what wipes the smirk off Hikaru's face and has him exchanging sideways glances with Chekov, because they're right on the edge of Klingon space, Kang had sworn eternal vengeance against the entire crew the last time they'd seen him, and without Kirk's impossible ability to get them out of everything he gets them into, Hikaru doesn't like their odds of escaping a skirmish unharmed.

McCoy skips right over the part where anything about the situation is amusing and even skips over the "utterly terrifying" part and opts straight for angry yelling before the doors of the turbolift have finished opening to allow him onto the bridge.

"What the devil are you playing at now, Jim?" McCoy demands, striding up to Kirk and waving a tricorder at him that he can't possibly be reading, since he's too busy venting at Kirk's face to look at the machine.

The effect of this is apparently lost on the amnesiac Kirk, who looks over his shoulder trying to figure out who McCoy is talking to.

Right. No one told the Captain his name was Jim.

"We're doomed," Chekov whispers to Hikaru, who wholeheartedly agrees.

-

"More tests?" Hikaru asks Chapel. Hikaru hopes he sounds world-weary but in all likelihood he just sounds like a kid whining about not wanting to go to the dentist's. At least when he was a kid his parents would give him some candy to make the whole experience more bearable.

"You've failed them all so far," Chapel tells him.

"Doesn't being healthy count as passing?"

"Not in his Sickbay." She gestures over her shoulder at McCoy, who is ranting to the nurses that he washes his hands of Hikaru, complete with actually physically washing his hands, because McCoy has no concept of subtlety.

-

Maybe it was just the terrible psychological burden of working too long under McCoy that had made her a sadist. Hikaru had helped the med staff repair and restock Sickbay after a disastrous encounter with Romulans, and after two days of McCoy's crazy-eyes drilling into the back of his skull, he hadn't felt terribly generous toward his fellow sentient beings. Kirk, who always had to be perverse and do the opposite of what a normal person would do, had been invigorated by the experience and set some kind of mountain-climbing record on the next planet they stopped at.

-

McCoy must be having a field day, wherever he is; nothing makes him happier than a legitimate reason to be unhappy.

-

He winces and walks over to answer the door, to find Chekov's curly head bouncing around with an upbeat energy that makes Hikaru feel a thousand years old.

"What?" he asks. "Communicator doesn't work?"

"You didn't answer," Chekov points out, which is probably correct. Hikaru hadn't been aware of anything, much less the chirp of a communicator.

"You know," he tells Chekov, stepping back into his room so he can change into a fresh uniform, "when someone is annoyed with you, telling them how it's their fault doesn't make them like you any better. It just makes them more annoyed."

Chekov blinks big, hurt eyes at him. "You are annoyed with me?"

Hikaru just sighs and lets it go. "So what do I need to be told so badly?" he asks, slipping on a new pair of pants and pulling his shirt off. "I'm guessing that if it were good news, it could wait."

"We have Klingons," Chekov tells him, completely matter-of-fact, and Hikaru is never going to share with anyone, least of all Chekov, the fact that his immediate response to this was to think Russians really are that stoic.

His next thought is that he has to get to the bridge, now, so he sets off at a run with Chekov following along behind.

His third thought, that he never did finish getting dressed, takes its own sweet time occurring to him, specifically waiting until the doors to the Bridge open and Uhura looks at him, blinks her eyes at a momentary loss for words, and then smirks.

In retrospect, it will feel pretty good to have made Uhura happy about something in the middle of this whole clusterfuck. At the time, Hikaru just wonders how bad it could really be to eject himself out the nearest airlock.

"Had a disagreement with your uniform, Mr. Sulu?" Uhura asks. "Or have your just decided that today is a good day for swashbuckling?"

Hikaru plays it cool, because there are only so many options available for you when you show up to battle without a shirt on, and because there's an appreciative look in the eyes of more than one person on the Bridge that reminds him that his shirtlessness is not, in and of itself, anything to be ashamed about. "I wanted to be on hand as soon as possible to help with the situation, sir," he tells her, voice completely smooth. He falls into a formal at-ease position that draws the muscles in his chest tight, causing someone to whistle lowly.

The Acting Captain is actively fighting back laughter at this point; Uhura is going to give him shit about this for the rest of his natural life, but then again, Klingons, so Hikaru can't begrudge her trying to make the most of it now in case the rest of his natural life is only another ten minutes. "Mr. Chekov, please restrain your dramatics in the future," she tells him, and the ensign takes on a look of righteous outrage that is decades older than his face. "Perhaps you could have communicated to Mr. Sulu that another second or two's delay would not have been fatal."

"I thought it obvious, sir," Chekov says, primly. "No Russian would charge into battle in such a state of unpreparedness."

"Because they'd freeze to death on a summer's day," Hikaru mutters.

-

"How?" Uhura asks, with that same fake innocent tone she uses when she's trying to convince everyone at the table that she's got a shit hand, and dammit, Hikaru has fallen for that bluff too many times. After which he was often divested of an article of clothing, oddly enough, so the whole thing is starting to feel really familiar.

-

Kang is even willing to deal with someone who isn't Kirk, as long as Kirk is there to have accusations and insults hurled at him, which is some kind of horrible metaphor for command but Hikaru is still trying to force his jaws together and doesn't quite appreciate the many, many cosmic jokes that are unfurling in front of him.

-

Every single person on the bridge of the Enterprise who still has a brain freezes and darts their eyes to the view screen at the exact same second. Later that simultaneity would make Hikaru wonder why the hell the dancing had been so uncoordinated in the crew's performance of Pirates of Penzance, since clearly they are all psychically linked to each other. Or perhaps psychic connections require substantial motivational force. Few things are more substantial or more motivating than enraged Klingons, and – as every eyeball except two immediately takes in – they have one hell of an enraged Klingon on their hands.

"WHAT CHARADE IS THIS," Kang demands, spitting out 'charade' like it's the dirtiest word he knows. Apparently Klingon honor doesn't have much time for theater. Hikaru wonders what Klingons do for embarrassing social bonding in lieu of Pirates of Penzance.

-

"Oh, good, so we can tell them that we aren't responsible, they'll listen to that and act reasonable," McCoy mutters, before jabbing Kirk with something on the pretense of getting more brainwave readings. McCoy has been dragging Kirk around the ship with him all morning for reasons as yet unexplained. Hikaru's torn on thinking it's to cause more havoc, since every little thing that happens inspires a thousand pointless questions from the deposed captain, and thinking it's so he can stab at Kirk like some stress relief toy. It doesn't seem to be working, but modern science has not yet found a conduit big enough to channel McCoy's stress, so that would be asking a bit much to ask from a guy who needed help going to the bathroom earlier. (Hikaru made Chekov do it. That's what ensigns are for, right?)

-

Chapel had proclaimed the whole thing hogwash and said she would get around to it when she had a minute, and implied that that minute was going to be a long time coming, because apparently that attitude was handed down with command of Sickbay like the crown of a hereditary monarch.

-

Besides, there's the Klingons to consider, and even Scotty can't make hooch so strong it wipes out the memories of people on other ships. Probably. Hikaru will ask him about it when his memory is back, and they will write a paper together, "A Transwarp Theory of Moonshine", and it will ruin both of their chances of ever advancing up the command chain, which would probably suit Scotty just fine and would be the best thing to ever happen to Hikaru if it means he never has to deal with a mess like this again.

-

"When we get to the point where we're recruiting untested specialists from alternate dimensions to solve the problem, just leave me brainless," Chapel scoffs. "I don't want to know."

Hikaru scribbles a note to himself. Evil clones running the Enterprise becomes Plan Y; stealing versions of themselves from other dimensions becomes Plan Z. He thinks they have a better chance of un-fixing the teleporter to make clones again than of making it pull people from other dimensions.

-

Chekov bounds down the hall at him – speaking of teenagers – and apparently the gloom is rolling off Hikaru thick enough to strike down an enthusiastic ensign at fifty paces, because the spring goes right out of Chekov's step when Hikaru looks at him. His faces turns somber and he tugs on his uniform shirt like he's worried about wrinkles. Or maybe he just remembered that this is a catastrophe in the making and a little gravity is called for.

He nearly takes it too far, though, going for a salute and Hikaru thinks that if Chekov salutes him right now he will actually go insane. He intercepts Chekov's arm on the way up and drops it back down like its covered in nettles. Chekov looks a little confused about how to proceed from here, but hell, the kid's always telling them he's a genius, let him figure something out.

-

He picks up Chapel like a leech; when he refuses to stop in Sickbay she just attaches herself to him and starts talking every bit as rapidly as Hikaru is walking. He can't tell how she's breathing. Maybe she isn't. Hikaru feels a little bit like he isn't breathing, either, or that might just be his flair for the dramatic.

He gets distracted, too, by the nurse who is accompanying Chapel, holding several PADDS and a medical tricorder and struggling to hold it all and drop nothing and keep up on her rather short legs. Maybe they could slow down for her, but hell, Chapel's her boss and isn't worried.

Hikaru can't remember the nurse's name. That's a panicky moment, but no, it's just that she's new. Should he ask her name, he wonders, or would that be rude? As the captain, however temporary or inglorious the title may be, he should know everyone on the crew already.

At least the crew is making that easier on him by shrinking.

-

"Stress is every bit a real, medical problem, particularly among young men in high-pressure situations who think they're immortal." This comes with a side order of meaningful look.

"I assure you, Nurse, I am well-aware of my failings."

"And I'm seeing drastically heightened stress all over the ship. Heart rate, blood pressure, shaking, forgetfulness -- not amnesia -- emotional outbursts -- "

"Maybe the crew doesn't like having medical personnel hovering all around them." Hikaru jumps as the short nurse waves her tricorder over him, presumably getting a reading of his own heart rate, blood pressure, and emotional outbursts. "I'm open to any suggestions about how to lower the crew's stress levels, up to and including Ensign Chekov going door to door singing Russian lullabies."

"I'll put that down as Plan Z," Chapel says, and holy shit, can she read his mind? He makes himself think profusely repentant thoughts for his attitude the last two days and also for that time he sneaked a look at her hand at poker, just in case. Also, he probably shouldn't play poker with Chapel anymore, honest or otherwise, if she can read his mind.

-

That, that right there, is apparently what Chapel looks like when she is truly outraged and not just annoyed or sarcastic or feeling superior, which is a valuable piece of information and Hikaru files it away in the very sincere and fervent hope that he never sees it again.

"You know, just, some people," the Acting Captain of the Federation Starship Enterprise mumbles into his shoulder.

-

"How did we get here?" Hikaru mutters. He's barely even realized he's spoken, so it's doubly alarming when Chekov jumps up and grabs his shoulders, shakes them violently.

"Sulu, no, you cannot have amnesia, too," the kid starts babbling. Why is it that his accent gets easier to understand when he's worked up? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Unless, hang on, has the kid been faking his accent this whole time? "Then I will have to take command of the Enterprise and while that is a thing I have dreamed of doing, it is no good to me if no one is around to admire."

[ayakashiramblings]

If you came out - Dawn Faction

In celebration of Pride month (that is about to end and I lost track of everything because of work, ughh...), this is dedicated to everyone who wants to love! 

Disclaimer though: I am a straight, cis girl so while I can write this based on my friend’s opinions, I won’t be able to fully capture the whole scope of being in the LGBTQ+ community. I am also a bad writer by nature, LOL. That said, if I have written anything harmful, please let me know so that I can correct it. 

Also, this is technically in the Taisho era so like... I don’t know the history of Japan well enough. Plus, I can’t cover the whole spectrum here, I was hoping to do more with the other groups after gauging the reception here, LMAO.

Finally, Yura sucks for being too perfect.

Koga Kitamikado 

His sweetheart is bisexual. And by the way? Very scared of telling him.

She has been dumped faster than burning coal all because it seems like MC would cheat with not just one but two other parties.

AND has also been hurled with accusations of not making up her mind and stringing people along so easily without a hint of remorse.

But he’s the second-most supportive man here. (We’ll get to the first later)

You, ever-the-intellectual knowing that, hit it for Russia when you thought you saw your ex-girlfriend and Koga turned his back on you for 10 seconds to tend to Masanobu’s new watch chain. 

Fear does crazy things.

He and Kuya found you in 27 minutes, sobbing into an empty tub of ice-cream you stole from the tengu as your only food supply and frankly, the only item you brought along.

Even Kuya found it pathetic enough to leave you and Koga alone at the random bar.

Everything was pounding. Your head, people taking shots, and leaving with the resounding slam of the doors. 

Again, and again, and again.

Yet, Koga was still there, letting you nurse your head against his burly shoulders and stroking your hair away from your face to look you in your bloodshot eyes.

His steady gaze returned some semblance of composure to your drunken mind.

"It's always been hard to look away from you... especially if I think you are troubled by something or someone."

Yup, that’s right. He has had his suspicions.

“Are youz gonna break up witz me...?”

“HELL NO!”

Ok so his calm mien was finally broken by that whispered question and his Japanese bellow had certainly garnered attention until he glared at the other patrons.

His control only returned when he said this.

“If they didn’t love you being bisexual, they didn’t love you. Period.”

... This is the first time you have ever heard of the term. Heck, you had always been too shy to ask Ginnojo for books on the topic but WOW KOGA KNEW? HOW?

You didn’t even know if that was the right term, how the heck did he even find it in the Taisho era of all eras?!

Boy was fully prepared to smother you with all his affections with just the hint that you haven’t been properly cared for.

“Lady Luck was on your side so many times. But here’s the thing; I knew you could love and have loved people. Not sides.”

“I would like to be on your side and your loved one now, in the next 1000 years and beyond.”

That night, you had celebrated coming out and being strong with the strongest man, vodka and of course, hangover in your life.

Kuya

Trans male who actually sees Kuya making an effort beyond wraith-fighting.

You lucky boy! He is a bit confused at first but not dismissive. Anything involving you and your happiness is serious business to him. 

Takes some time getting used to the shift in pronouns, but the one in 2892019280923092 chances that he messes up, he will always apologize with ordering whatever you want from the Milk Hall.

Now you wished he would mess up more. 

When he is too lazy to buy paper, he just writes on whatever scars you have from your gender reassignment (if you go for it... wait, did they have it back then?) or the marks left from your binder that would have made you self-conscious once upon a time.

And he keeps doing it on each new mark as you slowly transition.

One day, you decided to buy the most classy paper a writer could ever hope for. One that would ensure no bleeding, feathering, and basically ‘The Dream Paper’.

All he did was give a smile and thank you before dipping a feather... and writing on the 273rd scar.

“But why?”

“I need to write the 273rd page of my boyfriend’s strength.”

Yura

You are a trans female, that has been practising her coming-out-speech on forest animals...

... that you knew would know Yura.

You were so scared about seemingly leading others on and deceiving others. Every time some discovered any secret part of yours that you had hidden, suddenly EVERYTHING was exposed.

“Oh, my lady...”

“I am ever so delighted! You came out to me first AGAIN!”

... So it turns out, your past self was also trans. And Yura had been the proudest friend you had confided in first.

His part is so short because guess what? He is a perfect man. I seriously don’t think you would need to worry about him.

We just need him to be our boyfriend soon!!!

Ginnojo

Asexual acing everything but sitting down with the bae and talking about it. 

Not that you have to, only if you are comfortable. 

And you were super comfortable honestly. Maybe the whole quiet patrol at the park had lured you into a false sense of security.

... Into giggling at poor Ginnojo blushing at some shameless couples. 

Seems like the birds, the bees and make-out sessions were in season. 

“Can we agree to never do that?”

“Of course.”

“Like, ever? Like forever never?”

“Er, yes?”

“Like really no smashing of bodies also?”

“.... No? Wait, why are you asking? Come, let’s sit over there.”

This is probably the most Ginnojo has ever talked but you are so ecstatic that he can take it all in and without you feeling flustered over the occasional ramblings mixed in with serious explanations. 

Checks the boundaries established like the following;

If you don’t mind him occasionally finding you sexually attractive, especially considering you are one of the few women he interacts.

Promises on telling when to stop.

Getting sexual relief from outsiders (No surprise that he shoots the whole premise down. Ginnojo without you, it wouldn’t be him to the ayakashi)

Kisses and the art of cuddling.

Ultimately though, he just needs 2 things and that would be enough. 

“I want to love you like a book. Let me hold the pages and move with you when your story tells me to until the end.”

“And in return, I’ll share my cover with you to spread around any corner of the world you want.”

Aoi

Lesbian that chose to come out to the right ayakashi... but at the worst place possible.

To be fair, you had tried your best in luring him to sketch at a discrete, isolated place.

You had even pictured the scenario, which later turned to be a screenplay of all the disasters and worst reactions that could arise from the even the simplest, vaguest confessions.

Had Aoi known of this whole script, he would have probably said it was the writing Kuya could only dream about having.

It’s just that the Golden Week makes the Milk Hall super packed for once.

So there you were, with the milkshake that should have brought an annoyed satori seer over and scolding you for remaining with the probably-spoiled drink.

And everything snaps. His pen snaps, your straw snaps, you snap.

“What, I’m a spoilt milk bottle because I’m swinging the cap the other way? HUH?!”

By some miracle, Oji was too busy flirting with the onslaught of female customers and the aforementioned group was too preoccupied with giggling at that dork.

Aoi had heard everything though. You knew he had heard everything... so why wasn’t he responding?

Then you heard it, the girliest of giggles.

And the sweetest grin you have seen in the world.

Again, you couldn't blame Koga for mistaking him for a cute girl cus dayum...

Loving a man or woman, his tsundere mind and mouth finally cooperate to say the exact same thing.

That you are a lovable dork who had been the very muse for the painting he has been slogging over.

A whole triptych.

The first one was of you at the river, grabbing the rock to seemingly skip across the water. It was undeniably warm and set at dusk. So the transition to the next frame was jarring but somehow familiar.

The second depicted you walking away with the random stone, and being largely ignored by others and nearly engulfed in the darkness between you and the rest of the crowd.

And finally the last was someone's hand sharing the stone with yours. Curiously, it was only inked and without any palette.

“The only thing they all need is your colours, whatever you have chosen and wanted. I want to see them when you want to show me her.”

And you did, spending his 1-hour break just using all the paint supplies that you could find together.

[sydneysageivashkov]

Everything We Are (Is There On Our Faces) 1/?

It started, once upon a time, with Ned Stark finding a litter of orphaned dire wolf cubs, with Robert Baratheon riding for Winterfell, with Ned becoming Hand of the King in the viper’s pit that was King’s Landing.

It restarts like this:

Arya and Sansa wake up as children again, a message ringing in their ears. The Old Gods need Westeros to be strong and united to defend the Wall, and the Old Gods don't forget oaths easily.

(Time travel AU. Eventual Sansa/Theon, Arya/Gendry, Jaime/Brienne.)

AO3 | FF.net

It started, once upon a time, with Ned Stark finding a litter of orphaned dire wolf cubs, with Robert Baratheon riding for Winterfell, with Ned becoming Hand of the King in the viper’s pit that was King’s Landing.

It restarted like this:

Sansa bolted upright in her bed, hand flying to her throat as she gasped for breath. There had been cold hands around her throat only seconds ago, closing tight –

Sister, a voice whispered.

“Bran?” she gasped, staring around the almost familiar room wildly.

It took all the magic that I possess to do this; to fling you back to the beginning. There will not be another chance. Westeros must face the Others united. I know that you are capable of this. Good luck, sister.

“Bran,” she whispered. He did not respond. “Bran!” Only silence met her.

Sansa threw the covers back and ran to the hallways. It was Winterfell, she realised that now – Winterfell, that had burnt under the Golden Company’s torches, as Jon and Daenerys fought to stop the wights’ advance on Winterfell just north of the castle.

She flew into her chambers, slamming the door behind her. She leant against it and gulped in a few desperate breaths of air.

In the bed, a figure bolted upright. Ramsay, she thought, hysterically. It’s Ramsay, he’s come for me, he’s come –

“Sansa?” asked her father, as Catelyn sat up next to him. “What’s wrong?”

Sansa stared at them, shaking her head slightly. It couldn’t be them. How could it be them?

Before she could even begin to conjure a response, she was knocked aside as the door slammed open again and Arya barrelled into the room.

“Sansa, I need you!” cried Arya, before stopping abruptly at the sight in the bed.

“Arya?” asked Catelyn.

Sansa, I need you. Arya had been looking for her. This, Sansa could handle. “Arya?”

“I just heard…” Arya’s voice stumbled as she continued to stare, thunderstruck, at their parents. “I heard Bran. In my head. I need your help. He told me -”

“That Westeros needs to stand united and that this was our last chance,” finished Sansa. Arya jerked her head around to look at Sansa. “I heard him. He must have been talking to both of us.”

“He only called me sister,” whispered Arya.

“Girls!” interrupted Catelyn. “What is going on?”

“Do you think this is real?” asked Sansa. “Do you think he’s really capable of pushing us back?”

Slowly, Arya nodded. “He said that he was the one to make Hodor, Hodor,” she said. “He told me when I asked him what the Three Eyed Raven could do. He skinchanged into Hodor in the past.”

Sansa turned to look at her parents, who were watching her and Arya worriedly. “Mother,” she said, her voice breaking. “Father.”

Arya moved first, throwing herself on to the bed and her arms around Ned. Sansa picked up her skirts and ran to the other side of the bed, flinging herself into her mother’s arms.

Catelyn stroked Sansa’s hair carefully, and Sansa felt a sob well up inside her. “Mother,” she whispered, snuggling deeper into Catelyn’s hug.

“Girls,” said Ned. “What on earth is going on?”

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears from leaking out, not knowing how to begin answering that question. “Nightmare,” mumbled Arya after a long, silent moment.

Sansa felt her breath slowly evening out. She could tell that her parents were trading worried looks above her and Arya’s heads. Sansa met Arya’s eyes from across the bed. As she watched, Arya’s eyes wet eyes slowly solidified into steely determination. Sansa nodded slightly, minutely enough that Catelyn wouldn’t notice.

They were going to fix everything.

-

Sansa woke, more peacefully than she had the night before, slowly blinking her bleary eyes open. Arya was curled up next to her, the both of them cocooned between their parents. Sansa reached out and touched her sister’s shoulder gently, who jerked awake instantly at the touch. Sansa had only a moment to register the panic in Arya’s grey eyes before Arya’s eyes settled on Sansa and she relaxed.

“We need to talk,” whispered Sansa. Arya nodded in response and picked herself up, silently and smoothly, and crept off the bed. Sansa couldn’t help feeling like a clumsy horse as she followed Arya out into the hallway.

As Sansa eased the door closed behind them, Arya demanded, “What exactly did Bran say to you?”

Sansa glanced both ways down the hall to check there was no one around to overhear. Arya rolled her eyes at Sansa and crossed her arms impatiently. “He said that he used all of his magic to give us one last chance, and that he knew I was capable of keeping Westeros strong and united,” answered Sansa. “Was it the same to you? The exact same?”

Arya pushed her hair – so much longer than she had worn it only last night – out of her face and nodded. “The exact same.” She looked up at Sansa. “We can save Father and Mother and Robb and Rickon.”

“We can save everyone,” agreed Sansa. “They’re alive, now. They’re all alive…” She trailed off, her breath quickening. Joffrey. Ramsay. Petyr.

“We can win the war before it even begins!” said Arya, her voice sounding tinny and distant. Joffrey. Ramsay. Petyr. Ramsay. Joffrey. Gods, oh Gods.

I need to be brave. I need to be brave like my lady mother. Like Robb. Like Arya. Ramsay, Joffrey, Petyr. Ramsay Joffrey Petyr -

“Sansa? Sansa, can you hear me?” Arya’s voice broke through to Sansa. Sansa blinked, and Arya was suddenly right in front of her, hovering anxiously. As Sansa focused on her, Arya’s face grew hard. “We’ll kill them, Sansa. We’ll kill each and everyone of them. Joffrey, Cersei, Illyn Payne -”

Ramsay, Joffrey, Petyr.

“Ramsay,” whispered Sansa, her voice strangely hoarse. “Ramsay Bolton. We kill him first.”

Arya grabbed Sansa’s shoulders and squeezed them. “Ramsay Bolton,” she repeated. “He’ll be at the top of my list.”

Sansa grasped for a way to pull herself out of the spiral. “The war,” she remembered. “We need to stop the war. We need to stop Littlefinger before he can start it.”

Arya nodded. “I can take care of that.”

“No!” Sansa’s voice rang through the hallway, and she desperately tried to reign her runaway emotions back in. “He’ll already have his fingers in so many pies. We can’t risk the power vacuum just killing him will create.”

Footsteps sounded from further down the corridor and Arya grabbed Sansa by the wrist roughly and pulled her down the hall. “We need to go somewhere we won’t be disturbed,” Arya said through gritted teeth.

“You never know who’s a little bird,” Sansa agreed faintly. She realised where Arya was taking her within only a few turns, and soon enough they spilled into the Godswood. Sansa nestled herself in the roots of the heart tree. There was a slight chill in the air, but Sansa barely noticed it; it was nothing compared to the bone-chilling cold she had felt in the crypts, the kind of cold that made you want to lie down and never get up again. Like a million pinpricks of ice forcing their way under her skin, so cold they burned. And then there had been the hands wrapping around her throat…

Sansa shivered, and pulled her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders.

Arya knelt in front of Sansa. “We can’t leave Littlefinger alive,” she said, breaking the silence they had kept since they fled from the servant’s footsteps. “He caused everything. He’s the reason Father died. Why are you protecting him?” She hurled the words at Sansa like an accusation.

Sansa took a deep breath and counted to three. She dug her fingers into the earth, relishing the grass tickling at her palms and the cool, damp earth getting under her nails. When she felt her breathing return to some semblance of normal, she replied, “He’s been building towards this for years. He’s manipulated Aunt Lysa; he’s wormed himself into the Small Council and has the whole economy of the Seven Kingdoms ready to collapse. His aim is chaos: he wants to use it as a ladder for himself, but what he’s created won’t disappear just because he has.”

“So we just leave him there?” asked Arya incredulously.

“I can handle Petyr,” said Sansa, firmly. Her voice didn’t shake, and she kept her hands resting in her lap so that they couldn’t give her away.

Arya shook her head. “You’re playing with fire,” she warned.

Sansa lifted her chin. “Winter is coming. Maybe we need a little fire.” Arya glared at her, crossing her arms across her chest. Sansa softened slightly, and said, “We don’t even know how long we are. We can plan. We know what Joffrey’s like better than maybe anybody else; we know what Littlefinger is; we even know about how the Lannisters will wage the war, if it comes to that. We know Daenerys Targaryen will hatch three dragons in the Dothraki Sea and raise them to be the Black Dread come again.” Sansa leaned forwards and took Arya’s hands in hers. “We know about the things that no one else will be able to see coming. I know who Littlefinger is, but as far as he knows, I’m a sheltered little dove who knows nothing of the world. I can handle him.”

Arya still looked doubtful, but she rose, dragging Sansa up with her. “We should tell Father,” she said. “Mother, too. They can help.”

“They won’t believe us,” said Sansa flatly, dropping Arya’s hands.

“They will if we can prove it,” insisted Arya. “You spent time in the Eyrie; you can tell Father all about the castle. I’ve ridden through the Riverlands. We know people who we’ve never met. We both know things about dragons and about the Others that Old Nan won’t have told us.”

“What happened to us is impossible, Arya,” said Sansa. “They don’t know anything of magic, not really. Just the old stories that Old Nan tells us, and Mother thinks they’re nursery tales made to scare children, and Father thinks they’re about things that died out years and years and years ago.”

“Then we can send ravens to Uncle Benjen,” said Arya. “It can’t be that long, from the look of you, until that deserter came through talking about the Others. If we can at least convince him to investigate, he can tell Mother and Father that we’re right about the Others and they won’t be able to ignore us any longer.”

Sansa pursed her lips, unconvinced. She couldn’t see anyway to convince her father – let alone her mother, who thought that the Others were as real as grumpkins – of the Others, not when she had barely believed a castle full of the Night’s Watch and wildlings telling her, not when she had struggled to believe in magic even after she saw the scars cutting across Jon’s chest. There had been a part of her that was expecting the dragons to be overgrown curiosities until they had soared over the walls of Winterfell, and the Others to still be a fairy story until they had assembled outside Winterfell right before the end.

And even if they believed that – would they believe in the people their childhood friends had become? Would Ned believe how the Demon of the Trident was dead already, with Robert having given himself over to all of his flaws? Would Catelyn believe the evil that Littlefinger was capable of, or would Catelyn try to find ways of rationalising or justifying his actions so that he could still be the little boy in Riverrun?

“It’ll be safer to work in the shadows,” she said, instead, because she doubted that she could sway Arya on the matter of their parents’ belief. “If people like Cersei or Varys or Littlefinger can track any interference back to us, then we’re in danger.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Sansa, look at us. You aren’t the Lady of Winterfell anymore. How are you planning on affecting what’s happening in King’s Landing as what looks like -” Arya quickly swept her gaze over Sansa critically – “a twelve year old girl in Winterfell?”

“Father tried playing the game, and he died for it,” snapped Sansa. “If we get him involved, we can’t protect him.”

Arya worried her lower lip thoughtfully. “We can’t protect him from Joffrey,” said Arya, eventually. “Joffrey is mad; he’ll break any script we set for him eventually. If we tell Mother and Father, then they have warning of what we’ll be dealing with.”

Sansa set her jaw and looked behind her at the face of the heart tree. Is this what you wanted? she wondered. Were we only meant to be the three blasts of the horn, nothing more?

She closed her eyes and turned her head back to Arya. “Forewarned is forearmed,” she murmured to herself.

“Exactly!” exclaimed Arya. Sansa opened her eyes to see Arya turning away, ready to move inside. Sansa grabbed at her hand again and pulled her back.

“Arya,” she said, not certain where to begin. “Can we… Can we just have this morning? Just a regular morning with our brothers. We can see Robb and Rickon and Bran again.” She almost regretted including Bran – he had still been alive – but he hadn’t been Bran, had he? Bran had said as much multiple times.

Arya stared at her for a long moment before nodding slowly. “We can tell Father that we need to talk to him at breakfast,” said Arya. “But he won’t have time to talk to us for a little while at least, anyway.”

Sansa followed Arya back into the castle. Nervous excitement ate at her stomach, and she couldn’t help glancing into every room, down every hallway, soaking in the Winterfell of their youth. She trailed her hands over the stone walls, rough and cool under her hands. They passed Ser Rodrik in the training yard, setting up for the morning in the training yard, and Maester Luwin in the corridors by the Great Hall. Sansa’s heart was hammering furiously in her chest by the time they reached the doors to the Great Hall.

“Ready?” whispered Arya.

Robb was behind those doors. Bran and Rickon were behind those doors. Their parents were behind those doors. They would be talking and laughing and they wouldn’t know anything about what was coming for them all, but they would be alive.

“I think so,” said Sansa, squaring her shoulders.

Arya grabbed the dark steel handle and hesitated. “I’m not – I’m not what they remember, Sansa.”

“I know,” said Sansa. “You terrified me, coming home and talking about your list of people to kill. You were so different to when we were small.” Arya blinked and looked down at the floor, so Sansa hurried on, “But you’re still Arya, and just as I’m still Sansa even after everything they did to us. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, remember?”

Arya looked up and gave a tiny, jerky nod. With a deep breath, she pushed the doors open. Sansa slipped in behind Arya and looked, instinctively, for Robb, thinking You were going to bring me his head –

She stopped short when she found Robb. He was standing between the High Table and all the others, looking down at his feet in confusion and exasperation – because at his feet was Theon Greyjoy, sobbing and rocking back and forth ever so slightly. Sansa picked up her skirts and ran to Robb’s side.

“Reek, reek,” garbled Theon between broken sobs. “Rhymes with meek. Reek, reek…”

“Sansa, you should probably go back to your room,” said Robb, trying to shift between her and Theon. “Septa Mordane can bring you – and Arya – your breakfast there.”

Sansa ignored him, slipping past him and kneeling next to Theon. He hadn’t noticed her yet, his hands covering his face. “Theon,” she said, as calmly as she could, loud enough for him to hear.

He jerked his head back and forth, insisting “Reek, reek, my name is Reek.”

“Your name is Theon Greyjoy,” she said more forcefully. “Can you hear me, Theon? Ramsay isn’t here. It’s only me. It’s only Sansa. Ramsay’s gone.”

Theon had stopped whispering to himself, but sobs were still racking at his shoulders.

“We ran, do you remember?” she said, keeping her voice soothing. “You told me that you would die to get me to the Wall, but you didn’t have to. I fed Ramsay to his own dogs, and you came back to me in Winterfell.”

Theon peeked at her through the fingers, shoulders slumping as he saw her. “Sansa?” he whispered.

“Look at me, Theon, only at me,” she told him, gently taking his hand in hers. “We’ve got another chance, you and me. Can you feel your fingers?” She ran her hands over them lightly, soft as the first breath of snow.

Theon grasped her hands. “How, Sansa? The Night King was there – there was no one left. I was ready to die for Bran, I was.”

Sansa swallowed thickly. “I think you did, Theon. Did you hear a voice, when you woke up? Did you hear Bran?”

Theon nodded slowly. “He told me to fulfil my oaths.”

“I died, too,” she said. “The dead rose in the crypts, and then I woke up in my own bed, and Bran was telling me that I had to keep Westeros safe. We have a second chance at everything, Theon. Ramsay won’t ever touch either of us, not this time.”

“Don’t think that I’ll forget.” Sansa glanced up to see Arya behind her, glaring down at Theon. He cringed into Sansa’s side.

“Not now, Arya,” hissed Sansa.

“No,” snapped Arya. “He still did it. He made those choices. I won’t forget it.”

Sansa squeezed Theon’s hands comfortingly, and said, “He did make those choices, just like I still made those choices to go to Cersei back in King’s Landing. I lived with that every day of my life, just as Theon lived with what he did and what was done to him.” She brushed her fingers over Theon’s, a gentle reminder that he was here with her, not in the dungeons of the Dreadfort. “We have a second chance to make better decisions, Arya, all three of us. It was Bran he did wrong, not you or me, and evidently Bran thought he was worth saving.”

Arya hissed, air escaping between her gritted teeth. She knelt down to be level with Theon, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I trust my brother,” she said. “But if you do a single thing to hurt anybody in this castle, I will gut you. Do you hear me? There won’t be anywhere you can run from me.”

“That’s enough,” snapped Sansa. “We’re going to have to work together, Arya. We can’t be at each other’s throats the whole time.”

Arya looked back to Theon. “Just so long as we understand each other,” she said with false calmness, and stood up in a fluid motion. Then, in shock, Arya exclaimed, “Father!”

Sansa looked up. Ned Stark was standing over them, his expression dark. She had been so wrapped up in Theon that she hadn’t even noticed him approach, and she had no idea how much he had heard. Standing shoulder to shoulder with her father, though, was Robb – and he certainly had heard every word. Sansa bit back several choice, uncharacteristic curse words; Gods knew that Robb – good, decent, honourable, impulsive Robb – was the last person they needed to hear about their situation right now. But it was all her fault: in her rush to comfort Theon, to pull him out of the dark place she had barely escaped entering only an hour earlier, she had forgotten her brother entirely. At the High Table, though still close enough to overhear them, was Catelyn, who was watching all three as if she didn’t recognise any of them.

Sansa let go of one of Theon’s hands so that they could stand, but held the other fast, keeping him anchored in the here and now with her. He tried to let go as Robb’s eyes latched on to their joined hands, but she held on stubbornly, lifting her chin defiantly at her brother. She had no need for his protection.

Ned looked between the three of them, taking in each of their expressions, before he said, “I believe that we need to talk.”

[softstraykids]

stray kids & bts plagiarism controversy

i’ve heard HEAPS about the “plagiarism” over the I AM NOT teaser mv and bts’s N.O and yes there are similarities between each video. But stray kids DID NOT STEAL BTS’s concept, they’re both talking about rebelling against society and the system, to follow their dreams which is such a powerful and amazing message that soooo many korean students need. (as a korean myself). 

BTS always wanted to promote these thoughts, and they did that through N.O over 4 years ago and still promoting amazing messages through their music. They’d be so proud in themselves they could influence an upcoming rising rookie group to use the same concept as them. To keep on spreading awareness on these sorts of issues. A concept is not something that can be owned or stolen. If that’s the case EVERY SINGLE GROUP IN KPOP HAS PLAGIARIZED. girl groups, use the same sexy, cute, school girl, etc, etc concepts over and over again for new girl groups. boy groups have done, school teenagers, bad boys, party animals, suave gentlemen, heartbroken, etc, etc with so many groups.

stray kids I AM NOT and bts N.O similarities: 

rebelling against society in a dystopian society all white outfits

you can see there’s not even more than 3. so.....really? plagiarism?

the song isn’t even out and you accuse stray kids of plagiarizing a concept and what outfits? it’s ridiculous. so if stray kids came in school uniforms and talking about girls and that was their concept would you accuse them for plagiarising and copying boy in luv? or exo’s growl? don’t armys remember when they were accused of plagiarism of growl because of boy in luv? 

i don't understand how people are blaming stray kids for plagiarism. but not realizing how much thought jyp and stray kids would of put into it. of course they knew the similarities between bts N.O and I AM NOT. they still did it. why? to change and point out the flaws in the system and difficulties so many korean teenagers have to endure and go through. instead of thinking how amazing they are to bring up a subject like this you guys blame them for plagiarizing. in the last 4 years there’s been very limited kpop groups promoting these sorts of messages. do people not realize how high the rate of suicide is for teenagers in korea? how high school students only get 2 hours of sleep a night if they’re lucky? for their final high school exam/university entrance exam, people determine their whole life success over that exam. if you wake up late, you can literally call the police to take you to your school for the exam. people have panic attacks during the middle of the exam, there are sometimes even ambulances and doctors waiting on sight. 

we need more songs and concepts like this so please stop with the abuse and accusations because it’s going to make other groups not talk about rebelling against society at all because of the back lash. 

i’m genuinely so proud of stray kids for bringing up such a subject. for people who think trending stray kids plagiarism on their debut date is a good idea. well simply to say it, fuck you. you’re a disgrace to your fandom. especially if you’re an army WHO’S BEEN THROUGH THE EXACT SAME THING. i remember the army fandom being completely shattered when other fandoms made btsplagarismboys trending. and you think of doing the same thing to another group??? 

if you don’t like stray kids and their new concept well simply don’t stan them, dont watch their mvs or teasers. you don’t need to hurl abuse and hate in their way for talking about something that’s so important. just because bts did the same thing 4 YEARS AGO. i’m an army and i’m simply happy that bts has had so much influence over the kpop industry for a new rookie group to do a similar concept as them. and when i saw the teaser i thought, wow bts n.o and stray kids i am not are similar. it’d be great if stray kids can be as successful and influential as bts one day. i dont get why people bother abusing a new rookie group when their group is a 4 year extremely successful boy group. as an army and a beacon i just wish you could support your groups by not putting down other fandoms and groups down. especially over a concept.

stray kids you’re doing amazing boys and I'm so proud that this is your concept, and i love you so much and as bang chan said “haters only hate cause they live low”